Murdoch Mysteries (2008–…): Season 1, Episode 8 - Still Waters - full transcript

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Ready or not, here I come!

Sir?

Aaaah!

Panic has many signatures...

shortness of breath,
a rise in blood pressure,



stiffening of the limbs.

If human physiology changes
under duress,

then why not use this
to our advantage?

By using this thing?

It's called a pneumograph.

It measures physiological change
associated with duress.

Yes.
But to what end, sir?

When people lie, their body
also undergoes duress.

So if we use
your "new mograph" thingy...

Then we can scientifically
measure whether a man is lying.

I've got one of those at home.
It's called a wife.

I said scientifically.

Regardless, I believe that
one day a device such as this

will help determine
whether a suspect is lying.



Do you really think
that any court of law

will ever believe such claptrap?

Well, this is hardly the first
lie detector, Inspector.

African tribes
used to have suspects

pass around a bird's egg
to measure nervousness.

Ancient China used rice
to gauge saliva flow.

In Mesopotamia...

All right. All right.
I'll take you word for it.

But that doesn't mean
that this

Frankenstein contraption
actually works.

Perhaps it's time
for a demonstration.

George?

Okay.
Eyes on the marker, gentlemen.

I'll ask the detective
a series of questions.

And the liquid will rise
if he is answering untruthfully.

Is your name William Murdoch?

Yes.

Do you live
at 22 Ontario Street?

Yes.

Do you attend church on Sunday?

Yes.

- Every Sunday?
- Yes.

Well, I did miss the one Sunday

because of that bout
with the kidney stone.

Gentlemen.

What have we here?

Uh, Detective Murdoch

is just giving us
a demonstration

of an intriguing new device...
a lie detector.

How fascinating.

Would you mind if I observe?

Uh, perhaps we should
continue this another time.

Nonsense, Murdoch.

I believe you were in the middle
of making a point.

Yes.

George,
proceed with the questions.

Maybe Dr. Ogden would like to
ask the questions.

I'd be delighted.

Do you, or have you ever,
marched with the Orangemen?

Bugger that.
Here's a better one.

Is the detective in love?

Fun and games are over, lads.

- George.
- All right, sir.

- Let's go.
- George!

- Come on, lads.
- Right away, sir.

I don't think
anybody noticed that, sir.

With you and her and the liquid.

Get me out of this thing!

Given the condition,

I'd say he's been in the water
less than eight hours.

What do we have here?

Distinctive bruising
on the upper thigh.

He was beaten.

There's no sign of yellowing,

so it was delivered
within the last 24 hours.

Could you help me roll him?

He's a rower.
King's Club man.

Not just any rower, Detective.

Are you familiar
with the Hartleys?

The bankers?
Only by name.

Then introductions are in order.

Meet Richard Hartley.

Oh, my God.

You recognize the victim?

Of course.
It's Richard.

For the record, please state
the victim's entire name.

Richard Hartley.

And also for the record,
your name.

Minerva Fairchild.

And your relationship
to the deceased?

We were engaged.

It is also noted

that the victim's parents
are traveling abroad,

so next of kin is unavailable
for identification.

George, please cover the body.

I'm terribly sorry
for your loss, Miss Fairchild.

I don't understand.

Richard was
an excellent swimmer.

How could he have drowned?

We have reason to believe
that Mr. Hartley was assaulted

just prior to his death.

Assaulted? By whom?

That's what
we're trying to determine.

When was the last time
you saw Mr. Hartley alive?

Richard and I had had lunch
at the rowing club

after his morning session.

Session?

Richard was on
the men's eights rowing team.

They're training
for the upcoming Olympics.

I see.

Do you recall seeing anything
out of the ordinary yesterday?

Well, he did have
a bit of a row with his coach.

- His coach?
- Hamilton Kane.

And what was
this argument about?

I don't know for sure.

He and Coach Kane didn't always
see eye to eye on matters.

Mmh.
And after the argument?

Well, he and his teammates
were gonna celebrate

Richard's joining the team.

- He was a recent addition?
- Yes.

- And their plans?
- Gentlemen's only evening.

And that's the last
you saw of him?

Yes.

My God, if...

If I'd only known
that that would be

the last I'd see of him.

