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Your husband did this.

If you weren't so damned clumsy.

Abigail, do you trust me?

There's a single dose
of laudanum by the bed.

Take it. It will help with the pain.

Is there a doctor in this town?

Oh. Actually, I am a doctor, but...

Even five minutes of your time. Please.

Ma'am? You can't go in
there. This is a crime scene.

- Abigail!
- Uh, I warned you, ma'am.

You need to answer some questions.

I left her with a
single vial of laudanum

when I went to get the tickets.

That's not enough to cause harm.

And you're certain it
was the correct dosage?

Well, yes.

- Of course.
- How can you be sure?

- Uh, well, I-I...
- In the absence

of any other explanation,
is it not most likely

that Abigail Prescott died
because you provided her

with the wrong bottle of laudanum?

Yes, it-it's possible.

Seven, nine.

No eight.

There's a page missing.

This is my interview
with the hotel clerk.

The last time she saw Mrs. Prescott

is when she made a telephone
call in the middle of the night.

She made a telephone call?

- Is that important?
- Yes!

The jury has found you
guilty of manslaughter

- in the death of Abigail Prescott.
- What?!

Good morning, Mr. Murdoch.

Morning, Bethany.

Ooh. She has been quite
the handful this morning.

Well, usually when the
little one is fussy like this,

Dr. Ogden would sing her a lullaby.

♪ Sleep my baby on my bosom ♪

♪ Warm and cozy will it prove ♪

♪ Round thee mother's
arms are folding ♪

♪ In her heart a mother's love ♪

We need something substantial
to justify filing this appeal.

Yes, but what about that call?

If the alderman knew where we
were, he could have killed her.

The hotel owner didn't hear
the telephone conversation

that Abigail was having
and the switchboard operator

doesn't remember who she
put the call through to.

It's a dead end. There's no
way to prove who she called.

Why did she make that call?

Do you think...

She could have been
having second thoughts

about leaving her husband?

I should never have encouraged her.

There's no way to know
what was in her mind,

but you know what was in your heart.

You were simply trying to
help a woman in need, Julia.

Yes, and now, that woman is dead.

Surely the fact that someone
removed a page from the police report

should warrant an appeal, shouldn't it?

The judge clearly didn't think so.

Then we'll speak to a
different judge, a higher court!

I'm sorry, but it's not enough.

A page could go missing
for any number of reasons.

Any judge will consider
it no more than an error.

How are you faring, sir?

I feel helpless, George.

I wish there were something I could do.

What did Effie have to say?

She said we could appeal but
our chances are slim at best.

We've lost in the eyes of the court.

I can't believe it;

our Dr. Ogden in such
a dire circumstance.

They've sentenced her to three years.

For something she didn't do.

And-and we'll do everything
we can to prove that, sir,

- to prove it to the court.
- Of course, George, but it may not be enough.

Julia's going to miss
raising her daughter.

Sir, don't say that.

Her first words, her
first steps... three years!

She'll be a completely different person

by the time her mother
gets out of prison.

- Will she even recognize her?
- Sir, you can't...

you can't let these
thoughts consume you.

I know, George, but it's true.

Julia is in prison sleeping
on a cot in a windowless room.

I-I'm spending every day and night

trying to raise our
daughter without her.

I-I just don't think I can do it alone.

Sir, you don't have to.
No matter what happens,

one thing I can promise
you: You won't be alone.

Thank you, George.

Is that the alderman's fundraiser?

I believe so.

He has some nerve.

- George!
- Thank you, thank you.

- George!
- Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Helping people has
always been my mission,

especially when it comes
to the people of Toronto.

We need state-of-the-art facilities

where the average man can get
top-of-the-line healthcare.

That is why I want to raise money

to open a new hospital
for the less fortunate.

Huh, that's rich.

Now, this here is my friend David.

He was born with a bad leg
and is one of the many people

who will be helped by our new endeavour.

He's going to be coming
around with a collection tin.

If you see him, give him a few dollars.

Let's get to our donation
goals! Every penny counts!

Thank you.

- Ah, you made it out.
- So great to see you.

Thank you.

Oh, thank you.

Ah, thank you for making a donation.

Donation, chaps?

Well, it is a good cause, sir.

Every penny counts, he just said!

Thanks.

Detective Murdoch?

Thank you for coming.

Despite what has happened, we must
rise above and support one another.

