Dog Altogether (2007) - full transcript

Subtitling made

possible by Acorn Media

Where are you taking me?

To the garden of

earthly delights.

Change? What kind of change?

I'm not sure, exactly.

When H.G. Wells was visiting,

he made a most peculiar comment.

He said that he could tell

there was something

missing from my life

and that he hoped

I would find it.

That's rather

presumptuous of him.

Yes, it was.

The odd thing is...

he was right.

You're so beautiful.

I dream about you every night.

Oh, Luther.

But I thought you

loved your work.

I do.

And it goes without saying

that I enjoy working with you.

But I'm a doctor,

William, not a detective.

You'd make a very

good one, however.

If you like, I could put a word

in with the superintendent.

I was the only woman attending

medical school in Montreal.

And it was very important

to me that I succeed.

And you have.

I'm the only one from my

class still cutting up cadavers.

The Hippocratic Oath

was wasted on me.

What is it? What did I do?

There are a hundred

good doctors in this town,

but only one that

can do what you do.

William.

Julia, you have a gift.

I thank you for that, but

this is not just about my work.

What, then?

It appears we're needed again.

She hasn't been here long.

Fewer than 12

hours, I'd estimate.

She was strangled.

So it would appear.

What have you, George?

This young lad and his lady

friend found the body, sir.

What were they doing out here?

Just having a stroll in

the woods, so they say.

No blood, no

signs of a struggle.

Perhaps the body

was moved here, sir.

At least we know who she was.

"Miss Abigail Tunstall."

And an address

on Wellesley Street.

Oh, my.

Sir, according to Miss

Tunstall's landlady,

she was a kitchen hand.

Quite the wardrobe

for a kitchen hand.

I daresay.

I can't imagine she

was chopping cabbage

or curdling cheese

in these fineries.

How did she afford all

of this clothing, I wonder?

Well, perhaps, sir, she's

just one of those women

who can really spot a bargain.

You know, my Aunt Primrose says

that any girl can

dress like a lady

if she has an eye for value.

A true font of

wisdom, your aunt.

Not according to my Aunt Iris,

who has a rather low

opinion of Aunt Primrose.

Called her a gluttonous

imbecile once.

Not to her face, but...

George, how many

aunts do you have?

Oh, let's see.

There's Aunt Amaryllis,

Aunt Aster, Aunt Azalea,

Aunt Begonia, Aunt Bryony.

Thank you, George.

Oh, sir, that's just

the A's and B's.

You can fill me in on the

C's through Z another time.

Well, I'll look forward to that.

We'll have some tea.

Oh, my goodness.

Sir, I think you'll want

to have a look at these.

Oh, my.

Rather saucy.

Indeed.

Looks like our girl was

into some risky business.

Yes. Perhaps that's the reason

why Miss Tunstall

has turned up dead.

She died some time between

midnight and 2:00 a.m.

What can you tell me

about her attacker?

A man, judging by

the size of the hand.

And a few inches taller

than her, by the angle.

Any other injuries?

Any interference?

No sign of that.

Small comfort.

Such a beautiful girl.

Such a pity she had

to end up this way.

Not entirely unexpected.

Oh, William, just

because she posed

for titillating

picture postcards.

It's a fact that women

in this line of work

invite unhealthy attention.

They "invite" it?

Well, attract it.

Pornography sets men's

minds to dark urges.

From what you've described,

the postcards in question

were hardly pornographic.

Yes, well, perhaps they were

more than enough for her killer.

You'll have my report

by the end of the day.

Very good.

Dr. Julia Ogden.

Dr. Folwell.

Yes, I did receive your letter.

Tomorrow evening

would be perfect.

I look forward to it.

Okay, lads, let's

have those back.

No, no, no, here.

Give me those.

Give.

Oh, very funny.

Have some respect for

the dead for Pete's sake.

Oi! Oi! What's all the racket?

Sir, I...

Whatever it is you're up to,

pack it in and get back to work.

And, Crabtree, I expect

you to set a better example.

- Me, sir?

- Murdoch.

You and Happy Dafty, my office.

Happy Dafty!

What did you do?

Well, what's this girl's story?

Miss Tunstall

worked in the kitchen

at the King's Goose Tavern.

She finished her shift

and left just after midnight.

Some bloke followed her out?

