All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - 04x06 - Dead End Street.various.English.C.edit.Addic7ed.com

William.

Oh. Hello, Julia.

Afternoon, Dr Garland.

No need for formalities, Detective.
Please, call me Darcy.

Yes. Of course.

Well, a delightful event. Country
fair in the midst of a metropolis.

We just saw a horse-pull.
SHE GIGGLES

Please, Darcy. You make us sound
like a city of rubes.

On the contrary. I find Toronto
a splendidly modern city.

What are you looking at
so intensely, William?

Dollhouses?

More than that, Julia.
A miniature Toronto streetscape.

It's unlike anything
I've ever seen before.

It's won first prize.
And deservedly.

It's a most intriguing model.

The faces of the people
have no features.

How curious.

The builder seems more interested
in the homes than the people.

Julia?

Have a look at this.

The attention to detail
is quite remarkable.

It's more than remarkable - look.

SHE GASPS
Good heavens!

What is it?

The figure in that room has a rifle.

I believe we're looking
at a crime scene.

The model was submitted by
a Bert Howland of Cherry Lane,
according to the fair's organisers.

Sir, where shall I put these
little figures? At the end
of the street here, George.

So, there's someone holding a gun.

What makes you think
anyone was shot in that room?
Consider the accuracy of scale.

The attention to detail.
I'll give you that.

The builder put a gunman
in that upstairs room for a reason.

Maybe Bert Howland
was having a bit of fun.

An odd joke if that's the case, sir.

Piece of fiction, Murdoch.

Don't you have a real, live
case to work on? Hmm?

Morning.

WOMAN: Don't you walk away from me!

And where do you think
you're going now?

THE MAN SIGHS
You know where I'm going.
You go to the lodge every day!

I'll see you later.
Don't worry about me!

The similarity to the model, sir,
it's...it's uncanny.

It is indeed, George. We're about
to meet a very skilled craftsman.

I believe Mr Howland
lives in number 6 here.

HE KNOCKS

Mr Howland. Yeah?

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

Was it you that confiscated
the model? Yes.

Excellent craftsmanship.
A fine replica of your street here.

May I ask why you saw fit
to take it to the station?

A detail was added to the model
that I find most curious.

A man holding a rifle.

A rifle? Are you sure?

Yes. Yes. In the upstairs window
of your neighbour's house.

Mr Howland, if I may,

what was your intention
in building the model?

I didn't build it.

That was my sister, Lydia.

Ah. May I speak with her, then?
I expect her any time.

But that's puzzling. I don't recall
any man with a rifle.

Detective Murdoch,
this is my sister.

Ah.

Hello.

Don't mind her.
She won't answer you.

Is she deaf?

No. She's...feeble-minded.

MURDOCH SCOFFS
Feeble-minded?

There's other things she's called,
but that's what it comes down to.

Yet she's capable of building
such an intricate model.
Did you help her?

I grabbed the wood and such,
but she works by herself.

When did she begin
to build the model?

About a year ago.

Uh, Detective...

Lydia? I'm a policeman
and I need your help.

Don't get too near her, now.

Do you recall building
the model of your street?

SHE MOANS
I don't want her upset.

Do you remember? Lydia?
SHE MOANS REPEATEDLY

It's OK, Lydia. It's OK.
Shhh. It's OK.

It's OK, Lydia. Let's go inside.
SHE CONTINUES MOANING

Go inside. Go inside.
Let's go inside.

It's OK. Go inside. That's it.

I'm sorry if my questions disturbed
her. Lydia has her own ways.

She doesn't like people much.
Excuse me, I need to see her.

George...begin canvassing
the neighbours.

Find out if anyone knows anything
about a shooting at number 7. Sir.

A shooting? In MY house?

Oh, now, you're just
pulling my leg, Detective!
SHE LAUGHS

Mrs Galbraith, Lydia Howland
built a model of this street

and put a man holding a gun
in your upstairs room.

Lydia did that, did she?

Yes. Do you own a gun,
Mrs Galbraith?

My hubby, Mr Galbraith, does.

A rifle? Yes.

Though it's not been fired
in years.

I'll need to speak with him.

He's practising at the lodge.

Practising? He plays the trombone
in the Orange Lodge band.

Ah. Well, I'll need
to speak with him.

About a fictitious gunman?

Lydia is not in her right mind,
Detective.

