Original subtitles

[Angie] How are you feeling?

[Wynter] Like I'm gonna win.

[Angie] You never win.

But I'm feeling like I'm gonna win.

Ha! How'd you get so bad at this?

[both laugh]

- [Angie] Ah. - [Wynter sighs]

Practice. You won't believe this but when I was a kid,

I had a magnetic backgammon set I used to play in the car.

I would lose to my father while he was driving.

[chuckles] He couldn't even see the board and I would still lose.

I definitely believe that. Why wouldn't I believe that?

His birthday today.

Your dad?

Yeah, just realizing that.

Well, happy birthday, Papa Wynter.

- Run it back? - Mm-hmm.

He'd be...

157?

[sarcastic] Thanks.

- [chuckles] I'm just doing the math. - Great.

How long ago did you lose him?

54 years. This March.

Ah, shit.

- [poignant music playing] - I'm sorry, A.B.

How old were you?

Eleven.

He and my mom died in a car crash when I was 11.

[Angie sighs sadly]

It wasn't the backgammon. Don't worry.

They were good parents.

[sighs softly]

You're always giving me shit. "Why don't you have a family?"

That's why.

I had

a family.

Why were you always letting me run my mouth like that, A.B.?

- So you'd feel terrible. - Well, I do. I do.

I should probably hold on this one, actually.

Got to go make this night happen. Try not to kill someone. Or get killed.

Hey.

You do have a family. You know that, right?

All of this here.

All of this here.

[Wynter breathes deeply]

[brisk instrumental music playing]

Mr. Wynter.

[Wynter] George. George.

George.

- No allergies? - She said no allergies.

Excellent.

[phone ringing]

Who are you?

[Tripp] I want A.B. Wynter up here now!

Because my fuckin' toilet's clogged!

[robotically] You are old man robot from Planet Usher, so... [fades]

- [TV volume increases] - [Wynter] I'm sending up an engineer.

- To fix the toilet. - Thank you.

And I'm gonna talk to your brother in the morning.

[Tripp yells]

I am trying to do something great, but you have never understood that.

And if you get in my way again, I am going to kill you!

[Lilly] Helen, no, do not fuck with me.

I have half of fucking Australia coming to this party.

I need Harry Styles here tonight.

We're screwed! Nobody wants to play in this shitty house.

[guests chattering]

[music continues]

[phone ringing]

- Yes? - [Haney] We have a problem on the floor.

Valentina Motta. Lorenzo, please let me handle this.

- Just let them go. - It is against White House protocol.

- Who fucking cares? - I care.

Did I just hear we don't have a musical guest?

Please pardon my interruption. We have a cancellation.

- Uh, yes, okay. - I'll arrange it. The Lincoln Bedroom.

[Melody sneezes repeatedly]

- [Melody sneezes] - [Jeffrey] Bullshit!

I follow every single protocol.

I asked you about no allergies. Get these flowers out of here.

- Why do I have to clean up Tripp's mess? - Would you give us a moment?

Why am I... Eddie could have... I was pulled out of my son's birthday...

...this is what I talk about when...

- [overlapping speech] - ...fucking job...

- [music continues] - [Wynter sighs wearily]

[Lilly] Rollie, switch. Actually, Rollie, switch these two.

Excuse me. Thank you.

A.B., there's a crash outside the South Gate.

...right over there. We have agents on it now checking it out.

- Sheila's sitting... - [Rollie] What is she doing?

- You're off the floor. - You know what? Fuck you, A.B.!

[music continues]

There's a problem with the kangaroos.

You are not going to take away my kangaroos!

- I haven't taken anything away from you. - Not you.

Him!

- [knocking at door] - [music pauses]

[Wynter yells] ...not going to talk to me like that! No! I'm going to expose you!

- I am going to tell them everything! - [music resumes]

Everything!

[Harry sighs]

[Wynter sighs]

Oh, the man I wanted to see. I spoke to Marvella about the desserts...

I'm not leaving. I can't leave the house like this.

Not after tonight.

[music continues]

Elsyie, A.B. needs you to prep the Lincoln Bedroom for Kylie Minogue.

- Okay. - Thank you.

Mr. Foreign Minister, everything okay?

[phone ringing]

Hello? Give me five minutes.

I am going to be dead by the end of the night.

You need to get off the floor now.

Don't worry about it. Get it later. Let's go.

[music continues]

- [phone vibrates] - [Wynter sighs]

- Hello? - [Wynter] Meet me in the Yellow Oval Room.

You are old man robot...

- I am going to kill you! - Nobody wants to play...

- This is what I talk about... - Not you. Him!

Fuck you, A.B.!

[Wynter sighs]

[music continues]

[Park] You think it happened here in this room?

[Cupp] I am now convinced of it.

[music continues]

[music fades]

[Filkins] Detective Cupp? Are you ready?

I have to catch a flight.

Yes, I understand. We're ready if you're ready.

It's a Giant Antpitta.

What's a Giant Antpitta?

- The bird I'm going to see. My flight. - [Filkins] Oh. Okay. Great.

That sounds like, uh, such a very large Antpitta.

Huge compared to the other tracheophone suboscine birds.

It... it's big.

I appreciate you appearing before this committee today, Detective Cupp.

As you know,

we've been looking into the death of White House Chief Usher A.B. Wynter.

I've heard.

When we began these hearings, the investigation was closed,

and officially,

Mr. Wynter's death was ruled a suicide.

In fact, we learned over the course of some difficult hearings...

Senators!

...for which I accept full responsibility,

that the story of Mr. Wynter's death was much more...

[Filkins inhales]

...complicated.

Unfortunately, we also learned that a little late as you had already left.

[Cupp] To find a Giant Antpitta.

The largest of the tracheophone suboscine birds,

as I understand it.

- Yes. - [Filkins] But now you're back.

And you agreed to come here today on your way to the airport,

to report that a suspect has been detained in your investigation.

- That's correct, Senator. - And the name of this suspect?

[Cupp inhales]

We are in a closed session here, Detective Cupp.

Given the sensitivity of the proceedings.

Yes. Okay.

But... don't you wanna hear how I figured it all out?

[curious music playing]

[music intensifies]

[music fades]

[sprightly music playing]

Something's missing from the Yellow Oval Room.

- Yes. - A vase. One of a set.

French porcelain. From 1823.

You haven't seen it since October 11th. The night Mr. Wynter was found dead.

That's right.

And you won't. It's broken. I'm sorry.

Detective Cupp, that's not the only thing missing from the room.

Oh, I know.

I'm looking for a clock.

Okay. Sure.

Hmm. Oh.

How about this one?

No. A specific clock.

Oh. Oh, I see.

Every room has as a clock on the mantel. But not in the Yellow Oval Room.

Oh, that clock? The Franklin clock?

- No. It's gone. - Do you know where it is?

- No. We looked everywhere. - Do you have a picture?

- That's a big clock. - Yes.

- Can I take this? - No.

- The yellow roses? - In a large vase by the door.

Yes, I remember those. Of course.

They were... distressed.

- I wouldn't say distressed. - What would you say?

- I would say burned. - Burned?

Those were beautiful fresh flowers

and they were fully desiccated two days later.

- Burned. - What would do that?

Something violent.

Contact herbicide.

- Paraquat, maybe. - Paraquat?

- That'd be my guess. - Is that something you keep here?

Do I keep industrial weed killer in my small flower shop

where I make pretty bouquets? Is that the question?

