All language subtitles for Ripper.Street.S05E05.WEBRip.x264-FUM

I was told that you were dead.

But he did not--

Yes, but I was told this.

I will talk to
her, my word on it.

I do not see
an animal, Nathaniel.

And what if we left this place?

Robin, as well.

Robin Sumner, you
trust me, don't you?

I'll see you safe.

You've been a very
brave boy, Robin.

Oh, that boy's dead,
washed up like garbage

in the mud of Goodluck Hope.

It's your piece of
shit brother, killing

on the count of your killing.

You're goddamned animals.

Oh!

There is a candle, sir.

No!

Mathilda, we had to catch him!

Mr. Reid, sir?

Mr. Reid, how was he even taken?

It sounds as though
you surrendered.

Why?

So to what end, hmm?

Did you and the captain
find Robin's killed mother

and uncle?

On what rash instinct
does he and Miss Susan

have blasted their way in
and out of Mr. Dove's home?

Please.

All I hear is talk of men
who know not of the truth.

Please, Mr. Reed,
promise we go next.

Mr. Reid?

Mr. Reid?

Tilda.

Tilda!
Please!

Only let me speak with you.

Tilda, please!
We must talk.

You must let me explain.

Tilda!

Come, Inspector.

You're waited on.

This is your case,
Inspector Drummond.

This may be Hackney, but this is
a crime birthed in Whitechapel.

These felons will no
doubt be hid there

until their escape may be made.

And you, sir, and your
men at H Division--

you shall hunt, then trap them
in Whitechapel, am I clear?

Yes, Mr. Dove.

Now that they've got the boy,
they must make their escape.

They must show
themselves in so doing.

Therefore, you allow me
more men requisitioned

from the J and the K. See
the docksides locked down,

all the train stations--

She was mother to me
when I had need of one.

And they have stole my son.
So, yes, Inspector.

You shall have all
the men you require.

Only make the instruction.

Yes, sir.

And Mr. Reid-- now
that Mr. Shine's

last actions have delivered
him into your custody,

does he speak?

He does not.

And never mind what
Mr. Shine did to him,

it's-- it's as if the marrow
has been sucked from his bones.

Well, betrayal,
he has suffered--

a perception of it, at least.

That is, perhaps,
understandable.

You have cleared the Leman
Street cells for his safety,

then?
-I have.

Then perhaps I
might interview him.

Oh, I should be grateful, sir.

Then let us to Leman Street.

After you, Inspector.

Send for a photographer.

We'll not let the
mortuary touch her until--

Thank you, Matthew.
Thank you.

I never knew.

What I mean to say is that
there is much, too much

in this world, to turn
a man towards contempt

for all within, but
I never knew what

it would be to see the
two of you together

and to know myself changed.

Connor, you watch your father,
but despite all, there's

much to take example
from-- his courage,

his courage and his love.

There are fences yet to be let.

We're going home,
son, to America.

And there, there
are deep valleys,

and there are rivers that
are fresh with spring thaw.

Fish within-- catfish, perch,
and great, big, fat trout

that you can catch and eat
and then do nothing but belch

and feel the sun
on our faces, maybe

turn our minds toward
making you a little sister.

They have a carriage ready.

My driver will take you as
far as the Old North Road

and then make his own way home.

Now, Connor, this is Miss
Mimi, our true friend.

Well, how else am
I to be rid of you?

The docks will be watched.

The boat trains for the northern
and southern ports, likewise.

No, you'd only be apprehended,
escape once again,

and turned in.

And I should never be able
to open this playhouse

to the paying public.
-All right.

Best we're about it.

Ah-bah!

OK.

You do not wish to hear news of
the wider world of Whitechapel?

We do not.

And What news is
that, Miss Mimi?

Jedediah Shine is dead.

Well, that's cause
for celebration, then.

How so?

Uh, it is not said in detail,
only that the capture of Mr.

Reid was his last living act.

It appears Mr. Reid's daughter
was turned to his betrayal.

One family reunited,
another sundered.

Hey, he knew the risk.

I warned him, but he
decided to go his own way,

just as now, we're
going to go ours.

Caitlin, you bring the boy.

I'm going take the bags
out to the carriage.

Caitlin, I said bring the boy.

Matthew, I have to.

I made the promise.

That betrayal, that sundering--
they are down to me.

God damn it, Caitlin, no.

But does he not
merit intervention?

Does she not deserve the truth?