I'm not saying Bert
isn't trying his best, but...

(His wife left him.)

"It's your sister or it's me,"
she told him, and frankly,
I don't blame her.

That daft girl should be
in an institution!

Thank you, Mrs Galbraith.

What have you, George?

Well, sir, I've spoken
to several people.

Mr Caruso lives in number 5
with his wife.

Very particular about his peach
tree, which I find suspicious.

Peach trees are difficult to care
for in our climate... George.

Carry on.

Uh, the Carusos haven't heard
any gunshots, sir.

Hmm. Who lives in number 3? That
would be Felix Roach, a bachelor.

He repairs furniture.

The Draper family lives in number 2.
No answer in number 4.

Seems like a very close community.
Everybody's very trusting.
Nobody locks their doors.

Nobody knows anything
about a shooting.

Hmm.

Mr Galbraith at number 7
DOES own a rifle.

So do a lot of people, Murdoch.

The police records don't report
any shooting at 7 Cherry Lane.

I find it very hard to believe
such a precise model
was built by an imbecile.

Oooh. Sir, uh, I believe
people such as Lydia are no longer
referred to as "imbecile".

It's felt to be demeaning. The
correct term nowadays is "moron".

Oh.

I'm not sure either term fits
in this instance.

Isn't it likely she invented
this gunman character?

Someone would have heard a gunshot
on such a small street.

Just return it to its rightful
owner, Murdoch, and get on with
some proper police work.

Yes, sir.

I'll pack it up, sir.

Just a moment, George.

What are you looking at, sir?

The figure holding the gun, George.

He seems disproportionate compared
to the other people on the street.

Why would that be?

Let's pay another visit
to Cherry Lane.

And we'll need to access
the armoury. Yes, sir.

All right.
Move further back, George.

Counterclockwise.

Now left.

Your OTHER left, George.

No.

The figure in the model is
completely different. Much smaller.

George, please ask Mrs Galbraith
to grace us with her presence. Sir.

So, right here, Mrs Galbraith?

Yes. I moved the mirror
a month or so ago. What of it?

We appreciate your help,
Mrs Galbraith.

Well, just remember, you're carrying
it back downstairs before you leave.

Uh...so, sir, how did you know
there was a mirror in the room?

It's the only logical explanation
for the small man, George.

Lydia saw the shooter
reflected in the mirror.

Why would that make him small?

Well, George, the apparent distance
of a reflected object

is always greater
seen through a mirror.

Lydia was across the street.

Therefore,
the reflected object she saw -

in this case, the shooter -
appeared smaller.

So, then, sir, if she saw
the reflection of the shooter,

that means he was not actually
standing here at the far side,
but...rather...

..over here, hidden from the street.

Yes, George. Raise the rifle
if you would, please.

Oh, but then the angle is wrong.
Mmm. Completely wrong.

Sir, if Lydia depicted
the back of the shooter...

..he would be more like...

Exactly. That's it, George.

Don't move a muscle.

GUNSHOT

The putty around this pane
is a different colour.

So this pane has been replaced.

Let's see if the owner can shed
some light on the situation.

I don't know anything about
a broken window, Detective.

How long have you resided here,
Mrs Gordon? Eight months.

And who lived here previously?
It used to be a boarding house.

And do you know who
the previous owners were? Yes.

She lives across the street.
Oh. Which house?

Number 5.

She married Mr Caruso.

He's Italian. A fruit-pedlar.

Wooed his wife with his peaches,
so the neighbours say.

HE CLEARS HIS THROAT
May we come inside, Mrs Gordon?

So, if the bullet travelled
without interference,

this would be the trajectory.

But, sir, what if the bullet
entered the victim and struck bone?

Would that not change
the path of the bullet?

Why, yes, George. Uh...like, say...

..this?

Or, sir, quite conceivably,
even...uh...

..that?

Yes, conceivably, George.

Assuming that there even WAS
a victim, sir. Mmm.

But if it missed its intended
target... Uh, sir, if I may?

What if the bullet entered
the victim and lodged there? It
would still be inside him. Or her.

Yes, George.
But if it missed its target...

Or went through a soft, fleshy part
of the poor devil.

..then I might find it...

Could have missed the breastbone,
exiting between ribs.

Or if he was next to the window,
in through one temple and
straight out through the other.

