Émission TV: Life on Mars (UK) - 1x5

Oi, referee, are you blind?!
Right, hold on.
What do you think I'm doing?
Back of the net!
Did you see that?
Definitely offside.
You're nicked, sunbeam.
Chris, take him away, charge him.
I'll do it.
I'm arresting you for the theft of a motor vehicle, resisting arrest, and driving like a div.
You're not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, anything you may say may be taken in evidence.
Little sod.
They should bring back National Service.
What, take him away, teach him how to kill people?
Didn't do me any harm.
Teach him some manners.
Oi, referee!
Has anyone ever told you you need glasses, you dozy git?
Next time, I'll run you over!
Think you'd better take this.
Plod have found a body in Trafford Park.
Somebody help us?
Oh, leave him.
Weediest kid always stayed in goal.
Come on!
Chris, you're being a div.
Get in.
My name is Sam Tyler.
I had an accident and I woke up in 1973.
Am I mad?
In a coma?
Or back in time?
Whatever's happened, it's like I've landed on a different planet.
Now maybe if I can work out a reason, I can get home.
Get him out of here!
Get out!
Colin Clay, No.8 Heathfield Road.
I think it was a heart attack.
It must have exploded out his arse.
There's blood all down his back.
What's up with you?
Got a cold.
Stabbing?
If it was, I couldn't find a hole.
Well, it was very cold last night.
He may have delayed rigor mortis.
And I can smell alcohol, so I'd say about 11:30.
How'd you work that out?
Chucking out time.
Found this.
United.
Well...
Whoever did it, at least he had a decent motive.
He's a City fan.
Shall I let his old lady know she can join the singles club?
No.
I'll do it.
Is your mum in?
Mum!
I'm a police officer.
Can I have a word?
Ryan?
I'm gonna get off now.
Will you look after your mum for me?
Promise?
Find out who killed me dad?
Yes, I will.
Promise?
Doesn't take much working out, even for you lot.
Right, let's start by bringing in all known football hooligans, get their names and addresses, find out where they were last night.
Get Ray to breathe on them.
I think you're wrong.
This doesn't bear the hallmarks of a football-related attack.
United are playing City on Saturday.
Some poor sod always gets a good kicking.
But that's just it.
He didn't.
If this was about football, he would've had serious injuries.
He's dead, that's quite serious.
Colin Clay wasn't beaten up.
He didn't have "Georgie Best is a tosser" written on his forehead.
In fact, nothing I saw this morning suggested he died because of which football team he supported.
That's because you don't know this city like I do.
I want to talk to his family, his friends, and his workmates.
I wanna find out if there was another motive.
You do that, Sherlock, and if that doesn't work, try the butler.
Maybe he did it.
I'll bang up a hooligan by lunch.
Hello, love.
DC Skelton.
You didn't see anybody suspicious on your round?
What now, boss?
Let's go back over the statements.
It's essential we take a methodical approach- Allow me to rephrase the question.
Bloody hooligans.
Waste of space.
Had us scratching our heads for a while.
His clothes were covered in blood but only on the back.
If it wasn't for that, we'd never have found it.
Found what?
There.
Just above the hairline.
Puncture wound.
We'll have to go in and have a proper look, but my guess...
it punctured the cerebellum.
Knife?
Too small.
What then?
Your guess is as good as mine.
All I can tell you is, it was no more than three inches long.
The skin is serrated too, on one side.
Some kind of hunting tool?
Maybe.
And there were no other injuries?
None I can find.
No fractures or bruising?
Nothing.
Nothing to suggest a beating.
No.
It was here, weren't it?
Ryan.
What you doing here?
Does your mum know where you are?
She's crying with loads of people around her.
Come on.
Let's get you back.
Everyone wants me to cry, but I can't.
It's okay.
You don't have to cry if you don't want to.
Tried pinching myself really hard.
You can't make yourself feel something that you don't.
I feel bad and that, but I didn't see him much.
Only at weekends.
Why's that?
He drove lorries around.
Oh.
'Course he did.
Wayne's dad died too.
Who's Wayne?
