♪ ♪ PÜND: Three crimes may have taken place at Pye Hall.

First, Mary Blakiston is found dead.

There's a burglary, and then Sir Magnus Pye is decapitated.

CHUBB: Would you say the two of you were happily married, Lady Pye?

FRANCES: I've always thought marriage and happiness to be mutually exclusive.

CLARISSA: Dingle Dell is a much loved part of the village.

To build houses on it would be an act of vandalism.

Here we are.

This stain may be of interest.

Perhaps blood?

CHARLES: Alan's dead.

PÜND: You were told that it was a suicide letter.

Perhaps you should read it again.

FRASER: If someone really did push him off that tower, well, there'd have been plenty of volunteers.

Andreas is thinking about going back to Crete.

He wants me to go with him.

KHAN: Alan Conway's death could not have been more timely where you are concerned.

SUSAN: Everyone he knew was in it, and that's why the last chapter was taken.

The answer's in the book.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (thunder claps) (whimpers) (click) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ SUSAN: I just don't think you should start with a flashback.

Why not?

Well, first of all, it's disconcerting.

Time moves forward.

From 1944 to 1953.

That's what I've written.

Yes, but the bulk of your book takes place in 1953, and I think that's where your readers will feel most comfortable.

How do you know anything about my readers?

Alan!

I'm the one who sold 200,000 books.

Yes, and I'm the one who's helped you.

(snorts) All I'm saying is we already know that Atticus Pünd was in a Nazi prison camp in 1944 because you told us so in the first two books.

He understands evil because he experienced it.

Yes!

And I completely get that.

But showing him cold and hungry and miserable, it, it-- it doesn't add anything.

And all that horror, it's not why people buy your books.

And why do people buy my books, Susan?

Because they want to know who did it!

Well, yes, that's exactly my point.

(sighs) Seven months of my time, 90,000 words.

Just to find out it was the butler.

Alan, there's nothing shameful about it.

Your books are brilliant entertainment.

And anything serious, anything meaningful, anything that actually relates to the human condition, all that is irrelevant?

Your book is about a waitress who gets murdered after receiving a bunch of roses.

I don't see how a chapter in Auschwitz helps!

Well, then maybe you shouldn't be editing it!

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ SUSAN (voiceover): He was our most successful writer by a mile.

But he was the only one I didn't get on with.

CHARLES: We are, of course, devastated by his death.

But you have his new book.

Yes, we're working on it now.

Well, as long as we have the book and the backlist, there's no issue as far as our deal is concerned.

What's more pressing for us is we have yet to have a decision from you, Susan.

I understand.

I'm not sure you do.

The press are already circling.

It's important we make a confident statement with no suggestion of internal conflict.

There is no conflict.

What if I don't want to be CEO?

BRYONY: We'd be disappointed.

But I could stay on in my role as senior editor?

BRYONY: We'd have to recruit a chief executive from outside.

I'd imagine it's something you'd have to discuss with him.

Or her.

Right.

We'd like to make an announcement imminently, and we have every confidence in you, Susan.

But we do need to have a decision from you soon.

Hm, sure, sure.

♪ ♪ "As long as we have the book and the backlist."

Yes, I heard.

(pours drink) So did you find anything in Suffolk?

No, I told you, it'd all been taken.

Notebooks, early drafts, photocopies-- the lot.

Taken by?

Well, I presume whoever killed him.

Uh, what?

(stammering): They killed him to steal his novel?

I know, it doesn't make much sense.

That house of his, Abbey Grange, when was the last time you saw it?

Oh, I haven't been in Suffolk for five or six months.

He changed the name, did you know that?

Hm.

Used to be called, uh, Ridgeway Hall when he bought it.

Huh.

"The Adventure of the Abbey Grange: A Sherlock Holmes story."

Sir Eustace Brackenhall killed during a burglary.

(chuckles) Except it was a fake burglary.

CHARLES: It's funny, really.

Alan was never much of a Conan Doyle fan.

He preferred Agatha Christie.

He stole from her.

(scoffs) He borrowed.

Yeah, like Robin Hood borrowed from the rich.

(chuckles) I'm going to find that missing chapter, you know.

I'm going to work out who killed him.

Are you really sure he was killed, Susan?

After all, you must admit it does seem a tad unlikely.

A murder writer murdered.

Tell me about the dinner you had with him, when he gave you the manuscript.

Mm, Thursday night, you were in Frankfurt.

Yeah, what happened?

Well, we went to La Maison, you know.

It's that restaurant club where you pay a thousand pounds membership fee for the privilege of paying to eat there.

