Original subtitles

Another boy's been murdered.

== Synced & corrected by MaxPayne ==

I think it necessary that arrangements be made.

In the best interest of your son, of course.

The cripple in him is looking for the cripple in another.

We won't find him by dissecting our own minds.

Nor shall we find him by looking for men with silver smiles.

We must see what's behind the clues.

Come on, Sara. We don't have to listen to this.

Go on then, both of you.

And come back when you're able to look inside yourselves.

Mrs. Santorelli and her son brought this to me

at police headquarters.

Why wasn't killing the boy enough?

Why must you send a letter as well?

He's watching us.

Which one of you is up for a little fun?

It seems clear that...

the slashing downstrokes

and the extreme angle of the characters

suggest a tormented human being...

one for whom no relief can be found,

save through a demonstration of anger and violence.

The man who wrote this,

and the attack of the pen in this case,

is undoubtedly masculine.

The man who wrote this note

has had at least several years of schooling

that entailed penmanship.

This instruction occurred in the United States

no more than 15 years ago.

You sound quite sure, Mr. Macleod.

Dr. Kreizler, as a professional graphologist,

it is my business to be sure.

There is every indication that this man was trained,

hard and regularly,

in the style of penmanship known as the Palmer Method.

The Palmer Method was introduced in the late '70s

and was quickly adopted by primary schools

all over the country.

Thus, if we assume that this...

If we assume that our scribe ended his primary education

no later than, say, age 15,

he cannot now be any older than 35.

Or younger than 24.

I do hope that this letter has been written in jest.

Or is, in fact, a training exercise?

Thank you for coming, Mr. Macleod.

Please send the invoice for your services to my attention.

Detective Sergeants, I believe you have

something more to say on the matter.

We have found numerous prints, uh,

probably belonging to members of the Santorelli family...

- or Sara here. - But by employing a method

using a silver nitrate solution, we were able

to match a print found on the Zweig boy's watch...

To one taken on the stamp... from the envelope.

Along with Mr. Macleod's assessment of his penmanship,

I have extracted some words and phrases found in the letters

which could prove crucial.

"Dirty Immigrants." "Saucy Boy."

"Dirt and Paint." The "19th of February."

One thing is certain...

his spelling leaves much to be desired.

But it could be an attempt to misdirect our suspicions.

If nothing else, his deliberate phrasing implies

a certain joy, if not obsession, at desecrating the body.

Perhaps he's mirroring a...

an action that he learned or witnessed firsthand?

Are you suggesting that he himself

could be a victim of such horrible acts?

A man reliving the violence inflicted upon him as a child.

I think we can safely say that whoever wrote it is a man,

while still a child, was embarrassed, harassed,

beaten, very likely assaulted.

I might offer that the hand most responsible

might be that of a man.

But the intimate nature of other aspects seems to me

to be the rather sinister presence of a woman.

If your theory were sound, Miss Howard, wouldn't it hold

that the victims, like the Ripper's, be women?

The letter is addressed to Mrs. Santorelli,

its tone both defensive and whining,

filled with scatological and anatomical detail.

Isn't that the voice of a boy who's been made to feel

that he himself is filth?

How many households have you known

that are ruled by dominating, violent mothers?

But certainly you would agree there's more than one kind of violence?

Look at your friend here to see

who has had more influence on his childhood.

Laszlo, my mother was absent a good deal of my childhood.

Doctor, we're not talking about the gilded upbringing

of a handsome but indolent member of the Leisure Class.

There is nothing in the literature to suggest

the involvement of a woman, not in Bruer, not in Freud, not...

Why you resist so strongly the notion of a woman's active involvement

in this... Because had a woman been dominant in his life

at any point, we wouldn't even be here!

These crimes would never have happened!

Sara!

Sara, wait!

He's made it quite clear that the only opinion he values

is one that reflects his own. - Well, I admit he can be

rather pigheaded and impatient at times,

but you shouldn't take it personally.

He's that way with everyone. He is a bully, and I will not be bullied.

Shine, mister? Shine?

I doubt any man living could bully you.

- Don't patronize me. - Shine, sir?

All right.

Do you really expect me to stand here

and wait while you get your boots shined?

- As a matter of fact, I do. - Why?

Because you find me handsome.

I said you were handsome and indolent.

Damned with faint praise.

Besides, I rather see it

not so much as having my boots shined

as offering a poor boy honest work.

And what do you know of honest work?

I know I don't care for it.

