Original subtitles

Roses, a dozen.

I know.

He said he was heading to his girlfriend's house

and she cancelled on him.

No, didn't even tell me his name.

Just said he didn't want them to go to waste.

It was nice.

It's been a lousy week.

Maybe things are finally turning around.

Tragic news out of Manhattan this evening,

where a young woman was pushed in front of a subway train.

Seriously, you guys have, like,

the cutest kids in New York.

It's true.

Who knew these guys back in college

would be such a baby factory?

Me, I did.

Right after I caught them having sex in my bed.

One time, freshman year.

You must move on.

Yeah, and let's be honest,

that is the most action that bed saw all year.

Ouch.

Are you going to be able to make it

to Sammy's birthday party on Saturday?

2:00, yes.

I am wrapping up with my client on Friday

and I may be able to help and come set up.

How is that going, by the way?

The companionship thing.

If by "thing," you mean career,

it is going really well.

I-I-I don't know, I've worked with some amazing people.

I think it's incredible, what you're doing.

I mean, you walk away from being a doctor,

find a new way to help people?

Same old Jo.

Sweet.

To Joan. To Joan.

And the baby.

And the baby!

Oh, sorry, guys, this is, um, one of the rehab facilities

that, um, refers me to other clients.

I should take it.

I'll be right back.

This is Joan Watson.

Joan, this is Dr. Caruso at Hemdale.

I sent you a case file a little while ago.

I was wondering if you had a chance to look at it?

I'm just opening it right now.

The patient in question

completes his stay with us on Monday.

His father expressed some concerns about life post-rehab,

so, I recommended a companion.

He looked at some resumes and chose you.

So, can I tell him the interest is mutual?

Sure, I just have one question.

Uh, what kind of name is Sherlock?

I can't do this.

Ah, just shut it off.

Can't let the noise get to you.

You know this. I know.

But you did better with the lock this time.

It took you six seconds.

How weird is this?

You're Sherlock's sponsor

and I'm his sober--

well, I was his sober companion-- until recently.

And now you're teaching me how to break into cars.

You want to do the kind of work he does.

Besides, every hour I spend with you,

he's got to do two with me.

How's that going?

He's good.

He's in a good place.

Happier since you decided to work with him.

Hey, I gotta go.

I'll give you a ride.

Dreadful news:

I heard from my father this morning.

Really?

Not the man himself, of course.

One of his minions.

Apparently, he's holding me to the bargain

that we struck when I borrowed that pittance from him.

If you're referring to the $2.2 million

that you borrowed to pay off the kidnapping ransom,

I'd say that's a little more than a pittance.

I foiled that kidnapper.

Every penny was accounted for and returned.

Yeah, but still.

You're off his teats now, Watson,

you can stop taking his side.

What did he want?

Uh, to meet with one of his many attorneys

this morning and discuss work of an investigative nature.

Knowing Father, the man is a shyster's shyster.

You know, Dad once helped defending a client

who was equal parts Adolf Hitler and Bernie Madoff.

Hey, does your father know that I'm still here

and that we're working together now?

Why would he care?

I don't know, I was just curious.

You're an aspiring detective now, Watson.

Apply your curiosity to your cases.

Impressive.

I know; I could look at this all day.

No, I was talking about the glass.

It's... bullet-proof.

Six-inch glass-clad polycarbonate, hmm.

Mr. Holmes.

Philip Armistead.

Do you know that "shyster"

is German for "one who defecates"?

And this is my assistant Rebecca.

So, let's cut to the proverbial chase, shall we?

How much slime will my associate and I

have to wade through in order to help you?

My father said you were in need of my services.

You're an attorney, you work for him, he values you:

three good reasons to assume

that the work we will have to do will be vile.

Actually, I was hoping you might be able to help Rebecca.

My sister Callie...

she went missing almost six months ago.

I'm worried her husband may have done something to her.

Uh, I guess I should start with "I'm sorry."

I hate that I can't say these things to you face-to-face.

