Sus

This programme contains some violent scenes, very strong language

and scenes which some viewers may find upsetting

'The official residence of the Prime Minister of Great Britain, Number 10 Downing Street.

'The glittering prize for the leaders of the country's political parties

'as Britain turns to the hustings.

'When the big day comes and Britons flock to the polls,

'nobody really knows which government will emerge.'

'It's the evening of the election

-'and it's up to you.'

-I just don't want to be British.

Go back to your own country!

One of the policemen turned around and punched me in the face.

Is society really saying

that if we know that there is a man in that corner

who has a murderous weapon in his pocket

that we shouldn't have the right to search him

before he probably commits a murder?

When you have police come about like in this situation, tense,

anything could happen.

This is not the first and this will not be the last.

Well, it looks like being one of the most exciting election nights ever,

with the possibility of a very close result and the prospect

of Britain having its first woman Prime Minister

at the end of the night.

Behind the cold computer, a flow of figures behind the professor's

percentages and swings is the fate of individuals who have

fought the good fight as they see it.

It's not a horse race, it's a human drama and a night of history.

-He's here.

-Any results in yet?

-I haven't heard.

-Glasgow's first, isn't it?

-I believe.

-We could do with a portable telly.

-There's one downstairs.

-In here!

-We shouldn't be too long, should we?

-You've seen him!

Election night.

A new dawn.

I don't want to see that in on the job.

-What's he like?

-Bit tatty.

-Talks English?

-I can understand him.

-Anything on him?

-No form at all.

-Maybe I should take a look.

-He's in the...

-What time is the Thorpe result?

-Pardon?

-That's the one that intrigues me.

-Not till about four or five. If there's a recount.

-A what?

-A recount.

This must be the only country in the world where a bloke

on a murder charge can stand for Parliament!

If he's sent down, they'll bung him in the cabinet.

-Fucking liberals.

-His name's Delroy. Leon.

-And you picked him up?

-Boozer at the bottom of his road.

The hospital casualty doctor called the nick at 8.30 -

no sign of Delroy at his flat, a neighbour said the boozer

-and we picked him up there.

-Fuss?

He just laughed.

-He what?

-He laughed.

Bit fucking naff. Wife dying in a pool of blood...

-He ain't mentioned her.

-Not a word?

-He ain't denying nothing neither.

There's grief.

So what's he think we've picked him up for, then?

-Sus.

-Sus?

-I reckon he think's it's sus.

-And he didn't make no racket, no screaming his rights or...?

-No.

He must have been picked up on sus a few times.

He looks like the sort of bloke you would.

-I don't like the look of his beard.

-Any form?

No convictions. He's had his dabs taken a few times.

-It's coming to something.

-Eh?

-Pick a bloke up so often on sus he don't even notice it.

Ought to fit him up now and again, to relieve the fucking monotony for him.

-I'll check again.

-Yeah.

Aliases?

Who's round his drum?

Charlie and Harry are rolling it now. Susie went an' all.

Three youngsters. Waiting social services. Put them in care till it's sorted out.

Good.

-Want a bet on the result?

-The doctors said...

-The election?

-Oh.

-Majority of how many?

-25?

-You're on.

You reckon it's more?

Tory landslide.

-All right, pony, then.

-HE LAUGHS

A woman bleeds to death in her own flat

and her old man's down the pub enjoying himself.

What time are they doing the postmortem?

Doctors are finished for the night now till nine in the morning.

Can we charge him till then?

The doctors are positive. It's a massive haemorrhage.

Harry's throwing up over the bed sheets, the nightdress is smothered.

Cunt.

-I'll have the nightie.

-The nightie?

-Might break him down if he's feigning. Know what I mean?

-Right.

Wheel him in, then.

I didn't get to be in the position I'm in today by wasting time.

And I want to be home in time to toast the new dawn.

-Book him first.

-I'll wheel him in, then.

'Scenes of tremendous activity. Fingers flying

'all over the place as the count is made.

'As you can see, she needs a 4% swing,

'at least to get a very small five-seat overall majority.'

'In about two hours or so, Mr Jeremy Thorpe will know his political fate.

'It's a very difficult time.

'He has to face charges on other matters at the Old Bailey

'in five days.'

We ain't been introduced.

My name's Leon Delroy.

How very civilised, Mr Delroy.

How very nice to make your acquaintance.

-DC Wilby and me, DS Karn.

-This is nice, innit?

I ain't been in this room before.

-Decor's quite simple. Let me show you around.

-Oh.

-We've gone for the hard-wearing but easy to clean.

-Get a lot of mess in here?

You never can tell.

Very nice. Very, um, simple.

Same with the furniture.

-I trust you approve?

-Well...

-What did you say your name was?

-Karn.

K-A-R-N.

Is that German or something?

My father gave it to me.

His father gave it to him. Sort of a family heirloom.

Nice.

Handed down from generation to generation.

All English. Pure stock.

Well, this looks the most comfortable chair.

Well, then, do sit down, Mr Delroy. Take the weight off your feet.

-How long did you say you were in the boozer?

-From about seven-ish.

More than three hours' solid boozing!

Then my gawdfathers, you must be fucking worn out, Mr Delroy!

I do apologise.

Perhaps, Wilby could get a chaise longue to make

-Mr Delroy a touch more comfortable?

-You're too kind, Mr Karn,

but this will do.

As it happens, I ain't got too much time to spare tonight.

I'm in a bit of an hurry. We're going down to the club to watch the election results.

The club, eh?

Which one's that, then?

Beefsteak? Brooks?

White's, or the MCC?

I ain't fussy.

