Original subtitles

Previously on Elementary:

HOLMES: Is it possible

to truly know another person?

Is it even a worthwhile pursuit?

You think that Kitty needs help

above and beyond my mentorship?

She's a rape victim.

She was kept and tortured.

What, you found your next business? I think so.

So, I called the airline, and I can't stay the whole time,

but I've always wanted to see Copenhagen.

WOMAN: Yeah.

I hear you.

I told him we'd be ready to brief next Wednesday.

Oh, believe me, if he pushes back, I'll kill him myself.

Uh, hold on, I'll check.

(scoffs)

Damn it.

Dan, I'll call you back.

(screams)

(beeps)

Bastard.

It's a nondisclosure agreement.

I would like you to sign it.

Morning to you, too.

It is, for the most part, boilerplate.

My secrets stay secret.

I have powerful enemies, Kitty.

I work every day to make more.

You are privy to my method and my madness.

So, you see the risk I'm taking on, do you not?

I do, but we've worked together for months,

so why, all of a s...

I meant to have your signature from the beginning,

but timely paperwork is a weakness of mine.

I hereby forego my right to tell my nonexistent friends

that I am pet-sitting a sociopathic tortoise.

Hmm.

Does seem to favor the buzzer over the bell lately.

When I feed him, he'd rather zap for his breakfast.

Hmm. It's only a small sample,

but there is mounting evidence that he wishes you harm.

(cell phone chimes) We'll need more data to say

whether or not reptiles have the capacity for empathy.

Until Watson returns from Copenhagen,

Clyde will either warm to you,

or the electrocutions will continue.

Gather your things. We're needed in Midtown.

Guarding a puddle?

Been demoted, have you?

Haven't you heard?

It's not the size of the crime scene that counts.

All we got is this and what's in that bag.

Ooh.

BELL: CSU already did their thing,

but the thunderstorm last night

washed away most of the story.

Witnesses?

Well, we got detectives

canvassing the neighborhood,

but it doesn't look like anyone saw the accident

or torture or whatever this was.

Still waiting to hear back from a few hospitals.

But, so far, no reports of a handless man

coming into the ER last night.

Nor will there be any.

The owner of this hand is quite dead.

I have a fair idea where we'll find the rest of him.

You will have seen the signs near the puddle of blood

that said-- overnight parking prohibited on a Monday.

And yet this morning-- rubbish everywhere.

So it's not too much of a leap to imagine

that the street sweeper had to maneuver

around an illegally parked car.

A car which was later towed.

Given the givens, you can see how a severed hand

came to be lying in the middle of the street.

You want to give us the "givens" one more time?

It starts at this Prius, goes up to the column.

Right.

The hand was not cut cleanly.

It wasn't lopped off with a sharp blade.

The stump was a jagged mess.

I picture the man lying,

stuffed beneath a parked car, dead.

Sled of the tow truck was lowered...

...onto his wrist.

And then your puddle became a stew.

But why do you keep saying he was dead?

He could have been a drunkard lying by the curb

with his hand where it shouldn't be.

If I cut your hand off, you'd scream, wouldn't you?

So, a tow truck crew working in a downpour

could be forgiven for not seeing what they'd done,

but...

the only way that they wouldn't have heard anything

is if the man was already deceased.

So, you think the body got caught underneath,

dragged here by the tow truck?

I don't think, Detective.

I know.

You ought to get cleaned up, get back to your command.

I'm free to go?

Yeah, you can go.

Look, I'm sure you had your reasons.

But unless you share 'em,

I got an official mess on my hands.

I'm not asking for any favors.

You do what you have to do.

Damn it, Tommy, you hit a cop.

I know what I did.

WOMAN: No wallet, no I.D., so he's a John Doe until further notice.

Also, he's a homicide victim.

I seem to remember telling you that this morning.

Someone hit him hard with a blunt instrument.

As I also pointed out.

Brain hemorrhaging-- pretty extensive on the left side.

