All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries s16e10 Dash to Death.eng

Theme music...

More deliveries?

My accounts at the tailor
and haberdashery

are through the roof.

We need to do something
before he bleeds us dry.

These came for you.

Ah! Splendid.

(Groaning)

(Chuckling)

Arthur, be a chum and help me
get into this here jacket.

Ah!

Whoo!

Exemplary work, don't you think?

It is quite beautiful,

but it is the third smoking
jacket this month.

- Do you need quite so many?
- Oh!

Um, one never knows when one
will be buried alive again.

I want to remain smartly
dressed just in case.

Arthur, open that box.

Aren't those slippers beautiful?

Put those on my feet, please.

Father, there's no need
for this.

You can put on
your own slippers.

Oh, wouldn't it be a shame if
I walked out of this house?

A dead man walking right into
the arms of the authorities.

You'd both be hauled off
to jail.

So, when I tell Arthur to put
my slippers on my feet,

I want Arthur to put
my slippers... on my feet.

Oh, you can do better than that.

Well, I just did
what you said.

Kneel.

Kneel down, put my slippers
on my feet, boy.

I'm waiting.

Good.

Now the other.

(Sighing)

That wasn't so hard now, was it?

Anything else?

No.

And thank you, Arthur.

Okay, where was I? Oh!

(Chuckling)

Our organization, the Canadian
women's olympic campaign,

represents women in sport.

What are you trying
to accomplish here, ladies?

We want Canada to bring
a team of women

to the 1912 Stockholm Olympics.

Did you know that 65 women
have competed in the Olympics

since 1900,
but none from Canada?

Well, many would say
that's because no one

would ever watch
women's olympic sports.

Well, that's complete hogwash.

Women are just
as thrilling as men.

British figure skater
madge syers,

she beat a field of men
and won the silver medal

at the world championships!

We are all athletes here, just
like the fellas over there.

We should be given our fair due.

- Well, what sport do you play?
- I'm a runner.

Ha! But that's not even
an olympic women's sport.

That's precisely our point.
It should be.

Maybe embroidery should be
an olympic sport?

- I beg your pardon?
- Maybe, uh, gossiping?

All right, ladies.
That's enough time.

- (Sighing)
- Come on.

Tomorrow's demonstration meet
will allow these athletes

to measure their progress
as they work towards

the 1912 olympic games.

Next, we have the men competing
in the 100-metre dash.

Why don't you lot
introduce yourselves?

Walter Knox.

Orillia.

John Armstrong-Howard.

Winnipeg.

Timothy irons.

- Hamilton.
- Scotty scorch.

The fastest man in Canada.

Born right in this great city!

Uh, Mr. Scorch, neither you
nor Mr. Armstrong-Howard

has lost a single race
this year.

Now that you're going
head-to-head,

are you a little nervous?

The only reason
he's never lost a race

is because he's never
raced against me.

I could say the same.

Don't let your little
local success

get to your head, scorch.

Only thing fast about you
is your mouth, scorch.

Lucky nobody asked you, Timmy.

I'll show all you pitiful losers

exactly how fast I am
tomorrow on the track.

(Eerie music)

By god.

(Phone ringing)

William, you left
at the crack of dawn.

You forgot your hat.

Oh, thank you.

That wasn't necessary.

I just wasn't feeling myself
this morning

with the little one
screaming through the night.

Ah, yes, she's improved a
little this morning, thankfully.

She was finally eating
when I left her with Ellie.

Oh, well, that's good.

Yes, I should get back
to that, actually.

Oh, wait!

Uh, I've made something
that should help

with susannah's recovery.

- What is it?
- It is a hydration draft.

You see, colds and influenza

can put the body
in a state of dehydration.

Water, of course, is beneficial,
but by adding different sugars,

sodium, potassium and fruit,

I've created a drink that helps
to replenish electrolytes

that the body loses
during illness.

William, it's blue.

It has blueberry.
For flavour.

(Chuckling)
Yeah.

Ah, good morning, doctor.

What brings you here
so bright and early?

Ah, William forgot his hat.

What? You left the house
without your hat?

- You all right, Murdoch?
- Apparently not.

Sleep deprivation.
Susannah has us up all night.