It was his choice, not mine.

(chuckles) And he gave you the manuscript in the restaurant?

That's why I paid.

It was a celebration.

Or it should have been.

Down the hatch, here's to you.

(snaps fingers, mumbles name) WAITER: Right you are, sir.

(chuckles) Well, you look tremendous.

(gags) Two glasses of champagne and then a bottle of Gevrey-Chambertin.

That was my mistake.

He didn't like Gevrey-Chambertin?

Oh, God no, he loved it.

Two hundred quid a bottle.

Whoa, sorry.

So what was the mistake?

I let him get drunk-- you think you had it bad, but he could be just as nasty with me.

I remember, ah, we talked about the title of the book.

Uh, at that stage it was all I knew.

I have to say, I liked it from the moment we announced it.

"The Magpie Murders," very strong!

(scoffs) You know I, I think I can see that on the bestseller list.

"Magpie Murders."

Mm, no, I'm sorry?

Not "The Magpie Murders"!

"Magpie Murders," that's the bloody title!

Alan, there's absolutely no need to take umbrage.

There's no "the," I know that.

(chuckles) "Magpie Murders" it is.

Well, you know how volatile he could be after a drink or two.

Things could've turned quite nasty.

Except that just then something rather strange happened.

♪ ♪ It's not something you'd expect to see in a restaurant like that.

(plates shatter) It sounded like a bomb had gone off.

CONWAY: Idiot.

CHARLES (voiceover): Anyway, I managed to change the subject, and from then on things went very much okay, and then Alan went home in a taxi to his London flat.

And the next day, Friday, he wrote you a letter.

Apologizing for his behavior, and on Saturday he went back on the train to Suffolk.

So as far as Alan was concerned, he'd given you a complete manuscript.

He certainly didn't say otherwise.

(sighs) I'm going to have to go back to Suffolk.

Well, uh, you can come up with me, if you like.

When we go up for the funeral.

(chuckles) Bastard.

Didn't even invite me to that.

♪ ♪ FRASER: Excuse me, uh, who's being buried here?

Sir Magnus Pye-- tomorrow, I think.

And, uh, I suppose Mary Blakiston is buried here, too?

That's her over there.

(sighs) Did you know her?

Everyone knew her and she knew everyone.

A right busybody, she was.

Just a body now.

(exhales) Hm.

(sighs) Death-- the great leveler, eh, Pünd?

Yes, that is most certainly true.

He was the lord of the manor, the land owner, the developer.

She was just the housekeeper.

But you do have to wonder about the connection between them.

That connection, I think, is straightforward.

It is the connection between their deaths that is of interest to me.

♪ ♪ Ugh, I hate graveyards.

Glad to be getting out of here.

(chuckles): Not everyone has that choice.

How can I help you?

You are Robert Blakiston?

Why do you want to know?

My name is Atticus Pünd.

Oh, Pünd?

The famous detective?

I thought you said you weren't interested in Saxby-on-Avon.

That was before the murder of Sir Magnus Pye.

I suppose you think I did that too, ay?

Mr. Pünd!

What are you doing here?

He's here about the murder of Sir Magnus.

Have you invited him in?

I'm working.

Harry can look after the pumps.

""Come in, Mr.

Pünd."

"Harry returned to the pumps "while Robert led Pünd into the flat he occupied above the garage."

Sorry, I didn't hear you come in.

No, don't apologize, you should carry on reading.

Maybe you can tell me who did it.

Well, I guessed the last one.

"Atticus Pünd Abroad."

It was the nun.

Yes, with a candlestick in the cloisters!

Huh!

Any thoughts so far?

Well, I'm only on page 50.

But right now I'd say Joy Sanderling is my number one suspect.

Oh, any reason?

She's the least likely.

Isn't that how it always works?

Hm.

(chuckles) ROBERT: I don't see why I should talk to you.

We came to you for help and you ignored us.

Your anger is quite understandable, Robert.

To be unfairly accused of the death of your own mother, it must have been unpleasant for you.

Unpleasant?

ROBERT: That's one way of describing it.

So why wouldn't you help me?

Because, as I explained, I did not believe there was anything I could do.

Uh, rumor, village gossip, they are like the tide.

They cannot be turned back.

But now that Sir Magnus has been killed, Exactly, exactly-- it gives me a reason to be here.

And first I have some questions for you, Robert.

Will you answer them?

About Sir Magnus?

About your mother and Sir Magnus and the relationship between them.

Robert?

I'll tell you anything you want to know.

I've got nothing to hide.

PÜND: Thank you.

