Elementary (2012–…): Season 3, Episode 7 - The Adventure of the Nutmeg Concoction - full transcript

Previously on Elementary...

You must be Andrew.

Sherlock Holmes.

Sorry.

Joan said you were coming.

It's not how I
wanted to meet you.

I think I'm gonna
give it a go.

What, you found
your next business?

Holmes puts me on
an e-mail chain,

and 36 hours
later, um...

I've got a ticket
to Copenhagen.

Kim, right?

Kim Holder.

So, how can
I help you?

I'm looking for someone
who does what you do.

A detective.

My sister, Jessica,
she's missing.

Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.

Um, tell me more.

Well, it's been five years
since her disappearance.

The anniversary just passed.

Most days I feel like no one's
even looking for her anymore.

Would you like some tea?
Mmm.

So, tell me what happened.
I don't know.

The last time anyone saw Jess
was inside her apartment.

I, uh... I keep a file on it.

Do the police have any theories?

Ugh, the police, the FBI,
they've all got ideas.

And how is the FBI involved?

There's a man in the New York
office... Blake Tanner.

He thinks Jess was abducted
by a serial criminal.

This sounds strange, I know.

But when Jess' roommate got
home the night she disappeared,

there was a smell
in the apartment.

I-It smelled like
something was baking.

Like nutmeg.

The thing is...
over the years,

five other women
have gone missing

and never been
heard from again,

and each time the place
where they disappeared from,

it has the same smell.

Like nutmeg.

Tanner thinks the same
person took all six women.

He calls the
guy "Pumpkin."

Are there
any suspects?

Look, I'm a lawyer.

I've worked
criminal cases.

I-I know the odds
aren't good here.

But...

even if Jess is...

...gone,

I just want to know
what happened to her.

Hi, Watson.

Good morning, Kitty.

I don't know
how you found me.

I hope you're not
following me again.

No, I just know that you like

to come here to work sometimes.

You know, from when
I was following you.

You weren't home,
so I came here.

He wants to know
what you're working on.

Tell Sherlock I can't jump into
anything with you right now.

He's not looking for help,
he wants to know

if you got anything
interesting going.

Oh, so he's bored.

I just took on
a missing person's case.

Could be
a serial element.

Do you mind if I...?

You're gonna text him
the article?

He said I was to forward him
any particulars right away.

Good news...
Sherlock says that he'll help.

First step is to go to the
FBI's New York field office

and get our hands
on their profile.

Okay, tell him
that I didn't ask for help.

What'd he say?

It's not my phone.

Behavioral Science Unit.

Even the name is pompous.

Really don't know why I subject
myself to these people.

Nobody is "subjecting"
you to anything.

You butted in.

That's the fourth time
you've looked at your phone

since we've sat down.

You expecting
some news?

No, Andrew and I just
got cut off earlier.

Just checking to
see if he called.

You're frustrated.

It's difficult
to maintain what has become

largely a long-distance
relationship.

So, it's natural to wonder
whether the difficulty

in communicating is
a symptom of being apart

or whether it's
the disease itself.

What? I didn't
say that.

Not with words.

You the Pls?

Detectives, yes.

Blake Tanner, right this way.

I've only got
a couple of minutes.

So, you consult
with the NYPD,

but your interest
in this is private?

That's right.

We were hired by one
of the relatives

of the potential
victims...

Victims, full stop.

Nothing "potential" about it.

I'm sure you're right.

S-Sorry to interrupt.

Agent Tanner, would you mind if
I took some of your stationary?

Go right ahead.

Thank you.

We're not looking to
second-guess anyone;

we just want to take a
look at your profile.

S-Sometimes it can be useful
to get a set of fresh eyes.

No offense, but we're not
hunting squirrels here.

Pumpkin is big game.

He's been active
for ten years,

hasn't left a hint
of evidence behind.

Just the olfactory signature.

Something funny?
No, sorry.

It's just
"olfactory signature"

struck me as an ornate way
to say "the smell of nutmeg."

The official policy
of the Bureau is not to share

information
with private investigators.

We understand,
we just want to help.

That's fine, Watson.

I don't think we need
to take up much more

of this special agent's time...
he's got big game to catch.

Thank you.

Why did you do that?

He was just about
to give us the file.

Eh, you overestimate
your charms.