Constable Crabtree
will see you home.

- This way, ma'am.
- Thank you.

Oh, Minerva,
I'm so sorry for your loss.

Thank you.

If you need anyone to talk to...

I'll be fine.
Thank you.

Poor thing.

She seems to be bearing up
quite well.

When you're a Fairchild, you can
never let your emotions show.

No, I suppose you can't.

Yes. Yes.
Absolutely, sir.

What's that, sir?

I'm afraid we're having problems
with the line at this end.

I can hardly hear you, sir.

Prick.

That was the third call from
the chief constable in the hour.

Have I got something
to tell him?

Not as of yet.

The Hartleys are on their way
back from the bloody pyramids.

They'll want answers
when they get here.

They may not like
what they hear.

Which is?

That their son
was beaten and drowned.

Are they connected?

Well, it could be random,
I suppose, if their son was...

That was a rhetorical question.
Of course they're connected.

So someone grabs the rich
tosser, gives him a pasting,

then chucks him in the lake,
correct?

That's the way it appears to me.

So, what's the course
of investigation?

Once I get the result
from the postmortem,

I'm off to
the King's Rowing Club.

Fine.
But remember this is the King's.

Kid gloves, Detective.
Kid gloves.

William?

Ah, Doctor.

I have preliminary results.

I tied off the bronchial tubes
and weighed the lungs.

We can safely conclude
the cause of death was drowning.

But unlikely accidental.

Yes. I took
another look at the bruising.

Whatever the weapon was,
it had a hard edge.

It also caused
a number of small abrasions.

Was there any indication
of self-defense?

Yes, there was some bruising
on the arm,

suggesting he tried to
ward off the blows.

I also looked
under his fingernails.

There were no traces
of blood or skin.

I did find this, however.

- Sand.
- Mixed with clay.

Likely from the beach
where he washed ashore.

- Anything else of interest?
- Just one thing.

There was a deep laceration
to the instep of his left foot.

My best guess is
he stepped on something...

a shell or a piece of glass.

Whatever it was, he would have
left quite a blood trail.

We'll keep an eye out for it.
Thank you, Doctor.

William, if you're going
to the club,

you might want to speak
with the concierge beforehand.

He can be quite persnickety.

You're the second person
to express concern.

I am a detective.
I should think I'll be fine.

I'm sorry, sir.

I don't see your name
in the register.

That's because I'm not in it.

I'm afraid there's no admittance
without a membership card.

This is my membership card.

Then you'll need to use
the tradesmen's entrance.

The tradesmen's entrance?

- I'll have you...
- I'll handle this, Owens.

Hamilton Kane.
Coach of the men's eights.

Please forgive Owens.

We've been having some trouble
with riffraff of late.

- I'm sure you understand.
- Of course, of course.

I can see I might easily
be mistaken for rabble.

May we speak somewhere
in private?

Terrible tragedy about Richard.

These boys become like family.

I can imagine.

I spoke with his fianc?e,
a Miss Fairchild.

She told me she overheard you
and Hartley arguing yesterday.

We were arguing?

Well, yes, I suppose we were.

Richard was known
to have a few with the boys.

I was keeping him in line,

what with the Olympic trials
only days away.

Did your lecture work?

Well, you try
to play the parent,

but that only goes so far.

When was the last time
you saw Richard?

He and the rest of his teammates
were in the clubhouse.

Did any of his teammates
ever quarrel with him?

As I said earlier, Detective,
these boys are like family.

In my experience,

conflict can arise in even
the closest of families.

Not this one.

Could I please have the names
of these teammates?

Why don't you
just talk to them directly?

We had a few drinks
at the clubhouse.

Spirits were high.

I was under the impression

this went against
your coach's wishes.

If we listened to our coach,
we'd never have any fun.

And when did you last see
Mr. Hartley?

Shortly after 10:00.

Did he give you any indication
as to where he was going?

Home, we assumed.

Is there anyone
he didn't get on with?

Well, there was one person, sir.

A former member
of the men's eights.

Name's Horace Briggs.

- Former member?
- Uh, yes, sir.

Richard Hartley took his spot
in the boat.

And why was
this Mr. Briggs replaced?

Horace could be difficult.

So we made an adjustment.

