Elementary (2012–…): Season 5, Episode 19 - High Heat - full transcript

Previously on Elementary...

I heard the refrigerator door
open, and then all of a sudden,

three gunshots, and I saw.

Jameel on the kitchen floor,
blood everywhere.

I know you killed Jameel Clark.

He's worked for months
to embed himself in SBK.

An endeavor I cared more about

before I knew he was
a cold-blooded killer.

SBK is a ruthless drug gang.

You want to know who killed
Jameel? SBK killed Jameel.

You're looking for someone
who killed one person.

SBK kills dozens
of people a year.

I'm-a take SBK down,

and anybody who get in my way...

gonna get hurt.

Sherlock, I thought you were

coming right back to...

My God.

Look at you.

I didn't do any of that, did I?

No, no, no.

You didn't leave a scratch.

Well, the night is still young.

I'll be right there.

Hey.

If I went downstairs
to get a coffee, would I be...

No, my guest left hours ago.

Good.

Do I detect just
a hint of judgment?

No, no judgment.

A little concern, maybe.

Well, despite what you may
have heard, no one was injured.

I am fighting off something
of a head cold, though.

That's not what I meant.

There have been a lot

of guests this week,
and I can't help but think

that there might be
more effective ways

to work through everything
that went down with Shinwell.

Since everything
went down with Shinwell,

you've cleaned
your office twice,

you've taken
three remedial cases,

and then you cleaned
your office again.

So is that the picture of mental
health I should aspire to?

Well, the captain
hasn't had anything

you've deemed interesting
this week,

so I know myself.

I like to keep busy.

So working is working for me.

We misjudged a murderer;

We let him into
our closest confidence.

And then I betrayed our
colleagues by destroying

evidence that would have
returned him to prison.

And he repaid our many
kindnesses by ambushing

and severely beating me.

You've made peace
with all of that?

No, I've just come to accept
that we don't have any options.

There's no way to prove
that Shinwell is a killer,

so unless you want to go to SBK
and out him as an informant...

No, I'd still rather
he wipe out a street gang

than the other way around.

Okay, so we move on.

I'm gonna go down
to the precinct,

see if I can lend a hand with
whatever they're working on.

You want to come? No.

Perfunctory investigation
will do me no good, Watson.

To clean out the cobwebs,

I need something
truly stimulating.

First up, Mr. Gary Kalajian.

Marco, did you pull
a shift this weekend?

We were closed. Why?

When I closed on Friday,
this cremator was clean.

My God.

Call the police.

Now.

What should I tell them?

Tell them somebody
got burned alive here.

It's a good thing femurs
are as thick as they are.

The biggest bones didn't
burn down completely.

It's the only way
I could tell that there were

two victims stuffed
into the crematory furnace.

Looks like both were male.
Good eye.

You can tell by the width
of the intertrochanteric crest.

Whoever they were,
one of them left a handprint

just inside
the incinerator door.

It's over eight inches long.

He was probably tall.

And alive when he went
into the incinerator.

Here. Have a nightmare.

The blood was smeared
and then cooked, so...

No fingerprints.

I'm guessing you would have
invited us to the scene

if there was something to see.

Rear exit door was
pried open with a crowbar.

The break-in happened
sometime over the weekend.

The crematorium workers
all have alibis,

and we couldn't find anybody
who works in the area

who saw anything suspicious.

No security cameras?

The owner says
they create privacy issues.

We got nothing.

Only if you don't count

two piles of dust,
teeth and bone fragments.

And whatever these are.

Those were found
at the back of the incinerator,

near where the taller
John Doe's feet were.

I'm pretty sure they were
an orthopedic brace

that melted down.

Something like this.

We should check with
Missing Persons,

see if anyone's been
reported who wears one.

We should also start calling
dentists in Dongan Hills.

If I'm right about this,

we need to locate
the dental records

of one Frederick Kirby,

and see if we get a match
for that gold tooth.

Are you saying
you know one of these guys?

After a fashion.

Mr. Kirby was likely

the worst private investigator
in New York City.

Well, it's official.

Captain just got the call.

The gold incisor
and a couple of the molars

and the smaller pile of ash

match Fred Kirby's
dental records.

Which means it took you
all of ten minutes

to identify a John Doe
who'd been burnt to powder.

That's got to be a record.
No, it was nothing.

How many men do you know
proudly wear

a high school class ring?

You never told us
how you knew him.

