Original subtitles

Looks like a standard car alarm.

Then go ahead and disarm it.

ODIN You have approached Odin.

Your photograph has been taken

and forwarded to the authorities.

You have ten seconds to back away.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight...

It's a talking car alarm.

They are the pet rock of automotive security;

they are a gimmick.

They were a gimmick.

I can't crack it.

You have approached Odin.

Your photograph has been taken

and forwarded to the author...

The sensor's field extends a full 360 degrees?

Well, it's an interesting problem.

I appreciate the help.

I'll leave it here.

We gotta go.

Meeting starts in 20.

Doing battle with Odin

seems like a more stimulating way to spend an hour to me.

I'm not skipping a meeting.

I don't think you should, either.

What's going on with you?

Been bailing on meetings

and then when you do show, you never talk.

Your enthusiasm for the program

never waxes and wanes?

Sure it does. But I still go.

My name's Shauna Milius.

I used to work with Joan Watson.

This is her address, right?

It was. She no longer lives here, sorry.

Can you tell me where she went?

I want to hire her.

One second.

Duty calls, Alfredo.

I'll let you know when I've defeated Odin.

About that...

While I was waiting for you downstairs,

I stashed a few of the sensors around the place.

Just to keep the problem fresh in your mind.

Excuse me.

It's my friend, Marissa Ledbetter.

We started as O.R. nurses on the same day.

We've been close since.

Last week, she finished up a shift

and told me she was headed home.

None of her neighbors saw her come into the building.

Nobody's seen her since.

I'm sorry. Marissa's parents

are down in Florida. They're not well enough to travel,

so I've kind of been keeping track of things.

You made some notes based on your conversations

with the detectives? May I?

It says here she used her credit card

at a bodega on West 44th Street

shortly after leaving hospital.

Where does Marissa live?

Cobble Hill.

Right. And you and her work

at Watson's old hospital in the West Village. Yes?

Hell's Kitchen is hardly on the way home

from the West Village to Brooklyn.

Is anyone looking into this?

They think maybe Marissa owed money to some bad people.

They were pretty fixated on that.

Money-lenders to not want their indigent clients to disappear;

they want them to work and make money.

It's a game of chance, going to the police,

but you're in good hands now.

You have approached Odin.

Your photograph has been taken

and forwarded... Disregard this.

...to the authorities. I'm doing a favor for a friend.

You have ten seconds to back away.

So someone I used to work with is missing,

another old colleague friend

tries to hire me to look into it,

and somehow, Sherlock winds up on the case.

He just sort of slipped into it.

I think he did it mostly to get out of

going to a meeting with Alfredo.

He wants us to catch up on the case file

while he looks into something.

I've circled something on the first page.

Looks like Marissa received a payment of $150,000

right before she disappeared.

What is "Purgatorium, Incorporated"?

It's a company

based in Luxembourg, founded a month ago.

There's no information about them anywhere.

Luxembourg's a tax haven, apparently,

so the police can't find out

anything about the people that founded it.

Well, you said on the phone

that Marissa had debts,

but this is hardly the same thing

as a payday loan joint.

What did Sherlock say about it?

He doesn't know about it yet.

He's looking into the last place that she used her credit card.

It's Sherlock.

What does he say?

I don't know.

These abbreviations that he uses...

"At 748 West 45th Street.

"In rear. Bring Watson.

Wear sensible shoes."

So why did you want us to meet you

in the alleyway behind a bar?

Not just any bar.

This Dumpster services Vladi's.

It's the kind of establishment which,

despite the rapidly gentrifying neighborhood around it,

still manages to attract

a thoroughly seedy clientele.

Pins in this padlock

were too heavy for my lock picks, so...

I'm not getting in there

until you tell me what it is I'm looking for.

When I was investigating the, uh...

the area around the bodega

where Marissa Ledbetter last used her credit card,

I couldn't help noticing that this place

is subject to

a litany of complaints

from the neighbors.

Noise complaints,

public urination, that kind of thing.

One stood out.

A couple of days ago, two businesses complained of a f...

Oof.

...a foul smell

coming from this Dumpster.

It does smell awful,

but isn't it supposed to smell awful?

Yeah.

It's rancid... ugh!

I'm sorry, Watson.

So you found this on her body?

It's a list of dosages.

Marissa was a nurse.

It doesn't look like

an official hospital communication.