A slothful nature and a fondness for alcohol

can be overcome with hard work

and a willingness to change your life.

I'm afraid you sound just like my old grandmother.

Well, maybe you should listen to her.

Oh. Very well then.

Sara Howard, will you marry me?

I, John Schuyler Moore,

take thee, Sara Howard,

to be my wedded wife from this day forward...

for better for worse,

for richer for poorer.

And to give you lots of little children

who will be as lazy as me

and just as stubborn as yourself.

If I thought you had a sincere bone in your body,

I might consider your offer.

- Hey! - Don't go.

Whoa! I thought we might at least have dinner together?

The Commissioner expects me in the office when he arrives,

and I've too much work to do.

Sara?

If I were to ask you, and meant it,

what would you say?

Professor Cavanaugh?

Is that Laszlo Kreizler?

I'd recognize that voice anywhere.

Please don't get up, Professor.

May I?

Thank you for agreeing to meet, Professor.

You were a remarkable student, Laszlo.

I've followed your work with great interest.

In this case, sir, the student needs a remedial lesson

on what it means to be a student.

I remember your first day on campus.

You came to me and you asked to take my class.

You were unsure about your future, you said,

and an Introduction to Ornithology

led you down a path that you didn't even know you would take.

You put me in a room

and gave me a preserved specimen to study.

Hildebrandt's Starling.

I looked the bird over, after a short time,

returned and gave you a- a few sentences describing it.

And then I told you to look at your bird again.

I did as instructed,

returned with a 4-page essay. "Look at your bird again,"

you told me and sent me away again.

I spent three more days looking at that Starling.

By that time, the poor thing was beginning to molt.

It was only then that you stated I had finally seen my bird.

It wasn't what you learned in class, Laszlo.

It's how you learned it.

I now find myself in circumstances

where I'm afraid I only see what I see.

Even if I might be contradicted,

I seem only able to recite that

which is already known to me.

Much to my dismay,

theory seems to have replaced pragmatism.

Can you suggest to me what I might do?

Look at your bird, Laszlo.

Look at your bird.

My, my.

If this country isn't going to heaven in a wheelbarrow...

And to think, the man is a doctor.

You don't look well, John.

I hope it isn't another hangover that's troubling you.

Good Lord. I will never get used to that machine.

I would much rather speak in person

than have my inner ear assaulted by some stranger's tongue.

What? Who was it? You look like you've seen a ghost.

I suppose you'll tell me at some point

why you're taking me to this godforsaken penitentiary.

You proved yourself useful at Bellevue.

And you thought I could be useful again?

I told you before, John,

people like you more than they do me.

And it might be... challenging.

So tell me, why are we going?

Hildebrandt's Starling.

What?

We're going to see Jesse Pomeroy.

Jesse Pomeroy? The Boston Boy Fiend?

- Don't be anxious. - I'm not anxious.

I've quit drinking, that's all.

Keep away from the cells

and say nothing to the prisoners.

You got 20 minutes.

You behave yourself now, Jesse...

...or you know what'll happen.

Hello, Jesse.

Do you remember me?

My name is Dr. Kreizler.

We met many years ago.

You'd just been imprisoned for the first time.

I was hoping you'd let me ask you some questions

about the children.

That's why they interrupted my dinner?

So you could interrogate me again?

So you do remember me.

I'd like to measure your progress.

I've been in solitary confinement

for 22 years.

You call that progress?

Some would say you're lucky to have escaped the gallows.

Oh, would you say that? Would you say I'm lucky?

Or just insane?

I never considered you mad for killing those children,

not even for that which you'd done to them afterward.

On the contrary, it was quite understandable.

Understandable?

There's evidence to suggest you were driven to kill by...

something as simple as envy.

Now listen to this.

He thinks because I got a bum eye,

I run around, cuttin' up little kids

just 'cause they gots two good ones.

If it is just envy, Doctor,

why aren't you out there choppin' off people's arms?

See? I remember.

I remember about that arm of yours.

Yes, I do. Yes, I do.

Well, let me ask you one question, Jesse.

The mutilations of the face,

especially their eyes, meant nothing?

Merely a random act of violence?

There's nothing what you would call a good reason

for what happened to those kids.

I- I just had enough. That's it.

I had to stop it.

Stop what?

Jesse. Yeah, I seen them little bastards,

standing there,

licking a piece of candy

or eating a drop cake,

starin' at me like I was some animal in a cage,

only I wasn't in a cage.

Not then, anyway.

