Elementary (2012–…): Season 1, Episode 4 - The Rat Race - full transcript

Hey, all I did was give you
some fresh eyes.

Ms. Watson.

I didn't know you and Holmes
were stopping by.

He's not here, just me.

Everything okay?

Uh, could we talk privately?

I haven't heard from him
in over three hours.

He's not responding to texts,

he's not answering his phone.

All due respect, but you know
your boss is a weirdo, right?

He's probably out trying
to find Jimmy Hoffa

in some, uh, subway tunnel.

You don't understand.
We have an arrangement.

We're not supposed to be apart
for more than two hours,

and he's never
supposed to be unreachable.

I know you two are pretty close
for an assistant and a boss,

but how is that even possible?

You both have to sleep, right?

I'm... not his assistant.

I... okay, the only reason
we are together all the time

is because I live at his place.

Okay.

Don't know why you guys couldn't
have just told me that,

but... fine.

Okay, it's not like that.

It's... we're not
together together.

Okay, what is it like?

I-I...

I-I can't say, I'm sorry.

Well, Ms. Watson, if you
want me to help you,

you're gonna have to tell me
what the story is, all right?

I'm a sober companion.

I work with recovering
drug addicts.

Sherlock is my client.

His father hired me
to help him stay clean.

The only reason
I am telling you this

is because I think
he may have relapsed.

I need your help to find him.

Mm.

# Elementary 1x04 #
The Rat Race
Original Air Date on October 25, 2012

== sync, corrected by elderman ==

#

Speaking of which,
how is my favorite six year-old?

She's good.
She's great.

Enough about her;
how are you?

I'm good.
Yeah?

Any new men in your life?

Uh, sort of.

But it's work,
I'm not dating anyone.

Good.

Maybe you won't be
as mad at me.

What are you talking about?

You split up with Ty
a while ago,

and you never let me
set you up, so...

Oh, Aaron!

Hi! Over here.

Are you serious?
Shut up.

I'm gonna kill you.

- Hey, Em.
- Hi!

Oh, I didn't realize
you were meeting someone else.

Yeah, that's okay.
She didn't know, either.

This is Aaron, from work.

Have a seat.

This is Joan, my oldest friend.
Was.

Okay, I've got water
aerobics in 20 minutes.

Wait, wait, I...
I know you two are strangers, but...

you're both fantastic,
and single, so...

start with that.

See where it goes.

My treat.

I think this is what
you call an ambush setup.

Well, the good news is that I
don't have to buy you a drink.

That's true.
Although I could go for

a double vodka rocks
right about now.

Do you normally drink
spirits before, um, what?

10:00 in the morning?
No, but...

go easy on me,
I've just been ambushed.

Vanilla latte for... Aaron?

Excuse me, that's me.

Okay.

# There you are,
you and your friends #

# Standing in a field
that's... #

Sorry to snoop, but...

"YT? ND U ASAP?"

What, are you texting
with a teenager?

A fully-grown adult, actually.

Sorry, I haven't
done this in a while.

Um... I don't know
where to start.

Me neither.

Oh... "CUS"?

I'm guessing that's
"see you soon,"

but what is "IMLTHO"?

It means "In my less

than humble opinion."

Your abbreviations are becoming
borderline indecipherable.

I don't know why,

because you are obviously
capable of being articulate.

Language is evolving, Watson,

becoming a more efficient
version of itself.

I love text shorthand.

It allows you to convey content
and tone

without losing velocity.

Met a man, I see.

A handsome one, at that.

Um, this is the part
where I ask you

how you knew that, right?

You put your hair up

when you want to look your best.

You think it's more flattering.

You're wrong, of course.
It's a draw.

But it was down when you left
for coffee, and now it's up.

Ergo, you unexpectedly
met a man

you found attractive.

Okay, what am I
doing here, anyway?

You said it couldn't wait?

I'm just trying to stick
to the terms of our agreement.

You said we're not
supposed to be apart

for more than two hours,

and I have a mysterious
errand to run,

and I have no idea
how long it's gonna take.

What kind of errand?

We have been summoned
to a meeting

of the Board of Directors
of Canon-Ebersole.

The investment firm. What do
they want to see you about?

I have no idea.

Hence my use of
the word "mysterious."

