Original subtitles

Previously on Elementary...

Alistair? Miss Watson.

In London, I had a small part in a radio drama.

Sherlock wrote me a letter when he was ten

saying that I, alone, of all the cast,

truly captured the Yorkshire accent.

So, eventually,

we met, so I could coach him on his nuances.

We became friends.

You knew him when he was using.

Nine months ago, he shows up at my flat, at night,

so high, he could barely speak.

It was very...

difficult for me.

The time I've lost in wooing, in watching and pursuing,

the light that lies in woman's eyes

has been my heart's undoing.

And a good morning to you, too.

The time I've lost in wooing,

in watching and pursuing,

the light that lies in woman's eyes,

has been my heart's undoing. That's Alistair, right?

Aye. We're having breakfast today.

Oh. I didn't realize he was still helping you with your accents.

I would have thought you had an Irish one in your repertoire.

The Irish accent is reserved

for those people living in Ireland.

This is the distinct cadence and tonality

of the Derry region in Northern Ireland.

Alistair pointed out

that my intonations would never pass muster

with a Derry native, so he was kind enough

to record some poems

and colloquialisms

for me to review before our next breakfast.

He's fit to mind mice at a crossroads.

He fit to mind mice at a crossroads.

Well, I have to go down to the station

and give some files back to Marcus.

Keep up with the accent.

You never know when you're gonna have to go undercover in Derry.

Hey, have you seen Marcus around?

No, he's probably, uh, grabbing coffee.

Hey, I just got a call from holding, that we got

a guy that's sick or something.

I know you're not a doctor anymore, but, uh...

I can take a look.

We've already called for a bus.

He was moaning and then nothing.

Can I get a pair of gloves?

What's his name?

Apollo Mercer. He's a known pickpocket.

I caught him working Union Square this morning.

Apollo, my name is Joan.

Are you okay?

No pulse.

He's dead.

Oh, he was fine a few hours ago.

Get me the desk officer.

I want to know what went on in here this morning.

I need you to take a step back.

You should quarantine the prisoners and anyone else

who's been in contact with him to a different location.

What's going on?

I won't know for sure until the M.E. runs a few tests,

but that fluid draining from his mouth is a mixture of

necrotic tissue and blood.

First blush, I'd say he died from anthrax.

♪ Elementary 2x20 ♪ No Lack of Void Original Air Date on April 10, 2014

== sync, corrected by Romesh == RiVaL

So, is this the file of the man who succumbed to the anthrax?

None of us were exposed, in case you were wondering.

My lack of wonder comes not from an absence of concern,

but from the obviousness of the answer.

And the rest of your men?

So far, everyone's clean.

Even though it isn't contagious, we had to

evacuate the precinct until we know

for sure that the victim was exposed elsewhere.

Victim being Apollo Mercer.

Several priors for grand larceny, possession of cocaine.

Chased down for pickpocketing in Union Square.

The M.E. just sent some preliminary findings.

A small, torn plastic bag was found

in the victim's digestive tract.

Lab work on the bag found traces of powderized anthrax.

Well, I guess we know how he got exposed.

And why he died so quickly.

Once that bag ruptured, the anthrax would have gone directly

into the mucosal tissues of his GI system.

Well, the question is, where did he get it?

I didn't see anything about any terrorist ties

in his criminal history.

It's more likely he acquired the bag from one of his marks,

assumed the powder was cocaine.

And once the police gave chase, he swallowed it.

Or he didn't want the cops to catch him with anthrax.

Seems unlikely he would have knowingly swallowed

a biological terror agent.

Especially since his priors suggest

he had a drug problem, not an anthrax problem.

If you're right, we need to find out who he stole it from.

Pull this morning's security footage from Union Square.

All of it.

I'll make sure you two get copies.

All right, anthrax is in New York again.

The first time it happened, in 2001,

I was a doctor.

All of my patients were panicking.

Anyone with a cough thought they had it.

People were hoarding Cipro,

just in case.

"Save the Sumatran Orangutan""

Hmm?

Mr. Mercer's fictional charity.

He told his marks he was collecting donations,

all the while, using his clipboard

to conceal the hand he was using to rob them.

Huh. Apollo bumps into someone here.

Maybe that's when he stole the anthrax.

Since that move,

known as "glad-handing," is used solely

for removing a watch from a wrist,

no, that is not when he stole the anthrax.

