All language subtitles for Murdoch.Mysteries.2008.S04E01.Tattered.And.Torn.DVDRip.XviD-iNGOT

A new job?

It's in Buffalo.

Buffalo?

There must be something
you're not telling me.

Why are you leaving?

It's been clear to me
how much you want a family.

But, my abortion...

It left me sterile.

William, please accept this.

I... I don't know what to say.

No...

Julia?

- Sir?
- What is it, Constable?

Sir, a body has been found,

in a manner of speaking.

Get a move on, Murdoch.

This one's nasty.

Alert Dr Francis.

- Oh, but, sir...
- Just do it. Please.

Bloody hell.

Constable Higgins, what have you?

Well, the McMurphy sisters
are bird watchers, sir.

Apparently, they were on the trail
of the rufous-sided towhee.

Apparently the male has a black head
and upper parts, while the female...

Oh, Higgins, just the facts, man.

Right. Sorry, sir.

After they discovered the remains,

Gladys McMurphy ran to a
neighbour's house up the way, sir.

The neighbour is the one
who telephone called us, sir.

I see. And where is he?

He had some appointments to attend to

but he's eager to come to the station
later to give a statement.

Very good. Right, then.

We'll need to drag the river from
this point, all the way to the lake.

That's a considerable distance, sir.

Is there a problem, Constable?

Just get it set up, Higgins.

Right away, sir.

This had better be
the crime scene of the century.

Sir, you said this was
a particularly nasty one.

I thought he might at least
make an appearance.

So, has Queen Victoria shot her lover?
Has your mayor been...

Disembowelled by dragons, or what?

Dr Francis,

nice of you to come by.

You know I see little use at all,
Detective Murdoch,

in attending a crime scene. All of
the real work is done at my morgue.

Doctor, if you please.

Oh, well.

Ooh!
This is a gruesome affair, isn't it?

You know,
it's just a wild guess, Detective,

but it is possible that the victim was
chopped up and encased in concrete.

And no other insights,
aside from the obvious?

When the remains are brought
to my morgue, I will make a full report.

You know, I am sure your Dr Ogden

happily traipsed to whatever crime scene
you wished.

But I, sir,

am not she.

Have I been wasting my breath
these last six months, Murdoch?

Francis does things his way.

Accept it. Things have changed.

Rather busy at the moment.

Yes, I'm sure you are, Doctor.

I came by to apologise for requesting
your presence at the crime scene today.

No, you didn't.

And in hopes that you had
assessed the remains

found down by the river
nearly three hours ago.

So long? Horrors.

I must have been
doing something very important.

Now what could that have been? Hmm?

Oh, very well. Come on.

So, we have the left forearm and hand,
the left foot.

We have this torso section here
which contains a bit of liver.

At first blush, the victim is male.

Thirty five,
judging by the skin and hair.

Time of death somewhere between
7:00 and 10:00 p.m. last evening.

Eight hours for the concrete to set.

That places the killer down by the river
between 3:00 and 6:00 a.m.

Doctor, I'll need to take finger...

Fortunately, I did absorb
some of the sleuthing techniques

from the lads at Scotland Yard.

Incidentally, these clean cuts here

indicate an axe was used
for the dismemberment.

After the time of death, I hope.

And what did you learn from
the bone and tissue analysis?

I'll tell you when I get to it.

Doctor, this is somewhat
of an urgent matter.

This may come as a bit of a shock
to you, Murdoch,

but people have this unfortunate
habit of dying.

Sometimes in bunches,
as is the case this week.

- May I take this...
- Yes.

So long as you leave me in peace.

Assuming the rest of the body
was similarly disposed of,

the killer would have required
several containers

in which to mould the cement.

This pattern would indicate that
the containers were made of wood.

I make this out to be pine.

Now then, the river was quite shallow
where we found the block.

So the killer must have loaded
the rest of Humpty Dumpty

onto a boat and headed
for deeper waters.

And, unaccountably, left one behind.

Well, I suppose, sir, if it was
the middle of the night and pitch,

he could have simply lost track,
left one on shore.

At any rate,
please take the victim's finger marks

- and compare them to the ones on file.
- Yes, sir.

I hear you and Dr Francis
had words again.

Sir, Dr Francis is exaggerating.

Listen here, Murdoch.