Right. Well, there's been
a body found at varsity stadium.

Varsity stadium?
I was there just yesterday.

You were?

Yes, I was speaking to the
press about women's athletics.

Can you believe that Canada
still hasn't sent a single woman

- to the olympic games?
- Do other countries?

I've been to the olympic games.

I don't recall seeing girls
running around.

Women have been competing
since 1900.

Hm, I won a gold medal,
did I ever tell you?

Ah, yes, I believe you may
have once or twice.

It was a crisp morning
in St. Louis.

A light fog rolled majestically
across the pristine turf.

I really should get
to the stadium, then.

Yes, I should get going
myself, actually.

- Are you sure you're all right?
- Oh, yes, much better.

Ah, yes.

Oh, ha!

You don't want
to hear the rest?

Ah, well, I'll take these.

Well, I guess your work
is done here.

I have to do a full
examination just to be sure.

Did you notice
the abrasion on his neck?

No.

Not like you to miss
something like that.

I've yet to inspect
his neck, detective.

There appear to be splinters
present under his fingernails.

Curious.

(Yawning)

Tired, detective?

I didn't get much sleep
this past weekend.

Susannah was sick.

Sorry to hear that.

I take it the little one
is all better now?

Oh, yes. Yes, I've been
working on a solution

to help replenish her fluids.

Y-You know, I hear athletes
use champagne to hydrate.

Maybe next time
you can try that.

Henry, have you been giving
baby Jordan champagne?

Oh, no, no, no, no, no.
I would never.

Ruthie is quite unnerved
by bubbles.

We will need to postpone
the meet until tomorrow,

given the tragic circumstances.

Mr. Kittering?

I understand you were
Scotty scorch's coach.

Yes.

He was the star
of my track club.

I cannot believe
this has happened.

- Was he well-liked?
- Well...

I wouldn't say that.

Track and field can be
quite competitive.

Any idea how he ended up with
a javelin embedded in his chest?

None.

But I will say this:

Throwing the javelin
is not an easy thing.

There aren't a lot of people
who could land that throw.

Oh. Well, then, please direct
me to the people who could.

Last night,
myself and a few others

were at the olympic
committee dinner.

And what time did you
leave this event?

At 2:00 am.

I didn't know anything about
this until I arrived just now.

Did you or any of the other javelin
men hold a practice yesterday evening?

- (Sighing)
- None of the javelin men

have anything to do
with this nonsense!

Nonsense?

My teammate told me
those damned sprinters

got him drunk last night
and tricked him into giving him

the equipment room key.

The key to the room
you're standing in?

Exactly. And then,
they came back here

and had a throwing competition.

Talk to Walter Knox,

he pulls these kinds of stunts
all the time.

Thank you.

When should I expect
my javelin to be returned?

- The one stuck in the victim?
- Yes.

She's my favourite.

We went to the pub
around 11 pm

and came back to the track
at 1:00 am.

The throwing competition
was just a bit of fun.

A bit of fun?

That killed a man.

There's no way
we killed scorch.

- No? How can you be sure?
- He wasn't with us.

Didn't all of the 100-metre
men go to the pub?

- Everybody but him.
- He wasn't invited.

No one liked him, not even Timmy
and they're teammates.

Please don't call me Timmy.

So, where was Mr. Scorch
last night?

I have no idea.

Hm.

So, it was dark,
you all were drunk.

Yes.

So it's possible Mr. Scorch
wandered onto the field

while you were having your
drunken throwing competition

when a flying javelin
struck him in the chest.

Sure. But I imagine if a man
was struck by a javelin,

we would have heard him scream.

A javelin through the heart

would have likely
killed him instantly.

He probably wouldn't have been
able to make a sound.

- Could we have possibly...
- No way!

We didn't do this and
that's that.

According to the algor mortis
calculations,

Mr. Scorch died ten hours prior
to his body being discovered.

By 10:00 pm.

So, before the 100-metre men
went to the pub.

The javelin entered the victim
at a 45-degree angle

and penetrated his body
seven inches deep.

Seven inches?

Through his breastplate?

Are you quite sure?

Yes, quite.

What are you thinking,
murdoch?

- Momentum.
- What?