-That's nice to know.

-As it happens, working man's club.

-But if you're thinking of inviting me to one of them...

-Actually...

I wasn't.

working man's club, you say.

If you don't mind me asking, Mr Delroy...

..what exactly do you do for work?

A profession?

Well, to tell the truth...

it's a period of readjustment I'm into right now.

Oh, yeah?

How do you mean, exactly?

Well, I'm sort of reassessing the situation.

I'm thinking maybe I won't concentrate on being a CLO after all.

Oh! Well, it sounds like a most fascinating field of work.

-To tell you the truth, although it sounds glamorous...

-Glamorous, yes.

-..it ain't.

-HE CHUCKLES

-In fact, being a...

-Capstan lathe operator.

Ooh!

To tell the truth, it's a bit fucking boring.

-So for the last 18 months...

-You gave the job up?

More, it gave ME up. So me and the JobCentre, like,

we've been concentrating on not doing nothing.

It's a pretty fucking democratic arrangement -

they do fuck all for me and I do fuck all for them.

Could I trouble you for a light?

You're not seriously proposing to smoke that cigarette

without offering one to me and DC Wilby, are you?

Here's the baccy, here's the skins.

After all the hospitality we've shown you -

chair, feet up,

tinkle of tea cups - you might at least roll us one apiece.

To tell the truth, I had a bit of a dose a while back.

-From a lavatory seat?

-I reckon another geezer's spittle.

No wonder they prohibit gobbing on lav seats.

Yeah, a dose, see.

A dose? You think that's funny?

I thought it was all right to mention it in here...

in confidence, like.

There's no ladies present... are there?

You know...

..I think I'm gonna like you, Mr Delroy.

Let's have a cup of coffee.

Cup of coffee?

All right.

Three coffees, Wilby.

Sorry about that, Mr Delroy.

Mr Wilby, he's, er...

..very moral.

You're a popular man.

I can see that you're a popular man.

The kind of man whose company is desired.

Yeah - cops desire it.

Really?

Yeah, I seem to have something, you know,

like a chemical aroma.

It attracts cops to me. They cluster around me.

They like to pass their time chatting me up. It's crazy.

-You're too sociable, perhaps.

-Ah, no, I don't ask them.

In fact, I've been known to try and keep out of their way,

but it seems like right now,

I can't walk down the road, wait at a bus stop or go for a drink

-without getting picked up by cops.

-Maybe it's your personality.

If you don't mind me saying...

-What's that?

-..confidentially, like.

Your secrets are safe with me.

I mean, I wouldn't want you to think I was complaining.

I can see you're not that sort of man.

They like to talk to me more than I like to talk to them.

They even make up little lies to get my attention.

Yes?

-Sus.

-Oh!

Suspicion of this, suspicion of that.

I've heard of it.

Last month - well...

at the bus stop, they said I was loitering to dip an old lady's handbag.

Got chucked out of court, the magistrate chucked it out.

No witnesses. The very next day in the park,

they want ME for possession of drugs.

Then they find I ain't got none so they say I'm a pusher

and I've flogged them.

I was in here for hours.

My old lady was worried out of her head.

Fat copper...

got my pants off,

sticking his boot up me arse,

said just in case I'd hid them there.

Then they just let me go.

Very time-consuming.

I got a lot of spare time,

but this is fucking ridiculous.

Look on the bright side - at least you haven't been convicted yet.

Never been no fucking crime to convict me for.

Never no witnesses, never no evidence, never no fucking crime!

Temper, temper.

I never lose my temper.

Very wise.

-With policemen.

-Lose your temper with a cop, that's assault.

They lose their temper with you,

-that's resisting arrest.

-Just a game of semantics.

-I got witnesses.

-Witnesses?

-That I ain't done nothing.

-How's that, then?

How does anyone witness nothing?

Listen, I got references.

Tell them to go and see my last boss.

Reason he got the sack for me was, he said,

"Delroy, you lazy fucking nigger,

"you never do...nothing."

I should've got him to write that down.

I should've got it in writing, to show people,

-show cops like you.

-DOOR OPENS

Labour's lost three seats.

-Double milk in the coffees?

-Anna Ford...

-Watch it!

She had a little diagram. Said it could mean a Tory landslide.

What did I tell ya?

What did I tell you?

Sugar, Mr Delroy?

Matter of fact, if you've finished,

-I wouldn't mind going.

-Going?

A responsible man like you going? We're about to celebrate...

the beloved Thatch.

I mean, you don't want to go, do you?

I've got a confession to make.

I'm not Tory.

-You what?

-I ain't Tory.

Has the issue of law and order not engaged you, Mr Delroy?

Well, in my personal experiences, like I was explaining, Mr Karn,

there ain't much order to law. Do you know what I mean?

-What do you make of that, Mr Wilby?

-That?

-What he said.

-It sounded a bit...

-A bit?

-Definitely out of order.

I'm sure he didn't intend it to sound that way, did you, Mr Delroy?

Didn't intend to besmirch the men in blue?

No-one seems to realise, except for the Thatch...

how under-strength we are, you know...

..fewer cops, rising crime, underpaid.

-I should be on sick leave.

-I worked it out.

-What did he say?

-I think he said...

-What?

I think he said he's worked it out.

What have you worked out, Mr Delroy?

Well, I think you've got a problem. And I've seen it...

..with my own eyes.

Having given it some consideration, I reckon...

-Tell me.

-..if you spent less time harassing people who ain't done nothing,

you'd have a lot more spare fucking time to spend chasing bastards who do do crimes.

That's what I think.

Must keep the streets safe for decent people.

