All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries S02E05 The Green Muse.DVDRip.HI.en.ACORN

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[Up-tempo piano music playing]

Oh!

Excuse me.

[Screaming]

Get out!

[Coughs]

Go! Get out!

Where's Cora? Did you see Cora?

Did anybody see Cora?

Cora?!

[Gasps]

[Indistinct conversations]

What have we, George?

The fire started
around midnight, sir.

And the cause?

An incendiary device was
thrown through this window.

Glass.

Housed in a bottle,
it would seem.

Gather up all the shards.
See if we can raise fingermarks.

Some may have survived the fire.

What else?

The madam couldn't find
one of her... employees.

Mm-hmm.

She went to look
for her in her room.

Where she found the victim.

Exactly.

Right, then. Nothing's
to be touched.

I want a list of everyone
that was here tonight.

The girls, their
customers... Everyone.

Oh, sir, that list could
include the mayor, a bishop.

I mean, this was, after
all, the Music Academy.

It could include the
chief constable himself.

I want that list.

Sir.

The body's up this way.

This is how the madam found her.

Good Lord.

It's a horrible wound.

She appears to
have been garroted.

Do we know her name?

Cora Devereaux, age 23.

[Sighs]

Letters from admirers.

It appears Miss Devereaux
was a very popular woman.

Perhaps it had something to
do with her taste in fine spirits.

- Ab-sinthe. Ab-seenthe?
- Absinthe.

It's a liquor popular in Europe
amongst the intelligentsia.

Made with an herb... wormwood.

Said to cause hallucinations.

Hallucinations?

How intriguing.

- Anything else, George?
- No, sir.

That's all the
madam would tell me.

Oh?

Was she being uncooperative?

Well, sir, she said she
wanted to give the rest

of her statement
to you personally.

Really? Where is she now?

WESTON: Right here, William.

It's good to see you again.

Always a pleasure,
Miss Weston...

despite the circumstances.

WESTON: I've always
looked after my girls.

Arranged doctors,
kept their bellies full,

advised on affairs of the heart.

I didn't do a very good
job with Cora, I'm afraid.

What can you tell me about her?

Not much.

She was in high demand
with my customers,

even though she'd only
been here a short while.

Oh? How long?

About six months.

And where was she before that?

- Montreal.
- What brought her here?

I believe she had
a spot of trouble.

What kind of trouble?

A violent customer.

Had she any difficulties
with customers here?

One.

Arthur Webster.

The painter?

He'd become obsessed with her.

In my experience, that
can only lead to trouble.

I see.

He refused to leave tonight,
so I had him removed.

Tonight? When was this?

Around 10:00.

Two hours before you
discovered Miss Devereaux's body.

He could have
returned, killed her,

and set fire to the
house to cover his tracks.

Except I keep the
doors locked at all times.

Security is very important
for my girls and my clients.

Perhaps he found
a way to sneak in.

Well, I suppose that's possible.

Well, I think that's enough
for now, Miss Weston.

Thank you.

William.

In all these years,
you haven't changed.

- Not a bit.
- [Door closes]

And you, Ettie.

You've done very
well for yourself.

Ah. Doctor.

Detective.

May I ask why such a
pretty dress for a murder?

Oh.

A gentleman asked me to dinner.

Oh?

Yes. A rather stuffy
accountant, as it turns out.

He was busy
explaining the difference

between single- and
double-entry bookkeeping

when I was called away.

The garrote appears
to have severed

both the carotid artery
and the jugular vein.

So the killer would have
been covered in blood?

Not necessarily.

The attack appears to
have been from behind,

meaning he would have
avoided most of the blood spray.

This is most interesting.

What is it?

There's another scar
winding around her neck...

suggesting a previous
attempt to garrote the victim.

As though someone
returned to finish a job

they had already started.

[Sniffs]

Well, this is a right cock-up.

What have you got there?

What does this smell
remind you of, sir?

[Sniffs]

Mineral spirits?

More specifically, turpentine.

Mm. Fuel used in
the fire bomb, was it?

One of them. Likely
the accelerant.

To light something heavier.

