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'A new job?'

It's in Buffalo.

Buffalo?

'There must be something
you're not telling me. Why leave?'

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

but...my abortion,

'it left me sterile.'

William, please say something.

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?

The McMurphy sisters
are birdwatchers, sir.

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

Apparently the male has
a black head, while the female...

Higgins, just the facts, man!
Right. Sorry, sir.

After they discovered
the remains, Gladys McMurphy ran
to a neighbour's house.

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

I see. And where is he?

He had some appointments, but
he's eager to come to the station

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.

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'll make a full report.

You know, I'm 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,

35, judging by the skin and hair.

Time of death somewhere between
7pm and 10pm last evening.

Eight hours for the concrete to set,

that places the killer down by
the river between 3am and 6am.

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...? 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.

The river was shallow where we found
the block... The killer loaded
the rest of Humpty Dumpty

onto a boat and headed
for deeper water.

And unaccountably left one behind.
Well, I suppose 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.

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?

KNOCK ON DOOR

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.

Well, a thoughtful gesture,
Inspector, but that's Detective
Murdoch's office now.

Of course, as you wish.

My office, then.

That's it, barely.

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?

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.

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.

You have to admire it in a way.

Back then, it was
clear what men were thinking.

KNOCK ON DOOR

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, birdwatchers.

What on earth are you doing, George?
Oh, nothing, sir. I've often thought
I should write some things down.

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 rode back to this spot.

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

Detective? Constable,
I believe we're being watched.

Aaah! Ugh.

Identify yourself.

Sir... Identify yourself! Sir!

He appears to be a squatter, sir.

What's your name?

HE PANTS
Ha.

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?

Oh, 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.

Oh.

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

Squirrel, a couple of 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 that God doesn't
have a sense of humour.
HE CHUCKLES

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
into 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.

I will do. Dr Francis called.
He has some news for you.

Ah. Thank you, George.

DOOR OPENS

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's some scarring
to the arm stump.

You see?

Here.

Your victim's 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? I don't know.
What, two days, three?

And you're welcome(!)

'Dear Julia,
I trust this finds you well.

'I'm forwarding photographic
evidence in a puzzling case

'and would be grateful
for your insight. All my...

'Best regards, William.'

Detective.
KNOCK ON DOOR

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've 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.

Oh, 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 damaged arteries are removed
and replaced with a healthy one
from the patient.

Dr Francis knows his stuff. Not many
would have caught this, Murdoch.

Hmm. 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?

Yeah.

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.

Perhaps transplantology got a
mention. 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 investigation!
It's your own bloody fault.

Dr Llewellyn Francis
is nobody's fool.

I needed information,
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 be humiliated.

Ha! 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.

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

What did Mrs Burnside have to say?

She said her husband
was widely beloved.

Oh, 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 gentlemen that he ran with.

There might be a nervous Nelly
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 the 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'd been engaged for many years.

I kept postponing the wedding.

Too wrapped up in the job,
my fiancee 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 enquiries, Detective?

Curious.

A 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.

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,

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
in 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.

Hmm.

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?

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 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.

But 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 jail,

only one was syphilitic,
a Cyrus Wheeler,

served five years hard labour
for assault. How old is he? 38.

Close enough. He attacked a fellow
roomer - beat him to within
an inch of his life.

So this man waits till Wheeler's
released from prison
and 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, but he died two years ago.

You could have mentioned
that right off the bat.
I 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 was to
be staying at the Empire Hotel here
in Toronto and 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?
Two 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,
dig 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, but I found this
yesterday in Oslo's study.

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

"A situation requiring
immediate attention has arisen.

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

The telegram is signed by a DB.

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.

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

KNOCK ON DOOR

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 ten 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.

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 towards Richmond.

A few days later
he says he never saw Jelton.

It would 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 old...

Oh, yes. Downtown somewhere. The...

The Dominion Alehouse.
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? The Citizen of the Year.
LAMB CHUCKLES

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

Who is this Wheeler?

A groundskeeper that Burnside
and Jelton knew from university.

I 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.

It suits you better.
Thank you, Mr Lamb. Good day.

'Sir, I found Richard Duff at
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.

DOOR OPENS

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.

It was some stranger.

Jelton was a regular,
so I would know.

You knew Oslo Jelton personally?

So there would 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.

He was... He was yelling.

Yelling?

For some mates to wait up.

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

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...er...

I figured they were slumming because
he looked a bit of a riffraff.
But this...

Harriet was a nice girl. A nice girl.

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,

not after that 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.

So I went along.

I figured...

the letter came from Jelton's old
man and he had connections
back then, you know.

Indeed. I did what I was told.

But then they hounded 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.

Um...

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 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 is this Wheeler?
A groundskeeper.

I don't recall the name.

I don't know if
I should laugh or cry at this.

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.

A case 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 Oslo Jelton
he saw running from the alleyway.

All right, yes.
I did that on my own time.
I was 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 birdwatchers.

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, are you in there? Oh!

'You subdued the men

'and drove them here...'

No, please.
GUNSHOTS

'..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 are 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.

I 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 the 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 is 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.

I was no better
than pub owner who recanted

or the broadsheet editors
who dropped the story.

At least, I WAS no better.

Now I'm 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.

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