He came by the brownstone once,
accused me of poaching.

You stole one of his clients?

No, I was cornered by
a dissatisfied customer of his.

I took one look
at Mr. Kirby's files,

solved the case on the spot.

I've never seen such
shoddy detective work.

This place is
a temple of incompetence.

According to the captain,

this guy's one employee
is missing, too.

The name's Lamont Wallace,
but he goes by "Pinky"".

Started driving for Fred
a couple years ago

when Fred's eyes started to go.

A legally blind private eye.
No comment.

No one's been able to get

either of them on the phone
for two days.

Well, Lamont's a big guy.

Could have been his handprint
in the incinerator.

Yeah, maybe he and Fred
took on a dangerous case

that got them both killed.

You got something?

There's almost a dozen
restraining orders here.

These are all filed
within days of each other.

Yeah, none of the complainants
have the same last name,

but it's got to be a
coordinated effort, right?

You'd think.

What's the
link between these people?

Tragedy.

I assume you're familiar
with the shooting spree

that occurred at
the Bennett Courthouse in 1987?

Guy shoots a bunch
of brand-new citizens

after a swearing-in ceremony.

His wife was their
civics teacher, right?

Four people dead,
six more wounded,

and the shooter ended up
taking his own life.

It was a tragedy, not a mystery.

So what's it got to do
with a detective and his buddy

getting burnt alive
30 years later?

In Fred Kirby's office,

we found multiple
restraining orders against him.

All of them were filed by
family members of the victims

of the courthouse shooting.

It appears that Mr. Kirby
reached out

to anyone tangentially
associated with the shooting.

To what end, we don't know.

You talk to any
of these people yet?

No. Watson's on her way
to speak to Virginia Spivey.

She was married to the hero
bailiff who charged the gunman.

Took a bullet that
day, but survived.

Unfortunately, he died
of lymphoma last year.

Virginia Spivey was
the first one to file.

You think papering him
with Orders of Protection

was her idea? That's the hope.

If she was in touch
with all of these people,

perhaps she'll be able to tell
us if any of them would have

been likely to have cremated
Fred Kirby and his helper.

In the meantime, Marcus and I

are going to visit
the Bennett Courthouse.

Why? The shooting happened
decades ago.

What do you think
you're gonna find?

This was in Fred's office.

Court employee badge.

It's a sloppy forgery.

I'm going to chalk up the alias

to his overheated sense
of whimsy.

But I would like to know

why he deemed it necessary

to go undercover
at the courthouse.

Mr. Holmes.

Louis Garmendia.

I wish it wasn't such a sad
occasion that we got together.

But it is an honor
to finally meet you.

You know me?

Of course. I'm Louis Garmendia.

President of the New York
Order of Private Investigators.

The silver star people... NYOOPI.

Yeah, that's us.

So, are you responsible
for their,

rise in prominence?

Well, I don't know if I can
really take credit for that.

I just took over.

But that is how I knew Fred.

And, obviously,
we're all broken up

over what happened to him.

Anyway,

as president,
I just wanted to come down

and let you know you've got
the association's full support.

Anything you
or the department needs,

you say the word.

All right, well, I'll be sure
to pass that along.

Main reason I came down
is to say thank you.

Means a lot to have one of our
own working this thing for Fred.

Sorry, one of your own?

NYOOPI members.

You and your partner.

Feels right
keeping it in the family.

Remind me, how long have
we been in the family?

So, Houston, you were a pitcher?

He still is.

Lowest ERA in Division II.

You know St. Cassius College?

You should come see
us play sometime.

Did you not hear her tell my mom
she's with the police?

What, police
don't like baseball?

All right, guys,
that's the rest.

Everything's okay, right?

Everything's fine.
I'm just here to talk.

You two drive safe.

Thanks, Mrs. Spivey.

Very nice meeting you.

Sorry about that.

But you said you wanted to talk
about the courthouse shooting,

and it seemed like
I should get the boys

on their way first. Of course.

I was just wondering about
some of the contact

you might have had recently with
the other victims' families.

I've had a lot, actually.

More than usual.

The 30th anniversary
was last month,

and, well, you can probably
tell I like remembrances.

We raised a little money

and did a memorial exhibit
at the courthouse.

Something to make sure

the people who died
aren't forgotten.

Well, here.

I was... I was gonna frame this.

Looks like you did
some great work.

I wanted to do it years ago,
but Gordon, my husband,

he wouldn't have it.

