All language subtitles for Elementary - 06x03 - Pushing Buttons.WEBDL.English.C.edit.Addic7ed.com

Previously on Elementary...

I have something called
post-concussion syndrome.

Things could get worse
before they get better.

Hey, uh,
my name's Michael.

A man approached me
at a meeting yesterday.

Apparently, I helped him once

when I described
how integral

my work was to maintaining
my sobriety.

When all's said and done,
it's entirely possible

I'm going to be unfit
to continue that work.

Hello, Michael,
it's Sherlock Holmes.

Well, I was thinking
of going to a meeting.

I wondered if you'd like
to join.

Yeah, how's St. Olaf's at 4:00?

Excellent.

Loose file!
Open order!

Load!

Aim!

Fire!

Huzzah!

Come on, man.

Really?

This is supposed to be
an immersive experience.

No tech post-1776.

Dude, you think I didn't see
the Fitbit under your sleeve?

My wife's been keeping track
of my cardio.

At least it doesn't ring.

Damn, George.

How did you do that
to your chest?

That looks amazing.

Seriously, man.

Are those squibs?

God... George is dead.

Yeah, we all are.
Lie still.

No, guys,
George is dead for real.

♪ Elementary 6x03 ♪
Pushing Buttons
Original Air Date on May 14, 2018

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man

Well, that definitely
wasn't made with a musket.

Someone brought a modern
gun to a historical battle.

His name's George Nix,
55 years old,

address Upper East Side.

Owns a chain of gyms.

And it would appear
he was a lieutenant

in the British infantry.

Yeah, he was part
of a Revolutionary War

reenactment here this morning.

Something called
"The Battle of Harlem Heights."

The scene of Washington's
first real success.

After months of defeats
and retreats,

he used a squad of rangers
to draw the British

out of position and
then overrun them.

The, uh, colonists then learned
to press their native advantage,

employ more guerrilla tactics.

Some people see it as
the beginning of the end.

Well, we just see it
as the beginning

this side of the pond.

Nix was acting out
the British defeat.

He and half a dozen others
fell down, playing dead,

and then somebody
realized that, for him,

it was no act.

A number of his compatriots
must have seen the shooting.

Yeah, well,
the problem is

that they were all expecting

to be in a gun battle.

Nobody realized they were
dealing with live fire.

It would be hard to devise
a less agreeable crime scene.

Hundreds of men,
all dressed the same,

all carrying weapons,
and all with gunpowder residue

on their hands.

Could be worse--
could have gone down

while they were crossing
the Delaware.

Come on, let's go talk
to the witnesses.

- Because he was on my left.
- That's when everybody started shooting.

By the time I looked to the
tree line, he was already down.

Gentlemen, we can only
really understand

six of you at a time.

Would you repeat
what you said about

someone hiding
in the foliage?

Yeah, I was just saying
there was

this clump of maple trees
behind the Yanks

during that last skirmish.

My guess is, whoever shot
George was hiding there.

I mean, the guy
probably slipped out

after he pulled
the trigger.

You guess or you saw?

I guess.
I mean, it just makes sense.

I saw, I think, uh,
there was a guy--

brown hair, medium build...

You mean the tall guy?
Yeah, uh, maybe.

He was in an artillery
uniform, right?

I think the guy I saw
had a cavalry saber.

I-- you know, I'm not--
I'm not sure.

There was smoke everywhere.

Didn't you say you saw a car?

Yeah, a-a white van

on the far side
of the park.

Right. So I-I think maybe my guy
jumped in and drove off.

So, a man of average build,
or possibly tall,

who was infantry or cavalry,

fled on foot or in a white van.

Any of you hear anything
out of the ordinary?

Most of us put these
in our ears.

Gets pretty loud
during our battles.

Actually, you know,
I could have sworn

I heard a .308
in that volley

right before George
got hit.

Sounded like my
brother-in-law's gun.

It had that kind
of pop to it.

We're gonna have you,
have you all,

come down to the station
to give us written statements.

All right?

Thank you very much,
gentlemen.

Even for a group of adults
who play dress-up in the woods,

they're confused.

But the entry and exit wounds
did look like they were made

by a .308.

I posted people
at all the park exits

to check the reenactors' rifles
before they're released.

I'm also gonna put out a Finest
Message for the white van.

We can only hope for the best.

Let's hope that Marcus
and Watson had more luck.

Where were you
at that point?

I told George this would happen.

I warned him a dozen times.
You don't hire a bodyguard

and then tell him
not to guard your body.

So you didn't go
onto the battlefield

with Mr. Nix
during the reenactment?

He said there weren't
any guys who looked like me

fighting for the British army
in colonial times.