No one saw anything.

Any boyfriends?

According to her

workmates at the tavern,

there was no one special.

Let me see these.

Hmm.

Nice.

Inspector, really.

I was referring to the

quality of the work.

The composition is professional,

and the paper stock is...

Well, the paper

stock is top-notch.

The paper stock, sir.

First thing I noticed.

Judging by these,

I'd suggest a visit to my

old friend Marcus Evans.

Ah. That's perfect.

I thought I told you to

shut this place down.

- George, the girls.

- Ladies.

It's a pleasure to see you

again, Sergeant Brackenreid.

It's inspector.

Moving up in the world, I see.

Unlike you, Evans, still

crawling around in the gutter.

- Let me see this camera.

- Not my camera.

Shift, Evans. It's evidence.

Evidence of what? My

work is purely artistic.

Artistic.

Tell that to the wives of the

husbands who buy your trash.

Oh, and this time, it's not

just about saucy postcards.

Perhaps you

recognize this woman.

Abigail. What of her?

She's one of your models, then.

Was.

She quit awhile ago. I

haven't seen her since.

She's been found dead, Marcus.

Any theories?

Oh, no.

Oh, poor Abby.

Mr. Evans, do you know of anyone

who may have wanted

to harm Miss Tunstall?

No one.

She was... Everybody liked Abby.

Except whoever did her in.

Sirs, I've taken their

names and addresses.

I'll get full statements once

they get some clothes on.

Grab any negatives, Crabtree.

Please. I can't afford

to replace those.

And the camera.

Not the camera, Inspector.

This is my livelihood.

A young lady in

your employ is dead.

I think it's time for a

career change, sunshine.

Miss.

Is there something else, Miss...

Mahoney.

Moira Mahoney.

Miss Mahoney.

You knew Abigail, didn't you?

Yes.

Me and Abby were pals.

In that case, I'm terribly

sorry for your loss.

Have you any idea who

may have wanted to harm her?

No, but...

The thing is, when

Abby quit here,

she went on to something else.

Something else?

There was an apartment.

Abby took men there.

She asked me if

I wanted in on it.

I thought about it.

Miss Mahoney, it's all right.

I'm only interested in who may

have wanted to harm Abigail.

I went along once,

but changed my mind

before I ever went inside.

It was... It wasn't right.

Do you recall the address?

It looks like a

doxie's digs, sir.

It certainly does.

It would appear Miss Tunstall

was involved in more

than just cheeky pictures.

What did you find, George?

Just a small kitchen

and a water closet.

A darkroom.

Yes, but the question is, what's

it doing in a doxie's apartment?

A hobby, perhaps?

George, go and turn

the light on in the boudoir.

George, come and

have a look at this.

Oh, my goodness!

A mirror you can

see right through.

It's a half-silvered

mirror, George,

used in scientific experiments

to split beams of light.

I suspect the use in this case

is somewhat less scrupulous.

Sir, imagine we had

one of these at the station

in the interview room.

We would be able

to observe suspects

without them ever

knowing we were there.

Yes, but in this case,

I believe the intention was

to take photographs of people

without their knowledge.

People in the bed.

Yes, George.

What have you there, sir?

A hinge.

This is a camera?

It's no bigger than a cigar box.

Remarkable, isn't it?

It's the latest from the

Eastman Kodak Company...

The Pocket Kodak.

But the plates? How do they fit?

Oh, sir, plates are

a thing of the past.

George Eastman has introduced

a new type of flexible film

made of cellulose.

It stays inside the camera.

What will they think of next?

So, what are you doing?

You've been at

that half an hour.

Trying out different

combinations.

I thought you'd cracked it.

And what's the bloody

stethoscope for?

Oh, sir, you can hear the

bolt pass over the first tumbler.

The other two are trial

and error, I'm afraid.

Well, that's 60 numbers.

Times another 60.

Yes, and each number has a

leeway of one digit either side,

making it a total of

400 combinations

of which I have tried 76.

Murdoch, just drill

the bloody thing.

Don't look so smug.

What's inside?

Money.

Photographs.

Oh, my.

Oh.

These make Evans' postcards

look like an invitation

to a church social.

Look closer, sir.

Good God.

Alderman Merrick.

Clarence Chislett,

the district court justice.

