All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries (2008) - S04E01 - Tattered and Torn (1080p BluRay x265 Langbard)

A new job?

It's in Buffalo.

Buffalo?

There must be something
you're not telling me.

Why are you leaving?

It's been clear to me
how much you want a family,

but my abortion,

it left me sterile.

William, please say something.

I don't know what to say.

No.

Julia!

Sir?

What is it, Constable?

Sir, a body has been found,
in a manner of speaking.

Get a move on, Murdoch.

This one's nasty.

Alert Dr. Francis.

Oh, but, sir--

Just do it, please.

Spread out farther.

Over here, sir.

Comb the whole area.

Bloody hell.

Constable Higgins,
what have you?

Well, the McMurphy sisters
are birdwatchers, sir.

Apparently they were
on the trail

of the rufous-sided towhee.

Apparently, the male has
a black head and upper parts,

while the female is--

Oh, Higgins.
Just the facts, man.

Right.
Sorry, sir.

After they discovered
the remains,

Gladys McMurphy
ran to a neighbor's house

up the way, sir.

The neighbor is the one
who telephone called us, sir.

I see.
And where is he?

He had some appointments
to attend to,

but he's eager
to come to the station later

to give a statement.

Very good.
Right, then.

We'll need to drag the river

from this point
all the way to the lake.

That's a considerable
distance, sir.

Is there a problem,
Constable?

Just get it set up, Higgins.

Right away, sir.

This had better be
the crime scene of the century.

Sir, you said this was
a particularly nasty one.

I thought he might at least
make an appearance.

So has Queen Victoria
shot her lover?

Has your mayor
been disemboweled by dragons,

or what?

Dr. Francis,
nice of you to come by.

You know I see little use
at all, Detective Murdoch,

in attending a crime scene.

All of the real work
is done at my morgue.

Doctor, if you please.

Very well.

Ooh.

This is a gruesome affair,
isn't it?

You know, it's just
a wild guess, Detective,

but it is possible
that the victim

was chopped up
and encased in concrete.

And no other insights,
aside from the obvious?

When the remains
are brought to my morgue,

I will make a full report.

You know, I'm sure your
Dr. Ogden happily traipsed

to whatever crime scene
you wished,

but I, sir, am not she.

Have I been wasting my breath

these last six months,
Murdoch?

Francis does things his way.

Accept it.

Things have changed.

Rather busy at the moment.

Yes, I'm sure you are,
Doctor.

I came by to apologize
for requesting your presence

at the crime scene today.

No, you didn't.

And in hopes that you had
assessed the remains

found down by the river
nearly three hours ago.

So long?

Horrors.

I must have been doing
something very important.

Now, what could that
have been, hmm?

Oh, very well, come on.

So we have the left forearm
and hand, the left foot.

We have
this torso section here,

which contains a bit of liver.

At first blush,
the victim is male, 35,

judging by the skin and hair.

Time of death somewhere
between 7:00 and 10:00 p.m.

last evening.

Eight hours
for the concrete to set,

that places the killer
down by the river

between 3:00 and 6:00 a.m.

Doctor,
I'll need to take finger--

Fortunately, I did absorb
some of the sleuthing techniques

from the lads
at Scotland Yard.

Incidentally,
these clean cuts here

indicate an ax was used
for the dismemberment.

After the time of death,
I hope.

And what did you learn from
the bone and tissue analysis?

I'll tell you
when I get to it.

Doctor, this is somewhat
of an urgent matter.

This may come as a bit
of a shock to you, Murdoch,

but people have
this unfortunate habit of dying,

sometimes in bunches,
as is the case this week.

May I take--

Yes!

So long as you
leave me in peace.

Assuming the rest of the body
was similarly disposed of,

the killer would have required
several containers

in which to mold the cement.

This pattern would indicate

that the containers
were made of wood.

I make this out to be pine.

Now, then,
the river was quite shallow

where we found the block.

So the killer must've loaded
the rest of Humpty Dumpty

onto a boat
and headed for deeper waters.

And unaccountably
left one behind.

Well, I suppose, sir,

if it was the middle
of the night and pitch,

he could have simply lost track,
left one on shore.

At any rate, please take
the victim's finger marks

and compare them
to the ones on file.

Yes, sir.

I hear you and Dr. Francis
had words again.

Sir, Dr. Francis
is exaggerating.

Listen here, Murdoch.

