Original subtitles

Here are some of us

who don't even believe he's human.

- We think he might be a spirit. - He's most assuredly human.

There was a massacre in New Paltz.

It's possible it was committed by a man named Beecham...

John Beecham.

Do you think it was an accident?

His throat was cut from ear to ear.

Tell us about your brother.

I came across him sitting astride a dead striker.

A young man... a boy, really.

He was stabbing at the body with a knife, over and over.

Dr. Kreizler!

Run! Run!

- Uhh! - Aah!

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"...And if thou wilt, remember,

"and if thou wilt, forget,

"I shall not see the shadows,

I shall not feel the rain,

"I shall not hear the nightingale sing on,

"as if in pain.

"And dreaming through the twilight,

"that doth not rise nor set,

"haply I may remember,

and haply may forget."

I'm so very sorry.

My deepest condolences.

Thank you.

Please forgive me

for offering you the same advice you once gave me.

You are not alone in your sorrow,

and there's no shame in grieving for those you love.

Laszlo.

It's over.

This wretched investigation is over.

Laszlo, give yourself a few days before you...

Before I what?

Before I get you killed, too?

You weren't responsible for her death.

Who then, if not me?

Synced & corrected by -robtor- www.addic7ed.com

So... there we were,

waitin' outside the house for the Doctor to return.

And the Indian lass... she invited us in.

"Would you like a lovely cup of tea?" she said.

She invited you in for a cup of tea?

I could tell that she was interested

in more than a cup of tea.

So I made myself scarce.

Mary couldn't speak.

I wasn't being literal, Detective Sergeant.

She said it with her eyes. Know what I mean?

You saw her lead Connor up to the bedroom?

By the nose.

So when'd she fetch the knife?

Well...

I suppose she had it hidden,

up her petticoat the whole time.

You expect us to believe you?

I expect you to believe me

over Sambo and some halfwit stable boy.

Whoa, whoa! Whoa.

- Marcus. - Look at yous,

a couple of heebs playin' at cops.

Here's one for the literary scholars among you.

Who is the greatest killer of chickens

in all of Shakespeare's plays?

That would be Macbeth, because...

he committed murder most fowl.

Hello, Commissioner.

You look like you're on your way to church.

Here. Why don't you take a pew?

I've been to a funeral.

Have you now?

One could say you bear some of the responsibility,

you and the police force you built over the last 30 years.

You know, you got rioting in the Points.

You got a multi-murderer on the loose,

and you come walking in here, accusing me of crimes

brought on by your own lack of leadership?

And where will I find good men in the department to lead?

Men, good or bad, do not follow what they don't respect.

And what is it that you teach them to respect?

I taught them to respect a badge...

...and the uniform...

and all they stand for.

What they do not respect is weakness.

Now don't you have more pressing issues

other than making false allegations against an old man

who's just trying to enjoy the fruits of his retirement?

Weakness is hiding in the past, old man.

I'm afraid it's no use. I've spoken to Laszlo,

and he won't... or can't... change his mind.

Then we'll have to continue without him.

I know how much of an opportunity this is.

I know how much it could help convince...

Please don't insult me.

Do you honestly believe I'm doing this to advance myself?

I'm doing this because I want to sleep soundly again.

What happens when the next boy is killed?

I'm not talking about what happens.

I'm talking about what's possible.

And is it possible for you to walk away from this?

Because I can't.

Dr. Kreizler's withdrawn because he's been hurt,

as badly as anyone can be.

But we have a duty to go on.

But we don't have the knowledge or the know-how.

We have a name.

We have a suspect.

I believe Japheth Dury killed his parents

and a man named George Beecham.

He took his name, or part of it,

and became John Beecham.

All we have to do is find him.

- What is this place? - It used to be a saloon

before the Commissioner's Sunday Licensing Laws

put it out of business.

Welcome to our new headquarters.

I followed him to his place.

Connor.

He lives in Brooklyn.

They're the only family in the house,

even got a yard and an outhouse.

It ain't fair he's living like that

and Mary's in the ground.

It's a pity she didn't finish him off.

Because if I got the chance, I would stick a shank in his throat.

You ain't gotta cut a man's throat to kill him.

All you gotta do is...

cut a man on his leg,

nick a vein, you put him away right quick.

None of the murders have taken place above 14th Street.

We should narrow our inquiries

to Greenwich Village and the Lower East Side.

That's only half the population of the city.

He... he knows his way around the rooftops.

Perhaps his profession is somehow connected.

Churches and charity use the rooftops to get around the city.

Then why don't we knock on some doors and...

We don't have time. We need to narrow down our possibilities quickly.

The Feast of St. Barnabas is only eight days away,

and we know he won't stop killing.

We have until the 11th.

Then perhaps we should involve the police.

