Murdoch Mysteries (2008–…): Season 12, Episode 16 - Manual for Murder - full transcript

How many this time?

- 12. It's double our
last attendance. - Wonderful.

At this rate, we'll have
a best-seller in 40 years.

There is not a lot of people,
but the ones that are here

are very much looking
forward to your reading.

Ahem.

I know you're all dying
to hear Detective Murdoch

read from his and
Dr Ogden's new book.

Let's have a big round of applause
for Toronto's most famous detective!

Good evening.
Thank you for coming.

Each chapter in our book recounts
a different murder investigation.



Chapter one

is about a most peculiar case.

It was a bright, sunny
day on July 16th, 1904,

when strollers at Cawthra Park

- happened upon a most unusual statue.
- There's really nothing to...

- Oh, my!
- .. nothing to see here! Just stay back!

Where did the statue come from?

No one knows. It certainly
wasn't commissioned.

A nude not commissioned
by our city fathers.

Why am I not surprised?

I must say, it's very
good. She looks almost real.

- Hysteria is clearly what the
artist intended. - No, sir!

- Sir, get back here!
- This vulgar display is
an affront to decency!

Sir! Sir! Give me that!



Oh, my God. Sir.

- Doctor.
- What is it, George?

I believe this is no
ordinary work of art.

The statue was, in fact,

the electro-plated
body of a young woman.

Excuse me. What is it, Henry?

The owner of the Windsor
House Hotel has asked for you.

She thinks she's found
a body in her lobby.

"She thinks"?

It's best that you come, sir.

You'll have to excuse us.

We have an urgent matter
to attend to. Ahem.

Is it a murder?

Possibly.

- The books are for sale in the lobby.
- I'll take one!

Hello, Miss Matthews.

Thank you for coming. I hope
this isn't a waste of your time.

If it isn't the famous detective

and published author,
I'm to understand.

You remember our hotel detective.

Mr Fellows.

We understand you've
discovered a body.

It was delivered
anonymously to the lobby,

and I told Ralph to
have it carted away.

But I recognised it
for what it was.

Oh, my goodness. It--

I believe you'll find it's
an electro-plated body.

Just as in our book.

Have you read our book, then?

It may astonish the two
of you that the world

doesn't revolve around just you.

The case was in the newspapers.

I think you'll need this.

You were just reading about
this; it's chapter one.

It may be a coincidence.

Mr Fellows is right. It
was all over the newspaper.

In my professional opinion,

this is the work of a copycat.

You're a hotel detective,
Mr Fellows.

Your professional opinion
is hardly required.

- Nevertheless.
- You may be correct, Mr Fellows.

But is the killer copying
the newspapers or our book?

During the electroplating process,

dissolved metals are drawn
by electrical attraction

to form a thin,
coherent coating

on a surface of
opposite charge.

In this case, a waxy coating.

The waxy substance likely contains
a pulverised nitrate of silver.

The body is then
immersed in copper sulfate

and the electrical
current is applied.

The result is a metallic
mummy, as it were.

George, were you able
to find any information

- on electroplating facilities?
- Yes, sir.

There's only one electroplating
factory in Toronto.

We actually had cause to visit
there on another case some years ago.

An endeavour such as this
required a large electrolyte bath,

and the capacity for
large current draws,

suggesting the killer made
use of a purpose-built factory.

"James Kirkham's electroplating
facility on Niagara Street

provided the perfect means."

And there you have it.

All the instructions on
how to electroplate a body.

You even gave
the killer the address.

Henry, head down
to Kirkham's factory

- and see if anyone's been
in there after hours. - Sir.

It's horrific, but we
must face the possibility

that the killer got
the idea from our book.

It shouldn't be too difficult
to obtain the identities

of those who purchased the book.

Perhaps it's a good thing
that so few have sold.

Hmm.

I'm sorry, folks. It is impossible
to know who has the book now.

