Elementary (2012–…): Season 5, Episode 20 - The Art of Sleights and Deception - full transcript
Holmes and Watson investigate the murder of a magician performing a classic stunt. Watson believes Bell is being targeted by his new girlfriend's ex-husband.
Previously on Elementary...
I'm gonna have to comb through
this all night
if I'm gonna make my deadline.
That's the life
of a superstar A.D.A., right?
Can I get a rain check?
Of course.
What the hell, man?
How about I buy you another one?
Oh, you got something
for me, cop?
The guy you hit, his name was
Roy Booker. He's my ex-husband.
It was a setup.
Roy makes a scene
in Chantal's office,
the D.A. thinks
she's distracted,
pulls her off the case.
And I played
right into the plan.
And then you took
early retirement
on a disability claim, right?
Said you tore
your right rotator cuff?
So?
So the claim is bogus.
You're gonna steer
clear of her, forever.
Hey. What's going on?
You saw?
It's kind of hard to miss.
Who were those guys?
Tall one's my union delegate.
The one who looks
like he's making diamonds
in his colon
is Internal Affairs.
Last night, I was driving home,
when some guy pulled up next
to me at a light,
started leaning on his horn.
So I roll down my window.
He says that I cut him off
a few blocks back.
Which I didn't. So I tell him
he's got the wrong car.
Light turns green.
I drive off.
This morning,
I get a call from I.A.
They say, “Be here by 8:00
and bring your union rep.”
The guy from last night
called 911,
gave 'em my plate number.
Said that when I lowered my
window, I drew my weapon on him.
What?
Guy's insane. Obviously.
But try telling that to I.A.
They say it's my word
against his.
So what happens now?
They haven't decided yet.
They could put me
on modified assignment
till they sort it all out.
Which is a nice way
of saying “chained
to a desk.”
Things go really sideways,
the D.A. could decide
to hit me with criminal charges.
That's not gonna happen.
People know you.
People here know me.
To the rat squad,
I'm just another... opportunity.
You said the D.A. could press charges.
Maybe Chantal could help?
Uh, I'm gonna call her.
But I got to think
they'll ask my girlfriend
to sit this one out.
Whatever happens,
we're here for you.
Whatever you need,
you let us know.
Hey.
You okay?
Not now.
You want to tell me what the...
What the hell just happened?
Magic.
Thank you, Bethesda.
That'll be all.
Did you want a turn?
Got anything bigger?
Stay weird, sweetie.
I'll call you
when I'm back from Rome.
First of all...
Ow! Stop it.
You think that was funny?
Making me think
you were about
to get your head blown off?
The trick you just saw
is known as a bullet catch.
More specifically,
it is the signature trick
of a lauded New York City street
magician named Razr. Come on.
This is from a performance
of his several weeks ago.
Raise the pistol. Aim directly
at my mouth.
I'll raise this hand,
I'll count two, motion three.
Are you ready?
One, two...
It looks dangerous,
but, in reality,
it's no more hazardous
than brushing your teeth.
The bullet
is never placed
in the gun's chamber, you see?
It is palmed, and then a slug
is hidden beneath
the magician's tongue.
The blank is fired,
head goes back,
and then, voilà, bullet catch.
That's great. And why the hell
were you doing it?
I was attempting
to estimate the minimum amount
of time Razr's bullet
was in his mouth
the last time
he performed the catch.
I was hoping
it would help me to determine
what kind of poison was used
before the M.E.
What poison?
What are you talking about?
Razr, aka Claude Rysher,
was performing
his favorite trick onstage
the other day
when he suddenly turned blue
and died.
He collapsed at the same time
the gun was fired,
leaving many in the audience
to think he'd been shot.
As you can see, he was not.
The M.E. who performed
the autopsy
found a bullet lodged squarely
in his throat.
She recorded
the death as accidental,
believing that he had choked.
I found that hard to believe.
- Why?
- For a brief spell in London,
I was the carnal cohort of a
magician named Glorious Galinda.
I learned repeatedly
and to my great satisfaction
that there is no muscle
more useful
to the skilled illusionist
than his or her tongue.
It comes into play
in any number of tricks
and is exercised constantly.
In Galinda's case,
it was as if she had a third
hand living in her mouth...
I get it. So you didn't think someone
as skilled as Razr
would've fumbled the slug
he was hiding.
I was right to be suspicious.
Mr. Rysher died
from organophosphate poisoning.
All indications are that
the bullet was soaked in it.
That's why he turned blue.
He must have inhaled
the bullet when
he was struggling to breathe.
This is the first time
in my career that a bullet
has taken a life
without being fired.
*ELEMENTARY*
Season 05 Episode 20
"The Art of Sleights and Deception"
Oh.
This is nice.
Must've been
for one of his tricks.
Or not.
One thing practitioners
of magic tend to have in common
is a fascination
with the macabre.
Depictions of death.
Torture devices.
Instruments of the occult.
These things find their way
not only into
the magician's act but into
his or her way of life.
You look at the iron maiden
and you think, “How awful.”
Mr. Rysher probably looked at it
and thought, “If only I could
find the matching Judas Cradle”"
It's a pyramid of iron
set atop a stool.
The victim is disrobed and then
lowered via harness until...
We got it.
Don't look at me.
I've been to your place.
I'm surprised you guys
don't have one of these.
So, this lock was picked
quite recently.
Presumably
when the killer broke in
to poison Mr. Rysher's bullet.
The work is sloppy.
I could say with certainty
that the person we're looking
for is left-handed.
I'll get CSU over here
to dust for prints.
Think maybe you should leave
the firearms to me?
It's not real. It's plastic.
Ooh, check this out.
“Razr... Stop stealing
other people's tricks.
Or else. Anubis.”
That's got to be
another magician, right?
It's Chantal.
I asked her to tell me
when the guy
who filed the complaint
against you
was giving his statement
at the D.A.'s office.
She said he just got there.
You know neither one of you
can be a part of that meeting,
right?
I just want
to take a look at him.
Joan...
Listen,
I promise I will tread lightly.
In the meantime,
maybe you and Sherlock
can find out who Anubis is.
Joan. Over here.
Hey. Did I miss it?
Doesn't take long
to tell a bunch of lies.
That's our guy over there.
Titus Gorham.
He's the one on the right.
I recognize
the cop he's with.
Internal Affairs, right?
Yeah. I guess if they
like your story enough,
they'll help you hail a cab.
He probably told them
he was afraid Marcus
would show up here.
Did you hear what he said
when he gave his statement?
According to my colleague,
Mr. Gorham picked Marcus
out of a photo array
and told him the same
story he told I.A....
That Marcus cut him off,
they got in a shouting match,
and Marcus pulled his weapon.
He gave a lot of detail.
If I didn't know he was
lying, I'd say he'd make
a hell of a witness at trial.
This is everything I was able
to dig up on him.
His record's clean, but maybe
you can find something I didn't.
Thanks.
Yeah. I recognize
this letter.
Because I'm the one
who wrote it.
Not sure I'd call it a letter.
Or do you send all your mail
in guns?
Ms. Newsome,
as you may have guessed,
we were able to identify you
from your stage name, Anubis.
You're a magician also.
Quite an angry magician,
judging by that note.
Claude and I used to date.
We were together
for about a year.
I'd go to his shows,
he'd come to mine.
A few months after we broke up,
I heard that he was doing
a bunch of my tricks,
including the bullet catch.
It hurt.
Magicians don't do that
to each other.
So you sent him
a warning.
He didn't listen.
He caught bullets
till the bitter end.
This is insane.
I called 911 to help,
not to be accused of murder.
911?
Yeah.
When I heard that Claude
had choked, I didn't believe it.
I got referred to a cop
and I told him
that Claude was the master
at the catch.
Even better than me.
I figured someone must have
messed with his bullet.
Sprayed Teflon on it
to make it harder to manipulate
or poisoned it somehow.
The cop that I spoke to, he didn't tell
anybody that I called, did he?
If you spoke to the police,
this is the first
we're hearing about it.
I knew he wasn't
taking me seriously.
His name was Lassetter.
He's a detective
at the 21st Precinct.
Talk to him. He'll tell you that
I called. And if he doesn't,
maybe I will kill someone.
Ms. Newsome...
Everyone said that what happened
was an accident.
If I was the one responsible,
why would I try to tell
the police otherwise?
If we're able to
confirm your story
and if you didn't kill Claude,
who do you think did?
Claude liked to gamble.
Poker, mainly.
You think
he got in over his head?
Racked up a debt
he couldn't pay back?
No. The opposite.
Before he stole all
of my tricks,
his act was mostly card-based.
He could do anything with them.
Including cheat at poker.
Maybe somebody finally got tired
of losing to him.
Angela Newsome's story
checks out.
She did call 911,
and she was transferred
to a Detective Lassetter.
Doesn't prove
she's not our killer...
But it lowers the odds.
