Inspector Lewis

Try the chapter on Peacock and the Romantics.

Sure.

Good luck tonight. You'll be late for your lecture, Miss Harding.

'We apologise to customers for the delay to Oxford trains.

This is due to signal malfunction at Didcot.'

Hammy.

Coming to hear the honeyed words of our glorious golden boy?

Yes, I am, Norman. Walking?

You and your carbon footprint.

Beautiful. Which?

Both. They're children.

Ginny, this is Robert. Ginny.

I've heard a lot about you. All good, I hope.

Glowing.

Are you a Dorian Crane fan?

My daughter rates him.

But it's not my cup of tea, all this historical fantasy stuff.

Not a patch on Dan Dare.

Where do you fit in?

Ginny's Dorian's mother.

Oh, sorry. She got us in.

We were students together. It wasn't...

It's fine. Dorian dedicated his first book to Ginny.

I'm very lucky.

You said you weren't coming.

I'm not. I'm going. I just brought Jean and Robert along.

I've got a parents' meeting. How are you, Jean?

Where's your muse? She should be here by now.

Oxford University has long enjoyed tellers of fantastic tales:

Charles Williams with his ghosts and doppelgangers,

the witches and wardrobes of CS Lewis,

Tolkien and his elvish strife.

Quite how this talented

and disgustingly modest young tale-teller

juggles junior research fellow

with best-selling author, I wish I knew his secret.

To read from his new novel Boxlands,

Dorian Crane.

Thank you, Professor Deering.

"The heart pangs of the princess were as nothing

against the cry from her beloved prince,

echoing from the stone halls

into the night, and out into the Halfwoods,

where time disappears...

..and the known world stops."

Alice.

Bloody train, and I left my phone on the bus.

"Every vasty field and daisy meadow

endured a scouring to the inchworth,

their moonsilver blades sliced through

many a neck in the creaking crickpine forest.

But still, their quest

was countless country miles from done.

And all they had were the talking horses...

..and 13 days."

Thanks very much. There you go.

Hello.

Can you imagine?

Thanks very much.

Easy, Hayden.

I'll have to call her Calliope now, Jem.

Who?

Calliope is chief of the ancient muses.

"If it wasn't for my fiancee and our intimate make-believe worlds,"

confesses Dorian, "Boxlands would never have been born."

Publicity. It's not true.

Make sure you get a cut of the royalties when you're married.

I handed in my notice today.

Harvard here we come.

And what will you do while Dorian

is inculcating the mysteries of creative writing

into those eager, little American minds?

I don't know yet. Stay in Oxford. Come back to college.

Do your doctorate. It's more fun. I can have you to myself.

My deputising service - a patient.

Her second fall this week. I'm afraid I have to call it a night.

Oh, no. Bye, darling.

Cheers, now. Jem.

Lyn? And it's her birthday.

Pretty name. Pretty daughter.

Birthday kisses. Pass them on.

I will.

She'll be dead pleased.

I'm more of a Swallows And Amazons girl myself.

Sorry. Oh, no.

Why don't I come back to your room?

I wish you could.

Especially tonight.

You're so good.

At kissing?

Reading aloud. Oh.

I'm sorry, darling.

It'll be too late by the time I've schmoozed my agent...

This way, Dorian. Here we go.

A fountain of blood.

Fountain? Spurt?

She'd have been dead within two minutes.

The jugular vein was sliced right through. By a piece of the mirror?

On reflection, yes.

It's too early for jokes. And too early for Inspector Lewis.

He's on his way. What's that?

I do bodies, Sergeant. But I am assuming it's her blood.

UQ... Is that an "A" on the end?

Uqbara?

I've heard that word somewhere.

The lacerations either side of the neck

were more or less symmetrical.

And simultaneous?

Possibly. There were deep incisions in her palms, too.

A defence wound. The attacker could have had

a piece of glass in each hand.

Or the attack itself shattered the mirror?

Absolutely.

In which case...

there should be a frame around here somewhere.

Morning.

Loitering within tent.

Where does she get them? Beano? Dandy?

You don't read comics.

I used to look over the rough boys' shoulders, sir.

Marina Hartner.

Born 1985. Her medical card, 5 Felton Road.

Cowley?

From here, she could have been on her way into town or back home.

Probably home. She was found by a rider around dawn,

who said she saw her yesterday afternoon, probably going into town.

Same clothes? And alone.

No phone. She'd have had a phone.

We're doing a fingertip search of the river bed.

Mystique Noir?

Arm and a leg, that stuff.

Lyn bought some for Val the Christmas before we lost her.

So...smash it down over her head

and pull back unrelenting and side to side.

So the jagged glass saws through her neck.

She resists and cuts her hands trying to save herself.

Thanks.

Post-mortem result as soon as I can.

The display for your Lewis Carroll book was much more tasteful.

And much less prominent.

But then I'm not 26 with gorgeous hair and snake hips.

Can I tempt you to breakfast at high table?

My wife always sends me off with a full belly.

Of course.

Have you never considered the various benefits of a wife?

Or a chum?

Domesticity, be it with man or woman, has its attractions.

But carnal desire saps the energy, so why bother?

Hold back on the detail of how she died for the time being.

And that "Uqbara" word or whatever it is.

Oh, I've remembered. What?

Uqbara. Go on.

Actually, usually it's transliterated with a "K" not a "Q".

You could talk the head off a penny, you, eh?

Uqbara is a place in Iraq.

Case solved, then.

Thanks very much. Iraq.

There's no phone on the river bed. They're searching the bank beyond.

A mirror as a murder weapon, what's that all about?

A complete waste of time.

Her neighbour reckons Marina is either Polish or Venezuelan.

And can we have a word with the council about her recycling bin?

Czech Republic. You might have given me a shout.

What seems to be the problem with the recycling bins?

Seems that she moved to England two years ago

and there's payslips in her name from somewhere called The Grapevine.

That's that pub over by the Sheldonian.

Anything else? Letters? A diary?

No, not yet. There might be something in the laptop.

It's Dorian Crane's first book. Did you meet him last night?

Yeah. He signed his new one for our Lyn.

Might be worth something one day.

More of that perfume.

"Darling Marina, Happy Christmas, all love, Ned."

Ned?

Short for Edward.

* You spread your frigid wings...

Hayden?

I'm going to the shops. Do you want anything? Like a life?

Screw you.

Are you hung-over?

No. I heard you crashing in last night.

You woke me up. Dreaming of America?

Hayden.

Why do you have to go with Dorian?

Because we'll be married. So what?

So what?

Leave me alone.

I just don't want to be stuck here with Dad.

That's all.

You're not Immigration?

Certainly not, Kelly. Better suits.

Yours, maybe.

Is there a problem with Marina's work status, then?

She gets edgy if it comes up. Is she in trouble?

What time did she leave last night?

Early. Nine.

Did she say where she was going? She never does really.

Does she have a boyfriend?

Not that she's told me, but I'd be surprised if there wasn't someone.