So, come out here, and there's,
like, a thousand people

running around with guns,

and he's got me in the car

for "historical accuracy."

I'm curious,
why did Mr. Nix

have a bodyguard at all?

You ever work out
at a Centrix Gym?

No, but I've seen 'em around.

Right. I mean, George
didn't own them all,

but he owned the brand
and the marketing system.

So people could
pay him a fee

and own their own franchise.

It must have been pretty
profitable for your boss.

Those gyms are
all over the place.

The money was pouring in,

but so were the death threats.

For who?

Well, a lot of people
took on debt

to buy into the business.

And then they found out
it was almost impossible

to get out of the red.

Some of 'em sell
their cars,

their homes just to keep
from going under.

George kept it out of the news,

but there had been
a lot of bankruptcies.

And these people
blame your boss?

Well, it was in their contract
they had to buy

used equipment at big markups

from people who had joined
the company before them.

Sounds like some sort
of a pyramid scheme to me.

Because it pretty much is one.

People started sending e-mails

saying they wanted
to hurt George,

talking about how
they were gonna

track him down and kill him.

One guy said he wanted
to cut George's head off

and feed it to his poodle.

That's when he called me.

You still have
these e-mails?

The security company
I work for has access

to all of George's accounts
so that we can monitor threats.

I'll send you a password.

Three little maids
from school are we,

pert as a schoolgirl
well may be,

filled to the brim
with girlish glee,

three little maids
from school.

Not a very enthusiastic
performance,

but thanks for
the demonstration.

At least we know
your long-term memory

is unaffected.

Evidently my last concussion
was not enough

to erase my schoolboy years
with Gilbert and Sullivan.

There are elective
procedures for that.

Joking aside, Dr. Hanson,

that light of yours is
pure agony.

The headaches
are getting worse?

And more frequent.

They're interfering
with my focus,

my sleep, my existence.

Are you taking the gabapentin
I prescribed?

It's not helping?

Point of fact, I think
my symptoms are getting worse.

Blurred vision, short-term
memory loss, the pain.

It's just not the trajectory
I'd hoped for

when I put myself in your care.

Haven't I been
straight with you?

Recovery from
post-concussion syndrome

doesn't happen overnight.

Your brain needs time
to heal itself.

Recovery can be circuitous.

So that's the sum total
of your professional advice--

just wait and hope for the best?

I'm raising your dose
of gabapentin

from 200 milligrams
to 400 milligrams.

It might make you drowsy,
but you shouldn't notice

any other changes.

And if that doesn't
do the trick,

we'll keep upping the dosage
until it does.

I know you don't like putting
more pills in your body,

but you haven't had
a euphoric reaction.

I don't believe you're
at any risk of dependency.

Gabapentin may not
typically be habit-forming,

but I am.
Sherlock,

this medication's
the best option

for someone with your history
of addiction

and the symptoms you've shown.

Trust me.

What is that on your head?

It's a welder's mask
from the 1930s.

Okay.

Why is it on your head?

The Filterweld lenses
offer better protection

against glare than
regular sunglasses.

Your headache's that bad?

Calling it a headache is
an understatement.

You know, staring
at a computer monitor

does not help-- I got this.
- No, no.

It's fine. I just finished
going through the threats

made against Mr. Nix.

And?

Well, he's not winning
any popularity contests.

Half of his franchisees
truly loathe him,

but I don't think
any of them are

the architects of his demise.
Why not?

This crime was planned
well in advance.

Our killer was patient
and exacting.

These are not traits
that spring to mind

when you read e-mails like,

"I am serious, bro,
I'll beat your ass

until you see stars
in the daytime."

They're all like this?

No, this one stands out

for its proper spelling
and punctuation.

Even if any of these
delightful epistolarians

did harbor homicidal
tendencies,

it seems unlikely
that any of them

would know that Mr. Nix
planned to travel back

to 1776 yesterday and make
himself such a ripe target.

Well...

So, the e-mails are
a dead end.

Not entirely.

I found some turbulent
correspondence

between George and
his daughter Marcy.

That's nasty stuff.

Doesn't sound like Thanksgiving
at the Nixes' house

would be much fun.

But then again, you know,

a lot of people argue
with their parents.

Read the last bit.

She dropped off the map

after severing ties
with her father

and told him that
she would kill him

if he ever came looking for her.

I wonder if she's
still in his will.

That is a question
worth asking her.

I managed to track her to
an address in Montebello,

which is 35 miles
northwest of the city.

If you leave now,
you could buy yourself a meal

which doesn't smell
like decomposing cassowary.

You don't feel
like coming along?

