All language subtitles for Elementary.S03E18.The.View.From.Olympus.1080p.WEB-DL.DD5.1.H.264-Juggalotus

Whew! I'm beginning to think

that some clients aren't
worth the 20 feet in the cold.

Maybe it's time to un-nail
that basement door, huh?

That's the
sex blanket.

I have asked you
not to call it that.

Who is she and what time
is she coming over?

How would you like to spend
the next three days

at the Hotel Lutece,
enjoying the finest pampering

that Western civilization
has to offer? On me,

of course.
Already booked you a room.

Actually, it's the least
I could do, considering

as I was about
to request-slash-advise

that you make yourself
scarce for a few days.

A few days?

Her name-- to answer
your initial question--

is Agatha Spurrell.

She's an esteemed
British climatologist.

She's in New York to deliver the
keynote at a global conference.

We met several years ago,
when she was consulting Father

on a land deal
in the Brazilian rain forest.

At about the same time,
I was investigating a man

who'd thrown his wife
in the Splugen Pass

in the Swiss Alps. Agatha

helped to prove that visibility
was quite good on the day

in question, and that
the wife's death was not

the accident that the husband
claimed it to be.

She's proven herself quite
useful on a number of occasions.

And we also find ourselves

compatible in matters
of the flesh.

Wait, are you cleaning up?

Do not mistake caution
for sentiment, Watson.

I'm just moving a few
breakables out of the way--

some rare volumes.

We do have a tendency to...
spread out.

I'm impressed.

A sex partner you're not kicking
out the minute you're done.

But... mixing pleasure
with an irregular?

It seems a little risky,

you know?

Agatha is not
your regular irregular.

We both have the mental
discipline to compartmentalize.

Anyway,
I'm having the woman

over for her benefit, not mine;
there's a good deal

of pressure
surrounding her speech.

I merely offer myself sexually
to help her de-stress.

And I will take the hotel.

I'm gonna go pack.

¶ ¶

(loud thump)

You got to be
kidding me.

What the hell, man?!

(tires screeching)

No! No!

(groaning)

(engine revving)

No! Wait, no!

(screams)

Even you cannot deny the
hypocrisy-- the world's elite

swarming into the city via their
private jets and luxury SUVs

to decry the dangers
of global warming.

Celebrity is a
microphone, Sherlock.

People like that will fly
their private jets regardless.

Better they put their privilege
to good use, don't you think?

Wailing Goggle Man alone

must burn enough fuel in a year

to send a rocket to Mars.

Wailing Goggle Man?

Yeah, you know,
the Irishman with the songs.

Bono. His name is Bono.

(phone ringing)

Detective?

I'll inform Watson, and we'll
meet you there presently.

You must forgive me.

Duty calls. You have a key.

The brownstone is yours
to come and go as you please.

Actually, I was hoping we could
discuss something this morning.

My schedule's so full
for the rest of the week,

I'm not sure we'll
get another chance.

I promise I won't
take long.

(indistinct
police radio chatter)

Hey, where you been?

Stalled train. I take it
that's the lion's share

of the crime scene
being carted off.

It's going to the garage
at the precinct.

The body's on its way
to the morgue.

This street feeds
right into the tunnel.

If I had held the scene
any longer,

we'd be getting calls
from the mayor's office.

The victim's name was
Galen Barrow-- 26.

He was a driver for one of those
ride-sharing companies.

Zooss? It's like the Greek god,
but with two Os and two Ss.

The dot-com mavens will not rest

until every word
has been mangled.

That's "word" with one "O."

Looks like the killer
was driving a yellow cab.

Paint transfer
all over the victim's car.

Multiple impacts--

no way this was
an accident.

BELL: There has been
a lot of tension between

the cabbies
and the ride-sharing guys

the last few months.

Some bar fights,
a few other tangles,

but, far as I can tell,
this is the first murder.

(mutters)

(sniffles)

(Holmes sniffing)

Smell that.
The pavement?

Vomit.
That doesn't look like puke.

That's because the vomiter was
drinking on an empty stomach.

(sniffs)

Gin. A particularly
cheap brand of gin

called Pascal's.
You can tell

from the distinct blend
of impurities and flavorings.

I'll take your word for it.

So you think the
killer threw up.

