All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - S10E16 (EN)

Oh...

- I presume this is it.
- Oh yes, we're coming

under her now. I got
my floors all mixed up is all.

- When did you discover her?
- Uh, this morning.

She's been in here
quite some time, Mr. Grandy.

Do you know
how many buildings

I look in on,
son? You expect me

to scour every
floor every day?

I'll take it from here. If
I need you, I'll come find you.

Ah! All these stairs...

Who's there?

That is mine.

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

- Identify yourself.
- Howard Philips Lovecraft.

What are you doing here?

Visiting her, of course.

Hello, my dear.

Do not touch...

- I enjoy drawing.
- I see that.

Reading as well.
Gothic stories especially.

Hm. Did you know her?

Do you enjoy reading?

Yes. The girl,
Mr. Lovecraft--

What do you
enjoy reading?

Anything from
science periodicals

to Shakespeare. Now young man,
did you know the deceased?

- Yes.
- What is her name?

I don't know.

Then how is it
that you know her?

From drawing her!

Once she was
already dead?

You never met her
prior to her death?

No. We became
close since.

And I believe that
we will meet again.

How long have you
been drawing her?

I couldn't say. Time
is not of consequence.

In this instance,
I'm afraid it is.

A few weeks,
I suppose.

And how did you
come to find her?

A boy told me
of her.

- What is his name?
- Clinton Hartley.

I can tell you where
to find him if you'd like.

Yes, please.

May I continue
to draw her?

Decomposition was
helped along by rats,

making identification
impossible.

But I can say with some
certainty that she was young,

fifteen or
sixteen perhaps.

And the
cause of death?

Asphyxiation.

I believe she was smothered
with the handkerchief you found

at the scene. I found
matching particles in her lungs.

- So, no wounds then?
- No!

I can't explain the blood on the
handkerchief or on her clothes.

Only to say
that it wasn't hers.

It belonged to her assailant?

Also, the handkerchief
was doused with chloroform.

She would have
gone painlessly.

A compassionate killing. So,
she could have known her killer.

She didn't arrive with
this pendant, did she?

No,

only the clothes that remained.

And now the pendant's gone.

It could have been a figment
of Mr. Lovecraft's imagination.

Yet why include it
in the early drawings

and not on later ones?

Unless the killer
returned to retrieve it.

Mr. Hartley,

how do you know Mr. Lovecraft?

He sought me out after
discovering I'd borrowed

his favourite book
from the library.

Edgar Allen Poe's
The Masque of the Red Death.

- Have you read it?
- No.

- And when was this?
- Perhaps a month ago.

So, the two of you
became friends.

Yes, we are rather like-
minded. Don't you think?

Although I admit I am not quite
as drawn to death as Howard.

And yet you informed
him of the body

you found in the
abandoned building.

When did you
do that?

Shortly after we met.
Four weeks ago.

And how is it that
you... found this body?

I was scouring
for valuables.

Yes.

Is this one of
the valuables that you found?

No, I've never
seen that before.

Describe for me what the body
looked like when you found it.

I can't.

I only got close enough
to make out that it was a girl

at the dress.

The stench kept me
at a distance.

Surely your parents
taught you to inform the police

when you found
such a thing?

I don't speak
with my parents.

What an odd-looking
group of youths, George.

Hm...

Margaret, what are you doing

- here?
- Verna Jones is making me lead

the discussion on
this dreadful Dracula book

- for our reading club.
- So what?

Thomas, this book is
grotesque! It is positively

nightmare-inducing! Verna
is just doing it to spite me.

Who cares about Verna Jones?
Pick a different book then!

Wh-- And let Verna win?

What do you want me
to do about it?

I would like you
to escort me to the morgue

to speak to Dr. Ogden.
She's a learned woman after all,

and deals in the macabre.

Talk to her yourself,
Margaret. I'm working.

Work? You're just
sitting there like a lump!

Yes, at work.

Why do you live with
your aunt, Mr. Lovecraft?

My father died
from mental exhaustion

after years
in an insane asylum.

I'm sorry
to hear that.

And your mother?

She now resides in
the same asylum in Providence.

Good lord.

And that's not
to say that...

your... destiny
is determined.

Or perhaps it is.

Oh, hello.