But you told us we've
only sold 12 copies.

Sold, but we've given
copies to libraries,

police stations, book reviewers.

The number of people
with access to your book

would be in the hundreds.

Inspector Hamish Slorach! What
brings you to my station house?

I'm packing it in, Tom.

Had a long talk with the
dog, and we decided it's time.

You're younger than me, aren't you?

Oh, no, no. I'm just better looking,
and I plan to keep it that way.

Well, the constabulary won't
be the same without you.

Ah. Well, I'm having a
little bash tomorrow night,

- and I would like you to give
the farewell speech. - Me?

What, is there a cop
I've known longer? Huh?

- Well, I'd be honoured.
- Thank you. Thank you.

It means so much to me.
It really does.

Detective Murdoch! Oh, I
was hoping I'd run into you!

I bought your book. Heh!

Soon as it came out.
I couldn't put it down.

- Entertaining as well as instructive.
- Thank you.

Can you imagine how many more
criminals I would have caught

if I'd read this thing earlier?

Boy oh boy, huh?

Can I get you to sign my copy?

Oh, certainly.

Oh, allow me.

I am the co-writer, after all.

- To Hamish, my good friend.
- Hamish.

Good friend.

There's a man, huh?

And I'd like to invite you to
my farewell bash tomorrow night.

- Oh, you're retiring.
- Dying, actually.

Just kidding!
I'll see you all there.

- Is this the way I came in?
- Yes.

OK.

Sir, Mr Kirkham died last
April. His factory is closed,

but the lock on the
back door was broken.

So, the killer
could have accessed

the facility at any
time without detection.

Also, sir, a Mr Robert Brown
claims his daughter is missing.

That's my Amelia.

What kind of monster
would do such a thing?

We intend to find out.

She was stabbed in the heart,

just as in your book.

Oh, you've read the book?

The relevant passages.

This page in particular.

"The victim had been stabbed in the
heart, but that's not how she died."

A single thrust to the heart.

The wound was very clean,
suggesting the knife

was pushed in and
withdrawn at the same angle.

Which led you to believe
that she was incapacitated

- when she was killed.
- Yes. I analysed the stomach contents.

She'd drunk and eaten
shortly before she died.

I found significant amounts
of the sedative sulfonyl.

He wanted her unconscious.

She died approximately
18 hours ago.

The killer waited
until rigour had set in.

And once rigour
was fully in evidence,

and the body was
fixed in the pose,

he set about the task
of electroplating.

It's quite the operation.

She sat down to share
a meal with her killer.

It might have been
someone she knew.

I don't know why you
came to that conclusion.

She could have just
as easily dined alone.

But in all other respects--

The meal, the sulfonyl
and the timing of the rigour

are the same in
Amelia Brown's case.

I raised her by myself.

She was a handful as a child,

but she grew into
a fine young woman.

I can think of no one
who would wish her harm.

Although,

I could name a few who
would wish harm on me.

How so?

I've been with the Pinkerton
Detective Agency for 30 years,

and I've dealt with my share
of hoodlums and bad actors.

And you fear one of them
may be out for revenge?

Sir? We've found another body.

His body was pulled from
the lake an hour ago.

He appears to be in
his 60s or early 70s.

He was struck in the back of
the head with a blunt instrument,

and then fell or was pushed
into the water and drowned.

So, not inspired by our book.

That's something of a relief.

- I know this man.
- You do?

Dr Morley.

He was a surgeon at Toronto
General for many years.

Dr Ogden, his blood is black.

The vessels of his
brains, lungs and liver

are all filled with black blood.

- Poisoned.
- Precisely.

What kind of poison
turns blood black?

- Something organic?
- An alkaloid, perhaps.

- Was it ingested?
- Most unlikely.

The dosage required to kill
someone would need to be massive.

- Injected, then.
- It's much more likely.
Far more efficient.

Then there would have
to be an injection site.

I was hoping to have found
it before you arrived.