It's just...

I don't love you anymore, Drew.

And it hurts to say that, you don't know how much.

I care about you, I want you to be happy,

but I need to be happy, too.

And I thought that I could tough it out

and give us both a little more time.

But then that woman got pushed in front of a subway train

the other day-- the woman with the flowers--

and, I don't know, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Life is too short to stay with someone

who doesn't make you happy.

So, uh, I'm going to go away for a little while.

I don't know where and I-I don't know for how long.

I just know that I need some time.

Maybe, someday, you'll find it

in your heart to forgive me.

When my brother-in-law Drew first showed me the video,

I didn't question it.

Callie had always been a little fragile.

Packing up her stuff and hiding out for a while,

that sounded like her.

But then after the days started turning into weeks,

I got suspicious.

The marriage was... troubled?

Callie had left him once before.

That was about a year and a half ago.

What happened?

I don't know. Callie didn't even tell me

she'd done it till a few weeks later,

and by then, she and Drew were back together.

And I tried to get her to talk about it,

but she said it was all in the past.

She was like that--

she kept everything bottled up; private.

So, when she didn't return my phone calls

after Drew showed me the video, I wasn't surprised.

After a few weeks, Rebecca went to the police.

They tried to locate Callie via her cell phone,

credit card, e-mail records,

but they came up empty.

She hadn't used any of them since before she disappeared.

They questioned Drew, but he managed to convince them

the video was authentic.

Oh, you-you think it's a fake?

I think things were bad between Drew and my sister.

He could've forced her to make the video

so that, after he killed her,

he could show it to the police and convince them

that she'd run away.

Which he did.

There's also the trunk.

It was our grandmother's.

My father willed it to me before he died.

My apartment is tiny, so I let Callie

keep it at her place.

The deal was,

she would give it to me if I ever moved.

The first time that I went

to see Drew after she disappeared,

I realized that the trunk was gone, too.

He claimed that she took it with her,

but I know that she would never do that.

I told the police that I think he did what he did.

And he used the trunk to get rid of her.

I've had the firm's top investigators

on this for months.

They haven't managed to come up with anything.

I happened to speak with your father the other day,

and he recommended I reach out to you.

Would you excuse us for just one moment?

Come on.

That woman could not be more wrong

about her sister's video.

It was most certainly not made under duress.

Tell me.

The human face, Watson, is like the penis.

Or so said the great

personality theorist Silvan Tomkins.

The point being:

the face, like the male member,

has a mind of its own; it betrays us

on an almost daily basis; advertises our secrets

to those who know that to look for.

The woman in that video was utterly calm

when she filmed it.

More than that, I think she was excited to move on.

You and I were not looking at the same video.

Her jaw muscles were relaxed, not tight.

Her nose wings were not dilated.

She wasn't going off some script,

she meant every word she was saying.

Nose wings. We have an opportunity here, Watson.

More precisely, you do.

I think this would make an excellent first case for you.

You want me to find Callie Burrell on my own?

Every good investigator needs to be able to find people

who do not wish to be found.

More often than not, those are dangerous criminals.

Ms. Burrell is merely a wife grown tired of her husband.

It's a case with training wheels.

You can't be sure that Callie is okay.

And, you know what, th-th-there might be something

to what her sister is saying.

Maybe, maybe not. Your job to find out.

Is this because the case came through your father?

No, it's because the case suits you.

Besides, I have one of my own which I wish to take up.

Oh, that's the woman that Callie mentioned in her video.

She was murdered just days before Callie

quote-unquote vanished.

The man who pushed her was never found.

I lost a valued informant to a pusher back in London.

Ugly business, yeah.

As horrific a death as you can imagine.

Now, I found that killer.

I suspect I can find this one as well.

Hey, aren't you going to tell

your father's friend what we're doing? Your case now, Watson.

You tell him.

I must confess, I'm quite embarrassed

this murder escaped my attention when it first transpired.

I was still locked away in Hemdale at the time.