That's kids.

I'm a married man,

a family man.

So, if you don't mind, I'm going now. It's just sus, right?

Pick up some other fucking nigger.

Fun over. I'm going. There's no crime, so...

Actually, Mr Delroy, there has been a crime tonight.

-You must come across a lot of those in your job.

-We do.

Oh, we do.

So if you'll excuse me, I'm going.

You can't go.

Why should I stay?

I've got rights.

-After all, you're involved.

-I'm what?!

Tell him.

You're involved.

How's that? Mmm?

Listen, I was in the pub from just after seven.

I've got witnesses. Before that I was at home.

We got this problem with the gas fire and my old lady,

cos she's not too well, she's cold all the time,

so I was fixing the gas fire in the bedroom.

Are you qualified for such technical work? Gas is specialised.

It weren't working, and the gas board wouldn't come.

Wouldn't come?

When I phoned, they said you had to book up if it ain't an emergency.

They said they couldn't come, and I said my wife was ill

-and they said maybe if one of the blokes...

-Wife not well, you say?

Ill?

Not too well. A few upsets. The pregnancy. You know?

She had it before. She stays in bed a lot.

And you went out, leaving her ill in bed?

Well, I mean to say, that was a bit callous, wasn't it?

The boys, the election.

It's OK, I put the kids to bed before I come out

and I'll check she's OK before I go to the club. Any problems,

she bangs on the floor and the kid downstairs, he runs

to the boozer and tells me - two minutes later I'm back there, OK?

So you last saw her...

When did you last see her?

When I went to the pub. I mean, before that. Sevenish.

What was she wearing?

Eh?

What was your wife wearing when you left her five hours ago?

She was in bed.

Wearing?

What do you mean, wearing?

Describe what she was wearing.

Well, she was wearing a nightie thing, like.

Like what?

Like, down here, long.

Kinda made her feel nice, cos she weren't feeling too great,

cold all the time, like she was.

Colour?

Colour? What do you mean, colour?

Colour of the nightdress!

It was pink, wasn't it?

Pinkish.

With white lacy bits around here and here.

Made her feel nice. Cheer herself up.

She looked real good in it, you know?

She looked really pretty, you know?

Wilby, would you get the...?

Of course.

I'll be off now and all.

I'm afraid not, Mr Delroy. There has been a crime tonight. This ain't sus.

Yeah, well, it's nothing to do with me, cos I got witnesses that...

Sit down, Mr Delroy!

-You've got nothing on me.

-Sit down, Mr Delroy!

Go fuck yourself. I'm going home!

She died tonight.

At 8:15, your wife died.

There was a great loss of blood.

In fact, when we get the postmortem results,

I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she'd bled to death.

Very good. Very good.

Bit fucking cruel. Bit sadistic, know what I mean?

I ain't done nothing. My wife...

How could you say such an evil thing?

What you trying to fit me up for?

Me confess to robbing gas meters or something?

That what you want, cunt?

What was she wearing?

I told you.

Open the door, Mr Wilby.

You're crazy, you know that? Crazy.

That's vicious, what you said.

As you like.

So I go, OK?

I'm going out of this madhouse. I'm off.

Just one thing, Mr Delroy.

If you'd just take a look...

..see if this is the nightie your late wife was wearing.

Mind the blood stains. Still warm, almost.

Sit down, Delroy. Few things I want to ask you.

-TV:

-'I hear the Tory party HQ are very optimistic now

'that they've pulled this election off.

-'Are you still cautiously optimistic?

-Yes, just cautiously.

-'You hear the polls are in your favour, Mrs Thatcher?

-Thank you...

'Well, if ever anyone looked like a winner, Mrs Thatcher looks like a winner this evening...'

No need for all that, Mr Delroy.

It won't bring her back.

You can't bring the dead back,

I know about death.

I've known people to die. I've even known the grief of a dog dying.

Oh, that was terrible.

Made worse by the feeling that I somehow

shared the responsibility.

8:15.

Actually, she screamed a great deal.

The gas board man fortunately arrived after all.

He entered the premises,

he heard her screaming. Your children were extremely distressed.

That stands to reason, I suppose. That feeling of helplessness.

I've known that feeling.

When the dog I was speaking of died, I felt extremely helpless.

For children it must be... inconceivable.

The gas board man did the right thing - he called an ambulance.

The doctors at the hospital said it was too late.

Oh, they examined her, but they were helpless with regard to arresting

the approach of death.

Unfortunately, she died at 8:15.

Oh, God...

Someone once said... I recall hearing someone say

that death is worse for those who survive the death.

I think that might well be true. One can't confirm it with the dead.

Mr Karn is having his tea in the canteen.

He's watching the election programme on TV. He hopes we can deal with this without disturbing him.

So - shall we begin at the beginning, then?

My kids...

-My kids?

-They're all right.

-They were there...

-They're in care.

-What?

Social services, for the night, put 'em in a hostel -

well, two actually. They're being looked after.

We arranged it all very promptly.

We're used to dealing with unusual situations.

-I've got to see 'em!

-That isn't possible.

-They need me.

-I beg your pardon?

At a time like this they need their father, not some fucking social worker!

The time they needed their father, he was drinking in a pub.

The time your wife and their mother died, you were drinking in a pub.

It seems the death was extraordinarily painful.

Which one might imagine given the unusual circumstances!

I can't believe she's dead.

You must face the truth.

I can't believe it. I mean...

her dying...

Would you like to see the nightdress again?

-HE SOBS

-That's not helping anyone, is it?

I can't believe...

In times of extreme emotional crisis, it's often advisable to occupy the mind.