This was the fatal blow,

if I had to guess, but it was

a rough ride under that car.

Lots of postmortem injuries,

including the severed hand.

I'm just amazed he didn't get jarred loose from under there.

The undercarriage hooked his belt buckle.

We had to cut him loose.

So, he got attacked on the street,

his wallet is gone.

Mugging gone wrong?

Whatever it was, he put up a fight.

Some of the bruising, including the torn rotator cuff,

wasn't postmortem.

And I found a decent sample

of what I assume is the perp's blood and skin

under the left index finger.

No hits in the system yet.

No hair.

Not even in his nose.

And those, um, holes near his shoulder...

Chemo?

From the looks of it,

he was on a pretty aggressive course of treatment,

and it was working.

I didn't find one grain of carcinoma.

He had a bone graft in his hip-- healed beautifully.

Might be worth it to show his picture around a few hospitals.

After we've checked the Orthodox synagogues.

This man's clothes may be in tatters,

but these holes are tailored,

sewn in to hold tzitzit.

The ritual fringe worn

by devout Jewish men.

22 such synagogues in Manhattan.

You take everything south of Houston,

we'll take everything north.

HOLMES: We're not certain he was a victim of mugging.

It's just one possibility.

Did your brother have any enemies

or anyone who might have wanted to hurt him?

No. Like I said, Moshe was a good man.

He was loved here.

Fact is-- we didn't think we'd have him as long as we did.

The-the bone cancer.

But Moshe kept faith.

Just last month,

they told him it was in remission.

The medical examiner puts your brother's time of death

at around 2:00 a.m.

Was it usual for him to be out that late?

I assumed he-he went to check something at his store.

He owned a Postal Unlimited,

one block from where you say he was attacked.

Moshe's usually the one who opens up in the morning.

I was afraid he was under the weather again.

If he came in last night, it'd be in the system over there.

The master code, it's just one-two-three

and then the address.

Was Moshe a good boss?

Yeah, he was the best.

He was really tight with his community, and still...

hired a guy named Amit.

He had a big heart.

You got any idea what would have drawn him

to the office last night?

(sighs) It could have been anything.

There were signs of a-a struggle, violent struggle.

Possibly personal.

So, have you any idea of any acquaintances might have...

lured him here?

Sorry, I just work the counter.

You working here last night at 1:00 a.m.?

It's finals week.

I was in a study group literally all night.

Like I said, I loved Moshe.

If it wasn't for him and this job,

I wouldn't be able to pay for grad school.

What is that? That is a GX-100 safe.

Rather expensive and new edition,

judging by the sawdust on the floor here.

Alarm system's new, too.

Quite a few security upgrades in the last few months.

There were a couple robberies in the neighborhood this summer.

So, you want to bet whether Moshe's nigh-uncrackable

security code is put to a double use?

Hmm?

At least it wasn't his birthday.

Little more careful with the books.

He was keeping a coded ledger.

AMIT: I think that's just Hebrew.

Some of it.

We're gonna need copies of all account documentation

and any shipping manifests that you have in the store.

(tapping on window)

Captain?

Got a minute?

You're a son of a bitch, you know that?

I told you what I told you in confidence.

I told you because I had to tell someone,

not because I wanted you to jump my partner

in the middle of the street in front of half my precinct.

He didn't get half of what he deserved.

Well, I got the whole 15th--

people who had no idea what was going on--

trying to figure out why you did it.

You're not saying anything.

Stotz isn't saying anything.

But I'm hearing whispers everywhere I go this morning.

This is worse than what happened.

The guy laid hands on you.

Did you honestly

expect me to do nothing?

I am not nine years old anymore, Dad.

I'm a cop.

I can handle myself.

No, that's...

that's mine.

You use another one.

You always let me use that one.

There's a brand-new one in your room.

I meant to tell you, and I forgot.

All right, out with it.

First, you make me sign an NDA, now I can't use your laptop.

We worked together for months, and today I wake up to find

I'm learning at the knee of a paranoid.