Unfortunately, yes.

No. I do not.

But I do know where you can find it.

Paraquat? No, not something we're allowed to use here anymore.

Basically, any chemicals.

We were told a year ago we had to completely detoxify all of our gardening.

- We're just "Conscious Landscaping" now. - What does that mean?

I have no idea.

All I know is we had to get rid of all of our pesticides like paraquat.

But now that I'm saying that,

I don't think anybody ever came by to collect any of that stuff.

If I had any of it left, it would be over here--

Oh, I guess it is still here.

- You know, that's really weird. - Yes.

- [Emily] You know what I'm gonna say? - I do.

So weird.

The night Mr. Wynter was killed, when we were all out here together.

I felt like something had been moved over in this area. You mentioned that.

And there is something off about that shelf back there.

You don't know what it is, but it's bothering you.

- There's something different. - Oh, that.

Yes! [chuckles]

[Park clears throat]

[intriguing music playing]

[glass smashes]

Can you come with us?

[music continues]

[music fades]

Oh my God!

- Do you recognize this? - Yes, it's from my desk. Why--

- It's hard to explain. - I wondered where it went. Can I have it?

- No. - It's mine.

- It has paraquat in it. - Oh.

My sister made that for me.

Well, now it's kind of a murder weapon.

Okay.

You can keep it.

I'm... I'm gonna leave.

Thank you, Emily.

[curious music playing]

- Where are we? - We're in the Yellow Oval Room.

No, I mean, what are we doing?

We're looking for clues.

I guess what I mean is, what is that?

It's a little tumbler.

- You see what I'm getting at? - No.

- Generally? - No.

[sighs]

Last night, you had Bruce and Elsyie right there.

You were deciding between Bruce and Elsyie.

Did Bruce kill A.B. Wynter, or did Elsyie?

And now we have a little tumbler and no Bruce and no Elsyie.

And I'm wondering... are we getting any closer?

To what?

To figuring out who killed A.B. Wynter.

Oh. Yes.

Yes!

Someone went out to that shed the night of the State Dinner.

I think looking for poison. I think they brought a real glass.

I think that glass fell or broke-- I don't know why--

and then they grabbed this.

They found the poison-- the paraquat-- and poured it in here.

And then they picked up the phone and called A.B. Wynter in his office.

And then they came here.

Well, there. And then here.

I saw two glasses that night.

One on the coffee table. And one on that end table.

I suspect the one on the end table had the poison

and was poured on the flowers.

Some of that Wynter probably ingested.

Someone threw a vase.

I think it hit this wall.

That vase is now gone.

The other is right there. And there are indentations here.

My guess is that it was intended for Wynter,

and that's why he had little cuts on his face.

And when that didn't work, that person picked up something heavy.

Possibly the candlestick, but I don't think that was heavy enough.

I think that candlestick fell when Mr. Wynter...

[gasps] ...stumbled into this table after drinking the poison.

I think the heavy object was the clock.

There is no clock.

Exactly. And I think this is why.

- You think the clock is the murder weapon? - Yes.

You said the tumbler was the murder weapon.

I said it was "kind of" a murder weapon.

- So we need to find the clock. - We do.

Do you think you know where it is?

No. But I know one place they definitely didn't look.

[Tripp] A clock?

No, I... I'd say no.

You know? I mean, not like a traditional "clock clock."

Why are you putting that in quotes? What is a "clock clock"?

- I don't wanna get in trouble. - It's okay. We're the police.

All right.

Well, I... I do have a nice piece in here.

More of a sculpture of a dude with clock-like elements.

Uh... [groans]

Ah.

Why do you have that?

I took it from the Library, all right, a while back.

And then I heard Mr. Wynter was looking for it,

and he was already pretty upset with me about a few things, and...

so when I heard he was leaving, I thought, I'll wait until then

and then I'll, like, put it back. And then that didn't happen.

So here we are.

I still can't tell if it's cool or not.

You can't?

- What do you mean, he was leaving? - What?

You said Mr. Wynter was leaving and then he didn't.

- Leaving the house. - Retiring?

- I guess. - When was that?

I dunno. Sometime since I've been here. What's that? A couple months?

- You've been here a year. - Fuck, really?

- Where did you hear that? - I don't know. Out on the floor?

Out on the floor? Do you have a floor meeting or something?

I don't know, man. Maybe the old lady? Or that asshole that works for my brother.

- That could be a lot of people. - No, I'm talking about the asshole.

The world's biggest asshole.

What? I don't know what the fuck he's talking about.

That dude is crazy.

You know that, right?

- You never heard A.B. Wynter was leaving? - No.

But I'm not really dialed in to Residence staffing

because I'm trying to help President Morgan run the fucking country.

Are you close?

Because you asking me about Wynter's retirement plans

doesn't feel like we're close.

Wait, hold on.

Actually, the night he died, when she came up here,

and I asked her to shut everything down, and she said no--

- Who are you talking about? - Jasmine. Jasmine Haney.

She went on some rant about working here 11 years...

And yes, I want to be the Chief Usher,

and I thought I was going to be the Chief Usher

but it was made very clear to me tonight

that I am not going to be the Chief Usher anytime soon.

Basically told me to go fuck myself until I showed her Wynter was dead.

I don't know if that's related to him "leaving."

On the night Mr. Wynter died, he dropped a bomb on Jasmine.

Jasmine Haney was going to be the next Chief Usher of the White House.

Everybody knew that. She knew that. Mr. Wynter told her a year ago.

He was going to retire. She was going to take his place.

But over the last year,

we all started to... feel it slipping.

He never set an exact date,

but whatever it was seemed to keep getting pushed back.

First, it was the holidays.

Then the terror attacks on March 4th. Couldn't leave after that.

Then Easter.

- Then the Fourth of July. - Holidays are coming up again.

I could feel Jasmine getting frustrated. I told her to hang on,

he just needed time to let go, that it would happen soon enough,

and I believed that. I think she believed that.

Until that night.

I'm not leaving.

I'm not retiring. For at least a couple of years.

A bomb.

And she was pissed.

[yelling]

[Sheila] I know. I know...

Years?! I have been waiting years! I'm not waiting years.

You just need to talk to him.

I am done talking, okay? Talking hasn't gotten me shit.

Walking around by his side,

yes sir, no sir, let me take care of that for you, sir.

Cleaning up his fucking messes.

She tried talking to him again, but it didn't amount to anything.

It wasn't much of a talk.

Then she never got another chance.

- Jasmine Haney? - Yes.

Did that surprise you?

I'm not easily surprised.

But I will admit, it did make things more... interesting.

I'd previously identified a number of people

who I believed might have played a role in Mr. Wynter's death.

And now I had one more.

This is it.

She is it.

She's the one with the cleanest, clearest, most powerful motive. We just heard it.

And she had the access. And it makes complete sense.

She's the one who told us everything. Showed us everything. Shaped everything.

We're talking about all these other people. But...

sometimes it's the thing right in front of you.

It's the thing hiding in plain sight.

The obvious thing.

The thing you're staring at. You just didn't see it.

Yes, I agree.

But how exactly?

And when? And did she act alone?

Obviously, everything makes much more sense

if there were other people involved.

I know this is, uh, weird.

But. Did you see "Murder on the Orient Express"?

- The new one? - Or the old one.

I haven't seen either one.

- Then why do you care which one? - I read the book.

Well, I haven't read the book. That's not the point.

