All language subtitles for Elementary - 4x04 - All My Exes Live in Essex.HDTV.LOL.en

♪ ♪

Here's a question
we should have asked

ten minutes ago.

What if these cuffs
really are un-pickable?

Claiming a new line of handcuffs
to be “un-pickable”

is the equivalent
of proclaiming

revamped laundry detergent

“new and improved”--
it's a marketing ploy,

and not a very original one
at that.

I'm just saying,
maybe we should have figured out

how to unlock them
before we put them on.

The purpose of this exercise
is to simulate field conditions.

If we were kidnapped,
do you think our captors

would allow us a dry run
with our restraints?

Oh.

Almost had it.

Unlike hand grenades, handcuffs
do not reward nearness.

♪ Hello, hello!
Bonjour, Bonjour! ♪

♪ Bonjour, Bonjour! ♪

♪ Hola, hola! Hola, hola! ♪

You're still using
that ringtone?

You still haven't cracked
my new passcode to change it?

♪ Hello, hello!
Bonjour, Bonjour! ♪

♪ Bonjour, Bonjour!
Hola, hola! ♪

It's Stuyvesant
Memorial Hospital,

your former place of employ.

If you'd like,
I could play you the voice mail.

I'll just put it on speaker
phone-- what's your passcode?

I got it. Thanks.

This is her.

Abby Campbell.

She's a lab tech
at our fertility clinic.

The night before last,
she told a colleague

she was planning
to work late.

Her husband--
he's a doctor here--

he says she never came home.

Her car's still
in the parking garage,

but no one's been able
to locate her.

You called the police?

They've already been here.
They're looking into it.

But then I thought of you,
and I figured

since we have a detective
in the family...

Is it possible she left
without telling anyone?

She has a two-year-old daughter.
I can't imagine her

leaving her behind.

She's a good person,
stable, respectable.

Respectable people have been
known to uproot themselves

- without any warning.
- All I can tell you is

it would be out of character,

and that a lot of people
care about her.

So what do you think?

Can you help?

This is her workstation.

Where she spent her days looking
at life through a microscope.

And nights.

No one seems surprised

that Abby was planning
to work late.

The rise

in the breeding age
of the average American female

has led to a great increase

in the demand
for fertility specialists.

You'd think given the sensitive
nature of this facility,

there would be security cameras,
wouldn't you?

Surveillance

in the hospital's lab wing
has always been pretty light.

She could have
slipped out unnoticed.

Or someone else could have slipped in.

What is it?

It's Emily--

she says she needs
to talk, it's urgent.

Did your entire social network
choose today

to have some sort of crisis,
or is this somehow related

to your former administrator's
request for help.

No, Emily and Tamara
didn't know each other.

Emily wants
to meet up.

She says she needs
to talk in person.

Did you find something?

Abby's workstation,
and only Abby's,

has been very recently
and very thoroughly cleaned.

Maybe she tidied up
before she left.

Maybe there was
a violent struggle here...

followed
by a thorough scrubbing.

Do you think Abby Campbell
and her fellow techs

would be in the habit
of wheeling samples

to and from this area
on gurneys?

You almost never
see gurneys

in this part of the hospital--

it's all labs
and support facilities.

Yet there's evidence that one
was used here quite recently.

Had a sticky wheel,
left scuff marks every few feet.

That's one way someone could
have gotten Abby out of here.

They continue into the corridor.
Let's track them.

Trail ends here.

You familiar
with this room?

No, I've never been
down here before.

Not exactly a surgical
suite, is it?

Actually, I think it is.

Sort of.

This is
an ultrasonic aspirator.

These are human organs.

More human organs.

This is a prep lab
for medical specimens.

They take donor corpses

and turn them
into teaching materials

for med schools.
This would have been

a great place
to dispose of a body.

Abby Campbell's dead.

I'm just saying
it's a possibility.

No. It is a certainty.

Note the chip in
her left maxillary

central incisor.

Note the chip in her
left maxillary central incisor.

Hello, Abby Campbell.

♪ Elementary 4x04 ♪
All My Exes Live in Essex
Original Air Date on November 26, 20

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man

Dental records confirm it--
this is Abby Campbell.

Or at least what's left of her.

Doubt we'll find
much more.