I'm not here for niceties, Alderman.

I have a few more questions.

Again, Detective?

If I didn't know any better,
I'd think you had it in for me.

Did you receive a telephone
call from your wife

- the night before her death?
- No. I didn't.

Is that all?

- Good day, Detective.
- I know what you did, Prescott.

And I won't rest until I prove it.

Whatever could you mean?

Have you spoke to Julia?

How's her spirits?

Not good, I'm afraid.

This is a nightmare.

What's your next move, Murdoch?

I'm sure it was Alderman Prescott.

I just can't prove it.

He was the recipient
of the telephone call

that's mentioned in
the page of the report

that's now conveniently missing.

But perhaps the question
shouldn't be why is it missing...

... but how?

The inspector at Port Credit?

It was his report.

You know you have my full support.

And the full resources of this
station house if you need anything.

Thank you, sir.

There is another avenue to follow.

If we are correct...

The alderman had to have
traveled from his home in Toronto

to Port Credit between the
time of the telephone call

and when Abigail's body was discovered.

Someone may have seen him
leave his house that day.

Perhaps he hired a carriage?

Surely an alderman would
own his own carriage?

In which case, he'll have a driver.

George, Henry, see
what you can find out.

Yes, sir.

I did nothing wrong and
I resent the accusation.

A file was sent to the
crown and to the defense.

Both were missing the
same page of your report,

so the incident had to have occurred

before the document
left this station house.

You're suggesting one
of my men lost the page?

Or mishandled it.

Intentionally?

No.

My men are honest and trustworthy.

- Is that so?
- I... I work with them every day.

I trust them with my life.

Wait, do you not trust
your constables with yours?

- You handwrote the page, correct?
- That's right.

Then who copied it?

What do you mean?

Every page of those documents

was collated into two separate files.

One went to the crown,
one went to the defense.

- Someone had to have copied the original in order...
- Oh!

Yes. That would be Mr. Johnson,

our scrivener. That's him
there. If you'll excuse me.

Mr. Johnson?

Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

- I have a couple of questions.
- Uh, right now?

I'm, uh, kind of busy.

Are you the scrivener that
handled the case report

- for the trial of Dr. Julia Ogden?
- I am.

Are you aware that a page went missing
from that report prior to trial?

No. I-I don't know anything about that.

Can you confidently say that all
of the pages were accounted for

when you received the
report from inspector McCrae?

How could I possibly know?

He attests that as a fact.

And yet a page was
missing from the files

that went to the crown and the defense.

Things get lost all the time.

- By you?
- No! Never, I, I, I, uh...

And yet it went missing
when it crossed your desk.

Perhaps I should have another
word with Inspector McCrae

- and advise him not to hire...
- Please!

Don't tell the inspector.

Tell me exactly what happened.

Two days before the trial,

I ran into a man in the
street near my rooms.

He knew about the trial

and he even knew that the
file was currently in my hands.

- Who was this man?
- I'd never seen him before in my life.

He offered me a hundred
dollars to remove two pages.

How could I pass that up?

Two pages? Not just one?

One page from the police report,
one from the coroner's report.

But there was nothing on them,
nothing that seemed important.

That is not for you to
determine, Mr. Johnson.

But I-I needed the money.

Do you have any idea how
much a hundred dollars is?

My-my wife... I-I-I
needed the money, sir!

Please, pull yourself together, man.

Look at this photograph.

Is this the man that gave you the money?

No. I don't recognize him.

Then who was it?

I told you I'd never seen him before.

The man had a goatee.

Uh, a rough face

and he talked awful funny.

All right.

I'll need you to give a
description to a sketch artist.

Of course.

That must be his driver.

We'll see if he knows anything?

We need to get him on his
own so we can talk to him.

Right. We have to do whatever we
can to get Dr. Ogden back home.

She doesn't belong in jail.

She has killed someone before.

- Henry! She's innocent.
- Oh!

Look... this is our chance.

Excuse me, sir.

Yes? How can I help you?

Condolences for the
passing of Mrs. Prescott.

A nasty business, that.

We're conducting an additional
investigation into her death.

Is that right?

Uh, should I get the alderman?

Uh, no, actually we
wanted to speak to you.

Can you tell us anything about
the day that Mrs. Prescott died?

Did you take the alderman
anywhere that day?

No. Uh...

