You like that one, don’t you?

( cooing ) ( doorbell ringing ) Ms.

Ross?

Kirsten, Kirsten Ross?

Yes?

I’m Detective Inspector Phillip Hamilton... My God.

Is Carl all right?

( baby fussing ) Is Carl okay?

Perhaps if I... Of course.

I’m sorry, please.

Before I go on, I’d like to ask if there’s anyone else at home, anyone who might be able to help.

No.

No, I’m waiting for-- Oh, God, is he all right?

( gasps, whimpers ) ( breathing heavily ) Your husband will be home soon.

Either he opens the door to find his wife and baby spread all over the carpet or he comes home to find the baby safely asleep in its cot but his wife gone.

So Kirsten, which is it to be?

( liquid splashing ) ( laughs ) ( baby cooing ) JOHN: Why all the secrecy?

I wanted your unadulterated impressions.

Unadulterated by what?

Rumors.

Just go in.

JUSTIN: It’s blood.

The victim?

JUSTIN: A Kirsten Ross.

32.

Missing, presumed abducted.

She got a young child?

Leo Ross, yeah, three months old.

Is the baby all right?

Untouched.

The father comes home, sees all this, imagines the worst.

What, you think he did this, the father?

No, I’m not thinking that.

"Do not fear the Abyss, "for I am the abyss "and thou shalt weep with the fervor and bliss of my love."

JUSTIN: Blimey.

What-- Satanism?

Are you superstitious about that sort of thing?

Not so much, not as a rule, but-- this is pretty weird.

The writing?

Same hand, same writer.

What hand and what writer?

Ten years ago, Grace Allen was abducted from her home.

Her baby was asleep upstairs, unhurt, no sign of struggle.

Her husband comes home, finds his hallway looking like this.

JOHN: Same writing, same words.

ROSE: Three months later, the investigation received an anonymous tip, some bloke who claims to be an accomplice of this man, Lucien Burgess.

Burgess is a rich kid.

But he’s born with bad blood.

Age 30, he’s got his own little black magic cult derived on the writings of Aleister Crowley.

Who called himself the Great Beast.

Hmm.

And the blood on the walls?

Human and fresh, tapped from a living source.

Human body’s got six liters of it.

Tap a little bit at a time, over a few weeks you’ve got a whole body’s worth of blood to splash around, but no corpse.

And the handwritings?

Burgess favors the right.

Whoever wrote on the walls favors the left.

They were confident they had their man, but they had nothing on him.

So an undercover operation was authorized.

It went wrong.

While he was supposed to be undercover, D.S.

Richard Henley attempted to make an arrest.

He did this-- all but killed him.

Henley does three and a half years for GBH.

Burgess gets rich on government compensation.

Then sells his story to the tabloids which is still published as a memoir which is still a year after all this, Grace Allen’s body turns up right next to a railway siding.

She’d been frozen post mortem.

When they found her, she’d been completely exsanguinated.

Burgess had drained her blood.

Forensics confirm.

The writing on the wall tonight was in Grace Allen’s blood.

Still fresh, 10 years later.

JUSTIN: That must be enough to pick him up then?

Well, yeah, ordinarily.

But the last time the police went after him, we caused a full-blown media and political ...-storm.

JUSTIN: Well, Kirsten Ross is probably still alive and out there right now.

Finding her is our highest priority, but not our sole priority.

It’s imperative we stay clear of Burgess.

We don’t so much as cast a glance in his direction until we’ve got something bulletproof.

( loud banging, woman whimpering ) ( banging continues ) ( muffled cries ) ( banging, whimpering continues ) KIRSTEN: Please, let me out.

Let me out.

I need to see my baby.

Please.

( blowing ) Please let me out.

WOMAN: Are you Mark North?

Yeah.

( grunts ) ZOE: Hi.

Oh, my God.

What happened?

They were waiting for me.

ZOE: Who?

Whoever did this.

ZOE: What do you mean?

He sent girls.

He sent girls to do it.

The man is a genius.

He wouldn’t.

You think?

Let me have a look.

Let me have a look.

Now, according to the literature, if the left-handed man actually existed, he’d be an acolyte, follower, a submissive personality.

What, an apostle that betrays his master to the police and then still works with him 10 years later?