Sorry to hear about your
troubles with Internal Affairs.
Thanks.
You need me to assist Watson?
No. I'm pretty sure
a homicide trumps
a phony complaint
to I.A.
On the off chance that you do
find yourself deskbound...
I'll understand if you want
to see other detectives.
There.
This won't take long.
You look like a man
who could use some furniture.
Looking for a table, actually.
I got some great
pieces right over here.
What I want's in the back.
Hey.
You can't be back here.
That's funny.
Neither can this.
All right.
Leave. Now, or I call the cops.
Well, as luck would have it,
there's a detective
from the Major Case squad
sitting right outside.
You could invite him in,
but then you'd have to admit
that you've been running
an illegal card room.
I've confirmed it
with multiple sources.
What do you want?
A man named Claude Rysher
was one of your regulars.
Also knows as “Razr”"
Yeah, I know him. So?
So he's dead.
Murdered, to be precise.
I'm exploring the possibility
that his killer was someone
that he cheated at cards.
Cheated?
No, no way.
No. I run a clean game here.
Well, I know from personal
experience that people like you
vet your customers thoroughly,
so I refuse to believe
that you were unaware
that your game was
being frequented
by a magician
whose specialty was
card manipulation.
Claude paid me to look
the other way when he played.
I'm gonna need
a list of the names
of all of your regular players.
No, you won't.
He wasn't cheating everyone,
just one guy.
It was like he was,
I don't know, targeting him.
The guy ended up
owing Claude a fortune.
Does this guy have a name?
Hey. Where's Sherlock?
Conference room.
Guy Claude Rysher
was fleecing got here early.
I was just getting him
some water.
Before we go in there
we should talk
about Titus Gorham.
I missed him at
the D.A.'s office,
so I went to the
place where he works.
And?
Chantal said he had
his story down pat.
She was right.
He had answers for everything.
A lot of detail, too.
Too much detail, if you ask me.
What do you mean?
Well, when I asked
him about your gun,
he said it was a
Glock 19 nine millimeter.
That's not just right,
it's specific.
You and I both know that you
didn't point your gun at him,
so how did he know
the model and the make?
He also talked about
how you were in “plain clothes”"
That's cop talk.
So what are you saying?
I'm saying that it sounded
like he was coached
on what to say by a cop.
You think Internal Affairs...
No. Not them.
Chantal's ex. Roy.
Listen, I can't be sure,
but look at what he tried
to do to her a few months ago.
You really think
he's above getting someone
to file a false complaint
against you?
Mr. Keating here
was just absorbing the news
of Claude Rysher's death.
I didn't do it.
I might have also mentioned
that he's a suspect.
It's our understanding
you owed Claude a lot of money.
Mmm. I did, but I settled up
with him weeks ago.
We were square.
Then I'm sure you won't mind
showing us your personal
financial records.
You can identify the
payment you issued him.
I would, only I didn't
pay him in cash.
I paid him in information.
He came to see me at my office.
I had about a-a third
of what I owed him.
I told him I'd get him the rest
by the end of the month.
But he said he didn't want it.
He didn't even want
the money I had.
Then what did he want?
I'm a private client banker
at Sequoia Liberty.
Claude was interested
in this old
publishing house that used
to do business with us,
Turnleaf Books.
He wanted me to unseal and copy
all of their ledgers from 1963.
Why?
He wouldn't say.
I pulled up everything I could
find from '63 and made copies.
I sent boxes of the stuff
to Claude's apartment,
at least a dozen.
We were there this morning.
We didn't see any boxes.
Well... then,
he must have moved them
someplace else.
I think it's more likely
they were taken
by the person who killed him.
Can I have a word?
Obviously, you buy
what that guy is selling.
Why?
Well, firstly,
he's right-handed.
And the person who picked Claude
Rysher's lock was a lefty.
Speaking of, I now
think that the culprit
broke into Rysher's home twice.
Once to douse his bullet,
and another time
after he was dead, to relieve
him of Turnleaf's bank records.
Well, if Keating is telling the
truth, why would Rysher care
about 54-year-old
bank records?
You're puzzling as to why
he would forgive
a six-figure debt for them.
I think the answer's
quite simple.
He believed that the records
held a secret
worth seven figures.
The Art of Sleights
and Deception.
Oh, it's a magician's
how-to book.
Check the publisher
and year of publication.
Farraday, 1963.
The original publisher
was the other company
that Mr. Keating mentioned,
Turnleaf Books.
And that book
is no mere how-to.
It is, in fact,
widely considered
to be the magician's bible.
Well, it looks mostly
like card tricks to me.
You were expecting a section
on how to saw a woman in half?
The book is meant to teach
the fine art
of prestidigitation.
The magic of the hands.
Making your audience
look over here
when your trick
is happening over here.
Is that my credit card?
I didn't have any cash
for the book.
Anyway, the book is a bible,
and it's very hard to find a
magician who doesn't own a copy.
Claude Rysher had his on
a shelf in his living room.
I, myself, perused a copy
when I was younger.
It was supposed to have a
helpful chapter on lock-picking,
but as it turned out,
I was light-years ahead
of anything the book
could have taught me.
Do you want to tell me
how Turnleaf's old bank records
were gonna make Claude Rysher
millions, or not?
Who wrote The Art of Sleights
and Deception?
Walker Elmsley.
Walker Elmsley is a pseudonym.
Theories abound as to why
the author wanted to keep
his identity a secret,
but the most likely is that he
feared retribution from the mob.
There are numerous “winks”
in the book that suggest
his methods of card manipulation
could be used
to cheat at their casinos.
Practitioners of magic
are obsessed
with discovering
the author's true identity,
but none more so than a man
named Quinn Malcolm.
The Quinn Malcolm?
You're familiar?
He used to have specials
on TV when I was a kid.
He made the tip of the Empire
State Building disappear once.
I think he has a nightly show
now in Atlantic City.
I came across his name
the same way I came across
Sleights and Deception,
by Googling “Turnleaf”
and “1963.”
Uh, right here.
Thank you.
So four-plus decades in magic
have made Quinn Malcolm as
wealthy as he is eccentric.
So in 2007, he offered a
standing price of $2 million
to anyone who could solve
magic's most enduring mystery:
Who wrote his favorite book?
So you figure that Claude Rysher
thought the answer was in
Turnleaf's old bank records?
If a competitor agreed,
it's possible that
he or she killed him
in order to procure them.
So I texted Galinda.
As it turns out,
she opened for Mr. Malcolm
on several occasions
when he toured the U.K.
She gave me his information,
and I left a message,
asking if he could think
of any especially aggressive
seekers of his prize.
And he responded
with this address.
A greengrocer?
Well, like I said,
he's eccentric.
I'm just gonna text him,
tell him we're here.
“Regrettably, I will not be able
to meet you and your partner.
But would she be so kind as to
tell me her favorite melon?”
Obviously, he's messing with us.
Well, like I said,
he's eccentric.
Eccentric, I know,
but this is stupid.
Would you just...
Okay, honeydew.
Just tell him honeydew.
Honeydew.
He wants you to pick one
from the display.
What the hell?
The man is good.
So good.
♪ Are you being free ♪
♪ Like the wind? ♪
What would you recommend here?
You can never go
wrong with a burger.
You don't seem surprised
to see me.
You are the one behind
this mess with Titus Gorham.
That a name I'm
supposed to know?
He's the guy you got to file
a false complaint against me.
He say he know me?
No. But it's just
a matter of time
before I find the connection.
Hmm.
Well, if you say so.
What are you doing, man?
Just paying for my lunch.
No. I mean with Gorham.
You know that I know
you faked your disability claim
with the department.
I tell them,
they'll pull your pension.
Roy.
Couple of weeks ago,
I went to see a new doctor.
He confirmed what
the first one said,
my rotator cuff is no good.
I got the MRI to prove it.
So you got another doctor
to lie for you. So what?
Well, this new guy, he's the
one the department would ask
to examine me if you try
to mess with my pension.
Turns out I'm not the first
ex-cop that he's seen
with my... condition.
You mean you're not
the first cop
who was willing to pay him more.
Whatever you thought
you had on me,
made you think you
could push me around?
You don't.
♪ As it rolls down... ♪
You really got my name
from Quinn Malcolm?
We really did.
Along with all
those e-mails.
Surely you recognize
your own correspondence.
Oh. Uh, I do.
It's just, he never wrote back.
I wasn't sure these were even
getting through to him.
In the beginning, your
tone is very friendly.
You were keeping him abreast
of your progress
as you searched
for the real Walker Elmsley.
But over the last 18 months,
you've become a
little more obsessed.
Bellicose, even,
regarding the $2 million
that Malcolm was offering.
He became worried
about your state of mind.
You're not the only competitor
he was worried about,
but you are the only one
we found
in Claude Rysher's
phone records.
You called him...
on five different
occasions last month.
Now, we're pretty
sure he was after
the same prize that you were,
and now he's dead.
