Elementary (2012–…): Season 3, Episode 5 - Rip Off - full transcript

Previously on Elementary:

Is it possible

to truly know another person?

Is it even a worthwhile pursuit?

You think that Kitty needs help

above and beyond my mentorship?

She's a rape victim.

She was kept and tortured.

What, you found your next business?
I think so.

So, I called the airline, and
I can't stay the whole time,

but I've always wanted
to see Copenhagen.

Yeah.

I hear you.

I told him we'd be ready
to brief next Wednesday.

Oh, believe me, if he pushes
back, I'll kill him myself.

Uh, hold on, I'll check.

Damn it.

Dan, I'll call you back.

Bastard.

It's a nondisclosure agreement.

I would like you to sign it.

Morning to you, too.

It is, for the most part,
boilerplate.

My secrets stay secret.

I have powerful enemies, Kitty.

I work every day to make more.

You are privy to my
method and my madness.

So, you see the risk I'm
taking on, do you not?

I do, but we've worked
together for months,

so why, all of a s...

I meant to have your
signature from the beginning,

but timely paperwork
is a weakness of mine.

I hereby forego my right
to tell my nonexistent friends

that I am pet-sitting
a sociopathic tortoise.

Does seem to favor the buzzer
over the bell lately.

When I feed him, he'd rather
zap for his breakfast.

Hmm. It's only
a small sample,

but there is mounting evidence
that he wishes you harm.

We'll need more data to say

whether or not reptiles
have the capacity for empathy.

Until Watson returns
from Copenhagen,

Clyde will
either warm to you,

or the electrocutions
will continue.

Gather your things.
We're needed in Midtown.

Guarding a puddle?

Been demoted, have you?

Haven't you heard?

It's not the size of
the crime scene that counts.

All we got is this
and what's in that bag.

CSU already did their thing,

but the thunderstorm
last night

washed away
most of the story.

Witnesses?

Well, we got detectives

canvassing the neighborhood,

but it doesn't look like
anyone saw the accident

or torture or
whatever this was.

Still waiting to hear back
from a few hospitals.

But, so far, no reports
of a handless man

coming into the ER last night.

Nor will there be any.

The owner of this hand
is quite dead.

I have a fair idea where
we'll find the rest of him.

You will have seen the signs
near the puddle of blood

that said... overnight parking
prohibited on a Monday.

And yet this morning...
rubbish everywhere.

So it's not too much
of a leap to imagine

that the street sweeper
had to maneuver

around an illegally parked car.

A car which was later towed.

Given the givens,
you can see how a severed hand

came to be lying in the
middle of the street.

You want to give us
the "givens" one more time?

It starts at this Prius,
goes up to the column.

Right.

The hand was not cut cleanly.

It wasn't lopped off
with a sharp blade.

The stump was a jagged mess.

I picture the man lying,

stuffed beneath
a parked car, dead.

Sled of the tow truck
was lowered...

onto his wrist.

And then your puddle
became a stew.

But why do you keep
saying he was dead?

He could have been
a drunkard lying by the curb

with his hand
where it shouldn't be.

If I cut your hand off,
you'd scream, wouldn't you?

So, a tow truck crew
working in a downpour

could be forgiven for not
seeing what they'd done,

but...

the only way that they
wouldn't have heard anything

is if the man
was already deceased.

So, you think the body
got caught underneath,

dragged here by the tow truck?

I don't think, Detective.

I know.

You ought to get cleaned up,
get back to your command.

I'm free to go?

Yeah, you can go.

Look, I'm sure you
had your reasons.

But unless you share 'em,

I got an official
mess on my hands.

I'm not asking for any favors.

You do what you have to do.

Damn it, Tommy, you hit a cop.

I know what I did.

No wallet, no I.D., so he's
a John Doe until further notice.

Also, he's a homicide victim.

I seem to remember telling
you that this morning.

Someone hit him hard
with a blunt instrument.

As I also pointed out.

Brain hemorrhaging... pretty
extensive on the left side.