Mass times speed.

- Could a javelin be heavy enough to...
- What are you getting at?

Henry, we're going to need
constable buster.

Oh, no.
Not again, sir.

You heard the man, Higgins.

(Sighing)

You heard him, Arthur.

If we try anything,
we will go to jail.

I can't take
much more of this.

And what if he's plotting
something worse?

We have to make our move
before he makes his.

You're right about that.

My father always has something
nefarious up his sleeve.

Then we act.

Now!

I don't know.

We can't afford to miss again.

We won't.

I won't.

How can you be so sure?

I'm far from perfect, Violet,

but I never make
the same mistake twice.

This is too dangerous.

You're not a killer.

There must be another way.

We've tried everything.

And what about the body?

What'll we do when
that's all done?

Well, no one's looking
for him.

He's already dead.

All we have to do is Bury him.

No one will ever be the wiser.

I'm surprised that
it's this difficult.

What did you expect?

We throw for distance,
not to hit a target.

Please, please,
let this be the last round.

Stand back.

Oh! Very good.

Finally.

The javelin has just fallen
to the side, sir.

Yes, once the javelin made
contact with the breastplate,

it simply bounced off.

Can I have my javelin
back now?

Well, yes, of course.

Fifteenth time's
the charm, eh?

So, the javelin could not have
penetrated the breastplate

with the amount of force

generated by a normal
javelin throw.

So, the javelin that killed
scorch wasn't thrown.

No. It was run through
his chest with deliberate force.

This was murder.

So, a group of drunken sprinters
start throwing javelins around,

our victim arrives
and someone runs him through.

Which means either
some unknown person

was with Mr. Scorch,

picked up an errant javelin
and killed him...

Or?

Or our sprinters are lying.

Sirs.

The lads have finished
searching Mr. Scorch's rooms.

They found this.

Newspaper clippings.

Mr. Scorch was keeping a keen
eye on the competition.

That's clearly Walter Knox.

But it says Peter Smith.

There he is again.

And this one says Fred Taylor.

A man of many names?

- Bring him in, Henry.
- Sir.

By the looks of things,
Mr. Knox,

you've been going
from town to town

competing under fake names.

Is that a crime, officer?

You're a bloody shark.

Challenging locals
to race for money.

I simply enjoy every aspect
of competition.

Don't get cute.

The Olympics is only
for amateur athletes.

Racing for money would make you
a professional.

Even if you are using
fake names.

Exposing this would disqualify
you from the Olympics.

And Mr. Scorch
was on to you.

You killed him to keep
your secret.

I didn't kill him.

I didn't even know that he knew
about my enterprise.

That snake.

Why would he go to such great
lengths to blackmail you

and potentially exclude you
from competition?

Because if you want to get
to the olympic games,

you have to put on a good showing
at these demonstration meets.

I've been to the Olympics.

It's not all
it's cracked up to be.

Well, us athletes
don't feel the same.

A lot of the men here would do
anything to compete at the olympic games.

Men like scorch,
or that Armstrong-Howard,

he's the most desperate of all.

What makes
Mr. Armstrong-Howard so desperate?

Chip on his shoulder.

He's always whining that he has
an unfair lot 'cause he's coloured.

- Maybe he has a point?
- No, he doesn't.

Canada's never sent
a coloured man

to the olympic games because
none of them are good enough.

Be that as it may, a dead man
was collecting evidence

that could have ruined
your amateur athlete career.

So, you can see why you make
a most compelling suspect.

If I killed him
to keep this quiet,

why wouldn't I have destroyed
the clippings, too?

Look at this beauty.

The finest cut of beef
from the butcher's shop.

Must have cost a pretty penny.

Oh, indeed it did.

- How about I carve it for you?
- Uh-uh-uh.

I'd like Violet to carve
the roast for me,

just like old times.

I wish you didn't force us
to fire all of the staff.

Would you rather your little
secret got out?

You know, botching
my murder and all.

What are you waiting for,
sweetheart?

Haven't got all day.

Ah.

Now carve a big ole piece
for your dear old dad.

(Sighing)

Oh, my!

(Indistinct chatter)

- Sir.
- Ah, Henry.

I'm just preparing Mr. Knox's
release forms.