The culprit likely used
the pressure oven

Watson identified at the scene
to burn away the other remains.

Why leave

the skeleton?

I'll wager...

from its careful
reconstruction,

they wanted it to end up
in a lab somewhere.

Well, any way you slice it--

pun definitely not intended--
whoever did this

is a nasty
piece of work.

He didn't just kill her,
he took her apart.

Nasty and skilled.

Stripping and then reassembling
Mrs. Campbell overnight

would have taken
a certain amount of expertise.

We're looking at a doctor
or a nurse or...

pretty much any one of a thousand
other medical professionals

- who work at that hospital.
- Or someone who works

for one of its
many associated laboratories,

private practices
and specialty clinics.

You said on the phone

you thought she was
choked to death?

There is
exactly one bone missing

from this macabre display--
the hyoid.

Should sit right here.
Now, since the hyoid

is known to break

in one-third of all
homicides by strangulation...

You think the killer got rid
of it to cover his tracks.

Perhaps he thought
a broken hyoid

was more suspicious
than an absent one.

Now, assuming
Abby Campbell was strangled

at her workstation--
and since that workstation faced

the only entrance
to the laboratory...

Stands to reason he
didn't sneak up on her.

She knew him.

Did I mention
her husband is a doctor?

... cranberry muffin
for Terry!

Hey!

Hi.

- Hi.
- Thanks for coming.

You said it was urgent.

It is. Or at least
I think it is.

What, you don't know
if it's urgent or not?

Honestly, I'm
not even sure

if I'm supposed to be
talking about this.

About what?

A police detective

came to my house
this morning.

She said she had some
questions for me,

so I figured, okay.

Then I let her in, and all
her questions were about you.

Did she tell you her name?

Yeah, she left
her card.

Gina Cortes.

Here.

Burglary Division,

- Coney Island.
- Do you know her?

- No. What did she want to know?
- It was weird.

It was personal stuff,
like how we met,

how often we get together.
She asked if I thought

you were the kind of person
who would break the law.

- What?
- I know.

Well, did she say
she was working a case?

No. When I asked why she
was asking about you,

she said she wasn't at
liberty to discuss it.

Joanie...

are you in some
sort of trouble?

- No, of course not.
- 'Cause if you are,

- you know you can tell me, right?
- Emily,

obviously there's been
some sort of misunderstanding.

I'll look into it.

Dr. Campbell,
just for the record,

you are an oncologist
at Stuyvesant Memorial?

- Yeah.
- That where

you and Abby met?

We didn't
work together.

Uh, not directly.

My clinic is technically
a private practice.

We met at a party.
Mutual friends.

How long have you
been together?

Five years.

Uh... married for three.

Your calluses are...
quite distinctive.

You a rock climber?

Uh... Abby got me into it.

I mostly climb at the gym.

I imagine you've got
formidable grip strength.

You're strong enough
to have overpowered Abby,

you've got
the medical knowledge to...

reduce her to a skeleton--
we have to ask.

Did I kill my wife?

No.

I understand
you guys have to ask...

but...

The night that
Abby disappeared,

I was going over the books
with my clinic manager.

Now, she can tell you
when I left,

but I remember
it was late.

And why didn't you
report Abby missing

when you came home,
realized she wasn't there?

Abby's clinic is understaffed;
she works long hours.

She told the nanny
to look after her daughter

until I got home.

I got home.

I just...
I went to bed.

Would you describe your marriage
as a happy one?

Lately?

No.

Quite the contrary.

You two weren't
getting along?

Abby and I were more in love
than we ever were.

Our marriage wasn't happy
because she was dying.

She had
pancreatic cancer,

stage IV.

She didn't want anyone to know.

I was giving her chemo,
but the truth is...

there was no hope.

She probably only had
a year to live.

You can ask
my nursing staff.

The people at my clinic,
they'll tell you.

I was doing everything I could
to save Abby's life.

I wouldn't
have killed her.

The cancer was doing that
all by itself.

♪ So fast, I want time to fly,
fun, fun ♪

♪ Think about fun,
you know what it is ♪

♪ I got this, you got this,
my friend is by my right, hey ♪

Sherlock?!
♪ I got this, you got this ♪

♪ Now you know it ♪

♪ Kickin' in the front seat,
sittin' in the backseat ♪

What are you doing?

