There comes a time when one must take a good hard look at one’s priorities. Why, for instance, have I thus far never recapped Endeavour, despite being more than a little obsessed with the show? Alas, this mystery will have to remain unsolved, since I can’t call upon our pals at the Thames Valley station for assistance. That being said, we’re here now, so let’s crack on: season eight opens, as Endeavour episodes are wont to do, with sweeping music, and a string of moments that will undoubtedly make me yell “oh, THAT’S what that meant!” later.
A pivotal football match is underway despite heavy rain. Elsewhere, two men stand around a flaming trashcan and enjoy the night air while divvying up some possible stolen money. And from the darkness behind them, a certain fedora-wearing shadow interrupts their fun. Not content to just let Fred Thursday take them in, the men fight back, but thankfully Fred gives as good as he gets. On the pitch, the crowd waits with bated breath for one of the players to take a penalty kick. It’s good! The crowd goes wild! The game is tied! But all is not well: a shady man takes that very moment to call in a threat: if that very star player, Swift, plays in the upcoming game, he’ll be shot.
Hey, remember how last season Morse was supposed to transfer to another station? Well it seems like he didn’t go anywhere after all, because the man in question appears to be sleeping off a hangover on his couch. Meanwhile, Fred, who apparently is totally fine after his altercation last night, waits around by the window for his ride to work. Bad news, Fred: I think you might be out of luck.
Across town, we get to the probable meat of the episode; a young academic is arguing with the head of the college about their funding source.
Scholar Do-Right: Look, we shouldn’t be taking cash from a company with blood on its proverbial hands!
Dr. Stuffed Shirt: Morals change, it’s no big deal!
Except it very much may be a big deal, because inside the university in a room just above the quad where this enlightened conversation is taking place, a young secretary opens a package from an unknown sender which then proceeds to explode, taking her and a chunk of wall with it. That, or rather the phone call that follows, is enough to wake up our sleeping detective, and after a brief pause, one Endeavour Morse strides onto the quad looking distinctly rumpled.
Inside, Fred explains that so far there’s one death (the secretary, Margaret, who opened the package) and one injured.
Dr. DeBryn: Tiny silver lining is that the victim had no idea what hit her; she died pretty much instantly. Based on the size I think we’re looking for a package bomb; forensics can look at what’s left of it, but it’s going to take a long time. Cause of death is pretty obvious but I’ll see you guys at 2. Oh, hey Strange, good to have you back.
It is indeed. It’s not every day one of our faves gets STABBED and lives to tell the tale.
Fred: So… what do we think? The Angry Brigade?
Strange: They did catch a guy trying to blow up the employment minister’s place last week.
Morse: Yeah, but they had some statement about attacking property, not people, so this feels out of line.
Fred: Well whoever did this meant to take out the head of the college, so let’s go talk to that guy.
First, a note on the Angry Brigade just in case you, like me, are not totally up to date on your 1970s British radicals. These guys were pretty much what it says on the tin: far left radicals who were responsible for a series of small bomb attacks in the 70s. Unlike our fictional bomber, they didn't kill or seriously injure anyone.
Dr. Stuffed Shirt, naturally, can’t imagine why anyone would want to blow him up, and feels pretty bad about what happened to Margaret. Morse, ever observant, asks him if it couldn’t be related to the whole blood money conversation from about 5 paragraphs back. It turns out that a guy who made a lot of his cash selling arms during the American civil war donated a bunch of money for a science chair, possibly to balance out his cosmic credit. This is pretty par for the course with university funding, but that same guy’s company now makes Napalm and Agent Orange, which as I think we all know are categorically pretty evil.
Fred: Given all that, a particularly militant person might think violence is warranted in this case.
It’s certainly possible! Outside, as they leave, Morse points out that it’s a little weird that this package was delivered during a postal strike.
Fred: Yeah, but there are some private firms doing deliveries to pick up the slack. We’ll have Strange follow that up.
Morse: I can do it!
Fred: Yeah buddy, I know, but Mr. Bright has a different assignment in mind for you. What do you know about football?
Here’s my guess:
Back at the station, it transpires that Mr. Bright isn’t back from a meeting yet, but our favorite journalist Ms. Frazil has arrived, and she’s lurking in Fred’s office. As always, she’s willing to help out, but not thrilled about sitting on a scoop. Apparently, that creepy threatening phone call from the top of the episode went to her paper, and she’s partly here to tell our friends what she knows about it: mostly, that the caller was Irish and had an Ulster accent. They’ve traced the call to a public phone.
Morse, proving me right: Could just be a prank? Someone who doesn’t want the team to play against…?
Fred: OMG, Morse, this is general knowledge.
Morse: Whatever man, I solve most of my cases with opera nerdery so… scoreboard. Anyway, what I mean is, maybe they’re just trying to keep the other team’s star player off the field!
Fred: Could be, except there was an issue when he first joined the team; Swift was getting death threats, right?
Frazil: Yeah, there was a lot of “people like him shouldn’t be playing for an English football club.”
Morse: Wait, I don’t get it, don’t Irish footballers play for English clubs all the time now?
Frazil: Oh, Morse, you sweet nerd: yes, Northern Irish players do play for English clubs, but the rest of them aren’t Black.
Morse: Oh. OH. So it’s a racism thing, I see.
Strange, wandering in: I feel like the club supporters are over that now though? He’s almost single-handedly causing their winning streak.
Me, rolling my eyes very hard: Ah, yes, people do usually get rid of deeply held racial bias after one winning season of soccer.
Frazil: Any chance there’s a connection between the threat and the bomb you guys saw earlier?
