All language subtitles for murdoch.mysteries.s12e18.webrip.x264-tbs

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Have you talked to Detective Murdoch?

Both Murdoch and McWorthy think
that arresting John makes sense.

- Apparently there's evidence.
- Oof! Evidence, my eye.

- Our son hasn't done anything wrong!
- I know that, Margaret.

I don't want you to set
foot in this hospital

until you've cleared our son's name.

Constable, as his doctor, I
must ask that you wait outside.

Thank you, Dr. Ogden.

Let's see how you're healing.

I still can't feel my legs.

Can you move your toes for me?

John, it's possible that
there's still swelling

near the spine which will abate in time.

But we have to consider...

- the possibility...
- Am I interrupting?

We'll talk soon, all right?

I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner.

How are you?

They think I killed Lucille Palmer.

John, I...

I'm sorry.

Do you remember what you told me before?

"Saying sorry doesn't
change anything, so

why waste energy in saying it"?

It sounds callous.

It's true.

Well, I mixed you up in this.

- And it's my fault.
- No. It's...

Look, I knew Sutton was dangerous
and I kept that from you.

And now they think I'm a murderer.

And I'm not.

Toronto's new Chief Coroner.

You must have friends in high places.

I resent your implication. Mr. Richards.

- I've earned this position.
- I'm sure.

Congratulations, Miss Hart.

Thank you, Inspector.

What did you want to talk to me about?

John doesn't remember
shooting Mr. Sutton.

Also, John stated that he heard
footsteps when he entered the room.

Mr. Sutton wasn't wearing any shoes.

And he was found seated holding the gun.

- Was someone else there?
- Perhaps.

I've asked Miss Hart to
test Mr. Sutton's hands

for any gun powder residue.

Just as the Detective
suspected, I found no trace.

Sir, the man who shot
John is still at large.

And I intend to find him.

John went into that building to
investigate Lucille Palmer's murder.

Perhaps whoever shot him did so
to keep the truth from coming out.

Sir, could that have
been Arthur Carmichael?

I mean, he pointed the finger at John.

- Bring him in, George.
- Sir.

Your office is so dreary.

I didn't ask you here for
decorating advice, Mr. Carmichael.

- Have a seat.
- No, you asked me here

to blame me for something
your boss's son did.

How well do you know Grant Sutton?

I knew he was a damn fool.

Violent, too.

We believe someone else
may have been involved

the night that my constable was shot.

- Where were you?
- I was at home.

Can anyone confirm this?

That might be tricky.

I was giving a party that night.

Only about 80 of my dearest
friends and colleagues

can attest to my whereabouts.

Constable Crabtree.

You'll be pleased to know
you can have your desk back.

- I've concluded my research.
- Oh.

About your book...

What? The one you read
without my permission?

Yes. Allow me to apologize again.

I didn't mean any offence. I...

I glanced at it, and then
couldn't stop reading.

Oh, really?

- So you quite liked it.
- Oh, I just tore through it.

The first three chapters
were moving, honest, gripping.

But then... it rather falls apart

when the little men from
Venus arrive. I mean,

really they just chase the main
character around, and it becomes silly.

Silly? Well, thank you, Miss Newsome.

Considering I never asked you to read,

- let alone critique, my work.
- I was only trying to help.

Yes, well, maybe next time, you
can keep your help to yourself.

Arthur Carmichael has an alibi

for the shooting of Grant Sutton.

But we don't yet know his whereabouts

for the shooting of Lucille Palmer.

So, you have no idea where he was for...

four days?

So it would seem.

At any rate, he's our
most compelling suspect.

Right.

Well, we know it wasn't
Grant Sutton. I mean,

if it wasn't Carmichael,
who else is there?

I hate to level such
an accusation, but...

Inspector McWorthy
may have been involved

in covering-up the murder.

You don't think he did it himself?

I don't know. But if he was
involved in covering up one murder,

he may have been involved
in covering up more.