Ah.
Where might I find him?

Mr. Briggs?

Detective William Murdoch.

Pleasure, sir.

I see you know
how to handle an oar.

There's nothing
quite like the feeling

of gliding across the water.

Seems as though
you were born to it.

I practically was.

I've rowed every day I could
since I was a boy.

Oh, do you have the time, sir?

- Half past 4:00.
- I'm late.

Mind if I ask you
a couple of questions?

Not at all.

It's one of the oldest sports
in the world.

Been traced all the way back
to ancient Egypt.

Is that right?

The warrior Amenhotep

was renowned
for his feats of oarmanship.

Some people even call it
the sport of the gods.

Well, clearly you love to row.

Must have been
quite a disappointment

to be bumped from the boat.

Yes, sir.

I was told your personality
clashed with your teammates.

- Only Richard Hartley.
- And now he's dead.

I had nothing to do
with his death,

if that's what you're implying.

Losing out on a chance
at an Olympic medal...

That must have made you angry.

Around here, you learn
to roll with the punches.

I see.

Were you
drinking with the others

the night that Richard drowned?

I'm afraid I don't have
clubhouse privileges, sir.

I don't understand.

You belong to the club,
don't you?

In a manner of speaking,
you could say that.

Where were you last night,
Mr. Briggs?

At home with my mother.

I had to be up
at the crack of dawn.

To row?

No, sir.
I wish I was.

To work.

He's the gardener?

Not just any gardener,

but one they apparently made
room for on the men's eights.

According to the books,
Horace Briggs owns

nearly every rowing record
in this club.

Well, in that case, why would
a team lose its best member?

That's what I intend
to find out.

What do you have for me, George?

I've confirmed
that Richard Hartley

and his teammates were drinking
here until shortly after 10:00.

I have a list here
of the men he was with.

- And the search?
- Currently ongoing.

Nothing unusual so far.

No sign of a blood trail yet,
I'm afraid.

Oh, sir, you have to try
one of these.

I've had four this morning.
It's the damnedest stuff.

- What is it?
- Coffee.

I've only ever heard of it.
Big in Europe, apparently.

Terribly bitter.

I thought so too at first,
but it grows on you.

Why on Earth would they serve
this when we have tea?

- I don't see this catching on.
- Oh, I wouldn't be so sure, sir.

I will say this one last time.

I need Horace Briggs'
work schedule.

Not without written permission
from the board.

Then I will have
no choice but...

Detective!

Miss Ogden.

What a pleasure it is
to see you again.

Has Detective Murdoch
been troubling you?

- You know each other?
- We're colleagues.

I see.

Investigating
Richard Hartley's death.

And here I was just about
to give the detective

our work schedule.

- Thank you, Dr. Ogden.
- You're welcome.

I took another look
at the abrasions

on Richard Hartley's thighs.

I was able to extract
this sliver.

I thought you might
want to see it.

I think I know
where this came from.

A rower's oar?

Mmh.
What do you think?

Well, the straight edge
of an oar would be consistent

with the bruising and abrasions
on Mr. Hartley's body.

But who would have done this?

A rower named Briggs

had recently been replaced
on the team by Mr. Hartley.

He must have
resented that terribly,

especially with the Olympic
trials approaching.

Imagine being
that close to glory

only to have it
ripped away from you.

Men have killed for less.

- Can you prove it?
- I believe so.

In fact, I have an idea

where I might be able to find
the murder weapon.

I didn't know
you were a member here.

My family is.

You must find it
quite stimulating.

Actually, I find it tiresome.

Oh.

Here we are.

Blood.

It's still wet.

The beating occurred hours ago.
That should be long dry.

This sliver
is definitely not a match.

It would appear someone is
trying to frame Horace Briggs.

Trying to frame him?

So it would appear.

- Any idea who's behind this?
- Not yet.

But whoever it was would have
had access to the storage area.

So workers or maintenance men.

Or a club member.

Why would some dandy at the club
want to kill Hartley?

I don't know.

But by his own admission,

Horace Briggs
and Richard Hartley

did not get along.

Making Briggs the perfect
candidate for a frame-up.

- Who else knew about that?
- His teammates, for one.

- Are they behind this?
- Good question.

