Lazaretto

This is Masterpiece Mystery!

Police.

What's your business?

(gun fires) Can you hear me, sir?

Bed ten's got a bad reputation amongst my fellow inmates.

MORSE: And did you see anything unusual?

There's something not right there.

WIN: She told us not to look for her, but just need to know she's all right.

It's no fault in love.

MILLS: Provided nobody else gets hurt.

TALBOT: You're Public Enemy Number One, then.

So now you know all my secrets.

"Endeavour," tonight on Masterpiece Mystery!

So now you (thunder)my secrets.

(whimpers) (click) (soothing orchestral music playing) FAGEN: You're listening to the Nightfly on Radio Carillon.

Broadcasting sounds that soothe, cheer, and comfort to the patients and staff here at Cowley General.

And now, with the time just coming up to 11:00, this is your friend Lester Fagen signing off.

(whistling) (whistling continues) (straining): That's it.

One pair of men's spectacles.

Tortoise shell.

17 shillings and nine pence and ha'penny.

There you go then, Mr. Greely.

You just rest up there a bit.

Bit of company for you there, look.

(birds chirping) (sighs) (phone ringing) (ringing) Put her away.

I'm going to visit Mr. Bryce-Morgan in the hospital.

Will do.

Morning, Sister.

Morning, Sir Merlyn.

Everything ready?

All ready, sir.

See you in the morning.

MAN: Thank you, Sir Merlyn.

Now, then, my good man, how are you feeling today?

Fine, thank you, Sir Merlyn.

Mr. Talbot was taken at the fall of Singapore and set to work on the Burma Railway.

Once a year he sheds the lining of his stomach.

Still.

We're all friends now, eh?

Bed ten... Where's Mr. Greely?

POWELL: He died, sir, in the night.

I saw him yesterday.

He was well on the mend.

He was quite elderly, sir.

He was my age.

Straight-forward pulmonary lobectomy, wasn't it?

I want a full post-mortem.

I believe the body's already been collected by the undertaker.

How many's that?

It won't do, Powell.

(door closes) (bell tolling) (birds chirping) (talking indistinctly) Mrs. Ethel Zacharides.

60s.

Dead about three days.

(parrot squawks) PARROT: Evil old cow!

Evil old cow!

Rather a limited repertoire, I'm afraid.

Answers to the name of Jeremiah.

(parrot squawks) Natural causes?

No obvious signs of violence.

Heart, possibly.

Apoplexy.

Could be any of the thousand shocks.

But nothing suspicious.

Not at first glance-- from a medical point of view, at least.

The rest I leave to you.

What about this?

Knocked off the dresser?

A seizure, possibly.

Zacharides.

Rings a distant tocsin.

It'll come to me.

Nothing important, probably.

Vale vigile.

(door opens, closes) That's it.

THURSDAY: Terence Bakewell, sir.

Being transferred from Farnleigh Prison to Cowley General this morning.

Sir?

This is your, um...

Informant?

Yes, sir.

The peterman on the Robsons' Jewelers job.

If you'll recall, Mrs. Robson was very badly injured.

Never walk again, leastways.

Division said something about a round-the-clock armed guard at the hospital.

THURSDAY: Yes, sir.

Bakewell's agreed to turn Queen's evidence against those members of the Matthews Gang still at large.

You think they'll try to get to him?

It's the Matthews Gang, sir.

What's left of it.

(squawks) Anything from the neighbors?

Mrs. Zacharides had lived here for 20 years.

Her husband died six months ago.

She has a daughter in town, but they're not on speaking terms, apparently.

(chirps) We'll need someone for that.

(squawks loudly) (squawks) What's this?

MORSE: That sudden up in Northway.

Local RSPCA officer's laid up with the flu.

They've asked us to keep an eye.

Well, it can't stop here.

This is a nick, not a bloody pet shop.

Put it at yours.

Anything?

MORSE: Natural causes, according to Dr. deBryn.

But she had two side plates out and Mrs. Zacharides lived alone.

STRANGE: Think she had someone with her?

Or was expecting someone.

Her writing desk had been disturbed, too.

Papers all strewn about.

That don't mean much.

You should see my old nan's place.

The rest of the place was tidy enough.

(chirps) Evil old cow!

Happy marriage she had, was it?

Look after it for now, Sergeant.

I need Morse to guard Bakewell at Cowley General.

You really think they'd try for Bakewell in hospital?

Well, he's the last dregs of the Matthews Gang.

He's all that stands between them and a long spell inside.

I'll get Mr.

Bright to sign you a chitty.

Meet me in the armory.

(parrot squawks) (chirping softly) THURSDAY: Morse!

(object shattering) THURSDAY: Can you hear me, sir?

Can you hear me?

It's all right, sir.

WOMAN (on phone): Switchboard.

I need an ambulance at once.

Where?

Mr.

Bright's office.

Right.

Yeah, as soon as you can.

There we are, sir.

Don't worry, sir, you're going to be all right.

MAN: Thank you, gentlemen.

MAN: Let's get him straight in.

Straight to surgery.

Can you hear me, sir?

Superintendent?

Thank you, miss-- you got him?

Yeah, quick as you can.

Into prep-- thank you.

Sorry, sir, you have to wait here.

Swab.

Swab, I said.

NURSE: Sorry, Sir Merlyn.

(footsteps approaching) I heard.

Well, he's in good hands.

The cutter's Sir Merlyn Chubb.

Chief surgeon.

Want me to see what's what?