Did something happen this morning?

A man rotted from the inside out. Pay attention.

I mean with Alistair.

These screens are too small for my purposes.

I'm adjourning to the media room.

This is what I'm talking about.

You've been in a mood since you got back from breakfast.

Actually, I had to forego our breakfast.

On account of...? Alistair being dead.

What?

I arrived first, which was unusual.

After 20 minutes, I began to think I got the date wrong,

so I called his cell phone.

His partner, Ian, answered,

and, uh, told me that Alistair passed away a week ago.

Sherlock, I'm so sorry. What happened?

Heart attack. Quite a massive one, apparently.

So he went pretty quickly.

Unfortunately, I missed the, uh, funeral.

I told Ian I'd go 'round tomorrow, pay my respects.

Are you okay? You want to talk?

No.

Look here.

Yes, our Mr. Mercer is a flimper of quite extraordinary talent.

He just lifted

something out of this man's breast pocket.

A wallet?

Mm, the police have already accounted

for all the wallets Mr. Mercer stole this morning.

And none of them was from anyone

fitting that description.

According to this,

Mercer dumped a watch,

bracelet, a smart phone and...

a hard sunglasses case.

That is something that you could keep in your breast pocket.

No sunglasses were recovered, just the case.

Perhaps it was being used to protect

a dangerous biological weapon during transport.

Hmm.

I would say that we've just had our first look

at our anthrax courier, but we still face

the considerable task of identifying him.

Actually, it may not be that considerable after all.

I recognize that man from some of the footage I was reviewing.

I think I saw...

Yes, he bought a cup of coffee, right there.

Paid for it with an app on his phone.

We may not know his identity, but that coffee truck will.

The name is Charlie Simon.

Lives right up here.

Did two years at Allenwood for stealing equipment

from a lab at Columbia Medical School.

He'd been working there as a tech.

That's interesting.

Most major universities keep samples

of anthrax for research purposes.

You think the stuff

that pickpocket swallowed came from Columbia?

You could never steal that amount of anthrax

without someone noticing it was gone from a secure lab.

But given Mr. Simon's background, all he would need

is a spore and a lab to start growing his own.

I'm guessing it's the kind of lab

he could set up in his house?

Like I said, Charlie's not here.

I don't think he came home last night.

How do you and Mr. Simon know each other?

We don't.

I mean, not really. We're just roommates.

My parents bought this place,

but I got to cover the mortgage, so I put

an ad online about the room.

He was the first person who answered.

Did you know he was an ex-con

when you asked him to live with you?

People make mistakes, right? They deserve second chances.

Just 'cause a guy did a little time doesn't mean

he can't be a good roommate.

His walks

are a little weird, but nothing I can't live with.

His walks?

He takes three or four every night.

Half an hour each time, like clockwork.

Always comes back smelling like antiseptic or something.

Like that stuff you put on your hands.

And you're sure he was walking, not driving?

Positive. He doesn't have a car.

You gonna tell me what this is all about or what?

If Charlie Simon has a lab, it's not in there.

Lab?

We have reason to believe your roommate was involved

in an anthrax death that occurred

at our precinct earlier today.

Did Charlie ever express

any extreme political views,

any terrorist leanings?

No, never.

He-he bitched about his ex-wife a lot,

all the alimony he was paying, but...

Could you excuse me?

I got to call my mom and dad.

Charlie's lab must be

within walking distance of this place.

Anthrax requires frequent monitoring

during the growth cycle.

So you think his walks were less about stretching his legs

and more about tending to his spores.

Well, if he smelled like antiseptic,

he was probably disinfecting himself before he left the lab.

So, once he was there, how long do you estimate

it would take him to assess the spores' progress?

I'd say no more than ten minutes.

Making his travel time in each direction also ten minutes.

How tall is Mr. Simon? Five-eleven.

Right. So, the average stride length

for a man of that height is 1.8 meters.

An average of 107 steps a minute

gives us a search radius of just over half a mile.

Now, given Mr. Simon's financial woes,

an entire additional domicile seems unlikely,

so we're looking for a non-residential place

which would offer privacy and security.

All right, we'll pull a list together, get a canvas started.

Before we do that, you might want

to check out Charlie Simon's

storage unit he was renting.

It's right down the street.

Team One... I think we found the lab.