I've sent Kitty to St. Andrew's

with a photograph of that.

I'm curious as to whether it has

anything to do with her work there.

You all right, Watson?

I know you were

acquainted with Ms. Ledbetter.

Well, I hadn't seen her in a long time,

but she was a really sweet person.

We're all done.

Your friend died shortly after she went missing.

She was, uh, struck in the head about a dozen times,

before someone wrapped their hands around her neck

and squeezed.

I'm sorry.

Was there any evidence on the body?

She had someone else's DNA under her fingernails.

She must have scratched her attacker,

trying to fight him off.

I had someone at the lab run

a preliminary check on the DNA.

It matches a sample someone left

when they applied for a job at the DA's Office.

Guy's name is Christopher Jacoby.

So, we have the probable killer's name

and his DNA.

He has a current address on file, too.

Watson, if you like, I could...

give your friend the bad news.

Oh, I'll do it. Thanks.

Detective Bell, let us know when you have the killer in custody.

Yeah, hold on. I'm, uh...

checking something on the department intranet.

Jacoby... Jacoby...

I knew I recognized that name.

It keeps coming up in our briefings.

He's missing, too.

His wife filed a report

last Wednesday.

I'm sorry.

You're saying Chris is a suspect in a murder?

Well, his DNA was found

under the fingernails of the victim.

It looks like it happened around the same time

your husband went missing.

There has to be a mistake.

Chris is a kind man.

Did he know a woman named Marissa Ledbetter?

Not that he mentioned.

Well, according to the report

you filed, the last time you saw Chris,

he told you he was going to spend a couple nights upstate

with some college buddies, but his friends say

they didn't have any plans with your husband.

Well, I don't know why Chris lied about that,

but he wouldn't cheat on me, if that's what you're wondering.

Chris is a good man.

We've been struggling since he got laid off,

but we're dealing with it.

Something happened to him.

He wouldn't run away from our life,

and he definitely wouldn't kill someone.

Uh, sorry to interrupt.

Did you bring a child to work with you today?

Oh, no, that's Mason.

He's older than he looks.

A bit.

He passed a note to me.

Said to give it to you.

Said it was urgent.

Okay, first of all, I don't mean to be rude,

but your computers suck.

You said you found

Chris Jacoby. I think so.

I compared his picture to the cached images

from surveillance cameras all around the city.

There was a match from yesterday,

right by Morningside Park.

It's weird, though.

You gave me a picture

of a clean-cut guy.

The match I found was...

something else.

That's Chris Jacoby?

Software says

it's a perfect match.

So how often are you here?

I play here every day.

I have a permit from the city

that covers the entrance to the park.

Would it be fair to say

you're familiar with the local homeless population?

You get to know the faces.

Do you recognize this man?

Him, I know for sure.

He's come up to talk to me

a few times this week.

He seems quite damaged.

So you've seen him more than once?

I've seen him coming out

from the park in the morning.

I get the impression

that he's sleeping nearby.

So how are you doing?

I beg your pardon?

How are you?

Well, my heart rate is normal for a man my age

and my blood pressure is good to excellent,

last time I checked.

You know better than to ask me such a non-specific question.

What are you getting at?

Well, Kitty said you ducked out of a meeting

this morning.

And I know that you were upset

because that guy posted your shares on his blog.

Firstly, I didn't "duck out" of anything.

I took a case.

And secondly, I've come to believe

that the recent violation of my anonymity was,

on balance, a good thing.

Good? How?

Well, it's given me some distance from the program.

A chance to evaluate which aspects of it work for me

and which don't.

I don't think it's really

an a la carte kind of arrangement.

Yes, it is.

At any rate, all systems can be improved upon, Watson.

What is it?

Looks like a good spot for an encampment.

Sherlock!

Hello?

Mr. Jacoby?

I'll text Marcus.

Hold on.

This earth's been disturbed.

What is it?

Well, it seems Mr. Jacoby

has kept a journal.

And he considered its contents important enough to keep hidden.

"The room never changed.

"Day after day, year after year,

"decade after decade.

"I went insane a dozen different times.

"Then I became convinced I died

and went to Hell.

"I thought no one would ever

"come for me until the morning the woman came for me.

I was ready to strike."

He's describing the murder of Marissa Ledbetter.

Maybe the version of it that existed in his head.

