Original subtitles

Extra! Extra! Jack the Ripper strikes the Devil's Elbow!

Extra! Extra! Jack the Ripper strikes the Devil's Elbow!

Ripper hanged today!

Any last words?

You are gathered here today to witness a murder.

One not as gruesome as the murder of Margaret Mehar

and yet nonetheless murder.

I may be guilty in the court of public opinion,

but I did not kill Margaret.

And my Lord and Saviour knows the truth.

And I am blessed this day.

I am blessed to return to my maker.

That noose is made of your words.

He killed her and then mutilated her corpse.

And if he did not? Then this is indeed murder, one you'll have to atone for.

Make way. Make way.

Hey!

You know it's headlines like yours that makes violence like this happen?

If reporting the truth creates vigilantes,

then maybe there's something wrong with the status quo.

Maybe we need truth tellers more than ever.

So you've decided this is the work

of your so-called Avenger of the Poor, have you?

The Widow. She's called the Widow.

Because you named her that.

If you cared enough about the people down here

to actually talk to them, you'd know the full story.

Well, why don't you save me that step? What?

You'd discover it was Eddie Jacobs

who killed these two, not the Widow.

- Basil Garvey's... - Right-hand man.

Came down here to knock a little sense into these people.

Too much by the looks of it.

But you didn't hear that from me. No.

I'll blame this one on the Widow and give the good people of this city

all the sensation they could want.

- Pardon the intrusion. - No intrusion, my dear.

I was supposed to see your show last night.

I was very much looking forward to it.

Ah, but you wanted something a little more... personal,

up close.

No.

My husband passed away.

Oh, you poor dear. Oh...

You must be Regina Simcoe.

Ah.

I'm so sorry for your loss. Please.

Thank you.

It's his death which brings me here.

I've heard that you can commune with those who've passed to the other side.

Oh...

It is a burden I've borne since birth.

I want to speak to my dear Alistair...

to find out what happened to him.

- Yes, yes. - To find out who killed him. - Oh, of course, we must.

I could hold a seance.

Here?

Make an even stronger connection to the other side.

I would, of course, need time alone to...

spiritually cleanse the space.

You understand. But...

if I wasn't disturbed,

oh, I could set the table for a revelatory seance.

Perhaps one evening this week.

Today.

Whatever the cost. I must have answers.

For my poor Alistair.

Ah... of course, yes.

Well... I will require a group of spiritual believers to bear witness.

Your friends, acquaintances,

people who understand your great need and grief.

I know just who to ask.

Thank you, Monsieur Rondeau.

- Oh. - For helping a poor soul...

...destroyed by grief.

Three dollars... from Beau Bouquet?

Viv, we have nothing left.

Oh. Hmm.

I don't want to make you sell one of your jewels or your gowns.

- You wouldn't dare! - You still have that old thing.

- My citrine? - I don't expect it would fetch very much.

- It's the last gift our mother gave me. - Posh.

Oh, don't give me posh.

Good morning, dear.

Good morning.

I owe you a profound apology, Viviana.

You were absolutely right about everything you accused me of.

- I behaved terribly. - Hmm.

I got swept up in the excitement of our being reunited.

And this... big, exciting night out.

And the attention I got as your sister.

It's all so new to me and...

I behaved shamefully.

I should've been demure and ladylike.

Instead, I betrayed both of your faith in me.

I can see that our session last night has helped you learn contrition.

Wholeheartedly, sister, and I thank you for it.

Think of me as your spiritual North Star.

I hope you will someday forgive me my transgressions.

In good time perhaps.

My goodness.

What is it?

Regina Simcoe, poor creature, she has invited us to a seance today...

with the very great, very handsome Georges Rondeau.

Oh, what fun! I have many questions for the spirits.

As have I.

But w-w-would that not be risking our souls,

communing with the shadow realm?

Oh, you have nothing to worry about,

because you will be accompanying us to our dear friend's gathering.

Nor you, dear sister.

Pardon?

The coal delivery arrives today and someone must be here to receive it.

It can't possibly be me.

The only thing I know about coal is that it turns into diamonds.

- But... - I-I could receive these workmen.

Oh, I'm certain you would love to, but no, no, no.

We cannot leave you alone with any men.

Besides, you will be too busy doing all the other chores we've lined up for you.

Certainly you didn't expect to be expunged of all your guilt quite so easily?

Foolish girl.

Clearly you get your brains from your mother.

I know you killed those two.