Kerosene more than likely.

At least that's what they
taught us in the regiment.

So the killer chucks it
in through the window,

hoping to cover his tracks.

But the bomb was
poorly constructed.

Caused more smoke than fire.

Many lives were spared.

Do we know which
of the city fathers

were caught with
their strides down?

- Strides?
- Trous...

Uh, pants, pants.

Yes. I have a list.

Mm.

[Laughing] Bloody hell, Murdoch.

Don't let this
out of your sight.

We're not gonna be able to keep
what happened out of the press,

but at least we can try
and limit the damage.

There's quite a few friends
of the department on here.

Yes. I'll try to
ensure discretion.

Do we have a suspect?

Yes. A painter with
a jealous obsession.

Miss Devereaux... dead?

It can't be.

I'm sorry to have to
inform you, Mr. Webster.

Turpentine.

To clean my brushes.

What of it?

We believe it was
used to set the fire.

But surely you don't think
that I had something to...

Mr. Webster, you had
to be forcibly removed

from the brothel last night.

Sometimes I find it difficult
to leave Miss Devereaux.

Surely you've felt the
same way towards a love.

Where did you go afterwards?

I came here to paint.

I am...

was always so inspired
after being with her.

She was my muse.

You were obsessed with her.

So much so that you
couldn't stand the thought

of other men being with her.

I had already
accepted that situation,

as unfortunate as it was.

Unfortunate?

Yes. Her heart
belonged to another.

I'm sorry to disturb you at
your home, Judge Wilson,

but as I mentioned,
this is an urgent matter.

I'm sorry I haven't much time.

My case load
lately is very heavy.

Yes. I'll try to be brief.

Are you familiar with the
Weston Music Academy?

No, I am not. Should I be?

It's a brothel, sir.

A young woman was
murdered there last night.

I see.

Most unfortunate.

Sir, I believe you were
a client of the victim's.

Are you suggesting that I
frequent brothels, Detective?

With all due respect, sir,
you were mentioned by name.

[Sighs]

Well, many people would like to
see me removed from the bench.

This is probably some
ploy to discredit me.

Where were you last night?

I was working late in chambers.

And then I returned home.

What time?

About 10:00.

I had a small glass of
sherry, and then I went to bed.

And you remained here
at home the whole night?

You're quite certain?

I think I would know if I'd
gotten out of bed, don't you?

Now, if there's nothing further,
Detective, I'm needed in court.

[Knock on door, door opens]

Inspector.

There's a gentleman from the
Temperance League to see you.

A Mr. Beecher.

BRACKENREID: Beecher? Bollocks.

BEECHER: And there you go, sir.

Send him in.

- Go on in.
- Thank you.

Inspector, the Temperance
League is no longer simply concerned

with the evils of drink.

All of society's woes
require our attention.

So the missus has
told me, Mr. Beecher.

In particular, it's
the houses of ill fame

and the plight of the women
in them that concern us.

Same goes for the police.

Well, so you say.

And yet, Inspector,
for some time,

the entire constabulary,
yourself included,

has tolerated the existence
of the Music Academy

because it caters
to the city's elite.

You and I both know
that that place is first-class.

Those lasses are
well looked after.

Are they?

Perhaps Miss Devereaux's
parents would disagree.

Inspector, on behalf
of the thousands

of Temperance League members,

staunch supporters of
our cause, like your wife,

I demand that place be
shut down immediately.

You can tell your members
that the police are doing their job.

In fact, we already
have a suspect.

- Oh?
- Yes.

An artist.

An artist.

I see.

Somewhat convenient, Inspector,
but a suspect nonetheless, huh?

- What are you implying, sir?
- I'm not implying.

I'm merely noting that
of all the powerful people

in that brothel, a lowly
artist is the suspect.

Facts do not lie, sir.

Of course they don't.

Inspector, the Temperance League

will be watching the
progress of this case.

If justice is not served,
you will be hearing from us.

[Sighs]

I can't wait.

DR. OGDEN: I would place time
of death roughly around midnight.

Consistent with when
the fire broke out.

