All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - S10E16

- synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -

Oh...

I presume this is it.

Oh yes, we're coming under her now.

I got my floors all mixed up is all.

- When did you discover her?
- Uh, this morning.

She's been in here quite
some time, Mr. Grandy.

Do you know how many
buildings I look in on, son?

You expect me to scour
every floor every day?

I'll take it from here.

- If I need you, I'll come find you.
- Ah!

All these stairs...

Who's there?

That is mine.

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

- Identify yourself.
- Howard Philips Lovecraft.

What are you doing here?

Visiting her, of course.

Hello, my dear.

Do not touch...

I enjoy drawing.

I see that.

Reading as well.

Gothic stories especially.

Hm. Did you know her?

Do you enjoy reading?

Yes.

- The girl, Mr. Lovecraft...
- What do you enjoy reading?

Anything from science
periodicals to Shakespeare.

Now young man, did
you know the deceased?

Yes.

What is her name?

I don't know.

Then how is it that you know her?

From drawing her!

Once she was already dead?

You never met her prior to her death?

No. We became close since.

And I believe that we will meet again.

How long have you been drawing her?

I couldn't say.

- Time is not of consequence.
- In this instance, I'm afraid it is.

A few weeks, I suppose.

And how did you come to find her?

A boy told me of her.

- What is his name?
- Clinton Hartley.

I can tell you where to
find him if you'd like.

Yes, please.

May I continue to draw her?

Decomposition was helped along by rats,

making identification impossible.

But I can say with some
certainty that she was young,

fifteen or sixteen perhaps.

And the cause of death?

Asphyxiation.

I believe she was smothered

with the handkerchief
you found at the scene.

I found matching particles in her lungs.

- So, no wounds then?
- No!

I can't explain the blood on the
handkerchief or on her clothes.

Only to say that it wasn't hers.

It belonged to her assailant?

Also, the handkerchief
was doused with chloroform.

She would have gone painlessly.

A compassionate killing. So,
she could have known her killer.

She didn't arrive with
this pendant, did she?

No, only the clothes that remained.

And now the pendant's gone.

It could have been a figment
of Mr. Lovecraft's imagination.

Yet why include it in the early drawings

and not on later ones?

Unless the killer
returned to retrieve it.

Mr. Hartley,

how do you know Mr. Lovecraft?

He sought me out

after discovering I'd borrowed his
favourite book from the library.

Edgar Allen Poe's The
Masque of the Red Death.

Have you read it?

No.

And when was this?

Perhaps a month ago.

So, the two of you became friends.

Yes, we are rather like-minded.

Don't you think?

Although I admit I am not quite
as drawn to death as Howard.

And yet you informed him of the body

you found in the abandoned building.

When did you do that?

Shortly after we met.

Four weeks ago.

And how is it that
you... found this body?

I was scouring for valuables.

Yes.

Is this one of the
valuables that you found?

No, I've never seen that before.

Describe for me what the body
looked like when you found it.

I can't.

I only got close enough to make out

that it was a girl at the dress.

The stench kept me at a distance.

Surely your parents taught you to

inform the police when
you found such a thing?

I don't speak with my parents.

What an odd-looking
group of youths, George.

Margaret, what are you doing here?

Verna Jones is making
me lead the discussion

on this dreadful Dracula
book for our reading club.

- So what?
- Thomas,

this book is grotesque!

It is positively nightmare-inducing!

- Verna is just doing it to spite me.
- Who cares about Verna Jones?

- Pick a different book then!
- Wh...

And let Verna win?

What do you want me to do about it?

I would like you to escort me to
the morgue to speak to Dr. Ogden.

She's a learned woman after
all, and deals in the macabre.

Talk to her yourself,
Margaret. I'm working.

Work? You're just
sitting there like a lump!

Yes, at work.

Why do you live with
your aunt, Mr. Lovecraft?

My father died from mental exhaustion

after years in an insane asylum.

I'm sorry to hear that.

And your mother?

She now resides in the
same asylum in Providence.

Good lord.

And that's not to say that... your...

destiny is determined.

Or perhaps it is.