He passed away last year,

so now he can't object
to being remembered as a hero.

Which he was.

If he hadn't charged
the shooter,

well, let's just say

that would've been
a much bigger memorial.

Am I correct that you
and some of the other families

filed restraining orders
against a man named Fred Kirby?

Yeah.
He was bothering all of us.

Said he was trying
to put together

his own exhibit, or something.

His story kept changing.

It was weird, so I got a lawyer
to shut him down.

And I told the others
to do the same.

Is that why you're here?

Has he done something illegal?

He died this past weekend.

More specifically,
he was murdered.

My God.

You think one of us...?

I'm just curious. Is it possible
that any of the people

he was harassing might've been
angry enough to...

No. No, not a chance.

He wasn't harassing anyone,

he just wanted stuff
that belonged to the victims.

We think he was a collector,

or maybe a dealer.

A dealer?

You ever heard the term
"murderabilia"?

People buy and sell

I guess you'd
call them artifacts

that connect back
to famous murders or tragedies.

It's pretty sick.

We just thought Fred
was trying to make a buck.

He should've been ashamed
of himself.

But trust me.

None of us
would've killed the guy.

Hey. I'm home.

What do you think?

I think there's a bus bench

with my picture on it
in the library.

I used Fred Kirby's guy.

It was a rush job,
so it wasn't cheap,

but he threw in
the bench for free.

So are you gonna tell me
what this is about, or...?

The absurd acronym for an even
more absurd organization...

One which counts us both
as members in good standing.

Yeah.

The detective thing.

Yeah, "the detective thing."

I don't get it.

Are you angry
because I signed us up?

So you don't deny it.

Yeah, it was years ago.
You'd gone back to London.

When you came back, I added you.

It's free advertising.

They put us on
the "Find a Detective" page

on their Web site.

That is precisely the problem:

I do not care
for the association.

Why?

Because the group is a sham.

They've completely usurped
the New York State.

Division of Licensing Services

and destroyed all semblance
of standards in our profession.

What are you talking about?

Once upon a time,
every aspiring P.I.

had to take an exam
administered by the state.

It wasn't terribly difficult,
but it was something.

It was a barrier to entry
to keep the riffraff out.

Now Internet searches
have become

the primary arbiter of
legitimacy in every profession.

So this... this star

is all you need
to be a detective in New York.

For $278 in annual fees,
anyone can advertise using this,

and gain access to NYOOPI's
all-important Web site.

So here, have your pick.

Disgraced FBI agents,
idiots off the street, me.

We are all equal
in the eyes of this group.

You're being a snob.

Someone has to be.

Did you get my text earlier,

about why Fred Kirby
might have been harassing

Virginia Spivey and the others?

I did.

Well, I spent the
afternoon online,

looking at
murderabilia auctions.

I didn't see anything there on
the Bennett Courthouse shooting.

So I also looked at
Kirby's financials.

It didn't look like he ever sold
that kind of stuff,

so it makes me wonder why he was
so interested in what happened.

It's a good question.

I might be able
to shed some light.

In 1987,

when new citizens were sworn in
at the Bennett Courthouse,

it was customary to give them
pocket-sized copies

of the Constitution.

These were on display
at Ms. Spivey's memorial.

I borrowed them, along with

this photograph of the victims
taken shortly before

the shooting started.

Now, this is photograph
was taken when the memorial

first opened last month.

Notice the blood color
and patterns

on these Constitutions.

These are different.

The blood that you're
looking at is fake.

These are reproductions.

They are also laden with
Fred Kirby's fingerprints.

So he swapped these
Constitutions out

for the real ones; He got
his murderabilia after all.

Yes, but perhaps not to sell.

What do you mean?

I mean, it's possible
Fred Kirby did what he did

because he believed
the U.S. government

once caused a nuclear reactor
to melt down.

Just as it's possible

that testing his theory
resulted in his murder.

What are you talking about?

I'm talking, Watson,
about Chernobyl.

On April 26, 1986,

a test of the Chernobyl power
plant's safety system went awry,

causing one of its
nuclear reactors to explode.

I remember. Everyone remembers.

The blast
and the radiation exposure

killed dozens that day.

Eventually, thousands more
died of cancer.

Human error was cited
as the precipitating cause.

The official report
did not name any names.

But according to one theory
on the Internet,

Igor Krasnaia, Roman Hubenko,

Dmitry Perov
and Sergei Minkovski.