Who did Lucille address the letter to?

It doesn't say.

She wrote that she was carrying a child

and wants the father to marry her.

- I swear, she never told me any of this.
- Are you sure?

She was just trying to trap you.

Isabel...

I'm sorry I got so angry.

I forgive you.

I've never seen that letter.

It couldn't have been meant for me.

The piece of bullet they found
in Miss Palmer came from your gun.

That's impossible. I didn't kill her.

I wasn't even there
when Lucille was shot.

And no one else knew that you
had been carrying a gun around,

did they John?

No.

You finally agreed to
have a drink with me.

I felt like celebrating.

So all it took was you getting a raise.

Well, a drink for this promotion, and...

just think what we'll do
the next time I get promoted.

But you're coroner now.
What's higher than that?

I'm sure I'll think of something.

Will you be having a drink with
any of the other inspectors?

No.

Just you.

- What an awful place to die.
- Indeed.

How did John Brackenreid ever
fall in with such company?

Let's focus on the
bullet's trajectory, George.

The bullet that killed Lucille Palmer

travelled straight through her heart

and exited just left
of her ninth vertebrae.

Where was the body found?

On the floor next to the bed.

And the bullet?

In the mattress.

I suppose she was lying
there in the bed, was shot,

tried to crawl away and
ended up on the floor.

I don't think so.

Sir, the lads from Station House One

said they found the bullet
in the mattress right here.

Well, that may be George,

but that's not the
bullet that killed her.

That bullet exited her body.

Do you see any blood here?

Someone shot Lucille Palmer,
then shot the mattress.

Planting a bullet from John's gun.

Whoever it was would have
had to have gotten John's gun,

shot the mattress, then
taken a shard of the bullet

and placed it inside Miss Palmer's body.

Was John's gun placed in the
evidence lock-up at Station House One?

Yes, after he was shot.

I'm having George look at
their evidence log book.

Excuse me, gentlemen.
May I have a moment?

We're busy I'm afraid, Miss Hart.

I'm sorry. This may be important.

A few days ago, I noticed

that the spare key for the
cold storage room was missing.

When exactly did you notice this?

Monday, I believe.

Whoever stole that key

could've planted the
bullet shard in Miss Palmer.

They would've had to have taken
John's gun out of evidence first.

Inspector McWorthy.

It was him, Murdoch.

He shot my son and then
framed him for murder.

Yes, sir. And if that's the case,

he'll spend the rest
of his days behind bars.

Thank you Miss Hart.

He was like this when I found him.

Fortunate for you.

Still, very odd.

He died from a blow to
the back of the head.

Likely with this.

I'll have to examine it for fingermarks.

Who would want him dead?

Present company excluded, of course.

Oh, and I found this
in his jacket pocket.

Let's see if it's familiar to Miss Hart.

Is this the key to your
cold storage room, Miss Hart?

Yes, where did you find it?

Inspector McWorthy's pocket.

- He stole it?
- He must have.

In which case, he could have planted

the bullet fragment in
Lucille Palmer's body.

Do you really think he would frame

- Constable Brackenreid for her murder?
- It's possible.

He was hit in the back of the
head with a large paperweight.

I believe you'll conclude
that the cause of death

was blunt force trauma.

Of course. I'll get to work.

Where do you think it will land?

I have no idea.

I've dropped this marble from
the same position every time.

Each time, the outcome is different.

It shouldn't be.

Do you want a drink?

- Yes, please.
- One for the lady.

So, are we to blame for
the results of our actions

if the outcome is not predictable?

Of course we are.

Or do we just feel we
should take responsibility

even though we have no control?

We have control.

John Brackenreid is lying in a bed

in the hospital

facing the possibility
he may never walk again

because I refused to wait for
a more experienced surgeon.

And my actions put you
into the position you're in.

Or did they?

Perhaps the way things turn
out is beyond our control.

I don't believe that.

Look at that. 100 points.

