All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries (2008) - S04E13 - Murdoch in Wonderland (1080p BluRay x265 Langbard)

It's all right, dear.

Whereabouts?

Upstairs.

Ah.
Morning, Higgins.

George.

What have we...

Sweet mother of...

Is that a turtle costume?

His name's
Randolph Littlefair.

He was a guest
of the Reda family last night.

They had a costume party here.

Has Detective Murdoch
been notified?

No, I telephoned his boarding
house and got no answer.

That's odd.

Well, Henry, perhaps you'd best
help with the interviews.

George.

I just found
Detective Murdoch.

What?

Sir?

Sir!

Ah!

What?

George.

Sir.

There's been a murder
in the next room.

What are you doing here?

Are you all right?

Why are you dressed like that?

George, did you say
someone's been murdered?

Yes, sir.

A Mr. Littlefair.

He's been beaten to death.

Just through here.

No sign of the rest of it
so far, sir.

Perhaps the killer
used the mallet until it broke

and then finished him off
using this clock.

William.
Are you all right?

I'm not sure.

I believe I'm still
experiencing the effects.

More than eight hours later?

The effects of what?

Something I drank last night,
George.

Oh, my.
It's the Mock Turtle.

Yes.

The Mock Turtle?

Dr. Ogden and I were attending
a party last night

in honor of the late
Lewis Carroll.

Alice's Adventures
in Wonderland.

I was the Mad Hatter.

Ah.

Lividity suggests he died
roughly eight hours ago.

I'd say 11:35
to be precise, Doctor.

Which means
that Mr. Littlefair died

when we were all here.

Sir?

I believe this is the handle
to the croquet mallet.

Very good, Henry.
Where did you find it?

Sir, it was under the bed
you were sleeping in.

How did part of the murder
weapon get under your bed?

Oh, and why were you sleeping
there in the first place?

It's a long story, sir.

Bad news, I'm afraid, sirs.

There are only two sets
of finger marks on the mallet:

the victim's--

- And the other set was mine.
- Bloody hell.

Someone's trying
to pin this on you.

That would appear
to be the case, sir.

Well, we'll get
to the bottom of it.

I can't be a part
of this investigation, sir.

In fact, we should get someone
from outside the station.

In the meantime, it would appear
we have our prime suspect

in this murder case.

Me.

Giles?

Why Giles?

Yes.

No, I understand.

Yes, sir.

Chief Constable Stockton
is sending Inspector Giles

from station house number three.

He's to have complete authority
over the investigation.

I suppose
there are worse fates, sir.

Inspector Giles
is a thorough investigator.

Thorough?

He's like you, Murdoch.

Once he sets his sights
on a suspect,

that's usually
the end of them.

I'm sure you're
overstating the case, sir.

Well, we'll see, won't we?

How are you feeling, William?

Somewhat more like myself.

It goes to my theory.

I think you were drugged.

I'd like to take a blood sample
to prove it.

I would appreciate that.

But with your wedding so close,

I'm sure you have
more pressing concerns.

More pressing than clearing
you of a possible murder charge?

I think not.

Doctor, did you come
into my room last night?

I looked in on you
at about 11:00,

but I didn't enter the room.

That must be it, then.

I seem to remember someone.

Did you speak to me?

No.

Sir, we found this tucked
into your hatband.

It's the poem.

What was it doing
in your hatband?

It's written
in reverse writing.

I had to use a mirror
to read it,

and I still can't make
any sense of it.

Murdoch, Dr. Ogden, I believe
you know Inspector Giles?

Doctor.

Detective.

Well, I'm done here.
If you'll excuse me.

Actually, Doctor,
I would appreciate a word.

I understand you were also
at the Reda house last night.

Yes, I was.

Then as a material witness,
I would ask that you refrain

from communicating
with the suspect.

Is that really necessary?

Yes, it is.

When you're ready, Detective.

I conduct all my interviews
in private, Inspector,

without exception.

You're under my roof, Giles.

Well, if you like,
I could move the interview

to station house number three.

Fine.
But this is a waste of time.

