All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries (2008) - S03E12 - In the Altogether (1080p BluRay x265 Langbard)

Where are you taking me?

To the garden
of earthly delights.

Change?
What kind of change?

I'm not sure, exactly.

When H.G. Wells was visiting,
he made a most peculiar comment.

He said that he could tell

there was something missing
from my life

and that he hoped
I would find it.

That's rather presumptuous
of him.

Yes, it was.

The odd thing is...

he was right.

You're so beautiful.

I dream about you every night.

Oh, Luther.

But I thought you loved
your work.

I do.

And it goes without saying
that I enjoy working with you.

But I'm a doctor, William,
not a detective.

You'd make a very good one,
however.

If you like, I could put a word
in with the superintendent.

I was the only woman attending
medical school in Montreal.

And it was very important to me
that I succeed.

And you have.

I'm the only one from my class
still cutting up cadavers.

The Hippocratic Oath
was wasted on me.

What is it?
What did I do?

There are a hundred good doctors
in this town,

but only one that can do
what you do.

William.

Julia, you have a gift.

I thank you for that, but this
is not just about my work.

What, then?

It appears we're needed again.

She hasn't been here long.

Fewer than 12 hours,
I'd estimate.

She was strangled.

So it would appear.

What have you, George?

This young lad and his lady
friend found the body, sir.

What were they doing out here?

Just having a stroll
in the woods, so they say.

No blood,
no signs of a struggle.

Perhaps the body was moved here,
sir.

At least we know who she was.

"Miss Abigail Tunstall."

And an address
on Wellesley Street.

Oh, my.

Sir, according
to Miss Tunstall's landlady,

she was a kitchen hand.

Quite the wardrobe
for a kitchen hand.

I daresay.

I can't imagine
she was chopping cabbage

or curdling cheese
in these fineries.

How did she afford all of
this clothing, I wonder?

Well, perhaps, sir,
she's just one of those women

who can really spot a bargain.

You know, my Aunt Primrose says

that any girl can dress
like a lady

if she has an eye for value.

A true font of wisdom,
your aunt.

Not according to my Aunt Iris,

who has a rather low opinion
of Aunt Primrose.

Called her a gluttonous imbecile
once.

Not to her face, but...

George, how many aunts
do you have?

Oh, let's see.

There's Aunt Amaryllis,
Aunt Aster, Aunt Azalea,

Aunt Begonia, Aunt Bryony.

Thank you, George.

Oh, sir, that's just
the A's and B's.

You can fill me in on the C's
through Z another time.

Well, I'll look forward to that.

We'll have some tea.

Oh, my goodness.

Sir, I think you'll want to have
a look at these.

Oh, my.

Rather saucy.

Indeed.

Looks like our girl
was into some risky business.

Yes.
Perhaps that's the reason

why Miss Tunstall
has turned up dead.

She died sometime
between midnight and 2:00 a.m.

What can you tell me
about her attacker?

A man, judging by the size
of the hand.

And a few inches taller
than her, by the angle.

Any other injuries?

Any interference?

No sign of that.

Small comfort.

Such a beautiful girl.

Such a pity she had to end up
this way.

Not entirely unexpected.

Oh, William,
just because she posed

for titillating
picture postcards.

It's a fact that women
in this line of work

invite unhealthy attention.

They "invite" it?

Well, attract it.

Pornography sets men's minds
to dark urges.

From what you've described,

the postcards in question
were hardly pornographic.

Yes, well, perhaps they were
more than enough for her killer.

You'll have my report
by the end of the day.

Very good.

Dr. Julia Ogden.

Dr. Folwell.

Yes, I did receive your letter.

Tomorrow evening
would be perfect.

I look forward to it.

Okay, lads,
let's have those back.

No, no, no, here.

Give me those.

Give.

Oh, very funny.

Have some respect for the dead,
for Pete's sake.

Oi! Oi!
What's all the racket?

Sir, I --

Whatever it is you're up to,
pack it in and get back to work.

And, Crabtree, I expect you
to set a better example.

- Me, sir?
- Murdoch.

You and Happy Dafty, my office.

Happy Dafty!

What did you do?

Well,
what's this girl's story?

Miss Tunstall worked
in the kitchen

at the King's Goose Tavern.

She finished her shift
and left just after midnight.