The stomach contents revealed
nothing out of the ordinary,

except that she'd
had an aperitif

shortly before she was murdered.

Anise-based, I believe.

There was a bottle of
absinthe in the room.

Oh? The green fairy.

Green fairy?

Yes, the inspiration
of many a poet.

Some say she can be
seen after drinking it.

Or overindulging in it.

It's a most exotic drink.

No doubt supplied by
your friend, the madam.

How did you two meet?

A church function, perhaps?

Actually, we met during a case.

Her friend Alice Black, also
a prostitute, was murdered.

Oh.

Fortunately, I managed to
save Ettie... Miss Weston's life.

I'm sorry. I-I didn't
mean to imply...

I also misjudged Miss
Weston when I first met her.

Were there any defensive wounds?

There would have
been no time to struggle.

Death would have been
almost instantaneous.

There was this, however.

Mm.

Any idea how she
got those scars?

A whip or a lash,
I should think.

I've heard that those
can be used in sex play.

Yes. These scars
are very nasty, though.

I don't think there
was any play involved.

No, I suppose not.

Listen. She was a doxy.

She did things for money,
and some people pay for pain.

Might explain how she got that
older scar on her neck as well.

I highly doubt she would
let someone do that to her,

no matter the price.

She did allow herself to be
put in a vulnerable position,

allowing men to put things
around her neck and so on.

She wouldn't have noticed
the garrote until it was too late.

Something happened
to her in Montreal.

I have a mate
on the force there.

He might be able
to tell us a bit more.

Sir, there's someone
here to see you.

I'm Detective William Murdoch.

Yes. I'm Paul Wilson,
His Honor's son.

Ah, yes. Of course.
Mr. Wilson, how can I help you?

Well, this is rather difficult,

and I fear that it may implicate
my father in something unseemly.

But if I'm not mistaken,

Father told you he didn't
go out last night, did he not?

That's correct.

Well, I remember waking
in the middle of the night,

and I heard someone
come into the house.

There was a lot of commotion,
banging and whatnot.

Did you investigate?

This is very difficult for me.

It was Father.

You're certain?

He's recently taken to coming
in at all hours of the night.

Mm. I see.

I'll be sure to look into this.

Unfortunately, there's more.

I...[Sighs] I feel
terrible about this.

I found these in the
rear of his wardrobe.

MURDOCH: I'll ask you
one more time, Judge Wilson.

How did you get the
bloodstains on your clothes?

I couldn't tell you.

You'll have to forgive
me, Your Honor,

but you're not
being forthcoming.

I'm telling you what I know.

You also told me you
never left your home.

I just... don't know
what happened.

How can that be?

Either you left your
home or you didn't.

Such a damn muddle, I
can barely remember a thing.

Let me help you.

You went to the brothel.
You saw Miss Devereaux.

Yes. Cora.

What time was this?

About 11:00.

And then what?

I... I must have dozed off.

We'd been drinking,
and when I woke...

there was blood, and...

she was there beside me...

dead.

And the next thing I know, I
was in front of my door at home.

And you have no idea
how you got there?

- No.
- Yet you had the good sense

to remove the
bloodstained clothing.

Yes, I suppose so, yes.

But I didn't kill her.
Of this, I am certain.

How can you be?

You don't seem
certain of anything else.

Have you ever been in love?

Deeply and profoundly in love?

I have.

Well, then you
understand when I tell you

that, no matter
how confused I am,

I-I wanted to spend the
rest of my life with Cora.

Why else would I have
asked her to be my bride?

BRACKENREID: He's
gone completely daft.

A judge just can't up and
marry some scarlet woman.

He'd be throwing
away his career.

According to the judge,
they were very much in love.

Love. Ha!

The only thing she
loved was his money.

And I think the judge
finally realized that as well.

You think he discovered Miss
Devereaux was a gold digger.

And in a blind rage, killed her.

[Sighs]

How could he have
been in her room

and thrown the fire
bomb at the same time?

That's a good point.

And for that matter,

why not just set fire to
the bed with her in it?

Why not, indeed.

[Screaming]

The killer wasn't trying
to cover up his crime.