This was the fatal blow,

if I had to guess, but it was

a rough ride under that car.

Lots of postmortem injuries,

including the severed hand.

I'm just amazed he didn't get
jarred loose from under there.

The undercarriage
hooked his belt buckle.

We had to cut him loose.

So, he got attacked
on the street,

his wallet is gone.

Mugging gone wrong?

Whatever it was,
he put up a fight.

Some of the bruising, including
the torn rotator cuff,

wasn't postmortem.

And I found a decent sample

of what I assume is the
perp's blood and skin

under the left index finger.

No hits in the system yet.

No hair.

Not even in his nose.

And those, um, holes
near his shoulder...

Chemo?

From the looks of it,

he was on a pretty aggressive
course of treatment,

and it was working.

I didn't find one
grain of carcinoma.

He had a bone graft in his
hip... healed beautifully.

Might be worth it to show his
picture around a few hospitals.

After we've checked
the Orthodox synagogues.

This man's clothes
may be in tatters,

but these holes are tailored,

sewn in to hold tzitzit.

The ritual fringe worn
by devout Jewish men.

22 such synagogues in Manhattan.

You take everything
south of Houston,

we'll take everything north.

We're not certain
he was a victim of mugging.

It's just one possibility.

Did your brother have
any enemies

or anyone who might have
wanted to hurt him?

No. Like I said,
Moshe was a good man.

He was loved here.

Fact is... we didn't think we'd
have him as long as we did.

The-the bone cancer.

But Moshe kept faith.

Just last month,

they told him
it was in remission.

The medical examiner puts
your brother's time of death

at around 2:00 a.m.

Was it usual for him
to be out that late?

I assumed he-he went to check
something at his store.

He owned a Postal Unlimited,

one block from where you say
he was attacked.

Moshe's usually the one
who opens up in the morning.

I was afraid he was
under the weather again.

If he came in last night, it'd
be in the system over there.

The master code, it's just
one-two-three and then the address.

Was Moshe a good boss?

Yeah, he was the best.

He was really tight with
his community, and still...

hired a guy named Amit.

He had a big heart.

You got any idea what would have
drawn him to the office last night?

It could have been anything.

There were signs of a-a
struggle, violent struggle.

Possibly personal.

So, have you any idea of any
acquaintances might have...

lured him here?

Sorry, I just work the counter.

You working here
last night at 1:00 a.m.?

It's finals week.

I was in a study group
literally all night.

Like I said, I loved Moshe.

If it wasn't for him
and this job,

I wouldn't be able
to pay for grad school.

What is that?
That is a GX-100 safe.

Rather expensive
and new edition,

judging by the sawdust
on the floor here.

Alarm system's new, too.

Quite a few security upgrades
in the last few months.

There were a couple robberies
in the neighborhood this summer.

So, you want to bet whether
Moshe's nigh-uncrackable

security code is
put to a double use?

At least it wasn't his birthday.

Little more careful
with the books.

He was keeping
a coded ledger.

I think
that's just Hebrew.

Some of it.

We're gonna need copies of
all account documentation

and any shipping manifests
that you have in the store.

Captain?

Got a minute?

You're a son of a bitch,
you know that?

I told you what
I told you in confidence.

I told you because
I had to tell someone,

not because I wanted you
to jump my partner

in the middle of the street
in front of half my precinct.

He didn't get half
of what he deserved.

Well, I got the whole 15th...

people who had no idea
what was going on...

trying to figure out
why you did it.

You're not saying anything.

Stotz isn't saying anything.

But I'm hearing whispers
everywhere I go this morning.

This is worse
than what happened.

The guy laid hands on you.

Did you honestly

expect me to do nothing?

I am not nine years old
anymore, Dad.

I'm a cop.

I can handle myself.

No, that's...

that's mine.

You use another one.

You always let me use that one.

There's a brand-new
one in your room.

I meant to tell you,
and I forgot.

All right, out with it.

First, you make me sign an NDA,
now I can't use your laptop.