Hospital's security cameras
had no sound.

So I was providing
a musical score in order

to make the tedious comings
and goings of the employees

more engaging.

You chose a ringtone
you knew I would dislike.

So I thought
I would fight fire with fire.

“Friday”? Seriously?

There's also a song that appeals
to me as a detective.

It's a mystery about dogs
and who may have let them out.

So did you find anything?

There's
precious little

on Abby Campbell the night
of her disappearance.

A trip to the cafeteria.
A return

in the general direction
of her workplace.

And then nothing.

These are all
from different days?

I tracked down
all available video of her

in the weeks leading up
to her murder.

I was hoping to isolate
any contentious encounters

she may have had
with her coworkers.

And?

It appears
she was very, very well-liked.

No unpleasantness whatsoever.

There was, however,
some suspicious pleasantness.

They look intimate.

Using hospital employee records,
I was able to identify that man

as Dr. Branford Fisher,
a surgical resident.

Dr. Fisher and Abby have no
professional reason to interact.

Their areas of expertise
have no overlap. I have,

however, observed no less
than 12 meetings between them.

And all in out-of-the-way
corners of the hospital.

That is a disused patient room.

They spend approximately
15 minutes in there together,

and then they emerged
looking rumpled and happy.

Abby was having an affair.

Dr. Fisher
called in sick

the morning
she was reported missing.

I've attempted to contact him,

but he's not answering
his phone.

And the only listed address
for him

is a P.O. box.

All rather suspicious.

How went your
meeting with Emily?

Not great, actually.

Can you think of any reason
why the police

would be investigating me?

You said Emily was not
your only friend contacted

by Detective Cortes.

Yeah, I got calls
from two other people today.

The detective
asked them

the same kinds of questions.

What kind of person am I,

would I ever break the law.

But she never outright accused
you of anything.

- No.
- Have you, Watson,

ever committed any burglaries
in Coney Island?

Have to ask.

No, I have not committed

any burglaries in Coney Island.

I can't even remember
the last time

I was in that part of the city.

- You have to talk to this woman.
- You think?

The timing of her investigation
is unfortunate,

to say the least. We've
only just returned to the NYPD,

so the last thing we need
are rumors

that we've engaged
in some kind of thievery.

I will handle it. Okay?

Hello?

Mr. Holmes?
This is Nate Campbell.

How'd you get this number,
Dr. Campbell?

I understand
you're looking for a doctor

from Stuyvesant Memorial.

Branford Fisher.

I am.

I can tell you where he is.

But only in person.

And you can't bring the police.

We came alone,
as per your request.

But the police are aware
we're here,

on the off chance
you intend to do us harm.

No. Nothing like that.
Please, come in.

So, you told us
you could help us find...

Dr. Fisher.

Someone needs
to tell us

what's going on
right now.

When you left your message,
I got nervous.

I called Nate.

Because...

It's complicated.

Branford never
would have hurt Abby.

Did you know
they were having an affair?

No, it wasn't
an affair, was it?

Dr. Fisher's a size 12.

Dr. Campbell's a size nine.
There's a pair of size 12

running shoes here by the door.

There's also a photograph
of Dr. Fisher receiving

a commendation on the wall.

He lives here.

On the phone,
you said this was your house.

It's their house.

They were both married to Abby.

Or is there another explanation
for your matching

wedding bands?

I think the current slang
for such an arrangement

is a “thruple.”

Three people, one marriage.

You were both married
to Abby at the same time.

We were. But I swear to you,

neither of us killed
our wife.

We had to keep our
marriage secret.

We have a two-year-old
daughter, Chloe.

If we got reported to Family
Services, we could lose her.

Not to mention our careers.
Hospitals don't like scandals.

You all look
very happy together.

We are.

We were.

We're just... a family.

We're no different
than anyone else.

Can you account
for your whereabouts

the night Abby disappeared?

I was in Boston.

My dad's been sick.
I went up to see him.

But I also caught up
with some friends.

They'll all tell
you I was there.

If you don't mind me asking,
how did this...

arrangement come about?

Branford and
I were, uh,

together first.
But we had an understanding.

Uh, and as I said,
I met Abby at a party.

It grew
from there.

She was okay joining you?

It was her idea, actually.
She'd done it before.