We are the police.

Why did Japheth Dury change his name to John Beecham

when the man who violated him was named George Beecham?

Why take only his surname?

There could be some twisted logic to it.

By taking his name or part of it,

he changes from victim to tormentor.

And by doing so, assumes the identity

of the man who betrayed him

and in turn betrays boys who trust him.

Yes, but why John and not George?

We know that John Beecham was released

from St. Elizabeth's hospital in the summer of 1890,

and the murders of the Zweig twins occurred in 1893.

If it was the same man,

where was he those intervening years?

If I had your name and wanted to know where you lived,

where would I go, Detective Sergeant Isaacson?

Uh, police records.

Let's say you don't have a police record.

Official hours are over. We're with the police department.

Uh, we were wondering if we could have a word

with Mr. Charles Murray?

And what is the purpose of your inquiry?

We'd like to check the Census records

for the name of a man we're trying to find.

Stop!

The Lower East Side wards.

John Beecham.

146 Allan Street.

Aged 2 years.

That would make him 8 now.

Nine... eight...

seven...

six...

five...

four...

three...

two...

one!

Perhaps he did change his name.

Or moved to New York after the Census.

Fee, Fi, Fo. Fum.

I smell the blood of an Englishman.

Fee, Fi, Fo. Fum.

I smell the blood of an Englishman.

What is it?

Look at this.

Fee, Fi, Fo. Fum.

I smell the blood of an Englishman.

Fee, Fi, Fo. Fum.

I smell the blood of an Englishman.

Look at the bottom of the page.

He's here. He's real.

Hey! You kids can't be here!

I don't see what business it is of the Commissioner

to inquire into our employment practices.

We'd be happy to explain that to Mr. Murray.

I am Mr. Murray.

Mr. Beecham's brother may be involved

in a land speculation scandal.

The Commissioner thought that John might be able

to help us locate him.

Mm. I hired Beecham as an enumerator...

the men who did the counting

and the interviewing for the Census...

in the spring of '90.

I hired 900 such men.

900, and you still remember him?

I remember all the men who work for me.

And he was particularly hard to forget.

He had a... rather unfortunate appearance.

I was concerned that people would be unwilling

to allow him into their homes.

You mean he had a disfigurement?

A facial spasm of some kind.

I'm not a doctor.

- But you hired him anyway? - He was a decent fellow.

Polite. Religious. Scrupulous.

Personally, I never gave much credence to the allegations.

What allegations?

I had to fire him

after a complaint from a Jewish family.

They claimed he had been visiting their daughter

on several occasions when he wasn't scheduled for an interview.

How old was their daughter?

12 at the time, but I'm sure you appreciate it

that girls of that age have vivid imaginations...

And people of the Hebrew faith even more so.

You haven't, by any chance, kept his employment records?

Mm.

We're the Census Department. We keep everything.

They seem similar.

And this over here, near the top of the page?

That's his address, of course.

Whoa.

This is the address that he gave.

23 Bank Street.

I'd feel much safer if there were a couple of roundsmen present.

Not after they shot you in the back.

Hello?

I'm sorry, dear. I frightened ya.

We apologize. The door was unlocked.

Oh! Silly me. Are you inquiring about the room?

Yes. Our friends are looking for lodgings. They've gone upstairs.

I'm afraid I only have the one room available right now.

- Have you any other lodgers? - Just the kitties, for now.

An acquaintance of mine, John Beecham,

gave me your address, ma'am.

Ah, dear Mr. Beecham. Not a friend of the kitties.

Yet he spoke so highly of you.

I believe he was with you for some time?

Almost six years.

He left last Christmas, after he lost his job, poor man.

I remember it was the same day that Jib ran away.

- Jib? - My tabby.

He never told me he lost his job.

Was that at the Census Bureau?

Oh, no. He was a charity worker.

What kind of an employer

dismisses a charity worker at Christmas?

And is it his room you're letting out?

I haven't had any lodgers since he left.

It's a cozy little room.

Take a look for yourself. Just along the corridor.

Ohh.

Something died.

Evening, Miss Howard.

- What do you want? - Ah, nothing much.

Now that I'm no longer gainfully employed,

sure, the world's my oyster.

May I walk you home?

You may not. If you idle here a moment longer,

I shall alert one of your former colleagues.

Oh. Well, good luck finding one

at this time of night.

Still trying to be a detective, are you, Miss Howard?

Get out of my way.

You don't want me to see you home, well,

you best be careful is all.

All it takes is for someone to come up behind you,

clasp a hand around your mouth, and force you to your knees,

and you'll never know who it was put it inside you.

Whoo!

No.

Don't worry, girls. He's with me.

Keep an eye out, Maxie. We won't be long.

What are you

doing out on the street?