Apparently Gregson
recommended my services,

and, uh, they won't
tell me anything else

until I've signed
a confidentiality agreement.

Uh, is that what
you're going to wear?

What's wrong with it?

It... I'm pretty sure you slept
in that T-shirt last night,

and, um, the guys on Wall
Street are a little more...

formal in the way they dress.

Those are costumes.

I loathe bankers.

They rigged the roulette wheel
of commerce,

very nearly destroyed
the world economy,

and they still think
if they wear suits

they'll be treated
like respectable folk

instead of the crooks
that they are.

My name is Jim Fowkes.

I'm the chief investment
officer.

This is Daniel Cho,
our chief financial officer,

another in-house
board member...

Yep, you're all
chief of something.

What do you want?

Mm.

This is our COO, Peter Talbott.

Every quarter, he fields
a conference call with

our institutional investors.

These people control
huge pension funds.

As far as they're concerned,
Peter's the voice of the company.

This quarter's call was
supposed to happen yesterday.

We had to reschedule,
because Peter didn't show up.

Nobody has any idea
where he is.

And if you don't get this
call back on the books soon,

people will start to whisper.

When these people whisper,
Mr. Holmes,

millions of dollars disappear.

The gentleman
we spoke to,

a, uh, Captain Gregson,

he said that the NYPD
couldn't get involved

until Peter had been
missing for two days.

He also said that

you were the finest
investigator he'd ever known.

We'd like to hire you
and your, uh... associate.

Bodyguard.

Luckily for you,
Mr. Fowkes,

I have a hole in my schedule.

My usual private consulting
rates will apply, of course,

multiplied by a factor
of 12, shall we say?

You're wondering
if I'm worth it.

I could provide a demonstration,
if you'd like.

I'm fairly sure,

for example,
that these two are

sleeping with each other.

You really should be more
careful of your body language.

And you, for some reason,

have recently used a solvent

to remove fingernail polish
from your hands.

12 times your usual rate
will be just fine.

I will need access to Peter
Talbott's office, his computer.

My secretary will be happy to
take you down there right now.

Cute couple.

Everyone here calls
Peter and Alyssa

"Taylor and Burton."

You know,
after the movie stars.

Fascinating.

I'll be outside
if you need me.

I don't think I've ever
seen you so happy,

back in the
conference room.

Mastering the Masters
of the Universe.

Bit of a letdown,
actually.

I think I could've got
20 times my normal rate.

What is your normal rate?
Oh, I don't have one.

Remind me to make one up
before I leave.

Typical.

Every stuffed shirt who
wants to pass for erudite

has shelves full
of unread books.

None of the spines on these
have ever been cracked.

Except...

this one.

Which apparently Mr. Talbott
consults all the time.

Ah.

I've never been a fan of
John Maynard Keynes,

but this I could
sink my teeth into.

I don't understand.
What is that?

It's a menu.

Each of these girls is
available for a price.

See the ring symbols
at the bottom?

The more rings, the more
expensive the prostitute.

So you're speaking
from experience?

It's just a deduction.

Though I am on
an expense account.

Almost all these pages
are turned down.

The more pricey girls

were his favorites.

But you can't just tell the IRS

you spend six figures
a year on slappers.

No, you need to
hide the expense. So...

Let's see...
calendar, contacts...

Yeah.

You see?

Talbott has contact addresses
for two separate accountants.

This one is for a rep for DDB.

That's a big five firm,
nothing untoward there.

Probably handled the family
books. But this one...

is an independent accountant
by the name of Martin Rydell.

Handled something Peter calls
his "Executive Private Account""

Excuse me!

Secretary?

What did Fowkes
say your name was?

He didn't. It's Donna.

Well, before we leave, Donna,
would you mind calling us in

a reservation for three
at Villa Pacri?

We're not dressed
for Villa Pacri.

We're not dressed for
Canon-Ebersole, either.

When I invite Martin Rydell
to lunch, it'll help if

I drop the name of one of

the most expensive
restaurants in the city.

So you loathe Canon-Ebersole
and everything they stand for.

But you love to
spend their money.

You don't see any
inconsistency there?

I'm redistributing as many
of their assets as I can.

If I'm going to get in bed with
the croupiers of a rigged game,

I'm going to make damn sure
their wallets are lighter in the morning.