That doesn’t sound right to me.

Hmm.

And so what, what are we saying then?

Well, Burgess wants fame, doesn’t he?

He wants infamy.

He wants to humiliate the police.

Probably had his handwriting analyzed.

Tried to make him write with his left hand and he couldn’t do it.

Yeah, but it’s still not right, though, is it?

Grace Allen’s 10-year-old blood shows up at Kirsten Ross’s house tonight.

And the blood on the walls at Grace Allen’s house was human too, but the source never identified.

Never.

Maybe they weren’t looking in the right place.

You know, maybe they were thinking it was as fresh as it looked.

So you’re saying it could have come from another victim, even earlier victim.

Yeah, maybe a lot earlier.

Do me a favor, dig around cold cases, unsolved with similar indications.

( phone rings ) John.

DCI Luther’s phone, DS Ripley.

Oh, brilliant, yeah, cheers.

Boss.

Boss.

Yeah?

I lost you for a minute there.

JOHN: Yeah, sorry I do that.

What?

Your undercover guy is here.

Oh, God, he looks like ... DCI John Luther, Richard Henley.

I really appreciate you comin’ in.

Well, they didn’t give me much choice.

Why don’t you use the interview room?

JUSTIN: Yeah.

( dialing phone ) JOHN: Benny?

Yeah, sorry about the hour, mate.

I need a favor.

Can you get over here?

Oh, Alice.

So I’m returning home, I’m parking, same place, same time as usual.

And they walk from up the street, but it’s the--well, it’s the stiff arm by the side, you know, what is that about, why did they do that?

They?

Who exactly are "they"?

MARK: Well, these, these hoodies, these kids, these girls.

Girls?

Girls, and so I’m surrounded.

And one of them says, "Are you Mark North?"

I say "Yeah," then bang, I’m on the floor having the ... kicked out of me.

And then the same girl...says, "John says hello."

"John says hello."

Word for word.

Please.

The truth is, Richard, we’re nowhere.

All right?

We’ve got SOCOS at the house, bodies on the street.

He won’t have left you anything.

Not at all.

And the clock is ticking on Kirsten Ross.

I’m not a copper anymore.

Yes, you are.

There was a... a lot of sex stuff.

Did he use blood in your presence?

He said all bodily fluids were powerful.

Semen, vaginal secretions, blood-- menstrual blood was best.

I mean, what did he do with it?

Well, all that stuff had to be taken into the body in various ways.

And you had to... I let him do anything he wanted.

Richard, whatever happened, whatever you...allowed to happen to you, all right, you did something valiant.

And every copper in this shop knows that.

It didn’t help, though, did it?

How did you end up beating him?

I’d been undercover for 15 months.

Thought I’d won his trust.

This one night, we’re at his flat and he gives me a glass of wine.

I drink it.

Wake up tied to a chair.

It turns out he’d known I was police from day one.

He showed me a picture of Grace Allen.

She was alive.

And in the picture, right next to her face, that day’s paper.

And he said, "This is the closest you’ll ever come."

Then he set light to the picture and burned it right in front of me.

Then he cut me loose.

JOHN: And that’s when you did that?

Yeah.

Yeah.

That’s what I did.

( banging ) ( gasps ) ( hinges creak ) Oh... ( gasping, whimpering ) You are radiant.

Look.

Shh.

Are you ready?

( screaming ) She was naked...and, uh... and in some kind of box, um, rectangular, not coffin-shaped.

It was shorter, deeper.

She was tied at the wrists and ankles with a--I don’t know.

It was--it was too dark to see properly.

And her eyes were... like a horse’s eyes when it’s terrified.

How could you-- how could you read the paper?

Sorry?

You said the box, it was too dark to see details of the straps.

But you read the headline, you could see her eyes, how?

There was a light across her face, reflection of the flash or something.

A light?

It’s like a crescent of light.

It was her eyes that did it.

I wanted to kill him.

I knew it would cost me, but I didn’t care.

To this day, the biggest regret of my life is not killing the-- Any idea... what it’s like to feel like that?

Yes, I do.

I know exactly what that feels like.

( Kirsten sobbing ) ( crying ) Leave me alone.

( sobbing ) ( motor humming ) ( Kirsten screaming ) ( screaming ) Three guesses why Zoe’s gentleman caller was here.

