Murdoch Mysteries (2008–…): Season 2, Episode 5 - The Green Muse - full transcript

Excuse me.

Get out!

Go! Get out!

Where's Cora?
Did you see Cora?

Did anybody see Cora?

Cora?!

What have we, George?

The fire started around midnight, sir.

And the cause?

An incendiary device
was thrown through this window.

Glass.



Housed in a bottle, it would seem.

Gather up all the shards.
See if we can raise fingermarks.

Some may have survived the fire.

What else?

The madam couldn't find
one of her... employees.

Mm-hmm.

She went to look for her in her room.

Where she found the victim.

Exactly.

Right, then.
Nothing's to be touched.

I want a list of everyone
that was here tonight.

The girls, their customers -- everyone.

Oh, sir, that list could include
the mayor, a bishop.

I mean, this was, after all,
the Music Academy.



It could include
the chief constable himself.

I want that list.

Sir.

The body's up this way.

This is how the madam found her.

Good Lord.

It's a horrible wound.

She appears to have been garroted.

Do we know her name?

Cora Devereaux, age 23.

Letters from admirers.

It appears Miss Devereaux
was a very popular woman.

Perhaps it had something to do
with her taste in fine spirits.

- Ab-sinthe. Ab-seenthe?
- Absinthe.

It's a liquor popular in Europe
amongst the intelligentsia.

Made with an herb -- Wormwood.

Said to cause hallucinations.

Hallucinations?

How intriguing.

- Anything else, George?
- No, sir.

That's all the madam would tell me.

Oh?

Was she being uncooperative?

Well, sir, she said
she wanted to give the rest

of her statement to you personally.

Really?
Where is she now?

Right here, William.

It's good to see you again.

Always a pleasure, Miss Weston...

...despite the circumstances.

I've always looked after my girls.

Arranged doctors,
kept their bellies full,

advised on affairs of the heart.

I didn't do a very good job with Cora,
I'm afraid.

What can you tell me about her?

Not much.

She was in high demand
with my customers,

even though she'd only been here
a short while.

Oh?
How long?

About six months.

And where was she before that?

- Montreal.
- What brought her here?

I believe she had a spot of trouble.

What kind of trouble?

A violent customer.

Had she any difficulties
with customers here?

One.

Arthur Webster.

The painter?

He'd become obsessed with her.

In my experience,
that can only lead to trouble.

I see.

He refused to leave tonight,
so I had him removed.

Tonight?
When was this?

Around 10:00.

Two hours before you discovered
Miss Devereaux's body.

He could have returned, killed her,

and set fire to the house
to cover his tracks.

Except I keep the doors locked
at all times.

Security is very important
for my girls and my clients.

Perhaps he found a way to sneak in.

Well, I suppose that's possible.

Well, I think that's enough for now,
Miss Weston.

Thank you.

William.

In all these years,
you haven't changed.

Not a bit.

And you, Ettie.

You've done very well for yourself.

Ah. Doctor.

Detective.

May I ask why
such a pretty dress for a murder?

Oh.

A gentleman asked me to dinner.

Oh?

Yes. A rather stuffy accountant,
as it turns out.

He was busy explaining the difference

between single-
and double-entry bookkeeping

when I was called away.

The garrote appears to have severed

both the carotid artery
and the jugular vein.

So the killer would have been
covered in blood?

Not necessarily.

The attack appears to have been
from behind,

meaning he would have avoided
most of the blood spray.

This is most interesting.

What is it?

There's another scar
winding around her neck...

...suggesting a previous attempt
to garrote the victim.

As though someone returned
to finish a job

they had already started.

Well, this is a right cock-up.

What have you got there?

What does this smell
remind you of, sir?

Mineral spirits?

More specifically, turpentine.

Mm. Fuel used in the fire bomb, was it?

One of them.
Likely the accelerant.

To light something heavier.

Kerosene more than likely.

At least that's what
they taught us in the regiment.

So the killer chucks it in
through the window,

hoping to cover his tracks.

But the bomb was poorly constructed.

Caused more smoke than fire.