Sir?
Mm.

And that is for?

It's the most expensive
bottle they've got.

I don't care if it comes in
a box, you're not drinking it.

It's not for me.
You see that couple over there?

I observed them
while you were in the bathroom.

The man's suit is frayed
from dry cleaning.

I'd wager it's
the only one he's got.

Therefore, he saved to come here
for a special occasion.

Also, he keeps touching the
inside pocket of his suit coat,

like he's checking to see
that something valuable

is still there.
He's about to propose.

And I'm going to send this
wine over as congratulations.

It's lovely, thank you.

Mr. Holmes?

Mr. Rydell.

Won't you sit down?

Confession: I told a couple
of white lies on the phone.

I don't actually work
at Canon-Ebersole,

and I have no
intention of opening

a private executive
account with you.

What I would like is
to discuss the work

you did concealing Peter
Talbott's predilection

for expensive hookers.

I'm sorry, I think
maybe this is a mistake.

Is it strictly legal,

the private executive accounting
business? I bet not.

Yet you seemed very eager to
take this meeting with me,

so I'm quite sure that Peter
Talbott's not the only rich man

to avail himself
of your services.

But by all means, leave.

I'm sure there's any
number of magazines

would love to
publish a story about

the man who hides the dirty
secrets of Wall Street.

The press is so
base these days.

Excuse me.

Hello. Is this the Post?

Wait!

I work with Peter.
I set up a shell corporation.

We steer a little bit
of his paycheck

into a quiet little slush fund.

He can do whatever
he wants with it.

And if he were using
this slush fund

to binge on his
favorite bad habit,

where do you suppose
we might find him?

I rented an apartment in Tribeca

under the name
of the dummy corp.

Yes, I will!
Of course I will!

That's lovely, isn't it?

This apartment, we'll
need the address.

The man you met
this morning,

his name's Aaron, yes?

He sent a text while you were
in the bathroom at lunch,

asked if you wanted
to have dinner tonight.

Didn't we already
have this conversation?

You don't touch
my stuff.

You said yes,
by the way.

And you definitely don't
accept dates on my behalf.

Why not? We're both
equally aware

that you're attracted
to this man.

No, we are both not equally
aware of my feelings.

Super's office.

Yes, this is

Detective Donowicz
of the NYPD.

We got a warrant
to look inside apartment 2G.

We don't have
a warrant.

They almost never
ask to see it.

This is the apartment
he kept on the side?

This place is amazing.

Mr. Talbott, your bosses
would like a word.

You all right?

I'm sure you already know
that the support meetings,

you're not even allowed to name
the drug you've abused.

Just saying it out loud

might be enough
to make someone relapse.

I told you I don't pay attention
in those meetings.

Heroin was one of the drugs
that landed you in rehab.

You're not just
hearing the word.

You're in a apartment where
it's laid out in front of you.

Do you want to get
away from this?

We can go outside
and talk.

I'm fine. I have to be.
I'm working a case.

And talking about
my feelings

is not gonna get
it solved, right?

Peter Talbott is right there.
Your job is over.

Over? Do you see that
salad sitting there?

Captain, you're classifying this
as an accidental overdose, yeah?

We'll wait on the M.E. to make
the final determination,

but you're looking at
the same picture we are.

Indeed. But I don't think
we need to wait on the Examiner

to get started...
I think there's a good chance

Peter Talbott was murdered.

Murdered? The guy's holding
the needle he used

to shoot himself up.

He's holding the needle that
someone used to shoot him up.

Look at his arm.
There's no track marks on it.

Doesn't mean anything... a junkie
can find a vein anywhere.

Look around you.
Does this look like

the typical apartment
of a hardcore heroin user?

It's-It's-It's pristine!

I'd wager even the food

is perfectly arranged.

Ha. Does that look like
the typical fridge

of a heroin addict?

No, not a typical one.

Heroin users are looking
for oblivion.

They want the drug
to dull their senses.

That's why when they overdose,
usually you find them in

squalid apartments
or alleyways.

They don't often keep apartments
like this.

And it's rare-ish that
they hold jobs as a COO

of a billion-dollar
corporation.

So you're saying someone gave
Peter Talbott that shot?

How? There's no sign
of a struggle here.