He threw the fire bomb
to create a diversion.

And in the confusion, slips in,

goes upstairs, kills
Miss Devereaux.

Bloody diabolical.

But then why is
the judge still alive?

Perhaps someone wanted us
to think that he was the killer.

Then again, maybe
the judge had a partner,

and this is all
just a wild theory.

Seems we've got
nothing but questions.

Why am I here, William?

You know very
well why you're here.

The judge was in Miss
Devereaux's room, wasn't he?

I'm sorry.

Tell me what happened.
And I want the truth this time.

Very well.

Cora?!

I went to Cora's room,
looking for her, just as I told you.

When I opened the
door, I saw him...

holding her...

- [Gasps]
- crying.

The building was burning,

so I helped him out, and
I had him taken home.

Even though he murdered
one of your own girls?

He did not murder Cora.

How can you be certain?
You found him over the body.

If you know anything
about me, William,

it's that I'm an expert on men.

You won't deny that it's useful
to have a judge in your pocket.

You trusted me in the past
when so many wouldn't.

Trust me now.

Very well.

In the past, Miss Devereaux

was involved with customers
who enjoyed the lash.

Am I correct?

Yes, in Montreal.

And did she have
any clients here

with that certain proclivity?

One.

- The judge?
- No.

Of course not.

Then who?

What's the meaning of this?

I searched the
rest of your house

and found these in
your bedside table.

What was the nature

of your relationship
with Miss Devereaux?

Miss Devereaux...
dominated, disciplined me.

You couldn't
possibly understand.

Oh, I think I
understand you fully.

You enjoyed being humiliated.

Or at least you
thought you did...

until Miss Devereaux
decided to marry the judge.

That was too much humiliation
for even you to endure.

My wanting to kill
Miss Devereaux

is as unlikely as
the judge wanting to.

You don't think he had reason?

I had only respect for the
way he treated Miss Devereaux.

Now, his son... That is a
completely different story.

His son?

Miss Devereaux had
ordered me to accompany her

to an opening
at the art gallery.

Young Mr. Wilson approached her,

accused her of being after
his father's money, was insulting

and so furious I actually
feared he would strike her.

I was about to put
him in his place,

but Miss Devereaux
commanded me not to.

I see.

[Horn honking]

Mr. Wilson.

That's quite a contraption.

Yes! Isn't it?

An electric carriage.
One of the first in the city.

Mm. Do you own it?

Well, I'm considering it.

But frankly, it's difficult to
get excited about anything,

given what's happened to Father.

Unless you've come
with good news?

There have been
recent developments.

Wonderful.

Assuming it's something
that will exonerate him.

I understand you had an
extremely vitriolic exchange

with the victim.

It was a heated argument, true.

But I was determined
to protect Father.

Protect him? From what?

From that woman dragging
his good name through the mud.

She would have ruined
him, professionally, socially.

Financially?

Well, that is what happens
when one falls victim

to an avaricious manipulator
who's only after one's estate.

It certainly is.

JUDGE WILSON: Are you
saying you suspect Paul?

His behavior makes me curious.

His behavior?

He had a heated argument
with Miss Devereaux.

Paul did not take well to
my decision to marry Cora.

And why not?

I've coddled Paul
since his mother died.

He worshiped her.

And it's likely he thought
he was defending her honor.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps he felt that his
finances were being threatened

by your impending marriage.

I don't see why he
would feel that way.

I had my attorney
draw up a contract

leaving him half of my estate
in the event of my death.

What if half wasn't enough?

Detective, my son's
flaws are many.

He's a talented
pianist who never plays.

He requires constant validation

from friends who
don't care for him.

He's never worked
a day in his life.

But he's still my son.

I see.

If I may, how were you
planning to deal with the...

ramifications of your marriage?

No need to be
delicate, Detective.

Cora's dream was to
have a home by the sea.

I bought us a cottage I
found on the tip of Cape May.

And we were going to
leave as soon as possible.

Just... it wasn't soon enough.

I loved Cora, deeply.

I never let a day go
by without telling her.

It's cold comfort, but at least
I didn't make that mistake.