"Locked away" is a little exaggerated.

When in days of my arrival,

the staff forbade me access to newspapers.

Something about police blotters riling me.

No, you? Curious case, this one.

Man approaches woman.

Man gives woman flowers.

And walks away, only to return moments later

and push woman in front of train.

It's pretty obvious the guy's a psychopath.

Likely, yeah.

Obvious, no.

He takes great care to keep his face

angled away from the platform security cameras.

Speaks to premeditation.

He'd been to the platform before and cased it.

Psychopaths can't premeditate? No, of course they can.

But tube pushers tend to be lunatics

of the raving variety.

They're sloppy.

This man was the opposite.

Good news is...

...I know exactly what he looks like.

Look, I can't tell

if you're kidding right now or not.

I reached out

to the witnesses who helped generate

that sketch-- completely useless,

especially with regards to the patch

he has on his jacket here-- looks like some sort of logo.

I can't tell what it is.

You think you can find the guy from a patch?

Stranger things, Watson.

How goes the search

for father's lawyer's assistant's sister?

Well... I went through

everything that the firm's investigators

have put together, and so far, nothing.

I mean, if she's really hiding from her husband,

she's doing a bang-up job.

I can see why the police called off the search.

Have you spoken to the husband yet? No, I called

his art gallery today, and he's out of town.

I'm gonna pop in tomorrow and do my best Columbo impression.

He was a...

Never mind.

I'm excited for you.

When you talk to him, you'll identify yourself

as a "consulting detective."

You haven't done that before. I...

Oh, no.

Carver and Sons.

8:00, I was supposed to meet you.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and say you forgot.

It's okay. It's not like Look, Em, I...

you forgot to meet me the last time we made plans.

Oh, no, wait, you did.

Let me make it up to you-- uh, tomorrow, my treat.

I don't know, Joan. Come on. I feel awful.

Know what? Yeah.

Tomorrow should work. I'll see you at 8:00.

Okay, great. I'll see you then.

Mr. Gardner? Hi. I'm Joan Watson.

I'm consulting, uh...

I-I'm assisting with an investigation

into the disappearance of your wife.

I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions?

Of course. Come in.

I thought Callie leaving me was the worst thing that could ever happen.

I was wrong-- the worst part was...

realizing Rebecca thought I'd hurt her.

Do you think it's strange that Callie hasn't tried

to contact you or Rebecca since she left?

Yeah.

I guess I do.

But... do I find it stranger than her packing her things

and sending me a Dear John letter

in the form of a video? No.

She's always been a very...

complicated person.

Rebecca mentioned that Callie left you once before?

About a year and half ago.

It was just for a couple of days, but still...

it was devastating.

That time she called me.

I begged her to come home. I told her

whatever was bothering her, we could work it out.

I guess I got through to her, because... she came back.

If you don't mind me asking,

what were the problems between you?

I don't know.

The first time she left, it was like

being hit over the head with a club.

I thought things were good between us.

I thought we were in a good place.

Obviously, I was... wrong.

And what about the second time?

She seemed a little distant of late.

A little depressed. Do you know why?

Something to do with that woman

who got pushed in front of the subway car.

The one she talked about in the video.

Rebecca also mentioned something about a trunk that

went missing. It didn't go missing; Callie took it.

I don't know how many times Rebecca has to hear it

until she believes it.

I just wish I could make her understand that I want Callie back, too.

Not because I think our marriage can be saved--

I know that... ship has sailed--

but... because I'm worried about her.

I want to tell her that it's okay,

that I want her to be happy.

Even if being happy means... being with somebody else.

- Watson? - Remember how you said yesterday

you thought Callie Burrell was probably okay?

I do. I'm pretty sure that's not right.

I'm pretty sure her husband killed her.

...but because I'm worried about her.

I want to tell her that it's okay,

that I want her to be happy.

Even if being happy means...

being with somebody else.

That was recorded by the police the first time

they interviewed Drew Gardner five months ago.