You can't walk
up to someone

and stick a syringe
in their arm.

No, you would need them
to be unconscious first.

Okay, granted I've never been
hit with a salad container,

but I'm pretty sure
it wouldn't knock you out.

The killer would need
Peter to be insensate

before delivering
the fatal shot.

But a drug other
than heroin would

surely show up
on tox screens.

So what's the most
efficient solution?

If Peter Talbott
was murdered,

I'd imagine the first dose
of heroin came from here.

After he passed out,

the killer dragged him

to the chair where
he delivered the fatal shot.

You think someone
dosed his salad dressing?

I think it's worth
exploring.

It's easy enough to
find out if I'm right.

We just test
the salad

for the presence
of heroin.

I'll hold my
breath on that.

Meantime, I got to
notify Talbott's wife

of all... this.
I'm coming.

He-he keeps a special
apartment for prostitutes.

If he was murdered,
surely his wife had motive.

You can watch.

She just lost
her husband...

the last thing she needs
to deal with right now...

is you.

Oh, my God.

Peter said he
was done with it all.

The girls, the partying.

He just told me
he was ready for kids

and you're saying he was using heroin?
Everything cool?

Our sincere condolences.
You're staring.

Ms. Talbott,

sorry to interrupt.

Would you mind telling us
where you were

two nights ago between the hours
of 6:00 and midnight?

What?
The medical examiner

estimates that's
when your husband died.

I was wondering
where you where.

No.
You-you think I'd hurt my husband?

No, no, everything
we've seen so far

says accidental death.

Even so... your whereabouts.

You don't...
have to answer that.

I-I volunteer
at Habitat for Humanity.

I was at a silent auction.

Th-There must have been
200 people who saw me there.

Thank you.

And until today,

you had no idea your
husband was using heroin?

I told you, no.

I'm shocked.

But... I...

can't say I'm...

totally surprised.

He's been overwhelmed ever
since they named him COO.

Peter used to say he thought
the last guy dropped dead

just to get out of
going into work.

Sorry, sorry, sorry.

Did you just say

the previous
chief operating officer

of Canon-Ebersole also died?

He was allergic to peanuts...
he died when some restaurant

put the wrong oil
in his lunch.

How long ago was that?

Last October. Why?
What does this

have to do with Peter?

Nothing at all.

We're finished here.

Thank you very much

for coming in.

And again, we've very,

very sorry for your loss.

Yes.

Peanut allergies?

Seriously?

Canon-Ebersole has lost
two COO's in a year.

That seems like
a dangerous job.

You speak Mandarin?

Not as well as
I'd like. You?

Not as well as
my mother would like.

Who was that?

The chef that
prepared the meal

that killed Peter Talbott's predecessor
at Canon-Ebersole.

Any particular reason?

I won't get
the test results back

from Peter Talbott's salad
for a couple of hours.

In the meantime,
I suppose I'm just curious.

The previous COO
of Canon-Ebersole

was a man named Gary Norris.

Terrible allergies.

Yes, noted earlier.

Did you know he was fanatical
about avoiding peanut products?

He ate every single takeout meal

from the same
Chinese restaurant.

He had a special arrangement
with the chef,

who knew never
to have peanut oil around

when he was preparing
Gary Norris's meals.

Well, it only takes one slip up.

But the chef swears
he didn't slip up.

He prepared that meal
personally, and he believes

that someone put the peanut oil
in Gary Norris's food

after it left his kitchen.

I'm starting to think
he could be right.

Death by peanut oil...
that would be

a brilliant way to kill someone.
Hmm.

If Peter Talbott was murdered,
the M.O. is consistent:

eliminate your target

in a way that the world thinks
is an accident.

Damn it!

Earlier, when I asked you
about being around heroin again,

you wanted to say something?

I could tell.

I'd forgotten
what it smells like.

Cooked heroin.

It brought back memories.

that they crave oblivion.

Is that what you wanted?

It's nearly 7:00.

You're gonna miss
your dinner date.

I'm not going.
You need me tonight.

Actually...

what I need, I believe,
is privacy tonight.

I'm not gonna
relapse.

Besides, if I wanted drugs,
I could always just

climb out the window,
whether you're here or not.

Go.

If it makes you happy, I'll take
a spit test when you get back.