So if we can establish the following facts...

Yes? Do try to concentrate.

Her full name?

Whose?

The deceased's?

Georgie.

I mean, Georgina. I called her Georgie.

With a Y or an IE?

Y, or IE?

-I never wrote it down.

-Never wrote down her name?

When I wrote her name down I wrote down Georgina.

Georgina, then.

And her age?

She was...29.

She had two children?

-No, three.

-We can't include the aborted foetus, not in the file.

We had three kids. We were going to have...four.

Names, dates of birth?

-Now?

-What do you mean, now?

You've just told me my wife's died.

Which is why we require these details.

-I don't know where my head is.

-Its usual place.

-I mean, my state of mind.

Do you have a history of mental disorder?

-I've never had a wife die before.

-First wife? Only one?

-Yeah.

The only one!

I see.

Have you no pity? My wife...

All my adult life with this lady...

Year of marriage?

I was 20.

-How old was she?

-She was...younger.

Of legal age to marry?

What do you mean?

In this country, a bride must be 16.

In this country...we got married.

I see.

Offspring. Names, dates of birth.

Jesus Christ!

'You can't have forgotten.

'Course I haven't forgotten! Just in the middle of this...

-'The eldest?

-He's Joey. He's eight. So he was born June the...14th.

-'You don't sound very certain.

-I'm certain. Just not certain of the year.'

-The year of birth of your eldest son?!

-I'm in a bit of a state!

Well, it seems a very simple question.

He'll be eight on June 14th.

-Born in 1971, then!

-Yeah!

-Yeah. The year Ali...

-Were you his father?

-Eh?

-Only you don't seem very certain of the date of birth.

Some mental block perhaps?

Course I'm his father. What the fuck, mister?

What the fuck are you getting at, what is all this?

Do try to control yourself, Mr Delroy!

Only doing my job.

I don't want to be on a murder case tonight.

-Now, the names and...

-What?

The other children's names and dates of birth.

Murder?

How'd she die? What are you saying? Eh?

The circumstances of your wife's death are highly irregular.

The doctors alerted us to the possibility of foul play

which will be confirmed by the postmortem. That is why...

You think someone...killed her?

Oh, yes.

Well, who?

I said, who?!

Oh, for God's sake, listen.

Listen to me! LISTEN!

See me?

I am bleeding. Inside, I'm bleeding, man.

I've been here for nearly an hour, before you tell me...

My life is crashed around my ears, and you don't tell me?

-Got to get the facts.

-This is how you normally do things?

-Normally do things?

-He's asking all these stupid fucking questions!

Procedure. Procedure.

You did not deviate from procedure, Mr Wilby?

-No, sir.

-Quite. We have procedures, Mr Delroy.

They change, from time to time.

Orders from the top. From the very top.

Commissioner. Top cop. Word in the ear.

Home Secretary has a word in his ear and it gets passed down

right along the line.

The actual texture of the force changes,

from government to government.

So you see, Mr Delroy - tonight it's er...unusual.

We're in a state of chassis tonight.

At a kind of crossroads.

And it really does seem as though tomorrow

we shall have a new government.

Really?

ITN still reckoning on a 65% majority.

Oh, bugger!

He's got money on it, the result.

I don't give a fuck about nothing...

It's related, Mr Delroy!

Related to your predicament.

You see, this may prove to be the first case

to climax under the new regime.

Requiring different perspectives.

He couldn't remember the date of birth of his eldest child.

Well, you see, there you are.

Depending on the swing of the pendulum. In the old days...

in the old days until quite recently we'd have said, "Our poor old coloured friend.

"What could be more natural in the world - the pressures he's under,

"the miseries of his wretched life on the bottom rung

"of society's ladder... We must try and understand, poor chap."

But I sense the sands are shifting.

I think, Mr Delroy, that all those fucking bleeding-heart social workers

are for the high jump.

I think we might find ourselves on firmer ground,

where we behave as policemen, and not as crutches.

And we ask, "What do you mean you don't fucking know

"when the bastard you're claiming family allowance for was born?!

"I bet you fucking remember when you go for a fucking state handout!"

I mean, these may be our new orders from the top.

To toughen up a touch.

And, believe me, Mr Delroy, after what some of us have endured in the name of freedom

and equality, and civil rights

and racial harmony and all that fucking bullshit,

that will make a nice change.

To start to come to terms with the realities of these diseased,

disgusting days.

I think it's on the cards. I think...

I think, actually, the beloved Thatch is not the soft touch

she's reckoned to be.

In fact, a little dicky bird whispered in my ear that she's quite an admirer of policemen.

That she sees we may be required for the struggle ahead,

to the tune of a 40% pay rise!

Well, I mean.

One doesn't fart about with that kind of money...

unless one intends to flex the muscle it is feeding.

-Or perhaps I'm er...going too far.

-I think you are, rather.

-There's a long way to go.

-Quite right.

-A long night ahead.

-Yes.

-A lot can happen.

-Indeed.

Cup of coffee, Mr Delroy?

Fetch him a coffee, Mr Wilby, and a Club biscuit.

BANGING

Mr Wilby, I thought he ought to go and cool down.

I forgot.

I forgot his point of view.

Don't want to over-excite him.

He's had a lot of tragedy in his life.

He took it very badly.

Couldn't unburden himself.

Couldn't talk to anyone.

He's unlike us.

Unlike you and me, Mr Delroy.

He's not a family man.

Now, take me, for example.

I get upset about something,

I have a wife I can go home to.

I can shed the labours and anxieties of the day

in conversation across the supper table with my wife.

