All language subtitles for Murdoch.Mysteries.S11E05.1080p.BluRay.x264-YELLOWBiRD

The pace of change
is incredible.

The Temple Building
is 12 stories 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?

Oh, there's
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 will 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.

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.

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.

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.

Mm. 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 become 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?

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

There's not a medicine
in the world that can cure that.

Mr. Doyle.

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'd 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-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 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,
and...

...he always threatened
he'd ruin us.

He even threatened violence,
if I recall.

Hello, George Crabtree.

Miss Cherry.

This has gone on long enough.

I harbor 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 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.

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.

Father wouldn't hear about it.

You insisted
on making the change,

he refused, it got heated?

I went over to his house
that night to apologize.

That's when I found him.

At first, I was afraid that...

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.

No evidence of forced entry.

No blood, no sign of a struggle.

Perhaps this really was
a suicide.

Look at that.

Some sort of discoloration.

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 honor.

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.
- Oh.

Where are you off to?

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, uh...

...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 a 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.

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's 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've 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.

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
principle could be applied

to the reproductive sciences.

If hormones regulate
the activity and the growth

of the pancreas, it stands to
reason that the same principle

could be applied to 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 principle...

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 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.

Well, of course.

But you should be talking
to Miles' 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.

Miss 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?

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.

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.

- Uh, 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?

Sir?

Why do 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

- would blow you over.
- I just...

- Thought what?
- Ol...

Well, speak up,
you dopey-looking 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?

Something about this letter.
The way it's worded.

What about it?

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 New-found-land sayings

- that I'm unaware of.
- Newfoundland, sir.

But no.
I heard it from Miss Cherry.

"Lay down the knife and fork."

It'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.

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 is
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.

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 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.

But 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.

My son.

I'm so sorry.

What now?

All 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, um, 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 into 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.

Not if I can get through you.

- Come on, then.
- Fine.

What's one more dead old bas...

Well done, sir.

But I'm curious.

How did you know
about the launderer's?

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.

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.

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?