Some bloke followed her out?

No one saw anything.

Any boyfriends?

According to her workmates
at the tavern,

there was no one special.

Let me see these.

Hmm.

Nice.

Inspector, really.

I was referring
to the quality of the work.

The composition is professional,
and the paper stock is...

Well, the paper stock
is top-notch.

The paper stock, sir.
First thing I noticed.

Judging by these,

I'd suggest a visit
to my old friend Marcus Evans.

Ah.
That's perfect.

I thought I told you
to shut this place down.

- George, the girls.
- Ladies.

It's a pleasure to see you
again, Sergeant Brackenreid.

It's inspector.

Moving up in the world, I see.

Unlike you, Evans, still
crawling around in the gutter.

- Let me see this camera.
- Not my camera.

Shift, Evans.
It's evidence.

Evidence of what?
My work is purely artistic.

Artistic.

Tell that to the wives of the
husbands who buy your trash.

Oh, and this time, it's not
just about saucy postcards.

Perhaps you recognize
this woman.

Abigail.
What of her?

She's one of your models, then.

Was.

She quit awhile ago.
I haven't seen her since.

She's been found dead, Marcus.

Any theories?

Oh, no.

Oh, poor Abby.

Mr. Evans, do you know of anyone

who may have wanted to harm
Miss Tunstall?

No.

She was --
Everybody liked Abby.

Except whoever did her in.

Sirs, I've taken their names
and addresses.

I'll get full statements
once they get some clothes on.

Grab any negatives, Crabtree.

Please.
I can't afford to replace those.

And the camera.

Not the camera, Inspector.
This is my livelihood.

A young lady in your employ
is dead.

I think it's time
for a career change, sunshine.

Miss.

Is there something else, Miss...

Mahoney.

Moira Mahoney.

Miss Mahoney.

You knew Abigail, didn't you?

Yes.

Me and Abby were pals.

In that case, I'm terribly sorry
for your loss.

Have you any idea who may have
wanted to harm her?

No, but...

The thing is,
when Abby quit here,

she went on to something else.

Something else?

There was an apartment.

Abby took men there.

She asked me
if I wanted in on it.

I thought about it.

Miss Mahoney, it's all right.

I'm only interested in who may
have wanted to harm Abigail.

I went along once,

but changed my mind
before I ever went inside.

It was -- It wasn't right.

Do you recall the address?

It looks like a doxie's digs,
sir.

It certainly does.

It would appear Miss Tunstall

was involved in more than
just cheeky pictures.

What did you find, George?

Just a small kitchen
and a water closet.

A darkroom.

Yes, but the question is, what's
it doing in a doxie's apartment?

A hobby, perhaps?

George, go and turn the light on
in the boudoir.

George,
come and have a look at this.

Oh, my goodness!

A mirror you can see
right through.

It's a half-silvered mirror,
George,

used in scientific experiments
to split beams of light.

I suspect the use in this case
is somewhat less scrupulous.

Sir, imagine we had one of these
at the station

in the interview room.

We would be able
to observe suspects

without them ever knowing
we were there.

Yes, but in this case,

I believe the intention was
to take photographs of people

without their knowledge.

People in the bed.

Yes, George.

What have you there, sir?

A hinge.

This is a camera?

It's no bigger than a cigar box.

Remarkable, isn't it?

It's the latest from
the Eastman Kodak Company --

the Pocket Kodak.

But the plates?
How do they fit?

Oh, sir, plates are
a thing of the past.

George Eastman has introduced
a new type of flexible film

made of cellulose.

It stays inside the camera.

What will they think of next?

So, what are you doing?

You've been at that
half an hour.

Trying out
different combinations.

I thought you'd cracked it.

And what's
the bloody stethoscope for?

Oh, sir, you can hear the bolt
pass over the first tumbler.

The other two are trial
and error, I'm afraid.

Well, that's 60 numbers.

Times another 60.

Yes, and each number has a
leeway of one digit either side,

making it a total
of 400 combinations

of which I have tried 76.

Murdoch,
just drill the bloody thing.

Don't look so smug.

What's inside?

Money.

Photographs.

Oh, my.

Oh.

These make Evans' postcards

look like an invitation
to a church social.

Look closer, sir.

Good God.

Alderman Merrick.