Ooh, I'll be years

trying to forget these.

A record was kept of

the names and addresses.

All important toffs.

Was it blackmail, then?

I'd be willing to wager

these men would

pay a lot of money

to be sure these

photographs were never seen.

And it wouldn't take much

for a beauty like Miss Tunstall

to lure them back

to the apartment.

I wonder who took these photos?

This could be our answer

now. What have you, George?

Sir, according to the landlord,

the apartment was leased two

months ago by a John Smith.

John Smith.

John Smith, George.

Clearly, that's

not his real name.

Oh.

So, how do we find him?

George, this is a

brand-new camera.

Telegraph the Eastman

Kodak Company

and find out which

stores in Toronto

carry this specific model.

Sir, right away.

Dangerous game

they were playing.

One of these "clients" could

have done Miss Tunstall in?

Yes.

They would have had motive.

We'll interview all of them.

Tread carefully, Murdoch.

These "gentlemen"

carry a lot of clout.

More of the same?

No.

These photographs

were taken elsewhere.

Different vintage, older.

Why, yes, Mrs. Pendrick.

Is this a social call?

How wonderful.

Ice water?

Sir.

Sir, it's Sally Pendrick.

Detective Murdoch.

What fiendish crime of mine

brings you here this time?

Mr. Pendrick.

I apologize for my

unannounced visit.

What do you think of my

latest concept, Detective?

The Toronto of the future.

Millions of people living in

fully self-sufficient towers,

connected by a vast grid

of underground railways

and elevated paths,

fed by endless

acres of rooftop farms.

Whole generations never

need set a foot outside,

working and playing

in the sheltered security

of their tower communities.

That's fascinating.

Actually, I'm here to

speak with your wife.

I see.

And I trust you don't

intend to accuse her

of some dastardly deed.

Not at all.

I have an art question for her.

Ah.

One of those

urgent art questions.

At any rate...

Wait here.

I'll see if I can find her.

Art question.

A model of the solar system.

You and James,

both fascinated by such things.

Mrs. Pendrick.

To what do I owe the pleasure?

Actually, it's imperative

that I speak to you

in the utmost privacy.

Certainly.

What could possibly

demand such intimacy?

This.

Oh, my God.

It was found during the

course of a murder investigation.

- Murder?

- Yes.

A young woman

named Abigail Tunstall

was found murdered yesterday.

Possibly by the man who

took these photographs.

I...

I'm sorry. I must sit.

Yes, of course.

I was young and

without prospects.

He offered me money.

Good money.

Who did?

His name was Colin McTavish.

He kept an apartment in Albany.

I was to bring men

to the apartment

and entice them to disrobe.

That was all.

I never prostituted myself.

You must believe me.

Did you know he was blackmailing

the men in the photographs?

I didn't want to know.

But it doesn't surprise me.

He's been blackmailing me.

Apparently, he saw

my photo in The Gazette

and remembered me.

He threatened to show

the photos to James.

How much?

So far, $1,500.

So far?

Well, he keeps

coming back to the well

every couple of months.

I'm due for a

payment any day now.

Why didn't you come to me?

I was ashamed, of course.

If only one could erase all the

poor decisions of one's past.

Should this Colin McTavish

contact you again...

I'll let you know immediately.

Detective Murdoch?

I beg you not to

mention this to James.

He knows nothing of my past.

It would devastate him.

Uh, sir.

I spoke with a retailer who said

he sold a black

leather Pocket Kodak

just three weeks ago.

Oh. Have we a name, George?

The buyer was a

Mr. McTavish. First initial C.

Said he was a

nature photographer.

Well, that's one way

of putting it, I suppose.

The initial C stands for Colin.

He hails from New York State.

He's been blackmailing

Mrs. Pendrick as well.

That's quite the

gold mine, there, sir.

Indeed.

But if the past

is any indication,

he'll be back for more.

And then we'll have him.

Colin McTavish.

Do you think

he's our killer, sir?

He could be.

But then, so could any of

the men in those photographs.

Have we identified them all?

Uh, all except

for this fellow, sir.

And his name wasn't

on the list you found.

Keep looking, George.

Sir.

You seem cheerful.

Do I?

I must have forgotten myself.

I came by to see

if you would like to have a

walk with me this evening.

