All language subtitles for Homicide life on the street S06E16 - Mercy

- You been to Edgar Allan Poe's house?
- Been to the grave.

- Babe Ruth's?
- Birthplace or museum?

- Isn't it the same thing?
- I wouldn't know. I go to real museums.

I don't. It never crosses my mind.

Not even the Walters?
American Visionary?

Great Blacks In Wax?

- Great Blacks In Wax?
- I'll take you sometime.

Yeah. I look forward to that.

How about when you're out of town?

You're in New York, let's say,
and you ever say to yourself,

"Hey, I wonder who's at the Met,
the Modern, the Whitney, the Goog"?

- The Goog? Who says the Goog?
- I do.

I can't wait to get back
to the Big Apple

with all the other small-town Rubes
and stand on line.

Now why do New Yorkers
say "stand on line"?

- Instead of what?
- In line. Stand in line.

Sounds better.

Online, that's the internet.

In line is a subway token booth.

No. In line is skating.

- Sergeant Burns, what have we got?
- Arthur Robinson. 52.

I wanted to talk to you
before I called the ME.

Now that you mention it,
it doesn't look like a murder.

Looks like somebody
took sick and died.

Next time, Sergeant Burns,
in the absence of obvious foul play,

get in contact with the ME. They'll call
Homicide if they smell something fishy.

Oh, there was an attending physician.

"Respiratory failure. End stage
colon cancer. Dr Roxanne Turner."

- Where's Dr Turner?
- She went back to her office.

Why did you rattle our cage?
Have a problem with the diagnosis?

Not me. One of Mr Robinson's sisters
has some concerns.

I asked the officer to call you.

- Er... Your name, ma'am?
- Alberta Wells.

Ms Wells, you wanted to speak
with a homicide detective because?

Because my brother didn't die
of colon cancer. He was murdered.

- Oh, Alberta!
- She killed him, Lucy!

- She who?
- Dr Turner.

Dr Turner killed my brother.

Mmm, gardenia.

No, it's hibiscus. What do you think?

- Oh, it's very you.
- It's not too...

- What?
- Masculine?

I got news for you.
It's not masculine. It's perfume.

Er... It's not too er... What's the word?

Muscular or overpowering?

Well, you don't slap it on
like aftershave, Stuart.

- I know that.
- Here, you go like this.

Pretty. Mm-mm. Smell.

Ah. Whoa.

Yeah, that's probably not a good idea.

Why not?

Well, you know,
perfume is such an individual taste.

It's like lingerie.

Lingerie? Who's this for?

Nobody... Nobody.

You wanna go have a little funnel cake
or something? I'm starving.

My brother died of colon cancer.

He had colon cancer.

He died because she killed him.

You're accusing Dr Turner
of euthanasia?

If that's the medical excuse
for murder, then, yes, I am.

Now there are some, I suppose,
that consider it to be mercy killing.

- Your brother was dying.
- I don't dispute that.

He would have lived for another month
or two if she hadn't intervened.

Dr Turner was devoted to Arthur.

She made the end of his life bearable.

From the day he got sick
until the moment he passed away.

Did you ever see Dr Turner treat your
brother inappropriately or dangerously?

In her care he was doped to the gills.

He couldn't recognise
his own flesh and blood.

Dr Turner deliberately administered an
overdose of morphine to your brother?

That is exactly what I'm saying.

The rest of your family
doesn't seem to agree with you.

No. They don't believe it.
They're under her spell.

But there's a way to find out the truth.
I want an autopsy.

Absolutely not! I forbid it!

You may not have a choice
cos the law requires an autopsy

when there are
suspicious circumstances.

The only suspicious circumstances
in this case

are my sister's irrational accusations.

- We still have to take them seriously.
- Isn't it obvious?

Arthur was crazy about Dr Turner.
Alberta's jealous.

She felt replaced.

Replaced.

And it didn't faze her
for a single second, you know.

She never missed a beat.

To act guilty you need a
conscience. More or less a prerequisite.

Right. Well, this woman
has the heart of a crocodile.

- Hey... Isn't that...
- Holy cow!

...the guys who shot Jake the Jake?

Douglas and Rodney McCord.

Wait! Oh... God...

Where did those city goats go?

I made sure he was comfortable.