Dr Francis was one of the Yard's best

or I wouldn't have fought
to get him to Toronto.

Now how does it look for me with you two
arguing the toss for months on end?

Now, I won't tell you again.

Or what, sir?

Excuse me, sirs.

The man who telephoned us
on behalf of the McMurphy sisters

is here to give a statement.

Malcolm Lamb.

You know him, sirs?

Detective Malcolm Lamb
used to have Murdoch's job.

My, my, my, same desks,
same god-awful paint.

Of course, there were no telephones
or fancy typewriters.

I don't know how you live
with this racket.

Perhaps you'd care to give
your statement

in your old office, Detective.

Well, thoughtful gesture, Inspector.

But that's Detective Murdoch's
office now.

Of course. As you wish.

My office, then.

That's it, really.

Poor Miss McMurphy's eyes as big
as an owl's when I opened the door.

How did you hold yourself back
from the crime scene?

Oh, I still have a copper's nose for
a blood trail, Inspector.

But sleep and a regular constitution
are my priorities now.

How about a few tall tales
of Station Four's glory days?

Glory days.

Yeah. When I started
as a constable 20 years ago,

the coppers couldn't find their noses.

They were appointed by aldermen
and rich people they were related to.

We pretty much got paid
to break up brawls

and keep the city safe for Protestants.

Detective Murdoch's progressive approach
hasn't escaped my notice, however.

I'm optimistic that a whole new world
of policing is dawning.

- Thank you, sir.
- Detective Lamb.

Hodge! My God, you're still here!

They'll have to carry me out, sir.

Gentlemen, it's been a pleasure.

- Nice to see you.
- How are you?

Interesting that he didn't mention

he'd been given the boot
eight years ago for insubordination.

I hadn't heard that.

Put his Inspector Cassidy in hospital
for a week with a right hook.

Have to admire it, in a way.

Back then,
it was clear what men were thinking.

Detective.

Sir, I think this case has all
the makings of a ripping detective tale.

A dismembered body
encased in concrete...

A foul-smelling river to represent
society's rapid decay...

- Bird watchers...
- What on earth are you doing, George?

Doing? No, nothing, sir. I just...

I've often thought I should write
some of these things down, you know?

Well, you can add traces
of cement to your list.

Yes, cement. Cement could represent...

Oh, you mean you found cement?

So, what, then?
The rest of the body was dumped nearby?

In deeper water, perhaps?

Yes. Or even in the lake.

And then he rowed back to this spot.

George, impound this boat
and dust it for finger mar...

Detective?

Constable,
I believe we're being watched.

- Identify yourself.
- Sir.

- Identify yourself!
- Sir!

He appears to be a squatter, sir.

What's your name?

Detective?

Dismembered human remains

were found encased in concrete
not far from your... living quarters.

Can you explain why traces of concrete
were also found in your boat?

No. I told you, it was stolen.

I didn't chop anyone up.

- Can we at least have your name?
- I'm not obliged...!

Arthur Frumm. F-R-U-double-M.

Thank you, Mr Frumm.

Can you account
for your whereabouts last night?

Well, let's see.

After I cooked up a nice squirrel stew
for my supper,

I found a fine bottle of gin by my tent.

There.

I cancelled my theatre plans.

You say you found this bottle?

Gin from an angel, I took it as.

I take it you consumed its contents?

You don't want to anger the angels.

I passed out just after dark.

Mr Frumm, I believe
you know who those remains belong to.

Squirrel. Couple rabbits.
I didn't eat that raccoon.

It was just bothering me.

No, the human remains, Mr Frumm.

If you come forward now,

before tests reveal that it is indeed
human blood on that axe,

it may save you from the noose.

And tell me why I should care.

They should just make sure they get
the name right on the headstone.

Arthur H. Frumm,

barrister and solicitor.

Loving husband

and father.

A lawyer?

And they say
God doesn't have a sense of humour.

Murdoch, there are drunks and lunatics
all along the river.

You can't believe a word they say.

And most of them would bash you
over the head for no bloody reason.

Frumm plots to kill a fellow squatter
over some trivial nonsense,

gets together what he needs
and does the deed.

Then he starts drinking,
waiting for the cement to dry.

But he's so drunk, he fails to notice
and leaves a block on shore.

Sirs?

No matches on file to our
victim's finger marks, I'm afraid.