Could you please fetch him
from the cells?

Uh, right away, sir.

I'm just gonna put
constable buster away.

Right.

Oh.

Okay.

Sure it'll snap back on, sir.

Uh, all right, buster.

Whoop.

All right.

All right.

All right, no. Ugh.

(Groaning)
That's not right.

Henry! Just... just leave it
and fetch Mr. Knox.

- I'll take care of it later.
- It's all right, sir.

I think... think I've got him.

Fine work.

Ah, Murdoch.

What have you done
with our suspect?

- I've released him, sir.
- Oh, that's a shame.

- I don't like him one bit.
- I can't say I do either.

But the question does
loom large:

Why kill someone
to keep a secret

and then not destroy evidence?

Hm, of course.

Well, if it wasn't him,
then who was it?

One of the other sprinters trying
to eliminate the competition?

I'd like to speak with
Mr. Armstrong-Howard.

Right then.
Bring him in.

Oh! Mr. Anderson,
you came.

Just here to collect my due,
detective.

Who's this then?

Mr. Anderson here owns
the variety store on Adelaide.

Ah, the easy breezy
variety store?

Yup, that's the one.

So, last week Reggie mcfarland
stole from Mr. Anderson's shop.

Uh, that rascal's been
running amok for months.

None of our men have been able
to catch him.

Well, Mr. Anderson here
ran him down.

Witnesses say he's as fast
as a lightning bolt.

Faster.

Old sticky fingers
didn't stand a chance.

Huh, brilliant.

There's a reward for that one,
isn't there?

That's what I'm here
to collect.

Ah.

Here you are.

Mm-hmm.

If you're that fast,
you should test your mettle

in the track and field
meet today.

Oh, yes! You could compete
in the 100 or 200-metre dash.

I imagine you would do
very well.

How fast are
those boys running?

Some of the men
are running the 100 metres

- in under eleven seconds.
- Eleven seconds.

Eleven seconds?

Come on.

You think you could run it
faster than that?

When those boys break
ten seconds, give me a call.

I'll give them the race
of their life.

(Both): Ten seconds?!

Why should we be
at his Beck and call?

We aren't servants.

He's jerking us around like
puppets on a string!

I purchased it this morning.

- Are you sure?
- Quite serious.

It'll all be done soon.

And everything will be back
to normal again.

Finally realized
what's important.

Being a man.

For you.

Walter Knox told us that
you are desperate to win

the 100-metre dash so you'll be
considered for the Olympics.

Pretty high stakes,

especially for a coloured man
hoping to represent Canada.

Unbelievable.

Knox uses any opportunity
to throw dirt on my name.

Have you been trying
to knock out your competition?

Why would I need to?

None of these men have
ever beat me in a foot race.

Oh?

Look, I might not be
as loud as scorch,

or as seasoned as Knox,
but I have proven myself

to be the best in the field
with actual results, no talk.

But is it true that you need
to win today's race

to go to the Olympics?

Perhaps you needed scorch out of
the way to guarantee your win?

Guarantee?

Guarantee?

I have no guarantee.

You really think winning this
race is gonna make any difference?

Win one race, win two,

that's not gonna change
anybody's mind.

People like Walter Knox will
never think I'm good enough,

- no matter what I do.
- Begging your pardon,

but isn't that even more reason
to get your competitors

- out of the way?
- You're not hearing me.

I'm a coloured man.

I could be the last runner
in all of Canada

and still stay home.

I'm not stupid enough
to kill another competitor

and assume I'll be on easy
street to the olympic games.

They characterize us
as a bunch of hysterical women.

Nothing about
the organization at all.

I told you. It's like
talking to a brick wall.

Those men will never
take us seriously!

We need to do something.

(Sighing)

Something to get us
some publicity.

You should enter
that race today.

But there are no
women's races.

Just race the men!

Oh, yes.

I like that!

Dr. Ogden, what on earth
are you feeding your baby?

Oh!
(Chuckling)

It's a hydration draught
my husband concocted

to help susannah recover
from her illness.

It's got potassium and a pinch
of salt and sugar.

It works like a charm
and it's delicious!

Would you like to try some?

It's blueberry flavoured.