I've just received word
back from Montreal.

What's that, then?

It's a sample of
the fire-bomb fuels

collected from the
carpet in the brothel.

I'm hoping that by
identifying them,

it might lead us to the killer.

And how do you
propose to do that?

Specific gravity.

Much like separating
cream from milk.

I'll have to send it to
the university, however.

I would do it myself, but
I don't have a centrifuge.

Oh, that's a shame.

Anyway, back to Montreal.

It seems there were two
rather nasty garrote attacks

on prostitutes there.

One of the victims survived.

Went by the name
of Cora Devereaux.

So we have a prostitute
running from a killer.

Comes to Toronto to hide.

But her past comes calling.

- [Knock on door]
- Sir, might I interrupt?

Yes, George. Have
you news on the case?

You could say that.

CRABTREE: Sir, I believe
we have our murderer.

You're leaping to
conclusions, George.

I don't think so, sir.

He's left us a confession.

Mr. Webster suffered
cerebral edema.

He was obviously cyanotic.

And I found petechiae
on his skin and in his eyes.

The cause of death
was asphyxiation.

So your findings are
consistent with a suicide?

That troubles you?

Something about this crime
just isn't sitting right with me.

Well, I can run
further tests if you like.

I would appreciate that.

Was there something else?

Yes.

I was wondering if you would
have dinner with me tonight.

Oh, certainly.

I-I'm not sure that the
results will be back by then.

Well, there are other
matters we could discuss.

Current events. Past events.

Constable Crabtree's
remarkably untidy...

Well, I... I'd be delighted.

Good.

Very good.

Mr. Beecher, I thought I
should inform you personally

before the newspapers publish.

We've shut down
the Music Academy.

The details are
all there for you.

Very good, Inspector.

So this Mr. Webster
hanged himself.

That's right.

And a confession written
in paint found by his side?

Near the body, yes.

What of Judge Wilson?

He's still in custody, but
I'm sure he'll be exonerated.

I should think there must
be some charge for him.

Solicitation, perhaps?

Yes. Well, there are
unfortunate vagaries in the laws.

Of course there are.

You must be quite
pleased, Inspector.

This worked out
quite well for you.

I'm not sure I appreciate what
you're insinuating, Mr. Beecher.

Then let me be clear.

The Temperance League
will change this city.

Mark my words.

Drink and loose morals
will be a thing of the past.

Next time... And there
will be a next time...

The rich and powerful
might not be so lucky.

And perhaps neither
will the constabulary.

Yes. Well, thank
you for stopping by.

I'll see you out.

Hello, Miss Weston.

- Spare me your false sanctimony.
- Miss Weston...

If I've offended
you in any way...

You come into my business,
proselytizing like some preacher

about how you're acting
in the interests of women.

Well, you turned every
one of them onto the street.

They had protection and
medicine and clothing.

And now they have nothing.

Whatever happens to
them is on your head.

Miss Weston, perhaps I
could get you a cup of tea

in the detective's office?

Thank you, Constable.

The poor woman.

I don't think we've
been formally introduced.

Detective William
Murdoch. Who might you be?

Levi Beecher. It's a pleasure.

Change is coming.

Spread the good word.

I'm sorry, William,
I caused a scene.

But I cannot abide
that man's hypocrisy.

It's quite all right, Ettie.

I need you to tell me more
about the nature of the relationship

between Miss Devereaux
and Arthur Webster.

He referred to her exclusively
as Miss Devereaux, did he not?

Always.

Then why would he
write, "Forgive me, Cora,"

at the scene of his death?

I have no idea.

So let me try to
understand this.

You don't think Arthur
Webster killed himself

because he wrote "Cora"
instead of "Miss Devereaux"

on his suicide note.

Which apparently is
no longer a suicide note.

That's my thinking, yes.

Did it ever occur to you that
maybe he ran out of room?

Miss Devereaux is quite
a long name to write.

- Sir.
- Bloody hell, Murdoch.

I thought we had
this all wrapped up.

There is also no
connection to Montreal, sir.

I'm gonna have that
bloody temperance bastard

breathing down my neck again.