To confess he’s a dick?

He’s been assaulted.

Good.

He blames you.

Oh, come on.

You’ve already come close to one suspension for assaulting him.

So I’m pretty much obliged to take this seriously.

The man is a fantasist.

The marks on his face aren’t fantasies.

Guv, all due respect, Kirsten Ross is out there alive right now, and you bother me with this?

Seriously?

Okay.

I’ll take my time entering the paperwork.

But I will be entering it, first thing tomorrow.

Unless Mark North withdraws his complaint before then.

If he does, no one need know this ever happened.

Thank you.

Yeah.

So go.

Sod off!

Speak to him.

Be nice.

Beg if you have to.

I ran the blood from the Grace Allen cold case through every available database.

We’ve got a match.

Precious Akingbade was found on the banks of a canal in Birmingham, exsanguinated and genitally mutilated.

I remember this.

This was years ago.

Yeah, 20 years ago, 1990.

( sighs ) Two different murders, completely different MOs.

Separated by a decade and half a country.

You know, Burgess must’ve been 20 years old when he done this.

Benny, I appreciate you comin’ in.

It’s okay.

I was just immersed in the world of King Crimson and The World of Warcraft.

As much as I love you, I can’t pretend to know what that is.

What I’m trying to say is, do I smell like somebody who’s been smoking marijuana?

A little bit.

Do you think anybody’s gonna notice?

JOHN: See if you can ID these girls quietly as you can.

Are you okay?

I will be once you tell me who they are.

BENNY: Give me an hour or two, or three.

Boss?

Burgess runs a little occult bookshop.

They sell online.

JOHN: Do you think Burgess will be at work today?

He’s got to make it look like a normal day.

Pay him a little visit.

Alice, what are you playin’ at?

I thought you wanted Zoe back.

And is that how you do it, by getting me blamed for beating up Mark North?

Getting me fired?

I’m in serious trouble, more trouble than you think.

You won’t lose your job, or your wife.

Alice, do me a favor.

Stop interfering’!

All right?

Please, no more helping me, can you do that?

( phone beeps ) John.

Yeah, how’d you know that?

We do most of our trade online or by appointment.

So, I’m all yours.

What’s your pleasure?

Five hundred quid... for a poem hand illustrated by the Yorkshire Ripper.

Ha.

Seven hundred and fifty quid for a letter from the Ripper to a female correspondent.

Wow.

Well, that includes a small self-portrait, Sutcliffe snuggling up to a woman.

Large breasted.

Hmm.

LUCIEN: But you know there’s nothing new under the sun.

There used to be quite a trade in handkerchiefs dipped in the blood of hanged men, hair clippings, snuff boxes, garters, cravat pins.

Who would buy them?

Young women, mostly.

Wow, young women?

Even stuff like this?

Peter Kurten, The Vampire of Dusseldorf.

Richard Trenton Chase, The Vampire of Sacramento.

Women buy this stuff?

It’s a kink, a sex thing.

Many, many women fantasize about being tied up, strangled, raped, eaten.

You think so?

Oh, yeah.

The more depraved the killer, the more women fawn on him.

It’s called hybristophilia.

Sexual arousal from thoughts of violence.

It’s his willingness to murder that attracts her.

His murder becomes hers.

Hmm.

Well, I have a confession.

Really?

Yeah.

LUCIEN: My autobiography.

You’re a fan?

You got me.

Course you know, if I sign this, its resale value increases hugely.

I’ll be putting money in your pocket.

I know.

You’re a dealer?

Collector.

And I’m paying.

Well, it’s 250.

Are you serious?

Oh, yes.

I’ve quite the following.

Well, you’ve got yourself a deal.

There you go.

Good catch.

There you are.

"Sacrificial Lamb."

Yeah.

Yeah, well... ( motor humming ) ( whimpering ) I learned with terrible horror this morning of the disappearance of Kirsten Ross.

My heart goes out to her and to her family, especially her husband and her little daughter.

Having already received a visit this morning from a man who I believe to have been a police officer, I’ve called this press conference in anticipation of my arrest.

I want to say publicly, while I’m still able, that I had nothing to do with this crime, nor the crime-- nor the crime against poor Grace Allen.

