All language subtitles for Elementary.S03E09.WEB-DL.x264.Hun.Eng-Krissz.en

Looks like
a standard car alarm.

Then go ahead
and disarm it.

ODIN
You have approached Odin.

Your photograph has been taken

and forwarded
to the authorities.

You have ten seconds
to back away.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight...

It's a talking
car alarm.

They are the pet rock
of automotive security;

they are a gimmick.

They were a gimmick.

I can't crack it.

You have approached Odin.

Your photograph has been taken

and forwarded to the author...

The sensor's field extends
a full 360 degrees?

Well, it's
an interesting problem.

I appreciate the help.

I'll leave it here.

We gotta go.

Meeting starts in 20.

Doing battle with Odin

seems like a more stimulating
way to spend an hour to me.

I'm not skipping
a meeting.

I don't think
you should, either.

What's going on with you?

Been bailing on meetings

and then when you do show,
you never talk.

Your enthusiasm
for the program

never waxes and wanes?

Sure it does.
But I still go.

My name's Shauna Milius.

I used to work with Joan Watson.

This is her address, right?

It was. She no longer
lives here, sorry.

Can you tell me where she went?

I want to hire her.

One second.

Duty calls, Alfredo.

I'll let you know
when I've defeated Odin.

About that...

While I was waiting
for you downstairs,

I stashed a few of the sensors
around the place.

Just to keep the problem
fresh in your mind.

Excuse me.

It's my friend,
Marissa Ledbetter.

We started as O.R. nurses
on the same day.

We've been
close since.

Last week,
she finished up a shift

and told me she was headed home.

None of her neighbors
saw her come into the building.

Nobody's seen her since.

I'm sorry.
Marissa's parents

are down in Florida. They're not
well enough to travel,

so I've kind of been
keeping track of things.

You made some notes
based on your conversations

with the detectives?
May I?

It says here
she used her credit card

at a bodega on West 44th Street

shortly after leaving hospital.

Where does Marissa live?

Cobble Hill.

Right.
And you and her work

at Watson's old hospital
in the West Village. Yes?

Hell's Kitchen is hardly
on the way home

from the West Village
to Brooklyn.

Is anyone looking into this?

They think maybe Marissa
owed money to some bad people.

They were pretty
fixated on that.

Money-lenders to not want their
indigent clients to disappear;

they want them to work
and make money.

It's a game of chance,
going to the police,

but you're in
good hands now.

You have approached Odin.

Your photograph has been taken

and forwarded...
Disregard this.

...to the authorities.
I'm doing a favor for a friend.

You have ten seconds
to back away.

So someone I used
to work with is missing,

another old
colleague friend

tries to hire me
to look into it,

and somehow, Sherlock
winds up on the case.

He just sort of
slipped into it.

I think he did it
mostly to get out of

going to a meeting
with Alfredo.

He wants us to catch up
on the case file

while he looks
into something.

I've circled something
on the first page.

Looks like Marissa received
a payment of $150,000

right before she disappeared.

What is "Purgatorium,
Incorporated"?

It's a company

based in Luxembourg,
founded a month ago.

There's no information
about them anywhere.

Luxembourg's a tax haven,
apparently,

so the police
can't find out

anything about the people
that founded it.

Well, you said
on the phone

that Marissa had debts,

but this is hardly
the same thing

as a payday loan joint.

What did Sherlock
say about it?

He doesn't know
about it yet.

He's looking into the last place
that she used her credit card.

It's Sherlock.

What does he say?

I don't know.

These abbreviations
that he uses...

"At 748 West 45th Street.

"In rear. Bring Watson.

Wear sensible shoes."

So why did you
want us to meet you

in the alleyway
behind a bar?

Not just any bar.

This Dumpster
services Vladi's.

It's the kind
of establishment which,

despite the rapidly gentrifying
neighborhood around it,

still manages to attract

a thoroughly
seedy clientele.

Pins in this padlock

were too heavy
for my lock picks, so...