Strange: Wait, you think the Irish are involved? Over here?
Fred: I don’t know they’d do something that big.
Frazil: A death threat is also pretty big.
Morse: Yeah, assuming it’s real. And I’m not sure it is.
Wow, I have some very bad news for you all about the next couple decades. Anyway, lucky for our threatened footballer Jack Swift (great name, Endeavour writers, I see you), Mr. Bright isn’t taking chances: Swift is to have round the clock surveillance until after the match.
Morse: Point of clarification: why am I in charge of this? I don’t like or understand football.
Mr. Bright: Yeah buddy, exactly: we can’t have someone who’s going to go full fangirl about this thing. You’ll be able to keep your eye on the ball, pun VERY much intended.
Naturally, Morse isn’t thrilled. Why is he wasting his time when he could be figuring out who blew up his old school?
Well I guess that explains why he’s got an extra bee in his bonnet about this case, huh? Either way, our pal decides to at least try to follow the rules this time, which I’m sure will last for about 5 minutes of TV time, and makes his way to the football pitch where Swift and the rest of his team warm up. After, in the locker room, Swift makes it clear that he’s even more skeptical than Morse: it’s probably nothing! Who cares!?
Morse, inside: NOT ME.
Morse, out loud, like a good boy: Well, it might be nothing, but I’m going to make sure it stays that way. Either myself or someone else on our staff will be following you until the match is done.
Swift: UGH SERIOUSLY?
Coach: Yes, seriously. We’re not taking a gamble with our star.
Swift: Well I’m talking to the club president when I see him at the fitting for his fashion show later. I’m not scared!
Coach: We’re not saying that, we just don’t want you to get shot.
Morse: Could you not just miss the match?
Coach and Swift:
Swift: Look, it’s a big deal for the club financially. Also, if I give in to these demands they’ll only get worse.
Fair enough! Back at the station, Bright and Fred have a gossip session, starting with talk about the brewing Troubles in Northern Ireland, where Fred’s son is posted.
Bright: So… what’s the situation over there?
Fred: Hard to tell? Kid writes home once a week, but with the strike we don’t hear as often.
Bright: And Morse?
Fred: He’s the same as always? You know how bad last year was… for all of us. He’s maybe a bit less full of himself, but a bit of doubt can be good.
Bright: Well, that happens to everyone eventually. There’s some things you just can’t recover from.
Kind of like how I still haven’t recovered from the pathos of Anton Lesser’s performance last season. It turns out everyone has a character arc, even those of us who are just watching at home! Back at the pitch, Morse escorts Swift home and asks him if he’s noticed anyone following him.
Swift: Look, it’s silly, but last week I was in a taxi and I thought I saw someone I knew from home… this guy named George I used to play football with back in the day. He married our neighbor’s daughter. Anyway, I made the driver loop around, but he was gone when we got back.
Morse: You think it was him?
Swift: Looked JUST like him, but I can’t imagine George would be in town and not call. I probably just got confused, but you did ask if anything weird had happened.
And as they drive away, both pretty convinced this whole threat is a pile of BS, a mysterious man in a leather jacket walks into frame and watches them go. Ominous! And speaking of ominous, back at the station, Strange interrupts Fred’s brooding time to tell him that the lab has concluded that the bomb was wrapped in plain brown paper and set on a timer. Nothing notable about it, other than the obvious.
Fred: Well, that actually does help narrow it down.
Strange: Yeah. And I talked to the private mail delivery services: none of them had a parcel like that for the college.
Fred: So he probably delivered it himself. Any leads on radical types?
Strange: Bro, this is a college town, we’re lousy with ‘em.
Fred: Yeah, but can’t really picture any of them with a bomb.
Strange: So… back to the Angry Brigade?
Fred: Maybe it’s something personal. Get your coat, we’re heading out on the town.
Meanwhile, Morse drives Swift to the fancy hotel and pop into a fashion show rehearsal, where Swift is greeted enthusiastically by the designer. Morse? Not so much, but hard to argue when he’s being such a morose grump! Fun fact: Designer is also the chairman for the Oxford Wanderers, the football club that Swift plays for.
Morse: So apparently Swift is meant to attend some show tonight?
Designer: Uh, yeah… it’s kind of a big deal!
Morse: Yeah, death threats are also kind of a big deal, so… I’ll need a list of everyone attending.
Designer’s fabulous wife Cecily: No one’s going to mess with him in public! Especially if you’re here, right?
Designer, hard pivoting: Uh, Cecily, go get Swift to try on his outfit for the evening, ok?
She does just that, leaving Morse to hold Swift’s coat and look awkward, which it must be said is kind of his whole deal. Across town, Fred and Strange talk to the other bombing victim, the secretary who lived. She explains that she’d gotten into the office early, but had still been preceded by Margaret, which seems like it might be relevant later. The Secretary Who Lived also explains that she’d seen that the package was addressed to their boss Dr. Stuffed Shirt, but that his name had been misspelled.
Strange: Any interpersonal conflict in the office?
The Secretary Who Lived: Margaret and I got on great. She did get a talking to from Dr. Stuffed Shirt for coming in late sometimes… what a silly thing to be disciplined about in the scheme of things!
As they leave, Fred asks Strange to look up Margaret’s sister Frida, just in case she knows something relevant. And across town, Morse continues his babysitting duties, this time back at the football pitch, where Swift and one of the players from the opposing team are doing paid promotion for a bicycle called The Striker.