Could you?

Of course, old fellow.

Try not to worry.

Oh, mystery solved, by the way.

Mrs. Zacharides.

Her husband.

I performed his post-mortem about six months ago.

He was a patient here?

Don't panic.

He wasn't one of Sir Merlyn's.

(sighs) STRANGE: What'd they say?

Next 24 hours should tell.

Right, Bakewell.

This is Detective Constable Morse.

He's one of the officers going to be keeping an eye on you, so don't give him any trouble, all right?

Talk to Mrs. Zacharides' daughter yet?

No, not yet.

She rang, works at Beaufort.

I'll hold on here.

TALBOT: Officer.

Officer!

If you ever... (whispering): Come here, come here.

If you ever want to get him back in chokey, I'd stick him in another bed.

How's that?

Bed ten, it's unlucky.

Five weeks I've been here, and I've seen three go in that bed.

Latest went just last night.

That's quite enough, thank you, Mr. Talbot.

We don't want the other patients troubled with your nonsense, do we?

No, Sister.

Very well, then.

Officer.

Sister MacMahon.

Detective Constable Morse.

You're one of the officers who'll be looking after Mr. Bakewell, is it?

Mm-hmm.

I can't say I'm pleased to have him with us.

Police presence on the ward.

Indeed.

Anything in it?

Bed ten?

Well, there's no great mystery.

We always put our most poorly patients there.

And should nature take its course, we can deal with that eventuality without alarming the rest of the ward.

Caroline?

Morse?

What's the prognosis?

Merlyn's done all he can.

But Edgar's had a very bad stroke.

(exhales) I'm sorry.

You're still at, uh, Byers Hall?

What a memory you have.

Hm, well, for some things.

Well, you were there often enough, I suppose.

Is William still at home?

No.

He's visiting Susan.

And Henry, of course.

Of course.

Henry's at New Carthage now.

Head of the law faculty.

Well, if you need any assistance, then I'd certainly like to help.

Here's my card.

My home number's on the back.

Well, I'm sure that won't be necessary.

Well, if you can think of anything.

A policeman?

A detective.

(bells tolling) MORSE: Ms. Zacharides?

I'm Detective Constable Morse, City Police.

You spoke to a Sergeant Strange this morning, about your mother.

Yeah.

I got a letter from her last week.

She'd been in dispute with the hospital where my dad died.

There were some of his things that weren't returned to him that he had with him when he went in.

Such as?

She got his wedding ring back.

But there was a little bit of money went missing, and he had a diamond tie pin that belonged to his father.

Hospital denied it, of course.

Said she must've been mistaken.

Could she have been?

Any case, she said someone from the hospital had written to say they'd be coming by on Friday to discuss it.

On Friday?

Did she say who was coming to see her?

No.

And what ward was your father on?

Fosdick Ward.

Fosdick.

That's right, bed ten.

Right.

STRANGE: This is where you are, sir.

Division have asked me to cover for Mr.

Bright for the time being.

That's good.

Is it?

What do I know about flying a desk?

Any word?

Perforated peptic ulcer.

The operation's gone as well as could be hoped for.

And Bakewell?

They've put him on Fosdick Ward, same as Mr.

Bright.

He's putting a brave face on it but I'd say he's rattled.

He should be.

Heavy mob wouldn't really try and knock him off, would they?

Not in the hospital.

I wouldn't put anything past them.

(phone ringing) Right.

FAGEN (on radio): Here, then, is a very special request for a certain someone on Fosdick Ward.

PORTER: Mr. Bakewell?

He's been as good as gold.

MORSE: Well, if you see anyone unusual on the ward, be sure to let us know.

Will do.

What are they like, the staff on Fosdick?

PORTER: Well, Sister Clodagh's a bit of a Tartar-- Sister MacMahon, that is.

You wouldn't want to get on the wrong side of her.

Sir Merlyn, a great man.

All the doctors quake in their boots when he's on his rounds.

And what about the rest of them?

Well, then there's Nurse Byron.

Flora.

She's very nice.

Always makes you a cup of tea if you ask.

Nurse Mills.

Jo-Beth.

Well, place would fall apart without her.

Tends to look out for the younger nurses.

Little student nurse Daisy Bennett.

She's very keen, but she does tend to get in the most awful scrapes.

Of course, most of them are potty about Dr. Powell.

Except for Sister Clodagh, of course.

She's married to the job.

She may have been engaged once, but...

I suppose everyone's got their own secret sadness, haven't they?

Suppose.

What's yours?

Flat feet.

Thank you.

Hi, you're with Mr.

Bright, yes?

Dr. Powell.

How is he?

Well, we're hopeful for a full recovery, of course, but we will keep him on open order for the time being, so please don't feel bound by general visiting hours.

Well, thank you.

Excuse me.

(sighs) Come on.

Let's go and get a drink.

TREWLOVE: Who was that you were talking to on the ward?

Oh.

I knew her daughter when I was at Oxford.

Come on.

"I knew her daughter at Oxford," and...?

You can't just leave it there.

Maybe when I know you better.

Did she break your heart?

We were engaged to be married.

And then we weren't.

(chuckles) There.

So now you know all my secrets.

How is he?

Not come to.

Where's his babysitter?

THURSDAY: Gone for a brew.

I said I'd cover.

MILLS: I understand the operation went well.

We'll look after him.

BAKEWELL: Fred.

(sighs) I'm D.C. Morse.

Nurse Mills.

Nice to meet you.

