All language subtitles for Elementary - 5x06 - Ill Tidings.HDTV.DIMENSION.en

Previously on Elementary...

We're here to see Fiona
Helbron, aka Mittens.

The day Phil was arrested,

you walked me home, we talked,
and I liked it.

Can we do it again?

Relationships are hard for me.

But you are the rare woman
I've come across

for whom I believe
that extra effort is worthwhile.

Table 12! Four top-- one
custard, one consommé,

two filets, one mid,
one mid well!

- Step on it!
- Heard!

I got branzino dying
on the counter here, Erin!

Where the hell
are my mushrooms?

Yes, Chef.

Hey!

Hey, do me a favor.

Go back to your station,
pull your head out of your ass,

and make me a side of mushrooms
that isn't undercooked.

I swear, one of these days,
I'm gonna murder that guy.

Well, get in line.

Chef Joe, you all right?

I will be when I get
my frickin' mushrooms.

Chef Joe?

I don't understand.

You're asking about the motive
behind an armed robbery?

In the State's version
of events, Detective, my client

shot the clerk after
he was given the cash

from the register.

I'm merely asking, why
would anyone do that?

You'd have to ask your client.

My job is
to find the guilty party.

I did my job.

Yes. Now let's talk about
how you did your job,

shall we?
I'd like to turn

your attention to a witness
you referenced

in your testimony: Samuel Cruz.

You said Mr. Cruz was
outside the store,

and he saw my client
flee the scene?

That's right.

Mr. Cruz's statement
was taken on the day

of the robbery-- March 28, 2016?

Yes.

I just want to be crystal clear
here for the jury.

It's your sworn testimony,
Mr. Cruz

told investigators he saw

my client, Mr. Walker,

flee the scene of the crime?

Yes, sir.

No further questions,
Your Honor.

Marcus. Hey.

You looked a little seasick
towards the end there.

Is everything okay?

Not really.

What do you mean?

I think...

I think I might have
perjured myself.

Okay. I can see you now.

Apologies. I've, uh, taken

to covering
all the lenses in here.

Why?

Well, let's just say

the NSA doesn't like me
as much as you do.

You think a government agency
is spying on you?

Probably not this week.

So, uh, it's been a month.

Are you ready to pass judgment
on Philadelphia?

The people here...

enjoy eating cheesesteak

and talking about
cheesesteak very much.

I don't enjoy either activity
as much as they do.

But I like the river.
It's quiet.

So you've been spending time
on the Delaware?

For work. I thought I told you.

Uh, in your e-mail,
you mentioned a business trip

in Philadelphia, but, uh,
nothing about the river.

Oh.

We're installing an experimental

auto-navigation program
on a barge.

It maps the riverbed
and sets its course accordingly.

Sounds interesting.

It isn't.

Or at least it isn't for me.

It's work. Can we talk
about something else?

Yes.

Good, because I had an idea.

I'd like to spend some time
with you in person.

It's been weeks.

You want me to come
to Philadelphia?

I don't.

I want you to come to
Cranbury Township, New Jersey.

It's exactly halfway between
Philadelphia and New York.

There's a bed-and-breakfast
called The Nestle Inn.

Right. Oh.

Is something wrong?

I'm being summoned
to the scene of a crime.

That's okay.
We can talk later.

We can talk
in Cranbury Township.

So you'll come?

Yes.

That's good.

I wasn't sure you'd say yes.

Well, you should have been.

Victim's name is Joe Leshner.

He was the head chef here.

He passed out
at the end of lunch,

collapsed on the floor
over here; witnesses say

he was bleeding from the
eyes before he went down.

Coagulopathy that extreme
could be the result

of a toxin in the body.

Maybe he was poisoned.

Oh, yeah, we're
gonna have to wait

for the autopsy
for sure, but, yeah.

And he might not
been the only one.

Line cook Mateo Lima started
showing some low-grade symptoms,

and he's getting
tended to out front.

Well, Arrondissement 21 is
one of the hottest restaurants

in the city; maybe one
of its competitors tried

to wipe out the staff?

Well, at the
moment, I'm inclined

to think that, uh, the target

was Leshner, and Lima
was just collateral.

The cooks here say

Chef Joe wasn't winning
any popularity contests.

Maybe that's why someone dosed
his cotton candy foie gras.

Lumps of duck liver
wrapped in spun sugar.

Obscenely pretentious
and, in this case, quite deadly.

Someone's injected the
meaty center with snake venom.

Tell me
you didn't just eat some.

Oh, it's quite harmless
if ingested orally.

Stomach acid neutralizes
the toxin.

It's only dangerous
if it enters the blood.

Hence, the fiberglass.

The what?
Fiberglass.

These granules--
some of them are sea salt.