Oh, hello.

- Hello, Mrs. Brackenreid.
- Hello.

The Inspector's wife. Lovely lady.

We have a common interest.

Oh? What's that?

Blood.

Salvation.

I really must be going, young man.

Your hands...

These fingers...

Mr. Lovecraft, your aunt
will be here very soon.

Thank you, Mrs. Brackenreid.

Mrs. Brackenreid...

No one but a woman can help a man

when he is in trouble of the heart.

What was this Clinton Hartley lad
doing in an abandoned building?

Scavenging for valuables, he claims.

I thought he was rich!

Rebelling against his father's wealth.

Rebelling against wealth.
What's the matter with...

Well...

I don't want the others to
know I'm speaking with you.

Alright. Have a seat.

How did you get in here, young lady?

I know the pendant,

from the newspaper.

What was her name?

Ellen Woods.

How did she die?

- And your name?
- Sarah Glass.

Miss Glass,

is this Ellen Woods?

Looks like Howard's drawings.

- You know Mr. Lovecraft?
- He's the newest member in our group.

He draws such...

loving portraits.

Was Miss Woods a member of this group?

For a short while.

- But nobody cared for her.
- Why is that?

No reason exactly, just that

everyone seemed to start
fighting when Ian brought her in.

Ian?

Ian Blair.

Ellen was a cousin of his from Oshawa.

New to Toronto. He felt...

obliged to welcome her, I suppose.

But she didn't fit in.

Our interests aren't shared by most.

- What interests are those?
- Death.

Making your parents proud, are you?

We don't care what our parents
or anyone else thinks of us.

Surely you found it strange

when Miss Woods suddenly disappeared?

We thought she went back to Oshawa,

as she had often threatened
whenever anyone was hard on her.

Clinton especially.

Thank you, Miss Glass.

If we have further
questions we'll contact you.

If Miss Woods was a
member of their group

and Miss Glass recognized her
from the pendants and drawings...

Surely Clinton Hartley did as well.

And he lied to us.

- Bring him back in.
- Yes, sir.

Hello?

Is anybody there?!

Hello?

Julia?

Margaret, what are you doing here?

Oh, I, uh... I want to
discuss something with you.

- What is it?
- Dracula. The book!

For my reading club.

You're shaking like a leaf.

Is that... my scalpel?

I thought I heard
something behind that door.

That's the cold storage.

Unless the dead have come back to life,

I assure you there's no one back there.

Oh, I was certain I heard something.

Look.

You see?

What on earth are you
doing in here!? Get out!

- I wanted to see her again.
- Agh!

Stay put! I'm calling the constables.

You're bleeding.

"Do you believe in destiny?

That even the powers of time

can be altered for a single purpose?

That the luckiest man

who walks this earth is the
one who finds true love?"

Young man, get... get up!

Get up!

Out. Keep moving!

Get OUT!

Lurking around the bloody
morgue like a lunatic.

- What's wrong with him?
- He doesn't seem to see

anything wrong with his behavior,

no matter how misguided.

Someone needs to
instill some principles.

A spell in the army would
sort him out quickly enough.

Or perhaps, sirs, a more
gentle form of guidance

might benefit the young man.

- What do you know about children?
- Well I was one.

Still bloody are, half the time.

So what do we do with him?

We don't have enough to arrest him

and I don't feel
comfortable letting him go.

Well, we can't trust his aunt
to keep him under lock and key.

- Keep him here?
- No,

I've got a better idea.

Crabtree can take care of him.

He seems to know everything
about child-rearing.

Sir, I'd be happy to.

I believe this young man and myself

might have more in
common than you think.

I have been through my
own spells of melancholy.

Well, that's settled then.

No doubt Mr. Lovecraft will
leave a boy and return a man

courtesy of George Crabtree, esquire.

And sir, I may be no miracle worker,

but I believe I can help lift the
dark cloud that hovers over him.

Well, very good! Thank you, George.

And when that dark cloud lifts, sir,

not only will the sun
warm Mr. Lovecraft,

it may also shed some light on our case.

