All language subtitles for Elementary.S03E03.WEB-DL.x264.Hun.Eng-Krissz.en

Previously on Elementary...

If you're looking for Sherlock,
he's downstairs. Okay.

His name is Harlan Emple.

He is the Rachel P. Hanson
Professor

for Applied Mathematics
at Columbia University.

What I don't get is
why he isn't wearing a shirt.

He doesn't like anything to come
between him and the numbers.

What is it?
The answers to your questions about Kitty.

The truth is she was a
victim of a horrific crime.

After you left last night,

Sherlock gave me an envelope.

Sherlock keeps saying

that I need to get
a better sense of you,

and maybe that will give you
a better sense of me.

It's open.

It's nothing.

It's Sherlock and
one of his experts.

Which one?

Phillip something.

Must be new.

He's a knife-thrower.

Why does Sherlock have
a knife-thrower?

He got bored the other day,

started looking into this, uh,
circus accident from the '30s.

The Great Galardo perforated one
of his assistants during an act,

except Sherlock thinks
the blade was thrown

by somebody in the stands,
not Galardo.

Phillip, as far as I
can tell, disagrees.

It can't be done, okay?

It was done.

You're wrong.

Nobody can chuck
a knife that far.

What's this?

You're...

Not here.

I'm not here.

Remember that, okay?

Oh, yes. Heaven
forfend your work

with me should endanger
your precious day job.

You throw knives?

You know, it was supposed
to be just you here.

Phillip is arguably the greatest
knife-thrower in the world.

Has been for decades.

Only, there's little money

to be made
in the impalement arts.

So, as a youth, he turned

to what you Americans
term "football."

Is this a joke?

Phillip, head
and heart.

Come on.
Head and heart.

Can I go?

Yeah.

15 years he spent throwing
that misshapen ball around.

15 years.

When I think of the acclaim
he could have brought

to competitive blade slinging.

You're following me,
Watson.

I don't like it.

I want you to help
me with something.

This is Chad Keswick.

He buys distressed
buildings,

paints, spackles,

and then flips them
for quick money.

Who'd he kill?
No one.

I was hired by one of
his rivals to find out

why he's been circling
this old office building

in Jamaica, Queens.

She wants to know
why he thinks

the building is
a good investment.

Is there a crime in there,
something worth investigating?

Well, I've been
shadowing Keswick,

but yesterday I think
he noticed me.

I want to switch
up the tail.

You followed me for over
a week before I noticed you.

Help me out, and I'll
cut you in on my fee.

I don't work for you,
I work for Sherlock.

I worked for him, too.

And, in my experience,
he was always supportive

of taking on work
outside the partnership.

Sorry, it's not my cup of tea.

� �

Hello, Portal Ten.

I'm here, Belphegor.

So where is the next clue?

Look, for the last time,
I was playing a game!

Yeah, you called it
a puzzle hunt.

Belphegor's Prime.

Think Cicada 3301
or Octorine's Challenge.

They're math games.

Math... maybe you've heard of it.

I've got some math for you.

One dead guy
plus one live guy

found in the same
deserted factory.

I was not "found" there;
I am the one who called 911.

I was waiting there
for the police.

Mr. Emple,

we're just trying
to do our jobs, all right?

First officers
on the scene described you

as "extremely agitated."

Well, of course
I was agitated.

I had just found
a dead guy in mothballs!

And did I mention that I have
not slept in almost two days?

Because of the math game.

Can I borrow those?

This...

is Belphegor's Prime, okay?

It's a numeric palindrome.

It's 666 bookended by 13 zeroes
and then bracketed with ones.

Named for the demon Belphegor
who was a prince of hell.

The first clue for the hunt
started making the rounds

a few months ago.

It was a JPEG with two numbers
hidden in it.

You divide those numbers
by Belphegor's Prime,

and you get the GPS coordinates
for a restroom at the Bronx Zoo.

You go to the restroom,
you find a phone number.

You send a text to the number,
you get the next clue.

Which is another math problem.

Exactly.

Only, this one is harder.

And that's how it works.

You know, but for
each one that you solve,

you get a new set
of GPS coordinates.

And that means that you've
completed a stage, or a portal.