Um, maybe another time.

(Phone ringing)

Excuse me.

Hello?
Dr. Julia ogden.

Oh, Mrs. Hart.

I started with algor mortis
for time of death,

which indicated the victim
had died ten hours

prior to discovery, but...

Yes?

Um, there were
some inconsistencies

when I tested the stomach
contents later on.

Is everything all right,
Mrs. Hart?

Oh! Quite fine.
Just tired.

Oh. Here we are.

Please take a look.

The food is broken down
less than it should be

for a ten-hour time frame.

So your estimated
time of death is off?

Yes.

The stomach contents suggest

the victim died only eight hours
prior to discovery.

Hm, how curious.

I do love a deathly conundrum.

Oh, what is that?

- What?
- Look.

Oh! Something has separated.

Mercury?

Precisely.

Found in the victim's
stomach contents.

Could it have been an
ingredient in a tincture of some sort?

Well, I've seen it in all
kinds of remedies and medicines.

I wouldn't be at all surprised
if athletes thought

a small amount might
help them run faster.

But this was no small amount.

We believe he was poisoned.

(Suspenseful music)

(Grunts)

(Indistinct chatter)

What's this all about?

You, be quiet.

One of you is a killer and
we're going to find out who.

Timothy, what's happening?

They haven't told us
anything, father.

This is ridiculous.

You have no right to be going
through their things.

Step back, sir. Don't
interfere with police procedure.

Just tell us
what you're looking for

and we'll point you
in the right direction.

Mind your own business.

Nothing here, sirs.

Inspector.

What is it?

I saw Mr. Archibald using this
to move equipment earlier.

Look.

Blood.

Do you think the killer used
this to move the body?

It certainly would explain
why no one heard

a murder being committed
out in the middle of the field.

Hey!

How long will this take?

Can I get into the cold cure
in the meantime?

We just finished the prelims.

Yeah, the finals
are coming up next

and I need to get ready.

Hold your horses.
We'll be done soon enough.

Sirs.

Have a look at this.

Mercury.

You are coming with us, sir.

This is ridiculous!

Mr. Irons, please calm down.

Calm down?
You're harassing my son

and right before his race,
no less.

I told you, sir,
the detective just has

a few questions
and if all is well,

- your son will be free to go.
- We don't have time for this.

His race is at four o'clock and he
still has to have his warm-up massage.

Sir, please!

I will not allow
you blundering brigadiers

to distract my son and disrupt
his competitive temperament!

Yes. I gave him
a little quicksilver,

but it was just
to slow him down.

There's no way
that's what killed him.

But he is dead.

And you've just admitted to
being the one who poisoned him.

But it can't be!
I didn't mean to kill him.

Scorch and I have always
had this tit-for-tat,

but I never hated him.

It was more
of a spirited rivalry.

A rivalry that included
poisoning?

You'd have to be a sportsman
to understand.

I did no less than what
he's done to me time after time.

You're saying Mr. Scorch
has poisoned you in the past?

Not just me.

He did it all the time.

He'd poison the entire field
and walk to victory.

Don't you see?
I was just getting back at him.

And I swear I only gave him enough
to make him queasy and sluggish.

Be that as it may,
he is dead.

So you will be kept in our cells

until charges can be
brought against you.

But what about the race?

(Classical music playing)

(Dramatic music)

(Gunshot)

(Knocking on door)

Mrs. Hart. You called?

Oh, we did.

There's been something
of a revelation.

We?

Dr. Ogden and I
have been working

on confirming
the cause of death.

William!

Mr. Scorch definitely suffered
Mercury poisoning.

It caused kidney damage and
a unique rash on his upper body.

But that isn't
the whole story.

There's a second, very
distinctive rash on his leg.

In addition, found
a significant amount

of bloody discolouration in
the synovial fluid in his knees.

He was an athlete.
It could have been an injury.

I initially thought the same,

but, along with
the other symptoms,

it suggests something else.

Biggest curiosity
was the presence of urine

in the interstitial tissue.

Urine? How odd.

It's called cold diuresis.

When the body is trying
to preserve warmth,

the blood vessels constrict

and the kidneys purge
all unnecessary fluid.

It results in a large
production of urine.