Dr. Francis
was one of the Yard's best

or I wouldn't have fought
to get him to Toronto.

Now, how does it look for me

with you two arguing the toss
for months on end?

Now, I won't tell you again.

Or what, sir?

Excuse me, sirs.

The man who telephoned us

on behalf
of the McMurphy sisters

is here to give a statement.

Malcolm Lamb.

You know him, sirs?

Detective Malcolm Lamb
used to have Murdoch's job.

My, my, my.

Same desks,
same God-awful paint.

Of course, there were no
telephones or fancy typewriters.

I don't know how you live
with this racket.

Perhaps you'd care
to give your statement

in your old office, Detective.

Well, a thoughtful gesture,
Inspector,

but that's
Detective Murdoch's office now.

Of course, as you wish.

My office, then.

That's it, really.

Poor Miss McMurphy's eyes
as big as an owl's

when I opened the door.

How did you hold yourself back
from the crime scene?

Oh, I still have
a copper's nose

for a blood trail, Inspector,

but sleep
and a regular constitution

are my priorities now.

How about a few tall tales
of Station 4's glory days?

Glory days.

Yeah, when I started
as a constable 20 years ago,

the coppers couldn't find
their noses.

They were appointed by aldermen

and rich people
they were related to.

We pretty much got paid
to break up brawls

and keep the city safe
for Protestants.

Detective Murdoch's
progressive approach

hasn't escaped my notice,
however.

I'm optimistic that a whole new
world of policing is dawning.

Thank you, sir.

Detective Lamb.

Hodge.

My God,
you're still here.

They'll have
to carry me out, sir.

Gentlemen,
it's been a pleasure.

Nice to see you.

How are you?

Interesting
that he didn't mention

he'd been given the boot
eight years ago

for insubordination.

I hadn't heard that.

Put his Inspector Cassidy
in hospital for a week

with a right hook.

You have to admire it in a way.

Back then, it was clear
what men were thinking.

Detective.

Sir, I think this case
has all the makings

of a ripping detective tale.

A dismembered body
encased in concrete,

a foul-smelling river to
represent society's rapid decay,

birdwatchers.

What on earth are you doing,
George?

Doing?
Oh, nothing, sir.

I just--I've often thought

I should write some
of these things down, you know?

Well, you can add traces
of cement to your list.

Yes, cement.

Cement could represent...

Oh, you mean you found cement.

So what, then?

The rest of the body
was dumped nearby,

in deeper water, perhaps?

Yes, or even in the lake,

and then he rode back
to this spot.

George, impound this boat
and dust it for finger mark--

Detective?

Constable,
I believe we're being watched.

Ah!

Identify yourself.

Sir.

Identify yourself!

Sir!

He appears to be
a squatter, sir.

What's your name?

Detective.

Dismembered human remains
were found encased in concrete

not far
from your living quarters.

Can you explain why traces
of concrete

were also found in your boat?

No.

I told you, it was stolen.

I didn't chop anyone up.

Can we at least
have your name?

I'm not obliged!

Arthur Frumm.

F-R-U...

double M.

Thank you, Mr. Frumm.

Can you account
for your whereabouts last night?

Oh, let's see.

After I cooked up a nice
squirrel stew for my supper,

I found a fine bottle of gin

by my tent there.

I canceled my theater plans.

You say you found this bottle?

Gin from an angel,
I took it as.

I take it you consumed
its contents.

You don't want to anger
the angels.

I passed out just after dark.

Mr. Frumm, I believe you knew
who those remains belong to.

Squirrel, a couple of rabbits.

I didn't eat that raccoon.

It was just bothering me.

No, the human remains,
Mr. Frumm.

If you come forward now

before tests reveal that it is
indeed human blood on that ax,

it may save you from the noose.

And tell me why I should care.

They should just make sure

they get the name right
on the headstone.

"Arthur H. Frumm,

barrister and solicitor."

"Loving husband...

and father."

A lawyer.

And they say God
doesn't have a sense of humor.

Murdoch,
there are drunks and lunatics

all along the river.

You can't believe a word
they say,

and most of them
would bash you over the head

for no bloody reason.

Frumm plots to kill
a fellow squatter

over some trivial nonsense,

gets together what he needs,
and does the deed.

Then he starts drinking,
waiting for the cement to dry,

but he's so drunk,
he fails to notice

and leaves a block on shore.