Many lives were spared.

Do we know which of the city fathers

were caught with their strides down?

- Strides?
- Trous--

Uh, pants, pants.

Yes.
I have a list.

Mm.

Bloody hell, Murdoch.

Don't let this out of your sight.

We're not gonna be able to keep
what happened out of the press,

but at least we can try
and limit the damage.

There's quite a few friends
of the department on here.

Yes.
I'll try to ensure discretion.

Do we have a suspect?

Yes.
A painter with a jealous obsession.

Miss Devereaux... dead?

It can't be.

I'm sorry to have to inform you,
Mr. Webster.

Turpentine.

To clean my brushes.

What of it?

We believe it was used to set the fire.

But surely you don't think
that I had something to --

Mr. Webster,
you had to be forcibly removed

from the brothel last night.

Sometimes I find it difficult
to leave Miss Devereaux.

Surely you've felt the same way
towards a love.

Where did you go afterwards?

I came here to paint.

I am...

was always so inspired
after being with her.

She was my muse.

You were obsessed with her.

So much so
that you couldn't stand the thought

of other men being with her.

I had already accepted that situation,

as unfortunate as it was.

Unfortunate?

Yes.
Her heart belonged to another.

I'm sorry to disturb you
at your home, Judge Wilson,

but as I mentioned,
this is an urgent matter.

I'm sorry I haven't much time.

My caseload lately is very heavy.

Yes.
I'll try to be brief.

Are you familiar
with the Weston Music Academy?

No, I am not.
Should I be?

It's a brothel, sir.

A young woman was murdered there
last night.

I see.

Most unfortunate.

Sir, I believe you were a client
of the victim's.

Are you suggesting that
I frequent brothels, Detective?

With all due respect, sir,
you were mentioned by name.

Well, many people would like to see me
removed from the bench.

This is probably some ploy
to discredit me.

Where were you last night?

I was working late in chambers.

And then I returned home.

What time?

About 10:00.

I had a small glass of sherry,
and then I went to bed.

And you remained here at home
the whole night?

You're quite certain?

I think I would know
if I'd gotten out of bed, don't you?

Now, if there's nothing further,
Detective, I'm needed in court.

Inspector.

There's a gentleman
from the Temperance League to see you.

A Mr. Beecher.

Beecher? Bollocks.

And there you go, sir.

Send him in.

- Go on in.
- Thank you.

Inspector, the Temperance League
is no longer simply concerned

with the evils of drink.

All of society's woes
require our attention.

So the missus has told me, Mr. Beecher.

In particular,
it's the houses of ill fame

and the plight of the women
in them that concern us.

Same goes for the police.

Well, so you say.

And yet, Inspector, for some time,

the entire constabulary,
yourself included,

has tolerated the existence
of the Music Academy

because it caters to the city's elite.

You and I both know
that that place is first-class.

Those lasses are well looked after.

Are they?

Perhaps Miss Devereaux's parents
would disagree.

Inspector, on behalf of the thousands

of Temperance League members,

staunch supporters of our cause,
like your wife,

I demand that place
be shut down immediately.

You can tell your members
that the police are doing their job.

In fact, we already have a suspect.

- Oh?
- Yes.

An artist.

An artist.

I see.

Somewhat convenient, Inspector,
but a suspect nonetheless, huh?

- What are you implying, sir?
- I'm not implying.

I'm merely noting
that of all the powerful people

in that brothel,
a lowly artist is the suspect.

Facts do not lie, sir.

Of course they don't.

Inspector, the Temperance League

will be watching
the progress of this case.

If justice is not served,
you will be hearing from us.

I can't wait.

I would place time of death
roughly around midnight.

Consistent with when the fire broke out.

The stomach contents
revealed nothing out of the ordinary,

except that she'd had an aperitif

shortly before she was murdered.

Anise-based, I believe.

There was a bottle of absinthe
in the room.

Oh?
The green fairy.

Green fairy?

Yes, the inspiration of many a poet.

Some say she can be seen
after drinking it.

Or overindulging in it.

