All language subtitles for S11E05 Dr. Osler Regrets

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

The pace of change is incredible.

The Temple Building
is twelve storeys high!

Progress in motion, I suppose.

When was the last time
you were in Toronto?

Well, nearly 10 years ago now.

Speaking of the pace of change.

How have the lectures been?

There is always some
resistance when it comes

to the discussion of aging, I find.

People are generally
uncomfortable discussing mortality.

And... experiencing it, I'd wager.

But your lectures are more about
the stigma of aging, are they not?

In part.

Far too many people
resent the simple truth:

as we grow old, we weaken
in both body and mind.

This recent outrage in the newspapers
is a perfect example of that.

I saw the headlines. There is
an air of frenzy about them.

Yes, well...

"In Dr. William Osler's lecture
at the University of Toronto,

he put forth an audacious theory

that men over 60 should be
euthanized with chloroform."

Well, it's a... bold assertion.

I was being facetious, of course.

Now every paper on the continent
is printing this falsehood as fact.

Perhaps you should write a
letter clarifying your position.

Oh, I can't imagine
that'll be necessary.

It's sensationalist
nonsense. Now, enough of that.

I'm so pleased to see how
far you've come, Julia.

Due in no small part to you.

For a time at McGill,

I considered leaving
medical school entirely.

Dr. Osler encouraged me to continue,

reinvigorated my interest in medicine.

Oh! I didn't know that.

You just needed a bit of
prodding, from what I remember.

A gifted student.

And I would be remiss if I didn't ask

such a handsome couple about children.

- Oh...
- Oh...

unfortunately, that hasn't
been in the cards for us.

- Do you have children, Doctor?
- A boy, Edward.

- And how is Mrs. Osler?
- Oh, fine form.

Dr. Osler's wife is the
great-granddaughter of Paul Revere.

- Is that right?
- Yes, yes,

quite an accomplishment, riding
a horse for an entire evening.

Osler!

Murderer! You killed
him! You killed my father!

- Calm yourself sir!
- He killed my father!

That bastard murdered my father!

_

Perhaps Dr. Osler didn't realize
the influence his words would have.

He's been here for some
time, by the looks of it.

For at least eight hours.

Norman.

Oh my poor, sweet Norman.

I'm terribly sorry for your loss.

My husband would never do this
to himself. Please, believe me.

We will investigate every
avenue, I assure you.

Detective, please. My son, Archie,

he wouldn't have hurt Dr.
Osler. He was just emotional.

He and Norman had been arguing.

I know that he blames
himself for this...

We'll be keeping him overnight.

I'll have a word with
him in the morning.

Excuse me.

What is it?

This window latch is broken.

The window appears to have
been jimmied from the outside.

Mrs. Doyle, do you know
anything about this?

I've never noticed it before.

William...

Perhaps this wasn't a suicide after all.

Put it in the jar behind you.

Heavier than I would have thought.

So what do you think?

Are you able to finish
here? Stitch him up?

Of course. I used to stitch
up my brothers all the time.

If I can stitch them up
while they're squirming,

- I'm sure I can do it while they're still.
- Good.

So Dr. Osler was your teacher.

This was some time ago, but yes.

I must confess, I'm not quite certain
what his contributions have been.

Oh, there are a great many,

chief among them is his belief
in not only treating the disease,

but also caring for the patient as well.

It's quite a departure from the
singular nature of traditional medicine.

So is counseling old people
to take their own lives.

That was twisted
completely out of context.

It was never meant
to be taken seriously.

Actually, I thought there
was some validity to it.

How so?

Well, people in their later days

can be a drain on a family's resources.

Perhaps allowing the aged to
choose their final day is a...

compassionate act.

There may be some truth in that,

but that is not the role of a doctor.

Our job is to do no harm.

This is madness.

That poor man.

I should never have made such
a callous remark, even in jest...

Actually, Doctor, we believe
it may have been murder.

So the killer staged the suicide?

- So it would seem.
- How depraved.

Not to worry, Doctor.

Even if the story had been the catalyst,

the man was getting quite old.

Probably didn't have far
to go till the end, anyway.

You and I are rapidly approaching

that final curtain ourselves, Inspector.

Is that so?

By the time a man hits
40, he's on the decline.

There is not a medicine in
the world that can cure that.

Mr. Doyle.

Ahem.

If you could please describe the events

leading up to the discovery
of your father's body.