All right.

I am officially
calling it.

"Foam" is-is not
a category of food.

It just isn't.

I feel like I should
take you to a restaurant

that provides
actual sustenance.

That's all right.
After all the bubbles subsided,

there was food underneath.

No, you're
missing my point.

Can't you see that's
my stealthy way

of asking you out
on another date.

Oh, smooth!

Yeah. So smooth you
didn't even notice.

No, I didn't.
I was...

Seriously, though,
I... I had fun.

Most of my dates
these days

are spent talking
about ex-husbands.

You didn't go there.

Well, that's easy...
I've never been married.

What about you?
No.

Your chariot.

So, uh...

like I said,
this was fun.

It was.

Thanks.

Thank you.

Who are they?

Employees of
Canon-Ebersole

who have died over
the last ten years.

It is a big company.

Odds are they're gonna lose
some people along the way.

And some of these,
no doubt, are random.

But there could be a pattern
hidden in there.

How was your date?
Good.

Fun.

I think maybe
he lied to me.

It was the end of the night
and we were talking

about whether or not
we've been married,

and when he said he hadn't...
and this isn't something

I would've noticed before
I started working with you...

but I... could swear
he wasn't telling the truth.

Flexing our deductive
muscles, are we?

I could burst with pride.

The next step is confirmation.

It's easy enough to find out
if he was married.

What was his last name?

Whoa. Hold on.

Not a cyber-stalker.

Do you want to find out
if you're right or don't you?

His last name is Ward.

tells us that Aaron Ward

of New York City was...

Oh.

"Oh." "Oh"... what
does that mean?

He wasn't married.

- Oh.
- He is married.

To a woman
called Grace Arber.

They just celebrated
their anniversary.

How could Emily set me
up with a married guy?

Well, look at it this way:
your instincts were right.

And you're home early, so
I assume you haven't become

an unwitting adulteress.

I knew it!

Knew what?
That's the NYPD lab.

They agreed to rush the tests
of Peter Talbott's salad

and there were trace amounts
of heroin in it.

Mm.
My advice...

don't dwell on that man's
petty deceptions.

You need your rest.

We're going to
Canon-Ebersole tomorrow.

We're going to call another meeting
of their Board of Directors.

Can you do that? You don't
even work there anymore.

Not technically, but I think

they're gonna want my help
in trying to figure out

whether there's a murderer
working there.

Miles Durham, former head trader
in your Denver office.

Mr. Durham was a volunteer with
wilderness search and rescue

who always filed his travel
plans with the ranger office

whenever he went camping.

We're busy people, Mr. Holmes.

What are we doing here?

Maria Filipello.

She ran your equities
division in Dallas.

She suffocated in 2005

when the natural gas line
running into her house ruptured.

Never been another problem
with that brand of piping

before or since.

Jason Palmer.

He worked in
the New York office.

Got a $5 million bonus in 2009.

Then drowned,
while swimming in a lake

near his home
in the Catskills.

The odd things is,

when Jason Palmer
was in college,

he was a beach lifeguard
at Martha's Vineyard.

Uh, respectfully,
Mr. Holmes,

you found Peter,
he O.D.'d, we're done.

Peter Talbott was murdered.

The police are
investigating now.

I believe the man who killed him

also killed your
previous COO, Gary Norris.

And these three
unfortunate souls.

Possibly one or two
others, as well.

I can't find a plausible
motive for anyone

outside the company to have
committed these murders.

These are not crimes of passion.

They're too
well concealed for that.

They're crimes of opportunity.

I think you may have
a sociopath in your midst.

A particularly cunning,
methodical killer.

If I'm right,
they wait, they analyze,

and when the time is right
to give themselves a leg up,

they pounce.

You're saying someone is killing
their way up the ladder?

That sounds insane to me.

I'd love to be wrong.

But someone did dose Peter
Talbott's salad with heroin.

As for the rest,
you let me do my work.

I'll need access
to your records.

If this person is here,
I'll find them.

We control billions of dollars
worth of assets, Mr. Holmes.

We can't give you
access to these files.

They're confidential.
I don't need to audit you,

I just need to do
some simple math.

There can't be that many people

who worked in Denver in 2003,

Dallas in 2005,

New York since 2009.