He said the same exact thing to me this morning.

Verbatim. And because he repeated himself,

you think he's a murderer.

No, it's not because he repeated himself,

it's just that what he said sounded rehearsed-- like...

like he came up with his story and then stuck with it.

Perhaps it's lodged in his brain because he's had to repeat it so often.

To his sister-in-law, to the police,

to his friends, to his colleagues, to you.

I'm not poking holes; you may very well be right.

I just want to be certain that you've thought this through.

There's just something about this guy,

something I didn't like.

Let's say your assessment of the man is correct.

He is a cad and a killer-- that would mean the stakes

of this investigation have just been raised.

Would you like me to tag in?

No.

No, not yet.

If you were working this case,

what would your next step be?

Do you have Mr. Gardner's cell number handy?

Gaslighting.

A form of psychological abuse

in which false information is presented

with the intention of disorienting a victim...

and/or steering them on a certain course of action.

The name derives from the 1938 stage play Gaslight,

also known as

Angel Street. Why do you have

so many phones? Well, why do you have only one?

These are burners.

They are utterly discardable, virtually untraceable.

Uh, what are you doing?

I know...

that you killed her.

I know...

what you did with her body.

Mr. Gardner's gas has just been lit.

Now it's just a question of surveilling him,

observing where he goes, what he does.

You'll need to rent a car for that.

If Gardner is a murderer,

our message may throw him off his game.

He may reveal something to you which he otherwise would have not.

Where are you going?

Police station to question a suspect.

You're not the only one who's made progress on their investigation.

Yeah, I recognize her.

She was in the news a few months ago.

She got pushed in front of a train or something.

Yeah.

But that's not...

how you know her, though, is it, Mr. Samuels?

I mean, you...

you worked in the same office building together.

Before she died.

She was a secretary; you were a custodial engineer.

That's right.

We used to see each other around the building sometimes.

Yeah. Yeah.

Do you remember seeing her around the subway platform?

I arrived at a theory last night.

The man who killed Ms. Tully,

he'd been on that platform before.

He'd studied it.

He knew where the security cameras were. Hm?

So I began to look at footage from the days and weeks

preceding her murder.

You'll never guess who I saw following her...

on more than one occasion.

Now, this was recorded

ten days before her murder.

There's Ms. Tully.

There's you.

Now, if I'm not mistaken, that's a cell phone that you're carrying?

You're being discreet,

but you are recording her.

You have a record, Mr. Samuels?

You were arrested on a stalking charge

in Florida in 2009.

That was a misunderstanding.

Was this a misunderstanding, too? What are you,

six feet, about 185?

So was this guy.

Put a fake beard on you, some sunglasses,

be hard to tell the difference.

What do you think? I think you make an excellent point.

I would never have hurt Vivian.

Course you wouldn't. Nor would you have

stalked her, nor would you record images

of her on your phone.

All right, fine.

You're right, I was there that night.

And I was in disguise.

But I didn't kill her.

I thought she'd seen me

following her a few nights before.

So I started wearing a hat and a scarf

that covered my mouth.

I'm there.

I just, I'm not in frame.

Well, that's convenient.

You don't get it. I was recording her

that night, too. I can prove that

I wasn't the one that pushed her.

Oh, my God, no!

So, what do you think?

It's Anson Samuels' voice, that much is certain.

The question is, has the video been manipulated in some way.

If it hasn't, did Samuels orchestrate

the pushing.

Did he hire an equally mad associate

to murder the object of his obsession

so that he could record it for posterity?

Well, we're holding on to him either way, but eventually,

we're gonna have to charge him or cut him loose.

I was hoping that this new angle would shed some light

on the identity of the pusher, but...

as luck would have it,

his face isn't seen by this camera, either.

Nor was the patch on his jacket.

Patch?

Excuse me.

Watson. Still surveilling?

If by "surveilling," you mean sitting on my butt

watching a man do absolutely nothing out of the ordinary,

it's going great.

