Episode 4

SUSAN: Who did it?

You're in the story, you must know.

♪ ♪ PÜND: It's not the death of Sir Magnus Pye that interests you, it's the death of Alan Conway.

Not "The Magpie Murders"!

"Magpie Murders"!

That's the bloody title!

CHARLES: Are you really sure he was killed, Susan?

A murder writer murdered?

When did you last see him?

Oh, about two years ago, I think.

I used to bump into him in Woodbridge.

We have every confidence in you, Susan.

I'm not sure that I'm cut out to run a company.

ROBERT: It was my mum and me and my little brother Sam.

Sam died in an accident.

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

SUSAN: Miss Darnley.

She never actually appears in the book, so why does Alan Conway even bother to give her a name?

FRANCES: I'll put a knife in you, and I won't care if I hang for it.

KATIE: Dad's had a stroke.

He's in Ipswich Hospital-- he might not make it.

SUSAN: I'm going to find that missing chapter, you know.

I'm going to work out who killed him.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (thunder claps) (whimpers) (click) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Kate.

It is Kate Williams, isn't it?

It's me, Alan.

Alan?

Alan Conway?

Yes, it's been a while.

Oh, of course.

Well, congratulations on your success.

I saw your last book, it's number one.

Yes, for ten weeks.

And of course, I owe it all to you.

Well, not really.

Well, you introduced me to your sister back in the day.

How are Daisy and John?

Jack.

They're fine.

Look, I don't suppose you'd fancy getting a cup of coffee, would you?

It'd be lovely to catch up.

Well, well, thank you!

Yeah.

Yeah, there's a place just around the corner.

I can't believe you didn't recognize me.

(laughing) (sighing): Oh, it does seem such a long time since Woodbridge School.

I never really thanked you for what you did for me.

Oh, it was nothing.

Well, it was everything to me.

I couldn't wait to get out.

Really?

I thought you enjoyed teaching there.

Well, some of the children.

Yours.

But all I ever wanted to do was write.

Well, I love your books.

(chuckles) Susan always sends them to me.

How is Susan?

Have you not spoken to her?

We email.

Oh, I don't see her half as often as I'd like.

Are there just the two of you?

Yeah.

Then she never married.

Oh, I think she's married to her job.

(chuckles) Well, she's very good at it.

Really, do you think so?

I think she's brilliant.

Well, maybe you should tell her.

You're absolutely right.

(clicks tongue): I wish I knew her better, but she never really talks about herself.

That's just how she is.

Did the two of you grow up around here?

No, we were brought up in Kent.

Whereabouts?

Near Whitstable.

Ah, that's a nice part of the world.

Hm.

Should we have another coffee?

Okay.

(laughs) (snaps) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (horns honking) (sighs): We can't do this.

What?

I hate arguing with you.

We're not arguing.

Yeah, only because you're not talking to me!

I might as well have been on my own last night.

I got more chat out of a pillow.

I can't think about Crete right now, not with all this on my plate.

If you come to Crete, you won't have this on your plate.

I haven't decided, okay?

I'm thinking about it.

Do you really have the money for a hotel?

Yes.

How?

Oh, your cousin Yannis.

He has vizma.

(sighs): I don't even know what that means.

It means connections.

How long are you going to be away?

The funeral's this afternoon, so I'll stay at Katie's tonight.

We can talk tomorrow.

Yes.

(knock at door) Ready?

I got an email from Phillip Jones.

"Publishers Weekly"?

They want to know about Cityworld Media.

Word's got out.

What are you going to tell them?

I don't know, you tell me.

Uh... (chuckles) I haven't decided yet.

Oh, it's not like you to be so indecisive.

I know, but it's not exactly been an ordinary week.

True.

So... Are you all set for the funeral?

Mm.

I was wondering if I should've worn something a little more cheerful?

(both chuckle) Oh, God, I hate to do this, but I, I need an answer.

I know.

I don't want to put pressure on you, but, look, I'll be, I'll be honest.

I've spent half a lifetime building up this company, and this sale is... You know, it's not about the money.

It's, it's about knowing that everything I've ever done is in safe hands.

Your hands.

Otherwise, what's the alternative?

We get swallowed up by one of the big players, just like every other independent publishing company.