And last night,
I was on Portal Ten.

And...

You know what?

I want to talk
to Sherlock and Joan.

Look, Mr. Emple...
No, I'm sorry.

I told the police down
at the factory that I know them.

Isn't that the whole reason

that I was brought here
to this squad?

I-I am not saying another word
until they are here.

Harlan Emple is
indeed an acquaintance.

He is, in point of fact,
one of my "irregulars."

One of your what?

Irregulars.

I'm your consultant, Captain;
they are mine.

They're a handful
of experts I turn to

when I encounter problems which
are beyond my pool of knowledge.

Harlan is
a brilliant mathematician.

And on the handful of occasions
I have tackled a case

which pertained
to mathematics...

He helped you out.
Well, the good news

for him is the preliminary
autopsy report just came in

before you got here.

And the M.E. puts
the time of death

between 4:00 and
6:00 p.m. last night.

Mr. Emple was teaching

a class at Columbia.

So the victim is
yet to be identified?

No I.D., no phone.

First detective on the scene
liked it for a mob hit,

so while we're
running the prints,

he's showing the vic's
face around OCID.

Marcus here was about to walk
the scene with Mr. Emple.

You're here now;
you might as well tag along.

Actually, Captain,
I'm quite busy today.

This is a John Doe,
and we got nothing.

And, like you just said,
you're my consultant.

So, go consult.

Watson.

Um, he's your friend.

Actually, Kitty is
otherwise engaged,

and he did actually help both
of us with a case last year.

Did he not?

Have I told you
how good it is to see you?

Yes, you have.
Three times.

Well, it is.

Hey, lousy circumstances.

But, uh, hey...

I heard from your boss that you
just, uh, got back from London.

Were you working
a case or...?

No, I moved back there.

You mean moved, moved?

Is there another
definition?

I was there for
eight months,

and had a change of heart
and returned to New York.

So, you moved to London,
and you didn't, uh...

You know what?
Doesn't even matter.

The point is you're back!

Mr. Emple.
Uh, duty calls.

Yeah.

It's interesting.

Mothballs are interesting?

They were taken from
that cabinet over there.

Obviously, to cover the smell
of John Doe's decay.

The killer didn't
bring them with him.

Perhaps leaving the body here
was not part of his plan, hmm?

Doe was shot in the foot
first and then the knee.

Either those were
two really bad misses or...

Or the killer was torturing him.

This doesn't seem like anything
you can't handle on your own.

So you want to tell me why you
really asked me to come here?

"This doesn't seem like anything
you can't handle on your own."

That's funny.

That's exactly what
I would have said

had I been present when you
asked Kitty for her assistance

with your tawdry side job.

"Tawdry"?
I wanted you to know I approve.

Of what?

Your agenda
with regards to Kitty.

Several days ago,
I gave you her file.

And then you show up at
the brownstone yesterday,

and you invite her
into an investigation.

Coincidence? No, I think not.

You feel for her.
And now you wish to engage.

It's not an outcome
I would have predicted, no.

But it is one
I approve of, yeah.

She could learn
a great deal from you,

especially with regards
to how to get the most

from my tutelage.

So, I've already dispatched her
to, uh, follow your Mr. Keswick.

But that's not
what I actually...

Harlan!

You came here to retrieve
a phone number, did you not?

You would send a text,
and then receive

the next clue in the game
that you were playing.

Yeah, but I didn't find it.

Not that I kept looking

after the dead guy
fell out of the locker.

Yeah, CSU didn't find
any number either.

Probably because
it's under that paint.

It's fresh.

Applied in the last

24 hours.

Right after John Doe's murder,
I'd wager.

You don't think
this was a mob hit?

Doe and the killer were
playing the game, too.

The killer shot Doe and
then covered up the number

so no one else could use it.

What's the prize
in your little contest?

Well, I'm doing it
mostly for the math.

But, uh, $1,707,071.

It's another
palindromic prime.

Did I not mention the
money at the station?

Who the hell can afford

that kind of payout
for a puzzle hunt?

Well, most people
think it's CAML.

The Center for Applied
Mathematics and Logic.

It's located
in Ramapo...

Wait, most people
"think" it's them?