Sirs,
no matches on file

to our victim's finger marks,
I'm afraid,

but I did put a call
in to Osgoode Hall,

and Arthur H. Frumm did practice
family law here in Toronto

about 20 years ago.

Apparently,
he was disbarred for...

"persistent personal failings."

Shame, if you ask me.

Any upright citizen
can come to ruin, Crabtree.

We must all be vigilant.

Yes, to be sure, sir.

George, take a few men

and question as many squatters
as you can find.

Perhaps Mr. Frumm was seen
elsewhere in the valley.

Sir, I will do.

Also, Dr. Francis called.
He has some news for you.

Ah, thank you, George.

Ah, Murdoch.

Well, it's only preliminary,

but unless you're prepared
to charge our suspect

with rodenticide,

I think you'd better
look elsewhere.

No human blood on the ax.

None at all.

There is this, however.

There's some scarring
to the arm stump.

You see?

Here.

Your victim's had surgery
to his forearm at some point.

What kind of surgery?

I'm sure I don't know.

Now I must away
to my lovely wife.

Since our return
to her native soil,

there's rarely an evening
goes by that we don't visit

her dear friends and family.

And all of that dreadful
Canadian cheese.

Doctor, have you had
a chance to examine

the liver section
in any detail?

No.

If I had,
I would have told you.

Then, when?

I don't know.
What, two days, three?

And you're welcome.

"Dear Julia,
I trust this finds you well.

"I'm forwarding photographic
evidence in a puzzling case

"and would be grateful
for your insight.

All my"--

"Best regards.

--William."

Detective.

Pardon my saying,

but the nature
of this crime, sir,

with the dismemberment
and the construction of boxes,

the concrete and whatnot,

it suggests a clear head
and a steady hand,

neither of which
Frumm possesses.

We've only Mr. Frumm's claims
of being dead drunk last night

and no other finger marks
besides his

were found on the boat.

Mm.

What's that you have there,
sir?

It's a gift
for an acquaintance.

Oh, I'd be happy
to wrap that for you, sir.

I have this flair
for gift wrapping,

not that the lads
need to know that.

I'm fine.

Good night.

"Dear William,
a delight to hear from you,

"and for such
an intriguing reason.

"Regarding the evidence
in the photographs,

"I believe the scar tissue
on the wrist may be the result

"of a radical new procedure

"we've only
just heard about here.

It's called..."

Transplantology?

Yes, sir, it's an experimental
vascular surgery

where a damaged artery
is removed and replaced

with a healthy one
from the patient.

Dr. Francis knows his stuff.

Not many would have caught this,
Murdoch.

Mm.

Yes, I've contacted
the only surgeon in Canada

to perform this procedure,
a Dr. Leeson in Vancouver.

And he telegrammed me to say
that he had performed

one such procedure
here in Toronto.

On whom?

Duncan Burnside.

The Duncan Burnside?

Bloody hell, Murdoch.

Are you telling me that
Toronto's citizen of the year

has been hacked to pieces?

Yes, sir, I believe I am.

Crikey.

I don't understand.

Duncan was supposed to be
in Winnipeg

finalizing details
on an orphanage,

and now you tell me someone
did such horrible things.

Mrs. Burnside,
are you aware of anyone

your husband
may have quarreled with?

Anyone who may have wished
ill will towards him?

No.

Never a mean word towards him
or from him.

My husband
was a champion for children,

and now his own will grow up
without a father.

It's too cruel.

Ah, Brackenreid,
you wanted to see me?

Yes, yes, Doctor.

I wanted to commend you
on your excellent work

in identifying
that Duncan Burnside

was the victim in that concrete.

Well, you're very welcome.

Now, what the hell
are you talking about?

What?

Duncan Burnside.

He'd had that new
transplantology surgery.

What on earth
is transplantology, man?

Oh.

Oh.

Hmm?

Scotch?

Yes.

He's taken photographs.

He's taken photographs
and sent them to another doctor.

Another doctor, you say?

He's undermined me!

Murdoch does do his fair share
of reading,

oddball medical journals
and the like.

Perhaps transplantology
got a mention.

Oh, don't be ridiculous, man!

No, if Murdoch expects me

to expedite work on his cases
from now on,

he is woefully misinformed.

Duncan Burnside's
post-mortem is moved.

Back of the queue?

Back of the queue?

It could be a week
before I know the cause of death

with any certainty.

That's far too long
in any investigation!

It's your own bloody fault,
Murdoch.