We never got a chance to

finish our conversation yesterday.

Yes.

I would love to, truly, but

I have an engagement.

Ah. A meeting?

A dinner, actually.

With a colleague.

A business dinner.

Perhaps another time, then.

Yes. Yes, another time.

- Sir.

- What have you learned, George?

Sir, all the men confirmed

are receiving copies of

the photographs in the mail.

Along with threats to

make the photographs public

if the monies weren't paid.

You're correct, sir.

$50 in most cases,

mailed to a post-office

box here in town.

$50 is substantial but

hardly worth killing over.

- I - shouldn't think so, sir.

Alibis?

They all gave a complete

account of their actions

the day Miss Tunstall

was murdered,

including Judge Chislett,

who, in fact, admitted

to accosting

Mr. Evans at one point,

thinking that Evans was

behind the blackmail note.

But you found

them to be truthful?

I think so, sir.

Embarrassed, mostly.

At any rate, I have Higgins

confirming their alibis.

Discreetly I hope.

Although one of these

men could be our killer,

the rest are simply

victims of blackmail.

Of course, sir.

Excuse me, sir.

Colin McTavish was released

from New York State Penitentiary

last June.

They're sending his

Bertillon measurements.

Thank you, Constable Worsley.

Well, that would explain

McTavish's sudden re-emergence.

"Dear Sally, I very much

enjoyed our last meeting

and thought it was

time we meet up again

unless you'd prefer that your

husband learn your true nature."

As frightening as

this is, Mrs. Pendrick,

it's precisely

what I'd hoped for.

I want him apprehended

as badly as you do.

Will I be required to testify?

We have him on a number

of other blackmail charges,

and he's our number-one

suspect in Miss Tunstall's murder.

I see no reason for you

to have to take the stand.

He's expecting you at 8:00.

I suggest we leave

at quarter to the hour.

So I meet him, give him

the money, and leave.

We'll have other

men posted nearby.

The moment you're

clear, they'll move in.

And I'll be safe?

McTavish has no

reason to harm you, Sally.

It's clear he intends to

continue demanding money.

I'll put an end to that tonight.

Dr. Julia Ogden, I presume.

- Why, yes.

- I'm Dr. Martin Folwell.

I'm delighted to

meet you in person.

Thank you.

So, what shall you have? A

glass of champagne perhaps?

Champagne?

Well, I am endeavoring

to woo you, Dr. Ogden.

You must allow me my methods.

We'll be late.

He'll wait.

Of all the outcomes I

ever imagined for myself,

here I am with my

future dependent

on the retrieval of

a sordid photograph.

There's a certain

dark humor in it.

Yes, I suppose.

I do wish you hadn't learned

of my indiscretions, Detective.

That's long in the past.

Yes.

But your respect means

a great deal to me.

I just hope...

My respect for you

is undiminished.

To your lovely city.

I do believe it is almost

as attractive as Buffalo.

Yes, I've heard it said.

Well, I'm most interested

to hear more about your

new hospital, of course.

The Children's

Hospital of Buffalo.

A nurturing environment

dedicated to our

most vulnerable.

We have high hopes.

Well, I imagine it would be

quite effective to have a staff

dedicated solely to the

treatment of children.

That's it, precisely.

And as I mentioned in my letter,

such a progressive hospital

would do well to have

a female physician

as our head of

pediatric surgery.

Is that something that

you would consider?

I used to sing.

Growing up in Montreal,

my dream was to

become a famous soloist.

I was quite good, actually.

Unfortunately, my

parents thought singing

to be a sordid career choice.

So I ran away to New York.

Took some voice lessons.

I did a bit of performing.

You didn't pursue it?

I ran out of money.

Living in New York City, I

could barely feed myself.

Do you know what

that's like, Detective?

I can only imagine.

I was hungry,

alone, and terrified.

Easy prey for someone

like Colin McTavish.

He convinced me

that I could support

my singing career

if I moved to Albany

to start working for him.

And I believed him.

How I regret that now.

That's close enough. Driver!

Whoa!

Right. The warehouse

is just ahead.

Return immediately upon

completing the transaction.

I have men posted all

around the warehouse.

They won't make a move

until you're safely out.

Sally!

Sally!

Sally, can you hear me?

Sally?

What happened?

There was an explosion.

