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Bohl!

Stop mucking around.

- I need you over at thresher assembly. - Yes, sir.

- Who's there? - It's your mama.

I brought spaetzle.

You're killing yourself at the factory

and this school you go to. For why?

Because it gives my life meaning.

Ah! Meaning. What is this?

I know you don't understand.

- Come home. - I love you, Mother,

but after struggling for months,

I have finally made a breakthrough.

And this breakthrough,

will it feed your wife and children some day?

My latest composition is the finest piece I have ever...

I don't want to hear of your foolish dreams!

Build a home. Get married.

Bring me the grandchildren.

That's all I ask.

- Is that all? - Are you mocking your mother?

Never.

See you at church on Sunday, Mama.

Mm. You're a good boy, Gustav.

Auf wiedersehen.

Auf wiedersehen.

Go away! I'm working.

I said...

Were you listening at the door?

She's like this all day?

Relentlessly active.

- Throwing tantrums. - Gets into everything.

Oh! Oh, I'm so sorry, George.

Obviously, we'll be replacing that, George.

Good morning, all!

Inspector, is that a cello?

Indeed.

This voluptuous beauty is a brand new

R.S. Williams cello and I intend to master it.

Here, sir? In the station house?

Margaret's suffering with headaches.

Ah, ah, ah! Susannah!

Susannah sure has a lot of energy.

She does.

Perhaps learning an instrument might focus her creativity

- in a more productive manner. - Isn't she a bit young?

Oh, sir! Nonsense!

Doctor Crotch.

Little Billy Crotch, the piano prodigy.

He was performing at the age of two.

If he can do it, no reason Susannah can't.

Well, uh, our nanny does play piano.

Perhaps we could pay her to... to teach her.

- What do you think? - Well, music is math-based.

Uh, suppose it's worth a try.

Well, then it's decided. Oh! Susannah!

Murdoch, Crabtree, trouble over at Lippincott Street.

- Here's the address. - What's happened?

A ghastly crime.

To be murdered so young and on the cusp of greatness.

The cusp of greatness, sir?

Gustav is one of my former students.

What is it that you teach, Mister... ?

Pifkin. Gerald Pifkin.

I teach music theory.

I came to pay Gustav a visit this morning

and the door was open

and I saw his body just lying there.

He was just lying there. Thank you.

I didn't know what to do.

Mr. Pifkin, if you would, uh, we'd like you to come down

to the station house and answer some more questions.

Gustav had no enemies to speak of.

Rivals, however, he had in abundance.

What kind of rivals?

Gustav was writing a piece of music

for the Robert Ambrose new composer's prize.

Is there a monetary award associated to this prize?

Not monetary, but something priceless.

A performance of the winning composition

by the Toronto Symphony Orchestra.

Hm. And was Mr. Bohl in the running to win the prize?

In the top five, in my estimation.

Who are the other four?

His closest chums, oddly enough.

Ah.

I'll be needing their names.

Well, the most gifted of the bunch

would have to be Pascal Girard,

a violin prodigy turned composer.

He's the frontrunner in this competition.

And then, there's Miss Sylvia Fachada.

She's surprisingly talented for a woman.

And then there's another fellow, not one of my students.

Winston Glover.

I find him a bit aloof.

An outlier.

I don't believe he belongs

among such an elite group of musicians.

And then, lastly, there's Daniel Spratt.

Bit of a wild card, Danny.

He comes from the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak.

But, then again, music can rise from the depths of adversity.

Oh, my lord! What is that abominable noise?

Our inspector has taken up the cello.

Are we done here?

I can call you...

Oy, Murdoch! Come to my office.

See if you can guess what tune I'm playing. Go on.

So, what do you think?

I think you are definitely holding a bow

and moving it to and fro across some strings.

But what about the song?

I'm not familiar with popular music.

However, I do believe that a talent such as yours

deserves to be properly nurtured by a music teacher.

That might speed up the learning process.

Especially if that teacher has a music studio

somewhere outside of the station house

where police work won't distract you from anything...

Excuse me, Detective. Inspector.

Ah! What have you, Miss Hart?

Mr. Gustav Bohl's postmortem.

The ice pick penetrated his brain and killed him instantly.