Excuse me, sir-- visiting hours are over.

Police, what's your business?

Hey!

(gun fires) BAKEWELL: Jesus!

Get these cuffs off me!

Get these cuffs off me now!

Stay here!

Thursday, don't leave me like this!

Don't worry, Mr. Bakewell.

We'll look after you.

(door slams) (gun fires) (engine running) Go!

Go!

(panting) THURSDAY: You get the reg?

(dog barking) (phone ringing) THURSDAY: Out-of-town talent, like as not.

London, Birmingham, Glasgow.

Put together an Identikit.

WIN: It's the station.

Right.

Mr.

Bright's been taken sick, Fred says.

Yes, ulcer.

Is everything all right?

She told us not to look for her, but been ten weeks now.

I just need to know she's all right.

Did we do something wrong?

No.

No, no, no, of course not.

Then why?

I don't know.

I'm off up.

Right.

Uniform found the car abandoned in Holywell Street.

I've ordered the guard on Bakewell doubled.

Sentries front and back.

Why, do you think he'll try again?

Not if I've got anything to do with it.

Picture ready?

Yes, sir.

Anything else?

The getaway car was reported stolen in Coventry yesterday afternoon.

Wheel and door panels wiped clean, according to the fingerprint boys.

Looks like professionals.

Right.

Come on.

Where're we going?

I don't care who they are, they're not taking liberties.

Not here.

So what was he in for, Mr. Zacharides?

Gall bladder.

I didn't think you'd need a post-mortem if you died in hospital.

Sir Merlyn insisted.

Why?

Operation was a success.

Mr. Zacharides seemed to be recovering well.

Just went in the night.

Who operated on him?

The young pretender.

Dr. Powell.

Not a lot of love lost between him and Sir Merlyn.

Word on the ward says Powell fancies his job.

How does Merlyn feel about that?

Hm, "over my dead body" is the phrase that springs most readily to mind.

(footsteps approaching) Ah, Nurse Hicks.

Just pop them on my desk, please, thank you.

(grunting) Hello, Gil.

Somebody tried to do for Terry Bakewell last night.

STRANGE: Him.

I want to know who he is, where he is, and which (no audio) hawk staked the job.

Don't make me ask again, Gil.

I haven't had breakfast.

Who is he?

(panting): I don't know his real name.

They call him Scotch Tam.

Down from Aberdeen or somewhere.

But don't bother looking.

You won't see him again.

STRANGE: How'd he know where to find Bakewell?

Oh, some bent screw at Farnleigh.

Who put the money down?

Whip-round, I should think.

What do you think?

I'd get that seen to, if I were you, Gil.

It looks nasty.

(panting) So what did you want to talk to me about?

Is there anything that I should know about Fosdick Ward?

There was a patient called Zacharides died about six months ago.

His wife thinks some of his things were stolen.

I don't know about thieving, but there's something not right there.

Wouldn't be anything to do with bed ten, would it?

Why?

Just something one of the patients said.

Being put in bed ten is tantamount to a death sentence.

The mortality rate on Fosdick Ward is more than it should be, certainly when compared to the rest of the hospital.

Patients that had been recovering suddenly going downhill.

Must be eight or nine have died unexpectedly in the last six months.

And what do you think?

Don't quote me, but there's talk Sir Merlyn's past it.

And what do you make of Dr. Powell?

Seems nice enough.

All the girls seem to like him.

Are you happy?

What about you?

(sighs) Treat the next one better.

Good Lord.

What kind of a ward are you running, Sister?

The water in that vase is positively putrid.

Take those flowers away at once.

At once, Sir Merlyn.

Nurse Bennett!

Yes, Sister.

Get rid of those flowers!

Away with them, now!

Now, then, my good man-- Bakewell, isn't it?

You'll be under my knife, assisted by Dr. Powell here.

And this is Dr. Kane, who'll be in charge of keeping you breathing-- any questions?

Yeah, I want to change beds.

You want to what?

You heard me.

What I hear, the life expectancy in this one ain't too hot.

Remember who you're talking to.

BAKEWELL: I don't care who he is.

Somebody tried to kill me last night, and bed ten's got a bad reputation amongst my fellow inmates.

So if it's all the same to you... You're a rogue, sir, and a jailbird.

You'll go where you're put and be thankful my oath obliges me to treat saint and sinner alike.

Sister.

FAGEN (on radio): With the time just coming up to a quarter past 9:00, you're listening to Radio Carillon.

MORSE: How long have you been at Cowley General, Mr. Fagen?

About three years doing the radio and running the book trolley.

Since the divorce.

And it's voluntary, you said.

Oh, yes.

I don't get paid.

But my mother was a patient here, rest her soul, and they were so good to her, I just wanted to do something.

Hm.

Well, I'll leave you to it.

Any requests, let me know.

(door opens and closes) I forgot, Sister.

Oh, oh, I know you forgot.

And how do you think that makes me look?

I know, Sister, I'm sorry.

Where did they come from?

Sister?

The sweet peas, girl.

Who brought them?

I don't know, Sister.

Did Mr. Bakewell have a visitor?

I wouldn't have thought so, Sister.

When you asked me to get rid of them, it was the first time I'd seen them.

Right, then, about your work.

Mr. Dunn needs a bed bath and a full linen change.

Quickly, now.

Morning.

I imagine you think that was a bit harsh.

But discipline in a hospital is a matter of life and death.

Yes, I'm sure.

Do you have a moment?

I'd like a quick word.