Oddly, I find myself hoping

that Charlie Simon was just planning to kill his ex-wife.

If he was, then the bag which killed Apollo Mercer

may represent the grand total of his efforts.

Team One, we've got a body.

So much for asking Charlie Simon how much anthrax he made.

So far, no powder.

Captain, might we get another look at those trays, please?

They're all stained red.

That's because until recently they contained sheep's blood agar.

It is considered the best growth medium

for anthrax spores.

But there must be over

a hundred empty trays. Mm-hmm.

This lab produced enough anthrax to fill thousands of bags

like the one which killed Apollo Mercer.

And it's all gone.

As you all know, our stationhouse

has been declared anthrax-free.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for our city.

That's because we believe that Charlie Simon

produced over 40 pounds of weaponized anthrax.

That's enough to infect half a million people.

And it's all missing.

Now, CSU found two sets of fingerprints

in the storage locker.

One was Simon's,

and the other one belonged to this man,

Eugene MacIntosh.

Eugene did three years

in Allenwood after he assaulted a census worker.

Apparently, he and Charlie were close in prison.

Unlike Charlie, Eugene has definite radical leanings.

He's associated with a gang of extremists

called the Sovereign Army.

These guys hate the government, including the NYPD.

But they're big fans

of violence and the Second Amendment.

So we should all tread carefully.

Finding Eugene MacIntosh is our best shot

at tracking the anthrax-- but like Detective Bell said,

he should be considered armed and dangerous.

We believe he is responsible for the killing of Charlie Simon.

All right.

Do you mind telling me where Holmes wandered off to?

He had some personal business he had to attend to.

More important than a would-be terrorist

with 40 pounds of anthrax?

It's personal.

Said he was gonna join us later. Okay.

MacIntosh has a brother named Bart

who owns a dairy farm upstate.

Bell's gonna take a ride and go see him.

I'd like you to join him

Sure.

Sherlock.

Ian.

My condolences for your loss.

Please, come in.

I'm sorry I didn't get in touch when Alistair passed.

I know you were friends for a very long time.

Yes.

A privilege which afforded me a view of his life before

and after he met you.

You made him very happy... Ian.

Before I forget...

I've got something...

Ah.

Here it is.

First edition.

Signed.

The first play you ever saw Alistair in,

if I'm not mistaken.

His Vladimir was quite riveting.

He would want you to have it.

Thank you.

You have questions, I can tell.

It had been a month since I'd seen him, so...

How was he?

He was happy.

Pink of health.

Just finished rehearsing for a new production.

A small theater but a big role.

He was looking forward to being back on the boards.

Nothing unusual?

No.

What about Jeremy?

What about Jeremy?

Well, had you seen him recently?

You know how it was between them.

Yes, I do.

That's why I'm asking.

They had dinner about a week ago.

And...?

Alistair didn't talk about it.

Which is hardly unusual.

Mmm.

What are you getting at, Sherlock?

I'm having trouble reconciling Alistair's passing

with his...

his vitality.

His joie de vivre.

I mean, I can't help but wonder

if there's more to this...

than meets the eye.

I swear, my brother may be

the stupidest smart person I've ever met.

In high school, he's the one who got straight A's.

He aced his S.A.T.s.

Then he gets mixed up with those

Sovereign Army idiots; ends up in prison.

And now you're telling me he's doing it again.

Well, it looks that way,

but we'd like to get his side of the story.

Well, I'm sorry, but I haven't seen him in almost a month.

Every time he comes by here, we just end up arguing.

About what?

Name it.

Football, church, the color of the grass.

He hates that I take money from the government

to keep this place running.

Doesn't matter to him that our dad

worked this place till the day he died.

Doesn't matter that I'm this close to going under.

That must be very hard for you.

He even has a problem with our mother

taking Social Security and Medicare.

Never mind that he can't be bothered to make

the 40-minute drive to go visit her at her house.

Mr. MacIntosh,

do you have any idea where we might find Eugene?

I told you, I haven't seen him in a month.

Detective Bell didn't ask if you've seen Eugene,

he asked if you know where we can find him.

Mr. MacIntosh...

Me and Eugene might not see eye to eye on a lot of things,

but he's still my brother.

When Eugene went to prison that first time,

it almost killed my mom.

Can you blame me for not wanting to be

the one who sends him back there?

You brother might be involved in a plot

that could hurt a lot of innocent people.