I was given the afternoon off that day.

And are you usually
given the afternoon off?

No. Uh...

That morning we went about
our business as usual.

I took him to his tailor's,

then back to the house,
just like every day.

Uh, usually I wait around after that,

but that day the alderman
went inside the house

and came back out a short
time later telling me to

take the rest of the day off.

Eh, he goes to the tailor's every day?

Well, it's his business. He owns it.

Ah, Impressively Pressed
Tailors over on Sherbourne.

Oh, I've been there before.
They aren't very good.

Ah, well, it does fine business.

Uh, we pick up the earnings there
every day and take them to the bank.

Every day?

Mr. Wright,

you are the coroner who performed
the postmortem on Abigail Prescott?

Th-that's right.

And you delivered your report
to this station house, correct?

Yes, yes. That's right.

Did you happen to keep a copy
of your report for your record?

Uh, no. I assumed I would
receive it back after the trial.

Could you have a look at the report

and tell me if there's anything missing?

Y-Yes, there is a page missing.

Oh. Any idea what that page contained?

Of course. It was the page
that detailed the bruising

- across the victim's body.
- Bruising? What bruising?

Extensive. Arms, back, torso.

Any sense of what may have caused them?

Likely from repeated blows,

but none of this had
anything to do with her death.

These were minor contusions; painful,

- but not serious.
- Thank you, Mr. Wright.

If I may,

did you happen to notice
if any of the bruises

were more recent than others?

Yes. Yes, there was one on her arm.

- Her broken arm?
- No, her other arm.

Uh, it was about a few
inches wide, quite fresh.

So someone grabbed her.

They stole the pages to hide the fact

that they'd injured
her in an altercation?

Or it's an indication of
something else altogether.

What are you thinking?

It's your professional
opinion that Abigail Prescott

- consumed 100 drams of laudanum.
- Correct.

Dr. Ogden maintains that she
instructed Abigail Prescott

to consume one vial containing
only 16 drams of laudanum.

What if the extra
laudanum wasn't consumed;

what if it was injected?

A rough injection leaving a bruise?

It's possible.

Did you happen to find
any injection marks?

No. But I can't say
I was looking for one.

Well, if the overdose
of laudanum was injected,

then it wasn't Mrs. Ogden
who killed Mrs. Prescott.

A revelation like this would
immediately discount the crown's case.

It's too late now.

She's in the ground.

We'll have to get her out.

So the alderman was left to his
own devices the rest of the day.

You know, he could have driven himself

down to Port Credit,
if that was the case.

Should we report back
to the inspector, then?

It's not worth much if
nobody saw him there.

I still think it's strange

that they make a visit
to the tailors every day.

Well, it's this place right here.

I tell you, it's the worst
tailor's I've ever been to.

I had to go back three times
and I still don't have my pants.

I'd abandon them if they
weren't Ruthie's favourite pair.

It's hardly bustling.

How much revenue can they be making?

Oh, just enough to keep the
doors open, I would guess.

Yet they make so much that
they had to make a deposit

at the bank every day?

I'm surprised they make enough
to make a deposit every year.

Higgins!

That chap, that's...

That's the downtrodden man I
saw at the fundraiser earlier!

Well, he doesn't look
downtrodden at all!

Oh, the scoundrel! He
must be a confidence man.

The scrivener who transcribed
the documents for trial

was paid to remove two pages.

- Paid by whom?
- Apparently not the alderman.

We questioned the scrivener

and he gave us a
description of the culprit.

Inspector McCrae is putting
these up all over town.

This is the man.

I know that man!

What?

My dear Bianca is terribly ill.

Five minutes of your time. Please.

I was on the way to buy the
tickets from the train station

and he asked if I wanted a ride.

- Then he said he needed a doctor.
- Someone was ill?

No, not someone.

It was his goat, but there
was nothing I could do.

By the time I got back to
the hotel, Abigail was dead.

Julia, did this man speak
in an unusual manner?

Yes, he had an accent.

Well, then this is him.

He purposely delayed your
return back to the hotel

so that someone would have
time to murder Abigail Prescott

and frame you!

This is the man that
bribed the scrivener

and delayed Julia on her
way back to the hotel.

Unlikely to be a coincidence.

I have constables canvassing the
area and putting up these posters.

Hopefully someone will
have seen something.

I need to speak to Detective Murdoch!