I eased his suffering
as much as I could.

That's a far cry from smothering him
with a pillow or giving him an overdose.

Why does she think you killed him?

Mrs Wells, she wanted us
to use any means necessary

to prolong her brother's life.

Just put him in the hospital,

hook him up to a ventilator
or a feeding tube.

Just all the things
that he expressly said not to do.

Those painful, expensive,
futile procedures that are pure torture.

And for what reason?

Arthur was very clear
about what he wanted.

He even signed a living will.

No extraordinary measures,
so I didn't do any.

Morphine didn't kill Arthur Robinson.
Cancer did.

And let me show you
the recreation and reading room.

- Roxanne?
- Oh, Dr Sutter.

I'd like you to meet
Detectives Pembleton and Bayliss

from the Baltimore Police Department.

- Welcome, gentlemen.
- Dr Sutter is the director of St Jude.

- He's my boss man.
- A technicality.

Dr Turner is the force
to be reckoned with.

- The heart and soul of St Jude's.
- He flatters me in lieu of a raise!

- I'm giving these guys the five-cent tour.
- Excellent. Carry on.

Let them smoke, huh? I guess they
don't have to worry about cholesterol.

- Oh, if they do, they shouldn't.
- Full house?

Well, we usually have somewhere
between 10 and 20 residents.

Probably twice as many of them
are outpatients like Mr Robinson.

Is that a lot?

Depends on how you look at it,
you know.

The hospice movement,
it's still small, but it's growing.

Given the choice most people
really would rather die at home

or at the hospice

rather than an institution
like a hospital or a nursing home.

- Sit down.
- Oh, thanks.

- I'd die fruggin' the night away.
- Fruggin'?

Yeah, New Year's Eve, strobe light,
big glitter ball, a sexy partner.

I have an aneurysm
at the stroke of midnight.

Dead before I hit the ground.

If you're fruggin' the night away,
you deserve it.

We have something in common.

What? A hospice doctor
and a homicide detective?

- You mean death?
- Mmm.

No, your clients are already dead.
Mine are still very much alive.

- You help yours die.
- They are going to die.

We treat symptoms if we can.

We prolong life where it's appropriate.

Who makes that decision?

We do, together.

The patient and I,
a social worker, their family.

- Tough call.
- Not if you listen.

People deserve the right
to decide for themselves.

That's what the whole
hospice movement is about.

Giving the patient a say
in how they die.

- With dignity?
- You sound sceptical.

I've seen a lot of death.
Haven't seen much dignity.

Then you and I don't have
much in common after all.

I see it every day.

The comatose, the senile, the
demented, you decide for them?

- I don't do what you're suggesting.
- What am I suggesting?

I do not commit euthanasia.

- Ready to roll?
- I gotta run to the dentist.

- I cracked a filling.
- Ooh.

Homicide, Stivers.

What do you hate more?
The rubber dam or the drill?

The worst part
is when I scream like a girl. I'll be back.

OK, enjoy. Take your time.

All right, we're on our way.

Got a hold-up.
Pizza parlour, Federal Hill. Two down.

All right, let's rock.

- Rookies.
- You gotta love their enthusiasm.

One of the most crucial things
that we do here is our palliative care.

It's the pain management.

What does it mean?
Does it mean narcotics?

Whatever's legal and effective.

There's no need for people
to suffer needlessly.

Is suffering needless?

Isn't pain a theological question
as much as a medical one?

- As in God created pain?
- Something like that.

If God created pain, He also created
the poppy to alleviate that pain.

So why not use it?

Morphine.

I'd give 'em heroin if I could.

I began my career as an OBGYN.

So you could say
that I've actually come full circle.

From bringing babies into the world
to seeing them off into the next.

"Our Lady of Guadalupe School.
Sixth grade. Letitia Morrison."

- So who's this guy?
- The owner. Edward Khoury.

Best doctor
since Florence Nightingale.

- Florence Nightingale wasn't a doctor.
- Whatever.

- You gotta admit, she's impressive.
- The bane of modern existence.

- What's that? Non-dairy creamer?
- Euphemism.

If they called it a petroleum
by-product, you'd put it in coffee?

Well, I'd think twice about it.
Which is my point.

Euphemism lets us off the hook.
Non-dairy creamer? Hmm.

