- Oi, you heard of a queue? - Hey! Excuse me?
I need to make a withdrawal.
Just a second, sir.
Sir? Anything I can help you with?
I need £8,000. Now.
*CREDITS*
Hi, you can go in.
You asked to see me, sir?
Er, yeah, can you jump on this?
Just take a quick look.
I-I thought Uniform already had.
Yeah, and now I'm asking you to.
It's a death by misadventure.
What, you can tell that from the first page?
With respect sir, he set himself alight in broad daylight.
Look, it's a very, erm... unusual MO.
He's a Rotarian. He plays bridge with the Chief Constable's husband.
Ah.
- I just want to make doubly certain we're not missing anything. - Mm.
What did Baxter want?
- Well, that's suicide. - I know, right?
- I'm off to the mortuary. - All right.
Ma'am? I was asked to cue up the CCTV
on the Chopra case for you to review.
Er, this is from the rooftop camera.
That's enough.
No-one else within a mile.
Case closed.
Er, DCI Baxter was very specific, ma'am,
that someone should go through it all.
And that someone is you, DC Akbari.
What, every last frame?
What's the running time of this charming little snuff movie?
It's more than 90 hours of footage.
You're going to need an awful lot of popcorn.
Yeah, go on, be a good boy.
Boss might bring us something nice back from the mortuary.
Oh, hang on. You won't get far without these.
Thanks.
Do you have a minute?
I said, do you have a minute?
Er, well, my bus is due, so...
I see you waiting here most mornings.
I say to myself, "She looks nice, ask her out."
- OK. - So...
I just did.
You just... You just did what?
Asked you out. For a drink.
Oh, I don't drink alcohol, if that's what you meant.
A coffee, then?
No, well, you shouldn't actually drink coffee,
cos the roasting process produces acrylamide,
which is a known carcinogen, so...
What's your number?
What?
Oh, it's, erm, 07700 900 868, but I don't actually answer
if there's no caller ID cos I hate surprises.
Ah, well, you've got your minute.
Have you seen Dr Parsons?
She went for lunch.
Is that who I think it is?
Wife of our self-immolator in the car park.
She insisted on seeing him.
Here you go.
That's very kind of you.
Sure you don't mind if I ask a few questions?
I just wish there was something useful
I could think of to tell you.
Had Dr Chopra been having any problems?
Any professional difficulties?
Not that I was aware of.
Even so, as a doctor...
He was a psychiatrist.
He must've had to deal with a lot of dark stuff.
Perhaps it took its toll.
A few years back, he had a bit of a crisis.
Went into his shell for a while.
But then this last year or so, quite the opposite.
I've never known him so happy. So outwardly sunny.
Our son got married last month, and Aadesh was their life and soul.
He was thinking of early retirement,
about using a lump sum from his pension
as a deposit on a second home.
Making plans for the future.
So, no unusual patterns of behaviour, nothing that sticks out?
Nothing.
Except the cash I suppose.
What cash?
He took £8,000 from the bank, on the morning...
Well, you know.
Your colleagues at the scene couldn't find any trace of it.
Hey. Do you remember that other suicide, another shrink,
a couple of years back? That new hotel by the station?
No.
Come on, you do.
That brain of yours is like an encyclopaedia of crime
within ten miles of the city centre.
It wasn't a shrink, he'd stopped practising.
And it's hardly a new hotel -
you've been married and divorced in the time that that's been open.
Name?
What was his name, Jake?
Jamieson. Neal Jamieson, with an A.
There we go.
Jamieson took six grand in cash out of his account
less than three hours before his estimated time of death,
and it was never found.
He slit his wrists in a bath, boss. Behind a locked door.
Says he killed himself
less than 24 hours after his wife gave birth to their first child.
So?
So it's totally unexpected. Just like with Dr Chopra.
It's always unexpected to someone.
You know, we've got enough real crime to be cracking on with.
Too late.
I've just requested the Jamieson file from Paper Mountain.
Just, erm, leave the file, thanks.
Erm, did you know that you're wearing odd socks?
Oh!
My bra and pants don't match either.
Hey...!
You brought me the wrong file...
Hi, erm, the young woman who was helping me...
That would be Miss Evans.
Oh... Erm, she brought a file I didn't request.
