Elementary (2012–…): Season 5, Episode 8 - How the Sausage Is Made - full transcript

Watson, I've gone to a meeting.

Please review the matter
of the Six Napoleons,

as the client has asked
for an update.

I'll join you when I return.

I advise you not to use
the refrigerator this morning.

My experiments in fermentation

find themselves
at a critical stage.

Good morning.

I'm calling on Sherlock Holmes.

He's not here right now.

I'm his partner, Joan Watson.

Can I help you with something?

You look familiar.

Are you a friend of Bill W?

More like a friend of a friend.

But you've been to meetings
at St. Olaf's

with Sherlock?

My name is Holder.

I was wondering if I might

leave something with you.

Sherlock's not really
big on hats,

so I'm not sure
he's gonna want a crown.

It's a coronet, technically.

Holmes calls it
my "beryl coronet."

The stones are
replicas, of course.

The entire thing's a simulacrum.

I'm certain it'll be
very well received.

He says it reminds him
of a case from London.

Um, if you don't mind me asking,

why are you giving him
a beryl coronet?

Holmes did a favor for me.

I have a recovering addict's
hatred for owing favors.

I mailed several checks

to compensate him
for his time, but

they went uncashed.
This, perhaps,

will settle the matter
between us.

Well, you're welcome
to leave it here,

but if you'd rather
give it to him in person,

Sherlock is actually at a
meeting at St. Olaf's right now.

St. Olaf's... you sure?

I'm positive. Why?

We haven't seen
Sherlock there in ages.

In fact, he told us
specifically he was going

to another regular session
in Greenpoint.

Variety, you know.

Really? Are you sure?

Well, I don't live there,

but I am a regular.

I'd put it at a month since

we've seen Sherlock.

Is everything
all right, my dear?

Yes, yes. I just...

I didn't realize
he had made the switch.

Anyway, I'm happy to keep
an eye on your crown.

Um, your coronet.

Did Hawes tell you
what we're doing here?

I did not ask.

He knows we discriminate
in the work we take on,

so I trust his judgment.

How was the meeting?

Capital.

The usual, St. Olaf's?

Yeah, that's right.

Morning, sir. Morning.

This is Efraim Albright,

He died last night
from an allergic reaction

to romifidine hydrochloride.

They market that as a product
called Equithesia.

Animal tranquilizer
used primarily

in equine surgery.

It's potent stuff.

I think Mr. Albright here
took it by accident,

but there's a lot more
I'd like to know

before I issue
the autopsy report.

Man ingests horse
tranquilizer and dies.

That's hardly a
problem for the ages.

Why did you contact us?

You didn't let me finish.

I'm pretty sure
there's foul play here.

I don't think Mr. Albright

ingested the horse
tranquilizer directly.

There appear to be
sausage casings

inside Efraim
Albright's stomach.

According to the
toxicology report,

the meat in those casings
contains human remains.

That meat is tainted
with Equithesia.

So he didn't die from
taking a horse sedative.

He died from eating someone
who took a horse sedative?

I think so. Yes.

I'll spend some time
over in Missing Persons,

but I'm pretty sure
they won't be looking

for anyone who matches
the description of a hot dog.

Sausage.

A sausage.

That'll clear things up.

So the question is

did Albright know
he was eating someone?

We've already
put him under a microscope.

He donated big chunks
of his salary to charity,

sings tenor in the Brooklyn
Gay Men's Choir.

I'm not ruling anything out yet,

but so far, Albright doesn't
strike me as a cannibal.

He is a cannibal.

But is he a witting one

or an unwitting one?

These are the contents
of his stomach.

Sausage casings and all.

Are you okay?

The trick is to suppress
the gag reflex.

It was an illuminating whiff.

I'm sensing strong notes of

anise... you might recall...

Yeah, we traced all the major

buyers of anise in the city

when we were looking
into what's his name?

Musgrave.

As it happens...

there is one such
consumer who seems

of particular interest
in this case.