There's a small amount of petty pilfering goes on in any hospital.

Patients steal from other patients.

A sad fact, but there it is.

Yes, but what about Mrs. Zacharides?

The hospital conducted a thorough inquiry and found she was mistaken in her allegations.

(knock at door) POWELL: Are you busy, Clo?

The officer was just asking about Mrs. Zacharides.

Oh, yes.

Uh... what about her?

She was found dead yesterday.

Really?

Well, I am sorry to hear that.

According to her daughter, she received a letter from the hospital.

Somebody was set to visit her Friday.

The day she died.

May I see it?

I'm afraid the letter is missing.

I have to say, that sounds very unlikely.

Wouldn't you say, Doctor?

Oh, certainly, yes.

As far as we were concerned, the matter was closed.

Much as one hates to speak ill of the dead, she'd become something of a nuisance-- coming onto the ward, pestering the staff, making accusations.

In the end, I'm afraid we had to threaten her with the police.

(Powell being paged on intercom) Oh, excuse me.

Do you remember a Mr. Zacharides?

Yes.

I was very sorry to lose him.

One tries to maintain a sense of detachment, but it's not always easy.

Bed ten, wasn't he?

Where's that come from?

Mr. Talbot?

(chuckles) (sighs) It might have a slightly higher than average death rate, but it's not cursed or anything.

It just tends to be the less well patients end up in it.

His wife is of the opinion, that some of his things have gone missing.

But not one of the nurses, surely.

Heaven knows we don't get paid much, but one doesn't go into nursing for the money.

It's a calling, I suppose.

Yes, if you like.

And policing?

What's that?

A failing.

(book slams shut) I'll get on to that, right away, sir.

Of course, sir.

Yes, sir.

No, sir.

Three bags full, sir.

How're you getting on?

Drink?

Please.

Glass over there.

(pouring) That sudden out at Northway.

Mrs. Zacharides.

According to her daughter, she was in dispute with Cowley General over some of her late husband's property which wasn't returned to her.

She thought someone was on the nick up at the hospital?

That's about the size of it.

Staff or public?

Impossible to say.

She'd become something of a nuisance.

The hospital deny any impropriety, naturally, and as far as they were concerned, the matter was closed.

So?

Well, according to the daughter, she received a letter from the hospital.

Someone was sent to visit her on the day she died.

Why would the hospital do that if it was done and dusted?

Another thing.

Mr. Zacharides died in bed ten on Fosdick Ward.

Now, I know it sounds ridiculous but it has something of a dark reputation amongst its patients.

What?

Well, it does have a slightly higher than average mortality rate.

Patients on the mend taking a turn for the worse.

I'd like to look into it.

Well...

Pursue inquiries as you see fit.

There.

That's one decent decision I've made today.

Anything else?

Doctor?

I won't have student nurses bullied.

Any particular student nurse you had in mind, Doctor?

Just knock it off, Clo.

Dean.

Someone knows.

(door closes) THURSDAY: Home.

I'm home.

(record player grinding) What's this?

Win?

Oh, my God.

(player stops) Winifred.

I went to see Dr. Moody today.

For what?

Nerves.

Not sleeping.

I just don't feel myself, Fred.

What's that mean?

You just need something to take you out of yourself, that's all.

Why don't you go and spend the week at Rena's?

I just don't want to go outside the house.

I get frightened.

Of what?

I don't know.

It's just like that lately.

I get very nervous.

I'd do anything for you, you know that.

But...

I can't fix a thing if I...

I don't know what it is I'm...

I'm trying to fix.

What can I do?

I don't know.

Leave the window for me.

Where are you going?

As if I didn't know.

You won't tell?

I should.

No, you're all right.

For God's sake, don't let Sister catch you.

Wicked old cow.

Look, I know she seems a bit fuddy-duddy by today's standards, but are you sure you really know what you're doing?

What do you mean?

Doctors and nurses.

It all seems lovely in some silly paperback, but in real life, these things can go awfully wrong.

It's just a bit of fun.

BYRON: Not too long out of bed, Mr. Talbot.

How're you feeling?

I've brung you a few grapes seeing as you've had no visitors.

So you're Public Enemy Number One, then, is it?

All right, don't get your bowels in an uproar.

I've had a...

I've had the odd run-in with the law in my time.

Is that right?

Yeah.

When I was a boy.

Nothing in your league, I don't suppose.

So, uh, what's your line, then?

Murder.

Oh.

I get an uncontrollable urge to kill nosy parkers.

Ta for the grapes.

(whispers): All right.

(doorbell rings) Morse.

Miss Thursday.

I had a reverse charges call from Leamington.

Well, it wasn't me.

Oh, right.

Well, I just wanted to see how you were.

I'm fine.

What are you doing with yourself?

(chuckles) Doing with myself?

For money and...

I told you, I'm all right.

Yeah, I see.

And, uh, what about you?

Me?

Uh... Oh, just, just work.

Can I get you a drink?

Yes.

Uh, but actually just a squash.

Um, I've got the car.

THURSDAY: No.

I appreciate that, sir.

I just felt that apprehending whoever attempted to murder Terence Bakewell had priority over discussing traffic congestion with Councilor Rooney.

That's why I was out of the office.

Yes, sir.

I'll talk to the town planning department this afternoon.

Of course, sir.

Thank you, sir.

(sighs) (phone ringing) Bugger this.

(ringing continues) JOAN: I'd sooner that you didn't tell Mum and Dad that you'd seen me.