Clarence Chislett,
the district court justice.

Ooh, I'll be years
trying to forget these.

A record was kept
of the names and addresses.

All important toffs.

Was it blackmail, then?

I'd be willing to wager

these men would pay
a lot of money

to be sure these photographs
were never seen.

And it wouldn't take much
for a beauty like Miss Tunstall

to lure them
back to the apartment.

I wonder who took these photos?

This could be our answer now.
What have you, George?

Sir, according to the landlord,

the apartment was leased
two months ago by a John Smith.

John Smith.

John Smith, George.

Clearly,
that's not his real name.

Oh.

So, how do we find him?

George,
this is a brand-new camera.

Telegraph
the Eastman Kodak Company

and find out which stores
in Toronto

carry this specific model.

Sir, right away.

Dangerous game
they were playing.

One of these "clients" could
have done Miss Tunstall in?

Yes.

They would have had motive.

We'll interview all of them.

Tread carefully, Murdoch.

These "gentlemen" carry
a lot of clout.

More of the same?

No.

These photographs
were taken elsewhere.

Different vintage, older.

Why, yes, Mrs. Pendrick.

Is this a social call?

How wonderful.

Ice water?

Sir.

Sir, it's Sally Pendrick.

Detective Murdoch.

What fiendish crime of mine
brings you here this time?

Mr. Pendrick.

I apologize
for my unannounced visit.

What do you think of
my latest concept, Detective?

The Toronto of the future.

Millions of people living in
fully self-sufficient towers,

connected by a vast grid

of underground railways
and elevated paths,

fed by endless acres
of rooftop farms.

Whole generations never need set
a foot outside,

working and playing
in the sheltered security

of their tower communities.

That's fascinating.

Actually, I'm here to speak
with your wife.

I see.

And I trust you don't intend
to accuse her

of some dastardly deed.

Not at all.

I have an art question for her.

Ah.

One of those urgent
art questions.

At any rate --

Wait here.

I'll see if I can find her.

Art question.

A model of the solar system.

You and James,

both fascinated by such things.

Mrs. Pendrick.

To what do I owe the pleasure?

Actually, it's imperative

that I speak to you
in the utmost privacy.

Certainly.

What could possibly demand
such intimacy?

This.

Oh, my God.

It was found during the course
of a murder investigation.

- Murder?
- Yes.

A young woman
named Abigail Tunstall

was found murdered yesterday.

Possibly by the man
who took these photographs.

I...

I'm sorry.
I must sit.

Yes, of course.

I was young
and without prospects.

He offered me money.

Good money.

Who did?

His name was Colin McTavish.

He kept an apartment in Albany.

I was to bring men
to the apartment

and entice them to disrobe.

That was all.

I never prostituted myself.

You must believe me.

Did you know he was blackmailing
the men in the photographs?

I didn't want to know.

But it doesn't surprise me.

He's been blackmailing me.

Apparently, he saw my photo
in The Gazette

and remembered me.

He threatened to show the photos
to James.

How much?

So far, $1,500.

So far?

Well, he keeps coming back
to the well

every couple of months.

I'm due for a payment
any day now.

Why didn't you come to me?

I was ashamed, of course.

If only one could erase all the
poor decisions of one's past.

Should this Colin McTavish
contact you again...

I'll let you know immediately.

Detective Murdoch?

I beg you not to mention this
to James.

He knows nothing of my past.

It would devastate him.

Uh, sir.

I spoke with a retailer who said

he sold a black leather
Pocket Kodak

just three weeks ago.

Oh.
Have we a name, George?

The buyer was a Mr. McTavish.
First initial C.

Said he was
a nature photographer.

Well, that's one way
of putting it, I suppose.

The initial C stands for Colin.

He hails from New York State.

He's been blackmailing
Mrs. Pendrick as well.

That's quite the gold mine,
there, sir.

Indeed.

But if the past
is any indication,

he'll be back for more.

And then we'll have him.

Colin McTavish.

Do you think he's our killer,
sir?

He could be.

But then, so could any of
the men in those photographs.

Have we identified them all?

Uh, all except for this fellow,
sir.

And his name wasn't on the list
you found.

Keep looking, George.

Sir.

You seem cheerful.

Do I?

I must have forgotten myself.

I came by to see

if you would like to have a walk
with me this evening.