So, we found Marissa Ledbetter's killer,

who's dead.

So, now what are we investigating?

Chris Jacoby's murder?

We know who did what to whom.

The why of the matter escapes me utterly.

A man lies to his wife

about a trip upstate.

Within days, he's driven to utter madness.

His victim received a mysterious and untraceable payment

to her bank account.

We don't know what Chris Jacoby was really

up to the day he disappeared,

just as we don't know what Marissa Ledbetter was doing

in Hell's Kitchen. And we don't know how they met

or where he killed her.

Hmm!

What is it?

This is Chris Jacoby's laptop.

His wife lent it to me.

I'd been poking around and I found a number of e-mails,

which suggested that he'd opened a new

bank account shortly before his disappearance.

She didn't know anything about it.

I'd been guessing at his password and...

voila.

"Purgatorium." That's the same company

that put money into Ledbetter's account.

Why'd they both receive payments

for $150,000 in the same week?

The slip of paper we found on her

with the list of dosages on it...

you took it to the hospital where she worked?

None of the doctors had any idea what it was.

Why?

I'm not sure yet.

But Jacoby's autopsy is scheduled for the morning.

If it reveals what I think it might,

we'll know exactly what's going on here.

I don't know how it happened, but Chris Jacoby incurred

heavy brain damage recently.

There's serious deterioration

of the cerebellum and the cerebral cortex

and basal ganglia. He had a baseline scan

done recently.

You can see he was fine a few months ago.

The autopsy performed on Marissa Ledbetter

did not detect similar results, did it?

And the toxicology test

you did on Jacoby,

did you find any strange or unusual substances?

We did.

There was a chemical in his system...

I haven't seen it before.

We're trying to figure out what it is.

Don't bother. You won't find it registered.

How do you know that?

Jacoby was unemployed.

He was desperate for money.

He receives a payment

from an untraceable shell corporation.

Then he goes missing.

When he turns up a week later,

he's a killer with a destroyed brain.

And a mysterious chemical in his system.

Marissa Ledbetter. She has crushing debt.

She receives a payment. She's then found murdered

with a list of chemical dosages in her pocket.

So, you think someone paid Chris Jacoby

to take whatever drug we found in his system.

You're talking about an illegal drug trial.

I think your friend Ms. Ledbetter

was the nurse in charge of administering

whatever chemical Purgatorium, Incorporated,

is manufacturing.

The drug clearly did not work

the way that they intended it to.

It destroyed Jacoby's brain.

And in his delusional state, he attacked Marissa

and escaped whatever facility they were using.

Whoever was in charge of the trial

put her body in the Dumpster.

If that's true, whoever did the trial

must've been desperate to find Chris Jacoby.

Given what we know,

I find it very hard to believe that his murder

is the petty robbery that it appears to be.

I think someone's tying up loose ends.

So, you're saying that Jacoby killed Marissa,

but in a way, he wasn't responsible for it.

The truly guilty party is whoever set up the trial

and ruined his brain. And what's more,

no scientific trial is going to administer

experimental drugs to just one recipient.

Results would be meaningless.

The document we found on Marissa Ledbetter's body...

It has five different dosages

of the chemical they call E-Zed-M-77.

Five dosages, five patients.

They gave the drug to four other people.

So, you think somebody is running

an unauthorized drug trial

in the middle of the city?

What does this...

EZM-77 do?

We don't know what it's supposed to do,

but if you take it, you get brain damage.

I've studied plenty of drug trials

in medical school. These things don't happen

in a vacuum.

They're expensive and they take time.

There are four or five companies that drive

almost every advancement in the field.

This probably traces back to one of them.

Now, you're talking about public corporations.

Would they really risk an illegal trial?

If a company thought they were on to something,

and it could increase their market share?

Sure, I could definitely see it.

Get a drug that works first,

and then try and fast-track it through the system.

So, how do we figure out

which company it is?

Well, Jacoby was just one participant in the experiment.

We think there were four others.

The fastest way is to find one of them,

and see if they can lead us back to the company

that staged the trial.

"Bella, Edward,

"Jacob.

Immune to supernatural powers of the mind."

Wait a minute.

Are you guys researching the Twilight books?

We heard back from our friends at Everyone.

They've agreed to compile a list of everyone who's received

a payment from Purgatorium, Incorporated,

since its inception

last month.