You should get in touch.

Or drop them a line.

Or something.

And say what?

Just let them know that you're all right.

It's the right thing to do.

(scoffs) Oh, the right thing.

I've always done the right thing.

For all the good it's done.

What happened at the bank was nothing to do with you.

It's not your fault that Ronny Gidderton died.

You know that's not true.

If I hadn't got mixed up with that... (sighs) The daughter of a police inspector.

Well, it doesn't matter now.

'Cause I'm not coming back.

Why?

Wh-what will you do?

I don't know.

Go abroad?

I don't care.

I do.

You shouldn't.

You know, I thought... (sighs) I thought for a minute... Nearly.

All those times you walked me home.

The perfect gentleman.

And you never tried it on, not once.

It's funny how things turn out.

It can turn out how you want it to.

You should... you should probably go.

Hello.

What's your name?

TALBOT: Charlie, don't bother the gentleman.

It's quite all right.

Come here.

You got kids?

No.

I've got a daughter.

Barbara.

23, she is.

I've got a picture of her in my wallet here.

Don't trouble yourself on my account.

Really, we're not friends, Mr. Bakewell.

No need to be like that, copper.

I'm just trying to pass the time of day.

We're all in the same boat here.

As may be, but don't presume to some easy familiarity by.

Don't fool yourself.

You might have a nice house and sit on the Bowls Club Committee, but when it comes down to it, we're just two cheeks on the same arse.

Fred.

Listen, the Matthews gang...

If anything happens...

Nothing's gonna happen, Terry.

You're on the mend.

Couple of days you'll be back in Farnleigh, safe and sound.

If it does, sir...

I'm asking you man to man, one father to another.

Look out for my Babs, she don't know nothing.

But they'll come for her all the same.

I'm begging.

No need to beg.

They won't touch her, I promise.

You came!

Yes, I was passing.

Were you?

No.

Is it as you remember?

More or less.

How's Edgar?

No change.

Why do they say that?

I have no idea.

He's changed utterly.

He's changed beyond all recognition.

I suppose they mean in his condition.

I'm aware of what they mean.

It is good of you to come.

We don't see eye to eye.

Why would you be kind?

Because life is too short.

MERLYN: Now, good as new.

He'll be back to his thieving ways before you know it.

Would you like me to close?

No.

I'd like the odds of my patient's survival to be better than evens.

How is it you know Sir Merlyn?

He saved Susan's life.

Two years ago.

Her heart, of all things.

And as a mark of gratitude, Edgar left a major bequest in his will.

To the hospital?

No.

To Merlyn, personally.

He's about to retire soon, isn't he?

No, he's not going to retire, not as far as I know.

Why do you ask?

I'm just trying to build up a picture.

(Bakewell groans) Nurse!

Are you all right?

Can you give me something for the pain?

I'll fetch Dr. Powell.

(groans) CAPPER: Right time on the wards today.

Nurse Daisy's in trouble with Sister again.

Too much mascara.

Not like you, eh?

(birds chirping) (parrot squawking) (squawks) Evil old cow!

(squawks) Morning.

Morning, Sister.

Anything to report?

No, Sister, uneventful night.

Morning, Mr. Bakewell.

Mr. Bakewell?

Sister?

Sister!

Nurse Mills, get the doctor.

Get the screen round.

Mr. Bakewell was found dead shortly after 7:30 this morning, when the day staff came on shift.

And we're not in the habit of keeping the deceased on the ward.

What condition was he in after the operation?

Recovering well, I believe.

Then how do you explain his taking a sudden turn for the worse?

I'm afraid we'll have to leave that for the post-mortem.

But I believe Dr. Powell was on call and attended to Bakewell last night.

Well, I was on Nightingale Ward.

Nurse Byron came and asked me to attend to Mr. Bakewell.

What time was that?

It was a little after 3:00.

He was in some discomfort.

I told Nurse Byron to administer two opioid analgesics orally, and then I left.

Just before 3:00, Mr. Bakewell asked for something to help with the pain.

So, I went and found Dr. Powell.

How long were you gone from the ward?

Ten minutes?

It's about four minutes there.

I spoke to Dr. Powell for perhaps two minutes and then four minutes back.

And there couldn't have been any mistake in the dosage that you gave Mr. Bakewell?

It was exactly what Dr. Powell prescribed?

It was just a couple of painkillers.

I'm sorry.

Doctor Powell's completely thorough.

The unpaid overtime he puts in.

He even comes in when he doesn't have to be here.

Just to check on his patients.

Doesn't he?

I-I suppose.

And you weren't away from the ward at any other time, until you were relieved this morning at the time of shift?

No.

No, I wasn't.

We found the stem of a bunch of grapes under his bed.

Any idea where that could have come from?

That was a gift, I believe, from Mr. Talbot.

Anything?

Constable Jones said he didn't leave his side all night.

He's a good man, sir.

Well, somebody got to Bakewell.

And my money's on Scotch Tam Fraser.

What, reckon he came back for another go?

How did he get past the sentry and Constable Jones?

Who knows, but he did.

He could be back in Scotland by now.

But if he's in Oxford, I want him found.

Bed ten again.

Oh, you're not putting anything by that, are you?

Well, there was one thing, sir.

Jones said he saw the Sister take something out of Bakewell's hand when she found him.

Like what?

Well, he couldn't be sure, but he thought it looked like a flower.

A white one.

I don't know what he thinks he saw, but I'm afraid he's mistaken.