I pray that this time, the police service can see past its own prejudice and its own desire to seek a sacrificial lamb.

Thank you.

MAN: Mr.

Burgess will now take questions.

( reporters clamoring ) Burgess has taken absolute control of this investigation.

We can’t go near him.

He can’t let Kirsten Ross live now.

Well, not for too long, I mean, he can’t afford to now that he knows we’re on his back like this.

The order was stay away from him!

Boss, he prepared the whole thing, the abduction, the press conference, everything.

So Kirsten Ross dies a lonely death while the media ensure we can’t go near our only suspect.

Right, I submitted Mark North’s statement this morning.

Oh, God.

No, don’t take me off of this, not because of him.

I can find Kirsten!

I can find her!

I fought your corner and I fought it hard, nobody wants you off this.

Alright.

ROSE: But... But what?

There are caveats.

What caveats?

Mr.

Schenk.

Martin Schenk, Complaints.

I know this isn’t a good day, so all I ask is five minutes.

You and I sit down, have a chat, put this silliness to bed.

Absolutely.

It’s just that I have an abduction on at the moment and time’s runnin’ out for my victim.

Do you mind if I just brief Sergeant Ripley about something?

Absolutely.

Keep the train moving.

That man is about to suspend me.

JUSTIN: He can’t do that, can he?

Can, has to, and will, so we gotta work real quick.

Still nothing solid.

No forensics, eyewitnesses, CCTV, nothin’.

So revisit the cold cases.

What did Burgess leave behind?

Nothin’.

The man’s a ghost.

We know that about him.

All we’re looking for is where he kept Precious and Grace between abduction and dumping the bodies.

Hmm.

JUSTIN: Precious Akingbade lived and died in Birmingham.

I can’t see anything that links Burgess to the Midlands.

JOHN: No, no, no, forget the distance between them.

What do the dumpsites have in common?

JUSTIN: Precious Akingbade was dumped by the side of a canal.

And Grace Allen was dumped here.

Easy access to the roadway, but less than a hundred meters from the waterway.

Henley said there was a crescent of light across the Grace Allen picture.

Bright enough to read the headlines.

JOHN: Right.

A reflection of the flash.

So that’s what he said it looked like.

What if it wasn’t that?

What if it was daylight coming in through a round window?

He’s got a boat.

I’ve got to get out of here.

Cover me.

I was waiting for DCI Luther.

Um, last time I saw him, sir, he was headed that way.

Which way, that way?

Absolutely, yeah.

ALICE: So what do you want?

I need you to help me catch someone.

I was under the impression you wanted me to stop helping.

Don’t push it.

How do I know you’re not playing a double game, one stone, multiple birds, trying to make me speak carelessly in order to entrap me?

That would be illegal.

Plus, I really need to catch this man.

More than you wanna catch me?

At the moment, yeah.

I’m runnin’ out of time.

Because if I thought you were about to lose interest in me, I’d be inconsolable.

I just need a way in, to know what it’s like to be him, to not feel anything.

I feel things.

Not mercy.

Not sentiment.

I can’t empathize for this man’s state of being, any more than you can because disregarding a single... alleged act carried out for different alleged reasons, he and I might just as well be from different species.

See, I disagree.

Murder is murder.

But it isn’t, is it?

Not even to you.

This man, Burgess, he’s just a naughty child showing off.

You already know his flaw, his compulsion to dominate, to be in control.

And you already know how to exploit that.

How?

Oh, come on, change the state of play.

JOHN: Yeah, well... I tried that with you... ALICE: Uh-hmm.

...and it failed.

Only just.

( motor humming ) Go on.

So I went through every record of stolen boats from 1988 to 1991.

And?

First, there’s way many.

Turns out, boats get stolen a lot.

So I’m thinking, he needs a vessel that can navigate canals in Birmingham.

That cuts the list.

Here, all these were reported stolen in ’89 just before we went into the last recession, meaning lots of bogus insurance claims.

Six stolen boats, six owners.

I cross-referenced the names against Burgess’s known history.

And what’d you find?

Louis Gallant, claimed for a stolen narrowboat, the Julia, in July 1989.

Suspected fraudulent claim, never proven.

Connection to Burgess?

Friends at Cambridge.