We worked together for months,
and today I wake up to find

I'm learning at the
knee of a paranoid.

Paranoia is the byproduct
of being consistently right.

You should aspire to it.

Sherlock?

If you must know, I am raw
from a recent violation.

It's come to my attention
that my last protégée

was engaged
in literary espionage.

The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes?

Watson wrote this?

I lent her that computer in the
early days of our partnership.

When I got it back,
I found a 474-page manuscript,

inadequately trashed

and all too easy to recover.

She wrote a book about you.

My work, my methods.

And God only knows
if she's retained copies.

But rest assured,
I shall demand them all

when she returns from her
Danish sabbatical/sex-capade.

In any event, you can see
why I find it necessary

to circumscribe
a razor-sharp cone of silence.

I get why you're unhappy,

but it's not like she's
published the thing.

Oh, you would defend her.

I say she has a right

to make record of her
work and her stories.

Interesting title for her
stories, don't you think?

The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes?

Maybe she...

It was diamonds.

Diamonds.

Sherlock...

Thank you for provoking me.
I needed to purge.

Anger can be a potent fuel,
but it does cloud the mind.

And once removed... sunburst.

Moshe Shapiro was
a diamond smuggler.

You decrypted the ledger?

Nope.

But these shipping manifests
are in plain English,

and they tell the
story well enough.

Starting last February,
one of Moshe's customers,

George Anyaoku,
started receiving

registered letters from
a doctor in Tel Aviv.

Anyaoku was a U.N. translator

with the Nigerian delegation.
I say "was"...

because he suffered a coronary

and died last...

January.

Now, obviously payments
for his mailbox ceased,

but Moshe kept it open... why?

Because he knew that this man's

diplomatic connections entitled

his correspondence to less
scrutiny from customs.

But how can you be sure
it was diamonds?

Well, firstly,
Tel Aviv is a hub

for the international market
for conflict diamonds.

Secondly, Moshe's new safe does
not come with a fabric lining.

He had it inlaid with
duvetyn for the same reason

that jewelers use black velvet.

He wanted to be able to see

any small stones which had
slipped from their pouches.

It's a bit of a shame to learn

we're seeking justice
for a scoundrel.

And a hypocrite.

At least, according to this.

I thought you
couldn't read that.

I can't, but there
is a grease stain

on page 124.

This is rémoulade from a very

un-kosher shrimp po'boy.

That's a sandwich.

It wouldn't be the
first time a man's

looming sense of
his own mortality

had loosened his
sense of piety.

So, on the last Wednesday
of every month,

he received a shipment of gems.

It seems his habit was to sell them
onto a wholesaler after hours.

And then someone
figured out his schedule

and saw an easy score.

Hmm, there are only so
many diamond merchants

who would be willing to
purchase undocumented stones.

I suggest we see how many
the NYPD is aware of.

One more for the pile.

Emerald Avenue
Fine Jewelry and Gems.

Owner's been clean in this country
but took a collar in Nairobi

a couple years back
with a bag of rubies

taped to his upper thigh.

Fair warning... there's a picture
in there you can't unsee.

Holmes, where are you, man?

Excuse me. Would you...
would you repeat that last bit

you just said
about the briefcase in the box?

How did you even know...?

I-I can read lips.

Would you, uh... please?

Mm-hmm.

All right, careful.
That's evidence.

In our investigation,

I take it.

You want a go?

Where'd you say it came from...
Department of Sanitation?

Yeah, uh, a couple of their guys

saw it in a bin on
51st and Broadway.

Other half of that handcuff
is a bloody mess.

They figured we
should take a look,

so I got to climb into
a Dumpster this morning.

Yeah, we can tell.

Wow.

I guess we know why
Moshe Shapiro lost his hand.

They took it off to get
to the briefcase.

The briefcase full of diamonds.

So, if someone threw it
in a Dumpster...

Then it wasn't just
a simple robbery after all.

We're back to square one.

Enter!

If you asked me to come here

for some messed-up puppet show...