I went over to the house last night

to discuss a business matter.

- You were in business together?
- Doyle's Footgear.

When I arrived, there was no answer.

I entered, I found him lying
dead. I saw the chloroform,

I saw the newspaper,
and I knew what happened.

I read the story myself.

Where was your mother?

With her church group, I believe.

She said my father didn't want
to get out of bed that day.

Was this a regular occurrence?

Yes.

His spirit had been dampened.

Tempered, after turning 60.

Often, he would slip
into these dark moods,

sometimes refusing to leave
the house for days at a time.

That must have been quite trying.

For my mother, especially.

He confided in me that...

he was afraid of becoming useless.

I think that article is what
pushed him over the edge.

Your mother mentioned an argument
you and your father had recently.

It was also a business matter.

She seemed to think it was part of
the reason why you were so upset.

I was upset because I'd
found my father dead,

and I knew that Osler was the cause.

Why are you asking me this?

Mr. Doyle, we have reason to believe

that your father's death
may not have been a suicide.

But... but I saw with my own eyes.

Do you know of anyone who
may have wished him harm?

His old partner,

Oliver Linehan.

They had a falling out a few years
ago, before my father brought me in.

He always threatened he'd ruin us.

He even threatened
violence, if I recall.

Hello, George Crabtree.

Miss Cherry.

This has gone long enough.

I harbour no animosity towards you,

and I hope you bear none towards me.

No, of course not.

I'd like to move on.

As professionals.

I heard Dr. Osler is here.

I'd very much like to speak with him.

I can't imagine he feels the same way,

not after what the newspapers have
been printing about him lately.

Is it true that a man committed suicide

- because of the doctor's comments?
- I can't say.

Just a quote.

Why don't you wait until
the investigation is finished

before continuing with this?

You always were a
stickler, George Crabtree.

Only when it comes to the truth.

The truth?

People infer the truth.

Please, if I could only
speak with him for a moment,

it's an international story. It
would mean a great deal to me.

Louise, I can't help you.

Mr. Linehan, you and Mr. Doyle

were business partners, is that right?

Yeah. We started our company
together nearly 20 years ago.

Made a good go at it.

Became quite successful.

What happened?

I wanted to change the
way we produced our shoes,

he wouldn't consider it.

Stubborn old buzzard!

- I see.
- We dissolved the partnership,

but the division of the assets
fell heavily in his favor.

That was no accident.

I was left with next to nothing.

Did you threaten him?

Oh, multiple times.

But I started my own company instead.

Linehan Soles. And I made it my mission

to destroy his company.

Our company.

Were you successful?

I surpassed him

very quickly in sales.

That was my revenge.

Doctor! Oh, won't you join us?

Just a drink; I've lost
my appetite. Look at this.

It proposes that I was the
impetus behind the man's suicide.

This journalist doesn't
realize he was murdered.

I know the woman who wrote this.

A ploy to sell more
papers, it would seem.

Well, clearly it's working.

Tonight I was booed at my lecture,

and the university has canceled
the remainder of the engagements.

Oh, I'm so sorry.

I know how horrible it is
to be attacked in the press.

This matter will be resolved quickly,

and the record will be set straight.

Don't misunderstand me;

I realize mine isn't the
tragic role in this story.

But what an odd thing,

to be completely powerless as
to the way the world views you.

So you think it's this
Linehan fellow, then?

Possibly. Their dispute
is years old, though.

What about the son, Archie?

He has shown a propensity for violence.

But you're not sure.

Well sir, he seemed genuinely
devastated at the loss.

- Many a killer is, Murdoch.
- Sirs,

I spoke to some of the
employees at the Doyle factory.

I think the argument
between Archie and Norman

was worse than Archie let on.

- Apparently threats were made.
- What sort?

Well, someone said
that they heard Archie

threaten to smother Norman in his sleep.

Right. George, bring Mr. Doyle back in.

- Sir.
- There you have it.

Right then.

I'm nipping out for a couple of hours.

Gotta go and see a man about a dog.

Are you all right, Inspector?

I'm fine.

Did a few sets of
press-ups this morning.

It gets the old blood flowing.

I set a new personal best.

Honestly Murdoch, I feel I'm
getting stronger with age.

- Well sir, biologically that is a...
- That'll do, Murdoch.

You threatened to kill
him. It was overheard.

You think I murdered my own father?

Is this what passes for police
work these days? This is outrageous!