Others are tiny shards
of fiberglass

meant to create microscopic
abrasions in the mouth.

So the snake venom could be
absorbed into the bloodstream.

Pretty sure you'd know
if you were eating fiberglass.

Well, this has been
ground down exceedingly fine,

so adding it to a dish like this
would yield little more

than a chalky texture.

That's a new one.

Yeah.

That sick line cook's gonna know
who made this.

I ate snake venom?

Am I... am I gonna be okay?

Well, it appears so.

How much did you eat?

- Uh, just a bite.
- Hmm.

I mean, Chef Joe didn't
usually share it with us.

Didn't want anyone figuring out
his special recipe.

Right. You mean he
made that food himself?

Last night.

He'd usually make a batch
after we'd close.

Store it in the prep fridge.

Hard to imagine
he was our poisoner.

So only restaurant employees
have access

to the kitchen, is that correct?

Normally, yeah.
But?

We had a break-in last night.

Now, somebody broke the lock
on the back door,

tried the safe in the office.

It looks like they gave up
when it wouldn't open.

Maybe it was cover
for the poisoner.

That batch in the kitchen

was for a private lunch
we had here today.

You served it?

It was a seven top,

our first seating
of the day.

They called ahead,
they said

they all wanted
the chef's tasting menu.

It-It's the only way you can get
our famous foie gras.

So seven people
ate fiberglass

and snake venom here
earlier today.

And anyone who looked
in the reservation book

would have known that
they were going to eat that?

You think one of them
was the target.

One of them or all of them.

We might not be looking
at the death of one man.

We might be investigating
a mass murder.

♪ Elementary 5x046 ♪
Ill Tidings
Original Air Date on November 13, 2016

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man

Heck of a welcome-home gift.
Our first week back,

and I'm look at
neuropathy, coagulopathy,

myelosis, internal
hemorrhaging, renal failure.

Textbook envenomation symptoms.

If it weren't for the chef
uniform, I'd have pegged

Mr. Leshner for a snake charmer,
a bad one.

No idea what type of snake
the venom came from?

That's gonna take some time.

There's no one test to
I.D. the source species.

I have to run Mr. Leshner's
blood against a bunch

of known samples
to find a match.

But I can tell you, the stuff
is neurotoxic and very potent.

You said the restaurant
couldn't identify

the seven other people
who ate it?

All we got is the name
of the guy

who made the reservation:
Daniel O. Lukic.

And we ran him
through the RTCC.

No hits.
There's not a single person

in the country
that's got that name.

So we're thinking
it's probably an alias.

Well, if he and his lunch mates
ate more than a nibble of that

foie gras, we're gonna be seeing
them down here soon enough.

I got to get that.

Another victim
just turned up.

Tate Orvis,
Brooklyn software programmer.

Showed up at Stuyvesant Memorial
half hour ago.

He didn't make it.

Symptoms same
as the chef.

Well, we have to find out
who all these people were

before we can figure out
who wanted them dead and why.

At least we have a lead.

We have two. There's a name
on the reservation.

I just said
there's nobody in the country

named Daniel O. Lukic.

There is however a Danilo Lukic.

D-A-N-I-L-O.

Whoever took the reservation
mistook his first name

for his first name

and a middle initial.

Mr. Lukic is a Serbian national.

He designs onboard computers
for a car company in Belgrade.

And according to them,

he's on vacation
in New York this week,

staying at the Vera
Hotel in Queens.

Marcus, nice of
you to join.

They just let you in here, huh?

Well, once I explained there
might be a dead Serbian inside,

they were very accommodating.

Oh, there wasn't,
as you can see.

But, uh, they invited me to
stay and have a look around

if it might help them
locate their poisoned guest.

Any luck so far?

I've learned that Danilo
Lukic is a Sagittarius,

he's allergic to corn,

and he collects
penguin-themed bric-a-brac.

His whereabouts however
remain a mystery.

Look, there's something
we need to talk about.

I was in court
this morning.

You remember Leon Walker?

Killed that bodega owner, fled
with cash from the register.

Yeah, $207, if
memory serves.

There was a witness:
Samuel Cruz.

You said he saw the shooter
flee the store?

Yeah, he did.

He told you
he saw Leon Walker?

He didn't have to.
It was obvious.

What do you mean,
it was obvious?

Cruz was, uh, peddling

bootleg perfume
outside the store that day.

Couldn't afford to leave
his elicit business unattended,

so... there's no question
he was there.

I mean, Walker ran out
after the shooting.

Okay, but he could have
been looking

in the other direction,
he could have...

Walker knocked over a rack
of Cruz's fragrances.

They shattered
all over the sidewalk.

There was still
glass on the ground

when I arrived
at the scene.