You removed a bunch of flowers from beside his bed, didn't you?

That's what I heard you talking to Nurse Bennett about?

But what of it?

Have you any idea where they came from?

I've more important things to be doing with my time.

My point is, how could he have received any flowers, if he didn't have any visitors?

I expect they belonged to another patient that had been discharged.

Rather than throw them out, one of the nurses or porters donated them.

Now... if you'll excuse me, I've a ward to run.

I came to in the early hours, briefly.

There was a screen around his bed.

Someone was in there with him.

I could see a shadow moving about.

It was a nurse, I think.

You didn't see which one?

No.

Just the silhouette of a uniform.

Where was Constable Jones?

I don't know.

Wasn't there.

Anything else, sir?

Anything at all?

No, I must have fallen asleep again.

That's the end of our case against the Matthews gang.

Bakewell was our star witness.

I've had another word with Jones, sir.

He's come clean.

Call of nature.

Five minutes, he says.

(sighs) I'll talk to the rest of the patients, see if anyone else saw anything.

Right.

Sir.

Told you, didn't I?

Yes, you told me all right, Mr. Talbot.

Did you see anything?

Oh, no, no.

Out like a light.

You gave Bakewell a bunch of grapes, I believe.

Well, half a bunch, felt sorry for him.

On his own some, no visitors, you know.

You're a regular patient here, are you?

Oh, yeah, yeah, I've been in and out a bit.

You know, on account of my guts.

I wonder if you could give me a list of all of the dates you've stayed over the past, what, six months?

And did you see anything unusual?

CAPPER: No, it was pretty quiet, to be honest.

Have you any idea why Bakewell would have been found with a flower in his hand?

Well, if it'd been a white flower, the staff do do that if it's a child that's died.

When they lay 'em out they put a little flower in their hand.

Like a white rose, or a daisy as such.

For-for the parents.

They look like little angels.

It's hard to believe they've gone sometimes.

But they have.

Information room from Trewlove.

Information room from Trewlove.

TREWLOVE: Been here since Wednesday, from the parking tickets.

Ugh, gee whiz.

(flies buzzing) THURSDAY: That's Tam Fraser.

So it couldn't've been him that did for Bakewell.

Not if he's already dead.

STRANGE: That'll be his driver presumably.

Get the pathologist out.

(phone ringing) STRANGE: Dead two days according to deBryn, Scotch Tam and his driver.

Two shots apiece.

Point blank range.

What's this?

All the deaths in bed ten on Fosdick Ward.

With Bakewell, that's nine in the last six months.

And all of them are Dr. Powell's.

What do we know about him?

Not much.

Sir Merlyn fancies he's after his job.

Is he?

Who knows?

But there's no love lost.

I've asked for his records from Long Hampton and Finisham.

What about other members of staff?

The porter, Capper, he was on duty for most of the deaths.

Um, the nurses...

It's a changing roster, so all of them have access to the ward.

Patients?

The only long term one is Burt Talbot.

He was present for four of the deaths in bed ten.

(sighs) Where were you yesterday?

I had things to do.

Family or...?

Well, if you need an ear, or more time off...?

No, no, no.

I'm fine, thank you.

It's done now.

Keep me posted.

Wrong office.

Is that Mrs. Robson?

The jeweler's wife.

Naomi.

You were married.

She left me for Robson.

And Bakewell was in the gang that left her paralyzed.

You think I'd do something to him over a woman who's walked out on me?

Yes I do, if you're still in love with her.

Suppose you think that's pathetic.

I didn't do anything to Bakewell.

Where were you last night?

Finished my shift here, got home at 11:00.

Right, anyone vouch for you?

Now you're just trying to be funny.

Can anyone vouch for you?

Slight change of scenery for you, Mr.

Bright.

Bed ten, please, Capper.

Right you are, Sister.

I was quite happy where I was.

Dr. Powell's orders.

There you go, Mr.

Bright.

He'll be by later to discuss your X-rays.

Did they talk to you?

Not that I could tell them much.

I mean, I just found him.

But Dean says they've been in and out of everything.

Ho ho, Dean is it now?

I think Dr. Powell would be appropriate.

I think after last night, I can call him what I like.

Hm!

You're wasting your breath.

She's a big girl.

But you know what his reputation's like.

And they do talk.

Doctors.

She doesn't want to be just another notch on the bedpost.

We nurses need to look out for each other.

I don't get it at all.

Give them a white coat and a stethoscope, and we're expected to fall at their feet?

(parrot squawks) Evening.

(parrot squawks) Some food for you.

(squawks) It bears the hospital letterhead, but we've no Dr. Keenan here.

Nor have we in the 20 years I've been here.

Well, whoever sent it seems to have a good knowledge of Mrs. Zacharides' dispute with the hospital.

As may be.

But it did not come from within Cowley General.

You all right, sir?

It's nothing.

Overwork.

I'm due a holiday.

Your hands would shake too if you had my lists.

So, someone claiming to be from the hospital makes a bogus appointment with Mrs. Zacharides, and does her in.

Presumably to stop her from digging in to what happened to her husband.

Her bureau was in a mess, didn't you say?

Maybe the killer was looking for the letter in order to cover their tracks.

MAX: Ah, gentlemen.

Sergeant Strange said you were on the premises.

Do you have a moment?

I believe it will be to your advantage.

MAX: The late Mr. Bakewell.

As you know from my previous examination, there was nothing to suggest anything untoward in the manner of his decease.