Paranoia is the byproduct of being consistently right.

You should aspire to it.

Sherlock?

(sighs)

If you must know, I am raw from a recent violation.

It's come to my attention that my last protégée

was engaged in literary espionage.

The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes?

Watson wrote this?

I lent her that computer in the early days of our partnership.

When I got it back, I found a 474-page manuscript,

inadequately trashed

and all too easy to recover.

She wrote a book about you.

My work, my methods.

And God only knows if she's retained copies.

But rest assured, I shall demand them all

when she returns from her Danish sabbatical/sex-capade.

In any event, you can see why I find it necessary

to circumscribe a razor-sharp cone of silence.

I get why you're unhappy,

but it's not like she's published the thing.

Oh, you would defend her.

I say she has a right

to make record of her work and her stories.

Interesting title for her stories, don't you think?

The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes?

Maybe she...

It was diamonds.

Diamonds.

Sherlock...

Thank you for provoking me. I needed to purge.

Anger can be a potent fuel, but it does cloud the mind.

And once removed-- sunburst.

Moshe Shapiro was a diamond smuggler.

You decrypted the ledger?

Nope.

But these shipping manifests are in plain English,

and they tell the story well enough.

Starting last February, one of Moshe's customers,

George Anyaoku, started receiving

registered letters from a doctor in Tel Aviv.

Anyaoku was a U.N. translator

with the Nigerian delegation. I say "was"...

because he suffered a coronary

and died last...

January.

Now, obviously payments for his mailbox ceased,

but Moshe kept it open-- why?

Because he knew that this man's

diplomatic connections entitled

his correspondence to less scrutiny from customs.

But how can you be sure it was diamonds?

Well, firstly, Tel Aviv is a hub

for the international market for conflict diamonds.

Secondly, Moshe's new safe does not come with a fabric lining.

He had it inlaid with duvetyn for the same reason

that jewelers use black velvet.

He wanted to be able to see

any small stones which had slipped from their pouches.

It's a bit of a shame to learn

we're seeking justice for a scoundrel.

And a hypocrite.

At least, according to this.

I thought you couldn't read that.

I can't, but there is a grease stain

on page 124.

This is rémoulade from a very

un-kosher shrimp po'boy.

That's a sandwich.

It wouldn't be the first time a man's

looming sense of his own mortality

had loosened his sense of piety.

So, on the last Wednesday of every month,

he received a shipment of gems.

It seems his habit was to sell them

onto a wholesaler after hours.

And then someone figured out his schedule

and saw an easy score.

Hmm, there are only so many diamond merchants

who would be willing to purchase undocumented stones.

I suggest we see how many the NYPD is aware of.

BELL: One more for the pile.

Emerald Avenue Fine Jewelry and Gems.

Owner's been clean in this country

but took a collar in Nairobi

a couple years back with a bag of rubies

taped to his upper thigh.

Fair warning-- there's a picture

in there you can't unsee.

Holmes, where are you, man?

Excuse me. Would you... would you repeat that last bit

you just said about the briefcase in the box?

How did you even know...?

I-I can read lips.

Would you, uh... please?

Mm-hmm.

All right, careful. That's evidence.

In our investigation,

I take it.

You want a go?

Where'd you say it came from-- Department of Sanitation?

Yeah, uh, a couple of their guys

saw it in a bin on 51st and Broadway.

Other half of that handcuff is a bloody mess.

They figured we should take a look,

so I got to climb into a Dumpster this morning.

Yeah, we can tell.

BELL: Wow.

I guess we know why Moshe Shapiro lost his hand.

They took it off to get to the briefcase.

The briefcase full of diamonds.

So, if someone threw it in a Dumpster...

Then it wasn't just a simple robbery after all.

We're back to square one.

(bell buzzes) HOLMES: Enter!

(door opens)

(door closes)

If you asked me to come here

for some messed-up puppet show...

HOLMES: 495 pounds.