- Sit down, Mr. Doyle.
- There is a killer out there!

Sit down, Mr. Doyle.

Please.

We argued about the company.

The future of the industry is in glue.

- Glue?
- As opposed to stitching.

Glue is less expensive
to produce, and faster.

But father wouldn't hear about it.

You insisted on making the change,

he refused, it got heated.

I went over to the house
that night to apologize.

That's when I found him.

At first I was afraid that he...

that he had done what he
did because of our argument.

And then I saw the newspaper there.

That's when you went after Dr. Osler.

I was blind with rage.

What is it?

Miles Borden, sir, age 65.

Everything seems to be quite the same.

The chloroform, the newspaper,

the victim's vintage. Roughly.

- He was a clock maker?
- No, a lawyer, in fact.

This seems to be something
of a hobby of his.

- Some impressive work though.
- Really?

Yes, well some of the
pieces on the mantel here

are particularly sophisticated.

Did you know, sir, that I'm a bit
of an amateur horologist myself?

I made this pocket watch I'm carrying.

- You made this, George?
- Yes sir.

- Does it work?
- Yes. Well...

at least twice a day.

Hm.

No evidence of forced entry.

No blood, no sign of a struggle.

Perhaps this really was a suicide.

Look at that.

Some sort of discolouration.

Bruising, George.

Chloroform was held
forcefully over his mouth.

This man was also murdered.

Bruising indicates the
cloth was held forcefully.

Two of his fingernails were broken,

suggesting he was fighting back.

So two murders made
to look like suicides.

Both made to appear inspired
by Dr. Osler's comments.

What's the connection?

Aside from their ages,
none that we know of yet.

- Could be a sequential killer.
- But what is the motive?

Both men in their 60s.
Both still working.

Perhaps the killer's sending a message.

Maybe that old people shouldn't work?

Miss Violet Hart,

allow me to introduce
Inspector Thomas Brackenreid

and Detective William Murdoch.

Miss Hart will be
assisting me in the morgue

for the foreseeable future.

Your theories on the elderly
are way off, young lady.

Detective Murdoch.

I've heard quite a bit
about you. It's an honour.

How do you do.

I'll ask George to
look into their records.

We can't discount the possibility
that there's some connection.

Ladies.

Inspector.

- I taught him everything he knows.
- I heard that, sir.

Hello, George.

Miss Cherry. I'm in a
bit of a rush, I'm afraid.

Is it true there's been
another Osler related suicide?

Miss Cherry,

sometimes the way that
you ask a question,

it's impossible to answer.

Well, is it true?

They were both murders.

The killer, or killers, masked
them up to look like suicides.

You would do well to be more
careful about what you write.

I didn't realize you were such
an authority on journalism.

Just a piece of advice.

I was quite disappointed things
didn't work out between us.

But then, as now,

I was simply doing my job.

Crabtree.

- Sir.
- What did Nosy Nelly want?

- Sir, just fishing.
- Hmm.

- Where are you off to now?
- Oh, joining these two on their beat.

Fresh air and a long walk.

Affirmation of life, eh lads?

Are you all right, sir?

Just a few too many curl-ups.

Right. Let's crack on, lads.

... Curl-ups.

Detective Murdoch?

Jack Borden.

Ah, Mr. Borden, thank you for coming in.

Please, have a seat.

My sympathies for the
loss of your uncle.

Are there any suspects?

We're investigating all possibilities.

What can you tell me about him?

Uncle Miles was a great man.

Caring, highly intelligent,

- generous to a fault.
- A fault?

Yes. He was always
taking on cases for free,

helping out those less
fortunate, however he could.

More so as time went on.

You worked together?

We were partners.

We run...

ran our own law firm.

I returned from a
business trip yesterday,

I assumed I'd see him in
his office this morning.

This is devastating.

Of course.

This may sound odd...

are you certain it wasn't suicide?

Quite certain. Why do you ask?

It's just Miles was always
so full of life. Verve.

But he changed when he turned 60.

It's as if a dark cloud
were following him.

That's when he started
with those damned clocks.

Ah. Yes, I noticed.

He joked it was the only
way he could control time.

He became obsessed.

I suppose some part of
me had been expecting him

to take his own life
these past few years.

I see.

Do you know of anyone who
may have wished him harm?

Strother Campbell.

He's a junior partner at our law firm.

Miles was the one to
recruit him, actually.