And what about us,
for Christ's sakes?

We have him.

We have Connor.

And now you're going
to go saunter over

and present yourself
to the home address

of Inspector Samuel Drummond?

What-- I do not
suggest such a thing.

Then what?

We ask one more
service of our host.

Will you leave us a
moment, Inspector Drummond?

Yes, sir.

All of London is a clamour sir.

The capital's press is therefore
to be gathered at Scotland Yard

tomorrow morning, where I shall
explain to them the ugly whys

and wherefores of how it is the
leading police of Whitechapel

are either murdered
or murdering.

I'm sure you
understand, therefore,

what a service you would
render should you give

full account of all you know.

Your friends have
killed once more.

More blood, the
spattering of which

lands on your shirt
cuffs, Mr. Reid, for you

know where they might be
found and will not say.

Will you now tell me?

And beware, I do
not offer you terms.

You are wiser than to think
your many articles of disgrace

might be for
one act of confession.

No.

You speak because you
understand this mayhem

must come to an end.

You do it because you believe
in resolution, a last good act

for Edmund Reid.

It will not erase the
stain of your works, sir,

but it will return
a measure of order

to the community you
have purported to serve

and some peace to the shattered
soul of your daughter.

I could hear Bennet
Drake as he died.

I heard what it was he
said to your brother

before your brother
took his throat out.

Bennet said that to see
him was only looking

in a mirror-- and
now, you and I,

here, facing
reflections of our own.

I know you are sincere, Mr.
Dove, sincere in your hope

that the world will be
righted and renewed,

the pitiless murk of the past
be obliterated and forgot.

It is an ambition I
once nurtured myself.

Indeed, I would dispute with
all who would insist that such

an ambition was hopeless.

This journey here, ours, began
with a man named Isaac Bloom.

You recall the name.

Isaac was a mathematician.

He believed that numbers
betrayed the true nature

of our universe, and
accordingly, it was empirically

proved that the entropy of the
universe extended to a maximum,

that everything
moved irretrievably

from order into chaos.

You do not believe that, do you?

I cannot.

I said the same because
what hope for Whitechapel

if he were right?

You wish for a confession
of truth from me?

I do.

Well, this is it.

Isaac Bloom was correct
in all that he said.

You forget your hopes, sir,
because this Whitechapel

is coming for you.

It will take the purest of
them, and it will shatter

it into shards of pure poison.

Now, one last good act, you say?

Then I choose the simplest.

I will not betray my friends.

He will not speak, but we
must proceed, regardless.

The man he is, his position
in your own private life,

it is no easy thing, I know.

But you seem him
charged, Inspector.

I shall, Mr. Dove.

Aye, there you are,
upright,.

Careful, Frank.

What is it scares you, Drum?

That just as the sanctified
Miss Mathilda Reid has done,

we, too, might find
cause to wallop

you in full view of the world?

Are you about your
work, Desk Sergeant?

Have you wired the J and
K about them extra boots?

Do they even now read
their instructions

as to how each and every means
of departure from this town

is to be barricaded?

No?

Let's see it done!

And when you have, you
may come and witness

Mr. Reid's charge sheet, hear
his offenses for yourself.

Please confirm your name.

Edmund John James Reid.

Address?

14 Fairclough
Street, Whitechapel.

Occupation?

Police officer.

Drummond, what I
asked of you earlier,

you told Mathilda-- that I
understand, that I understood?

Please, will you tell her?

Please, say that
you will tell her.

Charge today against
Reid, Edmund, John James.

Witness Sergeant
Francis Thatcher.

Her majesty's Metropolitan
Police do charge you with

the following crimes-- the
unlawful murder with malice

of forethought of Theodore
Swift, the unlawful

murder of Horace Buckley--
-Drummond?

--aiding and abetting the
unlawful murder of Frank

Goodnight, resisting arrest--
-Drummond?

--conspiracy to
defeat justice--

Please, Mathilda must know.

--being an accessory of the--

Mathilda must know.

--to the felony of
permitting Miss Susan Hart--

She must not suffer
any further distress.

--and Captain Homer
Jackson to regain

their liberty whilst
having the prisoners

in your lawful custody.

It is only a message--

-You will sign here, Mr. Reid--
-Why will you--

- --and then you, Frank.
- --why will you not undertake--

He cannot undertake
to do that, Mr. Reid,

because Miss Matilda
put him out the streets

and won't speak to him.