Burgess and Gallant were arrested together on a charge of possession with the intent to supply crack cocaine.

Now, that’s a pretty big charge for two middle-class white boys in ’89.

Hmm.

Burgess takes the rap for it, does a bit of time and Gallant walks.

So he in debt to Burgess.

Well, all we gotta do is... Already done it.

Louis Gallant is a family man with a serious job that’s looking more credit crunched by the hour and mortgaged up the wazoo.

He gave me everything I asked in exchange for a promise not to drag him through court.

So he sold the boat to Burgess?

No, he gave it to him, even helped him forge a new registration number, which is easily done, apparently.

So Burgess renames the boat The Isis.

I’ve got a copy of the agreement for berth, housing boat certificate, British waterways certificate, council tax insurance, boat safety certificate.

They all show he’s moored at St.

Katharine’s Dock.

Now the bad news.

All these documents are in the name of this guy, Brian Summers, who looks like that.

JOHN: Oh, bollocks!

So what are you saying?

Burgess used a proxy to get the licenses.

A friend, an out-of-work actor, a junkie, some con-artist he met in prison.

Who knows?

Oh, man, tell you what, if we wanna search this boat, we have to make it part of the investigation.

The only way to do that is to prove that Brian Summers didn’t exist.

We could spend weeks in due diligence just chasing our tails around.

Insufficient evidence, search warrant denied.

We go upstairs with that, they’ll say, "Go away, you haven’t done enough, do your homework."

Kirsten Ross dies, Burgess dumps the body and walks.

Again.

JUSTIN: All right.

So, what do we do?

JOHN: Forget the rule book.

Change the state of play.

( exhales ) ( chuckles ) All right.

( motor humming ) Kirsten.

Kirsten Ross?

If you can hear me, I’m John Luther, I’m a police officer.

I’m here to get you back to your family.

( sighs ) Oi.

Don’t.

Don’t what?

Just don’t.

What are you sayin’?

We weren’t here.

That isn’t what we said.

We said if she was here, we’d call it in.

Claim exigent circumstances.

If she was alive!

She’s not alive, is she?

Boss, this is a crime scene, a murder scene.

You don’t walk away from that, pretend you never saw it.

Do you wanna take down the man that did this?

More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life... All right, well then trust me!

Okay?

There’ll be nothing we can use, no forensics, nothing, and he’ll wiggle out of this again.

JUSTIN: John, you’re a police officer, and this is a murdered woman.

Her family are waiting, they’re goin’ out of their minds, and you wanna just lock her back up and walk away.

This is about the law, not retribution.

I’m not asking for your approval, son, just your silence.

I won’t volunteer any information but... I won’t lie for you, either.

What you’re doing’s wrong.

Yeah, I know.

Why do it then?

’Cause it’s right.

Ian?

I need you.

( sighs, clears throat ) Detective Sergeant Ripley.

How nice to see you.

He’s coming your way.

All right.

Got it.

Oh, thank you.

Okay.

Thanks.

( coughing, groaning ) ( laughs ) All right, then.

I wonder, does John Luther ever discuss his private life with you?

No.

Not his wife?

Her lover?

No.

You are aware of his history of instability.

I’m aware of it, yes, although I’m not sure of its relevance.

Well, it may be relevant if it ever gives you pause to question his decisions.

My dad taught me to question all judgments, sir.

I do apologize.

Let me rephrase, for clarity.

How do you judge the quality of John Luther’s current operational decisions?

( motor humming ) Yeah.

It could be said that the... merits of any operational decision can only be judged on its outcome, as long as that decision was taken within the boundaries of the law.

It could be said, yes, but are you saying it?

I’m just saying it could be said.

Do you know where Luther is right this minute?

I do not, sir.

Guv.

Ah.

You found him?

Yes, sir.

( cell phone vibrates ) Who’s this?

So how’s it goin’, Lucien?

I’m sorry, who exactly is this?

Listen.

They’ve planted evidence at the crime scene.

They tried to frame me once before.

They couldn’t do it then and they won’t be able to do it now.

All right.

Well, I’ll be off then.

Wait.

Look, I can make this go away, 200,000 in cash.

I know you’ve got it.

I can’t get hold of that, not in time, not in cash.

Well, you see, I think you can.