- The point is, what hap-- - The book is good.

Okay, I'm sure it is. Someday I'll read the book.

Right, uh, okay, that's weird.

Anyway, if you remember, it turns out they all did it.

All the suspects.

And it makes me wonder...

Wait. You're agreeing with me?

What?

- When I said it was hiding in plain sight. - Yes.

You've agreed with me before, but I realized you were making fun of me.

Yes.

Yes. So you were making fun of me before, but you're not making fun of me this time?

No.

I'm just going to go back to where I started.

Sometimes it's the thing right in front of you.

The thing hiding in plain sight.

The obvious thing. The thing you've been staring at.

You just didn't see it.

Yes.

I agree.

- Is that...? - Yes.

[Filkins] A.B. Wynter's journal?

[Cupp] Right there on the shelf, in a room nobody else cared about.

Because where's the one place nobody ever looks?

I use, uh, one of those cans that looks like a Coke can,

but you can screw off the bottom.

Anyway, that's not what you meant.

The room with the books.

Nobody cares about the room with the books.

I should have realized this earlier. It was all there.

His notebooks, his journals, they were like old-fashioned books.

He wrote everything down in them.

[Haney] The Library. Mr. Wynter's favorite room.

He stopped by first thing every morning.

And it was always the last place he went before he left for the night.

I just didn't see it, which is precisely why he did it.

Did you read them?

I tried.

[Filkins] And?

[Cupp] And they were funny,

erudite, self-critical, unexpectedly generous, poignant.

He was candid with some of his feelings, many of them positive, some negative.

He had a particular disdain for Lilly Schumacher,

which didn't surprise me at all,

but the intensity of it did.

His relationship with Mr. Gotthard had clearly soured. He did not like Tripp.

He thought it was a really bad idea to have Marvella around all those knives

and Sheila around all that vodka.

He kept a curious ledger with acronyms and numbers

that made no sense to me at the time

but which has since proven highly revealing.

So they were helpful?

Very. And that's even before I got to the last page.

What was on the last page?

Nothing.

The suicide note.

Yes. But it wasn't a suicide note. Well, except I didn't know that.

I'm sorry. It... it might've been a suicide note?

I believed from the beginning that Mr. Wynter did not die by suicide.

But this note.

It did read like one.

But now, in the context of the larger page,

it clearly was not one, not originally.

I couldn't explain it. Not yet.

- Did he rip it out himself? - Or did someone else do it?

- Accidentally? - Or intentionally?

Did someone know these books were here the whole time?

- Who? - Angie.

- Jasmine. - Why did he have it on him though?

- How did he have it on him? - What do you mean?

If he was killed in the Yellow Oval Room,

why does he have a suicide note on him in the Game Room?

Was it just coincidence?

And what did you decide?

I didn't decide anything,

because that's when all hell broke loose.

[door opens]

Upstairs. Now.

[intense beat playing]

Hey, it's me. I'm just doing my thing.

[music intensifies, then ends]

I'm not happy, Detective Cupp.

Well, that's not good.

Because you're, like, the most important person in the world.

Why are you not happy?

What are you doing here?

Who let you back into this house?

Do you want to take that?

[sighs] Well, okay, yes, before everybody starts pointing fingers--

- Harry--? - It's not like one person decided.

It was a decision among various... parties.

- You called me. - Harry!

Yes! Yes. Okay. I asked Detective Cupp to come back.

Mr. President, I do think it's important that this gets resolved.

The damage that came out of those Senate hearings...

You didn't even tell me.

You don't live here!

It's the White House. I'm the President. Did he tell you?

No.

He didn't tell me either. And we have jurisdiction.

What the fuck?

You don't have jurisdiction.

The fucking campground attendant is here?

The jurisdiction of the National Park Police--

- is the Grand fucking Tetons.

It's a common misperception.

The MPD has jurisdiction. That's why I'm here.

- Do you see the uniform? - Yeah, we can't miss it, Chief.

Always with the fucking uniform. You sleep in that thing?

Okay, it gets respect, no matter when.

[men arguing indistinctly]

[curious music playing]

[music intensifies]

[indistinct arguing]

[music continues]

This painting was in the Red Room on the night of the murder.

[Park] Okay.

And the paintings that were in here are now in the Green Room.

The painting that was in the Green Room, where one of those paintings now is,

is now in the Red Room.

So many colors. Is this important?

- Yes. - Why is this important?

Because now I know precisely how A.B. Wynter was killed.

- [Filkins] You had solved the case? - [Cupp] No.

I had solved part of the case. A very important part.

I knew how it was done, but I didn't know who did it.

But now I knew how to figure that part out too.

I told the President I needed two hours.

If he gave me two hours

and could collect the people on the list I gave him

and meet me with them in the East Room, I would tell him who killed A.B. Wynter.

- And? - [Cupp] And he agreed.

What did you need the two hours for?

Birding mostly. And to tie up a few loose ends.

[Dokes] Elsyie Chayle. That's correct.

Detective Cupp wants to see you in the Foyer, and, um,

it's probably a shoes-on situation.

Yeah.

Excellent choice.

And I needed to secure from you immunity for someone to appear at the White House.

In exchange for which you agreed to come here.

That's correct, Senator.

[quiet, intriguing music playing]

Is she here?

Where is she?

She's on-site.

[birds chirping]

Come on!

[Cupp] Whoo!

Got the Fish Crow and the Downy Woodpecker and the Saw-whet Owl.

And I know Chief Dokes is excited about that one.

- Always good when you get an owl. - [Cupp laughs heartily]

Okay. Thank you all for coming.

I appreciate everyone taking time out of their busy day to join me here.

Particular shout out to the most powerful man in the world.

Thank you, Mr. President.

You've gotta be fucking kidding me.

[attempts Australian accent] G'day, mates.

Mr. Doumbe. Appreciate you being here. I'm Cordelia Cupp.

I'll be your host today.

A couple things before we get started.

First, just wanna make sure everyone's here

for the murder of A.B. Wynter.

If you're here for another murder, that's, like, a huge problem.

So please do let me know.

Please do not touch any objects or artwork as they might be valuable

and/or contain the fingerprints of the murderer standing next to you.

I will be taking questions.

We're gonna start up in the Game Room on the third floor

and then work our way down.

I'll explain. So, hopefully, everyone's wearing comfortable shoes.

Or just any foot-like covering at all would be great.

- Okay. - [Morgan sighs]

The last thing, and this is important.

Lots of detectives, even real ones,

do this kind of "summation" when they already know who did it.

Which I've always thought was a little weird.

But I'm here to tell you right now,

I do not know who killed A.B. Wynter.

[murmuring]

I know he was killed.

I know he was killed by someone in this room.

I hope the President told you this when he invited you here.

But I don't know who.

I am positive, though, that by the time I'm done, I will know.

So. If you killed A.B.,

I'm sorry, you can't leave now. I'll know.

And if you did not kill A.B., I'm sorry, you can't leave now.

Because I'll think you did, and probably have evidence to prove it. Or something.

Because you definitely did something awful.

So... buckle up.

No exit.

I'll see you in the Game Room.

- Is that really true? - [Cupp] What?

- That you didn't know? - Absolutely true.

And you thought you'd just figure it out along the way?

I knew I would. There's a bird...

A mockingbird... does this thing.

It knows there's an insect nearby, but it doesn't know exactly where.

So it suddenly flashes its wings open.

Gets the insect to blink.