And in the end, you know as well as I do, we just disappear.

No pressure.

I'm just trying to be honest with you.

Hm.

Look, this is about you, Susan.

I need a decision.

Can you give me a few more days?

A few, no more.

♪ ♪ (magpies chittering) (people talking in background) Ah!

Good morning, Pünd.

(exhales): Did you have a good sleep?

Oof, no, no, I, I did not sleep well.

Ah, thinking about the case, eh?

Well, a full English will put you back on your feet.

I was thinking about Brent.

Not a pleasant way to pass the night.

(with mouth full): No, that's exactly my point.

Something about him just smells a bit off.

♪ ♪ Are you all right?

I have a headache.

Maybe I should get you something.

A glass of water, perhaps.

Sir!

Actually, James, you know, I, I think I'll just go back to my room, just... ♪ ♪ (stammers): Someone help me, please!

MAN: Someone call a doctor!

I need some help!

KAMAL: Are you feeling any better?

Mm, yes, thank you.

I'm Dr. Kamal.

You know my receptionist, I think.

Joy Sanderling?

Oh, yes, indeed.

They were going to call an ambulance, but the nearest hospital is 12 miles away.

I decided it would be easier to treat you here.

I can have you taken to the hospital now, if you like.

Oh, no, no, no.

That'll not be necessary, thank you.

Numbness?

A little.

Any other symptoms?

Headaches?

Well, the truth is, I have a condition that was explained to me by my doctor in London.

What happened just now was not unexpected.

I understand.

You're talking about a tumor, I would imagine.

I assume it's inoperable?

You see things that others do not.

In the world of medicine, it's you who are the detective.

I'm sorry I cannot help you.

Well, perhaps you can, Dr. Kamal.

You were the first person to examine the body of Mary Blakiston.

You want to talk about that, even now?

Well, if you do not object.

Not at all.

I admire your fortitude, Mr. Pünd.

Yes, I examined Mary Blakiston.

It was Brent who called me.

This is a matter for the police, I'm afraid, Brent.

Mrs. Blakiston is dead.

That's what I thought.

That's what it looked like.

What made you look in the window?

I heard the phone ringing.

It rang three times, and she didn't answer it, but it was her job to take any calls.

I wondered what was wrong.

There was no sign of what you might call foul play?

No, it was my view that she tripped and fell down the stairs.

I noticed a vacuum cleaner on the first landing.

It occurred to me that if her foot got caught in the flex... Mm-- how did you gain access to the house?

Brent let us in through the back door.

He had a key?

Yes, I think he did.

Mm.

One last question, if I may, Dr. Kamal.

Would you say that Mary Blakiston had many enemies in the village?

Well, she was a bit of a nosy parker, to tell the truth.

Always taking an interest in other people's affairs.

But I don't think that would be enough for anyone to want to kill her.

That would depend, I imagine, on what she had found.

KAMAL: Next patient, please, Miss Sanderling.

JOY: Very good, doctor.

Mr. Pünd, are you all right?

Oh, I'm feeling much better, thank you, James.

And what did the doctor say?

He said a great deal.

About your health?

(chuckles): About the case.

JOY: Excuse me, Mr. Pünd.

PÜND: Miss Sanderling.

Before you go... (sighs) There's something Robert and I didn't tell you.

It's always unwise to hold back information on a case such as this.

I know.

But it was something that happened a long time ago.

We weren't sure if it was relevant.

You're talking, I think, about the younger brother who died.

Sam.

You did not tell me how he died.

I, I couldn't.

This is Robert's story.

He has to be the one.

You have spoken to him?

Yes.

We're closing early because of the funeral.

Robert's coming with me, of course.

Perhaps we could all meet after that.

If you're feeling well enough.

Goodbye.

♪ ♪ CHARLES: So who do you think killed him?

SUSAN: Alan Conway?

I'm still not persuaded that was murder.

No, I'm thinking of Sir Magnus Pye.

Do you really care?

I care about finishing the book.

It seems to me my entire future-- our future-- depends on it.

Well, you should bring in your ghostwriter.

I think that's a good idea.

But we still need a solution.

(clicks tongue): Well, there's the vicar.

You always suspect the vicar.

(chuckles) What about the groundsman, Brent?