Sorry, I'm confused.

You think I sold a sausage
with a person in it?

Anise is your trademark
ingredient, is it not?

Yeah, but my meat comes
from cruelty-free sources.

Meat which you then
grind on the premises,

if your sign outside
is to be believed.

Of course it is.

Wait, you think
I ground somebody up?

That's crazy.

Do you have any proof?

Other than the smell of anise
in a dead guy's stomach?

No, but we would like
to investigate.

Nothing happened in my shop.

Does anyone else have
access to this place?

Employees with keys?

I open and close the place
myself every day.

We did have
a break-in last week.

Somebody snapped the padlock
off the storm doors outside.

They never got upstairs, though.

I keep a deadbolt
on the basement doors.

The grinder's downstairs,
isn't it?

Okay, so someone killed the man

who Efraim Albright ate.

Or woman.

The victim could as easily
been female.

Fine, the cannibal was
equal-opportunity.

Whoever the victim was,
he, or she,

was killed, dragged here,

dropped into the basement,

and then ground up?

That's more or less
my theory, yes.

And this is all based
on the fact that

you smelled anise
in Albright's stomach?

It's pretty thin,
don't you think?

I think that a unique
set of circumstances

calls for a flexible intellect

to act as interpreter.

Well, I-I assume

we're gonna have to make our way

to that meat grinder,

eventually.

Yeah.

You know, it's been
a while since

we talked about your recovery.

I mean, we used to talk
about it all the time,

and now it's just
something you do.

Well, we used to talk
about it all the time

because you were
my sober companion.

And now we're partners

in the consulting detective
concern.

We're also friends.
It wouldn't be so weird

if we checked in with
each other once in a while.

My recovery's part
of my routine.

I don't discuss it with you
any more than

I discuss my...

inhalations.

Wait...

What, did you find something?

That's skin and hair.

That is less than ten days old.

So if someone

unconscious, or barely conscious
was dragged down here,

they might have banged their
head and left this behind.

Both skin and hair are entirely
without pigment.

Yet both are

robust and springy.

So whoever left this behind
wasn't old.

You think he was an albino?

Or she.

Albinism is equally common
between both sexes.

I think we should call Marcus.

The parameters of
our missing persons search

may just have narrowed
considerably.

Watson.

It's morning.
You fell, you fell asleep.

Yeah.

I just...

I know that Benson Durant
did not maintain

his security cameras
outside his meat shop.

They were all down.

But I noticed there were
shops on either side

that had working cameras,
so I called them

and asked them
to send me footage.

And you checked for albinos?

Well, until I fell asleep.

I didn't find anything. I did.

I've been up here
for 40 minutes looking

at the footage you procured.

Alas, no albinos.

However, protestors
had begun to frequent

the meat shop we
visited yesterday.

Apparently, its owner,
Mr. Durant,

had been giving a few lessons

on how to butcher your own meat,

and that attracted the attention

of the animal rights movement.

None of the protestors
suffered from albinism,

however...

That guy has vitiligo.

Yeah, we're not
looking for an albino.

We're looking for
this fellow here.

And who is he? Got no idea.

The woman he's having a heated
discussion with, however,

that's a nurse at
Mountview Hospital

in Bayside. I see the scrubs,

but there's no way
to read the I.D. tag

from this angle.
Don't need to read it.

It's orange.

Mountview Hospital
is the only hospital

in the five boroughs that has
orange identification badges.

I sent a still
from this to Marcus,

and he's trying to see
if she works there.

While he's doing that,
I'm going to go out.

You should wait for his call.

Are you going to St. Olaf's.

I find it best to tick
that particular box

first thing in the morning.

Quick bite to eat,
and then I'm gone.

Hey. Hey.

I sent a message to Sherlock,
too... he coming?

Yeah, he'll be along
after he checks his phone.

We can get started.

So, the guy we think wound up
in that sausage

was arguing with a woman
named Alma Cabrera.