But I did put a call in to Osgoode Hall

and Arthur H. Frumm did practise
family law

here in Toronto about 20 years ago.

Apparently he was disbarred for...

"Persistent personal failings. "
Shame, if you ask me.

Any upright citizen
can come to ruin, Crabtree.

We must all be vigilant.

Yes, to be sure, sir.

George, take a few men and question
as many squatters as you can find.

Perhaps Mr Frumm was seen
elsewhere in the valley.

Sir, I will do. Also, Dr Francis called.

He has some news for you.

Ah. Thank you, George.

Ah, Murdoch.

Well, it's only preliminary

but unless you're prepared to charge our
suspect with "rodenticide"

I think you'd better look elsewhere.

- No human blood on the axe.
- None at all.

There is this, however.

There is some scarring to the arm stump.

You see? Here.

Your victim has had surgery
to his forearm at some point.

What kind of surgery?

I'm sure I don't know.

Now, I must away to my lovely wife.

Since our return to her native soil,
there's rarely an evening goes by

that we don't visit
her dear friends and family.

And all of that dreadful
Canadian cheese.

Doctor, have you had a chance to examine
the liver section in any detail?

No. If I had, I would have told you.

Then, when?

What, two days? Three?

And you're welcome.

Dear Julia,

I trust this finds you well.

I am forwarding photographic evidence
in a puzzling case

and would be grateful for your insight.

All my...

Best regards,

William.

Detective?

Pardon my saying,
but the nature of this crime, sir,

with the dismemberment
and the construction

of boxes, the concrete and whatnot,

it suggests a clear head
and a steady hand,

neither of which Frumm possesses.

We have only Mr Frumm's claims of being
dead drunk last night

and no other finger marks besides his
were found on the boat.

Hmm.

What's that you have there, sir?

It's a... gift for an acquaintance.

I'd be happy to wrap that for you, sir.
I have this flair for gift wrapping.

Not that the lads need to know that.

I'm fine. Goodnight.

Dear William,
a delight to hear from you

and for such an intriguing reason.

Regarding the evidence
in the photographs,

I believe the scar tissue
on the wrist may be

the result of a radical new procedure
we've only just heard about here.

It's called...

Transplantology?

Yes, sir. It's an experimental
vascular surgery

where a damaged artery is removed

and replaced with a healthy one
from the patient.

Dr Francis knows his stuff.

Not many would have caught this,
Murdoch.

Yes. I've contacted the only surgeon
in Canada to perform this procedure,

a Dr Leeson in Vancouver,

and he telegrammed me to say

that he had performed
one such procedure here in Toronto.

On whom?

Duncan Burnside.

The Duncan Burnside?

Bloody hell, Murdoch.

Are you telling me that
Toronto's Citizen of the Year has been

hacked to pieces?

Yes, sir, I believe I am.

Crikey.

I don't understand.

Duncan was supposed to be in Winnipeg
finalising details on an orphanage.

And now you tell me
someone did such horrible things.

Mrs Burnside,

are you aware of anyone
your husband may have quarrelled with?

Anyone who may have
wished ill will towards him?

No.

Never a mean word,
towards him or from him.

My husband was a champion for children

and now his own
will grow up without a father.

It's too cruel.

- Ah, Brackenreid, you wanted to see me.
- Yes. Yes, Doctor.

I wanted to commend you
on your excellent work in identifying

that Duncan Burnside was the victim
in that concrete.

Well, you're very welcome.

Now what the hell are you talking about?

What? Duncan Burnside.

He'd had that
new transplantology surgery.

What on earth is transplantology, man?

Oh.

Oh.

Hmm?

Scotch?

Huh.

He's taken photographs.

He's taken photographs
and sent them to another doctor!

- Another doctor, you say?
- He's undermined me!

Murdoch does do
his fair share of reading.

Oddball medical journals and the like.
Perhaps transplantology got a mention!

Oh, don't be ridiculous, man!

No.

If Murdoch expects me to expedite work
on his cases from now on,

he is woefully misinformed.

Duncan Burnside's post-mortem is moved.

Back of the queue!

Back of the queue!

It could be a week before I know
the cause of death with any certainty.

That's far too long
in any murder investigation.

It's your own bloody fault, Murdoch.

Dr Llewellyn Francis is nobody's fool.