So we're dealing with a
double murder, is that it?

Not necessarily.

The two cases
may not be related.

Not related?

Our prime suspect
was found hanging

by a suicide note
bearing our victim's name.

Sir, we have nothing to
connect the two cases.

And until we do,

it would behoove us
to treat them separately.

So let's start with
Miss Devereaux.

If Webster didn't kill her,
then who the bloody hell did?

Perhaps the man who stood
the most to gain from her death.

The judge's son.

Cora did stand in the
way of his inheritance.

And he's the one who brought us

the man's bloody
clothing to begin with.

What are you thinking?

Could I get you a spot of
something to take the edge off?

A Pimm's and
lemonade would be nice.

Yes. Well, I think you might
have to make do with tea.

Higgins! Tea!

We'd like to speak to
you about your father.

Judge Wilson has always
been a very great friend

to the Toronto police force.

He's often spoken very highly
of the constabulary's fine work.

Which is why we were so
glad to find another suspect.

I see.

And due to the overwhelming
evidence against this suspect,

we may soon be able
to release your father.

Why, that is terrific news.

Now, this doesn't entirely
clear your father's name.

BRACKENREID: Not yet.

We still have to clear up
some minor details, such as,

did the suspect have the
ability to build a fire bomb?

BRACKENREID: Or the means.

And we have to
find the materials

or some evidence of him
having had such materials.

I see.

But the point is
this, Mr. Wilson.

We think very soon your
father's good name will be cleared.

[Exhales deeply]

I can't tell you how
relieved I am to hear this.

Inspector, Detective, the
constabulary's diligence

in this matter will
not go unnoticed.

We certainly hope not.

I'll see you out.

- George.
- Sir?

The trap has been set.

Sir.

Just put it in the carriage.

You know which one...
The one without the horses.

Careful with that.

That was delicious, William.

Peanut butter and jelly.
Who would have thought?

I thought the occasion
called for something special.

I never took you for a gourmet.

William?

You seem preoccupied.
Is something wrong?

Oh. Well, here
we are, you and I.

Yes?

And I must apologize.

I can't help my thoughts
returning to the case.

[Chuckles]

Perhaps we should
just discuss it, then.

After all, I find it as
fascinating as you.

Well, good. Good.

Um...

All along I've suspected

that the judge is
incapable of murder.

But?

But there is
another possibility.

The two had been
drinking absinthe.

Perhaps the wormwood in it
caused him to become violent.

Studies of wormwood's
properties say hallucination

is a possible effect
of the thujone in it.

Yet other studies
state the opposite.

Everyone's physiology
is as unique as their eyes.

Exactly.

So there really is no
way of knowing for certain

how it would
affect an individual.

Doctor, how would you
feel about an experiment?

An experiment?

Yes. I'd been
saving it for later.

But with all of this talk of
absinthe, I thought it apropos.

William, I've never
known you to drink.

Only on special occasions.

And this is one?

Yes.

Well, that would be delightful.

And now it could
serve a double purpose.

All in the name of
science, of course.

Of course.

[Laughter]

Come on in.

[Laughter, indistinct
conversation]

Well, I am disappointed.

DR. OGDEN: Hm?

Not one green fairy.

[Chuckles] Disappointed?

[Laughing] William,
we can't have that.

William, I think we should
talk about where this is heading.

I'm very happy with
where I am, thank you.

No, that wasn't what I meant.

Oh?

Y-Yes.

Oh.

Mrs. Kitchen doesn't
usually allow visitors.

DR. OGDEN: Oh.

No.

Oh.

No.

I was talking about precautions.

Precautions?

Yes. I mean, do
you have anything?

[Inhales sharply]
Oh, you mean...

Yes. Prophylactics.

Oh, I didn't think
I'd be needing any.

Yes, we do, William.

We... We really, really do.

How very modern of you.

There will be other chances.

But for tonight, saner
heads must prevail.

For tonight.

All right.

- Here you go.
- Thank you.

[Snoring]

George.

[Gasps]

Oh, sir. I'm sorry.

- I must have nodded off...
- Shh, shh.