She's a nurse in the oncology
department at Mountview.

Sure.

That's Joaq.

Joaq?

Joaquin Pereya.

He's a great guy,
we hang out sometimes.

Kind of an off and on thing.

Have you seen him
in the past week or so?

No, but that's not unusual.

He gets really caught up
in his work.

Is everything okay?

Do you have anything
of Mr. Pereya's here?

Toothbrush, comb, anything
that might have a DNA sample

on it?

"DNA sample"?

What happened to Joaq?

We're not sure yet.

They finally got him,
didn't they?

Who are "they"?

Joaquin was a biotechnologist.

He called himself
a tissue engineer.

If you listen to his colleagues,

he was a genius, his work
was gonna change everything.

If Joaquin is really gone

and you want to know
what happened,

I'd start right here.

I'm not exactly sure
what you're talking about,

but I really hope
that didn't used to be a person.

So it isn't actually meat,

it's some kind of fake meat?

No, it's actually meat.

It's 100% American beef.

We just...

grow it here in the lab

instead of on a cow.

You do see how those
ideas don't go together.

Well, muscle is
made of cells, right?

We harvest those cells humanely
from living animals

and replicate them here.

Obviating barbaric industry

practices, animal slaughter,

and...
climate-destroying methane.

Well, that is our hope.

Big Meat must be quaking
in their boots.

"Big Meat"?

The cattle industry at large.

May I?

It's a bit antiseptic.

We're still perfecting texture.

Fat to protein ratio.

And what the cell's grown in,

that must affect
the flavor as well, yeah?

It's a solution of amino acids,
mineral supplements.

Mostly sugar.

So, it's what a cow
would taste like

if it was raised on, um...

breakfast cereal.

It's a work in progress.

And Joaquin Pereya's
role in all this?

We haven't told
the rest of the team

that he might be dead.

I... I still can't
believe it myself.

He is dead, I just got a message
from the forensic lab.

The DNA that we found
was Mr. Pereya's.

Sorry.

Well, we'll gather everyone
this afternoon

and let them know.

Now, Brendan knows that
something might be up.

He was second in
command to Joaquin.

He stepped up when we thought
that Joaquin had... flaked.

This was his desk.

Joaquin was our
lead bioengineer.

He was a genius.

He, worked out
most of the science

that made this possible.

Our Mozart of Meat.

So, girlfriend,

Alma, may have been
on to something.

If someone wanted to hurt
their chances of succeeding,

killing Joaquin was
a good place to start.

That lady in the white coat,

does she have any
reason to use this desk?

Corrine? No.

Why?

Corrine, this is Detective Bell

and his consultant, Mr. Holmes.

We just re-checked
your references.

Care to explain

why the phone numbers you gave

for your last two employers

are now disconnected?

Excuse me?

I could explain.

Your recent work history's
a fiction.

You're a spy sent here

to gather intelligence
on Next Century Meats'

linchpin scientist,
Joaquin Pereya.

But Werner, I have no idea

why the numbers aren't working.

Your shoes, Ms. Brighton,

are the creation of celebrated
French designer,

Christian Louboutin. Yes.

And? Early in his career,

Monsieur Louboutin,
in a fit of artistic peak,

used red nail polish to lacquer
the soles of his shoes.

And that's been a trademark
of the brand ever since, yeah.

Unfortunately for you,
the soles scuff,

so I quite literally followed
your footprints

over to Mr. Pereya's workstation

where, judging by
the copious scuffage,

you've been a very busy bee.

Whoever placed you here,

might've had
Joaquin Pereya murdered.

So unless you killed him
yourself,

you'd be smart to
get in front of this.

Wait.

Joaquin is dead?

I was placed here
by Midwest Cattle Ranchers.

My God.

They just said I was supposed
to share information.

I never signed on for murder.

I don't know much.

But I'll help you if I can.

Any smoking guns from
Ms. Brighton's communiqués

with Big Meat?