I needed information
so I took the initiative.

Oh, well, bloody medals all over you!

I identified the victim.

Did you have to go to Dr Ogden?

Francis is old school, Murdoch.

When he realises he's been upstaged
by a woman, he'll feel humiliated!

- Or was that the plan?
- Of course not.

I had to get the truth.
And I would do it again.

Do you have any vague impression
that you've gone slightly crackers?

This is not like you, Murdoch.

I don't see it that way.

No, no, no, no. Of course you don't.

What did Mrs Burnside have to say?

She said her husband was widely beloved.

Don't they all.
Any mention of Arthur Frumm?

She'd never heard the name.

Well. We can't hold him
any longer, then. Off he goes.

Have Crabtree chat up Burnside's
business associates

and any gentleman doorstops
that he ran with.

There might be a nervous nellie
in the bunch.

Yes, sir.

Dear William,
I trust I was of some help.

It brought back memories
of working together.

Please thank Dr Francis
for sharing the photographs.

And if you need someone to talk to,
do not hesitate.

All my best,

Julia.

So you're at war with a coroner...

Thank you.

And you had to let your squatter
suspect go.

Frustrations of the job, eh, Detective?

In truth, I don't miss them.

But surely you didn't invite me
here to discuss

something you've handled many times

in your illustrious career.

Well, it's not so much my situation
as it is yours.

To what situation do you refer?

Your leaving the constabulary.

Oh.

I suppose it was mostly that, one day,

I found my enthusiasm for the job
had left me.

Yet you put your inspector
in the hospital.

Well, not to speak ill of the dead,
but Cassidy was an ass.

And that was it?

You're an intuitive bugger, aren't you?

I do hope so.

Well... The other shoe, then.

I had been engaged for many years.
I kept postponing the wedding.

Too wrapped up in the job,
my fiancée said.

Next thing,
it was her or the job, and...

When I didn't answer right away,
she broke it off for good.

Why these inquiries, Detective?

Curious.

Word of advice,
never allow affairs of the heart

to interfere with
more important affairs of the world.

With policing these days,
and your innovations,

a difference can be made.
That's your calling, Murdoch.

At times, it seems as though
there are just too many obstacles.

Yes.

Obstacles to justice
and to personal contentment

will always plague men like us.

A detective's career
is entirely composed

of refusing to accept anything less

than the one, correct outcome.

Obstacles be damned.

- What have you got there, Murdoch?
- Sir, this telegram...

Brackenreid?

Over the weekend, all evidence
in the Duncan Burnside murder case

has been stolen from my morgue.

Murdoch has shipped it to his Dr Ogden.

I've checked with the CN office.

Have you taken leave of your senses,
Murdoch?

They could knock you back
to a constable's rank for this.

Sir. Dr Ogden's report.

Deal with him,

in the severest possible manner.

Tell him, Murdoch.

It wasn't only the remains
of Duncan Burnside

in that concrete block, Dr Francis.

But the body parts
of three separate victims.

Let me see.

Elevated serum urate levels
in the liver section.

This victim had gout.

And clear evidence of mucocutaneous
lesions. Just at the foot.

This is the syphilitic victim.

And Duncan Burnside's
transplantology surgery makes three.

Correct.
I can confirm your Dr Ogden's findings.

Also, I've noticed this.

Trace residue of gunshot powder

on the torso section here. But this
was obscured by the cement mixture.

So it's likely the victims were shot
to death and then hacked to pieces?

Well, this one was, certainly.

Something caught your eye, Detective?

Dr Ogden speculated that
the victim's foot

had been bound with rope or some such.

I would concur but for this faint
mottling here, do you see?

That's consistent with
a more constant pressure.

I'd say this victim had been shackled.

Are you sure, Doctor?

I was prison medical officer at Newgate
for three years

before I joined the Yard.
I think I'd know.

So it's likely the syphilitic victim

- did hard time in prison?
- Yes.

All of this information would have been
quite useful much earlier.

I'd say you didn't help yourself
in that regard.

A modicum of restraint
would have served you better.

Excellent work, Doctor.

Murdoch?

In here now.

I hope you realise how lucky you are,
Murdoch.

Lucky, sir?

If it had been one victim
and not three,

you'd be facing charges
for what you just pulled.

- As I explained, I needed...
- Murdoch!