In exchange, they want me to compose a treatise

on why the character of Bella should've ended up

with Jacob rather than Edward.

Apparently, there's some kind of convention in town,

and then want me to read my essay out loud in the lobby.

Personally, I see no reason why they couldn't have come

to some arrangement which involved all three of them.

But that's the position that Everyone

has asked me to take, so...

Everyone never gets tired of embarrassing you, do they?

Humiliation is the favorite currency of the hacker.

Everyone didn't mention anything about me

reading anything out loud, did they?

No. Excellent.

Well, I'm gonna...

work from home.

Hello?

� �

Hmm, that's pretty.

It seems suitable for pondering eternity.

You came in

using keys, not lock picks.

Kitty had a key made for me.

She didn't want me to have to break in

every time you didn't feel like, uh, answering the door.

And why are we pondering eternity this morning?

These are the five men who received

payments from Purgatorium.

You're familiar with Christopher Jacoby.

The man next to him, Spencer Redding,

checked into a hospital three days ago

with tremors in his limbs.

He died a day later.

An autopsy revealed damage

to his cerebellum, cerebral cortex

and basal ganglia.

Now, there have been missing persons complaints

filed on behalf of two

of the remaining men.

The last one, Louis Carlisle,

not officially missing, but he hasn't shown up

for work in almost a week.

I've dispatched Kitty to inquire after him,

although I'm not very hopeful.

So, you think these men were murdered

by the same person who killed Jacoby?

Spencer Redding was barely coherent

when he checked into hospital.

But he was awake long enough for a doctor to ask him his age.

Apparently, Spencer said he was 34 years old,

but he'd been alive for many more years than that.

Sounds like the same things that Jacoby wrote in his journal.

What are the chances of two men with brain damage

experiencing virtually identical delusions?

Miniscule. I have a notion

what E-Zed-M-77 is meant to do.

I think someone has been experimenting

with time-dilating drugs.

Such chemicals target the regions of the brain

which govern the perception of time.

The cerebellum, the cerebral cortex

and the basal ganglia. These drugs

would speed up the functioning of these regions

so that the person who took them would experience

one hour as, say, two hours.

Or a week or, theoretically...

hundreds of years.

Sounds like you're saying that these drugs stop time.

Not quite. They just cram more neurological function

into a shorter period of time. Now...

the potential applications are vast.

You could learn a new language

or a new skill in a couple of weeks.

You could sentence a prisoner to one day in prison,

and he would emerge having experienced

the equivalent of ten years worth of punishment.

You think someone invented that?

I think there are still kinks to be worked out.

Now, whether or not Jacoby and the others

experienced actual time dilation?

It's very difficult to say.

They would presumably have been briefed

on the potential effects of the drug,

so it's possible their damaged brain seized on that information

and built a delusion around it.

You have approached Odin. Your photograph has been taken

I'm helping Alfredo with something, so...

and forwarded to the authorities. You have...

Kitty went to Carlisle's workplace.

He hasn't been there for a while.

One of his colleagues said

they received an e-mail from him last night.

Apparently, he's gone into hiding.

Someone who took the drug is still alive?

Lou's only been into work once this week.

And he had to go home early.

He was in bad shape.

Did his e-mail say

why he planned to go into hiding?

He said people were following him.

He thinks his life's in danger.

Is that true?

I thought he was having

a breakdown or something.

We're not sure.

Did he mention where he was going?

Uh-uh.

Jessa and I talked before you got here.

Apparently, Lou's been having money problems.

Yeah, ever since his mom got cancer.

He was helping pay for her treatments

right up until she died.

Any idea what happened to her apartment after she died?

I think Lou was getting it ready to go on the market.

An empty apartment and a desperate young man

in need of a hiding place.

Louis Carlisle, we're with the NYPD.

Hello?

If you'd like to test your skills

in a practical environment, the floor is yours.

That's a bit unwieldy for the job at hand, don't you think?

Um, that's too delicate for the deadbolt.

Would you two mind?

Hello?

Louis Carlisle?

Mr. Carlisle, we're here to help you!

Stay away from me!

We're from the NYPD, we're not gonna hurt you.

Mr. Carlisle, we know about E-Zed-M.

We know that there are people after you.

If you tell us about the trial,

we'll make sure that they never threaten you again.

You'll keep me safe?