She was in
another group marriage?

Arrangements like ours happen
more often than people think.

For some people,
it just works.

It worked for Abby.

Mostly.

Her last marriage was a bad one?

It ended badly.

She had a falling-out with
one of her fellow wives.

She hinted it
got violent once.

There was
a dispute.

Over money, community assets.

And she was still fighting it,

- years after.
- You said

“one of her fellow wives.”
How many people were involved

in her previous marriage?

Not counting Abby? Five.

Abby Campbell's exes.
All five of them.

They're still married.

They live in some big house
out in West Essex County.

I had to send five
different cars to get them.

All the suspects
we could hope for.

I don't know how they do it.

I couldn't make a marriage
to one person work.

But Americans
have experimented

with every possible variation
of matrimony.

From the adelphic polygyny
of the Omaha tribe

to the patriarchal polygamy
of the early Mormons

to the free love hippy communes
of the 1970s.

And while some
of those experiments

were abject failures,
many were remarkably long-lived.

Yeah, well, this
experiment ended badly,

at least for
Abby Campbell.

Maybe bad enough
to get her killed.

They're here,
but they're not happy.

I assume
you've kept them separate

so they can't coordinate
their stories?

Yeah. Like five married people
could ever agree on anything.

Abby was special.
We all loved her.

Everything was great.
The first year or two.

I got nothing to say to you.

But you have to understand,
Abby was...

stubborn.

I'm supposed to be coaching
my daughter's

soccer team this afternoon.

Do I really need
to be here?

It was really all about money.
Abby worked hard.

She wanted to keep
what she earned.

But Denise insisted
we all pool our money.

We're registered
as two married couples.

We share a house to save money.

Trish is our nanny.

The nanny?

Yeah. Sure.

I'm the nanny.

It got a little ugly.

Especially when it came time
to buy the house.

The house thing.
That was when it all went bad.

Abby had this inheritance, and
Denise pressured her to use it

as a down payment. Abby agreed,

but she was never really happy
about it.

We have six kids.
Everybody's got to pitch in.

It doesn't matter

if they have
a job or not.

I don't got to talk to you
about any of this.

Unless you're charging me
with something.

The arguments

just got worse and worse.

And it didn't help that Abby
was so much younger than Denise

and maybe... got a little more

attention
when it came to, you know,

- sleeping arrangements.
- There was

a little pushing and shoving
between her

and Denise toward the end.

I think that was
the last straw.

The next day,
she just... left.

She'd been trying to get that
down payment back ever since.

But giving it to her would've
meant selling the house.

Denise said that was out
of the question.

You want to know what happened,
talk to Denise.

I don't know.

That was between her and Denise.

This is harassment,
plain and simple.

And if the NYPD
causes me

or my family any embarrassment,

I will sue this department
in general

and you three in particular.

It says here your specialty
is contract law.

Didn't know
you were also a litigator.

A lawyer is a lawyer.

You want to test me,
I'll see you in court.

Look, no one's going to court,
Denise. Not if you want

your private life
to stay private.

Now, if you cooperate, you

and your family can go back
home to Essex, no problem.

You make a stink, you're
gonna end up in the press.

Seven years after Abby
left the marriage,

you and her were still fighting
over her share of the house.

She fronted $100,000
for your down.

You never paid her back.

Like she needed the money.

She married an oncologist.
He's rolling in it.

Okay, things were bad

between Abby and me, but then...

we had lunch a few weeks ago.

We buried the hatchet.
It was her idea.

She was diagnosed with cancer
and wanted closure.

No loose ends.

Here.

She e-mailed me this

after she signed it.

I have
the original at home.

It's a quitclaim giving up
her interest in the house.

So you see,
I had no reason to hurt Abby.

Not that I ever would have.
I loved her.

Once.

Now, are we done?

Uh, I'm sorry.

Did-did she want anything in
return for this peace offering?

Denise?

Yes, she asked for something,
but I couldn't give it to her.

She wanted me
to draw up

a confidentiality
agreement.

She was trying to sell something
and she wanted a guarantee

that the buyer wouldn't reveal
the nature of the transaction.

What was she selling?

I don't know.

But I got the sense it was
something that she'd stolen.

When I explained to her
that any contract that pertains

to illegal activity
is null and void...

she dropped it.