I understand why you would
want to talk to me.
I did get obsessed
with finding out who really
wrote Sleights and Deception.
But I didn't have anything to do
with what happened to Claude.
I quit the contest months ago.
I had to.
It was December.
I'd started thinking
the best way
to identify the real Elmsley
was through his illustrator,
the one who drew
all his diagrams.
Hal Posoyan?
I wasn't the first one to try
and solve the mystery that way,
but most people followed
a trail that led
to a Harold Posoyan,
this cartoonist who died
in the Vietnam War.
But not you.
I realized there was
an “H. Posoyan” living at a
retirement community in Phoenix,
but I couldn't get anyone there
to tell me anything about him,
not even what the “H” stood for.
So, I went to Phoenix.
I approached him outside
of his apartment complex
and started asking questions.
He tried to walk away,
but I wouldn't let up.
I followed him.
And then... he fell.
Broke both his hips.
I spent that night in jail,
and... for whatever reason,
that name
kept running through my head...
Hal Posoyan.
Hal Posoyan, Hal Posoyan.
All of a sudden, it hit me.
It's an anagram. You rearrange
the letters, and you get...
“Also A Phony.”
I had the wrong guy.
There is no “Hal Posoyan.”
The name is made-up.
Which means that the identity
of the person
who illustrated
Sleights and Deception
is as big a mystery
as Walker Elmsley's.
I did call Claude, but it was
only to tell him I was done.
I offered to sell him
the research I'd accumulated.
I knew he was
an Elmsley hunter, and...
I needed the money.
He ended up writing me a check
for $2,000.
Ask one of our banks
to dig up a copy.
You'll see.
He wrote “Happy Retirement”
in the memo section.
Pick a card, any card.
What is all this?
Earlier today, the
captain and I met
with Quinn Malcolm's
favorite suspect.
As it turned out, she was
able to alibi herself
for the window of time
in which Claude Rysher's
bullet was poisoned.
So, naturally, you went out
and bought
a few thousand playing cards.
CCS is currently working to
locate the Christian names
and the physical addresses
of other people who
have corresponded
with Malcolm over the years.
In the meantime,
I thought I would try
and solve the mystery
of who wrote
The Art of Sleights
and Deception myself.
I'm your partner, so I assume
that you'll split
the $2 million with me.
You can have all of it.
The important thing
is that the competition ends,
'cause once it's over...
The killer won't have reason
to hurt anyone else.
Well, it's only stumped
people for 54 years.
How hard could it be?
That's the spirit.
You haven't explained the cards.
It was suggested this afternoon
that the name of the person
who illustrated the
book is also a fake.
I wonder what that
might mean, if anything.
But a closer look
at their handiwork
seemed warranted.
On the left, an illustration
from Sleights and Deception.
On the right, a card
from a Samuels & Sons
1959 Courtesan deck of
playing cards. Do you know why
the King of Hearts is called
“The Suicide King?”
Because of the way
he holds his sword.
It looks like it's
going through his head.
Yes. Now this is true
of virtually all
traditional playing cards
produced over
the last 200 years.
Equally true is that the sword
is held in the left hand.
But look at the illustration.
Sword is in his right hand.
Yeah. I find this odd.
I wanted to know,
is this a quirk
of a particular card,
or was it something more?
That meant
identifying the card used
by the author in 1963.
I was able to determine
the brand, Samuels & Sons,
from the pattern on the back.
Determining the set...
That was another story.
So you bought a bunch
of sets that they made
before 1963, you saw that
this card was a Courtesan.
I compared cards from that set
to other illustrations
in the book,
and I found more
design reversals.
The Queen looking left when
she should be looking right.
The Jack holding his scepter
in the wrong hand.
Devotees of Sleights
and Deception
have always assumed
that the illustrator was hired
to draw the hands of the author
as he performed the tricks,
but if that were the case,
why would any of the elements
in the cards be reversed?
Well, they wouldn't, unless
the illustrator was drawing
his own hands in the mirror.
You think that he and the
author were the same person.
It feels like a breakthrough,
but it puts us no closer
to the man's name.
What?
It's probably nothing, but
these lines here...
They show up in every drawing.
It could just be the way
the illustrator draws hands.
Or?
They're scars from surgery to
correct carpal tunnel syndrome.
The thing is, carpal tunnel
wasn't surgically correctable
until the late 1950s.
But if the author underwent
the procedure back then,
he was probably part
of a medical study,
which would mean...
That his name would be
recorded somewhere.
Find the records from the
right study, find the real
Walker Elmsley.
I think you were right.
The author of Sleights and
Deception did participate
in a study of carpal tunnel
surgery in the late 1950s.
Oh, good morning to you, too.
There were three happening
at the time...
One in Houston,
one in Minneapolis,
and one in New York.
I started
with the one in New York,
because that's where
the book was published.
Okay.
The study was conducted
at Stuyvesant Memorial.
All documentation was relegated
to a storage facility
in Queens in 1984.
I'll get dressed.
No need. Look
in the folder.
The storage unit which
held the records was gutted
by a fire a decade ago.
It was confirmed as arson,
but a culprit was
never identified.
Curiously, the fire took place
less than one month after
Quinn Malcolm said
he would pay $2 million
for Walker Elmsley's real name.
Curiouser still,
whoever started the fire
picked the lock
on the storage unit
with their left hand.
Just like the person who broke
into Claude Rysher's apartment.
Our killer/arsonist
isn't interested
in solving the mystery
of who wrote
Sleights and Deception.
Quite the opposite.
They want to keep the
author's secret a secret.
Detective Bell?
Ballard Clifton.
These are my colleagues...
Sherlock Holmes, Joan Watson.
My assistant tells me
you have some questions
about a book we published,
The Art of Slights
and Deception.
We do.
Specifically,
whether it led one of you
to murder a street magician
named Claude Rysher.
No, this is a joke.
Mr. Clifton,
you head up Farraday's
specialty books
division, correct?
Slights and Deception is one
of your perennial money-makers.
It is.
Thanks to the
author being unknown,
you've been in the enviable
position of never having to
pay a cent in royalties.
But, by the same token,
if his identity were uncovered,
his estate could sue
Farraday Publishing
for past and future payments.
We have
reason to believe that
Claude Rysher was killed
because he was getting close
to finding out
who the real author was.
So you think someone here...
Something funny?
I'm sorry.
I know someone was murdered
and I don't mean
to be disrespectful,
but we don't owe back or
future royalties to anyone.
And we know who wrote The Art
of Slights and Deception,
and we've been paying
his estate all along.
If you're
saying there are heirs,
I'd very much like to meet one.
Well, you just did.
I'm the author's grandson.
My grandfather's name
was Albert Lange.
This is the original signed
contract with Turnleaf Books
back in 1963.
You can see there's language
that shows both parties agree
that his book will be published
under the pseudonym
“Walker Elmsley.”
And, to make sure that
there's no paper trail,
Turnleaf would send him
checks for a book that
he would never actually write.
“Turnleaf's Field Guide to
North American Waterfowl.”
Turnleaf did right
by my grandfather.
And when Farraday bought
Turnleaf, they did the same.
Hell, he's the reason
why I have a job here.
Me and my family have
had a relationship
with this company for decades.
Why didn't he want
his real name on the cover?
Honestly?
He thought it'd be
good for sales.
This book is about magic,
and magic is about mystery.
At least that's
what he used to say.
Mr. Clifton,
did your grandfather
have carpal tunnel syndrome?
You noticed the scars?
The ones on the hands
in the book?
That's as
close as he ever came
to actually signing his work.
But people never really
seemed to see it,
they think they're just...
creases in the poems.
Who else knows the truth
about your grandfather?
Well, well, uh,
my mother, my sister,
a few of the higher-ups
here at Farraday. Why?
You said he thought
the mystery was good for sales?
If that's still true today...
Wait, you're wondering
if someone would kill
to keep it going?
No.
No way.
We have run the numbers, okay?
I mean, the secret of
who really wrote the book
is good for business,
absolutely.
But someone solving it
would be just as good.
When Quinn Malcolm
offered $2 million
for Walker Elmsley's real name,
sales of the book spiked.
We'll get another spike
when someone claims it.
Mystery kept,
mystery solved,
it all balances out financially.
I don't know who hurt
Claude Rysher.
But it wasn't any of us.
Hey, you guys finding anything
in Ballard Clifton's
box of old junk?
Just a lot of evidence
that he wasn't lying.
He even included a
boyhood picture of himself
playing “Go Fish”
with his grandfather.
Hardly seems fair,
a legendary card shark,
against a doltish child.
The funny thing is,
Albert Lange wasn't even
a professional magician,
he was a print ad artist
for a small advertising firm.
Magic was just a hobby.
On the bright side,
I guess we could go claim Quinn
Malcolm's $2 million prize.
It's actually quite a setback.
Our theory of motive
has been punctured.
I may have a new one.