She has quite a repertoire of continental dishes

picked up on our travels.

Now that the kids are off our hands,

we have the time and the extra finance for travelling, abroad.

We've become quite jet-setting in our packages.

In the autumn we might pop over to California

to see an aunt on the wife's side.

Freddie Laker's done a great deal for people like us.

We buy Linguaphone records and cassettes

for each other at Christmas

so we can learn a phrase or two

in the native tongue of the country we're going to visit in the summer,

to enable us to talk to the locals, an exchange of views and customs.

My wife and I frequently converse on the telephone in foreign languages.

I ask her what she's cooking for supper in Spanish...

..and then she enquires after my work in French.

Or Greek.

Oh, yes. And that's the difference between Wilby and me,

between him and you.

He has no family life.

He's alone.

He has no wife.

My wife...

..she died tonight.

My wife

and the child she was carrying.

About her pregnancy...

They're both dead.

I...

I do understand.

And I want to help you.

You want me to get it off your chest? Hmm?

But first we just have to get these things down, the basics.

We don't even have your address here.

He said she'd been killed.

Oh, yes.

Murdered.

Indeed, someone caused her...death.

Who?

Who? What do you mean, "Who?"

Who did it?

Eh?

-Why?

-Why?!

-Whoever...

Come off it, old son! I mean,

why the fuck do you think we brought you in here?

Your address?

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus!

You think...?

I weren't even there when...

From after seven!

There is no necessity for the person responsible for the death

to be with the victim at the time of the victim's last breath.

Jesus Christ.

On the contrary, in my experience of 27 murders,

the killer is rarely on the scene

unless it was he who called us to confess.

And invariably they're domestics. Husband and wife do's.

Oh, of course, you never called us, did you?

-I was at...

-It was the doctor on casualty

at the hospital who called us.

You think...

I never speculate. I have hunches.

Intuitions.

I check the facts in a series of eliminations

and I'm left with the undeniable.

Mostly as I had suspected.

So...

You live at...

Oh, there it is!

You've lived there for how long?

I demand to phone my solicitor.

Oh, you what?

You think...

What you're saying, what you're inferring...

Yeah, what you're inferring...

I demand to talk to my solicitor.

Why?

I've got rights. I know my rights,

and my rights is I can talk to my solicitor.

I've been here for nearly four hours. Let me go.

Oh, I can't do that.

Then my right is I can talk to a solicitor!

You insisting on that?

You're dead right I'm insisting. I'm insisting!

It's my legal entitlement and I stand by my entitlement.

I see.

I thought, just the two of us, a cosy little chat...

I demand...

All right.

Get Wilby up here pronto.

He's in the canteen.

There's a man here demanding his rights.

Ooh, how many's that they've lost now, then?

Of course, your rights,

they might all be candyfloss come tomorrow, the new dawn.

You could make it easy for yourself.

I'm not saying nothing until I've had my rights, and that's that.

-I see. Man of your word, are you?

-I am.

-When you say something, you stand by it?

-I do.

So when you told your wife you didn't want another kid

cos she was on the breadline, what with the 23 quid whatsit, and, er...

Oh, yeah, that's interesting.

Oh, dear, oh, dear.

-What's the matter?

-Beg your pardon?

What are you writing down? What's that, then?

-I'm afraid I can't tell you that.

-Yeah, but you can't...

I don't think either of us had better say anything

until you've taken advice from your solicitor,

since things have become so unreasonably official.

And I shall say nothing.

I ain't saying nothing neither.

Right.

HE YAWNS

WATER DRIPS

Bonsoir, ma cherie.

Ooh, je ne sais pas.

Je crois, je crois...

..c'est pas possible que j'arrive a la maison ce soir.

Parce que j'ai...um...

..j'arrive pendant le matin, je crois.

Ooh!

My wife's cooking a French lunch for us tomorrow.

Tres bien, ma cherie. Au revoir!

Look, what I'm saying is...

Oh, now you want to say something?

Well, be reasonable.

-I've been here since, what...?

-Oh, I say, that's a very nice watch.

That's a very nice watch indeed.

Not the sort of watch I'd have expected a man...

Is it a crime to have a watch now?

Now, now, Mr Delroy, you're being hypothetical again.

Is it an offence for you to be in possession of that watch,

you enquire. I do not know. I cannot know until I've sifted the facts.

I do not know.

You'd be amazed, Mr Delroy, at the number of humdrum little things

that CAN be offences these days.

It's staggering. There are hundreds of new things every year.

The statute book's as big as the Bible, it gets larger and larger.

In some countries, they review the laws every few years

and chuck out all the old,

outdated, useless laws to keep the overall total down.

It makes life a little easier for the law enforcement officers.

Has its faults, of course.

It makes it difficult to know, for example,

what procedure to follow

should we witness, on East Ham High Street,

a crusader chopping the head off a dragon.

But by and large it's a sensible policy.

Listen, I just...

Mr Delroy, you have posed a highly complex fucking question,

and you shall hear a highly complex fucking answer.

Given the state of things in English law,

the refusal of successive governments

to withdraw the outdated laws even after many centuries of disuse,

we find ourselves

in possession of a compelling, mind-boggling catalogue of crimes.

You moan and you whine and you whimper about sus

and harassment by the police, but by Christ,

we could nail you any day of the week for a galaxy of crimes, sunshine.

Do you know that it is an offence for an Englishman

over the age of 12 not to practise archery on a Sunday morning?

It is an offence!

I could pick you up any Sunday morning

for not doing your archery, Delroy.

What are you fucking talking about?!

Henry V! Good King Harry. It was all his doing.