Mate of yours?
Best mate.
Lives with his aunty and uncle.
Cos his mam ran off with an insurance man.
Is your dad dead?
No - actually, no, he's not.
You're lucky.
Yeah.
Do you live with him?
No.
Not anymore.
To tell you the truth, I'm not sure where he is.
Dad promised to take me to the match on Saturday.
Can't somebody else take you?
Not without me dad.
He scored, Sam.
Did you see that?
Someone smells nice.
New aftershave?
Long time no see.
That's cos I've been avoiding you.
I've got these for DCI Hunt.
Copies of the statements from the door-to-doors.
Oh.
I'll take them.
So, how you been?
Okay.
You?
Yeah, good.
No more funny stuff?
Funny stuff?
You know, the whole...
time travel...
out of body experience thing.
Well, I went to see Doctor Who and he prescribed me some pills, so...
You know, I can't work you out.
You're either mental- Or?
Or...
you just use that stuff as a chat-up line.
Make yourself sound interesting. "
Please shag me, I'm in a coma"?
There's no need to be rude.
I was just saying.
Sorry.
If it was a chat-up line...
would it work?
No chance.
This stuff from the alley...
has Forensics been through it yet?
Yeah.
Nothing there.
What's that?
A blakey.
What?
Stops your shoes wearing out.
Was the victim wearing these?
No sign of blakeys.
No markings.
You carried out the interviews in the pub, didn't you?
Yeah.
What colour was the carpet?
It's hard to say.
Try.
Sort of...
reddishy-purple.
I think I've got something.
Number for the special clinic is on the notice board.
I've just been reading through the door-to-door reports.
And?
A woman, at number 32, 50 yards from the murder scene, heard a man's voice.
She thinks he was shouting "Carl".
So?
What if it wasn't Carl?
What if it was Col?
What if my uncle had tits, would he be my auntie?
If it was Col, that means he knew the murderer.
And then I found this in the sweep from the alley.
It didn't belong to the victim, and there are carpet fibres in the spikes.
Burgundy.
The same colour as the carpet in the Trafford Arms, which is where he was drinking last night.
So what are you saying?
Whoever killed him followed him out of the pub?
Which means it wasn't football-related.
It's a United pub.
You wouldn't find a City supporter in there.
Also, his wallet wasn't touched, which means it wasn't robbery.
This wasn't mindless violence.
Someone had a motive.
Otherwise, why else follow him home?
You're barking up the wrong tree.
Why?
Because, according to Chris, all those people you spoke to this morning all said the same thing.
Colin Clay was a good bloke, salt of the earth, no one had a bad word to say about him.
But...
Right, was he in debt?
Was he shagging somebody else's wife?
Right, was he the sort of bloke that will go out and pick a fight?
So what was the one thing that might have got him killed in Trafford Park coming out of a United pub, two days before the match against City?
Or is that question too difficult for you?
You have no evidence to back that up!
And neither have you.
Difference is, I trust my guts, and they're telling me this was about football.
Which means we should be worrying about the thousands of United fans who are looking for revenge on Saturday.
All the more reason to prove it wasn't a City gang who did this.
Look.
What if I had more evidence?
How?
Let me go undercover.
Gain their trust.
Find out who he was drinking with last night.
Find out what happened in the Trafford Arms before he left.
Come on.
Let me show you how clever I am.
Just one shift in the pub.
In the pub?
Ray, go and arrest the landlord of the Trafford Arms.
What for?
Think of something on the way.
Right.
Listen up.
Einstein here's come up with a plan.
He thinks that Colin Clay's killer was drinking with him in the Trafford Arms on the night of the murder.
He also thinks there was a motive apart from football violence, so we're thinking, what, inside the box.
Outside.
Yeah, that an' all.
So, in a bizarre twist of fate, the landlord was arrested this afternoon...
on suspicion of cattle rustling.
We're gonna refuse him bail and keep him locked up for a bit so that we can get into the pub tomorrow night, work a shift, posing as his replacement.
That way we can dig about a bit, see what we can find out.
So we're going undercover in a pub?