If you can help me,

I'll t-tell you... I'll tell you whatever you want to know.

I'll tell you everything.

It's odd, the other people

who took this drug could barely talk.

One of them we know went insane.

But he seems...

not fine, exactly, but he's functioning.

The experimenters gave different amounts of the drug

to everyone who participated in the experiment.

Clearly got some sort of brain damage.

Look at his hand.

Must have gotten the smallest dosage.

Just so we're clear, Mr. Carlisle,

you're not under arrest.

We just want to ask you some questions, all right?

Who did this to you?

I wish I could give you names.

Wait a minute, you participated in an experimental drug trial

without even knowing who was conducting it?

It was a lot of money.

It was 150 grand, up front.

Another 150 grand a year for the rest of my life,

if I didn't, you know, tell anyone about the study.

They were gonna give you $150,000 a year

for the rest of your life?

They said it was incentive to keep quiet.

I mean, did it seem shady?

Of course, but...

that kind of money, I can live with shady.

How'd you find out about the study?

It was just an ad online.

Had an e-mail address.

I wrote them, they wrote back.

It was all anonymous.

But the wire transfer cleared,

and, you know, it-it seemed professional.

And the trial itself, where did it take place?

Just some office they rented out.

They gave me the drugs, and I spent the night there.

They said, um, I might feel like a lot of time is passing,

and it definitely felt weird,

but I was okay.

Till a couple days later...

...when this started.

I sent them an e-mail.

Thought they'd help.

Instead, people start following me.

People, who? What did they look like?

I don't know, I never got a great look at anybody.

How about the people who came to you to conduct the study?

Can you describe them?

Yeah, sure, um...

There was a nurse.

You guys know about her already.

I saw another person.

Once.

Black guy.

He was about 40.

I think he, uh...

I think he was the one in charge.

Hey.

To what do I owe the pleasure of this unannounced visit?

Alfredo called me.

He said you missed a meeting, he was worried.

I'm working, Watson.

We have a sketch of the man who is in charge

of the illegal drug trial. Now...

someone with a talent for dabbling in time-dilating drugs

is not your average citizen.

He is, in all likelihood, connected to one

of the major pharmaceutical conglomerates.

So, you're going through their annual reports,

looking for a picture that matches.

I was looking through their annual reports,

till I found a photograph of Dr. Dwyer Kirke, PhD.

Hmm.

That's him.

Dr. Kirke heads up a research laboratory

at Ubient Pharmaceuticals.

He's a leading light in the field of neurochemistry.

I do believe we have found our man.

Did you tell Marcus?

The NYPD are on the prowl for Dr. Kirke.

Okay, that's great.

So, you're not exactly working anymore, right?

I mean, the police know who did it.

So why not go to a meeting

while they go and find this guy Kirke?

I sent Kitty to look through the office space

where the trial was conducted, and I need to be available

should she wish to get in touch.

What's going on?

Hmm?

You're skipping meetings.

What is going on?

Sherlock?

Okay.

Well, I can't force you to talk to me.

But I wish you would.

If you must know, Watson...

I've been feeling a little bit down of late.

It's the process of maintaining my sobriety.

It's repetitive.

And it's relentless.

And above all, it's tedious.

When I left rehab, I...

I accepted your influence.

I committed to my recovery.

And now...

two years in...

I found myself asking,

is this it?

My sobriety is simply a grind.

It's just this leaky faucet

which requires constant maintenance.

And in return offers only...

not to drip.

You have your work.

You have me.

You're alive.

I've told myself that many times.

So many times that it has become unmoored from all meaning.

Odd.

I, uh...

I used to imagine that a relapse would be the climax

to some grand drama.

Now I think that if I were to use drugs again,

it would in fact be an anticlimax.

It would be a surrender

to the incessant drip, drip, drip

of existence.

I'm sorry you're feeling this way.

What can I do to help?

Do you want to talk more?

Do you want to maybe speak to Alfredo?

Yes, I think perhaps I will see Alfredo.

But in any case,

I shan't be using drugs this evening.

Cold feet on the warm deck, Watson.

It's a wonderful morning to be preoccupied

by the meaninglessness of existence.

Why is that?

It led you to spend the night here.

Which, in turn, affords me the opportunity to rouse you.

I've missed it.

Food.

Clothing.

Which you left here when you moved out.

I didn't know you played the bugle.

I have a bugle.