And given the fact that the, uh,

murder weapon reeked
of Eu De Toilette

when it was recovered
a day later, stood to reason.

It can't stand to reason.

Mr. Cruz being a witness--
that's part of the State's case.

I'm confused as to why
they would introduce him.

Leon Walker's DNA
and fingerprints

were found at the scene,

there was a ballistics match
on his weapon,

and the money was recovered
in his apartment.

So what Cruz saw or didn't see
doesn't bloody matter.

It does now. I just told a jury
that Cruz said he saw Walker.

I thought it was rock-solid,

and your notes
were shorthanded...

My notes were misinterpreted.

Either way, we got a problem.

The way the defense attorney

was harping on it,
my guess is he's gonna

put Cruz on the stand
and Cruz is gonna have

a different story to tell.

They'll use the discrepancy
to make it look like

we bungled the investigation.

Did you tell the A.D.A?

Yeah, she's not happy.
She wants to put us both

in front of a judge
to walk all this back

when court resumes
next week.

That's not going to happen.

There is no
question that Cruz

saw Walker flee the scene.

If the court
wants us to prove it,

then we'll just prove it.

But not at the moment.

Something wrong?

All the beverages

in this room are made
by the same conglomerate,

apart from this wine.

So Mr. Lukic
brought his own wine.

Not wine.

Just the bottle.

Any idea what those are?

I can't believe Tate's dead.

I was just in a meeting with him
this morning.

He was poisoned at lunch,
Mrs. Shea.

And it looks like
several other people were dosed.

So far, we've been
unable to identify them.

Any chance you know
who he was dining with?

Sorry, no.

I'm not plugged into
Tate's calendar.

He was the CEO.
I'm just the HR lady.

Well, you're
more than that.

What do you mean?
We went through

your social media accounts.

Three Saturdays ago, you
posted a photo of a sunset.

The caption read: "Beautiful
night with friends."

So?

So, the photo was taken

from the porch
of Tate's summer home

in Vermont.

We matched the photos
to his accounts.

You weren't with friends,
you were with Tate.

You were having an affair.

We spoke to Mr. Orvis's
housekeeper.

She said last week

you two had a fight.

He called you a psycho.

Why would he say
something like that?

You're right.

We were sleeping together.

He called me crazy

because he didn't
want to tell the truth.

Which was?

He was two-timing me.

I was at his place when
I overheard him talking

to an Italian woman
on the phone.

I didn't recognize her voice.

You listened in on the call.

I heard him say "I miss you,"
so I picked up the other line.

They were saying how excited
they were to see each other.

After they hung up, I
stared poking around.

I found these weird key cards...

in his wallet.

I thought they were to get into
places where he was meeting her.

When I couldn't connect
them to any hotels,

I confronted him.

He got angry.

He wouldn't tell me anything

about the cards
or the woman.

Our thing...

was over.

But I didn't kill him.

You have to believe me.

We might, if you can tell us
where you were last night.

Home.

With my husband.

I know you could
tell him about the affair.

Could ruin my life.

But I swear, he's just
gonna tell you the same thing.

Sorry. He's gonna have to.

Do I smell Thai food?

Yes, there's
tom yum goong in here.

Oh.

Finally, some good news.
I am starving.

So, it turns out that Tate Orvis
is a real Lothario,

but a pretty unlikely
murder target.

The captain and I
spent the last few hours

calling every hospital
in the city,

trying to find a new lead.

Didn't find a single one.

Day was a total bust.

Well, I wouldn't go that far.

The photographs you sent
of the key cards

that Sydney Shea found
proved quite useful.

These were hidden
in Danilo Lukic's hotel room.

They're identical.

Sydney thought
that these were proof

that Tate was having an affair
with some Italian mistress.

She's not his mistress.
She's a telecom executive.

Her name is Serafina DiTomasso.

I was struggling
to grasp the connection

between a software guru
from Brooklyn

and an auto worker
from Belgrade.

These key cards tell the tale.

Do you know what they're for?
No idea.

But I know where they came from.
Each one is marked

with an alphanumeric code
which begins with "IAO."

"IAO"?

The Internet Address
Organization.

It is a nonprofit organization

comprised of eminent
computer science professionals.

The group is very secretive.

But online rumors suggest
that these seven individuals

are its leaders.

So you think Serafina DiTomasso
and the others

are the five
missing poison victims.

I've managed to confirm

that each one of these people

has business
in New York this week.

The NYPD is sending patrol cars
to their hotels as we speak.

Hmm.

You seem a little disappointed.

No, I just thought, with the...
secret key cards

and the snake venom and
the foreign affairs,

we'd be dealing with
spies or assassins.

Not... you know, tech support.

I mean, why would anyone
want to wipe out this group?