495 pounds.

That's the force
it would take to pull

the hand off
a withered cancer survivor.

Provided, of course, you had
already broken his wrist.

You think someone ripped
Moshe Shapiro's hand off?

With their bare hands?

The killer

pulled on the briefcase

which was attached
to the vic's wrist,

and...

That's not the sound it makes.

You know you're talking about

almost a quarter of a ton.

There are weightlifters

who are more
than up to the task.

I've become convinced that one
such behemoth is our culprit.

There was considerable blood
and viscera on the handcuff

attached to Moshe's briefcase.

This method best explains that

and the grisly amputation

far better than my initial
tow truck hypothesis.

Look, I don't want to be
the reason you rob a morgue,

but that's not a real person.

Nor is it a cheap toy.

Each one has been calibrated

to mimic the integrity
of a human joint.

As you can see,
I've double-checked

these findings,
and the M.E. concurs.

Pulling a hand off a broken wrist is just
within the range of human potential.

How many humans we talking about

with that kind of... potential?

Probably not as many
as we found online

claiming to have
clean-and-jerked 500 pounds.

But just to be safe,

I've dispatched Kitty
to run the braggarts' names

through the NYPD database.

And if someone with this power

hasn't bothered to publicize it?

I'm hoping we'll find him
at Richie's Gym.

It's one of New York's
preeminent weightlifting meccas.

And it just so happens
to be two blocks

from the site
of Moshe Shapiro's murder.

I didn't expect
to see you so soon.

I just wanted to make sure

Captain Moretti
connected with you.

You know what he's
asking me to do, right?

He wants me to find
that piece of garbage.

He wants me to shake his hand...

In front of cops.

Like you attacked him
in front of cops.

It's a gesture.

Everyone will know
that the thing

between you and him is...
is done.

They'll let it go.

The thing between
me and Stotz is you.

You know better than to get
involved with your partner.

I taught you better than that.

Nobody had any idea about us

until you came down
and starting beating on him.

How many times has he
gotten physical with you?

Hannah, I know guys like this.

I've been putting them
in jail for 30 years.

I want to get something
really clear, okay?

I am not some battered woman.

I'm not some crazy lady that
calls the cops on her boyfriend,

and then tries to attack them
when they take him away.

When I say it
happened two times,

it happened two times.

Stotz and I are done.

But your bosses still
don't know the truth.

I want to be promoted
just as bad as the next cop,

and I'm not just talking
about detective.

I want to be captain
someday like you.

But it's never gonna happen
if people look at me

and they see victim.

You don't talk about it,
he could do it again.

To you or to somebody else.

Is that the kind of guy
you want in your department

when you're helping run it?

I'll tell you what I want.

I want you at roll call

at the 15th on Friday.

Shaking his hand.

Putting this to bed.

No luck at the precinct.

Competitive weightlifters
are a surprisingly

law-abiding bunch.

There were a couple
of arrests for possession.

You can guess which drug.

But nothing violent.

What have I missed?

The manager's on his way.

He said he would inform us
of any unsavory characters

that might frequent
this dreary sweatbox.

In the meantime, Detective
Bell is taking a tour

with a pneumatic
model-cum-trainer.

I'm sure he's been persuaded
to get a membership already.

Shame I don't have
The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes

to entertain me.

What is Watson like
as an author?

Subject matter's interesting.

But her prose is prosaic.

At least it was
on the first page.

It gets better from there?
I don't know.

I've only read the first page.

You've only read the first page?
Look who's here.

Dana Kazmir.

One of our boastful beasts.

You might recall him from
the photo he posted

of himself clean-and-jerking
532 pounds

He didn't have any priors,
not even a parking ticket.

He does, however, have a
scrape on his left hand.

Should I get...?

Dana Kazmir?

Sorry.

Now's not a good time
for an autograph.

Well, perhaps we could
discuss a murder instead.

Man named Moshe Shapiro
was found dead yesterday.

Someone pulled off his hand.