I'm not getting in there

until you tell me what
it is I'm looking for.

When I was
investigating the, uh...

the area around the bodega

where Marissa Ledbetter
last used her credit card,

I couldn't help noticing
that this place

is subject to

a litany of complaints

from the neighbors.

Noise complaints,

public urination,
that kind of thing.

One stood out.

A couple of days ago, two
businesses complained of a f...

Oof.

...a foul smell

coming from
this Dumpster.

It does smell awful,

but isn't it supposed
to smell awful?

Yeah.

It's rancid... ugh!

I'm sorry, Watson.

So you found this on her body?

It's a list of dosages.

Marissa was a nurse.

It doesn't look like

an official hospital
communication.

I've sent Kitty to St. Andrew's

with a photograph of that.

I'm curious as to whether it has

anything to do
with her work there.

You all right, Watson?

I know you were

acquainted with Ms. Ledbetter.

Well, I hadn't seen her
in a long time,

but she was a really
sweet person.

We're all done.

Your friend died shortly
after she went missing.

She was, uh, struck in the head
about a dozen times,

before someone wrapped
their hands around her neck

and squeezed.

I'm sorry.

Was there any evidence
on the body?

She had someone else's DNA
under her fingernails.

She must have
scratched her attacker,

trying to fight him off.

I had someone at the lab run

a preliminary check on the DNA.

It matches a sample someone left

when they applied for a job
at the DA's Office.

Guy's name is
Christopher Jacoby.

So, we have
the probable killer's name

and his DNA.

He has a current address
on file, too.

Watson, if you like, I could...

give your friend the bad news.

Oh, I'll do it. Thanks.

Detective Bell, let us know when
you have the killer in custody.

Yeah, hold on.
I'm, uh...

checking something on
the department intranet.

Jacoby... Jacoby...

I knew I recognized that name.

It keeps coming up
in our briefings.

He's missing, too.

His wife filed a report

last Wednesday.

I'm sorry.

You're saying Chris is
a suspect in a murder?

Well, his DNA was found

under the fingernails
of the victim.

It looks like it happened
around the same time

your husband
went missing.

There has to be a mistake.

Chris is a kind man.

Did he know a woman
named Marissa Ledbetter?

Not that he mentioned.

Well, according
to the report

you filed,
the last time you saw Chris,

he told you he was going to
spend a couple nights upstate

with some college buddies,
but his friends say

they didn't have any plans
with your husband.

Well, I don't know why Chris
lied about that,

but he wouldn't cheat on me,
if that's what you're wondering.

Chris is a good man.

We've been struggling
since he got laid off,

but we're
dealing with it.

Something happened to him.

He wouldn't run away
from our life,

and he definitely
wouldn't kill someone.

Uh, sorry to interrupt.

Did you bring a child
to work with you today?

Oh, no, that's Mason.

He's older
than he looks.

A bit.

He passed a note to me.

Said to give it to you.

Said it was urgent.

Okay, first of all,
I don't mean to be rude,

but your computers suck.

You said you found

Chris Jacoby.
I think so.

I compared his picture
to the cached images

from surveillance cameras
all around the city.

There was a match
from yesterday,

right by Morningside Park.

It's weird, though.

You gave me a picture

of a clean-cut guy.

The match I found was...

something else.

That's Chris Jacoby?

Software says

it's a perfect match.

So how often are you here?

I play here every day.

I have a permit from the city

that covers the entrance
to the park.

Would it be fair to say

you're familiar with
the local homeless population?

You get to know the faces.

Do you recognize this man?

Him, I know for sure.

He's come up to talk to me

a few times this week.

He seems quite damaged.

So you've seen him
more than once?

I've seen him coming out

from the park in the morning.

I get the impression

that he's sleeping nearby.

So how are you doing?

I beg your pardon?

How are you?

Well, my heart rate
is normal for a man my age

and my blood pressure
is good to excellent,

last time I checked.

You know better than to ask me
such a non-specific question.

What are you getting at?