"He passed away.
We put the dog to sleep."

We didn't. We killed the dog.

He didn't pass away
from drinking non-dairy creamer.

He died a messy, agonising death

from ingesting a carcinogenic substance
unfit for consumption.

- You're in a good mood.
- Living will.

You have a living will, right?

- Yeah, I do. Do you?
- Absolutely. Yeah.

Not about to let the college money
go down the drain

keeping Daddy on a respirator
in a semi-vegetative state.

Excuse me. You spoke with Dr Turner?

- Yeah. She's very persuasive.
- Don't I know it.

She persuaded my brother
to sign that evil document.

Living will?
It was more like a death warrant.

Have you authorised an autopsy?

We haven't found a reason yet.
That's up to the medical examiners.

I'll go to court and I'll ask the judge
for an autopsy myself.

Well, she's got a personal thing
with the doctor. A fixation.

Maybe.

Gharty, Ballard.
Que est-ce que c'est?

Remember Douglas
and Rodney McCord?

Those two hillbillies who iced that
burn artist over faux cocaine?

They are back in Baltimore.
We spotted them at the Inner Harbor.

You guys, two city goats
smoke some Jake baker

over a $5 vial of powdered milk

and you pursue 'em
to the ends of the earth

like inspector Javert
after Jean Valjean.

Victor Hugo? Les Miserables?

Am I the only one around here
that can read?

You know, maybe now
the heat's died down,

they will move back in with Mum.

You know what? Let's go to Scary
Street. Go talk to Donna McCord.

Yeah, I'm game.

I hope your tetanus, rabies boosters
are current.

You mind?

Judge Gibbons?

Mike Kellerman.

Detective Kellerman.

A face to go with the name.

Perhaps we shouldn't socialise
till after the trial.

Probably wise.

Tell me something before I go.

What's that?

How did a piece of floating excrement

like Georgia Rae Mahoney's civil suit
end up in your courtroom?

Simply worked its way
through the system, so to speak.

It's coincidence you're the judge

who reduced Georgia's bail
on that murder beef.

This conversation
is highly inappropriate, Detective.

You're digging your own grave.

I tend to do that. Character flaw.

I'm obligated to report
this encounter to your superiors.

Before you do that,
let's just talk theoretically.

Say there's this big-time lady gangster
here in Baltimore,

and say she's got a couple of cops
on her payroll,

a prosecutor or two,
maybe even a judge.

Pending an autopsy, I ran a tox screen.

Mr Robinson had a substantial amount
of morphine sulphate in his system.

We expected that.
He was a terminal cancer patient.

His doctor was managing his pain
with morphine?

Are we talking mismanagement?

If you consider a massive overdose,

which would result
in respiratory failure and death,

mismanagement, yes.

Can an autopsy prove that?

Wouldn't prove intent.
Might prove malpractice.

I'm not interested in malpractice.

Maybe it was accidental.
He was in a lot of pain.

Maybe she just overdid a little.

By a factor of six?
I'm telling you, she wasn't even close.

So this judge,

who's in Georgia Rae's pocket,

gets the case assigned to him
and schedules it for trial.

Now the city's scared.

They're not gonna get a fair shake
from this sleaze. May have to settle.

What's this guy's cut gonna be?
10%? 20%?

I'll be speaking with your lieutenant
this afternoon.

That's a good idea.
He'll remind you in Baltimore,

the Homicide Unit also investigates
kidnappings, extortion and...

...oh, yeah, bribery.

You know, which means access to
all kinds of records, legal, financial.

Records which might just reveal
a pattern of judicial decisions

favourable to this lady gangster's
criminal organisation.

Now you put that together

with a sudden, unexplained uptick
in the judge's finances...

So what do you have?

A case
for the State's Attorney's Office.

Hardly.

I think it's kind of compelling, myself.

No way to prove a direct link
between the judge and the gangster.

- What about the money?
- Money can always be explained.

Money is fungible.

You'd know better than me.

OK, well, it might not fly,

but the publicity would put a damper
on the judge's political aspirations.

Might.

It would be a shame if false allegations
sullied an otherwise spotless reputation.

The threat of such allegations

might cause the judge
to make an error under pressure.

During a high-profile civil suit, say?