That's the force it would take to pull

the hand off a withered cancer survivor.

Provided, of course, you had already broken his wrist.

You think someone ripped Moshe Shapiro's hand off?

With their bare hands?

Mm-hmm.

The killer

pulled on the briefcase

which was attached to the vic's wrist,

and... (clicks tongue)

That's not the sound it makes.

You know you're talking about

almost a quarter of a ton.

There are weightlifters

who are more than up to the task.

I've become convinced that one such behemoth is our culprit.

There was considerable blood and viscera on the handcuff

attached to Moshe's briefcase.

This method best explains that

and the grisly amputation

far better than my initial tow truck hypothesis.

Look, I don't want to be the reason you rob a morgue,

but that's not a real person.

Nor is it a cheap toy.

Each one has been calibrated

to mimic the integrity of a human joint.

As you can see, I've double-checked

these findings, and the M.E. concurs.

Pulling a hand off a broken wrist is just within

the range of human potential.

How many humans we talking about

with that kind of... potential?

Probably not as many as we found online

claiming to have clean-and-jerked 500 pounds.

But just to be safe,

I've dispatched Kitty to run the braggarts' names

through the NYPD database.

And if someone with this power

hasn't bothered to publicize it?

I'm hoping we'll find him at Richie's Gym.

It's one of New York's preeminent weightlifting meccas.

And it just so happens to be two blocks

from the site of Moshe Shapiro's murder.

(siren in the distance)

I didn't expect to see you so soon.

I just wanted to make sure

Captain Moretti connected with you.

You know what he's asking me to do, right?

He wants me to find that piece of garbage.

He wants me to shake his hand...

In front of cops.

Like you attacked him in front of cops.

It's a gesture.

Everyone will know that the thing

between you and him is... is done.

They'll let it go.

The thing between me and Stotz is you.

You know better than to get involved with your partner.

I taught you better than that.

Nobody had any idea about us

until you came down and starting beating on him.

How many times has he gotten physical with you?

Huh?

Hannah, I know guys like this.

I've been putting them in jail for 30 years.

I want to get something really clear, okay?

I am not some battered woman.

I'm not some crazy lady that calls the cops on her boyfriend,

and then tries to attack them when they take him away.

When I say it happened two times,

it happened two times.

Stotz and I are done.

But your bosses still don't know the truth.

I want to be promoted just as bad as the next cop,

and I'm not just talking about detective.

I want to be captain someday like you.

But it's never gonna happen if people look at me

and they see victim.

You don't talk about it, he could do it again.

To you or to somebody else.

Is that the kind of guy you want in your department

when you're helping run it?

I'll tell you what I want.

I want you at roll call

at the 15th on Friday.

Shaking his hand.

Putting this to bed.

¶ ¶

KITTY: No luck at the precinct.

Competitive weightlifters are a surprisingly

law-abiding bunch.

There were a couple of arrests for possession.

You can guess which drug.

But nothing violent.

What have I missed?

The manager's on his way.

He said he would inform us of any unsavory characters

that might frequent this dreary sweatbox.

In the meantime, Detective Bell is taking a tour

with a pneumatic model-cum-trainer.

I'm sure he's been persuaded to get a membership already.

Shame I don't have The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes

to entertain me.

What is Watson like as an author?

Subject matter's interesting.

But her prose is prosaic.

At least it was on the first page.

It gets better from there? I don't know.

I've only read the first page.

You've only read the first page? Look who's here.

Dana Kazmir.

One of our boastful beasts.

You might recall him from the photo he posted

of himself clean-and-jerking 532 pounds

on BodyByPain.com's message forum.

He didn't have any priors, not even a parking ticket.

He does, however, have a scrape on his left hand.

Should I get...?

Dana Kazmir?

Sorry.

Now's not a good time for an autograph.

Well, perhaps we could discuss a murder instead.

Man named Moshe Shapiro was found dead yesterday.

Someone pulled off his hand.

Someone with extraordinary strength.

Someone like... like you.