Well, Kitty said you
ducked out of a meeting

this morning.

And I know that
you were upset

because that guy posted
your shares on his blog.

Firstly, I didn't
"duck out" of anything.

I took a case.

And secondly,
I've come to believe

that the recent violation
of my anonymity was,

on balance,
a good thing.

Good? How?

Well, it's given me some
distance from the program.

A chance to evaluate which
aspects of it work for me

and which don't.

I don't think
it's really

an a la carte kind
of arrangement.

Yes, it is.

At any rate, all systems
can be improved upon, Watson.

What is it?

Looks like a good spot
for an encampment.

Sherlock!

Hello?

Mr. Jacoby?

I'll text Marcus.

Hold on.

This earth's been disturbed.

What is it?

Well, it seems Mr. Jacoby

has kept a journal.

And he considered its contents
important enough to keep hidden.

"The room never changed.

"Day after day,
year after year,

"decade after decade.

"I went insane
a dozen different times.

"Then I became convinced I died

and went to Hell.

"I thought no one would ever

"come for me until the morning
the woman came for me.

I was ready to strike."

He's describing the murder
of Marissa Ledbetter.

Maybe the version of it
that existed in his head.

So, we found
Marissa Ledbetter's killer,

who's dead.

So, now what are
we investigating?

Chris Jacoby's murder?

We know who did what to whom.

The why of the matter
escapes me utterly.

A man lies to his wife

about a trip upstate.

Within days,
he's driven to utter madness.

His victim received a mysterious
and untraceable payment

to her bank account.

We don't know what
Chris Jacoby was really

up to the day
he disappeared,

just as we don't know what
Marissa Ledbetter was doing

in Hell's Kitchen.
And we don't know how they met

or where he killed her.

Hmm!

What is it?

This is Chris Jacoby's laptop.

His wife lent it to me.

I'd been poking around and
I found a number of e-mails,

which suggested
that he'd opened a new

bank account shortly
before his disappearance.

She didn't know
anything about it.

I'd been guessing
at his password and...

voila.

"Purgatorium."
That's the same company

that put money
into Ledbetter's account.

Why'd they both receive payments

for $150,000 in
the same week?

The slip of paper
we found on her

with the list of dosages on it...

you took it to the hospital
where she worked?

None of the doctors had
any idea what it was.

Why?

I'm not sure yet.

But Jacoby's autopsy is
scheduled for the morning.

If it reveals what
I think it might,

we'll know exactly
what's going on here.

I don't know how it happened,
but Chris Jacoby incurred

heavy brain damage recently.

There's serious deterioration

of the cerebellum and
the cerebral cortex

and basal ganglia.
He had a baseline scan

done recently.

You can see
he was fine a few months ago.

The autopsy performed
on Marissa Ledbetter

did not detect
similar results, did it?

And the toxicology test

you did on Jacoby,

did you find any strange
or unusual substances?

We did.

There was a chemical
in his system...

I haven't seen it before.

We're trying to figure
out what it is.

Don't bother.
You won't find it registered.

How do you know that?

Jacoby was unemployed.

He was desperate for money.

He receives a payment

from an untraceable
shell corporation.

Then he goes missing.

When he turns up a week later,

he's a killer
with a destroyed brain.

And a mysterious chemical
in his system.

Marissa Ledbetter.
She has crushing debt.

She receives a payment.
She's then found murdered

with a list of chemical dosages
in her pocket.

So, you think someone
paid Chris Jacoby

to take whatever drug
we found in his system.

You're talking about
an illegal drug trial.

I think your friend
Ms. Ledbetter

was the nurse in charge
of administering

whatever chemical
Purgatorium, Incorporated,

is manufacturing.

The drug clearly did not work

the way that
they intended it to.

It destroyed Jacoby's brain.

And in his delusional state,
he attacked Marissa

and escaped whatever facility
they were using.

Whoever was in charge
of the trial

put her body in the Dumpster.

If that's true,
whoever did the trial

must've been desperate
to find Chris Jacoby.