Well, hunts like these,

the organizers are
almost always anonymous.

It's S.O.P.

What about the
contestants?

Is anonymity
also S.O.P.?

For the most part, yeah.

But, guys, math peeps
are my peeps, okay?

It's, uh, like
a community, sort of.

I can think of ten
or 12 other people

who were probably competing.

Would that help?

No.

I'm sorry, I don't know him.

But you admit you were
competing in Belphegor's Prime.

I do.

Pepe!

Sorry. He doesn't
like strangers.

Give him one of these.

Get on his good side.

What are you doing?

I'm just verifying that
you've been lying to us.

You did know the
dead man, did you not?

I reviewed his personal
effects at the morgue earlier.

The coroner reported finding
crumbs in one of his pockets.

I tasted one.

Why would you...?

At first, I thought
they were from

a particularly rancid
brand of cheese,

but, no... they're from
one of Pepe's treats.

Homemade?

Harlan was able to give us
the names of nine other people

he believed to be
other competitors.

Our colleagues are
investigating them as we speak,

but I'll quite happily
recommend that the NYPD

focus its attention
entirely on you.

His name was Ike Walaczek.

In another lifetime,
he was my boyfriend.

And what of
this lifetime?

We were working together.

On Belphegor's.
What?!

He was a numerical analyst
at the Tory Foundation.

I work mostly in combinatorics.

I thought we would make
a good team.

But there aren't
supposed to be teams.

Not in a puzzle hunt.
It's bad form.

Harlan...

I'm just saying...

My husband
wouldn't understand,

so I decided I wouldn't tell him
until after we won the money.

A team... so that's how
you got there before me.

I wasn't there.

Tom and I were out of town
until this morning.

His cousin
was getting married in Hawaii.

That's why Ike went
to the coordinates by himself.

Because I couldn't.

These are pictures I took.

Check the dates.

You gave the police
nine other names?

People you thought
were competing?

I've got 16.

And I know they were competing.

He talked to her
outside the Jamaica property

for about 20 minutes,
and then this truck rolled up.

Any idea what's
inside the crate?

Nope.

I can't identify
the woman either.

Everything about her
said money though.

She, Keswick
and the mystery box

stayed inside the building
for about three hours,

and then off they went.

Good.

Okay.

You know where
to send the check.

You haven't asked me about
the file Sherlock gave me.

Why would I?

You said it would give me
a better sense of you... it did.

That's why you asked
for my help.

Because you felt sorry for me.

No.

You just don't seem interested
in anything

outside of becoming
a detective.

There she is.

The old counselor.

Who used to hold
Sherlock's hand.

Everything that you read,

everything that happened to me,
that's all it is.

It's just something
that happened.

And it's all
in the past now.

So let's just
leave it there, shall we?

Hello.

You've had sex.

Excuse me?

I can hear it
in your voice.

You've joined paunches.

Good for you, Watson.

As you know, I think
the act of love

can be quite conducive to...
What do you want?

Merely to apprise you
of a new development

in the murder of
Ike Walaczek.

As I informed
you yesterday,

Harlan and I were given
a new list of competitors.

One name leapt out:
Byron Lowenthal.

He's a statistician at the
Public Utilities Commission

and a diagnosed
paranoid schizophrenic.

He's been hospitalized
for becoming violent

on no fewer
than three occasions.

Certainly sounds like
it could be our guy.

Unfortunately, Mr. Lowenthal had
another break earlier this year.

He's been staying in
a transient hotel ever since.

Detective Bell and I
are going to speak with him.

You want me to meet you?

Oh, no, we're already here.

Anyway, now that I know
that you've enjoyed coitus

and could enjoy more
in the near future...

When you're done,
we need to talk.

Byron Lowenthal,
you in there?

Who is it?

It's Detective Bell, NYPD.

My colleague and I would like
to ask you some questions.

Let me
get some pants on.

S-Sorry, I just... I, um...

I-I thought I heard
Mr. Lowenthal retr...

You guys got lucky.

Well, luck had little
to do with it, actually.

I... I heard Mr. Lowenthal

pulling a heavy object off
a shelf, placing it on his bed,

and the sound of
the zipper indicated

that it was
a large gun case.