He was at the house when Mary Blakiston fell-- or was pushed-- down the stairs.

He was working at Pye Hall when Sir Magnus was killed.

He was even there when Sam died.

Well, those two deaths may have been accidents, and would he really have killed Sir Magnus just because he'd been fired?

What about Lady Pye?

Yes.

He'd been unfaithful, and betrayal hurts.

CHARLES: Take the next right turn.

You want to avoid the roadworks up ahead.

SUSAN: Oh, okay, thanks.

Don't worry, Charles, we will get there.

Find the pages, save the company.

And you'll be the new C.E.O.

No one could do it better than you.

(chuckles) ♪ ♪ (bell tolling) (birds cawing) (bell continues) ♪ ♪ FRASER: I wonder if we really ought to go.

To the funeral of Sir Magnus?

Why not?

Well, first of all, are you sure you're well enough?

Oh, I'm all right.

You're sure we're not intruding?

I mean, it's not as if we knew him.

That is true, but this is also an opportunity to see, to observe, hm?

They will all assemble here in this churchyard.

All of them will seem to be in mourning, but one of them, one of them will be hiding a secret.

And you think you'll be able to spot them?

Oh, it's easy enough to commit murder, my friend.

But to stand in front of the man you killed and give nothing away, that requires real skill.

♪ ♪ (door closes) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ You look a right mess.

Come here.

(sighs) (water splashing) (people talking in distance, bell tolling) On you go.

(bell tolling) (exhales sharply) (organ playing) (people talking softly) (whispering): Robert Blakiston is here.

Yes, yes, Miss Sanderling told us.

It must be very hard for him.

In what way?

FRASER: Everyone here thinks he killed his mother.

Mm.

Why haven't they begun?

We're waiting for Daddy to arrive.

He's always late.

How are you, Miss Pye?

This is very hard on me.

Oh, you do surprise me.

I would've thought this is what you wanted.

I don't know what you mean.

Dingle Dell?

The new development?

There's no way that'll go ahead now.

You're talking about the death of my brother!

Exactly.

(gasps) OSBORNE: Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today, and thank you for your patience.

We can now begin.

The hearse is a nice touch.

Vintage Roller, very Atticus Pünd.

(chuckles) Do you realize they could be here?

Who?

Whoever killed Alan.

You remember, in the book.

(in German accent): Ah.

It's easy enough to commit murder, but... (laughs) ...to watch the man you've killed being buried?

Ooh...

Exactly.

(in normal voice): You still haven't proved to me that Alan was actually killed.

Although, if he was... What?

It just occurs to me.

A murder writer murdered-- we could use that.

Oh!

Ah.

There's Melissa.

Alan's ex-wife.

When did you last see her?

Haven't seen her for years.

Did you say there were drinks after?

At Abbey Grange.

Right.

I'll catch her then.

After you.

ROBESON: Ladies and gentlemen.

Friends.

We've come here today to say goodbye to a man who was known to millions all over the world.

Many of us here had the privilege to know Alan Conway personally, but his books introduced him and brought pleasure to many, many others.

Alan, who started his career as a teacher at a Suffolk school, always loved this county.

It appears in several of his books, and it would be nice to think that his famous detective, Atticus Pünd, might even have visited this church and walked in these very streets.

(muffled): What was it about his work that so many readers and... You all right?

ROBESON: It seems to me that the detective... (quietly): Yes, I was just thinking.

Alan always wanted to be a national treasure.

And here we are burying him.

I don't think he'd be too amused by that.

Everybody's talking about him; he'd have enjoyed that.

Alan Conway was married with a son, but in later life, he found the strengths to confront his own identity and to come out as a gay man.

He spent many... (whispers): Is that Freddy Conway?

Yes, Alan's son.

God, I haven't seen him since he was a little kid.

It must be very hard on him.

ROBESON: ...that both James and Alan's family are here today.

I'm only here because you made me come.

Stop it, Freddy.

He was your father.

He was nothing to me.

I'm glad he's dead.

Never say that.

That's a horrible thing to say.

ROBESON: James has very kindly invited us all to a wake at his home immediately following the service, and I hope we will use the opportunity to exchange our memories of Alan and the ways he touched our lives.

Shall we together say the Lord's Prayer?