Ah.

I can wait.

Have you had a chance to
visit with your sister?

- Yes.
- Hmm.

I received some
arresting news from her.

Regarding?

Your conviction of character.

Ah.

Puns, the feeblest form of humour.

Is it true then?

Your arrest?

One hot summer evening, when
I was home from university,

my colleagues and I enjoyed
swimming off Hanlon's Point,

sans clothing.

Most risqué.

I don't know which was worse:

being arrested or having
your parents find out.

I found it.

I'm sorry?

I found it, the puncture mark.
Come see.

It goes straight through the
sclera and into the anterior orbit.

There it is.

William,

this is from chapter two.

The killer appears to be
going through the book,

one case at a time.

Oh, Henry?

Find out all you can
about Dr Morley:

- any enemies, debts,
that sort of thing. - Sir.

So, we have a sequential
killer on the loose.

You think he's working through
it one chapter at a time?

That would appear to be the case.

How many chapters in your book?

- 28.
- Oh, crikey.

What's chapter three?

The Lipstick Murders.

The woman who kissed
her victims to death?

I suppose I should
pull out the case files.

Murdoch, before you go,

Slorach has asked me to
give the farewell speech,

but I'm having a bit of trouble.

Sir, I'm not the most entertaining
writer, as I've come to discover.

Bugger the writing, I
can't think of anything good

to say about his career!

He's not a very good policeman.

He only made detective
because he solved

the case of the Jarvish
strangler back in '91.

Speak about that.

What's to speak about?

As I recall, a witness
told him everything.

He's a very upbeat fellow?

Oh! Mr Kellogg, honestly,

you tell the most
fantastic stories.

Really, you are
truly magnificent!

Ruthie!

Henry! What are you doing here?

I'm looking into a doctor
who used to work here.

I thought I'd come say
hello to my favourite wife.

Oh! Well, your timing
couldn't be better. Try this.

- What are they?
- We're conducting an experiment.

Mr Kellogg is hoping
to market these,

- what did you call them again?
- Granose flakes.

Ugh. Sounds like a disease.
What are they made of?

Toasted corn mash.

- We'll call them that.
Without the mash part.
- Corn flakes.

- I like it.
- Eat! Eat, eat, eat.

It's rather dry.

Exactly.

Now try.

It's rather good.

Suggest serving it with milk.
It's a one-two punch of yumminess.

- It is better that way, I agree.
- Help!

- She's stopped breathing!
- Oh!

We need a doctor!

Oh!

Oh.

The case of the Lipstick Murders

began with the discovery of a
young man's body in a swan boat.

While the motif of the swan
was to prove a key clue,

the defining aspect
of the murders

was the manner in which
each victim was killed.

It's not clear what killed him,

but he died 5 to 10 hours ago.

A canoeist found him
floating in the lake.

Oh, and William, look at this.

"Let's get acquainted
for fun and results."

It's a flirtation card

to be slipped discreetly
to someone you wish to meet.

So, a woman gave him
this flirtation card,

arranging a meeting.

- He then brought her here
to this lovely spot.
- Romance ensued,

judging by the lip
rouge on his face.

Love was in the air.

More than that.

I believe I'm detecting
the smell of bitter almonds.

It could be cyanide.

Likely not the "fun and
results" he was expecting.

"While it was clear the victims
died from cyanide poisoning,

the manner in which the poison was
administered proved to be a puzzle."

Yes, we discovered that the poison

was delivered by way of lip rouge.

But your book specifies that the
poison came from a cut on the lip.

I don't see a point of entry here.

That's true. In this case,

it must have been
administered some other way.

- Injected?
- Or ingested.

That would slow the effects

long enough to
see her to hospital.

And obscure the
timing of the murder.

Is that what he's doing, then?

Copying crimes in your book

but leaving out the parts
that would get him caught?

I don't know, sir, but
we now have three murders.