Or it'll rain buckets
like a November Monday

- in Yorkshire on both of you.
- The sun shines sir, even in Yorkshire.

Not on November Mondays, it doesn't.

That's meant to be Ellen?

It's a rendering by Mr. Lovecraft, yes.

Surely you recognized that pendant

as being hers when I showed
it to you the first time.

No, I don't pay attention
to pendants and dresses.

Your friend Sarah did.

Well, I suppose girls notice
things that boys do not.

Or, there's another explanation.

You lied to me.

Because you had something
to do with her death.

I did not.

Could one of the other
members of your group, then?

No.

You were the first one to discover
her body by your own admission,

and yet you never
reported it to the police?

As I told you before,

Howard said he would inform the police.

Did Mr. Lovecraft and Ellen

ever meet, to your knowledge?

I don't think so.

What was Mr. Lovecraft's reaction

when you first told him about the body?

Somehow he didn't seem surprised.

As if he knew about it already?

I don't need to see it.

I already heard everything from Clinton.

Heh...

I understand you and
Ellen Woods were cousins.

Yes, when she arrived from
Oshawa I tried to include her.

But your friends... didn't take to her?

Perhaps if they gave her a chance...

Where did you imagine
she disappeared to?

Back to Oshawa.

When she failed to arrive,
did your family not alert you?

I don't talk to my family.

Well, who do you live with then?

I live with the others. At Logan's.

Is this Logan also a
member of your group?

Yes, we all keep a room at his house.

Ian,

come on! I finally secured
the Balloon Lung Tester!

May I go?

This Logan's surname and address, first.

Logan Smiley. 912 Wellington.

Come on, Ian.

Isn't this nice?

There's beauty all
around us, Mr. Lovecraft.

One need only open their eyes to see it.

My eyes are wide open.

Then surely you can
appreciate the, the...

changing colours of the autumn leaves.

As their veins choke off the
nutrition they require to remain green.

Their last gasp as they
desperately cling to their lifeline

before their inevitable
death and descent.

Eh...

Then the leaves are
absorbed into the ground,

which provides the soil
with the nutrition it needs

to feed the trees which fostered
the leaves to begin with. It's a,

uh... beautiful circle of life!

Decay begets more death and decay.

Look, Mr. Lovecraft. That squirrel.

Surely you can't deny his industry,

his preparation for winter.

No sooner than I can deny
the likelihood of its death.

The ground will freeze over,

his own kind as likely
to steal his cache

as he is to rediscover it in his
struggle to endure the winter.

I understand the others spend

quite a bit of their
time here, Mr. Smiley?

- Your father doesn't mind?
- He's dead.

And mother's glad I have
friends to keep me occupied

while she travels with
her latest paramour.

Is it true that you and
Ellen Woods did not get along?

None of us did.

Not even her cousin?

Ian got along with her fine.

What was the problem exactly?

She and Clinton fought frequently.

It created a sense of
unease amongst the group.

I was happy when she left.

Is that so?

Well, I mean before I
found out she was murdered.

I assume she kept a room here as well?

Yes. It's Howard's now.

Nothing of Ellen's remains.

Even so.

Do you really think
that squirrel will die?

We all will.

The only question is when.

I suppose you're right, you know.

It's enough to make you wonder
what the point of it all is.

I mean, we all spend our
lives just as this squirrel

clawing, scratching, trying to get by.

In the end we all end up
in the same place anyway.

But surely there's beauty to
be found in our daily struggles.

I think that's what gives
life it's depth, Mr...

Lovecraft!?

These are all Mr.
Lovecraft's belongings?

Yes,

I threw out all of Ellen's
things after she disappeared.

It's a love letter, sir.

"For never was there a
story of more woe than ours."

Quoting the Bard!

- Bloody pretentious.
- Indeed.

It's filled with youthful angst

and the language is
melodramatic and dense,

but the sentiment is unmistakable.

It's signed by Miss Woods, but
not directly addressed to anyone,

nor is it dated.

No, sir. I found it
in Mr. Lovecraft's room

amongst his personal effects.

"To my Love," although generic,

could have been Miss Woods'
pet name for Mr. Lovecraft.