If you please, Inspector?

Shall I start
at the beginning?

Let's start with the facts.

Time of death has been
established as 11:35 p.m.

Where were you then?

Sleeping
in the room next door.

You'd been invited
to spend the night?

No, I wasn't feeling well.

And where was Mr. Littlefair
when you last saw him?

He was on the floor
in the parlor.

At least, I think so.

It may have been
a hallucination.

Hallucination?

Dr. Ogden believes
I was drugged at some point.

And who gave this drug to you?

I don't know.

They were coming around with
trays of drinks all evening.

The frog-footmen, that is.

Frog-footmen?

I'll tell you what, Detective.

Why don't you start
from the beginning?

Yes.

I received an invitation
ten days ago.

Ah, thank you.

"Mr. and Mrs.
Jack and Alexandra Reda

"request your presence as the
Mad Hatter at a costume party

to be held in honor
of the late Lewis Carroll."

How wonderful.
You get to be the Mad Hatter.

Darcy was supposed to be
the Hatter,

but he'll be in Buffalo
visiting his family that night.

Oh, you'll be attending
as well?

I'm to be Alice.

I'm going as the White Rabbit.

How did they get my name?

Well, that was my doing.

I said you were the most
interesting conversationalist.

That's very flattering,
Miss Ogden, but I...

Well, you have to go.

They'll have no Mad Hatter
if you don't.

I'm not much
for wearing costumes.

- I...
- What costume?

It's a top hat and a bow tie.

Polka-dot bow tie.

Do come, William.

It'll be fun.

Did you know anyone
at the party?

No, I don't travel
in those circles.

So this was the first time
you met Randolph Littlefair.

That's correct.

I feel ridiculous.

Trust me when I tell you

you'll be the least ridiculous
person here.

A frog-footman.
How perfect.

Julia, Ruby.
Oh.

Oh, how good to see you.

And you must be
Mr. Murdoch.

I've heard
so much about you.

Jack Reda.
Glad you could come.

- Pleasure.
- So are we playing croquet?

You can't have a Wonderland
party without croquet.

Come.

Oh, lovely.

Julia, Ruby Ogden, this is
our friend, Constance Gardiner.

And this is our son Bradley.

This whole party
was Constance's idea.

Such a pleasure.

Oh, and this is Mr. Murdoch,
who so graciously agreed

to take Mr. Garland's place.

Well, let me introduce you all

to our guests of honor
this evening.

Mr. Randolph Littlefair
and his lovely wife, Eleanor.

Pleased to meet you.

Say hello to Tweedledum
and Tweedledumber here.

Ha!
I believe he's mocking you!

I believe he's mocking you!

I am the Mock Turtle.

Oh, I love it when people
get into character.

Off with his head.

Here.

Your turn.

I'll hit it with the other side.

Well, everyone, have fun.

This is delightful.

So that's how your finger
marks got onto the red mallet.

Yes.

What was your impression
of Mr. Littlefair?

I found him overbearing.

You didn't like him.

I'm not in the habit

of killing people
I don't like, Mr. Giles.

Fair enough.

And what happened next?

After that, we went inside.

"Drink me."
How delightful.

- Oh.
- No, thank you.

Come on, Detective,
one drink won't kill you.

It's a Wonderland party,
after all.

All right.

Was your drink ever
out of your sight?

I don't remember.

So someone could have slipped
the drug in at any time?

Possibly.

Do you think you were
specifically chosen

to receive the drug?

I can't think of a reason
why that would be.

Tell me more about Littlefair.

Frankly,
I wasn't the only person

who found him objectionable.

You don't belong
with these people, do you?

I'm sorry?

I don't belong
with them, either.

Aren't you the hosts' son?

I'm a communist.

I'm intellectually committed
to loathing them all.

Especially Littlefair.

Why him?

Because my father,
also a despicable capitalist,

is in debt to him,
and he's taken full advantage.

And he's an ignorant boor.

He's never read Lewis Carroll.

The Mock Turtle's supposed to be
doleful, not mocking.

The fool.