You really love
saying that, don't you?

Yeah, more than I enjoy saying
"Midwest Cattle Ranchers."

Well, not yet, anyway.

Plenty on what we already know.

They faked her job history,
they set her up to spy on.

Joaquin Pereya, but so far no
e-mails saying "Great work."

We're gonna kill him,
we'll take it from here."

You going out?

While you were perusing,
Ms. Brighton's correspondence,

I was nosing about
Midwest Cattle's computers,

and I hit a firewall
I couldn't crack,

so I asked Everyone for help.

Their task Du jour
is that I deliver

five minutes
of observational comedy

at open Mic night at a place
called The Joke Hole.

I'd invite you to come,

but my plan is to stink.

Your friend Holder
came by yesterday.

He wanted me to give you this.

Doesn't really go
with anything I own.

Yeah, I told him the same thing.

So I take it he informed you
I've not been going

to St. Olaf's
in quite some time.

The man needs a lesson
in the meaning

of anonymity.

He said that you
needed a change.

That you're going
to a different meeting.

Is that what's going on?

Well, you followed me
to Van Kirk Park this morning,

so... I'm sure you know

that it isn't.

I'm well versed in the art of
detecting a tail, Watson.

Yeah, I probably should not
have done that.

Well, I probably shouldn't
have lied.

So let's put an an end to it,
shall we?

The change that
I needed to instate

is that I'm not going
to meetings anymore.

Why?

I needed to inject
an element of derring-do

into my sobriety.

Remove the safety net,
if you will.

And you, even if no longer
in an official capacity,

are part of that safety net,
so I kept you out of the loop.

The daily business

of staying sober,
of going to meetings

with people not nearly
my intellectual equal,

has become a bore.

I've said before

my mind rebels at stagnation.

The process of recovery
has become stagnant,

so I've increased
the level of difficulty,

in order to remain engaged.

What I have not done,
I assure you,

is waiver in my commitment
one iota.

You're arrogant.

I beg your pardon?

Your problem is that
you think you're smarter

than everyone else.

I am smarter than everyone else,
demonstrably.

I didn't say
you weren't, you are.

I said you think you are,
you think

that being smarter
makes you different.

Don't you think other people
get bored at meetings, too?

It-it was one of the most common
things I used to talk about

with my clients.

Everyone gets bored at meetings.

It doesn't make you
different, it makes you typical.

But you know what the ones
who stay sober do?

They keep going to meetings.

Have you considered
the possibility

that I experience
my boredom more acutely

than others experience theirs?

I've been relating to my
sobriety like a tourist

who visits the Grand Canyon.

But doesn't go near the edge
for fear of falling in.

Yes, and that's how
you stay sober.

It is also how you lull yourself
into a torpor.

If addiction is an abyss,

shouldn't the addict tiptoe
up to the edge once and a while?

Stare down into the gorge.

You know what?

The first thing you said
was right.

I'm not officially anything
to your sobriety

other than your friend.

You have the right to do
whatever you want.

My vote is sober and bored.

You know what?
There's another...

box of Corrine's files
downstairs,

I'm gonna go through it.

You got to your open Mic,

I'm sure you'll kill.

Two breakfast sandwiches.

One made with sausage
from our own larder.

The other was concocted
from "shmeat,"

which I brought home
from Next Century Meats.

"Shmeat"?

A term of art among
scientists in the field,

a "sheet of meat."

You're not interested in
the blind taste test I devised?

No offense. I appreciate
the gesture,

or part of it, but...

I'm gonna pass
on the lab-grown meat thing.

If you wanted a skin graft,
you'd prefer cells grown

in a lab over ones
from a cadaver, no?

Why should what you put in
your mouth be any different?

'Cause I don't eat my own skin.

I'm surprised. You're
a woman of science.

Yeah. And I've been
around plenty of labs.

It's not a place where you want
to go shop for groceries.