MOURNERS: Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, forever and ever.

Amen.

And so we commit Sir Magnus Pye's body to the ground.

Earth to earth.

Ashes to ashes.

Dust to dust.

Lady Frances has very kindly invited us for a drink at Pye Hall.

Detective Inspector Chubb has also agreed to speak to us and to tell us how his investigation into the appalling crime is proceeding.

Thank you-- I'll see you all there.

(people talking softly) I can't say anyone seemed too sorry to see him go.

Look at those two.

PÜND: Ah, his wife and his son.

They do seem unconcerned.

Well, he packed him off to boarding school.

She's already told us what she thought of him.

CHUBB: Hello, Pünd, Fraser.

I ain't seen the two of you for a while.

Well, you have been busy, Detective Inspector.

(chuckles): I've never been so rushed off me feet.

I don't suppose you're heading to the reception?

Hm, we can offer you a lift, if you like.

CHUBB: I was hoping you'd say that.

You heard the vicar.

I'm saying a few words.

We would not miss them for the world.

PÜND: So you have made some progress?

(sighs): Not really, Mr. Pünd.

To be honest with you, I ain't got very far at all.

And yet you still intend to make an address?

Well, the commissioner insisted.

A violent death in a small community so soon after another?

It's all a bit unsettling, and the people need to know we're on their side.

I'm just sorry I ain't got very much to tell them.

And yet, between us, hm?

No new leads.

That scrap of paper you found in the fire, for example.

Did you manage to get a fingerprint?

Sadly not.

You were right about the stain, right?

It was blood, and more than that, it was the same blood type as Sir Magnus Pye.

That tells you nothing?

Well, only that the sheet of paper, whatever it contained, must've been torn up and burned after Sir Magnus was killed.

PÜND: Exactly, but Sir Magnus was struck down in the hallway, by the front door.

Meaning his killer returned to the study.

Whatever he was looking for, it must have been important.

Could it not be that the sheet of paper was what he was looking for?

He found it, he tore it up, he burned it.

You may have a point.

♪ ♪ (car door closes) SUSAN: I think I'm beginning to understand Alan a bit more.

(car door closes) He didn't want to write detective stories, and that's the simple truth of it.

He thought they were beneath him.

Maybe that's why he called his house Abbey Grange.

Conan Doyle didn't want to write detective stories, either.

He killed Sherlock Holmes.

He was happy enough with the royalties.

Well, yes.

I suppose we should be grateful that he never came out with it publicly.

That's one PR nightmare we could have done without.

Oh, you'd have handled it.

You always did.

Thanks very much.

(people talking in background) If you don't mind, I'm going to circulate.

Oh, you go ahead, don't mind me.

Let me know when you want to go and I'll drive you to the station.

Good luck.

(chuckling): Yeah.

Oh, it's, it's Charles, isn't it?

Uh, Claire Jenkins.

Alan's sister?

(gasps) We met at his last launch.

Of course, my condolences.

Oh, thank you, it's been...

Thanks.

Thank you, James.

KHAN: Miss Ryeland.

Ah!

How nice to see you again.

And you.

Although, of course, such sad circumstances.

I was wondering, have you read it yet?

I'm sorry?

The book, "Magpie Murders."

Alan told me he was going to put me in it, as a character.

Yes, he did, he made you the doctor.

Ah!

Am I the killer?

I don't know, I haven't finished it yet.

Would you excuse me?

Ah!

There really is no staying away for you, is there?

How could I possibly stay away, Detective Superintendent?

I was Alan's editor for ten years.

Nice service, Vicar.

I take it you didn't know Alan very well.

He didn't often come to church.

Well, he's there permanently now.

Melissa.

Susan.

BOTH: Hello.

You remember my son, Freddy?

Yes, of course.

But it's been a while.

I haven't seen you since you were 12 or 13.

I don't remember.

Was it before or after my father ruined my life?

Oh, come on, Freddy.

There's no need to be so dramatic.

I'm really sorry.

So am I.

No more royalties.

Mum... Freddy, why don't you go outside for five minutes?

All right.

I'll come and find you.

(sighs) Hm...

He never forgave his father for coming out.

And although the world may be more understanding about these things, thank God, Freddy had a horrible time and he still hasn't got over it.