Shocker.

Is there something else, Miss Hart?

Just...

I was acquainted with the victim.

He and his friends frequented the Starbright Club.

Oh. I'm sorry for your loss.

Thank you.

I wanted to let you know that the Starbright

will be hosting a wake for Mr. Bohl tonight.

You can pay your respects to the dead.

And interrogate the living.

Perhaps you should wait until after the musical tribute?

Of course. And perhaps you could gather

and label empty glasses so I can collect fingermarks?

You have my complete cooperation.

In fact, it was I who found his lifeless body

sprawled out on the floor,

an ice pick jutting from his ear.

An ice pick?

Could it have been a robbery?

Nah, it couldn't have been a robbery.

Gus never had two nickels to rub together.

Professional rivalry, then?

A romantic one.

I wasted our last visit scolding my son.

- Oh, don't torment yourself. - Oh!

Gustav knew you loved him.

Mr. Pifkin said something that struck me as odd.

Called Mr. Glover an outlier.

Said he didn't belong within this group of elite musicians.

Hm.

That man thinks Winston doesn't belong.

I wonder why that might be?

You suspect prejudice clouds Mr. Pifkin's judgment?

Nail on the head, Detective.

Winston and Gustav were good friends.

They got along quite fine.

All five of them.

For the most part.

Have you witnessed conflict within the group?

Pascal and Gustav had words a few nights ago.

Is that right? What was the argument about?

Oh, I don't know. I told them to pipe down or to get out.

And that settled them down quite quickly.

Oh. Well, that was quite quick.

Surprise! Isn't it splendid?

It certainly is large.

Susannah was asleep when it was delivered.

I can't wait to watch her eyes light up

when she sees it in the morning.

C, D, E, F...

A, G, B...

And back to... C.

And I'm afraid that's the extent

of your father's musical knowledge.

And then, I can add that the black keys

are sharps and flats.

And that's the extent of your mother's.

I think she's really taking to it.

At it bright and early I see, George.

Sir, I took fingermarks from the glasses

at the Starbright Club and compared them

to all those we found at Gustav Bohl's apartment.

- Any matches? - They all match.

Not surprising. Mr. Bohl's associates

admitted to visiting his apartment on several occasions.

So, sir, what's our next step?

Miss Hart told me that Mr. Bohl had an argument

with Pascal Girard a few days before the murder.

Let's start by confirming his alibi.

What is his alibi?

Not what... who.

Pascal Girard claims

he was with you on the night of Gustav Bohl's murder.

When was that?

Monday night.

No, we weren't with Pascal on Monday night.

- You weren't? - No.

Wrong night.

We were with him the night before.

- Sunday night? - Hm.

We wish we were with him Monday night.

And Tuesday night.

Wednesday night.

Every night, really.

Pascal is such an attractive man, don't you find, Detective?

- I, uh... - Dapper, too.

- Mm. - That's not relevant.

And virile.

Also not relevant.

To you, maybe.

What is relevant to me is that the two of you

were not with Mr. Girard on Monday night.

- Correct? - Correct.

Mr. Girard?

Ah!

Detective Murdoch.

How delighted you must be to see me.

Oh, have some Brandy, man.

- It's nine A.M. - Oh.

Wine, then?

I'm here to ask you some questions about Gustav Bohl.

Oh, must you be so dreary?

I'd nearly drunk my friend's death from my mind. You...

You have left me no choice

but to invest in another bottle.

Barkeep!

A witness has informed me that you and Mr. Bohl had a rather...

intense dispute right before he died.

A regrettable spat.

But I prefer to not wallow in regret.

Instead, I will wallow in a nice snifter

of Château Tanun... Tannun... Tanunda.

Tuninda.

Sir, I paid for that.

This is serious.

Agreed.

I may die from dehydration.

Give that here.

Oh, it's gloves off now!

What are you doing?

Are you challenging me to a duel?

Yes! Would you like one?

Ah! Oh, God!

That's it.

I'm locking you in our cells until you dry out.

Ah, sir! You'll question Mr. Girard tomorrow, then?

Ah, yes. He should be sober enough

- for questioning come morning. - Eh, excuse me.

Could you please tell me where to find

Inspector Thomas Brackenreid?