Someone with
extraordinary strength.

Someone like... like you.

You mind telling us how you
got that scratch on your hand?

Who the hell are you anyway?

We're consultants for the NYPD.

You got badges? No.

Well, then I don't
have to talk to you.

Our colleague has a badge.

Perhaps you'd like
to speak with him.

Perhaps you should
get out of my face.

Mr. Kazmir, I challenge you
to a test of strength.

If I best you at arm wrestling,

then you have to submit
to further questioning.

If you win...
give you 200 bucks.

That's not gonna happen, of
course, 'cause I'll win easily.

Oh, what are you doing?

What do you think?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

We're not a couple
of prison colonists.

We're gonna arm-wrestle
like gentlemen.

You're not aware
of British rules?

All right, well, the goal
is not to push your opponent's

hand to the side, but rather to
pull his arm towards yourself.

All right? So when...

and I emphasize "when"...
I pin the back of your hand

on my chest, it will be over.

Right. I'll count
down from three...

And we go on one.

Yeah. Three.

Two. One.

You win.

Hey, hey, hey.
Hey, hey, hey!

Calm down, all right?

You got your money.
We're leaving.

What the hell
were you thinking?

That we lacked probable cause

to compel a DNA sample

to compare to tissue underneath

Moshe Shapiro's nails.

You're welcome.

Captain.

Ms. Kerr, if you're wondering

when the D.A.'s people
are gonna get here...

Actually, mr. Kazmir has decided

he'd rather not wait.

He understands
that the evidence

against him is compelling,
and so he's

prepared to offer
a full confession,

as well as other information

he believes
you'll find valuable.

Such as?

Crimes that haven't
happened yet, but soon will.

That's why we don't
want to wait.

The information that he has
is extremely time-sensitive.

Now, in exchange, I would
ask your department

to take a favorable view
of our plea proposal

and support lenience
within reasonable constraints.

But even if you don't...

this is a matter of conscience

for my client.

He's going to kill more people.

Who is?

The guy who hired me.

I was paid to rob
and kill Moshe Shapiro.

It made me sick, but I...

My family needed the money.

You're saying this
was a paid hit?

He found me on, uh,

one of the weight lifting
message boards.

He called, but he
wouldn't give a name.

His voice was...

I don't know, Dutch, maybe?

And the, uh, jewels turning
up the way they did...

Yeah, the Dumpster on 51st.

That's where he was
gonna pick 'em up.

If I'd have known
what was in that case,

I would have kept 'em.

I only got 50K to do it.
Cash.

Can you produce that cash?

I lost it.

Playing cards.

I gotta say,
this is kind of convenient.

You want leniency
for cooperating,

only you're not
giving anyone up.

Not really.
- Look.

I never met the guy.

And I'm not telling you this
because I want a favor.

I'm telling you this

because he wanted me
to do it again.

We have three names...

each one a target of the man

who paid for
Moshe Shapiro's murder.

Look, you got me, okay?

But he's still out there.

And as long as he is,

those people aren't safe.

Murder for hire.

These e-mails
been authenticated?

Well, our tech guys say
the time stamps are legit,

but they can't trace
the employer's account.

This "Mencius BlackBag," who ordered
the hit, falsified his IP address.

Of all the traits that can be
ascribed to a criminal,

"tech-savvy" has got to be
my least favorite.

Well, how about
"bloodthirsty"?

You can see they went
back and forth a couple times.

Kazmir kept pitching
nonviolent stickups,

but this guy
wanted Shapiro dead.

"You gotta ice the putz.

"No loose ends for me

or there's no fat stacks
for you."

When we find this man,
he should stand trial for murder

and crimes against
the English language.

The precise instructions
about when and where

Kazmir should strike Shapiro
are telling.

He certainly knew
the man's business.

Well, he was a lot less specific
about his other targets.

Maybe he didn't
know them as well.

Where are we with interviews

and protection
for these folks?

We got cars rolling

on their primary residences;

we're still trying to find
numbers and make contact.