Blake Tanner is both
arrogant and a fool.

He's never gonna share
his work with us.

I decided within moments
of meeting him

to pursue the profile
by alternative means.

He is clearly a bully
and a petty tyrant.

And I suspect
he's also a credit-hog.

I noted the way his colleagues
were looking at him

as he escorted us
to his back office.

There was no shortage
of contempt,

so I wrote short notes
to a few of them.

And I'm quite confident that one
of them will relish the chance

to share the profile
behind his back.

See? Got a copy already.
What?!

Two, actually.

Make that three.

Wait,
is that the profile?

You're scrolling
too fast.

I'm speed-reading;
you moved out

before we got to that
portion of your training.

Wonderful.

This should give us
a good start.

Is there something
helpful in there?

The report is full of sophistry

and various instances
of tautological thinking

and is generally plagued
by the kind of laziness

and intellectual vanity

which is native
to the profiler profession.

So, why do you say
it's a good start?

'Cause even a cursory glance at
this document has convinced me

that there's
no such person as "Pumpkin."

He's a construct
of Blake Tanner's mind.

A product of a profession
which is trained

to look for bogeymen
in every dark corner.

No, it's clear to me

that each of the abductees
attributed to Pumpkin

was in fact taken
by different people.

The crimes aren't connected.

What about
the olfactory signature?

I can't
explain the nutmeg.

Not yet, but I do know

that Blake Tanner has seized
on one detail

to form a link and then woven
a web of tortured psychology

in an effort
to connect seven crimes

which are, in fact,
quite separate.

We're gonna discover what really
happened to Jessica Holder.

And then, just for sport,

we're going to explain
the nutmeg connection.

And then we're gonna prove
to anyone who cares to listen

that Blake Tanner has been
a fool these past five years.

Have you considered
correspondence?

Hmm?

To alleviate your frustrations
with Andrew.

I recommend
proper correspondence.

Handwritten letters,

informed by deliberate
and careful thought.

It really is
the most direct route

to meaningful
communication.

I don't have frustrations
that need alleviating.

Andrew and I just had
a hard time

connecting this morning,
that's all.

Hmm.

Please don't tell me
you have another insight

about my relationship.

I'm looking through this box
of Jessica Holder's belongings.

She really is a very
organized person.

Even the keychain is
meticulously arranged.

Each one is labeled.

And here we have three keys of
the exact same make and model.

What does that indicate to you?

My apartment keys
look identical.

Precisely.

So, if you're like most people,

you've got one key
for your apartment building,

one key for your
apartment proper.

That's two; she has
three identical keys.

This one is labeled "A,"
probably apartment building.

"FD," front door.

This one has no label...
wonder what it opens.

We need to go to Jessica
Holder's apartment building

and try every lock
until we find what this opens

and then divine her connection
to whatever's inside.

Let me know
when you've got it sorted.

What, you're not coming?

I'm here to offer help,

but trying one key
in an ocean of doors,

that's scut work.

No, my spirit of volunteerism
is not without its limits.

No luck on the fifth floor.

What are you humming?

Beethoven's Sixth.

Clarinet part.

I would not have pegged you
as a classical music fan.

My dad was the fan.

Which meant I practiced
four hours every day.

You still play?

He sold my clarinet when
I turned down a place

at the Royal
Academy of Music.

Hello?

Middle-aged couple
with a kid in college.

Looks like one of
them's a lawyer.

Probably him;
he looks boring.

Liz, I'm home.

Your wife's not
here, Mr. Kramer.

Who the hell are you?

We're looking into the
disappearance of Jessica Holder.

How did you get in here?

This key,
from Jessica's key ring.

Now, why did Jessica have
a key to your apartment?

I'm calling the police.

I wouldn't do that.

You're a
defense lawyer.

We know because we
had a look around.

You have had some shady clients
over the years.

We found some papers
locked in your closet.

Something about a criminal
negligence case.

Is there any reason you kept
those hidden

instead of turning
them over for discovery?

So tell us about your
relationship with Jessica.

I didn't want to have an affair.

Not again.

Jessica was right downstairs.

She was a sweet kid.

Did you kill her?

Of course not.

Jessica disappeared in, what,

October that year?

October 17.

I was out of state
that whole fall.

I worked a class-action thing
in Oregon.