Oh, it's not the first time.
Which is a point I shall be emphasising
when I make my complaint to her line manager.
Look, I want to keep it.
Then you'll need to fill out a form.
Where do I sign?
Online submissions only, I'm afraid.
But I've already got it.
I don't make the rules.
Can I speak to her? Miss Evans?
I'd advise you to email. Her name's Patience.
And it'll take every ounce of yours to deal with her.
I'm sorry I can't do any more for you, I'm afraid.
Patience?
You sh... You shouldn't be here, it's authorised personnel only.
- Don't worry. - No. I know who you are.
You're Detective Inspector Beatrice Metcalfe.
Beatrice is an awful mouthful. My friends just call me Bea.
Right, well, I'm not your friend,
and you still shouldn't be back here.
I just have a quick question.
About the Brendan Clark file, the one you brought me by mistake.
I don't make mistakes. There were matching patterns in the data.
You mean the cash that Jamieson and Clark both took out before they died?
That, and other things, yeah.
Like what?
That Clark was also a psychiatrist?
He was a child psychiatrist.
Probably just a coincidence.
And Jamieson had stopped practising.
Mm... Nope.
They both died on a Friday. On the fourth day of the month.
So did Aadesh Chopra.
Clark had just signed a book deal.
Seemed like he had every reason to live, same as Chopra and Jamieson.
Are you saying these men didn't kill themselves?
I'm saying something feels off, sir.
The missing cash, the exact same day and dates, the similar professions.
OK, spare me the intuition for once.
Just give me some facts, something I can give the Chief Constable.
The CCTV from the car park shows Aadesh Chopra died by his own hand.
It's... plain as day, sir.
Hm, well. Close the file.
Inspector?
The bank manager's testimony, sir, it's bothering me.
She thought Chopra seemed under the influence of something -
glassy-eyed, a bit out of it.
Mm, I might need a stiff drink if I was preparing
to set myself on fire.
Sorry to interrupt,
but your son's school's on the phone, DI Metcalfe.
Oh. Has he been in a fight again?
You've just forgotten to pick him up.
Ah, bugger...
Miss Page! I'm so sorry.
You're more than an hour late, Miss Metcalfe.
We rang Alfie's father, he's just picked him up.
Ah. It won't happen again, I promise.
Miss Metcalfe. Miss Metcalfe!
We need to talk about his behaviour.
I know, yeah. I know.
He's acting up again, being very disruptive.
I'll make an appointment.
You missed our last one.
I'll call tomorrow, reschedule it.
Two nights a week. You can't even manage that.
I'm so, so sorry. I-I got tied up in something.
You think you're the only one whose work's important?
- I... I said I'm sorry. - So, what now?
Supposed to just hand him back over and suck it up?
Look, Dad, Thursday's a Mum day, and I get burger and milkshake
and YouTube when I finish my homework.
On a school night?
- Bye, Dad. - See ya, kid.
And you wonder why I got custody.
Hi, bub.
Right. Come on.
OK.
Hello? Is this DI Beatrice Metcalfe?
This is DI Metcalfe speaking. Who is it?
Er, this is, er, Patience Evans, we met earlier today.
I...
I have more information for you.
No, I have some more useful information for you.
OK.
Mum?
You know Dreadnoughtus? Mm-hm.
It was taller than a double-decker bus and twice the length of one.
Ah...
You don't say...
Hey!
Not cool.
Oh. Here.
I can be useful. I can be useful.
I can be useful.
Yes?
I don't have a "yes"...
Who is this?
Hello?
Mum?
- What? - You forgot to say no gherkins.
Oh, sorry, bub.
I hate fucking gherkins.
Alfie, no!
Stop that.
Chips?
You absolutely sure you need both of them?
Yes. It's... It's wise to be prepared in case one breaks.
Spoke to Maynard today.
Oh, Mr Alistair John Maynard?
Your boss, yeah.
Wh...?
Yeah, bumped into him in the supermarket, quite by chance.
Between the baked beans and the biscuits.
Yeah, he was very complimentary about you, Patience.
- Said you were working hard, keeping your head down. - Yep.
Although he did say you'd been having difficulties with a colleague.
Er, someone who's complained, apparently.
About you interfering in a police investigation?
It's... It's our job to help the police.