Dr. Llewellyn Francis
is nobody's fool.

I needed information,
so I took the initiative.

Oh, well,
bloody medals all over you!

I identified the victim.

Did you have to go
to Dr. Ogden?

Francis is old school, Murdoch.

When he realizes
he's been upstaged by a woman,

he'll feel humiliated.

Ha!
Or was that the plan?

Of course not.

I had to get the truth.

And I would do it again.

Do you have
any vague impression

that you've gone
slightly crackers?

This is not like you, Murdoch.

I don't see it that way.

Oh, no, no, no,
of course you don't.

What did Mrs. Burnside
have to say?

She said her husband
was widely beloved.

Oh, don't they all?
Any mention of Arthur Frumm?

She'd never heard the name.

Well, we can't hold him
any longer, then.

Off he goes.

Have Crabtree chat up
Burnside's business associates

and any gentlemen doorstops
that he ran with.

There might be a nervous Nellie
in the bunch.

Yes, sir.

"Dear William,
I trust I was of some help.

"It brought back memories
of working together.

"Please thank Dr. Francis
for sharing the photographs,

"and if you need someone
to talk to, do not hesitate.

"All my best.

--Julia."

So you're at war
with the coroner...

Thank you.

And you had to let your squatter
suspect go.

Frustrations of the job,
eh, Detective?

In truth, I don't miss them.

But surely, you didn't invite me
here to discuss something

you've handled many times
in your illustrious career.

Well, it's not so much
my situation as it is yours.

To what situation
do you refer?

Your leaving the constabulary.

Oh.

I suppose it was mostly
that one day,

I found my enthusiasm
for the job had left me.

Yet you put your inspector
in the hospital.

Mm.

Well, not to speak ill
of the dead,

but Cassidy was an ass.

And that was it?

You're an intuitive bugger,
aren't you?

I do hope so.

Well, the other shoe, then.

I'd been engaged for many years.

I kept postponing the wedding.

Too wrapped up in the job,
my fiancée said.

Next thing,
it was her or the job.

And when I didn't answer
right away,

she broke it off for good.

Why these inquiries, Detective?

Curious.

A word of advice:
never allow affairs of the heart

to interfere with more important
affairs of the world.

With policing these days
and your innovations,

a difference can be made.

That's your calling, Murdoch.

At times, it seems as though
there are just

too many obstacles.

Yes.

Obstacles to justice
and to personal contentment

will always plague men like us.

A detective's career is entirely
composed of refusing to accept

anything less
than the one correct outcome.

Obstacles be damned.

What have you got there,
Murdoch?

Sir, this telegram--

Brackenreid, over the weekend,

all evidence in the
Duncan Burnside murder case

has been stolen from my morgue.

Murdoch has shipped it
to his Dr. Ogden.

I've checked
with the C.N. office.

Have you taken leave
of your senses, Murdoch?

They could knock you back
to a constable's rank for this.

Sir, Dr. Ogden's report.

Deal with him
in the severest possible manner.

Tell him, Murdoch.

It wasn't only
the remains of Duncan Burnside

in that concrete block,
Dr. Francis,

but the body parts
of three separate victims.

Let me see.

Elevated serum urate levels
in the liver section.

This victim had gout.

And clear evidence
of mucocutaneous lesions,

just at the foot.

This is the syphilitic victim.

And Duncan Burnside's
transplantology surgery

makes three.

Correct.

I can confirm
your Dr. Ogden's findings.

Also...

I've noticed this:

trace residue of gunshot powder
in the torso section here,

but this was obscured
by the cement mixture.

So it's likely the victims
were shot to death

and then hacked to pieces.

Well, this one was, certainly.

Hmm.

Something caught your eye,
Detective?

Dr. Ogden speculated
that the victim's foot

had been bound with rope
or some such.

I would concur, but for this
faint mottling here.

Do you see?

That's consistent
with a more constant pressure.

I'd say this victim
had been shackled.

Are you sure, Doctor?

I was prison medical officer
at Newgate

for three years
before I joined the Yard.

I think I'd know.

So it's likely the syphilitic
victim did hard time in prison?

Yes.

All of this information

would have been quite useful
much earlier.

I'd say you didn't
help yourself in that regard.

A modicum of restraint
would have served you better.

Excellent work, Doctor.

Murdoch.

In here now.

I hope you realize
how lucky you are, Murdoch.

Lucky, sir?