- And you are? - Eh, Paul Hahn.

I teach cello.

Oh! Thank God.

- He's come to save us! - Mr. Hahn,

uh, the inspector is in dire need of your help.

Once you get past the gruff exterior,

- he's really quite teachable. - Oh.

Hey, guard! Hey, guard!

Shut yer yap, Callahan!

Hey, guard! Hey, guard!

Shut yer yap, Callahan!

Hey, guard! Hey, guard!

Shut yer yap, Callahan!

Mr. Girard.

Mr. Pascal Girard.

Ah, Detective.

Good morning.

I want to apologize for yesterday.

You lied about your alibi.

The two young women stated that you were not with them

on the night that Gustav Bohl was murdered.

Oh, yes. That's right.

In truth, I was in a place very much like this.

You were locked up in a drunk tank?

Yeah, shameful, I know.

Why on earth would you suspect me of harming Gustav?

Because he was your rival.

The two of you were overheard arguing at the Starbright Club.

Oh, that?!

Gustav was yammering on about Schoenberg,

claiming that his atonal monstrosities

were the future of symphonic innovation,

and one cannot simply allow such ridiculous assertions

to go unchallenged, can one?

Be that as it may,

you will remain behind bars, Mr. Girard,

until I can confirm your latest alibi.

I hope you find who did this. I truly do.

If you would like to help me,

then perhaps you can tell me if you suspect one of your friends.

I mean, there was a moment when I thought

- that Winston Glover might, uh... - Why Mr. Glover?

I'm loath to betray a friend.

But it's because of the murder weapon.

Mr. Glover.

Winston Glover?

- That's me. - Detective William Murdoch.

- We met at... - Gustav's wake.

I remember.

- Did you find the killer? - Not yet.

But I was wondering about your relationship with Gustav Bohl.

He did his thing and I did mine.

Completely different styles.

But you were competing against each other

for the Ambrose prize.

I have no chance of winning.

I just enter for the publicity.

You don't believe you have the talent?

I have the talent.

But it doesn't matter if every single other contestant dropped out.

Those shirts would never let someone like me win.

And that injustice must make you very, very angry.

It does.

But you grow immune to the anger after stifling your entire life.

Do you?

Or does it explode?

What are you trying to say?

This ice pick, Mr. Glover,

is exactly like the one that was used to kill Gustav Bohl.

Yeah, 'cause I gave it to him.

He had a window that kept icing shut.

Unfortunately, your connection to the murder weapon

makes you a suspect, and I will need you to come down

to the station house for further questioning.

So, there are two young musicians already in the cells?

Yes, and not enough conclusive evidence

to charge either of them.

Oh, for God's sake, man, relax!

You're not sawing timber.

- I give up! - Please don't go.

The man is unteachable!

Mr. Hahn! Please, don't go! I...

I think I've got it.

Maybe I'll quit teaching cello.

Open a piano store.

Can someone help me?

Ah, Mrs. Bohl. Detective Murdoch.

We met at your son's funeral.

I'm sorry to trouble you.

- I don't know where else to turn. - What can we do for you?

I have so many regrets.

I never bothered to listen to my son's music.

I never gave a second thought

to this thing that he loved so dearly.

But today, I realized it's not too late.

Gustav is gone, but his music isn't.

Well, yes, that's right. Uh, art outlives its creator.

That's part of the reason we make it.

That's very good, George.

Uh, Constable Crabtree is a novelist.

Oh, how wonderful.

I want to hear my son's composition,

the one that he was so proud of.

It must be in his apartment,

but I...

I can't bear to go back there.

- Is it possible that... - Oh, yes, yes, of course.

Uh, George would be happy to go to your son's apartment

- and retrieve his sheet music. - Will you do this?

Yes, of course. It would be my honour.

Hello?

Toronto Constabulary!

- Darn window's stuck. - Who are you?

Uh, Sylvia Fachada. I'm a friend of Gustav's.

Why are you here?

I'm looking for his composition for the Ambrose prize.

- His mother wants it. - Well, I haven't seen it here.

Perhaps he already submitted it.

Do you make a habit of breaking into your friends' homes?

I just...

wanted to be amongst his things one last time.