The brewery have agreed.
As far as the punters are concerned, the undercover team will be temporary manager, and barman.
So, who's gonna do it?
I volunteered myself to lead the operation.
Einstein here will be coming with me as barman.
Questions?
Can I have a tab?
Not on your wages.
Anyone else?
Right.
We go in tomorrow night.
And as I'm risking my personal safety in a boozer full of United scum...
Ray, I want a full back-up plan worked out.
Oh, and there's a sweepstake on Ray's desk for Saturday's match.
I've got 2-0 City.
We're gonna need a plonk as well.
What?
We can't run a boozer without a barmaid.
Oh, I really don't think- Good.
Keep it that way.
Make sure she's got nice tits.
Just a thought.
Do either of you two know anything about running a pub?
You want me to teach you to work a bar?
Yeah.
Now?
We start tomorrow night.
How hard can it be?
You do it.
I can teach you how to pull a pint.
But the bonhomie associated with the profession...
may take a little longer.
We'll settle for whatever you can give us.
Two brown ale, double diamond, gin and tonic, half a light ale, and a port and lemon.
One ten.
Four brown split, two Campari and a Dubari and lemonade.
Two quid.
One sixty.
It might be in your pub, but in mine it's two quid.
And one for myself.
Cheers.
What can I get you?
I could ask you the same thing.
Didn't I tell you?
She's our new barmaid for tomorrow.
Oh no.
Looks like it could be a long night.
Have you done this before?
It's why I got chosen.
I was barmaid for six months before I signed up.
That and me nice tits, apparently.
What?
Nothing.
18�p.
Haven't you forgotten something?
Oh yeah, and one for yourself.
Thank you very much, don't mind if I do.
Hey, it's a piece of piss, this.
Snowball, Raymondo?
Why did you promise him, Sam?
Daddies always let you down, don't they?
Hiya.
Are you going to see me mum?
Uh, no, I'm just meeting someone in the pub.
This is Wayne.
Hiya, Wayne.
He's gonna get the bloke that killed me dad.
Don't stay out too late, eh, lads?
Things might kick off later.
Right.
What we're looking for...
is someone who had any kind of dispute with the victim.
They don't have to have heard anything, they might have witnessed a heated exchange, or sensed an atmosphere...
anything.
Gene?
Don't you mean "guv"?
We're undercover.
He's right...
Gene.
Right!
Let's get set up, and hope they're a talkative lot.
Oi, you.
Word.
Were you in here two nights ago?
Gene.
Wait here.
Do you understand the concept of "undercover"?
Too direct?
Little bit, yeah.
This um...
...shirt/jumper is a nice combination, well done.
Chicken and chips twice.
Two pans, a spoon and a big tub of dripping.
So, what do you want?
Olive oil would be nice, bit of coriander...
It's a herb.
This is Trafford Park.
You've got more chance of finding an ostrich with a plum up its arse.
Haven't got any plates.
You're a smart lad, use your initiative!
Chicken and chips twice.
Over here, mate.
What's this?
It's chicken in a basket.
Where's me plate?
You don't need a plate.
It's in a basket.
Word.
Chicken...
in a basket?
You told me to use my initiative.
Let's see how good you really are.
Two oxtail soups.
Food's off.
Yes, mate?
Pint of brown split.
Where's Frank?
I don't know, I think he got into a bit of trouble with the police.
Brewery sent us down to cover for him.
Nothing to do with Col, is it?
Col?
The bloke that were murdered?
No, I don't think so.
Why, did you know him, Col?
Everyone knew Col.
He was a great bloke.
Who'd kill someone because of what football team they support?
You think that's what it was, then?
That's what the papers are saying.
Read it if you like.
Cheers.
Look at that.
See?
What'd I tell you?
Just 'cause it's in the papers, doesn't mean it's true.
Look, it's in black and white.
You just don't like admitting you're wrong.
I'm not wrong.
So what've you found out, apart from how much lemonade to put in a tart's Dubonnet?
Give it a chance, we've only just started.
We'd better get a move on.
Yeah, and remember...
