Murdoch Mysteries (2008–…): Season 1, Episode 3 - The Knockdown - full transcript

Black professional boxer Amos Robinson is supposed to throw a fight to a local Tornto favorite but knocks him out instead and is murdered before the night is out.

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That's it, Amos.

Let's go.
Keep those hands high.

Whack him, whack him.

That's it, that's it!

Okay, you've given them
30 rounds.

Time to end it.
Right?

Okay.
Let's go, Amos.

Oh, yeah!
Oh, yeah!

You're supposed to go down.

Stand up
and make this look good.

Let's go. Let's go, Amos.
Let's go, Amos.



Okay, boy.
Go on.

Oh!

Oh!

Mr. Robinson.

Mr. Robinson,
a picture for The Gazette?

Lovely.

Name is Amos Robinson.
Paid fighter.

I take it he fought tonight.

30 rounds with Bob Sullivan.

Powder burns.

Did you recover
the murder weapon?

Yes, sir.
A derringer.

How old is the queen this year?

76, I believe.



When my grandmother turned 76,

I got her some oranges.

They were quite juicy.

But all this fireworks business
makes me wonder

if I should have done
something more.

What are you measuring, sir?

The length and the width
of the barrel.

To determine the spread
of the powder.

I'm trying to estimate

how close the victim was
to the perpetrator.

How close was he?

It's hard to tell.

But as close as 18 inches,
I believe.

- Where is the accused?
- Just down the hall.

Sir, the front desk clerk
found her

standing over the body,
gun in hand.

- Stop her!
- No! No!

I didn't kill him!
You have to believe me!

No! Aah!

Sorry, sir.
She's a slippery one.

I didn't do it!
I didn't kill him!

You have to believe me!

Fleeing custody to boot.

This one is as guilty
as they come, sir.

She may be guilty
of some things, George.

But shooting Amos Robinson
isn't one of them.

I was at my desk
when I heard a scream.

It was long and intense.

I- It raised the hair
on the back of my neck.

And when was this
in relation to the shot?

You heard a scream.
You must have heard a shot.

I could have mistaken it
for a firecracker, I suppose.

They've been going off
all night.

Thank you.
You've been most helpful.

He's a boxer.
Fought this evening.

Yes, I can see that.

He's quite the physical
specimen, isn't he?

Look at the size of his arms.

- What time did the fight end?
- Around 8:00.

And when was he shot?

Half past 11:00 or thereabouts.
What are you thinking?

His nose is broken.

I would expect to see
more swelling

in the intervening hours.

Perhaps it was broken
after the fight?

That would be one explanation.

Shot at very close range.

Directly in the heart,
it would seem.

I'll know more
when I can open him up.

- Am I free to take the body?
- Yes.

George, make sure
no one steps in this blood.

Sir.

George.

Where's the accused now?

Uh, room at the end
of the hall, sir.

You've done
a preliminary interview?

Yes, sir.
Here are my notes.

Sir, you still haven't told me

why you think Mrs. Robinson
is innocent.

Newton's third law of motion,
George.

Are you going to run again?

Thank you, Constable.
You can step out.

Mrs. Robinson, I need your help.

My help?

I'm trying to find
your husband's killer.

- Aren't you looking at her?
- I don't know. Am I?

What does it matter?

- They're gonna hang me anyway.
- Maybe you're right.

Personally, I have somewhat
of an obsession for the truth.

However, if it's
of no consequence...

Good luck to you.

What? Hey.

Hey!
You're just gonna walk away?

I have a murder to solve.

If you are unwilling
to help me...

I didn't say that.

But a police officer
helping a colored woman...

That hasn't been my experience.

Have a seat.

You say that you left
the boxing match

in the company
of your husband, Amos,

his manager, Ozzie Beers,

and you went to the Mockingbird
Tavern on Queen Street

in the company of an unknown man
and his wife.

Ozzie knew them.
I didn't.

You then left the bar
with Ozzie Beers.

- Why not your husband?
- He was busy.

Doing what?

Drinking.
Running around.

So you returned to the hotel.
What happened then?