In the press pool, our buddy Frazil doesn’t hesitate to ask the hard questions: how does Swift’s rival, who’s real name is Martinelli but who I will for obvious reasons be calling Sparkling Cider, feel about being referred to as the next Jack Swift? And what does Sparkling Cider think will happen at the match?
Sparkling Cider: Well, obviously it’s a lot: I’ve looked up to Swift since I was a kid! As for the match, The Wanderers have the home field advantage, but we’re going to give it our all! That’s the magic of a final match: anything can happen!
Despite the nice things Sparkling Cider just said about him, Swift only rolls his eyes and then legs it out of there at the earliest opportunity. While they follow at a more reasonable pace, Frazil asks Morse how his assignment here is going.
Morse: Oh, I’m having a great time. Just gonna hang in and keep him alive… assuming the threat is even real.
Frazil: Are you ok btw? You look kinda sick.
Morse: Yeah, I’m fine! Anyway, do you know Swift?
Frazil: Yeah, he’s perfectly nice. But their agent sucks. And yes, I said “their”: the same guy reps both of those dudes. They play for opposing teams, but word is that Sparkling Cider is trying to transfer, and the Wanderers might pick him up.
Morse: They already have Swift though?
Frazil, possibly not just talking about football: All the mighty must eventually fall and be replaced by the next big thing. Have fun with this assignment!
Again, OMINOUS! Outside the locker rooms, Morse lurks around waiting for Swift, and happens to duck into the laundry room just in time to hear a conversation not meant for his ears: the Wanderer’s coach and the aforementioned agent debating which of them will “tell him.” They ultimately decide to wait until after the game, adding another measure of pressure to the already fraught situation. Speaking of fraught, inside the locker room, Swift and Sparkling Cider have a kind of weird conversation. Swift gives the younger player some advice on staying connected to home when you’re playing in England, and agrees to introduce Sparkling Cider to a pretty girl.
Sparkling Cider: Thanks! Anyway, see you tonight. I mean, tomorrow… at the game!
Me and Endeavour Morse:
While Morse is getting confused by footballers, Strange meets up with none other than Joan Thursday, who’s watching a bunch of kids as part of her job with the welfare office.
Strange: Hey, do you know a lady called Frida? I’m trying to reach her for this case… her sister’s been killed.
Joan: Wait, Maggie? I know her, she visited Frida a few times! What happened?
Yikes, what a bummer of a way for Joan to return to our screens! She brings Strange in to talk to Frida, who’s understandably completely distraught. She explains that she just saw her sister the previous week; Margaret had visited to drop off some of the kids’ stuff. Frida, it turns out, had to leave her marriage very quickly, so some of the family’s things were left behind.
Strange: And she seemed alright? No issues?
Frida, breaking down: I was going to be her maid of honor! Poor Maggie!
Well, as murder suspects go, a probably abusive ex who’s lashing out at his family through a sister-in-law does seem like a likely start. But also, the maid of honor thing implies that Margaret had a fiance, a person we haven’t yet encountered. Fred, who’s searching Margaret’s home, finds an in-use typewriter with a long essay on it and a valentine’s day card, so he might have some luck tracking down the fiance. Meanwhile, Strange leaves Frida with Joan, and tells her to give him a call if she needs anything. He also asks Joan if she’d go to a dinner dance with him!
Joan: What, did your date cancel?
Strange: You’re the first person I’ve asked. Look, we’re expected to bring someone, and I don’t have a girlfriend: you’d be doing me a favor! And it’s for a good cause. I’ll hire a car, pick you up at 7, and have you home by midnight.
Joan: I’m not Cinderella, but you know what, sure.
Strange: Seriously? Ok awesome! I’ll call you and tell you the date. Thank you!
Well, well, well. This won’t be awkward around the proverbial water cooler at all! Back at the pitch, Morse chats to Agent, who emphasizes how important it is to keep an eye on Swift.
Morse: So… you manage both those guys right? Is it a good line of work?
Agent: Let’s just say that when we put Swift’s name on some cleats they sold over half a million in the first season.
Not too shabby! As Swift prepares to leave the pitch, he tries to get out of the fashion show, but without success: Agent is dead set on it, and insists Swift has to attend before ducking out to take a phone call.
Swift: He’s not that bad. He’s keeping an eye out for me.
Morse: Sure, but with all these money-making hustles it’s surprising you have any time to play! Hey, who’s that guy lurking across the pitch btw?
Swift: Huh, no clue? Not groundskeeping staff. Maybe press?
Reader, I’m fairly sure it’s the same leather-clad mystery fella we saw earlier! But despite the fact that that seems rather concerning to ME, everyone proceeds with business as usual. Mid-fashion show, Morse, annoyed, ducks out to call into the station, and while he’s dialing, he hears a passing stranger say “I’ll get him at the end of the show.” He drops the phone and follows the man, but loses him to an elevator. Even worse, when he does finally get through, Fred’s skeptical: didn’t the threat say this was an after the match kind of thing?
Morse: Look, that call came from the hotel too right? I just know they’re here!
Fred: Ok, ok: sit tight.
Back in the fashion show, a VERY frazzled Morse keeps his head on a swivel, increasingly freaked out. The show wraps up, and Designer calls Swift up on stage. As Fred and the calvary come through the doors, a mysterious man heads into the backstage area. Time seems to slow down, and then the man is on the stage. But thankfully, he’s not there to hurt Swift, he’s there as part of This Is Your Life, a documentary reality series where the host surprised famous people and took them through their life stories in front of a crowd.
Morse:
Fred: Dude. You didn’t recognize that guy?
Morse: You know I don’t watch TV!