Yeah, alright, the softly, softly approach.
He didn't pay his tab.
What?
I arrested him three months ago for assault.
Did you have to hit him?
Well, I thought it were a good idea, just before he said, "Hello, Detective Chief Inspector.
Fancy seeing you here."
We can't leave him here.
He'll be fine.
Okay then, Sherlock.
You've got two hours to show me how clever you are.
So how well did you know him then?
There will never be a woman Prime Minister, as long as I have a hole in my arse.
Cheers, mate.
Same again.
How was the food?
Oh, it was great, yeah.
Apart from vinegar going through the holes.
It's Pete, innit?
Pete Bond, yeah.
Sam.
Must be weird, that, going from one pub to another, covering for other people.
It is a bit, yeah.
So where was your last pub, then?
It was..
other side of town.
So what was it called?
The Nelson.
Round the back of Hartford Street.
Do you know it?
Cheers, Pete.
Yes, lads?
Four pints of malt and two brown splits, please.
You going to the match?
Yep.
You?
Can't.
I'm working.
That was a nasty business, the other night.
He were a top bloke, Col.
Couldn't believe it when I heard.
He a mate of yours?
A good mate.
City lot have got a lot to answer for.
So it's right, what they say in the papers?
Yes.
They're gonna get what's coming to 'em tomorrow.
We all owe Colin that.
Time to liven things up a bit.
Hard to keep your stories straight when you're pissed, you ask my missus.
I'm not sure that's ethical.
It's not, it's vodka.
Pete.
Who's that?
That's Coxy.
He said he was a mate of Colin's.
Yeah, they got on okay.
He's been dying to get stuck into the City boys all season.
Looks like he'll get his chance now.
Noisy lot.
I know.
They're the only ones we haven't talked to properly.
Do you want me to try?
No, I'll do it.
Alright lads, what do you reckon?
Bobby Charlton on the score sheet tomorrow?
Fancy Lou Macari myself.
Is that right, pal?
Right, whose round is it?
They're not exactly friendly, are they?
That's because you're not their kind of people.
Is that right?
And who is "their kind of people"?
Me.
You look like a man wishing he was somewhere else.
Sorry, Pete, I was miles away there.
So, going to the match tomorrow?
No, I doubt it.
You don't know what you're missing.
I used to go a lot when I was younger.
United man?
Oh yeah.
Once a Red, always a Red.
All those people, all coming together for one thing, and most of them you've never seen before in your life.
But if they're wearing red, you're mates.
It makes you feel like you really belong to something.
I can't remember the last time I went to a match.
I think it was...
I think it was about now.
Now, this time of year.
So why'd you stop going then?
It just sort of happened.
But you miss it, though?
I never really thought it, but yeah, I suppose I do.
You should come back.
Once a Red, always a Red, remember.
Pete, you go, mate.
Let us know if you fancy it.
Get the old blood pumping again, eh?
Still nothing?
Who was this bloke, St Francis of Assisi?
No one'll say a bad word against him.
I'm gonna get some air.
You killed me dad!
I'm gonna kill you!
Get off me!
He killed me dad!
Get off!
Wayne!
I didn't do anything!
What's going on?
It were him.
I saw it in the papers.
Saw what?
That City lot killed me dad.
Even if that's true, it wasn't Wayne.
Well, he supports City.
I hate him!
Ryan, it doesn't work like that, mate.
What if it had been a City fan killed, would that have been your fault?
You can't start ripping lumps out of people just 'cause of which football team they support!
They killed me dad.
No, they didn't!
Who did then?
I don't know.
It don't matter.
You break your promise.
That's what grown-ups do, innit?
I used to go to the football with my dad.
Every Saturday, watch United.
It was the only time of the week I got him all to myself, you know what I mean?
'Course you do.
Just me and me dad.
Then when he left, I never went again.
Well, I'm not either.
The thing is, mate, if you stop doing all the things you used to do with your dad, you lose him all over again.
And that thing that you're feeling now, it will never go away.
I really miss him.
I know.
There's gonna be trouble.
If there is, call the station.