I can show you my tax returns
for the receipts from that year.

If you do find out
what happened to Jess,

let me know, please.

I miss her.

We've got a 10-95 at...

Ms. Hudson.

What are you doing here?
Hi.

Um, Sherlock asked me to keep
an ear on the police scanner

and tell him if anybody mentions
the word "nutmeg."

So you're on nutmeg duty?

Mm.
Not strictly nutmeg duty.

We are casting a wide net.

I've asked Ms. Hudson
to notify me

if she hears any mention
of the aroma of pumpkin pie

at a crime scene
or any reference at all

to the scent of baking.

You really expect the police
to smell nutmeg?

I expect nothing, which is why

I'm such
an exceptional detective.

I don't know why

the aroma has been present

at six separate crime scenes.

I also don't know that those six
are the only scenes

which have smelled
of baked goods.

Those are just the ones
that Blake Tanner

has lumped into his specious
"Pumpkin Case."

But I am curious.

It's a detail
I'd like to reconcile.

So Kitty's gonna look through
old records, see if she can find

any additional references
to the smell,

while Ms. Hudson
keeps an ear out

for new appearances.
Seems like we're all set

on the nutmeg front.

And the disappearance
of Jessica Holder?

Well, that's your territory.

With my assistance, of course.

Strictly on a voluntary basis.

The defense attorney's alibi

is sound, so it seems to me
your next step

should be to look
through Jessica's belongings.

Why don't you start
with her laptop?

Let me know if you find
anything interesting.

You know what? I'm not
into this whole voluntary thing.

You're either working
the case with me or not.

We'll divide up the box.

You take the laptop.

Let me know if you find
anything interesting.

Joan?

Chris.

Hi.

Well, it's been...

forever.

You look great.

Thanks. You, too.

Um, are you still practicing
at White Peaks?

15 years. I'm an old man now.

I heard you're

a private investigator?
Yes.

That's why I'm lingering
outside your building.

I've got a problem.

Oh, nothing serious, I hope.

Not really.
Someone stole my I.D.,

my medical I.D., actually.

I didn't even know
it happened

until I went in for a physical,
and the doctor

had the wrong blood type
on file.

Sometimes this stuff is
hooked into a bigger scam.

I thought if you had some time,
maybe you can,

you know, figure things out?

I-I'd pay you your fee.

Oh, no, no,
don't worry about that.

You know,
I'm a little busy right now,

but I can get someone else
started on it,

and then I'll jump on

when I'm free.

You won't take any money?

No, no, don't be silly.

You're a friend.

It's really good
to see you again.

So, what are we doing
at Sing Sing?

All things in good time, Watson.

Did you ask Kitty to look
into the medical history

of a man named
Christopher Santos?

It's a favor; he's a friend.

We're busy, so I thought
she could look around.

You've engaged in
horizontal refreshment

with this man?

We dated for two years.

He bought me an engagement ring,
so yes,

we engaged
in horizontal refreshment.

Does that matter?

You turned down his proposal.

That's interesting.

What are we doing
at Sing Sing?

I spent quite a bit of time

with Jessica Holder's
laptop last night.

She had a rather
interesting text file

hidden away in a folder
titled "November's Bills."

Her lover,

Noah Kramer,

represented a rather
notorious drug trafficker.

Raymond Carpenter.

Hmm.

I know that name.

Apparently,

Kramer divulged to Jessica

that his client was guilty
of several murders.

Jessica could not live
with what she knew.

She details her plans
to come forward

in the document.

But disappeared
before she could.

I wonder, did Kramer glean
his girlfriend's plan

and then pass a warning
on to his client?

So you think Carpenter
had Holder killed.

That's an interesting theory.

Raymond Carpenter
is doing hard time here

for an unrelated matter.

I thought we might have a word.

So, I'm sorry,

you came here hoping
I'd just tell you

I killed someone named
Jessica Holder?

It's not an entirely
outlandish request.

You're serving life in prison
with no chance of parole.

Things can't get
any worse for you.

And if there's anything
you covet here in prison,

one phone call
from our colleague,

Captain Gregson at the NYPD,

could go a very long way.

You'd be giving closure

to Jessica Holder's family also,
if that means anything to you.

There's an inmate
greens crew here.

I've been trying
to get on it for years,

but the Dominicans
have got it wired.