Given what we know,

I find it very hard
to believe that his murder

is the petty robbery
that it appears to be.

I think someone's
tying up loose ends.

So, you're saying
that Jacoby killed Marissa,

but in a way,
he wasn't responsible for it.

The truly guilty party
is whoever set up the trial

and ruined his brain.
And what's more,

no scientific trial
is going to administer

experimental drugs
to just one recipient.

Results would be
meaningless.

The document we found
on Marissa Ledbetter's body...

It has five different dosages

of the chemical
they call E-Zed-M-77.

Five dosages, five patients.

They gave the drug
to four other people.

So, you think
somebody is running

an unauthorized drug trial

in the middle of the city?

What does this...

EZM-77 do?

We don't know
what it's supposed to do,

but if you take it,
you get brain damage.

I've studied
plenty of drug trials

in medical school.
These things don't happen

in a vacuum.

They're expensive
and they take time.

There are four
or five companies that drive

almost every advancement
in the field.

This probably traces
back to one of them.

Now, you're talking
about public corporations.

Would they really risk
an illegal trial?

If a company thought
they were on to something,

and it could increase
their market share?

Sure, I could definitely see it.

Get a drug that works first,

and then try and fast-track it
through the system.

So, how do we figure out

which company it is?

Well, Jacoby was just one
participant in the experiment.

We think there were four others.

The fastest way is
to find one of them,

and see if they can lead us
back to the company

that staged the trial.

"Bella, Edward,

"Jacob.

Immune to supernatural
powers of the mind."

Wait a minute.

Are you guys researching
the Twilight books?

We heard back from our friends
at Everyone.

They've agreed to compile a list
of everyone who's received

a payment from Purgatorium,
Incorporated,

since its inception

last month.

In exchange, they want me
to compose a treatise

on why the character of Bella
should've ended up

with Jacob rather than Edward.

Apparently, there's some kind
of convention in town,

and then want me to read
my essay out loud in the lobby.

Personally, I see no reason
why they couldn't have come

to some arrangement which
involved all three of them.

But that's the position
that Everyone

has asked me to take, so...

Everyone never gets tired
of embarrassing you, do they?

Humiliation is the favorite
currency of the hacker.

Everyone didn't mention
anything about me

reading anything
out loud, did they?

No.
Excellent.

Well, I'm gonna...

work from home.

Hello?

� �

Hmm, that's pretty.

It seems suitable
for pondering eternity.

You came in

using keys, not lock picks.

Kitty had a key made for me.

She didn't want me
to have to break in

every time you didn't feel like,
uh, answering the door.

And why are we pondering
eternity this morning?

These are the five men
who received

payments from Purgatorium.

You're familiar
with Christopher Jacoby.

The man next to him,
Spencer Redding,

checked into a hospital
three days ago

with tremors in his limbs.

He died a day later.

An autopsy revealed damage

to his cerebellum,
cerebral cortex

and basal ganglia.

Now, there have been
missing persons complaints

filed on behalf of two

of the remaining men.

The last one, Louis Carlisle,

not officially missing,
but he hasn't shown up

for work in almost a week.

I've dispatched Kitty
to inquire after him,

although I'm not very hopeful.

So, you think
these men were murdered

by the same person
who killed Jacoby?

Spencer Redding was
barely coherent

when he checked into hospital.

But he was awake long enough
for a doctor to ask him his age.

Apparently, Spencer said
he was 34 years old,

but he'd been alive
for many more years than that.

Sounds like the same things that
Jacoby wrote in his journal.

What are the chances
of two men with brain damage

experiencing virtually
identical delusions?

Miniscule.
I have a notion

what E-Zed-M-77 is meant to do.

I think someone has
been experimenting

with time-dilating drugs.

Such chemicals target
the regions of the brain

which govern
the perception of time.

The cerebellum,
the cerebral cortex

and the basal ganglia.
These drugs

would speed up the functioning
of these regions

so that the person
who took them would experience

one hour as, say, two hours.