They seem so mundane.

I mean, what would
killing them even achieve?

Airport shutdowns, power grid
failures, financial meltdowns,

nuclear war--
take your pick.

What are you talking about?

The IAO controls core security
for the entire Internet.

These people are
many things, Watson,

but mundane...

they are not.

I'm sorry if you don't
like my questions, Mr. Dalal,

but you still
have to answer them.

Yesterday, my friend Tate
was killed.

This morning, I wake up to hear

Danilo died
on a subway platform.

Now you tell me
everyone else in the group was

found dead in their hotel rooms
and you think I'm to blame.

We don't know what to think
right now, but we're trying

to solve these murders
and you're not helping.

What conclusions are we supposed
to draw from that?

That these people were
dear friends of mine?

That it's taking me some time
to process this nightmare?

We completely
understand,

but we have urgent questions
we need to ask.

So you admit you
and your friends were leaders

of the IAO.

You were at
the same lunch,

but you were the only one
who survived it.

I didn't eat
the poisoned foie gras

because I'm a vegetarian.

My entire life. Ask anyone.

The restaurant
manager said that

13 menu items were served.

Two of them contained meat.

Two out of the 13.

Pretty lucky the
snake venom just happened

to be in one of the two
dishes you couldn't eat

instead of one of
the 11 you could.

That is exactly
what it was-- lucky!

You said the food was poisoned

during a break-in
the night before, right?

I was at my hotel,
the Belmont in Queens.

Look at their security footage;
I was there all night.

You also ought to be
asking yourselves

why on earth would anyone
have wanted us dead.

We don't know how
your group works.

You guys don't exactly
advertise your methods.

Based on what we do know,
it looks like the first step

to taking over the Internet.

If that's what you think,
then you understand very little.

By all means,

enlighten us.

The Internet is built
on the premise

that when people type in
the address of a Web site,

they are sent to the legitimate
version of that site.

When the seven of us
would meet up,

we would verify
that every entry

in the online phone book
was legitimate.

If we didn't, a bunch
of fake sites would pop up

to steal users' personal data,

plant, uh, spyware on-on phones
and computers...

So, seven people verify every
Web site on the Internet?

We use an algorithm to do it.

What happens if someone gets
their hands on that algorithm?

Well, they couldn't.

Not without these.

Danilo Lukic
and Tate Orvis had those cards.

What are they?

When the algorithm isn't in use,

it's divided into seven parts
and stored on hard drives.

The drives are kept in safes,
locked with these.

But even if someone snatched
all of our cards--

and whoever poisoned our lunch
obviously didn't--

they'd still need to clear
a dozen hurdles

before they could do
any real harm.

What do you mean?

We're just the first line
of defense.

There are backup algorithms
and fail-safe alarms,

replacement key-holders.

There isn't a scheme
I could imagine

that would actually benefit
from my friends dying.

Thought talking to that guy
would clear things up.

It didn't.

So... if the deaths
of his friends

didn't further
any Internet coup d'état,

we might want to consider
a more personal motive.

One member of the group
had an enemy;

the other deaths
were collateral damage.

Well, before
we look into

these people's lives,
we should check out his story,

see if there's video
at the hotel

at the time of the break-in.

Any chance you could
do that without us?

We have a quick
errand to run.

Old case that's on trial.

Yeah. I'll be in touch.

So you were supposed to meet
with Samuel Cruz this morning.

Were you not able to
confirm my suspicions?

Actually, I was able.

I laid out your
broken perfume bottle story

and said we know
he saw Leon Walker's face

as Walker fled
the scene of the shooting.

He admitted it,
told me everything.

He says he was being pressured
by the defendant

to lie on the stand;
he was gonna say

the person he saw running
from the store was a woman.

I'm sure the defense attorney
would have

had a field day
with that discrepancy.

You and I get to tell the A.D.A.
the good news.

There are seven murders by snake
venom waiting to be solved.

Six IAO key-holders, one chef.

Could you not regurgitate
that happy report on your own?

The A.D.A. wants to be sure our
wires aren't crossed anymore.

This is about putting
a murderer away.

It'll take 30 minutes.

You got Mr. Cruz's signature
under an affidavit?

Figure that way,
he can't get squirrelly again.

He swore out the real story,

picked our guy out
of a photo array.

That's a relief.

I'm gonna take this to
Judge Williams right now.

You know, we can go with you
if you think it'll help.

No. The old man
loves me.

Let me lay it out for
him; he'll forgive

your mistake on the stand,
probably call defense counsel

to chambers and read
them the riot act.

It'll be fine, I promise.

Thanks. I, uh...

I'll breathe easier
when it's over.

You think I'd let my
favorite cop get tripped up

over some nonsense like this?