Their bodies
were never recovered,

and photographs of the men
do not exist.

Okay.

Conspiracy theorists

have long believed
that these men were saboteurs,

working at the behest
of the American government.

In return for their crimes,
they were granted new lives

in the United States.

Those were the four men
that were killed

in the Bennett Courthouse
shooting?

That's what people think?

I did not say "people."

I said "conspiracy theorists."

Proud members
of the tinfoil hat brigade.

Now, this was the shooter;
His name is Ronald Jones.

His victims had just taken
the oath of citizenship.

They were Chris Corwin,

Nick Welden, Pete Goswin
and Leo Stavo.

But some people believe
that these were aliases

given to them
by the American government

before a rogue agent
wiped them out.

You don't really
believe that, right?

No. But it doesn't matter
what I believe.

Did Fred Kirby believe it?

History is full of imbeciles

whose outlandish theories
have got them killed,

so perhaps he shared his with
one of the victims' loved ones,

and they took it poorly.

Well, talking to loved ones

is one thing.

Fred Kirby was trying
to get his hands

on the victims'
personal effects.

He stole mini-Constitutions
with their blood on it.

Why?

If these men really were
nuclear saboteurs,

then their DNA
would've been damaged.

Traces of caesium-137

would mark their remains
for hundreds of years.

The question of where
a low-rent private eye would go

to test for such a thing
is another matter entirely.

No, it isn't.

I think I might know
where he would go.

Yeah, I knew Fred. He's in my
bowling league. We're friends.

He's dead?

Fred specialized
in cheating spouses,

the kind who leave stains
in cheap motel rooms.

I imagine, occasionally,

he needed you to run
a DNA sample for him.

When I went through
Fred's financials yesterday,

I noticed he wrote quite a few
checks to you over the years.

Just you.

Never to East Rutherford
Laboratories.

You were giving him a discount

and pocketing
the payments yourself.

No, that's not true.

We also went through Fred's
phone records yesterday.

He talked to you
six times last week.

Can we assume it was
about the blood samples

he wanted you to gather from
the copies of the Constitution?

Hey, what are you doing?

Mr. Drexel, we didn't
bring the police with us

because we don't care about

your minor league embezzlement.
We don't.

It was a courtesy to you,
but it also works in our favor,

'cause it means we can conduct
an illegal search

for the materials
that Fred gave you.

Yeah, I'll start over here.

No, don't.

I'll give you
everything I've got, okay?

The samples,

the results, all of it.

He wasn't checking
for radioactivity,

he was running paternity tests.

Radioactivity? Why the hell
would I be looking for that?

Fred didn't think that the men
who bled on these documents

were at Chernobyl?

No. God, no.

He gave me that blood sample
and the four Constitutions.

He asked me to look for a match.

Who's C. Gibson?

I don't have any idea.

I just know the guy
was looking for his father.

But the blood on those
things wasn't viable.

All the results came back
inconclusive.

If you want to harass someone,
you should go find him.

Why's that?

Fred was nervous about
breaking the news to him.

Said the guy had a real temper.

I don't know.

Maybe he's the one
who killed Fred.

This would be a lot
easier if Fred's Kirby's system

wasn't put stuff in files
or don't.

Well, credit the man
for consistency.

He was lazy and inept
in all facets of his business.

Still, C. Gibson's
full name's got to be

in here somewhere here, right?

Yes, finally.

You found it?

Better. I found years
of annual reports

of Fred Kirby's time
on the board of NYOOPI.

Why would you want that?

Because I hope to find evidence
of embezzlement or fraud.

Let's see how many people
pay for that preposterous

silver star when it becomes
a mark of corruption.

NYOOPI helps people
find detectives.

Why do you have
a problem with that?

Because I want people
to be able to find detectives

who've earned the right
to be called detectives.

Well, if it were up to you,
there'd only be

four or five people like that
in the whole world.

Your point?

If NYOOPI offends you so much,
why don't you just quit?

Because then I won't be able
to pull it apart,

piece by piece, from the inside.

Has it ever occurred to you

that all this righteous
indignation has less to do

with a bunch of private eyes
supporting each other,

and more to do with Shinwell?

What happened upset you.

And despite a string of
meaningless sexual conquests,

you're still upset,
so now you're gonna take it out

on a bunch of
less talented detectives.

My motives are irrelevant.

NYOOPI is the lowest form
of fake credentialism

and it ought not to exist.