And what did you make
of Bradley Reda's diatribe?

The disquiet of youth,

the passive,
intellectual variety.

I'm told there was
some sort of parlor game.

Yes, a word game.

May I have your attention,
please, everyone?

As we all know,
Lewis Carroll enjoyed

inventing his own
nonsense words.

You'll be asked to invent
a nonsense word of your own,

describing the person
standing next to you.

Then we'll put all the words
into a hat

and invent a nonsense poem
of our own.

Oh, how lovely.

Thank you.

And what was this poem about?

I'm not sure, exactly.

That's when the drug
started to take effect.

Oh! Oh, oh, wonderful.

Oh, ladies and gentlemen,

may I have your attention?

We have our poem.

Oh.

I need to use a mirror,
because it's written backwards.

So, "'Twas twilly,
and the grumbly snifters

burbled in their moonly sned."

"While the brilliutiful
Noomava lay smomfy in her bed."

Julia.

What is it, William?

I'm having
the oddest sensation.

- Are you tipsy?
- No.

Everything seems distorted.

"Gone he was, and so it was,
the Oafenfat came sneeling."

Splendid. Splendid.

It's the maiden
who slays the ogre.

Isn't that refreshing?

Yes, and to think
we made it up all by ourselves.

From that point on,

the distortions
grew more intense.

May I offer you another drink?

Drink?
We have a light one.

Come on, Detective.
One drink.

Time no longer made sense.

Come on.
Have a drink.

Oh!

I have half a mind--

William.

You hit him.

I honestly don't know,

but I suspect I did.

And what happened then?

I believe I was
helped up to bed.

Ah, look.

A smomfy room just for you.

All right.

Very...

Hmm.

What?

Well?

The murder weapon was
in his room

with his finger marks.

- He has no alibi.
- He has no motive.

He had an altercation
with the victim.

Oh, bloody hell, man.

Inspector, I'd like
to be able to tell you

that I don't believe Detective
Murdoch killed the man,

but I'm subject
to the same prejudice as you.

Normally, with evidence like
this, charges would be laid.

You lay a charge,
you know as well as I do,

the race will be on
to find evidence

supporting that charge.

Yes, I don't
want that to happen.

We should investigate
the possibility

that he's being framed.

But Detective Murdoch
must be incarcerated

for the remainder
of the investigation.

This is just temporary
till we solve this thing.

I understand, sir.

"'Twas twilly,
and the grumbly snifters

"burbled in their moonly sned

"while the brilliutiful
Noomava..."

George, what does this mean?

It doesn't mean anything,
Higgins.

It's nonsense.

Oh. Like your novel?

I'll have you know
that I've finished

Curse of the Lost Pharaohs,

and it's so good,
I'm sure to write another.

And when I do, there will be
a character based on you,

and he will be
the village idiot.

Everyone, gather round.

Detective Murdoch
has been placed in custody

and will remain there until we
can prove his innocence.

It's up to us, lads.

We have a time of death--
11:35 p.m.

I want to know
where everyone at that party was

in the minutes
before and after that.

I want to know who had a motive.

Crabtree,
dig into Littlefair's past.

Find out who had
a grudge against him.

- Sir.
- Oh, and one more thing.

No one outside
this station house,

and I mean absolutely no one,

can know that one of our own
is under suspicion of murder.

- Is that clear?
- Sir.

- Yes, sir.
- Yes, sir.

Well, what are you all
standing around for?

Inspector Giles.

Allow me to be of assistance.

- Do you mind?
- No.

You have postmortem results,
Doctor?

Yes.

Mr. Littlefair was struck twice
with the mallet.

His entire temple area
was shattered,

with shards of bone
entering the brain.

Hmm, that sounds
decisively fatal to me.

Yes, my feeling
is the clock was just--

For good measure?

Quite so, yes.

And have you found evidence

of a drug
in Detective Murdoch's blood?

Yes.

His glucose levels
were depressed,

suggesting the presence
of mescaline.

Mescaline?

It's derived
from the mescal cactus.

It was isolated quite recently.