Have you ever been around
an industrial slaughterhouse?

How'd your comedy set go?

Wonderfully. Boos abounded.

A gentleman backstage told me

I needed to be more relatable.

The access

I was granted
by Everyone, however,

proved much more fruitful.

According to Big Meat's
accounting records,

they recently paid $100,000

to a "performance consultant"
named Thomas Cockburn.

What's
a "performance consultant"?

I have no idea. And I'd bet
no one at Big Meat does either.

Did a little digging
into Thomas Cockburn.

He's attracted the attention
of both federal

and local authorities
in multiple jurisdictions

over the last six years,
in connection

with eight other murders.

In each case, a company with
reason to want the victim dead

paid Cockburn as a
consultant around the same time.

So, he's a corporate hit man.

That is what
the authorities believed,

but they were never
able to prove it.

Cockburn provided
a definitive alibi

for each of the murders,
showing that he was in

an entirely different city at
the times they were committed.

But?

But I noticed something
the authorities missed.

Cockburn has an adult daughter,
named Grace.

The two are ostensibly estranged

after Cockburn's divorce
from her mother.

It's why she
was never considered,

but I think they're much closer
than they let on.

So, she's been in each city

when a murder happened.
You think they're partners.

Grace happens to live
in New York.

Marcus is inviting her
to the station as we speak.

So, make yourself
an alternate breakfast.

We should have
Joaquin Pereya's murder solved

by the time you get dressed.

We get that you never
expected anyone

to connect you to these
murders, but...

it still would have
been a good idea

not to keep so much evidence

in your apartment.

Our search turned up
building plans,

travel receipts
and this coded log book

that Mr. Holmes here
cracked in no time.

I mean, it's really quite
easy to break a cipher

if you know what
it's going to say.

Feds are picking up
your dad in Miami,

and a whole bunch of
other cities are gonna

want to talk to you,
but we get you first.

And our D.A. is gonna want
to close this quick,

before the FBI takes over. So...

help us wrap up Joaquin Pereya,

and you're in a strong
position to make a deal.

I would, honestly.

Except I didn't kill
Joaquin Pereya.

Is there a point
in denying it now?

We have evidence
that you killed nine people.

The game's lost.

You have proof
that we killed eight people.

My father and I had nothing
to do with Pereya's death.

You had his info

in your apartment.

Records that you
were tailing him.

Because Midwest Cattle Ranchers
did hire us to kill him.

We had a plan. We were ready
to go through with it.

But MCR canceled the contract
before we did the job.

Why would they do that?

An FDA ruling came down, about
the food Pereya was developing.

The government classified it
as "meat substitute,"

instead of recognizing it
as meat.

So, Next Century Meat"
product will be relegated

to the tofu aisle,

along with veggie burgers,
and other fringe foodstuffs.

So, Midwest Cattle's panic

went from five-alarm fire
to a minor annoyance.

They didn't need to kill him
anymore, so they called us off.

Why would I bother lying?

You're right that I am screwed
when the Feds get here.

But we didn't kill your guy.

Someone else did.

I understand
congrats are in order.

You picked up a team of hit men
that the FBI's been hunting

for years? Unfortunately,

neither one of them
killed Joaquin Pereya.

Well, Holmes texted me.

"Big Meat innocent.
Further suspects to come."

"Further suspects."

I guess that's
what you're doing?

The people Pereya worked with?

They called him
the Mozart of Meat.

Sherlock says he knows a
little something about genius,

and that...
"No truly exceptional intellect

would knowingly submit
flawed work."

Now, the FDA
has consistently ruled

that if two products are
genetically identical,

then they're legally
the same thing.

Even if one's natural and

one's grown in a lab.

Now, Pereya obviously knew that.

So, Sherlock thinks
there's no way

he would've submitted
bad research to the FDA.

So, he went
to Next Century Meats,

and got them to give us
Pereya's undoctored research.

And you're comparing it
to the work

that was submitted to the FDA.