Is this true, Drummond?

Please, sir, sign.

Tell me.

Sergeant Thatcher, sign.

Samuel Drummond, was it
you who lit the candle

in Mathilda's window?

Sign for your
inspector, Sergeant.

But Mr. Reid--

Sign, Thatcher.

Sergeant Thatcher,
earlier, you were inquiring

after the Sumner family.

Uh, yes, Mr. Reid.

Perhaps one and
a half kilometers

upstream from the
Limehouse Cut there

is a series of heavy
meanders through Bow Creek.

And on the eastern bank, there
is a copse of black poplars

at Goodluck Hope
amongst you will

find a mound of earth marked
with a prow of driftwood.

And within that grave,
you will find the murdered

body of Robin Sumner.

How?

Who?
Who?

Commissioner Dove, I believe.

And now, he's fixing Drum,
up there with his vanity

and his ambition.

He may as well have the little
boy's blood on his hands,

as well, for he shall
hear what he's done.

No, no, no.

Samuel Drummond-- Samuel
Drummond is innocent of all

and must remain so.

Sir, the candle, Miss
Mathilda-- how can you defend--

He was trying for
the love of her.

I am certain of it.

After all the bickering
and the petty jostlings

with a , are
you not similarly convinced

his heart is a true one?

Whichever, Sergeant,
it serves no purpose

to ruin his sense of the
world, not yet, at any rate.

Then I'll ask you again, sir.

What must we do now?

Not we, Francis Thatcher-- you.

-You're Miss Mathilda Reid.
-Yes.

Who are you?

This is my theater, Miss Reid.

It means a great
deal to me, so I do

hope that you can be trusted.

Hello, Mathilda.

Why am I brought here?

Because she asks, and she
has a way of getting what

she asks for.

You bank a great deal on
my discretion, Miss Susan.

I hope you will consider
it a risk worth taking.

And what is that
I may do for you?

Relieve me of a secret, I hope.

How may I do that?

Allow me to tell it to you.

I've kept it long, and
it is, to me, a poison.

Hello, Connor.

My son knows a friend
when he sees one.

Uh, may I fetch you
some tea, Miss Reid?

Thank you, Captain Jackson.

We heard the news
of your father.

He was hid here with us until,
well, you called to him.

And which father can resist
the call of his child?

But I did not call to him,
did not send him out to go

beneath Mr. Shine's fists.
I would not.

I could not.
-I believe it, Mathilda.

You love him.

I do.

Ah, and yet--

The things he has done.

I'll tell you about my father.

-Are you feeling all right?
-Oh.

Um, a little flu.

--what he suffered,
and for all his horror,

I wished for Mr. Reid
to lock the grill

and leave my father there.

I longed for it again
and again and again.

And I do not feel regret.

Forgive me, Miss Susan,
but your father's fate,

my own's involvement in
that-- it is not those actions

which brought me to despair.

I know, Matilda.

But Mr. Buckley,
what he did to--

Mathilda, this-- this
is why I bring you here,

to ask that you--
whenever down the years,

you bring to mind the picture of
what befell Mr. Buckley in that

cellar-- you no more imagine
Mr. Reid with that man's head

between his fists but myself.

Now, it would take
you another lifetime

to understand what would have
made me do-- do such a thing.

But at the time, I
believed your father,

perhaps as vicious as your--
your worst dreams may suggest.

I was in this as, perhaps,
you are now-- misguided

and to my-- to my shame, my
life-- my lifelong shame,

I saw a way by which all
that I had made for myself,

all that your father,
in his righteousness,

would set himself
upon taking from me.

This were a means to protect it.

And that means was a lie.

In the days after you were
found taken into my care,

oh, your mind fevered wondering
the damaged spirit child

that Mr. Buckley had made
you believe that you were,

your father, Mr. Reid,
came looking for you.

And I told him you were dead.

And worse, Matilda, for all Mr.
Buckley's gentleness to you,

I described a vision of
horror to your father,

that you had been
chained and starved

and violated all those years
that you'd been gone from him.

So, yes, he took
Horace Buckley's life,

but with my hands, Mathilda--
my hands-- my hands-- just

as though he were my puppet.

It's true, Miss
Reid, all of it.

Yet, you
love her still.

It can be regrettable, but
you do not pick who you love.

And so you bring me here now
to tell me this because you have

your son, are leaving,
and wish to unburden

yourself before you do?