To begin-- your mother and Sir Magnus were close, hm?

Oh, they were more than close.

She worshipped him.

The way she saw it, he wasn't just her boss, he was an aristocrat.

Lord of the manor.

See, we used to live on a farm but when my dad left, we moved into the Lodge House at Pye Hall, so it was almost like he owned us.

"We?"

My mum and me, and... My little brother, Sam.

Oh yes, there were three of you, hm.

Bella, here girl!

(children laughing, dog barking) Last one to the lake's a rotten egg!

Bella, you're too fast, slow down.

♪ ♪ (indistinct chatter) (laughter) Keep up, Bella!

(dog barking) ROBERT (voiceover): Sam died.

In an accident.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I prefer not to talk about it, if you don't mind.

It happened when I was a child.

And it's got nothing to do with any of this.

As you wish.

(doorbell buzzes) (doorbell buzzes) Hello?

ANDREAS (over phone): It's me.

Oh!

(presses button) What happened to your key?

Hands full.

Use your teeth.

Mwah.

I hope you haven't eaten.

A packet of Jaffa cakes.

For tea?

For lunch.

Irresponsible.

(chuckles) So, how was Suffolk?

Flat.

The landscape?

The experience.

No sign of the missing chapter, everybody hated Alan.

And seeing that house just made me jealous.

Did you see his solicitor?

Yeah, why do you ask?

I was just thinking that, if you wanted to hide papers, you might leave them with your solicitor.

Yeah, I had the same thought.

But they weren't there.

You still think they were stolen?

Oh, I'm sure they were.

His notebook had gone as well, and his computer was wiped.

Mm, the sauce thickens.

Hm.

Any suspects?

Oh, they're all suspects!

He divorced his wife, he rowed with the neighbor.

He was about to disinherit his boyfriend.

And then there's his sister, Claire.

Yes?

I wonder if I might have a word.

Did you know that he had based a character on you?

No, what character would that be?

Miss Pye?

Yes.

I wonder if we might have a word.

I could tell that she'd read the manuscript.

She was just lying to me.

Kill her brother and steal the book so that it never appears in print?

Seems a bit extreme.

Yeah, I agree.

Ooh, this is good.

This is Kotsifali.

From Crete.

So what was Alan like at Woodbridge when you were both teachers?

I told you.

He wasn't very pleasant, but I hardly knew him.

You went to his wedding.

That's because Melissa invited me, not him.

It's funny to think about you and Alan and Melissa and Katie all being together way before I came along.

You didn't do too badly out of it.

You got eight bestsellers.

(chuckles) And you!

ROBERT: Sir Magnus was almost like a father to me.

You know, he looked after my schooling, and he helped me get a job here at the garage.

He got you this flat, too.

It came with the job.

So you were close to Sir Magnus, but not your mother?

Well, she'd never leave me alone.

See, that was the trouble, she was always on at me.

She never seemed to understand that I had a life of my own.

Why did you threaten her?

I didn't.

But you argued.

It was nothing.

We were at the pub and I'd just finished work.

And there she was, going on at me again.

MARY: You should be ashamed of yourself.

I'm having a drink, Mum, all right?

Every minute of every bloody day you never leave me alone.

Don't use that language with me!

Well, I'm not a child anymore.

No, I'll tell you what you are.

You're the biggest disappointment of my life.

Well, then get someone else to do it, all right?

If you can't find anyone, then just drop dead and give me a bit of peace!

(deep sigh) JOY (voiceover): Mary Blakiston was a horrible woman.

There, I've said it.

I'm sorry, Robert, but it's true.

She was horrible to you?

Yes.

When you came to my office in London, you told me that she'd been opposed to your marriage to her son, but you would not tell me why.

It's very personal, Mr. Pünd.

Nothing's more personal than murder, Miss Sanderling.

Well, it was the obvious reason.

The color of my skin.

(scoffs) I'm sorry.

JOY: Don't be.

Living in a place like Saxby-on-Avon, people have different attitudes.

You get used to it.

Yeah, why should you have to get used to it?

I mean, why do people have to be so bloody stupid?

If it will not offend you, Miss Sanderling, please tell me in what way did it manifest itself, this prejudice?

Was she always hostile to you?

No, not at all.

She'd always been quite kind to me, but that changed the moment we told her we were engaged.

We're getting married up at the church in July.

No.

I'm sorry?

You're not going to marry my son.

Mum.

I'm thinking about future generations.

They can't be tainted.

I won't have it.

JOY: You're not being serious.

You can't think that.

I won't even discuss it.