Back-up's on stand-by.
Can I have a word?
As long as the words are "it's my round", and "what're you having?".
Now!
Sorry, lads!
Tinkerbell here needs a hand!
I'll be back in a minute!
What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?
I tell you what I'm doing, you little prick.
I'm getting me hands dirty!
Now, I've come here on your say-so, even though I know you're wrong about this.
So, while you're pussy-footing about out there, asking what colour underpants Denis Law is wearing, I'm doing some male bonding on the off chance that you are not as stupid as you might look!
I thought you were drunk.
Yeah, well, think again.
I could drink every one of them toe-rags under the table and still stop off for a pint of me way home.
How'd you think I became a DCI?
You think they give away badges in them Lucky Bags?
Right, well, let's finish what we started.
And if I want a bollocking for drinking too much, I'll phone the wife.
Are we done?
Yes, guv.
Good.
They're a lively lot, aren't they?
And they haven't got a brain cell between them.
So what's he like, this Coxy?
He's the local hard nut.
At least, he thinks he is.
Right!
Let's have a drink!
Get 'em in, lovely bumps.
Hey, keep your hands to yourself.
Here's to cracking a few heads tomorrow!
Do we know who got Colin, then?
What?
Colin.
Who's in the frame?
It were City lot, who else?
Dunno, I heard it might not be.
From who?
Someone.
Well, whoever it is, is talking out their arse.
Why the concern, you didn't even know Col.
He's a Red and that's good enough for me.
It was City lot, weren't it, lads?
They'll get what's coming to 'em tomorrow, don't worry about that.
So what's the plan then, lads?
What, I meet you tonight and suddenly you want to know all of my business?
What's your problem?
People sticking their noses in things that don't concern 'em.
Hey, come on.
We've all had a drink...
What's wrong?
We're just having a friendly little talk.
Who said that you were my friend?
Why are you so interested in what I do and what I don't do?
Are you a copper or what?
Forget it, mate.
If they don't wanna chat, forget it.
Piss off, the lot of you.
You what?
We're shut.
You've just ordered more drinks.
I've just ordered drinks for my mates, like you said you aren't one.
Are you leaving or am I throwing you out?
What, all of us?
Right, then.
Come on, who's next?
You've got some guts.
Enough to take on you bunch of girls.
Come on, Coxy.
It's a big day tomorrow.
Let's just have a drink, eh?
Yeah, we erupt between ourselves, we all get banged up and miss tomorrow.
What say we have another drink then, eh?
Come on, Gene, shake his hand.
Get the beers in.
Your mate's got some balls.
If they were any bigger, he'd need a wheelbarrow.
You gonna join us, sweetheart?
Maybe later.
Looks like you've made a new friend.
Slimy git.
Mind you, he wears the same aftershave as you.
I don't wear aftershave.
How is he?
Oh, he's okay.
He's just pretending to be drunk.
Really.
They don't give away DCI badges in Lucky Bags, you know.
Smart-arse.
You'd better sit him up.
We've made you some coffee.
Up your arse.
Come on, drink this.
Smells like shit.
Oh, fine.
And you smell like a brewery.
Maybe we should walk him around for a bit.
I don't think we'll get any sense out of him tonight.
Sir!
Did he tell you anything?
I know what you're thinking.
Really?
You think I'm pissed.
Now you come to mention it...
Well, I'm not.
I...
am...
a professional...
police officer.
So, we got nothing.
Right.
Since your daft idea didn't do anything but take our eye off the ball, we're gonna have to drag in the hooligans again.
What good will that do?
Right now, it's the only choice we got.
Even if they don't know anything, it might stop someone else from getting killed.
Hiya.
Look, I'm...
I'm still gonna try and keep that promise, okay?
It's just...
it might take a little bit longer.
Are you going to the match?
You've got your scarf on.
It isn't mine.
It's me dad's.
Me mam wanted to throw it away, after what the papers said.
I'm only wearing it cos I can smell him.
Hang on...
We found your dad's scarf in that alley.
He was wearing it.
I've got it at the station.
He only wore it match days.