And by the time I'm finished,
it won't.

Where are you going?

The "C" in C. Gibson
stood for Carter.

I found his name and address
ten minutes ago.

I just lingered
to look for these.

Here's your tea.

Two lumps. Now you got
to tell me what's up.

Thanks. So, our victims, Fred
Kirby and the missing driver,

were working for a man
named Carter Gibson.

Now, I could not find
a link between that name

and the Bennett Courthouse
shooting,

but that's because
Gibson's name is made-up. See?

Carter Gibson was

Carter Dunwitty until
he changed his name in 2007.

Rita Dunwitty was
one of the survivors

of the shooting in '87.

More than that, she was married
to the shooter, Ronald Jones.

Right.

So, he was Carter's father.

As far as the world knew, yes,

but Carter was convinced
that Ronald Jones, the shooter,

was not his father.

So, he hired Fred Kirby
to run paternity tests

for the four men
who were killed in '87,

but none of them panned out.

Sounds like
wishful thinking, right?

I mean, this is a guy
who changes his name

to climb out of his family tree.

Can you blame him?

Looks like Carter

has some problems of his own.

Disorderly conduct

and resisting,
misdemeanor assault.

It's a nickel-and-dime sheet,

but he obviously has
a violent streak.

Well, if Carter Gibson
is Ronald Jones's son,

he may just be a chip
off the crazy old block.

I wonder how Carter took
the news when Fred Kirby

couldn't identify the dad
he was hoping for.

Well, you're not the first
person to wonder that.

Sherlock and the captain
took a couple of uniforms

over to his house.

Actually, they say they need us
over there right away.

Quite a mess.

We knocked. No one answered.

Building manager let us in.

Got a pile of mail,
trash is ripe...

Doesn't look like Carter
Gibson's been home in days.

Let me guess, we're thinking
he got into some kind of scrap

with Fred Kirby
and Pinky Wallace right here.

Carter won,

he cremated them,
went on the run.

I just put his photo out
to everyone in the field.

Captain, if you would.

We need to revise our theory
of the crime that occurred

in the next room.

I don't think

Carter Gibson was
the perpetrator, after all.

What am I missing?

Metal rods were mixed in

with the cremains
in the incinerator.

They're identical to the ones

in this orthopedic brace.

Gibson had a gammy foot.

You can see in that
photograph over there.

Now, one could argue
that he threw

one of his braces
into the incinerator

to trick us, to make us think
that he was dead,

but if he did that,
why wouldn't he throw in

that watch, as well?

It's inscribed with his
original name on the back.

And if he's a man on the run,

why didn't he take
his medication with him?

So, the second Vic
was Pinky Wallace.

We thought it was him
because he was tall.

But this is size 14, and
according to Carter's sheet,

he's six-three.

You think half the
blood out there is his?

Just as I think that's his
handprint in the incinerator.

I think he was the one
who was burned alive.

You guys find something?

Killer left some
partial footprints.

They stop right here,
so you got to figure

this is where he loaded
Fred Kirby

and Carter Gibson's bodies
into a vehicle.

Pinky Wallace,

Fred Kirby's driver, disappeared

around the same time
that Fred did.

So, he might be our guy, right?

Well, you'd think so,
only he isn't.

Finest Message
on him checked out

while you were talking
to the neighbor.

Is he dead, too?

No, but he came close.

He's been in the ICU at
St. Bede's for a week.

Checked himself in
with a 104-degree fever.

He was delirious.

Told the nurses his name
was Lando Calrissian.

That's why we couldn't find him.

He's got a long recovery from
meningitis ahead of him,

but no prison time.

How'd it go on your end?

Not great. The night that
Fred Kirby disappeared,

nobody saw anything.

So, a few people heard
a loud bang around midnight.

So, whatever happened here,

maybe they finished it
with a gun.

Anybody find any
slugs or casings?

No, and they won't.

I can't explain your bang,
but this was no shooting.

As you can see

from the blood splatter
on the walls and the ceiling,

it's not the misty spray that
you'd associate with a gunshot.

The droplets are round.

They vary in size.

The killer used a blunt object.

I think I might even
know which one.

As you can see here,

Carter Gibson has
twice been honored

by the New York
Charcot-Marie-Tooth Coalition.

Recipients of

the Connecting
My Talents Award receive

a commemorative marble orb.

What's a tooth coalition?

Tooth is a surname,
as are Charcot and Marie.