Well, if you're right, this
establishes a relationship

between the two of them while
Miss Woods was still alive.

And Mr. Lovecraft's perverted
fascination with death alone

- could provide motive.
- He prefers the dead to the living,

maybe that extended to his
most intimate relationships.

- Julia.
- Doctor.

Burning the midnight oil?

I was taking a final
look at Miss Wood's body

when I discovered
something rather disturbing.

- What is it?
- Her left ring finger has been severed.

It happened since she arrived.

Mr. Lovecraft.

- Crabtree!
- Sir.

- Bring me Lovecraft.
- I can't, sir.

I lost him.

- You lost him?
- Sir, I've looked all over Toronto.

"Do you believe in destiny?

"That even the powers
of time can be altered

for a single purpose?

"That the luckiest man
who walks this earth

is the one who finds True Love?"

Oh dear.

Stop talking to him,
Mina, you foolish woman.

Walk away.

Hello?

John, is that you? Thomas? Hello?

Do you like it, Mrs. Brackenreid?

***

Margaret didn't get a
wink of sleep last night,

- which means I didn't either!
- Sir,

he's just a boy. No
older than your son, John.

John doesn't go around
spooking housewives

- with severed body parts!
- I understand your frustration,

but should you do anything rash,

it could compromise our investigation.

- Get a confession and be done with him.
- Sir.

I do not like this room!

No one does.

Please have a seat, Mr. Lovecraft.

Miss Woods is now missing a finger

and Mrs. Brackenreid has an extra.

Yes, I gave it to her.

After trespassing into the
city morgue and severing it.

Do you not see how completely
inappropriate that is?

No.

I found this in your
room at Mr. Smiley's.

- What is it?
- It's a correspondence,

from Miss Woods to you.

Despite the fact that you
said you didn't know her.

- I never said that.
- Correction,

that you knew her only in death.

This proves otherwise.

It was found in your
room, Mr. Lovecraft.

May I keep it then?

No you may not keep it, it's evidence.

Evidence that, along with other factors,

strongly suggests that
you killed Miss Woods. You.

To me she is not dead, but eternal.

- Did you kill her?
- No!

Did you know her prior to her death?

No!

Did you sever her finger postmortem?

Yes.

- But you didn't kill her to begin with?
- No, but...

I surely wish I was
there when she passed

from this dimension to the next.

"Denn die todten reiten schnell."

I do not speak German.

"For the dead travel fast."

I know all of Dracula.

There is someone else I'd
like you to speak with.

In a setting that you
may find more agreeable.

Do you know the difference between
right and wrong, Mr. Lovecraft?

That cannot be answered without context.

Is it wrong to mutilate a dead body?

I could ask you the same question.

I conduct post-mortems
as a means to an end.

You severed...

a finger from a corpse
for no apparent reason.

She did not mind.

Do you believe it's
wrong to kill someone?

Many killings are
justified. You should know.

Would you have been justified
in killing Miss Woods?

If it pleased her.

Why would it please her?

May I speak with Mrs.
Brackenreid instead?

I'm afraid you will
have to make do with me.

You were in a relationship
with Miss Woods.

- You knew her, did you not?
- I've always known her,

through eternity.

Your diagnosis, Julia?

It would be premature
to make one, William.

He's certainly disturbed, but...

I don't believe him to be insane.

All I'm prepared to say is
that he has trouble delineating

between reality and imagination.

But is he capable of murder?

It wouldn't surprise me.

But why?

The love letter was one of devotion.

Trying to apply logic
to the circumstances

may not be helpful in
this instance, William.

Frankly, I don't know
what to do with him.

He seems to be more at ease

expressing himself creatively.

If you continue to hold him,

perhaps you should provide
him with a new notebook.

Do you believe he's a murderer?

I don't yet know.

It has been

a difficult time since he arrived.

- Since he arrived?
- Yes!

Since Howard joined us from
Providence five weeks ago.

Mr. Lovecraft has only
been in Toronto five weeks?

Mr. Lovecraft, I have your supper.

Though you hardly deserve it
after abandoning me in the park.