Is that the paperweight
that killed McWorthy?

I believe so. I've obtained
some fingermarks from it.

I'd like to compare them
to Arthur Carmichael's.

Sir, weren't they friends?

I don't know if I'd go so
far as to call them friends.

I believe McWorthy may have been
in Arthur Carmichael's pocket.

Perhaps he drew the line at murder.

- Have you found anything?
- Well, sir, I went down to Station House One

to have a look at the
logbook. It's not there.

It's been subpoenaed by
the Crown Attorney's office.

The Board hasn't met as of
yet to decide on your position.

With all due respect, sir,
that isn't why I'm here.

I need access to the Station
House One's evidence room log book.

- I believe...
- I wish I could help you, Detective.

But that log book is being held
as evidence in another case.

- Sir, it's very important that I see that book.
- I'm sorry.

Do you think he's
telling the truth, sir?

Well, I'd certainly like to think so.

I might have a way of finding out.

It wouldn't be entirely legal...

Then perhaps it's
best you don't tell me.

- Detective.
- Miss Newsome.

Constable. I see they've
let you out of the station.

Miss Newsome. Actually, I
came by, I wanted to apologize.

I truly regret my harsh words.
You were trying to give me some

constructive criticism
on my book, and I...

well, I took it poorly,
to say the least.

And I shouldn't have
taken your manuscript.

Care to join me?

I haven't the time. In fact,

I have a favour to ask you.

Regarding the Crown Attorney's office.

That's why you apologized?

No, I wouldn't be asking
if it wasn't very important.

Now, Detective Murdoch
needs to see a page

from the log book
from Station House One,

and you're the only person
I know who could get that.

- Detective Murdoch involved in subterfuge?
- Only very mildly.

Isn't he up for the inspector position?

He is, which is why we need
to be very discreet about this.

Why is this book so important?

Well, that's a long story...

Then you can help me finish this
sandwich while you convince me.

What kind of sandwich is it?

He was always such an athletic boy.

Always first in every race.

Margaret, you must
stop talking like this.

I suppose we'll have to get
him his own wheelchair now.

If they allow one in prison.

Mother, stop! I won't go to prison!

Then why is there a
guard outside your door?

And why isn't your father
out clearing your name?

- He will. Won't you, Father?
- Yes, of course. And you

- are going to fully recover.
- Oh!

Margaret, come here.

- I am just being realistic.
- So am I.

That lovely girl might not want
to wait for John to walk again,

and be exonerated for murder. Oh!

His life will be over before it's begun.

My legs...

The numbness is getting worse.

I've transcribed the
entries from the log book

- for the day in question.
- Can I see it?

- Thank you very much, Miss Newsome.
- And that's not all.

I've managed to find
files on Arthur Carmichael.

He was arrested for a variety of crimes,

but the Crown never
brought them to trial.

- What sort of crimes?
- Vandalism,

public intoxication,
assault and battery...

Thank you. I have to show
these to the detective.

Sir!

I've gotten two sets of
fingermarks from this.

One presumably is Inspector McWorthy's.

- The other could be Arthur Carmichael.
- Right.

You'll want to have a look at these.

Only one person signed
into the evidence room

shortly after John's gun was checked in.

A... Constable Bauder.

- McWorthy could have sent him.
- Sir, look at these...

files on Arthur Carmichael.

It seems every case built against
him was eventually dropped.

And sir, they all went through
the same Crown Prosecutor.

Allen Templeton...

Where did you get these?

Sir, these files show
an escalation of violence

in Arthur Carmichael's actions.

And what's more, he kept
getting away with it.

Not only are you accusing
my office of malfeasance,

you had files purloined.

Leave it alone, Detective.

I can't just walk away from
this, and you know that.

There are interests at play here
bigger than either of us, Detective.

I'll tell you this only once:

stop this investigation.

Or what?

Or not only will you lose any
chance at promotion to Inspector,

you'll lose your current position.

As will anyone else who is helping you.