It's a most exotic drink.

No doubt supplied
by your friend, the madam.

How did you two meet?

A church function, perhaps?

Actually, we met during a case.

Her friend Alice Black,
also a prostitute, was murdered.

Oh.

Fortunately, I managed to save Ettie --
Miss Weston's life.

I'm sorry.
I-I didn't mean to imply --

I also misjudged Miss Weston
when I first met her.

Were there any defensive wounds?

There would have been
no time to struggle.

Death would have been
almost instantaneous.

There was this, however.

Mm.

Any idea how she got those scars?

A whip or a lash, I should think.

I've heard that those can be used
in sex play.

Yes. These scars
are very nasty, though.

I don't think there was
any play involved.

No, I suppose not.

Listen.
She was a doxy.

She did things for money,
and some people pay for pain.

Might explain how she got that older
scar on her neck as well.

I highly doubt she would let someone
do that to her,

no matter the price.

She did allow herself
to be put in a vulnerable position,

allowing men to put things
around her neck and so on.

She wouldn't have noticed the garrote
until it was too late.

Something happened to her
in Montreal.

I have a mate on the force there.

He might be able to tell us
a bit more.

Sir, there's someone here
to see you.

I'm Detective William Murdoch.

Yes. I'm Paul Wilson,
His Honor's son.

Ah, yes. Of course.
Mr. Wilson, how can I help you?

Well, this is rather difficult,

and I fear that it may implicate
my father in something unseemly.

But if I'm not mistaken,

Father told you he didn't go out
last night, did he not?

That's correct.

Well, I remember waking
in the middle of the night,

and I heard
someone come into the house.

There was a lot of commotion,
banging and whatnot.

Did you investigate?

This is very difficult for me.

It was Father.

You're certain?

He's recently taken to coming in
at all hours of the night.

Mm. I see.

I'll be sure to look into this.

Unfortunately, there's more.

I...
I feel terrible about this.

I found these
in the rear of his wardrobe.

I'll ask you
one more time, Judge Wilson.

How did you get the bloodstains
on your clothes?

I couldn't tell you.

You'll have to forgive me,
Your Honor,

but you're not being forthcoming.

I'm telling you what I know.

You also told me
you never left your home.

I just... don't know what happened.

How can that be?

Either you left your home
or you didn't.

Such a damn muddle,
I can barely remember a thing.

Let me help you.

You went to the brothel.
You saw Miss Devereaux.

Yes. Cora.

What time was this?

About 11:00.

And then what?

I...I must have dozed off.

We'd been drinking,
and when I woke...

...there was blood, and...

...she was there beside me...

...dead.

And the next thing I know,
I was in front of my door at home.

And you have no idea
how you got there?

- No.
- Yet you had the good sense

to remove the bloodstained clothing.

Yes, I suppose so, yes.

But I didn't kill her.
Of this, I am certain.

How can you be?

You don't seem certain
of anything else.

Have you ever been in love?

Deeply and profoundly in love?

I have.

Well, then you understand
when I tell you

that, no matter
how confused I am,

I-I wanted to spend the rest
of my life with Cora.

Why else would I have asked her
to be my bride?

He's gone completely daft.

A judge just can't up
and marry some scarlet woman.

He'd be throwing away his career.

According to the judge,
they were very much in love.

Love. Ha!

The only thing she loved
was his money.

And I think the judge
finally realized that as well.

You think he discovered Miss Devereaux
was a gold digger.

And in a blind rage, killed her.

How could he have been
in her room

and thrown the fire bomb
at the same time?

That's a good point.

And for that matter,

why not just set fire to the bed
with her in it?

Why not, indeed.

The killer wasn't trying to cover up
his crime.

He threw the fire bomb
to create a diversion.

And in the confusion, slips in,

goes upstairs, kills Miss Devereaux.

Bloody diabolical.

But then why is the judge still alive?

Perhaps someone wanted us
to think that he was the killer.

Then again,
maybe the judge had a partner,

and this is all
just a wild theory.

Seems we've got nothing but questions.

Why am I here, William?