If it had been one victim
and not three,

you'd be facing charges
for what you just pulled.

As I explained, I needed--

Murdoch,

I give you a wide field
more often than not,

and I expect that
to count for something.

And it does, sir.

You've got some bloody cheek.

And if you ever, ever
do something like this again,

I will rein you in.

Do we have an understanding?

Yes, sir.

Right, then.

So...

we've got one
citizen of the year,

one syphilitic ex-convict,

one unknown with gout,
and no solid suspects.

Bloody hell.
We're almost home.

If we can find a way
to somehow link

all three of the victims
together,

perhaps a new suspect
will emerge.

But how does a swell
like Burnside

connect to a jailbird
with the French fever, anyway?

That's a very good question.

I get one out now and then.

Now go find the answer.

Sirs, of the prisoners
released last week

from Don Jail,

only one was syphilitic,
a Cyrus Wheeler.

Served five years hard labor
for assault.

- How old is Wheeler?
- He's 38, sir.

Close enough.

He attacked a fellow roomer
in a boarding house.

He beat him to within an inch
of his life.

So this man waits till
Wheeler's released from prison

then goes after him.

But why kill Burnside
and the other unknown victim?

How the hell do I know?

Find this roomer
and bring him in.

I would, sir,
but he died two years ago.

You could have mentioned
that right off the bat, Higgins.

I didn't want to interrupt.

Every time we put two pieces
of this jigsaw together

we get a third that won't fit.

Yes, sir, very frustrating.

Sirs,
the constabulary in Coboconk

received a missing persons
report this morning

from a Wilma Jelton.

Apparently her brother
Oslo Jelton was to be staying

at the Empire Hotel
here in Toronto,

and he didn't show up.

Cobo what?

- Coboconk.
- Coboconk.

Yes, sir, I believe
it means

"the part of the river
where the gull prefers to nest."

I used to visit
my Aunt Clematis there.

She worked
in the brick kiln.

Crabtree,
where the hell is it?

It's hours north, sir.

Coboconk.

Safe travels, Murdoch.

Whoa.

Miss Jelton?

Yes.

Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

Have you any news
of my brother?

That's Oslo.

And he lived here?

Yes, our family
moved here when Oslo graduated

from the University of Toronto.

Miss Jelton, if I may,

did your brother have
any ongoing physical ailments?

No, nothing serious.

Mild dyspepsia, a touch of gout.

Is it important?

Just a routine question.

Did you happen to know
the nature

of your brother's trip
to Toronto?

I don't know, I'm sure.

But I found this yesterday
in Oslo's study.

I believe it's the reason
why he left so hurriedly

without explanation.

"A situation requiring
our immediate our attention

"has arisen.

"My carriage will pick you up

Thursday at the Drake Hotel,
7:00 p.m."

The telegram is signed
by a "D.B."

Did your brother ever mention
the name Duncan Burnside?

No, who is he?

We've identified
Duncan Burnside

as a murder victim.

Detective, Oslo could not
have had a single thing to do

with any murder.

No, ma'am,
that's not what I'm saying.

No?
Then...

Midnight oil?

Sir, have a look at this.

Oslo Jelton and Duncan Burnside,
members of the same fraternity.

Mm.

What's lowlife Cyrus Wheeler

doing with a pair of toffs
like these?

Yes, Constable?

Sir, I've been
thinking about it,

and I believe I recognize
the name Oslo Jelton.

Come in, come in, Hodge.

Of course, sir.

Do you recognize him?

Yes, that's him.

How did you know him?

Jelton was a suspect
in a rape and murder case

about ten years ago.

Dig out the case file,
Constable.

Harriet King was
a secretarial school instructor,

it would seem.

And Oslo Jelton was involved.

That's correct, sir.

Apparently Jelton
was brought in for questioning.

An eyewitness,
a pub owner, Richard Duff,

claims to have seen Jelton

running from the scene
of the crime.

Right,
but the pub owner recanted.

Sir, Mr. Jelton's alibi

that he was studying
in the university library

was corroborated
by two witnesses:

a groundskeeper
and a fellow student.

The fellow student
was Duncan Burnside.

Let me guess.

The groundskeeper
was Cyrus Wheeler.

Excellent.

Now we know how the three
victims were connected.

Yes, George, but we still
have no idea who killed them.

What's that,
the Harriet King crime scene?

Yes, sir.