You know what he was like,

after his three unforgettable victories

won by his archers,

he did pass, by royal decree in the early 15th century

that every man over the age of 12 was to practise archery

for at least one hour every Sunday morning,

and that law has never been repealed!

Although, if I ever catch you with a bow and arrow

on Wanstead Flats on a Sunday morning, Delroy,

I'll do you for offensive weapons.

Curious, what?

Listen...

See, what this country needs

is a strong government to sort out the laws. Bring some order!

You're mad.

Someone up there is. Someone up there's round the fucking bend.

Do you know it's an offence to drop a hand grenade

out of a balloon? I kid you not.

It's OK to drop napalm in Vietnam,

but it is a crime against humanity to drop a hand grenade out of a balloon

according to the St Petersburg Conference of 1880.

I see I have intrigued you with my knowledge of history.

Hated it at school, but now I can't read enough of the stuff.

I belong to the History Book Club.

It gives one a perspective on things.

Callaghan was on. He refused to comment.

He looked extremely put out when they asked him

to comment on how it was going. They were routed in Angus South.

Mr Delroy here has little interest in Angus South,

-but like Sonny Jim, he refuses to comment.

-Oh.

Oh, well, that makes things a bit difficult.

He's asked to speak to his solicitor.

-What bloody cheek!

-Hmm.

-Couldn't believe my ears.

-I know my rights.

A word in your ear, Wilby.

-Right, empty your pockets.

-Eh?

You've got to empty your pockets.

I ain't saying nothing.

-Do it without talking, then.

-No.

It's procedure, Delroy, it's your rights.

There's a set of events which must be carried out in order

before you get your rights to phone your solicitor.

Before we let you do that, you've got to empty your pockets.

I never knew that.

Look on it as an education, then.

Write this down.

One packet cigarette papers.

One packet cigarette papers.

One tin containing...tobacco.

One tin containing tobacco.

Three keys on ring.

Three keys on ring.

50 pence in coins.

50 pence.

In coins, as opposed to notes.

Three pound notes in wallet.

One underground train ticket dated February l2th, value 60p.

One airmail letter post-marked Trenchtown.

One...photo.

One comb, containing hair.

One packet of half-empty cheese biscuits.

Give us the watch.

One watch.

-Anything else?

-No.

Right, then, Delroy.

Dial nine for a line.

Something the matter?

-I, erm...

-Line all right?

It's...

Well, come on, Delroy, get a move on.

All the fuss and aggravation you've caused demanding your rights,

Wilby here's missed his supper break.

It's just...

..I ain't got a solicitor.

I don't exactly know any solicitors.

You don't have to play golf with them.

You just have to phone one up, them's your rights.

There was one I talked to at the Law Centre.

I don't know the number. Do you know their number?

-No.

-What do I do?

-Do?

I want to talk to a solicitor.

You're asking me...

-ME... what you should do?

-If you know any solicitors.

I know dozens.

I'd be grateful if...you'd...

What?

If you'd tell me one's name,

so I'd phone him up, if you know the number.

Did you hear that?

Tollerton, Davies and Ludd.

Thank you.

Do you know the number?

544 2873.

Thank you.

Oh, Delroy,

that's the, er... That's the office number.

It's now two o'clock in the morning.

That's personal, what you're looking at.

Who is this?

-The photo?

-Who?

That's a photo of Georgie.

Your wife?

-Yes.

-Who died tonight!

This is a letter from her, then?

Yes.

She wrote you a letter?

Yes, sir.

What's she doing writing you a letter, then?

It was some years ago.

From Trenchtown.

-She went there, with the baby.

-Went back to Trenchrown. Why?

Holiday?

How can that lot afford flights to fucking nig-nog land? Freddie Laker don't go there.

We were going to go back there to live.

She wasn't especially talented at writing letters, was she?

It was the only one she ever wrote.

To you.

I kept it.

I can't read this scrawl.

A poem, is it? Is it a poem?

I missed her, when she went there.

By there, you mean Trenchtown?

You was thinking of going back home? Pity you didn't.

We talked about it...

The circumstances here.

The job...

in Sudbury.

I had to get up at four o'clock in the morning...

and walk for miles.

You should have gone back. Back home.

Then we had another baby coming.

So, to make a life here.

So your missus went to sort out the possibilities?

She liked the idea.

We was saving up.

-For four and a half years.

-She come back?

Then she had another baby.

You must have been pleased when she came back.

I lost the job.

Never the money, like.

This a poem, then?

She wrote poetry, then?

Nah...

It's a song.

She thought I'd miss her when she went.

I did.

The week before she went...

we went to see this concert. At the Lyceum.

Marley, he sang it.

Her name in the song, and her going back, like...

Well...

..it was her song to me. And me to her.

No woman, no cry

I remember when we used to sit

By the government garden in Trenchtown

That was a place of rest

We would mingle with the good people we met

Good friends we have Good friends we last...

Good friends we LOST.

You read it.

Along the way

In this great future you can't forget your past

Sobriety, as I say

No woman, no cry

Little darling, don't shed no tears

Remember when we used to sit

In the government garden in Trenchtown

And then...

Georgie...

..would make a fire light

So it was wood smoke burning through the night

Then we would go to the forest

For things I share with you

My feet...

is my only carriage

Cos I'm gonna push on through

But what I'm gonna believe is

Everything is gonna be all right

Everything...

..is gonna be...

..all right.

HE SOBS

But it's not all right, is it?

You should have got out, Delroy.

When you had the chance.

I wouldn't like to be a nigger in the new England.

Yesterday they voted for the price of bacon and a tenner off your tax.