But I don't know.

Whatever she took,

maybe it was worth killing over.

Detective Cortes.
Joan Watson.

But I'm guessing you
knew that already.

How can I help you, Ms. Watson?

Actually, I was wondering
if I could help you.

You've been asking
questions about me.

I thought we could sit
down, talk face-to-face,

clear up any
misunderstanding.

That's very thoughtful of you,
but now's not a good time.

When would be
a good time?

I don't know.

But when I'm ready to talk
to you, I'll find you. Trust me.

Can you at least tell me
what you think I did?

I never said
you did anything.

Are you planning to talk
to more people I know?

Does that make you
uncomfortable?

Having someone poke around
in your life, ask questions?

It's not like you have
anything to hide, right?

Just gonna
text you.

Still a free woman,
I see.

May I assume you've
cleared up any confusion

with Detective Cortes?

No, you may not.

I caught her as she was leaving
her precinct. I told her

I would be happy to answer
any questions she might have.

She said she didn't have any.

So I asked her, “Can
you at least tell me

what crime I'm supposed to have
committed?” She said no.

Well, it's not unusual
for a police detective

to be cagey with a suspect.

Well that's the thing--
I don't think I'm a suspect.

I think it's personal.
She's messing with me.

You said before yesterday
you'd never even

heard of Detective Cortes.

Mm, I hadn't.

Perhaps at some point you slept
with one of her lovers.

Well, considering
she's gay and I'm not,

I think that's highly unlikely.

Ah, so you've been
looking into her.

What choice do I have? She won't
tell me what her problem is,

so I have to find out myself.

What is all this?

Inventory forms,
personnel records

and security reports
from Stuyvesant Memorial.

One of Abby Campbell's
ex-spouses

seems to think she was trying

to sell something
that she had stolen.

Whatever it was, you're thinking
it came from the hospital.

She would have had access
to any number of valuable items.

Drugs. They are, of course,
the most common target

for medical larceny.

But all of the hospital's
inventories add up.

Nothing is missing
from any of the pharmacies.

All of the equipment in Abby's
lab is also accounted for,

except for some
inexpensive items

like test tubes and beakers.

Glassware goes missing
all the time.

Interns and nurses use them
as tumblers and shot glasses.

I noticed the suture scissors
in your sewing kit.

Anyway,
it occurred to me

there was something else
she could have taken.

Something she would have
had ready access to

as an employee
of the fertility clinic.

Something that is in
extremely high demand.

Viable human embryos.

Would've been
a simple matter to pilfer

excess blastocysts
intended for disposal.

A single fertilized egg
can go for

up to $10,000
on the open market.

I don't think Abby's eggs would
have made it to the open market.

If she was looking
for a motivated buyer,

she needn't
have looked any further

than her own social circle.

Dr. Amrit.

Sherlock Holmes.
This is Joan Watson.

We work with
the New York police department.

You went to college
with Abby Campbell,

- did you not?
- Uh, excuse me?

The two of you remained friends
until her...

her recent demise.
Posted your condolences

just this morning
on social media.

So?

You use embryonic stem cells
in your research, right?

Abby reposted an article
you wrote a few months ago.

In it, you argue that
researchers should have

unfettered access
to embryos that are destroyed

by IVF clinics in the course
of their work.

Embryonic stem cell research
is the most promising path

to finding a cure for diabetes
and other metabolic diseases.

But why that would be
of interest to the police, uh...

Must be frustrating when
politicians pander to their base

by making it difficult
to obtain suitable cells.

Enough to purchase

excess embryos from Abby.

I have papers
to grade.

It is, of course,
illegal to obtain embryos

without the consent
of the potential parent

that provided
that genetic material.

We can get a warrant.
If the DNA of the cells

from your lab match the patients
from Abby's clinic,

then that's a federal crime.

I'm trying to save lives.

Diabetes is a plague. It kills
over four million people a year.

How many embryos did you agree
to buy from Abby? A few dozen?

That would have cost hundreds
of thousands of dollars.

As far as we know,
you never paid her a dime.

Did you kill your old friend

so that you wouldn't
have to compensate her?

I didn't hurt Abby.

And she didn't want money.

It was a trade.

A trade for what?

She came to me asking
for access to my lab.