Exhibit A.
One oak oar, slightly faded.

Suspected weapon in the beating
and murder of Richard Hartley.

Property of Horace Briggs.

- That's not possible.
- You were angry.

Richard Hartley had taken
your spot in the boat

and cost you your chance
at Olympic gold.

No.

So you fought,
and you hit him with the oar.

No.

I would never do that.

Why not?

Because as much as
I might have been resentful

that Richard took my spot,

I would never say anything,
let alone do anything, about it.

Why?

'Cause he'd have me removed
from the club.

And the club is all I have.

That's not much of an alibi,
Mr. Briggs.

You have to believe me, sir.

No.

I know you didn't do this,
Horace.

In fact, someone was
trying to frame you.

Frame me?
Who would do that?

Oh, I think you have
a very good idea who.

They told me that I would
never row again if I talked.

There are no lakes in jail,
Mr. Briggs.

The time to talk is now.

It seems it was an initiation.

They were welcoming
Richard Hartley

to the rowing team.

Drinking, spankings to the
bottom, that sort of thing.

These things have been
going on at the club for years.

- It's just harmless fun.
- Not this time.

Well, if things
did get out of hand,

that would explain the...
the bruising on his arms.

What, defensive wounds
from fending off blows?

Exactly. Are you
going to arrest these boys?

I need more evidence.

And for that,
I require a crime scene.

Do you know where they might
have held these initiations?

I'm afraid they were held
in utmost secrecy.

Part of the ritual.

But I do know someone
who can help.

Five.
Dig deep.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

You caught me, Detective.

Caught you?

Well, I have to sneak a puff
when I can.

Why is that?

Mrs. Hartley thinks
it's unladylike.

And you do not say no
to a Hartley.

No, I suppose you don't.

Do you mind?

It seems Richard was involved
in an initiation

the night that he was drowned.

An initiation?

With his teammates.

And we believe it may have
factored into his death.

Did you know anything
about this?

No.

Richard liked to keep
his little secrets.

You have yours as well.

Don't we all, Detective?

Detective Murdoch?

Dr. Isaac Tash.

Julia tells me
you're in need of a tour.

Yes, yes.

Shall we?

This brings me back.

The games my rowing mates
and I would play.

With all respect, Dr. Tash,

I fail to see how plugging
a newcomer full of ales

and humiliating him accomplishes
anything whatsoever.

It builds camaraderie.

And how exactly does spanking
accomplish that?

We all have our nonsensical
traditions, Detective.

Why must a man wear
a suit jacket

on a blazing hot day, hmm?

Point taken.

May I ask
how you met Dr. Ogden?

Julia and I studied medicine
together at Bishop's.

Oh.
You knew her well?

Yes.
In fact, very well.

Were you involved?

We were young and foolish
and full of passion.

She was quite the pistol.

Mmh.

And you... Have you, uh,
worked with Julia long?

It'll be two years
come March 12th.

How odd you remember the date.

Actually, it's the murder
I remember.

Clayton Bowles.
Age 14.

Murdered both of his parents

and hung himself
from a tree in the backyard.

Nasty business, this murder.

To be a doctor is one thing,
but a pathologist...

I do wish our Julia would
leave this business to the men.

That would be a shame.
Dr. Ogden is like no other.

At her job.

It's, uh, this way, Detective.

Ah, here we are.

Well...

I certainly never took part
in anything like this in my day.

What is it, Detective?

Blood.

And there's more this way.

Leads to the water.

Yes.

What do you think happened?

I don't know.

But I do know we've
finally found our crime scene.

Initiation.

There was no initiation.

Do you take me for a fool,
Mr. Pearson?

Do you take Horace Briggs' word
over ours?

His word is supported by the
evidence found at Hell's Point.

Broken glass. Oars.
Empty whiskey bottle.

Three quirleys half smoked.
And dozens of footprints.

Footprints?

Plaster casts of the shoe treads
are being examined as we speak.

I'm sure they will match
your feet and your teammates'.

Now, what happened?

Surely somebody
can tell me something.

Or would you prefer I parade you
in front of your parents?

Eh?

Because I can do just that.

Anyone.
Out with it.

Right, then.

We'll have to do this
another way.

A dungeon full of dandies.