We never got a chance to finish
our conversation yesterday.

Yes.

I would love to, truly,
but I have an engagement.

Ah.
A meeting?

A dinner, actually.

With a colleague.

A business dinner.

Perhaps another time, then.

Yes.
Yes, another time.

- Sir.
- What have you learned, George?

Sir, all the men confirmed

are receiving copies of
the photographs in the mail.

Along with threats to make
the photographs public

if the monies weren't paid.

You're correct, sir.

$50 in most cases,

mailed to a post-office box
here in town.

$50 is substantial
but hardly worth killing over.

I shouldn't think so, sir.

Alibis?

They all gave a complete account
of their actions

the day Miss Tunstall
was murdered,

including Judge Chislett,

who, in fact, admitted

to accosting Mr. Evans
at one point,

thinking that Evans
was behind the blackmail note.

But you found them
to be truthful?

I think so, sir.

Embarrassed, mostly.

At any rate, I have Higgins
confirming their alibis.

Discreetly I hope.

Although one of these men
could be our killer,

the rest are simply victims
of blackmail.

Of course, sir.

Excuse me, sir.

Colin McTavish was released
from New York State Penitentiary

last June.

They're sending
his Bertillon measurements.

Thank you, Constable Worsley.

Well, that would explain
McTavish's sudden re-emergence.

"Dear Sally, I very much enjoyed
our last meeting

and thought it was time
we meet up again

unless you'd prefer that your
husband learn your true nature."

As frightening as this is,
Mrs. Pendrick,

it's precisely
what I'd hoped for.

I want him apprehended
as badly as you do.

Will I be required to testify?

We have him on a number
of other blackmail charges,

and he's our number-one suspect
in Miss Tunstall's murder.

I see no reason for you
to have to take the stand.

He's expecting you at 8:00.

I suggest we leave
at quarter to the hour.

So I meet him,
give him the money, and leave.

We'll have other men
posted nearby.

The moment you're clear,
they'll move in.

And I'll be safe?

McTavish has no reason
to harm you, Sally.

It's clear he intends
to continue demanding money.

I'll put an end to that tonight.

Dr. Julia Ogden, I presume.

- Why, yes.
- I'm Dr. Martin Folwell.

I'm delighted to meet you
in person.

Thank you.

So, what shall you have?
A glass of champagne perhaps?

Champagne?

Well, I am endeavoring
to woo you, Dr. Ogden.

You must allow me my methods.

We'll be late.

He'll wait.

Of all the outcomes
I ever imagined for myself,

here I am
with my future dependent

on the retrieval
of a sordid photograph.

There's a certain dark humor
in it.

Yes, I suppose.

I do wish you hadn't learned
of my indiscretions, Detective.

That's long in the past.

Yes.

But your respect means
a great deal to me.

I just hope...

My respect for you
is undiminished.

To your lovely city.

I do believe it is almost
as attractive as Buffalo.

Yes, I've heard it said.

Well, I'm most interested

to hear more about
your new hospital, of course.

The Children's Hospital
of Buffalo.

A nurturing environment

dedicated to
our most vulnerable.

We have high hopes.

Well, I imagine it would be
quite effective to have a staff

dedicated solely
to the treatment of children.

That's it, precisely.

And as I mentioned in my letter,

such a progressive hospital

would do well to have
a female physician

as our head
of pediatric surgery.

Is that something
that you would consider?

I used to sing.

Growing up in Montreal,

my dream was to become
a famous soloist.

I was quite good, actually.

Unfortunately,
my parents thought singing

to be a sordid career choice.

So I ran away to New York.

Took some voice lessons.
I did a bit of performing.

You didn't pursue it?

I ran out of money.

Living in New York City,
I could barely feed myself.

Do you know what that's like,
Detective?

I can only imagine.

I was hungry, alone,
and terrified.

Easy prey for someone
like Colin McTavish.

He convinced me

that I could support
my singing career

if I moved to Albany
to start working for him.

And I believed him.

How I regret that now.

That's close enough.
Driver!

Whoa!

Right.
The warehouse is just ahead.

Return immediately upon
completing the transaction.

I have men posted
all around the warehouse.

They won't make a move
until you're safely out.

Sally!

Sally!

Sally, can you hear me?

Sally?

What happened?