They're all civilians.

No criminal records,
no obvious connections.

Well, we don't
know anything about

"Antonio Barrios"
or "Linda Devine,"

but the third name
is familiar to us.

Amit Hattengatti.

So, we've apprehended the
man who murdered your boss.

Did it on contract.

What?

Apparently, he was offered
payment for your head, as well.

You were aware of your boss's

illegal diamond smuggling,

were you not, mr. Hattengatti?

No. I didn't know
anything about it.

And yet you don't seem surprised
to hear of its existence.

Okay.

He never talked about it.

Last month, a guy comes
into the store, and he...

he threatened Moshe.

He said he would kill him.

And you didn't think that

that would be germane
to our case?

I didn't want to point

at some criminal boss guy
if it was just

some sort of coincidence.

I was afraid of what
he would do to me.

Well, as it happens, he may

very well be plotting
to kill you,

so... please elaborate.

Okay. This guy Leonard...

Oostheezen, Oost-wi-zin
or something...

he comes into the store
and he shoves Moshe

right over there.

He was yelling about, uh,

the prices being too low,

that he was spoiling the buyers.

He wanted to
collude with Moshe?

Fix prices on
the black market?

I don't know.

I asked Moshe about it,
and he said it was a big mix-up.

That this Leonard guy was
some sort of jewelry dealer,

and that he had Moshe
confused with someone else.

I knew he was lying,
but it wasn't...

any of my business.

There were two
other customers in here.

Uh, regulars. Linda Devine

and Tony Barrios
were here, too, I think.

I'll call the captain.

I'll tell him that
we know the connection

between the names
on Kazmir's list now.

Leonard Oosthuizen.
Born in Johannesburg.

Nonresident alien since 2008.

South Africa.
Kazmir was pretty close

when he said the guy on
the phone sounded Dutch.

For a murder suspect,

he makes some awfully
fussy bracelets.

He's got a front business.

Got a write-up in
a trade magazine,

and there's a Q & A here.

His visa lapsed in July.

That should be enough for

a state-sanctioned visit,
shouldn't it?

Captain. You got a moment?

Course. Yeah. Sure.

I, um... I just
wanted you to know

that I saw you yesterday,
with your daughter.

Someone hit her,

and you hit him.

Sherlock's training me
to read lips.

I'm not great at it yet.

I'd say you're pretty good.

I know that she
doesn't want you

to talk to anybody about it...

at least not in any
official capacity...

but you should talk about it.

Perhaps to someone whose secrets
you've agreed to keep.

You're going to do it, then.

Shake this man's hand... Stotz.

Doesn't feel like I
have much of a choice.

I think you're doing
the right thing.

How you feel
shouldn't be her problem.

After everything
that happened to me...

all my relationships were...

different.

My family and my friends...

they were just trying to help,

but the look
on their faces, it...

it just reminded me
that it had happened.

It's one of the reasons
that I wanted to start over.

I know I haven't
been here very long,

but I do know
that perception matters.

If she doesn't want
to look weak,

then she shouldn't have to.

He'll be around her every day.

She's gonna have to see him
every day.

Everything that
you've done for me...

it's really helped.

I'm sorry for what
you're going through.

You don't deserve it.

What are we looking at here,

mr. Oosthuizen?

Price tag. Ballpark.

I don't know.

Why don't you take
them to appraisal?

We'll do that.

I'm gonna tell you what.

I'm going to proceed
under the assumption

that these diamonds
we took out of your apartment

are worth more than $1,000.

So we got a felony.

And we got your expired visa.

You see where this is heading?

A flight to Johannesburg?

This isn't a Homeland
Security office.

You obviously think
I can help you somehow.

So what's the deal
you want to offer me?

I'm willing to offer you

continued residence
in the United States

as our permanent guest
at Southport Correctional.

That's a deal?

It is.

Because door number two isn't just
extradition back to South Africa.

It's a life sentence there
for trafficking in blood diamonds.

I don't know if you read Mandela's book,
but me, I'd choose the States.