That's what you want?

A chance to plant flowers?

They get to go outside.

A lot.

Well, one phone call
from our Captain Gregson,

and you'll be gardening
amongst Dominicans in no time.

Kramer tipped me off.

I had the girl taken care of.

I don't know
where she is, though.

I outsourced the job.

Where can we find the killer?

He's named Danny Tacelli.

Last I heard,

certain parts of him
were floating in the East River,

certain parts were
in the Hudson.

Did you tell Kramer
what you did?

Not in so many words,

but, I mean, the guy knew.

Soon as he tipped me off,

he issued that girl
a death sentence.

So now what?

Noah Kramer just gets away
with what he did?

I suppose a zealous prosecutor
could try to make a case.

But there are alternative
means of punishment.

I still maintain contact
to some of your tabloids.

"Married Attorney
Betrays Mistress

to Murderous Client."

We've solved the problem
that you were hired to address,

but we might
still have work to do.

We've had a spot of good luck.

Ms. Hudson texted.

Apparently, the custodian
of a Harlem band shell

arrived at work this morning
to find that his structure

had been marked up
with bullet holes overnight.

And how is that good luck?

Custodian told police
that the area

smelled very strongly
of nutmeg.

Those bullet holes
weren't here yesterday.

This place is pretty much

an open-air drug market
after hours.

Guess it was
some kind of deal

gone wrong last night.

Let me know
if you need anything.

Thank you.

Yeah, smells like nutmeg.

But does it smell
only of nutmeg?

We need to plumb every nuance

on this aroma,

and for that we will need
The Nose.

What nose? Your nose?

The Nose.

He's an Irregular

I've used from time to time.

His sense of smell outpaces
even my own.

Does he have a real name?

I don't know.
I've never asked him.

How do two adults have
a relationship

where one never calls the other
anything but The Nose?

If you must know his real name,
you can ask him yourself.

I suppose
I should be grateful,

Holmes.

Usually when you ask
for my help,

there's a decomposing body
somewhere nearby.

Hi, I'm Joan Watson.

Excuse the potpourri bag.

I need coffee beans
when I'm out and about.

This city can be an assault
on the senses.

You said something about nutmeg?

Mm-hmm.

Is this the spot?

The nutmeg is dominant, yes,

but it's
the olfactory equivalent

of a burlesque dancer.

The pretty lady
in the spotlight,

meant to distract you
from everything else

that's going on.

What else?

Chemicals.

Uh, hints of... bleach.

Something metallic.

Oh, there's one note
that's stronger

than the rest.

Sodium hydroxide.

A powerful base
otherwise known as caustic soda.

Suitable for the melting
of murdered bodies.

Jessica Holder's murder
is connected

to what happened here,
just as it's connected

to every other
disappearance attributed

to Pumpkin.

The man who killed
Jessica Holder

isn't responsible for this;
he's dead.

And I thought you said there was
no serial element.

There isn't.

There are many
different murders committed

by many different killers,

but one man, the inventor
of this nutmeg concoction,

was brought in to clean up
the mess every time.

The crimes aren't connected
by a common killer.

They're connected
by a common cleaner.

So somebody commits a murder,
and you think there's a guy

out there that they can call
to clean it up?

We have professional
crime scene cleaners

on our side of the law.

Surely there'd be
a thriving market

for an illicit one.
How do the killers find him?

What does he got, a Yelp page?

Well, obviously he or she...

Watson, I would never suggest

that a woman cannot
melt corpses...

he relies on word of mouth.

I would wager

that most of the work comes
from organized crime.

People for whom homicide
is a semi-regular occurrence.

Our cleaner
has invented a solution which,

as far as I can tell,
cleans crime scenes

and dissolves
any inconvenient dead people.

That's where the smell
comes from?

The spice conceals
the harsher odors underneath.

It's a nutmeg concoction
suitable for erasing

any and all signs of murder.

Nutmeg concoction
sounds like something

my aunt would give me
for Christmas.

Well, be thankful she didn't,
'cause you would

have dissolved
from the inside out.

You see the opportunity

we have here?

The FBI profiler
has unwittingly linked

our cleaner
to six separate murders,

but that could be just
the tip of the iceberg.

He could be connected
to dozens,

maybe hundreds of crimes.