Call me sentimental.

What are you hiding there?

- Oh! Uh, uh... - Give me that!

Sentimental indeed.

Miss Fachada, why don't you come down to the station house,

have a chat with the detective?

"I beg you, dear Gustav,

resist temptation.

Reject this former paramour

who seeks to tear us apart."

Seems you had some competition for his affections.

My private life is none of your business.

Miss Fachada, you are a suspect in a murder investigation.

Convince me that you are innocent

and your private life will remain... private.

We were lovers.

Why would I kill the man I loved?

A far more likely killer would be his former sweetheart

who refuses to accept that Gustav moved on.

Who is this former sweetheart?

Come 7! Come 11!

Ooh, baby needs a new pair of shoes!

Little Joe from Kokomo! Point set at four.

Little Joe from Kokomo!

Point set at four.

Little Joe from Kokomo! Point set at four.

Little Joe from Kokomo! Point set at four.

Mr. Daniel Spratt.

Apologies for disrupting the party.

Daniel Spratt?

Who wants to know?

Detective William Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

Gimme a break.

Just a starving artist trying to make a few extra dollars.

Perhaps winning the Ambrose prize would change that fortune?

Is that why you murdered Gustav Bohl?

Why would I kill the guy in the running for third place?

Because that third-place contender also left you...

For a woman.

Figures. Snake eyes.

Wha... stop. Stop!

Mr. Spratt!

You realize that running makes you look very guilty?

Let's go.

Pascal Girard fought with Gustav Bohl

shortly before he was murdered.

But the murder weapon is linked to Winston Glover.

Meanwhile, Sylvia Fachada was found snooping around Gustav's apartment.

And Daniel Spratt is Mr. Bohl's spurned lover.

So who's our main suspect?

- I don't know. - Well...

I'm off to the cells to check out these musical geniuses for myself.

- With your cello, sir? - No, no.

Thank heaven for small mercies, George.

Right.

You told the police that the murder weapon was mine?

I said it might be yours! I didn't say you killed him with it!

You might as well have!

You broke into Gustav's apartment?

I did not break in. He gave me a key.

Bet that's not all he gave you.

Oh, you're a nasty cadger when you want to be, Pascal.

- You're just jealous! - Of what?

Your insipid little sonatas?

You're a strumpet, Sylvia!

Better a strumpet than a cuckold!

- How dare you! - If I wasn't daring,

none of you men would take me seriously!

What did that poor cello ever do to you?

I don't want any musical advice.

Well, maybe a little, if you've got any tips.

Give it up, man, the world will thank you.

Be nice. We were all dreadful when we first started.

- Speak for yourself. - Oy, shut up!

One of you lot killed Mr. Bohl.

Now, am I going to get a confession,

or do you need me to keep playing?

Thank you for the confirmation, Constable.

You, as well.

- Detective Murdoch. - Mr. Pifkin.

- What can I do for you? - I demand to know why you've caged up

all my former students like they were criminals.

Well, you didn't seem to care about their welfare

when you were disclosing their relationship with the deceased to me.

I didn't know you'd arrest them all!

This will decimate the field of entrants for the Ambrose prize!

I understand.

- I don't care. - This is terrible.

- Simply terrible. - Aren't you a music instructor?

Yes, but I'm not taking on any new students. I'm far too busy.

Ooh, charming.

Well, I learnt nothing from the four suspects.

Three suspects, actually.

I've just confirmed with Station House Number One

that Pascal Girard was in their custody when Mr. Bohl was murdered.

Sirs, I've just been to the office of the Ambrose prize.

Did you obtain Gustav Bohl's composition?

He had registered, but not yet submitted his composition.

I did find one thing peculiar, though.

- What's that, George? - A late submission, sir.

Gerald Pifkin.

Pifkin has entered the Ambrose competition?

- The man's delusional. - A pompous git.

With terrible, terrible fashion sense.

You don't believe he has talent?

Are you by chance familiar with the work of George Bernard Shaw?

"Those who can, do; Those who can't, teach."

- Spot on, Detective. - Pifkin hasn't composed in decades.

Maybe he found inspiration in our misfortune.

Or he found it in Gustav Bohl's apartment?

Detective Murdoch, William Harwell, attorney.