And does this drug
make you violent?

No, not at all.

Its primary effect is intense
visual hallucinations.

Nevertheless,
Detective Murdoch

did become violent,
did he not?

There was an incident,
yes, but--

I apologize.

This is the wrong venue
for this conversation.

When you're finished here,

I'd like to interview you
properly at the station.

- Constable.
- What?

- You're staring.
- No, Miss Gardiner, I...

Sorry.

I was kicked by a horse
in the face as a young girl.

Where were you at 11:35?

We were playing a game
in the parlor.

Well, most of us, anyway.

And he hit him.

I'd gone to bed by then.

I felt I'd fulfilled
my obligations

as the son of the hosts.

We had such high hopes.

We were counting
on Mr. Littlefair

to buy a larger share
of my company.

We'd thrown the party
in his honor.

It had all been going so well.

My husband could be...
overbearing at times, it's true.

It's no reason to kill a man,
though, is it?

We assumed William had been
the victim of a prank.

I thought it might've been
oil of hashish

or something harmless
like that.

It was a Wonderland party,
after all.

Oh, for the love of...

I bent my nib.

One moment, Miss Ogden.

I believe the detective
keeps some extra nibs in here.

Ah.

Is that a ring?

A ring? What?
Give me that back.

It's beautiful.

Miss Ogden, you can't
just take personal items

out of the detective's--

"Julia, as long as you exist
in this world..."

Oh, my.
It's a proposal.

What?

He was going to propose?

Well, I have no idea.

And I insist that you--
No, don't put them in there.

Ruby, this is none
of our business.

I beg to differ, George.

At first, I assumed
he'd had a little too much.

William is not used to liquor.

But then over the next hour,
he became more disoriented.

And you saw
a personality change?

Rather, yes.

Are you feeling any better,
William?

- No.
- Thank you.

No.

Hey, frog-man!

Mr. Littlefair had been
drinking heavily all evening,

and it was beginning to show.

One more drop, and I'm
sleeping in another room.

You snore when you're drunk,
Randolph.

Fine.

Froggy!

I said no more!

Everyone was in shock.

And then...

Hey.

I've half a mind to--

- Yes.
- Come now, Mr. Turtle.

Let's help you to your bed.

Come on.

What has come over you,
William?

I think we need to get
Mr. Murdoch upstairs as well.

We can get him home.

No, no, no, I insist.

Believe me, Inspector Giles.

William was in no condition
to leave his room,

let alone kill someone.

Well, thank you, Dr. Ogden.

I believe that's all for now.

Would it be possible
to see him?

Doctor, do you have a romantic
interest in the detective?

I notice that you sometimes
refer to him

by his Christian name.

We did have a relationship,
yes, but that isn't--

Well, I wish you'd been
forthright with me about this.

I mean, you must see how
a past relationship

casts every statement you've
made in a different light.

And no.

No, you can't see him.

What have you learned,
Inspector?

Well, between 11:30 and 11:45,

most of the guests were gathered
in the parlor to play games.

And who was not in the parlor?

Well, the servants were
in various locations.

Two were in the kitchen,

and one was loading
supplies onto a carriage.

Jack Reda was in his study,
and Bradley Reda was in his bed.

Interesting.

If Detective Murdoch's
recollections are truthful,

then the Reda family
has good reason

to dislike Randolph Littlefair.

That's right.

Littlefair had queered

a business deal on Jack Reda,

and Sonny Boy
was in the process

of letting the whole world
know about that.

Yes, this is promising.

Let's bring them in.

Am I seriously
under suspicion?

You expressed contempt
for Mr. Littlefair.

He was a contemptible man.

And your communist philosophy
advocates the violent overthrow

of capitalist society,
does it not?

Through spontaneous
revolution,

not one capitalist at a time.

Bradley.

You claim to loathe
your capitalist parents,

but their financial future
and yours

had been put at risk
by Littlefair.

I call that motive.

Call it what you will.

My son feels
that any commercial venture is,

by definition,
exploitive.