Imagine the information
he could provide.

If he exists,
how do we find him?

We'll canvass contractors

who hire out
for crime scene cleaning

and check with schools
that issue special certificates

in disposing biohazardous waste.

Is there something wrong
with that plan?

No, perfectly sensible.
I just...

It sounds a bit... dull.

Oh. Where would you start?

Oh, my God!

What are you doing?

Hello, Watson.

I figured out who stole
your friend's identity.

It's in a file on the desk.

Please stop talking.
You're jostling the wound.

And I'd like
the pigs' blood to coagulate

a little bit.

I'm taking out a
wanted ad of sorts.

We theorized that our cleaner

works mostly by word of mouth,
but what if he has

an alternative means
of finding work?

Some other way to pay the
bills when career criminals

aren't murdering each other
in sufficient quantity.

You've heard
of the Dark Internet, I assume?

Yeah, Web sites that are
not visible to search engines.

People buy drugs there.

Didn't the FBI shut it down?

They shut down a site
called The Silk Road.

But others have
popped up in its place.

And narcotics are not the
only product bought and sold

on the Dark Internet.

Contracts for assassinations
have been consummated there.

Humans sold to the
highest bidder.

I am going to post
photographs of Kitty

in her current state,
and then claim to be

a desperate man who's committed
a crime of passion.

And hopefully our cleaner
gets in touch with you.

Oh, yeah. Have fun with that.

You're not gonna stay?

Any luck, we'll have
our man by morning.

I think I'll just stick
to the dull stuff.

Thanks for your help, Kitty.

Welcome.

Pigs' blood, please!

That's the guy who stole
my medical I.D.?

My colleague had
a contact run this

through facial
recognition software.

This guy is
all over social media.

His name is Ermel Janic.

Wow. You work fast.

Well, you can take
all this to the police.

Hopefully, it will help
clear some things up

with your insurance.

But you should check
all your records.

Make sure he didn't
change anything else.

Thanks so much
for doing this.

You were always efficient
when we were together,

but it looks like
you found another gear.

You always had
a very interesting way

of describing
my type A tendencies.

Uh, now, I cringe when I think
about how immature I was.

I'm not sure there's a
statute of limitation

on apologies, but I'm sorry.

I had a lot to learn
about accepting people

for who they are.

Did you?

Learn?

I had to.

Next time someone
great comes along,

I'd like to be better...

husband material.

Thanks.

It's great
seeing you again, Joan.

What tedium is this?

Oh, I stopped by the Spaulding

Technical Institute
this morning.

Did you know that they
issue more crime scene

cleaning certificates
than anyone in New York?

They agreed to let us
go through their records.

Hoping the few
apparent sociopaths

would leap out of the pile?

Yes.

You ought to make a case

against whoever acquired
this mural.

You can't learn
a trade with that

abomination looming
over you, can you?

I'm surprised
you even came down here.

I thought this stuff
was too boring for you.

After the events of last night,

I could use the calm that a dose

of routine drudgery provides.

What happened last night?

Well, we had what
I considered to be

a promising response to my ad.

So, photographs of the
supposed mayhem were provided,

a meeting was set, it was
all going rather well

until the man revealed himself

to be an undercover
police officer.

There was a bit of confusion
and some waving of guns.

Did you get arrested?

The appearance of a living
Kitty did help my cause.

And the phone call
to Captain Gregson

secured my release.

I still maintain
that it was

a sound tactic; you
can't judge an idea just

by the results
it provides, so...

Oh, damn.

Must I draw it out of you?

I met with my client last night.

We talked.

He got the wrong impression.

He asked me out for a date.

Did you mention that you
were otherwise involved?

No, it didn't come
up... naturally.

What do you mean "naturally"?
I mean, given your history,

it's hardly surprising
you've allowed this

to happen at the
very same moment

that your relationship
with Andrew requires

tending, effort.

Naturally, you've
opened yourself up

to other opportunities.

Much like a female
baboon broadcasts

her readiness with
inflated genitals.

You, Watson,

are something of a
romantic terrorist.

"Romantic terrorist."

Your upbringing
pushes you towards

a conventional relationship.

But your eccentric
nature is repulsed

by the reality of
such arrangements.

That's why you find yourself
drawn to unsuitable partners.

People like my brother.