Or a week or, theoretically...

hundreds of years.

Sounds like you're saying
that these drugs stop time.

Not quite. They just cram
more neurological function

into a shorter
period of time. Now...

the potential
applications are vast.

You could learn a new language

or a new skill
in a couple of weeks.

You could sentence a prisoner
to one day in prison,

and he would emerge
having experienced

the equivalent of ten years
worth of punishment.

You think someone invented that?

I think there are still
kinks to be worked out.

Now, whether or not
Jacoby and the others

experienced
actual time dilation?

It's very difficult to say.

They would presumably
have been briefed

on the potential effects
of the drug,

so it's possible their damaged
brain seized on that information

and built a delusion around it.

You have approached Odin.
Your photograph has been taken

I'm helping Alfredo
with something, so...

and forwarded to the
authorities. You have...

Kitty went
to Carlisle's workplace.

He hasn't been there
for a while.

One of his colleagues said

they received an e-mail
from him last night.

Apparently, he's gone
into hiding.

Someone who took the drug
is still alive?

Lou's only been into work
once this week.

And he had to go home early.

He was in bad shape.

Did his e-mail say

why he planned to
go into hiding?

He said people were
following him.

He thinks his life's in danger.

Is that true?

I thought he was having

a breakdown or something.

We're not sure.

Did he mention
where he was going?

Uh-uh.

Jessa and I talked
before you got here.

Apparently, Lou's been having
money problems.

Yeah, ever since
his mom got cancer.

He was helping pay
for her treatments

right up until she died.

Any idea what happened to her
apartment after she died?

I think Lou was getting it
ready to go on the market.

An empty apartment and
a desperate young man

in need of a hiding place.

Louis Carlisle,
we're with the NYPD.

Hello?

If you'd like
to test your skills

in a practical environment,
the floor is yours.

That's a bit unwieldy for the
job at hand, don't you think?

Um, that's too delicate
for the deadbolt.

Would you two mind?

Hello?

Louis Carlisle?

Mr. Carlisle,
we're here to help you!

Stay away from me!

We're from the NYPD,
we're not gonna hurt you.

Mr. Carlisle,
we know about E-Zed-M.

We know that there are
people after you.

If you tell us
about the trial,

we'll make sure that
they never threaten you again.

You'll keep me safe?

If you can help me,

I'll t-tell you... I'll tell you
whatever you want to know.

I'll tell you everything.

It's odd, the other people

who took this drug
could barely talk.

One of them
we know went insane.

But he seems...

not fine, exactly,
but he's functioning.

The experimenters gave
different amounts of the drug

to everyone who participated
in the experiment.

Clearly got some sort
of brain damage.

Look at his hand.

Must have gotten the
smallest dosage.

Just so we're clear,
Mr. Carlisle,

you're not under arrest.

We just want to ask you
some questions, all right?

Who did this to you?

I wish I could
give you names.

Wait a minute, you participated
in an experimental drug trial

without even knowing
who was conducting it?

It was a lot of money.

It was 150 grand, up front.

Another 150 grand a year
for the rest of my life,

if I didn't, you know,
tell anyone about the study.

They were gonna give you
$150,000 a year

for the rest
of your life?

They said it was
incentive to keep quiet.

I mean, did it
seem shady?

Of course, but...

that kind of money,
I can live with shady.

How'd you find out
about the study?

It was just
an ad online.

Had an e-mail address.

I wrote them,
they wrote back.

It was all anonymous.

But the wire
transfer cleared,

and, you know, it-it
seemed professional.

And the trial itself,
where did it take place?

Just some office
they rented out.

They gave me the drugs, and
I spent the night there.

They said, um, I might feel
like a lot of time is passing,

and it definitely
felt weird,

but I was okay.

Till a couple days later...

...when this started.

I sent them an e-mail.

Thought they'd help.

Instead, people start
following me.

People, who?
What did they look like?

I don't know, I never got
a great look at anybody.

How about the people who came
to you to conduct the study?

Can you describe them?