Ozzie went to his room,
and I went to mine.

A little while later,

the fireworks started going off
down by the harbor,

so I went to the roof to look.

It was like the Fourth of July.

You then returned to your room
at half past 11:00,

whereupon you found the body.

What did you do?

I screamed.

At least I think I screamed.

And then I got down on my knees
to see if he was alive.

Is that how you got blood
on your dress?

I guess so.

And then I-I saw the gun lying
there, so I-I picked it up.

And that's when
the front desk clerk saw you.

Looks bad, doesn't it?

- That all depends.
- On?

Your dress. I'll...
I'll need you to remove it.

Of course.

Where do you want me?

What are you doing?
Please! Put that back on.

Mrs. Robinson, I-I simply meant

that I need your dress
as evidence.

Oh.

One of the constables will
take you down to the station,

and we'll get you another dress.

George.

I need you to run out
and purchase a dress.

Oh, we've already got one
for Mrs. Robinson.

No, it's... it's for me.

Tired of the old
jacket and trousers, sir?

I'll need it to be
a medium, white.

And I'll need you
to phone this in

to the slaughterhouse
on Tecumseh.

Uh, sir?

I've just spoken
to the Crown prosecutor.

He thinks we've got
enough evidence

that he can go to trial
next week.

What?!

Murdoch, I know that you take
great personal pride

in having just two speeds...
slow and dead slow.

No, it's not that, sir.

I- I believe this woman
to be innocent.

Innocent!
Bloody hell.

She was found standing over the
body with a pistol in her hand.

She fled the scene,
for God sakes.

Yes, but there's
no blood spatter on her dress.

She was covered in blood.

Yes, a large blood stain

from when she cradled
her dying husband.

But he was shot at close range.

If she had
indeed pulled the trigger,

there would be
traces of blood spatter

on her arm and her dress.

You can prove this?

- I believe I can.
- Then you'd better.

They've not hung a woman
in this city for some time.

Now, this woman, she's not got
a lot going for her.

Higgins, get out of the way!

Sir, there's a gentleman
to see you.

Detective.
You've made a terrible mistake.

You've arrested
the wrong person.

Fannie wouldn't do this.

And who might you be?

I'm Ozzie Beers,
Amos Robinson's manager.

Amos was like
the son I never had.

I was running this gym
in Athens, Georgia,

when I found him
living on the streets.

14 years old.
Not a friend in the world.

- When was this?
- That was 12 years ago.

At first I had him cleaning up
around the place.

Then I noticed that this boy
had some instincts.

For the ring?

Mmh.
Like I'd never seen before.

So I brought him down
to Atlanta.

Started him with the local kids.

His first 40 fights...
40 knockouts.

He could have been a champion.

- What happened?
- It all got to his head.

Women, drinking, gambling.
There was no end to it.

Sounds like motive
for a long-suffering wife.

Yeah.

Fannie had been with him
since they were kids.

Through the good times
and the bad times.

- The bad times?
- Yeah.

Amos became lazy,

and it started to show
in the ring.

He started losing
a lot more than he won.

He gave Sullivan
quite a beating.

There's a Bob Sullivan
in every town.

Tough kid who thinks his hands
are faster than they really are

and that he can take his punch.

But let me tell you something...

Amos might not have been
what he once was,

but he sure could throw
a mean right cross.

Did Amos have any enemies?

Course he did.
That was his job.

I don't understand.

Everywhere he went...
different town, same fight.

The local white champ
against the big black brute.

The crowd was never too happy
when Amos won.

Do you think one of Sullivan's
fans could have killed Amos?

Well, we had bottles
thrown at us,

knives pulled on us.

Sometimes I think it's a wonder

that he was never killed
before this.

Detective.

Sir, I've got your dress.

Oh, good.
Hold it up.

Perfect.

Oh, and, sir...
Your pig has arrived.

Newton's third law states
that for every action

there is an equal
and opposite reaction.

So fire a bullet into the body,

and the body pushes back
with equal force.

Hence blood spatter.

That's a bit snug
in the bosom, sir.

Right, then.

Um, step forward six inches.

18 inches.
We'll start there.