He rose very quickly, but
over the past couple of years,

- he became quite antagonistic.
- How so?

He thought Miles should step down.

Strother would be the one to
take over his cases, his standing.

Things got heated at a company
meeting a few weeks ago.

- Strother threatened him.
- What did he say, exactly?

He told Miles if he didn't step down,

Strother would remove
the element of choice.

"The Doctor has directly
inspired at least two murders,

which bear a striking similarity

to the macabre theory
put forth at his lecture."

It's all just so ridiculous.

There is an old
expression about doctors:

"The sun gives light to their successes,

and the earth hides their failures."

That's a lovely sentiment.

We are fortunate to do what we do.

This too shall pass.

You have made quite a life for
yourself here. The city suits you.

As you said, I've been very fortunate.

And your Detective Murdoch
seems like a fine fellow.

He is.

At dinner the other night,
you asked about children.

- I hope I wasn't untoward.
- Oh, not at all.

I just wasn't able to
elaborate at that moment.

We've been unable to
conceive up till now,

but I believe I have a solution.

Are you familiar with Ernest
Starling and his recent work

- on pancreatic secretion?
- Somewhat.

Hormones, I believe,

- was the word he proposed for the secretion.
- Yes.

Well, I believe the same principal

can be applied to the
reproductive sciences.

of the pancreas, If hormones
regulate the activity and the growth

it stands to reason
that the same principle

could be applied of the ovary.

Perhaps...

I've been researching a treatment
that would boost hormone efficacy.

If all goes well, I would
be the first test subject.

Has the treatment been scrutinized?

There are still more tests to be done,

which is why I haven't told
William. I want to be sure, first.

Julia.

I wish you nothing but the best.

But if I may provide a
slight guiding principal.

Of course.

Caution over exuberance.

Children are the greatest
gift anyone could receive,

and we should all know
the joys of parenthood.

But you mustn't allow
your scientific judgment

to be clouded by your desire.

The risks must be heeded.

This is the life, lads.

Wind at your back,
comrades at your side,

the authority to arrest who you please.

- Serve and protect, that's what I always say.
- Yes, sir.

These are the salad days, son.

- Enjoy them while you can.
- Sir.

You there, you there!

Oi, you there! Stop!

Get him!

Good work, son.

Thank you, sir.

These shoes are too bloody tight,

otherwise I would have
been right there beside you.

Sir. I've never seen such speed!

Where were you, Higgins?

I'm giving you 20 bloody years!

25, sir.

I have statements from a number
of witnesses, including his nephew,

that you threatened Mr.
Borden days before his murder.

In a fit of anger, my mind
may have trailed my mouth.

But I did not kill the man.

On the contrary, I
admired and respected him.

What was the argument about?

The old man took me under his wing,

and I will be forever grateful.

But his time had passed,
and the work was suffering.

It was merely hubris
that kept him going.

You seem quite certain of that.

I'm a pragmatist, Detective.

The law is about performance
and ability, not emotion.

I brought in more clients than
any other lawyer at that firm.

I should have been the senior partner.

Where were you this
morning, Mr. Campbell?

Meeting with a client.

I went directly from home to
his office, then to the firm.

I'll be needing his name and address.

Of course. But you should be
talking to Miles's nephew, Jack.

Why do you say that?

Jack was always complaining
about the pro bono work

his uncle was doing for the firm.

They were constantly arguing about it.

Miles had become somewhat of a...

philanthropist in his later years.

And you believe that gave Jack cause?

I believe Jack to be unstable,
vindictive and greedy.

Interesting.

He said much the same about you.

Sir.

Bloody epidemic, this.

So it would seem.

Why does he look like that?

And why would a man save his own waste?

He was a recluse of some sort.

Sir.

- Bloody hell.
- Mr. Paul Adelaide.

He was found by the
woman who cleans here,

an Eleanor Webster.
She's waiting for us.

A maid?

Had her work cut out
for her, didn't she?

I went through the usual ritual:

knock thrice before entering,

remove shoes on, not near the doormat,

hair in a net, pillowcases on my feet.

I stepped into the living
room, and there he was.

How long had you
worked for Mr. Adelaide?

Nearly 10 years.

And how would you
characterize your relationship?

He was my employer.

He paid well...

but the man should have been
put in a sanitarium years ago.

I did his cleaning, shopping,
took in his laundry... everything.

I was the wife he paid.

I see.

Did he have enemies?