Are you all right?

I think.

It's just a small cut.

Oh, God.

If we had arrived just

a moment earlier...

Indeed.

McTavish.

George, have the

men take a look.

There might still

be someone inside.

Sir.

Sally!

Sally. Sally, you're hurt.

No, I'm fine.

What in God's name

are you up to, Murdoch?

Are you trying to

get my wife killed?

The more pertinent

question, Mr. Pendrick,

is "What are you doing here?"

Did you follow Sally?

That's Mrs.

Pendrick to you, sir.

Her well-being is my concern.

Why exactly did

you bring her here?

That's police business.

Your police business

risked my wife's life.

I'll be making that

point to your superiors.

Sir, there's a man

inside the building.

Dead or alive?

Very much dead, sir.

It's Colin McTavish.

The Bertillon measurements

leave no doubt.

Most of the blast wounds

are on his right side.

This embedded debris.

Yes. Flying shards of

wood and metal and glass.

Beyond that,

the state of the body is making

the postmortem rather difficult.

That's unfortunate.

Any word on the

cause of the explosion?

The fire chief seems to

think it was a gas leak.

You don't sound convinced.

Well, it's the timing.

Just at the moment

when Sally Pendrick was

supposed to enter the building.

Yes.

How is she?

She had quite a close call.

She's shaken,

but she'll be fine.

You must be relieved.

Yes, quite.

Julia, are you concerned

about the nature of my

relationship with Mrs. Pendrick?

Is that the cause for

this distance between us?

No. I promise, William.

It's nothing to do

with Sally Pendrick.

If the explosion was

the result of a gas leak,

as the fire chief suggests,

something ignited

a room full of gas.

McTavish lighting a cigar.

- Or a lamp.

- Either of those.

The resulting explosion

would have sent debris outward

in all directions like this.

However, McTavish's

injuries were concentrated

to the right side of his body,

as if the explosion came

from one side of the room.

What would have caused that?

I don't know.

I'd like to return to the

warehouse and take another look.

If McTavish was murdered,

it's most likely it was the

same person who killed Abigail.

I'll wager it was one of

their blackmail victims.

Except, sir, all

those men have alibis

for the night of Miss

Tunstall's murder.

Well, we must have

missed something.

Have we interviewed all of them?

Everybody except for this chap

that we haven't

been able to identify.

Right.

George, enlarge that

photograph. And make copies.

Perhaps someone at another

station can identify him.

Sir, will do.

What's all this?

The remnants of a bomb, sir.

This pile of leavings?

It was found at the blast site.

So, no gas leak.

There was a ruptured gas line,

but that was as a

result of the explosion,

not the cause of it.

What do you plan

on doing with all this?

If I can determine how

the bomb was made,

perhaps it will lead

us to who set it.

The answer lies in

reconstructing the bomb.

You can do that?

I can try.

Dr. Ogden is

asking for you, sir.

It's quite curious, but

there's no doubt about it.

Colin McTavish was dead

before the explosion occurred.

There's no trace of searing

or ash inside the lungs.

And how long has he been dead?

Not long.

Perhaps a day or two.

Why would anyone

go to the trouble

of blowing up a dead body?

Why, indeed?

And the actual cause of death?

I'm still trying to

determine that.

Thank you, Doctor.

I must be off.

Sir, I've enlarged

the photograph.

Did you make copies?

Not yet. I thought you

should have a look first.

Hmm. I still don't

recognize him.

Not him, sir. Her.

Look in the mirror.

That's not Abigail.

No, that's Moira Mahoney.

She's the one who

stayed to speak with us

at Marcus Evans' studio.

Miss.

So it is.

Now, she swore up and down, sir,

she was never in that

apartment, but there she is.

In the flesh so to speak.

Well done,

Crabtree. Bring her in.

- Immediately.

- Will do.

Detective.

Mrs. Pendrick.

Is your husband here?

Why, no, he's at the office.

Good, good.

Sally, you have to leave here.

You're in danger.

What in the world

are you talking about?

That explosion...

It wasn't a gas leak.

It was a bomb.

And I believe it

was meant for you.

Me?

Well, how do you know?

McTavish was already

dead when the bomb went off.

Somebody else lured

you to that building,

knowing you'd arrive just

in time for it to explode.