I'm warning you, Robert.

This marriage will not go ahead.

JOY (voiceover): It shocked me the way she came out with it.

I'll tell you something, Mr. Pünd.

I know that Robert did not kill his mother.

I was with him all morning the day she died.

But if he turned round now and told me that he'd did it, that he'd pushed her down those stairs, I wouldn't blame him.

I'd forgive him.

Because I know how he felt.

♪ ♪ What a simply dreadful woman.

Who, Mary Blakiston?

She'd be lucky to have a daughter-in-law like Joy Sanderling.

Oh, God.

I say, are you all right?

Oh, no, it's nothing.

It's just a headache, heh.

The pub's open, maybe we should get you a glass of water.

No, fully recovered, thank you.

♪ ♪ (birds chittering) JOY: You should have told him.

ROBERT: What?

You know what.

About Sam.

The lake.

Why?

It's got nothing to do with it.

Three deaths at Pye Hall.

Well, it's three deaths 12 years apart.

You still should have told him.

You know what this place is like.

He'll find out anyway.

(bottle uncorks) So tell me about this hotel.

Have you bought it?

My cousin Yannis has, yes.

I thought he was completely broke.

He borrowed the money.

Where did he find someone mad enough to lend it?

(chuckles) That's not fair.

Sorry.

So, does it have a name?

It's called Polydorus.

Polydorus was the king of Thebes.

The son of Cadmus.

Hm... nice.

A ten minute walk from Agios Nikolaos.

It has seven rooms.

A terrace restaurant and a bar.

It's profitable.

So why are they selling?

The owner is 92.

(sighs) I've told the school I'll be leaving at the end of term.

You've already decided.

I told you in the car, Susan.

N-no, no.

You told me you were thinking about it.

Yeah, well, I thought, and I decided.

And you want me to come with you.

Yes.

(quietly) I don't think I can do that.

It's just not my world, Andreas.

I-I don't know anything about hotels-- beds, sheets, guests-- nor do you.

We'll learn.

We'll go broke.

We won't know until we try.

(sighs) God, you're really serious about this, aren't you?

Susan, we've been seeing each other, how long is it now, six years?

I love you, and I think you love me.

But we need to change.

I have a job I don't like, you have a job that consumes you, and makes you angry.

I love my job!

Well, maybe that's our problem.

Whoa.

Didn't know we had a problem.

The timing's perfect.

Charles is leaving, the buyout.

You don't want to be CEO.

I don't know what I want.

Yeah, well, I do, I want to be with you, but properly.

I want to spend my life with you, Susan.

But in Crete?

(sighs) I'm going home.

With or without me, is that what you're saying?

Why does life have to be so bloody difficult?

It never makes any sense.

You know, that's why I like books so much.

In books, the characters do it all for you, and it all manages to work itself out in the right way.

Elizabeth and Darcy.

Jane and Mr. Rochester.

(groans) Even whodunits!

I mean, especially whodunits.

The final reveal, everything wrapped up.

Something so reassuring about that.

Unless, of course, you are missing the last chapter.

Yes, that does put a slight dent in it.

I don't suppose you can tell me?

(sighs) I've read it three times.

Start to not-quite-the-finish, and it's hopeless.

It might help, perhaps, to take events in the order in which they occurred.

Yes.

The death of Mary Blakiston, her funeral, and then the burglary.

(gasps) Ah, yes!

I had an idea about the burglary, actually.

Oh yes?

Well, it wasn't actually a real burglary at all, was it?

You said as much yourself, when you found the silver.

That is true.

SUSAN (voiceover): How did you know it would be there?

PÜND (voiceover): I didn't.

But even when a crime appears to be unfathomable, one should try not to overlook the obvious.

(bell rings) Can I help you?

Mr. Whiteley?

How do you know my name?

The name on the shop.

Oh, yes, that's me.

Uh, are you looking for something?

Oh, I was just passing.

I noticed the silver brooch in the window.

Yes, nice piece.

Quite old.

Roman, I think.

Ah, medieval, I'd say.

May I see it?

I'm afraid you're too late.

We sold it this morning.

A customer had seen it and telephoned in.

Ah.

Shouldn't you have taken it out of the window, then?

WHITELEY: It slipped my mind.

I wonder if you could tell me, uh, how you acquired it?

I'm sorry, I'm afraid that's confidential.

Most of my customers demand a certain discretion.

(quietly): You know, selling the family silver.

Even so, a man has been murdered.

Actually, it came from a market.

I'm sorry?

WHITELEY: This is my wife, Gemma.

A flea market in Campsey Ashe.