Looks like he was sane enough
to do math, but not much else.

Plus, he was
pretty hopped up.

Caffeine pills,
energy drinks,

pretty much every legal
stimulant you can buy.

Plus a few illegal ones.

Hmm. Obviously, he was
keeping himself awake

so he could work on
Belphegor's.

This... is obvious to you?

I confess the maths
are beyond me,

but I took the liberty of
sending pictures of what

appear to be Mr. Lowenthal's
most recent scribbles

to Harlan Emple,
and he's confirmed

they are part of the contest.

With your permission,
I'd like copies of these

sent to my home
so he can review them.

What for?

If Byron Lowenthal

did kill Ike Walaczek,

then he used
and obscured a phone number,

which would have yielded
the next problem.

That problem's solution

would be GPS coordinates.

If he's recorded them
in his books...

Your pal will be able to tell us
where he's headed next.

I'll get our guys to give you

whatever you need.

Scans are still coming through,

but I've put what we've got
so far up on the wall.

Sherlock said that
you prefer it that way.

Picked it up from him,
actually.

Makes me feel like I'm really
inside of the problem.

I'll, uh, let you know
if I need anything.

Oh, I work without a shirt.

Sometimes makes me feel
closer to the numbers.

You'll need to, uh,
check the printer in the study

for more pages.

Uh, this is nice,
you know?

Meeting another member
of the team.

You know, Team Sherlock.

You help him, I help him...

Obviously, you haven't
tackled a case

with high-order math since
you started working with him,

or we would've...

What?

Wait...

have you worked a case
with high-order math?

You have, haven't you?

Does it matter?

Of course it...

Oh, my God.

Did he fire me?

All I know
is that back in London,

we worked a case that involved
Fibonacci spirals...

He fired me.

...and he called some woman
named Indira Patel.

She's at Berkeley.

I'm three time zones closer!

You're here now.

Sure, because I found
a dead body.

I have to go; I have to run
some errands for Sherlock.

I-I don't know
what was in the crate,

but the stenciling on
the side indicates

it came from one of
the SUNY schools.

I put another detective
on Keswick...

Don't kill me, I had to
use your razor to shave.

I...

You must be Andrew.

Sherlock Holmes.

Sorry.

Joan said you were coming;
I... I forgot.

It's not how
I wanted to meet you.

She said you can tell
a lot about people

just by looking at them.

I swear, I...
usually wear pants.

Well, in my experience,
most people

need only be concerned
I won't notice

anything worth remarking upon.

Watson seems adequately sexed.

Hey.

I was just introducing myself.

I've got that thing.
I'll see you tonight.

Okay.

Your home, Watson...

it's utterly pleasant.

You say that like
it's a bad thing.

When you told me
you wanted a life of your own,

I didn't realize
that you meant you wanted

the same life everyone else has.

But at any rate,
none of my business, is it?

It's not.
And I didn't ask you here

to talk about my apartment.

No, you asked me here
to discuss Kitty.

If she were not
the topic of conversation,

then you wouldn't have
invited me to your home,

where there's no chance
she'll be present.

She disappointed you
in some way.

Skills not up to snuff?

Please remember
she is a novice.

Actually, she did a great job.

But I have some concerns.

I thought we could
talk about them.

You think that
Kitty needs help

above and beyond
my mentorship.

You read the same
file I did.

She's a rape victim.

She was kept and tortured.

Mm.

You know me, so surely you know

I've broached the subject of
a support group meeting before.

Even offered
to pay for therapy.

She's not interested, I know.

Just as you also know

someone with a problem
can't be forced to get help.

They have to want it.

What Kitty wants
is to be a detective.

I am taking pains
to try and channel

her residual feelings
into her work.

Well, that works out
great for you.

You told me that
you took on a partner

because you wanted to replicate
what you and I had.

That you thought it helped
with your recovery.

You think I would
try and take advantage

of the victim of a trauma?

Of course not, but there is
a conflict of interest here.

She needs what she needs,
but you need what you need, too.

It's-it's good that you're
in her life now, Watson.

I mean,
it's commonly believed that, um,

a child benefits mostly from
the presence of two parents.