Our best hope is to find
any possible connection

between each of the victims.

We've had a few
sequential murderers.

What's been the
connections there?

Well, the point of connection
is usually related to the motive.

In the electroplating murders,

it was the betrayal
of a mutual friend.

But with the lipstick killer, it
was the man who had humiliated her.

You needn't be afraid
of this rouge stick.

I chose the colour
especially for you.

And with the elder
murders from last year,

the point of connection was a red
herring to obscure the true motive.

Men over 60 should be
euthanised with chloroform.

Perhaps Dr Osler
didn't realise

the influence his
words would have.

Right now, the only connection
that we know of is your book.

Am I right?

Sir? Dr Morley had a
reputation as a drinker.

He was also the defendant in
several malpractice lawsuits.

Interesting.

Henry, find out if anyone
involved in those lawsuits

was connected to
any of the victims.

Oh, and while you're at it,

gather all of the information that
you can on each of the victims:

where they were born, where they
lived, where they went to school,

jobs, any friends
they may have had.

We're looking for anything
that connects one to the other.

All right. Oh, and

this just came out.

Well, at least we have a
couple of suspects with motive.

Who is that?

You and you.

Yes, yes. This is Constable
Higgins-Newsome from Station House 4.

All right.

Anything popping up?

We've found some connections.

Yes, sir. Amelia Brown and
Dr Morley both lived on Wright Ave,

but at different times.

Rebecca Collins was once
neighbours with Eve Wilson,

who was a patient
of Dr Morley's.

Also, sir,
Miss Brown and Mrs Collins

both appeared to
enjoy romance fiction.

"Romance fiction"?

- Bloody tenuous, if you ask me.
- I'd have to agree.

Any connection between two
victims is likely happenstance,

but when a connection between
all three victims is found,

- we need to pay strict attention.
- Right then.

It's time for
Slorach's send off.

Oh, I can't go.

These sequential murders are
a bloody nightmare, Murdoch.

Get your head out of it for
a while, then come back to it.

- Like a jigsaw puzzle.
- Sort of.

Come on, Murdoch.

I'll just stay here then.

They're crowded into the alley.

It's quite the turnout.

Well, he was never much of a
cop, but an easy man to like.

No luck in the case but
book sales are good, I see.

- Mr Fellows. I didn't realise you--
- That I used to be a cop?

Of course not. I am just a
hotel detective, after all.

- I don't remember you.
- I had to leave the force.

Injury in the line of
duty. Some pay the price.

So, you worked with
Inspector Slorach?

My, you are the sleuth!
How did you figure that out?

Oh, right. I'm here.

Ralphie boy! How's the knee?

Well, it's had 30 years to heal.

Great, great, great.
Get yourself a beer.

- First round's on me.
- I already have my first beer.

Great, I just saved 10 cents.

Oh, Tommy, I'm looking
forward to your speech.

Give me your worst. No one
will be laughing harder than me.

We'll see about that.

Ahem. If I could have
your attention, please.

I'd like to say a few words

about everyone's
favourite inspector.

Or, as we used to call him,

Sloppy Seconds Slorach!

That's true! That's
true, they did! They did!

Sorry to interrupt,

but there's a telephone
call for the man of the hour.

That would be me.

Right. Quiet down, lads.

Let the man of the hour
hear the bloody phone.

Hello? Who is this?

Can you hear me now?

- NO!
- What happened?!

He's been shot!

Angels. I see angels.
Angels are carrying me.

- Oof.
- I'm floating away.

- Learn anything, sir?
- Bloody useless, the lot of them.

You'd think in a bar
room full of coppers,

- someone would have seen something.
- We didn't see anything either.

So, what would make an
earpiece explode like that?

I believe it was struck

- by a high velocity projectile.
- You mean a bullet?

- Well,
- I didn't hear a shot.

not exactly a bullet, sir.

I believe this crime was inspired
by chapter four of the book.

