Red Riding: In the Year of Our Lord 1974

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[Film projector whirring]

[Rousing instrumental music]

[thunder rumbling]

[ominous music]

[radio static squealing]

A little girl goes missing.

The pack salivates.

If it bleeds, it leads, right?

Eddie Dunford,

crime correspondent,

back home to take the North.

Business first.

Dad won't mind waiting.

Edward.

I'm sorry to hear

about your father.

Oh, yeah, thank you very much,

Mr. Hadley.

He had a good innings, eh?

This is Detective

Superintendent Jobson.

Oh, right.

Pleasure, sir.

Pleasure to meet you.

Mr. Dunford's hoping to be

the Post's

new crime correspondent.

Oh, aye, I always got on well

with Jack Whitehead.

[Chuckles] Good old Jack, eh?

He'll be standing in

for a trial period.

That's right.

Pleasure to meet you...

and to work.

Is he a local lad?

Well, he cut his teeth

on our Yorkshire Post,

but he's been down south.

Young Turk, then, eh?

Made a pig's ear of it

from what I understand.

I'm giving him a month

to prove himself.

So where's Whitehead?

- Jack?

- Yeah.

On the piss, probably.

Don't worry, son.

You've got your legs

well under the table.

Just do the job.

I know, I know.

F*** him.

He's not getting in on this one.

Yeah, funeral is in two hours.

It's going to be tight.

I know. We'll make it.

Aye-up, owl's on.

Gentlemen,

we'll keep this brief.

At 4:
00 p.m. yesterday evening,

3rd of September,

Clare Kemplay disappeared

on her way home

from Morley Grange

Junior and Infants.

Clare is ten years old.

She was wearing a red anorak,

gray school uniform,

and red Wellington boots.

Mrs. Kemplay now would like

to read a short statement.

Thank you.

- Poor cow.

- No, I know.

Yeah, do you reckon dad did it?

I would like to appeal

to anyone who knows

where my Clare is,

or who saw her

after yesterday teatime,

to please contact the police.

Clare is a very happy girl.

And I know she wouldn't just-

never just run off

without telling me.

Please, if you know

where she is...

[Sobbing] Please, this is...

I'm sorry.

[Sobbing]

All right, lads,

that's your lot.

[Gentle guitar music]

Oh.

I'm sorry, Mum.

I'm really sorry.

I'm really, really sorry

I'm late.

"Business before pleasure,"

he always said.

She means Dad.

Remember Dad?

[Speaking indistinctly]

He were Yorkshire's

finest tailor, William was.

He was a good lad, your dad.

You knew where you were

with him.

Reliable.

Well, now, Edward Dunford,

North of England

crime correspondent.

"Mrs. Sandra Kemplay

made an emotional plea

this morning..."

Did you write that, love?

Our new byline boy is Eddie.

You'll be wanting

his autograph next.

He'll always be

"Little Eddie" to me.

It's a step up, lad.

It's a pity your dad's

not here to see it.

Hey, is that one of his?

This? No.

This is a Lord John,

Carnaby Street.

Oh, aye.

It doesn't look good, does it?

This Kemplay lass.

24 hours, not a thing.

There's been a couple now,

aren't there?

Yeah, going back.

Wasn't there a little lass

from Rochdale?

There were one not so long ago

in Castleford.

Yeah, Jeanette Garland.

Never found her neither.

No? Didn't they?

Hear them wheels.

They never caught no one.

Never do, though, do they?

[Dramatic music]

Aye-up, Chuck.

How are you? You all right?

Good to see you.

The prodigal returns.

Eddie.

[Mixed conversation]

Here to see the old man,

Miss Moneypenny.

Didn't cut it down south, then?

Funny.

So, sir, if I could get

your attention,

we have three missing girls.

They're all aged

between eight and ten.

1969, 1972, and then the day

before yesterday.

And they all go missing within

miles of one another, sir.

This could be the A34 murders

all over again.

Well, do let's hope so,

eh, Mr. Dunford?

Yeah, fingers crossed, eh?

I was being sarcastic, Edward.

Sorry.

Have you spoke

to Jack Whitehead about this?

No.

No, this is-this is my story.

Isn't it, Mr. Hadley?

Spot the Ball.

It's the reason why 39%

of working-class males

buy this paper.

That's interesting.

You honestly think so?

What about-

about working-class males?

Do you think

it could be the same man?

Yes, sir.

Yes, I do.

Right, I'll fix you up

with a one-to-one.

First thing in the morning

with DCS Molloy.

Bill Molloy suspects itinerants.

Gypsies.

Oh, well...

[Laughs]

Of course he does.

Now, don't push him, lad.

This paper enjoys

a good relationship

with our newly amalgamated

police force.

And I, for one, would like

to keep it that way.

Of course, sir. Of course.

Good.

You know, you really ought

to have a go at these, Edward.

They'd be right up your street.

Thank you, sir. I will.

- Edward.

- Yep?

Don't cock it up, eh?

[Soul music playing]

- You think you've got it

all set up

Yeah, unbelievable.

They hacked the f***ing

swan's wings off.

Clean off.

Left the poor bastard

lying there.

You're joking.

Yeah. Still alive, apparently.

Some kids found it.

- Hey, Eddie.

- Yes, yes.

How did it go with Hadley?

Ah, he's not convinced.

Usual bollocks,

"Don't cause a fuss."

Right.

One thing's for sure:

They're linked, all right.

I know it.

Yeah, but linked how?

Everything's linked, Eddie.

Show me two things that aren't.

Stoke City

and the f***ing championship.

Hmm. Come here.

Eddie, it's a conspiracy.

We've got MI5 keeping an eye

on our Harold,

Mountbatten waiting in the wings

with a military junta.

Bollocks.

There are death squads

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