It's not that. I just, I have
to meet with, um, Michael.

I've mentioned him before.

Yeah, a couple of times.

Wait, is he
your new sponsor?

No.

But I do recognize
that it's important

to talk to people
in times like this,

and he made
himself available.

So, I appreciate that.

Now more than usual.

- Hey.
- Wow, you got here fast.

Sorry about the mess.

Don't be; you
should see my place.

"If a cluttered desk
is a sign of a cluttered mind,

of what, then,
is an empty desk a sign of?"

Who said that?

Einstein.

That guy.

You know, when he wasn't busy
figuring out the universe,

he sure could crank out quotes
for a fridge magnet.

Do you want to grab
a cup of coffee downstairs?

Yeah.

Okay.

Your doctor doubled your
dose, just like that?

Mm, he says there's no reason
not to be aggressive.

I've shown no signs of physical
dependency to gabapentin,

and, uh, the symptoms of my PCS
have been getting worse.

I'm sorry to hear that.

Yeah. Well, I'm not in any pain
at the moment.

So it's possible
the medication's working.

Right, but you're
anxious about it.

Worried it won't work?

I'm actually more fearful
that it will work.

Right, I get it.
You're an addict.

The idea that you
need more drugs...

can't be easy.

When I was using,

I, um,

I used this tortured calculus

to, uh, come up with
all sorts of reasons

that would justify stuffing
my veins with chemicals.

I want to get better,

but I just don't, I just don't

want to go back
to thinking that way.

Well, last time we spoke,

you said you had a partner
who was a doctor.

Wh-What did she say
about all this?

I didn't discuss it with her.

- How come?
- Because I know what she'll say.

She'll say that Dr. Hanson
is the finest neurologist

on the Eastern Seaboard,
and he wouldn't

prescribe this medication
if he didn't think

it was the best course
of action.

She'd also say that
I'm very, very strong

in my program of recovery
and that I shouldn't worry.

Maybe she's right.

I mean, recovery's a team sport.

That's... why we sit
in church basements

and rec centers with
people we don't know.

Because we need
other people's help.

We need to allow ourselves
to be helped.

Do you think I should
stay on medication?

Honestly,
who cares what I think?

I mean, you're sober.

You know, there's no way
you could've done that

without trusting
the people around you.

And right now,
when you're in pain

and can't think straight?

It's probably not the best time
to change the formula.

I always told Dad

capitalism was gonna kill him.

I don't mean to be difficult,

but we can't bring charges
against capitalism.

We're looking for the
person who shot him,

and we're here to find out if
you know anything about it.

You think I killed my dad?

We talked to your
father's accountant.

It's his understanding
you're about to inherit

more than $5 million.

We know that you and
your father were estranged.

We have the e-mails that you
sent to him six months ago.

Yeah, I said some things
I regret,

but like you said,
that was six months ago.

I'm a completely
different person now.

I've found my true self
here at the commune.

Okay, but your previous self

threatened to shoot him
if he ever contacted you again.

Did he?

No.

And I've let all that anger go.

I don't even step
on ants anymore.

There's no way
I would kill my own father.

You wouldn't have to.

You're about to be rich.

There are people you can hire
to do that for you.

People? What people?

The only people I know
are here at the commune,

and all of us were on a vision
hike at Harriman State Park.

You can check with the rangers
there if you want.

Plenty of potential guns
for hire outside these walls.

Even if that were true,

there's no way
I could contact them.

There's no technology allowed
on grounds here.

You had to check your phones
at the door, right?

If I were to hire some secret
assassin, I'd have to do it

with smoke signals.

Look, I get it.

A lot of people probably
would kill for $5 million.

But I won't touch a dime.

Growing up, I saw what
my dad's money did to him--

it turned him into this...
soulless machine.

And I was afraid it was gonna
do the same thing to me.

That's why I sold all my
stuff and moved up here.

Whatever inheritance
comes my way,

it is a noose, not a blessing.

I'll give it all away.

What do you think you
do on a vision hike?

Look around, I guess.

I mean, we can call the rangers
at the park that she mentioned,

but I'm guessing
she's telling the truth.

I didn't get a "killer" vibe
in there, did you?

I'm not sure I'm buying
that she wouldn't step on bugs,

but no.

Murdering her father?
I don't see it.

I'll take another pass
at the e-mail threats

that George Nix received.

Maybe Sherlock and I
missed something.

Hey, Captain.

Where are you?
I've been calling.

Sorry. We had to check
our phones at the door

when we got to
Marcy Nix's commune.

Something up?

Are you with her right now?

No, but we were a minute ago.

Neither of us likes her for
what happened to her dad. Why?