I spent the last hour learning that particular tune.

The police searched Dwyer Kirke's apartment last night.

They found several hidden vials of a chemical,

which matches the one that we found

inside Chris Jacoby's body.

And some written records of the trial.

We have everything we need to make an arrest.

Except for Dwyer Kirke himself.

I have a notion where we might find him.

With a bit of luck, we can apprehend him

and convince him to turn on his superiors

at Ubient Pharmaceutical by, say, lunchtime.

Are you gonna wake up Kitty?

Of course not.

I am a courteous housemate.

This guy, Kirke,

he's running from murder charges.

Why exactly are you expecting him to show up

at his aunt's nursing home?

Dwyer Kirke has power of attorney

over his aunt's affairs.

He's responsible for her care.

She raised him, and, according to the staff here,

he's a regular visitor.

Poor woman is recovering from a broken hip.

That can be the kiss of death to elderly patients.

Isn't that right, Watson?

It's a psychological thing.

They have a tendency to give up.

Mr. Kirke has accompanied his aunt

to every physical therapy session she's undergone.

I think it's fair to say that his presence,

motivating factor that it is,

could be the difference between life and death for her.

She has a physical therapy session starting in 20 minutes.

I'm just saying... you're putting a lot of faith in a guy

behind at least three homicides.

The killings were an undesired side effect

of his experiment gone disastrously wrong.

He's not a murderer by avocation.

Marcus.

Dwyer Kirke?

You're a good nephew.

You're also under arrest.

Listen...

you've got me.

I understand that.

Just, please...

be careful with my research.

It's important.

It needs to be published.

People will want to continue this work once I'm in prison.

You're referring to the work

that ruined the brains of five different people?

Obviously, there were issues.

We had dosage problems.

But this is incredible stuff.

Some of those people experienced

actual time dilation.

You don't know that.

You don't strike me as someone

who's eager to throw their life away.

Why wouldn't you just test the drug

through the proper channels?

We couldn't. We had to move quickly.

Why?

You said "we," Dr. Kirke.

Right now, there is no "we."

You're the one taking the charges.

The trial cost north of $1 million.

There's no way that you could've financed that

on your own.

We're also reasonably certain

you weren't the one running around

killing people when things went south.

Tell us about Ubient.

Give us names, and we'll do what we can for you.

I'm not telling you anything about where the money came from.

You think they're gonna pay you to carry the weight on this?

It's got nothing to do with getting paid.

I'll tell you about the study,

I'll take responsibility for the deaths,

but I will never say a word

about the funding.

I'd like my lawyer now.

Why would he go to prison for the rest of his life

just to protect his bosses?

No one gives up everything just for a corporation.

No, that kind of resolve...

This is personal to him.

You think we were wrong about Ubient.

They didn't give him the money.

Dr. Kirke is not protecting a company.

He's protecting a person.

There some reason we can't turn the lights on?

Yes.

The sensor is remarkably sophisticated.

It's virtually impossible to approach it

without incurring Odin's wrath.

You have approached Odin.

Your photograph has been taken and forwarded

to the authorities. There isn't enough time

to deactivate it before the alarm goes off.

You have ten seconds to back away. However...

Ten. Nine.

Eight. Seven. If you manipulate the electrolytic capacitor

Six. Five. on a disposable camera and run our rigging

Four. through a suitable load coil,

Three. you can generate an electromagnetic pulse

Two. One. capable of scrambling the alarm's electronics.

As you can see, the Norseman falls quite silent.

You ruined the rest of the electronics.

You didn't beat the alarm if you can't steal the car.

Actually, electronic devices

are more susceptible to an EMP if they're turned on.

You simply calibrate the pulse

so it doesn't affect

the automobile's dormant electronics,

and the prize is yours.

An electromagnetic pulse.

Mm-hmm.

Well, I never would've thought of that.

Yes, well, you're a burglar.

You're a very good one,

but you're not an electrical engineer.

Well, neither are you.

Mmm.

So we haven't talked about the meetings.

What's up?

You coming back?

Yeah, I can't promise

I'm gonna find any more meaning in them, but...

I respect you and everything you have done for me.

So if you want me there, I'll go.

Think that'd be a good idea.

Watson.

Hey, I got your message to call,

but if you're still with Alfredo...

No, we're just finishing up.

So what's going on?