As for you, Mr. Holmes,

try to be a little more careful
writing your reports.

You kind of put your
friend in a spot.

Actually, it was my...

No, no, she's right--
the error was entirely mine.

My apologies to both of you.

All right.
Oh, I'm due in court.

Thank you, gentlemen.

I am now retracting
my apologies.

You know, if you'd have told me
you had a crush on Ms. Milner

before we came here,
I could've told you to wear

a different color shirt;
there's ample literature

on which colors
women are most attracted to,

and purple isn't one of them.

That was a business meeting,
not a speed date.

It was both. You dragged me here
to save face with that A.D.A.

I would've been happy to
be your wingman/scapegoat.

I wasn't trying to put the blame
on you, I just wanted

to make sure everything
was squared up for her.

Yeah, 'cause you're
attracted to her.

All right, fine.

I like her.

Despite her wedding ring?

It's to keep guys away.

She's in the middle
of a divorce.

Look, when that's all done
and I ask her out,

it's important she knows
I'm good at my job.

Why? You want to romance her,
not go into business with her.

Maybe you haven't noticed,

but my work is kind of
a big part of who I am.

It's important to you, and you
want to be important to her.

The transitive property
doesn't apply.

You think I'd be into Chantal

if she wasn't great
at what she does?

It's what attracted me to her
in the first place.

Tell me it's not
the same for you

and that woman
you've been seeing. Felicia?

Fiona.

People in relationships,

they talk about their jobs--

how things are going,
the ups and downs.

Pretty sure I'm not crazy here.

Watson. Did Mr. Dalal's
story check out?

It did.
But that's not why I'm calling.

I found the motive for the
attack on the key-holder group.

Or rather, it found me.

Somebody sent a video to
every news station in New York.

Listen to this.

God declared

that the meek
shall inherit the Earth.

That was 2,000 years ago.
We've waited long enough.

The IAO key-holders
just got a taste of our justice

in their foie gras.

Wall Street is next.

Corporate America
hasn't shared the wealth.

Today, they lose it all.

We're already inside the market.

We can't be stopped.

There's only one thing
left to do: panic.

They must've heard
about the threat.

This place is a zoo.

Mr. Holmes?

Ms. Watson.

Captain Gregson told me
you were coming.

Lillian Dunbar,
head of operations.

I understand you're consultants.

Is no one else joining us?

Most of the Major Case
Squad is working on

a lead our tech
people found.

They think they know where
the threat was sent from.

We've been sent to learn more
about what its author

would need to do to make good
on his warnings.

The U.S. Stock Exchange receives

a dozen threats a week--
they're usually bogus.

Six dead IAO key-holders lend
a certain weight to this one.

Of course. That's why
we're taking it seriously.

When we get a threat that looks
like it might be legitimate,

the exchange enacts
a set of protocols

to ensure the security
of our system.

Passwords are reset,

mandatory client I.D.
numbers are replaced,

and we conduct a system-wide
audit of our online networks,

from the high frequency
trading servers

all the way down
to the power grid.

And, of course, we
freeze all trading.

That's why all these people
are going home?

Everyone but the techies.

Most of the protocols are
completed by in-house staff,

but the system audit

is done by a team of outside
cybersecurity consultants.

So you don't think this guy
can make good

on his promise
to burn it all down.

Ask anyone who works
in the stock market

how to eliminate all risk.

They'll tell you
it can't be done.

But I'm telling you
we've done it.

It's weird seeing it
quiet like this.

I'm used to the pandemonium

when they show
the trading floor on TV.

It's pretty rare for
us to suspend trading.

But when it happens,
people clear out quick.

Well, everyone likes a snow day,
even when it doesn't snow.

I think your traders have
been sent home over a hoax.

I share your optimism,
but I have to ask,

what's yours based on?

When we spoke to the last
remaining IAO key-holder,

he was utterly convinced
that global Internet security

was not in jeopardy.

If anything, the
security measures

here are even more daunting.

It's likely this is
a bizarre ruse,

designed to provoke precisely
the actions that you've taken.

I guess it's possible,
but we don't really have

a choice about how to respond.

It doesn't matter whether
the attack is real or fake.

What matters is the public
believes it's real.

We have to run our protocols
so we can restore

public confidence
and trading can resume.

When it does,
I wouldn't be surprised

if the killer was set to profit.

Probably only a handful

of ways to do that.

He would have to make
certain investments,

buy or short stocks
known for sharp gains

or losses in a panic.
We might be able

to identify the culprit if
we see your recent trading data.

It can't leave
the premises.

But I can have my assistant
get you anything you need.

Make yourselves
at home.

What's two more
outside consultants, right?

I have to say, if the killer's
hiding in these spreadsheets,

I-I'm just not seeing him.