If I can find
this person quickly,

I can wrap this up
with a minimum of scandal.

All right, enough.

This is not necessary.

Are you listening to me?

There may be a murderer
at Canon-Ebersole.

There's not a killer.
You know how I know that?

Because the only person
with the career path

that you're describing is me.

What are you saying?

That I murdered, like,
what, like five people?

Well, this is a bit awkward,

but I-I'd say that you're
a damn good suspect.

I thought I'd bring you
your check personally.

Also, we need to talk.

Do we?

Eggs?

I'm sure I could
find another fork.

I'm not hungry.
I came here to end this.

Well, that should be
simple enough.

Just confess.

Save us both a great deal
of time and trouble.

Do you have any idea
what you did to me today?

Do you know what it takes
just to survive

at a place
like Canon-Ebersole?

I think avoiding you
would be a good start.

I've never killed anyone.

I went to parochial school,
Mr. Holmes.

I've pretty much broken every
commandment they ever taught me.

Father Ray probably
isn't very proud of me,

but then again, Father Ray
doesn't have a country house.

I was inches away
from becoming COO,

which everybody knows

is where they groom you
for the big chair.

And you accuse me of murder.

You think everybody in
that place isn't talking?

Gossip's poison
in that place.

Doesn't matter that
I'm completely innocent.

I'm never gonna get that job.

Sorry. Are you done?

Every time you say "innocent,"
I... I tune out.

In that case, I'm just going to have
to prove it to you, aren't I?

Miles Durham, the first
of these so-called murders.

He disappeared
during a camping trip.

August 2003, right?

He left August 7...

He was supposed
to return August 9.

What is this?
Medical records. Mine.

I had elective surgery,
August 6, 2003.

There were, uh...

complications.

I wasn't released
until August 12.

Liposuction.
Rhytidoplasty.

You had a face-lift.

You see many jowly men on the
cover of Barron's, Mr. Holmes?

My point is, I couldn't have
murdered Miles Durham.

And I'll tell you
something else.

Dan Cho...
arrogant little pissant...

no, he didn't work
for Canon-Ebersole in 2003,

because he had a summer
internship with us

while he was in business school.

Worked at our Denver office.

Here's his file.

We hired him in 2005,
sent him to Dallas.

You think there's a sociopath
working for us?

Let me let you in on
a little secret, Mr. Holmes.

We're all sociopaths.

Hey.

Hey, I'm trying to
read up there.

This doesn't make any sense.

Yes, Dan Cho
interned in Denver

during the summer of 2003.

But he didn't benefit
from the first murder.

Company didn't even hire him
till two years later.

First of all,
you're not even sure

Miles Durham's
disappearance was a murder.

Okay, let's say it was.

Maybe this guy Dan Cho

killed him to get
a charge out of it.

The-the murder was the benefit.

People who enjoy killing

like to share their
enthusiasm with others.

They want everyone to know
there's a murderer out there.

And anyway, even after
he was hired,

he didn't benefit
from the deaths

nearly as much as Jim Fowkes.

But Jim Fowkes...

Jim Fowkes didn't
do the first one!

It would appear not!

Marrying man?

He just won't quit.

He says he is married,

but he wants to meet me
to explain himself.

You should go.
Coffee with a creep?

No, thanks.
If nothing else,

it would be an interesting
experiment in deduction for you.

Spot the lie.

Besides...

I need time to think,

which means it's not gonna
get any quieter around here.

I...

Donna.

Can I get you something?

I'm good.

How did you find
out I'm married?

Um... I thought you
wanted to explain yourself,

not the other way around.
Okay, wait.

I did lie to you.

I did.

But it's not what you think.

I volunteer, uh,

for a place called
Shoreline Community Services.

It's a legal aid thing.

We... work with people who are
seeking political asylum.

A while back,

I helped out with
a woman from Kosovo.

Her father was a
general in the war,

for the losing side,

and when it ended, he
was shot in the street.

She would have been killed
had she returned home.

But the U.S. wouldn't
give her asylum.

So you married her
to keep her in the country.

Do you have a relationship?

Mm...

She lives in Hoboken.

I check in on her
sometimes. That's it.

We can get a divorce in a year,

without the government
crawling all over us.