I think I know who funded

Dwyer Kirke's illegal trial.

MAN Hello?

Oh, good evening!

We'd like a quick word

with Jack Connaughton, please.

I'm afraid Mr. Connaughton

isn't feeling well this evening.

Oh, I'm confident he'll make time for us.

Tell him our business involves an illegal clinical trial,

several murders and a drug which promises its users

a kind of immortality.

Ah.

Thank you, Brett.

Something to drink?

I don't touch the hard stuff myself anymore.

Mr. Connaughton,

did you know the NYPD

arrested a man named Dwyer Kirke today?

He's been pursuing the invention

of time-dilating drugs.

I hadn't heard that.

At first, we assumed

that Mr. Kirke was working

on behalf of his employers at Ubient Pharmaceutical.

But he's been strangely reticent to name his sponsors.

That led us to believe

that he was being funded by a private benefactor.

You know Dwyer Kirke, don't you?

Name sounds familiar.

Well, the two of you crossed paths

not long after you sold your first patent

for $20 million.

You set up a scholarship fund

for promising kids from inner-city neighborhoods.

Your charity pulled him out of a terrible school

and placed him into the Appleford Academy,

and you gave his aunt a stipend

to help raise him.

We've helped a lot of kids.

But he's the one you called

when you learned that you were dying

of pulmonary hypertension, isn't he?

I haven't told anyone about my diagnosis.

You paid Dwyer Kirke

to develop E-Zed-M.

He owed you everything,

so he obliged.

You were looking for a pharmaceutical

fountain of youth.

A way to prolong your perception

of the time you have left on this Earth.

Weeks could feel like months... years, even.

It wouldn't be the best of lives,

but at least you could work.

Beats the grave, in any case.

I'm not saying that I...

have anything to do with this trial,

but what you're describing

sounds incredible.

It should elicit praise,

not threats of arrest.

We will prove that you founded Purgatorium, Incorporated...

just as we will prove that you had

surviving trial participants executed.

Admit what you did.

Do it now,

and we will see to your comfort

in your final days.

Brett...

I'm tired.

I'd like to go to bed.

The man's facing death.

We have precious little leverage over him.

Maybe Jack Connaughton isn't the one

we should be appealing to.

I don't know why you asked me

to come in here.

I'm just a nurse.

I'm not involved in any of this.

Well, in my experience, Mr. Won,

employees in the homes of the very wealthy

are often seen as little more than sentient furniture.

As such, their overseers will often do

or say things in their company

they would never share in public.

You've cared for Jack Connaughton

for the last nine months.

Did you hear anything strange

during that time?

Brett...

people are dead.

I can't talk to any of you about this.

I signed a nondisclosure agreement

when I took this job.

I could get sued.

There isn't an NDA

on this planet that can protect against

criminal activity.

That's Marissa Ledbetter.

She was a nurse, too.

These are the men

that signed up for the study.

Two of them are missing.

Two of them are dead.

Their families don't have closure.

You can help us bring it to 'em.

A little while back...

Mr. Connaughton had me look

through his safe for a business card.

When I was in the safe, I saw a bunch of papers

with the name of the business you asked him about on them.

Purgatorium, Incorporated.

I found the business card.

It-it didn't have any names on it,

just a phone number.

He called the number, and two men came over.

They didn't introduce themselves.

They made a point of not introducing themselves.

I heard most of what they talked about.

Mr. Connaughton...

mentioned these men.

Said they all had to be "taken care of."

Jack Connaughton,

wake up.

You're under arrest.

What's wrong with him?

His pulse is okay.

I don't think it's from the hypertension.

He's taken a dose of Dr. Kirke's medicine.

These are unlabeled, but I'll wager

they contained E-Zed-M.

That drug kills people, doesn't it?

Dr. Kirke believes it also dilates time.

If Mr. Connaughton thought he was going to be arrested

for murder, why not extend his last few hours of freedom?

The most he'd have to lose is a few weeks of life.

We need EMS down here.

Oh...

You think his brain is just tearing itself apart,

or is he just living in there?

I don't know.

The best we can do is wait for him to come around and...

see how much of Jack Connaughton is left

when he does.

You know, I've been thinking.

If it helps to have me around, even for a little bit,

I can come back for a while.

That's very kind of you, Watson.

But it's a temporary malaise.

It's nothing more.

I will be fine.

Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org