She wanted to run
some blood tests

after hours and
off the record.

I asked for the embryos
in return.

They would have just
been thrown away.

Wasted.

What was she
testing the blood for?

She wouldn't tell me.

She would have used
computerized equipment.

There might be records of her
tests on their hard drives.

- Do you mind if we have a look?
- No.

I do not.
I just don't

think you're going to find much.

I thought it was some religious
fanatic opposed to my research.

I get threatening letters
and e-mails-- very nasty.

But then I heard
about Abby, and...

now I'm not so sure.

A blood chemistry analyzer.

The flow cytometer.

Everything she might have
used to test blood.

Whatever she was
doing here,

someone wanted to
keep it a secret.

So Abby Campbell runs
some hush-hush blood tests.

Someone isn't happy
about that.

He or she kills her,

takes her apart,
and then the next night

goes to the lab she used
and destroys all of her data.

Whoever set the fires
didn't just burn those machines.

The hard drives were
pulled out and destroyed.

Any idea what
the blood tests were for?

One theory is that Abby
suspected a colleague

of shenanigans and was
seeking confirmation.

Shenanigans?

You remember the
fertility doctor

in California who used
his own sperm to fertilize

hundreds of eggs
without informing the mothers?

It's possible
someone

in Abby's lab
was doing the same.

It would explain why she wanted
access to Dr. Amrit's lab.

She may have been running
paternity tests.

So that's one theory.
There any more?

Not at present.

But another may be
just a warrant away.

It's possible that there's
a trace of Abby's research

that her killer missed.

The biological waste produced
by university labs is set aside

in locked bins
for special processing.

The waste is collected
three times a week.

There was a pickup the night
before the lab was destroyed.

So if Abby dumped
her test materials

in one of those locked bins...

The disposal company
might still have some.

I'll get an ADA

to get you a warrant.

Sort of a cliché, huh?

Cop who actually hangs
out in a doughnut shop?

Who told you I was here?

I am not at liberty to say,
but I know why you've been

harassing me. Before you
moved to Burglary, you were

in the Bronx under Ann Vescey.

Rumor has it she promised to
transfer you to Major Crimes

when she was tapped to take
over for Captain Gregson.

That would have been
a big step up for you.

Only she didn't
take over for Gregson,

because he didn't leave.

You blame me for that.

Obviously, you found out that
I was looking into Vescey.

You think I torpedoed her.

What is that?

Everything I gave
Captain Gregson. Read it.

You'll see that I found
Vescey was clean.

The captain decided not to step
aside because he was not ready.

Not because of
anything I said.

It's heavy.

You put a lot of work into this.

I don't care

what you did or didn't
find out about Ann.

What I care about
is that you looked at all.

You're not a cop.

You're a citizen
with delusions of grandeur.

Cops-- real cops--
we have enough people

looking over our shoulders.

Politicians,
the press, the brass,

IAB. They second-guess us
all day long.

But, hey, that's
what they're there for.

Who are you
to look into us?

I take it you've never
used a consultant before?

No,

I've never used a consultant.

Real cops do the job themselves.

That's how it works.

You don't belong.

I don't know
what to tell you, Detective.

I'm not going anywhere.

But you were.

You and your partner.

And now
you're both back.

That's weird, right?

I just caught
a new case last night.

It's gonna keep me busy
for a while, but after that,

I don't know.
Maybe I'll circle back around.

See what else I can find.

All that came from
Dr. Amrit's lab?

It seems the medical waste
for the entire university

was labeled identically.

A team is being assembled
to sort through it,

but I thought you and I could
get the ball rolling.

Okay, but...

Gloves, goggles, mask,
right behind you there.

You can apprise me
of your meeting

with your stalker
as we sort.

Mm.

I think she may be insane.

Because she doesn't like you?

Because she's fixating on me.

In her defense, you were
investigating her friend

and you are a mere citizen.

So are you.

But I'm quite accustomed
to people not liking me.

Okay, so what if she continues
to look into me, into us,

and figures out that your father
pulled some strings

to get us back into the 11th?

As I see it,

the crux of the matter
is that Detective Cortes

sees you as an outsider
and not a peer.

If you were a cop, you would
have what is called a “beef”.

And a beef can be settled
and what you have cannot be.

- Because I'm a consultant.
- Precisely.