Writing up my report.

- Are you all right, sir?
- I'm fine.

I guess we both
had a long night.

What did you find out
on your surveillance?

Well, sir, it seems Paul
Wilson took the bait entirely.

Here's the list of
items he purchased

directly after your meeting.

Well, I guess we just wait.

And not for long, apparently.

Mr. Wilson.

Ah, Detective.

I desperately
hope this is nothing,

but I knew my
conscience wouldn't rest

if I didn't bring it
to your attention.

- What is it?
- Well, I happened to be

in the gardening shed this
morning to repair a shuttlecock,

- and I found some items.
- I see.

And would these items
include kerosene, turpentine,

and some torn pieces of cloth?

Why, yes.

This is absurd. I
was trying to help you.

Mr. Wilson, you've been
trying to frame your father

ever since you
walked into this station

with his bloody clothing.

That is slanderous.

You've been spending
your inheritance,

throwing lavish parties

as if you were never
expecting him to return.

I needed to take my mind
off my father's incarceration.

And now you volunteer evidence
to us you yourself acquired.

I found those items.

Mr. Wilson, I had you followed.

My constables observed you

purchasing these
items yesterday.

Now, not only are you guilty
of trying to frame your father,

but you murdered
Miss Devereaux as well.

Murdered?

You knew that if she lived,

she would stand in the
way of your inheritance.

Oh, God.

Oh, God, this is a nightmare.

No, I-I swear to
you, I didn't kill her.

Enough, Mr. Wilson.

Please tell me the truth.

My father detests me.

He belittles my
artistic aspirations.

He derides my taste in friends.

I have suffered
indignity after indignity.

So yes, I want
my father's fortune.

All of it.

After all, it's rightly mine.

You would watch your father hang

so you could live out
your gadabout life?

I-I didn't think he'd
actually hang for it.

That's what happens

when a man is convicted
of murder, Mr. Wilson.

Luckily, it appears
the noose will be fitted

to the proper neck.

I didn't kill her.

I didn't. You have
to believe me.

I would never...

I would never have the
gumption to actually kill anyone.

Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait.

[Stammering]

You're making a mistake.

You're making a
terrible mistake!

Hello, Father.

Hello, son.

BRACKENREID: So the
little bugger framed his father,

but you don't think he
killed Miss Devereaux?

Why would he buy fire-bomb
supplies if he already had them?

Good point.

Besides, I fear he may be right.

He doesn't have the gumption,

let alone the
competence, to kill.

So we're back to where we were.

Not quite.

I conducted a personal
experiment last night

with absinthe.

You? [Chuckles]

Looking for little
green fairies?

[Laughs]

You're having me on, Murdoch.

I only wish, sir.

However, the experiment
did prove to be quite beneficial.

Oh. Keep up the good work.

Good morning, Julia.

William. How do you feel?

My mind is elated,

but my body seems to
be in a state of rebellion.

Well, we did consume
the better part

of a bottle of
absinthe last night.

However, the experiment
portion of our evening

was not a complete failure.

How so?

We drank far more absinthe
than the judge and Cora.

In fact... here's the
bottle from her room.

Far less indeed.

Then why were they
so much more affected?

Are you suggesting
that something

might have been added
to the absinthe they drank?

It would explain why the victim
showed no signs of struggle.

She was unconscious.

And why the judge
was so disoriented.

Could it have been laudanum?

Possibly. Why?

I just received Arthur
Webster's toxicology results.

And there was
laudanum in his blood?

So much so that I suspect
he was unconscious

when he hanged himself.

I'll run some tests on
the absinthe right away.

And I'll find out where
the bottle came from.

Oh. Um...

Good morning.

Morning.

The bottle came in a
delivery package for Cora

with her favorite flowers
and French perfume.

It was sitting in a basket on
her night table when I came.

She thought I'd sent it.

Well, he was always
lavishing her with exotic gifts,

so I just assumed
it was Judge Wilson.

She was so happy with it,

I didn't want to tell
her it wasn't from me.

She loved absinthe.

She said the wormwood would
give us the most delicious visions.

