All language subtitles for murdoch.mysteries.s12e18.1080p.bluray.x264-rovers

Have you talked
to Detective Murdoch?

Both Murdoch and McWorthy think

that arresting John makes sense.

Apparently there's evidence.

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.

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.

Now they think I'm a murderer.

But 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 gunpowder 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' 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 offense.
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'd
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

traveled
straight through her heart

and exited just left
of her ninth vertebra.

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 lockup

at Station House One?

Yes, after he was shot.

I'm having George take a look
at their evidence logbook.

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 the spare key

for the cold storage room
was missing.

When exactly
did you notice this?

Monday, I believe.

Whoever stole that key
could have planted

the bullet shard in Miss Palmer.

They would have 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 Station House
One's evidence-room logbook.

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

But that logbook 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
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 favor 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 logbook
from Station House One.

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.

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.

That way, sir.

I've transcribed the entries

from the logbook
for the day in question.

May I see them?

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.

And the other could be
Arthur Carmichael.

Right.

You'll want to have a look
at these.

Only one person
signed in to 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.
- Come on.

Detective Murdoch.

What do you want?

You signed in
to 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 into 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.
- Uh, 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?
- Oh, yes. Go on, go on.

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.

Yeah, so you claim.

You wanted to protect your son.

I understand that.

But we're 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, to 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's 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?

Dr. 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
a paralysis.

Yes, but drainage
could make it reversible.

He'll need another surgery?

Yes, right away.

I-I can't do it.

Why not?

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-I can't say...

Do you believe
that this is the best thing?

Yes.

Then do it.

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 it.

I-I won't.

Yes, you will.

I'm pulling the stylus.

Insert the syringe.

The patient needs you.

Dr. Dixon.

This is not a joke.

This procedure must be finished
quickly and cleanly,

- or the patient may...
- 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?

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 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?

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 to...
- 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!

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 an 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.
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 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?

Well, 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 waste basket

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.

Oh, 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.

Mm. 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.

Yes. Now be mindful
of your surroundings.

The constable will see you home.

Making yourself comfortable?

Listen to this.

"I purchased a gun at a pawnshop

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 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's
no sign of 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.

And I wanted to believe
that you loved me.

But now I know
you really didn't.

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-I didn't.

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'll 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 greasepaint.
- 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 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...
- 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.

Uh, 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.

I'm happier
that I'm 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.

Well, 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.

A shame, indeed.

Good day, Miss Hart.