So I-I just take it, I just
let her keep bullying me?

As I said before,
she does not see you as a peer,

so force her to.

You remember the disagreement
that Detectives Grell and Luntz

- had last year?
- Yeah.

It festered for months,
then it was resolved.

Do you recall
how it was resolved?

You're not serious.

I have reason to believe
Detective Cortes

would be amenable to the idea.

Six plastic vials,
each containing

blood residue, and each one...

with Abby Campbell's handwriting
on the labels.

Looks like she was thorough.

Test subjects are identified

by initials, plus dates
and times of collection.

These samples were gathered
on three consecutive Thursdays

between the hours
of 9:00 and 10:00 p.m.

Does that mean something to you?

Memorizing a murder victim's
calendar

is a matter of course.

I know where she was
at these times,

so I know who to talk to
about the work she was doing.

Support groups

can be very helpful
for cancer patients.

They're going through
so many things

that only their
peers can understand.

And Abby Campbell had been
attending your group

for three months?

Ever since her diagnosis.

We have reason to believe

that she was collecting blood
during these meetings.

May we assume it was
from her fellow group members?

Ms. Russof, this is a
murder investigation.

A few weeks ago,
Abby made a pitch to the group.

She said she had a friend

who was doing
advanced cancer research.

It was supposed
to be promising.

Maybe even a cure.

She said she could get people
into the study.

She just needed blood samples

to test for
suitability.

Sounds like
you had your doubts.

People are always touting
miracle cures for cancer.

You can probably guess
how many pan out.

I wasn't the only one
who was skeptical.

The husband of one of the group
members came to a meeting,

and he accused Abby

of being a con
artist. He said

that if she didn't
leave his wife alone,

she would be sorry.

Can you give us
this person's name?

Kirk.

Kirk Abramovitch.

Yeah, I threatened
Abby Campbell.

No, I didn't turn her
into a skeleton.

You make it sound absurd,
Mr. Abramovitch.

But on your social
media page,

I've seen pictures
of you pitching in

at your father's
butcher shop.

I got to think knowing
how to work a deli slicer

and deboning a person
are two very different things.

That night at therapy,

Kirk only yelled
at Abby because

he thought she was
trying to scam me.

He just wanted
her to back off.

I've seen
her type before.

Kirk's mother died of colon
cancer in the late '90s.

She got suckered
by every snake oil salesman

that crossed her path.

She tried light therapy,
magnets, special diets,

shark cartilage.

She ended up taking out
a second mortgage on her house

to pay for some fancy clinic
down in Mexico.

All for nothing.

I didn't think
there was any harm

in looking into the
study Abby told us about,

but, the truth is,
I didn't need it.

My chemo's working.

Dr. Campbell says

I'm doing really well.

Dr. Campbell,
as in Nate Campbell?

So,

Abby's husband is
your oncologist?

That's why I agreed
to give Abby my blood--

because she was his wife.

I thought she must know
what she's talking about.

Oh, that's our
son. Can I

go get him?

Oh, hey.

Hi. Oh, he's beautiful.

A hundred percentile
in height and weight.

Ah.

He's gonna be
a big guy.

- Oh, just like his daddy.
- Yeah, right?

Hmm.

Do you mind me asking what kind
of cancer you have?

Spinal plasmacytoma.

I had some back pain,
there was a lump.

Dr. Campbell prescribed chemo.

And where is the tumor located?

On my L4.

I used to be a surgeon.
Do you mind if a take a look?

Okay. Okay.

I'm gonna put you down
for a second, sweetie.

Right here.

Right here.

Okay, if you could just
stand straight for me.

Okay, so, on a scale
of one to ten--

ten being the worst--
um, how does this feel?

A little uncomfortable.
Maybe a two.

Mm.

And are you taking
anything for the pain?

Uh, just naproxen.

Yeah.

Is the discomfort worse
at night?

A little bit,
but the medicine helps.

Well, for what it's worth,
I think Dr. Campbell's right.

You should make
a full recovery.

In case you were
wondering, Watson,

Mr. Abramovitch does
not have an alibi

for the night of
Abby Campbell's murder.

- I don't think he did it.
- Neither do I.

But that's because I stayed for
the duration of his interview,

and I saw no indication
that he was lying.