Leaning out of the driver's seat
would leave him about there.

Yeah. I saw
an empty bottle of Pascal's

on the curb around the corner.

Hadn't been there for very long.

Could be the cabbie threw it out
the window after he did this.

I'll have our guys bag it

and get a swab of that.
(phone chirps)

The department
reached out to the TLC

to try to find out if any cabs

came in with front-end
damage this morning.

Looks like we got a hit
at a fleet in Queens.

MAN: Driver said
he lost control on some ice

and hit a pole.

He brought it in like
this at around 6:00.

Well... I'd say
he's telling the truth.

Uh, the car we're looking for
would be more banged-up,

but we appreciate you
letting us take a look.

I wish your guys
said on the phone

that someone
killed a Zooss driver.

I'd have saved
you the trip.
Why is that?

The driver did this--
name's Rasheed.

He leases by the week and
sends everything he makes

back to his family
in Bangladesh.

Guys like that
don't care about Zooss

or Goober or whatever
they're called.

Fleet hacks aren't having
any trouble picking up fares.

All right, then
who is upset about Zooss?

If you ask me, you're
looking for a private owner.

A guy who took out a
mortgage to buy a medallion,

and that cab is how
he puts food on the table.

Those medallions cost,
what, a million dollars now?

They did,
but the price is going down

thanks to
the ride-share companies.

In other cities,
it's already bad,

and people here see
the writing on the wall.

It's like the market for
your house dropping out.

A lot of these guys,

they're up to their eyeballs
in debt, and now...

they're underwater.

I'd kill over that.

BELL: Hey. Thought you'd
still be at the morgue.

Mr. Barrow's body
was a disappointment.

It was devoid of any clues
as to his killer's identity,

so I came here.

Your trip to the fleet was,
of course, equally fruitless.

And how did you know that?

This is a chrome bumper strip.

It is not from
Galen Barrow's car,

but rather from the cab--
a Ford Crown Victoria.

It became wedged
into the wreckage

and then pulled off
as the cab backed away.

It's significant
because the last model year

when Ford Crown Victorias had
chrome bumper strips was 2003.

Would you
care to guess

how many active yellow cabs
are Ford Crown Victorias

manufactured in 2003 or earlier?

Something tells me
you already checked.

Five. And all of them
have been accounted for.

I don't understand.
Are you saying it wasn't a cab?

Not an active cab, no.
But a retired one?

The dispatcher we talked to
thought the perp

might be a private owner,
someone who was still driving.

I'm beginning to think
the killer

is not a cab driver at all.

The attack happened
when Galen Barrow

was beginning his shift.

That's a predictable time
and place to find him.

The killer was driving
a more than decade-old

retired cab--
a vehicle whose presence

is far less likely
if left to chance.

So you think someone killed
Barrow for another reason,

but then wanted it to look like
it was an angry cab driver.

It's a possibility I think
we should at least explore.

If it's true, it stands
to reason that the killer

acquired that vehicle
expressly for the task,

so you should refocus
your search to identify

recently-sold cabs that match

the aforementioned make
and years of production.

I'll pull the sales records
and let you know what I find.

I'll attempt to gather
information about Mr. Barrow.

We can meet later at the
brownstone to review it.

Uh, what about Agatha?
All that de-stressing?

I think a homicide
takes precedence, don't you?

Oh, you must be Agatha.

And you must be Joan.
Oh, no, no, please, sit.

I was hoping we'd
cross paths at some point.

When Sherlock told me
he'd exiled you

on my account,
I was mortified.

If the Lutece is exile,
I will take it. Anyway,

he's making up for it with
the crème brûlée bill alone.

But I promise you I will be out
of your hair before you know it.

Oh... he's made too much
of that, I'm afraid.

We're not teenagers.

At any rate,

no need to rush.

Sherlock's too busy to socialize
tonight-- busy with the case.

Is he here?

He said he'd be
in the office if I need him.

The office.

The one downstairs
in the basement?

Are you hiding?

Excuse me?

Are you hiding here
in my office?

From Agatha.

As you are well aware,
I find changes in environment

conducive to my process.
And what reason

could I possibly have
for hiding from my own guest?

I don't know.