The fact is, we needed
Mr. Littlefair's money,

and while he may have been
pressing his advantage,

I stood to lose more
by his death

than I could ever hope
to gain.

But not much more.

Several speculative land deals

of yours
had just fallen through.

Your construction business
is bleeding badly.

Oh, yes.
I checked.

You were using
Littlefair's money like a bank.

But he held all your IOUs.

In a short time,
you would've gone under,

and Littlefair would've owned
every last thing that you owned

for pennies on the dollar.

He was a damn bastard,
is what he was.

And that's why you killed him.

No.

Killing him
is what I wish I'd done.

"Julia, as long as you exist
in this world,

"there will be
no one for me but you.

"We can adopt.

Julia Ogden,
please say you'll marry me."

No.
It can't be.

He had every opportunity
to say these things to me

before I left for Buffalo.

I don't understand.

Jules.

I love Darcy.

I'm happy.
I've made my choice.

Doesn't the fact
that you're so upset about this

tell you that your heart
feels differently?

Don't you see it's too late?

I can't walk out on Darcy now.
It would break his heart.

Heartbreak is temporary.

Marriage is for life.

For the rest of your life.

This receipt is dated
a year ago.

He may not even
feel that way anymore.

Then why keep
the engagement ring

and his thoughts
on the proposal?

He would've said something.

Would he have?

The problem is that

he's a fine man who loves you.

But he sees
how you've prepared your future.

He's going to remain silent,

no matter how much it hurts him,

and honor your choice
unless you talk to him.

Jules,
you have to say something.

You have to go to him.

I can't.

Inspector Giles
has forbidden it.

Well, as I see it,
you have to do something.

My money's
on the communist son.

I don't think so.

He may well have expressed
a dislike for the man,

but then, so did Murdoch.

- Have a seat, Giles.
- Ah, thank you.

And who attacked Littlefair
minutes before he was killed?

Whose bed was the murder weapon
found under?

Whose finger marks
were all over it?

But what about
the boy's father?

Well, I would agree,

except that
by killing Littlefair,

Jack Reda would only
have hastened

his own financial collapse,

throwing his family
onto the street.

So you're back on Murdoch,
right?

You've had that fixed
in your head from the start,

like a dog with a bone.

Look, I appreciate your
loyalty to Murdoch, Inspector.

I truly do.

But don't ever question
my objectivity

as an officer of the law.

He's one of us, Giles.

And that makes it
all the more difficult.

But it doesn't mean
that he's innocent.

It's not looking good.

I need you to think.

Someone must've
come into your room

to plant the evidence
against you.

Do you remember anything?

Nothing clearly, sir.

Well, that's not good enough.

Someone may have come
into my room,

but I can't be certain.

Bloody hell, Murdoch,
you have to remember.

Who was it?

Your neck is on the line.

Do you remember me, William?

Was it a dream you had
or a memory?

Perhaps a dream of a memory.

Who was it?

The Cheshire Cat.

Mrs. Littlefair, did you enter
Detective Murdoch's room

on the night of the party?

No. Why would I?

You were dressed
as the Cheshire Cat, correct?

Yes.

And were you in costume
the whole evening?

Hmm...

No, I had my mask off
for most of the time.

And where did you leave
the mask?

On the table downstairs.

Very well.

Thank you, Mrs. Littlefair.

You and your husband
weren't exactly

living in marital bliss,
were you?

And now here you are,
newly single,

and ready to inherit
quite a few bob.

- Inspector.
- You think I killed my husband?

Detective Murdoch saw you
come into his room, love.

That's when you planted
the evidence under his bed.

How dare you?

I have just lost my husband.
I'm grieving.

Grieving?

Grieving all the way
to the bank!

Inspector, that's enough!

A word.

I made it perfectly clear.

I conduct my interviews
without interference.

You barely asked her
the time of day.

She was downstairs
in the parlor

with witnesses at 11:35,
or are you forgetting that?

Someone came into Murdoch's
room with that mask on.

So says Murdoch.

And he's got every reason to lie
if he's the killer.

This is Murdoch
we're talking about.