If he succeeds, how will your mother

feel about that?

Watson.

Hey. Marcus and I are on our way back from talking

to Eugene MacIntosh's brother.

He gave us the address to a house in Cambria Heights.

He thinks that Eugene and his Sovereign Army buddies

crash there sometimes.

1313 Linden. Well, as luck would have it,

I'm already in Queens. I could be there in 15 minutes.

Then you'll beat ESU. They're mobilizing right now.

Gave us an ETA of a half an hour.

Well, I'll keep an eye on the place,

and I'll await their arrival and yours.

Hey, how did it go with Ian today?

I'll see you soon, Watson.

You don't look well, Sherlock.

Well, it's no thanks to you.

Rough week?

Certainly no rougher than yours.

Had I known I was gonna die, I'd have pulled up our breakfast.

You mustn't be mad, Sherlock.

I'll be whatever I like, thanks very much.

So...

who are we watching for?

A thief? A forger?

A murderer most foul?

"We" are watching for no one.

You're not even here.

Aren't I?

Those cases... are they what you're looking for?

It's impossible to tell.

No, no, wait. It's not.

Uh, Sherlock...

Hey! You just made the worst mistake of your life.

Hey. We're en route.

ESU should be there in five minutes.

Please advise them to wear HAZMAT gear.

Why?

I think I've found the missing anthrax.

For the last time, I've not been exposed to anthrax.

Watson, you're a doctor. Examine me. Tell her I'm fine.

What are you talking about? You said on the phone

that you were covered in powder.

I did, and I was. But that was before

I was able to properly assess it, and upon tasting it...

You tasted the anthrax?

Upon tasting it, I realized it was a harmless blend

of talcum powder and baby laxative.

But no one here will listen to me!

I'm sorry I didn't inform you sooner.

It's just a team of HAZMAT-suited idiots confiscated my phone,

and my coat and my trousers.

Feel free to express your jubilation at any time.

Do you want to tell me why you thought it was

a good idea to break into that truck alone?

As I told you,

I saw two suspicious men carrying suspicious boxes

into a suspicious truck. I feared it was the anthrax

and that they might abscond with it.

And I told you that ESU was moments away.

All you had to do was take down the license plate.

Look, I'm fine, but you're still carrying on as if I'm not.

Okay, you are obviously not fine, and if I had

to guess, it has to do with Alistair.

He died. It's sad.

End of discussion.

The lab did a rush on that powder.

You were right--

it isn't anthrax. I know. Does this mean

I'm released from quarantine? I'll square it

with the hospital. But what I would really welcome

is the actual whereabouts of Eugene MacIntosh

or the actual anthrax.

Actually, Captain, I'm quite convinced that

we can start treating those two targets as one.

I think that Eugene is still in possession of the anthrax,

and I've got a notion as to how we can find him.

But first, trousers.

My name... is Joe.

Bey.

Well, according to your rap sheet, it's Kurt.

Greenlee.

Kurt Greenlee is a slave name

issued to me by a corporate entity.

I don't recognize the U.S. Government,

so stop saying it.

Call me Joe Bey.

Mr. Bey, we know that Eugene MacIntosh is an

associate of yours.

If you say so.

Actually, I don't; his brother does.

Doesn't mean I'm gonna help you find him.

We seized the contents of your rental truck,

including the envelopes you had ready for anthrax,

all 500 hundred of them, addressed to...

government officials.

Yeah, I was gonna write some letters

to some so-called congressmen.

Last I checked, that's still legal.

And I don't have any anthrax.

You just ran a whole mess of tests proving that.

Just some jars of harmless white powder,

also totally legal.

Tax evasion isn't legal.

Possession of guns with rubbed-off serial numbers

isn't legal.

You're looking at serious jail time.

I'd rather serve every minute than play ball with a...

bunch of government stooges.

You're quite a high-ranking officer in your little...

army, are you not?

I'd even venture that you were in charge of the plan

to send anthrax to the government.

Like I said before, what anthrax?

Right. You were never in possession of actual anthrax.

Yeah.

Though you are forgetting I was there

when you regained consciousness tonight.

And when you realized

that I'd been exposed to this harmless white powder,

you panicked.

You attempted to wipe it from your skin

and from your clothes.

You thought it was real.

We know that Charlie Simon made legitimate,

lethal anthrax-- someone paid him to do that,

Paid for his lab.