You think someone
doctored Pereya's work?

Sherlock does.

I'm agnostic.

But right now I'm along
for the ride.

What?

This chart in the official
report. It looks identical

to the one in
Pereya's research, except...

couple numbers are different.

I'm sending pictures
off to Sherlock.

I'm sure it'll be a minute
before I hear back.

If you've got stuff to do...

That's him.

"Get here immediately."

He used an eight to make it

easier to type out
"immediately."

"Our so-called 'Mozart of Meat'

had his very own Salieri."

Mr. Farley, you were
Mr. Pereya's understudy.

If his work failed

and then he disappeared
in disgrace,

n-no one stood to benefit
more than you.

Whoa, Joaq was my boss,
but he was also my friend.

I hope you're not suggesting
I killed him.

We know someone sabotaged

the data, Mr. Farley.

You had access to Joaquin
Pereya's computer

and you have the technical
expertise alter his work.

We'll prove that, 'cause we've
already been granted access

to Pereya's hard drives.
Your digital fingerprints

are in there somewhere.

It's the only explanation
that makes any sense.

Theoretically speaking,

let's say you find
the guy who fudged.

Joaq's research.
That doesn't mean

you found the guy
who killed him.

Is that a theoretical admission

to being the saboteur?

You guys have got messing around
with Joaq's numbers

all tied up with killing him.

One's a try at getting

a leg up in the office.
The other's life in prison.

It wasn't necessarily
the same person.

So, convince us
they're not tied together.

Okay, look.

You dig around enough,
you're gonna see,

it was me who fudged the data.
I'm not proud of it,

and I hope you don't tell
my boss and ruin my career.

But Mr. Platz called your office

to learn what he could
about Joaq's murder.

Apparently, he was killed
between Wednesday and Friday

of last week?

That's what we think, yeah.

I was at a wedding
in Curacao last week.

Left Monday, landed at JFK
middle of the day Friday.

I'm telling the truth!
I was at the ceremony!

You can ask
the bridesmaids I hit on.

It's as we suspected.

Brendan Farley's three-quarter
alibi is 100% percent true.

He was harassing
bridesmaids in Curacao.

So, it wasn't him.

Who else wanted Joaquin Pereya
dead because he made

a lucrative breakthrough
in the field of cultured meat?

Well, I'm already going through
the company reports

for Next Century Meats.

I think you're bored
with recovery

because you're not
saying what's on your mind.

What's on my mind
is that I'm bored.

And that's exactly what you need
to be talking about.

That, and everything else
you said yesterday.

Including the bit about being
the smartest person in the room?

See, recovery only works
if you say what you're thinking.

Those people in the room,
whatever their I.Q. is,

they've been through a lot.

They can handle you being
an arrogant jerk.

I mean, will it be awkward?

Probably, but when's that

ever stopped you?

It's a better way to re-engage.

I worked with a lot
of clients before, and...

every time sometimes tries to go
it alone, it always ends badly.

S...

Watson, you may want
to compose yourself

before coming downstairs.

A salon of sorts is in progress.

It's so new!

Aye, so true, so true.

Now, we eat, eggs, yes?

These are cells
taken from an animal.

The chicken is
presumably still alive.

That's an interesting example.

Good morning.

Now, if we could only
find those chickens.

Why is there some sort of

world peace convocation
going on upstairs?

Those are leading scholars
of their respective faiths.

We've had a very
productive morning.

We reached conclusions
on some knotty issues.

And now it's time to eat.

Jews and Muslims are united
by more than conflict, Watson.

Both groups have labored
under dietary restrictions

for millennia.

Including very strict guidelines

over the slaughter
and consumption of meat.

Why would someone
doctor research

to prevent
a lucrative breakthrough

from being labeled as such?

Only, I now believe,

if it was more profitable
to have another label.

Are you familiar
with the word pareve?

It's a kosher thing, right?