I suppose then
there would be an off-chance
that the bullet would end up...

Here.

A slug from a rifle.

George, go to number 7
and collect Mr Galbraith's rifle.

Yes, sir.

That's not a sound
you'd forget in a hurry, sir.

No. Yet everyone on Cherry Lane
claims they didn't hear
the sound of a gunshot.

We have a match.

So Mr Galbraith's rifle
fired the shot? Yes, George.

But we still need evidence
of foul play.

If Mrs Gordon is telling the truth,
that bullet has been there
for eight months.

We won't find any evidence on it.

Perhaps what is hidden to us...
a little science can reveal.

I suppose this is the science, sir?

Yes, George. It's part of it.
A chemical.

5-nitrophthalhydrazide.

In this case, it's reduced to an
amino group with sodium dithionite.

Now, the chemical lies dormant
until it's activated again,

in this case...with an oxidant.

Making...chemiphosphoroluminescence.

And I suppose we're looking for
traces of blood, sir?

Indeed, George.

Now, this compound
was recently synthesised,

but I managed to acquire
a small sample.

Now, if any chemical traces
of blood remain,

the solution will react with
the iron in the haemoglobin...
In the haemo-goblin.

Sir, this bullet
went through somebody.

Yes, George.
But the question is...whom?

Mr Galbraith, we found
a bullet fired from your rifle
with blood on it.

Where?
Across the street from your house.

HE SCOFFS
I don't know anything about that.

My wife had no business
giving my gun to you.

Your rifle may have been used
as a murder weapon, Mr Galbraith.

How do you explain that?
I have never fired it. Not once.

I find that
difficult to believe, sir.

It was my father's hunting rifle.
Ask anyone on the street.

Partial to rabbit stew, he was.

In this case,
the victim may have been human.

Well, tell me, then. Who did I kill,
when did I do it, and why?

The man has a point.

You don't have a time line,
you don't have a motive,

and apart from a rifle slug
with a modicum of blood on it,

you don't have proof
a crime was even committed.

You need a body, Murdoch.
Sirs, have a look at this.

There's a darker patch of earth
right here.

If that's freshly turned soil,
it could be a grave.
What's the logic of that?

Well, sir, if Lydia saw
the shooting take place,

perhaps she also saw
the body being buried.

Excellent reasoning, George.
Thank you, sir. I'll fetch a shovel.

WOMEN MUTTER

SHOVEL STRIKES AN OBJECT

Oh, my.

Oh, my goodness!

Well, it's a body, all right.
Looks like a...

What are you doing with my cat?!

Calm yourself, Mr Roach. We're just
continuing our investigation.

He lived to a ripe old age
and he deserves his rest.

I wonder.

George!

Sir?

Have a look at this.

It's unbelievable.

Her attention to minutiae
is staggering.

Or perhaps, sir,
she's just fond of cats.

She's childlike in some regards.

Perhaps she has an affinity toward
animals. They can't speak either.

KNOCK AT DOOR
Hmm. Doctor.

Constable.

So, you discovered
a murder took place
on your model street after all.

Yes. I've determined
a murder weapon and a vague
time line, but no body.

That's inconvenient.

Did you find out who built this?

Yes. The model was built by
a young woman named Lydia Howland.

Feeble-minded, it's believed.

Yet she's capable of extraordinary
skill and focus, as you can see.

I heard of such a case when I was
at the children's hospital.

I wonder if your Lydia
is an idiot savant.

She's deficient yet possesses
one area of brilliance.

Really?

That would explain why her figures
have no features.

How do you mean?

I've been haunted by these
blank faces. Now I understand.

She can't read emotion.

Human faces cause her
great confusion,
so she simply ignores them.

You and I communicate with eye
contact, but Lydia can't do that.

Uh, thank you very much, Julia.
This has been very helpful.

Clearly I went about my first
meeting with Lydia all wrong.

And you think that she
witnessed a murder? Yes.

But I have no body.

Well, I'll start searching
for unidentified shooting victims
in the morgue records.

Thank you.
I'll try to narrow my time line.

SHE GIGGLES

HE SIGHS

The shooting occurred
before the Gordons bought
the house at number 4.

Assuming Mrs Gordon
was telling the truth.

I checked with city records. Mrs
Caruso did sell it eight months ago.

We need to determine
which boarders left without notice
prior to that date.