You mind telling us how you got that scratch on your hand?

Who the hell are you anyway?

We're consultants for the NYPD.

You got badges? No.

Well, then I don't have to talk to you.

Our colleague has a badge.

Perhaps you'd like to speak with him.

(sighs)

Perhaps you should get out of my face.

Mr. Kazmir, I challenge you to a test of strength.

If I best you at arm wrestling,

then you have to submit to further questioning.

If you win... give you 200 bucks.

That's not gonna happen, of course, 'cause I'll win easily.

Oh, what are you doing?

What do you think?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

We're not a couple of prison colonists.

We're gonna arm-wrestle like gentlemen.

You're not aware of British rules?

All right, well, the goal is not to push your opponent's

hand to the side, but rather to pull his arm towards yourself.

All right? So when--

and I emphasize "when"-- I pin the back of your hand

on my chest, it will be over.

Right. I'll count down from three... Mm-hmm.

...and we go on one.

Yeah. Three.

Two. One.

(all exclaiming)

You win.

BELL: Hey, hey, hey. hey, hey, hey!

Calm down, all right?

You got your money. We're leaving.

What the hell were you thinking?

That we lacked probable cause

to compel a DNA sample

to compare to tissue underneath

Moshe Shapiro's nails.

You're welcome.

(door opens)

Captain.

Ms. Kerr, if you're wondering

when the D.A.'s people are gonna get here...

Actually, Mr. Kazmir has decided

he'd rather not wait.

He understands that the evidence

against him is compelling, and so he's

prepared to offer a full confession,

as well as other information

he believes you'll find valuable.

Such as?

Crimes that haven't happened yet, but soon will.

That's why we don't want to wait.

The information that he has

is extremely time-sensitive.

Now, in exchange, I would ask your department

to take a favorable view of our plea proposal

and support lenience within reasonable constraints.

But even if you don't...

this is a matter of conscience

for my client.

He's going to kill more people.

Who is?

The guy who hired me.

I was paid to rob and kill Moshe Shapiro.

It made me sick, but I...

My family needed the money.

You're saying this was a paid hit?

He found me on, uh,

one of the weight lifting message boards.

He called, but he wouldn't give a name.

His voice was...

I don't know, Dutch, maybe?

And the, uh, jewels turning up the way they did...

Yeah, the Dumpster on 51st.

That's where he was gonna pick 'em up.

If I'd have known what was in that case,

I would have kept 'em.

I only got 50K to do it. Cash.

Can you produce that cash?

I lost it.

Playing cards.

I gotta say, this is kind of convenient.

You want leniency for cooperating,

only you're not giving anyone up.

Not really. KAZMIR: Look.

I never met the guy.

And I'm not telling you this because I want a favor.

I'm telling you this

because he wanted me to do it again.

KERR: We have three names...

each one a target of the man

who paid for Moshe Shapiro's murder.

KAZMIR: Look, you got me, okay?

But he's still out there.

And as long as he is,

those people aren't safe.

HOLMES: Murder for hire.

These e-mails been authenticated?

Well, our tech guys say the time stamps are legit,

but they can't trace the employer's account.

This "Mencius BlackBag," who ordered the hit,

falsified his IP address.

Of all the traits that can be ascribed to a criminal,

"tech-savvy" has got to be my least favorite.

Well, how about "bloodthirsty"?

You can see they went back and forth a couple times.

Kazmir kept pitching nonviolent stickups,

but this guy wanted Shapiro dead.

"You gotta ice the putz.

"No loose ends for me

or there's no fat stacks for you."

When we find this man, he should stand trial for murder

and crimes against the English language.

The precise instructions about when and where

Kazmir should strike Shapiro are telling.

He certainly knew the man's business.

Well, he was a lot less specific about his other targets.

Maybe he didn't know them as well.

Where are we with interviews

and protection for these folks?

BELL: We got cars rolling

on their primary residences;

we're still trying to find numbers and make contact.

They're all civilians.