They're the doctors
who first described

the neurological disorder

which is now
more commonly known as CMT.

CMT attacks
the peripheral nervous system,

arms, legs, hands and feet.

It's degenerative and the
symptoms get worse over time.

Now, if Carter Gibson had it,
it would explain

the orthopedic braces

and probably the medications
he was taking.

So, Carter raised money
and awareness for his disease

and the coalition
gave him one of those.

They gave him two.

These photographs tell us

that he received the award
in 2013 and 2015.

The older one is missing.

And you think it's because
the killer took it with him

after he used it to
bash two skulls in?

He grabbed it there
and started swinging?

The blood evidence
would indicate that.

An arcing motion like this...

would result in
blood splatter like that.

So, now we know how the mess
was made, but who made it?

How's it going?

Slowly, but we think
we figured out the real reason

that Carter Gibson was looking
for his biological father.

I just got off the phone
with Leonard Jones,

Ronald Jones's father.

I was calling to notify him

that we think his
grandson, Carter,

was the victim of a homicide.

He didn't take it too hard.

Apparently, they'd been
estranged most of Carter's life.

That changed earlier this year.

Carter's CMT was getting worse.

The disease is inherited
and the symptoms tend to follow

a similar course
within families.

Now, no one on
his mother's side had it,

so Carter reached out
to his paternal grandfather

to find out
what he could expect.

Thing is, there was no CMT on
that side of the family, either.

- How is that possible?
- 30 years ago,

no one really knew why Ronald
Jones shot up the courthouse

where his wife worked,

but Grandpa Leonard
always had a sneaking suspicion.

Ronald had figured out
he wasn't Carter's real dad.

That would explain some things,
like why the four people

he killed and the six
he wounded were all men.

He thought one of them
was sleeping with his wife.

It's an old secret,

but maybe someone figured
it was still worth killing over.

We were just
about to call the relatives

of the people who filed
restraining orders

against Fred Kirby,

see if any of them had CMT.

Just tread lightly.

If one of them did this,
we don't want to tip them.

Mr. Garmendia.

Sorry to stop by
unannounced like this,

but your address
is in our files.

If you're looking for an update
on the investigation

of Fred Kirby's murder,
I'm afraid I can't help you.

There have been
some developments,

but they need
to remain confidential.

I don't want an update.

I'm here to talk to you,
detective to detective.

I know you broke into
NYOOPI's computer today.

Someone used
Fred Kirby's old log-in

from an I.P. address
inside the NYPD,

and then they downloaded

a bunch of our tax records.

I could tell you didn't
like us when we met.

Got the feeling
we embarrass you.

You want to tell me
what you're up to?

It's quite simple, really.

I'm going to dismantle
your organization.

NYOOPI is a blight

on the profession which I love.

It enables con men and imbeciles

to pass themselves off
as detectives.

Your group deserves
to be exposed

as the rubber stamp that it is.

Would it surprise you to know

that I agree with you
about NYOOPI?

I was an investigator
for the ATF for over 15 years

before I went private.

I get steamed when I see

the kind of folks
that are advertising

with our silver star.

That's why I got involved,
only I don't want to destroy it.

I want to turn it around.

We're offering
training seminars now.

We just launched a message board

where people can
crowdsource their cases.

I want NYOOPI
to help its members

be better at what they do.

Your members want to be better?

A lot of them mean well.

That's not what I asked.

How many of them
are attending your classes?

How many are on
the message board?

All I'm asking for
is a little more time.

NYOOPI's had decades.

Not with me they haven't.

Look, Mr. Holmes,
this-this thing we do,

this job, it's important.

Now, you say you don't like
a lot of our membership.

I get that, but at least
they're in one place now.

NYOOPI goes away, and
they scatter in the wind.

And I won't know if I
could've made them better.

I won't know if I could've
kept a few from getting killed.

Now, it's too late
for Fred Kirby,

but it's not too late
for the rest.

All I can promise you is that
your organization will be spared

my full energies until I have
solved Fred Kirby's murder.

Well, I know how good you are,

so I guess that doesn't
give me much time.

Thanks for hearing me out.

Sherlock?

In your bedroom.

Hello.

Okay, whatever this is,

does it really need
to be happening in my bedroom?

This is helping me determine
how much force was used

to beat Carter Gibson
and Fred Kirby to death.

I didn't think you'd mind.

Okay, so, you've already
made one miscalculation.