So, I've been thinking about
something that Marcus said

when he confessed his feelings
for the A.D.A.

in the Leon Walker case.

Marcus is in love? Tell me more.

She's immaterial to my quandary,
but...

he feels it's imperative
to share one's professional life

with one's romantic partner
and to have

that partner reciprocate.
Do you agree?

I guess. But either way,
why would that bother you?

I don't discuss my work
with Fiona.

She doesn't discuss hers
with me.

Ever?

She's been
in Philadelphia

on a business trip
for the last month.

I only discovered the nature
of that business yesterday.

Every relationship is different.
My mother has not read one

of my stepfather's novels
since the first one,

and they're coming up
on their 35th anniversary.

I mean, there's not always
one right way to do things.

Yet being a detective is not
what I do, it's who I am.

So how can I have no instinct
to share something so essential

with someone
I'm professed to care for?

Well, you're talking
about one thing.

I mean, it's an important thing,
but still.

It's not just one thing.

In my life, I'd say I'd had
exactly one relationship

that I would classify
as a romance.

Irene.

Fiona's a remarkable woman.

What we have is also...
a romance.

And yet...

the two do not compare.

It's just disappointing.

What you had with Moriarty,
that's never gonna happen again.

It shouldn't.

You're either in love with Fiona
or you're not.

Yeah.

That is not a trash can.

No. It's a 19th century
Empire flower vase

from the Russian
Romanovich Porcelain Factory.

Well, then you should watch
what you're throwing at it.

I assure you,
it would take more

than a piece of paper
to damage that vase.

Romanovich porcelain is famous
for its exceptional quality.

That's part
of what makes it so...

valuable.

What?

I just realized,

money's not the only thing
of value in this building.

What are we
not looking at here?

Excuse me.

Where are the LeGrands?

There was a trio of
post-Impressionist artwork here.

The paintings,
where have they gone?

Oh, yeah. They pulled them down
to pull some cable.

They got 'em leaning up
against the wall right over...

Guys, could I get a
20 on the paintings

that hang out here
in the lobby?

We've been looking for
the killer on the wrong floor.

This isn't some
byzantine stock plot,

it's an art heist.

And it's happened
right under our noses.

The piece on your left
is Torqued Rift #4,

in the center is The Sadness,
and on the right, of course,

Nurse Debriefing a Staircase.

Nurse Debriefing a Staircase?

Baptiste LeGrand was pretentious,
even for a post-Impressionist painter.

His work is off-putting
and overrated, in my opinion,

but there's no accounting
for taste, is there?

Together, these paintings
are worth roughly $60 million.

That building was
full of people all afternoon.

How the hell does somebody steal

three paintings
and nobody notices?

Our killer is a flimper.
He flimped.

It's a pickpocket's trick.

You use the distraction
of a bustling crowd

to plunder your mark.

The poisoning of
the IAO key-holders,

the video threat
to the financial sector,

it was all just a ploy to get
the stock exchange chasing

its tail while the thief pulled
$60 million worth of artwork

off the wall
without anyone noticing.

Yeah, but I've been to the
stock exchange-- that place

is packed to the gills with
security cameras and alarms.

Distraction or no distraction,
you can't just walk out

with three canvases
under your arm.

You can if the entire system
is off-line

while it's being checked
for signs of hacking.

I doubt John Q. Citizen knows
the ins and outs

of the exchange's
security protocols.

You got to think somebody on
the inside helped them out, huh?

We talked to Lillian Dunbar--

she's the chief of operations
over there.

She's offered us access
to HR files,

phone records,
even internal e-mails,

anything that might help
recover the paintings.

So we comb through
all the files.

Any luck, we spot a suspect.

Unfortunately, there isn't
enough time for luck.

The exchange has
a thousand employees.

It would take days to consider
each one of them in turn,

and by the time we've identified
a suspect, assuming we do

at all, our paintings
will have disappeared into

the murky depths of the black
market, along with our thief.

So I think there's
a more efficient way

to find the needle
in this haystack.

- What's that?
- Well, with your permission,

Captain, I'd like
to burn the haystack down.

Three stolen masterpieces are
on their way back home tonight,

after the NYPD recovered
the modern art

stashed in
a Hunts Point warehouse.

I don't know what your
friend is so upset about.

Those paintings look
just like the real thing.

Jericho is an art forger
par excellence.

He usually spends weeks
preparing a single counterfeit.

And I asked him to do three
in ten hours.

So needless to say, he doesn't
think it's his best work.

I think
they're convincing.

Local news thinks
they're convincing.

Because local
television reporters are

the gold standard
for investigative journalism.

So now what? We just wait?

The publicity surrounding
the staged recovery

should temporarily kill
the market for stolen art.