Forgive me, but as
ever, I feel you serve

no one's ends but your own.

Think on it as my
father is dragged

pitilessly to his justice
while you escape yours.

God damn it!

You just couldn't leave well
enough alone, could you?

Of all the women in the world
to have an attack of conscience!

Jesus Christ!

And don't you be pointing those
teary eyes in my direction,

either, Miss Reid.

She and your father shit kicked
chaos through their lives.

I've been caught in that carnage
as deep as any soul alive.

And now, God
damnit-- I mean, what

did he ever do for me, huh?

Hauled his flapping ass
out of more scrapes than I

care to think of, and now--

Now what, Captain?

I have a goddamn
plan, that's what.

Evening, boys.

You took your sweet time.

Think it's going to
take six of you, do you?

Well, perhaps it
might, if you were

men, not cowards and eunuchs.

Come on, darlings.

Where's Sergeant Thatcher?

Don't know, sir.

Well, somebody bloody find him!

Ugh!

Ah, Drummond, the
fairy queen himself.

Whatever it is
you have in mind,

do not take me for a fool.
Has he been searched?

Strip him.

Do it!

- Inspector, sir.

What?

-You're called for.
-I'm occupied.

Take a note or send them away.

It is Miss Reid, sir.

Lock Captain Jackson down.

Two men on the outer door, also.

What is it you do, Captain?

Attack of conscience, Reid.

You can save your
gratitude for later.

And why am I grateful that
you two are now incarcerated?

Why do you think?

Not that you deserve
it, but we're

going to break you out of here.
-We?

Mathilda.

Mathilda, will you come
upstairs so we may talk?

In due course, perhaps.

For now, I would see my father.

Drum, you may take
a moment to consider

the consequences
of denying me this,

but do not take any longer.

Thank you, Drum.
As I said, alone.

I shall wait beyond.

Hammer on the door when
you are done, Tilda.

Father--

-Darling girl.
-Are you hurt?

What that man did to you--

Hush, Mathilda, I shall live.

My candle-- it was not
myself to have lit it.

I know.

I know, Mathilda.

But how?

Mr. Drummond is not a man much
able to disguise his shame.

He told you?

Not as such, but he
bears it hard, my darling.

Hey, my heart bleeds for
him, really, but, Miss Reid,

do you think it's about time
we got about our chief purpose?

No.

No, no.

I am not for the
freeing, Mathilda.

Excuse me?

No more running.
No more.

No more.

All that I have
done, all the horrors

that you have felt at
your father's actions--

they are not misplaced.

But Miss Susan, she
explained all to me.

No.
No, not all.

The man, Buckley, perhaps.

Her father, Theodore Swift--
I could never regret that,

but think on your Uncle Bennet
and all I brought him to.

Mathilda, an accounting
must be made.

And now you have.

You let me hang
alongside you, and I bust

my ass in here to free you.

Yes.

On that matter, it is my
own strategy, Captain,

and I very much hope
it shan't come to that.

And that strategy being what?

Francis Thatcher
is going to exhume

the body of Robin Sumner.

I thought you said you
left that boy to rest.

He rests, Augustus
Dove prevails.

Now, he may rest in
due course again,

but it is that boy who
will give his own tragedy--

his family's here, Bennet
Drake's, Isaac Bloom's-- it is

that boy who will hand them
their justice, even if I

have handed mine alongside.

And how's the boy
to do that, Reid.

That boy cannot speak.

The dead can always
speak, Captain,

when you are there to aid them.

And, uh, if I hadn't in all
lunacy set about your freeing?

You've always been
there when I needed you.

Why should today
be any different?

-Miss Reid?
-Yes, Captain?

Will you hand me
my pistol, please?

But why?

Because I'm going to
shoot your father with it.

My apologies, brother.

I've left you alone too long.

I thought we might eat together.

Soup.

Last night, as we
came under attack,

you broke down your door.

I did?

You did this so you
might assist my people.

I heard the pup calling.

And yet, you did
not protect him.

Well, the Captain,
he-- he had a pistol.

And besides--
-Besides what, brother?

Miss Susan is his mother.

She is a murderer, Nathaniel.

So I am, Augustus.

Do you recall a
boy, Robin Sumner?

Of course.

Miss Susan told me he is, in
fact, not safe, that he's dead.

And she knows this how?

Captain found him in
water, um, at Goodluck Hope.