So, how is the rest
of your math going?

Take this.

Yeah.

That spatter pattern
I've painted in black there,

how far is it from Mr. Coconut?

17 feet, seven inches.

That is precisely the distance
that blood and viscera traveled

from the bookcase
to the far wall

at the murder scene
in Carter Gibson's apartment.

Okay, so why did you think
to check that?

Because it is one of the most
distant blood spatters

I've ever encountered.

So distant, in fact,
that efforts to recreate it

with my own arms
have fallen decidedly short.

Maybe you need a stronger arm.

Between an adolescence
spent at the cricket ground

and two decades training
in the combat arts,

my arm strength
is a little above average.

Now, this tropical drupe
is filled with

a synthetic blood
of my own design.

And I'm gonna murder it...

with a candlepin bowling ball,

which is almost
identical in size

and weight to the marble award
that was used.

Not even close.

My best effort,
when my arms were still fresh,

created a blood spatter
which reached 14.3 feet.

Okay, so...

our killer is a contestant
in the world's strongest man?

Not quite.

This experiment has shown
that creating that pattern

requires power

and form.

The force and motion required
to create the spatter pattern

at Carter Gibson's apartment
are commensurate with

throwing a 98 mile-an-hour
fastball.

That's major league heat.

Yeah, which is precisely
why our killer

is on the verge of making
major league millions.

You told me about him
the other day.

You think I look
like this Carter guy?

A little.

You both have
your father's ears.

Your dad had an affair
with Rita Dunwitty.

Carter's mom.

He was your half-brother.

Now, you can deny it
if you want,

but we're gonna order
a DNA test to confirm.

I don't believe anything
you're saying.

But, if it's true, so what?

It's why you killed him.

Along with the
detective he hired

to find his real father.

Carter grew up
thinking that his father

was a mass shooter.

It followed him around
like a dark cloud.

We think that Fred Kirby
uncovered evidence

of the affair.

Now, if we're right,

and Carter could prove
that his real father

was actually the hero
who stopped the shooting,

he probably couldn't wait
to tell the world.

That was gonna be a real problem
for you, wasn't it?

I have no idea
what you're talking about.

We're talking about CMT.

What?

Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease.

It's a genetic
neuromuscular disorder.

Carter had it.

And given that it's
passed down paternally,

we're guessing that you do, too.

You knew that if anyone
discovered you had it,

your plans of making millions
as a major league pitcher

would be wiped out.

We can't imagine a team offering

a big contract to someone
who could wake up one morning

and suddenly lose all feeling
in his throwing arm.

If a well-known CMT
advocate like Carter

shared the news about
finding his real family,

say if he put it out
on social media,

it would've been a matter
of time before someone

put two and two together.

Now, you needed
the whole thing to go away

so you could still cash in.

You guys are crazy.

Forget CMT, look at my ERA.

I'm pitching great; I-I don't
have a muscle disorder.

All right, then,
let's talk about something

you definitely don't have:

An alibi for the night
of the murders.

That's because you were
at Carter's apartment.

He and Fred were telling you
things you didn't want to hear,

so you took Carter's award
down from the shelf,

and you killed them with it.

Only a matter of time
until we find it.

Got to think it'll have your
fingerprints on it when we do.

I need you two.

Now.

What's going on?

He was about to give it up.

Well, that would've been
a real problem for the D.A.

How so?

That's Paul Fontino.

He's Houston's pitching coach.

He just confessed
to both murders.

Sorry about the wait,
Mr. Fontino.

We just had to confirm
there really were bloodstains

in the trunk of your car.

Don't know why you'd think
I'd lie about such a thing.

Maybe because
we can't quite figure out

why you would do such a thing.

You've had two parking
tickets in the last 20 years.

But this past weekend,

you just snap?

Murder two people?

I've been working with
Houston Spivey for six years.

Found him when he was a skinny
little high school sophomore.

He's a good kid.

He's got a hell of a future.

I didn't want to see it wasted.

What does that mean? Last week,

he tells me this Carter guy
and his crazy P.I.,

they're after him
for a blood test.

Well, he told us he'd
never seen Carter Gibson

before in his life.

You ever been
21 years old before?

Kid's scared.

I mean, if you think
Houston asked me to do this,

you got the wrong idea.

He wanted to pay them.

He asked me for the money.
What money?

They were extorting him; They
wanted $50,000 to keep quiet.