You can confess
to arranging the murder

of Moshe Shapiro and
conspiring to murder

three other American citizens.

You do that,

I don't see you
getting shipped anywhere.

No. I had nothing to do
with any murder.

Leonard...
No. This is ridiculous.

Moshe Shapiro and I
had no quarrel.

We got three witnesses
who say just the opposite.

They all saw you at his throat,
just last month.

They all lying?

I... yes, I went to his store.

And I... I'm a passionate man.
I...

I made my case
that he shouldn't,

you know, foul the water.

We know. He was lowballing you.

He was selling to my buyers
under my prices.

In our trade, it's not done.

But listen, all that was past.

Moshe called me last week.

He told me he was
quitting the business.

So, you see, I had no reason
to hurt the man. I...

Detective, if I may.

Those gems.
Forget the appraisal.

How many stacks
would they pull on the street?

I don't... What?
If I was to ice you,

would that be a good
thing or a bad thing?

Holmes... Don't be a putz.

He's being a putz, is he not?

Can I speak to you outside?

The hell was that?

He didn't do it.

We got three witnesses
who saw him threaten Shapiro.

We know he's in the same business,
fighting for customers.

Not to mention Dana Kazmir,

who confirmed it's Oosthuizen's
voice on his phone calls.

We also have the e-mails,
which he didn't write.

He speaks English.
He's got fingers.

Probably knows how
to turn on a computer.

You see how strong
his accent is?

His native language, Afrikaans,
is still his daily tongue.

What's that got to do with it?
Putz.

Ice. Stacks.

The e-mails that
Kazmir's employer sent

are just rife with slang
and colloquialisms.

I'm going back in there...
alone...

and I'm going to write
that man's confession.

He won't sign it.

You have the wrong man.

I propose a thought experiment.

Is this a preamble to admitting
you might be wrong?

Leonard Oosthuizen
did not confess this afternoon,

and he did not confess
for a very good reason.

He is innocent, and I am right.

I challenge you to imagine

an altogether different suspect

whose means and motives
fit the crime.

You mean someone else
with a Dutch accent

who paid to kill Oosthuizen's rival,
and then targeted

the only three witnesses
to the confrontation?

Why do you refuse to consider
the possibility that Oosthuizen

was in league with a partner
who wrote the e-mails?

We've wasted enough time
down that road.

Whatever you may say
about Oosthuizen,

he is the lord of his domain.

He is the sole proprietor
of his criminal enterprise.

I'm quite certain that an independent
third party is responsible.

All I lack is a viable suspect.

I know why you haven't
read it yet, you know.

Watson's book.

I haven't had the time.

You're afraid. Of?

Her...

assessment, her judgment.

Watson and I had no secrets
during her time here.

There were days when the walls
positively vibrated with her judgment.

You didn't know
about her writing.

You don't know why
she kept it a secret.

Maybe the answers

lie within.

But then,
so may other surprises.

I could read it for you,
if you like.

I could, um,

wave you off

if it's more
than you'd care to know.

The truth is, you could benefit from
absorbing an account of our casework.

But Watson did not
share the manuscript.

And while she may have less exacting
privacy standards than I do,

she obviously intended
to dispose of it.

I cannot in good
conscience hand it off.

Perhaps if...

If it's of no interest to you,
it's of no interest to me.

Either way, it's over now.

We can focus on the case.

"Found Kazmir's 50K.

"He lied about gambling it away.

Unfortunately, no prints."

Detective Bell.

He wants me to know
that Kazmir's story checks out.

Have another look
at Kazmir's payoff.

The padded envelope
and the hot pink rubber bands.

They're just like the ones
they sell at Postal Unlimited.

As they do in several thousand
other stores in this city.

What if Amit Hattengatti
was behind the murder?

It's a thought experiment.

Amit was the one who left
the rémoulade stain

on Moshe's ledger.

He's an active junior partner

in the diamond
smuggling business,

but then Moshe beats cancer,
and he regains his virtue.