Yep, yep. Quite right.
But, erm, I'm not sure actively directing the evidence trail
is what your father had in mind when he told you that.
I just don't want you getting involved in something
that might leave you burnt out. Unable to cope.
- Goodnight, Mr Gilmore. - Night.
You're 52 minutes late.
You're supposed to be here at nine, according to the rota.
Er... No-one pays much attention to that.
What's the point in having it, then?
Is there a reason you've opted to come and pester me
and not some other poor detective?
I filed all your cases, DI Metcalfe,
erm, and your deductive leaps of logic can be haphazard
and your notes are cursory,
but your clear-up rate is 71.3%, which is the best in the county.
It'll be even higher when I close the file on Aadesh Chopra.
Was he intoxicated?
- He what? - Aadesh Chopra... was he intoxicated
at the time of his death?
Under an influence of a narcotic?
And why would you ask me that?
Here.
Hold on. Hang on, sorry.
- Morning. - Morning.
Patience. Where'd you get this?
Erm, it was, it was in the Brendan Clark file.
Not when I looked, it wasn't.
Well, the file contains 259 pages of A4 text,
and you spent 73 minutes studying them
according to our logging system,
which equates to 17 seconds per page.
So, this bicycle courier,
he delivered the proofs of Brendan Clark's book to him in person
an hour before he died.
Yeah. And it was reported that he seemed confused
and that his pupils were dilated.
Then he may have been drugged. Perhaps Chopra as well.
- So what? - Well, I-I've found links to other cases.
Possible links. Probable links.
Perhaps you could summarise.
OK, erm...
There are several files on the Police National Database
relating to crimes committed against individuals
who are under the influence of scopolamine.
- Scopolo-what? - Scopolamine. It's a tropane alkaloid.
It's usually administered as a powder,
but in the right dosage
it can induce a suggestive state in a victim
and persuade them to act against their own will,
and even harm themselves.
It can also induce memory loss and even psychosis.
There was no mention of anything like that
in Jamieson's postmortem report - or Clark's, from what I can remember.
Yeah, in both cases the toxicology tests weren't taken
until four days after the victims' death.
That's... not ideal. Although not unheard of.
Well, scopolamine is typically only detected in bodily fluids
for up to 72 hours, often far less.
Come on. I need you to tell all this to the pathologist.
Er, I've...
I've not planned for that, I-I can't be late for work.
This takes precedence over photocopying at Paper Mountain.
Well, it's not called that,
it's called the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System,
or HOLMES for short.
Whatever you say, Sherlock.
No touching, please.
Oh, OK. Come on.
I beg your pardon?
It's a powerful intoxicant. It can render people suggestible.
I know what scopolamine is, Inspector, and I know what it does,
I just don't know who or what has led you to believe
it might be in Dr Chopra's system.
Erm, Miss Evans is a valued member of the HOLMES team, Dr Parsons.
Oh. Not a forensic specialist then.
This is the preliminary tox report.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Well, scopolamine has a half-life of just over nine hours,
and it's practically undetectable in the blood or urine
after a short time.
I mean, if it's inhaled through the mouth or nose, however,
which is often the case, it can be detectable
in the respiratory tract.
Erm, are these rib shears, Dr Parsons?
Thankfully, Chopra's body wasn't too badly burnt to take a sample.
We found 17 micrograms in his airways.
Except there might be some innocent explanation.
Scopolamine is present in seasickness tablets, for example.
And this is that zombie drug, right?
I thought that were an urban myth.
There are more than 50,000 cases of scopolamine poisoning
found in the public health system in Colombia every year.
Isn't that right, Patience?
Apologies.
Right, so... So this is something that happens
to rich kids on their gap year?
I've only ever heard of victims in the UK
being dosed with Rohypnol or GHB.
What about the other cases Patience has researched?
Can you summarise, Patience?
Patience?
Patience.
The doctor, he's talking to you.
How long has this been going on, this refusal to speak?
I think it's a reaction to being here.
She's a bit more communicative at home.
Mm, what do you talk about, at home?
Erm, my cases, mainly.
She seems to have developed a morbid fascination with police work.
Have you given any more thought to what I said?
There's no way I'd agree to that.
Retarded speech function...
difficulties with social interaction...
a lack of emotional reciprocity, sporadic catatonia...