Because if you were
just with her,

I guess we can also clear her
for burning his house down.

What are you talking about?

Fire started an hour ago.

Fire department
did the best they could,

but the place is a total loss.

Someone really didn't like
George Nix.

When they killed him,

looks like they were
just getting started.

Morning. Got your text.

Fire marshal's report came in?

Initial findings.

Just the thing
to start your day.

Arson at the Nix home
is confirmed.

It was started
with a blend of thermite

and something called napalm B.

Put the two together
and you get a mixture

that burns a lot hotter
than your average house fire.

Explains why the place
went up so fast.

Thermite? Napalm B?

Where does someone
get that stuff?

I had the same question.

Didn't love the answer.

There are recipes online.

Everything you need,
you can find

at your local hardware store.

We can call the
stores in the area,

see if anyone recently bought
all the ingredients at once.

I already got people checking,
but I'm not holding my breath.

Whoever did this was careful.

Yeah.

No prints or DNA recovered
at the scene.

This is interesting, though.

They think that was left
by the guy who set the fire.

Why is that?

The soil composition
is a match for the park

where the reenactment was held.

So it's not just the timing

that makes it look like the same
person that was behind the fire

was behind the murder.

Well, whoever he is, I think
he committed a third crime.

Before he burned George
Nix's house down,

he looted it.

What are we talking about?

Well, antique silver
forged by Paul Revere,

among other things.

I've been reading
up on the victim.

He wasn't just a
Revolutionary War reenactor.

He had a collection of
artifacts from that period.

Early flags, old documents,
that kind of thing.

Including a set of
Paul Revere's silver?

Yeah. He posed next to it

when this interior
design magazine

featured his house last year;

you can see it in the photos.

All this metal, there's none
of it in those photos.

Yeah, and there's nothing

in the report
about the fire department

recovering melted silver,
either.

So this guy could've stolen
a bunch of artifacts,

then torched the place

- to cover his tracks.
- Well, it would be a big score.

I mean, the silver alone's

got to be worth
a quarter of a million dollars.

Okay.

But if all our guy wanted was
to rip off Nix, why kill him?

Why draw that kind of attention?

Well, the community of people

that deal with
this kind of stuff

has got to be pretty small.

Maybe George Nix would've been
able to guess who robbed him.

We're in the middle
of a murder investigation.

Why didn't you wake me up?

I made a pretty big racket
in the kitchen this morning.

I don't think a marching band
could've woken you up.

You were out.

It must be the gabapentin.

And I've only just started
taking a higher dose,

and I'm already
feeling the effects.

The fact that I'm upright is
a credit to our French press.

Well, you're not
gonna recover

from PCS unless you get
some sleep; you need your rest.

I need my work, too.
What's this?

That is the initial arson report
from George Nix's house.

You can read it on the way.

And where are we going?

To find Paul Revere's silver.

Hello. Uh, we're looking
for Detective Mason,

was told he might be
of some assistance.

Sherlock Holmes.

Are you seriously gonna pretend
you don't remember me?

No, I know you.

You used to
have more hair.

You had a lot more hair.
You're Detective Mason.

I helped you solve a case
six years ago,

back when you were just a guy
with a funny name.

Yes, of course. That poor man
with a cleaver lodged in his...

Yeah.

You were still
working with me

in "another capacity"
at the time.

Oh, you were still
in the habit of ditching me.

Mm-hmm.

I recall your presence
but not your assistance.

You and me-- we had something.

I thought teaming with you
was the start of something big.

But once we closed the case,
you dumped me.

Paired up with Marcus Bell

and helped make him a star.

I made no one a star.
Marcus Bell is a fine detective

in his own right.

And I'm not?

You are the NYPD's

foremost expert when it comes
to stolen historical artifacts.

At least that's what
we've been told.

Can you help us?

Follow me.

So this guy, George Nix,
somebody burned his house down

- and killed him?
- Not in that order,

but yes.
We think they were after

his Revolutionary War
memorabilia.

The silver is missing
and there's no way to know

if the fabric and paper
items really burned up

or if they were taken.

There's only a few places you
can really move stuff like that.

So, uh... I'll help you.

But, uh...

you're gonna help me, too.

How so?

Six months ago,

an 1860 Old Tom Morris
long-nose golf club

was stolen from the home
of a woman

by the name of
Gertrude Hardcastle.

Worth a hundred grand.

The thieves broke in
through the first floor window.

As you can see,
they knocked over

a bookcase
when they went in.

They disappeared
with the club,

nobody's seen 'em since.

Now, if you

can help me find it...
It's here.

- What?
- It's right here.

There was no burglary.