I should think so; he
could be a right bastard.

But he was ill.

It's a wonder he didn't do it sooner.

Ms. Webster...

it wasn't suicide.

Mr. Adelaide was murdered.

The result is the same.

When did you last see him alive?

Yesterday.

He screamed at me for leaving

streaks on his dining room table...

a table he never used.

Threatened to withhold this week's
pay, and then paid me double.

Generous.

Demented.

What kind of person keeps
someone on edge that way?

10 years of that.

He was a sick man, Detective.

He refused help and pushed away

whatever friends and family he did have.

As much as I pitied him,
death should have come sooner.

Looks to me like a sequential killer

choosing victims in the
autumn of their years.

That is a distinct possibility.

A possibility?

You still think there's
more than one killer?

Sir, there are differences between
the first and the other two murders.

What, the bruising as
opposed to the head wound?

I find it difficult to
believe that someone would

kill three men solely based on something

Dr. Osler supposedly said.

Stranger things, Murdoch.

- Stranger things.
- Sirs,

the latest edition of Miss
Cherry's column has just come out.

What now?

She accuse Osler himself of the murders?

Well, not quite. She's
published a letter

from somebody calling
himself "The Mercy Killer."

He's taking responsibility
for all three murders.

I'm not one to say I
told you so, Murdoch.

So I won't.

Ah, Miss Cherry.

Come in.

Please, have a seat.

I imagine you'll be
wanting this, Detective.

Yes. Thank you.

Typewritten,

no return address or
signature, plain stationary.

I can see that.

It's quite nondescript.

How did you obtain this?

It came in the day's mail.

- Miss Cherry, if you know who...
- I have no reason to lie, Detective.

Well, that's not exactly true.

- How so?
- Reveal the killer,

lose your exclusive.

You must think me quite the monster,

to put my career above the
lives of innocent people.

You should have come to us first.

The public's right to know is
equally as important as yours.

Besides, I'm giving it to you now.

Yes, well,

- next time.
- I meant no harm, Detective.

I was simply doing what I thought

was in the best interest of the public.

As I will continue to do.

"The aged have been a blight
on our society for far too long.

Until they realize the burden
they place on the young,

the killings will continue."

He's baiting us.

The letter sheds no light on
how he's choosing his victims.

It's right here in black
and white: they're old.

Yes, but why these ones?

I don't believe a man who
goes through the trouble

of staging such elaborate murders
would choose his victims at random.

Not everything's a puzzle, Murdoch.

Sometimes people are just crackers.

He has to find them somewhere.

It may be as simple as
following old people home.

But how does he know their schedules?

Or the exact right time to strike?

We've found no familial,
social, or financial connections.

I have George retracing their
steps over the past few days.

You do that, then. And
while Crabtree pushes paper,

more geezers are at risk.

Hope you're all behaving
yourselves today, gentlemen.

You did well today, son.

- I'll get the drinks, sir.
- Good lad.

Sir?

- What?
- Would you like to sit?

- Are you speaking to me?
- Yeah, there's a seat right here.

Why would I need a seat?

- I don't know, I just thought...
- Do I look like an invalid to you?

- Uh, sir?
- Why you think I need to sit down?

I've been walking around all day
and I feel as fit as a fiddle.

Unlike you, who looks like a
stiff bloody wind'd blow you over.

- I just thought...
- Thought what?

- Well, speak up, you dopey-lookin' sod!
- Father,

we'd best be heading home.

Never get old, son.

Mr. Stanley Bingham.

His name's familiar.

He was Professor Emeritus
of Biology at the university.

Of course.

He was a colleague of Dr.
Osler's, if I'm not mistaken.

Bruising and chloroform is
consistent with the others.

If there's anything else...

We'll let you know.

Sir.

- Find anything?
- Not much I'm afraid,

the professor's wife died years
ago and he has no other family.

No one at the university had so
much as a bad word to say about him.

But there is something else, sir.

Afternoon edition.
There's another letter.

He claims responsibility, but
doesn't mention Bingham by name.

That doesn't mean he didn't do it.

He may not even know their names.

Sirs, this may be nothing,
but I found laundry receipts

belonging to our latest
victim, Stanley Bingham.

It appears he used the same
service as our last victim,

Paul Adelaide. They both went
to Churchill's Laundry Service.

So they'll both have clean
shirts for their burials.

Is this all we've got?

- Well, also...
- What is it, Crabtree?