There wasn't anything keeping me from doing what I had to do.

I know how I look.

Yeah, my... my father...

He couldn't stand the sight of me, and he runs off.

My dear mother...

she never kissed my face.

- Not... - not even once.

It's all right, Jesse.

What, you believe me, Doctor?

You really think I... you really think I killed those kids

because... because my mother

never kissed my ugly face?

You got it figured out why I cut 'em up?

- Guard! - Flayed their skin?

You got it figured out why I cut them up?

Guard!

- Pretty little eyes? Huh? - Drop it!

You'll never know! Only I'll know!

Only Jesse Pomeroy! You'll never know!

I must've dozed off a moment.

I don't suppose you got what you'd hoped from Jesse?

Perhaps the truth...

that I don't know as much as I think I do.

Hello, Theodore.

Mayor.

Beautiful morning for a ride.

It was.

I've not heard from you directly

since the awful events of Castle Garden.

My only source of news is the papers I read.

I urge you to ignore the press, Mayor.

Truth rarely makes for a good headline.

Just remember, The 400 are too important to this city

to suffer the public humiliation

of having one of their own arrested for murder.

I'm afraid I've no idea what you're talking about.

I'm talking about the fact that there's been suspicion cast

on a member of a certain family...

a most important family.

They've come to me in hopes that the matter

can be attended to privately.

If the matter is murdered children,

then it will be attended to in accordance with the law.

Just as you're aware of who put you...

in your position, Theodore,

I'm aware of who put me in mine.

The papers may be rife with falsehoods,

but they can sow the seeds of discontent.

What would you have me do?

Let the family take care of it.

Are we clear?

Clear we are, Mayor.

Clear we are.

Charlie.

Whoa! Look out.

Yah!

"horizontal laceration...

"8 inches across upper abdomen.

Entrails removed..."

Enough to put you off your lunch, isn't it?

My appetite's quite good, thank you.

Is the Commissioner in? We've an appointment.

He's with Captain Connor.

I do have a question.

How exactly does the sex act occur between a man and a boy?

There can be an assault upon the oral and anal passages,

of course, as between a man and a woman.

- Of course. - Or manual stimulation,

perhaps even during the commission

of the murder itself.

Onanism in place of coitus.

Some men find it's the only way

to achieve a satisfactory ejaculation.

I can understand self-gratification for a woman,

but for a mature man, it seems contrary to nature.

Oh, I whole-heartedly agree.

I mean, for a man to turn to self-pollution...

I once knew a nurse in training.

- Oy gevalt. - Did you now?

Yes, but she failed her exams.

They asked her how she would bathe the genitals,

and she said, "Why, the same way I'd bathe the Jews."

That is enough!

I want the name and I want it now, Captain Connor.

We have no suspects in these crimes, sir.

I wish I could say different.

No person of means has come to the attention of the department?

No, sir.

I will not tolerate a concealment of facts, Captain.

If a crime has been committed,

every effort will be made to apprehend the perpetrator.

I care not a wit about his social standing.

Yes, sir. And I share your sentiment, Commissioner.

You wanted to see us, sir?

Yes. Come in. I've something for you.

Miss Howard, please join us.

They've just come in.

They'll be standard issue for every officer in the department.

Colt, double-action. Excellent choice, sir.

Please go straightaway to the target range

and familiarize yourself with your weapons.

Thank you, Commissioner.

Miss Howard.

It's come to my attention the police may have a suspect,

but Kreizler's investigation seems to be lagging.

I want you to comb through police records to see

if someone of means presents themselves by their actions

as worthy of suspicion.

As you know, sir, there is good reason to believe

that the killer does come from privilege.

Mr. Moore found out as much

when he visited the brothel Paresis Hall.

Yes, I'm well aware

that privilege has powerful allies within the department.

So please be careful.

Miss Howard.

I hope I'm not interrupting.

It seems you're making a habit of surprises,

albeit pleasant ones. Won't you sit down?

I think not.

I only came here on the instruction of the Commissioner.

I'm to inform you the police have a suspect.

Roosevelt is asking for your help to identify him.

I'd very much like it if you would join me.

Please.

Only on the condition that you fabricate no more stories

about distraught mothers and their waterlogged children.

I give you my word.

Thank you.

Is the wine not satisfactory?

It's delicious.

You're not being truthful.

The truth is I prefer whiskey.

Oh.

- Bring the lady a whiskey, please. - Yes, sir.

- Please make it two. - Of course.