Fred: He’s super famous! What am I gonna do with you? Well, better safe than sorry, but the uniforms are going to be annoyed.
Morse: Any news on the bombing?
Fred: Outside of the Angry Brigade we aren’t having any luck finding enemies of Dr. Stuffed Shirt OR the college.
Strange: And the victim’s totally clean: her sister has an abusive husband but other than that the family seems fine. Fiance is crushed.
So basically we’re at a dead end. The guys keep filling Morse in while the show unfolds on the stage. First, Swift reunites with two married friends from his hometown, Sarah and George, and then a scout that discovered him. Finally, they bring out “the next Jack Swift” himself, Sparkling Cider, which explains that weird conversation earlier. It’s all very warm and fuzzy, until the afterparty, when Scout and Agent get into a bickering match right in front of Strange. Scout claims he’s in the game for the love of the sport, calls Agent a parasite, and accuses him of ruining both players. Across the room, Designer’s wife Cecily blatantly hits on Sparkling Cider, and then tries to get Morse to fetch her a new drink (it doesn’t work). Sparkling Cider, a polite young lad, heads off to get her a refill, just as Designer joins the chat.
Morse: Are you serious? You should have told me this was happening.
Designer: We were told to keep it secret. I’m glad you’re looking out for him, but by this time tomorrow it’ll all be over!
Morse: No, the threat was IF he plays: he hasn't played yet.
Designer and Cecily, apparently deciding they don’t want to hang out with a debbie downer at this party, leave Morse to stew. Across the room, Sparkling Cider ducks out of the party, unseen. Fred approaches the Wanderers’ Coach, wanting to talk about Coach’s past as a player. And Swift tracks down Morse and says he wants to leave.
Morse: Uh, but what about your family? It’s your party.
Swift: They’re not here for me.
Morse: Ok, whatever you say.
George, Swift’s childhood friend: Can I get ya a drink?
Swift: Oh, uh… not right now.
George: Are you sure? Sarah wants to catch up! I think she just went to the bathroom or something.
Swift: I wish I could stay, but I can’t have a late night — I have a big game tomorrow! You staying to watch?
George: Yeah, we’re all staying here with your mom and sisters.
Swift: Great. We’ll meet up after.
And with that, he makes an exit that lives up to his name. Over at the Thursday residence, Fred gets home pretty late, given the circumstances. Win tells him he just missed a call from their son Sam.
Fred, case still on his mind: Did he say anything about how it is over there? Are the locals behaving?
Me: Fred, come on pal: given the context of English colonialism in Ireland, should they be behaving?
Win: He didn’t say, just a normal check in call.
Fred: Ah, ok. Hey, guess who I met tonight! The host of This Is Your Life!
Win: Woah, fancy! What’s he like?
Fred: Very nice. Shorter than he looks on TV!
They always are, Fred. They always are. Back at the hotel, Swift and Morse chat over some more drinks.
Swift: Sorry I made us leave. I just get sick of the lifestyle sometimes, ya know?
Morse: Yes, I’m sure it’s very hard to deal with all the adulation, cash, and ladies. I’m so sorry for you.
Me: Please do a Freaky Friday situation. Please.
Swift: Dude, I’m serious. It looks great, but everyone wants something from me all the time. All I want is a good relationship; I had one too, but I let her go. She told me I had to pick between her and football… and now they want to kill me for football. Anyway, you have a girlfriend?
Morse: Not at present.
Swift: Want me to make a call? Have some ladies come over?
Morse, clearly thinking about it: Uh… no, no. You have a game tomorrow, I’m on duty. I’ll stick to the crossword.
Probably a good call, given the scene the next morning, which once again finds our friend sleeping off a hangover on a couch. This time, however, he’s awakened by a very angry blonde woman who’s yelling at some unseen lady in the bedroom. The blonde, we can gather, is Swift’s most recent ex, who seems to think she’s not really an ex after all despite having stormed out in a huff some time ago. While they quarrel, Morse answers the doorbell and meets the man who’s taking over guard duty from him; a hulking member of Special Branch named Bill, who I immediately dub Big Bill.
Big Bill: Damn, is that his girlfriend? Nice one. Oh hey, just fyi, the death threat story is out. So basically if the threat wasn’t real before it sure will be now.
Morse: Fantastic. Great. Love it. Swift, this guy’s gonna watch you for the afternoon, I’ll see you tonight. Also, dude, if you’re looking for a good relationship, what’s with the booty call?
Swift: What can I say; I got an early night, and she came over this morning. Breakfast of champions.
Morse, clearly not up to finding a reply for THAT this early, shakes his head and bounces. Meanwhile, Fred and Strange roll up to Dr. Stuffed Shirt’s office, where the man in question is dictating notes. After he finishes his thought, he waves them both in. Fred cuts straight to the point: did Dr. Stuffed Shirt have issues with Margaret’s timekeeping?
Dr. Stuffed Shirt: Yes, I had to give her some tough feedback, but not about timekeeping, about her filing. It was all over the place! Her spelling wasn’t great. But it wasn’t a big deal.
Strange: It might have been to her; she was crying, apparently.
Dr. Stuffed Shirt: Look, I can be a bit intense, but I don’t regularly make my staff cry. Whatever she was upset about, it wasn’t me!
And with that, Fred and Strange depart, watched by Scholar Do-Right, who seems like he might know something. Over at the station, Morse uses his time between guard shifts not to sleep, but to creep around the bombing case like a dog hoping someone will cave and feed him table scraps. Lucky for Morse, Strange arrives in time to give him a juicy piece of case-chicken: they just got back from talking to the head of the college, and as we saw, it wasn’t a fruitful conversation.