However, when I looked again, I found... Ah, do you see?

A very tiny wound, on his right buttock.

Yeah, that's not much bigger than a pinprick.

Actually, the prick of a hypodermic needle.

Nothing unusual in that, perhaps.

Mr. Bakewell died in a hospital, after all.

So, I checked his records.

Mr. Bakewell only received oral analgesic.

No injections?

So somebody stuck him with something.

Any idea what?

There's nothing shown up on his blood toxicology.

However, I'm going to take a sample from around this area.

Might shed some light.

What about Mrs. Zacharides?

Been collected by the undertakers.

I've spoken to them.

Her body's already been embalmed.

But there was another one... Um, down in bed ten earlier this week?

Mister...?

Oh, Mr. Greely.

Yes.

Yes, it's the same there, I'm afraid.

So we've no way to make a comparison?

Well, there might be.

MAX: Good morning, gentlemen.

Now, which one's this?

Arthur Carpenter.

Died in July.

Unembalmed.

Anything further on your examination of Bakewell?

Markedly high levels of insulin in the tissue surrounding the injection site.

STRANGE: How come that wasn't found at post-mortem?

Because insulin disappears from the blood after death.

Now we don't fully understand the mechanism whereby hypoglycemia brings on death, but the latest thinking is a fall in glucose levels causes a massive release of adrenaline, which triggers an electrical disturbance in the heart.

STRANGE: Looks like we're there.

STRANGE: Crikey, he's ripe.

Oh.

Yeah, left buttock.

Minute puncture wound.

Same as Bakewell.

(sighs) How'd it go?

You wouldn't have enjoyed it.

But he appears to have been another victim according to Dr. deBryn.

Anything on Powell?

Well, there's nothing from Finisham.

But he seems to have left Long Hampton under something of a cloud.

There was a death on the children's ward 15 years ago.

Where's this?

It's in Warwickshire.

An 11-year-old girl.

Molly Keenan.

The letter to Mrs. Zacharides was signed M. Keenan, wasn't it?

Now the parents tried to bring the case for negligence against Dr. Powell, but he was cleared on the evidence of a young nurse, Clodagh MacMahon.

Sister MacMahon?

THURSDAY: Dr. Powell?

Can you tell us about Molly Keenan?

What?

Molly Keenan, Dr. Powell.

11-year-old girl at Long Hampton Hospital, died in your care.

I was-I was cleared of any involvement.

Hm, from the testimony of Sister MacMahon.

Insulin overdose, wasn't it?

Administered by you.

Administered by me, yes.

But the syringe had been prepared in error by a student nurse.

MORSE: Student nurse Ruby Hiscutt.

Who later killed herself by the same means.

THURSDAY: In the six months since your tenure, there have been upward of a dozen deaths on Fosdick Ward, several of whom we can now prove died from hypoglycemic shock.

All of them your patients.

So what?

I'm-I'm responsible?

I think we should continue this down the station.

DAISY: Dean!

Dean!

Where are you taking him?

He didn't do anything!

THURSDAY: It's all right, Miss.

He's just helping us with our inquiries.

MacMAHON: Nurse Bennett!

About your business.

You did this!

You...

Evil old cow.

That's what they think!

That's what everybody calls you behind your back.

An evil old cow.

Oy, oh!

It's all right, Daisy.

She didn't mean it.

Get her out of here.

Take a look around his office.

See if you can dig anything else up there.

And try his flat.

I'll see you back at the nick.

(knocking) Why would Nurse Bennett think our arresting Dr. Powell was your fault?

Who knows?

The girl's head is full of fancies.

Is there anything between them?

I'm sure I don't know.

You were with him at Long Hampton, yes?

Only very briefly.

But it was your testimony that cleared him in the case of Molly Keenan.

I didn't "clear" him.

He was innocent.

It was a young student nurse was to blame.

He wasn't guilty then, and I can't believe he's guilty now.

Can't or won't?

I believe you know the stroke case on Fosdick Ward.

Mr. Bryce-Morgan?

Yes.

Why, what about him?

He died.

Twenty minutes ago.

I thought you'd want to know.

Caroline?

I'm so, so sorry.

Are you?

Yes, of course.

Edgar was always very decent to me.

Well, he always had a weakness for failures.

The assistant chief constable was a golfing friend of Edgar's.

I asked him about you.

And he said that you'll never amount to much.

You didn't even pass your sergeant's exam.

You see, I was right about you, even then.

When you speak to Susan, then please just give her my condolences.

And your love.

No.

No.

Look whatever you may think of me, I am truly sorry that he is dead.

Can you explain why Mrs. Zacharides would receive a letter from the hospital signed M. Keenan?

No.

Look, I haven't killed anyone.

They were all your patients, Dr. Powell.

If anyone's killing patients in that hospital, it's Sir Merlyn.

Is this his idea, hm?

Blame me for his mistakes, is that it?

What mistakes?

You seen his hands?

The last six months, he's developed a tremor.

THURSDAY: Drinks, does he?

Oh, I'm sure he does.

But that... is either motor neuron disease or he's medicating himself for Parkinson's.

Either way, he shouldn't be within 20 feet of a scalpel.

How's Nurse Bennett?

She'll be fine.

Is there's something between her and Dr. Powell?

It happens.

It's not Daisy's fault.

It's no fault in love, surely.

Provided nobody else gets hurt.

Has somebody been hurt?

Not in this instance, no.

He even tried it on with me.

Dr. Powell did?