There's something about this
letter, the way it's worded.

What about it?

Well, the killer uses the phrase,
"lays down the knife and fork."

It's an antiquated expression for dying.

"Until the last sexagenarian
lays down the knife and fork."

- Never heard it before.
- I have.

Well good for you, Crabtree.

Must be one of your Newfoundland
sayings that I'm unaware of.

Newfoundland, sir.

But no, I heard it from Miss Cherry.

"Lay down the knife and fork".

That's a fairly specific
expression, don't you think?

I suppose so.

Miss Cherry, is there anything
you would like to tell us?

I have no idea.

What are you insinuating?

Have you altered, or tampered
with this letter in any way?

Absolutely not.

Need I remind you
that four men are dead?

If you've had contact with
the killer, you must tell us.

Are you helping him to write these?

Louise, tell us the truth, please.

I've heard you use the phrase before.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Well, then. Perhaps a night in the cells

will help to refresh your memory.

Wait.

It's me.

I am the Mercy Killer.

Explain yourself, Miss Cherry.

Of course I didn't kill anyone,

but I did write those letters.

Why would you do that?

I was simply trying to
give a voice to the killer.

But you don't know anything about him!

Or if it's even one killer.

I know that whoever he or they are,

they were putting the aged in danger.

And using Dr. Osler's comments as fuel.

Comments that you took out of context.

You are dangerously close to seeing
the inside of a cell, Miss Cherry.

I've committed no crime, Detective.

Impersonating a killer, for a start.

- It was merely a performance.
- A performance?

I was attempting to fuse
a persona into the story,

as the journalistic essays of Mark
Twain or Daniel Defoe might have.

Giving the killer an
identity, as it were.

You have ruined the
reputation of a great man,

and possibly aided a murderer.

Louise, this goes beyond the pale.

I'm sorry you feel that way.

I'll be telephoning the
senior editor of the Gazette .

At least we'll have the
satisfaction of seeing you fired.

That is your right.

George, take Miss Cherry to the cells.

- On what charge?
- Obstruction of justice.

Don't touch me.

I still think it's a sequential killer.

Just because Louise Cherry
invented one out of thin air

doesn't mean a real one isn't out there.

But that still leaves
the question of motive.

And I've had a nagging thought, although

it might be somewhat unorthodox.

It's all fair game at this point.

Well, sir, what if
it is a single killer,

but the motive isn't madness?

What if there was only one true target?

And the others were distractions?

Killed to make it look like a pattern.

Misdirection... decoys, if you will.

Well, if that's true, which
one was the intended victim

and which were the decoys?

Henry, you and George gather the alibis

of everyone that may
have had motivation.

Times, dates, locations. As
quickly as possible, please.

Sir.

Right. Strother Campbell?

He was meeting with clients the
day of Paul Adelaide's murder.

Oliver Linehan?

I was able to confirm his meetings
the day of Norman Doyle's murder.

And he was out of town the
day Stanley Bingham was killed.

It's like tic tac bloody toe.

Eleanor Webster?

She was at the hospital with her son

the day Doyle was killed, and
attending Adelaide's funeral

the day of the Bingham murder, sir.

All right. That only leaves
one person without alibi

- for all of the murders.
- Well, that's it, then.

He's the one.

Ah. Have you found the killer?

Archie Doyle, you're under arrest

for the murders of Norman
Doyle, Miles Borden,

- Paul Adelaide and Stanley Bingham.
- What?! Are you're joking?

Come quietly and don't make a scene.

I didn't kill my father.
I didn't kill anyone!

- We'll talk about this down at the station.
- Stop!

Ma'am, you're welcome to come
down to the Station House, but...

My son didn't murder Norman.

No one did.

- Norman... killed himself.
- What?

I never thought he was capable.

- No...
- I left that morning to go and fetch eggs.

He didn't want to get out of bed.

I decided that I would
cook his favorite breakfast.

But when I returned, I found him

... dead.

By his own hand.

That doesn't explain
the blow to his head,

nor the window latch
that was tampered with.

This is a god-fearing home, Inspector.

If the church discovered the
truth about Norman's death,

they never would have allowed us
to be buried in the same cemetery.

I did what I had to so
that we could be together.

I wanted to be with him
in this life and the next.

- Oh, Mother.
- Oh, my boy.

Oh, my son.

I'm so sorry.

What now?

All of the other suspects have alibis.