Morse: Look, every Oxford head of college has someone who hates them. He’s no exception. Anyway, the bomb: similar to what the Angry Brigade normally does?
Strange: Hard to say. Scotland Yard made an arrest last week and they’re not really willing to share a lot of info.
Morse: Huh. And what’s this?
Strange: Forensics wasn’t sure — traces of wax, clay, and something with pigment.
Fred, entering: Look, I know you two are having fun, but Morse, you have work to do. See you at the game!
Despite being kicked out early, Morse and Swift are still late to the pitch later. Morse blames the crowds, but Coach is not amused, and gives Swift a talking to for his cavalier attitude. While Swift heads off to get ready for the match, Bright, who’s there to keep an eye on things, asks Morse about the party the night before. Was it fun? Fred said it was fun!
Morse: It was fine I guess, I mostly watched Swift.
Bright: Well, he should be ok now, we got so many extra guys approved for this.
Man that feels like a TV jinx, but I sure hope it’s not; I like Swift! Anyway, nothing for it but to get this show on the road, and so the game begins. It’s business as usual (as much as it can be with a bunch of random detectives lurking about) until Swift and Sparkling Cider get into an altercation on the field: all those nice things everyone said last night are obviously quickly forgotten, both teams jumping in to help their fellows. Tensions are high on the pitch, and once again Swift squares up for a penalty kick, which he sinks, winning the game. Fans rush the pitch, and as the teams head into their dressing rooms, Morse looks around for Swift. Coach says Swift left in front of him, and is now in the shower, and tells Morse to just hang tight: he’ll bring Swift up to the club room when he’s cleaned up.
In the club room, everyone’s relaxing and enjoying champagne. Everyone, that is, except for Morse, who’s starting to wonder what’s taking Swift so long. Designer tells him not to worry; the guys are just enjoying some bro time in the shower and planning out which of the ladies they’ll bed later. Charming. Designer also introduces Morse to the contractor who sponsored last night’s fashion show, and is now here to, presumably, have his wheels greased with the excitement of sporting victory. Morse is, as you can imagine, less than amused.
Downstairs, Swift’s friend George waylays Scout, who’s looking for Swift. Now, apparently, isn’t a good time: their mutual friend is busy chatting to Agent, and still wearing his uniform. George tells Scout that Swift will find them at the bar, and both men head back upstairs, where Morse has just run into Coach.
Morse: Where’s Swift? You said you’d bring him up.
Coach, looking a bit alarmed: I thought he’d gone on ahead of me.
Morse, actually worried: Nope. Bye.
He runs downstairs, but it’s too late: he finds Blonde Girlfriend from earlier sobbing hysterically in the locker room, and, following her gestures, Morse runs into the training room where he finds a body floating in the ice bath, very obviously dead. But when he pulls the man out of the bath and turns him over, it’s not Swift, as we’d expect: it’s Sparkling Cider.
Things move in an orderly fashion from there. Dr. DeBryn arrives and tells the assembled detectives that while cause of death appears to be drowning, there’s also a large wound on the back of his head.
Bright: Could this have been an accident?
Dr. DeBryn: Unsure. But it seems more likely that he got whacked on the back of the head, fell into the bath, and then drowned. I found this bottle of champagne in the bath; might be the weapon. It’s the right size and shape.
Bright: Isn’t this Swift’s jersey?
Fred: Yeah. That’s why the girlfriend, and probably most of the folks watching at home, thought it was Swift.
Bright: Then it’s possible that whoever did this made the same mistake. Look, if it was steamy in here, it’d be hard to see, and if you attacked from behind…
Morse: But I thought the message said Swift would be shot.
Strange: We searched everyone who came into the match for weapons. Whoever did this might have needed to improvise.
Bright: But back to the jersey: why?
Strange: The players do it sometimes; it’s like a respect thing.
They quickly establish that whoever did this couldn’t have been a fan; it had to be someone partying in the club room. Most of the players already left, including Swift himself, who they haven’t been able to track down. Could he have done this? Sure, he and Sparkling Cider got into a fight on the field, but they were perfectly civil to each other off the pitch! Strange points out that if they swapped shirts, that basically means they’d made up for the fight, so they decide Swift is probably not a suspect, but still needs to be found ASAP, given the whole death threat thing. Bright heads out to make a report up the ladder, and Fred assigns Strange to follow up with everyone upstairs. Meanwhile, he and Morse set out to talk to Blonde Girlfriend, who confirms what they already suspected: she thought she’d found her boyfriend dead.
Next, Morse starts rummaging through the players things, while Fred asks the big question: why did someone randomly kill Sparkling Cider? And why now?
Morse: Might have been a heat of the moment thing? Anyway, I don’t think it was someone who wanted to kill Swift making a mistake; they didn’t look that alike, even from behind. And any assassin would want to be very sure of their target, right?
Hard to disagree! Upstairs, Designer and Cecily talk to Strange. She’s in shock, and hasn’t left the club room, but Designer did briefly leave to go to the bathroom, where he chatted for a while with Agent. He also tries to suggest he couldn’t possibly have done a murder, because he’s a fashion designer, which if anything only makes me MORE suspicious. Morse and Fred talk to Scout, who tells them about trying to speak with Swift but leaving when he saw that the man in question was having an argument with Agent. He confirms that he only saw the man from behind, and so when the detectives explain that he actually saw Sparkling Cider, Scout puts two and two together. Interestingly, he’s even more upset when he realizes who’s actually dead: to his mind, Sparkling Cider had more potential than even Swift.