Goodness.

But why leave here?

I can think of only one person

who would want both

you and McTavish dead.

Your husband.

Mr. Pendrick must have found out

about your involvement

with McTavish.

He must have

overheard us talking.

He was in another

part of the house.

Perhaps he has

hidden microphones.

I hardly think.

How did he know you

would be at that warehouse?

He followed us.

He said as much on

the carriage ride home.

He was concerned about

your attentions towards me.

I believe he lured

you to that warehouse.

The note came from Colin.

Perhaps Mr. Pendrick

forged the note.

Or killed McTavish

after he wrote it.

No. That can't be.

I've always believed

someone else was

behind the Rembrandt theft.

Four people died

in that incident,

one of them shot

by your husband.

James shot Luca

Carducci to save your life.

Or to silence him.

And what about the

Eugenics Society?

What about it?

James was not responsible

for Linus Malling's death.

Still, his views on the

matter are entirely sinister.

I believe your husband

is a dangerous man.

Well, I simply

don't believe you.

James would never hurt me.

Mr. Pendrick has the

technical capability

of building an explosive device.

And so do many people.

What proof do you have, hmm?

Sally, please.

For your own safety.

I'm afraid I'm going to have

to ask you to leave, Detective.

And it's Mrs. Pendrick.

- But...

- I'm quite serious.

Get out.

My office, George.

Oh, sir, you should know,

the inspector's in the interview

room with Moira Mahoney.

She's the one in the

photo with the mystery man.

Really?

Hmm.

George, these are the

remnants of an exploded bomb.

It's my intention to

put it back together.

- Oh, you're serious.

- Yes.

But first I need you to

clean the carbon residue

off of every piece.

I don't know who that girl is.

Look in the mirror.

Look closer.

It was just the

one time, I swear.

I'm not that kind of girl.

Really?

You didn't have any problem

stripping down for Marcus Evans.

That was different.

I never had to go starkers,

and no one ever touched me.

I'm not a doxie!

I don't care if you're

the whore of Babylon.

I want to know everything

you know about this operation,

starting with him.

Who is he?

I don't remember his name.

Rubbish!

Abby knew him. I didn't.

I never seen him

before or since.

How did you choose your marks?

I didn't.

I told you. I

wanted no part of it.

How did Abigail Tunstall know

which men to approach?

- She had Mr. Evans' client list.

- She stole it?

She didn't have to steal it.

Mr. Evans gave it to her.

Oh, is that so?

Abby told him she wanted to know

which men liked to

buy the postcards of her.

So then Abigail

contacted these men

and invited them

up to the apartment.

How many of these so-called

gentlemen were on the list?

A lot.

Abby was very popular.

I wasn't nearly so.

Evans just handed

over the list, did he?

Well, he didn't know what

she wanted it for, did he?

If he had known, he

never would have agreed.

Why?

Because of his abiding

moral conscience?

No.

Because it would

have broken his heart.

He was crazy in love with her.

They were lovers?

No.

She'd never let him.

If he'd known what she was

doing, it would have killed him.

I'm not convinced, sir.

I still think Pendrick planted

the bomb in that warehouse.

You're always on

about bloody Pendrick.

Sir, he had motive,

and he was in the vicinity of

the warehouse when it exploded.

You're barking up the

wrong tree, Murdoch.

Evans is our boy on this one.

He was in love

with Abigail Tunstall,

who ditches him for McTavish,

and just as a final

kick in the old plums,

she takes his client list.

Evans has motive to

kill the both of them.

All right, let's go.

Hats and coats.

You never learn, do you?

Just wait there.

It's time to come clean, Evans.

I don't know what

you're talking about.

Abigail Tunstall

and Colin McTavish.

You killed them.

- I did not.

- Your best girl.

Your little angel.

Do you want to see more?

No.

There are dozens of them.

All of Abigail Tunstall

and your ex-clients.

It must have driven you insane,

knowing that Abigail ditched

you for that sort of business.

You've got it all wrong.

I didn't know why

Abby left the studio.

The love of your life,

and you didn't

bother to find out why?

Bollocks!

She had them lined up

around the block, Evans.

She was making money hand

over fist, her and McTavish,

blackmailing your clients.

I don't know what

you're talking about.

Well, that's funny,

because Judge Chislett

told us that he confronted you.