Report from CCS
on Rysher's laptop came back.
Turns out he'd been poking
around the dark Web,
hunting for... get this...
Nazi memorabilia.
That's sick.
But you saw his place,
knick-knacks from
the Third Reich
would fit right in.
Yeah, but there was something
specific he was after,
an anatomy book
written by a doctor
who was stationed at
a concentration camp.
Apparently everything he wrote
was based on autopsies
of people who died there.
Wow, suddenly I'm not so sure
I care who killed Claude Rysher.
Well, two weeks ago,
someone listed
a copy of the book
in an online auction.
Rysher was the winner.
You think perhaps he was killed
by someone he outbid.
Let's just say
I think the people who try
to buy Nazi crap on the Internet
are capable
of all sorts of things.
I don't know what you heard,
but I haven't laid a hand
on a passenger
since that ghetto trash got
in my face back in October.
Mr. Frye...
Look, the judge told me
to take my probation seriously,
and I have.
That's great, but we
didn't ask you down here
to talk about you beating
up people on your bus.
We're here
to talk about a murder.
You were involved
in an online auction
couple weeks ago.
You were trying to buy
an anatomy book
that was published in Germany
during World War II.
So what? I'm allowed to do that.
We don't ban books
in this country yet, do we?
I get the sense
that the irony of that statement
is lost on you, but no,
we don't care that you bid
on that book.
We care that the guy
who won the auction,
Claude Rysher, got murdered.
You think I did it?
You have
connections
to a long list
of Neo-Nazi organizations.
Your own personal
history of violence
is quite impressive.
The assault on the
aforementioned bus passenger
is only the most recent assault
of which we're aware.
You and Mr. Rysher
had been going at each
other during the bidding.
Got pretty heated.
You told him he'd regret
it if he didn't back off.
Yeah, I did.
But there's a big hole
in your theory.
Why would I kill a guy
over a book when I could just
go buy another copy?
Because the
book you wanted
is rare, and,
for obvious reasons,
it was discontinued
after the Second World War.
Yeah.
But “rare” doesn't mean there's
just one in the whole world.
When I lost that first auction,
I went and found another one.
And I won it.
Go look at my Web history.
Better yet,
I can bring you
the book I bought,
and you can see it for yourself.
I didn't kill anyone.
You want some
of my Szechuan shrimp?
Marcus.
Hmm?
Where'd you go?
Sorry. I, uh...
I was gonna wait
till after dinner.
What is it?
I, uh...
I went to see Roy yesterday.
I looked him in the eye.
Asked him about the report
that got filed against me.
He put Gorham up to it.
No question in my mind.
The whole thing's a setup.
God.
How does he even know this guy?
I don't know.
I looked at every command
Roy ever worked,
every place Gorham lived...
I just can't figure out
how the two of them connect.
I can't prove it.
You don't have to prove
anything to me.
I know what he's capable of.
You know,
we never talked about him.
You're such a good person.
I like to think
you have good taste in men.
But...
your ex is a piece of garbage.
And I just don't understand
how you two were ever a couple.
He wasn't always this way.
I mean, when we met,
I was an intern
in the D.A.'s office.
He was a uni. Neither of us
had two dimes to rub together.
I was living with roommates,
paying off student loans.
He was sleeping on
his sister's floor in Stuy Town.
He wasn't a raging idiot then?
No.
It was good for a while.
Then it wasn't.
Our careers went off
in different directions.
I sort of flew up the ladder.
And Roy failed
his Sergeant's exam.
Got passed up on promotions.
I don't know.
It soured him.
In the end, he...
started to resent me.
Like I said.
Raging idiot.
You said he used to live
in Stuy Town?
- That's not in his files.
- Yeah.
It was an illegal sublet.
He didn't want it
in his file, so...
Do you remember the building?
That's the anatomy book
from that bus driver?
It feels dirty just to hold it.
Is that your way of telling me
you want me to look at it?
No, I looked at it
for both of us.
Knowing how the book was made,
the experience is as nauseating
as you would imagine.
And yet, one good thing
has come from studying it.
I stared into the Abyss, Watson,
and the Abyss told me
who killed Claude Rysher.
Sure. Let me call you back.
Detective Bell.
My assistant didn't tell me
you were here.
Yeah, we told her not to.
You never know how a murderer's
going to react when they hear
a cadre of police
is here to see them.
You could try
poisoning their bullets,
but I don't fancy your chances.
We have been over this.
No one at this company
has any reason to kill anyone.
Especially me.
Your division
here at Farraday
is “specialty books.”
Well, what do you think
of that one?
We borrowed that
from a Neo-Nazi.
Not quite the same
as a Nazi Nazi, but...
I think that he
and your grandfather
would have got along swimmingly.
I don't know
what you're talking about.
I'm talking about
the illustrations
of human anatomy in that book.
When I forced myself to
crack its spine last night,
I could tell right away
that they were the work
of Albert Lange.
I've been scrutinizing his work
in Sleights and Deception,
you see.
The similarities in style
were unmistakable.
And as it turns out, they were
the work of “A. Lange.”
I don't know what to tell you.
That's not my grandfather.
But he was German, right?
He emigrated here
in the late '40s?
He did, but not
all Germans are Nazis.
We're pretty sure
your grandfather was.
We've reached out to the Office
of Special Investigations
at the Department of Justice
to confirm it.
If we're right, gotta think
it's gonna deal a blow
to the sales of his other book.
Sleights and Deception aside,
what will people think
of you and your family?
What will they think
of Farraday Publishing?
You've all been profiting off
the work of a Nazi for decades.
That's why you killed
Claude Rysher, isn't it?
Somehow, you realized
how close he was getting
to exposing your granddad.
Or maybe he reached out to you,
and maybe it got back to you
that he was poking around
in Turnleaf's old records,
so you broke into his
apartment, and you sabotaged
his favorite magic trick.
Then, after he died, you went
back and took the records,
along with any other
research he'd gathered.
Including his copy
of the offending anatomy book.
Maybe you can prove your claims
about my grandfather's past,
but there's no way you can prove
I killed anyone.
Actually, we can.
Because after you stole
Claude Rysher's book,
which he obtained via auction
on the dark Web,
you were foolish enough to go
right back and sell it yourself.
It's rare, after all,
and a few thousand bucks
is a few thousand bucks.
Your commitment to profiting
from your Nazi grandfather's
exploits is quite remarkable.
No. That's crazy.
The guy who loaned us that book
said it wasn't as hard
as we thought to
find other copies.
When we looked into that, we saw
one had just been sold
with basically
the same item description
as the one that
Mr. Rysher bought.
It listed damage
to the lower spine
and a water stain on the cover,
so we paid the buyer a visit.
This book... the one
she got from you...
Has your prints and
Rysher's all over it.
Now, if you can explain that
without copping to his murder,
you're a better magician
than your grandfather was.
This is an interrogation
room, isn't it?
Just somewhere where
we can talk, Mr. Gorham.
Nothing to worry
about this time.
What do you mean “this time”?
I mean if you don't want
to have to come back here
of a more official conversation,
then sit down and listen up.
When I asked you if you knew
Roy Booker the other day,
you said you didn't.
But from 2006 to 2009,
you lived in adjacent apartments
in a building in Stuy Town.
Okay.
I still don't know who he is.
I couldn't tell you the name
of my next-door neighbor now.
In 2008,
police came to your apartment
because a woman was
making a scene.
She said that you refused
to pay her for a massage.
When police ran her name,
they saw she had a record.
You were about to be charged
with patronizing a prostitute,
but your next-door
neighbor was a cop,
and he stepped in
to help smooth things over,
didn't he?
That was Roy
Booker, and thanks to him,
none of this ever made it
into the official record.
We're guessing that your wife
never found out about it either.
The thing is,
I asked around at the 15th,
and there was a cop there
who remembered the incident.
And the way he tells it,
you and Booker were real pals.
You felt like you owed Roy.
When he asked you to make up
a story about a detective
pointing a gun at you, you did.
I think I need to speak
with a lawyer.
That's one option.
Or you could realize that
we're throwing you a lifeline.
Grab it.
When the connection between
you and Roy comes up,
you will be charged with
falsely reporting an incident.
The truth about the call girl
will also become public.
Or you could
get in front of this
while you still can.
Recant your story and
give us a new statement.
Either way,
Roy is gonna be
arrested for conspiracy
and criminal solicitation.
So it's your choice
whether or not you want
to go down with him.
It's over?
Roy was arraigned
and released, pending trial.
So as far as
you and I are concerned,
yeah, it's over.
I owe you big time.
My next call was gonna be
to Chantal,
unless you want
to give her the good news.
Matter of fact,
I just got to her place.
I'll tell her everything.
All right,
I'll see you tomorrow.
See you then.
♪ I get drunk off one sip ♪
Chantal?
♪ I want the entire street
out of town ♪
♪ Just so I can
be alone with you ♪
♪ Now go when you're ready ♪
♪ My head's getting heavy... ♪
Chantal?