So he wasn't wearing it when he left the house?
Are you sure?
Yeah.
He only had one.
This one.
Malcolm Cox is on the list of people drinking in the pub that night.
I want you to check for any previous convictions for assault.
Move!
Smell that.
I'm sorry?
Smell it.
Kinky.
Please.
Well?
Well what?
When you dropped off those reports, you said that I smelled nice.
Is this what you smelt?
Yeah, so?
I don't wear aftershave.
No, but you talk gibberish.
But in the pub last night, you said that Malcolm Cox was wearing the same aftershave as me.
Is this it?
I suppose so.
Right.
The lads in the pub said that Malcolm Cox was spoiling for a fight with the City fans, but none of the United fans were interested.
So?
But now they are.
So what's made 'em change their mind?
Go on.
This scarf was found at the scene where Colin Clay was killed.
Now, I've just come back from his house.
This scarf wasn't his.
I think it belonged to whoever killed him.
Yeah, but it's a United scarf.
Exactly.
And whoever dropped it was wearing the same aftershave that Malcolm Cox was wearing.
Smell it.
Yeah, him and two million others, no doubt.
Hai-Karate.
Cox has got eight previous convictions for assault.
I found out that bit.
The weapon that killed Colin Clay was no more than three inches long and serrated on one side.
When you squared up to him last night, Malcolm Cox put his keys through his fingers, like that.
Keys.
I think that's what killed Colin Clay.
A ready-made knuckleduster, that the police would never spot if they picked you up.
So you think Cox killed Clay?
All makes sense.
I doubt he meant to kill him, but he thought that by attacking a United supporter, making it look like it was the City fans, the United faithful would back him.
All went wrong.
Clay died.
If we can prove that...
We can stop the hooligans taking over this match.
Kick-off's in two hours.
So the City fans are innocent?
In that case, I approve of your findings.
You got an address?
Who is it!
The milkman.
Alright, lads.
What's happening?
You're nicked.
Mind the bloody paintwork!
New scarf?
Where did you go when you left the Trafford Arms the night Colin Clay was killed?
Home.
Can anyone vouch for that?
Who?
Me cat.
You're quiet.
I'm just waiting for the Boy Wonder to get bored, then I'll bounce you around the walls.
You followed him home that night, didn't you?
Prove it.
So, what, you just thought you were gonna beat him up a bit, and with the match coming up, everyone would blame it on the City boys.
Come on, you Reds!
Had to be somebody well-liked though, didn't it?
A nice bloke, just to get everybody angry enough.
Nah, that's bollocks.
So, someone shouted out his name, he stopped, giving you the chance to sneak up behind him, punch him in the back of the head.
Is that what happened?
He asked you a bloody question.
Only you used your keys, though, didn't you?
Like this.
Just like you were gonna do last night, in the pub, you remember?
He must have gone down like a sack of spuds.
Don't know what you're talking about.
You ran away, didn't you?
I told you, I was at home.
So scared, you dropped your scarf.
The other scarf.
I didn't kill anyone!
And that scarf is now in Forensics.
Foreign-what?
A bloke with tweezers...
is pulling out little strands of hair and skin from the fibres.
And what are the odds it's gonna be your hair, Coxy?
We're gonna see to it you get life.
I told you, me scarf was nicked.
You were seen wearing it the night he was killed!
See, jurors love all that, makes them feel like Columbo.
No, you've done it wrong!
One more thing.
Missing a blakey?
Malcolm Cox, I'm arresting you for the murder of Colin Clay.
I didn't kill him!
Who did then?!
You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so...
It was an accident!
Did you hit him?
Did you hit him?!
But anything you do say...
It wasn't me!
may be given in evidence...
It was Pete!
It was Pete's idea.
None of the lads wanted to take on City and he was in the pub that night and he said...
if we beat up a United fan, it'd bring 'em around.
Pete...
Bond?
Yeah.
We only meant to rough him up a bit.
He was the one who showed me how to use the keys, it's his trademark.
I just went along to help him.
We were just gonna rough him up bit, but when Pete hit him he went down.