The chief's gonna have my
bollocks for breakfast for this.

I felt it was my only option.

The answer
to Richard Hartley's murder

lies somewhere in that cell.

- You have sufficient evidence?
- We have a blood trail.

We have possible weapons
used in an assault.

We have footprints
placing the suspects

at the scene of the crime.

All we need now is a confession.

You'll have to move quick.

Once the lawyers arrive,
those boys will never talk.

That's why I was thinking
of taking a new approach.

Ah.

We could actually have
some fun with this.

Right, then.
Is your name James Pearson?

Yes.

Are you a member
of the King's Rowing Club?

- This is absurd.
- Yes or no answers only, please.

Are you a member
of the rowing club?

You can't tell me
this ridiculous contraption

actually works.

- Lie to me.
- Excuse me?

You heard me.
I said lie to me.

Are you Florence Nightingale?
Do you live on the moon?

- Are you a female?
- Yes.

Yeah.
Start sweating.

Because the questions

are just about to get a little
bit tougher, me old mucker.

Did you get Richard Hartley
so pissed

that he didn't know
what he was doing

and then stick the boot in?

Did you drown the posh
little bastard in cold blood?!

- Eh?!
- Inspector.

Kid gloves.

Right, then, Mr. Pearson.

I suggest
you start answering correctly.

Is your name Wallace Driscoll?

Yes.

Have you ever been
to Hell's Point?

No.

Hell's Point.

Yeah, Hell's Point.

Where the bar never closes
and the whiskey always flows.

Was the whiskey flowing
that night for Richard Hartley?

No.

The truth, Mr. Driscoll.

You hit him?

God, man.

Do you think he deserved it?

I said, "Did you hit him"?!

Eh?!

Well, perhaps I had a few ales,
but we all did.

- Yes or no?
- Yes.

Did you engage Richard Hartley
in a team initiation ritual?

No.

Yes.

Did you beat Richard Hartley
with an oar?

That's right, sunshine.
We know about the beatings.

Your shirt-lifting mate Driscoll
snitched on you.

Said you got
some good whacks in.

Yeah, t-that's not true.

Yes or no?

Well, yes.
But it wasn't just me.

We all did.
Robinson. Meyers.

Griffiths. Stebbings.

Pearson too.
He got his licks in.

He's a flannel-mouthed liar
if he said that.

If anything, I tried to get the
others to bring it down a notch.

Rubbish! That was me
who tried to stop them.

But there were seven of them
and one of me.

We had no choice
but to go along.

It was just something
that happened.

Okay, in the spur of the moment,

things may have gotten
a little out of hand.

But it's not like we planned it.

This was nothing more
than a terrible accident, okay?

A- An accident!

That's not
what the machine tells me.

Take it off me.
Please take it off me.

First you need
to tell us the truth.

Yes or no... This wasn't just
an initiation ritual, was it?

No.

This was an attack
on Richard Hartley.

Yes.

- Was this plan designed by you?
- No.

- Mr. Pearson?
- No.

Then whose plan was it?

Hartley would have cost us
a spot at the Olympics.

We should never have said yes
to him in the first place.

But you don't say no
to a Hartley.

No, you don't.

Is that
what the argument with Richard

was really about?

To ask him
to step down voluntarily?

I was hoping he would say yes,
but he didn't.

So I bought the boys
a bottle that night

and had them drop a shot
in Richard's ales.

I asked them to go extra hard
with his whacks.

Not enough to hurt him badly,

but enough
to put him out of action.

Then we could put Briggs
back on the boat.

We needed him to win.

But things went bad,
didn't they?

Apparently, Richard panicked
and tried to get away.

He ran into the water.

They never saw him again.

- Is this true?
- Yes, sir.

You didn't think
to go look for him?

We knew Richard
was a good swimmer.

We thought he'd be fine.

But he wasn't fine, was he?

When we found out what happened
the next day,

we didn't know what to do.

That's when they turned to you?

Why frame Briggs
if he was your best rower?

By then we weren't thinking
about rowing.

So you came up
with this new plan.

Simple math, Detective.

Eight lives spared ruin
at the cost of one.

You all make me sick.

Sir?
I need a word.

Ah, Murdoch.

Today is a good day.

Do you know why?