He... or she, in this case...
can absorb certain qualities

from the father...
clear-eyed view of the world,

capacity of
rational thought, etcetera.

They can also absorb certain
qualities from the mother.

Excuse me, but I am not
Kitty's mother,

and she sure as hell
is not our child.

You brought her here;
she looks up to you.

She says that she doesn't
need help... fine...

but you know better.

And you're gonna have to be
the one that tells her.

It's Harlan.

Making progress with the maths.

We thought
that Byron and Ike

arrived at Portal Ten
simultaneously.

That would've meant that they
were doing all the same math

at essentially
the same time.

Only, the math
you found at Byron's place

says that's wrong.

He was one step behind Ike.

Are you proposing he did
not kill Mr. Walaczek?

I don't know, but that's
not the weirdest part.

Byron was obsessive.

He time-stamped
almost everything he did.

He only solved
the Portal Nine problem,

the same problem that sent me
to that old factory last night.

But get this...

he wasn't given
the same problem as me.

And so it would've yielded
GPS coordinates

for an entirely
different location.

The person in charge of
the game changed the clue

after the police
found Ike's body.

Well, he had to, right?

If he hadn't, he would be
sending other competitors

to an active crime scene.

The important thing is

I figured out the coordinates

to the second location.

I know where Byron went.

What are you doing?

You're saying he
time-stamped everything.

I'm looking at the time
he received his clues.

It's all there, to the second,
but what does that have to do...

What if you hadn't
found a body?

If the game had
proceeded as planned,

what were you meant
to do there?

I would have sent a text
to the phone number,

the one that the killer painted
over, and then I would have

gotten a message back
with the next problem.

There's an extra
step in there.

Why all this rigmarole with
phone numbers and texts?

Why not just post the problem
itself at the factory?

I don't know, it's just the way
the game is played.

They're for an old
industrial area in Queens.

You're welcome
for finding your suspect.

If I'm right, Harlan,
what you've found...

is the site of
another murder.

Byron Lowenthal's.

You were right,
Lowenthal's dead.

He was shot in the foot,
then the knee.

Just like
Ike Wallaczek.

I'm, uh, gonna look
over here now.

Well, we think the perp
was pulling the body

to a car that was parked
over there.

Then he just
left him here.

Probably afraid
he'd been spotted.

There's a lot
of homeless in the area.

Question is:

how'd you know
Lowenthal was the next victim

and not the killer?

Well, that's
quite simple, really.

The game is directing
its players to remote locales,

and then instructing them
to send a text message

indicating their presence.

I suspect the killer wanted
to remove the body

so he could keep this new
location "in play," so to speak.

Still missing the "simple" part.

The late Mr. Lowenthal

received his final clue

after Harlan discovered
Ike Wallaczek's body,

but before news of the killing
had reached the media.

That means the
game's designer

knew the location
had been compromised.

And the only way
that he could have known that,

at the time that he knew it,

was if he, himself,
was the killer.

Belphegor's Prime is not
a treasure hunt.

It's a trap.

Better?

False alarm.

But I still feel
a little queasy.

This new dead guy...

your friend said that he was
tortured, too, right?

Right before the killer tried
to abscond with his corpse.

I assume
he intended to take

Ike Wallaczek away with him
as well, only Ike was too large.

A speedy mothballing
was the best he could do.

So, just to recap,

I've spent the last
few months of my life

playing a game that was
designed to kill me.

Got to be a metaphor
in there somewhere, right?

I think the word you're
looking for is "moral."

There is a moral in there:
games are for idiots.

Breaking news from Ramapo.

Kitty reports the Center for
Applied Mathematics and Logic

is not the sponsor
of Belphegor's Prime.

Then it's got to be
a serial killer, right?

Someone who's obsessed
with mathematicians?

Mm.

Perhaps he was bullied
by mathematicians as a child.

Or mathematicians
killed his parents.

I'm being serious.

Serial killers who devise
elaborate death traps

are the stuff of pulp fiction.

And besides, with respect
to these murders,

there are none
of the elaborations

which mark that sort of culprit.

If anything, I would describe
the work as businesslike.

Then it's the government.