I believe your daughter may be showing early symptoms
of paediatric schizophrenia, Mr Evans.
She may need to be hospitalised, whether you like it or not.
Look, don't be too hard on yourself.
It may even be a kindness to put her into psychiatric care.
It's unlikely she'll ever be able to live independently...
or be what we could call a "useful" member of society.
Patience?
Erm, ah...
Are you all right?
I... I'm just...
Should someone go after her?
I... Just, just let her be.
How... How are you feeling?
Are you just being polite or do you really want to know?
Oh, I want to know. I was worried about you.
You... You seemed in a bit of a state.
I was overwhelmed, I...
become overwhelmed in unfamiliar circumstances and settings.
- Maybe a beer might help. - No, I don't drink alcohol.
I read that it can lead to psychomotor issues
and exacerbate negative neurocognitive traits.
I thought we could just, you know, get to know each other.
I mean, I already know who you are,
you're Detective Inspector Beatrice Metcalfe.
Never mind. Can I give you a lift?
No, I-I can't be late, I hate being late.
I can use the siren if we hit traffic.
Bye.
Hello. Hi, hi, welcome.
Er... Feel free to take a seat, we're just about to start.
Help yourself to water and there's snacks on the table as well. OK.
Righty-ho.
Hiya. Welcome, everyone, to our autistic adults support group,
or AA for short.
Not to be confused, obviously, with Alcoholics Anonymous,
who have this space on Wednesdays.
Sorry. Er...
It's always a pleasure to see a new face among us.
Perhaps I can... I can ask you for an introduction?
Just... how you identify yourself.
Are you diagnosed autistic, or self-diagnosed, maybe, or...?
None of the above. I'm... here for someone else.
No, no, of course, great.
Well, family members and friends are always welcome here.
Right...
Maya, I think we were talking about...
your situation at work the other day.
Do you wanna... Do you wanna continue with that?
At work, I'm masking continually.
I have to take myself off to hide in the toilet
to avoid burning out or having a meltdown. It's like...
One of the women I work with...
- Sorry. Sorry. - It's all right.
One of the women I work with,
she showed me some photos,
she asked me if I liked her dog,
and the only thing I could think of to say was,
"It's better looking than your baby."
At least your colleagues interact with you.
Most of the time, in my workplace, people ignore me
or they speak to me like I'm stupid.
Hey, you have an Open University degree
in accounting and finance, Theo.
Yeah, but I have a job in the post room...
so maybe I am stupid.
I often wonder if I should reveal my diagnosis
or risk being overwhelmed
in situations where others may not understand
what I'm experiencing.
But why is the onus always on us to declare our condition?
To make ourselves stand out as if there's something shameful
about being neurologically atypical?
Josie?
Do you wanna say something?
Erm... My son's on his fifth school in six years.
Teachers can't handle him.
It's hard to imagine him ever having a job or colleagues,
let alone worrying about people being kind to him.
Yeah.
Oh...
What?
Nothing.
Come on.
It's OK.
There we go.
Doesn't look much like homework.
It's a nine-dot puzzle.
What's that?
It's where you have to join all the dots together in just four lines
without your hand leaving the page.
Hm.
Oh...
Even babies can do it.
I've only had one go.
By the way, did Baxter get hold of you?
He was looking for you last night after you left.
He left me a voicemail.
What'd he want?
An update on the Chopra case
and to ask why I appear to have co-opted somebody
from the criminal records department on to the investigation
without his permission.
He didn't sound impressed.
Well, maybe he has a point.
Don't you start.
Well, is it a good idea getting what's-her-face involved?
"What's-her-face"?
You know, Paper Mountain girl.
She has a name, Jake.
Sorry. Miss Evans.
Do you have a problem with her?
No. No, course not. It's just...
Well, she's a civilian.
And?
Not a trained detective.
Or a forensic pathologist, for that matter.
Patience is the only one who spotted a pattern between those deaths.
Possible pattern.
Probable.
Well, say thank you very much and move on.
We've managed fine without her.
You don't recall anything about his behaviour that day?
Anything out of the ordinary?
Well, I'd say killing yourself is somewhat out of the ordinary.
Yeah, we mean before that. Was he acting strangely?
Like he was intoxicated?