When the bladder becomes full,

the urine has nowhere to go

and so it seeps into
the surrounding tissue.

A rash, hemorrhaging,
cold diuresis.

What does this all mean?

In combination, they occur
in only one specific instance.

This man wasn't poisoned,
he died of hypothermia.

Let's go, Timothy.

We've wasted enough time
here already.

Ah, not so fast, Mr. Irons.

Although I no longer believe
your son killed Mr. Scorch,

he has admitted to intentionally
poisoning him.

I told you. It was nothing
more than he'd done to me.

A crime, nonetheless.

You have to let him race.

I intend to, as a gesture
of good will.

However, I do need
your help, Mr. Irons.

Mr. Knox mentioned
taking a cold cure.

I need you to tell me
what that is?

I can do you one better.

I'll show you.

The cold cure
is coach kittering's

revolutionary
after-workout therapy.

You fill a wooden barrel
with water and ice.

After a hard practice,
you submerge yourself

to your neck for 10 minutes.

Afterwards, your body
comes out refreshed.

I suppose reducing swelling
and muscle damage

would aid the body's ability
to recover.

Ridiculous.

Kittering doesn't know
what's what.

Cold's no good for muscles.

Hot massages are a far more
effective therapy.

Truly. Whenever I get
into the cold cure,

I feel like I might have
a heart attack.

Hm, scratches.

What?

We found splinters under
scorch's fingernails.

Perhaps someone held him down
in the water with this lid.

Ah, coach kittering.

A word, please?

- (Door closing)
- Arthur?

Oh, there you are.

You didn't do it, did you?
(Gasps)

Arthur!

Arthur!

And what exactly
was he supposed to do?

I mean, if it's any consolation,

I can help do whatever
needs doing.

You killed him.

What does it look like?

I got rid of a problem.

(Gasps)

You should never have sent a boy
to do a man's job.

(Eerie music)

Of course, I knew you two
were plotting to kill me.

Every chance you got
huddled together,

whispering so loudly,

the deaf man across the street

probably knew
what you were up to.

If you knew, why didn't you
do something?

And miss out on the chance of
watching you two bumble about?

Oh, no.
I quite enjoyed the show.

What happened?

I was sitting in the parlour
minding my god-given business

when I see this fool
in the mirror

creeping up behind me,
gun drawn.

I did what I had to do.

It was self-defence, sweetheart.

You could have easily
overpowered him.

You didn't have to kill him!

Why wouldn't I?
Why shouldn't I?

If he was gonna keep trying to
get rid of me, then fair game.

Now, what to do... about you?

(Gasps)

Do it.

Hmm.

Ever the failure, Violet.

Now what do you suppose we do
about poor old Arthur here?

(Crying)

Mr. Kittering.

Mr. Scorch died of hypothermia

caused by being held down inside
one of your cold cure barrels.

The temperature in the barrel
today is about 45 degrees.

It would have taken
approximately one hour

for Mr. Scorch
to lose consciousness

and subsequently die.

Yes, well...
(Scoffs)

All right.

Perhaps 45 degrees
is a tad too cold.

Perhaps... this is your moment
to be truthful.

I found scorch dead
in the barrel.

I didn't know what to do.

But I did know that...
That if his death

was tied to my cold cure remedy,

that would be
the end of my therapy,

my club and my career
as a coach.

So I panicked.

You covered it up.

The sprinters were out
on the field playing around

with the javelins, and,
so when they left...

I redressed scorch's body.

I put it in the wagon and
I brought it out onto the field.

Once the body was out there,

you ran it through
with the javelin.

I wanted to make it look
like an accident.

To make it appear as though
one of the sprinters

had done it?

Yes, but I didn't intend any
of them to be blamed for it.

I was just trying
to protect myself.

You have to believe me.
I didn't kill him.

I covered it up,
but I didn't kill him.

I'm innocent!

Innocent might not be the word
I would use, Mr. Kittering.

And the purpose of this, sir?

We need to determine exactly
how the victim was held down

inside the cold cure barrel.

- Now kneel down, Henry.
- Sir?

Get on with it, Higgins.

You're not in any real distress.

That's what you think.

All right.

Now, Henry, push up
with all of your might.

