I was waiting up for him. We've got you on a series of match-fixing counts. Yeah, I think we all could. Maybe he got it from a friend, a relative? You haven't even got a captain. Who were they addressed to? Sounds like you've already got company.
Mm, he seems a bit uptight about it. Well, if he collapses, I'm a doctor. But after receiving a strange summons, a terrified Serena and Melody meet at the tree to find Cilla herself there. I am so coming to Australia with you. Just a spur of the moment thing. How could you just disappear? Serena I'm going to find Cilla.
I don't know what you mean. I'm working undercover on a large-scale match-fixing ring. I meant to come and see you earlier. We know about your grandson. They back the number of wides bowled, no-balls, runs a certain batsman makes, run-outs.
I didn't meet Fitz, let alone know him. Did your wife leave you? What the hell were you playing at? On the sofa, of course. You didn't come back last night. And it doesn't eat into your life like five days of dreary test cricket. So if Fitz was murdered because you turned him down, what did Leo Henderson do to get himself killed? See, the betting works in insidious ways.
Someone left this for Melody last night. You'd have made Leo proud batting like that. Murder, kidnap and blackmail are commonplace among the eccentric inhabitants of Midsomer. I even hung my jacket up. And then Fitz gets murdered straight afterwards. Fate deals him a cruel blow when he is stabbed through the heart with a cricket stump.
It wasn't always easy to find it in Arizona. Doesn't matter how I got your number. Don't get too full of yourself. We need to know exactly how these bets are being laid. We tried to find her, but we couldn't.
Wait, please There's something I want to give you. What are you doing here? His alibi checks out, Jones. Which could make match fixing extremely tempting. You've got two choices, Jack. Actually I'd rather it was you than anyone else.
Serena returns home to find an anxious Elliot glued to his computer. I couldn't risk appearing too keen. Meanwhile, venerable St John makes a phone call asking someone to come home. Aren't you gonna wish me luck? I can't help thinking that the wrong person was murdered. That's taking tree hugging a bit far, isn't it? We'd better have a word.