Looking for boarders. Now, THERE'S
a bloody needle in a haystack!

George, check with Mrs Caruso.

See if she has a good memory
of past boarders. Sir, will do.

Oh, and, sir?

I'm bringing Lydia
down to the station. What for?
She can't tell you anything.

Perhaps she can communicate
in other ways.

BERT: Our small street
is the only world she knows.

Without any features on the figures,
how does she know who belongs where?

She has an order in her head.

Maybe it's the way she dresses
each one. I don't know.

Do your neighbours know
how talented your sister is?

Pfft! No, they ignore her at best.

Some complain of her walking
up and down the street.

But she doesn't disturb anyone.
She hasn't talked in 25 years.

She spoke as a child?

Yeah, she seemed normal for
the first year or so, apparently,

and then she gradually withdrew.

And she hasn't uttered a word since.

No doctor could provide
an explanation

and my parents went to their graves
not knowing what was wrong.

When did she add the detail
of the gunman to the model?

I don't know.

I never noticed the figure
until you showed me.

It shocks me to think
that image was in her head.

LOUD CLATTER
SHE GASPS, MOANS

Oh. Uh...

It's all right, my dear.
It's all right.

SHE CONTINUES MOANING
It's all right, my dear.

It's all right. Let's pick up those
chess pieces. It's all right.

Let's pick these up.
SHE CALMS DOWN

That's it.
Let's pick up these chess pieces.

You see? There you go, Lydia.
Everything is fine.

Everything is fine.

That's it.

She likes simple tasks.
They calm her.

That's it.

That's extraordinary.

She's putting back every piece
as it was.

Yeah. She has excellent recall.

She memorised the game?

(That's it. That's it.
That's it. Shhh.)

It's clear that Lydia is very
sensitive to sudden, loud noises.

Like the gunshot. Yes.

I believe the gunshot
so traumatised her

that when she made the model,
she re-created the shooting

exactly how she saw the street
at that moment.

Even though she didn't understand
the meaning of the sound. Correct.

So now she'll build a model
of the station

the moment the two clumsy constables
bumped into one another?

Oh, I don't think so, sir.

Bert was there to calm her and
distract her with the chess pieces.

When the shooting occurred,
she was alone.

Making the event
an even greater trauma.

I believe so. Mmm.

I still can't fathom
Lydia building this by herself.

Well, sir,
it's not without precedent.

Have a look at this.

That's bloody impressive.

This model was built
by James Henry Pullen,

a man believed to be an imbecile
who couldn't hear or speak.

He built it while living
in an English insane asylum.

And you think Lydia has the same
ability? So it would seem, sir. Mmm.

Can you tap into
what she's thinking?

I don't know if
anyone can do that, sir.

Well...if your theory
is correct, Murdoch,

there may be clues within the model
that you haven't yet seen.

What are you all looking at?

GEORGE: Mrs Caruso
was very helpful, sir.

I have a list of all the tenants
who left the boarding house
without notice.

Sir?

Sir!

Yes, George?

I'm afraid there are
seven of them, sir.

The inspector's right. Tracking them
down will be next to...

Did any of them leave
on or around June 22, 1897?

That's a very specific date, sir.
May I ask why?

George, when was the last time
there was bunting in
the streets of Toronto?

I suppose that would be
Queen Victoria's diamond jubilee.

Did anyone leave the boarding house
around June 22?

Yes, sir. A Grant Abrams.

I remember it like it was yesterday.

All of us gathered at the end
of the street to watch the parade.

All except the antiroyalist Abrams.

Miserable to the core.
He stayed behind in his room.

And when did you discover
he had gone?

He left that night.
Broke a window and stole a carpet.

A carpet? Yes. A good one.

Did you see the broken window
that night? No.

It was the next morning. There was
shattered glass everywhere.

Hmm.

Do you know of anyone
who may have wanted to harm him?

Well...Abrams did odd jobs
for Mrs Galbraith in number 7

when Mr Galbraith was at work.

Now, I can't say exactly
what those jobs were, Detective,

but when Mr Galbraith found out,

there was a real set-to between them
right in the middle of the street.

What-a this?

I was just talking
to the detective, Angelo.

Talk, but not-a gossip, huh?

(I don't think the Galbraiths
have the best marriage.)

Mr Galbraith.

I now believe the murder victim
on Cherry Lane

is a man named Grant Abrams.