What's chapter four?

"Murder at the Hall of Inventions."

As you might remember,

I had been called
to the convention

- to investigate a threat
to an inventor. - That's me.

Mr Schreyer,
under the circumstances,

- I would advise you not to
go up on that stage. - No.

I have worked for
years for this moment.

I'm not going
to be intimidated.

Mr Schreyer accepted his award

and paid the price with his life.

Seal the exits, George.
This man's been murdered.

- There was no gunshot.
- None that was heard, sir.

Obviously, something penetrated
his skull. As to how?

Must have been someone who
used one of those mufflers

that silences a gunshot.

How could someone have used
such a weapon without being seen?

A bit higher, Constable. Higher.

We determined the trajectory
of the bullet. There.

Oh, that's odd.

You found it led
to a killing machine.

- So, where would that be then?
- Well, let's see.

Inspector Slorach was
standing here, facing this way.

- So, the shot had to have come from--
- Well, well, well.

Your book has certainly turned
out to be quite inspirational.

- How do you know
that's what this is?
- I am a detective.

I may not write books, but I am
capable of abductive reasoning.

You're also connected to the first
murder, and this latest attempt.

Oh, am I a suspect now?

How do you explain
the coincidence?

How do you?

Yes, I'm connected to two,

but you're connected to all of
them. Furthermore, you have a motive.

Your books are just
flying off the shelves.

Nothing like a little
murder to goose sales.

I'll goose you if you don't
shut up and let him work.

Oh, yes. Of course. Let the
master detective ply his trade.

He's written a book, you know!

Ho ho ho!

Bloody pain in
the backside he is.

All right then.

Excuse me.

- What's behind here?
- A storage room.

Well, we've seen this
before, haven't we?

What is it?

I have no idea.

This is a battery.

There are wires leading to a

switch of some sort,

but then, this appears
to be a switch as well.

I'm going to
bypass these switches

to see if I can figure out

what the--

I believe we've found
our murder weapon, George.

There are some similarities.
But it can't be the same.

Why is that?

Because Karl Schreyer
shot himself.

He put himself in the position
and triggered the device.

In this case, the killer had to

control the timing as
well as the position.

- So, the killer was among us.
- Not exactly.

This device was triggered
by this alarm clock.

It's set for 8pm.

So, no one in the room could
have affected the timing.

As for the position, the killer
had him speak into the telephone

at precisely 8pm.

- Henry!
- So, whoever telephoned,
tried to kill him.

- That would appear to be the case.
- Sir?

- Any success?
- The switchboard operator
remembers the call.

She said the voice
sounded like it was put on.

He likely disguised it.

Did she remember where
the call came from?

Yes, sir. It came from
the Windsor House Hotel.

Ralph Fellows works at
the Windsor House Hotel.

Yes, but Ralph Fellows was
at the retirement party.

He couldn't have placed the call.

He wasn't one of the coppers

that I talked to directly
after Slorach was shot.

The Windsor House Hotel is
what, three blocks from there?

Could he have run
to the Windsor House,

placed the call and run back?

He did seem a bit winded.

As far as I know,
Mr Fellows was here all evening.

He wasn't.

He was at a retirement party
for at least part of the evening.

I didn't give him
permission to leave.

Regardless, I need to know
where he was at precisely 8PM.

Some time ago, I caught
Mr Fellows sleeping on the job,

so I had one of these installed.

He's required to punch in
on the hour, every hour.

"8:01."

- Is Fellows our man, then?
- He is a strong suspect.

What could his motive be?

Taking you down a peg or two.

Well, he's always
resented your success.

And you're Toronto's
most famous detective.

And now, you're infamous for
writing a how-to book for murder.

Not even Ralph Fellows
is that spiteful.

But if he did have motive to
kill these specific victims,

then I suppose taking us down
a peg could be a welcome bonus.

Sir. Ralph Fellows once
worked for Miss Brown's father.