Not quite.

- Mr. Borden.
- How did you get in here?

You're coming with us to the
station house. Suspicion of murder.

That's preposterous!

I told your constable
the same thing I told you.

I wasn't even in town
for the first murder!

That's what gave you away.

- I don't follow.
- Oh, you will.

You had an alibi for the first murder,

that of Norman Doyle,

but none for the others.

I see. And that isn't enough?

Norman Doyle's death wasn't
murder. It was suicide.

You didn't need to be in town.

And this is your proof? Scheduling?

Detective, please, I'm
embarrassed for you.

Save your energy, Mr.
Borden. You'll need it.

Why would I kill my own uncle?

Miles wanted to give back later in life.

He'd been emptying
the company's coffers.

You asked him to stop, and he refused.

- Ridiculous.
- Strother Campbell didn't think so.

Oh, you mean the man who
threatened to kill Uncle Miles?

He's lying, obviously.

Be that as it may,
you're coming with us.

Unbelievable.

Get your hat and coat, Mr. Borden.

The clocks are ticking.

Fine.

If only to put this silliness to rest.

Completely absurd!

When this is all over, you can expect

to have a costly lawsuit on your hands.

Fine, just fine.

This is how you conduct
an investigation?

Just waltz into a dead man's home

and accuse his grieving
relative of murder?

- Sir, where are we going?
- Not long now, Murdoch.

Why are we going in this direction?

Isn't the station the other way?

Do you recognize the area?

I... have a client who lives near here.

Oh, really? What's his name?

Jonathan Mac... Madder... horn.

That's a bit of a mouthful, isn't it?

Do you mind if we stop, Mr. Borden?

I could do with a minute's rest.
Not as young as I used to be.

Actually, do you mind if
I pop in to the laundry?

Need to pick some shirts up.

- The wife couldn't make it today.
- Sir?

Do you ever use them, Mr. Borden?

They do excellent work.

- Stop!
- I've got this one, Murdoch.

It's over, son.

Give it up.

Do you have any idea how expensive
it is to maintain a law firm?

We need to be billing all
the time just to stay alive.

Miles didn't care.

- He would have ruined us!
- That's why you murdered him.

I have good years left!

Just 'cause his clock was running out,

he needs to destroy
things for the rest of us?

So you killed him,

- and two other innocent men as decoys.
- They were useless.

Yes, I killed them. God
help me, I killed them all.

You'll hang for this, Borden.

- Come on, then.
- Fine.

What's one more dead old bastard?

Well done, sir.

But I'm curious,

how did you know about the launderers?

Intuition.

It was the only connection.

Stood to reason that's
how he found them.

I knew he'd give himself away.

The one thing you
learn with age, Borden,

is never wait for the
other fella to square off.

There's no such thing
in life as a fair fight.

I'm sorry all this has
happened, Miss Cherry.

I'm not sure you deserved it.

Even though,

what you did was rather dreadful.

In any case, you're free to go.

Thank you,

I suppose.

What will you do?

I suppose you could find
work as a typist. I have a...

- friend Sam who works in a bank...
- That won't be necessary.

I appreciate your
interest, but it is both

misplaced and ill-timed.

Excuse me?

I've been hired by another paper.

You're joking?

I received a visit from
the editor of The Telegraph,

less than an hour ago.

His offer was quite generous.

Title and wages significantly more
substantial than at The Gazette.

Congratulations.

What's more, your opportunity to
comment on my affairs has passed.

You made your choice, George Crabtree.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I need a quote from Detective Murdoch.

And you must come and
visit us in England.

- Oh!
- What's all this about England?

Dr. Osler has been offered the
Professorship of Medicine at Oxford,

by King Edward himself,
so he's moving there.

But not before I
finish my speaking tour.

That's quite the schedule
for a man of your years.

There's no fixed period
for usefulness, Inspector.

The trick is to accept the
cycles of age as they come

and to enjoy them. That's
all I've ever promoted.

- Sound advice.
- Inspector.

Julia, do take care.

And please, send word when you know.

Strength and faith.

It was so wonderful to see you again.

Thank you for your
diligent work, Detective.

As trying as these
past few days have been,

I was grateful to have you on my side.

The pleasure was all mine.

Oh, and I'll be happy to have
a rest from these for a while.

Well done, sir.

There's plenty of life
left in me yet, Murdoch,

so don't be getting any ideas.

Shall we?

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