- Hello, Mrs. Brackenreid.
- Hello.

The Inspector's wife.
Lovely lady.

We have
a common interest.

Oh? What's that?

Blood. Salvation.

I really must
be going, young man.

Your hands...

These fingers...

Mr. Lovecraft,
your aunt

will be here very soon. Thank
you, Mrs. Brackenreid.

Mrs. Brackenreid...

No one but a woman
can help a man

when he is in trouble
of the heart.

What was this Clinton
Hartley lad doing

- in an abandoned building?
- Scavenging for valuables,

- he claims.
- I thought he was rich!

Rebelling against
his father's wealth.

Rebelling against wealth.
What's the matter with--

Well...

I don't want the others
to know I'm speaking with you.

Alright. Have a seat.

How did you get
in here, young lady?

I know the pendant,
from the newspaper.

What was her name?

Ellen Woods.
How did she die?

- And your name?
- Sarah Glass.

Miss Glass,

is this Ellen Woods?

Looks like
Howard's drawings.

- You know Mr. Lovecraft?
- He's the newest member

in our group. He draws
such... loving portraits.

Was Miss Woods
a member of this group?

For a short while.
But nobody cared for her.

- Why is that?
- No reason exactly,

just that everyone
seemed to start fighting

- when Ian brought her in.
- Ian?

Ian Blair. Ellen was
a cousin of his from Oshawa.

New to Toronto.
He felt...

obliged to welcome her,
I suppose.

- But she didn't fit in.
- Our interests

- aren't shared by most.
- What interests are those?

- Death.
- Making your parents proud, are you?

We don't care what our parents
or anyone else thinks of us.

Surely you found it strange

when Miss Woods
suddenly disappeared?

We thought she went
back to Oshawa,

as she had often threatened
whenever anyone was hard on her.

Clinton especially.

Thank you, Miss Glass.

If we have further
questions we'll contact you.

If Miss Woods was
a member of their group

and Miss Glass recognized
her from the pendants

- and drawings...
- Surely Clinton Hartley

- did as well.
- And he lied to us.

- Bring him back in.
- Yes, sir.

Hello?

Is anybody there?!

Hello?

Julia? AH!!

Margaret,
what are you doing here?

Oh, I, uh... I want
to discuss something with you.

- What is it?
- Dracula.

The book!
For my reading club.

You're shaking
like a leaf. Is that...

- my scalpel?
- I thought

I heard something
behind that door.

That's
the cold storage.

Unless the dead
have come back to life,

I assure you there's
no one back there.

Oh, I was certain
I heard something.

Look.

You see?

- AAH!!
- What on earth are you doing

- in here!? Get out!
- I wanted to see her again.

Agh! Stay put! I'm
calling the constables.

You're bleeding.

"Do you believe
in destiny?

"That even the powers of time

"can be altered
for a single purpose?

"That the luckiest man
who walks this earth

is the one
who finds true love?"

Young man,
get... get up!

Get up!

Out. Keep moving!

Get OUT!

Lurking around the bloody
morgue like a lunatic.

- What's wrong with him?
- He doesn't seem to see

anything wrong
with his behavior,

- no matter how misguided.
- Someone needs to instill

some principles. A spell
in the army would sort him out

- quickly enough.
- Or perhaps, sirs,

a more gentle form of guidance
might benefit the young man.

- What do you know about children?
- Well I was one.

Still bloody are,
half the time.

So what do we do with him? We
don't have enough to arrest him

and I don't feel
comfortable letting him go.

Well, we can't trust his aunt
to keep him under lock and key.

- Keep him here?
- No,

I've got a better idea.
Crabtree can take care of him.

He seems to know everything
about child-rearing.

Sir, I'd be happy to.

I believe this young man
and myself might have more

in common than you think.

I have been through
my own spells of melancholy.

Well, that's settled then. No
doubt Mr. Lovecraft will leave

a boy and return a man courtesy
of George Crabtree, esquire.

And sir, I may be no
miracle worker, but I believe

I can help lift the dark
cloud that hovers over him.

Well, very good!
Thank you, George.

And when that dark cloud
lifts, sir, not only will

the sun warm Mr. Lovecraft,
it may also shed

- some light on our case.
- Or it'll rain buckets

like a November Monday in
Yorkshire on both of you.