Who's this then?

Oh, that is Mrs. Lipknow.

She owns the hotel in Port Credit.

Ma'am? May I be of assistance?

You need to pay for this phone call!

This is your telephone
bill. Why should I... ?

Your wife booked a room at my hotel

and incurred this exorbitant charge,

but now she is in jail.

It is only fair that the
responsibility of the debt

- fall to her husband.
- She has a point, Murdoch.

This must be Abigail
Prescott's telephone call.

Yes. God rest her soul.

But where could she have
been calling to incur a charge

of one dollar and 19 cents?

A dollar-nineteen!

I almost keeled over when I saw it.

I never should have
had that infernal thing

installed in the first place.

I will take care of this,
Mrs. Lipknow. Leave it with me.

Why, thank you, Detective.

You think that's his office?

Could be.

An accountant

masquerading as a person in need

to drum up donations for
the alderman's fundraiser.

Can't believe you let that man
trick you into giving him money.

See, he was convincing,
Henry, very convincing.

I never should have told you that.

I still don't see how the
tailor shop is connected.

Unless it's not a tailor shop at all.

Oh, I assure you there
was a tailor in there.

An old man with a dreadful
shake in his hands.

That's not what I mean,
Henry. What would an accountant

be doing with a failing business

right after drumming
up money for charity?

I'm on the edge of my seat.

Pretending that same business
earned that same money

so no one would notice
you and the alderman

were stealing from
the people of Toronto.

So, the tailor shop
is just a front, then.

Oh, look! There he is again.

Let's have a word.

What have you got?

Well, sir, I think I
may be able to determine

the area that Abigail
called with the information

- in this telephone bill.
- How do you figure that?

All I have to do is cross-reference

the cost of the call with the
applicable long-distance rates.

- Won't that take forever?
- Well, no, sir.

A dollar and nineteen cents is
only divisible by two numbers:

- Seven and 17.
- And one and 119.

Well, yes.

But we can probably discount those

because there are no regions
that cost $1.19 per minute

and we know she wasn't on
the telephone for 119 minutes.

- Go on.
- So, she either made a seven-minute phone call

at a rate of 17 cents per minute,

- or 17-minute call at a rate..
- Seven cents a minute.

Precisely. Which drastically
reduces the possibilities.

All right, huh... here.

Seventeen cents per minute.

Paris, Ontario.

The alderman doesn't live there.

No. But Abigail's mother does.

Excuse me, sir.

You know the alderman, do you not?

Doesn't everybody?

We saw you at his tailor shop earlier.

Why on earth were you spying
on me at a tailor shop?

- Well, what were you doing there?
- Ah, more to the point:

Were you pretending to be a homeless man

earlier at the alderman's fundraiser?

How ridiculous.

It's not ridiculous, sir.

You were drumming up donations,

which I think you're now scheming

to hide as profits
from this tailor shop.

I don't know what you're talking about.

I think you owe my friend here 25 cents

- and you owe me a pair of pants.
- What?

Sir, why don't you just
tell us, Mr. Potter,

if that is indeed your name,

how is the alderman
involved in all this?

Oh...

There!

I don't know why you and your lot

continue to pour salt in my wound.

Is it not bad enough that your
wife caused my daughter's death?

Mrs. Delafonte, I-I'm terribly
sorry to ask any more of you,

but I assure you it is important.

I'll keep it short.

Did your daughter, Abigail,

telephone you the
night before her death?

- Yes.
- She did?

What did she say?

Abigail telephoned me to tell me

that she had absconded
with that woman, your wife.

Why did she feel the
need to tell you this?

She was scared, I supposed.

- Of?
- Of what might become of her, of course.

A woman can't simply leave her husband!

There are consequences for such things,

which is precisely what I told her.

- You... told her to go back?
- Of course.

Her husband had broken her arm.

No marriage is a simple
affair, Detective.

- And did she agree to return to Toronto?
- No.

She was resolved.

"Come what may."

Those were the last
words she said to me.

So, you don't believe that
she telephoned Mr. Prescott

- after her conversation with you.
- I do not.

That is why I telephoned him.

You?

- You telephoned Mr. Prescott that night?
- I did.

- And you told him where she was?
- Yes.

It's only right for a husband to
know of his wife's whereabouts.

Mrs. Delafonte, I am very sorry to
put you through anything further,

but I will need you
to attest to this call.