The text I sent had no effect.

Drew Gardner has not left the gallery all day.

Well, patience, Watson.

There is no branch of detective work

which is as important nor as neglected

as the art of tracing footsteps.

It's okay, I've still got a few good hours left.

Actually... you're not-- at least you're not good

between the hours of 8:00 and approximately 10:00 p.m.

What are you talking about? I overheard you making plans with a friend last night. Em.

Short for "Emily," if my memory serves.

Oh, no, I can't believe I forgot again.

Well, I did not, so I reached out to Alfredo

earlier on, and he is standing by to relieve you.

Are you serious?

Thank you.

The busker.

Excuse me?

The busker. The fiddler.

He's playing Paganini's, uh, 24 Caprices,

Opus 1, Number 11.

Rewind it.

There.

I don't hear anything

over the subway. Yeah, neither do I.

Then how can you tell he's playing Paganini's whatever?

I can see it-- I know the piece from... the bowing,

fingering, double-stop trills.

You don't know I play the violin?

Before today I didn't even know you ate food.

I don't get it. What does it matter

what song the guy's playing?

Oh, it doesn't. What matters is, he stops in the middle.

Watch.

He stops halfway through the andante,

doesn't even touch the presto.

why?

Why does he stop so suddenly and leave the platform?

The answer is...

he sees our pusher.

He knows him.

He might even have known what he was about to do.

We find our busker... we find the pusher.

Hey.

Hey, I didn't know you guys were gonna be here, too.

It was sort of a last second thing. Hey.

How is everything? What's going on?

There's a reason why I asked Hope and Ken to join us.

Uh, can I get a beer?

Uh, your mother called me the other day. Yeah?

We got to talking. Thanks.

I told her how you and I kept missing each other.

She said you're working as some sort of detective now.

And she's so proud of you, excited.

But when I heard, I just...

What?

I don't know. I...

Well, in a way, on the one hand, it explained a lot.

You know, the way you've fallen out of touch

these last few months?

How you've made and broken so many plans with me.

With Hope and Ken.

With others.

We were worried about you, Joan. I guess we still are.

Is this is an intervention?

Wow. No, it's not.

It's just a few friends expressing concern

for another.

That's an intervention. Trust me.

I have helped organize plenty of them.

Back when you were still a sober companion, right?

After you were a surgeon,

but before you decided to become a private eye?

I'm sorry, but you seem lost.

You have ever since you stopped practicing medicine.

We know that your new mentor is your last sober client.

And...?

"And...?"

Joan, you quit your job and moved out of your apartment

so you could live full-time with a recovering drug addict

who's going to teach you how to be some sort of gumshoe?

Are you involved with him?

Because that would explain a lot.

You know what?

I am gonna see you guys later.

What? Joan!

I didn't think that I would have

to explain my life to you, Emily. Come on.

I mean, what would you say to me if I told you

I was quitting journalism to become a...

I don't know-- a windsurfer?

Or if Hope told you

she was giving up teaching to join the Marines.

Would you really just congratulate us?

Or would you pull us aside and make sure everything was okay?

So, do you think what I do is like windsurfing?

I don't know what it's like.

I just know you.

And I know you're not a detective.

One of those self-storage places.

The guy you wanted me to watch talked to the manager,

walked in that unit right there.

That trunk.

It belonged to his sister-in-law.

She thought he might have used it to get rid of his wife.

Hold up. Are you trying to tell me there's a person in there?

Sherlock sent him an anonymous text this morning,

said he knew where the body was.

and now, he's getting that trunk out of storage.

We need to call the cops. No, no, not yet.

What do you mean "not yet?" I want to do this myself.

Do you still have that slim Jim? Yeah.

Look, I didn't hear a alarm trip on,

so all I have to do is get past that door lock.

Joan... What?

You don't think I can do this?

Oh, I know you can do this,

'cause after everything I taught,

you could jack that car in your sleep-- Joan!

Hey!