I would have told
you eventually,

if there was an "eventually""

But, uh...

but now I'm just... I'm sorry.

Helping her was a really
compassionate thing to do.

Thank you.

But if you don't mind my asking,
how did you find out about it?

Excuse me.

Donna?

It is Donna, right?

No one ever remembers the
secretary, do they, Donna?

Excuse me, what?

As a career choice,
has its limits.

But then it does afford one a
certain cloak of invisibility.

I-I don't know
what you're talking about.

But I'm pretty sure
that Mr. Fowkes

had you banned
from the building.

You've been with him
a long time, haven't you?

Until tonight,
I just assumed that you'd...

come to work with him
after he moved to New York.

Then I saw your name
as the emergency contact

for a surgical procedure
he had in Denver.

You followed him to Dallas, too,
didn't you?

Mr. Fowkes is a good boss,
and we're loyal to each other.

He's certainly had
a meteoric rise.

And he probably owes some of
that to you, doesn't he, Donna?

Jim Fowkes wasn't
the only one to benefit

from the deaths
at Canon-Ebersole, was he?

Do I need to call security?

By all means. Hmm.
Let's loop them

into the conversation.

No?

Didn't think so.

Quite obvious when you look
at it in the proper light.

Every time Jim got promoted,
you had something to gain.

Pay raise,
stock options.

The company even contributes
to your retirement plan now.

So? I've given them
years of my life.

Must be quite
a feeling...

steering the fate
of a giant company

from your tiny
little cubicle.

Get away from me.

Question is did your boss know
or were you working alone?

If you collaborated, it would
behoove you to start talking.

First one to tattle gets
the shortest sentence.

I've seen executives
like you come and go.

A little bit of smarts,
a whole lot of ego.

Take my word, you've never
seen anyone like me.

Oh, sure, I have.
My bosses use $5,000 suits

to get attention.

You use a scarf and
an old T-shirt.

You're so proud
of yourself

for what you think
you discovered,

you just couldn't
wait to tell me.

Even if it meant
following me into an empty

parking garage.

You're awake.

Good.

Yeah, I've pursued
my fair share of...

killers, Miss Kaplan.

Most of them... most of them
are dreary people, but you

I-I've a certain fascination
with. You, uh...

Such initiative.

Such patience.

I don't think
this is gonna work out

for you though.
Too rash.

Did you tell anyone about me?

Or did you just
rush right down to grandstand?

Oh, I e-mailed several colleagues...
No, you didn't.

We're gonna be
at Mr. Fowkes'

country estate in a
couple of minutes.

In a week or two, after somebody
calls in an anonymous tip,

the police are going to find

your body buried
on the property.

And then everyone will know
that you were right

and that Mr. Fowkes killed
you before you could prove it.

You're gonna frame your boss.

Daniel Cho is gonna
get that promotion.

I imagine he'll need an
experienced executive secretary

to watch his back
as he rises to the top.

Hmm, I was
wrong about you.

You are smart.

Oh, that's quite a compliment
coming from you.

Canon-Ebersole should make you
the managing director.

They don't have the imagination
for that kind of move.

"Joan." That's the woman that
you're always with, right?

That's the fifth time she texted
in the last 20 minutes.

She won't stop, you know.

Very high-strung.

I wouldn't be surprised
if she gets the police involved.

Well, in that case,
we should let her know

that everything's okay.

I'm a sober companion.

I work with recovering
drug addicts.

Sherlock is my client.

His father hired me
to help him stay clean.

The only reason
I am telling you this

is because I think
he may have relapsed.

I need your help to find him.

What makes you
think he relapsed?

The heroin from the crime scene
the other day.

It affected him.

I think it brought
some things back.

It's Sherlock.

He says he's fine,
he's heading back.

See? There you go.

Nothing to
worry about.

"See you soon."

No, seriously?

You honestly expect me
to dig my own grave?

Have you ever
been gut-shot?

No. I imagine it makes it
difficult to do manual labor.

Shoot me, yank my fingernails
out... the answer's still no.

I categorically refuse
to dig a hole for you

to bury me in, sorry.

Fine.

I'll do it myself.

It's not supposed
to be that deep.

They're supposed
to find you.

Tell me something.

How did you get started
with all this?

You must be very proud
of your projects.