- Why?
- I need to present this as evidence to the judge.

Alderman Prescott

has claimed repeatedly

that he did not know his
wife's whereabouts that night.

He lied;

lied to the judge, to the jury,

to the investigators,

investigators who believe

that someone has destroyed
evidence in this case.

No! He couldn't have.

Oh...

What have I done?

Oh, no.

So the alderman knew where she was,

meaning that he likely
went down there to kill her.

At the very least, I can
now prove to the judge

that he lied under oath. What now?

Well, I've telephoned Effie Crabtree.

We'll get the mother's statement
and prepare our case for an appeal.

Inspector Brackenreid.

Murdoch! It's for you.

Detective Murdoch.

Something bad is about
to happen to your wife.

What?

Next time it's going to be worse.

Drop the case.

Who is this?

Hello?

Hey, new girl!

- Excuse me?
- Did you steal my cigarettes?

- No. I don't smoke.
- I said give me back my cigarettes!

Break it up!

- No.
- It was her!

- She attacked me!
- She's lying!

- She tried to kill me!
- It doesn't matter.

- You're both going to the hole. Go ahead!
- No!

Go on.

What do you mean I can't
speak with her? Where is she?

- Huh!
- What did they say?

Only that she isn't in her cell.

- I... I have to get down there.
- Go. Go!

My lord, there has clearly been
outside interference in this case.

Just yesterday I learned
that the police scrivener

removed two pages of the
case file after being bribed.

Pages that would make no difference
to the outcome of this case.

What my learned friend
is failing to mention

is that there was
something about these pages

which somebody didn't
want the court to know.

What were on those pages?

The first page detailed a phone
call which the deceased made

the night before her
death to her mother,

who in turn telephoned her
husband, Alderman Prescott,

- to retrieve her.
- Relevance, my lord?

A third party at the murder
scene completely changes this case

and casts a shadow on the theory

which my learned friend
here laid out at trial.

But, more importantly,
Mr. Prescott lied.

He claimed to have no knowledge
of his wife's whereabouts

at the time of her murder when in fact

he knew precisely where she was.

- And the second page?
- The second page detailed

bruising all over the deceased's body.

My lord, it seems my
friend here has forgotten

that the victim died from
an overdose of laudanum,

not bangs and bruises.

Bruises which may well have
been covering an injection mark

from a syringe which could have
been administered by a third party,

- namely Alderman Prescott.
- My lord, these are slanderous allegations.

Are we now prematurely
convicting an innocent man

without the benefit of trial?

I was under the impression
that one had to be convicted

by a court of law before
being deemed guilty.

I am simply articulating
a version of events

which fits more clearly with
the facts as we now know them.

Regardless, these facts cast grave doubt

on the conviction of
Dr. Ogden in this case.

I acknowledge there are
discrepancies of some interest,

but they do not appear to be significant
enough to vacate a conviction,

- Mrs. Crabtree.
- Not yet,

but they do demand that we re-examine

the crucial evidence in this
case: the method of death.

She died of laudanum.

- That is not a question.
- Not the cause; The method.

Which is why I humbly request
that the court order the exhumation

- of the body of Abigail Prescott.
- To what end?

If one of the bruises on her body
was covering up an injection mark

which was otherwise unaccounted for,

then we can assume that the fatal
dose was administered by syringe.

- My lord...
- In which case the crown's allegations

against Dr. Ogden no longer hold!

My lord, disturbing a
corpse is not a simple thing.

It is improper and disrespectful

to defile a resting
place on a fanciful whim!

An exhumation would require permission
from the family of the deceased.

My lord, Alderman Prescott will
not provide such permission.

If we ask and he denies,

can we put this whole matter to rest?

It has been proven Mr.
Prescott lied in this court.

We cannot let this
decision lie in his hands.

As it so happens,

the alderman is not the
deceased's only family.

Mrs. Crabtree,

if you can obtain permission
from Mrs. Prescott's mother,

I will approve the exhumation.

I want to see Julia Ogden immediately!

Detective Murdoch!

Thank you.

- Your wife is fine.
- Where is she?

She was in an altercation
with another inmate

and received a
laceration on her forearm.

- What?!
- But she is otherwise in fine health.

- Take me to her immediately.
- I cannot.

She's had to spend the night in the hole

just like any other inmate would.