(Banging)

Hm. All right.

All right!

Ugh. What is that?

What's wrong, Murdoch?

Someone has gotten oil, or...

Something on the handle.

Hm. Smells like
mentholated ointment.

Hm. Pungent.

Julia used something like this

with susannah when
she was ill recently.

Um, sirs?

Yes, Higgins, you can get out.

No, no, no. I came across
an ointment like that myself.

Uh, there was a jar of it
in Timothy irons' locker.

It's a special heated ointment
my father makes himself.

He uses it when he gives me
my race massages.

We found traces of it
on the cold cure barrel

in the locker room where
Mr. Scorch was killed.

I didn't kill him.

He was alive when I left
the track

and I was with the 100-metre men
for the rest of the night.

You can ask them.

You could have slipped
away unnoticed.

Well, ask my father then.

He stayed behind to pack up
my things and lock up.

I didn't get back 'til 1:00 am.

You finished?

- I have a race to run.
- For now.

Mr. Irons is the only person
who uses that ointment.

Not quite.
There is one other.

Are you sure about this?

We'll see.

(Clears throat)

What are you doing?

Racing.

You most certainly are not.

Ay, ay.
What's all this then?

What on earth?

(Clears throat)

Miss roswell, please step
back!

No!

Why are you bothering me?

I'm here to see my son race.

Mr. Irons, what time did you
pack up on Friday evening

and what time did you leave?

Packing up didn't take long.

I left shortly after Timothy.

Was there anyone else
left at the track?

Not that I saw.

Did you happen to touch

the cold cure barrels
at any point?

- No.
- Then how do you explain us

finding a smear of your special
mentholated ointment

on the one of the handles?

Gentlemen, please escort
miss roswell from the track.

Again, I ask you, did you have
cause to touch the cold cure barrels?

Especially when you said
yourself the treatment didn't work.

You keep your hands off her!

Murdoch, get him.

Get off of me!

(Epic music)

(Screaming)

(Chuckling)

Much obliged, miss roswell.

My pleasure.

Mr. Irons, you are
under arrest for murder.

Why would you do this?

Just so your son could win?

You would snuff out
a young athlete

in the prime of his career
just for a race?

I would do anything
for my son.

Including murder?

Timothy was the best until
scorch started poisoning him.

That Mercury stuff
permanently messed him up.

The poison had
lasting effects?

After the sabotage,
Timothy tried to get back

into the swing of things.

He never regained
his full strength.

Over time, Mercury can damage
motor skills

and cause irreparable
lung damage.

The last straw
was that shameless cur boasting

at the press conference
after all he'd done.

He was no champion,
he was a fraud.

And you are now a murderer.

(Indistinct chatter)

I suppose we can see
what she can do.

On your marks.

Get set.

And... go!
(Gunshot)

(Panting)

Go Iggy!

(Applause)

Wow.
(Chuckling)

A very fast time
for miss roswell.

Better than some
of the men I coach.

And the women?

I have no idea how fast
a woman can run.

(Scoffs)

Well, hopefully you'll find
that out one day

when we are finally invited
to the games.

Then I await that day.

Who was that lady?

Oh, that's miss Iggy roswell.

- She's so fast.
- She certainly is.

- What's your name?
- Myrtle cook.

One day, I'm going to be
just like her.

You were amazing.

I came last.

You were still amazing.

I'd have to say
I agree with her.

Well, thank you.
I am quite thirsty, though.

Oh!

Really, you should try this.

Is that the baby's drink?

Yes, but it's rich
with electrolytes.

It'll help you replenish
the fluids that you've lost.

Wow! What a thirst quencher.

This could really catch on.

Have some more!

So sweet of you to take care
of your husband.

I'm sure he's resting in peace.

Fitting that he's buried
where he planned to Bury me.

And what do you have
planned for me?

I guess I'll keep you around.

I could give you
all the money.

- I'll start over.
- Ah, no need for all that.

All I ask is that you do me
one favour.

Don't ever try
to kill me again.

Yeah.

Your prints are all over this.

So play nice.

You and me?

Together, we're gonna tear up
this town.

Hmm.

Repair and Synchronization by
Easy Subtitles Synchronizer 1.0.0.0