Adhering to my theory
that Galen Barrow's murder

is not related
to the Livery War of 2015,

I began to look
at other aspects of his life.

As it turns out,

Internet journalist
was his vocation of choice.

Only started driving for Zooss
a couple of months ago,

probably to supplement
the paltry sums

he was paid for his blogs. What?

You are totally
hiding from her.

Something happened this morning.

Agatha made a rather...
imposing request of me.

She wants to make it official.
I knew it.

I knew it was only
a matter of time

before one of these women
fell in love with you.

You cannot maintain multiple

long-term physical
relationships

without one of them turning
serious. I don't care how good

you think you are at
compartmentalizing...

Agatha is not in love with me.

Oh. Then what's
the problem?

She's asked for a donation.

What, to an
environmental group?

To her uterus.

She has asked for my... issue.

She wants to have a baby
with you?

She's asked only
for my genetic material.

Her expectation as to my
involvement in the child's life

would end there.

What did you say?

Do I exude the traits
of fatherhood to you?

(phone ringing)

Detective.

BELL: Well, that suggestion
of yours paid off.

We looked into recent sales
of retired yellow cabs

and found an '03 Crown Vic
that traded hands last week.

A couple of detectives
went to the buyer's house

to check it out; guy told them
it had been stolen.

And his reason
for not reporting the theft?

They asked him
the same question,

and he tried
to bolt out the back door.

They're bringing him down
to the station now.

Gordon Meadows,
I'm Detective Bell.

This is Mr. Holmes,
Ms. Watson.

We've just been informed

that you're a
registered sex offender.

You were arrested for trading
in child pornography in 2008.

We're curious. What's your
affiliation with Galen Barrow?

Why'd you buy that taxi
last week?

It was too old to put into use.

I needed a car.

And the price was right.

And your reason
for running from the police?

How long have you had
that irritation on your skin?

I don't... I don't know.

It's called
airbag dermatitis.

Usually clears up
in a couple of days.

Which means that you were
recently in the front of a car

whose airbag deployed.

BELL:
See, that's interesting.

Especially considering
how Mr. Barrow died.

We're also pretty sure

whoever killed him
threw up at the scene.

We're just waiting on the DNA.

Your DNA's
already on file.

So maybe it's time
you got out in front of this.

I didn't have a choice.

To do what?

All of it.

Buying the cab, driving
it into that man.

They-they made me do it.

I had to drink
a half a bottle of gin

just to work up the courage.

Are you saying you were coerced?

A few months ago,
I started going to...

...a schoolyard

in, uh, Washington
Heights,

somewhere where no one
would recognize me.

I swear, I-I didn't
do anything.

I just... I just wanted to look.

But it was still
a violation of your parole.

I started getting texts.

Photos of me

at the school.

Someone was blackmailing you.

They said they wanted $5,000
or they would tell the police

what I was doing.

I knew that I would go back
to jail, s-so I paid.

Everything was
quiet for a while.

Then, a few days ago,
I get a new text.

A picture of that
poor man, Barrow,

with a bunch of
instructions.

They were telling me

where he would be,
when he would be there.

That I had to use a cab.

The cops who came
to my house,

they have my phone.

Look at it, please.

It's all there.
You'll see.

I'll have the
phone brought up,

but that guy seems
pretty confident

it's gonna back
his story.

Seems unlikely he would have
preemptively fabricated evidence

of a blackmailing
just in case he was arrested.

So we might have caught
the killer,

but someone else
wanted Barrow dead.

He was just the weapon.

WATSON: Mrs. Guerrero, Galen
Barrow was a regular writer

for your Web site, wasn't he?

It's such a shock
for everybody here.

We're all still trying to get
our heads around what happened.

The news said
it was a hit-and-run,

but now you think
he was targeted?

There is evidence that
supports that, yes.

We have the driver in custody.
It looks like he was coerced.

Now, the person responsible
sent instructions

using burner phones.

Those numbers are
no longer in use.

(scoffs)
Everyone liked Galen.

We didn't know much
about his personal life.

Mostly, our contributors
work from home.

But it's hard to imagine anyone

wanting to hurt him.

Is it possible that his work
here put him in harm's way?

Perhaps during his research
for an article,

he witnessed something untoward.

Honestly,
he would have loved that.

He was ambitious.