Watch for it.

[elevator bell dings]

The blink.

Let's back it up. To the night of the party.

This case began when your mom next door heard a thump...

- [muffled thump] - ...came over here, found Mr. Wynter dead.

[screams]

When I arrived on the scene 30 minutes later,

you all believed he had killed himself.

Especially you.

We believe it's a suicide.

I told you almost immediately that you were wrong and I was right,

and that has been our relationship ever since.

[groans] This is gonna be a long tour.

You can leave.

[curious music playing]

Soon after I arrived,

I told you all specifically why I knew it wasn't a suicide.

There's no knife.

But it wasn't just the knife.

The blood on the shirt that Mr. Wynter was wearing,

that was not his.

That was Australian Foreign Minister Rylance's blood and his shirt,

which Mr. Wynter had graciously exchanged

with Mr. Rylance in his office an hour before.

The reason for the exchange...

- [lively music playing] - [both moaning]

[music stops]

...while fascinating, is irrelevant.

Can I leave?

Sure.

[curious music resumes]

Other curiosities took longer.

But the first and most relevant business was the missing knife.

And that led me to discover that there had, in fact, been a knife here,

a good knife,

and that it belonged to you, Mr. Gotthard.

And that you removed the knife from this crime scene. And tried to destroy it.

You have admitted this.

[quietly] After all this is over, I wanna talk about getting my own office.

A single leaf from the Cedar of Lebanon tree

and a lot of lying finally led me to Ms. Cannon,

who was in this room around the time Wynter was killed,

drinking vodka that she was supposed to be delivering to Ms. Cox.

- [Morgan groans] - You were bringing mother vodka?

Can I smoke in here?

Uh...

No.

Was Ms. Cannon involved in Mr. Wynter's death?

I do not know.

Not yet. But she was here.

Mr. Gotthard and Ms. Cannon were both in this room.

And then I learned another important fact,

this time from one of the few people who did not lie to me that night,

medical examiner Anne Dodge.

Ms. Dodge confirmed what I already suspected:

Mr. Wynter likely died of blunt force trauma

to the back of the head. And he did, in fact, ingest poison.

And he was dead before his wrists were slashed.

Meaning he did not slash his own wrists.

Because he was dead.

Oh. Okay, got it.

Thanks.

He is a strange little man.

I had already come to believe that Mr. Wynter was dragged into this room,

of course, and this report from Anne Dodge sealed it.

Mr. Wynter did not kill himself in the Game Room.

He was not killed in the Game Room.

He was dragged in here.

- From where? - From here. Room 301.

On the night of the State Dinner, Room 301 was undergoing renovation.

A fake renovation ordered by President Morgan and Elliott

so that Harry Hollinger's sister couldn't stay in the White House.

My first clue that this room was involved in the night's events

was that the door had been taped, which struck me as unusual.

Even more unusual was that there was a smell of paint

because, remember, this was a fake renovation,

staged only to keep Harry's apparently unbearable sister out of the house.

Can you stop, please?

She's really a nice person.

Beneath the paint, I found blood. Fresh blood.

And then, another extraordinary turn:

A precocious young detective

staying across the street at the Hay-Adams hotel

saw a flashing red light in this room,

soon after Mr. Wynter had died.

A light I was able to trace to the wrist of Tripp Morgan.

This fucking watch. I've been having so many problems with it lately.

[Cupp] I was convinced of Mr. Morgan's involvement

but had to wait for him to reveal it to me,

which he has now done with remarkable detail. So, thank you.

- Thank me for what? - For explaining what happened.

I never told you anything.

- Did he tell you something? - Yes.

Oh shit.

Detective Cupp wants to see you.

I knew Tripp was in this room because of the precocious young detective.

But I didn't know much beyond that, and I was sure he wouldn't talk to me

any more than he already had.

- By the piano? - Yeah.

But he is a talker,

and sometimes you just have to put together the right... combination.

George McCutcheon. The George McCutcheon.

Nah, I'm just kidding. I know there's three of you.

What up, George?

Only one Tripp. Thank God for that, right?

[Tripp whoops, sniffs]

Yo, you seen that detective? Looks like Indiana Jones and shit.

"Best Detective in the World."

I dunno. I guess I'm supposed to meet her here.

She's been badgering me, George.

I'm telling you, I have nothing to do with this whole thing.

With A.B. Dude. Fucking nothing.

Dude comes to my room acting all crazy and shit,

but that's fucking it. You know what I mean?

You're looking at me funny.

Can I tell you something, G? Okay?

That night. That night of the dinner. I'm like fucked up.

You used to party, right?

Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know.

So I'm having a fucking party, right?

'Cause my absolute shitbird brother won't let me come to this one

with the Australians who know how to actually fucking party.

So I go to the room at the end of the hall, right,

so all these assholes will leave me alone, and, dude, I fucking crash out, right?

Fucking crash out.

And then I wake up...

We're good, right?

McCutcheon, this is just, like, fucking you and me talking. Right, dude?

Okay. So, dude, I fucking wake up,

and A.B. Wynter is on the ground next to me.

Fucking dead. Dead!

I'm like, "Oh fuck!"

I lose my shit 'cause I'm like, I was just fighting with this guy in my fucking room,

and there's this fake electrician in there who knows we've been fighting.

So I go and look down the hall, and I see that crazy drunk butler lady.

She's fucked up too, but I don't think she sees me.

So I go back in, and I get A.B.

Dude. I'm not proud of this. Right, George?

Not proud. But, like, I just fucking lift him up

and just start dragging the guy all the way down the fucking hall.

I don't even know where I'm going.

I take him to the Game Room, and I'm like, all right. I just leave him there, right?

And then I run back down to the other room,

and I see this fucking blood.

So I take some paint. Yes, dude, seriously.

And I fucking paint this thing over.

Real fucking expert, you know?

You get that adrenaline. You can just do shit.

Dude, turns out I can fucking paint!

So I'm, like, done now, okay? This shit is over.

And, dude, I look down on the ground, and I see this fucking set of keys,

and I'm like, what the fuck, man?

So I go back down the hall, fucking running fast, right?

But real light-footed, like a panther

'cause I don't wanna wake up fucking Elliott's mommy.

I take the keys. I put them back in A.B.'s pocket,

and I feel this piece of paper in his jacket.

I pull it out. Dude, it's a fucking suicide note.

A.B. fucking killed himself.

Fuck!

I'm like, well, I just fucked that up, right?

Had I left him there, it would've been fine.

What am I gonna do now? Drag him fucking back?

What if somebody sees me? And I'm gassed anyway.

This is where I might've fucked up a bit, right?

'Cause I'm fucking going crazy. Heart like a hamster, 500 beats a minute.

So I'm like, all right, this has to look like a suicide right here.

So I open the door next door. I go into the German pastry dude's office

'cause I know that creepy fucker keeps his knives there.

I borrow that guy's knives all the time. I just take 'em for random shit.

One time, I had to trim the belt off one of these robes.

I just grabbed his knife and just fucking sawing away.

So, anyway, I grabbed the knife, I go back into the room,

and I just fucking did the fucking dirty deed, G.

Cut the wrists. Dropped the knife. Put the note back in and took off.

And that's, like, all I did.

Like I said, dude,

I have absolutely nothing to do with any of this.

I don't think she's gonna show up. Good talking to you, G. Late.

[quirky music playing]

[music fades]

[all talking at once]

That's bullshit!