♪ I do adore you ♪
♪ I adore you... ♪
I'm gonna have to comb through
this all night
if I'm gonna make my deadline.
That's the life
of a superstar A.D.A., right?
Can I get a rain check?
Of course.
What the hell, man?
How about I buy you another one?
Oh, you got something
for me, cop?
The guy you hit, his name was
Roy Booker. He's my ex-husband.
It was a setup.
Roy makes a scene
in Chantal's office,
the D.A. thinks
she's distracted,
pulls her off the case.
And I played
right into the plan.
And then you took
early retirement
on a disability claim, right?
Said you tore
your right rotator cuff?
So?
So the claim is bogus.
You're gonna steer
clear of her, forever.
Hey. What's going on?
You saw?
It's kind of hard to miss.
Who were those guys?
Tall one's my union delegate.
The one who looks
like he's making diamonds
in his colon
is Internal Affairs.
Last night, I was driving home,
when some guy pulled up next
to me at a light,
started leaning on his horn.
So I roll down my window.
He says that I cut him off
a few blocks back.
Which I didn't. So I tell him
he's got the wrong car.
Light turns green.
I drive off.
This morning,
I get a call from I.A.
They say, “Be here by 8:00
and bring your union rep.”
The guy from last night
called 911,
gave 'em my plate number.
Said that when I lowered my
window, I drew my weapon on him.
What?
Guy's insane. Obviously.
But try telling that to I.A.
They say it's my word
against his.
So what happens now?
They haven't decided yet.
They could put me
on modified assignment
till they sort it all out.
Which is a nice way
of saying “chained
to a desk.”
Things go really sideways,
the D.A. could decide
to hit me with criminal charges.
That's not gonna happen.
People know you.
People here know me.
To the rat squad,
I'm just another... opportunity.
You said the D.A. could press charges.
Maybe Chantal could help?
Uh, I'm gonna call her.
But I got to think
they'll ask my girlfriend
to sit this one out.
Whatever happens,
we're here for you.
Whatever you need,
you let us know.
Hey.
You okay?
Not now.
You want to tell me what the...
What the hell just happened?
Magic.
Thank you, Bethesda.
That'll be all.
Did you want a turn?
Got anything bigger?
Stay weird, sweetie.
I'll call you
when I'm back from Rome.
First of all...
Ow! Stop it.
You think that was funny?
Making me think
you were about
to get your head blown off?
The trick you just saw
is known as a bullet catch.
More specifically,
it is the signature trick
of a lauded New York City street
magician named Razr. Come on.
This is from a performance
of his several weeks ago.
Raise the pistol. Aim directly
at my mouth.
I'll raise this hand,
I'll count two, motion three.
Are you ready?
One, two...
It looks dangerous,
but, in reality,
it's no more hazardous
than brushing your teeth.
The bullet
is never placed
in the gun's chamber, you see?
It is palmed, and then a slug
is hidden beneath
the magician's tongue.
The blank is fired,
head goes back,
and then, voilà, bullet catch.
That's great. And why the hell
were you doing it?
I was attempting
to estimate the minimum amount
of time Razr's bullet
was in his mouth
the last time
he performed the catch.
I was hoping
it would help me to determine
what kind of poison was used
before the M.E.
What poison?
What are you talking about?
Razr, aka Claude Rysher,
was performing
his favorite trick onstage
the other day
when he suddenly turned blue
and died.
He collapsed at the same time
the gun was fired,
leaving many in the audience
to think he'd been shot.
As you can see, he was not.
The M.E. who performed
the autopsy
found a bullet lodged squarely
in his throat.
She recorded
the death as accidental,
believing that he had choked.
I found that hard to believe.
- Why?
- For a brief spell in London,
I was the carnal cohort of a
magician named Glorious Galinda.
I learned repeatedly
and to my great satisfaction
that there is no muscle
more useful
to the skilled illusionist
than his or her tongue.
It comes into play
in any number of tricks
and is exercised constantly.
In Galinda's case,
it was as if she had a third
hand living in her mouth...
I get it. So you didn't think someone
as skilled as Razr
would've fumbled the slug
he was hiding.
I was right to be suspicious.
Mr. Rysher died
from organophosphate poisoning.
All indications are that
the bullet was soaked in it.
That's why he turned blue.
He must have inhaled
the bullet when
he was struggling to breathe.
This is the first time
in my career that a bullet
has taken a life
without being fired.
*ELEMENTARY*
Season 05 Episode 20
"The Art of Sleights and Deception"
Oh.
This is nice.
Must've been
for one of his tricks.
Or not.
One thing practitioners
of magic tend to have in common
is a fascination
with the macabre.
Depictions of death.
Torture devices.
Instruments of the occult.
These things find their way
not only into
the magician's act but into
his or her way of life.
You look at the iron maiden
and you think, “How awful.”
Mr. Rysher probably looked at it
and thought, “If only I could
find the matching Judas Cradle”"
It's a pyramid of iron
set atop a stool.
The victim is disrobed and then
lowered via harness until...
We got it.
Don't look at me.
I've been to your place.
I'm surprised you guys
don't have one of these.
So, this lock was picked
quite recently.
Presumably
when the killer broke in
to poison Mr. Rysher's bullet.
The work is sloppy.
I could say with certainty
that the person we're looking
for is left-handed.
I'll get CSU over here
to dust for prints.
Think maybe you should leave
the firearms to me?
It's not real. It's plastic.
Ooh, check this out.
“Razr... Stop stealing
other people's tricks.
Or else. Anubis.”
That's got to be
another magician, right?
It's Chantal.
I asked her to tell me
when the guy
who filed the complaint
against you
was giving his statement
at the D.A.'s office.
She said he just got there.
You know neither one of you
can be a part of that meeting,
right?
I just want
to take a look at him.
Joan...
Listen,
I promise I will tread lightly.
In the meantime,
maybe you and Sherlock
can find out who Anubis is.
Joan. Over here.
Hey. Did I miss it?
Doesn't take long
to tell a bunch of lies.
That's our guy over there.
Titus Gorham.
He's the one on the right.
I recognize
the cop he's with.
Internal Affairs, right?
Yeah. I guess if they
like your story enough,
they'll help you hail a cab.
He probably told them
he was afraid Marcus
would show up here.
Did you hear what he said
when he gave his statement?
According to my colleague,
Mr. Gorham picked Marcus
out of a photo array
and told him the same
story he told I.A....
That Marcus cut him off,
they got in a shouting match,
and Marcus pulled his weapon.
He gave a lot of detail.
If I didn't know he was
lying, I'd say he'd make
a hell of a witness at trial.
This is everything I was able
to dig up on him.
His record's clean, but maybe
you can find something I didn't.
Thanks.
Yeah. I recognize
this letter.
Because I'm the one
who wrote it.
Not sure I'd call it a letter.
Or do you send all your mail
in guns?
Ms. Newsome,
as you may have guessed,
we were able to identify you
from your stage name, Anubis.
You're a magician also.
Quite an angry magician,
judging by that note.
Claude and I used to date.
We were together
for about a year.
I'd go to his shows,
he'd come to mine.
A few months after we broke up,
I heard that he was doing
a bunch of my tricks,
including the bullet catch.
It hurt.
Magicians don't do that
to each other.
So you sent him
a warning.
He didn't listen.
He caught bullets
till the bitter end.
This is insane.
I called 911 to help,
not to be accused of murder.
911?
Yeah.
When I heard that Claude
had choked, I didn't believe it.
I got referred to a cop
and I told him
that Claude was the master
at the catch.
Even better than me.
I figured someone must have
messed with his bullet.
Sprayed Teflon on it
to make it harder to manipulate
or poisoned it somehow.
The cop that I spoke to, he didn't tell
anybody that I called, did he?
If you spoke to the police,
this is the first
we're hearing about it.
I knew he wasn't
taking me seriously.
His name was Lassetter.
He's a detective
at the 21st Precinct.
Talk to him. He'll tell you that
I called. And if he doesn't,
maybe I will kill someone.
Ms. Newsome...
Everyone said that what happened
was an accident.
If I was the one responsible,
why would I try to tell
the police otherwise?
If we're able to
confirm your story
and if you didn't kill Claude,
who do you think did?
Claude liked to gamble.
Poker, mainly.
You think
he got in over his head?
Racked up a debt
he couldn't pay back?
No. The opposite.
Before he stole all
of my tricks,
his act was mostly card-based.
He could do anything with them.
Including cheat at poker.
Maybe somebody finally got tired
of losing to him.
Angela Newsome's story
checks out.
She did call 911,
and she was transferred
to a Detective Lassetter.
Doesn't prove
she's not our killer...
But it lowers the odds.
Sorry to hear about your
troubles with Internal Affairs.
Thanks.
You need me to assist Watson?
No. I'm pretty sure
a homicide trumps
a phony complaint
to I.A.