Our thief
will have to spend time

convincing any potential buyers
that he still possesses

the real LeGrands.

And how's he gonna do that?

The same way that anyone
convinces anyone

of anything these days:
by ranting about it online.

I created accounts for us

on several Dark Web sites
known to host conversations

about black market goods.

We'll monitor them for posts
of the stolen artwork,

and hopefully the thief should
reveal himself soon enough.

"Give to a gracious message
a host of tongues,

but let ill tidings tell
themselves when they be felt."

Why are you quoting
Antony and Cleopatra?

There was an oncologist I knew.
He used to recite that

to himself whenever he had
to deliver a bad prognosis.

It's just a reminder
to speak simply

and honestly to a patient
and not sugarcoat the bad news.

Are you going to tell me
I have a tumor?

No. I was just thinking about what
you said about Fiona last night.

I mean, she's smart,
compassionate, beautiful.

Yet you still think
she might not be right for me.

Is that what you think?
I don't know.

I just know that you've never
been through a breakup before.

Fake deaths don't count.

And besides, Moriarty did that
to you; you did not

do that to her.
Listen,

breakups are never easy, but
they don't have to be that bad.

So just try and remember:

"Give to a gracious message
a host of tongues,

but let ill tidings tell
themselves when they be felt."

Lights up on three devious
travelers of the Silk Road.

Silent Wolf, Hungrybox
and Doctor Bumrush.

They are buyers
and purveyors

of stolen goods all,
and they are commiserating

about a great fraud perpetrated

by their much loathed nemesis
Tha PoPo.

"Tha PoPo's lying, man.

The art on the news is fugazi."

"I'm with you.

"Cops are trying
to cover their asses.

"The real LeGrands
are still out there.

"I got a guy
who knows how to get them.

Message me."

"I may just do that.

"No chance
those paintings are genuine.

"Just a transparent attempt

to thwart the sale
of the real LeGrands."

Okay. So, if these guys are
talking about the art online,

then I guess
we have three good suspects.

Except they're not
three suspects.

They're three screen names
owned by one man.

Why don't you just
tell me what's going on here.

There was a great deal
of chatter on the Dark Web

about the heist yesterday.

Most notably these three posts.

I compared them to internal
stock exchange employee e-mails.

Distinct lexical patterns
and phrases from all three

recur in correspondence written
by the same man: Brian Beale.

Hmm. He looks familiar.

He should do. We passed him
in the lobby yesterday.

Mr. Beale is
a cyber security expert,

and he works for the firm

which ran the stock exchange's
systems audit yesterday.

So he had access to the building
during the robbery,

and he would understand
the chaos

that would be created
by an attack on

the IAO key-holders,
and he's out there

trying to discredit
our art recovery story.

Marcus is going to meet us
at his home in half an hour.

If you wish to
change your clothes,

I would ask
that you hurry.

Landlord says he hasn't seen
Mr. Beale in a couple days.

You recall that the back door
of Arrondissement 21

was a grotesque shade
of burgundy?

Tip of this crowbar
is covered

in flecks of burgundy paint.

Perhaps it's the tool used
to break into the restaurant

so that Mr. Beale could
envenomate the foie gras.

Could be enough
for a conviction right there.

Well, it might be enough
to sate your future girlfriend,

but professional pride

requires recovered paintings,
real ones.

Wherever
those paintings are,

we're gonna have to
find them ourselves.

He's gone.

Still warm.

30 minutes, maybe.

I'll call for a bus and CSU.

Coagulopathy in
the tear ducts,

discoloration of the armpits,
swollen glands.

Venom, no doubt.

This time delivered
straight from the fangs

of a deadly coastal taipan.

How can you tell?

There's one
right behind your foot.

What do I do?

I'm gonna look that up.

I'd start with
"don't get bitten."

Hey, this just
came for you.

Oh.

What's Clyde doing out?

He's having a walk while
we sublet his terrarium.

I-Is that...

Oxyuranuss cutellatus.
Yes, the very same

coastal taipan
from Brian Beale's apartment.

The venom from that snake
killed eight people,

including the last person
who kept it as a pet.

I thought that Animal Control
was impounding it.

An animal shelter is no place
for an exotic reptile.

It would be destroyed.
We're just looking after it

until I can deliver
it to a friend

at the zoo.
In the meantime,

I'm just enjoying its company.

It's quite beautiful,
don't you think?

And dangerous.

In my experience,
those two traits

are often a package deal.

Oh, you're still obsessing
about your theory, huh?

It's more than a theory;
it's a likelihood.

Brian Beale had a partner.

We found
the blueprints

to the U.S. Stock Exchange
on Beale's desk; we found

the crowbar that he used
to break into the restaurant

to poison the IAO

key-holders;

we found the source
of the poison.