Very likely.
Almost inevitable, in fact.

The ME is wrong. Most terminal patients
don't get enough pain medication.

Palliative care is stuck
in the nineteenth century.

Doctors are afraid of overmedicating.

They're so terrified they may overdose
a patient or create an addiction.

Well, shouldn't they be?

Not if they know what they're doing.

And who cares about addicting
a dying person anyway?

It's absurd.

We're so hung up

on this puritanical notion
of suffering and redemption.

Pain is noble. Pain is necessary.

- Isn't that your position?
- I'm still struggling with that one.

God forbid a dying person
experience anything

but agony and misery at the end,

much less a little bit of pleasure.

What if the patient actually gets off
on it? Hallucinates or likes the drugs?

Or goes into
respiratory arrest from an overdose?

Look, the amount of morphine
I gave Mr Robinson

would kill you or me
or Detective Bayliss here,

but Arthur had been so sick for so long,
he built up a tremendous tolerance.

For him it was not an overdose.

- He had a habit?
- That's a value judgement.

Morphine didn't kill him.

Are you sure
that you didn't overdo it just a bit,

out of his own best interests?

Those drugs only made his death
a tiny bit more tolerable.

It's little enough to ask.

Or would you begrudge him that?

Hello, Donna. You remember us?

We've been looking for you
all over Pigtown.

Clarence said that you moved.

Huh.

What's your new address?

Er... I don't know. It's kind of recent.

- You don't know your own address?
- I ain't committed it to memory yet.

How long have Rodney and Douglas
been in town?

They ain't, far as I know.

- Haven't heard from 'em?
- Uh-uh.

Jeez, we saw 'em yesterday
down at the Inner Harbor.

- Yeah.
- Oh.

Huh. You sure it was them?

- Donna...
- I don't know. I ain't seen 'em.

- You ain't seen 'em?
- No, sir.

Maybe they ain't heard that I moved yet.

I've really had it! I am sick of dealing
with braindead, white trash

too stupid to know when to stop lying!

- I ain't stupid!
- No. Of course you're not stupid.

You are if you don't tell us
where we can find your boys.

They ain't hurt nobody.

They killed a Jamaican drug dealer.

They shot him 26 times.

- Drug dealer?
- They're dope fiends, Donna.

I don't believe that.
I don't believe they killed nobody.

There's a warrant out for their arrest.
We have a murder weapon.

The bullets matched.
Their fingerprints are all over the gun.

Maybe somebody borrowed it
to kill that Jamaican fella.

We found the gun in Doug's truck
out at your brother's house!

Oh, Lord.
Oh, Lord, what am I gonna do?

I had no idea. I swear.

It's gonna be better for your sons,
if you tell us where they are.

We'll pick them up,
and we will listen to their story.

This is what comes
of living in a city...

...and mixing with coloureds.

Letitia Morrison was struck
by a stray large calibre bullet

fired from inside the pizza parlour.

Letitia lived around the corner.
She was on her way to school.

What about the store owner?

47-year-old Lebanese immigrant,
Edward Khoury.

He was getting receipts together
to go to the bank.

They got him to open the door,
shot him, cleaned out the register.

- Witnesses or leads?
- Two black men fled the scene.

Late teens, early 20s. We're gonna
go back and canvass the area again.

Interview Khoury's widow.

See if she has any ideas,
neighbourhood kids, ex-employees.

You're both relatively new to Homicide.

There's two kind of murders

that bother even
the most cynical homicide detective.

That's the murder of a fellow officer
and the murder of a child.

This is a 12-year-old girl.
This is your first murdered child.

Lieutenant, I'm not a kid. I've seen
a lot of ugliness on the street.

I've worked Sex Crimes, Narcotics.

This is your murdered child.
This stays with you forever.

I promise you,
you'll never be able to forget her.

She'll sit on the edge of your pillow at
night and whisper her name in your ear.

Not if we find the shooter.

Don't try and pretend
this case isn't different.

It is.

'Lf the judge made that error,

'the defence would have to motion to
dismiss and have to throw the case out.'

'The detective
would have no reason to investigate.

'No. Of course,
he'd lose all that lucrative overtime.

'Maybe he could make it up
somewhere else.

'He'd have to.