Hey, you.

Get out of here. Come
on, get out of here.

HEY! I SAID GET OUT OF HERE! GO!

Constable Bauder.

Detective Murdoch.

- What do you want?
- You signed into the evidence locker

at Station House Number One

on the night that Sutton and
Constable Brackenreid were shot.

- So?
- So, that night, a gun was stolen

and used to shoot a
bullet into a mattress.

How does this concern me?

That bullet is being used
to frame an innocent man.

I had nothing to do with that.

You're the only one who accessed
the evidence locker that night.

Did you deliberately take that
gun to falsely plant evidence?

Talk to us, Bauder, or so help me God,

we will pitch your body off this bridge!

Tell us the truth,

- or we will have your badge.
- All right.

- All right, it was me.
- Who put you up to it?

- Inspector McWorthy?
- No... no, it wasn't McWorthy.

- Well, then who?
- I don't know.

He found me while I was
on my rounds that night.

An older gentleman, well-dressed.

He gave me precise instructions.

Get the gun, shoot the mattress...

He paid me $50.

How could I turn that
down? I have a family.

A constable's salary isn't
enough to feed four children.

So, all you did was shoot
the bullet in the mattress?

McWorthy was to take care of the rest.

No, that's just it. The
last thing the man said was,

"McWorthy can't know
a thing about this".

Carry on, Constable.

This could mean someone else
was protecting Arthur Carmichael.

Allen Templeton hinted at
someone more powerful than him.

I'd be willing to
wager that that someone

is Arthur Carmichael's father.

The Chief Crown Attorney.

What a mess.

- Higgins!
- Oh, George.

- Henry! Are you all right?
- I don't... know, sir.

I... I was alone and some men...

I barely saw them, sir.
Two of them rushed me

and two ran into your office.

- Are you all right?
- Ah, yes. Go. Go.

- No! It's gone!
- What were they after?

The paperweight that killed McWorthy!

I'm sorry, Detective, I am
confused as to your intention.

Are you here to accuse me of something?

You covered up your son's petty crimes.

So you claim.

You wanted to protect your
son. I understand that.

But we are now looking at murder.

Three murders,

and a police constable who may
never fully recover from being shot.

None of this has anything to do with me.

There is a conspiracy
to protect your son.

We believe Inspector
McWorthy was involved.

- And others.
- Others?

Someone with enough power and influence

to force Inspector McWorthy's hand.

And, when Mr. McWorthy got in the way,

have him killed.

And all of these people are
meant to be protecting... Arthur?

- I hardly think him capable of murder.
- I do.

And if so, he will go to prison,

as will everyone else who
has been protecting him.

Well, this is all very
interesting, Detective.

I hope you find the
people you're looking for.

Inspector McWorthy's killer left

the murder weapon at
the scene of the crime.

Some hired men ransacked my
Station House and stole it.

That sounds like an impediment.

Well, not particularly
in this case. You see,

I was able to document
fingermarks from it.

You wanted to protect your son.

But when I catch whoever
killed Inspector McWorthy,

he will be faced with a choice:

turn in all those who
helped him, or hang.

How far do you think he'll be
willing to go to protect you?

No... nothing.

- Are you sure?
- I could feel it yesterday, but...

It's getting worse, isn't it?

Doctor Ogden, what's happening?

I don't know.

Yet.

Excuse me.

- Has he gotten worse?
- Who?

You only have one patient, Doctor.

He's losing sensation above the waist.

It moves higher every day.

Fantastic.

- What?
- Think.

Acute damage to the spinal
cord would be static.

If the paralysis is progressing,

the damage may not be permanent.

- Pressure? What could be causing that?
- I've read about this.

Blood trapped in the spinal column

is forced upwards as
the pressure increases.

And that could cause the paralysis?

Yes, but drainage could
make it reversible.

- He'll need another surgery?
- Yes, right away.

I... I can't do it.

- Why not?
- I...

