D.A.C. Robert Strickland: Say hello to Harry Eldridge, or what's left of him. He was found near Guildford a couple of days ago, cut up and buried not far from the A3. The dry sandy nature of the soil has left him pretty well preserved, wrapped in what looked like his clothes and old newspapers.
Det.Supt.Sandra Pullman: Positive ID, is it?
D.A.C. Robert Strickland: Well, they found a wallet among the clothing with a credit card. Dental records should confirm it. Eldridge was a well-to-do butcher in Smithfield Market.
Det.Supt.Sandra Pullman: When was this?
D.A.C. Robert Strickland: Well, those newspapers are dated December the nineteenth, 1976, the day Eldridge vanished. The most likely cause of death is this: a stab wound going up into the small of the back made with a long-bladed knife. The body was cut up quite skillfully, so doctor, surgeon?
Det.Supt.Sandra Pullman: Butcher.
D.A.C. Robert Strickland: Mm. Quite.
Jack Halford: Excuse me, Lestade and Family.
Sid Lestade: Yeah. Yeah, it's a Huguenot name. They come over from France, stop getting massacred. Unlike Gerry here, used to get massacred every Saturday night.
Barry Lestade: You mention Lestade in the meat trade and everyone knows what you're talking about. It's a name to be proud of.
Sid Lestade: Yeah, except for him, of course. Silly bugger thought it made him sound like an iron hoof.
Gerry Standing: No, I didn't!
Det.Supt.Sandra Pullman: You changed your name.
Jack Halford: So your real name is Gerard Lestade.
Barry Lestade: Ah, oui.
Gerry Standing: Can you stop all this!
Brian Lane: So deep down you're not cockney at all. You're French.
Gerry Standing: I'm not bleeding French!
Sid Lestade: That's what his old man used to say to wind him up.