I give you a wide field
more often than not.

And I expect that to count
for something.

And it does, sir.

You've got some bloody cheek.

And if you ever, ever do something
like this again, I will rein you in.

Do we have an understanding?

Yes, sir.

Right, then.

So, we've got one Citizen of the Year,
one syphilitic ex-convict,

one unknown with gout
and no solid suspects.

Bloody hell. We're almost home.

If we can find a way to somehow link
all three of the victims together,

perhaps a new suspect will emerge.

How does a swell like Burnside

connect to a jailbird
with the French fever anyway?

- That's a very good question.
- I get one out now and then.

Now go find the answer.

Sirs, of the prisoners
released last week from Don Jail,

only one was syphilitic.
A Cyrus Wheeler.

Served five years
hard labour for assault.

- How old is Wheeler?
- He's 38, sir.

- Close enough.
- He attacked a fellow roomer

in a boarding house. He beat him
to within an inch of his life.

So this man waits until Wheeler

is released from prison,
then goes after him.

But why kill Burnside
and the other unknown victim?

How the hell do I know?

Find this roomer and bring him in.

I would, sir, but he died two years ago.

You could have mentioned that
right off the bat, Higgins.

Didn't want to interrupt.

Every time we put two pieces
of this jigsaw together,

we get a third that won't fit.

Yes, sir, very frustrating.

Sirs, the constabulary in Coboconk

received a missing persons report
this morning

from a Wilma Jelton.

Apparently, her brother, Oslo Jelton

was to be staying at the Empire Hotel
here in Toronto and he didn't show up.

- Cobo what?
- Coboconk.

Coboconk.

Yes, sir, I believe it means
the part of the river

where the gull prefers to nest.

I used to visit my Aunt Clematis there.
She worked in the brick kiln.

Crabtree, where the hell is it?

It's a few hours north, sir.

Coboconk.

Safe travels, Murdoch.

Whoa.

- Miss Jelton?
- Yes.

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto constabulary.

Have you any news of my brother?

That's Oslo.

And he lived here?

Yes, our family moved here

when Oslo graduated
from the University of Toronto.

Miss Jelton, if I may, did your brother
have any ongoing physical ailments?

No. Nothing serious.

Mild dyspepsia, a touch of gout.

Is it important?

Just a routine question.

Did you happen to know the nature
of your brother's trip to Toronto?

I don't know, I'm sure.

But I found this yesterday
in Oslo's study.

I believe it's the reason why he left
so hurriedly without explanation.

"A situation requiring
our immediate attention has arisen.

"My carriage will pick you up Thursday
at the Drake Hotel, 7 pm. "

The telegram is signed by a "D.B."

Did your brother ever mention the name
Duncan Burnside?

No. Who is he?

We've identified Duncan Burnside
as a murder victim.

Detective, Oslo could not have had
a single thing to do with any murder.

No, ma'am, that's not what I'm saying.

No? Then...

Midnight oil?

Sir, have a look at this.

Oslo Jelton and Duncan Burnside,
members of the same fraternity.

Hmm.

What's low life Cyrus Wheeler
doing with a pair of toffs like these?

- Yes, constable.
- Sir,

I've been thinking about it

and I believe I recognise
the name Oslo Jelton.

- Come in. Come in, Hodge.
- Of course, sir.

Do you recognise him?

Yes. That's him.

How did you know him?

Jelton was a suspect in a rape
and murder case about 10 years ago.

Dig out the case file, Constable.

Harriet King was a secretarial
school instructor, it would seem.

And Oslo Jelton was involved.

That's correct, sir. Apparently, Jelton
was brought in for questioning.

An eyewitness, a pub owner,
Richard Duff,

claims to have seen Jelton
running from the scene of the crime.

Right. But the pub owner recanted.

Sir...

Mr Jelton's alibi that he was studying
in the university library

was corroborated by two witnesses.

A groundskeeper and a fellow student.

The fellow student was Duncan Burnside.

Let me guess.
The groundskeeper was Cyrus Wheeler.

Excellent. Now we know how
the three victims were connected.

Yes, George. But we still
have no idea who killed them.

What's that?
The Harriet King crime scene?

Yes, sir.
Miss King's body was discovered

in the back of the alleyway here.

And Oslo Jelton was allegedly seen here
fleeing the scene of the crime.