On the off chance that you do
find yourself deskbound...
I'll understand if you want
to see other detectives.
There.
This won't take long.
You look like a man
who could use some furniture.
Looking for a table, actually.
I got some great
pieces right over here.
What I want's in the back.
Hey.
You can't be back here.
That's funny.
Neither can this.
All right.
Leave. Now, or I call the cops.
Well, as luck would have it,
there's a detective
from the Major Case squad
sitting right outside.
You could invite him in,
but then you'd have to admit
that you've been running
an illegal card room.
I've confirmed it
with multiple sources.
What do you want?
A man named Claude Rysher
was one of your regulars.
Also knows as “Razr”"
Yeah, I know him. So?
So he's dead.
Murdered, to be precise.
I'm exploring the possibility
that his killer was someone
that he cheated at cards.
Cheated?
No, no way.
No. I run a clean game here.
Well, I know from personal
experience that people like you
vet your customers thoroughly,
so I refuse to believe
that you were unaware
that your game was
being frequented
by a magician
whose specialty was
card manipulation.
Claude paid me to look
the other way when he played.
I'm gonna need
a list of the names
of all of your regular players.
No, you won't.
He wasn't cheating everyone,
just one guy.
It was like he was,
I don't know, targeting him.
The guy ended up
owing Claude a fortune.
Does this guy have a name?
Hey. Where's Sherlock?
Conference room.
Guy Claude Rysher
was fleecing got here early.
I was just getting him
some water.
Before we go in there
we should talk
about Titus Gorham.
I missed him at
the D.A.'s office,
so I went to the
place where he works.
And?
Chantal said he had
his story down pat.
She was right.
He had answers for everything.
A lot of detail, too.
Too much detail, if you ask me.
What do you mean?
Well, when I asked
him about your gun,
he said it was a
Glock 19 nine millimeter.
That's not just right,
it's specific.
You and I both know that you
didn't point your gun at him,
so how did he know
the model and the make?
He also talked about
how you were in “plain clothes”"
That's cop talk.
So what are you saying?
I'm saying that it sounded
like he was coached
on what to say by a cop.
You think Internal Affairs...
No. Not them.
Chantal's ex. Roy.
Listen, I can't be sure,
but look at what he tried
to do to her a few months ago.
You really think
he's above getting someone
to file a false complaint
against you?
Mr. Keating here
was just absorbing the news
of Claude Rysher's death.
I didn't do it.
I might have also mentioned
that he's a suspect.
It's our understanding
you owed Claude a lot of money.
Mmm. I did, but I settled up
with him weeks ago.
We were square.
Then I'm sure you won't mind
showing us your personal
financial records.
You can identify the
payment you issued him.
I would, only I didn't
pay him in cash.
I paid him in information.
He came to see me at my office.
I had about a-a third
of what I owed him.
I told him I'd get him the rest
by the end of the month.
But he said he didn't want it.
He didn't even want
the money I had.
Then what did he want?
I'm a private client banker
at Sequoia Liberty.
Claude was interested
in this old
publishing house that used
to do business with us,
Turnleaf Books.
He wanted me to unseal and copy
all of their ledgers from 1963.
Why?
He wouldn't say.
I pulled up everything I could
find from '63 and made copies.
I sent boxes of the stuff
to Claude's apartment,
at least a dozen.
We were there this morning.
We didn't see any boxes.
Well... then,
he must have moved them
someplace else.
I think it's more likely
they were taken
by the person who killed him.
Can I have a word?
Obviously, you buy
what that guy is selling.
Why?
Well, firstly,
he's right-handed.
And the person who picked Claude
Rysher's lock was a lefty.
Speaking of, I now
think that the culprit
broke into Rysher's home twice.
Once to douse his bullet,
and another time
after he was dead, to relieve
him of Turnleaf's bank records.
Well, if Keating is telling the
truth, why would Rysher care
about 54-year-old
bank records?
You're puzzling as to why
he would forgive
a six-figure debt for them.
I think the answer's
quite simple.
He believed that the records
held a secret
worth seven figures.
The Art of Sleights
and Deception.
Oh, it's a magician's
how-to book.
Check the publisher
and year of publication.
Farraday, 1963.
The original publisher
was the other company
that Mr. Keating mentioned,
Turnleaf Books.
And that book
is no mere how-to.
It is, in fact,
widely considered
to be the magician's bible.
Well, it looks mostly
like card tricks to me.
You were expecting a section
on how to saw a woman in half?
The book is meant to teach
the fine art
of prestidigitation.
The magic of the hands.
Making your audience
look over here
when your trick
is happening over here.
Is that my credit card?
I didn't have any cash
for the book.
Anyway, the book is a bible,
and it's very hard to find a
magician who doesn't own a copy.
Claude Rysher had his on
a shelf in his living room.
I, myself, perused a copy
when I was younger.
It was supposed to have a
helpful chapter on lock-picking,
but as it turned out,
I was light-years ahead
of anything the book
could have taught me.
Do you want to tell me
how Turnleaf's old bank records
were gonna make Claude Rysher
millions, or not?
Who wrote The Art of Sleights
and Deception?
Walker Elmsley.
Walker Elmsley is a pseudonym.
Theories abound as to why
the author wanted to keep
his identity a secret,
but the most likely is that he
feared retribution from the mob.
There are numerous “winks”
in the book that suggest
his methods of card manipulation
could be used
to cheat at their casinos.
Practitioners of magic
are obsessed
with discovering
the author's true identity,
but none more so than a man
named Quinn Malcolm.
The Quinn Malcolm?
You're familiar?
He used to have specials
on TV when I was a kid.
He made the tip of the Empire
State Building disappear once.
I think he has a nightly show
now in Atlantic City.
I came across his name
the same way I came across
Sleights and Deception,
by Googling “Turnleaf”
and “1963.”
Uh, right here.
Thank you.
So four-plus decades in magic
have made Quinn Malcolm as
wealthy as he is eccentric.
So in 2007, he offered a
standing price of $2 million
to anyone who could solve
magic's most enduring mystery:
Who wrote his favorite book?
So you figure that Claude Rysher
thought the answer was in
Turnleaf's old bank records?
If a competitor agreed,
it's possible that
he or she killed him
in order to procure them.
So I texted Galinda.
As it turns out,
she opened for Mr. Malcolm
on several occasions
when he toured the U.K.
She gave me his information,
and I left a message,
asking if he could think
of any especially aggressive
seekers of his prize.
And he responded
with this address.
A greengrocer?
Well, like I said,
he's eccentric.
I'm just gonna text him,
tell him we're here.
“Regrettably, I will not be able
to meet you and your partner.
But would she be so kind as to
tell me her favorite melon?”
Obviously, he's messing with us.
Well, like I said,
he's eccentric.
Eccentric, I know,
but this is stupid.
Would you just...
Okay, honeydew.
Just tell him honeydew.
Honeydew.
He wants you to pick one
from the display.
What the hell?
The man is good.
So good.
♪ Are you being free ♪
♪ Like the wind? ♪
What would you recommend here?
You can never go
wrong with a burger.
You don't seem surprised
to see me.
You are the one behind
this mess with Titus Gorham.
That a name I'm
supposed to know?
He's the guy you got to file
a false complaint against me.
He say he know me?
No. But it's just
a matter of time
before I find the connection.
Hmm.
Well, if you say so.
What are you doing, man?
Just paying for my lunch.
No. I mean with Gorham.
You know that I know
you faked your disability claim
with the department.
I tell them,
they'll pull your pension.
Roy.
Couple of weeks ago,
I went to see a new doctor.
He confirmed what
the first one said,
my rotator cuff is no good.
I got the MRI to prove it.
So you got another doctor
to lie for you. So what?
Well, this new guy, he's the
one the department would ask
to examine me if you try
to mess with my pension.
Turns out I'm not the first
ex-cop that he's seen
with my... condition.
You mean you're not
the first cop
who was willing to pay him more.
Whatever you thought
you had on me,
made you think you
could push me around?
You don't.
♪ As it rolls down... ♪
You really got my name
from Quinn Malcolm?
We really did.
Along with all
those e-mails.
Surely you recognize
your own correspondence.
Oh. Uh, I do.
It's just, he never wrote back.
I wasn't sure these were even
getting through to him.
In the beginning, your
tone is very friendly.
You were keeping him abreast
of your progress
as you searched
for the real Walker Elmsley.
But over the last 18 months,
you've become a
little more obsessed.
Bellicose, even,
regarding the $2 million
that Malcolm was offering.
He became worried
about your state of mind.
You're not the only competitor
he was worried about,
but you are the only one
we found
in Claude Rysher's
phone records.
You called him...
on five different
occasions last month.
Now, we're pretty
sure he was after
the same prize that you were,
and now he's dead.
I understand why you would
want to talk to me.
I did get obsessed
with finding out who really
wrote Sleights and Deception.