But you forgave Alan.

(chuckling): Actually, being gay may well have been the nicest thing about him.

(chuckles) He wasn't easy to live with.

In a way, he blamed me for Atticus Pünd.

Why?

It was my idea.

Alan wanted to be Martin Amis, or Salman Rushdie, not Agatha Christie.

He wrote two novels about modern England-- politics, the collapse of society-- but nobody was interested.

And then after we got married, I suggested if he wanted to be a published author, he should write something that people actually wanted to read.

A whodunit.

So he wrote "Atticus Pünd Investigates."

And the rest, as they say, is... Mystery.

Exactly.

It made him rich.

It made him miserable.

(chuckles) Were you ever happy with him, Melissa?

It may surprise you to know it, but as a matter of fact, I was.

It's funny, really.

I was in a major relationship with a Greek teacher when I met him, but I never really thought twice about breaking that up.

I always knew that Alan was going places.

Greek teacher?

Yeah, Andreas-- do you know him?

Uh... (stammering): Yeah, yeah, I've seen him, uh, once or twice.

Hm, we were together almost a year before I met Alan.

Is Andreas still teaching?

Um, I'm not sure.

But I think so, yeah.

Do say hello if you run into him.

I often wonder how he's getting on.

(chuckles) ♪ ♪ Well, it's good to see you, Melissa.

Mm.

♪ ♪ (lighter clicks) (Freddy clears throat) (birds twittering) You have no idea what it was like.

Did she tell you?

Yeah.

He was the gay dad.

So I was the gay son.

"Gay boy."

You know, I'd been happy at school.

I had friends.

Then it all stopped.

And he didn't care about that, either.

It was all about him.

That was all that ever mattered.

Do you think someone pushed him off that roof?

Who told you he was pushed?

Maybe it was one of his lovers.

Or maybe it was just someone who really hated his guts.

(sniffs) (people talking in background) (glass tapping, conversations stop) (utensil clatters) Uh, hello, everyone.

Uh, I just wanted to thank you all for coming.

And, uh, thank you, Tom, for a very moving service.

Alan didn't believe in God and he never went to church, but he loved music and flowers, so I'm sure he would have enjoyed today.

Maybe some of you here who wonder about Alan and me.

The truth is, he could be a difficult bugger, but I was quite fond of him.

We had good times.

And we had bad times, whew.

(chuckles) And in the end, well, he left this house, and, uh, most of his money, to me, which is very good indeed.

(chuckles, sniffles) (sighs) I'm not staying here.

Uh, Jack White has already made a very generous offer on Abbey Grange, thank you.

It's funny, Alan was always trying to buy him out, and in the end, it's the other way around.

(chuckles, sniffs) (sniffs) I'm heading back to London.

(sniffles) Yeah, I never really... fitted into Suffolk.

Maybe it was Suffolk that didn't fit into me.

So... Goodbye, Alan.

We'll all miss you.

Some of us more than others.

(guests clear throats) GUESTS (mumbling): To Alan.

(Taylor exhales) (sniffles) That's it.

Goodbye.

(people talking softly) Goodbye!

♪ ♪ (people talking in background) (birds twittering) Congratulations.

Sorry?

Buying the house.

I don't think we've met, have we?

I'm Susan Ryeland, Alan's editor.

Well, was.

Sorry.

I haven't actually read any of his books.

So are you going to be moving in?

Ah, I haven't decided yet.

Alan wasn't an easy neighbor.

I hope you don't mind me saying that, but from the moment he moved in, he seemed to enjoy picking fights.

Well, that was Alan for you.

Land disputes, right-of-way disputes-- noise disputes.

You know, I'd cut my lawn on a Saturday morning, five minutes later... (snaps fingers): He'd be on the phone.

(laughs) Yeah, he could be difficult.

No, he wasn't difficult.

He was bloody impossible.

(chuckles) I think he took pleasure in it.

No, I'm buying the house because I want to control who lives there-- I don't want to go through all that again.

I can understand that.

Wasn't much of a turnout, was it?

For a world-famous author.

Even one without many friends.

(chuckles) Hello, how'd you get on?

Uh, I spoke to Melissa.

Ah, did she tell you anything you don't already know?

Yeah, you could say that.