It was a while back -
and, to be honest, I don't really like to think about it.
You said Mr Jamieson stayed at the hotel more than half a dozen times
in the year before he died.
Mm. Yet he only lived a few miles outside the city.
Doesn't that seem strange?
Maybe he worked late a lot.
Missed his last train home. I really don't know.
Perhaps we might take a look at the room where he died.
OK, yeah.
So, it is upstairs. Room 1218.
Don't worry, won't get too comfy.
It must've been cleaned hundreds of times since it happened.
Just wanna get a feel for the place.
Looks a bit like that painting.
The Jackson Pollock?
- What's that? - A cigar.
Half smoked, by the looks of it.
Wouldn't it have set off the alarm?
Hi.
Erm, DI Metcalfe, City of York Police.
Hey!
- What's going on? - Police.
We're looking into a suicide at the hotel a few years back.
Oh, that's why she's so distressed, the poor love.
- She was there when they found him. - We just wanna ask a few questions.
You'd be better off speaking to me.
Her English isn't the best.
Sure.
Seems a bit jumpy.
I think her student visa's expired.
Well, we're CID, not Immigration.
Well, she had to give fingerprints at the time, for forensics.
- Freaked her out. - Were you here when they found him?
I wasn't working.
I recognised him from his photo in the paper.
You must see hundreds of guests here every year.
What made him stand out?
We don't get that many regulars.
And he tipped well.
He kept missing his last train, that's what your manager reckons.
At three o'clock in the afternoon?
I think we know what kind of regular he was, then.
Or maybe he was meeting his wife.
For sex? In the afternoon?
Well, some people like to spice things up.
What about the day he died?
She was still in hospital after giving birth.
Yeah, but no-one saw him with anyone.
We should interview her.
- I've gotta get back to the station. - What's the hurry?
I've got a stack of burglary reports to finish.
I'll give you a lift,
just do me a favour - see what you can dig up on that brand of cigars.
All right, but I'm not promising anything.
OK, I'll do it.
We'd been trying for eight years.
I think we'd just about convinced ourselves it wasn't going to happen.
So, how was your husband, Mrs Jamieson, after Martha's birth?
Ecstatic.
At least he seemed so.
Neal was very tired, we both were.
He said he was going back to the house to sleep,
and he'd be back to see us both in the evening.
And that's the last time I saw him.
Alive, that is.
And... had...
had you ever been to the hotel?
Once, for drinks with friends.
But you never stayed there with him?
- Are you sure? - Definitely not.
Why do you ask?
Just... something somebody said.
I-I thought the investigation into Neal's death was closed, Inspector.
It is.
I mean, it was.
So, what's this all about?
Neal Jamieson was treated for sex addiction.
According to his wife, he was a regular visitor
to sex workers before she met him.
It's why he stopped practising.
Boss, erm...
She even told me he gave her an STD in the first year of marriage.
Thinks it's why she couldn't conceive.
- Er... I-I... - At least that's what she thinks.
I-I need to tell you something.
Of course, she's not a suspect.
She was in hospital at the time of death,
but what with the missing cash...
- Boss! - ..and his history of addiction,
it suggests he may have paid someone for sex shortly before he died,
which puts quite a different spin on things.
Bea!
What?
I really need to tell you something.
Where is she?
Interview room.
Look, boss, it was me.
And before you go tearing into Baxter,
it was Will that found her on the CCTV,
but it was me who reported it.
I thought you were on my side.
This girl, boss, this young woman...
Boss...
you're not seeing straight.
Hang on.
She was on camera, on the roof of the car park,
less than 36 hours after Chopra killed himself.
Visiting a crime scene isn't a crime.
Yes, but it's a known pattern of behaviour
for a certain type of perpetrator.
Look, it's not the only reason we brought her in.
What else? Loitering with intent to try and be helpful?
Wasting police time with intelligent theorising?
We also looked into the case of the other victim, Brendan Clark.
She didn't tell us that he was her psychiatrist as a child.
Or that he misdiagnosed her with schizophrenia.
And he tried to pressurise her father
into putting her into an institution.
On a heavy regimen of medication.
It's all in there.
It's a motive, Bea...
for murder, whatever way you look at it.
You never stopped to think
why she's got such an unhealthy interest in this case?
CREDITS