Endeavour Page #2

Valerie...

Quillen.

Who denies any such arrangement.

No boyfriend,

no troubles at home,

so it's unlikely

she's a runaway.

That's it.

Not much to go on.

It really is this kind of case.

But we keep looking.

Good night, then.

There is one thing, sir.

Going through this list

of her belongings at home,

she has a copy of the Oxford

Book of English Verse

by her bed,

together with A Shropshire Lad

and the Betieman Collected.

Young girls like poetry.

Young girls like Mary Tremlett?

Too highbrow for a girl

whose father works

on the GMC assembly line?

That's your point?

No, my point is that

they're hardbacks.

Beyond the pocket

of a schoolgirl,

I'd have thought.

Just struck me as odd,

that's all.

Maybe they were a present.

Her parents, school prize even.

There's official lines of

inquiry we're following, Morse.

Poetry books isn't one of them.

Is Mary fond of poetry,

Mr. Tremlett?

She has nice handwriting.

Her teachers

commended her on it.

A-plus, last report.

Sharon, my eldest.

She's visiting.

Police.

How do you do,

Miss Tremlett?

Mrs.

Veelie.

They had her read out some

of her essays to the class.

The house isn't the same.

Find her, will you, please?

Find our Mary.

What is it you're looking for?

Oh.

Just filling in some

of the background.

So you weren't here

Saturday, then.

I'd dropped by the afternoon

to see to Dad's tea,

but went straight home after.

About 5:
00.

Where's home?

Droitwich.

We had a stock take

Sunday, see.

Freeman, Hardy & Willis.

I'm deputy under manageress.

And your husband?

He's in carpets.

Traveling.

We're not together any more.

You're close to your sister,

Mrs. Veelie?

Not really.

All this fuss.

It'll just be some stunt.

Attention seeking.

What makes you say that?

'Cause she's always

been the same.

When Mum was alive,

she spoiled her rotten.

Dad, too.

Whatever she wanted.

Their blue-eyed girl.

Silly little cow.

It's definitely why

the police were here.

Nobody has seen her.

Do you think she knows

something?

Don't know, does she?

How would she know?

Extension two-double-five.

Yes, I'll hold.

Morning.

AVG, aye.

What you got there, then?

Mary Tremlett's poetry books.

Well, what's all that about?

Well, don't know yet.

Nothing, probably.

Bloody hell've you been?

Got a suicide in Thrupp.

Unidentified male.

You're on.

How am meant to get there?

Want me to wipe your ares

for you and all?

Use your initiative.

Morning.

Not for this poor sod.

You are whom?

Morse.

Detective Constable.

On attachment from Newtown.

You're the pathologist,

presume?

Better hope so, hadn't you?

Otherwise I'm making one hell of

a mess of your scene of crime.

Rate this script:3.8 / 4 votes