Look, I don't need a lift off you.

Uh, Detective Superintendent Locke's offered to take me into Ipswich.

I'll get the train back from there.

You know he'll spend the entire journey complaining about me.

It'll only be half an hour.

Oh, no.

He'll go the long way around just to give himself extra time.

Mm... (chuckles) Staying with your sister?

Mm-- see you Monday.

See you Monday-- bye-bye.

♪ ♪ Oh.

Back to the garage?

Oh, we can walk, huh?

No, no, not after what happened this morning.

Nothing too strenuous.

If you insist.

I do.

♪ ♪ FRASER: Here we are.

Just a minute, let me help you.

PÜND (exhales): Oh, no, no, James.

I think I can manage from here.

Oh, mind your head.

ROBERT: Joy's persuaded me that I should talk to you again, Mr. Pünd.

I don't want to.

What happened to my little brother Sam, it was a long time ago and I don't believe it's got nothing to do with any of this.

Mum, Sir Magnus, and the rest of it.

I can see this is painful for you, Robert.

And yet in the investigation of a crime, it is often the connections we cannot see that lead us to the truth.

Everything about Pye Hall is rotten.

It's as if there's some sort of curse on that bloody place.

It's never left me alone.

It was 1943 that you lost your younger brother.

Who told you that?

In the cemetery, I saw his resting place, the date on the gravestone.

ROBERT: Yes.

It was in the middle of the war.

You're German, aren't you?

What were you doing in 1943, Mr. Pünd?

Robert!

It's reasonable to ask, Miss Sanderling.

I was in a labor camp.

An enemy of the Nazis.

I dared to criticize them.

Unfortunately, too loudly.

My dad was in the R.A.F.

He was sent off to Boscombe Down, and leaving us all behind-- Mum, me, and Sam.

We were living on a farm and we were happy enough there.

But then Sir Magnus needed a housekeeper, so we moved into the lodge house, which is on the grounds at Pye Hall.

(shouting and laughing) ROBERT: It was great at first.

I was 14, Sam was 12, and we had it all to ourselves.

The gardens, the orchard, Roman treasure in the wood.

Sir Magnus was always kind to us.

And with Dad away, he could almost be like a father when he was in the mood.

He had these really old coins and... A Roman coin out of his collection.

ROBERT: That's right.

It was part of a treasure trove they found on his land.

He'd hide one of them and give us clues on how to find it.

You can't imagine what it was like, I mean, two kids, all that land, and no one to tell us what to do.

The lake is where it happened.

Brent was there that day.

He'd taken against us from the start.

Me and Sam made too much noise.

And our dog, Bella, she worried the sheep, so he was always causing trouble.

(sniffs) ROBERT: The police questioned him afterwards, but he swore he didn't see nothing.

So this is what happened.

It was a summer's day, and Sam and I went on a treasure hunt looking for a coin.

And we were excited, and we were running around, and somehow we got separated.

Now, normally that wouldn't matter.

We were perfectly safe in the grounds, but this time...

I don't know what was going on in his head, but Sam got the idea that maybe it was in the lake.

Or maybe in the bulrushes next to the lake.

YOUNG ROBERT: Sam!

ROBERT: Brent found him.

♪ ♪ Put him down.

(grunting, breathing heavily) Sam, please, no!

Sam!

Wake up!

(fading): Sam!

Sam!

YOUNG ROBERT: Sam!

Sam had drowned.

He was 12 years old.

Oh...

I'm so sorry.

Things happened very quickly after that, but...

Nothing was ever the same again.

My father came home from the R.A.F., but it was all over between him and Mum.

She blamed him 'cause he hadn't been there.

And he blamed her 'cause she had.

Mum stayed on at Pye Hall, God knows how.

Every day, she had to walk past that lake.

Every day she had to remember.

And what of you?

What about me?

I had nowhere else to go.

Oh, you said Sir Magnus found your position here.

He always looked out for me.

He got me a job, yes.

And this flat.

And you never blamed him for what had occurred?

If I say I did, Mr. Pünd, will you accuse me of his murder?

Well, maybe I did blame Sir Magnus for Sam's drowning.

But I also blame Brent.

And I blame my mother.

And I blame myself.