You knew, didn't you?

What was it like

knowing what the love

of your life was doing

with all of these men?

Any man, in fact, but you.

Stop it! Stop it.

What were you doing

between midnight and 2:00 a.m.

on October 3rd?

I don't remember.

It was three days ago.

I'll tell you what

you were doing.

You had your fat fingers

around her pretty little neck.

You killed her, Evans.

And you killed McTavish.

I didn't kill McTavish.

I never even set eyes on him.

I wish I had done

him in, though.

Instead of Abigail?

I didn't mean to.

I just wanted to show her

how much she'd hurt me.

She was so heartless.

I lost my temper.

I remember grabbing

her, shaking her.

The next thing I

knew, she was dead.

What about Sally Pendrick?

How does she figure into this?

Sally who?

Evans had a reason to

kill Abigail and McTavish,

but not Sally.

While Pendrick may have wanted

to have McTavish and Sally dead,

but not Abigail Tunstall.

Thank you.

So we're dealing with

two separate crimes.

One of which involves

James Pendrick.

You know you're treading

on dangerous ground.

Pendrick has already

complained to the chief constable

about you.

- If you're wrong...

- I'm not wrong.

Not this time.

So, what's the plan?

At the moment, I have a

bomb to put back together.

Interesting.

So, sir, the explosive

material was contained

in this metal pipe section, yes.

That's right.

And this is the remains of a

timing device of some sort,

which would have been

attached to a blasting cap...

Which would have ignited

the explosive material

once the timer reached 8:00.

That's right, but some of the

pieces appear to be missing.

Unless they've been

blown beyond recognition.

Well, sir, I think this

piece is for your lot.

It's a cog wheel of some sort.

Ah, George, what

country of origin

would you say begins

with the letters S-W?

Oh, there's several

I can think of, sir.

Swansea. That's in

England, I believe.

Uh, Sweden.

Swaziland, I think,

is a real place.

Switzerland, George.

Switzerland.

And what are the

Swiss famous for?

Chocolate. Cheese.

Cheese with holes in it.

Clocks!

George, the Swiss are

famous for fine Swiss clocks.

And fine Swiss clocks

require fine clock wheels.

George, I need you to

run another errand for me.

Detective, please!

James Pendrick,

you are under arrest

for the murder of Colin McTavish

and the attempted murder

of your wife, Sally Pendrick.

Really, Detective,

you've outdone yourself.

This is no laughing matter.

This is a clock wheel

from the timing mechanism

of the bomb that

almost killed your wife.

Yes. And?

It's identical to

the clock wheels

used in this remarkable model

that I was so impressed

with months ago.

So it matches.

That means nothing.

These clock wheels are very

rare and not readily available here.

I had my constable check

with the manufacturer

in Switzerland.

And they confirm a shipment

of several of the clock wheels

were sent to a Pendrick

Steel Company in Toronto.

A record of the transactions

is in the mail as we speak.

You're dead wrong, Detective.

I've heard that before, sir.

You'll regret this, Murdoch.

Darling, don't be concerned.

I'll be home before dinner.

Dr. Folwell.

What a pleasure

to see you again.

So, this is your headquarters.

A rather dreary one, I'm afraid.

Tchaikovsky, is it not?

Yes. From his Opus 35.

So, do I have good news to

take back to my colleagues

at the children's hospital?

Oh, really, so soon?

I haven't even had a chance

to discuss this with my family.

There's no immediate rush.

But I take it you're

not saying no.

I must admit I have been

contemplating a change.

Yes.

A grim business,

always dealing in death.

It can be, yes.

And the chance

to heal children...

I look forward to your

decision, then, Doctor.

Good day.

I'm afraid I was rather

high-handed earlier.

I apologize.

In spite of the circumstances,

this must be very

difficult for you.

It is difficult.

But, truly, it is I who

should apologize.

I've turned a blind eye

to my husband's faults.

Your husband's

a very clever man.

Yes, and you were right

about him all along, it seems.

I owe you my life.

I must confess to a concern.

How will you fare on your own?

Always come out all right.

One way or another.

Mrs. Pendrick.

Sally.

Sally.

If you're ever in

need of assistance,

I would be honored if

you were to call on me.

Thank you, Detective.

I might just do that.

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