'lf I were he,
I wouldn't lose any sleep over this.'

- Mikey, you taped a judge.
- A crooked judge.

When's it gonna stop?
When is this all gonna end?

Didn't you hear? He'll throw Georgia
Rae's lawsuit away after the trial starts.

Are you sure about that?

- He'll scuttle the ship.
- Are you sure about that?

Meldrick, he offered me a bribe.

Not so you could prove it.

It sounds like you solicited a bribe,
threatened a judge.

- That's extortion!
- No. This is the beginning of the end.

Georgia Rae's going down and
dragging her pet judge with her.

I think you ought to take that tape
and throw it in a river.

We're gonna prevail.

Get this behind us,
you'll be back on the job.

We'll put this monster down
once and for all.

Dr Turner's homecare patients
from the past year.

Three of the four are deceased,
of course.

Priscilla is under Dr Turner's
care. You can speak to her directly.

- We'd like to talk to the families too.
- All the numbers are there.

I'm sorry I can't help you
with the last name.

- Randy Edelstein?
- He had no family.

He died alone?

He had Dr Turner.

Yes, he did. Good night.

Good night.

You know what they're gonna say.

That she is a terrific doctor.
She did a terrific job.

I hope she's my doctor when I'm dying.

- What about Randy Edelstein?
- What about him?

He had no one
to negotiate with Dr Turner.

- Negotiate what?
- The terms of his death.

We should go talk
with his social worker.

Are you saying that the families
colluded with Dr Turner

to euthanize their loved ones?

I'm saying we speak
for the dead, remember?

Now, if Dr Turner
decided all by her lonesome

to ease Randy Edelstein
into the next life,

then she did commit a murder.

- You were Edelstein's social worker?
- Yes.

- You worked with Dr Turner before?
- I'm on staff at St Jude's.

- You're Priscilla Owens' social worker.
- I am.

Have you ever had any qualms about
the way Dr Turner treated her patients?

No. Dr Turner's a first-rate physician.

Medical and pharmaceutical records.

Dr Turner's
deceased homecare patients

were given substantially
higher doses of morphine

than conventional guidelines
recommend.

With a big fat spike in the dosage,
so to speak, in the end.

I don't have anything to do
with the medication.

But you're part of the team, yes?

You consult with the doctor?
Give advice?

Surely.

Did you advise Dr Turner to give Randy
high doses of morphine to relieve pain?

No. I left those decisions
entirely to Dr Turner.

Edelstein had no family. You were his
family, in effect. You and Dr Turner.

I suppose.

- His advocate.
- You could put it that way.

Did you advocate ending
Randy Edelstein's pain and suffering?

I'm sorry?

Did you and Dr Turner
come to an understanding

to put Randy out of his misery,
just to end things gracefully?

No. No, sir. Absolutely not.

I believe you.

That still doesn't mean you wouldn't
have known what Dr Turner was doing.

All you had to do was leave the room
at the right moment.

Bite your tongue.

Turn a blind eye.

- I got a bad feeling about this.
- We'll turn up somebody.

8.30 in the morning, two banditos
shoot a parlour, kill two people.

Dozens of bystanders see it. Nobody
knows where these jamokes are.

- It'll come together.
- What if it doesn't?

Hey, be positive, OK? We just started.

Somebody's gonna know
where we can find these guys.

- Yes?
- Is Priscilla Owens at home?

- Where else would she be?
- You're investigating the hospice?

Your physician is Dr Roxanne Turner?

Dr Turner's patients
seem to hold her in high regard.

Do they?
I don't know any of her other patients.

Well, they seem to feel, what,
lucky to have her.

Are you asking me if I feel lucky
to be Dr Turner's patient?

Yeah. I guess I am.

MS is a degenerative,

progressive neurological disease.

I've had it for eight years.

Three months ago
I lost the last little use of my legs,

bladder function et cetera.

I'll spare you the gory details.

I'm 34 years old.

Most days I don't feel all that lucky.

- That's a nice view.
- Want it?

Should be available this time next year.

Ms Owens, have you and Dr Turner
discussed ending your life?

Dr Turner and I
have an understanding, OK?

I trust her to do what's best for me
when the time comes,

when I'm helpless
and lying here in my own caca.

Please don't screw that up for me.