Away you go.

Will there be much spatter, sir?

That's what we're here
to find out, George.

Hurry up.
Shoot.

The blood is draining
from the pig's flanks.

It's staring at me, sir.

George, the animal is dead.

There's no spirit left
in the body.

Do pigs have a soul, then, sir?

Now, George!

You shot a perfectly good pig
for this?

Yes.
Look at the spray pattern.

From a pig.
A dead one at that.

The physics are the same.

You've already explained it,
Murdoch.

But it's not me
you need to convince.

What are you gonna do?
Shoot a pig in court?

Are you gonna parade
Sir Isaac Newton for some

imbecile on a jury who shovels
up after horses for a living?

- I hope it doesn't come to that.
- Yes, but it will come to that.

Someone's been murdered.

And I'm not gonna
release our only suspect

based on blood spatter
from a dead pig.

- But, sir...
- I understand, Murdoch.

I really do.

But this is not some
Presbyterian schoolgirl.

This is the Hottentot wife
of a... of a flashy...

Negress.

I believe the proper term
is Negress.

I don't care
what the proper term is.

What I'm trying to tell you is
if this Negress goes to trial,

she could hang.

You wanted to see me, sir?

Yes, George,
I need you to go

on another shopping trip for me.

I'm not gonna have to wear
another dress, am I, sir?

No.

Because the lads really gave me
a hard time when I...

It's not a dress, George.

I need you to get...

Fireworks.

Yes, I'm planning to use them

to clarify some details
surrounding the shooting.

Permission to
speak frankly, sir.

Just say it, George.

What if Fannie Robinson
is guilty?

- She's not.
- Well, how can you be sure?

Because of the absence
of blood spatter.

I see.

It seemed to me
that your decision

had been based on something...
less concrete.

Maybe something about her.
A gut feeling.

Intuition.
Is that what you're suggesting?

Well, I know
that's not scientific,

but I've heard there are some
things that one can't fake...

a genuine smile...

Involuntary nerve control.
That's what you're speaking of.

Perhaps you saw
some genuine goodness in her.

What I saw was the absence
of blood spatter.

However, that's not enough
to prove her innocence.

So we shall have to prove it
by other means.

Sir.

Good God!

Detective Murdoch!
What the devil?!

No need to be alarmed.

It's just Constable Crabtree
firing a gun.

- In the hotel?
- Yes, we're conducting a test.

Now, you say
you heard no gunshot,

that it was probably masked
by the fireworks.

That's correct.

Ah, yes.
Please indulge me.

- George, have Higgins proceed.
- Yes, sir.

There's another constable
standing by outside,

waiting to fire off.

Mmh.
Some fireworks, eh?

Now, to my ear, clearly not
as loud as a gunshot.

So how is it possible you could
have confused the two?

I- I don't know.

Perhaps that's because

you were not at your desk
the entire time.

Come on, man.
Think!

This is important.
A woman's life is at stake.

Uh, I might have gone out
for a peek at the fireworks.

- When?
- From 11:00 until quarter past.

It... It must have
just slipped my mind.

Ah.

Well, should you recall
anything else

that might have
slipped your mind...

- I'll be sure to inform you.
- Thank you.

So the gunshot
could have occurred

half an hour earlier
than we'd thought.

That would support
Mrs. Robinson's claim.

- Precisely.
- If she didn't do it, who did?

There was one very large loser
at the boxing match.

Perhaps he didn't take it well.

Bob Sullivan.

What of it?

I'm Detective William Murdoch.

I'm investigating
the murder of Amos Robinson.

- Yeah, too bad about that.
- You don't seem very sorry.

Nobody's sorry.
Anyone says they are is a liar.

Where were you last night
between 11:00 and midnight?

Sitting in my chair
with my hands in the ice bucket.

You have witnesses to this?

I wasn't very good company
last night.

Sore loser, were we?

You can only lose
when it's a contest.

The fight was a fix?

Amos was supposed to go down
in the 31 st.

Bastard blindsided me.

Who set up the fix?

- Oh!
- Ohh!

Nicely done!