Yeah, sure, um...

There was a nurse.

You guys know
about her already.

I saw another person.

Once.

Black guy.

He was about 40.

I think he, uh...

I think he was
the one in charge.

Hey.

To what do I owe the pleasure
of this unannounced visit?

Alfredo called me.

He said you missed
a meeting, he was worried.

I'm working, Watson.

We have a sketch of the
man who is in charge

of the illegal drug trial.
Now...

someone with a talent for
dabbling in time-dilating drugs

is not your
average citizen.

He is, in all likelihood,
connected to one

of the major pharmaceutical
conglomerates.

So, you're going
through their annual reports,

looking for a picture
that matches.

I was looking through
their annual reports,

till I found a photograph
of Dr. Dwyer Kirke, PhD.

Hmm.

That's him.

Dr. Kirke heads up a
research laboratory

at Ubient
Pharmaceuticals.

He's a leading light in the
field of neurochemistry.

I do believe we
have found our man.

Did you tell Marcus?

The NYPD are on the prowl
for Dr. Kirke.

Okay, that's great.

So, you're not exactly
working anymore, right?

I mean, the police know
who did it.

So why not go
to a meeting

while they go
and find this guy Kirke?

I sent Kitty to look
through the office space

where the trial was conducted,
and I need to be available

should she wish
to get in touch.

What's going on?

Hmm?

You're skipping meetings.

What is going on?

Sherlock?

Okay.

Well, I can't force you
to talk to me.

But I wish you would.

If you must know, Watson...

I've been feeling a
little bit down of late.

It's the process
of maintaining my sobriety.

It's repetitive.

And it's relentless.

And above all, it's tedious.

When I left rehab, I...

I accepted your influence.

I committed to my recovery.

And now...

two years in...

I found myself asking,

is this it?

My sobriety is simply a grind.

It's just this leaky faucet

which requires
constant maintenance.

And in return offers only...

not to drip.

You have your work.

You have me.

You're alive.

I've told myself that
many times.

So many times that it has become
unmoored from all meaning.

Odd.

I, uh...

I used to imagine that
a relapse would be the climax

to some grand drama.

Now I think that
if I were to use drugs again,

it would in fact be
an anticlimax.

It would be a surrender

to the incessant drip,
drip, drip

of existence.

I'm sorry you're
feeling this way.

What can I do to help?

Do you want
to talk more?

Do you want to maybe
speak to Alfredo?

Yes, I think perhaps
I will see Alfredo.

But in any case,

I shan't be using drugs
this evening.

Cold feet on the
warm deck, Watson.

It's a wonderful morning
to be preoccupied

by the meaninglessness
of existence.

Why is that?

It led you to spend
the night here.

Which, in turn, affords me
the opportunity to rouse you.

I've missed it.

Food.

Clothing.

Which you left here
when you moved out.

I didn't know
you played the bugle.

I have a bugle.

I spent the last hour learning
that particular tune.

The police searched Dwyer
Kirke's apartment last night.

They found several hidden
vials of a chemical,

which matches the
one that we found

inside Chris Jacoby's body.

And some written
records of the trial.

We have everything we need
to make an arrest.

Except for Dwyer Kirke himself.

I have a notion where
we might find him.

With a bit of luck,
we can apprehend him

and convince him
to turn on his superiors

at Ubient Pharmaceutical
by, say, lunchtime.

Are you gonna wake up Kitty?

Of course not.

I am a courteous housemate.

This guy, Kirke,

he's running
from murder charges.

Why exactly are you
expecting him to show up

at his aunt's nursing home?

Dwyer Kirke has
power of attorney

over his aunt's affairs.

He's responsible
for her care.

She raised him, and,
according to the staff here,

he's a regular visitor.

Poor woman is recovering
from a broken hip.

That can be the kiss of death
to elderly patients.

Isn't that right, Watson?

It's a psychological thing.

They have a tendency to give up.

Mr. Kirke has
accompanied his aunt

to every physical therapy
session she's undergone.