I represent Pascal Girard and I demand that you release my client.

Very well.

Well, that was easy.

Station House One has confirmed your client's alibi.

Well, I demand that you release my associates, as well.

My attorney, Mr. Harwell, will be taking them on as clients.

I will?

Send the bill to Mother.

Thank you, Pascal.

- I take back everything I said about you. - Drinks on me tonight, buddy.

I don't want to win the Ambrose

just because my competitors are in jail, now do I?

- I demand that you release... - No need to demand.

I was already releasing them.

I'm pursuing a different line of investigation.

Oy, bugalugs! That sounds bloody awful.

Well, yes, doesn't it, sir?

Mm.

You can keep the cello.

I won't be needing it. I've got no talent.

Sir, you'll never know if you have the talent

if you never take the time to master the skill.

Look, this might sound daft...

But I just wanted to create something beautiful.

Even if no one else hears it.

Even if it just vanishes into the air and it's gone.

Then keep trying.

I look forward to your rendition of I's the b'y.

On the cello?

All right, darling. It's almost lunchtime!

It's time to stop playing.

Oh, I know, you love it.

I think it's time to stop for the day.

Here we go.

Hello, ladies.

How's your morning been?

Well, let's just say that Susannah's really taken to the piano.

That's wonderful!

Why don't you show Papa what you've learned?

No! No!

No. Not today.

After speaking with our group of composers,

I decided to look into Pifkin's past.

And?

I spoke with an administrator

at his previous place of employment.

He mentioned an incident where professional jealousy

drove him to attack a student.

He was let go.

Pifkin could have killed Gustav Bohl

and stolen his composition.

He's also the one who reported finding the body.

How convenient.

Bring him in, Murdoch.

Pifkin saw our arrests as his chance to sweep the Ambrose.

That hack actually thinks he can win?

Well, I for one relish the chance to punish him.

Here. This is his studio.

There it is.

The tone-deaf maestro murdering the piano.

Wait a minute.

- That's actually... - Magnificent.

Certainly didn't expect that.

Sylvia?

Oh, dear heart, don't cry.

What's wrong?

That's Gustav's composition.

Pifkin must have killed him for it.

Oh, happy day! You've all been released from jail.

You are the one who should be in jail!

You're a phony and a murderer!

You stole Gustav's music! You murdered him!

Sylvia, don't!

Miss Fachada!

That's enough.

He stole Gustav's music.

Gerald Pifkin, you are under arrest for the murder of Gustav Bohl.

Murder? Preposterous.

Save it for your trial, Mr. Pifkin.

I'll see that the Ambrose jury receives Mr. Bohl's composition.

- Right this way. - You!

I stole the music, but I did not kill the boy.

That boy was a young man on the verge of artistic greatness.

And I am an old man who will never surpass mere adequacy.

Do you know what it's like to live cursed by petty jealousy,

painfully aware that your abilities

will never surpass mediocre?

No.

I am no murderer!

I am but a... petty thief.

And a petty man.

Oh, break out the bloody violins, why don't ya?

Your self-pity is neither compelling nor convincing.

You are hereby charged with the murder of Gustav Bohl.

Well, that was thrilling, Murdoch.

Mr. Bohl certainly deserved to win the Ambrose.

Certainly a twist, the victim turning victor.

Oh, and, uh, there are our former suspects.

Ah, yes. Sir, I-I'd like to have a few more words with them.

Go ahead.

I've embarrassed myself enough

- in front of them already. - Oh!

I'm off home to see the missus.

Gustav would have loved your performance, maestro.

Not my performance;

The performance in service of the composer's vision.

I admit, this time, the composer's identity surprised me.

Uh, William Murdoch, sir.

Why is that?

Detective Murdoch caught Gustav's killer.

Well, Detective, Bohl's compositions

consistently demonstrated... Discipline.

But not excellence?

This one... was a masterpiece of sublime and nimble eloquence.

A welcome diversion from Gustav's dreary signature atonality.

Very much of the impressionist school.

- Debussy influenced. - A pinch of Ravel.

I'm sorry your friend couldn't be here to see his work performed.

Maestro, may I have your autograph?

Of course.

- Who should I make it out to? - Nathaniel Dett.