I didn't know what to do, so I ran.
Peter Bond.
Where can we find him?
The United faithful...
are still blaming the City fans for the death of Colin Clay.
As you can imagine, the Blues aren't too happy about that.
So in one hour, both sides are gonna meet at the old textiles factory behind the shops in Leaming Road.
This is gonna be bigger and uglier than any pre-match scrap you've ever dealt with before, so let's get a move on.
Come on, you heard him.
Chop-chop!
Where's Ray?
He phoned in sick.
In bed with flu, he said.
Right, come on, load up!
Phyllis, at one o'clock, I want you to call the local radio stations and tell 'em we've found the man who killed Colin Clay.
What for?
Just do it.
And be sure to tell 'em the killer was a United supporter.
That way, we might save someone from getting a kicking.
Talking of which, shouldn't this lot be wearing protective clothing?
You what?
You know...
Visors, shields, stab vests...
They've got helmets.
Come on, hurry up, they're waiting for you.
Wagons roll!
Everyone sit tight.
There.
Okay, let's have 'em.
Wait.
Bloody hell.
Alright, lads, tool up.
Haven't you got anything?
No.
Good luck.
Go, go, go, go, go!
Yes!
So you thought you'd come to the match after all, Sam?
I'm a police officer.
What's your problem?
You are.
Do you know how long I've waited for this?
I'm not interested.
None of them would have it.
So, what, you thought you'd beat up a United supporter, get them on side?
They had no bottle.
What was it you said to me, Pete? "
Once a Red, always a Red"?
It's football.
You know nothing about football!
Peter Bond, I'm arresting you for the murder of Colin Clay.
You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, anything you do say may be given as evidence.
Prove it!
I have.
Piss off!
This is the buzz, man.
This is what we do.
It's the game.
I used to go to football with my dad.
United and City fans used to walk to the match together.
Our next door neighbour, he had a City flag up in his window.
Kids used to play together in the street.
Red and Blue.
And then people like you came along, and you took it away from us.
Look, a good punch-up's all part of the game.
It's about pride.
Pride in your team.
Being the best.
No, it isn't.
This is how it starts.
And then it escalates.
It gets on the telly and in the press, and then other fans from other clubs start trying to outdo each other, and then it becomes about hate.
And then it's nothing to do with football anymore!
It's about gangs, and scumbags like you, roaming the country, seeing who can cause the most trouble!
And then we overreact, and we have to put up perimeter fences, and we treat the fans like animals!
Forty, fifty thousand people, herded into pens.
And then how long before something happens?
How long before something terrible happens, and we are dragging bodies out?
Thought you were a United man.
You killed somebody.
It went wrong.
I was just gonna give him a kicking.
He's dead.
That's mine.
This doesn't belong to you.
This belongs to decent people who work all week and take their kids to the football on a Saturday.
People like Colin Clay.
You alright, boss?
Lock him up.
You're sure you don't wanna be here?
No, you go on.
I've got something I need to do first.
I'm ready then.
What for?
An apology.
Was this, or was this not, a football-related crime?
Was the murderer drinking with him in the Trafford Arms?
Don't try and wheedle out of this.
I'm right, you're wrong, admit it.
We caught him because I convinced you to go undercover.
Before that, you were just dragging hooligans in.
Still about football!
Not in the way you were thinking.
It was still about football!
You just will not be proved wrong, will you?
You know, that's very childish.
No, it is not.
Yes, it is.
I thought he had flu?
Sergeant!
Come back here, you scabby little git!
Hiya.
My mum told me that you caught the bloke that killed me dad.
I promised you, didn't I?
Do you know anyone that wants this?
What is it?
It's a ticket for the match.
Do you remember when I told you about my dad?
I was wrong never to go to a match again.
Hey, you never know.
Maybe one day, me and you can go to a match together.
I'd like that.
So would I.
But for now, I've only got the one ticket, so...
Have you got anyone that can take you down there?
There you are, isn't that your mate?
Is that his uncle?
Looks like they're going.
Thanks, mister.
You excited about the match, Sam?