Funny...

I heard the pretty one fell and cracked her skull.

Tragic accident. Nothing to lose your head over.

Detective, you've had a busy morning.

Word, please.

- You know who that is? - Yeah, and so do five other witnesses

who say they saw him and multiple other men walk into that alleyway

where Horatio Dixon and Daisy Zywiecki were murdered.

And these witnesses, were they all in the trade?

Yes, sir, but that doesn't discount what they saw.

Maybe they were playing. I wouldn't put it past one of the other pimps

to knock out the competition.

Eddie.

I got a problem here.

I'm hearing two very conflicting stories.

One that makes sense and one that don't.

My boss would never shit where he eats, so...

why would he send me and my boys all the way to the Elbow to kill anyone?

Especially since we're all the way in Hamilton.

Well...

until we gather more evidence...

Sir, what? You're just gonna take him at his word?

Till we gather more evidence,

you are free to go.

I hope you catch your guy.

Eddie!

Get it through Basil's thick fuckin' skull:

He is not untouchable.

This war ends now.

We just stopped it.

By relieving Horatio Dixon of his head? This is not the Middle Ages!

We went down there to scare people,

not kill anyone.

- The harlot. - It was an accident, I swear.

And when we left, Horatio's head was still on his shoulders.

It wasn't us.

It was her.

Jesus.

Hmm.

I can't help but wonder about the relief and solace you might find

if you came to my church rather than your

regular visits to your favourite temple of sin.

Back the fuck off, Padre, or instead of some grateful whore,

I'll take my aggression out on you.

- Just hearkening you to God. - Oh, fuck your God,

his promise of a heaven when it's all over.

Where did that devotion get your father,

other than at the end of a swinging rope?

You can blow and bluster all you want,

but even you answer to God, for all your sins, past and present.

And if you will not repent, the devil may send the Widow for you.

Find goodness, find purity.

For the Widow will show you no mercy.

I'll have another edition ready in half an hour.

The hell you will.

Kill the fuckin' Widow story.

We're on our third edition. We're printing money!

Kill it,

or find yourself another job.

We haven't sold a day's paper like this in...

Twelve years. I know.

Kill it. Burn everything yourselves already printed,

kill the story now and forever.

You made the Widow, now I'm burying her.

If we kill it, the real story's gonna get out.

What story is that?

Town philanthropist Basil Garvey directs his henchmen...

When are you gonna realize

that you don't exist without my say-so?

You owe everything to me!

I am the truth around here!

I am life and I am death!

And you!

You are just a maggot who does my bidding, or have you forgotten?!

Every single word you print,

an ad for the fucking church bazaar,

it all has to get approved by me.

Uh, I'll deal with the pimp murder.

You're pulling me.

Sir, I'm not afraid of Basil Garvey.

You should be.

This is a powder keg of local politics and power struggles.

It's best handled by someone with experience. And connections.

- Connections. - I'm fuckin' protecting you, Detective.

The world out there is not just black and white.

Sir, they're killers.

That may be, but if it is them, they're the killers we know.

What worries me is the killers we don't know. Out there, circling,

striking when she wants. That's what's scaring the city.

Well, did make a breakthrough.

Hallelujah.

I found this in Alistair Simcoe's desk in his home office.

Margaret Mehar?

- But he's just a murder nut. - You know, lots of people are.

No. I would've thought that too, sir, but...

the note - "Friends of Margaret are my target" -

it must be referencing the same woman.

I arrested the sick fuck that killed her.

Sir, what if you got the wrong guy?

What if Alistair Simcoe is somehow connected to her murder?

Sir!

If you're here to try to connect me to the attack, you'll be out on your ass.

I cared about those people.

I know. You and I both know who ordered their murders.

Basil has you, me, and this entire city under his boot.

But it doesn't have to stay that way.

Oh, really? You got an army full of goons ready to do your bidding?

'Cause I sure as fuck don't.

No, but you must have some dirt.

And me... I have a printing press.

I don't think you appreciate who you're dealing with.

That's why it would have to be bad.

Oh, it would be bad... for both of us.

You stay anonymous.

Anything I know about Basil he knows I know.

And thank you very much, but I don't wanna join Horatio Dixon in the morgue.

I'm a smart man.

Answer will always be no.

Unlike Terrence...

I never say no.

Did you know him, Detective?

We crossed paths.

- Is there something amiss? - Not amiss per se.

Uh, may I?

By all means.