Why do you think
he's innocent?

Because I'm pretty sure
I know who did kill Abby.

You do?

It all made sense
once I realized

Sadie Abramovitch
doesn't have cancer.

This is Sadie
Abramovitch before chemo.

- Do you recognize her?
- Of course.

It says here
that you're treating her

for spinal plasmacytoma.

The tumor is located
on her L4 vertebra.

That sounds right.

She's doing quite well.

We're hoping
for a complete remission.

You should know

that when we visited
Mrs. Abramovitch,

my colleague noted
several inconsistencies

- with her diagnosis.
- Spinal plasmacytoma

causes microfractures
in the affected vertebrae.

Most patients can barely walk.

Sadie can move around just fine,
sit, stand, walk.

Lift her baby.
No issues.

We diagnosed Sadie
very early on,

so, the microfractures

didn't have time
to fully develop.

Hmm. And you never
removed the tumor?

No. Too much nerve involvement.

That makes sense.

Except when I pressed
directly on her L4,

instead of a sharp pain,

she only felt a dull ache.

And her discomfort gets worse
at night,

which is a classic symptom
of a benign osteoid osteoma.

I stand by my diagnosis.

Excuse me,

but my client agreed
to this interview

in order to help you

find his wife's killer.

Now, I fail to see
how a possible misdiagnosis

of one his patients has

- any relevance.
- One misdiagnosis would not.

Several dozen,
however,

tell an entirely
different story.

After we got a warrant for
your files the other day,

we asked all your patients
to get follow-up exams.

Of those who agreed
to be tested,

almost a third didn't
have cancer at all.

You've been
misdiagnosing patients,

and you've been
subjecting them

to unnecessary chemotherapy,
probably for years,

to-- I don't know--
bolster your profits,

inflate your remission rates?

And no one suspected you.

Until your own wife got cancer.

We figure Abby noticed
something fishy

when she was getting
chemo at your clinic.

Patients like Sadie,

whose symptoms didn't
match their diagnoses.

But she wanted proof,
so she ran tests.

Her mistake

was confronting you
with the evidence

of your misdeeds
before going to the authorities.

Perhaps she thought you'd be
able to explain yourself.

But instead, you strangled her.

Do I need to point out,
this is all supposition?

Nah, it's more
than that.

We had a talk with
your clinic manager.

She rolled, confirmed
the false diagnoses,

the fraud,
the whole thing.

She also recanted
your alibi.

In fact, the last
time she saw you

the night that
Abby disappeared,

you were headed
to the research wing

right after a heated
phone call with Abby.

I told her...

that everything I did was
for the good of the family.

- Nate?
- No, no, no. I'll...

I'll tell you everything,

but you need to let me talk
to Branford.

I need to tell him I'm sorry.

I'll see what
I can do.

Good combination.

Third time you've approached me.

If you're smart,
there won't be a fourth.

Actually, a fourth time is what
I wanted to talk to you about.

The NYPD Boxing Club is having
a match in a few weeks.

I thought maybe we could
raise some money for charity.

You want to fight me?

That's how it's
done, right?

When two cops have a
problem with each other

and they can't resolve it?

Yeah, the only problem is,
you're not a cop.

And that would be
bad for you, right?

Getting your ass
kicked by a consultant?

If you want to fight me
so bad, why wait?

There's a ring right there.

Yeah, I thought that's
what you might say.

All right.

Keep them submerged
as long as you can.

I know how to treat
sore knuckles.

- This needs more flour.
- You just like

the parallel.

Primitive aftercare
for a primitive sport.

While this might look primitive,

I assure you, this is the result

of years
of painstaking research.

It's a poultice
of comfrey leaves and flour

with a dash of mountain arnica
and a sprinkling of marigold.

I highly recommend it.

Unless, of course,
you want your eye

to blacken as a badge of honor.

I just want to put
this whole thing behind me.

And does Detective Cortes feel
the same way?

Oh, I guess we'll see.

At the very least,

this has proven the wisdom
of continuously training

in the combat arts.

You do, of course, need
to work on your defense.

You allowed Cortes to
land far too many punches.

I did.

But all that matters is
that I landed the last one.

♪ And I won't let you ♪

♪ Out of my life... ♪

♪ And I won't let you
out of my life... ♪

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man