It wasn't stolen.

The golf club is in the
umbrella stand

in Mrs. Hardcastle's
foyer.

Note the gouge marks on
the front leg of the bookcase.

They were made by the
Staffordshire Terrier

which appears in several
of these photographs.

It's a breed known
for chewing.

The dog gnawed
at the bookcase

until it fell over,
breaking the window.

That tripped the alarm.

- How did you...?
- I submit

the golf club
is in the umbrella stand

because Mrs. Hardcastle
put it there.

She was confused.

When she couldn't find it
in the wake of the "break-in,"

she assumed it'd
been stolen.

Case closed.

I'll make some calls for you,
see if anybody's trying to sell

any items that have to do
with the Revolutionary War.

Great. We look forward
to hearing from you.

Chief Cruz?

Thanks for coming in.

I'm Marcus Bell. This is
Sherlock Holmes, Joan Watson.

The folks at Southside Pawn
thought you might be able

to shed some light on
a few things for us.

They said you called
them about...

The stuff I stole
from that guy's house.

I'm sorry, okay?

All right? I-I don't know
what I was thinking.

But I'll give it all back.

Very generous of you. But
how are you gonna give back

George Nix's life?

What are you talking about?

Nobody died in that fire.

George Nix
was shot and killed

during a Revolutionary
War reenactment

a few hours before it started.

We're guessing it was
to divert our attention.

Get us looking one place while
you set a fire at another.

You think that I set that blaze?

Last night,
you were on

one of the trucks
that put out the fire

at Mr. Nix's mansion.

When we started looking
into you, we realized

it was the second time
you'd been on a call

to his address.

Earlier last year,

the electrical panel
at the house shorted out

and started smoking.

Your crew got the call
to check it out.

We're guessing that's when

you saw his
collection.

We know whoever torched
the place used a mixture

of thermite and napalm B.

Yeah? So?

So this wasn't a gas can
and matches.

The guy who did it
had some expertise.

You wouldn't be
the first in your profession

to moonlight as an arsonist.

After we got the blaze
under control last night,

I went inside
to search the place.

Okay? I-I... I found a
bunch of, uh, antique silver

in the living room, and a fire
safe in one of the closets,

and I figured there might
be some money in the safe,

and I could sell the silver,

so I packed
my gear with it,

and I took it
with me outside.

It-it was, like, y-you know,
spur of the moment.

I saw it, I grabbed it,
and that was it.

I didn't start the fire.

And I sure as hell
didn't kill anyone.

If you let me go to my car,
I can prove it.

See?

The silver is ruined.

There was no money in the safe,
just some old documents,

and they couldn't
take the heat.

Now, why would I
plan a big heist,

and then leave all the stuff
that I wanted to steal

inside the house
while it burned?

And you said you can account
for your whereabouts

between 9:00 and
10:00 a.m. yesterday?

Yeah. I was at
the station all day.

All the guys will tell you.

And we got cameras there, too.

I mean, you believe me now?

I do.

But I wish I didn't.

Pretty sure we're back
to square one with the murder.

What is that smell?

Progress.

Ugh. I thought you went to bed.

I did. I slept soundly.

And then I didn't.

The medication continues
to wreak havoc

with my circadian rhythms.

I thought I'd put
my wakefulness to good use.

Okay. By doing what, exactly?

Rectifying
an embarrassing oversight.

We missed a glaringly
obvious deduction yesterday.

I'm going to blame
the gabapentin.

I'm not sure
what your excuse is.

Okay, just tell me
what we missed.

You'll recall the accelerant
used to torch George Nix's home

was a mixture of thermite
and napalm B, which would burn

at about a thousand degrees
hotter than necessary

to burn down a house

made mostly
of wood and plaster.

So?

So what if the house

wasn't the arsonist's
true target?

What if they wanted
to destroy something

far more resistant
to great heat?

The safe the fire
chief took from the wreckage.

You took it
from the property room?

Along with the remains
of the documents it contained.

It's top-of-the-line.

It's rated to survive

a heated environment in excess

of 1,830 degrees Fahrenheit.

And yet, it was no match
for the accelerant used.

You'll recall the fire chief
was quite disappointed

the contents
were ruined.

So it wasn't a robbery,

it was a demolition.

Well, an attempted one, anyway.

Well, it looks
like it worked, to me.

Only temporarily.

What do you mean?

The smell. Hmm?

During the Second World War,

my countrymen developed a method

to restore
burnt documents recovered

from bombed out enemy bases.

It begins with a 25% solution
of chloral hydrate.

Okay-- well, I don't
care what it is,

I just... I want it to stop.