That's enough, ma'am.

Step away from the car, please.

Hey, is there a problem?

Is this your vehicle, sir? Yeah.

I'm the guard here. I saw this woman

breaking into your car in one of my monitors.

You-- You're the one who came to ask me questions about Callie.

I'm investigating this man.

I have reason to believe that he murdered his wife

and hid her body in this trunk.

What?! That's a lie.

There's an easy way to see if I'm right.

Just ask him to open it.

Excuse me? I don't have to open a damn thing.

His name is Drew Gardner.

You can look it up on your phone.

There are articles on the disappearance of his wife.

She went missing six months ago, same time as this trunk.

Would you open up this trunk, please?

Are you kidding me?!

If she's wrong, you ain't got nothing to hide.

You can either open up that trunk for me,

or open it up for them.

Happy now?

I have the very strongest sensation of déjà vu.

I paid your bail.

Paperwork's being processed.

You'll be released back into society shortly.

Thank you.

I spoke with Alfredo before I came here.

He told me what transpired tonight.

You took a chance. Yeah?

Fortune often favors the bold.

But not tonight. Mm.

You were right.

The trunk was the same one

that Rebecca Burrell mentioned to us the other day.

If Drew Gardner wasn't using that

to get rid of his wife's body, what was he doing with it?

Well, I didn't speak to the man himself,

but I did speak to the officers who arrested you.

According to the statement that he gave them,

he sold the trunk

shortly after he received the video from his wife.

Partly out of spite,

partly because his gallery was struggling.

He knew it was worth several thousand dollars.

Sold it to a client.

He could have told Rebecca that months ago.

Mm. Well, he was afraid.

He knew what he'd done was wrong.

The trunk was not his to sell.

Apparently, your visit yesterday inspired him

to come clean.

The idea that Rebecca thought

he'd used the trunk to dispose of Callie

was more troubling to him than the idea

of being punished for his actual transgression.

So he reached out to the guy he sold it to

and made an offer to buy it back.

The storage space that he accessed tonight

was the collector's, not his.

He was merely picking up the trunk

so he could return it to Rebecca.

Apparently, there is a paper trail

which confirms this series of events.

I was so sure she was in that trunk.

Given the many givens, your hypothesis was good.

But I was wrong.

You were wrong about a trunk.

That does not mean that you were wrong

about the man being a murderer.

I just keep thinking

that if you were the one to break into that car,

she would have been there.

But because it was me...

I have another errand to run before tonight is through.

In the morning,

I propose that we begin working both cases together.

After you've helped me find my subway pusher,

perhaps I can help you find Callie Burrell.

Bach? Why, Thaddeus, you've gone commercial.

How do you know my name?

Your many citations

for performing on subway platforms.

I'm assuming those are the reasons

you're now performing above ground.

Oh, you're the cops.

No, no, he is. I'm a concerned citizen.

Name Vivian Tully mean anything to you?

No.

Well, maybe her picture will.

- No. - You were there the night

a madman pushed her in front of a subway train.

There's no use in denying it.

We've got you on video.

Yeah, okay, I was there.

But I only heard about what happened on the news.

I wasn't there when it actually went down.

Of course you were, 'cause the minute you saw the pusher,

you picked up your stuff, and you left.

Why? 'Cause you know him. I'd like to know how.

Sorry, man, I don't know what you're talking about.

You do know what I'm talking about,

and the sooner you tell me the connection,

the less likely I'll be to tell

Detective Bell here that you're also a pickpocket.

I was studying you from across the street.

You're actually very good.

Fiddling must keep those fingers nimble, hmm?

Detective, would you give us a moment, please?

Look, I didn't know the guy, okay?

I just knew his face.

I'd seen him on the platform a few nights before,

tried to lift his wallet, he caught me.

Grabbed my wrist, I panicked, hauled off and punched him.

He fell, I took off.

When I saw him the night he killed the girl,

I was just worried he might recognize me

and call the transit cops, so I left.