No...

not amiss, but special.

- In what way? - Daisy died by misadventure, but this,

this is clearly premeditated murder.

So the Widow...

...has struck again.

Did you find any note hidden in the body?

Would I not have told you if I had? But you're free to look.

- I'm looking. - And what do you see?

Bruising here shows us the first strike.

Cracking in the spine confirms that.

Agreed. A knife blade.

Lacerations here and here,

they show us a clear path of the cutting.

Right to left.

That's helpful.

How so?

Right to left.

Right to left.

The Widow's left handed.

Ah, welcome, my dear.

- Mm. - Oh.

Don't you look ravishing.

I had hoped to see your beautiful sister.

- She is devastated that she cannot be here. - Mm.

You rogue, Monsieur Rondeau.

Georges, please.

There's the poor dear.

- Thank you so much for coming. - I am here for you in any way you need.

How are you holding up?

- I haven't been sleeping. - I'm desperate for answers.

She's done the wise thing and turned to the other side for help.

I've done this many times before. In fact,

a most learned shah once told me

he had never witnessed a more direct contact with the dead than mine.

If you will join Shanika and I in clasping hands.

I must demand total obedience if you are to remain safe.

If you're to stay on the side of the living,

you must trust your care entirely to me.

I'm glad someone understands that as long as Basil Garvey is in charge,

we are beholden entirely to him.

The days of Basil Garvey and Alistair Simcoe are over.

What's that?

Print these and prepare to be shocked...

or turned on.

If you are a size queen, you definitely won't be disappointed.

Do I look like an anything "queen"?

Appearances can be deceiving.

But our dear Basil

is most definitely flag ranting his delicto

with a most domineering dominatrix

in these photos.

And I assure you...

he will do anything to keep these from getting out.

Thank you.

Uh...

You didn't think this was a charitable donation on my part, did you?

Oh, I thought you were invested in the greater good.

I am.

But I'm even more interested in a brand-new wig.

I'm thinking blond sausage curls?

The spirit realm is nebulous.

A hazy line separates our material world,

and in order to draw a spirit over,

requires a lure, something...

valuable, something...

...unique.

Oh.

That was a gift from my maman.

Perfect. And has she passed to the other side?

- Tragically, yes. - Ah.

Is there anything you'd like to ask her?

Yes. Yes! Ask dear maman...

if she thinks Basil Garvey and I...

will have a happy union.

A perfect yes-or-no question to warm up the table.

If it tilts to the right, it means yes; to the left, no.

Now, everyone...

focus.

And open your minds...

to the cosmos.

Oh... mother of Viviana Botticelli,

we ask you to grace us with your spiritual presence

to answer a question about the most holy of emotions,

love.

Will thine own daughter find love everlasting with Basil Garvey,

her betrothed?

I beseech thee. Come to us from the other side.

Will she find happiness,

O wise mother?

Oh, my.

That means yes, right? She said yes?

She said yes.

Happy day!

Ahem. As overjoyed as I am for my dear friend,

we are not here to divine the future.

We're here to find answers for the painful past.

Of course, my dear.

We forget ourselves.

Thank you, O generous mother.

You may return now to the other side.

Did you feel that?

That was maman saying goodbye.

Goodbye.

Now, on to the job at hand.

These were worn by your dear departed husband, correct?

- For reading... yes. - Ah...

to see...

And now I shall drop the veil,

so that we can see what truly happened

to your loving husband.

Ladies...

what the great Georges Rondeau is about to do is far more serious,

and dangerous, so absolute focus and quiet.

Mm-hmm.

Spirit world...

I call forth Alistair Simcoe

to speak with us this night.

I call forth Alistair Simcoe

to give his loving wife,

Regina Simcoe,

peace with the answers she seeks.

Please, Alistair,

tell us:

Do you know what vile person murdered you?

Oh, heavens! Regina, are you alright?

- I'm fine. I'm fine. - I'm shaken, but I'm fine.

Ooh.

Oh!

Enid, you're starting to believe your own headlines.

"Tattle Tails a Woman's Wails A paper's lies for sooth

A living hell, if you don't tell your evil buried truth"

I'd say that got their attention.

It always does.

Though Miss Simcoe may charge you for the table.

We can't be held responsible for the whims of the spirits.

And even if we did, we'd still come out ahead.

Oh... very far ahead.

Mesdames...

the spirits made contact

and they have something important to say.

Was it really my husband you communed with?