Because typically
my hands are tied

when it comes to dealing
with these types of people,

what with their paters
who own this

and their maters
who preside over that.

But today
we've got the little buggers

right where we want them.

What?

No, I thought I'd let you
enjoy this moment before...

Before?

Look, Murdoch, they admitted
to beating the victim.

Yes. And I believe
they're telling the truth.

Which is...
Which is precisely the problem.

What's that?

Scrapings taken from
under the victim's fingernails.

What's that got to do
with anything?

Everything, I'm afraid.

What?

Chief Constable Stockton.

Yes, we did arrest them, sir.

Well, there appears to be
some mitigating circumstances.

This could take a while.

Yes, sir.

Detective.

I was just inquiring about
Richard's personal effects.

I understand.

Good day.

Good day, Miss Fairchild.

I heard about the others.

It would appear the initiation

was their way of getting you
back on the team.

They just went too far.

I'm sure they never meant
to kill him.

No, they didn't.
In fact, they may not have.

I don't understand.
I thought they confessed.

They did. There's just one thing
that doesn't quite fit.

How well do you know
this shoreline?

Like the back of my hand.

Why are we looking here, sir?

Hartley had a mixture of clay
and sand under his fingernails.

So?

So the shore by
the initiation area was sandy.

So was the area
where we found his body.

- Where did the clay came from?
- Precisely.

Well, maybe he was into pottery.

A lot of people
are into this pottery now.

In fact, my neighbor made
this ceramic bust of his wife.

But to tell you the truth,

it just looked like
some sort of amphibian.

These great bulging eyes.
It was terrifying, really.

In fact, if it's okay with you,

I'd rather not even
talk about it anymore.

- Clay.
- Sir?

Hartley survived the initiation.

The lung
is like a bag, Detective.

So once it's filled with water,

there's no mechanism to allow
for the exchange of fluids.

Precisely.

The water Mr. Hartley absorbed
into his lungs is still there.

I'm hoping to find traces
of silt or vegetation.

Yes, yes. Something to indicate
where he really drowned.

Yes, an act of desperation
I'll grant,

but I am quickly
running out of options.

I'm sorry for making you
stay this late, Doctor.

Oh, it's no bother.

It's not like I have much of a
social life these days anyways.

You and me both.

I didn't get
a chance to earlier,

but thank you for arranging
Dr. Tash's assistance.

Oh.
It's my pleasure.

I take it you were
more than acquaintances.

Yes.

You and Dr. Tash courted?

It... That was a long time ago.

He seems like
an intriguing sort.

Yes.

And an excellent
conversationalist.

I must say, you seem quite taken
by Dr. Tash.

Julia?

Yes?

Detective?

You wanted to ask me something.

May I have my lung water?

I'm straining
half of the lung water

and boiling off the rest.

What remains
might give us a clue

as to where the victim drowned.

Of course.

Yes, that's what I was
just thinking about doing, sir.

- What's that?
- Not sure.

I'll have to do
some further testing.

Smell that.

Lavender.

Oil.

Sir, my aunt collects
these fancy bath oils.

They look just like this.

- Bath water?
- Yeah.

It leaves the skin
very smooth and silky.

Apparently.

So she says.

She's the one who uses them,
not me.

We are a club of sportsmen, sir.

Our locker rooms have showers,
but there are no baths here.

None?

Well, except for
our guest houses.

Guest houses?

They're for
our out-of-town members.

Ah. Are they ever used
by your regulars?

On occasion.

Candles are burned right down.

Sir.

Glass.

Stem of a wine glass, I believe.

Hmm.

George.

Blood.

Richard Hartley was here.

Bath oils.

Lavender Silk.

That's a lovely one.
According to my aunt.

So Hartley was beaten,
he escaped into the lake,

climbed back out of the water,
made his way here.

But this room is set
for a romantic evening.

Why?

Seems romance would be
the last thing on the mind

of someone in his condition.

Who was waiting for him?

I didn't choose Richard Hartley.

Richard chose me.

Tell me what happened
the night of the murder.

Richard and I were to meet
in the guest cottage.

We were gonna celebrate
his joining the team.

What happened?

I waited for him
the whole night.

I lit candles, poured wine.

But as the hours passed,
I started thinking.