Very good, very good.
Well done.

Hello.

Hello.

I'm looking for Mr. Cutler.

So why don't you ring the bell?

You were at the fight
last night, weren't you?

- Yes. Were you?
- No.

Oh. Too bad.
It was spectacular.

I'm glad the murder
of Mr. Robinson

hasn't tainted your memory.

Ma'am.

I've been around the fight game
for a long time, Detective.

The bad bets and the good bets
balance out over time.

Even the ones
you're certain of winning?

Yes. Even those.

How much did you lose?

$2,000, more or less.

You must have been very upset.

How much do you make
in a year, Detective?

$400, give or take?

I make 200 times that amount.

Was I upset?
Of course.

Enough to kill a man?

Truth is I stood to gain
as much as I lost.

Oh? How so?

I'd just agreed to buy Robinson.

I'm sorry... "buy" him?

Ozzie Beers never saw
the big picture.

It was all about the win
with him.

He failed to realize that boxing
isn't sport, it's spectacle...

the penultimate battle
between good and evil.

With Robinson playing evil.

Oh, he was perfect for the part.

A hulking black Goliath.

I even had a nickname.

Amos the Animal!

My wife thought Untamed Beast
was more provocative,

but I confess a weakness
for alliteration.

Yes. It's quite a feat
to reduce a man to a slogan.

Mmh, it was
a business transaction.

And how did Mr. Beers respond

when you approached him
with this business transaction?

I didn't go to Ozzie Beers,
Detective.

Ozzie Beers came to me.

Keep jabbing.
Keep those hands up.

That's it.

That's it.

Eyeing the new talent?

Well, what else am I to do?

Yes, I suppose mourning
would be out of the question.

Amos was, after all,
just a commodity.

You've been speaking
to Jeb Cutler, huh?

You told me Amos Robinson
was like a son to you.

He was.
Not a word of a lie in that.

But sometimes things change
between fathers and sons.

So you sold him
like an old racehorse.

I did it for his own good.

- The circuit was killing him.
- So better a circus.

The way things were going,

who'd have known
what would happen to Amos.

Maybe a man like
Jeb Cutler could manage him,

but all I know is
I couldn't control him anymore.

You mean you couldn't get him
to throw fights for you anymore.

I have never asked a boxer to
throw a fight before this one.

And that was only because Cutler
wanted to build a rivalry

between his man and Amos.

- And Amos agreed to throw it.
- So why did he change his mind?

I don't know.

Did he know
you were going to sell him?

I sure as hell
didn't tell him that.

He sold Amos?

How could Ozzie do that to him?

Do you think Amos knew?

If he did, he never told me.

But had he known, do you think
he would have changed his mind

about throwing the fight?

If he felt wronged.

Amos was his own man,
capable of anything.

He must have known.

But why didn't he tell me?

Maybe he just never found
the right time.

It wasn't always like this.

We had planned to go
to California,

settle down,
once Amos finished fighting.

Can I ask you
a personal question?

Why not?

You could have left Amos.

Why didn't you?

I don't know.

Guess I should have.

Something just kept me
holding on.

He was shot in the heart.

The bullet entered
the right ventricle

and lodged in the left atrium.

He died quickly.

Before he hit the ground,
I would imagine.

It amazes me how something
so large and vigorous

can be brought down
by something so small.

I've recovered the bullet,
if you'd like to see it.

Yes, I would.
Thank you.

Is that why women
were so attracted to him?

How do you mean?

Is brute strength so compelling?

To some women.

Mr. Darwin calls it
sexual selection.

Large males
able to defeat other males

have more reproductive success.

Therefore women
find them appealing.

And what of peaceable types
who live in their mind?

How do they fare in this
great Darwinian struggle?

Some women are attracted
to intelligence.

Others prefer a combination.

An intelligent thug.

A somewhat intriguing concept,
don't you think?

We have a problem.

It's called a light load.

- A light load?
- Yes.

See the plier marks
here on the lead?

Next slide.

Thank you.

Now, you can make out
the vise marks here

on the spent cartridge.

It's an old trick.

Remove the slug
from the cartridge.