Upstairs, Strange moves on to George, who echoes Scout’s story, with the additional info that Scout popped into the bathroom on their way back up. And speaking of Scout, at that very moment he barges into the room and accuses Agent of the murder.
Scout: I saw you talking to him! I thought it was Swift, but it was Sparkling Cider. What, would he not go along with your weird plan?
Coach: Shhhh, be cool.
Fred: Uh, don’t be cool; explain.
Scout, lunging at Coach and Agent: They’re all in on it! I’ll kill you!
After our detective friends peel him out of the fray, they sit Scout down and get the dirt. It turns out that young Sparkling Cider had called him recently to ask for advice: Agent was apparently pushing Sparkling Cider to throw the match on behalf of some kind of betting ring. Naturally, Agent denies the accusation. Morse and Fred also ask Coach, with the added pressure of the conversation Morse overheard earlier, when Agent and Coach discussed “telling him” something.
Coach: It’s got nothing to do with this murder!
Fred: We’ll make that call, thanks. Go on, explain.
Coach, reluctant: We were talking about transferring Swift to another team. He’s starting to decline!
And with that, we’re once again meditating on the cyclical nature of life, and the fact that there’s always someone coming down the pike to replace you. Cheerful! Speaking of cheerful, Swift is awfully chipper when Morse and Fred roll up to his place later that night, despite the doom and gloom vibes they bring with them.
Morse: Where did you go?
Swift: I punked out; couldn’t face the crowd! Don’t be cross, it’s no big deal! Have a drink!
Fred: We can’t protect you this way!
Swift: But surely we don't have to worry about that anymore; the match is over!
Fred: Where’d you go?
Swift: Here. Alone. Why?
Fred: Seemed like a rough fight with Sparkling Cider.
Swift: That’s the game! We made up as soon as the match ended, swapped shirts, and then the fans got on the pitch so we ran off. Tried to find him after to make sure he was ok, and not too mauled by the fans for missing that kick. Why?
Morse: He’s dead. We found him earlier in the locker room.
Swift, to his credit, pretty much crumbles with remorse and an appropriate amount of fear. What happened? Did someone think Sparkling Cider was him? Was he shot? Fred explains that they’re not sure about the mistaken identity, but they do think it was murder. He also asks Swift if he knew anything about Agent fixing games. Swift brushes it off, but I’m not sure I buy it, and neither do our detective friends. But before they can push, Blonde Girlfriend walks in and makes a beeline for her reunion with Swift. With that, Fred heads out, leaving Morse on duty overnight until Big Bill spells him the next morning. As they swap places, Big Bill makes a crack about how he thinks the threats are fake, but Morse, as usual apparently enjoying being oppositional, is pretty sure they’re real.
Again, instead of heading home, he goes to the station, where he loops Strange and Fred in on a theory: why would you misspell the name of someone you hate enough to blow up?
Fred: Could be someone smart pretending not to be?
Morse: Yeah, and anyone like that would know that Dr. Stuffed Shirt wouldn’t open his own mail. What about the Valentine's card?
Fred: The one at her house? I took it into evidence.
Morse: No, the one at the scene.
Strange: Maybe she just has two admirers.
Morse: Maybe, but regardless, it’d be nice to know who the guy is!
Indeed. Meanwhile, at the college, Dr. Stuffed Shirt dictates a reply to a letter, apparently repeating an earlier response that sounds like it’s about the money issue. And at the station, Morse and Fred head out for the day. Fred, to go place some bets on the football matches, and Morse to keep picking at clues on the bombing instead of taking Fred’s suggestion that he take a nap in preparation for spending the night protecting Swift.
Rummaging around Margaret’s flat, Morse zeroes in on the valentines card on her desk, and then notes a manuscript on the table. It’s a marxist treatise written by a student at the college where Margaret worked as a secretary… Scholar Do-Right, perhaps? Next, Morse questions Margaret’s fiance: did he give her a valentine’s card? Yes — he dropped it off at her apartment after he got back from working over the weekend.
Morse: And how did she seem?
Fiance: Excited. She’d just come into some cash, or was about to — her great aunt was very ill, and Margaret had always been her favorite, so she assumed she’d get an inheritance. She thought we’d have enough to put a deposit on a flat. She was excited about that because her place had been robbed the week before.
Morse: Did she report it?
Fiance: To the cops? Nah dude. I told her to, but she didn’t think it’d help.
The. Plot. Thickens. Morse next turns his sights, again, to Dr. Stuffed Shirt, asking if the man knew anything about his employee’s personal life. Not particularly, apparently, but he did know she was engaged because the other secretary mentioned it.
Morse: My read is that she normally wouldn’t have been in the office at the time the bomb went off. Is that right?
Dr. Stuffed Shirt: Yes, and I feel bad about it; I wish I hadn’t lectured her about getting in early.
Understandable, given the circumstances. Making his way into the office, Morse finds an envelope addressed to Margaret on the floor under the debris-covered desk. Next, he heads across the quad to talk to Scholar Do-Right: was Margaret typing something for him?
Scholar Do-Right: Yeah, my thesis.
Morse: We found a valentine’s card on her desk from you as well, with some random numbers on it?
Scholar Do-Right: She always did the crossword.
Morse: Ah, so the numbers correspond to answers… you were saying “I love you”? Did she know how you felt about her?
Scholar Do-Right: Oh, definitely not.
Morse: Did you know she was engaged?
Scholar Do-Right: Yeah, I saw the ring, but one can always hope.
Morse: When did you leave the card?