You're checking out my coat right now, aren't you?

Thinking of where you can infiltrate it.

Sorry, okay? It's a force of habit.

Ah, of course.

I mean, a coat to a picker of pockets

is like a vault to a safecracker, isn't it?

You've got to study it,

find a way in without being detected.

So... the pusher.

He had a patch on his jacket right here.

Perhaps you'd be able to tell me what it was.

If you feel like you have to, don't.

So your busker was able

to pick out this patch from an image search. Now what?

We bring it to the public's attention,

see if it, in conjunction with the sketch,

shakes anything loose.

I thought you both should know:

I invited Drew Gardner to the station a little while ago.

If you apologize,

promise to pay for the damage

you did to his car,

and refrain from any further harassment,

he'll drop the charges against you.

I wouldn't accept Mr. Gardner's terms under any circumstances.

Yeah, well, she's not you.

Miss Watson's instincts have been telling her

that the man is a murderer.

He's right. I'm not like you. I'm not like you.

I...

I've never had a record before.

Well...

Me and Mr. Gardner

will be in my office.

Think about what you're saying.

I am. I have.

Last night was a wake-up call.

You made a mistake.

No, it wasn't just what happened

at the storage facility.

My friends found out what I've been doing.

I didn't realize you'd been keeping it a secret.

They don't get it.

Opinions are like ani, Watson.

Everyone has one.

You know what, maybe what you do

is not something that you can teach.

Maybe it's something

that just has to come naturally.

I-I just... I have a lot to think about, that's all.

Ms. Burrell? Joan Watson.

We met the other day.

Please.

Have a seat.

Thank you.

Did you want to ask me

more questions about Callie?

Actually, I came to apologize.

I got a little too aggressive

with the investigation last night, and...

I'm afraid that Mr. Holmes and I will not be able

to remain on the case.

Ms. Watson?

Callie's jacket-- that patch.

You mean Drew's jacket.

It was cold that day.

He let her wear it.

She called it his "hippie coat.

He got it at a concert in college or something.

This is gonna sound strange,

but has Drew ever had a beard?

Yeah, for a while.

He shaved it off around the same time

that Callie disappeared.

Why?

Let's start with what we know, shall we?

Vivian Tully was murdered

six months ago by a bearded individual.

We know that Drew Gardner wore a beard

at approximately that time.

He also owned a jacket

identical to the one worn by the killer.

Several days later,

Callie Burrell records a video

in which she says the murder has affected her,

it's made her think.

She leaves Drew.

Thanks to you, we now have reason to believe

that Drew Gardner was the man

that pushed Vivian Tully

in front of the subway train.

Question is, why?

What are the odds that it would

affect his wife so much that she leaves him?

Is it possible that's what he was counting on?

If he was, what kind of plan is that?

I mean, how could he know that killing Vivian Tully

would affect Callie the way that it did?

I don't know.

Maybe I'm wrong about this, too.

Maybe it's just a coincidence

that he has that jacket with a patch.

Have I... have I told you

how distracting I find self-doubt?

If you must wallow,

I ask that you do it in the privacy of your room.

Do I need to remind you that I made

a mistake last night that got me arrested?

Do I need to remind you

that you made a discovery today

that may ultimately solve both cases?

Do you wish to mourn the former or celebrate the latter?

'Cause I, for one, am fully engaged.

I want to solve this.

Oh!

Two events.

One murder by subway train, one disappearance.

Event "A" cannot reasonably be said

to have any effect on Event "B."

Yet it defies reason

to think that the two are not connected.

We know Vivian Tully is dead.

We strongly suspect Callie Burrell is dead.

Drew Gardner, he has no discernible link

to Vivian Tully, and therefore,

no discernible motive for her murder.

He does, meanwhile, have motive for his wife's murder.

The marriage was in trouble;

she had left him once before.

The question remains:

What are the odds that the murder

we think he is responsible for on the subway platform

would compel his wife to leave

the marriage for a second time?