- The eyewitness?
- Richard Duff.

Originally claims to have come out

of the back of his pub
into the laneway here.

And that's when he saw
Oslo Jelton running south,

out of the laneway here toward Richmond.

And then, a few days later,
he says he never saw Jelton there.

Be nice to know why he changed his mind.

Sirs, the day after Miss King was found,
the Gazette quotes Inspector Cassidy

as saying he believed more than one man
was involved in the attack.

However in this edition,
published just a couple of days later,

he has a different theory.

Only one killer.

And Burnside and Wheeler walk in
with Jelton's alibi

and everyone goes back to sleep,

including the broadsheets.

It's got a very ripe odour, doesn't it?

We need to find
this pub owner first thing.

Your predecessor might shed some light.

Malcolm Lamb?

Good idea, sir.

Twice in a week.

Harriet King.

Was she the one thrown off
the Laird building?

No. No, she was raped and murdered
in an alleyway behind the...

Oh, yes. Yes. Downtown somewhere.
The Dominion Ale House.

That's the one, yes.

Lord, lord, lord.
I was only a constable.

What does Harriet King have to do
with anything, God rest her soul?

The cement block that we found
contained the remains of three victims.

- Three?
- Yes.

And Miss King's murder
links all three of them together.

But there was just one suspect,
wasn't there?

Oslo Jelton, yes.

He's one of the victims.

And the two men that provided his alibi
are the other two victims.

Cyrus Wheeler and Duncan Burnside.

Burnside? Citizen of the Year?

Wouldn't want to be
in your shoes right now, Murdoch.

Who's this Wheeler?

A groundskeeper that Burnside and Jelton
knew from university.

Don't recall the name.

Well, I won't take up
any more of your time.

Glad to see
the wind back in your sails, Murdoch.

Suits you better.

- Thank you, Mr Lamb.
- Good day.

Now, sir, I found Richard Duff in a ward
in the House of Providence.

It seems 30 years of pub life
has caught up with him.

I spoke with a nurse there, sir.
She says he's got a few weeks at most.

Very good, George.

Mr Duff?

I'm Detective William Murdoch.

That constable says
this is about Harriet King.

Yes.

I'm curious as to why
your statements to the police

in the days after the
Harriet King murder were contradictory.

I got it wrong the first time.

Call it sober reflection.

So you're saying that
when you stepped out into that alley,

and saw Oslo Jelton running away

from Harriet King's body,
you were drunk.

I was always corned back then
and it wasn't Jelton.

Some stranger.
Jelton was a regular, so I would know.

You knew Oslo Jelton personally?

So there'd be no way to misidentify him?

Right.

But you did misidentify him.
So you said.

I saw what I saw.

Harriet King.

Raped by Oslo Jelton, strangled,
and left in the alley like garbage.

Look at her, Mr Duff.

Look at her!

You knew what happened.

You had justice for Harriet King
in your hands. You still do.

By God, man,
before it's too late for you.

The truth.

Yes, I saw Jelton...

Running away.
It was him, but he was yelling.

Yelling?

For some mates to wait up.

And I heard two voices shout back
to hurry the hell up, I swear.

Did you see these two men?

Earlier. They'd been in the pub

with Jelton, earlier that night,
getting slewed.

So you saw them in the pub together?

Well, one was a toff, like Jelton.

The other was...

I figured they were slumming

because he looked
a bit of a riff-raff. But this...

Harriet... She was a nice girl. Nice...

Those boys...

They were all around her that night.

She said "Leave me alone!"
but they didn't.

So she left.

But they followed her.

I told myself they were just going home.

But after the poor girl...

Mr Duff, why did you change your story?

- The letter.
- What letter?

The anonymous letter!

That said if I didn't change my story,
the city would close my pub.

I couldn't bear that. I had a family.

Then, so I went along.

I figured the letter came
from Jelton's old man and, well...

He had connections back then, you know.

- Indeed.
- I did what I was told!

But then to hound me after,
like I'd done something wrong!

That wasn't right.

Mr Duff, I'm confused. Who hounded you?

He kept after me for two years

to change my story, to say
that it was Oslo Jelton that I saw

but if I did that, I'd lose everything.

Who? Who kept after you?

That bloody constable!

What constable?

Lamb.