Detectives? You're checking up on me?

They want to know if you will snuff me
if I ask you to.

- What did you say?
- She said you had an understanding.

Excuse me, gentlemen.
I have a patient to treat.

When this is over

Over and through

And all them changes
Have come and passed

I want to meet you

In the big sky country

Just want to prove, Mama

Love can last, yeah

Like hallelujah in the big sky country

Just like forever and ever is why

Be getting over in the big sky country

Be kissing time

Kissing time goodbye

Their families are protecting Dr Turner.

- They're in cahoots?
- In a word.

- Bayliss, you disagree?
- Gee, there's no evidence.

There were no autopsies done
in any of these cases.

- None necessary.
- Bodies were cremated.

Family's prerogative.

Randy Edelstein didn't have a family.

Dr Turner decided for him to prevent
an exhumation and an autopsy!

What about his social worker?

He knows and he doesn't know.

You're making an argument
based on a total lack of evidence.

- That's negative proof.
- What about Robinson?

The judge ruled in favour of Mrs Wells.
There will be an autopsy.

She never concealed
the use of the morphine.

She'll get a reprimand from the State
Medical Association. Slap on the wrist.

Invite Dr Turner in for a casual
conversation. Treat her with kid gloves.

And if she declines?

A woman decline
an invitation from you, Frank?

- Celebrating?
- I guess.

Not much to celebrate. A couple
of bottom feeders who whacked a third.

It's not your fault
modern criminals lack panache.

Oh, it's not their lack of style
that bothers me, it's ours.

We lied. We told them
that we had the murder weapon.

- We do.
- Inadmissible.

We told 'em we would jam up their uncle
and we had a warrant.

- We could have gotten one.
- I don't see the problem.

It was too easy.
They don't know anything.

- Like from another planet.
- Parallel universe.

Exactly. That one that doesn't have
a Constitution and a Bill of Rights.

We're from the kind of place

people think the moon walk was fake
and pro-wrestling is real.

What a benighted country we live in.

More people believe in angels and
UFOs and regressions than evolution.

- I believe in angels.
- I believe in UFOs and alien abductions.

I've always been a little iffy
on evolution myself.

But 99% of your DNA
is the same as a chimpanzee.

Well, vive le difference!

Ballard, come here.
Let me show you my new tattoo.

For me? Stuart.

It's no big deal. It's nothing.

What's the occasion?

No, no, no. There's no occasion.
It's just...

Don't... Don't open it here, OK?

Wow. I'm intrigued.

Can't wait.

- Thanks.
- You're welcome.

What?

Come in.

Hey, we caught a break
in the Letitia Morrison shooting.

They picked up Tiny Adamson
on a traffic stop.

He had Edward Khoury's ATM card
in his pocket,

a semi-automatic in the glove
compartment and blood on his shoes.

- Good work.
- We got lucky.

If Letitia Morrison's name comes up on
the board in black, come and see me.

I'll take you both out for a drink.

Really? Oh.

Frank, I gotta go.

- Where you going?
- Home, home. I'm not into this.

- Good night, Bayliss.
- Vaya con Dios, Doctor.

Do I need a lawyer?

I don't know.
Did Randy Edelstein need a lawyer?

Sonia Moore? Ellie McGreevey?
Priscilla Owens?

No, they didn't.

Right. Because they had you.

Doctor, are you familiar with
the concept of the Seamless Garment?

It's pacifist Catholic doctrine.
I work at St Jude's, remember?

Life is a seamless garment,
sacred from conception to death.

No abortion, no murder,
no suicide, no euthanasia.

No nuclear war, no capital punishment.

Do you believe in
the seamless garment of life?

I'd like to.

It's logical, consistent,
no moral metaphysical contradictions.

A detective that doesn't
believe in capital punishment?

Well, feelings are one thing,
reality's another. I'm a cop.

I have to embrace contradictions.

Capital punishment is wrong
and necessary.

I don't let doctrine stand between
me and my patients either.

But I don't murder any of my patients.

Fine. I accept that.

- You do?
- Mm-hm.

I know how slippery definition can be.
Semantics.

The more sophisticated the mind,
the slicker the pavement.

I think you really believe
what you do is not murder.

That ain't nearly good enough,
and do not patronise me.