Oh, and policemen
don't commit murder?

Wasn't it Murdoch
who disproved that theory?

I can't handle
the evidence, sir.

Then just look, all right?

I don't need to remind you
that Giles is closing in.

Right, then, George.
Fit the pieces together.

Now, rotate it.

It's broken to the side, sir.

If the mallet had broken
from the force

of striking the victim,

the handle would have broken
back to front.

So the mallet
was broken deliberately.

Part of you being framed.

That would be my assumption.

Now, then, what other evidence
might have been tampered with?

This is a striking clock.

Regardless
of what the hands say,

the striking mechanism must
be set to chime on the hour.

Now, we can check the status
of the mechanism

to see if it matches
the displayed time.

You see here?

The position
of the rack and snail cam.

Rack and snail?

It's what determines
the number of chimes.

This clock
had already struck midnight

by the time it was stopped.

Can we tell what time
it actually stopped?

Yes, by counting the number
of notches on the gear train.

Two, three, four,
five, six, seven, eight...

This clock was stopped
at ten after midnight.

12:10?

That was the time
of the murder.

Not 11:35 p.m.

That puts Eleanor Littlefair
back on the suspect list.

Bloody hell, that puts everybody
back on the list.

We'll have to reinterview
them all.

So tell me, Inspector.

How did you figure out
this clock business?

It was Murdoch, wasn't it?

Sir, you can rest assured
that at no point

did Detective Murdoch come
into contact with the evidence.

No, he just told you
where to look.

And that didn't strike you
as suspicious?

Suspicious how?

Are you suggesting that Murdoch
framed himself?

He plants evidence pointing
to himself as the killer

knowing that when it's shown
to be false,

it will help exonerate him.

- It's brilliant.
- It's idiotic.

It's brilliant, Inspector.

And Murdoch is nothing
if not that.

- Sir, we have a problem.
- Now what?

I've checked police
and court records

going back more than a decade.

It seems
that Randolph Littlefair

changed his name
some years back.

He used to be Michael Cudmore,

and he had a few run-ins
with the law,

including murder.

Murder?
Who did he kill?

An innkeeper was found
stabbed to death.

Cudmore was charged
but later acquitted.

So what's the problem?

The arresting officer
was William H. Murdoch.

Michael Cudmore?

Do you recall the name?

"Drink me."
How delightful.

This whole party
was Constance's idea.

I'm the Mock Turtle.

Do you remember me, William?

Murdoch.

Cudmore.

Does the name Michael Cudmore
ring any bells?

Michael Cudmore, yes.

I arrested him shortly after
I started with the Constabulary.

So you're saying it's
coincidence that 12 years later,

you just happen to be
at a party with Cudmore

and someone
frames you for his murder?

It's the only explanation
I have.

What do we tell Giles?

Nothing.
We don't say a bloody thing.

Sir, I've spoken

with Bradley Reda's
laboratory partner.

Laboratory partner?

Apparently he's
a chemistry major, sir.

Turns out they've been
isolating mescaline.

It was meant to be a prank.

So it was just by chance

that the man you slipped
this drug to

ended up
being framed for murder.

Well, I'd planned to spike
the whole punchbowl,

but we couldn't produce
enough in time,

so I decided to slip
the mescaline

into Randolph Littlefair's
drink.

Littlefair?

Then how did it end up
in Murdoch's glass?

He must've picked up
the wrong glass.

I wouldn't have done this
to your detective.

He was the one person
at the party I actually liked.

Bollocks.

You interviewed Bradley Reda

without my permission,
Inspector.

If I hadn't,
we wouldn't know

where the mescaline
came from.

I thought that might be
important, Inspector Giles.

It is, marginally.

But I've been doing
my own digging.

I was surprised to learn
that your men

had already discovered
these arrest reports

concerning Murdoch and Cudmore.

Were you planning on telling me
about these?

Of course, sir.

But we're still following
that line of inquiry.

Save it, Inspector.

You've interfered
with my investigation,

and frankly, I've had enough.