Even the thought of performing
another surgery, I...

I simply can't.

I'll do it.

Will he walk again?

We can't know that for certain.

We're only guessing that this
is the cause of his paralysis.

But if you're right
it would save my legs.

If we're right, and if the
surgery is successful, yes.

He already can't walk as it is.

What's the risk?

Well, the surgery is highly invasive.

Complications could arise and...

The risk is that the patient could die.

But I will perform the surgery,

and Dr. Ogden will assist.

So, this is what we should do?

- Tom, I can't say...
- Do you believe that this is the best thing?

Yes.

Then do it.

The patient is stable.

We're clear to the spine,
just need to drain it. Syringe.

To Dr. Ogden, please.

- Doctor, this is your surgery.
- What are you doing?

- Finish the procedure!
- You'll finish.

- I... I won't!
- Yes, you will.

I'm pulling the stylus.

Insert the syringe.

- The patient needs you.
- Doctor Dixon!

This is not a joke.

This procedure must be
finished quickly and cleanly

- or the patient might...
- Or the patient may die.

There's no one else to bring in here.

And I'm not going to do
it. So, it's up to you.

It's up to you.

Save his life.

Dr. Ogden?

You bastard.

How could you do that?

What was that all about?

The surgery was a success.

If this ink gets on my furniture...

This won't take long, Mr. Carmichael.

Next time, please call ahead.

Then I'll know to be out.

Sir...

Are you quite sure?

If you don't mind, my
driver has the Apollo idling.

You have an Apollo?

Indeed, I do. Picked
it up a few weeks ago.

It's a beautiful automobile.

They only sell them in Chicago.

Were you in Chicago a few weeks ago?

Yes... I suppose I was.

Mr. Carmichael,

we have spent a great deal of
time tracking your movements

over the past few weeks,

- and no one mentioned Chicago.
- Yourself included.

- So, what?
- So, when exactly

did you go off on this little sojourn?

Because from everything we've
heard, you've been seen out

carousing in Toronto nearly
every evening last month.

Except for the four days
surrounding Miss Palmer's murder.

Fine. You caught me.

I went to Chicago a few days
before Lucille was killed.

- And you decided not to mention that?
- It slipped my mind.

An alibi for murder slipped your mind?

Are you gonna charge me with
a crime or am I free to go?

Mr. Carmichael, why would you
ever keep that from us? I mean...

- are you protecting somebody?
- Good day, gentlemen.

The hotel!

That wasn't you.

We believed your last
known whereabouts prior

to the four days unaccounted
for was at the hotel

with Miss Palmer, beginning
two days before she was killed.

But you weren't there.

You were in Chicago.

Which means the Mr. Carmichael

who was with Miss
Palmer must have been...

Your father.

Mr. Carmichael.

- I'm afraid we're here...
- I know why you're here.

You'll find everything
explained in my confession.

It's quite simple, really.

I killed them all.

Sir... you can give us the
details down at the Station House.

Please, come with us.

May God have mercy on my soul.

- NO!
- NO!

In his confession, Carmichael
took responsibility for everything.

He was the one having the
affair with Lucille Palmer.

Arthur tried to absorb suspicion

by leaving out the
fact that he had alibi.

- And John?
- Well, Grant Sutton already knew about the affair.

Once John started investigating,

Carmichael tried to kill them both.

But John survived, so he tried
to pin the murder on him instead.

- What about McWorthy?
- He had found out what was going on

and wasn't going to keep quiet about it.

- Carmichael did it all on his own?
- So it would seem.

If the son had any involvement,

the father covered
for him one last time.

It's only a shame we didn't get
the chance to hang him ourselves.

Sir, all of the charges against
John have been dropped, of course.

I'm sorry it ever had to happen,

but we did have to follow the evidence.

I'm glad you did.

He turned his back on his own patient!

What if I'd been unable to
continue? What if I'd made a mistake?

He believed you would succeed.

It was cruel! And reckless!