He saw himself doing

real investigative journalism
one day.

Mostly what we had for him
was gallery openings,

city council meetings.

His last piece
was on craft beers.

If you wouldn't mind, we'd like
to review his recent work.

Oh, of course.
Anything I can do to help.

Hmm, this might be something.

A couple of months ago,
Galen interviewed

a fashion designer
named Bobby Alacqua.

Do not doubt my ability
to multitask.

Bobby Alacqua.

Might be something.
Well, the interview

was just a puff piece,
but I recognized the name.

There was an arrest
at his boutique last week.

One of his employees
was trafficking cocaine

and using the store as a front.

So maybe Galen saw something
he shouldn't have.

Yeah.

So how'd it go here last night?

Agatha and I did not have sex,
if that's what you're asking.

Did you talk more?
About me helping
to create another human life?

No, we did not.
Is it really so...

Yes.
But I don't...

What facet
of my being would suggest

that I have any desire
to reproduce, hmm?

Is it my optimistic outlook?

Or perhaps the nostalgic fuzzies

that you hear me spouting
about my own upbringing?

Well, you're reading
about Agatha.

She's obviously on your mind.

I'm attempting to understand
what could have caused her

to so egregiously violate
our sexual contract.

Until last week,

I hadn't seen her for months.

So perhaps
she had a brush with death

or suffered
a traumatic brain injury.

So now you have to have
brain damage to want a baby?

Your words.

Agatha's what, 36? 37?

If you intend to reduce this
to some tired clock analogy...

It's a thing. It happens.
If that's all this was,

she could've gone to any number
of banks for her spermatozoa.

Instead, she turned
to a confirmed misanthrope

and recovering drug addict.

I ask you, Watson, who
in their right mind

would favor my genetic material
over...

Yes?

You were right.

You should look into
that cocaine-et-couture shop

you mentioned--
sounds promising.

Where are you going?
Calls to make.

Personal matter.

Who dresses you, girl?

(chuckles)
I dress myself.

You ought to come work for me.
You had an employee

who was arrested here
for moving drugs in the store.

Ricky was a good worker.
Organized, self-starting.

If it wasn't for the part
about him dealing coke,

I'd have made
him manager.

Anyway, I thought
he cut a deal.

What else is there
to talk about?

Actually, I was investigating
a different crime,

but it might be related.

There was a reporter named
Galen Barrow who interviewed you

for this Web site
called TownSoNice.

I remember. Cute.

Was there any chance that he was
in contact with Ricky

or any of Ricky's associates
while he was here?

Nuh-uh. We didn't
meet here.

I had some business uptown,
so we met at a coffee shop

across the street
from his apartment.

Uh, where uptown was this?

First Avenue, in the 80s.

I can look it up.

And you're sure
he said this was his apartment.

That boy apologized
about a thousand times

that he made me come to him;
and when we wrapped it up,

I saw him go
into his building. Why?

I received your texts.

You invited Ms. Guerrero in
for questioning?

Galen interviewed Bobby Alacqua
on the Upper East Side,

across from a building that
Galen said was his apartment.

But then I remembered
he lived in Brooklyn.

So you looked up the occupants,

and you found the name
Lydia Guerrero.

This morning,
she said she barely knew him.

Obviously, that wasn't true.

You think
they were playing couch quail?

GREGSON: If that means
having an affair,

yeah, we do.

So, Lydia's married to a lawyer
at a big corporate firm.

Compared to what she's
making at the Web site,

he's definitely
the breadwinner.

Leaves us with
a couple possibilities.

Either the husband found out
about the affair

and he arranged the hit
on Galen;

or Galen threatened
to expose the affair,

and Lydia set
up the hit.

Either way, your visit
to her this morning

must have rattled her,

because I didn't invite her
to come down here.

I was about to

when she called
and she... asked to come in

with her attorney.

I know I wasn't...

completely forthcoming before.

I talked to my lawyer,
and she's impressed upon me

that I need to tell you
what I know.

Well, by all means.

We are avid fans
of civic duty here.

BELL: But if you're
here to tell us

you were sleeping with Galen
Barrow, we already had a hunch.

How...

GREGSON:
He was seen entering

your apartment on First Avenue.

That isn't your
primary residence, is it?