There is a ripple in the ether,

a disturbance in the "ectenic psychode".

Can any of you feel it?

The spirits are restless.

They get this way when a great injustice has violated the physical plane.

So I must wrestle our spiritual advisor into submission and allow him,

or her,

despite Shanika begging me otherwise,

to inhabit me.

Are you talking... possession?

I'm talking... inwatso!

A secret calling I learned from the Xesibe tribes of South Africa.

- Is it dangerous? - Thrice banned on this continent.

But everything worth doing is...

dangerous, my dear.

- Oh, really, Georges, is that wise? - Yes, listen to her!

The last time you performed the inwatso,

you were committed to an asylum for the insane.

All of this is true,

but a murder was committed and I pledged my dear hostess

that I would do whatever it takes in my means to find an answer.

So I must hazard it.

Now, please, good ladies, I need your help.

We'll all sit in a circle, join hands,

and with the help of inwatso,

I shall be your vessel of the truth.

Imimoya...

...wozani kimi.

Vula umnyango phakathi kwemihlaba yethu.

Woza...

...ungisebenzise...

...njengesitsha sakho..

...futhi ungidle.

We must stop! We're in danger!

- Georges, what is happening?! - Stop this now! We beg you!

I am here...

Dear Lord, protect us.

He did not protect me.

Yeah. Why should he protect you...

or anyone?

Who are you, spirit?

Do you have a name?

I am Alistair Simcoe.

Or... I was.

But I was murdered.

Murdered!

And my executioner still walks free!

Do you know who killed you?

She hides...

behind a widow's veil.

Lurking.

Waiting until she can strike again.

And again!

Twice the bell has tolled!

Six times more it will,

and only then will Margaret be avenged!

Unbelievable. Look. Regina? She's moving. Is it her? Is she with us?

Regina, dear?

She's coming back to us.

But i-is it her? Is it dear Regina?

Speak, child. Is it you, Regina Simcoe,

or does a spirit still reside within you?

What? Of course, it's me.

Take it easy, slowly.

Let me help you there.

What happened?

You happened, my dear.

The spirit of your dear, departed husband...

chose to manifest himself through you.

- I channel led Alistair? - You did.

I've never seen such a clear manifestation.

Nor I.

Have you had any psychic episodes in your past?

I was born with a caul.

- As was I. - What's a caul?

Something which some people do not wish to speak about in polite company.

And yet, a certain sign of psychic prowess.

I have had...

I guess you could call them...

feelings... about things.

The night Alistair...

I begged him.

I begged him not to go.

But he said he had work to do and he couldn't be swayed.

I'm an abomination.

No, my dear Regina.

You are what I've long been looking for,

the rarest of finds.

A revelation.

"Tattle Tails,

a Woman's Wails

A paper's lies for sooth

A living hell, if you don't tell your evil buried truth."

What lies did you tell?

Who is the Widow referencing when she writes, "A woman's wails"?

You're asking me to decipher the ramblings of a madwoman.

Yes. It's exactly what I'm doing.

Sorry, Detective, but I can't. Haven't the first clue what that letter means.

It's pretty simple.

You published lies about someone,

and now the Widow wants you to publish the truth. Otherwise...

Otherwise... Exactly.

Do you honestly believe this is the first

threat I've received for revealing the truth?

It's part of my job, Detective.

I'll deal with this threat the same way I deal with all the rest.

I'll thank the person for reading...

and then I'll burn that letter.

No, you won't.

Hey, that's mine.

It was left for me.

It's also evidence in a murder investigation.

Two, in fact.

Two?

Alistair Simcoe, obviously.

I suspect Horatio Dixon, as well.

Nah, Horatio was killed by the hands of Basil Garvey's thugs.

Mm, not necessarily.

If he is the second in a string of murders,

you need to take this threat seriously.

If you know something, anything, pertaining to the Widow,

now is the time to tell me, for your own safety.

Enid, please, I know we've had our differences,

but these are not just random murders.

They connect back to the murder of Margaret Mehar.

That was 12 years ago.

Lust for vengeance doesn't expire.

Maybe it's you, Detective.

I'm sorry?

You come in here, you interpret the Widow's note,

you steer me toward a murder I haven't thought of in over a decade,

one that the police failed to solve, but I did, this paper did.

Perhaps you're the Widow...

jealous of my skill and seeking vengeance for your own failures.

Be careful, Enid.

Please.

Oh. Your sisters drink swill.