The laws of kashrut state

that permissible foods
are divided into groups...

Dairy, meat.

But there's a third
classification.

Pareve. Water is pareve.

Carrots are pareve.

Okay, so pareve is like...
neutral?

Exactly, it's the Switzerland
of food.

Now, if shmeat is ruled
to be actual meat,

that obviously opens up
the carnivore market,

but it also subjects it to the
Gordian Knot of halal and kosher

certification.

If it is a mere meat substitute,

then it sits, forlorn,
in the vegan aisle.

But if shmeat can
thread the needle,

if it can be actual
lab-grown meat,

but not be classified as such...

It would be pareve,

neutral to the kosher
and halal rules about meat.

Imagine, Watson.

Observant Jews
finally being allowed

a cheeseburger.

Religious Muslims indulging

in pulled-pork Cubanos.

There is what?

Over a billion Muslims
in the world.

It's a huge untapped market.

Probably way more profitable

for them to not label
shmeat as meat.

Hence the doctored research.

So, if Joaquin Pereya wasn't
on board for faking the data,

that would mean that whoever's

in charge of that place

would have reason to kill him.

And that would be...

Werner Platz,
CEO of Next Century Meats.

Can we prove he was involved?

We can if his coconspirator

will talk to us.

Mr. Farley, thank you so much

for coming on short notice.

I thought I already
answered your questions.

Well, we had one set
of questions for you

when we thought that
you killed Joaquin Pereya.

We no longer think that.

Okay.

Good. We now think

that you were part of
a conspiracy to kill him.

After you.

This is the intersection

of 65th street and
Metropolitan Avenue.

Street racers use this
stretch of Metropolitan.

A concerned citizen
tried to catch

some of their
license plates on camera.

She overheard a patrolman asking

for security camera footage,
volunteered to share this.

Am I supposed to be
looking at something?

That's your boss, Werner Platz.

So?

Mr. Farley, that intersection

is a half block away

from Brooklyn's Best Wurst.

This footage was gathered
the same night someone

broke into the store
and ground Joaquin Pereya

into so much mince.

We can place your boss
right by the scene,

on the night it happened.

I've also had

an informal peek
at your banking records.

"Informal peek"?

What does that mean?

It means I have friends

who are digitally nimble.

Don't look at him.

He had nothing to do with it.

We'll get an authorized

look soon enough.

They'll show a judge
what we already know.

Someone recently paid

your mortgage in full.

It was paid by a third party.

We're already trying
to link that to your boss.

What does that have to do
with Joaquin?

Werner Platz wanted.

Mr. Pereya to alter
his... shmeat

so the FDA would classify
it as a meat substitute.

Then he could sell it
to the kosher and halal markets.

But Pereya was a true believer.

He cared more about
disrupting the meat industry

than he did about the profits.

He wouldn't make the change.

So, Platz killed Pereya

and found himself
a cringing mediocrity

who would take a fee
to alter the data.

And that was you, Mr. Farley.

Testify against Werner Platz.

I already offered you one chance
to get in front of this.

You won't get another.

And if I say no, what happens?

You take that video to a judge.

All that shows is Werner
driving down the street.

Why'd he pay my mortgage?

'Cause I'm a great employee

and I just got a promotion.

You guys have nothing on me

and I'm pretty sure you've
got nothing on Werner

or you wouldn't be trying
to get me to turn on him.

It was a nice try, guys,

but I'm going to leave
my lawyer's number.

Don't call me again.

So, Brendan Farley
and Werner Platz killed a man

and ground him into sausage...

and not only do
they get to walk free...

They'll both be rich the moment
the shmeat hits the market.

God bless America.

We'll canvass the neighborhood

near the meat shop
again tomorrow.

Perhaps we missed someone
who saw Werner Platz

carrying a body down the stairs.

The patrolman went
door to door twice.

It's my party. I'll clean up.

You should rest.
You seem a little tense.

I'm frustrated.

We found the people
who broke into the Leviathan.