But I didn't have anything to do
with what happened to Claude.
I quit the contest months ago.
I had to.
It was December.
I'd started thinking
the best way
to identify the real Elmsley
was through his illustrator,
the one who drew
all his diagrams.
Hal Posoyan?
I wasn't the first one to try
and solve the mystery that way,
but most people followed
a trail that led
to a Harold Posoyan,
this cartoonist who died
in the Vietnam War.
But not you.
I realized there was
an “H. Posoyan” living at a
retirement community in Phoenix,
but I couldn't get anyone there
to tell me anything about him,
not even what the “H” stood for.
So, I went to Phoenix.
I approached him outside
of his apartment complex
and started asking questions.
He tried to walk away,
but I wouldn't let up.
I followed him.
And then... he fell.
Broke both his hips.
I spent that night in jail,
and... for whatever reason,
that name
kept running through my head...
Hal Posoyan.
Hal Posoyan, Hal Posoyan.
All of a sudden, it hit me.
It's an anagram. You rearrange
the letters, and you get...
“Also A Phony.”
I had the wrong guy.
There is no “Hal Posoyan.”
The name is made-up.
Which means that the identity
of the person
who illustrated
Sleights and Deception
is as big a mystery
as Walker Elmsley's.
I did call Claude, but it was
only to tell him I was done.
I offered to sell him
the research I'd accumulated.
I knew he was
an Elmsley hunter, and...
I needed the money.
He ended up writing me a check
for $2,000.
Ask one of our banks
to dig up a copy.
You'll see.
He wrote “Happy Retirement”
in the memo section.
Pick a card, any card.
What is all this?
Earlier today, the
captain and I met
with Quinn Malcolm's
favorite suspect.
As it turned out, she was
able to alibi herself
for the window of time
in which Claude Rysher's
bullet was poisoned.
So, naturally, you went out
and bought
a few thousand playing cards.
CCS is currently working to
locate the Christian names
and the physical addresses
of other people who
have corresponded
with Malcolm over the years.
In the meantime,
I thought I would try
and solve the mystery
of who wrote
The Art of Sleights
and Deception myself.
I'm your partner, so I assume
that you'll split
the $2 million with me.
You can have all of it.
The important thing
is that the competition ends,
'cause once it's over...
The killer won't have reason
to hurt anyone else.
Well, it's only stumped
people for 54 years.
How hard could it be?
That's the spirit.
You haven't explained the cards.
It was suggested this afternoon
that the name of the person
who illustrated the
book is also a fake.
I wonder what that
might mean, if anything.
But a closer look
at their handiwork
seemed warranted.
On the left, an illustration
from Sleights and Deception.
On the right, a card
from a Samuels & Sons
1959 Courtesan deck of
playing cards. Do you know why
the King of Hearts is called
“The Suicide King?”
Because of the way
he holds his sword.
It looks like it's
going through his head.
Yes. Now this is true
of virtually all
traditional playing cards
produced over
the last 200 years.
Equally true is that the sword
is held in the left hand.
But look at the illustration.
Sword is in his right hand.
Yeah. I find this odd.
I wanted to know,
is this a quirk
of a particular card,
or was it something more?
That meant
identifying the card used
by the author in 1963.
I was able to determine
the brand, Samuels & Sons,
from the pattern on the back.
Determining the set...
That was another story.
So you bought a bunch
of sets that they made
before 1963, you saw that
this card was a Courtesan.
I compared cards from that set
to other illustrations
in the book,
and I found more
design reversals.
The Queen looking left when
she should be looking right.
The Jack holding his scepter
in the wrong hand.
Devotees of Sleights
and Deception
have always assumed
that the illustrator was hired
to draw the hands of the author
as he performed the tricks,
but if that were the case,
why would any of the elements
in the cards be reversed?
Well, they wouldn't, unless
the illustrator was drawing
his own hands in the mirror.
You think that he and the
author were the same person.
It feels like a breakthrough,
but it puts us no closer
to the man's name.
What?
It's probably nothing, but
these lines here...
They show up in every drawing.
It could just be the way
the illustrator draws hands.
Or?
They're scars from surgery to
correct carpal tunnel syndrome.
The thing is, carpal tunnel
wasn't surgically correctable
until the late 1950s.
But if the author underwent
the procedure back then,
he was probably part
of a medical study,
which would mean...
That his name would be
recorded somewhere.
Find the records from the
right study, find the real
Walker Elmsley.
I think you were right.
The author of Sleights and
Deception did participate
in a study of carpal tunnel
surgery in the late 1950s.
Oh, good morning to you, too.
There were three happening
at the time...
One in Houston,
one in Minneapolis,
and one in New York.
I started
with the one in New York,
because that's where
the book was published.
Okay.
The study was conducted
at Stuyvesant Memorial.
All documentation was relegated
to a storage facility
in Queens in 1984.
I'll get dressed.
No need. Look
in the folder.
The storage unit which
held the records was gutted
by a fire a decade ago.
It was confirmed as arson,
but a culprit was
never identified.
Curiously, the fire took place
less than one month after
Quinn Malcolm said
he would pay $2 million
for Walker Elmsley's real name.
Curiouser still,
whoever started the fire
picked the lock
on the storage unit
with their left hand.
Just like the person who broke
into Claude Rysher's apartment.
Our killer/arsonist
isn't interested
in solving the mystery
of who wrote
Sleights and Deception.
Quite the opposite.
They want to keep the
author's secret a secret.
Detective Bell?
Ballard Clifton.
These are my colleagues...
Sherlock Holmes, Joan Watson.
My assistant tells me
you have some questions
about a book we published,
The Art of Slights
and Deception.
We do.
Specifically,
whether it led one of you
to murder a street magician
named Claude Rysher.
No, this is a joke.
Mr. Clifton,
you head up Farraday's
specialty books
division, correct?
Slights and Deception is one
of your perennial money-makers.
It is.
Thanks to the
author being unknown,
you've been in the enviable
position of never having to
pay a cent in royalties.
But, by the same token,
if his identity were uncovered,
his estate could sue
Farraday Publishing
for past and future payments.
We have
reason to believe that
Claude Rysher was killed
because he was getting close
to finding out
who the real author was.
So you think someone here...
Something funny?
I'm sorry.
I know someone was murdered
and I don't mean
to be disrespectful,
but we don't owe back or
future royalties to anyone.
And we know who wrote The Art
of Slights and Deception,
and we've been paying
his estate all along.
If you're
saying there are heirs,
I'd very much like to meet one.
Well, you just did.
I'm the author's grandson.
My grandfather's name
was Albert Lange.
This is the original signed
contract with Turnleaf Books
back in 1963.
You can see there's language
that shows both parties agree
that his book will be published
under the pseudonym
“Walker Elmsley.”
And, to make sure that
there's no paper trail,
Turnleaf would send him
checks for a book that
he would never actually write.
“Turnleaf's Field Guide to
North American Waterfowl.”
Turnleaf did right
by my grandfather.
And when Farraday bought
Turnleaf, they did the same.
Hell, he's the reason
why I have a job here.
Me and my family have
had a relationship
with this company for decades.
Why didn't he want
his real name on the cover?
Honestly?
He thought it'd be
good for sales.
This book is about magic,
and magic is about mystery.
At least that's
what he used to say.
Mr. Clifton,
did your grandfather
have carpal tunnel syndrome?
You noticed the scars?
The ones on the hands
in the book?
That's as
close as he ever came
to actually signing his work.
But people never really
seemed to see it,
they think they're just...
creases in the poems.
Who else knows the truth
about your grandfather?
Well, well, uh,
my mother, my sister,
a few of the higher-ups
here at Farraday. Why?
You said he thought
the mystery was good for sales?
If that's still true today...
Wait, you're wondering
if someone would kill
to keep it going?
No.
No way.
We have run the numbers, okay?
I mean, the secret of
who really wrote the book
is good for business,
absolutely.
But someone solving it
would be just as good.
When Quinn Malcolm
offered $2 million
for Walker Elmsley's real name,
sales of the book spiked.
We'll get another spike
when someone claims it.
Mystery kept,
mystery solved,
it all balances out financially.
I don't know who hurt
Claude Rysher.
But it wasn't any of us.
Hey, you guys finding anything
in Ballard Clifton's
box of old junk?
Just a lot of evidence
that he wasn't lying.
He even included a
boyhood picture of himself
playing “Go Fish”
with his grandfather.
Hardly seems fair,
a legendary card shark,
against a doltish child.
The funny thing is,
Albert Lange wasn't even
a professional magician,
he was a print ad artist
for a small advertising firm.
Magic was just a hobby.
On the bright side,
I guess we could go claim Quinn
Malcolm's $2 million prize.
It's actually quite a setback.
Our theory of motive
has been punctured.
I may have a new one.
Report from CCS
on Rysher's laptop came back.
Turns out he'd been poking
around the dark Web,
hunting for... get this...
Nazi memorabilia.