But all it did was
put me to sleep.

BRACKENREID: So
whoever sent the absinthe

knew that Cora
had a taste for it.

As well as for
flowers and perfume.

They must have had a history.

Montreal again.

Most likely.

And now you believe this same
person killed Arthur Webster?

Yes.

We found a partial fingermark

on a piece of glass
from the fire bomb.

Note the occluded
swirl just off-center.

We found another fingermark

on a glass at Arthur
Webster's house.

Not his.

Note the same occluded swirl.

So whoever threw the fire
bomb was at Arthur's house.

Yes.

And Dr. Ogden has confirmed
that Cora's absinthe bottle

was laced with the same drug

that was found in
Arthur Webster's body.

So the same man was
responsible for both murders.

What did I tell you?

Yes, but we now have
the evidence to prove it.

So who is he?

- I have no idea.
- Bloody hell.

Sir, we'll find him.

We have a fingermark, and
we're still compiling evidence.

- [Knock on door]
- CRABTREE: Sir!

You said you wanted
this as soon as it arrived.

- It's from the university.
- What's that, then?

It's the test results
on the carpet water.

They found two combustibles.

Kerosene and turpentine.

Not turpentine. Toluene.

Toluene?

- Never heard of it.
- Neither have I.

Why does that not surprise me?

You're not likely to unless
you work in industries

that manufacture
rubber, do electroplating.

BRACKENREID: And I don't.

And neither do
any of our suspects.

Apparently, it's also used
for lubricating printing presses.

Printing presses.

Change is coming.

Spread the good word.

I met her at a brothel
on Berger Street.

She let me do things to her.

Things even I didn't
know I was capable of.

I kept going back until...

Until you almost killed her.

I didn't realize how ill I was.

That's when I came here.

But every city
has its temptations.

And I knew if I fell
into my old ways,

the illness would take hold.

And how to avoid that?

The Temperance League?

Doing their good
work was my salvation.

But then you saw
Miss Devereaux again.

At the Music Academy.

I was handing out pamphlets.

She recognized me, of course.

And I knew she
would undo everything.

So you chose to
undo her instead.

What choice did I have?

Killing her was my only hope
of killing that thing inside of me.

However, you had a problem.

Miss Devereaux knew that if
she left the Music Academy,

you'd be waiting.

I had to get in.

I studied the comings and
goings until I figured out how.

That's when you sent
the absinthe bottle,

knowing she was partial to it.

It should have been simple.

She should have
just been lying there.

But he was with her.

And Arthur Webster?

I'd seen him come to
the brothel several times.

When your inspector said
the suspect was an artist, well...

I put two and two together
and paid him a visit.

So you gave us a nice, tidy
way to wrap up our investigation.

You know, Detective, when I
went to the Music Academy, I...

I really just went
to help those girls.

Really.

Why didn't Cora tell
me about Beecher?

I'd have protected her.

Or is that why she
finally said yes to me?

Just to help her get away again.

I have no doubt that
Cora's feelings for you

were genuine, Your Honor.

How could you know that?

Because she could
have just run away.

But she chose to be with you.

You were the one who was
going to take her to safety.

If only we left when
we had the chance.

Why did I wait?

Miss Weston.

I've come to say
goodbye, William.

You're leaving?

I was thinking of Winnipeg.

Winnipeg?

I have a little money saved.

Perhaps I'll put my skills to
use and open a small café.

And is this a café
where coffee is sold,

much like the piano lessons
were at your Music Academy?

You could always
come to see for yourself,

if ever you're in Winnipeg.

But that's unlikely
now, isn't it?

It is now.

Good luck, Ettie.

Julia, I have
something to tell you.

Yes?

Last night, what
happened between us...

It should never have happened.

Oh. [Chuckles] Well, I...

Oh.

Uh, what I mean to say

is that I shouldn't
have waited so long

to share my
feelings towards you.

Well, William, you should
know that you're not the only one

that lives inside their head.

No?

No.

Well, perhaps another
picnic is in order, then?

Well, that would be splendid.

Without a visit from
the green fairy this time.

I think that would be wise.

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