The Pinkerton fellow?

- Bring in Mr Brown, Henry.
- Sir.

Yeah, I hired Ralph. He
lasted exactly one week.

What happened?

I came back from lunch
and found my Amelia

shooting bottles in the
alley with his pistol.

- He gave her his pistol?!
- Well, no, he didn't
give it to her, but

clearly, he left it in a
place where she could find it.

Worst of all,
he wouldn't admit it!

Claimed he kept it locked up.

I fired him on the spot.
Haven't seen him since.

What, you think
he murdered my Amelia

because she got him fired?

It did seem a bit much.

I don't disagree, but we
have a connection and motive.

Let's see what the
constables have found.

Henry. What have you?

Well, the hotel owner gave us
the access to Mr Fellows' room.

- We found this.
- "Learn German."

- It suggests he may be
intending to flee.
- Hmm. Anything else?

Yes, we found some of
his old correspondence.

- Tells somewhat of a sad story,
I'm afraid. - Go on.

Well, in 1865, Ralph Fellows applied
to be a detective at Scotland Yard.

- He was accepted.
- Ralph Fellows for
England's finest?!

Why didn't he go?

The woman he was courting
hid the acceptance letter.

How did you learn that?

Well, she wrote a subsequent
letter admitting what she did, sir.

She blamed bad advice from
a friend for her treachery.

What was the friend's name?

Becky Winters.

"Becky".

Becky is short for Rebecca.

Henry, telephone City Records

and see if Rebecca Collins'
maiden name is Winters.

You're thinking she might
be victim number three.

If Mr Fellows is our killer, he
certainly would have had motive.

Sir. I just found this.

What is it, Murdoch?

A letter from
Mr Fellows' lawyer.

He was suing Dr Morley.

Sir, Rebecca Winters married
Rupert Collins in 1881.

What about Slorach?
What's the motive there?

Ralph Fellows aspired to become
a detective. He never made it.

Slorach did.

So, Slorach reaches the
pinnacle of his profession,

while Ralph Fellows ends
up a hotel detective.

- That's got to rankle.
- Ralph Fellows had motive
to kill all four victims.

Bring him in, Higgins.
Three counts murder,

- one attempted.
- Sir.

Planning on leaving town?

I suppose the notion
of self-improvement

must be inconceivable to someone

who considers
himself to be perfect.

But you're not perfect.

You have arrested the
only man that I know

could not have
committed these murders.

How is that?

I'm pretty sure
I would've known

if I was going around
killing people I don't know.

Oh, but you do know them.

I know Slorach. I have
no reason to kill him.

Detective Slorach was
promoted ahead of you.

Undeservedly.

But you wanted that job.

You may have
eventually made detective,

but a botched surgery
rendered you unfit for service.

A surgery performed

by Dr Morley.

You, of course,
remember Robert Brown.

You worked with him
at the Pinkerton's.

The body of the woman that was
found in the lobby was his daughter.

No.

- I believe she found your pistol--
- Yes, I know what happened!

- Likewise, you also remember
Rebecca Collins. - Who is she?

Her maiden name was Winters.

Dear God.

That was Becky?

Each of the victims
harmed you in a way

that forever denied your
ambition to become a detective.

That was my ambition.
I admit that.

As a child,
I used to play detective.

I uncovered all
my sister's crimes,

but I did not place that call.

Nor did I kill the doctor
who destroyed my career,

or that loathsome child
who decided to play pop gun

with my pistol outside my boss's
window, and I most certainly

did not kill Becky Winters
with a lipstick kiss of death.

Then who did?

Who else knows of all
of these connections?

No doubt that you think that
there's a lineup of people

around the block who wish
to set me up for murder.

Nobody hates me that much.

Then how do you explain the
connections, Mr Fellows?

I used to be lucky.

As a child, I was blessed.
Everything went my way.

My father was a pathetic drunk.

He was gone by the
time I was seven.