We went over Eugene's financial records today.

He never had that kind of money.

You, on the other hand,

ran a very successful, if unpermitted, bar.

And I hear from the feds

you're the kind of guy who's always looking to invest in...

worthy causes.

Poisoning a bunch of politicians, for example.

Eugene fleeced you.

He sold you fake anthrax,

and he kept the genuine article for himself.

Now, we may be stooges, Mr. Bey,

but we are in a position to punish him

and you are not.

So...

...are you sure you don't want to help us?

...as you can see, partly cloudy skies...

Captain Gregson.

Eugene MacIntosh just responded to that e-mail Joe Bey sent.

The meet is on for tomorrow at noon.

That's great.

It will be if we can grab him and the anthrax.

I mean, we know what Joe Bey had planned for the stuff.

But MacIntosh... no one has a clue.

On the plus side, we know why

Charlie Simon had that baggie on him

the night his pocket got picked.

Joe Bey said he wanted to take it for a test-drive,

use it on a few animals, see how fast it worked.

Lovely.

Do me a favor and catch your partner up.

I called him, but he didn't pick up.

Yes, I will.

He went to the boxing gym the second we got home.

I think he needed some time for himself.

Well, he and I are still gonna have a little talk

about that stunt he pulled today.

Feel free to tell him I said so.

Okay, I will.

I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes.

He's not here right now.

Do you know when he'll be back?

I don't. I can give him a message.

Tell him Jeremy came by.

And tell him I don't appreciate him insinuating to Ian

that I had anything to do with my dad's death.

Wait, you're Alistair's son?

I was.

I don't understand.

Sherlock said that your father died of a heart attack.

Well, then he lied to you.

Because that's not what happened.

Hey.Morning.

If you haven't checked your e-mail recently,

Detective Bell says he will notify us

the moment Eugene MacIntosh is in custody.

I spoke to Captain Gregson last night.

I'm up to speed.

When were you gonna tell me about Alistair?

His son Jeremy came here last night.

He was upset about some things you said to Ian.

I told you the truth.

Alistair's heart stopped beating.

Because of a heroin overdose,

a massive heroin overdose. I know that he was found

with a needle in his arm. I know it all. Well, good for you.

It must be nice, knowing it all. I myself do not.

You lied. Why? You were unaware

of Alistair's history.

In accordance with the traditions of the Program,

I felt obligated to protect his privacy.

I don't believe you.

Well, I don't care that you don't believe me.

Well, I do care that you almost got yourself killed last night.

And I know that Jeremy cares that you left

Ian wondering if he was the reason why Alistair overdosed.

Jeremy never forgave Alistair for leaving his mother.

He went ten years without even speaking to the man.

That's not really what's bothering you, right?

As you know,

Alistair and I became friends when, uh....

when I was quite young.

His addiction was a thing of the past.

Mine was a thing of the future.

I didn't even know about his difficulties

until-until much later.

For the first decade of our relationship,

we didn't discuss it.

When I began my own misadventures

with chemical dependence,

he tried to warn me; I didn't listen.

Nevertheless, he welcomed me with open arms

when I showed up on his doorstep in New York,

just brimming with opiates.

He told me about that.

Most recovering addicts would not have taken the risk.

Mmm. He wasn't most addicts.

He had 30 years under his belt.

30 years.

Can you even imagine...

I just wanted to know what it was.

Was it... was it a fight? An affair?

If I can identify the trigger, maybe...

My rational brain tells me

that relapse is-is always a risk for any addict.

Of course.

But his death is, um...

blindsided me.

And it bothers me that it bothers me.

He was your friend.

Next month, I'll have two years sober.

Alistair was sober for over three decades.

You know, in time, I would have discussed this with you.

Every bit of it.

I just need to try and...

It's Captain Gregson.

Captain.

I thought you should know the meet is off.

We found Eugene without Bey's help.

How?

He showed up at his brother's dairy farm this morning.

They fought and the brother ended up shooting him.

Eugene is dead.

I shot my brother because I had to.

He didn't leave me any choice.

The D.A. from your county seems to agree with you.

You said he came to the farm around 3:00 a.m.?

The perimeter alarm went off.

Uh, I got out of bed, grabbed my rifle,

went out to take a look around.

I found Eugene in the barn.

He was wearing goggles.