I'll send you a case of my favourite single malt; only the best for you.

- I don't imbibe. - I do.

Too much.

I'm sure you would cure me of that, among so many other bad habits.

Mr. Garvey, Venetia has gone to meet Viviana at Mrs. Simcoe's manse.

Perhaps if you were to head...

I know what I want.

Always have.

Always do.

But what do you want, my dear?

To live here in this empty shell of a house,

scrubbing your sisters' floors while they enjoy themselves among society?

Do you not deserve so much more than that?

I can give you the world.

Anything you desire. The life you so richly deserve.

And while I know I love you already,

I understand it might take you some time.

- You're betrothed to my sister. - No.

No, uh, we're close, it's true.

She and Venetia are angling for something I never promised.

Viviana has no engagement ring.

All I really owe her is a little common courtesy.

So I'll wait an appropriate amount of time

before you and I announce our engagement.

No. This is...

Verdi, why is this bucket in the middle of the foyer for us to stumble over?

Because she's lazy, sister, that's why.

Mr. Garvey.

To what do we owe this pleasure?

At so late an hour?

I was just leaving.

Good night, ladies.

Good night, Verdi.

Harlot.

He came here unannounced, but I begged him to go! Please, sister, believe me!

Sister? Is this how sisters treat each other?

By stabbing each other in the back?

No, please! I'm not knowingly doing anything to encourage... Ah!

If it's subconscious, I will whip it out of you!

No, please! Let me go! Ah!

We're just trying to help you, sister!

Keep staring like that, your eyes will pop out.

Sir.

Are you seeing what I'm seeing?

- You're chewing your nails. - The handwriting, sir.

Yeah, it's the same. Kid...

if this is as good as you got, maybe I was wrong about you.

Sir, whoever wrote these notes used their left hand. You can tell by the slant.

Okay, pick up the pace. Your flair for the dramatic is killing me.

Horatio, the pimp, he was decapitated by someone who was left handed.

The parchment? They're the same. They're most likely cut from the same source.

And then the ink looks to be some form of iron tannate,

which is far more expensive than the much more common aniline dyes that most...

Okay, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, enough of the grandstanding. We need actual clues.

These are clues, sir.

You're going to arrest every left handed citizen in the city?

And anyone who owns this fancy ink? Go ahead.

Build a thousand jails while you're at it.

Sir, all of this is giving me a profile on who our killer is.

Someone left handed, yes, but also someone educated,

someone rich enough to write in expensive ink.

Well, go out onto the streets and find him.

Her.

Oh, you hear that, boys?

Detective Kenny here has a big new lead.

Our Widow is a fancy lady who likes to write poetry with her left hand

when she's not using it to chop people up into stewing beef.

Case solved.

Gold.

Jesus Christ Almighty.

Wh...

what do you want?

Please just t-take it. Take whatever you'd like.

You asked me to print the truth.

Well, this is the truth.

Basil Garvey is...

a miscreant, a vile, controlling criminal,

a perverter of the truth!

That's the story we should tell! I-it's the story that will work, that will destroy him!

I'm the editor! I know what should and shouldn't go into my paper!

Not anyone else! Not Basil, not you!

Just me!

You're not the voice of the people, idiot.

You're my voice. You write what I tell you to fucking write.

Then I quit!

One day you'll see you signed a deal with the devil.

It should've been that exciting in your bylines.

Asshole.

You.

You're a woman. Under the threads, I mean.

Your point?

A female editor.

Now, that's forward thinking;

shows someone not stuck in their ways.

Not me as a publisher, not you as an editor.

Editor? Huh.

You want me to be an editor?

- You're not up for the job? - No, sir, I'm... very much up for the job.

Good. You better be.

'Cause I need someone in that office

who's gonna make sure the Echo Tribune reflects

the ethos of its publisher,

like how you went after Andrew May for the Ripper killing.

- It was your lead, sir. - I just followed the evidence.

Yes. And you didn't question it.

That story sold more papers than we ever have.

And a guilty man was brought to justice.

Right?

- Right. - Good.

I look forward to working with you...

Enid Jenkins. You get me.

And for someone in my position, that's more valuable than gold.

- I didn't do anything! - I can't undo what's been done!

No!

I'm not a killer!

Ah! It was Basil! He was behind it all!

But I couldn't print that! He would never let me! Please!

All I did was make up a story a long time ago

and take some photos!

I'm not a killer!

sync and corrections by solfieri www.addic7ed.com