I think it's fair to say
that his presence,

motivating factor that it is,

could be the difference between
life and death for her.

She has a physical therapy
session starting in 20 minutes.

I'm just saying... you're
putting a lot of faith in a guy

behind at least
three homicides.

The killings were
an undesired side effect

of his experiment gone
disastrously wrong.

He's not a murderer
by avocation.

Marcus.

Dwyer Kirke?

You're a good nephew.

You're also under arrest.

Listen...

you've got me.

I understand that.

Just, please...

be careful with
my research.

It's important.

It needs to be
published.

People will want to continue
this work once I'm in prison.

You're referring
to the work

that ruined the brains
of five different people?

Obviously,
there were issues.

We had dosage problems.

But this is
incredible stuff.

Some of those people
experienced

actual time dilation.

You don't know that.

You don't strike me as someone

who's eager to throw
their life away.

Why wouldn't you
just test the drug

through the proper channels?

We couldn't.
We had to move quickly.

Why?

You said "we,"
Dr. Kirke.

Right now,
there is no "we."

You're the one
taking the charges.

The trial cost
north of $1 million.

There's no way that
you could've financed that

on your own.

We're also reasonably certain

you weren't the one
running around

killing people when
things went south.

Tell us about Ubient.

Give us names, and we'll do
what we can for you.

I'm not telling you anything
about where the money came from.

You think they're gonna pay you
to carry the weight on this?

It's got nothing to do
with getting paid.

I'll tell you about the study,

I'll take responsibility
for the deaths,

but I will never
say a word

about the funding.

I'd like my lawyer now.

Why would he go to prison
for the rest of his life

just to protect his bosses?

No one gives up everything
just for a corporation.

No, that kind of resolve...

This is personal
to him.

You think we were wrong
about Ubient.

They didn't
give him the money.

Dr. Kirke is not
protecting a company.

He's protecting a person.

There some reason we
can't turn the lights on?

Yes.

The sensor is
remarkably sophisticated.

It's virtually impossible
to approach it

without incurring
Odin's wrath.

You have approached Odin.

Your photograph has been taken
and forwarded

to the authorities.
There isn't enough time

to deactivate it
before the alarm goes off.

You have ten seconds to back away.
However...

Ten. Nine.

Eight. Seven.
If you manipulate the electrolytic capacitor

Six. Five.
on a disposable camera and run our rigging

Four.
through a suitable load coil,

Three. you can generate
an electromagnetic pulse

Two. One. capable of scrambling
the alarm's electronics.

As you can see, the Norseman
falls quite silent.

You ruined the rest
of the electronics.

You didn't beat the alarm
if you can't steal the car.

Actually,
electronic devices

are more susceptible to an
EMP if they're turned on.

You simply calibrate the pulse

so it doesn't affect

the automobile's
dormant electronics,

and the prize is yours.

An electromagnetic pulse.

Mm-hmm.

Well, I never would've
thought of that.

Yes, well, you're a burglar.

You're a very good one,

but you're not
an electrical engineer.

Well, neither are you.

Mmm.

So we haven't talked
about the meetings.

What's up?

You coming back?

Yeah, I can't promise

I'm gonna find any more meaning
in them, but...

I respect you and everything
you have done for me.

So if you want me there,
I'll go.

Think that'd be a good idea.

Watson.

Hey, I got your message to call,

but if you're still
with Alfredo...

No, we're just finishing up.

So what's going on?

I think I know who funded

Dwyer Kirke's illegal trial.

MAN
Hello?

Oh, good evening!

We'd like a quick word

with Jack
Connaughton, please.

I'm afraid Mr. Connaughton

isn't feeling well this evening.

Oh, I'm confident
he'll make time for us.

Tell him our business involves
an illegal clinical trial,

several murders and a drug
which promises its users

a kind of
immortality.

Ah.

Thank you, Brett.

Something to drink?

I don't touch the hard stuff
myself anymore.

Mr. Connaughton,

did you know the NYPD

arrested a man named
Dwyer Kirke today?