I mean, the-the game was some
sort of test to weed out people

who could weaponize math.

The American intelligence
apparatus may be clod-like,

but I think they would
do a better job

of disposing of two bodies,
don't you?

Watson?

I just heard
from one of the suspects

Marcus and I talked to
yesterday,

another puzzle-hunter.

Tell me he confessed
to the murders.

We ruled him out right away,
but he heard about

Byron Lowenthal's murder on
the news and wanted me to know

he's at a friend's place,
some guy named Paul.

That is fascinating.

Actually, it might be.

Paul is positive he knows
who the killer is.

I know the guards
are a bit much,

but I wanted everyone
to feel safe.

And, besides,
math has been good to me.

Commodities.

So, you and your friends,

you were competitors
in Belphegor's Prime?

Most of us. Some of the others
are just here for the math.

You said you could
identify the killer.

I can, sort of.

"Mo Shellshocker."

It's a pseudonym,
obviously, but I'm telling you,

this is the guy
you're looking for.

I've heard of him.

He uses his blog
to expose bad math.

Corrupt economists, biased
pollsters, that sort of thing.

He's actually
sort of a crusader.

He's a murderer.

How can you be
so sure?

When he isn't crusading,
he's competing in puzzle hunts.

A few months ago,

he claimed to
have solved

Cicada 3301 two
years in a row.

Some people called BS,
including...

Ike Wallaczek
and Byron Lowenthal.

"WallaCheckYourMath,"

"ByLow2020."

Those are their
online handles.

Their friends
will confirm it.

A flame war does not
a murderer make.

The stuff these guys were
slinging at each other was ugly.

Mo knew they were into hunts,
and so he built one

that would send them to places
where he could kill them.

That's what we're
doing here is

we're just sifting
through all the math

he's posted on his blog
over the years,

to see if we could
find his signature

or something that
could identify him.

If two people weren't dead,
we'd probably be having fun.

But still, the
chances that he left

something like that
in his math...

If it's there, we'll find it.
In the meantime,

we thought the
police should know

who they're really
dealing with.

I've got to go meet someone

about my other case.

You're good to pass all this
along to Marcus? Okay.

I must say, I'm surprised you
didn't offer to stay and help.

Mr. Ettinger makes
a compelling case with respect

to Mo Shellshocker's
viability as a suspect.

Mo is a genius.

We're talking off the charts.

Leibniz meets Euler meets Gauss.

Huh.
He may have an ego,

but he's not gonna kill
anyone over a few comments.

So, while "The League of
Concerned Mathematicians"

chases its tail up there, I
am gonna do the smart thing

and get out of town.

You can let me know
when it all blows over.

You're not going
anywhere, Harlan.

Or should I call you
Mo Shellshocker?

Did you honestly think
I wouldn't recognize

an anagram of my own name?

I knew I should've gone
with "Choker Hell Moss."

But I never thought
that you would see it, okay?

Math is my thing, not yours.

It's my name, Harlan;
that makes it my thing.

It was an homage.

Explain.

Every day, all over the world,

math is used to trick people.

Data dredging to sell
pharmaceuticals.

Publication bias
to justify wars.

In the wrong hands, math can be
manipulated, abused.

And I decided to do
something about it.

You catch people
who murder other people.

I catch people who murder math.

According to this,
Mo is a wanted man.

Harlan?

The D.O.D. was working
on a new fighter.

Only, I knew that the
performance stats were bogus.

A friend of mine found
the internal numbers,

and I sort of published them.

So you put classified
Department of Defense documents

on the Internet.

Isn't that what
you would have done?

Fine! I screwed up, okay?

But, hey, that's what I do,
right? I screw up.

If I didn't, then probably you
wouldn't have secretly fired me.

Excuse me?

I know about Indira Patel!

I know you replaced me.

Kitty, I think
we could use some tea.

Just tell me.

Tell me what math I got wrong.

Tell me why you didn't let me
make it up to you.

It wasn't the maths, it was you.

Your work was impeccable.

And for the most part,
I enjoyed our collaborations.

B-But over time, you just...
you became quite... needy.

What are you talking about?

Y-You asked my advice
on-on social matters,

and you even invited me
to a party.