You used my knives?

- My mommy? - Shitbird?

- Oh, I'll show you a crazy drunk butler. - Fake electrician?

That is seriously fucked up, Tripp.

Well, maybe you should have invited me to dinner, bro.

Did Tripp do it?

Did Tripp kill A.B. Wynter? I will not answer that question. Not yet.

But I will say, Mr. Wynter was not killed in here.

In fact, he had been dead for nearly 20 minutes

by the time Tripp dragged him down the hall.

So once again, we are faced with the same question

we entered the room with.

From where and by whom?

And this time, it is even more incredible and unexpected.

From where?

From down there.

[all muttering]

On the night of the State Dinner,

Kylie Minogue found blood in the Lincoln Bedroom.

I believe Mr. Wynter was brought into the Lincoln Bedroom, but only temporarily.

As a brief resting place

for the person who had dragged him from the Yellow Oval Room

and who would carry him up those stairs to Room 301.

Now, why do I say he was dragged from the Yellow Oval Room?

Because that's what you said you saw. Under oath.

I looked down the hallway, and I saw him dragging a body

out of the Yellow Oval Room.

So. From there. The Yellow Oval Room.

But by whom?

You saw that too, didn't you, Mr. Doumbe?

[tense music playing]

On the advice of counsel, I--

You don't have to do that, buddy.

Who did you see dragging Mr. Wynter out of the Yellow Oval Room?

[music intensifies]

Him!

[Cupp] Aha!

Bruce Geller. The grumpy, but apparently quite lovable, engineer.

Who had been fighting with Mr. Wynter and Tripp that night

and who Lilly saw in the Yellow Oval Room some 30 minutes later.

But when you saw him, Mr. Doumbe,

he was dragging A.B. Wynter down this hall.

Why?

Well, that's more complicated.

In Bruce's mind, because he was covering up a crime

he believed had been committed by the woman he loved.

Elsyie Chayle.

[Tripp] Damn.

Bruce and Elsyie had been in a relationship.

And on the night of the State Dinner, Bruce found Elsyie right here, distraught

because of a recent fight she'd had with Mr. Wynter in the Yellow Oval Room.

While Mr. Wynter stayed in that room, Bruce tried to comfort her,

but she wouldn't have it.

I am going to kill him.

Bruce left Elsyie right here...

walked down the hallway to the elevator,

but then, worried about her, he turned back around

only to see Elsyie now running out of the Yellow Oval Room.

When he went into the room himself, moments later, he found Mr. Wynter dead.

And so, as any good man does,

he cleaned it up,

which included moving Mr. Wynter out of the room.

That's what Mr. Doumbe saw.

Now, it's important to say here that Elsyie has a very different perspective.

She believes that Bruce killed Mr. Wynter.

She insists that when she came back in the room,

Mr. Wynter was already dead. And she didn't see Bruce when she left.

Bruce had his own issues with Mr. Wynter,

and she knew he was mad at the way Mr. Wynter had treated her.

Either way, whether you believe Bruce or Elsyie...

- Elsyie. - Elsyie.

Bruce.

Either way, Bruce moved Mr. Wynter.

Dragged him to the Lincoln Bedroom,

left him there while he went upstairs, and taped the door to Room 301

to make it easier to enter when he came back carrying Mr. Wynter.

And then he carried him up and left him there.

I know you did because you were the one dragging him down here.

And you're probably the only person

who could carry Mr. Wynter up those stairs.

And those were your keys that Tripp found in that room.

And so,

now we are here

where it all began.

Because I do believe it was in this room that Mr. Wynter was killed.

Which means we're down to one question:

Who did it?

[music intensifies]

Well, it has to be him, right? Bruce, the engineer.

- I mean, I guess it could be her. - It's not her.

- No, I don't think so either, Margery. - Mm-mm.

I mean, it is one of them though, right? Bruce or Elsyie?

You have made this very dramatic.

Thank you. Yes, that's what I thought.

It must be Bruce or Elsyie. But the minute I thought that,

I allowed myself to consider the opposite, which one should always do.

What if it's not Bruce or Elsyie?

Is it possible that they both could be telling the truth?

Is it possible that neither of them killed Mr. Wynter?

That in that time,

Elsyie stood by that closet, and Bruce stood by the elevator,

a third person murdered Mr. Wynter in the Yellow Oval Room.

Is that possible?

- Yes! - No!

What do you mean "a third person"?

- Who? - How would they get in here?

[Sheila] Right through that door.

- [Marvella] Could somebody do that? - Someone did do that.

Him.

The Third Man.

He said he was in that room.

I heard him in that room.

And I saw him come out of that room into the hallway.

I have immunity.

I knew it!

I... I knew it!

Oh, that whole, ah shucks, I'm just a dumb sales guy who likes Australians,

and I stumbled into the White House.

He's that guy from that movie.

Ed Norton. "Primal Fear." So good.

It's an act. He's full of shit.

He's an assassin.

[suspenseful music playing]

And I work for you.

[music intensifies]

No, I'm just kidding.

[Doumbe chuckles]

That was good though.

[Doumbe laughs]

Right, everybody?

[Australian accent] Well, he's the next Russell Crowe.

- [Doumbe chuckles] - [angry muttering]

I have considered this scenario. That it was Mr. Doumbe.

Mr. Doumbe has admitted to being in that room.

He could've come in here, killed Mr. Wynter,

and returned to the room when he then called his mom.

Aunt.

This is possible, and I don't discount it.

But let's assume that it is not Mr. Doumbe.

Just for a moment. Could it be anyone else?

Someone who threads an even finer needle.

A fourth person.

Who comes into that room before Mr. Doumbe,

slips into this room after Elsyie leaves,

and then kills Mr. Wynter before she returns.

Is that possible?

- Yes! - No!

No! Impossible, right?

And yet. And yet. Even as I recognize

the seeming impossibility of this scenario, I cannot let it go.

Because as I spent time in this room last night,

I discovered things. Curious things.

A large clock missing from the mantel.

A missing vase.

Flowers burned by poison.

Things that cannot be explained by Bruce or Elsyie or Mr. Doumbe.

Things that suggest the presence of another person.

But you have a person. Right here.

Two people. Three people.

And if you really need a fourth, throw him in.

Not cool, bro.

Why are you working so hard on something so... incredibly unlikely?

It is an excellent question, Mr. Hollinger.

- Really? - Yes.

And that surprises me as much as it surprises you.

It's the question the birder asks about everything she sees.

Why?

Why would I even consider this?

Why would I go to the most outrageous, the most extreme,

the most improbable of all possible resolutions to this mystery?

And my answer to you is...

the passenger pigeon.

That's your answer?

It is not the answer I expected.

The passenger pigeon was once the most abundant bird in the world.

In the early 19th century, there were billions of them.

Billions. And by the late 19th century, they were virtually extinct.

In fact, they were thought to be. In the wild.

And then, in 1907,

a small flock was spotted in rural Virginia.

This was the last known credible sighting of a passenger pigeon in history.

And do you know who saw those birds?

You.

1907.

Him.

Alexander Hamilton!

[all talk at once]

[Cupp] Teddy Roosevelt.

President Teddy Roosevelt was the last person

to see a passenger pigeon in the wild.

And when he did, he couldn't believe it. It seemed impossible.

It defied logic.

The great birder, and Teddy Roosevelt was a great birder,

looks for context, understands relationships, history.

What you are seeing needs to make sense.