We arrested half of Le Milieu

to get your brother
off the hook.

We brought down Moriarty.

I mean, these guys
are not criminal geniuses.

They're just a couple of idiots
who killed for money.

Granted, it's not
the perfect crime,

but occasionally, criminals
walk free due to dumb luck.

It's not a... perfect
universe, is it, Watson?

Well, that sounds like

giving up. I mean,
I know no one's quitting.

I-I just hate that these guys
are getting away with it.

We might not be able
to prove our case in court...

but that doesn't mean
we can't punish them.

What, are you gonna whip them
with a cherry Danish?

No, I'm going to use this.

We need to reconvene

the council of rabbis and imams.

Do you seriously think
this is gonna work?

I have no earthly idea.

Morning.

We'd like to see
the coconspirators

in the murder of Joaquin Pereya.

Our lawyers are
on their way here.

I'm gonna do everything I can

to sue you two for harassment.

Gentlemen, we have unearthed

no new evidence against you.

Despite our best efforts,

we are unable to prove

that the two of you

murdered Joaquin Pereya.

Then what are you doing here?

We can make a compelling
circumstantial argument

that you are guilty and we did

last night...

to the Convocation
of Orthodox Rabbis

and the I.C.H.,

their equivalent
in the Muslim faith.

Are you familiar
with those bodies?

They're the ones who will
be deciding whether or not

your shmeat can be sold

to the halal and
kosher communities.

They asked us
to pass on a message.

Murder is not kosher.

And what is that

supposed to mean?

We demonstrated
to the satisfaction

of various religious
worthies that your shmeat

became eligible to be pareve

by virtue of foul play.

The imams and the rabbis
have got no intention

of rewarding murder.

They're never gonna
bless you with the labels

that you seek and
they're going to use

their influence to see to it

that other certifying bodies

follow their lead.

You can still sell it
in the vegan aisle,

but good luck
staying in business.

So, this is some
kind of retribution.

You are going to rob the world
of our product

because you can't prove
your insane theories.

Maybe your shmeat
will go to market.

Maybe it won't.

The rabbis and imams

have agreed
to change their minds

someone has to be convicted

of Joaquin Pereya's murder.

I don't understand.

But we don't need you to.

Our appeal is to Mr. Farley.

He committed the actual murder.

Ground a corpse
into sausage meat.

All you did was fake some data.

When we explained that

to our captain,
he called the D.A.

They're willing to be flexible.

In exchange for your testimony,

they will arrange a plea
that sees you serve

no jail time.

He'll be convicted

of Joaquin Pereya's murder.

The shmeat will be,

deemed kosher and halal

and you can participate
in the profits

while he rots in jail.

Brendan, don't listen to them.

For all you know,
they're bluffing.

Or you can remain united
in relative penury.

I mean, you know, he's
really good to his partners.

He skinned the last one and...

ground him into sausage.

It's your choice, Mr. Farley.

Details of a shocking
crime continue to emerge as CEO,

Werner Platz, is arrested for
the murder of Joaquin Pereya,

the chief scientist
at his company.

So, one coconspirator

gets off nearly Scot-free

in exchange for which the other

is imprisoned for murder.

Satisfactory outcome?

I'll take it.

It's a random universe.

Of the actual murder...

Where are you going?

A meeting.

Will you be following me
to confirm?

Do I need to?

If no one else wants to share,
we'll wrap up for tonight.

Okay, then.

Yes. It's nice to see you again.

Please.

Thanks...

Hello, my name is Sherlock
and I'm an addict.

Hello, Sherlock.

I'm also...

I'm the cleverest person
in the room.

Now, I'm... I'm so much
cleverer than my peers

that I've come to believe
I feel boredom more acutely

than everybody else...

which leads me
to my recent quandary...

arrogance.

My-my own arrogance,
you know, to be precise.

And the possibility
that that might be

an Achilles' heel
to my recovery.

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man.