I mean, you really think reading
a bunch of burnt documents

is gonna help?

Oh, it already has.

I now have
a very good idea

who killed George Nix.

And why.

You think George Nix was killed
and his house got burned down

because the killer wanted
to destroy some autographs?

That's all that was in the
safe, and the safe seems

to have been the real target.

What's so special
about these autographs?

They're Button Gwinnetts.

But who the hell
is Button Gwinnett?

It sounds like something
out of a kid's book?

Button Gwinnett was the
provisional president

of colonial
Georgia, and he was

one of the signers of the
Declaration of Independence.

He also happens to have the most
valuable signature on Earth.

Some guy I've never
even heard of

has the most valuable
signature on Earth?

The last Gwinnett
sold at auction

went for $800,000.

56 men signed

the Declaration of Independence.

The complete set of their
signatures is the holy grail

for autograph hounds.

Gwinnett's is the rarest
of the bunch.

He was fairly obscure,
died shortly after the war.

There are only 51 authenticated
Gwinnett signatures.

That's why they're worth
so much.

More valuable
than Churchill, Beethoven.

Even Shakespeare.

The fire loss investigator from
George Nix's insurance company

sent us a list
of all the insured artifacts

that were inside the house
when it burned down.

There wasn't anything
about Button Gwinnett.

We think that George
is making a run

on cornering the market
for these autographs.

If we're right, he would not
have wanted anyone to know.

Sellers would jack up the prices
on any he'd want to buy.

Given the rarity
of a genuine Gwinnett,

it's quite possible that some
of the signatures in his trove

were ill-gotten
and, thus, uninsurable.

Well, let's say you're right.

That this was all
about these signatures.

Why burn them up?

If they're so valuable,

it doesn't make any sense
to destroy them.

You're right, it does not.

Unless of course, you've already
got a few of your own.

I want to make it clear
right up front:

my client, Mr. Chambers,
has no legal obligation

to be here. If,
at any point,

I deem it appropriate
to cut this interview short,

that is exactly
what will happen.

Okay. I apologize for David.

I made my money
dealing in art.

It's dog-eat-dog,

so I've always
chosen my attorneys

for their pugnaciousness.

Truth is, it's--
oh, it's a treat,

being inside the famous
11th precinct.

You know, this structure dates
back to 1907.

Perhaps you'd enjoy
the holding cell downstairs.

It's original to the building.

Why are we here, Detective?

A man named George Nix

was gunned down during a battle
reenactment two days ago.

Well, my day just got
a lot more interesting.

You're accusing me of murder?

And arson.

George's house was torched a
few hours after he was killed.

And you imagine
Mr. Chambers was involved, why?

We have reason to believe
he was on the battlefield

when Mr. Nix was shot.

- Based on what?
- Well, I was.

I never miss a battle.

Oh, the pageantry,
the devotion to detail.

Oh, it's just...
always a thrill.

Of course, I'm not the only one
that feels that way.

There were hundreds of
gun-toting reenactors there.

Yes, but none of them own
the second-largest collection

of Button Gwinnett
signatures in the world.

- You do.
- Your collection tripled in value

when George's
Gwinnetts

went up in flames.

Oh.

Oh, that is
the last thing I wanted.

Explain that.

I was negotiating

to buy the trove
you say I destroyed.

I'd been trying to acquire
George's Gwinnetts for years.

He always turned me down.

But that was before his, uh, gym
franchisees started suing him.

He called me
last month

and asked if I was
still interested

in taking his collection
off his hands.

Well, even
if that's true,

you obviously never
came to terms,

or they wouldn't have
been in his safe

when his house burned down.

So far, you've convinced
me of two things:

one, you knew about his secret
collection of Button Gwinnetts,

and secondly,
you value your own very highly.

Both of those things
are entirely consistent

with the motive
they're ascribing to you.

Let me explain something.

Even if George told me
that he wouldn't sell,

I would never wipe out
historical documents.

I don't care how much money
we're talking about. Never.

Now, the documents
in George's collection help

tell the story of America.

Helped shape the land
and its people.

They're sacred relics
as far as I'm concerned.

Now, you-you can have
my fingerprints,

my DNA, whatever you want.

You'll see.

I'm quite innocent.

Doctor.

Sally didn't tell me

you were in here.

Sally didn't hear
me come in.

When I called on the phone,

she said you didn't have
an opening till Monday.

Doesn't work for me.

What can I do for you, Sherlock?

Since you put me on the
higher dose of gabapentin,

my sleep patterns
have been troublesome

and my waking hours have been
more and more lethargic.

I told you,
it'll make you drowsy.

Unacceptable. There's got to be
something else.