There was an explosion.

Are you all right?

I think.

It's just a small cut.

Oh, God.

If we had arrived
just a moment earlier...

Indeed.

McTavish.

George, have the men take
a look.

There might still be
someone inside.

Sir.

Sally!

Sally.
Sally, you're hurt.

No, I'm fine.

What in God's name
are you up to, Murdoch?

Are you trying to
get my wife killed?

The more pertinent question,
Mr. Pendrick,

is "What are you doing here?"

Did you follow Sally?

That's Mrs. Pendrick to you,
sir.

Her well-being is my concern.

Why exactly
did you bring her here?

That's police business.

Your police business
risked my wife's life.

I'll be making that point
to your superiors.

Sir, there's a man
inside the building.

Dead or alive?

Very much dead, sir.

It's Colin McTavish.

The Bertillon measurements
leave no doubt.

Most of the blast wounds
are on his right side.

This embedded debris.

Yes. Flying shards of wood
and metal and glass.

Beyond that,

the state of the body is making
the postmortem rather difficult.

That's unfortunate.

Any word on the cause
of the explosion?

The fire chief seems to think
it was a gas leak.

You don't sound convinced.

Well, it's the timing.

Just at the moment

when Sally Pendrick was supposed
to enter the building.

Yes.

How is she?

She had quite a close call.

She's shaken,
but she'll be fine.

You must be relieved.

Yes, quite.

Julia, are you concerned

about the nature of my
relationship with Mrs. Pendrick?

Is that the cause
for this distance between us?

No.
I promise, William.

It's nothing to do
with Sally Pendrick.

If the explosion was the result
of a gas leak,

as the fire chief suspects,

something ignited
a room full of gas.

McTavish lighting a cigar.

- Or a lamp.
- Either of those.

The resulting explosion
would have sent debris outward

in all directions like this.

However, McTavish's injuries
were concentrated

to the right side of his body,

as if the explosion came
from one side of the room.

What would have caused that?

I don't know.

I'd like to return to the
warehouse and take another look.

If McTavish was murdered,

it's most likely it was the same
person who killed Abigail.

I'll wager it was one of
their blackmail victims.

Except, sir,
all those men have alibis

for the night
of Miss Tunstall's murder.

Well, we must have missed
something.

Have we interviewed all of them?

Everybody except for this chap

that we haven't been able
to identify.

Right.

George, enlarge that photograph.
And make copies.

Perhaps someone at another
station can identify him.

Sir, will do.

What's all this?

The remnants of a bomb, sir.

This pile of leavings?

It was found at the blast site.

So, no gas leak.

There was a ruptured gas line,

but that was as a result
of the explosion,

not the cause of it.

What do you plan on doing
with all this?

If I can determine
how the bomb was made,

perhaps it will lead us
to who set it.

The answer lies
in reconstructing the bomb.

You can do that?

I can try.

Dr. Ogden is asking for you,
sir.

It's quite curious,
but there's no doubt about it.

Colin McTavish was dead
before the explosion occurred.

There's no trace of searing
or ash inside the lungs.

And how long has he been dead?

Not long.

Perhaps a day or two.

Why would anyone go
to the trouble

of blowing up a dead body?

Why, indeed?

And the actual cause of death?

I'm still trying to
determine that.

Thank you, Doctor.

I must be off.

Sir, I've enlarged
the photograph.

Did you make copies?

Not yet. I thought
you should have a look first.

Hmm.
I still don't recognize him.

Not him, sir.
Her.

Look in the mirror.

That's not Abigail.

No, that's Moira Mahoney.

She's the one
who stayed to speak with us

at Marcus Evans' studio.

Miss.

So it is.

Now, she swore up and down, sir,

she was never in that apartment,
but there she is.

In the flesh so to speak.

Well done, Crabtree.
Bring her in.

- Immediately.
- Will do.

Detective.

Mrs. Pendrick.

Is your husband here?

Why, no, he's at the office.

Good, good.

Sally, you have to leave here.

You're in danger.

What in the world
are you talking about?

That explosion --
it wasn't a gas leak.

It was a bomb.

And I believe
it was meant for you.

Me?

Well, how do you know?

McTavish was already dead
when the bomb went off.

Somebody else lured you
to that building,

knowing you'd arrive
just in time for it to explode.