I realized that this was
not the man I was meant for.

I suppose I'd known that
for a long time

but could never tell him.

So I decided to end it
that night.

When Richard
came through the door...

...I told him
I was ending the engagement.

But you don't say no
to a Hartley.

Richard flew into a rage.

He grabbed my arm,
started screaming at me.

He told me
I had no say in the matter.

You can't leave me!

I had never seen him
like that before.

So I ran out, terrified.

He grabbed you.

Then what?

That's it.

I never saw him again.

The last you saw of him,
he was alive?

Yes.

Do you have any idea what
happened after you left him?

No, Detective, I don't.

So you think Miss Fairchild
is lying?

I don't think so.

I just don't think she's
telling us the entire story.

That seems to be
splitting hairs, sir.

Well, then, we'll have to
agree to disagree, George.

Regardless, we have to find out

what happened to Richard Hartley
after she left him.

Can you turn off the lights,
please?

Hmm.
That's interesting.

What is it?

It's the white substance

we found
in Richard Hartley's lung water.

It's, um...

It's finely ground bone.

Bone, sir?
It's glowing.

- Why?
- Because it's phosphorescent.

Come on, Thomas.
You're missing water!

Dig deep!

One.

Two.

Three.

Mr. Murdoch.

It's hard to wash
off your hands, isn't it?

That's the trouble
with bone meal.

Don't understand, sir.

Richard Hartley didn't drown
in the lake.

Oil from the water found in his
lungs led me to the guest house.

Where I also found
something else.

Finely ground bone
covered in phosphate.

Fertilizer, Mr. Briggs.

You helped Minerva Fairchild

murder her fianc?e
in cold blood.

That is a lie.

Sir, that is a lie!

She wasn't here
to get Mr. Hartley's effects.

She came to see you.

That's also why
she was at the grandstands.

- No.
- You two were having an affair.

You wanted more,

but Miss Fairchild was trapped,
wasn't she?

So you helped her
find a way out.

She didn't have anything
to do with it.

Miss Fairchild is in jail,
charged with murder.

I'm telling you.
She did not do it.

How do you know?

Because I killed
Richard Hartley.

And I did it alone.

Minerva and I tried to...

...hide it from the world,
but Richard found out.

He wanted to punish me.

He wanted to show Minerva
how powerful he was.

So he had me kicked off of
the boat, and he took my place.

The boys weren't happy
about that.

No, sir.

They told me they were taking
things into their own hands.

And you did also.

Sir, I never planned
to kill Richard.

In fact, I had told Minerva
to go back to him.

He could give her a life
I never could.

So I walked away.

No!

I was still thinking about her
when I heard her scream.

I gave up the woman I loved,
Mr. Murdoch,

so she could be
with Richard Hartley.

And this is how
the bastard treated her.

He was running a bath.

Never heard me come in.

So you held him
underwater until he drowned.

That's when the bone meal
mixed in with the bathwater.

I suppose it did.

Did Miss Fairchild
know about this?

No, sir.

What were you two really talking
about when I saw you together?

She had told me
what had happened.

That she had ended it
with Richard.

That she was leaving him for me.

So you didn't know that
when you killed him?

No.

If only she had found you
before you found Hartley.

If only.

If only.

Once again.

Let's dig deep.

How are you?

I'm fine.

No, you're not.
You can't be.

You don't have to hide it
from me.

The man that I was to marry
is dead.

The one that I am so
in love with will probably hang.

All because I fell for somebody
I shouldn't have.

You're allowed to fall in love
with whoever you want.

No, no.
Not when you're a Fairchild.

No.

One day, when the pain is gone,

You'll realize
you did nothing wrong.

And then what?

Perhaps a trip is in order.

The world is a very different
place away from here.

I found it quite eye-opening.

Did you?

Yes.

If you decide that's
something you'd like to do,

I have many suggestions.

Thank you.

Will she be all right?

Perhaps, one day.

If she has the courage
to walk away.

Takes a very special woman
to do that.

Does it?

Yes.

William?

Yes, Doctor?

Do you like coffee?

Yes. Yes, I do.

Because the club makes
the most delicious brew.

- Do they, now?
- Imported from Turkey, in fact.

That would be wonderful.