GEMMA: Here today, gone tomorrow.

We've no idea who the seller was.

WHITELEY: I'm sorry, I'm afraid we can't help you.

No matter, thank you.

(bell rings) Who was that?

Who'd you think it was?

Only Atticus bloody Pünd.

Here?

They said there was a detective in the village.

I didn't know it was him.

I told you it was too soon to put it in the window!

What're we gonna do?

I don't know.

I didn't believe a word they said.

It's a shame the wife arrived when she did.

They knew it was stolen.

Mmm.

Stupid of them to put it on display.

I will tell you this, James.

Never underestimate the stupidity of criminals.

I've devoted a whole chapter to it in my book.

Ah, "Criminal Stupidity."

Exactly.

♪ ♪ FRASER: Do you think the burglary had something to do with the death of Sir Magnus?

The question I would ask is: was it actually a burglary at all?

Why are you so interested in Brent?

He's only the gardener.

He was here at the time of the burglary and at both deaths.

Always, it is Brent.

BRENT: First, Mary Blakiston.

Then the burglary.

Then Sir Magnus.

Oh, I tell you, it's not good for my blood pressure working here.

PÜND: Let us take them in that order, Mr. Brent.

You were here the day Mary Blakiston died.

Yes, I knew something was wrong when the phone kept ringing and nobody answered it.

In the end I looked in through the window and there she was, lying on the floor.

I called a doctor but I could tell she was dead.

There was blood everywhere.

Did the two of you get on?

Not really.

She never talked to me.

She thought herself above me; her and Sir Magnus being all lovey-dovey.

Are you suggesting they were romantically involved?

Not her, she was an old battle-axe.

He wouldn't have had any interest in her.

But he did have the roving eye, and there were plenty of others.

Maids, one of the cooks.

And then Miss Darnley.

She left here with a little Pye in the oven.

Who was Miss Darnley?

The governess who looked after Frederick.

And you could say Sir Magnus looked after her.

Were you here the night of the burglary?

No, I live in the village.

I usually leave about 8:00, and I didn't know anything about it till Sir Magnus got back from his holiday.

He was the one who found out and he certainly let me know.

What do you mean by that?

He blamed me, that's what I mean.

Even though it was nothing to do with me.

You're meant to look after the place when I'm away.

I can't be here all the time.

It looks like they came in through the back.

There's a broken window.

Didn't you see anything?

No.

MAGNUS: You're worse than useless, Brent.

I've had enough of you.

I want you out of here.

He gave you notice?

I don't know, he often talked like that.

I don't know what he meant.

And of course you aren't able to find out, because that very night, Sir Magnus himself was killed.

What are you suggesting?

That I did it?

That I didn't want to be fired so I cut his head off?

But you were not here the night of his death.

I told you, I left at 8:00.

And Sir Magnus was killed at 9:00.

Yes, what a shame, isn't it?

If I'd hung around another hour, I might've been able to help you.

But I didn't see anything, so I can't.

(inhales) SUSAN: Miss Darnley.

Now, here's an interesting question.

She's the governess who was made pregnant by Sir Magnus Pye.

She never actually appears in the book.

So why does Alan Conway even bother to give her a name?

Perhaps she appears in the last chapter.

Why can't you just tell me?

Excuse me?

Who did it!

You're in the story, you must know.

It's not the death of Sir Magnus Pye that interests you.

It's the death of Alan Conway.

Aren't they related?

Let me give you some advice, Miss Ryeland.

Uh, yes, all right, but can you please stop calling me "Miss Ryeland?"

It's so bloody '50s.

It's not what Mr. Conway wrote that matters.

You need to understand why he wrote it.

How do I do that?

At the moment that he delivered the manuscript, which may or may not have been complete, what was his state of mind?

I don't know.

He was at a restaurant with Charles.

He was drunk.

Then that is where you should begin.

(car door shuts) Thank you!

♪ ♪ (buzzing) Oh, hi, hello.

Um, I wondered if you could help me.

My name is Susan Ryeland and I'm a friend of someone who used to be a member here.

Yes?

Well, actually, um, I'd like to talk to one of the waiters who was working here last Thursday.

Um, he dropped some plates.

Yeah, that was me.

They were short-staffed so I was called in the last minute.

That's why I was late.

I came in from the kitchen.

I saw him straight away, Alan Conway-- bastard.

I didn't realize he was a member.

I just stood there.

(deep exhale) I was holding some plates.

Didn't realize how hot they were until they burned through.

(plates shatter) Idiot.

Why didn't you like him?

You say you're his editor.