My sister got lumped with him.

I got to live with
my mother in Canada.

I was always her favourite.

And her new husband just
happened to have a brother

who worked in Scotland Yard.

So, when you came
of age you applied,

knowing you would be accepted.

But you never
heard back from them.

Because Miss Winters hid
your letter of acceptance.

Her friend convinced her
that she would lose me.

The irony is, I would have married
Becky and taken her with me.

That's the day my luck turned.

You're a Catholic.

You must believe in God's hand.

Surely you must have
felt it on your back

when you got your perfect
job, your perfect wife,

your best-selling book.

I believe in His grace.

Then surely, you must
allow for the opposite

denial of grace.

Malevolent fortune.

At every juncture, the fates
conspired against my ambitions,

my happiness.

You want my explanation?

Here it is:

there is a killer out there using
your book to kill people randomly.

It's just my bad luck they
all happen to be people

who I have motive to kill.

Or do you consider
me stupid enough

to leave a correspondence trail
that links me to every victim?

Just my luck.

It's got to be him.

Who else would have the
motive to kill these people?

I don't know, sir.

But I take his point:

would he have left such
a trail of evidence?

Is he that stupid? And if so,

how did he conceive of, let alone
execute, all of these crimes?

If it is a setup, is the real
killer out to get Fellows, or

do they have the wrong motive?

Well, we know that the
killer telephoned from
the Windsor House Hotel.

What about the hotel owner?

She was the one who bought
the machine that ensured

that Fellows would be
there on the hour.

She's also the one who invited
the constables to search his room.

Sir.

Becky Collins' friend,
the one who advised her

to hide Mr Fellows' acceptance
letter, her name was Eve.

- "Eve"?
- It could be short for Evelyn.

You're thinking she acted
to sabotage his career?

I don't know.

But if she was behind
his first failure,

it stands to reason

that she had a hand
in the rest of them.

Pookie!

Mr Kellogg. Ahem.

Mr Kellogg is forming the Battle
Creek Toasted Cornflake Company.

We've come to see if
you are free for dinner.

- I can't. We're in the middle
of a case. - Oh. Pity.

Well, I suppose we'll have to
celebrate our partnership without you.

- I'll meet you at the restaurant,
Mr Kellogg. - Very good.

I'll see you shortly.

A rooster on the box.

Brilliant!

- Do I look like a rooster?
- "Partnership"?

Oh, not an equal partnership,
but he's given us 1000 shares.

Really? How much are they worth?

$100, but think about

how much more they'll be
worth in 10 years' time.

Pumpkin,

I really don't see people
eating dried flakes,

especially not at breakfast.

Are you sure, Henny?

- Sure as sunshine, Ruthie.
- Oh.

I'll tell you what.
Sell the shares.

We'll buy that new chesterfield
that you were looking at.

Oh, I did very much
like that chesterfield.

Evelyn Matthews'
maiden name was Wilson,

and an Eve Wilson was a
Pinkerton's client in 1886.

When Amelia Brown was five.

Do you think she tricked the little
girl into stealing Fellows' pistol?

- Sir, did I hear you say Eve Wilson?
- Yes, what have you?

Eve Wilson was a
patient of Dr Morley.

Perhaps she got him drinking

before he operated
on Mr Fellows?

Where's the
connection to Slorach?

Did she arrange for him to
solve the Jarvish strangler case?

It's more likely
that she impeded

Ralph Fellows' own
investigation of it.

Why would she dedicate herself
to ruining Mr Fellows' life?

Henry. I need you to
telegraph Scotland Yard.

Your maiden name was Wilson

and you went by
the name of Eve.

I'm still called
Eve by my friends.

You were friends with Rebecca
Winters in the late '60s.

For a short time.

You advised her
to hide Mr Fellows'

letter of acceptance
from Scotland Yard.

Your hired the Pinkterton
Detective Agency

- while Mr Fellows worked there.
- If you say so.