How, in this case,

does "A" lead to "B"?

Maybe "A" didn't lead to "B."

Maybe "B" led to "A."

I don't know how many times I have to tell you people:

I didn't kill Callie.

Well, as a matter of fact,

that's only one of the murders

that we're accusing you of.

This is the other.

This is the woman Callie talked about in her video.

You think I had something to do with this?

Six months ago, you had a beard

like the one in that sketch.

You also owned an army jacket

with a distinctive patch on the right arm.

I gave that jacket to Goodwill a long time ago.

Did you give them your beard as well?

Or did you shave it off, so you would look

less like the man who murdered Vivian Tully?

Last night, when Ms. Watson

suggested you that you might also be the pusher,

I was confused.

And that doesn't happen very often.

But in my defense,

the sequence of events, as I understood them,

just didn't make any sense.

You choose a woman at random

and you shove her to her death.

Several days later,

the crime inspires your wife to leave you.

Now, the odds that the first

leads to the second-- astronomical.

Then Ms. Watson recalled

that your wife had left you once before.

The video.

You claimed that Callie left it for you

six months ago, but that was a lie.

She made it for you a year and a half ago...

the first time she left you.

That's ridiculous.

Pretend for a second that I'm right.

The video is 18 months old.

In it, Callie references a woman

that was pushed in front of a train.

"The woman with the flowers,"

to use her exact words.

That would mean 18 months ago

another woman was pushed in front of a train.

Another woman holding flowers.

Her name was Anna Peters.

She was standing on a platform

in Harlem when two teenagers on their way to school

got into a shoving match.

One of them bumped her

over the edge by accident.

It was a big story.

A lot of the media outlets that covered it

mentioned that Anna was on her way to the hospital

to visit a sick friend.

When she fell, she was holding flowers

that she had picked from her own garden.

Flowers that she was planning

to give to her friend. Hmm.

That's interesting, isn't it?

The man who murdered Vivian Tully six months ago

inexplicably gave her a bouquet of flowers

right before he pushed her.

You gave her those flowers.

Why?

You thought you had figured out a way

to kill your wife and get away with it.

You'd use the video that she sent you

the first time she left you to explain her disappearance.

All you needed now

was a subway pushing in the present

so that the video would make sense.

A pushing involving a woman holding flowers.

This is insane.

You're just some woman with a crazy story.

You want me to be guilty,

so you've constructed this elaborate fiction

to accommodate your theory.

So, you're sticking to your story, then?

On the record, you're saying

that you received that video

from your wife six months ago?

I am repeating that on the record.

Well, we rather hoped that you would.

We were granted access

to Callie's e-mails this morning.

Obviously, you also had access to those e-mails,

because you needed to prove to anyone who might ask

that the video came from her.

You deleted the original e-mail from her account--

the one she sent a year and a half ago.

You then re-sent it when the time was right.

The thing is...

we found it archived and stored in the server.

We know, and can prove,

that you received that e-mail 18 months ago,

a few days after Anna Peters was murdered.

But... don't take my word for it.

I'm just a woman with a crazy story.

Hey.

You picked up.

I'm glad. I wasn't sure you would.

I wasn't sure I would, either.

About the other night.

You were out of line?

I'm not gonna apologize for worrying about you.

Listen, Em...

I am, however, going to apologize

for doubting you.

My editor just assigned me the craziest story.

"Man Pushes Woman In Front of Train

to Cover Up Murder of Wife."

Sound familiar?

Watson?

Oh, hold on a second.

Oh, uh...

when you're finished,

if you could, uh, join me downstairs to peruse some files?

An old colleague of mine in London

asked for my thoughts on a homicide investigation.

I was able to identify the murderer

in a matter of seconds.

I would like to see

how long it takes you.

You enjoyed a modicum of success today, Watson.

Let's not let it go our heads, now, shall we?

Hey, uh, Emily,

something just came up work-related.

Another time?

Yeah, another time, okay?

Bye.

*