Fine. Forget about the word "murder".

I no longer suspect you of murder.
I absolve you of that.

I don't need absolution.

Come on, doc. We all need absolution.

Hey, you speak for yourself.

You're free to go at any time.

You're not under arrest.
You're not a suspect.

Not for anything I could charge you with
in the State of Maryland.

What would you charge me with,
if you could?

I don't know.

How about... playing God?

God doesn't make house calls.
We do. You and me.

- I don't play God.
- That's exactly what you do every day!

You decide who's innocent
and who's guilty.

You say, "I'm gonna let you go,
but you... I'm gonna get you."

I'm gonna get you.

I'm gonna get you.

I avenge the dead.

Is that why I'm here?

You think you need
to speak for my patients?

- Somebody's got to.
- Who the hell are you?

You didn't hold their hands when they
were screaming and hollering all night.

You didn't mop up any mucus
or diarrhoea or their vomit.

You didn't clean the pus
out of anybody's sores,

or throw your body across theirs
to keep 'em in the bed

when they were thrashing around
in their death throes

with bile and blood
gushing from every orifice!

You didn't comfort families
who will never get over their loss!

Detective, how dare you presume
to speak for my patients!

They didn't have you then, and they sure
as hell don't need you now!

I am a doctor! I don't just keep 'em
alive for no good reason!

Everybody says you're a great doctor.

You care for your patients.
You love them even.

But you can't bear it, can you?
It all takes too long.

God or nature.
Whatever you want to call it.

You can't let 'em die,
so you deliver them.

Like you used to deliver babies.

There are no dead people on my
conscience. Can you understand that?

Can you say the same thing?

I used to have a friend.
I have a friend.

She started having
these headaches... Migraines.

I had lunch with her on the day
she was scheduled to go in for her MRI.

She was terrified, you know.

Thought it was MS, cerebral palsy.

- What was it?
- Brain tumour.

They operated.
They got most of it, but not all.

Surgeon slipped just a little.
Got a little lax.

- Did she die?
- Still alive.

But she's not the same.
Not the same person.

She used to be a singer.

Carla can't sing no more.

She knows you when she sees you,

but when she walks out of the room,
forgets you were even there.

She lives now with her daddy.
He's widowed and retired.

What you suppose gonna happen
to Carla when her daddy dies?

I ain't seen her
since we had that lunch.

No, no, no. That's not...
That's not true. It's not true.

I saw her once at the hospital
after the operation

when everybody was hopeful
that she would be who she was again.

The same person.

It's funny.

It's funny. I forgot about that visit.

I had a stroke last year.

My memory's a little perforated
around the edges.

- And you're still drinking coffee?
- Mm-hm.

I used to listen to doctors,
but I don't any more.

Because what do they know?
I mean, what do they really know?

That's what this is about?

You had a stroke and you're pissed.

You resent your doctors

because you think they have
the power of life and death over you.

So you're gonna prove 'em wrong,
even if it means killing yourself.

Then you blame some arrogant
neurosurgeon for ruining a friend's life

because you feel guilty
for abandoning her.

And I'm paying for all of this? Huh!
Don't absolve me! Absolve yourself.

Arthur Robinson's gonna be autopsied.

And Priscilla Owens
is gonna be autopsied when she dies.

And the one after that,
and the one after that.

Every patient who dies,
I'm gonna be all over you.

I'm putting you out of the God business.

I am not gonna stop doing what I do

because you hate God
and doctors and yourself.

You won't stop?
I'm gonna make you stop.

OK, say I stop. Say you stop me.

Say I quit treating my patients
the way I see fit.

Let me tell you something.

All of their pain and misery
and humiliation will be on your head.

I can take the weight.

Can you?

- Sleep well, doc.
- I always do.

I expected something
a little more formal.

This is their temporary place. They're
raising money for a new building.

Who's eligible for this thing?

Baltimore children, 18 and under,
who've died from violence.

They're gonna need to build a stadium.

Yes, sir?

- Mr Kaufmann?
- Yes.

- I'm Frank Pembleton.
- Hi.

I'm a friend of your daughter's.
Is she home? I wanted to say hi.

Sweet pea? Somebody here to see you.

Hey, Carla.

- Frank.
- Yeah.

- Hey!
- Hi!