Goodness.

But why leave here?

I can think of only one person

who would want both you
and McTavish dead.

Your husband.

Mr. Pendrick must have found out

about your involvement
with McTavish.

He must have overheard us
talking.

He was in another part
of the house.

Perhaps he has
hidden microphones.

I hardly think.

How did he know you would be
at that warehouse?

He followed us.

He said as much
on the carriage ride home.

He was concerned about
your attentions towards me.

I believe he lured you
to that warehouse.

The note came from Colin.

Perhaps Mr. Pendrick
forged the note.

Or killed McTavish
after he wrote it.

No.
That can't be.

I've always believed

someone else was behind
the Rembrandt theft.

Four people died
in that incident,

one of them shot
by your husband.

James shot Luca Carducci
to save your life.

Or to silence him.

And what about
the Eugenics Society?

What about it?

James was not responsible
for Linus Mailing's death.

Still, his views on the matter
are entirely sinister.

I believe your husband
is a dangerous man.

Well,
I simply don't believe you.

James would never hurt me.

Mr. Pendrick has
the technical capability

of building an explosive device.

And so do many people.

What proof do you have, hmm?

Sally, please.

For your own safety.

I'm afraid I'm going to have to
ask you to leave, Detective.

And it's Mrs. Pendrick.

- But --
- I'm quite serious.

Get out.

My office, George.

Oh, sir, you should know,

the inspector's in the interview
room with Moira Mahoney.

She's the one in the photo
with the mystery man.

Really?

Hmm.

George, these are the remnants
of an exploded bomb.

It's my intention
to put it back together.

- Oh, you're serious.
- Yes.

But first I need you
to clean the carbon residue

off of every piece.

I don't know who that girl is.

Look in the mirror.

Look closer.

It was just the one time,
I swear.

I'm not that kind of girl.

Really?

You didn't have any problem
stripping down for Marcus Evans.

That was different.

I never had to go starkers,
and no one ever touched me.

I'm not a doxie!

I don't care if you're
the whore of Babylon.

I want to know everything
you know about this operation,

starting with him.

Who is he?

I don't remember his name.

Rubbish!

Abby knew him.
I didn't.

I never seen him before
or since.

How did you choose your marks?

I didn't.

I told you.
I wanted no part of it.

How did Abigail Tunstall know

which men to approach?

- She had Mr. Evans' client list.
- She stole it?

She didn't have to steal it.

Mr. Evans gave it to her.

Oh, is that so?

Abby told him she wanted to know

which men liked to buy
the postcards of her.

So then Abigail contacted
these men

and invited them
up to the apartment.

How many of these so-called
gentlemen were on the list?

A lot.

Abby was very popular.

I wasn't nearly so.

Evans just handed
over the list, did he?

Well, he didn't know what
she wanted it for, did he?

If he had known,
he never would have agreed.

Why?

Because of his abiding
moral conscience?

No.

Because it would have broken
his heart.

He was crazy in love with her.

They were lovers?

No.

She'd never let him.

If he'd known what she was
doing, it would have killed him.

I'm not convinced, sir.

I still think Pendrick planted
the bomb in that warehouse.

You're always on
about bloody Pendrick.

Sir, he had motive,

and he was in the vicinity of
the warehouse when it exploded.

You're barking up
the wrong tree, Murdoch.

Evans is our boy on this one.

He was in love
with Abigail Tunstall,

who ditches him for McTavish,

and just as a final kick
in the old plums,

she takes his client list.

Evans has motive to kill
the both of them.

All right, let's go.

Hats and coats.

You never learn, do you?

Just wait there.

It's time to come clean, Evans.

I don't know
what you're talking about.

Abigail Tunstall
and Colin McTavish.

You killed them.

- I did not.
- Your best girl.

Your little angel.

Do you want to see more?

No.

There are dozens of them.

All of Abigail Tunstall
and your ex-clients.

It must have driven you insane,

knowing that Abigail ditched you
for that sort of business.

You've got it all wrong.

I didn't know
why Abby left the studio.

The love of your life,

and you didn't bother
to find out why?

Bollocks!

She had them lined up
around the block, Evans.

She was making money hand
over fist, her and McTavish,

blackmailing your clients.

I don't know
what you're talking about.

Well, that's funny,

because Judge Chislett told us
that he confronted you.