(car engine revving) ♪ ♪ (tires squeal, car stops) (exhales) (gear shifts) ♪ ♪ (quietly): I'm looking for Mr. Max Ryeland.

(quietly): Bed two.

(devices beeping softly) ♪ ♪ (breathing shallowly) (quietly): Dad, it's Susan.

(breathing shallowly) Can you hear me?

Katie said you wanted to see me.

(weakly): I'm sorry.

You don't have to say that.

It was a long time ago.

(weakly): What?

Leaving us.

What?

I left you?

For the nanny.

You left... ...Mum, and me, and Katie.

But it was...

It doesn't matter now.

I've forgiven you.

(weakly): No, no, not that.

There's nothing to forgive.

I, I loved her.

We were happy.

So very happy.

I'm, I'm sorry about you.

What we did, it was wrong, you... You never knew love.

You never married.

Never trusted a man because of us.

How dare you say that.

(breathing shallowly) I never thought about what you did, ever.

(voice breaking): I'm only hear be... (breathing raggedly) I shouldn't have come.

(murmurs) We've got nothing to say.

(sirens blaring in distance) (lighter clicking) ♪ ♪ (muttering): How could he?

How... could he do that?

(sniffles) (exhales) ♪ ♪ Max, my father.

(sniffles) He's only ever thought of himself.

Do you ever think of him?

I've tried to forget him.

So why are you so angry now?

You know, I'm sorry, but it's really none of your business.

All right.

I blame him.

For what happened to my mother.

She died?

Everybody said it was an accident.

She tried to cope, she really did, but...

It was too much for her, the shame of it.

She, she went away for a few days to the Lake District.

She left me and Katie behind, and while she was there... (voice trembles): She went swimming.

They said it was an accident.

She was out of her depth, but I never believed that.

(sniffles) You knew all along, didn't you?

(gasps): Oh!

She's in the book.

(sniffles) She's in the book!

My father, they're both there, aren't they?

All of it!

Oh, my God!

(engine revving, car speeding) (tires squeal and skid) Oh, Susan!

I've been waiting for you.

I've been making dinner.

How was the funeral?

Been to see Dad.

Oh.

What, what happened?

What did he say?

You told him, didn't you?

You told Alan Conway about Mum and Dad.

No-- no...

Yes.

He knew it and he used it.

And it wasn't for the entertainment of his readers.

It was just for his own amusement.

And he did it in a way that I wouldn't see it!

He... cut up my life!

It's like a broken jigsaw, but all the pieces are there!

Our father, Max Ryeland, becomes Sir Magnus Pye.

Dad ran off with the nanny, Sir Magnus has an affair with the governess.

I don't know what you're talking about, Susan.

I haven't read the book.

You don't need to read the book, Katie.

We are the book.

Our mother, Samantha, drowned herself because she was so ashamed of what Max had done to her.

Did you tell him that?!

I, I don't remember.

Well, there's a drowning in the book, too, it's a little boy called...

But that may have nothing to do with us.

Maybe that's just, just a coincidence.

The boy's name is Sam-- Samantha?

Sam?

You think that's a coincidence?

Why?

Why would he do that?

Because that's the kind of person he was!

He played games, and they were always games designed to hurt people!

He even gave the governess a name.

Miss Darnley.

And I've always wondered about that, because she doesn't even appear in the book.

I mean, why would you bother to give her a name?

And do you know why?

No!

Darnley, D-A-R-N-L-E-Y.

It's an anagram of Ryeland.

It's us!

I did, didn't do anything.

I didn't mean to... (sighs) We, uh, met in Woodbridge.

Oh.

No, we bumped into each other and he invited me for coffee.

And I...

Didn't I already tell you that?

He was pretending to be nice.

He was, seemed very concerned about you.

And he was asking me questions about you, and me, and about the family, and I, you know, it just seemed like chat.

I had no idea that he was going to use it.

Of course you didn't.

No one ever did.

I'm sorry.

It doesn't matter.

It wasn't your fault.

I should have known.

I should have seen it.

I was his editor.

It was my fault.

It... No... No.

You weren't to know.

Sue, do you want a drink?

Yeah, a large one.

Sorry.

Five minutes.

♪ ♪ (laptop chimes) ♪ ♪ (click) TAYLOR: Alan told me about him.