He's been pursuing
the invention

of time-dilating drugs.

I hadn't heard that.

At first, we assumed

that Mr. Kirke was working

on behalf of his employers
at Ubient Pharmaceutical.

But he's been strangely reticent
to name his sponsors.

That led us to believe

that he was being funded
by a private benefactor.

You know Dwyer
Kirke, don't you?

Name sounds familiar.

Well, the two of
you crossed paths

not long after you
sold your first patent

for $20 million.

You set up a
scholarship fund

for promising kids from
inner-city neighborhoods.

Your charity pulled him
out of a terrible school

and placed him into
the Appleford Academy,

and you gave his
aunt a stipend

to help
raise him.

We've helped a lot of kids.

But he's the one you called

when you learned
that you were dying

of pulmonary hypertension,
isn't he?

I haven't told anyone
about my diagnosis.

You paid Dwyer Kirke

to develop E-Zed-M.

He owed you everything,

so he obliged.

You were looking
for a pharmaceutical

fountain of youth.

A way to prolong
your perception

of the time you have left
on this Earth.

Weeks could feel like months...
years, even.

It wouldn't be
the best of lives,

but at least
you could work.

Beats the grave, in any case.

I'm not saying that I...

have anything to do
with this trial,

but what you're describing

sounds incredible.

It should elicit praise,

not threats of arrest.

We will prove that you founded
Purgatorium, Incorporated...

just as we will prove
that you had

surviving trial participants
executed.

Admit what you did.

Do it now,

and we will see to your comfort

in your final days.

Brett...

I'm tired.

I'd like
to go to bed.

The man's facing death.

We have precious little
leverage over him.

Maybe Jack Connaughton
isn't the one

we should be
appealing to.

I don't know
why you asked me

to come in here.

I'm just a nurse.

I'm not involved
in any of this.

Well, in my experience,
Mr. Won,

employees in the homes
of the very wealthy

are often seen as little more
than sentient furniture.

As such, their overseers
will often do

or say things in their company

they would never share
in public.

You've cared for
Jack Connaughton

for the last nine months.

Did you hear
anything strange

during that time?

Brett...

people are dead.

I can't talk to any of you
about this.

I signed a
nondisclosure agreement

when I took
this job.

I could get sued.

There isn't an NDA

on this planet
that can protect against

criminal activity.

That's Marissa Ledbetter.

She was a nurse, too.

These are
the men

that signed up for the study.

Two of them
are missing.

Two of them are dead.

Their families
don't have closure.

You can help us
bring it to 'em.

A little while back...

Mr. Connaughton had me look

through his safe
for a business card.

When I was in the safe,
I saw a bunch of papers

with the name of the business
you asked him about on them.

Purgatorium, Incorporated.

I found the business card.

It-it didn't have
any names on it,

just a phone number.

He called the number,
and two men came over.

They didn't introduce
themselves.

They made a point of not
introducing themselves.

I heard most of what
they talked about.

Mr. Connaughton...

mentioned these men.

Said they all had to be
"taken care of."

Jack Connaughton,

wake up.

You're under arrest.

What's wrong with him?

His pulse is okay.

I don't think it's
from the hypertension.

He's taken a dose
of Dr. Kirke's medicine.

These are unlabeled,
but I'll wager

they contained E-Zed-M.

That drug kills people,
doesn't it?

Dr. Kirke believes
it also dilates time.

If Mr. Connaughton thought
he was going to be arrested

for murder, why not extend
his last few hours of freedom?

The most he'd have to lose
is a few weeks of life.

We need EMS down here.

Oh...

You think his brain
is just tearing itself apart,

or is he just living in there?

I don't know.

The best we can do is wait
for him to come around and...

see how much of Jack
Connaughton is left

when he does.

You know, I've been thinking.

If it helps to have me around,
even for a little bit,

I can come back for a while.

That's very kind of you, Watson.

But it's a temporary malaise.

It's nothing more.

I will be fine.

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Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org