Can you not see that I am preoccupied?

What are you writing?

An account of recent events.

You know, I myself am a writer,

an experienced one at that.

And I can personally attest that
one should never try to write...

on an empty stomach.

You're worse than my aunt.

Well, you're worse than most of
the guests we have in this place.

And that's saying something.

I am sorry about the park, Constable.

I highly doubt that.

Something isn't quite
lining up here, Julia.

Neither are these buttons, I'm afraid.

As best you could tell,
Ellen Woods was killed

approximately six weeks ago.

And I've just learned
from Mr. Lovecraft's aunt

that he only arrived in
Toronto five weeks ago.

So,

if you are right, which you usually are,

and Mr. Lovecraft's aunt
is telling the truth,

then it's impossible that
the two ever even met.

Indeed!

One thing is certain: Ellen
Woods did write this letter.

But perhaps it was
intended for someone else.

And planted in Mr. Lovecraft's room?

Yes. And if that's the case,
then perhaps someone else

was in a relationship with Ellen Woods,

and they could very
likely be the killer.

There.

That should hold.

Thank you, Julia!

Hello!

Ladies and gentlemen,

I believe one of you was romantically
involved with the deceased.

Now who was it?

If any of you know anything,

you should speak up.

The letter from Miss Woods that
I found in Mr. Lovecraft's room,

it was intended for someone
else. I believe that person

deliberately placed the letter

in Mr. Lovecraft's
room to incriminate him.

Now who was it?

Let's go, George.

- Thomas.
- Hm...

I believe I will come in
to work with you tomorrow.

- Why?
- I can't stay home alone.

He's everywhere.

Ah, Murdoch. Where are we at?

Well sir, I... Oh! Mrs. Brackenreid!

Margaret insisted on
coming in with me today,

despite Mr. Lovecraft no
longer posing any threat to her.

Murdoch, I can't stress how vital
it is that you wrap this case up.

Yes, sir. In fact, I...

Excuse me.

Inspector Thomas Brackenreid...

Could you speak up? I can't hear you.

Is the detective there?

- Detective Murdoch.
- It's Sarah Glass.

I think I know something important.

That letter you were asking about...

Yes, Miss Glass?

You are back already! No! Wait!

Miss Glass, are you there?

Miss Glass, are you alright?

Hello? HELLO?!

Who is there?

W... What just happened?

- Explain yourselves.
- We just got home.

- We found her like this. I swear it.
- We were buying tobacco.

Where is Logan Smiley?

I don't know,

he was still here with her when we left.

She was trying to tell us something
over the telephone. What was it?

I don't know, sir. Honest.

What happened?

Sarah...

Where have you been, Mr. Smiley?

- I w... I was at the cemetery.
- Doing what?

Worshipping the dead.

Can anyone corroborate this?

- And don't say the bloody dead.
- Perhaps the gravedigger.

- Are you trying to be funny?
- No.

What happened to her?

One of you lot killed her.

Sir, Logan Smiley was indeed

wandering the cemetery grounds
at the time of Miss Glass' murder.

And Mr. Lovecraft was here in
our cells. What of the other two?

Well, that's where it
gets interesting, sir.

The shopkeeper confirmed that

Ian Blair did indeed
buy tobacco off him.

He even noted the time as he
was about to close for lunch.

But he said Mr. Hartley wasn't with him.

So, the two of them left
Mr. Smiley's together,

leaving Miss Glass behind,

but then Mr. Hartley turned back to
prevent her from speaking with us.

Right, then. I'll pick
up Clinton Hartley.

Thank you, George.

Tell me again: Where were you
at twelve-forty PM, Mr. Hartley?

That's around when Ian
and I went for tobacco.

You were never with Mr.
Blair at the tobacco shop

as you initially claimed.

I was.

I can even show you...

the purchase receipt.

Surely given to you by your best friend.

You see, the shopkeep confirmed that

Mr. Blair did indeed come in
and purchase tobacco from him.

But not you.

I waited outside.

The shopkeep also said that

this was the last transaction
before closing for lunch.

He stepped outside, locked the door
and saw Mr. Blair walking away...

alone.