I was raised by my father as an only child.

He taught me to drink whiskey.

He said if I was to endeavor to live in a man's world,

then it was necessary for me to learn to drink like a man.

I must admit, however, it took me years

to accustom myself to the taste.

What else did your father teach you?

To ride, to shoot,

to live without fear of my own convictions.

I don't know about horseflesh or firearms,

but it appears he's done rather well with the latter.

Are you sure you won't have anything to eat?

No, thank you.

Is it not satisfactory?

Her grandfather came from a village outside Minsk.

Tell her.

Um, I never met him.

He died before I was born.

My parents met here.

Just like us, Mama.

She has ties to the old country.

I'm curious about your names.

I don't recall a Marcus or Lucius in the Old Testament.

- Shakespeare. - Shakespeare?

Our parents were just arrived in this country.

In order to learn English, they took to reading Shakespeare.

Or trying to.

They were halfway through "Julius Caesar"

when we were born. They didn't want

their children to be subjected to any anti-Jewish feelings,

hence we were named after characters in the play.

You know.

That's a wonderful story, Mrs. Isaacson.

What more can you tell me about this suspect?

The Commissioner only stated

that he comes from wealth and privilege,

and that I should try and see if police records might help

to identify him by his actions.

I discovered several complaints

regarding improper behavior with children

approximately the same age as our victims.

I found these two to be of most interest...

a young man, age 29, unmarried,

volunteers his time at children's charities.

On both complaints, the name of the accused had been redacted.

Ex-Chief Byrnes' influence, I've no doubt.

I also found this name.

Bishop Henry Potter?

On that redacted document, he stated after the fact

that there had been some sort of misunderstanding,

that the young man accused of assault had merely

been engaged in a bit of roughhouse.

You're suggesting

that the head of the Episcopal Church...

Roughhouse that sent the boy involved to the hospital.

While it's too early to draw conclusions, Miss Howard,

I must compliment you on your police work.

I suppose I should be grateful at the suggestion

that what I'm doing is police work.

Searching out these records

and drawing quite convincing inferences

is certainly worthy of the term.

Commissioner Roosevelt might disagree with you.

I find Commissioner Roosevelt

capable of disagreeing with most people on most things.

You're of similar temperament then.

If I were to disagree with you, it would only prove your point.

Given your knowledge and experience,

perhaps instead I should say

that you're stubborn and intractable.

Intractable?

You've a gift for it.

Please excuse me, Doctor.

I have more work to do.

Red Rover, Red Rover, send James over!

Red Rover, Red Rover, send the Bishop over!

Whoa!

Whoa!

Ah! Oh.

That took the wind right out of my sails.

You children go on without me.

My name is Laszlo Kreizler.

I believe we have a mutual acquaintance

in Theodore Roosevelt.

A friend of a friend is my friend.

You seem to have many friends,

and some very important ones at that.

What can I do for you, Mr. Kreizler?

Dr. Kreizler.

Perhaps you've heard, there have been a number of boys

murdered down in the tenements.

I read the papers like everyone else.

I'm here to inquire after a member of your congregation...

one who's had a troubled history with the police.

I'm afraid I'm unaware of anyone who fits that description.

Perhaps... this enlightens you.

Red Rover, Red Rover, send Matthew over!

That is your name mentioned, is it not?

I haven't seen the young man in a number of years.

He lived a life of the flesh.

Last I heard, Mrs. Van Bergen...

Red Rover, Red Rover, send Henry over!

Um... his mother had sent him off to Switzerland

to undergo what was termed a "rest cure."

The complaint filed against him had to do

with work he was doing here at the church.

A misunderstanding.

He had volunteered to help with the orphans we provide for.

He's a passionate young man.

Things were taken the wrong way.

So you don't believe him capable of murder?

Red Rover, Red Rover, send Gerald over!

Let me ask you, Doctor,

how would God distinguish an alienist...

from an alchemist or a... spiritualist,

or someone who levitates tables

and talks to the dead?

Psychology is a relatively new

but well-respected field of medicine.

Without God, man's nature is to seek not good, but evil.

Everyone is born in sin.

Salvation is required by all.

And if the need for salvation did not exist,

the church would surely find its invention necessary.

That is a beautiful calendar, Bishop.

May I ask you, what's the importance

of the 19th of February?

It was Ash Wednesday.

"Dirt and Paint."

I beg your pardon?

Growing up Catholic, I should have known.

One last question. Was Willem devout?