I'm not disputing that
Brian Beale was involved.

I'm disputing
that he acted alone.

I don't think that snake
belonged to him.

I think it belongs
to his partner.

There was a terrarium
in Beale's bedroom.

He had snake food.

He even had snake medication.

All easy enough
to plant.

Have a whiff
of that snake.

You'll notice a very
distinctive musk.

And I only mention it because...

Mr. Beale's apartment
did not smell of musk

in the slightest.

Yeah, I'm gonna have
to take your word on that.

Yes, the optimal temperature
for a coastal taipan

is 75 degrees Fahrenheit.

Mr. Beale's thermostat
kept his home

at a crisp 67 degrees.

It's much too chilly
for a tropical snake.

That only proves he's

an inconsiderate roommate
to reptiles.

It does not prove
that he had a partner

who framed and killed him.

You must admit
the timing of his death

is highly suspicious;
we're meant to believe

that he successfully milked
a deadly snake for months,

only to be bitten one day after
he fenced the stolen paintings?

Okay, so who's
the missing thief?

Who's trying
to frame Brian Beale?

When this argument began,
I wasn't sure.

But that was
before a friend of mine

at Columbia's
herpetology department

lent me the skeleton
of a coastal taipan.

I wasn't about to
try my experiment

on the fangs of a live one.

But now I know.

I've seen these
exact same markings before.

This is ridiculous.

H-How did you even
get a warrant?

We looked
through the trash

you put out on the curb
last night, Mr. Lima.

We found pet store receipts
that show you purchased

the supplies needed to house

and feed
a coastal taipan.

The venom
from that species

poisoned seven people
at Arrondissement 21

and killed your friend
Brian Beale.

I don't even know who that is.

Sure you do. You went
to Gracely High together.

You signed his yearbook.
We found it at his apartment.

Go Tigers.

You also got
a parking ticket

down the block
from the restaurant

at 3:15 a.m. on the night
the place was broken into.

We're certain that you
were the burglar that evening.

You staged a robbery
at your own kitchen

to throw suspicion
off other members

of staff such as yourself.

I ate some of that foie gras,
remember?

I was sick
for two days.

Now, why in the hell
would I dose myself

with snake venom?

- Because you're immune.
- As you well know,

there's a process

called mithridatism.

It's named after
King Mithridates VI,

ruler of ancient Pontus.

He was so afraid
of being poisoned

that he would regularly
ingest very small doses

of various toxins in order
to build up an immunity.

I-I think you may have seen
The Princess Bride

one too many times.

Except that iocane powder
is fictional.

Immunizing yourself
against snake venom

is a scientific reality.

Last night, I had
the opportunity to examine

the jaws
of a coastal taipan.

I realized that
the scars on your hands,

scars I initially attributed
to your work as a line cook,

were in fact a perfect match

for the taipan's
symmetrical bite pattern.

And it makes sense
that you've been bitten.

You'd been
handling that snake

for months, milking it
to draw out its venom.

Hard work pays off.

You managed to poison
the key-holder lunch

without anybody looking

in your direction.

And it set up
your next play--

robbing those paintings
from the stock exchange.

You got too greedy

when you decided not to share
with Brian, though.

Up until that point,
pretty tight plan.

All your, uh... evidence

is circumstantial.

I mean...

I went to high school
with Brian Beale.

So did 900 other people.

And, yeah, I got
a parking ticket that night.

That happened a half a dozen
other nights, too.

I leave my car at work
and take the subway home

if I have too much
to drink after hours.

You may have had enough
for a... a warrant,

but if you had enough to arrest
me, you already would have.

I'm right, aren't I?

We're not quite ready to answer

that question just yet,
Mr. Lima.

Uh, what are you doing?

Something's preventing the water
from soaking into the soil here.

Don't worry.

Tree pythons are...

nocturnal, right?

I think.

I have to give you credit

for devising
such a clever hiding place,

Mr. Lima.

He will be arresting you now.

Oh, there you are.
I just heard from Marcus.

The curator at the Whitney
took a look at the painting

you found
in the python terrarium.

It's the real McCoy.

Or LeGrand, as it were.

That's one down.

Actually, the other two
should be recovered soon.

Mateo Lima's case went federal.
He took a deal

and gave up the name
of the guy who bought them.

Wise move.
The U.S. government

could inject him with poisons
he's not inoculated against.

I'm going out for coffee.
You want to join?

I can't. I have a
video chat with Fiona.

You know, I bet she'd love
to hear about this case.

Enjoy your coffee, Watson.

"Give to the gracious
message a host of tongues,

"but let ill tidings
tell themselves...

when they be felt."

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man