Scholar Do-Right: Super early in the morning. I got in through this garden, actually — that gate connects to the laneway, and the lock is pretty easy to pick. It was actually already open when I got here; I almost got caught by Dr. Stuffed Shirt. At least, I think it was him? The lights were on in his rooms and someone came out from that exit, so I just assumed he was in early to work.
Morse: When you left the card, did you notice a brown package on the desk?
Scholar Do-Right: I’m sorry, I’m not sure. I was so freaked out from almost getting caught that I basically threw it in there and skedaddled.
Back at the station, Strange tells Fred that forensics has been able to match a set of fingerprints on the champagne bottle used to hit Sparkling Cider to someone who was at the party. They immediately head out to follow up the lead at the hotel. Strange tells George, who’s about to drive Swift’s family to the station, that he’s going to need to come back for another statement later, but the main suspect turns out to be Scout, whose quiet newspaper time is very soundly interrupted by Fred arresting him.
In the interrogation room, Scout reiterates his whole thing of “I’ve spent my life outside in bad weather because I love the sport so much,” and then goes deeper.
Scout: So many of those kids washed out before they succeeded; it’s hard to stay positive when there are so many that don’t make it. But then, you see an extraordinary kid.
Fred: Swift.
Scout: Yeah. I did everything I could for that kid, and he’s throwing his talent away on nonsense.
Fred: And you thought the same thing would happen to Sparkling Cider.
Scout: I gave that boy everything! I tried to warn him about Agent but he just ignored me! Me!
Fred: And that’s when you hit him?
Strange: We have your fingerprints on the champagne bottle.
Scout: Look, I took the bottle away from him — he was about to open it, and I told him he was more than just getting drunk after the game. I put it down by the door on my way out. I would rather kill myself than hurt that kid.
Hm. I have to say, I believe him, which is unfortunate because that puts us back at square one. And speaking of square one, across town, Morse pulls up to Margaret’s sister’s house, where Joan is watching the kids. It’s exactly as awkward as you’d imagine.
Morse: Uhhh hi. I’m here to see Frida.
Joan: Ah. Well. Jim… er… Strange mentioned there might be news. She’s out for a bit, but you can wait?
He takes her up on it, and pulls out a cheeky hip flask. Ever the gentleman, Morse offers Joan a sip, which she, a normal human person, declines, given that it’s the middle of the day. She also tells him he should lay off if he’s going to speak to the children, who have a lot of bad experiences with adult men and booze. Alas, Morse decides to be catty about the whole thing and acts like Joan is the one who’s being unreasonable. Fun!
Joan: Look, what am I missing?
Morse, omg buddy get therapy: Nothing. Everything last season ended as it should. Anyway, what is this place? It’s not on the council list.
Joan: It’s not council, it’s basically a safehouse.
Morse, finally being genuine: You’re saving the world. Hey, what’s Frida like?
Joan: Strange didn’t mention?
Morse: Look, Strange is my friend and he’s a dang delight, but he’s not a super sensitive type, is he?
Joan: I don’t know, he can be quite sensitive. I heard he was in the hospital? Dad said you saved him?
Morse, demurring: Nah.
Joan: And poor Mr. Bright.
Morse, understatement of the century: Yeah, it was a bad year. And your time away?
Joan: Thought it’d be a new start. Turns out kids can be miserable everywhere and with Sam away I didn’t want to leave mum alone. So I came back.
So many emotionally healthy good communicators in one group; it really boggles the mind.
Anyway, the talk turns to the case at hand: did Frida ever mention expecting to come into money? Nope. What did Margaret bring over for the kids? Just some toys and a doll house.
Morse: I think she thought someone was trying to hurt her. Her apartment was broken into, and I think someone was looking for something, and they didn’t find it because she’d already hidden it somewhere safe. Like right here.
And with that proclamation, and a bit of a flourish, he pulls a cassette tape out of the dollhouse.
Later, as Scholar Do-Right looks on, Fred and Morse roll up to Dr. Stuffed Shirt’s office.
Fred: I see you’re managing to keep up with your correspondence. Must be easier to do with that recorder you have! Technology is amazing; for instance, my friend here played me a really interesting tape earlier today and I think you should take a wee listen.
And then they roll the tape, which turns out to feature a conversation between Dr. Stuffed Shirt and Designer, of all people. No, they’re not making plots to kill Swift, but they are talking about the Wanderer’s field, which has been leased to the team by the college for the last 75 years. And that lease? It expires next year.
Fred: Bet that land’s worth a bit more now, huh?
Dr. Stuffed Shirt: I can explain!
Fred: I sure hope you can, because later on it sounds like you’re conspiring with Designer to make sure the college doesn’t renew the lease, so that he can then sell the land for redevelopment and give you a kickback.
Turns out both men have a lot to lose if that information gets out, so when Margaret transcribed the tape, she had some leverage.
Morse: Margaret’s fiance told us she was expecting an inheritance, but there wasn’t any great aunt at all, was there? How much did she ask for?
Dr. Stuffed Shirt: Five thousand pounds.
Fred: And you killed her over that? With all the money you and Designer were going to make?
Dr. Stuffed Shirt: No… I wanted to pay her off.
Fred: So why didn’t you?
For the answer to that, we have to head over to the football pitch, where Designer is watching the team (except Swift, who’s been given the day off) practice.
Morse, cutting right to the chase: So, we just came from the college. I’m guessing you got the dynamite for that bomb you used to kill Margaret from the contractor who sponsored the fashion show… but I bet he didn’t know what you meant to do with it.
Fred: So many bombings by the Angry Brigade, maybe yours would just… blend in.
Designer: You can’t prove it.