And that flock of wild pigeons made no sense.

They were extinct.

But. You also have to trust yourself

because you know what you are seeing,

even if everything else says, no, that's not it.

You know. He knew. I know.

Know what?

Know that the murderer came through that door

with a glass of poison. Paraquat.

That the murderer tried to get Mr. Wynter to drink it,

and that Mr. Wynter did drink it,

just a little, and tossed it on the flowers next to him. Burning them.

That the murderer threw a vase at Mr. Wynter but missed.

That this vase shattered on this wall,

and that the shards of that vase hit Mr. Wynter on the forehead.

That the murderer then picked up a large clock on the mantel,

the biggest, heaviest, most accessible murder weapon in this room,

and hit Mr. Wynter over the head with it. Killing him.

I know that.

[music fades]

But that is impossible.

It's incredible. It's not impossible.

It's impossible.

You're saying someone comes in that room.

- Before Mr. Doumbe. - Yes.

Then comes in this room while Mr. Wynter is alone.

- After his fight with Elsyie? - Yes.

- And then kills A.B.? - Yes.

- Then what? Where do they go? - Out the door.

What door? There were people on the other side of these doors.

Mr. Doumbe was right there. Talking to his mom.

- Not that door. - Then what door?

- [Haney] Oh my God. - [Harry] Oh shit.

That door.

[quiet, suspenseful music playing]

Yeah, I still don't see it.

Because it's not there, Mr. Doumbe.

Not anymore.

But on the night of the murder, there was a door there.

A passageway between the Yellow Oval Room and the Treaty Room.

I must've seen it myself, but it made no impression on me.

Even when I spent time here earlier today and discovered other curious things,

I missed it.

It's only when I realized various paintings had been moved,

and this one brought in here specifically to cover a now larger space,

I figured out what had happened.

That the door had been sealed, hidden, replaced by this wall.

A door that makes the impossible possible.

And makes every single one of you a suspect.

- No! - No!

[all talking at once]

- Absolutely not. Not me. - That's right.

Yes. You.

All of you.

The possibility that someone could slip in here, kill Mr. Wynter,

and then slip out that door means all of you could have done this.

Even you. And you.

And you.

Because if I'm wrong about this, then one of you definitely did it.

Nobody here has a solid alibi

for that brief window in which we know Mr. Wynter was killed.

And the fact that you did other bizarre and terrible shit later

does not mean you did not do this.

In fact, it increases the likelihood that you did.

That you did kill him.

You all certainly seemed like you wanted to kill him.

You all fought with him that night.

- Fuck you, A.B.! - Feel like you have something against me.

There's broken glass!

I'm not leaving.

This is my dessert. And it is going to be served my way!

Mr. Wynter, please, I'm begging you.

You screamed at him.

[yelling]

You threatened him.

Keep your fucking mouth shut.

You openly mused about killing him.

He won't fire me if he isn't here anymore.

Some of you even said you were going to kill him.

I am going...

...to kill him.

And then one of you did.

So. Tell me:

Who sealed that door?

[tense music playing]

[music intensifies]

Jasmine Haney ordered the door to be sealed.

[woman] What?

I saw the work being done, and I thought it was odd,

since the President and Mr. Morgan aren't living here anymore.

I asked and I was told it was Jasmine.

Oh.

Were you going to mention that, Ms. Haney?

No, I wasn't, Ms. Cupp.

Detective.

You really think I had something to do with this?

You wanted this job more than anything. You thought he had betrayed you.

You fought with him, so... yes.

Maybe.

Did you seal that door?

- Yes, I did. - [others gasping]

[murmuring]

But it wasn't my idea.

- It was an order. - Whose order?

[quietly] He called me and told me to take care of it.

- Who? - Him!

- What? - [others gasping]

That's a lie.

Perry, that's a lie.

Perry?

[hesitates] Yeah. Jasmine?

Detective Cupp.

You never called?

- Called Ms. Haney to seal off a door? - Yes.

No! What are you talking about?

You called me. I talked to you.

This is the second time now

you said you didn't make a call someone else claimed you made.

I... I know. These things didn't happen. She's lying.

And Agent Rausch was lying when she said

you ordered Secret Service off the second floor at the State Dinner?

He called at 9:22 p.m. I spoke to him.

Yes, it's insane!

Perry, please.

Yes. Yes.

I agree.

[quietly] Did you have any issue with A.B.?

What? No! Why are you asking me that?

I mean, not really...

[Morgan groans]

- I didn't do this, Ms. Cupp. - Detective.

You have to believe me.

Oh, I definitely don't have to.

[tense music playing]

[music fades]

There's a bird on your wallpaper in there.

In your bedroom.

Looks almost like a Malaysian Rail-babbler.

I'm not sure it is, but... that would be fitting.

The Malaysian Rail-babbler is a wildly elusive bird,

but not in the traditional way. It's not just hard to spot.

It's hard to identify. Even what it is.

It's called a Rail-babbler, but it's actually not a rail.

It's not a babbler.

It has a song that's almost ventriloquial.

Like it's coming from somewhere else.

Maybe

it wasn't you.

Maybe... it was an order.

Maybe someone did call.

And maybe it wasn't you.

Maybe it was only someone pretending to be you.

Using your voice.

Disguising theirs. Hiding.

That's possible.

This...

is...

um...

tricky.

[suspenseful music playing]

[Lilly] It was me.

I did it.

I ordered the door sealed. I faked Elliott's voice.

I'm good at it. You know that.

Elliott is indecisive.

[as Elliott] "Uh... Well, uh, uh, that's... that's tricky."

I can do it. I did it.

- What? - Why?

[Lilly sighs]

Mr. Wynter and I had gotten in a fight earlier that night, about the night.

He had said some terrible things about me,

and in the heat of it, I grabbed his journal.

I tore a page out. I felt bad about it.

I went looking for him later,

and that's when I heard the fight between him and Elsyie in here.

I left, but I came back immediately because it was so violent.

And that's when I saw him.

Right there.

Dead.

They had killed him.

Who?

Them.

- No! - No!

[soft, tense music playing]

They were both here in the room.

And it was exactly like you said, Detective Cupp.

She and Wynter were fighting. She threw a vase at him.

It missed. It cut his face.

Bruce came in after that and hit him with the clock.

This is what they told me.

What about the poison?

That was for her husband. He was ruining her life.

He wanted me to lose my job, wanted to destroy my life.

And she did plan to kill him.

I did want to kill him!

[Lilly] That's what she said.

She had gone to the shed that night when she assumed no one would be around,

and she found the poison.

She called Mr. Wynter from the shed because she had to tell him

she was going to be late cleaning the Lincoln Bedroom.

And when she got up here a few minutes later,

and Mr. Wynter confronted her,

and she realized she was going to lose her job, she lost her shit.

That's when she threw the vase. The poison came after.

Because there wasn't much blood,

they decided that they could make it look like a suicide.

That was his idea.

They staged it. Again, exactly like you said.

Or close.

They got a glass from next door.

Poured some poison down his throat.

Then tossed the rest in the flowers.

That's fucked up.

But I saw two glasses.

The other one was mine. I needed a drink.

Because of the note.

Because of the note.

I didn't know what to do.

I felt terrible for them.

I know this sounds crazy, but she looked so

terrified.

She has a daughter.

He was just trying to protect her.

The page I accidentally ripped out of Mr. Wynter's journal?

It read like a suicide note.