It belonged to my mother.

When she passed,
my husband and I kept it

so we could have a place
in the city.

Was your husband aware that you
were putting your pied-à-terre

to such classic use?

LYDIA:
No, he never knew a thing.

You sure
about that?

Positive.

You said earlier

that the man
who killed Galen was coerced.

Coerced as in blackmailed?

Because I was blackmailed, too.

Funny, you didn't mention that
this morning.

I was trying
to protect my marriage.

I was afraid.

And I didn't do the right thing
at first. I'm sorry.

Why don't you tell us
about the blackmail.

(sighs) About six months ago,
someone started sending

pictures of me and Galen
outside the apartment.

Then text messages came
demanding money,

instructions where to leave it.

Look and you'll see.

Did you comply with the demands?
Whoever it was,

I just wanted to pay them off
and be done with it.

The wording is pretty similar
to the ones we saw yesterday.

Was Galen aware
of the blackmail?

He hated
that I was giving them money.

I begged him
to just drop it.

But he investigated it anyway.

LYDIA: I thought
I'd gotten through to him.

We had to break things off,
he had to move on, but...

Then when you said that the man

who killed him was being
blackmailed, too?

I don't think Galen
let it go after all.

GREGSON:
Mrs. Guerrero,

have you ever heard
the name Gordon Meadows?

Your husband's firm
do any criminal work?

Maybe Mr. Meadows
is a client.

I don't think so, no.

Excuse me.

I'm sorry. Give us a moment.

Joan?

What are you doing?

Gordon Meadows's phone.

CCS already
checked it out.

There was nothing on it that
would help I.D. the blackmailer.

Not directly, no.

But we seek a connection
between Mr. Meadows

and Ms. Guerrero,
do we not?

An explanation
as to how someone was aware

of the transgressions
of a sex offender

and the dalliance of a cougar
and her cub reporter.

And I believe
I found one.

One that might also explain
Galen Barrow's decision

to become a part-time driver.

Both the blackmail
victims used Zooss.

This is ridiculous.

We don't have
the kind of information

that you're
looking for.
No?

Does not each of your users
sign away his or her privacy

the moment they
install your app?

Have we not, every one
one of us, volunteered

to carry around the most
sophisticated surveillance

and tracking device
known to man?

Brandon, would you please
fire up Olympus?

This is a bird's-eye view of
every car online in real time.

You call it "Olympus"?

Uh, it's an
inside joke.

View from the clouds, the logo--
Greek mythology.

Oh, we get it.

I'm showing it to you
to make a point.

This is literally
all the information

we have on our users.

Where they are,
where and when we pick them up,

where and when
we drop them off-- that's it.

"That's it."

You're describing
your level of omniscience

that's traditionally ascribed
to God and Father Christmas.

BELL:
Mr. Frazer, we think

someone in your
company has been using

this data to find people
with things to hide.

Cross-referencing
users names, for example,

with criminal records

to see who might be doing things
they shouldn't.

Figuring out who's having
affairs based on where they go,

what time and for how long.

WATSON: Two of your
customers were blackmailed.

In both cases, there was
a direct correlation

between their usage of Zooss
and the activities

the blackmailer was able
to use against them.

BRANDON: For argument's
sake, let's say

someone here could do
what you're saying.

No one would.

He'd be an idiot.

Once you last a year here,
you vest, you get stock options.

85% of our employees

are paper millionaires.

Nickel-and-dime extortion
makes no sense.

"We are Big Brother incarnate,

but trust us because our motives
are purely financial."

WATSON:
Whether you believe

someone did it or not,
we have that subpoena.

We'd like your employee records
and data.

All due respect, this has got
a pretty broad reach.

I'd like our lawyers
to take a look at it first.

HOLMES:
Indeed.

They might contest the invasion
of privacy as being too ironic.

BELL: You want to drag your
feet on this, feel free.

Just keep in mind,

this investigation
could be handled quietly,

or it could show up
on the evening news.

I don't know what
that would do

to your stock options,
but it's your call.

Brandon, could you please
get these folks

everything they need?

It says, if we follow
the same traject...

Agatha?

Sherlock. These two gentlemen...

More potential donors?

If she's asked you

to fetch mettle, gentlemen,
I advise against it.