- Unforgivable.
- And what was the outcome?

Well, it was a success.

- John will likely regain his mobility.
- Julia...

you were prepared to
throw away your new career.

What was the outcome for you?

Can you explain this
to me, Miss Newsome?

- It's from Deakins of Canada.
- Yes!

They want to see more of my book!

Why is this a bad thing?

I'm wondering how they got a
hold of it in the first place?

- I sent it to them, obviously.
- Yes, I deduced that, Miss Newsome!

That's why I'm here waving
my arms about in anger.

Well, that's a stupid
reason to be angry.

You took it out of my wastebasket

- and sent it to them without my permission!
- You're right!

It was wrong of me to take it.
But something good has come of it.

Just like when you asked me to steal

- subpoenaed evidence from the Crown Attorney.
- That is not the same...

- That is similar, but it is...
- Then rip it up.

Rip it up right now. Go ahead!

It's obvious you're too afraid
to write the rest of your book,

because if you do and it's not any good,

it'll prove you're not a real writer.

I'm already a real writer.

No, you're not.

You've written three chapters,
plus some drivel about Venusians.

Oh, and that one about the mummies.

- You've read that?
- Of course not, it's nonsense!

Now, what are you going to do? Give up?

Or write the rest of your book
the way it's meant to be written?

It seems this is the place
to find Llewellyn Watts.

I like it here.

The light is pleasing.

I looked for you at the running club.

Well, I've given that up.

And replaced it with drink?

Can you think of anything better?

Detective Watts,

we may not know the
outcome of our actions,

but I do know this...

There are no outcomes without action.

Hmm.

I see.

Would you care to join me for another?

I have things to do.

As I hope you do as well.

- Does this look familiar?
- It does!

You were right. It was found in
the alley just off of Church Street.

- Thank you.
- Now, be mindful of your surroundings.

The constable will see you home.

Making yourself comfortable?

Listen to this. "I purchased
a gun at a pawn shop

on the corner of Parliament
and Queen Streets,

then went about to find Grant Sutton."

That's part of Mr. Carmichael's
confession letter. What of it?

What happened to his other gun?

His other gun?

Only a few weeks earlier,
he shot Lucille Palmer.

Then he bought a new
gun to shoot Sutton?

- What happened to the first gun?
- I expect he disposed of it.

- It was a murder weapon after all.
- He never mentions it.

He provides multiple
corroborating details about the gun

that killed Sutton and the
paperweight that killed McWorthy.

But there are no details
supporting his claim

he murdered Lucille Palmer.

Something's not right.

Not only was there
no mention of the gun,

we never found a trace of the bullet.

Perhaps Carmichael collected it

and disposed of it along
with the murder weapon.

But from whence?

You're right.

The bullet that killed Lucille
Palmer passed cleanly through her.

It had to have struck
something in this room.

And yet, there is no evidence

of a bullet hole to be found.

Perhaps the reason there is no
sign of a bullet in this room

is because the bullet didn't
end its trip in this room.

It's the same.

The striations are both
a match for John's gun.

Impossible. John
Brackenreid didn't kill her.

I don't believe he did either.

The question is

who had John's gun? And when?

Father was always a fool.

It wasn't right of
Lucille to blackmail him,

but surely he didn't have to kill her.

And what was he doing with
her in the first place?

They would have never met
if it hadn't been for me.

- It's all my fault...
- It's not your fault.

- Isabel, you didn't know.
- I should have.

When he came home that night,
he wouldn't even look at me.

Never in a million years

would I have thought that
he'd just shot two people.

The night Sutton and I were shot?

Yes.

But you said you were
on a train to Hamilton.

Even I didn't know he had that gun.

Well, someone must have.

- Otherwise John really did...
- Wait.

Isabel knew.

She's in there with him now.

Why did you lie about where you were?

Why are you questioning me?

- Grant Sutton shot you...
- No, he didn't.

Where were you, Isabel?

What are you doing?