That's sick.
But you saw his place,
knick-knacks from
the Third Reich
would fit right in.
Yeah, but there was something
specific he was after,
an anatomy book
written by a doctor
who was stationed at
a concentration camp.
Apparently everything he wrote
was based on autopsies
of people who died there.
Wow, suddenly I'm not so sure
I care who killed Claude Rysher.
Well, two weeks ago,
someone listed
a copy of the book
in an online auction.
Rysher was the winner.
You think perhaps he was killed
by someone he outbid.
Let's just say
I think the people who try
to buy Nazi crap on the Internet
are capable
of all sorts of things.
I don't know what you heard,
but I haven't laid a hand
on a passenger
since that ghetto trash got
in my face back in October.
Mr. Frye...
Look, the judge told me
to take my probation seriously,
and I have.
That's great, but we
didn't ask you down here
to talk about you beating
up people on your bus.
We're here
to talk about a murder.
You were involved
in an online auction
couple weeks ago.
You were trying to buy
an anatomy book
that was published in Germany
during World War II.
So what? I'm allowed to do that.
We don't ban books
in this country yet, do we?
I get the sense
that the irony of that statement
is lost on you, but no,
we don't care that you bid
on that book.
We care that the guy
who won the auction,
Claude Rysher, got murdered.
You think I did it?
You have
connections
to a long list
of Neo-Nazi organizations.
Your own personal
history of violence
is quite impressive.
The assault on the
aforementioned bus passenger
is only the most recent assault
of which we're aware.
You and Mr. Rysher
had been going at each
other during the bidding.
Got pretty heated.
You told him he'd regret
it if he didn't back off.
Yeah, I did.
But there's a big hole
in your theory.
Why would I kill a guy
over a book when I could just
go buy another copy?
Because the
book you wanted
is rare, and,
for obvious reasons,
it was discontinued
after the Second World War.
Yeah.
But “rare” doesn't mean there's
just one in the whole world.
When I lost that first auction,
I went and found another one.
And I won it.
Go look at my Web history.
Better yet,
I can bring you
the book I bought,
and you can see it for yourself.
I didn't kill anyone.
You want some
of my Szechuan shrimp?
Marcus.
Hmm?
Where'd you go?
Sorry. I, uh...
I was gonna wait
till after dinner.
What is it?
I, uh...
I went to see Roy yesterday.
I looked him in the eye.
Asked him about the report
that got filed against me.
He put Gorham up to it.
No question in my mind.
The whole thing's a setup.
God.
How does he even know this guy?
I don't know.
I looked at every command
Roy ever worked,
every place Gorham lived...
I just can't figure out
how the two of them connect.
I can't prove it.
You don't have to prove
anything to me.
I know what he's capable of.
You know,
we never talked about him.
You're such a good person.
I like to think
you have good taste in men.
But...
your ex is a piece of garbage.
And I just don't understand
how you two were ever a couple.
He wasn't always this way.
I mean, when we met,
I was an intern
in the D.A.'s office.
He was a uni. Neither of us
had two dimes to rub together.
I was living with roommates,
paying off student loans.
He was sleeping on
his sister's floor in Stuy Town.
He wasn't a raging idiot then?
No.
It was good for a while.
Then it wasn't.
Our careers went off
in different directions.
I sort of flew up the ladder.
And Roy failed
his Sergeant's exam.
Got passed up on promotions.
I don't know.
It soured him.
In the end, he...
started to resent me.
Like I said.
Raging idiot.
You said he used to live
in Stuy Town?
- That's not in his files.
- Yeah.
It was an illegal sublet.
He didn't want it
in his file, so...
Do you remember the building?
That's the anatomy book
from that bus driver?
It feels dirty just to hold it.
Is that your way of telling me
you want me to look at it?
No, I looked at it
for both of us.
Knowing how the book was made,
the experience is as nauseating
as you would imagine.
And yet, one good thing
has come from studying it.
I stared into the Abyss, Watson,
and the Abyss told me
who killed Claude Rysher.
Sure. Let me call you back.
Detective Bell.
My assistant didn't tell me
you were here.
Yeah, we told her not to.
You never know how a murderer's
going to react when they hear
a cadre of police
is here to see them.
You could try
poisoning their bullets,
but I don't fancy your chances.
We have been over this.
No one at this company
has any reason to kill anyone.
Especially me.
Your division
here at Farraday
is “specialty books.”
Well, what do you think
of that one?
We borrowed that
from a Neo-Nazi.
Not quite the same
as a Nazi Nazi, but...
I think that he
and your grandfather
would have got along swimmingly.
I don't know
what you're talking about.
I'm talking about
the illustrations
of human anatomy in that book.
When I forced myself to
crack its spine last night,
I could tell right away
that they were the work
of Albert Lange.
I've been scrutinizing his work
in Sleights and Deception,
you see.
The similarities in style
were unmistakable.
And as it turns out, they were
the work of “A. Lange.”
I don't know what to tell you.
That's not my grandfather.
But he was German, right?
He emigrated here
in the late '40s?
He did, but not
all Germans are Nazis.
We're pretty sure
your grandfather was.
We've reached out to the Office
of Special Investigations
at the Department of Justice
to confirm it.
If we're right, gotta think
it's gonna deal a blow
to the sales of his other book.
Sleights and Deception aside,
what will people think
of you and your family?
What will they think
of Farraday Publishing?
You've all been profiting off
the work of a Nazi for decades.
That's why you killed
Claude Rysher, isn't it?
Somehow, you realized
how close he was getting
to exposing your granddad.
Or maybe he reached out to you,
and maybe it got back to you
that he was poking around
in Turnleaf's old records,
so you broke into his
apartment, and you sabotaged
his favorite magic trick.
Then, after he died, you went
back and took the records,
along with any other
research he'd gathered.
Including his copy
of the offending anatomy book.
Maybe you can prove your claims
about my grandfather's past,
but there's no way you can prove
I killed anyone.
Actually, we can.
Because after you stole
Claude Rysher's book,
which he obtained via auction
on the dark Web,
you were foolish enough to go
right back and sell it yourself.
It's rare, after all,
and a few thousand bucks
is a few thousand bucks.
Your commitment to profiting
from your Nazi grandfather's
exploits is quite remarkable.
No. That's crazy.
The guy who loaned us that book
said it wasn't as hard
as we thought to
find other copies.
When we looked into that, we saw
one had just been sold
with basically
the same item description
as the one that
Mr. Rysher bought.
It listed damage
to the lower spine
and a water stain on the cover,
so we paid the buyer a visit.
This book... the one
she got from you...
Has your prints and
Rysher's all over it.
Now, if you can explain that
without copping to his murder,
you're a better magician
than your grandfather was.
This is an interrogation
room, isn't it?
Just somewhere where
we can talk, Mr. Gorham.
Nothing to worry
about this time.
What do you mean “this time”?
I mean if you don't want
to have to come back here
of a more official conversation,
then sit down and listen up.
When I asked you if you knew
Roy Booker the other day,
you said you didn't.
But from 2006 to 2009,
you lived in adjacent apartments
in a building in Stuy Town.
Okay.
I still don't know who he is.
I couldn't tell you the name
of my next-door neighbor now.
In 2008,
police came to your apartment
because a woman was
making a scene.
She said that you refused
to pay her for a massage.
When police ran her name,
they saw she had a record.
You were about to be charged
with patronizing a prostitute,
but your next-door
neighbor was a cop,
and he stepped in
to help smooth things over,
didn't he?
That was Roy
Booker, and thanks to him,
none of this ever made it
into the official record.
We're guessing that your wife
never found out about it either.
The thing is,
I asked around at the 15th,
and there was a cop there
who remembered the incident.
And the way he tells it,
you and Booker were real pals.
You felt like you owed Roy.
When he asked you to make up
a story about a detective
pointing a gun at you, you did.
I think I need to speak
with a lawyer.
That's one option.
Or you could realize that
we're throwing you a lifeline.
Grab it.
When the connection between
you and Roy comes up,
you will be charged with
falsely reporting an incident.
The truth about the call girl
will also become public.
Or you could
get in front of this
while you still can.
Recant your story and
give us a new statement.
Either way,
Roy is gonna be
arrested for conspiracy
and criminal solicitation.
So it's your choice
whether or not you want
to go down with him.
It's over?
Roy was arraigned
and released, pending trial.
So as far as
you and I are concerned,
yeah, it's over.
I owe you big time.
My next call was gonna be
to Chantal,
unless you want
to give her the good news.
Matter of fact,
I just got to her place.
I'll tell her everything.
All right,
I'll see you tomorrow.
See you then.
♪ I get drunk off one sip ♪
Chantal?
♪ I want the entire street
out of town ♪
♪ Just so I can
be alone with you ♪
♪ Now go when you're ready ♪
♪ My head's getting heavy... ♪
Chantal?
♪ I do adore you ♪
♪ I adore you... ♪