We take these sorts of
altercations very seriously.

- Has her wound been treated?
- Yes.

The wound was cleaned and bandaged.

Our nurses are well trained.

Mister Warden, I received a telephone
call threatening Julia's life.

We need to put a guard
on her at all times.

More than one, if possible.

I have no way of knowing
who is making these threats.

Detective...

You sound paranoid.

I received this telephone
call at the station house.

Uh-huh.

I'll see to it that she
receives additional supervision

for the time being.

Thank you.

Sounds like a smoker's cough.

No wonder you wanted your
cigarettes back so badly.

Keep provoking me and
see what happens, sweetie.

You know, I don't believe your
cigarettes were ever missing.

It was just an excuse to attack me.

Oops.

Did someone put you up to it?

I wouldn't have pegged
you for the type of lady

with a long list of enemies.

But here we are.

Who was it?

Wouldn't you like to know.

I don't blame you.

I don't care one way or the other.

I know what it's like to be a
woman in a vulnerable position

being manipulated by
people with bad intentions.

That sounds like a long and
fancy way to say you pity me, huh?

- I hate pity.
- That's not it.

Whoever hired you is just
using you to do their dirty work

while you take the fall.

You could have been hurt.

Or you could have killed me and
ended up with a lifetime sentence.

People like that don't
deserve to be protected.

Fifty dollars.

- I beg your pardon?
- That's my price.

Fifty dollars and
I'll give you the name.

Ah, Murdoch!

Mrs. Prescott's exhumation
has been approved.

The mother agreed to it.

It will commence first
thing tomorrow morning.

That is good news.

Who will perform the examination?

The original coroner but
overseen by Miss Hart.

The judge has agreed to
send the body to our morgue.

Oh. Why is that?

Apparently, every man and
his dog wants to attend.

- We're the only ones with the space for it.
- I see.

I would also like to attend.

Good luck getting the
judge to approve that.

Look, don't worry. I'll make sure
everything goes off all right.

If we can find that syringe
mark, this will all be over.

And if we don't find it?

We have to exonerate Julia, now.

She was attacked in prison.

Her life's in danger.

So, they're stealing
from charitable citizens?

That's what we suspect, sir.

That behaviour's lower
than a snake's belly.

This chap even pretended
to have a bum leg

to garner donations out of sympathy.

- An absolute disgrace.
- Where is he now?

Ah, he got away, sir. He was actually
surprisingly fast on his feet.

But this tailor shop
is the centre of it;

- That's where they're taking all the money.
- It seems so.

Take a few of the lads
and ransack the place.

- Gladly.
- Sir, do we need to speak to a judge first?

Look, we know they're as guilty as sin.

Better to beg forgiveness than ask
permission, is what I always say.

Sir.

Toronto Constabulary!

- Help! In here!
- Who's there?

- Higgins, after him!
- Lads!

Mr. Potter.

Are you all right?

I am alive, if that's
what you're asking.

- Do you know who that man was?
- I don't know.

- He got away.
- The lads are still after him.

- Did you recognize him?
- No.

- From the police sketch!
- That's the alderman's henchman.

- Oh.
- He was sent by Mr. Prescott?

I very much admire your work, Miss Hart.

Oh? Thank you.

I read about you in the papers.

You're quite the inspiration for
those of us entering the field.

Hm. Is that so?

Everyone was all abuzz after those
witch killings you solved last year.

Ergot poisoning...

Imagine that.

Actually, the victim
died of anaphylaxis.

But I appreciate the sentiment.

- Shall we begin?
- Of course.

Case 583, the exhumation
of Abigail Prescott.

Well, she hasn't been
in the ground for long.

Seems the cold conditions have helped.

Mr. Wright and I will
now examine the skin

for puncture or injection marks.

- They didn't find anything.
- Nothing?

There were no puncture
wounds or syringe marks

present anywhere on her body.

We were wrong. I'm sorry.

- Detective William Murdoch.
- William,

I found out who sent that
inmate to try and kill me.

You did? Who?

His name is Gunnar Björnsson.

His description matches that of
the farmer who bribed the scrivener.

Oh!

And I need you to send
$50 to an address for me;

getting that name wasn't cheap.

It may not make any difference.

The exhumation was a failure.

It yielded nothing.

What-what does that mean?

Without the syringe mark,
or the missing pages,

anything this Björnsson has
done becomes circumstantial.