I'm sure that's not what it was, but that's what it sounded like.

And I realized what it could do. For them. To sell the story.

[sniffles]

I gave them the note.

He... tucked it into Mr. Wynter's suit jacket

and carried Wynter away.

He came back down. Cleaned it all up. I helped him.

Picked up pieces of the vase, vacuumed.

He forgot the glasses.

- [Lilly] Mistakes were made. - And the clock?

He took it away. Said he knew how to get rid of it.

Then they came up with their stories. Perfectly inconsistent.

And the door?

Why did you seal the door?

Panic.

When you were on the third floor that night, investigating,

I wasn't concerned.

I thought this would all go away.

But when you came down here, before you left, I got worried.

Even after you left, I was scared you'd come back.

Or somebody would.

I just wanted the room to look different.

To feel different. Somehow.

I was trying to protect them.

I feel terrible for Mr. Wynter.

And I honestly feel terrible for them.

Still.

I'm sorry.

[cries softly]

- Blink. - Yes.

Watch for it. The blink.

What?

You were so close.

So close.

I am so unexpectedly impressed by you, Lilly.

So smart. So quick-thinking.

Such an incredible performer.

Today. On that night.

So much more diabolical than I even imagined.

What is going on?

You could've done it. I would've found you some way. I'm sure of it.

But you were close.

Undone by that single question the birder asks relentlessly.

Why? Why did you seal that passageway up, Lilly?

- Just to make it all feel better? No. - I...

[Cupp] You needed something better than that.

Because there was another reason. Because you were hiding something.

Something with your fingerprints all over it.

Something that proves you killed A.B. Wynter.

[shocked gasping]

[tense music playing]

- [screaming] - Oh!

- [gasping] - Detective Cupp!

I'm really sorry about this, Mr. President.

[gasping]

[music softens]

Fuck yeah!

[Tripp laughs]

[Cupp grunts]

[soft, tense music continues]

[string music playing]

[door clicks]

Oh.

I need to call my dad.

Why?

Because of the clock.

Why did you do this, Lilly?

Oh, I can take that, unless...?

Or why don't I start, and then you can jump in?

She did it because she hates you. And by you, I do mean you, Mr. President.

But I really mean all of you.

The house. Like, the actual house.

Like, the physical space. Have you seen what she's done to the Blue Room?

You don't do these things unless you really hate this place.

But also, like, the house as an idea.

As an institution. She hates it.

The history. The traditions. The staff.

What it represents--

America, I guess? She hates it. And she hated Mr. Wynter most of all.

Because he represented what it represents,

and he was in her way, and he had been for a long time.

He sabotaged Wellness Christmas.

She wanted to "reinvent the White House"

and to her that meant tear it down. Maybe literally.

And he loved the house and cared about the house,

about the people and the plumbing and the artwork and the budgets.

And he cared about you, Mr. President, and you, Mr. Morgan,

and the ordinary Americans

who came from all over the country to visit here,

and that was all just really stupid to her.

Am I doing okay?

She killed Mr. Wynter because she hated him,

but also because she feared him.

You want to know why? This is why.

Because she found out on the night of the State Dinner

he was going to expose her.

That was the fight that Mr. Gomez heard in Mr. Wynter's office.

It wasn't Harry Hollinger in that room. It was Lilly Schumacher.

And she just told you that it was. She admitted it.

That's the crazy genius of this wild attempt

to frame Bruce and Elsyie just now.

So much of what she said was true.

She and Wynter got in a fight,

he said some terrible things about her, she ripped a page from his journal.

That all happened.

What do you mean "expose her"?

I mean, tell you and Mr. Morgan every last selfish and absurd and abusive thing

she had done since she got here, none of which you probably knew about,

all of which he had meticulously documented in his journal.

All the lies and misrepresentations and indulgences

and general shitty behavior was all here.

And that scared her.

Excuse me.

I'm sorry. Really?

That's it? That's all you got?

Yes, we fought.

I admit it. We did fight.

Everybody fought with A.B.

And yes, he was worked up, and so was I.

You think I'm going to kill him

because he was going to expose my "shitty behavior"?

Seriously?

What do I care if he says crazy shit to Perry and Elliott?

They're never gonna believe him over me. That's not the way the world works.

And second, I don't care.

I'm rich.

Here's a secret, everybody: Rich people don't give a shit!

I'm not gonna miss my $114,000 "salary" or whatever the fuck it is,

which I give to charity by the way.

I'm doing this as a public service, okay?

Okay, guys?

So fire me.

Yes, Lilly, I think that's going to happen.

So. Thank you.

And you do make some excellent points, you really do.

The thing is, though, it wasn't just your shitty behavior.

Mr. Wynter was smart enough to know he needed more than that.

And it wasn't hard to find.

There are a couple of pages here in his journal

that I didn't know what to make of at first.

It's a blizzard of numbers and letters. Almost like a puzzle.

Probably deliberately so. To kind of hide his work.

But I figured out what it was

because I'm, like, really good at puzzles.

It was all the money you misappropriated.

Stole.

Where's the money gonna come from? You don't have the budget for this.

Where does the money ever come from, A.B.? It comes from another pile of money.

That's how money works.

You're rich, but here's another thing about the way the world works.

Rich people steal money. All the time.

In some cases it's even why they're rich.

My guess is your theft had more to do with

laziness, arrogance, and contempt for the system, but who knows?

And it wasn't just money.

These numbers?

It was all the various criminal statutes and ethical codes

Mr. Wynter knew you had violated. In the way you had secured contracts.

In the favors that you traded with different vendors.

In the people you had invited into the White House

and who advised you on moving American government officials

around at a State Dinner.

I think Mr. Wynter told you all this in his office.

[Wynter] I am going to tell them everything!

And I think you really, really, really, really, really gave a shit.

And I think that's why you tried to grab his journal.

And I think that's why when you walked out of his office that night,

and stood in the hallway,

and read that page that you accidentally ripped out,

you decided to kill him.

To stage his suicide.

Would you have killed him if you didn't rip that page out

and realize what you could do with it?

Maybe. It's impossible to say.

And irrelevant.

All criminal activity is motive plus opportunity.

And you saw an opportunity.

All of your problems would go away 'cause Mr. Wynter would go away,

and then you could redo all the rooms

and fire all the staff, and it would be great,

and you wouldn't have to sit in some shitty fluorescent-lit courtroom

for the next two years

while your really good lawyer made some of it go away a different way.

This was easier. And more fun.

And clever.

- [clicks fingers] - And that was it. The die was cast.

Everything else we know.

You were the one leading the non-toxic,

chemical-free, "Conscious Landscaping" initiative,

whatever the hell that is,

so you went to the shed with your glass that broke,

picked up Emily's sister's little tumbler, filled it with paraquat, fine choice,

and you called Mr. Wynter and said, let's meet in the Yellow Oval Room.

Let's see if we can talk. I apologize. Whatever you needed to say.

- And he agreed. - Give me five minutes.

Even though I have a strong sense he knew something bad might happen,

just like birds have this thing where they can sense

a change in barometric pressure when a storm is coming.

I am going to be dead by the end of the night.

- You called the Secret Service as Elliott. - He called at 9:22 p.m.

- Had them clear the 2nd floor. - We were told to stay off the floor.

Then you carried the poison into the Family Living Room,

waited for Elsyie to leave,

and then you came in here with your drinks.

Scotch for you.

Paraquat and scotch for A.B.