A man you had reason to kill.

Don't be ridiculous.

You deny he had designs
on your wife?

Designs on her?
No, he had his hands on her.

I saw it with my own eyes.

Well. How did you respond?

I beat him soundly.

Cuffed him good and proper
right in the street.

But you continued to harbour
resentment toward him?

Any man would, Detective.

Let's talk about Jubilee Day
and the parade.

Jubilee Day?
Yes.

The jubilee parade
went by Cherry Lane, did it not?

Yes.

And everyone gathered at the end
of the street to watch the parade -
everyone but Abrams.

He made no secret
of disliking the monarchy.

You knew he wouldn't be
watching the parade.

What are you getting at?

While everyone was distracted,
you returned to your house.

Begging your pardon, Detective...

And shot Abrams
with your hunting rifle.

HE SIGHS
You're right.

I wasn't watching the parade.

Just as I suspected.

I play in the Orange Lodge band,
Detective.

I was IN the parade.

I remember the Orange Lodge parade
on Jubilee Day. They marched down
Queen Street for three hours.

The only thing Galbraith murdered
that day was The Maple Leaf Forever.

GEORGE LAUGHS
Good one, sir.

Trumpet. That's interesting.

According to his wife,
Galbraith played the trombone.

Trumpet. Trombone. Triangle.
Either way, he didn't fire
the rifle. Who did?

Likely another one of
the Cherry Lane residents
who knew Galbraith had the gun.

And used the vantage point of the
Galbraiths' house to shoot Abrams.

I believe the murder was meant
to coincide with the parade.

I checked the parade route.
It went along Queen Street East,

passing Cherry Lane
between 4:00 and 4:25pm.

But if everyone was
watching the parade,

they all provide alibis
for each other.

Time to have a chat
with the neighbours.

Yes. We were all at the end
of the street except for Lydia.

Did she stay at the house?

In her usual spot on the porch. The
commotion was overwhelming for her.

Did you know Grant Abrams,
Mr Howland?

We all knew Abrams. Why is that?

He was a troubled man
who took pleasure in
finding fault in everyone.

And we all seemed to annoy him.
In what way?

Oh...Mr Galbraith
played his trombone too loudly,

Mr Roach's cat
sat on his windowsill too often,

Mr Caruso parked his fruit cart
all wrong.

Did you argue with Abrams?

He didn't like Lydia
walking past his window.

So you fought? More than once.

So...if it's suspects you're
looking for, I'd be on that list.

Did anyone else have reason
to dislike Abrams?

Do you know about him and
Mrs Galbraith? I do. What about it?

Well, after Mr Galbraith found out,

Abrams turned his affections
to Mrs Draper,

and Mrs Galbraith was
none too happy about that.

Yes! Mr Abrams DID take a shine
to Mrs Draper.

Such a birdlike creature
with a nervous disposition.

I never understood the attraction.

But you felt spurned?

My personal feelings are no business
of the Toronto Constabulary.

They are when I'm investigating
a murder, Mrs Galbraith.

Now, where were you
the afternoon of Jubilee Day?

What are you suggesting?

I was watching my husband
in the Orange Lodge band
like everyone else. Who saw you?

Well...just about everyone.

If you're looking for a killer,
you should talk to Mr Draper.

Why is that?

He was very upset with Mr Abrams.

He's very protective of his...
little wife.

And were the Drapers
at the parade? Yes.

Oh.

As I recall.

Abrams was a cruel man.

He relished in upsetting Mrs Draper
with...his lewd taunts.

So you disliked Abrams?

Couldn't stand the man.

Enough to kill him?

God, no. It wasn't me.
I've never used a gun in my life.

Well, someone shot Mr Abrams,
Mr Draper.

Look at Mr Caruso at number 5.
He had good reason to kill Abrams.

Oh? Why do you say that?

Well, it all started
when Abrams teased Caruso,
stealing peaches from his tree.

Caruso almost stabbed him
with his pruning shears.

Then his shed went up in flames.

He almost lost his whole house.

Well...when did this happen?

Well, the feud escalated over time.

The fire was...last June.

Abram's a rude man.

Disrespectful of my property.

So you attacked him?

Oh, I tell him, "Stop."

He laugh.

He lucky I no stab him in his heart.

Did Mr Abrams burn down your shed?