He had a mask over his mouth, like, uh, doctors wear.

And he was dumping some kind of powder into the cattle feed.

And I knew it was that anthrax you told me about.

Then what happened?

He wanted to infect the cows

so that their milk would infect anyone who drank it.

I-I said we were talking about innocent people, kids.

I said, "Stop. I'm not gonna let you do this."

But he just ranted at me, like he always does.

Big government nonsense and...

I was a slave to the system.

He went for his gun, and...

that's when I-I...

Is this the weapon you saw?

Ballistics identified it as the gun used to kill

Charlie Simon in his lab, three days ago.

Looks like you did what you had to do.

Before we let you go, Mr. MacIntosh,

did your brother say anything about where

the rest of the anthrax is?

'Cause the Feds only got about 20 pounds at the farm,

and we think he took twice that from Charlie Simon.

Uh... I don't know.

Uh, he said something about friends up north

and that ours wasn't the only government

that needed to be taught a lesson.

Another government, friends up north--

you got to figure Eugene was talking about Canada, right?

Well, antiestablishmentarianism

is hardly restricted to these colonies.

I'll reach out to the FBI

and the Canadian Intelligence Service,

have them send files on every radical right-wing

organization in the Northeast-- militias, hate groups,

quilting circles, if they fit the profile.

Okay.

I have been over my half of the files twice now.

I cannot find anything that connects these groups

with Eugene MacIntosh or anthrax.

What about you?

Actually, I haven't opened a single one.

Why not?

Eugene MacIntosh's rash.

The ring finger of his left hand.

Happens sometimes to newly married men.

Not used to wearing a ring, dermatitis sets in.

But we've been over Eugene's background over a dozen times.

There is no record of any marriage.

Not in New York, no. But a review

of state wedding registries reveals

that he married a woman named Georgeanna Wheatley

several weeks ago in Delaware.

The paperwork is still making its way

past the usual bureaucratic hurdles.

I phoned the widow Wheatley over an hour ago,

and she confirmed the marriage.

But she also insisted that Eugene's antigovernment leanings

were a thing of the past, that he had distanced himself

from the Sovereign Army and their philosophies

while he was in prison.

That's interesting, I guess.

But obviously he was lying to her.

Not obviously, no. She also confirmed

that they were married by a justice of the peace

at a state courthouse. I ask you, Watson,

what self-respecting domestic terrorist

allows the government to play such a large role

in his wedding?

Anwar al-Awlaki counseled 9/11 hijackers

and slept with prostitutes.

Hypocrisy happens.

What about sudden stupidity? Does that also just happen?

According to his brother,

Eugene was a very bright man.

So why does a bright man abandon a sound, if derivative, plan

to send anthrax through the mail

in favor of poisoning dairy cows?

His brother told us: Eugene wanted people to drink the milk.

Moronic. Any number of people could have discovered

the cows' infection before that milk made it to market--

farmhands, inspectors, his brother.

So he didn't want to infect people with anthrax the way

that you would've.

What does that have to do with...

I apologize.

Hmm...

That didn't solve anything.

Weird, right?

You know what else it won't solve? Alistair.

You know why he used drugs last week?

Because he was an addict, just like you.

I'm sorry he's gone, but his relapsing

doesn't change a thing for you; not one single thing.

You woke up today, you didn't use drugs, just like yesterday.

You know what you have to do tomorrow?

Wake up and not use drugs.

That is just how it is; that is how it's going to be.

Thank you. Are you quite finished telling me things I already know?

Are you ready to start acting like you know them?

I've decided I'm quite ashamed of my behavior

over the last few days, all right?

I took the passing of a dear friend,

and I twisted it into an indulgence in narcissism.

It's left me in a mood.

Alistair was a friend.

One of only a handful.

And-and-and...

losing a member of such a select group

has felt quite... substantial.

My tantrum upset you, and I apologize.

Again.

But I assure you, I-I'm no closer to using

than I was yesterday,

or the day before that or the day before that.

If I was, I would tell you.

Is that the captain? It's my mother.

She just heard about some lunatic

trying to poison a bunch of dairy cows with anthrax.

She want us to throw away all of our milk.

So now we know.

Hmm.

Your mother's not the only person

succumbing to anthrax hysteria.

According to the news, people all over the city

are discarding their dairy products,

whether or not they originated at the MacIntoshes' farm.