You were my friend.

I was your employer, Harlan.

A-And you were my consultant.

One of many.

I know that I'm a little
obsessed with what I do.

That has always made it hard
to make friends.

And I used to feel pretty bad
about that, and then I met you.

And I thought to myself,

hey, if it doesn't bother him,
why should I let it bother me?

I got a lot
out of the work that we did.

A lot.

But if someone like you thinks
that I'm a loser, then...

WATSON
Hey, are we still doing this?

Doing what?

Talking about the case.

You're just sitting there.

I'm thinking.

I suspect the silence
is exacerbated

by the nature
of our communication.

Yes. Well, I don't
live there anymore.

So, if you want
to talk shop at night,

this is the best I can do.

Keep asking myself:
what did the killer want?

He went to great lengths to lure
brilliant mathematicians

to their deaths.

Winnowed out
the less gifted

by making his problems
more and more complicated.

He had a type, but I still think
he's a serial killer

only in the most
technical sense.

He tortured both his victims.

But there's no sign
that he enjoyed it.

The work was
utilitarian,

suggesting it was
less for pleasure

and more for persuasion.

He wanted something.

But what?

Maybe there's a connection
between Wallaczek and Lowenthal

we haven't spotted yet.

Maybe they were working
on a project together,

something that was worth
a lot of money.

There's no way the killer
could have predicted

which competitors would make it
to the terminal stage.

That part of the game
was beyond his control.

If it weren't,
he would've been prepared

to dispose of a body
the size of Ike Wallaczek's.

So, even if there were a
connection between the victims,

the killer could not
have counted on them

being lured into his trap.

Certainly not
in sequence.

His game was, in many respects,
one of chance.

Suggesting he knows what
he wants, but not who has it.

Like he was on a puzzle hunt
of his own.

I'm back.

I'll set up
downstairs, yeah?

I've been thinking about
what you said earlier.

I've decided to engage her
one more time

with regards
to her recuperation.

I doubt she'll listen,
but I'll keep you apprised.

I've been thinking.

About? You.
Your history.

Your decision
not to seek help.

I think it's
a mistake.

Oh?

I've looked into a number
of support groups.

As you are well aware,

I have benefited greatly
from similar settings.

You have.

The process, I find,

is not unlike
voiding one's bowels...

I'll go.
What?

I'll go.
Just get me the details.

I've been thinking, too... about
your number-cruncher, Harlan.

You think I was
too hard on him.

You will have consultants
of your own one day.

You'll see that they require
management and focus.

They are but keys on a keyboard,
and we're the typists.

You could've given him
a shoeing for all I care.

No, I'm just saying that

some of the stuff he's got
up to, it's quite good.

You should take a look.

You may find a fellow typist.

Hello?

MAN Yeah, I
hear that you and some friends

are trying to identify
Mo Shellshocker.

That's right. Who is this?

His name is Harlan Emple.

You got a pen?

I'll-I'll give you his address.

Harlan.

You can't take a hint, can you?

I got your text messages.

I don't want to see you
right now.

So if you came here
to apologize...

Actually, I came here
to spare you an agonizing death.

Can I come in?

I was puzzling earlier

as to why the killer went
to such specific lengths.

What did he want?

And then Watson,
quite by accident,

she made a most
compelling analogy.

She said it was as if he
was on a hunt of his own.

Duh. He was hunting
mathematicians.

No, he wasn't.

He was hunting a mathematician.

One.

A man who had concealed
his identity not only

from the mathematics
community at large,

but also from the FBI.

A "crusader,"
you might call him.

Wait a minute.

Are you saying that
this was all about me?

Unfortunately, emulating
the work of people like me

is not without risks.

Creates enemies.

I knew it was the government.

It was a lottery winner.

Little over a year ago,

you started a series of blogs
where you exposed the flaws

in certain scratch card
lottery games.

Tickets like this one.

I wrote about
baited hook games.

Games where the numbers
are printed on the front.

Scratch off the hidden numbers,
hope for a match.

Only, you proved that with
careful mathematical analysis

of the visible numbers,
you could predict

which tickets were winners
80% of the time.

If you had exploited

this flaw,
rather than exposing it,

you could have made millions.