EXCLAIMS IN ITALIAN
Who else do? Huh?

Where were you at 4pm
on Jubilee Day?

I, uh...I was-a watching the parade.

Who saw you?

Mmm, I...I think, uh...
Mr Roach stand with me.

I no sure.

Why are you asking about Mr Caruso?
He's a good man.

Was he watching the parade?
Oh, yes. He was there.

What can you tell me
about Grant Abrams?

He was a man who didn't work enough.

So he would just sit in his window
and argue with everyone.

He picked on the weak.

Hmm. Did you have
a problem with him?

Me? Oh, no, I had no...
personal grievance.

But I was glad when he left.

Why?

I don't like my neighbours upset,
Detective, and that's exactly
what he did. He upset everyone.

He turned our street upside down.

All the residents
of Cherry Lane were watching
the Jubilee Day parade.

All of them vouch for each other
and most of them had motive
to kill Abrams.

Close-knit community
with no shortage of motives.

Could this be a conspiracy, Murdoch?
Every one of them getting together
to rid the street of Abrams?

I have given that some thought, sir.

Which would explain why no-one heard
the shot or saw the body removed.

They're all bloody well in on it!
Sirs.

What is it, George?

Eight people claimed they were
watching the parade that day.

Mrs Galbraith, Mr and Mrs Caruso,
Felix Roach,

Bert Howland,
Mr Draper, with his wife and son.

We know that. What's your point?
Look at the model, sir.

There are only seven figures.

If Lydia is as precise
as we think she is,

one of the residents of Cherry Lane
wasn't watching the parade.

Which means the missing person
is the gunman. Or woman.

But who was it?

Julia, I've reached an impasse
in this case,

yet I'm certain that Lydia
holds the key to solving it.

But you can't communicate with her.
No, and that's the frustration.

I believe she sees the world
differently than the rest of us.

She does.

Some areas of her mind
are sharply focused

while others don't seem
to function at all.

Because idiot savants
are oblivious to other people,

they're quite single-minded,
and therefore capable of
extraordinary accomplishments.

That describes Lydia exactly.
RECORD SKIPS

A mysterious combination
of emotional unawareness
and acute intellect.

(That's a good description
of someone I know.)

How can I communicate
across such a void?

What about using
the world she created?

Did Lydia put herself in her model?

No. No, I don't believe she did.

It's interesting.
She has no concept of self?

DOOR CLOSES

Julia, I think
you've hit on something.

Darcy!

Hello.

Sorry. I'm interrupting.

No. Not at all. I was just leaving.

MURDOCH CHUCKLES
Good night.

I hope our discussion was fruitful.

Good night.

This is Cherry Lane on the day
of the jubilee parade.

The street you know very well.

This...is Lydia.

Lydia lives...

..here.

Yes?

There. Lydia is home.

But...who are the other people
and where do they live?

I think...

..that...this is Bert.

Bert...lives...here.

With Lydia.

All right. That's not Bert.

Hmm.

This looks like a young lad.

I think this is Tommy Draper.

And Tommy lives...here.

Right. Um...

Maybe THIS is Bert. Hmm?

Mr...

Mr Draper?

Mr Draper.

George, please, if you would.

Well, then maybe THIS is Bert.

Now, Bert is home.

Mrs Draper...

George, Mrs Galbraith.

Mrs Draper...

Mrs Caruso.

Mrs Draper, then.

Mrs Draper.

This...must be Felix Roach.

Mr Caruso.

George?

Felix Roach?

The only person on the street
with no motive.

What if this is all
some kind of a game, Murdoch?

Sir, I don't think Lydia understands
the concept of games.

Even if she's right
and Roach is the murderer,

you can't arrest him
without evidence, Murdoch.

You need hard facts,
not some airy-fairy theory
based on a woman who can't talk.

And his alibi? He was watching
the parade with everyone else, no?

Perhaps he wasn't.

But I've already told you
where I was, Detective.

Oh - check with Mr Caruso.

Mmm. Mr Caruso's memory
is somewhat foggy.

So, you saw the Orange Lodge band
go by the end of Cherry Lane?

Plain as the nose on my face.

Then perhaps you can tell me, what
instrument was Mr Galbraith playing?

A trombone.

Are you sure?

Well, of course.
He's played it for years.

Not on Jubilee Day, he didn't.

Uh...well, what do you mean?