Her motives are impure.

Could you give us a moment?

(whispering):
What the hell are you doing?

You really think
I wouldn't realize?
Realize what?

You've entered into another
arrangement with my father.

Only this time, instead of
approving a land deal,

you're expected
to produce an heir.

I know that
his foundation has funded

your research through 2023.

That's quite a commitment.

Only, I think
you could have done better.

It's going to take a lot longer
to raise our love child.

I think you're confusing
correlation with causation.

And I think you're confusing
procreation with masturbation.

Father is thinking of himself
and no one else.

I represent the end
of the Holmes line,

and that just won't do.

You're right.

The idea did originate
with your father,

but there's no
quid pro quo.

The funding has
been guaranteed.

Do you honestly imagine
his lawyers won't be able

to bind up that generous request

behind some
trumped up technicality?

My research is a good
investment, even for him.

You don't know him
the way I do.
I know you.

I have been thinking about a
baby for almost two years now.

I realized at a certain point
that while I did not want

the fuss of a marriage,
I did want to be a mother.

I hadn't planned
beyond that.

I was just glad to
have made the decision.

And then, quite
coincidentally,

I happened to run
into your father.

I'm surprised he didn't offer
to seed you himself.

He got me thinking.

And the more I
thought about it,

you are, without question,

the most remarkable
man I've ever known.

You're brilliant, strong.

You've made a career
out of helping people.

There should be more
of you in the world.

You think I'm
being selfish--

this urge to create
a new human life,

one that's a part of me.

But you're being
selfish, too.

You have these gifts,
Sherlock, this goodness.

So share them.

See what happens.

Might not be as
wretched as you think.

What are you doing?

I know you're territorial
about this setup.

I know you don't
like me to touch it.

A judgment you have
repeatedly validated.

I was just trying to
hook up the Olympus data

from Zooss, but it doesn't look
like we have the right wiring.

(claps hands)
Oh.

Come on.

(sighs)

Thank you.
Ooh.

(sighs)

What about the personnel
files they turned over?

Have the police
found anything?

Well, no one has a record,
if that's what you mean.

That's why I wanted to look
at the Olympus records.

I thought maybe we could trace
Gordon Meadows

and Lydia Guerrero's moves
the last few months.

See which employees
logged on at what times.

So, how did it go with Agatha?

Oh, I was right.
My father is the instigator.

Oh. I'm sorry to hear that.

Do you plan to reproduce?

Excuse me?

Are you going
to procreate at some point?

I don't know. I mean,
I think about it sometimes.

I don't... Why?

(sighs)

(computer chimes)
How did you do...?

Don't be ashamed.
We can sign you up

for a remedial course
at a senior center.

(phone chimes)

Marcus. He says
he just got a call from a woman

whose brother was
a programmer at Zooss.

Right up until...
he was murdered last month.

I recognized him
when I saw the news.

He came to see me
after what happened to Patrick.

And he questioned you?

I didn't know
he was a driver for the company.

He said he was a reporter.

He was both.

We believe he started driving

because he was digging
into Zooss.

What did he want to know?

Mostly about
Patrick's job,

like if I knew about any
problems Patrick had at work.

I didn't.

Your brother's
case is unsolved.

The detective wrote that it
was a robbery gone wrong.

Did you think it
was more than that?

Not until today.

Somebody attacked him
outside of his apartment,

stole his wallet.

They had a pipe.

We thought
that he was gonna pull through.

Maybe if someone had
found him sooner.

Oh, he was in the hospital
for a few days.

Were you able to talk to him
before he passed?

They had him
in a medically-induced coma.

There were complications.

He never woke up.

We thought it was

like the cop said-- a mugging--

but when I saw
this guy was killed, I just...

I thought I should
say something.

It seemed like too
big a coincidence.

Now, uh, it's possible
that Patrick detected

the presence of a blackmailer
inside Zooss.

That's why he was targeted.

It would be very,
very helpful for us

if we could look at his
cell phone and his computer.

Do you still have those?

All his stuff is still
at his place in Cobble Hill.

I've been meaning
to go back there.

It's just,

that's where it happened,
out front.

It's been hard... going back.

Yeah, yeah.
Perhaps we could go for you.