No criminal records, no obvious connections.

Well, we don't know anything about

"Antonio Barrios" or "Linda Devine,"

but the third name is familiar to us.

Amit Hattengatti.

So, we've apprehended the man who murdered your boss.

Did it on contract.

What?

Apparently, he was offered payment for your head, as well.

You were aware of your boss's

illegal diamond smuggling,

were you not, Mr. Hattengatti?

No. I didn't know anything about it.

And yet you don't seem surprised to hear of its existence.

Okay.

He never talked about it.

Last month, a guy comes into the store, and he...

he threatened Moshe.

He said he would kill him.

And you didn't think that

that would be germane to our case?

I didn't want to point

at some criminal boss guy if it was just

some sort of coincidence.

I was afraid of what he would do to me.

Well, as it happens, he may

very well be plotting to kill you,

so... please elaborate.

(sighs)

Okay. This guy Leonard--

Oostheezen, Oost-wi-zin or something--

he comes into the store and he shoves Moshe

right over there.

He was yelling about, uh,

the prices being too low,

that he was spoiling the buyers.

He wanted to collude with Moshe?

Fix prices on the black market?

I don't know.

I asked Moshe about it, and he said it was a big mix-up.

That this Leonard guy was some sort of jewelry dealer,

and that he had Moshe confused with someone else.

I knew he was lying, but it wasn't...

any of my business.

There were two other customers in here.

Uh, regulars. Linda Devine

and Tony Barrios were here, too, I think.

I'll call the captain.

I'll tell him that we know the connection

between the names on Kazmir's list now.

HOLMES: Leonard Oosthuizen. Born in Johannesburg.

Nonresident alien since 2008.

South Africa. Kazmir was pretty close

when he said the guy on the phone sounded Dutch.

For a murder suspect,

he makes some awfully fussy bracelets.

He's got a front business.

Got a write-up in a trade magazine,

and there's a Q & A here.

HOLMES: His visa lapsed in July.

That should be enough for

a state-sanctioned visit, shouldn't it?

Captain. You got a moment?

Course. Yeah. Sure.

I, um... I just wanted you to know

that I saw you yesterday, with your daughter.

Someone hit her,

and you hit him.

Sherlock's training me to read lips.

I'm not great at it yet.

I'd say you're pretty good.

I know that she doesn't want you

to talk to anybody about it--

at least not in any official capacity--

but you should talk about it.

Perhaps to someone whose secrets you've agreed to keep.

You're going to do it, then.

Shake this man's hand-- Stotz.

Doesn't feel like I have much of a choice.

I think you're doing the right thing.

How you feel shouldn't be her problem.

After everything that happened to me...

all my relationships were...

different.

My family and my friends...

they were just trying to help,

but the look on their faces, it...

it just reminded me that it had happened.

It's one of the reasons that I wanted to start over.

I know I haven't been here very long,

but I do know that perception matters.

If she doesn't want to look weak,

then she shouldn't have to.

He'll be around her every day.

She's gonna have to see him every day.

Everything that you've done for me...

it's really helped.

I'm sorry for what you're going through.

You don't deserve it.

BELL: What are we looking at here,

Mr. Oosthuizen?

Price tag. Ballpark.

I don't know.

Why don't you take them to appraisal?

We'll do that.

I'm gonna tell you what.

I'm going to proceed under the assumption

that these diamonds we took out of your apartment

are worth more than $1,000.

So we got a felony.

And we got your expired visa.

You see where this is heading?

A flight to Johannesburg?

This isn't a Homeland Security office.

You obviously think I can help you somehow.

So what's the deal you want to offer me?

I'm willing to offer you

continued residence in the United States

as our permanent guest at Southport Correctional.

That's a deal?

It is.

Because door number two isn't just

extradition back to South Africa.

It's a life sentence there

for trafficking in blood diamonds.

I don't know if you read Mandela's book,

but me, I'd choose the States.

You can confess to arranging the murder

of Moshe Shapiro and conspiring to murder

three other American citizens.