That's right.

Clover Books.

Yes.

Well, then you're part of it.

I'm sorry, part of what?

(scoffs) I think you know.

I honestly haven't the faintest idea of what you're talking about.

"Magpie Murders."

Yes, that's his new book.

Oh, I know, I read about it when it was announced-- that was my title.

I gave him the idea.

So, how well did you know Alan Conway?

I met him once.

I'm a writer, I've written four novels.

Whodunits, a bit like his.

The only difference is, I haven't made millions.

I haven't been published.

It's not easy.

It's not easy when someone steals your ideas.

Where did you meet him?

I did a course at a place in Wiltshire.

It cost me 200 quid.

I thought it would be worth it.

It was the worst money I ever spent.

Alan Conway was the guest tutor.

"The very countryside ravaged by a locust cloud "of modern politics and ancient hatreds.

"And so the poor dog has none, he murmurs, unaware that the dog is, in fact, himself."

STUDENT: I'm not sure I get it, what's it about?

It's about empire.

About the aristocracy.

About the collapse of civility.

JAFFREY (voiceover): To be honest, I didn't have a clue what he was on about.

But, anyway, I approached him during a coffee break.

And you told him your idea.

Got it in one.

He seemed friendly enough, we got chatting.

I told him my title, "Magpie Murders."

It was going to be based on the old nursery rhyme.

You know, one for sorrow, two for joy, and so on.

Yeah.

Set in a village where the local squire gets killed.

How?

His head's chopped off.

Ah.

What did I see when it was announced?

The ninth installment of the Atticus Pünd Adventures.

Same title, same plot, same everything.

How much did Alan read?

Only the first chapter, but I told him all of it.

So, what did you do when you saw the announcement?

What could I do?

Drive up to Suffolk and have it out with him?

Nah, he was a big-shot writer, I was nobody.

Who would've believed me?

I wrote to someone at Clover Books and sent them some chapters.

They didn't even reply.

You're an editor.

Would you look at it?

I could email it to you.

Uh, yeah, yes, of course.

Um, I'll give you my email address.

Mm, can you just tell me one thing, if you don't mind?

In your version of the book, who did the murder?

I won't it spoil it for you if I tell you?

(inhales) Well, I always work backwards.

That way I can just focus on the style, so... All right, then.

It was the wife.

Lady Frances.

Uh, Lady Penelope, yeah.

She'd been having an affair with her tennis coach.

He found out about it.

He was going to throw her out.

And you told Alan that?

I told him everything.

He took loads of notes, I thought he was interested because he wanted to help, the bastard!

Thank you, Lee.

I will read your book, but I can't make any promises.

Just read it.

Yeah.

Um, one last thing.

Do you remember who you wrote to at Clover Books?

Of course I remember, although I never heard back from her.

Her name was Jemima.

♪ ♪ CAB DRIVER: We're here!

Oh, thanks!

(car engine rumbles) (buzzing) ALICE: Hey, Susan.

Hi, Alice.

Ragnar Jönasson rang you three times.

He wants to talk to you about the notes you sent him.

Your sister Katie rang twice.

Wants you to call her back, and Steven can't make the Waterstones launch.

Where's Jemima?

Well, haven't you heard?

She's gone.

What do you mean gone?

Well, she's handed in her notice, she's left.

Do you know why?

Not really, no.

She didn't much like it here.

It was the money, I know she was looking around.

Do you have a number for her?

Is this about the missing chapter?

Well, partly, yeah.

I think Charles has it.

I know he's been trying to reach her, too.

Right.

You never saw a submission from a man called Lee Jaffrey, did you?

Hm, name doesn't ring a bell.

Well, the title might.

"Magpie Murders"?

Hm.

That's a bit of a coincidence.

(chuckles) Well, if you believe in coincidence, huh.

(phone rings) Oh.

Oh, it's your sister again.

Let it go to voicemail.

(clears throat) SUSAN (voicemail): Hi, you've reached Susan Ryeland.

Please leave me a message.

(siren wails in distance) Excuse me, I'm looking for Max Ryeland.

He's my father, is he...?

He's resting now, but he is still very ill. Can I see him?

Yes, of course.

(quietly): Is he in there?

(machines beeping, hissing) Dad.

How you feeling?

(muffled): Susan?

No, Daddy, Susan's not here.

It's Katie.

(muffled): I wanted to see Susan.

(muffled): I want to see Susan.

(knock at door, door opens) Charles, uh, I need to talk to you.

Did you know that Alan plagiarized "Magpie Murders" from another writer?

What?