And they thought Houston,
a college student,

would have 50 grand
lying around?

I'm sure they figured that
a future first rounder

would be able to
get his hands on some money

if he really wanted it.

He probably could've.

But I didn't think it was right.

I told Houston I'd handle it.

So you set up a meeting?

At Carter's apartment.

I thought I'd rant
and rave a little

and get them to back off.

But they weren't budging.

I saw red,

grabbed this...

marble statue thing
off from the shelf...

that was that.

Well, he's lying obviously.

I mean, it's a tale
as old as time.

Or at least as old
as professional sports.

The sins of the entitled athlete

being swept under the rug
by his enablers.

I'm sure Mr. Fontino's family

will be enjoying
the blood money he's earning

as soon as Houston Spivey's name
is called in the draft.

Well, the lab says the blood
in Fontino's trunk

was a match for the victims.

And he knew about
the murder weapon.

He knew about it, couldn't
produce it though, could he?

He said he threw it off
the Staten Island Ferry.

Yeah, another lie, no doubt.

Look, I'll concede that he was
an accessory after the fact.

I don't think
there's any coincidence

that the bodies were disposed of

at his cousin's crematorium,

but I refuse to believe
he's our killer.

Then should've come
with me to the precinct

instead of trying to dig up
more dirt on NYOOPI.

Yes, I should have.

Found what I need, though.

What do you mean? I mean,

this time tomorrow,
NYOOPI will be no more.

For what it's worth,
Fontino was a college pitcher.

Yes, he was.
That was 45 years ago.

Now he's a retiree
with a herniated disc

and arthritis in both hands.

I mean, he'd have trouble
lifting the murder weapon

above his head, let alone
swinging it hard enough

to send blood flying

across the room.

That was the sound.

What?

A bang.

Carter's neighbors said
they heard a noise that night,

a bang.

Thanks for coming
in, Mr. Spivey.

I don't understand
why I'm here again.

When I gave my statement
about Coach Fontino,

my lawyer said that would be it.

He's right,
you don't have to say

anything today.

I'm just curious,
um, do you know

what the worst pitch
you ever threw was?

Gave up a two-run double
in the playoffs last year.

Hung a curve.

Actually,

it was when you
flung the murder weapon

from the scene of the
double homicide you committed.

Two of Carter Gibson's neighbors

heard a bang like that the night
he and Fred Kirby were killed.

They thought it was
a car backfiring.

We wondered if maybe

it was a gunshot.

Turns out, it was the sound
of a perfect strike.

You left tracks

at the scene.

Bloody footprints
from Carter's door

to your coach's car.

Stood to reason
you took the murder weapon

along with the bodies.

Only you didn't.

You threw it 245 feet

into that Dumpster.

It's pretty impressive.

But like I said, it was
the worst pitch of your life.

The blood of both victims
and your fingerprints

are all over it.

What happened?

Did you think
you heard someone coming?

You panicked, threw it
as far as you could?

I'd like my lawyer now, please.

Sherlock?

Is that why
you called me down here,

to troll me again for
enrolling us in NYOOPI?

Gonna mark you down a point
for poor observational skills.

Look more closely.

I spoke to NYOOPI President
Louis Garmendia this morning.

He has agreed to shutter
the organization,

as I predicted he would.

But, like a phoenix
rising from the dung heap,

a new trade organization has
been born to take its place:

The Empire State Order
of Private Investigators.

All members of the former NYOOPI

will be allowed to stay on.

And Mr. Garmendia will be
retaining his position

as president.

Is that what you meant
when you said.

NYOOPI would be no more?

So what's the point?

Now there's a group
that's gonna be handing out

gold stars
instead of silver ones?

No. Nothing will be handed out.

Gold stars and a listing on the
group's all-important Web site

will be earned

by members who complete a
course of my own design.

It's compulsory, not optional.

You really think
1,200 dues-paying members

are gonna sit still for that?

I don't believe they're
gonna have a choice.

I spent all of yesterday

poring over the bylaws
that they agreed to

when they joined;
NYOOPI is more than allowed

to change its name
and its standards.

And any members
that don't appreciate

that kind of attention to detail

will learn to.

Or they'll forfeit
their membership.

Is that...?

The test, yes.

I thought you would be honored
to be the first ESOOPI member

to attempt it.

"List three suitable methods
for determining the age

of a fecal deposit on a..."

This is the first question?

Two hours, Watson.

Make me proud.

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man