You do that,

I don't see you getting shipped anywhere.

No. I had nothing to do with any murder.

Leonard-- No. This is ridiculous.

Moshe Shapiro and I had no quarrel.

We got three witnesses who say just the opposite.

They all saw you at his throat, just last month.

They all lying?

I-- yes, I went to his store.

And I... I'm a passionate man. I...

I made my case that he shouldn't,

you know, foul the water.

BELL: We know. He was lowballing you.

He was selling to my buyers under my prices.

In our trade, it's not done.

But listen, all that was past.

Moshe called me last week.

He told me he was quitting the business.

So, you see, I had no reason to hurt the man. I...

Detective, if I may.

Those gems. Forget the appraisal.

How many stacks would they pull on the street?

I don't... What? If I was to ice you,

would that be a good thing or a bad thing?

Holmes... Don't be a putz.

He's being a putz, is he not?

Can I speak to you outside?

The hell was that?

He didn't do it.

We got three witnesses

who saw him threaten Shapiro.

We know he's in the same business,

fighting for customers.

Not to mention Dana Kazmir,

who confirmed it's Oosthuizen's voice on his phone calls.

We also have the e-mails, which he didn't write.

He speaks English. He's got fingers.

Probably knows how to turn on a computer.

You see how strong his accent is?

His native language, Afrikaans, is still his daily tongue.

What's that got to do with it? Putz.

Ice. Stacks.

The e-mails that Kazmir's employer sent

are just rife with slang and colloquialisms.

I'm going back in there-- alone--

and I'm going to write that man's confession.

He won't sign it.

You have the wrong man.

(door closes)

I propose a thought experiment.

Is this a preamble to admitting you might be wrong?

Leonard Oosthuizen did not confess this afternoon,

and he did not confess for a very good reason.

He is innocent, and I am right.

I challenge you to imagine

an altogether different suspect

whose means and motives fit the crime.

You mean someone else with a Dutch accent

who paid to kill Oosthuizen's rival,

and then targeted

the only three witnesses to the confrontation?

Why do you refuse to consider the possibility that Oosthuizen

was in league with a partner who wrote the e-mails?

We've wasted enough time down that road.

Whatever you may say about Oosthuizen,

he is the lord of his domain.

He is the sole proprietor of his criminal enterprise.

I'm quite certain that an independent third party

is responsible.

All I lack is a viable suspect.

I know why you haven't read it yet, you know.

Watson's book.

I haven't had the time.

You're afraid. Of?

Her...

assessment, her judgment.

Watson and I had no secrets during her time here.

There were days when the walls positively vibrated

with her judgment.

You didn't know about her writing.

You don't know why she kept it a secret.

Maybe the answers

lie within.

But then, so may other surprises.

I could read it for you, if you like.

I could, um,

wave you off

if it's more than you'd care to know.

The truth is, you could benefit

from absorbing an account of our casework.

But Watson did not share the manuscript.

And while she may have less exacting

privacy standards than I do,

she obviously intended to dispose of it.

I cannot in good conscience

hand it off.

Perhaps if...

If it's of no interest to you, it's of no interest to me.

Either way, it's over now.

We can focus on the case.

(laptop chirps)

"Found Kazmir's 50K.

"He lied about gambling it away.

Unfortunately, no prints."

Detective Bell.

He wants me to know that Kazmir's story checks out.

Have another look at Kazmir's payoff.

The padded envelope and the hot pink rubber bands.

They're just like the ones they sell at Postal Unlimited.

As they do in several thousand other stores in this city.

What if Amit Hattengatti was behind the murder?

It's a thought experiment.

Amit was the one who left the rémoulade stain

on Moshe's ledger.

He's an active junior partner

in the diamond smuggling business,

but then Moshe beats cancer, and he regains his virtue.

Suppose it's just as Oosthuizen claimed,

and Moshe was dismantling the business.

Wouldn't that have given Amit the motive to try and stop him?