The trumpeter
came down with influenza.

Mr Galbraith filled in and played
the trumpet, not the trombone.

I could have sworn that he was...

You never saw the parade,
did you, Mr Roach?

Of course I did. I just didn't
remember Galbraith was playing
a different instrument.

I find that most curious, Mr Roach.

Are you going to arrest me,
Detective?

A John Doe shot through the neck
was found in a railway car
in Ottawa on June 26.

A few days after Grant Abrams
disappeared. This sounds promising.

The train had come from Toronto and
the body was wrapped in a carpet.

That sounds like our victim.

I'm sorry I can't give you any
further details, Mr Abrams now being
a skeleton in a pauper's grave,

but I'll continue
to look through the file.

Thank you, Julia.

That's Grant Abrams,
and...that's my carpet.

Thank you, Mrs Caruso.
This is most helpful.

A body and a positive
identification.

Now we're getting somewhere.
HE CHUCKLES

How did Roach get the body
onto a train?

Sir, I believe Roach
moved Abrams' body in his cart

while everyone was asleep
after the day's revelries,

and dumped his body in a railway car
at the Booth Street railway siding -

half a block from Cherry Lane.

You're almost there, Murdoch.
You've almost got him.

Not quite, sir.
I still don't have a motive. Mmm.

William. Am I interrupting?

Julia. Of course not.

I've been through the John Doe file.
I must say, the Ottawa coroner
was quite thorough.

Look at these. Oh, my.

These wounds to Abrams' arms
are quite curious.

The coroner posited that they were
defensive. Could that be possible?

Well, it's possible, but not likely.

Abrams was shot
from across the street.

Whatever happened,
they were inflicted before he died.

Hmm. Defensive wounds
to both forearms.

There's also evidence
of inflammation,

as though Abrams had an allergic
reaction to whatever injured him.

Could it be a reaction to some kind
of metal? Nickel, perhaps?

I've seen a similar response,
of all things, to cat scratches.

Cat?

He lived to a ripe old age.
He deserves his rest.

Julia, I think I have another body
for you to look at.

Well, the cat's hyoid was fractured.

The cat was throttled? Yes.

Strangled to death? That's horrible.

It would have experienced the
frightening sensation of air hunger

and no doubt struggled violently.

Fighting for its life,
the poor little thing.
Clawing at the killer's arms.

But Mr Roach claimed
his cat died of old age.

Mr Roach's cat sat on his windowsill
too often.

That's why Roach killed Abrams.

What do you mean?

Roach's cat annoyed Abrams.

Perhaps Mr Abrams strangled the cat,

and in retaliation,
Mr Roach shot Abrams.

Would the death of a cat be
sufficient motive for murder? Yes.

As a pet-owner, Doctor,
I'll vouch for that.

Right, George. Head down to Cherry
Lane and impound Mr Roach's cart.

I'll meet you
at the station house. Sir.

Once again, thank you, Doctor.

Sir.

Felix Roach's cart.

It looks to have seen
an awful lot of use, sir.

I can't imagine evidence
from a body could still be found
after all this time.

Well, let's see, George.

Assuming the body
was put in headfirst...

Uh, lift up the handles,
please, George.

Oh, yes. I see what you mean.

Blood from any wound would run down
to the end there. Precisely.

What kind of a man kills a cat
with his bare hands?

In the carriage, Mr Roach.

I did you all a favour!

You'll not say it out loud, no,
but you know it!

I did you a favour!

She made the model by herself?
She did that. Huh!

If it wasn't for Lydia, we never
would have solved the murder.

If you need a hand
from time to time, Bert,

any help that we can offer.

Thank you, Mrs Galbraith.

So on the afternoon
that Roach killed Abrams,

Lydia was sitting on the porch
plain as day.

Roach must have seen her.

Oh, I think he did.

But, like everyone else
in this neighbourhood,
he assumed she was oblivious.

And yet she remembered everything.

Do you think she was aware
she was recording a murder
when she made that model?

We'll never know.

I suppose she lived
in a world of her own.

Such a lonely place.

Why do you say that?

Because she can't communicate
her feelings.

Do you believe
that makes her unhappy?

Well, it would make ME unhappy.

Hmm.

I don't think Lydia views her life
the way we do.

I think there's a solace
and certainty and order
that sustains her.

And that's enough?

Sometimes it has to be.