Sounds familiar.

There you go.

Mr. Dett, it's an honour to meet you, sir.

Winston Glover.

- You know my work? - Yes, of course.

I do some composing myself.

Interesting.

I'm thinking about forming a choral society.

Is that something that would interest you?

Yeah, it would.

Well, uh, I should head home.

Goodnight, all.

Drat! I... must have left my walking stick.

Care to venture back into the concert hall with me, Detective?

There's something I'd like to discuss.

Lead the way.

What is it you wish to discuss with me, Mr. Girard?

Music.

What else is there?

You heard what the conductor said about the composer's identity?

I did.

But I can't say I followed his explanation.

Gustav was an acolyte of Schoenberg,

an Austrian composer who emphasizes atonality.

Explain atonality.

Functional melodies are discarded.

Melodic-rhythmic elements are emphasized.

But Miss Fachada stated that Mr. Bohl's winning composition

was a departure from his signature atonality.

She's correct.

It's of the Impressionist school.

Which is characterized by... ?

Like Impressionist painters

and artists who explore texture and colours,

Impressionism in music explores timbre,

musical colours and ambiguous tonality,

almost like the blurred lines of Monet.

A focus on mood and atmosphere.

The embrace of progressive harmonies.

The rejection of traditional structures.

There is a group of notes that keeps repeating

in Mr. Bohl's composition.

You noticed.

It's peculiar...

That Gustav would write such a tonal piece

with a recurring melody that is

unapologetically... diatonic.

♪ E, G, B ♪

♪ G, C, D ♪

What if we were to advance each in the sequence?

Or move it a note up the scale. We call that transposing.

Which gives us?

- ♪ F ♪ - F.

- ♪ A ♪ - A.

♪ C ♪

- C. - ♪ A ♪

- A. - ♪ D ♪

- D. - ♪ E ♪

E.

Facade.

I know who killed Gustav Bohl.

Oh, Miss Fachada.

- There you are. - Detective Murdoch.

Did you enjoy the concert this evening?

It was magnificent.

I can't help but wonder

if it was difficult for you to be romantically involved

with someone whose talent

is clearly superior to yours.

I beg your pardon?

The audience was spellbound.

People wept!

Gustav Bohl was a genius.

I find it difficult to believe

that you could ever reach that level.

You're right.

The composition was brilliant.

If Gustav was here, I'd tell him so to his face.

It was brilliant.

Because he didn't write it.

You did.

What are you on about?

Fachada... that is a Portuguese name, is it not?

In English, it translates to "facade".

And you transposed the letters in your family name,

f-a-c-a-d-e,

to obtain the notes

that you repeated throughout your composition.

No, Gustav wrote it!

I wonder if that argument will hold up

when I analyze the writing on the sheet music

and compare it to your handwriting.

Time to drop the... facade, Miss Fachada.

You wrote a brilliant piece of music

and it's time to be recognized

for all that you've done.

It is a brilliant piece of music!

And it's mine!

I won the Ambrose prize, not Gustav.

Thought he loved me.

He used me.

He told me no one would believe a woman wrote the piece

and he was planning to enter it under his own name

and I grabbed that ice pick and...

And now, you'll likely hang for it.

I'll be famous.

Sylvia Fachada...

Killer composer.

My music will be celebrated by critics

and performed by orchestras the world over.

I suppose I'm living the dream.

Sylvia Fachada,

you are under arrest for the murder of Gustav Bohl.

William.

Have you been sitting here all night?

Well...

All of this talk of talent and discipline

has me wondering if I have what it takes.

And so, I've been practicing.

Are you serious?

I didn't hear anything.

Oh, no! Well, I didn't want to wake you or Susannah up,

so I didn't actually depress any keys.

I've just been rehearsing the finger movements

while studying this piece of sheet music.

A waltz by Chopin?

William, that's a rather advanced piece of music for someone who...

Oh, my goodness.

That's incredible!

William!

Shall we dance?

Well, you're obviously talented,

but I doubt that you can play the piano and dance at the same time.

Well, I stand corrected!

I replaced the internal mechanism last night.

So, now, Susannah can pound away on the keys

to her little heart's content.

Oh! Thank you.

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