The sun shines sir,
even in Yorkshire.

Not on November
Mondays, it doesn't.

That's meant
to be Ellen?

It's a rendering
by Mr. Lovecraft, yes.

Surely you recognized
that pendant

as being hers when I
showed it to you the first time.

No, I don't pay attention
to pendants and dresses.

Your friend Sarah did.

Well, I suppose girls notice
things that boys do not.

Or, there's another
explanation. You lied to me.

Because you had something
to do with her death.

I did not.

Could one of the other
members of your group, then?

- No.
- You were the first one

to discover her body
by your own admission,

and yet you never
reported it to the police?

As I told you before,

Howard said he would
inform the police.

Did Mr. Lovecraft
and Ellen

ever meet,
to your knowledge?

I don't think so.

What was
Mr. Lovecraft's reaction

when you first
told him about the body?

Somehow he didn't
seem surprised.

As if he knew
about it already?

I don't need to see it.

I already heard
everything from Clinton.

Heh...

I understand you
and Ellen Woods were cousins.

Yes, when she arrived from
Oshawa I tried to include her.

But your friends...
didn't take to her?

Perhaps if they
gave her a chance...

Where did you imagine
she disappeared to?

Back to Oshawa.

When she failed to arrive,
did your family not alert you?

I don't talk
to my family.

Well, who do you
live with then?

I live with
the others. At Logan's.

Is this Logan also
a member of your group?

Yes, we all keep
a room at his house.

Ian, come on!

I finally secured
the Balloon Lung Tester!

- May I go?
- This Logan's surname

and address, first.

Logan Smiley.
912 Wellington.

Come on, Ian.

Isn't this nice?

There's beauty all
around us, Mr. Lovecraft.

One need only open
their eyes to see it.

My eyes are wide open.

Then surely you can
appreciate the, the...

changing colours
of the autumn leaves.

As their veins choke off
the nutrition they require

to remain green.
Their last gasp

as they desperately
cling to their lifeline

before their inevitable
death and descent.

Eh...

Then the leaves are
absorbed into the ground,

which provides the soil
with the nutrition it needs

to feed the trees which fostered
the leaves to begin with.

It's a, uh...
beautiful circle of life!

Decay begets
more death and decay.

Look,

Mr. Lovecraft.
That squirrel.

Surely you can't
deny his industry,

his preparation for winter.

No sooner than I can deny
the likelihood of its death.

The ground
will freeze over,

his own kind as likely
to steal his cache as he is

to rediscover it in his
struggle to endure the winter.

I understand the others spend
quite a bit of their time here,

Mr. Smiley? Your
father doesn't mind?

He's dead.

And mother's glad I have
friends to keep me occupied

while she travels
with her latest paramour.

Is it true that you and
Ellen Woods did not get along?

- None of us did.
- Not even her cousin?

Ian got along with her fine.

What was the problem exactly?

She and Clinton
fought frequently.

It created a sense
of unease amongst the group.

- I was happy when she left.
- Is that so?

Well, I mean before
I found out she was murdered.

I assume she kept
a room here as well?

Yes. It's Howard's now.
Nothing of Ellen's remains.

Even so.

Do you really think
that squirrel will die?

We all will. The
only question is when.

I suppose you're
right, you know.

It's enough to make you wonder
what the point of it all is.

I mean, we all spend our lives
just as this squirrel

clawing, scratching,
trying to get by.

In the end we all end up
in the same place anyway.

But surely

there's beauty to be found
in our daily struggles.

I think that's what gives
life it's depth, Mr.--

...Lovecraft!?

These are all
Mr. Lovecraft's belongings?

Yes, I threw out
all of Ellen's things

after she disappeared.

- It's a love letter, sir.
- "For never was there a story

of more woe than ours."
Quoting the Bard!

- Bloody pretentious.
- Indeed. It's filled

with youthful angst and the
language is melodramatic

and dense, but the
sentiment is unmistakable.

It's signed by Miss Woods,
but not directly addressed

- to anyone, nor is it dated.
- No, sir.

I found it in
Mr. Lovecraft's room

amongst his personal effects.