Well... sure.
But that would been cheating.

Right.

So imagine
for a moment

that you are a less
honest mathematician.

Right?

You've been taking
advantage of these games

for a couple of years to
amass a small fortune.

And then "Mo"
comes along.

He starts exposing
the broken games.

State lottery commissions
shut them down.

The exploitable
games dry up.

Now, if you were a
psychopathic lottery cheat,

how do you fix that?

You kill Mo.

Unfortunately, Mo is elusive.

Anonymous.

The only thing
he knew about him for sure

was that he could not resist
a puzzle hunt.

Now, if you were smart enough
to identify

and take advantage of
broken lottery games...

Then I'm smart enough
to design a puzzle hunt.

This plan was not
without its flaws.

Once a competitor
reached the terminal stage,

the killer could not be certain
that he'd trapped Mo, could he?

So he tortured them.

I submit he forced them to
log on to Mo's Web site,

and when they failed...

After two murders,

the game was compromised.

So the killer devises
a Plan "B."

He tricks

a group of his peers

into helping search
for an alternative means

of identifying Mo.

You're talking about that guy.

The one with the penthouse.

Paul?

Lottery winners
are public record.

So when I searched for
the names of repeat winners

in the dates prior
to your posts...

I can't believe
I drank his water.

I called him.

I identified you as Mo.

And I gave him your address.

You what?!

Drop your weapon!

I did not, however, give him

the correct apartment number.

He was arrested
a little over an hour ago.

Tried to call you to
tell you, but, um...

But I was ignoring you.

Yes, you were ignoring me.

Look, you know

that I'm still screwed, right?

You told him that I'm Mo.

He's gonna tell the police,
they're gonna tell the FBI...

The NYPD is under
the impression

that I lied about
your connection to Mo

in order to draw
Mr. Ettinger out.

As far as the
FBI goes, well,

I've got some associates
who have created a trail

which will
strongly suggest that Mo

is a cyber-terrorist
I became aware of

whilst working for, um...

queen and country.

Your secret's
quite safe.

Thanks.

My reasons for preserving you
are entirely selfish, Harlan.

You are a tremendous asset.

I have little doubt

I will need your help again
in the future.

Me or him?

You.

I have an update on
that real estate flipper.

I thought you might
want to know.

I tracked down the truck rental
receipts to get her name.

Valerie Cork.

She's an art authenticator.

And that crate you saw?

There was
something called

a scanning fluorescence
spectrometry machine inside.

They're used...
To find paintings

underneath other paintings.

So it turns out
that the building

Chad Keswick was looking to buy

was leased by the WPA
during the Depression.

They commissioned a
mural for the lobby.

The artist was a
notorious communist,

so when the property passed
into private hands in the '50s,

the new owners
had it painted over.

But it was still there,
under the paint.

A lost work by Diego Rivera.

It's worth ten times
the price of the building.

I was hoping to leak
the truth to the Times.

I promised you a cut of my fee.

But I'm pretty sure
the mural's gonna end up

in the hands of
a historical trust.

I'd feel obligated
to refund my client,

which means you'd get
a cut of nothing.

That works for me.

Okay.

I think you should know

that I am going
to a meeting tonight.

One of those
support groups for...

people like me.

It was, uh, Sherlock's idea.

That's great.

I know you put him up to it.

We talked.

When he first approached me
in London,

I was...

in a bad way.

And I had been for a while.

But then,
when he talked about

the work that he did,

about the things
that he saw in me...

I want it.

I want every bit
of what's he offered me,

of what he offered you, but...

if I've learned one thing
over the last few weeks,

it's that he can't pull it off.

Not by himself, anyway.

And if I'm gonna get
what I want,

then I'm going to need
your help, too.

I still think
the meetings are bollocks,

but you say they're important.

They matter to you, so...

What do you say, Watson?

Will you help me?

I don't know how it happened.

It just... hit me.

Like a truck, out of nowhere.

Work is good.

I have friends.

I'm in a
relationship.

Somewhere along
the way, somehow,

I stopped being a victim

and became a survivor.

So, I guess all I'm saying is,
there's hope.

Do the work. Love yourself.
There's hope.

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Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org