And you were a
patient of Dr Morley's.

You are connected to
every victim in this case.

- It doesn't mean I had reason
to kill any of them.
- I believe you did.

I believe you deliberately set
out to destroy Mr Fellows' life,

and for the coup de grace,
you set him up for murder.

And were prepared to
watch him hang for it.

Why would I do that?
I barely knew him.

Your birth name was
Catharine Evelyn Fellows.

Ralph Fellows' sister.

- You resented him.
- Is that what he told you?

He had good fortune,
and you did not.

Fortune had nothing
to do with it.

He got everything he wanted
because he was a little bootlicker.

And as for me, every time
I stepped out of line,

he was there with
his magnifying glass

and abductive reasoning to
find me out and turn me in.

And it wasn't just me.

It was Ralph who uncovered
our father's adultery

and ended their marriage.

Everything bad that
happened he made happen!

It's his fault! All of it!

- So, you admit it?
- Oh, I admit I dedicated myself

to squelching his ambition,
and I don't regret it.

He would have made
a terrible detective.

The truth was staring him
in the face the whole time.

I even hired him just to
make his life miserable

and he never put it together.

That his own sister was the
architect of his misfortune.

He thought it was
all his bad luck.

What an idiot.

So, go ahead. Charge me.

All the evidence points to him.

Any jury will see that.

Evelyn was Catharine?

She set out to destroy you,
Mr Fellows.

But,

I always liked Catharine.

I'd always hoped
the best for her.

Will she hang?

If she confesses, no.

But she refuses.

I'm sorry.

Don't be.

You gave me back my life.

I always thought God hated me.

Turns out it was just her.

As a child,
I used to play detective.

I uncovered all
my sister's crimes.

Why did he tell me that?

If he'd never told
me about his sister,

I never would have
put it together.

So, you think
Mr Fellows discovered

Evelyn Matthews was his sister?

Once he'd figured
out what she'd done,

he set her up by
setting himself up.

Gambling that you would figure
that much out but no more?

If you look at the
bulk of our cases,

the first suspect
is rarely the culprit.

But to conceive
of such a revenge,

let alone carry it out,
would take a genius.

Does Ralph Fellows really
strike you as a genius?

I'm saying it's a bad idea.

The banquet or the fact that it's
being held in complete darkness?

Well, obviously I'm not against
banquets, I do work in a hotel.

This dinner is in honour
of a very special guest

who is both blind and deaf,

which is why we've invited
blind and deaf guests

as well as charitable donors.

Exactly. Mixing the
rich with the poor?

With the lights out?!
And a constituency

specially skilled
for such circumstance.

The opportunity for
theft is obvious.

As a fellow detective,

you must appreciate my position.

He's not a fool, Julia.

He's just desperate
to be taken seriously.

Which can make anyone
seem like a fool.

He must have known we
thought him unintelligent.

Maybe that's what
he was counting on.

He uses our book
to set up his sister

and gets revenge on us when
we have an innocent woman hang.

But William, the one lesson he
must have taken from our book

is that you always catch
the killer in the end.

Would he not
have taken precautions?

- We found this.
- "Learn German".

It suggests he may
be intending to flee.

Sir, Ralph Fellows bought a
ticket to Hamburg on a ship

that sailed two weeks ago.
Purchased September 18.

Right before the murders began.

- He planned it all out.
- And he bloody well
got away with it as well.

- Henry, contact the German
authorities. - Right away, sir.

Ah, Hamish! How are you faring?

Have I seen fairies?

How are you faring?

Oh, good. Very good, very good.

I don't know why Tom was
just asking about fairies.

- However did he make inspector?
- I heard that.

Oh, come here.

Can you hear that?

- Yeah!
- Detective Murd--

You figured it out.

Mr Fellows.

Where are you?

You win

for now.

Where are you going?

We're heading down to
the Staten Island ferry.

Corrected by DB