He wanted money.

PÜND: The more you know someone, the more likely they are to deceive you.

SUSAN: You took the manuscript.

Do you still have it?

PÜND: Now, this is interesting.

SUSAN: You lied to me.

Very soon all will be made clear.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ 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 HOROWITZ: Every writer uses the world around them and the people that they know as inspiration for their books.

So, for example, at this moment, I'm sitting in Orford, which is the original inspiration for Saxby-on-Avon in "Magpie Murders."

And in the book and the TV series, Alan Conway does exactly the same thing, except in his case, he is a rather malign individual, not a particularly pleasant writer, and he distorts people.

So, for example, his sister Claire, who has many misfortunes in her life, he turns into the caricature of Clarissa Pye.

His partner, James Taylor, becomes the dumb assistant James Fraser.

It's his last novel, and everyone he knew was in it.

And that's why the last chapter was taken, because it reveals the secret.

I have to say that when we were shooting "Magpie Murders," this double act really appealed to the actors, of course-- you got two cracks of the whip and you could do two very different performances in the same film.

Herr Pünd!

Miss Ryeland!

And it also gave us opportunities to play games visually.

So, for example, the home of Alan Conway, Abbey Grange, becomes, with just a little bit of redecoration, Pye Hall.

And Clarissa's home, too.

It's the same location redressed.

And I think that part of the fun of the show is walking from one world into the other, which can happen almost in a single shot.

You go from 1955 to the present day, from fiction into reality, and you don't even notice when it happens.

Why would he do that?

SUSAN: Because that's the kind of person he was.

He played games, and they were always games designed to hurt people.

The book of "Magpie Murders" took me something like four or five years, I think, to write in total, because it really was so complicated.

I had to work it all out in notebooks.

Every single piece of the puzzle had to fit together and, and had to work.

The challenge of writing the screenplay came because I had to dismantle what I had done in the book and turn it into a completely new format.

Things kept changing-- the order of the episodes would change, because people would say they would want something like the funerals to happen earlier, or for the second murder to happen a little bit later, all these sorts of things.

So I was taking what worked perfectly and shuffling it around again.

And you forget, I think, when you are writing a murder mystery as complex as "Magpie Murders," that, take out one domino and the whole thing can begin to collapse.

And it was holding it all together and putting it back in a new order that made life so very difficult.

ALAN: And why do people buy my book, Susan?

Because they want to know who did it!

HOROWITZ: "Magpie Murders," at the end of the day, is a story of a writer, Alan Conway.

And he has written a book called "Magpie Murders," but there's a second writer involved, and that writer is me, because I created Alan Conway and I created the book that he wrote, as well.

So it was always in my mind that there should be a sort of a reality about the world of writing in this show.

And I do reference a great many real writers.

For example, Sophie Hannah, who is a wonderful murder mystery writer, is referenced as being somebody who might finish the Atticus Pünd novel.

CHARLES: Alan was never much of a Conan Doyle fan.

He preferred Agatha Christie.

He stole from her.

(exhales): He borrowed.

Yeah, like Robin Hood borrowed from the rich.

HOROWITZ: In the book, as well, there's a sequence in which Susan Ryeland has lunch with Mathew Prichard, who is in real life the grandson of Agatha Christie, and they talk about her work, as well.

So I liked the idea that reality informs the fiction, and they are always aware of this sort of nesting doll effect, these Russian dolls.

There is me and my world.

Alan Conway is inside that.

And inside Alan Conway, is his world of Atticus Pünd, and the murder mystery that he has supposedly written.

Oh, it's easy enough to commit murder, my friend, but to stand in front of the man you've killed and give nothing away... That requires real skill.

HOROWITZ: From the point of view of the writer, a funeral, in a murder mystery in particular, is extremely useful, because it gathers all the suspects in one place, and it focuses on the dead body which is being buried at that moment.

And I love the fact that in "Magpie Murders," we have three funerals.

We have Alan Conway in the modern age, and we have Sir Magnus Pye and Mary Blakiston in the 1950s.

And the same people keep turning up to watch these bodies being buried, and it gives us the opportunity to see everybody together, to watch them interacting, and also to look at them and say, "Which one of them is actually thinking, 'I did this'?"

♪ ♪