And then you gave him the page from his journal back--

the suicide note--

and watched him put it into his pocket.

And then you went to work.

Tried to charm him.

I doubt he was charmed.

But Mr. Wynter also wasn't a cynical person.

I don't think he believed someone could be so malevolent.

But he'd seen a lot. Knew a lot of pettiness, cruelty, arrogance.

Probably more than any of us could ever imagine.

But even after everything,

he was still willing to give you the benefit of the doubt.

It cost him his life.

Wynter drank the poison, realized immediately what it was,

and tossed the rest onto the roses.

But paraquat works fast and is devastatingly painful,

and he was rocked.

I'm sure you don't know that much about poison, Lilly,

but you probably knew enough to know that what he drank

wasn't going to kill him. So you threw the vase--

that missed, but startled him even further--

so you went for the clock. And that was it.

A.B. was dead. But now you had to move quickly.

So you grabbed the clock and escaped into the passageway.

But this damn clock, right? What to do?

It's huge and weird and bloody and cracked

and you couldn't walk around with it or put it down anywhere.

Now Elsyie and then Bruce were in this room finding the body,

and you had no reason to believe that they would so tragically

misinterpret the actions of the other.

For all you knew, Secret Service was gonna come in 30 seconds, and you'd be caught.

So you stuffed the clock in this storage drawer

in front of you in the passageway,

waited for them to clear the hall, and then sped out

through the Treaty Room and down the Grand Staircase.

And you were free.

You rejoined the party.

But that clock was eating away at you.

What if they're up there? What if they find it?

And then, as time went by,

and you realized nobody was saying anything about a dead body,

and trust me, there would be a big to-do about a dead body in the White House,

especially on the night of a State Dinner,

you decided to go back up and see what was going on.

Move the clock if you could.

But you get up here, and there's nothing.

No Wynter. No broken vase. Nothing.

Only engineer Bruce Geller,

looking for a leak from Tripp Morgan's room.

What the hell was going on?

Was Wynter alive? What happened?

You were genuinely confused. Worried.

And that's what everyone saw from that point forward.

I was looking for him everywhere, in every room.

- She seemed worried. - Concerned.

Not panicky, just genuinely worried.

[Cupp] What I saw.

I still haven't found A.B.

[Cupp] Yes, turns out you are a great actress,

but that's not what it was.

You were panicked.

When I arrived, and all of the details of what had happened to Mr. Wynter

started to come out,

that he apparently killed himself in the Game Room,

yes, it was absolutely staggering to you, mind-blowing, but it was great.

You were off the hook.

And then, when I started to bring the investigation

down to the second floor,

well, like you said, you started to get a little worried.

But I was gone soon enough,

and the minute I was, you took the final step to bury the evidence.

Seal it in. Hopefully forever.

It was a brilliant plan, and you deserve a lot of credit,

but you really only made it as long as you did

because of the bizarre miscommunications and regrettable behavior

from so many other people in the house.

So... team effort here.

You really owe them a lot.

Even though you hate them.

[poignant music playing]

This is the man who died.

Right here. In this room.

I heard a lot about him from you.

You can learn a lot about someone from what he writes and reads.

He was a complicated person:

flawed and difficult, fiercely loyal,

smart and thoughtful,

an enormous pain in the ass,

and endlessly generous in his thoughts.

He had suffered in his life, and he had persevered,

and I am sorry I never got the chance to meet him.

He loved this house.

I didn't know him, but I know that.

Loved the people who work here. Respected them. Understood them.

Appreciated them. Saw them. Saw who they were, where they came from,

what they had given up to be here, why they were here.

And there's that question again. Why?

Why are they here? Why was he here?

For you, Mr. President.

And for you, Mr. Morgan.

- [Morgan mouths silently] - For everyone here.

For all of us.

It wasn't "us versus them" for Wynter. It really wasn't. It was just us.

One house. One family.

One imperfect union. Trying to make it work. Enduring.

He believed in that, in this.

And look, I'm just the detective,

but I think this is really worth believing in.

And she does not believe in this,

and that is why she really, really sucks.

Also, she's a murderer.

I'm still a little unclear on who has jurisdiction here,

so whoever it is, take her away.

- That would be me. - Yeah. Relax, gentlemen.

- It's a Bureau thing. I got it. - No, no.

[indistinct chattering]

Lilly Schumacher.

She wasn't even in my top three.

I had the Swiss Guy, the Salt Guy, and the Water Guy.

And you?

Let me guess.

- Yep. - [Bix] Ride or die.

What about Harry?

What about him?

Did he play any role in this?

No. I mean, Tripp Morgan was right.

- He is an asshole. - Okay, so.

[Cupp] He was incredibly rude to Mr. Wynter,

he did try to kick me off the case,

he did inappropriately search Mr. Wynter's office.

I think that was more in the spirit of being an anxious political animal

as much as anything.

But the conspiracy stuff, that was all bullshit. Sorry, Senator.

Nah, don't worry. We're in a closed session.

To his credit, he did bring me back and let me solve this.

People are complicated.

Why did Lilly try to frame Bruce and Elsyie?

It was a Hail Mary.

She knew I was onto her in the end. She knew.

When did you know?

I knew when I knew. I don't mean that as a riddle.

At some point, you go from not knowing something to knowing it.

To seeing it.

When is that exactly? I don't know.

I had my suspicions about Lilly

when she first told me she saw Elsyie and Wynter fighting

in the Yellow Oval Room.

I was in the hall, and I saw him arguing with someone in the Yellow Oval Room.

Elsyie told me they fought behind closed doors.

He told me to close the door.

[Cupp] She had no reason to make that up

and it was consistent with what everyone had told me about Wynter.

That he always tried to have his disagreements behind closed doors.

[Rollie] He definitely didn't like to fight in public.

He'd always try to avoid that.

He'd bring you in, close the door.

How could Lilly see them from the hall if the door was closed?

It was suspicious.

She did see it, because she was watching from the Family Living Room

where she was mixing her poison.

And when Jasmine said the call to seal the door

came down from Elliott, I had a strong sense that it was Lilly.

I had heard her impersonation. And I never suspected Elliott.

And then she blinked.

Not because of the clock, though that was the clincher,

but when she said she saw Bruce put the note in Wynter's jacket.

Lilly wasn't in the Game Room when I removed the note that night.

She couldn't have known where it was

unless she saw Wynter put it there himself.

Which she did.

Well, time to departure?

Wheels up in... three hours.

Reagan or Dulles?

Dulles.

Well, you better get going, then.

Thank you, Detective Cupp. I've been doing this a very long time.

I've never seen anyone like you.

[intriguing music playing]

I got you something.

For the trip. Do not open in here.

I feel really bad for the person sitting next to you on that flight.

Thank you.

For everything.

I need to make a quick stop.

You sure? Do we have time?

We have time.

Five minutes.

I solved the murder.

- The one next door? - Yes.

Oh great. I thought you might have been coming about Clive.

No.

Does that mean my son's husband will be moving back in?

- The President of the United States? - Yes.

He is.

Oh, it was so nice around here.

I'm sorry.

Who did it?

Wait. Don't tell me.

That snotty girl with the attitude?

Yes.

You could've just asked me.

Detective Cupp?

I'll have them send up vodka, Ms. Cox.

You are good.

Yes. I am.

The best.

[intriguing music playing]

[falcon squawks]

[music intensifies]

[music ends]

[solemn instrumental music playing]