John...

please...

just let me explain.

You took my gun, didn't you?

Your father didn't kill Lucille...

My father was too weak.

She would have ruined our family.

Your father wasn't the one who shot me.

I had to do it. Do you understand?

- You tried to kill me!
- I didn't have a choice!

You're a murderer!

I knew about you and Lucille.

OK? And I wanted to
believe that you loved me!

- But now, I know that you really didn't!
- What are you doing?!

OK?!

We could have been happy together, John.

And now look what you're making me do.

- STOP FIGHTING IT!
- POLICE!

OPEN THE DOOR!

GET OFF HIM!

Are you all right, son?

Yeah, I think so.

- It wasn't me, I didn't, I...
- Enough.

It's over, Miss Carmichael.

You need to work on your
choice of women, John.

I have terrible taste in women.

You think you were right.

Maybe you were.

But if you ever try
anything like that again,

- I will have you fired.
- I don't think I'll have to, Doctor.

I said anything like that.

I'll have my eye on you, Dr. Dixon.

I have my eye on you, too, Julia.

I can feel them.

I don't think I can stand
yet, but I can feel them.

You'll be back pounding
the beat in no time.

I don't think so.

What?

I'm handing in my badge, Father.

I need something else.

- University?
- No. I want to be an actor.

At least it's not dangerous...

Look, Father,

I'm sorry I let you down.

I wanted to follow in your footsteps...

but I can't.

You know I always fancied
the roar of the crowd,

the smell of the grease paint.

I know.

Good on you, John.

You'll get to do what I never did.

But when you're making
your mark on the stage,

you just remember one thing...

once upon a time, you
used to be a copper.

And a bloody good one at that.

Miss Newsome.

You're not working here any longer?

Mr. Templeton figured out
where you got those files.

I've been fired.

- I'm sorry, I...
- Save your breath.

I knew the risk when I decided to help.

You asked, but I chose to do it.

Just like you chose to finish
your manuscript for that publisher.

And what makes you think
I decided to do that?

The fact that you're not an idiot.

Not an idiot?

You know, I think that's the
nicest thing you've ever said to me.

I won't make a habit of it.

What are you going to do
now that you're out of work?

I've had an offer already.

A defense firm in London
wants me to sail immediately.

- You're leaving Toronto?
- No.

I've refused.

Instead, I've convinced them
to open a branch in Canada.

Or, rather, I will convince them.

There's a lot of crime here.

As soon as they see the statistics,
they'll see that I'm right.

And if they don't?

I don't understand the question.

Well, if you're staying
around, then perhaps

you and I could have
dinner or something?

Are you courting me?

- I suppose that...
- Good.

Then let's start with lunch.

You are a remarkable
woman, Miss Newsome.

Remarkable how?

Remarkably tall for one thing.

It's not me that's big, George.

It's the world that's small.

- You're back.
- I am.

And I intend to train
until I can beat you.

Llewellyn Watts. I never got your name.

Thomas Longboat. Good to meet you.

Now, let's go!

Could I have done this any differently?

You pursued the truth at
great expense to yourself.

I hardly think that's a
choice for William Murdoch.

Aren't you even a little
disappointed that you aren't married

to Toronto's newest police inspector?

A little.

Oh.

I am happier that I am married to you.

- Detective.
- Miss Hart.

Are you happy with your choice?

What choice?

To be city coroner.

Of course!

This is all I've wanted
for the last two years.

Now, there's just something
about all this that

never added up.

Inspector McWorthy was killed

because he had turned
on the Carmichaels.

I suppose he made the wrong choice.

That's just it.

He made his decision prior
to the bullet fragment

being planted in Lucille Palmer's body.

He was left out of the cover-up.

He had the key to the cold storage room.

Who else could have done it?

I can think of only one person.

Well, they should be arrested.

If you can prove it.

I can't.

And perhaps never will.

A shame.

Shame indeed.

Good day, Miss Hart.

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -