All language subtitles for Murdoch Mysteries - S08E18 - Artful Detective - [BD][1080p][x265 10-bit][AAC 5.1]_Track05

for the murder
of Sergeant Archibald Brooks.

[Whistle blows]

[Whistle blows]

Anything of use, Henry?

Well, I didn't see much, sir.

The man who ran away was
medium build, long black coat.

But I didn't see his face.

Sir, it looks like
his throat's been slit.

If it had, there'd be
significantly more blood.

I suspect we'll find
he's been garroted.

That's a new one for me, sir.

Good God.

What is it, sir?

It appears to be a human thumb.

Definitely garroted.

Knee to the back
and wire pulled tight.

Silent and effective.

I don't believe the traditional
method was used, Inspector.

This wound suggests
that a similar force was applied

all the way around the neck,

except for this one inch
at the back.

The area is bruised,

as though something was pressed
against it.

Some kind of device?

Perhaps a wire loop
attached to a pole of some sort.

And the thumb you found in
his pocket was severed recently.

Pre- or post-mortem?

Yet to be determined.

Murdoch, I know this scumbag.

William McCann.

Billy McCann is what he went by.

He was a lowlife.
Worked for Bernie King.

- The bookmaker.
- Yeah.

King never does
his own dirty work.

Prefers to swan around his club.

Sirs, there's been
another murder.

Is he dead?

Move along, young lady.
There's nothing to see.

Oh, my God.

Madam, thank you.

Dr. Grace, what have we?

He was found by the gardeners
this morning.

He was beaten.
I have detected six blows.

This one to the head here
was likely lethal.

So a beating, then?

Yes.
But this was no random killing.

What makes you say that?

He's missing a thumb.

Well, we've a man with a thumb
to spare lying in the morgue.

Professor Gideon Galbraith.

What's the professor's thumb
doing in the pocket

of a known felon?

No doubt you can explain this,
Murdoch.

It's statistical notation, sir.

He seems to be combining
Bayesian theory of probability

and Galton's regression formula.

So that's what they're up to
these days.

"They," sir?

High-forehead types.

Mm.

I believe his motives
may have been more practical

than academic, sir.

He's been tabulating
race results.

He was gambling.

I think he was looking for a way

to statistically determine
race winners.

He had a system, did he?

Not something
a bookie would appreciate.

You thinking what I'm thinking?

We should pay Bernie King
a visit.

BRACKENREID:
Good day, gentlemen.

You chaps wouldn't be playing
for money, now, would you?

Inspector Brackenreid.
Always a pleasure.

Murdoch, meet Bernie King,

the biggest bookmaker
in Toronto.

No need for flattery.

And I can assure you
this is a game amongst friends.

We're here about your boy
McCann.

We found him this morning with
a severed thumb in his pocket.

Good Lord.

The thumb belonged
to a murder victim --

Gideon Galbraith,
a mathematics professor.

One of your clients, perhaps?

I know Mr. Galbraith.

We understand
he invented a system

for predicting race winners.

[ Chuckles ]

He may have thought he had
a system.

That would explain
why he bet so heavily.

He didn't win?

Let's just say his losses
exceeded his winnings.

He owed you money.

Maybe that's why
you had him killed.

Gentlemen, it would hardly be
in my interest

to kill someone
that owed me money.

It would if they couldn't pay.

People can always pay.

They may not be able to pay
all at once,

but...arrangements can be made,

methods of persuasion
brought to bear.

Such as sending one of your
lowlifes to cut off his thumb?

Except Mr. McCann got a little
overenthusiastic and killed him.

This seems a matter you should
discuss with Bill McCann.

Unfortunately,
Mr. McCann is also dead.

He's dead?

BRACKENREID: Oh, don't look
so surprised, Bernard.

I reckon you couldn't have
McCann crying into his beer

over a murder that was tied
to you, so you got rid of him.

Well, you seem to have it all
worked out.

So let me just say this --

If Bill McCann cut off anyone's
thumb, it wasn't at my behest.

And I had nothing to do
with his death,

and if you two think otherwise,
you had best make your case.

So until then,
good day, gentlemen.

What have you, Doctor?

I compared the thumb we found
in Mr. McCann's pocket

with the remnant
on Professor Galbraith's hand.

It didn't match.

It didn't match?

The detached thumb is indeed
from a right hand,

but the size is different,
as was the angle of the cut.

You mean there's someone else
out there missing a thumb?

What the hell is going on,
Murdoch?

L-I don't know, sir.

Clearly these two murders
must be related somehow.

I'll have George look into
McCann's last movements.

George, we just received a call

about a domestic disturbance
in St. John's ward.

A neighbor's complaining about
a ruckus in the house next door.

Well, you see to it, Jackson.
I'm in the middle of something.

The address is 114 Agnes Street.

I just thought you should know.

Edna?

Simon?

Edna?

Go away, George.

What did he do?

Show me.

You can't do anything, George.

Edna, let me see.
Please.

Oh, for the love of God.

I've never seen him
like this before, George.

Where's Simon?

He tried to help me,
and -- and Archie turned on him,

and he ran away.

You can't be here, George.

If Archie comes back,
he'll kill you.

He'll kill me?

After what he did to you,
he'll kill me?

And he'll kill me, too.

No.
I'll never let that happen.

Now, is there somewhere
you can stay?

- No.
- Well, you'll stay with me.

No, George.

Please.

He could be watching us
right now.

And if he's not watching us,
then the neighbors are.

All right.
Lock the door.

If he returns,
I want you to go out the back

and come straight
to the station house.

Promise me.

Edna, I'm not going to leave
until you promise me.

I promise.

He will never lay another finger
on you or Simon again.

That's my promise to you.

Thank you very much.

George.

Doctor.

I hear congratulations
are in order.

What?

Your promotion to detective.

Oh. Yes.
Thank you.

I apologize, Doctor.
I've not been myself today.

Yes. I did hear about Edna's
husband coming back.

I'm so sorry, George.

It's become more complicated
than that now, I'm afraid.

Things are really upside down
right now.

Well, if you ever need to talk,
my door is always open.

I appreciate that, Doctor,

but I believe this is something
I'll have to settle on my own.

Perhaps the thumbs are trophies.

You think this could be the work
of a sequential killer?

We do have two confirmed murders
and a thumb suggesting a third.

Mm.

Sir.
Pardon the interruption.

Another body has been found,
off Duchess Lane.

That's just around the corner.

Owner of the thumb, perhaps.

Sir, his name
is Ronald Richards.

His wife reported him missing
last night.

Apparently he's an exterminator.
Pests and vermin.

Rigor has subsided. He's been
dead at least 12 hours.

That's longer
than the other two.

George, can you arrange for
transportation to the morgue?

Sir.

Mr. Richards was the first
of our three victims to die,

by an hour or two perhaps.

He was strangled
with some force.

And the thumb, Doctor?

It's a match.

[ Sobs]
I don't understand.

Why would someone kill him?

No enemies?

No.

He never said an angry word
against anyone.

Even his boss.

Why would he have reason
to be angry with his boss?

He was let go from his job
last month.

He had a bad ankle.

Couldn't climb the stairs
no more.

But he was the best exterminator
around.

How did he earn his living?

He didn't.

I got work cleaning.

Mrs. Richards,
did your husband ever gamble?

No.

He was very careful
with his money.

No connection between Richards
and McCann, then?

None that I can see.

Sirs.

I looked into Mr. Richards'
affairs, as requested.

I did find something unusual.

Just last week, he took out
a sizable life insurance policy

with a double indemnity in case
of accidental death or murder.

Just last week?

What's the payout?

-$2,000.

[Whistles]
Small fortune.

Do you think the wife
did him in?

I don't think so, sir.

She seemed genuinely
heartbroken.

Perhaps he got McCann
to kill him.

Possibly, though it's one thing
to arrange for your own murder,

yet another to arrange
to be one of three murders.

And why the thumbs?

A timeline
seems to be developing.

Our killer, possibly McCann,
first kills Mr. Richards,

followed by Professor Galbraith.

And then McCann gets garroted.

[ Knock on door]

HIGGINS:
Sirs.

Don't tell me.

Doctor.

It appears the killer
doesn't discriminate.

Crikey.

She was opened from hip
to sternum by a large blade,

possibly a hunting knife.

It's the same killer, all right.

Fourth body in 24 hours either
deficit or surplus in thumbs.

A copy of the racing sheet.

A cigar cutter.

I assume these belonged to her.

They were here
when she was found.

A cigar-chewing gambler
who liked to shoot arrows.

I'm rather sorry
I never got to meet her.

If she was an archer,
perhaps Julia knew her.

Her name was Mildred Abernathy.

She was our top archer.

One of the Abernathys?

Indeed.

So no need of money, then.

And nothing in common
with the other victims.

Except for the missing thumb.

Is it always the thumb
of the right hand?

DR. GRACE:
So far.

Ritualistic, perhaps, another
mark of a sequential killer.

Yes, but the choices of victims

and methods of killing
are so different.

And how did one of his trophies
get in the pockets

of one of our victims?

Perhaps Mr. McCann
is our sequential killer.

And someone then killed him?

Yes, but McCann's murder
was different.

His thumb wasn't taken.

Perhaps someone knew
what he was up to

and decided to stop the madness.

Dr. Grace, we need to know

if Miss Abernathy was killed
before Mr. McCann.

You'll have a time-of-death
estimate shortly.

Sir?

I think you dropped your wallet.

Back to old habits, are we?

Simon, I know you tried to help
your mother.

For all the good it did.

Where's your father now?

I don't know.

Simon, your father can't --

He needs to be apprehended
and punished for what he did.

Yeah.
And then what?

You catch him, he goes to jail,
and he gets out.

You can't fix this.

Simon.

You're the reason this happened!

Just leave us alone.

I have a time of death
for Mildred Abernathy.

She was killed
within the past five hours.

BRACKENREID:
After McCann was already dead.

So he can't be the killer.

Right.

So we have a common thug,
an exterminator,

a mathematician,
and a wealthy heiress.

What connects them?

Two of them liked to play
the ponies.

Yes, but two of them didn't.

Three of them needed the money,
but one didn't.

There's no common denominator.

BRACKENREID:
Crabtree, where have you been?

Dealing with a personal matter,
sir.

Sod your personal matters.
We need you on this case.

I'm on this case, sir.
That's why I'm here.

We've just received word.
Another body has been found.

Lord.

[ Indistinct conversations]

Sirs.

He was found by a resident
of the boarding house.

Any witnesses?

Not as yet.

Horace Blechman.

An inventor, it seems.

542 Wilton Avenue.
That's just down the street.

Crabtree, you and Higgins
ask around.

It's a busy area.
There has to be witnesses.

- Sir.
- Sir.

Missing thumb.

Mm.

I have to cancel
our dinner plans this evening.

But I had something
rather special planned.

I'm sorry.
I'm expecting another body.

L--
This is very unusual.

Oh, it's just so exciting.
I can't wait.

I just received a letter

from a close friend of mine
in London, England.

A friend of hers,
Mrs. Pankhurst,

is forming a suffragette union,

and she's just put out a call
for international supporters.

Oh.
That's wonderful.

Yes.
Think of it, Emily.

London will set the tone
for the rest of the world.

They'll have a real influence.

Going there to join them could
be the adventure of a lifetime.

Going there?

Together.

Well, you certainly know how
to take a girl's breath away.

Perhaps a change of scene
would be welcome.

You're up to your elbows
in blood and entrails.

Yes.
I know.

Well, don't you agree
it's a thrilling prospect?

Of course.
But I --

Wonderful. We'll discuss it
when you're done here.

Lillian.

Thank you, sir.

If you hear anything else,
let us know.

Any luck?

None.

Can you imagine?

Five murders in the space
of one day.

This puts us in league
with London or New York, even.

Oh, that's wonderful, Higgins.
A first-class city at last.

Is everything all right, George?

Everything's fine.
Stop asking.

It's the first time I asked.

You go back
to the station house.

I'll finish up here.

Suit yourself.

What is all this, Murdoch?

Sir, I believe Mr. Blechman
aspired to create a train

that levitated
by means of magnetic repulsion.

A train that floats in the air?
Bloody ridiculous.

Man was crackers.

Yes. Well, you aren't
the only one that thought so.

It appears he was trying get
funding for this invention,

without much luck.

"We regret to inform you

that we are not presently
interested in your invention,

regarding your letter requesting
capital funds.

We wish to thank you
for your interest, but..."

Rejection letters.
He was a poor man's Pendrick.

So it would seem.

Murdoch, here's another copy
of the racing sheet.

Yes.

Sir, do you think it's possible

that he was gambling
to raise the money?

Now, that's interesting.

He placed a bet
on the seventh race at Woodbine.

What's interesting about that?

Well, there is no seventh race
at Woodbine.

Horace Blechman has placed a bet
on a race that doesn't exist.

Excuse me.

Sorry.
I'm locking up here.

Detective Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.

Your name?

[Clears throat]
Arnold Paulson.

Is there a problem?

Yes.

Mr. Paulson,
do you print this race sheet?

Yes. Today's issue is done
and dusted.

I'm off to my bed.

How and when do you receive
the details for each race sheet?

It comes by one of the street
boys they use as their runners.

Right.

Mr. Paulson, urn,
how do you explain the presence

of a nonexistent race
in your paper?

The seventh race at Woodbine.

Oh, that. Yes.
It's strange, I know.

Two nights ago,
a second envelope was delivered

just before my deadline.

Contained the -- the horses to
that seventh race along with $5.

So you printed it?

Who am I to turn down $5?

Right.

And did you receive
a similar envelope last night?

I did. I assumed it was a-a lark
of some kind.

Mr. Paulson, may I have a copy
of today's racing sheet?

Certainly.

MURDOCH: The seventh race at
Woodbine is listed once again.

But this time,
there are only four horses.

There were nine yesterday.

So five fewer today.

A coincidence that there are
five bodies in our morgue?

Could you please list off
the five missing horses?

DR. OGDEN:
Rat Trapper.

That would be Ronald Richards,
the exterminator.

Jailbird is likely our friend
McCann.

- McCann.
- Artemis.

The goddess of the hunt.

Mildred Abernathy.
The archer.

Murdoch, Pythagoras.

Professor Galbraith,
the mathematician.

That leaves only one --
Horace Blechman, the inventor.

Butcher's Gaff, Soldier Boy,
Twisted Oliver,

Big Game Hunter,
Dare to Dream.

Dare to Dream.
Suits that man to a T.

All those daft projects
he was working on.

Horace Blechman, inventor.

What have you, George?

Sir, I looked into Miss
Abernathy, as you requested.

It seems her apparent wealth
was just that.

She was in debt up to her ears
from gambling.

One roulette game away
from penury, it seems.

We have our common denominator.
They were all in need of money.

Perhaps this isn't the work
of one or two killers.

Could the victims be killing
each other?

Isuppose.

McCann killed Richards.

He had the thumb in his pocket.

BRACKENREID:
Blechman was an inventor.

Perhaps he invented
the garroting device

that killed McCann.

That's very good, sir.

That would explain why Blechman
had Jailbird checked off

on his racing sheet.

That's a very good thought,
Julia.

But the question is why?

Could they all be contestants
in some kind of murderous game?

A fight to the death.
Like gladiators.

Well, they are all in need
of money.

Perhaps the prize
is a significant sum.

To be claimed by the last man
or woman standing.

What about the severed thumbs?

Sir.

Proof of their kill.

MURDOCH:
Thumbmarks.

Which is why it was taken
only from their right hand.

If we're right about this,
four contestants remain --

Butcher's Gaff, Soldier Boy,
Twisted Oliver, Big Game Hunter.

Right, George.
We'll stake out the print shop.

We'll apprehend whoever delivers
the envelope tonight.

You're late, George.
What kept you?

Oh, does it matter, sir?
I'm almost never late.

And you aren't wearing
your police-issued boots.

L-I stepped in a horse muck
just outside my boarding house.

I didn't have time to clean
them.

If I'd cleaned them, I'd be
m-more late than I am now.

Is everything all right, George?

Yes, sir.
I-l apologize for my tardiness.

-[ Knock on door]
- Here we go.

You there.

Toronto Constabulary.

Give me that.

Who gave you this?

The race manager, sir,
from the Woodbine Racetrack.

Sir?

It's legitimate
race information.

No seventh race.

I suppose we wait.

We wait.

Sir, I apologize
for snapping at you earlier.

I've been wound fairly tight
lately.

That's all right, George.

No, it's not, sir.

We may never work together
again, and I...

You're anticipating your move

to Station House Number Three,
of course.

I just want to thank you, sir,

for your counsel and...
for your friendship.

It's been invaluable to me.

Whatever the future brings,

I'm glad to have served
under you these years.

We may not always work together,
George.

But we'll always be friends.

Right, then.

[ Door opens, closes ]

No seventh race tonight.

You've already begun printing.

Be done in an hour
if you want to wait.

Hm.

What do you think, sir?

Thank you.

Let's go home, George.

We'll try again tomorrow.

Julia, have you noticed George
acting a bit strange lately?

William, you have to give him
a little leeway.

George is dealing with
difficult matters of the heart.

Hm.

[Telephone rings]

Hello?

Yes.

All right, Doctor.
I'll be right there.

Another murder?

Another two.

[Sighs]

I'm coming with you.

That's not necessary, Julia.

I'm sure Emily could use
my help.

It appears Miss Abernathy
was not only a victim

but also a killer.

His right thumb is missing.

She had a cigar cutter
in her purse.

An efficient tool for the job.

DR. OGDEN:
Good gracious.

I always thought Mildred
so genteel.

But she was died before
this man's body was found.

He was killed
at least 24 hours ago.

He was found early this morning
in his cold storage room.

- Cold storage?
- In a butcher shop.

That would make him
Butcher's Gaff.

And what of the other body?

Male,
approximately 3O years old.

He was shot several times.

Time of death between 9:00
and 11:00 p.m.

Sir, this tattoo.

That's a regimental crest.

So this could be Soldier Boy.

MURDOCH:
Indeed, George.

But his thumbs are intact.

Well, perhaps his assailant shot
him and was then interrupted

before he could retrieve
his proof of kill.

Similar to the McCann murder.

Exactly.

Well, Julia, it appears we have
the body of Soldier Boy here.

Two more down.

Two to go.

MURDOCH:
Thank you.

MAN:
Paper! Get your paper!

I'll pick up a copy
of this morning's racing sheet.

Oh, don't bother, Julia.
I spoke to the printer.

He said that there is
no seventh race.

I'll get one anyway.

William, look at this.

There is seventh race
at Woodbine listed.

There is?

With a new entry --
Artful Detective.

Artful Detective.

[ Gasps]
William!

"[ Gasps ]
-[ Grunts ]

Wait!

[Crowd murmuring]

He's dead.

William, what on earth
just happened?

Julia...l believe I may be
the Artful Detective.

George?

What?

Have you brought in Mr. Paulson
yet from the printing shop?

Sir, he's gone.

H-His place has been
completely cleared out.

He's nowhere to be found.

Right.
Join us please.

Artful Detective?

I'm not quite sure
about the "artful" bit.

They must have thought that it
made for a better horse's name.

"They," sir?

Whoever is responsible
for this game,

which includes the printer.

They must have thought
you were getting too close,

so they've thrown you into
the game without your knowledge.

Not quite cricket.

Yes, and now the printer
has disappeared

along with our best lead.

If you are in the game,

I want you to get yourself
off to the armory.

Don't want you taking
any chances.

Sir, if we are to find out
who's behind this,

we'll need to capture
our subject alive.

How the hell
are we gonna do that?

I invented this some time ago,

but it proved to be somewhat
cumbersome for daily use.

What is that?

It's a weaponized capacitor.

It delivers an electrical shock
by way of these darts.

Sort of like an electric gun?

Exactly.

It overwhelms
the attacker's nervous system.

- Rendering him paralyzed.
- Temporarily.

I hope.

L-I haven't exactly tested it
yet.

Well, I'm sure we can find
a couple of volunteers.

Jackson!
Get yourself in here!

Sir, I-l really don't think --

We're not taking any chances,
Murdoch.

Sir.

The detective is going to test
his new invention on you.

It might hurt a bit,
so brace yourself.

A-All right.

Sir, I really don't think that
we should --

We need to make sure it works.

It could kill him.

W-- Urn...

[ Sighs]
Jackson, as you were.

Thank -- Thank you, sir.

Sir, no matter how effective
this electric gun is,

you're up against killers.

Not killers, George.
A killer.

Soldier Boy and Twisted Oliver
are now out of the picture.

That only leaves
Big Game Hunter.

How are you gonna find
Big Game Hunter?

Well, sir, I believe
he is going to find me.

Sir, I insist
on coming with you.

I mean,
the man is clearly dangerous.

He's bloody dangerous.
Big Game Hunter.

It all in the name, Murdoch.
It's all in the name.

I appreciate your concern,
gentlemen, but I have a plan.

And it all begins at the hotel.

Oh, don't worry, Julia.
I'll be back shortly.

Please be careful, William.

Of course.

[ Click, whirring ]

[ Crackling ]

[Grunts]

Murdoch,
that was bloody brilliant.

It worked.

Sir, take him
to the station house.

-I'll question him shortly.
- Where are you going?

I owe it to my wife

to let her know that she didn't
become a widow today.

Fair enough.

Lads, cart this lump of rubbish
off to the cells.

[ Rattling ]

[Grunts]

Oh, George.
Thank you.

How did you know
he would attack me?