Well, it wasn't exactly a writer.

He stole the idea from a waiter who worked at that restaurant where you took him for dinner.

How do you know?

Well, I've seen him, I've spoken to him.

Oh, my God, you're not gonna let this go, are you?

Charles, this is serious.

They met on a writer's course.

Well, I mean what's his name?

Lee Jaffrey.

Is his book any good?

Well, I've read the first couple of pages, oh, and the ending, which is completely muddled, and doesn't help at all.

And no, in answer to your question, it's awful.

But the plot does have a lot of similarities.

He knew where Alan lived.

How do you know that?

Because he told me!

JAFFREY (voiceover): What could I do?

(plates shatter) Drive up to Suffolk and have it out with him?

Nah, he was a bigshot writer.

Idiot.

JAFFREY (voiceover): I was nobody-- who would've believed me?

He knew Alan lived in Suffolk and it's a members' club, so they must've had his address.

Well, you don't think that he... Have you spoken to Jemima?

Ah, no, um.

(clicks tongue) I left a message on her voicemail, and I got an email from her this morning.

Oh, hm.

"I don't know how many pages there were, "but I'm sure I didn't miss any.

"I always checked the page count against the dial on the machine."

It wouldn't have been like her to make a mistake.

She was always very reliable.

Why did she leave?

She got another job.

What, and you just let her go?

I couldn't really stop her.

Do you believe her about the pages?

I think we have to.

(sharp inhale) Yeah.

Tomorrow, 9:00 a.m. Alan's funeral.

I thought we were driving up together.

Yeah, see you then.

(chuckles) All right.

(thunder rumbling) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (phone ringing out) (phone vibrating) ANDREAS (voicemail): This is Andreas, I'm not here at the moment.

Please leave a message after the beep, thank you.

(beep) Hello, it's me, um...

I'm here on my own and... feeling a bit miserable.

I wish we could've talked a bit more constructively.

Look, please don't-- don't make any decisions about Crete.

I mean, don't, don't get on a plane.

I just need a bit more time to get my head round it.

And then, you know, maybe, I don't know, maybe... we could make it work?

Anyway, I'm, I'm in tonight, so why don't you come over?

(puts down phone) (taps nails on table) ♪ ♪ (sighs) (computer chiming) Oh!

Hi, hi, Katie, I'm sorry-- Dad's had a stroke.

Uh, oh, right.

KATIE: He's in Ipswich Hospital.

I've spoken to the doctors.

He's very weak.

They think if he has another one, then he, he might not make it.

Well, I'm really sorry.

He wants to see you.

Why?

Why do you think?!

No, no... (exhales) No, I'm sorry, Katie, I've already told you I don't want to see him.

Yeah, but I think you should.

Katie, he walked out on us.

You, me, and Mum, we were children, I haven't seen him for 30 years, why would I want to see him now?

(sighs) For closure.

I don't think I owe him that!

Not for him, for you!

Oh, you think I need it, do you?

(chuckles) No, I'm, I'm sorry, Katie.

I don't want to see him, I won't!

Sorry, sorry, sorry!

(unsteady breathing) PÜND: Infidelity.

(gasps) It's often struck me that, in a murder investigation, it's remarkable how often infidelity has a part to play.

There are, in reality, very few reasons why one person will set out to kill another, but the sense of betrayal, the destruction of good faith.

Hm, that can be deadly.

I'm not interested in the murder investigation right now.

You wish to know who killed Sir Magnus Pye.

Well, you're not going to tell me, so I'm going to go to bed!

I would advise you to be careful, Miss Ryeland.

Betrayal hurts.

FRANCES: I've had enough!

I'll tell you I've had enough!

MAGNUS: Get a grip on yourself, woman.

FRANCES: Never!

MAGNUS: Oh, for God's sake!

How could you?

You disgust me!

I did nothing.

You've made a laughing stock out of me.

Everyone knows about you and your filthy affairs.

You're like a rutting goat.

I wish I'd never married you!

(snorts) That's not what you said when you saw the house, the land, the title!

Oh no, Lady Pye, you couldn't get enough of it.

(loud smack, Pye groans) One day you'll go too far, Magnus.

One day, I swear to God, I'll put a knife in you, and I won't care if I hang for it!

(slams door) ♪ ♪ (machines hissing, beeping) (click) ♪ ♪ Good bye, Alan.

We'll all miss you.

Think someone pushed him off that roof?

Who told you he was pushed?

It is often the connections we cannot see that lead us to the truth.

You knew all along, didn't you?