Empty out most of the powder.

And replace the slug.

The load has been lightened.

Now, at close range,
the bullet is still deadly.

But the sound of the discharge
is significantly dampened.

Uh, close the door, George.

And turn off the lamp.

Right, then.

That's remarkable.

If the door of the hotel room
was closed,

the front desk clerk
may not have heard that.

If we can't prove
what time the gunshot happened,

then we can't separate
the time of the shooting

from the discovery of Fannie
standing over the body.

I guess it's not looking so good
for Fannie after all.

No, it's not.

I'll agree it's a setback, sir.

But you still have
the blood-splatter evidence.

With the lighter load,

the muzzle velocity
would be reduced

and the spatter dynamics
different.

I suppose we could always
shoot another pig.

No, I'm done shooting pigs,
George.

Problem is there really is
only one viable suspect.

Mrs. Robinson.

Maybe we just haven't
dug deeply enough.

No.
No, we haven't.

Go back to the hotel.
Turn the place upside down.

If there's something
we've missed, I want it found.

Yes, sir.

How would Fannie Robinson know
how to light-load a bullet?

She could have bought the bullet
from someone who did.

That would suggest
premeditation.

I don't believe
she's capable of that.

Really?
Based on what?

I don't know.
Something in her face.

She's a very attractive woman.

You think
I want to prove her innocent

because I'm attracted to her?

Any man could be swayed,
Murdoch.

If I'm swayed by anything,
it's the truth.

- Better a guilty man go free.
- Exactly.

You have any other suspects?

Several.

Then find out if one of them
was at the hotel.

The killer's not invisible,
Murdoch.

Somebody must have seen him.

These are all the photos

from the night of the fight?

Would I keep anything from you?

If you thought it might sell
a paper, yes.

You know, Detective,

your problem is that you haven't
quite grasped the system.

What system might that be?

Oh, come on.
You know how things work.

You and me...
We need each other.

I find that hard to believe.

Look, we need stories, and you
coppers need to look good.

And on occasion
you need information.

This arrangement
sounds less than scrupulous.

Scruples.

Scruples have nothing
to do with it.

Acumen.
That's what I'd call it.

Right.

I'll take this one,

this one...
no, this one's better...

and this one.

No need to thank me.

Your natural charm compels me.

Come in.

Sir, we found something.

It's only a partial print,

but it should be enough to make
a match if we find the killer.

Show me your boot tread, George.

- As I suspected.
- Sir, I swear it wasn't me.

No, no, no. It means the boot
is standard police issue.

Could have been any one of us.

No one stepped in the blood
in Amos Robinson's room.

I saw to it personally.

Then where did the blood
come from?

He was shot here
and stumbled back to his room.

No. It can't be.
He died instantly.

He was shot somewhere else
and dragged back to his room.

We just have to follow
the trail of blood.

We've been over every inch
of this hotel, sir.

This is the only spot of blood
we've found.

No, there's a blood trail here.

We just need something sensitive
enough to follow it.

A bloodhound or something.

Ted Manson
keeps a bitch on Mercer.

Get it. You know what
this means, don't you?

It means a 120-pound woman

couldn't drag a body
twice that weight.

Across carpet, no less.

Means she's innocent.

Ozzie, I'm scared.

I know. I know.
But it's gonna be all right.

I'm sure of it.

Mrs. Robinson.

Hope I'm not
interrupting anything.

But I believe I have
some good news.

- Good news?
- Yes.

Based on blood
that I found in the hall,

I think I can prove
that your husband

was killed in one location
and then moved to your room.

But this proves it's not me.

It strongly suggests
your innocence.

We still have to determine that

and, of course,
find out who the killer is.

You said killed elsewhere.

- Yes.
- Where?

I was hoping you might be able
to help me with that.

Do you know of anywhere else
he might have been that night?

Maybe he went for a drink.

Were you having any trouble
with anyone else

staying in the hotel that night?

Perhaps one of
Sullivan's supporters?

No.
Not that I can think of.

Me neither.

But there were lots of people
coming and going.

Well, if you think of anything.

Of course.