My mate, the big one who smacked you, he’s waiting on warrants as we speak.

The crime scene is clear of surveillance until then.

Now that gives me a window of less than an hour to make this work for you.

Now if you don’t wanna pay for it, that’s your call.

I’ll give you a hundred and twenty-five, cash.

That’ll have to do.

Where will we meet?

IAN: Finsbury Park station, platform two, northbound, half an hour.

( door opens, closes ) ( footsteps approaching ) Hmm, John Luther didn’t do that to you, I’m afraid.

I did.

Why?

Why?

I couldn’t help myself.

I don’t believe that.

See, I don’t think you, of all people, ever do anything unless you decide to do it.

No, it’s true.

I’m a bit like that, a bit random, slightly kooky.

Kooky?

Absolutely.

Okay, Mark, I did this because I don’t like you, and because I wanted to toy with John.

It’s a bit like pulling legs off flies.

Why are you here now?

Because I’m sorry.

MARK: No, you’re not.

No, no, I’m not.

I was just trying to empathize.

I’m here because this has gone just far enough and what I need you to do now is pick up that phone and withdraw the complaint.

And if I refuse?

What if somebody actually stood up to you and refused?

Hmm.

Well then, I’d have to leave.

And then one night, I’d have to come back.

( foghorn blows ) I’m not building a legal case against you, John.

This is about moral codes and my standard of proof is much lower than yours.

And if you breach that code in any way, then... we let you go, quietly and without fuss.

And you’d recommend that, would you?

Oh, it’s not what I want.

My recommendation will be that you are suspended, immediately and indefinitely.

And meanwhile, Kirsten Ross, hmm?

Many fine officers are working on the case.

For what it’s worth, I... wouldn’t want it to end like this for you.

But there’s no place in the service for dirty coppers.

No matter how well-intentioned.

( phone rings ) Schenk.

When?

All right.

Yes, I... I will.

Mark North put in a call to Detective Chief Superintendent Teller.

Apparently, Mr.

North no longer seems to believe that the street robbers knew his name, or yours, indeed.

Witness memory, funny old thing.

Arghh!

I’ve got you.

I have got you now.

I have got you now.

Okay.

That’s enough of that.

Lucien Burgess.

Don’t think I can watch anymore.

Did you seriously think that you could entrap me?

Not really, no.

No, that blood there was from a... nice piece of steak, sirloin, I was gonna have for my tea tonight in celebration of meeting you here, at the crime scene.

You came of your own free will.

You brought luminol to look for blood traces.

Hmm?

That’s not enough.

Oh, I think that it is.

LUCIEN: Do you?

Yes.

Well, DCI Luther.

First, you... you assault me.

You publicly assault me!

Why can’t you show me some respect?!

Then a police officer phones me.

He tells me you’ve been trying to frame me.

He tells me where the crime scene is.

( laughing ) Yeah.

Is that your defense?

Because that call, that was my mate.

We set you up, Lucien.

You’ve been outplayed.

I look forward to seeing you prove any of that.

Oh, Luther.

( laughing ) Shall we?

Turn around.

Good day’s work?

Goodish.

Anyway.

This is her.

Alice Morgan meeting up with the wee girl that beat up your wife’s boyfriend.

Don’t know she’s giving her money, drugs.

Either way, you’ve got her.

Cheers.

You take care, now.

Beware of geeks bearing gifts.

JOHN: Justin.

Look... I-- I said nothing and... I won’t say anything.

But you can’t go on like this.

You just can’t.

Hmm, what’s this?

Blackmail now?

No.

This thing, this weird thing between us, it has to end.

Why?

What you did to Mark nearly cost me.

I wouldn’t have let it.

I know.

I know you really think that.

And I think, in your own way, your intentions were good.

But hurting Mark doesn’t bring Zoe back to me.

That’s not how people work, that’s not how they think.

Hmm.

I’ll see you soon.

Wow, Zoe.

Are you-- What are you doing here?

Saying sorry.

JOHN: Sorry?

For what?

For not believing you.

What they said you did, it’s-- it’s not in your nature and I should’ve known that of all the people in the world-- And I should’ve known.

And I should have said something, been there.

You’re obsessive, you’re driven.

God knows you’re misguided.

But what you never are is a liar.

Not to me, nor a coward.