There's got to be another way
to treat my condition.

There is.

Rest.

I know it's a four-letter word
to you.

It's a four-letter word
to everyone.

You know
what I mean.

The first time we met,
I told you

you should get out of town.

Go somewhere quiet
for a few weeks,

a few months.

Vermont,
New Hampshire.

Sit in a chair. Stare at
the mountains or something.

My work is important to me.

I know it is,
but you have to ask yourself,

do you want to get by
or do you want to get better?

If you want to get by, we can
try some different medications,

maybe put you
on a course of acupuncture.

But if you want to get better,

the best option
is a very long vacation.

No work. Just rest.

Hey. How'd it go
with Dr. Hanson?

What are you doing?

You got my text
about Paul Chambers, right?

You and Marcus don't think
he's our killer/arsonist.

No, we don't, but something
he said got me thinking.

What if it's not the signatures
on the documents

that are important,
but the documents themselves?

I've been reading
through them

the last few hours.

So, there's a couple
of personal letters,

there's a bill of sale
for a wagon wheel,

and then there's
two proclamations

about wheat tariffs,
but then there is this.

"Land office warrant
number 3743.

"This grant hereby issued

March 28, 1777."
Yada, yada, yada,

"Signed Button Gwinnett,
Provisional President."

It's a bounty land grant.

They're contracts
that promise land to any man

who agreed to fight
in the American Revolution.

They're basically recruiting
tools for the Continental Army.

You fight for our new country,

we'll let you keep
a piece of it.

So, this grant promised
a large tract in Georgia

to a man named Abner Fulham.

But the land was stolen

during something called
the Yazoo land scandal.

That was 1789, correct?

I had to look it up, but yeah.

So, Abner Fulham and a bunch of
other people had their land sold

right out from under them
by Georgia's governor.

Fast-forward to today.

Abner's descendants are suing

to reclaim what they say
is rightfully theirs.

So, who owns the land now?

A developer in Queens
named Chris Holland.

I know that name.

Yeah, you and the captain
spoke to him at the park

the other day.

He was one of the reenactors.

A witness.

If my memory serves,

he had several vague leads,
none of which panned out.

I'm sure he was willing
to say anything to seem helpful.

He didn't want you to figure out
he had just killed George Nix.

Copy that, I'll let 'em know.

Copy.

What the hell is going on?

Chris, I tried calling you.
They showed up an hour ago

and they just started
searching everything.

We're looking for the gun
you used to murder George Nix.

You want to see the warrant?

It's right here.

You think I killed
that guy in the park?

Are you crazy?
I told you what I saw.

You told me a story.

You neglected to mention
your connection to the victim.

You own the deed
to a tract of land

near Augusta,
Georgia, that sits

on top of a lot
of natural gas.

You might be able
to drill for it

if the people who
actually own the land

lose their suit against you.

Normally a claim so old

would be tossed out of court
as specious,

but there's plenty of evidence
in this case,

as I'm sure your real estate
attorneys discovered.

After they told you

about the bounty land grant

that George Nix
acquired at auction,

you tried to buy it from him.

I bet he would've sold it
to you if he knew

the counteroffer was going to be
a bullet to his chest.

Chris, say something.

- Look, I already did. This is crazy.
- No.

Your phone records show
you made multiple calls

to Nix two weeks ago.

And according to your most
recent credit card statement,

you bought a rifle ten days ago.

You had it custom-fitted
with a wooden stock

so it would look
like the other colonial muskets

that were gonna be at the park.

Honey...
Don't.

So, if I'm hearing you right,

I am guilty of using my phone
and buying a gun.

Last time I checked, both
those things are legal.

You don't have any proof
and you're not gonna find any.

We'll see about that.

No fun when the murderer
is right, is it?

This is infuriating.
There's no doubt in my mind

that Chris Holland
killed George Nix

and then burned down his house.

I keep going back to the gun.

The .308 that
he must have retrofitted

to look like a colonial musket.

Me, too.

Didn't turn up at his house
or his office.

It wasn't left
on the battlefield.

I mean, half the NYPD
combed over that park.

It would've been found.

He must've taken it somewhere
and then chucked it,

but how did he get it away

from the scene in
the first place?

When you and the
captain spoke to him,

he had a different gun.
A fake one, right?

He had a very
small window

to make the swap.

Perhaps the when
will tell us the where.

The first 911 call regarding
the shooting was at 8:52 a.m.

Officers arrived on the scene
9:04. The responding officers

took names of all the men
who were near George Nix

when he died.

Chris Holland
was on that list.

That gives him
very little time

to dispose of the murder weapon

and replace it
with a fake musket.