Constable Lamb.

Constable Hodge,

did you know Detective Lamb

during the days
of the Harriet King investigation?

Only slightly, sir.

I see. Thank you.

I believe he was engaged at that time,

to a lovely girl.

A Sarah Connolly.

Is Malcolm in any trouble, Detective?

We're simply asking if anyone
recalls any details, however small,

about an old murder case.
A young woman named Harriet King.

I take it you recall the name.

It was so sad, what happened.

For Harriet, of course,
but also for Malcolm.

Malcolm? How is that?

He was bedevilled by that case.

Such that he forgot about
everything else, myself included.

You broke off your engagement
over the King case?

His obsession with it.

We had a beautiful life ahead of us.

But I think what hurt most was

losing him for reasons
I couldn't comprehend. And never will.

If I may, did Malcolm ever mention
the names Burnside, Jelton, or Wheeler?

Oh, I'd never forget those names.

Malcolm was convinced
they'd raped and murdered Harriet King.

Who was this Wheeler?

A groundskeeper.

Don't recall the name.

I don't know if I should laugh or cry,
because, Murdoch,

you know I couldn't have had
anything to do with these murders.

I wish I did, Mr Lamb.

- But the facts are the problem.
- What facts?

As a constable, you were obsessed
with justice for Harriet King.

Who told you I was obsessed?

Sarah Connolly.

Sarah? For goodness' sake.

She was always complaining that I was
too interested in this case.

Interested in a case that you told
Murdoch you barely remembered?

I also interviewed
the pub owner Richard Duff.

He told me you hounded him
long after the investigation

to admit that it was, in fact,
Oslo Jelton

he saw running from the alleyway.

All right. Yes.
But I did that on my own time.

I was just trying to make detective.

Sirs,

no evidence of any kind
in the house, I'm afraid.

There. Can we please stop this nonsense?

Mr Lamb,

did you make these birdhouses recently?

Yes. As a gift for the McMurphy sisters.

Ah, yes, the bird watchers.

Inspector, I make these out to be pine.

I'm not certain
I see the criminal enterprise

in building birdhouses, Detective.

Unless it's to hide evidence
in plain sight, Mr Lamb.

You waited a long time for Cyrus Wheeler
to be released from prison.

Then you set your plan in motion.

You lured all three men to
the Drake Hotel with phoney telegrams.

Duncan, you in there?

You subdued the men,

then drove them here.

No, please.

Where you shot them...

And then chopped them to pieces.

And with the remains
hardening in cement,

you fetched Arthur Frumm's boat,

knowing full well
that he would be passed out

from the gin bottle you left beside
his tent earlier that evening.

I have a perfect match.

Malcolm Lamb,
you're under arrest for murder.

Your condemnation is misplaced,
Detective,

unless you also condemn yourself.

I don't follow, sir.

You and I share a relentless devotion
to justice.

It's what drives us and sets us apart.

And this devotion to justice...

Is that why you left one of the blocks
of remains by the river?

So that we might find it, and possibly
solve Harriet King's murder?

Yes, but I never thought
you'd track it back to me.

I thought I could outfox you.

Thought wrong.

But if you had put all of the remains
in the river...

It's likely you never
would have been found out,

if you didn't want to be caught.

It was a calculated risk, yes. But...

There I was in the river,

set to sink that last block,
when it occurred to me.

These men
raped and murdered Harriet King.

Yes, they deserved a tomb
like that foul river, but...

Who would know?

If I sank the block,
they'd be gone forever,

without disgrace on their memory.

And all I'd have done was leave
poor Harriet King in her eternal grave

without a name to her killers and

no justice at all for her.

But why this case?

Why did it obsess you so?

I thought if I could just get
one right thing done,

maybe the constabulary could change.

Stand up to the rich and powerful
pulling the strings.

Cassidy came to me one day to say

if I ever hoped to make detective,
I'd have to forget about Harriet King,

once and for all.

That day, I made a deal with the Devil.

It was no better than
the pub owner who recanted, or

or the broadsheet editors who
dropped the story.

At least, I was no better.

Now, I am right with
God and Harriet King.

I hope that sustains you in the few days
you have left to you, sir.

Thank you, Detective.

Detective?

How is Sarah?

She's well.

She's concerned for you.

Please tell her I'm fine.

Truly fine.