You weren't interested?

You can't rely on a man like that.

It's what's inside that counts, isn't it?

Always.

MORSE: I found this in Powell's office.

THURSDAY: Mr. Zacharides' tie pin?

It matches the description his daughter gave.

Souvenir or...?

I also found these at his flat.

On top of the wardrobe.

He was involved with Sister MacMahon when he was a houseman at Long Hampton.

He's kept some of her love letters-- together with some clippings about the Keenan case.

You think that's a bearing?

It's worth considering.

He's now seeing that student nurse, Daisy Bennett.

Can't have been easy for Sister MacMahon knowing that.

What about this?

Brace him for round two.

See if there's anything else in there we can put to him.

(distant coughing) He's sleeping.

(whispering): Probably for the best.

I've told you already, it's not mine.

No, doctor.

It belonged to Mr. Zacharides.

Have you any explanation how it came to be found in your office?

(footsteps approaching) Someone must have put it there.

(whispering) Why wasn't Sister MacMahon on the ward the night Molly Keenan died?

What?

You heard.

A young girl gave evidence to the inquest.

Molly Keenan's cousin, Jo-Beth Keenan.

When she realized her cousin was gravely ill, as a result of the insulin that you gave her, she called the night bell for assistance, only nobody came.

Why?

Why didn't you respond, doctor?

Was it because you and Nurse MacMahon had other more pressing things on your mind?

That's because, cause Clodagh switched it off.

It was just half an hour.

It might only have been half an hour, but that was long enough for Molly Keenan to die of hypoglycemia.

I made a-a terrible, terrible mistake.

And a child died.

And it will... it will never be enough to make it right, but God knows I have paid for that.

STRANGE: You paid for nothing.

You passed the buck to an innocent student nurse.

She killed herself.

That's two deaths on your head, doctor.

We couldn't have known she'd do that.

THURSDAY: "We"?

You mean you and Clodagh?

You probably don't remember Molly Keenan's cousin at all, do you?

The young girl who rang the bell for help, but nobody came.

No.

No.

Well, she remembers you.

Both of you.

Has Mr.

Bright had an injection?

No.

No, not while I've been here.

Everything all right, Sister?

Quite all right.

(door opens) (knocking) Excuse me, Miss.

We're looking for Nurse Mills.

Jo's on night shift.

Well, she's not on the ward.

Have you checked the chapel?

(door slams) It's you.

Dr. Powell's not coming back.

You can't cover up for him this time.

It's all going to come out now.

All of it.

How the... how the pair of you left a child to die, and you... you protected him.

Why?

I loved him.

How can you go on living knowing what you've done?

If it were me, I'd...

I'd kill myself.

(grunting) (grunting) (panting) THURSDAY: Break it down.

(grunting) (panting) Get her out of here.

Come on, Sister.

STRANGE: Let's go.

Don't.

All right.

All right.

Oh, uh... (whispering): Ten victims for bed ten.

That was Molly's bed, was it, bed ten?

Measles, we were in for.

When Molly started to get sick, I rang on the bell.

It rang and it rang, but nobody came.

(heavy breathing) (door opens, closes) By the time I got them back onto the ward, it was too late for Molly.

She was my cousin.

And the truth is I forgot about them.

I forgot, but I never forgave them.

And then fate delivered them into your hands.

They had to pay.

Molly was a child, and they took away her future.

And what about Mrs. Zacharides?

Her husband was the first.

Only she wouldn't leave it alone.

You see it was... it was too early.

I needed to have more people to lay at Powell's door, otherwise they could have brushed under the carpet, the way they did with Molly.

So you... so you wrote the letter... pretending to be from the hospital, went to the house, and then, when the opportunity arose, you killed her.

(dishware shattering) Evil old cow!

PARROT: Evil old cow!

THURSDAY: You killed all those people, just to frame Dr. Powell?

They were sick already!

It was a-a kindness.

Mrs. Zacharides wasn't ill. Was she?

Just inconvenient.

(gasps) You said there were ten, I can only count nine.

Who's the tenth?

Who is it?!

(sobbing): I didn't know you were going to arrest Dr. Powell.

I thought if a policeman died, you'd... you'd have to take notice.

(sobbing) Mr.

Bright.

Sir.

Sir.

Sir!

There's insulin in the saline.

I'll fetch a doctor.

Stay awake, sir!

You've got to stay awake, sir!

Stay awake!

(sobbing) Nick of time, according to Dr. deBryn.

Much more of it, he'd have been a goner.

We're lucky she came clean.

Why did she, do you think?

Maybe she needed to prove to herself she wasn't wholly lost.

Well... She'll never breathe free air again.

Nor should she.

People shouldn't get away with things.

She had that right, at least.

That's our business.

Nobody else's.

Hell of a price to pay.

It was the dead that paid the price.

Not her.

Hell of a responsibility though.

The power of life and death.

Well, you've power over ham and tomato.

(chuckles) I don't even know what I've stuck in it today.

Tell me to mind my own business, sir, but is everything all right?

With Mrs. Thursday?

Nothing that Joan walking through the door wouldn't put right.

She misses her, that's all.

Suppose we all do.

You think she'll come back?

...on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread; and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever.

Amen.

(click) Next time on Masterpiece Mystery!

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An eye for an eye.

Girl trouble?

MORSE: I haven't got a girl.

Maybe that's the trouble.

You are going on a journey.

Death waits at the end.

Endeavour, the season finale, next time on Masterpiece Mystery!

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