Ozzie, this means
I'm not gonna hang!

See?
I knew something would happen.

I knew it.

A ferret?

Ted Manson took his dog hunting.

But his son swears this ferret
will follow a trail of blood

like no hound he's ever seen.

Let's see what it can do.

Okay, boy.

Take a good whiff.
Take a good whiff.

Here you go.

Come on, sweetheart.
There you go.

Hey! Careful, sir, they're...
they're known to bite!

What?!

Cut off access to your...
to your sensitive bits!

I am!
I am!

Ah! Ow!

He's going up the stairs.

Is it following the blood
at all?

I'm sorry, sir.
I- I thought it was worth a shot.

There he goes.

I don't see him.

Do you think he's hiding?

I don't care.

Get Ted Junior up here
to ferret him out.

"Ferret. "
That's very good, sir.

Humor in the face of adversity.

I see him!

Careful, George.
They're known to bite.

Well, you have him?

I have this.

Who rented that room?

The room was rented
by a Mrs. Smith.

Mrs. Smith?

We get a lot
of Smiths and Jones.

This isn't exactly
the Queen's Hotel.

Now, see here...

You have
a statutory responsibility

to accurately record all...

I get paid 18 cents an hour,
all right?

If you have a problem
with how I do my job,

take it up with the boss.

Fine.

I'll need you
to look at these photos

and tell me
if any one of these people

were here at the hotel
last night.

Use this if it helps.

No.

- No.
- None of them?

If I'd known there was
gonna be a murder,

I would have
paid more attention.

Now, him I recognize.

- This man?
- No.

- Him?
- No. No, no.

Him.
He was here last night.

We caught him boarding
the 716 to Kingston.

Where were you heading
in such a hurry, Mr. Sullivan?

- New Brunswick.
- Why?

Why not? I'll never fight
in this town again.

- I think you were running.
- From what?

You were
at the Prince Albert Hotel

the night of the murder,
weren't you?

Yeah. I had a score to settle
with Amos.

- So you killed him?
- I never killed Amos Robinson.

I just gave him
a taste of his own medicine.

You hit him?

The last time I saw Amos, he was
on his knees in the hallway,

holding his nose
like a little boy.

I don't believe you.
I think you're lying.

Well, then, lucky for me
I've got a witness.

Who?

Hello, Detective.

Care for a swing?

Were you at the Prince Albert
Hotel the night of the murder?

- Who told you that?
- Bob Sullivan.

Oh, yes.
Of course.

More to the point...

What were you doing in a room
with Amos Robinson?

Why...

I was seducing him.

Does that shock you?

Did your husband know
of this encounter?

Of course he knew.

He was in the room with us.

My wife and I
have an unusual marriage.

If we weren't
forthcoming earlier,

it's because we like to keep
these things to ourselves.

Surely you can see that.

I think you're both lying to me.

I think you arranged
a rendezvous with Mr. Robinson.

You found out about it, and in
a jealous rage, you shot him.

Now you've both cooked up
this ridiculous story.

Is it so ridiculous
for a man to take pleasure

in his partner's pleasure?

In this manner, yes.

So judgmental.

It was clear Mr. Robinson wasn't
interested in fighting for me.

I'd hoped to change his mind.

What Jeb means is he hoped

I would change
Mr. Robinson's mind.

And were you successful
in either seduction?

No, I'm sad to say.

Seems he'd decided to embark
on his new life.

He was going to give it all up.

He'd made some money
betting on himself.

My money, as it turns out.

And he was going to
give his wife

the life she'd always wanted.

How dreadfully domestic.

What did Mr. Robinson do next?

The last we saw of him,
he walked back to his room.

So his body wasn't moved.

The trail of blood was from Amos
when he walked back to his room.

But that means...

I've built your hopes up.

I'm sorry.
I shouldn't have done that.

No.

You tried.

You really tried.

I appreciate that.

You know,
Amos wasn't always bad.

But all those years of people
expecting something from him...

me included...

...all those punches,

night after night,

just wears a man down.

Sometimes I wonder if he had
any love left in him at all.

If it helps, he did.