"To my Love," although generic,
could have been Miss Woods'

- pet name for Mr. Lovecraft.
- Well, if you're right,

this establishes a relationship
between the two of them

while Miss Woods
was still alive.

And Mr. Lovecraft's perverted
fascination with death alone

- could provide motive.
- He prefers the dead

to the living, maybe
that extended to his most

intimate relationships.

- Julia.
- Doctor.

- Burning the midnight oil?
- I was taking a final look

at Miss Wood's body
when I discovered something

- rather disturbing.
- What is it?

Her left ring finger
has been severed.

It happened
since she arrived.

Mr. Lovecraft.

- Crabtree!
- Sir.

- Bring me Lovecraft.
- I can't, sir.

- I lost him.
- You lost him?

Sir, I've looked
all over Toronto.

"Do you believe in destiny?

"That even the powers
of time can be altered

"for a single purpose?

"That the luckiest man
who walks this earth

is the one who finds True Love?"

Oh dear.

Stop talking to him,
Mina, you foolish woman.

Walk away.

Hello?

John, is that you?

Thomas? Hello?

Do you like it,
Mrs. Brackenreid?

I should knock his block off.
Margaret didn't get a wink

of sleep last night,
which means I didn't either!

Sir, he's just a boy.
No older than your son, John.

John doesn't go around
spooking housewives

- with severed body parts!
- I understand your frustration,

but should you do anything
rash, it could compromise

- our investigation.
- Get a confession

- and be done with him.
- Sir.

I do not like this room!

No one does. Please
have a seat, Mr. Lovecraft.

Miss Woods is now
missing a finger

and Mrs. Brackenreid
has an extra.

- Yes, I gave it to her.
- After trespassing

into the city morgue
and severing it.

Do you not see how completely
inappropriate that is?

No.

I found this in your
room at Mr. Smiley's.

- What is it?
- It's a correspondence,

from Miss Woods to you.
Despite the fact that you said

- you didn't know her.
- I never said that.

Correction, that you
knew her only in death.

This proves otherwise.

It was found in
your room, Mr. Lovecraft.

- May I keep it then?
- No you may not

keep it, it's evidence.

Evidence that,
along with other factors,

strongly suggests that
you killed Miss Woods.

- You.
- To me she is not dead,

- but eternal.
- Did you kill her?

- No!
- Did you know her

- prior to her death?
- No!

Did you sever
her finger postmortem?

Yes.

But you didn't
kill her to begin with?

No, but... I surely
wish I was there

when she passed from
this dimension to the next.

"Denn die todten
reiten schnell."

I do not speak German.

"For the dead
travel fast."

I know all of Dracula.

There is someone else
I'd like you to speak with.

In a setting that you
may find more agreeable.

Do you know the difference
between right and wrong,

Mr. Lovecraft?

That cannot be
answered without context.

Is it wrong
to mutilate a dead body?

I could ask you
the same question.

I conduct post-mortems
as a means to an end.

You severed...
a finger

from a corpse
for no apparent reason.

She did not mind.

Do you believe it's
wrong to kill someone?

Many killings are
justified. You should know.

Would you have been justified
in killing Miss Woods?

If it pleased her.

Why would it please her?

May I speak with
Mrs. Brackenreid instead?

I'm afraid you will
have to make do with me.

You were in a relationship
with Miss Woods. You knew her,

- did you not?
- I've always known her,

through eternity.

Your diagnosis, Julia?

It would be
premature to make one, William.

He's certainly
disturbed, but...

I don't believe
him to be insane.

All I'm prepared to say
is that he has trouble

delineating between
reality and imagination.

But is he
capable of murder?

It wouldn't surprise me.

But why?

The love letter
was one of devotion.

Trying to apply logic
to the circumstances

may not be helpful
in this instance, William.

Frankly, I don't know
what to do with him.

He seems to be
more at ease

expressing
himself creatively.

If you continue
to hold him,

perhaps you should provide
him with a new notebook.

Do you believe
he's a murderer?

I don't yet know.

It has been

a difficult time
since he arrived.

- Since he arrived?
- Yes!

Since Howard joined us from
Providence five weeks ago.

Mr. Lovecraft has only
been in Toronto five weeks?

Mr. Lovecraft,
I have your supper.

Though you hardly deserve it
after abandoning me in the park.