Miss King's body was discovered

in the back
of the alleyway here,

and Oslo Jelton
was allegedly seen here,

fleeing the scene of the crime.

The eyewitness?

Richard Duff originally claims
to have come out

of the back of his pub
into the laneway here,

and that's when he saw
Oslo Jelton

running south out of the laneway
here towards Richmond.

And then few days later,

he says he never saw
Jelton there.

It would be nice to know
why he changed his mind.

Mm.

Sirs, the day
after Miss King was found,

the Gazette quotes
Inspector Cassidy

as saying he believed
more than one man

was involved in the attack.

However, in this edition,

published
just a couple of days later,

he has a different theory.

Only one killer.

And Burnside and Wheeler
walk in with Jelton's alibi,

and everyone goes back to sleep,
including the broadsheets.

It's got a very ripe odor,
doesn't it?

We need to find
this pub owner first thing.

Your predecessor
might shed some light.

Malcolm Lamb?

Good idea, sir.

Twice in a week.

Harriet King.

Was she the one
thrown off the Laird building?

No.

No, she was raped and murdered
in an alleyway

behind the old--

Oh, yes, yes.

Downtown somewhere.

The--the Dominion Alehouse.

That's the one, yes.

Lord, Lord, Lord.

I was only a constable.

What does Harriet King
have to do with anything?

God rest her soul.

The cement block that we found

contained the remains
of three victims.

Three?

Yes, and Miss King's murder

links all three of them
together.

But there was just one
suspect, wasn't there?

Oslo Jelton, yes.

He's one of the victims.

And the two men
that provided his alibi

are the other two victims:

Cyrus Wheeler
and Duncan Burnside.

Burnside?

Citizen of the year.

Wouldn't want to be in
your shoes right now, Murdoch.

Who's this Wheeler?

A groundskeeper that Burnside
and Jelton knew from university.

Hm.
Don't recall the name.

Well, I won't take up
any more of your time.

Glad to see the wind
back in your sails, Murdoch.

It suits you better.

Thank you, Mr. Lamb.

Good day.

Now, sir,
I found Richard Duff at a ward

in the House of Providence.

It seems 30 years of pub life
has caught up with him.

I spoke with a nurse there, sir,

she says he's got
a few weeks at most.

Very good, George.

Mr. Duff.

I'm Detective William Murdoch.

That constable says
this is about Harriet King.

Yes.

I'm curious as to why
your statements to the police

in the days
after the Harriet King murder

were contradictory.

I got it wrong the first time.

Call it sober reflection.

So you're saying that when
you stepped out into that alley

and saw Oslo Jelton running away
from Harriet King's body,

you were drunk?

I was always corned back then,
and it wasn't Jelton.

It was some stranger.

Jelton was a regular,
so I would know.

You knew Oslo Jelton
personally?

So there'd be no way
to misidentify him.

Right.

But you did misidentify him,

so you said.

I saw what I saw.

Harriet King:

raped by Oslo Jelton,

strangled, and left
in the alley like garbage.

Look at her, Mr. Duff.

Look at her!

You knew what happened.

You had justice for Harriet King
in your hands.

You still do.

By God, man,
before it's too late for you--

the truth.

Yes, I saw Jelton
running away.

It was him.

He was--he was yelling.

Yelling?

For some mates to wait up.

And I heard two voices
shout back to hurry the hell up,

I swear.

Did you see these two men?

Earlier.

They'd been in the pub
with Jelton earlier that night

getting slewed.

So you saw them
in the pub together?

Well, one was a toff
like Jelton.

The other was, uh--

I figured they were slumming

because he looked a bit
of a riffraff.

But this--

Harriet,
she's a nice girl, nice--

Those boys,

they were
all around her that night.

She said, "Leave me alone."

But they didn't.

So she left.

But they followed her.

I told myself
they were just going home,

not after that poor girl.

Mr. Duff,
why did you change your story?

- The letter.
- What letter?

The anonymous letter

that said if I didn't
change my story,

the city
would close my pub.

I couldn't bear that.

I had a family.

And so I went along.

I figured the letter
came from Jelton's old man,

and, well, he had connections
back then, you know.

Indeed.

I did what I was told.

But then to hound me after
like I'd done something wrong!

That wasn't right.

Mr. Duff,
I'm confused.

Who hounded you?

He kept after me for two years

to change my story,

to say that it was
Oslo Jelton that I saw,

but if I did that,
I'd lose everything.

Who?

Who kept after you?