Of course, chance
will occasionally

see to it that you do find
an appropriate match.

But on these occasions, you
sabotage the relationship.

It's connected to the
conflict at your core.

The tension between
a conventional life

and yearning to heed
the call of adventure.

Okay, I do not yearn to head
the call of adventure.

The only thing
I yearn to do right now

is to get some work done.

Well, Kitty should
be done tidying up

the scene
of her staged murder very soon.

Between the two of you,
we should be

through these stacks
in no time.

Where are you going?

This mural... not only is it
ugly, it's incongruous.

And I shall not be able
to volunteer effectively

until I know how it came
to be hanging here.

Those six stand out.

You may cease your drudgery.

That mural,
I knew it was significant

the moment I laid eyes
on its grotesque majesty.

I called the director
of the program,

and I asked him all about it.

It is called
The Magical Myristica Tour.

And it was painted by one
of Spaulding's former students.

Magical Myristica Tour?

It's primarily a witless pun.

But it also references
the Myristica tree.

A tree which is known
for producing two spices.

The first is mace.

The second... is nutmeg.

So, one of their old students
had a thing for nutmeg.

His name is Conrad Woodbine,
and he's painted

an entire series of paintings,

which detail
the hallucinogenic effects

of ingesting large quantities
of the spice.

You can get high off nutmeg?

I can't say it's a particularly
satisfying experience, but yeah.

Conrad Woodbine

has subcontracted
to the city

as a crime scene cleaner
for a decade.

Until five years ago
when he quit

and purchased a building
full of art studios

on Spring Street.

Now, how does
an ex-crime scene cleaner

afford real estate in SoHo?

Perhaps he hasn't quit
the trade after all.

Mr. Woodbine?

I'm not to be disturbed
while I'm working.

This building doesn't
need a superintendent

who can't superintend.

I know, but...

they're police.

You three are cops?

To varying degrees.

We'd like to speak with
you about your other job.

The one which requires
some actual artistry.

What are you talking about?

You dissolve
corpses for money.

I'm calling my lawyer.

Why did you just come out
and accuse him like that?

Now he's never gonna talk.

I wanted him
to step away.

I'm curious what's
in that cabinet.

None of the others are locked.

That one is.

Smells like pumpkin pie.

My lawyer says
you have to leave.

Actually, you can have
your attorney

meet us at the police station.

We found your nutmeg concoction.

I'm not answering any questions
till my lawyer gets here.

But I will tell you
that supply cabinet was locked.

Our consultant said it was open.

Well, your consultant's lying.

In 1997, you graduated
from Spaulding

Technical Institute,
you started your career

as a crime scene cleaner.

And over the next 11 years,

you took on dozens of cases
for the city.

You were liked,
you were in demand.

A lot of guys like that would've
taken on more employees,

maybe even franchised.

What did you do?

You retired.

Took up painting.

Is this interrogation
bothering you?

Presumably you've been to your

fair share of crime scenes.

You know how difficult it is
to see what we see.

The blood, the viscera,
the heartbreak.

We know you didn't quit the
clean-up business, Mr. Woodbine.

You just switched sides.

You started working
for the criminals

instead of the cops.

And you helped disappear
all of these people.

The bad guys pay more.

We get that.

That's why we're not
looking at you

for any of the murders...
for now.

But you give us the
names of the individuals

who did kill these people,

we'll recommend
a deal to the DA.

I've broken no laws.

You have no proof
of any wrongdoing.

Just some claims
that some potential

crime scenes smelled
like nutmeg.

My mother keeps nutmeg
in her spice rack.

Maybe you want to
question her, too.

Well, so much for getting him
to cooperate.

Disappointing but
not surprising.

Fortunately there are
other ways to undo him.

Conrad Woodbine is our cleaner.

Of that we have no doubt.

Problem is, of course,

he's a cleaner.

His M.O. is based on leaving
no evidence behind.

Right. But you said
that there was

another way to get him.

I submit that his undoing lies

not in the physical evidence,

but in the necessary evil
of every business

in the service industry.

Customers.

He wouldn't give them up.

But they might give him up.

We figure out who wanted
each of these people dead

and then we offer them

the same kind of deal
that he turned down.

Well, the only
person we know has

a connection with him
is Raymond Carpenter.