As I said, he lived a life of the flesh.

"On February 19th,

I seen your boy parading himself outside the church..."

"...with dirt and paint on his face.

"I decided to wait

"and saw him several times before one night,

I took him away from that place."

Whoa!

Do you have a name? You won't like it.

I don't like anything about this to begin with.

Willem Van Bergen.

Van Bergen?

Are you certain?

I'm certain a wealthy and socially prominent couple

have a son of dubious character

who shares any number of traits with our killer.

Makes sense, then, that I was warned to look the other way

by the mayor himself.

Then I suggest you do

what the mayor says and look the other way.

What are you saying?

Van Bergen is not our killer.

And how did you reach that conclusion?

A visit to a church in the Five Points...

one Giorgio Santorelli might have attended.

The congregation was made up of poor immigrants,

a world away from Bishop Potter and his golden-haired choirboys.

That doesn't answer my question.

The killer is choosing victims who somehow remind him

of his own background and upbringing, his own class.

I almost believe you don't want the killer found,

that this is nothing more for you than an exercise,

or an examination of the human mind.

You asked my help in providing you with a name,

and I've done so.

Now that's all.

This is not a classroom

or one of your laboratory experiments.

This man is killing children

in a most cold-blooded and horrific way,

and no amount of theorizing is going to stop him.

It's time to take action.

Totally got him.

I wonder why he bothers playing at all. I know.

Captain Connor. I'd like a word with you.

Okay, lads...

What do you know of Willem Van Bergen?

I, uh, I-I-I know the Van Bergen name, sir,

but... everyone in the city knows that name.

You're unaware he had complaints filed against him?

I mean, we've a thousand complaints a day filed, Commissioner.

You don't expect me to know all of them.

You keep your office very neat, Captain.

Yes, sir.

Thank you, sir.

I want you to discreetly find the whereabouts

of Willem Van Bergen.

I want an address.

I've never had a milk bath before.

What happened to your teeth?

Too much candy.

Commissioner Roosevelt?

- Are the men ready? - More than ready.

- Sir? - Let's be on our way then.

You're coming with us? It might be dangerous.

Well, Commissioner, you personally goin' to arrest

a rich degenerate like Van Bergen

will surely draw the attention of the press.

That's why I asked you to keep your search

for his whereabouts confidential, Captain.

I feel the city owes the family that much.

All right, come on!

Yah!

Move! Move out of the way!

Yah!

Go, go, go!

You're mine now.

Wait here, Captain. Let me do this.

Who's that?

Open the door! This is the police!

Willem Van Bergen, open the door! This is the police!

Mother.

Excuse me, madam, who might you be?

Miss Effie.

Why didn't you answer when I knocked?

Deal with the boy.

Can I... keep the dress?

You can't do this. You cannot do this!

You're Mr. Roosevelt, aren't you?

I am. Do you live here, Miss Effie?

Yes, sir. 26 years.

Please excuse us. There's been some confusion.

This is not the right place, Commissioner?

Have a lovely evening, ma'am.

Captain Connor!

Sir?

We'll need to leave here.

I don't want to go.

I know, precious. I know.

You cannot make me.

It's all right. It's just for a little while.

Oh, my Willem. My good, good boy.

No!

No!

No! No!

I want you to know, Commissioner,

I paid good money for that address.

Good money.

Apparently not good enough.

Hand me your weapon.

Give me your weapon, now!

You're gonna regret this, Mr. Roosevelt.

Let's go.

Go!

Yah!

Every time you ring,

you scare the life out of my grandmother,

especially late at night.

I have to show you something.

Humans are creatures of habit, of traditions and customs.

Therefore, it made sense

that our killer might be following a pattern.

On January the 1st,

an unidentified Negro boy was found dead.

Aaron Morton's body was discovered

hanging from the Brooklyn Bridge on the 2nd of February.

Giorgio Santorelli's body

was found on the 3rd of March,

But then Ali ibn-Ghazi was killed on the 3rd of April,

and the numerical pattern was broken.

I have to admit I was quite disheartened,

but in the letter sent to Mrs. Santorelli,

our killer mentions seeing Giorgio outside a church

on the 19th of February,

"parading himself with dirt and paint on his face."

It wasn't until I realized what was meant by "dirt and paint"

that it started to make sense.

Ash Wednesday.

They're all holy days.

He's following the Christian Calendar.

The next holy day is the 14th of May.

The Feast of the Ascension.

Just a few days from now.

Yes.