The cops threw us out.

Where else we got to go?

You find a room in a rescue society.

And if they don't take you, you go to a boarding house.

Here.

There's enough money there.

If you need any more, you just ask.

I don't want you working or living on the street.

Understand?

You sure what you told me about the the man you're looking for is right?

Yes.

It's just, a friend of mine met someone

who promised to take him away to live with him.

What of his face?

He didn't say there was anything wrong with his face.

I asked.

What if I were the killer?

Yeah, no offense, Mr. Moore,

but there's more chance of pigs flying.

Well, I ask because the man we're looking for

may not be a client.

He might have a job that allows him

to get close to you boys and win your trust.

A charity worker, for example.

Yeah, I wouldn't trust those sons of bitches

as far as I could kick 'em.

They just pretend to care so they can cop a feel.

A preacher then, or... or a medical worker?

Did Fatima ever mention to you

what his saint did for a living?

Can you think of any reason why he would've trusted him?

All he said was the man was nothing like his father,

that he hated his father more than anything in the world.

How am I supposed to keep goin' with that din?

It's all that whisky you been drinkin'.

Don't you blame my Nievie.

Gosh damn you, woman. And your Nievie!

Cyrus?

Cyrus?

You called, sir?

For Cyrus. Where is he?

Jesus Christ!

Scared me.

- What are you doin' out here? - Same as you.

Ah. Go on, then, if you can find the wee thing.

Fat bastard.

Broyt is "bread" in English.

Lena, repeat after me,

"The bread is stale."

Ze bruht ist stehl.

The. The.

Yes, I remember him.

Your parents filed a complaint. May I ask what you told them?

Only that he was my friend.

What exactly do you mean by "friend"?

I mean friend.

I teach English. I know what the word means.

I'm sorry we have to ask, but did he lay hands on you?

Not once. I made that clear to my parents,

but they filed the complaint about him anyway.

When you were together, what did you talk about?

How much I hated my parents.

Then all these years later, why do you think

a grown man would befriend a 12-year-old girl?

I think he wanted someone to talk to.

I don't think he had many friends.

Hello. My name is Detective Sergeant Lucius Isaacson.

George Beecham.

- Do you recognize his face? - No.

Hey, boys. Boys.

Have you seen this man?

- No. - No, I haven't.

_

_

_

_

The Feast of St. Barnabas.

Do you think it has meaning for him?

Everything has meaning for him.

Whatever he does,

it allows him to befriend these boys.

The teacher we questioned, Ellie Leshka,

used the word "friend" about him several times.

And we should keep talking to charity organizations

and church volunteers.

Boys like these must have nothing but contempt

for charity workers.

As a Census worker, Beecham would most probably have

dealt with their parents.

He hated his father more than anything in the world.

That's what Joseph said about Ali ibn-Ghazi.

He hated his father more than anything in the world,

and Ellie Leshka said something similar, no?

"How much I hate my parents."

And Giorgio Santorelli was beaten.

Think of it.

It's like he can read their minds.

He knows all about them...

their wretched childhoods, the beatings, the poverty.

Everything he says chimes with them.

He understands them. That's why they trust him.

What else do we know about Ali's father

other than the fact that his son hated him?

Joseph told me Fatima's father was a gambler.

Giorgio's brother said the same thing.

Mr. Santorelli owed money.

Mr. ibn-Ghazi was in debt to you?

He was in debt to the people I work for.

I collect for everybody in the neighborhood.

- Or my guys do. - Your guys?

I'm a little too old to be knocking down doors myself.

Ibn... whatever-his-name

was a testy son of a bitch.

The first man I sent 'round came back with a broken nose,

so I had to send a bigger fella.

- Do you have his name? - The people who work for me

don't volunteer their names, so I don't ask.

- Maybe you should start. - You know, you don't look like a cop.

Yes, I've heard that.

John something-or-other.

Had something wrong with his...

Do you know where he lives?

That I don't know,

but I can tell you where he's likely to be.

Lucius, you and Miss Howard stay here,

keep watch.

Don't want the drinks?

Information about a customer.

Get out.

John Beecham.

Tall fella. Facial tic.

End of the street.

3-story house, second floor.

You heard nothin' from me.

That's no man to cross.

Jump in the water and scram.

We're about to close.

You coming in?

You go ahead. I'm gonna get changed.

Time to go home, boys! This way!

Is he lookin'?

No. Why?

I'm meetin' someone. I'll s-see ya later.

Giorgio.

Ali.

Ernst Lohmann.

Today.

We may be too late.

Beers and smokes are on me, boys.

Maxie, you son of a bitch!

What was the line in the letter about Giorgio?

"It fed me for a week."

Is that you?

His father's pictures.

John.

What is it?

It's a heart.

How many have there been?

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