Inconsequential.

Oh...

I'm so sorry, Julia.

- Oh...
- What're you doing?

There's a small mark on her lip.

- Where?
- Here.

Hm. It just makes me think:
If not a syringe mark,

perhaps someone forced the
victim's mouth open in some way.

- Giving her laudanum against her will?
- Precisely.

I would have noticed a
chipped tooth, or pierced lip.

Beyond that I don't see how such
a thing could ever be established.

Did you examine the inside of her mouth?

- Yes.
- But, I admit,

not with a specific mind
to finding such indicators.

You're sure this man works for Prescott?

Absolutely.

He's trying to kill me.

After everything I've done for him?

What exactly have you done for him?

I'm not telling you a thing.

Sir, as you can see,

constables are collecting every
scrap of paperwork in this place

and others will be searching
your accounting office.

- And what of it?
- If you've been stealing from charity,

we'll find out, whether
you help us or not.

Why are you protecting
someone who wants you dead?

If I help you convict him,

can you keep me out of jail?

That may be something we can arrange.

I've been in charge of the
alderman's accounts for over a decade

and he has been indeed stealing money.

- From the hospital charity?
- Among others.

We run the donations
through the tailor shop

so that they appear as legitimate
earnings when we deposit them.

And then I doctor the
financials to ensure it.

Stealing from a hospital
is particularly rotten.

The hospital is just
the tip of the iceberg.

Is everything all right?

Just having a quick
look at one more thing.

Now, hold on. The
purpose of the exhumation

was to search for a syringe mark.

It will just take one moment.

- This examination was not explicitly requested...
- Oh!

- What is that?
- Oh, my.

Gunnar Björnsson. Criminal
threats, assault, attempted murder.

- And there's more.
- Oh?

The last time he was in jail,

he was bailed out by none
other than Alderman Prescott.

That's a direct connection.

We have his last known address.
The lads and I'll bring him in.

And Crabtree and Higgins have managed
to get the accountant to spill.

The alderman's going
down one way or another.

The only problem is none
of this exonerates Julia.

- McNabb?
- We have word from the morgue, sirs.

- Gunnar Björnsson?
- The one and only.

You're under arrest for bribery,

interference with a police
investigation and attempted murder.

Can I finish my stew first?

Don't get smart. Get him out of here!

What a waste.

Thank you for your patience.

We have completed our examination

of the exhumed body of Abigail Prescott.

There were no previously
undiscovered markings on the skin.

However, we were able to find an anomaly

that was not discovered in
the original post-mortem.

Yes. A foreign object
in the deceased's mouth,

stuck in the back of her oesophagus.

The object seems to have moved
closer to the top of the throat

due to the body's decomposition.

Hence why it wasn't previously
found despite Mr. Wright's good work.

A brass button.

- A button?
- Why would she have swallowed a button?

No, I didn't.

Is that all? Good day, Detective.

It was him.

I have already signed the petition

and expect to have a plan in
place as early as next week.

Please excuse me for a moment.

Detective Murdoch, of course.

To what do I owe the pleasure?

Oh, believe me, Alderman.

The pleasure is all mine.

Is that so?

- And here I thought you didn't like me.
- I don't.

What are you doing?

That is quite enough of this
is harassment, Detective.

Alderman Prescott, you are under arrest

for the murder of your
wife, Abigail Prescott.

Every piece of evidence
detailing the alderman's misdeeds.

This time enough to send
him away for years to come.

Evidence of his financial crimes

and the button that places
him at the scene of the murder.

Mrs. Prescott was sending us a message.

You think she swallowed
it on purpose, sir?

In her final moments, yes.

Bringing him to justice
from beyond the grave.

In addition to all of
that, this Björnsson fellow

turned on the alderman
faster than a lion's lunch.

He admitted to distracting Dr. Ogden

while the alderman murdered his wife.

I'd be willing to wager that

that is finally the end
of Alderman Prescott.

There is no doubt of your innocence now.

I'm so relieved, William.

Effie said the crown will ask the judge

to overturn the verdict in the morning.

- I'll be released by noon.
- That's wonderful.

I can hardly stand the thought of
you spending one more night here.

Me neither.

Although, the warden has
extended an olive branch

in light of my wrongful imprisonment.

He's invited me to a family dinner.

Oh?

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