You knew, didn't you?

What was it like

knowing what the love
of your life was doing

with all of these men?

Any man, in fact, but you.

Stop it!
Stop it.

What were you doing
between midnight and 2:00 a.m.

on October 3rd?

I don't remember.

It was three days ago.

I'll tell you
what you were doing.

You had your fat fingers
around her pretty little neck.

You killed her, Evans.

And you killed McTavish.

I didn't kill McTavish.

I never even set eyes on him.

I wish I had done him in,
though.

Instead of Abigail?

I didn't mean to.

I just wanted to show her
how much she'd hurt me.

She was so heartless.

I lost my temper.

I remember grabbing her,
shaking her.

The next thing I knew,
she was dead.

What about Sally Pendrick?
How does she figure into this?

Sally who?

Evans had a reason to kill
Abigail and McTavish,

but not Sally.

While Pendrick may have wanted
to have McTavish and Sally dead,

but not Abigail Tunstall.

Thank you.

So we're dealing
with two separate crimes.

One of which involves
James Pendrick.

You know you're treading
on dangerous ground.

Pendrick has already complained
to the chief constable

about you.

- If you're wrong --
- I'm not wrong.

Not this time.

So, what's the plan?

At the moment, I have a bomb
to put back together.

Interesting.

So, sir, the explosive material
was contained

in this metal pipe section, yes.

That's right.

And this is the remains of
a timing device of some sort,

which would have been attached
to a blasting cap --

Which would have ignited
the explosive material

once the timer reached 8:00.

That's right, but some of
the pieces appear to be missing.

Unless they've been blown
beyond recognition.

Well, sir, I think this piece
is for your lot.

It's a cog wheel of some sort.

Ah, George,
what country of origin

would you say begins
with the letters S-W?

Oh, there's several
I can think of, sir.

Swansea.
That's in England, I believe.

Uh, Sweden.

Swaziland, I think,
is a real place.

Switzerland, George.

Switzerland.

And what are
the Swiss famous for?

Chocolate.
Cheese.

Cheese with holes in it.

Clocks!

George, the Swiss are famous
for fine Swiss clocks.

And fine Swiss clocks require
fine clock wheels.

George, I need you to run
another errand for me.

Detective, please!

James Pendrick,
you are under arrest

for the murder
of Colin McTavish

and the attempted murder
of your wife, Sally Pendrick.

Really, Detective,
you've outdone yourself.

This is no laughing matter.

This is a clock wheel

from the timing mechanism

of the bomb
that almost killed your wife.

Yes.
And?

It's identical
to the clock wheels

used in this remarkable model

that I was so impressed with
months ago.

So it matches.
That means nothing.

These clock wheels are very rare
and not readily available here.

I had my constable check

with the manufacturer
in Switzerland.

And they confirm a shipment
of several of the clock wheels

were sent to a Pendrick
Steel Company in Toronto.

A record of the transactions
is in the mail as we speak.

You're dead wrong, Detective.

I've heard that before, sir.

You'll regret this, Murdoch.

Darling, don't be concerned.

I'll be home before dinner.

Dr. Folwell.

What a pleasure
to see you again.

So, this is your headquarters.

A rather dreary one, I'm afraid.

Tchaikovsky, is it not?

Yes.
From his Opus 35.

So, do I have good news
to take back to my colleagues

at the children's hospital?

Oh, really, so soon?

I haven't even had a chance
to discuss this with my family.

There's no immediate rush.

But I take it
you're not saying no.

I must admit I have been
contemplating a change.

Yes.

A grim business,
always dealing in death.

It can be, yes.

And the chance
to heal children...

I look forward to your decision,
then, Doctor.

Good day.

I'm afraid I was rather
high-handed earlier.

I apologize.

In spite of the circumstances,

this must be very difficult
for you.

It is difficult.

But, truly, it is I
who should apologize.

I've turned a blind eye
to my husband's faults.

Your husband's
a very clever man.

Yes, and you were right
about him all along, it seems.

I owe you my life.

I must confess to a concern.

How will you fare on your own?

Always come out all right.

One way or another.

Mrs. Pendrick.

Sally.

Sally.

If you're ever
in need of assistance,

I would be honored
if you were to call on me.

Thank you, Detective.

I might just do that.