It must kill you to have to
keep it all to yourself, hmm?

I-I'm about to die, so
now's your chance to share.

Good to share, yeah.

Tell me.

What launched the career
of Donna Kaplan,

corporate sociopath?

Mr. Fowkes was a bonds salesman
back in Denver,

the company was downsizing.

They were either going
to cut his job...

What are they doing here?

I'm not really sure.

Bought me some
time, though.

Did you know I pick locks?

Pockets, too.

I can't take a tranquilizer, but
if it's not too much trouble,

I'd love ten minutes
hooked up to your oxygen rig.

I'll just help myself then.

There's plenty of oxygen
out here, you know.

Pure stuff's better.

It invigorates and restores.

Haven't you heard?
I've been through a trauma.

That was, uh, very convenient

the local police showing up
when they did.

Too convenient
to be a coincidence.

It was the text message
that Donna sent

from my phone, wasn't it?

"Everything's fine.
Phone was off.

My mistake. See you soon."
That's it.

No emoticons,
no indecipherable acronyms.

It didn't read
like a teenager on a sugar high.

Which meant you didn't write it.

I manipulated her
into writing it for me.

I knew she'd never be able
to duplicate my flair

for our evolving mother tongue.

I also knew...
I-I hoped

that once you realized
the message wasn't from me,

you'd know I was in trouble.

From there, it's relatively
simple for the police

to run a cellular interceptor
on my phone,

find my location, quick call
to the local authorities...

I'm sorry, are you trying
to take credit

for the fact
that I saved your life?

And so soon after you
promoted me to bodyguard.

It was a
collaboration.

Well done, Watson.

Your deductive skills are not
unworthy of further development.

I think that was a compliment,
buried in a double negative,

so... thanks.

Detective?

Look, you should know,

I went to Captain Gregson
when I couldn't find you.

I had to...

explain some things to him.

I'm sorry.

You might want to have a talk
with him.

Come in.

You know...

You were busy
at Jim Fowkes' house,

and I didn't get a chance
to pull you aside.

But I didn't want to let more
time pass without having a word.

We have something to talk about?

There are any number of reasons

why I didn't tell you
about my history.

Um... I've told myself dozens,

all of them specious.

In the end, um,
it... it is simple.

Uh, I was... I was...
I was embarrassed.

Since we first collaborated,

you've always held me
and my work in a certain esteem.

I guess I'm-I'm... I'm, uh...
I'm m-more vain about that

than I would care to admit.

So, I'm sorry, 'cause you...

you deserved to know.

I did know.

I beg your pardon?

Do you honestly think
I'd let you consult

for the NYPD
without doing my homework?

You told me Joan was
your personal valet.

Do you think I'm an idiot?

No.

You are above average
in intelligence.

And for a policeman,
I would say, top tier.

I've known about your
problem for a while now.

Why didn't you say anything?

I did, sort of.

A while back,
I asked you out for a drink.

You said, "No""

I figured you'd talk about it

when you were ready
to talk about it.

Was I happy
that you didn't tell me?

No.

But your work hasn't slipped
one bit since Scotland Yard.

Thank you.

Well, not everyone

is gonna see it
my way, so,

I'm gonna do us both a favor

and keep a lid on this.

Unbelievable.

What is?

It's just that green
card marriage guy.

Emily's having this dinner party
thing next week,

and we talked
about maybe going together,

and I think now
he's blowing me off.

But you know what
the irony is?

I don't even want to be in a
relationship right now. I...

It's just that Emily
went to so much trouble.

Yet his apparent
mutual disinterest irks you.

It's crazy, I know.

If I had to guess, and by
sitting there talking about it...

you're forcing me to...
I would say

he finds your analytical
skills intimidating.

He was a little weirded out

when I told him
I looked him up online,

but he lied about being married,
so we are square, right?

He might not see it that way.
Doesn't, apparently.

It has its costs.

What does?

Learning to see the puzzle
in everything.

They're everywhere.

Once you start looking,
it's impossible to stop.

It just so happens
that people,

and all the deceits
and delusions

that inform
everything they do,

tend to be the most
fascinating puzzles of all.

Of course,

they don't always appreciate
being seen as such.

Seems like a lonely way to live.

As I said, it has its costs.

#

== sync, corrected by elderman ==