Seriously?

These expired a few days ago.

Her text just reminded me. You know what?

I feel sorry for that Bart MacIntosh.

He said his farm was already on the ropes

and it wasn't doing well, and now this.

How unwell was it?

He said the only thing keeping it afloat

was subsidies from the government.

Remind me to thank your mother next time I see her, will you?

For what?

Well, we made an assumption

when we realized that the anthrax

was in Eugene MacIntosh's clutches.

That he wanted to kill people.

What if he didn't?

What if he just wanted to kill... cows?

Go on ahead. I'll catch up.

Can I help you with something, Captain?

Yeah, actually, my colleague here

was hoping to ask you a few questions

about livestock insurance.

Yes, your own, specifically.

We've learned that you have exceedingly thorough coverage.

Each one of your 1,342 cows

is insured at full-market value?

Yeah, they're the farm's most valuable asset, so...

$2,000 a head, right?

Give or take, yeah.

So if your entire herd were to be wiped out

by some kind of a... bovine holocaust,

you'd receive $2.68 million, give or take.

You've enjoyed being a farmer, Mr. MacIntosh?

It's hard work, but I wouldn't change it, yeah.

Your father actually willed the farm

to you and your brother, so you both stood to profit

from the death of the herd.

No, wait a second.

I-If you're trying to say that Eugene was planning

to poison the cattle for the insurance... Actually, we're saying

that you both planned to poison the cattle.

I told you what he said the other night.

I told you why he did what he did.

If we'd wanted to make money off the cows,

we just would've sold them. Well, selling livestock

is, of course, a quite difficult process, isn't it?

You've got inspections, auctions, transport--

all of these are expenses which would cut deeply into your payout.

I mean, wiping out the herd in one go...

far more cost-effective.

Of course, that would require

an illness that could wipe them all out

before anyone even knew they were sick.

Anthrax certainly fits the bill.

It's only occasionally deadly

to humans, almost always fatal to cows,

and it's naturally occurring in the feedlots

and soil of cattle farms.

Had it decimated your cows,

no one would've batted an eyelid.

Your brother's time in prison came in handy.

Charlie Simon had been a lab tech--

he could make the anthrax.

But even together, you and Eugene

didn't have the money to pay for him or the lab.

So Eugene reached out to an old Army pal, Joe Bey.

He agreed to bankroll the effort,

not realizing that your brother

had outgrown his radical leanings.

Eugene never intended to hand over the anthrax.

And why would he? One anonymous phone call

to the police about Bey's plan to poison congressmen,

he'd be out of the way.

It's quite a solid plan.

Until Charlie Simon crossed paths

with a pickpocket. Next thing you know,

anthrax is all over the news.

Detective Bell and I come up to your farm,

so you decided to sacrifice your brother.

You talked about him as if he were still a radical,

and you gave us the address to a place where you knew

we would find Joe Bey.

Meanwhile, you had Eugene bring you the anthrax,

and you killed him and made it look like

he was trying to poison your herd.

You hid the rest of the powder; you had to.

You still had a thousand cows to slay somewhere down the road.

Question is, where did you hide it?

We know it's not here.

The Feds and local police

combed every inch of this place yesterday.

This is such a crock.

I want you to leave now.

Oh, we're leaving. Not without you.

We went to your mom's house this morning with a warrant.

Found these

in her attic. The lab confirmed

it's the same anthrax we found at your farm.

Well, Eugene must have hidden it there.

But she told us he hasn't been there in a year.

She said you stopped by last night and asked

if you cold store a few things in the attic.

You didn't say what they were, but you were

very specific that she shouldn't touch them.

According to his wife, Eugene learned a few things in prison.

Let's see how you fare.

Sherlock Holmes, when did you become such a cliché?

Standing over a grave, head heavy with dark thoughts.

If this were a scene in a play,

I'd have refused to perform it.

I was on my way to a meeting.

I'm supposed to speak, you know.

Well, I thought this would be a good place

to collect my thoughts.

I'm sorry I let you down.

You didn't let me down.

What you did has got nothing to do with me.

I understand that.

Came here today because, um...

...because I loved you very much.

And I wanted you to know that you'll be missed.

"At me too someone is looking,

"at me too...

"someone ing,ay is sleeping...

"he knows nothing...

let him sleep on."

== sync, corrected by Romesh == RiVaL

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