Can you not see
that I am preoccupied?

- What are you writing?
- An account of recent events.

You know, I myself
am a writer,

an experienced
one at that.

And I can personally
attest that one should never

try to write...
on an empty stomach.

You're worse
than my aunt.

Well, you're worse than
most of the guests we have

in this place. And
that's saying something.

I am sorry about
the park, Constable.

I highly doubt that.

Something isn't quite
lining up here, Julia.

Neither are these
buttons, I'm afraid.

As best you could tell,
Ellen Woods was killed

approximately six weeks ago.

And I've just learned
from Mr. Lovecraft's aunt

that he only arrived
in Toronto five weeks ago.

So, if you are right,

which you usually are,
and Mr. Lovecraft's aunt

is telling the truth,
then it's impossible

- that the two ever even met.
- Indeed!

One thing is certain:

Ellen Woods did write this
letter. But perhaps it was

- intended for someone else.
- And planted in Mr. Lovecraft's room?

Yes. And if that's the case,
then perhaps someone else

was in a relationship
with Ellen Woods,

and they could very
likely be the killer.

There. That
should hold.

Thank you, Julia!

Hello!

Ladies and gentlemen,
I believe one of you

was romantically involved
with the deceased.

Now who was it?

If any of you know anything,

you should speak up.

The letter from
Miss Woods that I found

in Mr. Lovecraft's room, it
was intended for someone else.

I believe that person
deliberately placed the letter

in Mr. Lovecraft's
room to incriminate him.

Now who was it?

Let's go, George.

- Thomas.
- Hm...

I believe I will come in
to work with you tomorrow.

- Why?
- I can't stay home alone.

He's everywhere.

Ah, Murdoch. Where are we at?

Well sir, I--
Oh! Mrs. Brackenreid!

Margaret insisted on
coming in with me today,

despite Mr. Lovecraft no longer
posing any threat to her.

Murdoch, I can't stress

how vital it is
that you wrap this case up.

Yes, sir. In fact, I--

Excuse me.
Inspector Thomas Brackenreid...

Could you speak up?

- I can't hear you.
- Is the detective there?

- Detective Murdoch.
- It's Sarah Glass.

I think I know
something important.

That letter you were
asking about...

Yes, Miss Glass?

You are back already!
No! Wait!

Miss Glass, are you there?

Miss Glass, are you alright?

Hello? HELLO?!

Who is there?

W-- What just happened?

- Explain yourselves.
- We just got home,

we found her
like this. I swear it.

We were buying tobacco.

- Where is Logan Smiley?
- I don't know,

he was still here
with her when we left.

She was trying to tell us
something over the telephone.

- What was it?
- I don't know, sir. Honest.

What happened? Sarah...

Where have you
been, Mr. Smiley?

I w-- I was
at the cemetery.

- Doing what?
- Worshipping the dead.

Can anyone
corroborate this?

- And don't say the bloody dead.
- Perhaps the gravedigger.

- Are you trying to be funny?
- No.

What happened to her?

One of you lot
killed her.

Sir, Logan Smiley was indeed

wandering the cemetery
grounds at the time

- of Miss Glass' murder.
- And Mr. Lovecraft

was here in our cells.
What of the other two?

Well, that's where it gets
interesting, sir. The shopkeeper

confirmed that Ian Blair did
indeed buy tobacco off him.

He even noted the time as he
was about to close for lunch.

But he said Mr. Hartley
wasn't with him.

So, the two of them
left Mr. Smiley's together,

leaving Miss Glass behind,
but then Mr. Hartley

turned back to prevent her
from speaking with us.

Right, then. I'll
pick up Clinton Hartley.

Thank you, George.

Tell me again:
Where were you

at twelve-forty PM,
Mr. Hartley?

That's around when Ian
and I went for tobacco.

You were never
with Mr. Blair

at the tobacco shop
as you initially claimed.

I was.

I can even show you...

the purchase receipt.

Surely given to you
by your best friend.

You see,
the shopkeep confirmed

that Mr. Blair did
indeed come in and purchase

tobacco from him.
But not you.

I waited outside.

The shopkeep also said

that this was
the last transaction

before closing for lunch.
He stepped outside,

locked the door and saw
Mr. Blair walking away...

alone.