(shouts angrily) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ANNOUNCER: Go to our website, listen to our podcast, watch video, and more.

To order this program, visit ShopPBS.

"Masterpiece" is available with PBS Passport, and on Amazon Prime Video.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ANTHONY HOROTWITZ: Why has detective fiction remained so popular for so long?

I can't think of any genre in which the main character and the reader or the viewer, are more closely connected, the detective and the viewer stand shoulder to shoulder, they make exactly the same journey towards the same goal, they both want to find out the truth, and we discover the truth more or less at the same time.

You wish to know who killed Sir Magnus Pye?

The resolution of a detective story is absolute truth and that is something that I think we need in a world in which truth has become something of a scarce commodity.

We have 24 hour news.

We have fake news.

We have social media in which everybody in the world, it seems, has their own version of the truth.

Until you no longer know what the actual truth is.

But in a detective story, every I is dotted, every T is crossed.

You know exactly where you are at the end.

Why does life have to be so bloody difficult?

You know, that's why I like books so much.

In books, the characters do it all for you.

It all manages to work itself out in the right way.

HOROWITZ: There is a sort of a warmth about detective fiction.

A sort of a comfort.

Why are so many detective stories set in the golden age, you know, like, in villages like Saxby-on-Avon?

The answer to that is, is they remind us of a different world, of a pace of life that is slower, of a sort of a relationship between people that is more open and giving.

Somehow, I think the sun is always shining in a murder mystery story, and at the end of the day, the whole journey from the murder, to the investigation, to the final solution, is a journey towards comfort.

Cake?

HOROWITZ: Detective fiction also panders to, I think, a not entirely attractive side of the human psyche, which is this, that we are fascinated in other people.

We want to know people's secrets.

Everybody we meet is hiding something, and I think there is a real desire on our part to get behind the facade, to get to know the worst about them, to know everything that they're trying to hide.

And again, that's something that a detective story does by its very nature.

Never underestimate the stupidity of criminals.

I've devoted a whole chapter to it in my book.

Ah, "Criminal Stupidity."

Exactly.

HOROWITZ: At the end of the day, "Magpie Murders" is a puzzle.

Every single clue has got to be up there on the screen.

You should be able to guess the solution by, sort of, episode three or four.

You should have, really, a good idea if you are as smart as Atticus Pünd, or for that matter, Susan Ryeland.

I'm gonna work out who killed him.

HOROWITZ: For me, the joy of reading Agatha Christie has always been at the end of the book, I normally don't guess the ending, but I'm always aware that I should have, and could have, that she hadn't hidden anything from me.

And everything I write in this genre, I try to do the same.

PÜND: Is it not strange how evil can find its roots so easily in an English village?

HOROWITZ: It's funny, isn't it?

How murder mystery is something that the British seem to do so well.

We are a very small country, we are also a very rural country, you know, and villages like Saxby-on-Avon, or St. Mary Mead, whatever it may be, are everywhere scattered around the country, little tiny pockets where everybody knows everybody, and where the outside world, the modern world, is almost... distant or non-existent.

It's very personal, Mr. Pünd.

Nothing is more personal than murder, Miss Sanderling.

HOROWITZ: Secondly, the British are quite straight-laced.

We hide our emotions, unlike the Americans, who are much more effusive with their emotions.

I think we tend to keep everything internalized.

Famously, our houses have net curtains you cannot see through.

And I think with a detective story, which rips down the net curtains and takes away people's inhibitions and goes to the core of who and what they are and what they're trying to hide, is something that we just relish because it is so against our nature to give this sort of stuff away.

PÜND: Why does anyone kill anyone?

I can think of four reasons-- fear, envy, anger, and desire.

There must be others.

PÜND: No, from my experience, the extremes of human behavior, they always come down to those four things.

HOROWITZ: One of the problems for a writer like me is there are actually very few motives to murder somebody.

And you've got to remember that if you're setting this in the 1950s, where you'll be hanged if you are discovered, the motives have to be very serious indeed.

Fear is that you know something about me, you've discovered a secret of mine.

I've done something that I don't want anybody else to know.

And the only way to protect myself is to silence you.

Envy and desire.

That's simply that you have something that I want.

It could be your husband or your wife, your money, your house, your, your precious stamp collection, it could be anything-- I want it, the only way to get it is to kill you.

And the fourth and the final motive, and the reason that I might kill you, is revenge.

Anger.

(honks horn) There's something you did in the past, somehow you hurt me, you did something to somebody I knew or loved, there was an accident, perhaps.

That's why so many murder mysteries have a story buried in the past.

It is revenge.

♪ ♪