They talked about supermarkets and jobs.

They didn't mentioned what was going to happen to the likes of dole scroungers like you.

There'll be no protection now.

I think the results tonight prove that people got a bit sick of all that.

Sick of civil fucking liberties,

and Anti-Fucking-Nazi Leagues having riots in our decent streets

and thousands of honest coppers being dragged out

to stop fucking Yids and Pakis and Indians and God-knows-who

bashing hell out of half a dozen stupid,

inarticulate red-necked fascists.

They got sick, all right.

They got so sick they had to form a special force -

a Special Patrol Group.

It's all trained up.

Waiting for the order.

I think things are going to be different from now on, Delroy.

I think you lot step out of line from now on,

and there'll be no fucking dole, mate...

Just a one-way ticket home.

Racist...

pig.

I was rather hoping you were going to be able to resist

using that particular insult, Mr Delroy.

It has the effect of bringing back some unfortunate memories for Mr Wilby here.

-Doesn't it, Wilby?

-It does indeed.

Tell him what happened.

I'd rather not.

That is an instruction, Mr Wilby.

There was a riot. And, er... in the bustle, the demonstrators,

they were...kicking us...

When we protected ourselves,

they screamed when the television cameras were on them -

they screamed, "Racist pigs, fascist pigs!"

-Do I have to continue, sir?

-Tell him! Tell him what happened before the Special Patrol Group.

We were unprotected!

I was kicked - harshly in the genitals.

Rusty, my dog, he went berserk.

He chased the demonstrator to his house.

I was on the end of the lead, in pain.

Rusty chased him up the stairs.

But he opened the door of his room and slammed it hard, shut...

..crushing Rusty's skull in the gap.

I was powerless to help.

Rusty's head was smashed tight in the closed door.

The demonstrator was too afraid to open it.

The dog screamed in agony.

He... The demonstrator inside the room, the youth,

reached out and took a weighing machine - a heavy old weighing machine -

and struck Rusty repeatedly over the head with it.

Crushing the skull.

Until he died.

I thought that was extremely cruel to do to a dog.

Yeah, sure. But I don't know what any of that has to do with me.

Tonight, your wife was found dead in highly suspicious circumstances.

She was in enormous pain, screaming out loud and bleeding like a soda fountain.

On the bedside table were pills. It was like a chemist's shop

-Yeah, I got them for her!

-When?

-She was having a lot of pain last night.

-A lot?

-She had it six months ago. Belly aches.

She went up the hospital. This was when we found out she was pregnant!

-You didn't know?

-Didn't like to think about it.

-Why not?

When she said she'd missed her period, the thought of another kid...

-I understand.

-His rooms are really quite frightful. They smell.

The whole house smells of Jeyes Fluid.

I understand why you'd have wanted to end the pregnancy.

-She didn't believe in that.

-Morally?

She doesn't look like a very moral woman. She wears fake eyelashes!

I understand. Is that why you never went to see a doctor about a LEGAL abortion?

I went to the doctor for something for her pain.

-When?

-This morning.

-It was bad again this morning?

-It was terrible this morning.

You spent three fucking hours down the pub!

She was all right after I went to the doctor this morning.

-YOU went to the doctor?

-Yeah, I'm telling you...

Your wife's in pain, so you go to the doctor.

If she'd had toothache, would you have gone to the dentist?

-She couldn't walk for pain!

-When did he visit her?

-He didn't visit her!

-Why not?

-He said it wasn't necessary.

She's dead!

I asked him to come,

but he said it was the baby, the time that she was pregnant,

he said it was normal sometimes.

-He doesn't sound like a very conscientious doctor.

-Not white!

-His name?

-I don't know.

You don't know the name of your own doctor?!

-I can't pronounce it.

-So you just left it at that, then!

He gave me some pills. I mean, he give them for her.

And?

I went to the chemist and got them and she took them.

I mean, he'd given me a prescription and I got them

and she took them. She was very hot.

You said she was shivering - you tried to mend the fire.

She said she was shivering!

The pills, the pills?

She took them. Said she felt a lot better.

She had a kip. She was asleep. She was a lot better.

So you went down the pub.

I weren't going to go. She wanted me to go.

-So you went?

-Yes.

At your flat, my chaps found a screwdriver.

It was long and thin and very bloody. It was covered in blood.

The same blood that was on the nightie and the sheets and the floor!

-I was trying to mend the gas fire.

-It was smothered in your wife's blood!

Don't go on about her bleeding and fucking bloody all the time!

The casualty doctors, as soon as they saw her, they knew. Right away!

They phoned us up. They said, someone's done an abortion on her.

All the signs of interference.

You did it. You fucking killed her.

You left her to die and went boozing down the pub.

Lies, lies - fucking lies!

That poor woman... you wiped her out like that.

I didn't mean...

Make it easy on yourself.

Admit it now, Delroy.

Then we can all go home and watch the election results.

Wilby, watch him.

Arghhh!

-DELROY GASPS

-What? Eh?

Don't understand.

DOG BARKS

BABY CRIES

I'm sorry, Georgie.

DELROY GROANS

-MARGARET THATCHER:

-By very happy tradition,

my first duty is to thank the returning officer

for the splendid way in which the people have presided

at the polling booths and counted our count,

and a particular word of thanks to the police,

for the way in which they have dealt with everything which has transpired...

APPLAUSE ON TV

Everything which has transpired.

BLOWS PARTY HOOTER

Callaghan's expected to resign at any minute.

DELROY GROANS

Thorpe lost his seat.

He lost Devon.

That put Mr Karn in very high spirits.