That bloody constable.

What constable?

Lamb.

Constable Lamb.

Constable Hodge.

Did you know Detective Lamb

during the days of
the Harriet King investigation?

Only slightly, sir.

I see.

Thank you.

I believe he was engaged
at that time to a lovely girl,

a Sarah Connolly.

Is Malcolm in any trouble,
Detective?

We're simply asking if anyone
recalls any details,

however small,
about an old murder case,

a young woman
named Harriet King.

I take it you recall the name.

It was so sad what happened.

For Harriet, of course,
but also for Malcolm.

Malcolm?
How was that?

He was bedeviled
by that case,

such that he forgot
about everything else,

myself included.

You broke off your engagement
over the King case?

His obsession with it.

We had a beautiful life
ahead of us.

But I think what hurt most

was losing him for reasons
I couldn't comprehend

and never will.

If I may,
did Malcolm ever mention

the names Burnside,
Jelton, or Wheeler?

Oh, I'd never forget
those names.

Malcolm was convinced they'd
raped and murdered Harriet King.

Who is this Wheeler?

A groundskeeper.

Don't recall the name.

I don't know if
I should laugh or cry at this.

Murdoch, you know I couldn't
have had anything to do

with these murders.

I wish I did, Mr. Lamb,
but the facts are the problem.

What facts?

As a constable,
you were obsessed

with justice for Harriet King.

Who told you I was obsessed?

Sarah Connolly.

Sarah.

For goodness sake.

She was always complaining

that I was too interested
in this case.

Interested in a case you told
Murdoch you barely remembered.

I also interviewed
the pub owner, Richard Duff.

He told me you hounded him
long after the investigation

to admit that it was, in fact,

Oslo Jelton he saw
running from the alleyway.

All right, yes,
but I did that on my own time.

I was just trying
to make detective.

Sirs, no evidence of any kind
in the house, I'm afraid.

There.

Can we please stop
this nonsense?

Mr. Lamb,

did you make these
birdhouses recently?

Yes, as a gift
for the McMurphy sisters.

Ah, yes, the birdwatchers.

Inspector,
I make these out to be pine.

I'm not certain
I see the criminal enterprise

in building birdhouses,
Detective.

Unless it's to hide evidence
in plain sight, Mr. Lamb.

You waited a long time

for Cyrus Wheeler to be released
from prison.

Then you set your plan
in motion.

You lured all three men
to the Drake Hotel

with phony telegrams.

Duncan, you in there?

You subdued the men
then drove them here...

No, please.

Where you shot them...

And then chopped them
to pieces.

And with the remains
hardening in cement,

you fetched
Arthur Frumm's boat,

knowing full well
that he would be passed out

from the gin bottle
you left beside his tent

earlier that evening.

I have a perfect match.

Malcolm Lamb,
you're under arrest for murder.

Your condemnation
is misplaced, Detective,

unless you also condemn
yourself.

I don't follow, sir.

You and I share a relentless
devotion to justice.

It's what drives us
and sets us apart.

And this devotion to justice,

is that why you left

one of the blocks of remains
by the river,

so that we might find it

and possibly solve
Harriet King's murder?

Yes, but I never thought
you'd track it back to me.

I thought I could outfox you.

Thought wrong.

But if you had put
all of the remains in the river,

it's likely that you never
would have been found out

if you didn't want to be caught.

It was a calculated risk, yes,
but there I was in the river,

set to sink that last block,
when it occurred to me...

These men raped and murdered
Harriet King.

Yes, they deserved a tomb
like that foul river,

but who would know?

If I sank the block
they'd be gone forever

without disgrace
on their memory,

and all I'd have done is leave
poor Harriet King

in her eternal grave
without a name to her killers

and no justice at all for her.

But why this case?

Why did it obsess you so?

I thought if I could
just get one right thing done,

maybe the constabulary
could change,

stand up to the rich
and powerful

pulling the strings.

Cassidy came to me one day
to say

if I ever hoped
to make detective,

I'd have to forget about
Harriet King once and for all.

That day,
I made a deal with the devil.

I was no better
than pub owner who recanted

or the broadsheet editors
who dropped the story.

At least, I was no better.

Now I'm right with God
and Harriet King.

I hope that sustains you

in the few days
you have left to you, sir.

Thank you, Detective.

Detective.

How is Sarah?

She's well.

She's concerned for you.

Please tell her I'm fine.

Truly, fine.