I mean, the longest conversation
that he and I ever had was

probably when he interviewed
to take the room.

Um... when he
wasn't working,

he was just
watching basketball.

Like, 24/7.

I don't think the murders
of Patrick Kemp and Galen Barrow

are related after all.

That was fast.

Given the nature
of Kemp's wounds,

I'm sure you
concurred, as did I,

with the NYPD's
initial assessment.

It was not
an intentional murder.

With a little more luck,
he might have survived.

Now I think we know why.

Sports almanacs?

I'd wager-- pun intended--

that Patrick Kemp was attacked
over gambling debts.

I'm not getting
a very sporty vibe here.

Precisely.

His roommate said he was
obsessed with basketball,

but there's not a whiff
of fandom in here.

He's a collector of
statistical almanacs

and team schedules, spreadsheets
of games won and lost.

But there's not so much as a
T-shirt with a team logo on it.

No, it seems that his interest
was purely financial.

Well, maybe he just preferred
shirts with collars.

If I'm wrong,
where is his guitar?

Where are any of
the creature comforts

that you might expect
an upwardly mobile

young programmer to acquire?

I submit that he's

pawned them all in an ultimately
unsuccessful attempt...

to keep up with the vig...

and perhaps buy an unusual
amount of burner phones.

Actually, that makes sense.

I think you're right.

Patrick Kemp wasn't killed
by the blackmailer at Zooss.

He was the blackmailer at Zooss.

Kemp died over a month ago.

Galen Barrow died
three nights ago.

If Kemp was
the blackmailer,

who had Barrow killed?

Sherlock?

HOLMES:
Up here!

(footsteps approaching)

(sighs)
What's all this?

The view from Olympus.

Or views, rather.

This is from last Monday,

Tuesday, Wednesday,

so on and so forth.

But we only asked
for this data

so we could help identify
the blackmailer.

We already know
it's Patrick Kemp.

The same Patrick Kemp

who died four weeks before
Galen Barrow was murdered.

We know that Barrow
sought to undo

a blackmailer at Zooss,
but it occurred to me,

what if he'd stumbled across
some other secret along the way?

I thought that tracing
his movements might point us

in the direction of
the orchestrator of his murder.

You think he was getting
too close to someone else?

Someone who knew
about Kemp's activities.

Someone who also had
something to lose.

The cars are moving

so fast--
did you accelerate the feed?

What better way
to trace the movements

of several thousand Zooss users
over several months?

Wait. You watched everything
they gave us in one night?

As you can see,
I'm almost entirely caught up.

What happened to just studying
Galen's movements?

I defy you to look at the city
from this vantage point

and not discern
certain patterns.

What do you mean?

Bryce Newsome--
he is a scoundrel.

Quite prone
to one-night stands.

There is hope, however,
'cause he's taken to seeing

a therapist
every Tuesday night at 7:00.

Leon Kennard, ad executive.

He requires a change of scenery.

Why else would he be
paying visits

to his company's competitors
during his off hours?

April Lindgren.

Her comings and goings
are the very definition

of predictable, or at least they
were until several weeks ago.

Her son has been diagnosed with
some form of cancer-- leukemia,

judging by the experts
she's conferred.

She's been spending

the bulk of her time
at the hospital.

Although she did pay a recent
visit to a funeral home...

presumably to make arrangements.

Why did you just put yourself
through all this?

(sighs) Actually,
I didn't intend to, but...

once I started...

Okay, say you're right.

The person who killed Galen
Barrow had something to lose.

Maybe someone at Zooss figured
out he was poking around

and had Galen killed
to protect the company.

Like I was saying...
If you think that
someone from Zooss

is behind Galen Barrow's murder,
you're right.

But you're wrong-- it's not to
do with protecting the company.

What are you talking about?

Olympus. It gave me the answers
that we seek several hours ago.

I know who the killer is.

We're going to see him
this morning.

My assistant
just told me

you were here; she said
you have more questions.

Mr. Falchek, have a seat.

Should I get Eric
and the others?

No, no. We'll be
speaking with them presently.

Does the name Felice Armistead
mean anything to you?

No. Why would it?

She's a Zooss user.

Has been since
September 2013.

I'm confused.

Is this the person
you think killed Galen?