How dead, did these most
valuable witnesses say?

Killed by you, they believe.

What do you believe, Nathaniel?

You have known me
your entire life.

Do you truly believe I
could do that to a pup?

A pup?

No.

Now, we are almost home.

Edmund Reid lies
in a cell at Leman

Street, his spirit broken.

The woman, Hart,
and her American

must now escape with
their child and will

surely be taken in so doing.

It will be Christmas
before we know it.

We shall fill the house with
food and gifts and friends

and give thanks for
the future ahead of us.

Eat.

- All right.

I will fear no
evil, for thou art

with me, thy rod and thy
staff, they comfort me.

Oh, Robin.

How did you know where
to find him, Sergeant?

Mr. Reid told me where.

And what will you
do with him now?

Get him his retribution.

An admirable
instinct, Mr. Thatcher,

a policeman's instinct.

Oh!

Ah!

You have saved me a
great deal of trouble.

I should have been here
all night, otherwise.

It is a faster current here,
and the course runs direct.

Do you see the pilot
lights at Limehouse

Cut, the Thames
running on a spring

tide, and beyond, the ocean?

As you sought to show Robin
Sumner his path in life,

you will lead him
on in death now.

Oh!

Ah!

Uh!

Ahh!

Oh, there you go.

Whichever road Thatcher
took, he's late.

He's way, way late.

Yeah, they're waiting for me,
you know-- my wife, my boy.

For you, too, if
you need a ride.

We have the guns.

We have the dynamite, Reid.

We might just go.

You might?

You ought.

Whatever has happened, whatever
is coming, I can't explain,

but I-- I must be
here to see it.

But I am in earnest, Captain.
You go.

Go.

Go now.

What, and let you martyr
yourself all alone?

Nathaniel!
Nathaniel!

Mr. Dove, sir,
your carriage is here.

Order!
Order!

God damn you, silence!

So that the
newspaperman of London

may be furnished with the truth,
Assistant Commissioner Dove

will now elaborate.

Thank you, Commissioner.

It is with regret
I must announce

the death of
Inspector First Class

Jedediah Shine of H Division.

Please!

Mr. Shine was as fine and
resourceful a policeman

as any this force has known.

He will be mourned accordingly.

I need hardly
mention how hard this

goes on the morale
of our men, who

only so recently
lost Inspector Bennet

Drake of the same division.

Is there any
connection between--

Inspector Shine's last
action was to secure

the arrest of Edmund Reid.

And whilst-- and whilst I know
that man's reputation was hard

won, I hope that you
will take in good faith

the charges which
the men of H Division

will soon be presenting against
their one-time station chief.

Let me say only this-- none
of the speculation carried

in your pages is far from
the truth of the matter,

and should the courts,
as I expect them to do,

find Edmund Reid guilty, no
matter his years of service,

we will be urging for the
most severe of penalties

under the law.

Commissioner Bradford,
can this, indeed, be true?

You would send one of
your own to the rope?

We would, Miss Costello,
with ever greater conviction,

given the violent,
headstrong hypocrisy

he has sanctioned and
performed in our name.

Ah!

You are Costello?

Good day, Mr. Abeline.

Come away, miss.

You heard?

I did.

Then you understand
why I wired you.

I hoped you might be prised
from your retirement.

Ed Reid is to be hanged.

That hero, all smooth-faced,
back there, that

is the Mr. Dove you wrote of.

I fear he now has the
wherewithal to prevail.

There are no left
to challenge him.

There is you, miss.

But all I had
accumulated of his story--

the murdered Rabbi Rotovsky's
own written account-- I

believe Mr. Shine destroyed it.

Then best we put
it together again.

Where is Francis Thatcher?

Gone as you ask.

No man knows where.

Not returned?

Mathilda, why does the
whereabouts of Frank Thatcher

worry you so?

I'm not sure I want
to tell you, Drum.

After all, I know what it is you
do with the secrets I give you.

I would take it
back if I could.

I'm sure.

But not for him.

All them things Mr. Reid is
said to have done, he done.

I know.

So he must face his punishment.

I understand, Drum.

I did it for you,
Tilda, because I wanted--

I still only want for
you and I be able to walk

clean of this mess.

For you, for once, to be able
to stand atop the building

of your life and
look outward from it,

not forever be casting your
gaze back inside for the fear

it might catch fire again.

And he is the
building, you feel.

Well, when is he not?

Yard, son.
Pipe down!