In point of fact,
the connection lies

between Carpenter's hired hand
and Woodbine.

You're talking
about the man

who killed Jessica Holder.

But he's been dead for years.

Well, lucky for us,
though unlucky

for the disappeared,
Mr. Woodbine's career

was prolific.

So, while he was
being interrogated

this afternoon,
I began at where I believe

to be the beginning.

Six years ago,

Conrad Woodbine retired
from cleaning.

At least, officially.

At the same time, a group
of Armenian criminals

arrived in New York.

They looked to establish
themselves in Howard Beach.

Much to the chagrin
of the Costa Rican gang

that already resided there.

War ensued.

But months later,
the brain trust

of that Costa Rican faction just

disappeared.

You think the Armenians
killed them

and Woodbine cleaned them.

There was never any word

of what happened, only rumor.

They'd been slaughtered
in the backroom

of a restaurant they frequented.

A detective who went there

reported an unusual smell.

Like something from a bakery.

Now, Artem
Dedekian

was the Armenian
group's leader

at the time.

I think he's worth
talking to, don't you?

Is our investigation
bothering you?

No.

Tomorrow, we will speak
with Mr. Dedekian.

You will continue
to pour over the cases

of the disappeared.

In case he is not in a helpful
mood, we will need backups.

Let me know when you have a time
and a place for the meet.

I have something
I have to take care of.

So, that's Dedekian?

He looks hale.

Retirement
suits him.

Captain Gregson is just
finishing something up

and then, uh,
we'll begin.

I'm not a
terrorist.

I shut Chris down last night

and I'm preparing a welcome home
dinner for Andrew tomorrow.

I mean, maybe I do
hear the call of...

adventure, or whatever you said,

but I can do that
and have a life.

Perhaps.

You do realize
I wasn't criticizing you

yesterday?

You compared me to a baboon
with inflated genitals

and then you called me
a terrorist.

I was using vivid imagery
to illustrate a point.

It was an attempt to be helpful.

Your romantic inclinations

are not a flaw to be corrected;

they're a trait to be accepted.

I know you,
Watson.

I know you'll never be happy

within the confines of
a "traditional relationship"

and I said what I said
because it pains me

to see you try to fit into one
simply because

it is the default mode
of polite society.

Well, there is no reason
to feel pain,

because I'm happy with Andrew.

Or would you be happier
without him?

Alternatively, with him as

an occasional sex partner
and confidant?

Or with him when
he's in the States

and free to pursue other
interests when he's not?

There are any number
of possible arrangements.

All you need to do

is find one which is
true to your nature.

It really is quite
remarkable to me.

All this time
we've spent together,

and you remain a far more
interesting person

than you give yourself
credit for.

Thank you for coming in,
Mr. Dedekian.

I understand you have questions

about someone named
Conrad Woodbine?

I don't know
the name.

The name might escape you,

but the work must have
left an impression.

It was six years ago.

He helped turn
a few Costa Rican gangsters

into soup for you.

Sorry.

Don't know what
you're talking about.

You're quite
a unique case

in the criminal
underworld, aren't you?

A one-time kingpin
who's managed to extract himself

entirely from his past

and lead
a quieter existence.

You were just one
of Woodbine's clients.

There were others, many others,
and we've set to work

identifying them
so we might offer a deal.

Tell us how you found

Woodbine, and what
he did for you,

and I'm gonna
help you work out

an immunity agreement
with the DA's office.

One of Woodbine's customers

is gonna be a very
lucky person indeed.

Why?

Because he or she
will get away with murder.

Perhaps even murders.

Why?
Because we desire

Woodbine above all others.

Why?
Because he can, in turn,

give us the names
of dozens of killers.

Including yours.

Someone's gonna
talk to us,

Mr. Dedekian.

It may as well be you.

Conrad Woodbine!

Police!

Clear!

Clear.

Clear!
It's all clear.

Do you
smell that?

Nutmeg.

He keeps his concoction
hidden and sealed.

There's really
no reason

that the aroma should
overpower the room.

Unless...

Did you notice

how Conrad Woodbine walked
with a limp yesterday?

Yes.

I think he might have had
knee surgery recently.

And why do
you say that?

'Cause I've just found his

artificial patella tendon

in the
grease trap.

I don't think we're going
to be hearing from Mr. Woodbine

any time soon.