What about the portable toilets?

There are a bunch
on the edge of the park.

I mean, I know the police
checked them,

but how closely do you think
they really looked?

Especially after Holland
floated that story

about the killer fleeing
in a white van.

So, he puts the real gun
in the latrine

and then returns with a fake one

to play the part
of innocent bystander.

Certainly repellent,
but no more than murder.

I'll call the toilet
rental company,

find out where they
empty their tanks.

Maybe we'll get lucky
and wrap this thing up.

This might be my last case
for several months.

Why?

Dr. Hanson has reiterated
his recommendation

that I take more time off.

Total peace and quiet

might be my best chance
at a quick recovery.

In fact, it might be
the only way I overcome PCS.

How do you feel about that?

Conflicted.

I've always found what we do
quite curative.

I feel I am at my best
when I'm working,

so it seems
counterintuitive

to think that that might be
what's doing me harm.

I can't imagine taking
the amount of time off

that he suggested.

Well, maybe you
should talk to him.

See if you can start smaller.

We've gone a week or two
between cases.

It happens.

I mean, you've always seemed
to manage your downtime.

By boxing, sparring
with my singlestick, reading,

my pastimes are many.

Those that aren't strictly
prohibited by my condition

are made more difficult.

Maybe take a week off?

If it goes well, then
you can push it longer.

Excrement.

Okay, well, maybe it's
not such a great idea.

Not your idea.

You were quite close.

The answer we're looking
for might lie in excrement,

just not the kind
you were imagining.

Take it in, Chris.

It's the center
of your undoing.

Is this a joke?

What, you guys didn't find
anything at my house yesterday.

Now what? You're gonna
use my cat's litter box

to prove I killed George Nix?

No, but we are going to use it

to prove that you
burned down his house.

Cat litter

is mostly sodium bentonite.

It's an extremely absorbent clay
made from volcanic ash.

It's so absorbent,
in fact,

that arson investigators
use it to trap moisture

which might be left
at crime scenes.

It can be
tested to identify

the exact chemical fingerprint
of whatever accelerant

was used to start a fire.

Gasoline, for example.

Or in your case, a mixture
of napalm B and thermite.

Yesterday when we spent
time in your lovely home,

it became obvious
where you would've brewed

that particular cocktail.

The garage.

Has a workbench,
two sinks,

plenty of privacy.

It's the perfect spot

for, uh, illicit
home chemistry.

Problem is, it's also

the perfect place
for a litter box.

We stopped by your house
this morning

after you left for work.
All above board.

We got an amended warrant
for a second search.

Residue in your kitty litter
is an identical match

for the accelerant that was
used at George Nix's home.

We can prove you started
the fire.

So, you're gonna charge me
with arson?

Nobody was hurt in that fire.

A guy like me does what? A year?

No. You'll be in
a lot longer than that.

We're gonna find the gun
you used to shoot George.

We're pretty sure
you stashed it

in one of the portable toilets
on the edge of the park.

I've got guys headed over
to the company

that provided those toilets
right this minute.

But I'll tell you what.

If I were you,

I'd confess now.

'Cause if you don't

and you make a few dozen cops

dig through a mountain of
literal crap to find your gun,

I guarantee you

you'll be facing
the least friendly prosecution

in the history

of the New York
judicial system.

That's an industrial size
cup of coffee.

Caffeine and gabapentin

are fighting a war
in my neural cortex.

You wanted to talk?

Yeah. I was thinking about the
things you said the other day,

the problems you've been having,

and, uh, I thought
I might have a way to help.

Well, if you're about
to suggest an extended holiday,

someone's beaten you to it.

What do you mean?

My doctor says I need
to take time off.

And that I should continue
to medicate myself.

Can you do that?

Just take time off?

I mean, it's not like
the bad guys take a break.

Not my favorite solution.

You have another?

Um, I don't know if it's
a solution, but yeah.

You know how much
my work means to me

and how I use it
to distract myself.

I do. I also know that

you shouldn't pin
your sobriety on anything.

You could get fired.
Your company could go under.

Yeah.

Yeah, point is, uh, there's this
girl I know from the program.

She always goes
to the same meetings

like clockwork, for years.

Last Tuesday,
she doesn't show up

to the 7:00 p.m.
at St. Olaf's.

Then she doesn't show up
to the Thursday meeting.

So, I reach out to her sponsor,

and it turns out she hasn't
even been showing up to work.

I don't know.
I'm just worried about her.

You want me to look for her?

Yeah, I would feel better
knowing she's okay.

I mean, I just...

I thought
it might help you, too.

♪ 'Cause it's the bad,
bad, bad omen. ♪

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man