Where's your chief?

Mr. Abeline.

Mathilda Reid.

Mr. Abeline, on another
occasion, the men of H Division

will gladly welcome you,
but as you might have heard,

we are sorely pressed
at the present moment.

Who-- this?

This is Inspector Drummond.

This is him?

The milksop with whom
you bring yourself

into shame and disrepute?

Mathilda, really?

Looks like he might bow to blow
the head off a pint of mild.

Nonetheless, sir,
this is my command,

and I ask you why
you've brung yourself

here today of all days.

I would see my
friend before you

and your master have his
neck choked at new light.

Tilda, it is not I that will
pass that sentence on him,

as you know, nor Mr. Dove.

He agitates for it, however.

Drum, please allow it.

I will not.
It is prohibited.

What is it you do, Drum?

What else?

Alert Mr. Dove to
this man's presence.

You do it, sonny.

I should be glad to know him.

Hmm.

Hello?

Susan?

Captain?

Ah!
-Who are you?

Wait, wait!
-Ugh!

-Wait!
-Ah!

Help!
-Shut up!

Ah, uh!

Calm down!

Be quiet.
Be quiet!

Nathaniel!

Nathaniel, you leave her be!

Will you-- will you take Connor?

And leave you here?

He's a friend.
Trust me.

You brought him here.

Why?

Miss Susan, you told me, and
I had to ask him because he--

he is my brother.

Augustus, he swore--
no, he hadn't.

And I could not
believe this of him.

But I watched, and
I followed him.

And I saw him.

He put a bullet in
that copper, Thatcher.

Thatcher's dead?

Yes.

He put them both in the river.

But I swum out, and
I brought Robin back.

Oh, why did you
bring him to me?

I've no one else to go to, and
I feel as-- as though something

should be done.

And Robin should be shown
to someone as proof.

Augustus must be punished?

Yeah.

Why?

Because he has killed.

So have you, Nathaniel.

But not a pup.

Never a pup.

Killing is killing.

And if-- if Augustus must
be punished, then you must.

All who kill must be punished.

I'm frightened, Miss Susan.

I'm fierce frightened.

Perhaps--

Perhaps, I were to go with you.

Whoa.

-Thank you.
-Thank you, sir.

Miss Reid.

You did right to send
for me, Inspector.

Is this him, then?

Is it?

Mr. Abeline, on
another occasion,

I should be grateful to meet you
and account for actions we here

have taken, which
I understand must

surely fill you with horror.

But our force, we
comrades cannot be

seen to fight among ourselves.

My, but you are
silky and oiled, boy.

However, I'm not in
your force no more.

And even were I still, I would
not call you my brother, man.

Then, sir, I think Inspector
Drummond must have his men

escort you from these premises.

Mr. Drummond?

You men, with me.
Augustus!

Good afternoon, Mr. Dove.

Inspector Drummond, my
name is Caitlin Swift,

and I wish to surrender
myself to the police.

My name is Nathaniel
,

and I, too, wish to surrender
myself to the police.

For what crime?

Sorry, Augustus.

I do not know you, sir.

Which crime?

-Murder.
-Whose?

Leon Rotovsky.

Rabbi Leon Rotovsky, other men
whose names I did not know,

and Mr. Drake.

He known to you,
is he Mr. Dove?

He familiar?

I do not know this man.

We must take this
off the street, Mr. Dove.

Get them in.

Men!

Get them in, all of them!
Now!

Tilda, what is it?
What did you do?

Father, I think you must come.

Just follow procedures,
Mr. Drummond.

All confessions to be writ,
signed, and witnessed.

Yes, sir.

Rachel!

This way.

You keep away!

Right.

You keep away.

Nathaniel, allow it.

They must see him.

Who is this boy?

Augustus, please.

You know.

Yes, Mr. Dove, you know.

I'll kill you,
you son of a bitch.

He is not worth the blood.

You taught him that he was
the beast, did you not?

And that made you more able
to suppress and disguise

your own monstrosity.

Take control of your
station house, Inspector.

Barely have I known
you 10 minutes, boy,

and already the sound of your
voice makes me want to shit!

Edmund.

Fred.

Samuel Drummond, you see?

Your station house has been
overtaken by its prisoners.

You are not to blame.

You were overwhelmed
at gunpoint.

And your captors
then locked down

the station house around you.

Caitlin, what is
it you do, darling?

Something good, I hope.