Morse:
Actually, we can. The fragments of paper show that it was marked with a substance containing wax, clay, and colorant: dressmakers chalk, and the same paper I saw your pattern cutter using at the fashion show.
Fred: We also have the alarm clock you used as a timer.
Designer: I don’t have an alarm clock.
Morse: Interesting… because the one we put back together matches the one in the background of the photo story about you and your wife I saw in the paper the other day.
Designer: You must think I’m an idiot. What kind of person would use stuff they had lying around to make a bomb.
Morse: An arrogant person. The kind who thinks the explosion would destroy all the evidence. Oh yeah, and we also have info from your accomplice. Dr. Stuffed Shirt told us you’d said you were going to leave money on her desk, but you left a bomb instead. And someone saw you do it. The cap and gown were a fun idea, but nobody wears full academic gear if they’re out in the middle of the night.
Fred: What, did you think she’d ask for more? Or did you just want to make sure she wouldn’t say anything?
Morse: You’re under arrest.
Back at the station, the squad gathers to discuss the whole thing. Bright’s pretty sure they’ve got the men dead to rights. Yes, they don’t mention the bomb, but they do talk very clearly about their shady deal, which will be good circumstantial evidence. That, with the forensics, should convince the jury. With the bombing case wrapped up, Morse and Fred turn their attention to the death threats.
Morse: Are we sure none of the people at the afterparty were booked into that hotel before This Is Your Life?
Fred: Yeah, that’s what the records say.
Morse: We need to double check; Swift told me he saw his childhood buddy George earlier this week.
And on that hunch, they head off to talk to George, but get his wife, who answers the door in sunglasses, instead. She tries to brush them off, but they insist. Morse pushes a bit on the family’s travel timeline, but it’s Fred’s question about whether the marriage is a happy one that finally pushes Sarah over the edge. She removes the glasses, revealing a black eye, and tells them she’s “as happy as she’s ever been.” Not a classically great sign. She explains that her husband got jealous at the party, and Morse pretty quickly zeroes in on a theory: Jack Swift. See, she was wearing a ring on a chain in part of the This Is Your Life show, and Morse saw that same piece at Swift's house during guard duty. You guessed it: Sarah is the long lost love Swift mentioned earlier. But with a twist: she wasn’t the one who delivered the “me or football” ultimatum: it was Scout!
Morse: So why was your ring at Swift’s house?
Sarah: He came to see me after the game. When he saw the bruises he got super mad, and he told me he never stopped loving me. I told him I wasn’t the same person anymore, gave him back the ring, and sent him away.
Fred: Wait, so if it wasn’t Swift your husband was jealous of at the party, who?
Morse: Sparkling Cider!
Sarah: Yeah, I mean, it was nothing, but George didn’t see it that way. I’m not sure what he was doing in town last week, but he brought a gun with him. I saw it when he was packing.
Fred: Why would he have a gun?
Sarah: Hell if I know! He and the boys go out and play soldier.
Fred: Like some kind of loyalist militia?
Sarah: It’s not just the IRA that has weapons, dude. You have no idea how bad it’s gotten at home.
Understatement! Anyway, none of that explains where George is, but I’ll give you one guess. Over at Swift’s house, our footballer is playing cards with Big Bill when the doorbell goes. Like a good guard, Big Bill answers the door, and immediately gets shot by George for his trouble. Barrelling into the house, he holds the gun on Swift and Blonde Girlfriend.
Swift: What are you DOING?
George: You’ve been found guilty. You’ve been providing funds to the IRA. Now you’re getting punished for it.
Swift: Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about.
George: You played in a charity exhibition last year, and some of the proceeds went to enemies of the crown.
Swift: Are you serious? I do a ton of those charity things every year! Agent organizes everything, I just show up and play! That five a side was for youth clubs! It was for kids who like football, just like us.
George: CATHOLIC kids, dude! And some of that money goes to their warchest. The sentence is death, bud.
Swift: Then tell them I wasn’t scared.
George: I’m gonna tell them you BEGGED.
Morse, entering the chat: Then you’ll be a liar and a killer. The mission is over.
George: Do I have to have a massacre here?
Morse: Nobody dies today. If you kill Swift there will be zero sympathy for your cause; it’ll only make things worse for you.
And it’s that, combined with Fred entering from the back door with a gun, that gets George to stand down. Yikes. It turns out that George’s goal had been to pin the murder on the IRA. As they discuss the case later, Bright is confused and surprised: this is outrageous.
Fred: No, it’s war. It might not be official yet, but that’s what we’re looking at. This feels like the start of something.
Bright: I really hope you’re wrong.
Oh, Bright, I have some bad news for you sir. Inside, Morse explains to Swift that the threat is likely over: if they try again, they’ll have to take responsibility instead of blaming the other side, and Morse doesn’t think they’ll do that. Hopefully, Swift can go back to business as usual, but the special branch will be keeping an eye out just in case. And with that sorted, they part as friends. As Morse leaves, he and Fred talk about the odds of convicting George for the murder of Sparkling Cider. Their evidence isn’t good, but Fred hopes that with the attempted murders of Swift, Sarah, and Big Bill (yes, he survived the shooting), it might be enough for a conviction.
Morse: See, I get the jealousy thing, but sectarian violence confuses me.
Fred: We’re just as much about what we hate as what we love. Everyone picks a side… or the side picks you.
Morse: Unless you’re me, and it’s sports. I was always picked last.
Fred: I picked you!
That, frankly, is adorable. So happy to see these guys rebuilding their friendship after last season. What will next episode bring? We’ll just have to wait and see.