Our cleaner's been cleaned.

Well, the M.E. just confirmed
that the piece of plastic

you found is
an artificial tendon.

It's got Kevlar in it.
That's why it didn't melt.

She didn't know if there's
any usable DNA on it.

As for the rest
of the scene,

whoever took care of Woodbine
left the place spotless.

Seems like the killer's
just as good

at cleaning up a mess
as Woodbine was.

It doesn't make any sense.

Woodbine was the cleaner.

This was his livelihood.

He wouldn't broadcast
his methods.

He'd make himself
irrelevant.

Maybe he had a partner.
Let's hope so.

'Cause it sure looks
like Woodbine's gone.

And whatever he knew
about all those murders

went down the drain
with him.

Maybe that man Artem
Dedekian killed Woodbine.

He could have changed his mind

about the deal
that you offered him.

Watson and I went straight

from interviewing Dedekian
to Conrad Woodbine's studio.

That's hardly enough time
for him to arrange a murder

and meticulous cleansing
of the scene.

Why am I doing this?

Disassemble the crime board.

I don't
understand.

You're just...
giving up.

Maybe we can find
someone else

who hired Woodbine.

Without a living cleaner,

we have no leverage
to make a deal

with one of
his former employers.

And I'm not "giving up."

I'm retrenching.

A clean environment

stimulates
fresh lines of thought.

It's Raymond Carpenter,
the guy who told you

he ordered Jessica
Holder's murder.

That's the day he was convicted
of 18 different felonies.

Friends and family with him.

They all look like
they took it pretty hard.

So...?

So, we've seen him before.

That's the superintendant

of Conrad Woodbine's building.

What's he doing at
Raymond Carpenter's trial?

Scan this.
E-mail it to Watson.

Tell her we've got work to do.

Jessica Holder
may have been killed

by one of your paid assassins,

but her body was disposed of
by Conrad Woodbine.

If you say so.

You, Mr. Carpenter,
have three sons.

Now, your two oldest offspring,

they've taken after you
and already begun to flourish

in their own fledgling
criminal ventures...

helped along, of course,
by your incarcerated hand.

But your youngest son,
though, Jeremy...

he's a different story.

Flunked out of
several schools.

Fired from every job

you've managed to land for him.

With all due respect...
a wastrel.

Now, what's a father to do
with a boy like that?

Send him to trade school,
of course.

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

You apprenticed him
to Conrad Woodbine.

It was a convenient arrangement.

Jeremy would earn a livelihood,

and Mr. Woodbine was
only too happy, I'm sure,

to accommodate one of his most

valued
clients.

Jeremy even served
as his superintendant

while the two of them waited

for murder victims to dissolve.

Of course, when we
went to see Woodbine

at his studio and
ask him questions,

Jeremy
told you.

And you couldn't
have that, could you?

Woodbine knew all your secrets,
your family's secrets.

I mean, God knows
what would happen

if he told the
police everything

that you had
hired him to do.

So you had Woodbine
taken care of.

Jeremy killed him and then
cleaned up after himself.

It must be said,
he did a rather good job.

You finally found him
work he's taken to.

I suppose
congratulations are due.

What are you two
doing here, anyway?

Do you really expect me to admit
to any of this nonsense?

We're done.

It's true things can't
get any worse for you.

But for Jeremy...

He must know some
very damning secrets

about some very
dangerous people.

We know some of the names

of the people
who hired Woodbine.

We'll get more.

How do you think they'll
react when they find out

that your son was his apprentice

and that police are
pressing him to make a deal?

If you care for your son,
call him.

If he issues
a confession

and agrees to testify

against the people
who hired him,

we'll see he's assigned
to the safe environs

of a white collar prison.

If not,

he's about to make
some very potent enemies.

People who will find him

wherever he hides.

Too loud?

I'm not here
about the music.

Authorities were stunned today

when 20-year-old
Jeremy Carpenter

confessed to killing
Conrad Woodbine,

a man Carpenter says
trained him to clean up

after murders.
It's believed that...

Your insights made
that arrest possible.

You are
progressing.

A pleasure
to watch.

Normally, I ask you
to keep your music

at a reasonable level
during my reading hours,

but tonight feel
free to enjoy it

at whatever
volume you wish.

? ?

? ?

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