I have no choice but to remove
Murdoch from your custody

and conduct the remainder
of this investigation

from station house number three.

But you can't!

It's not a negotiation.

Detective Murdoch?

Have you any idea
how that happened?

Bloody hell, if I know.

Sir.

He must've
picked the lock.

Why would he do it, Crabtree?

Why would he run?

Maybe he lost
his faith in us, sir.

Maybe he thought the evidence
against him

was so strong that...

Well, anything on the murder
of that innkeeper?

Sir, I've gone over
all the files

for Cudmore's murder charge.

No one at the Wonderland party
connects to the trial.

Well, I might have
something here, sir.

One of the witnesses
at the trial

later claimed that Cudmore
assaulted her

in the days following.

What was her name?

Miss Ava Moon, sir.

She's an actress.

Cudmore was arrested
but never charged.

- Ava Moon?
- Yes.

What?

You heard that name before?

Not heard it.
Seen it.

The poem.

Sir, this is the nonsense poem
from the Wonderland party.

It tells the story
of a maiden, Noomava.

She's attacked
by an ogre,

but she manages to fend him off,
and she slays him.

What are you
showing me this for?

Well, sir, look here.

"Noomava" is "Ava Moon"
backwards.

Who wrote this?

But we all wrote this.

We made up nonsense words.

What about this Noomava
mentioned in the poem?

Ava Moon?

That wouldn't be you, now,
would it, Mrs. Reda?

Inspector,
there's no such person.

So I'm not to read anything
into the fact

that these nonsense words
magically turned into a story

about a maiden who killed
the beast that attacked her?

Well, it wasn't magic.

We had to work at it a bit.

- "We"?
- Constance and I.

Well, it was
all her idea, really.

It was quite ingenious
the way she

pieced a story together
out of it all.

- Constance?
- Yes.

The woman who helped you
with the party?

Yes.

You wouldn't happen to have

her address, would you?

I didn't expect
to see you in person.

I assumed you'd be in jail.

But I knew you'd
figure it out.

I was hoping to have been gone
by then.

Of course, I was never
very lucky, was I?

Ava, I needed to see you

to tell you that I understand
why you framed me

and how truly sorry I am
for what's happened to you.

Well, it's a bit late
for that, isn't it?

I suppose so.

Now, I'm afraid
you'll have to come with me

to face the murder charge.

You would do that to me?

I'll argue for leniency.

I'll tell the judge
that Littlefair

hurt you deeply, savagely.

Perhaps you didn't realize,
Detective,

I wasn't his last victim.

Brigitte Marlowe from Montreal.

He held his knife against
her cheek while he raped her.

She lived.

Mavis Hedge from Belleville
wasn't so lucky.

He was there.
I checked.

It was Cudmore or Littlefair,
whatever you want to call him.

And this was just a month ago.

How many others
that we don't know about?

Why didn't you bring this
to the police?

Well, I tried that
once before, didn't I?

Didn't work out so well for me.

Taking the law into your own
hands has repercussions, Ava.

So does raping
and killing women.

Or butchering them so badly,
they cannot have children.

But the law doesn't always work
the way it should.

Haven't you seen that
in the 12 years

since this happened to me?

Have you not changed
in that time?

Is the letter of the law
still all you care about,

even when it's wrong?

Michael Cudmore
would have kept on killing.

He deserved his fate and worse.

You know what I did was just.

What choice do I have?

Then will you watch
my hanging?

If that's the verdict, yes.

It's my duty.

Then I will see you
on that day.

Murdoch.

She was an actress.

She rented a room
at an inn along my beat.

One night, she heard cries
coming from the innkeeper's room

and then saw a man leaving.

She didn't see his face,

but she recognized his coat,
his walk.

I arrested Cudmore,

and my inspector
at station house number one

beat a confession out of him.

Ava was terrified of Cudmore

and refused
to testify against him.

But I convinced her
that it was her duty,

that she should
trust in the law.

But he wasn't convicted.

No.

That wasn't your fault.

Actually, it was.

My inspector testified that
the confession was voluntary.

But I zealously
told the truth.