No. It's the person
we think he was killed over.

HOLMES:
As a customer,

I'd classify her usage
as mundane.

Her pickups and drop-offs
were almost exclusively...

Hey!

...from her home or her office.

She utilized your cars
to frequent

a number of, you know,
bars and restaurants,

as well as a fairly
tight circle of...

friends and family.

Then one day,

a deviation.

She used one of your vehicles
to visit a police station.

Would it interest
you to know

that of all the Zooss
users in Manhattan,

only 36 people have
used your cars to go

to or from a police station
in the last six months?

The average citizen
pays a visit

to a precinct
once in a lifetime. Hmm?

They are places
to be avoided.

So these individuals stood out
like 36 sore thumbs.

As it turns out,
19 of them

work in and around
the department.

Cops, attorneys,
administrators.

Ten were witnesses
who were asked

to give a statement,
and the remaining seven

went there
to report a crime.

Ms. Armistead was
one of those seven.

GREGSON:
She told a detective

about some disturbing e-mails

she'd been receiving--
some creep

with an anonymous server
kept sending her messages.

"I'm watching you."

"I know what you're wearing."

"I know who you're with."
Many of the e-mails

were a lot more
explicit than that,

but that's neither
here nor there.

The point is, she
was being stalked--

stalked by someone who
always seemed to know

exactly where she was.

And you're telling me
this because...?

One night, her stalker got brave
enough to break into her house.

He was picking through her
drawers when she surprised him.

There was a struggle.

He broke her cheekbone
before he got away.

HOLMES:
The next day,

she took a Zooss car
to go and stay

with her parents
in Westchester.

Obviously,
she failed to understand

that her stalker
had been using Olympus

to watch her all along.

WATSON: Now, we found
records that indicate

you cut off Patrick Kemp's
access to Olympus

seven weeks ago.

Probably because
you realized

he was blackmailing people--
you kept it quiet.

If you hadn't, you could've
brought the whole company down.

HOLMES: Not that we think
you did what you did

to protect your shares
at the company. No.

You did it to protect
your favorite peephole

into the life
of your favorite prey.

I wondered when and where
you first laid eyes

on Miss Armistead,

so I attempted to
track your movements

using Olympus over the
last several months.

Turns out, you don't partake
of your own company's service.

Wonder why.

I want a lawyer.
GREGSON:
That's fine.

He can join us for the lineup

you're gonna be in
at the station.

Miss Armistead didn't get a very
good look at you that night,

but her description was enough
to make me think of you.

I predict she'll have

little trouble
picking you out.

I assume, since you
asked to meet me here

rather than
a room downstairs,

you've decided not
to impregnate me.

At least, the old-fashioned way.

(sighs)

It's okay, Sherlock.

The things I
said yesterday--

I put too much
pressure on you.

You made some good points.

Not enough to
sway you though.

You were right.

I am... remarkable.

That's precisely why
I can't help you.

What does you being amazing
have to do...

No, no, no.
I didn't say I was "amazing."

I said I was "remarkable."

The things that I do,

the things that
you care about, um...

you think that I do them
'cause I'm a good person.

I do them 'cause it would
hurt too much not to.

Because you're a good person.

No, it hurts, Agatha.

All this.

Everything I see,

everything I hear,
touch, smell.

The conclusions
that I'm able to draw.

The things that are
revealed to me.

The ugliness.

My work focuses me.

It helps.

You say that I'm using my gifts.

I say I'm just treating them.

So I cannot, in good conscience,

pass all of that
on to someone else.

Sorry.

¶ ¶

(lock clicking)

(door opens)

(sighs)

So did Agatha really decide
to go home one day early,

or did you just not want
to pay for another night

at Lutece?

The bearskin rug is gone.

It is now safe
to move about the brownstone.

Well, I'm sorry things
didn't work out between you two.

No, you can't be sorry because
there was nothing to work out.

And there was nothing
to work out

because there's nothing
between us.

I was just taking advantage
of her absence

to dig through some cold cases.

Well... you want company?

No, thank you.

How about some ice cream?

You know, it's the stuff
that people eat

when they're feeling
a little down.

I have everything
I need right here.

Okay.

What-what kind of ice cream?

I'll bring you
a couple of choices.

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access.wgbh.org