No.

You returned to the house
shortly after leaving

and found Miss Glass
on the telephone.

There was something

Miss Glass needed
to say to me.

Very likely that it was you

she saw planting the love
letter in Mr. Lovecraft's room.

I didn't.

So, you murdered her...

with the nearest
implement at hand.

The telephone.

My father's
going to kill me.

It was you that was in a
relationship with Miss Woods.

And you murdered Miss Glass
to conceal the fact

that you had murdered
your own sweetheart.

Why?

Why kill your own sweetheart?

I don't know.

You loved her,

but I am told
that you fought frequently?

Yes.

I know you smothered her...

but, uh...

where did the blood come from

that covered her dress
and the handkerchief

that was found at the scene?
Because it wasn't her blood.

I can't recall.

Not something
one would easily forget.

While I was smothering her,

she threw her head back,
and it struck my nose.

I used the same handkerchief
to stop the bleeding.

A confession isn't
good enough for you?

The one for
Miss Glass's murder is.

- What about Miss Woods?
- Clinton Hartley claims

that he used the handkerchief
that was found at the scene

- to stop his bleeding nose.
- So?

That handkerchief
was doused in chloroform.

It would have knocked him out
as surely as it did Miss Woods.

He couldn't possibly
have held it to his nose.

- Only the killer would know it.
- Therefore,

her sweetheart could not
have been Clinton Hartley.

William, I found
something interesting.

I checked in on Mr. Lovecraft,
and he shared his new notebook

- with me.
- More bloody drawings?

No, Inspector, he wrote
a detailed account

of his experience of late. Quite
a fine writer it turns out.

Does it have any
bearing on our case?

Well, the letter you found
in his room? What we perceived

simply as a love letter,
he perceived as something

much more. Mr. Lovecraft
believes it was written to Ian.

Yes,

they were in love.

But they also planned
to meet on the other side.

- The other side?
- The other side of life.

- Death.
- Yes.

- "Together we shall go."
- "For never was there a story

of more woe than ours."
You recognize the passage?

Yes. I love when you
read Shakespeare to me.

- It's Romeo and Juliet!
- And what did Romeo

and Juliet do?

They both committed
suicide in the name of love.

Precisely.
Not only is this

a veiled suicide note,

but it's a suicide pact

between two
star-crossed lovers.

How I envy them.

Yet only one body
was found at the scene.

But what of all that blood?

I will be with you
soon, my love.

Ian! Ian! No! Please!

Don't leave me.

You're under arrest for the
murder of Miss Ellen Woods.

- I miss her so.
- Don't say anything, Ian!

I cannot stand
to be without her.

The pendant.

May I take it
with me to the gallows

so that I may give it to her
again once we are reunited

on the other side?

I suppose being a youth isn't
as simple as it used to be.

Was it ever
simple, William?

Think about our friends
Romeo and Juliet.

Indeed.

Hmm. It's really about salvation.

Ha! Take that,
Verna Jones!

"How blessed are some,

"whose lives have
no fears, no dreads.

"To whom sleep comes
nightly and brings nothing

- but sweet dreams."
- What do you want?

You look
beautiful, my dear.

- SHUSH, SHUSH! BLOODY HELL!
- I had a horrible nightmare,

Thomas. I had blood
coming down my eyes!

- I had tentacles in my hair!
- Shh!

It's that bloody book
you're reading before bedtime!

- Stop reading it!
- It wasn't the book,

- it was Mr. Lovecraft.
- Don't you worry

about Mr. Lovecraft. He's going
back to Providence tomorrow.

Even so, he's in
my mind. He's in my soul!

He's not in your mind,
and he's not in your soul.

Just go back
to sleep, yeah? Go on.

Best of luck in
Providence, Mr. Lovecraft!

- You are missing a button.
- Keep your nose clean, son.

I plan to concentrate
on my writing upon my return.

Mr. Crabtree offered
some useful encouragement.

I do wonder what it would
be like to look at the world

through his eyes
instead of mine.

But I fear
that will never be.

Well, don't let that
discourage you.

You keep at it.
Take care, Mr. Lovecraft.

Would you give
this to her?

Everything alright, sir?

Margaret can never
know of this.