Suppose it's just
as Oosthuizen claimed,

and Moshe was dismantling
the business.

Wouldn't that have given Amit
the motive to try and stop him?

I was counting the
ifs, but go on.

I just called Richie's Gym.

Amit is a member there.

Perhaps he overheard Kazmir
cry poor between sets one day.

Oh, what he wouldn't do
for a buck.

A useful hypothetical
fits all the facts.

You're leaving out
a sensible motive

for Amit to have aimed
his hired killer at himself.

So unless you're talking

about the most elaborate
suicide ever staged...

It is possible we've been
looking at the shape of this

completely wrong.

mr. Hattengatti,

I promise this won't take long.

We just need to dot a few I's, get your
signature under a statement, all right?

Okay.

What's going on?

You've been misled.

You're actually here to confess

to conspiracy, murder
and obstruction of justice.

Did he see Ms. Kerr
in the conference?

Seemed best that we start
with your coconspirator,

seeing as she didn't
actually have anyone killed.

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

You are Mencius Blackbag.

You sent Dana Kazmir five
fat stacks to ice your boss,

presumably so you could take over
the jewelry smuggling business

that you helped him build.

You shouldn't steal
office supplies, Amit.

Convincing us
you were a target,

steering our investigation
through your caring admission

that you suspected
Moshe's competitor all along.

Yeah, that was quite inspired.

These two are nuts.

I already told them
Oosthuizen's the guy. Careful.

'Cause you pronounced
his name correctly that time.

My colleague here
grew suspicious of you.

I realized that you had found
a way, somehow, to bribe

Kazmir's attorney.

Offer her money
to offer him money

to tell a certain tale,
so you were, perhaps,

not as marked for death
as you appeared.

She carried
your message to Kazmir

and offered him
and his family a payday,

provided his confession
included the right pieces,

that he once spoke
to his employer,

that said employer
sounded Dutch,

and that he wanted
three witnesses dead.

Kazmir was going to prison
no matter what,

so he agreed.

It's a pretty smart way
to cast suspicion off yourself.

And you took down a rival,
to boot.

You keep talking
about paydays and bribes.

I work in a mailbox store.

You want to see
my student loans?

I'm a PhD candidate.

With an international
diamond connection.

No one here thinks that your university
stipend paid for that Burberry belt.

That's quite a splurge.

We're sure the money trail
will be wide and easy to follow.

Hey, chin up, Amit.

You can finish
your doctorate in prison.

And if you confess

before Ms. Kerr does,
we'll ask the D.A.

to shave some time
for being so cooperative.

Best hurry, though.

The race is on.

If I give you my supplier,

will that help, too?

Have a safe tour.

Take your posts.

Chris.

Captain.

You should know,

I'm quitting the department.

Last day's Friday.

Cousin's got a personal
security firm in Hoboken.

It's a better salary anyway.

Tell her I told you, okay?

Hannah will be glad to hear it.

I'm not talking about her.

I'm talking about your friend...
the English one.

You'll tell her?

You're here late.

I wanted to pick
through a few cold cases.

I'm just leaving.

I thought you'd want to know

it went well today.

Hannah's happy.

Moretti's off my back.

I got a nice
little surprise, too.

Stotz is leaving the force.

Glad to hear it all worked out.

What did you say to him?

Does it matter?

I'm gonna need some help
taking these back tomorrow.

Fine, but I'm knackered.

So I propose we go one day

without any
early-morning nonsense.

You're making great strides.

Now's the time to dig in.

You weren't entirely wrong
about Watson.

She does have the right
to tell her own stories.

I may have felt some...

mild trepidation
about subjecting myself

to her full appraisal.

Almost imperceptibly mild.

Anyway, um...

I've decided that, uh,

this nondisclosure agreement
was made in error.

I want you to feel
free to, um,

produce your own memoirs,

should you feel the need.

I'm not much of a writer.

Well, let me know
if that changes.

Who knows?
If you do write a book,

someone might be
interested to read it.