He was going to keep his promise

and give you the life
you'd always dreamed of.

It does help.

Thank you.

I hear you're back
where you started.

So it would appear.

You understand that
she has to go to trial now?

My commiserations, Murdoch.
I know how you feel.

- Sir?
- I've seen innocent men hang.

It's the toughest pill
I've ever had to swallow.

You think she's innocent?

I must admit
I was skeptical at first.

Maybe even influenced
by the color of her skin.

But you've since
convinced me otherwise.

At least one of us is convinced.

Don't tell me
you're having doubts now.

There is nothing
that exonerates her.

Based on what?

Logic?
The compendium of evidence?

Well, bugger that, Murdoch.

You think she's innocent

based on nothing
but your own intuition.

But of what use is that?

Intuition isn't a reliable basis
upon which to form an opinion.

What kind of socks am I wearing?

Pardon?

Brown, black, or argyle?

- I-I don't know.
- Well, guess.

Argyle.

Well, sir, what kind of socks
are you wearing?

You should learn to trust
your intuition, me old mucker.

I need the key
to Ozzie Beers' room.

Where were you
between 10:30 and midnight

the night of the murder?

- I was in my room.
- The whole night?

I went down to the docks for
a bit and watched the fireworks.

- So you have no alibi?
- Didn't know I needed one.

Did you happen to change
your shirt that night?

Yes, I did.

Before or after you went
to watch the fireworks?

Before.

- Why?
- Because I felt like it.

There's no law against changing
into a fresh shirt, is there?

No.

But it does raise questions when
you decide to burn the old one.

Found these buttons
in your stove.

I also found
these train tickets.

San Francisco?

I've never been there.
I hear it's quite nice.

Good boxing town too.

Who was the other ticket for?

Fannie Robinson, maybe?

You were hoping she would
leave Amos, weren't you?

He didn't deserve her.

But you did.

Is that why you sold him
to Jeb Cutler?

So you could finally get him
out of the picture?

Maybe I did.

But coveting another man's wife
may be a sin,

but it's not a crime.

- But murder is.
- Prove it.

I went down
to the train station.

These tickets were Amos's.

He had had enough.

He was going to quit

and give Fannie the life
she had always dreamed of.

And he told you.

So you shot him
point-blank in the heart.

You burned your shirt because
it had blood spatter on it.

I burned my shirt
because it stank!

Are you willing to let her hang?

- She won't hang.
- How can you be sure?

Neither one of us
wants to see Fannie hang.

But only you
can do something about it.

You see, Mr. Beers...

...I don't know what happened
in that room.

Perhaps there was
a confrontation.

Maybe it got violent.

And maybe you had no choice
but to act in self-defense.

Do you understand
what I'm saying, Mr. Beers?

It was violent.

And he got very, very angry.

I feared for my life.

"But he kept coming on.

I then fired one shot
to save my own life.

Sincerely, Ozzie Beers. "

Self-defense.
A likely story, eh?

It's a defense
he's entitled to raise.

It's our obligation
to prove otherwise.

Better a guilty man go free,
eh, Murdoch?

There is one thing, however.

Well?
Out with it.

The gun did belong to Mr. Beers.
He admits that.

However, the bullets
were tampered with.

- The light loads.
- Exactly.

Now I would ask myself,

why would someone carry a gun
loaded with customized bullets?

Unless he planned
to kill in advance.

I should think the Crown would
have a very strong argument

that this is indeed
a case of cold-blooded murder.

I believe Mr. Beers is in
for a very nasty surprise.

Precisely.

I thought Ozzie
might have feelings for me.

But he sure had
a funny way of showing it.

- Where will you go?
- I don't know.

I don't have anything now.

Except for my life,
thanks to you.

It seems Amos had bought
these tickets.

San Francisco.
But how?

He bet on himself in the fight.

His gift to you.

That should be enough
to start a new life.

But how could I?

It just won't seem the same
without him.

I think he would want you to.

- Thank you.
- Good luck.

How did you know?

You knew right from the start
I didn't do it.

When I saw the dress,
I calculated the angle of...

It was intuition.

Thank you.