I was counting the ifs, but go on.

I just called Richie's Gym.

Amit is a member there.

Perhaps he overheard Kazmir cry poor between sets one day.

Oh, what he wouldn't do for a buck.

A useful hypothetical fits all the facts.

You're leaving out a sensible motive

for Amit to have aimed his hired killer at himself.

So unless you're talking

about the most elaborate suicide ever staged...

It is possible we've been looking at the shape of this

completely wrong.

(bell dings)

BELL: Mr. Hattengatti,

I promise this won't take long.

We just need to dot a few I's,

get your signature under a statement, all right?

Okay.

(sighs)

What's going on?

You've been misled.

You're actually here to confess

to conspiracy, murder and obstruction of justice.

Did he see Ms. Kerr in the conference?

Mm-hmm. Seemed best that we start with your coconspirator,

seeing as she didn't actually have anyone killed.

(chuckles) I don't know

what you're talking about.

You are Mencius Blackbag.

You sent Dana Kazmir five fat stacks to ice your boss,

presumably so you could take over

the jewelry smuggling business

that you helped him build.

You shouldn't steal office supplies, Amit.

HOLMES: Convincing us you were a target,

steering our investigation

through your caring admission

that you suspected Moshe's competitor all along.

Yeah, that was quite inspired.

These two are nuts.

I already told them Oosthuizen's the guy. Careful.

'Cause you pronounced his name correctly that time.

My colleague here

grew suspicious of you.

I realized that you had found a way, somehow, to bribe

Kazmir's attorney.

Offer her money to offer him money

to tell a certain tale, so you were, perhaps,

not as marked for death as you appeared.

KITTY: She carried your message to Kazmir

and offered him and his family a payday,

provided his confession included the right pieces,

that he once spoke to his employer,

that said employer sounded Dutch,

and that he wanted three witnesses dead.

Kazmir was going to prison no matter what,

so he agreed.

It's a pretty smart way to cast suspicion off yourself.

And you took down a rival, to boot.

You keep talking about paydays and bribes.

I work in a mailbox store.

(chuckles) You want to see my student loans?

I'm a PhD candidate.

With an international diamond connection.

No one here thinks that your university stipend

paid for that Burberry belt.

That's quite a splurge.

We're sure the money trail

will be wide and easy to follow.

Hey, chin up, Amit.

You can finish your doctorate in prison.

And if you confess

before Ms. Kerr does, we'll ask the D.A.

to shave some time for being so cooperative.

Best hurry, though.

The race is on.

If I give you my supplier,

will that help, too?

MAN: Have a safe tour.

Take your posts.

(indistinct chatter)

Chris.

Captain.

You should know,

I'm quitting the department.

Last day's Friday.

Cousin's got a personal security firm in Hoboken.

It's a better salary anyway.

Tell her I told you, okay?

Hannah will be glad to hear it.

I'm not talking about her.

I'm talking about your friend-- the English one.

You'll tell her?

GREGSON: You're here late.

I wanted to pick through a few cold cases.

I'm just leaving.

I thought you'd want to know

it went well today.

Hannah's happy.

Moretti's off my back.

I got a nice little surprise, too.

Stotz is leaving the force.

Glad to hear it all worked out.

(elevator bell dings)

What did you say to him?

Does it matter?

(banging)

I'm gonna need some help taking these back tomorrow.

Fine, but I'm knackered.

So I propose we go one day

without any early-morning nonsense.

You're making great strides.

Now's the time to dig in.

You weren't entirely wrong about Watson.

She does have the right to tell her own stories.

I may have felt some...

mild trepidation about subjecting myself

to her full appraisal.

Almost imperceptibly mild.

Anyway, um...

I've decided that, uh,

this nondisclosure agreement was made in error.

I want you to feel free to, um,

(chuckles) produce your own memoirs,

should you feel the need.

I'm not much of a writer.

Well, let me know if that changes.

Who knows? If you do write a book,

someone might be interested to read it.