He'd be positively elated

if he hadn't had to hang around here all night, for you.

He'll book you us soon as the postmortem comes through. Not long now.

Someone must help me.

We'd call your GP, only you said you couldn't remember his name.

HE SCOFFS

I can't see any bruising.

Mind you, it probably wouldn't show up anyway, would it?

This is a nightmare.

And this doesn't happen in England.

It's been quite a time for you, hasn't it?

One way or the other.

My children...

I don't think you'll be seeing them for quite a long time.

There must be someone I can talk to.

Well, everyone here's very angry with you.

They think you're a savage, doing what you done.

I mean, we appreciate your limited finances,

but you can get abortions on the National Health.

I never did it.

Well, that's just not true!

I love her.

Takes all sorts.

DOOR OPENS

Has he confessed yet?

-No.

-Then fuck him.

As soon as the doctor rings, charge him,

have him up in court at 10:30am.

I want this case public today!

MUFFLED: The new dawn.

Let them chew his bollocks off.

This bacon's like old rope.

Should have gone back to Trenchtown when you had the chance. Hm?

You would have been better off there,

to where you're going.

I don't know...

I don't know why you didn't see the writing on the wall.

How much dole did you say you get?

I mean, why the fuck should we be bled for the likes of you?

What did you think it'd be like when you got over here?

I was born here.

Yeah, but your father weren't.

Someone, somewhere in your family weren't.

Skip reckons Keith Joseph will be Home Secretary.

There's a no-nonsense man.

He'll ship the lot of you home.

Government will run the full the five years...

Thatch will be the governor...

in 1984.

There's a thought.

Are you a political man, Mr Delroy?

Yesterday I'd have said no.

Today it begins.

Well, if there's a by-election you'll be able to stand as a candidate,

since you're on a murder charge.

There was an incident... Refresh my memory, Wilby.

In The Job, I read it.

Some prisoner, some nick... Prisoner refused...

They wouldn't let him play rugby.

Rugby union for the prison team.

He was a murderer, too.

Yeah, I remember reading it...

The president of the Rugby Union Federation, or whatever it was,

said, "There are no rules in rugby union

"preventing convicted murderers from playing our game,

"but this man cannot play for the team

"because he has played rugby league."

I dunno - we're all barmy.

Thorpe lost, then?

You lost your bet.

-Yeah, well, Government ministers are losing their seats.

-No-one is safe from the Thatch.

PHONE RINGS

Yes?

Yes.

All right, then.

That was the governor. He wants to see you.

-Well, I'm waiting for the postmortem...

-They've called him.

Well?

He wants to see you.

Now?

Urgently.

Fuck it.

Wilby, entertain Mr Delroy.

You're looking rather subdued, Mr Delroy.

You in a reflective mood, perhaps?

Would you do things differently, change things?

Hm, is that what you're thinking?

I'm thinking...

Not have children, not get married?

I'm thinking

about the day this white boss

called me a lazy fucking nigger.

This white boss,

in the factory, in Sudbury.

He was so ignorant, and...

..I thought...

"Don't fight him.

"He's winding you up.

"Let it go."

Yes?

I'm thinking I wish I'd kicked his fucking teeth down his throat.

Well, that wouldn't have achieved anything.

Except the sack.

I got the sack anyway.

I'd have felt better when you did me over, though.

I'd have dreamt I was doing it to you.

I'm innocent.

Sure.

I didn't do it.

I never did it.

FOOTSTEPS

-HE WHISPERS: He didn't do it.

-What?

Cock up - the fucking doctors got it wrong. He never did it.

-But they said...

-I know what they fucking said.

They went straight to the governor to explain their mistake.

It looked like what they said but the postmortem revealed...

Um...

It seems you're owed an apology, Mr Delroy.

Your wife died of an ectopic pregnancy.

There was a rupture in her fallopian tube.

The foetus was stuck there. It was starting to grow there.

The tube is the width of...a hair.

The doctors said this accounted for the vast haemorrhage.

Also explained why she would have experienced some discomfort.

He also said...

..it SEEMED definite, given the...

screwdriver all bloody and...

It's a rare complication.

Well, blame the fucking doctors - don't blame me.

No?

You can go.

Go?

Just like that?

Far to go? Do you want a lift?

I'll go on my own.

My kids...

Well, er, if you phone social services...

I want the pieces of my photo,

and the letter.

Your possessions.

We have...one pack cigarette papers,

one tin containing tobacco,

three keys on ring,

50p in coins,

one...wallet,

three pound notes,

one Underground ticket dated 12th February, value 60p,

one airmail letter postmarked Trenchtown,

one photo...

One comb containing hair,

one almost empty pack of cheese biscuits,

one watch.

Just...sign there, please.

I want to make a phone call.

-To social services?

-Yes.

Would you find the number, Wilby?

You're not an unintelligent man, Mr Delroy.

Surely you can appreciate, given the circumstantial evidence and the...

Have I got to listen to you?

I just don't want you getting...

..what happened...out of proportion.

DOOR OPENS AND CLOSES

There you are.

Mr Delroy, I wouldn't bother wasting your time and energies

on any exaggerated heroic expectations.

Not a unique case.

Let it be forgotten.

I advise you very strongly...

drop it.

KARN SIGHS Very well,

Mr Delroy.

Let me bring you up to date on the reasons you were...

unfortunately delayed here on the night your wife died.

There were a number of breakings and enterings in the area.

A witness saw someone leaving a premises. It could have been you.

You were detained here on suspicion of breaking and entering.

When we heard of your wife's tragic demise...

we offered you comfort,

looked after your children...