The confession was thrown out,

and the case collapsed.

And then Michael Cudmore
took revenge on Ava Moon.

Why wasn't he arrested for that?

Insufficient evidence.

It was dark, the middle
of the night, et cetera.

Prosecution didn't believe

that Ava's identification
of Cudmore

would stand up at trial.

So you can see why
she doesn't trust in the law.

Murdoch.

What the devil's going on here?

Cudmore took his knife to me.

Not just my face.

He did things

I couldn't begin
to describe to you.

Everything I ever wanted
in life--

marriage, children--

ended the night
he came into my room.

He moved out of Ontario
after that.

Then a few months ago,

I saw his picture
in the newspaper.

Oh, he'd changed his name
to Randolph Littlefair,

but I knew it was him.

So you plotted to kill him.

I have friends in common
with Alexandra Reda,

and when I learned
the Redas

were going into partnership
with Cudmore,

a plan materialized.

I suggested the party
for that reason.

And how did you know Detective
Murdoch would be there?

I didn't.

It was just

one of those
strange things in life.

I realized if I pointed
the suspicion on him,

it would give me time
to make a clean break.

But I wouldn't have
let him hang.

I was going to leave
a confession in my room.

But he arrived
before I could make my escape.

And now it's me
who's going to hang.

It seems the law is finally
done with me.

Escaping from police custody
is a serious of fence.

I had to inform
Chief Constable Stockton.

And as you're no doubt aware,
there may well be consequences.

I had to see Ava again,

to make amends somehow.

Bring her in with dignity
to get at the truth.

The truth at all costs.

She'll likely hang.

Her sad story
may sway the judge.

But it was
premeditated murder.

There's no getting around that.

A lesser policeman
than yourself

might have been inclined
to look the other way.

But you and I are not
arbiters of justice.

We are merely servants
of the law.

It is no simple task
to remain incorruptible,

especially in defiance
of one's own conscience.

Cold comfort,
eh, Inspector?

Sir.

Good to see you
a free man again.

Thank you, George.

This was left at my desk.

I'm quite sure
that's Dr. Ogden's handwriting.

I didn't really have
an opportunity

to get it to you until now.

Thank you.

Well, we're off
to the wedding.

Will you be attending?

There's something that I need

to take care of first,

but if there's time, yes.

Well, sir, I...

should get going, I suppose.

I do hope to see you there, sir.

"Dearest William,

"I am writing this
during what should be

"the happiest time of my life.

And yet my heart has never been
more troubled."

"I have learned
of the marriage proposal

"you intended
to make to me.

"If your feelings are the same,

"you must let me know
before I make my vows.

"If they are not,
then I will marry Darcy,

"and we will never
speak of this.

"Either way,
I will know your true feelings,

"and my heart will be in peace.

Love, Julia."

Take the CP Rail
to Hamilton immediately.

Don't stay on the train
any longer

or they will catch you.

Here.

Take a carriage from Hamilton.

Find a boarding house.

Try not to draw
any attention to yourself.

Wait a month
and cross the border at Windsor

on an overnight train.

Detective, I--

The station watch
is at a wedding ceremony.

They'll be back shortly.

Why are you doing this?

If I had acted
the way I should have back then,

perhaps none of this
would have happened.

It's one mistake
I can set right.

But this could cost you
your career.

You'll never know
what it's cost me.

And forsaking all others,

be faithful to him
as long as you both shall live?

I do.

You were missed
at the wedding.

Sir.

I don't blame you, Murdoch.

It's no secret how you feel
about Dr. Ogden.

I am sorry,
me old mucker.

I received this
a few hours ago.

Thought I'd hold off until
after the wedding celebrations.

There's no two ways to say this,
Murdoch.

The Chief Constable
has determined

the price you'll pay
for breaking out of jail.

You are suspended three weeks
with a reprimand on record.

Well, that's not so bad, right?

Slap on the wrist,
and you'll be right back at it.

Actually, sir,
it's going to be

much worse than that for me.

There's something
I need to tell you.

Best pour us both a drink.