No.

You returned to the house
shortly after leaving

and found Miss Glass on the telephone.

There was something Miss
Glass needed to say to me.

Very likely that it was you

she saw planting the love letter

in Mr. Lovecraft's room.

I didn't.

So, you murdered her...

with the nearest implement at hand.

The telephone.

My father's going to kill me.

It was you that was in a
relationship with Miss Woods.

And you murdered Miss
Glass to conceal the fact

that you had murdered
your own sweetheart.

Why?

Why kill your own sweetheart?

I don't know.

You loved her,

but I am told that
you fought frequently?

Yes.

I know you smothered her...

but, uh...

where did the blood come from

that covered her dress
and the handkerchief

that was found at the scene?

Because it wasn't her blood.

I can't recall.

Not something one would easily forget.

While I was smothering her,

she threw her head back,
and it struck my nose.

I used the same handkerchief
to stop the bleeding.

A confession isn't good enough for you?

The one for Miss Glass's murder is.

What about Miss Woods?

Clinton Hartley claims that
he used the handkerchief

that was found at the scene
to stop his bleeding nose.

- So?
- That handkerchief was doused in chloroform.

It would have knocked him out
as surely as it did Miss Woods.

He couldn't possibly
have held it to his nose.

Only the killer would know it.

Therefore, her sweetheart could
not have been Clinton Hartley.

William, I found something interesting.

I checked in on Mr. Lovecraft,

and he shared his new notebook with me.

More bloody drawings?

No, Inspector, he wrote a detailed
account of his experience of late.

Quite a fine writer it turns out.

Does it have any bearing on our case?

Well, the letter you found in his room?

What we perceived
simply as a love letter,

he perceived as something much more.

Mr. Lovecraft believes
it was written to Ian.

Yes,

they were in love.

But they also planned to
meet on the other side.

The other side?

The other side of life.

- Death.
- Yes.

"Together we shall go."

"For never was there a
story of more woe than ours."

You recognize the passage?

Yes. I love when you
read Shakespeare to me.

It's Romeo and Juliet!

And what did Romeo and Juliet do?

They both committed
suicide in the name of love.

Precisely.

Not only is this a veiled suicide note,

but it's a suicide pact

between two star-crossed lovers.

How I envy them.

Yet only one body was
found at the scene.

But what of all that blood?

I will be with you soon, my love.

Ian! Ian! No! Please!

Don't leave me.

You're under arrest for the
murder of Miss Ellen Woods.

- I miss her so.
- Don't say anything, Ian!

I cannot stand to be without her.

The pendant.

May I take it with me to the gallows

so that I may give it to her again

once we are reunited on the other side?

I suppose being a youth isn't
as simple as it used to be.

Was it ever simple, William?

Think about our friends
Romeo and Juliet.

Indeed.

Hm. It's really about salvation.

Ha! Take that, Verna Jones!

"How blessed are some,

whose lives have no fears, no dreads.

To whom sleep comes nightly and
brings nothing but sweet dreams."

What do you want?

You look beautiful, my dear.

I had a horrible nightmare, Thomas.

I had blood coming down my eyes!

- I had tentacles in my hair!
- Shh!

It's that bloody book you're
reading before bedtime!

- Stop reading it!
- It wasn't the book,

- it was Mr. Lovecraft.
- Don't you worry about Mr. Lovecraft.

- He's going back to Providence tomorrow.
- Even so,

he's in my mind. He's in my soul!

He's not in your mind,
and he's not in your soul.

Just go back to sleep, yeah? Go on.

Best of luck in
Providence, Mr. Lovecraft!

You are missing a button.

Keep your nose clean, son.

I plan to concentrate on
my writing upon my return.

Mr. Crabtree offered
some useful encouragement.

I do wonder what it would
be like to look at the world

through his eyes instead of mine.

- But I fear that will never be.
- Well, don't let that discourage you.

You keep at it.

Take care, Mr. Lovecraft.

Would you give this to her?

Everything alright, sir?

Margaret can never know of this.

- Synced and corrected by chamallow -
- www.addic7ed.com -