Sir, just a lucky guess.
[ Exhales deeply ]

George, this man is a soldier.

Could this be Soldier Boy?

Perhaps, sir.

If so, who do we have
in our morgue?

I don't know.

The winner was to receive
a prize of $10,000.

Why you would join
such a murderous undertaking?

You need the money?

I did it for the sport,
of course.

The ultimate sport.

I have faced off
against many a ferocious beast,

but none as deadly
as man himself.

What were the rules
of this game?

We met before the hunt began
and agreed on one thing only.

Killing of any nonparticipant
meant instant disqualification.

Apart from that,
there were no restrictions.

Any time. Any place.
Any weapon.

And you chose a hunting knife
as your weapon.

Always.

It's the only way to measure
yourself against your quarry.

Who organized this?

I don't know his name.

But you may have an opportunity

to meet him face-to-face,
Detective.

How is that?

You're the victor.

The last man standing.

How am I to be collect my prize?

KING:
...and it was the chimney sweep!

[ Laughter]

Detective Murdoch, Inspector.

How can I help you?

I'm here to collect my winnings.

I'm the last man standing.

I believe I'm entitled
to $10,000.

Of course, we'll accept
a confession in lieu of that.

Confession?
For what?

I've committed no crime.

None of the contestants
were compelled to enter.

Everyone participated
of their own free will,

each for their own reasons,

whether it be debt, greed,
thrill of the hunt.

You preyed on
base human weakness.

You turned the entire city into
a coliseum for your gladiators.

Were any innocent citizens
harmed?

I don't recall a single example.

Bernard King,
you are under arrest for murder.

I didn't kill anyone, Detective.

Well, then,
you will be surprised to learn

that conspiracy to murder
carries the same penalty.

Why did you risk getting caught

by putting Artful Detective
in the race?

It was a gamble.

He may have survived
or he may have been killed.

It's...lt's all part
of the game.

Is that so?

Well, Bernard, me old mucker,

“OW YOl-Fre playing
my bloody game.

Walk this way, sunshine.

I thought you might be hungry.

Oh.
How thoughtful.

It's tea and scones.

You're trying to convince me
of the charms of England.

Mm. I hope it's my own charms
that will sway you.

Oh, do say yes, Emily.

I am charmed, but I have to
think about my job.

They are mortuaries in London,
I daresay.

It's not that easy.

I can't just walk
into a position at any mortuary.

So don't.

We'll be doing something
more important.

What I do here is important,
Lillian.

I'm a woman.

I'm doing my part for
the movement just by being here.

I am living the fight.
You're just talking about it.

Well, I'm not
just talking about it anymore.

I'm doing something about it.

You can either come with me
or you can stay.

I won't accept
such a ridiculous ultimatum.

Well, it appears you've given me
your answer.

I suppose I have.

[ Door opens, closes ]

Emily.

I got your message.
ls something wrong?

I thought there might be
something you wanted to tell me.

- I don't think so.
- Are you sure?

George, I identified the soldier
in the morgue.

It's Archibald Brooks,
Edna's husband.

You saw the body.

You knew who it was.
Why didn't you say something?

Emily, l...

George, the detective
is waiting on my report.

What am I supposed to tell him?

You do what you must.

George, please talk to me.

What are you hiding?
What's going on?

Emily, goodbye.

You're absolutely certain
that it's Archibald Brooks?

There was scarring from shrapnel
on the corpse.

I checked the regiment's
medical records.

Sergeant Brooks was injured
in a barrage.

- Detective --
- Yes.

I know, Doctor.

George was there when the body
was first brought to the morgue.

He would have known that it was
Mr. Brooks and not Soldier Boy.

Do you think he could have --

Doctor, Brooks was shot.

What was the caliber?

.22 pistol.

[ Drawer opens ]

That's a .22.

What has George done?

Sir.

Sir.

Explain yourself, Crabtree.

Your boots match
the bloody footprints

at the scene of the crime.

BRACKENREID: The murder weapon
was found in your desk.

George, if you have
an explanation,

now is the time to speak.

Oh, for God's sakes, man.

Have you not got a tongue
in your head?

Did you kill him?

Did you kill Brooks?

George, please,
speak in your defense.

Sirs, I have a right to silence.

Christ, George.
What were you thinking?

George.

All these years
that we've worked together.

Those were good years, sir.

Constable George Crabtree,
you are under arrest

for the murder
of Sergeant Archibald Brooks.