You know very well why you're here.

The judge was in Miss Devereaux's room,
wasn't he?

I'm sorry.

Tell me what happened.
And I want the truth this time.

Very well.

Cora?!

I went to Cora's room, looking for her,
just as I told you.

When I opened the door,
I saw him...

holding her...

...crying.

The building was burning,

so I helped him out,
and I had him taken home.

Even though he murdered
one of your own girls?

He did not murder Cora.

How can you be certain?
You found him over the body.

If you know anything about me, William,

it's that I'm an expert on men.

You won't deny that it's useful to have
a judge in your pocket.

You trusted me in the past
when so many wouldn't.

Trust me now.

Very well.

In the past, Miss Devereaux

was involved with customers
who enjoyed the lash.

Am I correct?

Yes, in Montreal.

And did she have any clients here

with that certain proclivity?

One.

- The judge?
- No.

Of course not.

Then who?

What's the meaning of this?

I searched the rest of your house

and found these in your bedside table.

What was the nature

of your relationship
with Miss Devereaux?

Miss Devereaux... dominated,
disciplined me.

You couldn't possibly understand.

Oh, I think I understand you fully.

You enjoyed being humiliated.

Or at least
you thought you did...

until Miss Devereaux
decided to marry the judge.

That was too much humiliation
for even you to endure.

My wanting to kill Miss Devereaux

is as unlikely as the judge wanting to.

You don't think he had reason?

I had only respect for the way
he treated Miss Devereaux.

Now, his son -- That is
a completely different story.

His son?

Miss Devereaux had ordered me
to accompany her

to an opening at the art gallery.

Young Mr. Wilson approached her,

accused her of being
after his father's money, was insulting

and so furious
I actually feared he would strike her.

I was about to put him in his place,

but Miss Devereaux
commanded me not to.

I see.

Mr. Wilson.

That's quite a contraption.

Yes!
Isn't it?

An electric carriage.
One of the first in the city.

Mm.
Do you own it?

Well, I'm considering it.

But frankly, it's difficult
to get excited about anything,

given what's happened to Father.

Unless you've come
with good news?

There have been
recent developments.

Wonderful.

Assuming it's something
that will exonerate him.

I understand you had
an extremely vitriolic exchange

with the victim.

It was a heated argument, true.

But I was determined
to protect Father.

Protect him?
From what?

From that woman dragging
his good name through the mud.

She would have ruined him,
professionally, socially.

Financially?

Well, that is what happens
when one falls victim

to an avaricious manipulator
who's only after one's estate.

It certainly is.

Are you saying you suspect Paul?

His behavior makes me curious.

His behavior?

He had a heated argument
with Miss Devereaux.

Paul did not take well
to my decision to marry Cora.

And why not?

I've coddled Paul
since his mother died.

He worshiped her.

And it's likely he thought
he was defending her honor.

Perhaps.

Or perhaps he felt that his finances
were being threatened

by your impending marriage.

I don't see why he would feel that way.

I had my attorney draw up a contract

leaving him half of my estate
in the event of my death.

What if half wasn't enough?

Detective, my son's flaws are many.

He's a talented pianist
who never plays.

He requires constant validation

from friends who don't care for him.

He's never worked a day in his life.

But he's still my son.

I see.

If I may, how were you planning
to deal with the...

ramifications of your marriage?

No need to be delicate, Detective.

Cora's dream was to have a home
by the sea.

I bought us a cottage
I found on the tip of Cape May.

And we were going to leave
as soon as possible.

Just... it wasn't soon enough.

I loved Cora, deeply.

I never let a day go by
without telling her.

It's cold comfort,
but at least I didn't make that mistake.

I've just received word back
from Montreal.

What's that, then?

It's a sample of the fire-bomb fuels

collected from the carpet
in the brothel.

I'm hoping that by identifying them,

it might lead us to the killer.

And how do you propose to do that?

Specific gravity.

Much like separating cream from milk.

I'll have to send it
to the university, however.

I would do it myself,
but I don't have a centrifuge.

Oh, that's a shame.

Anyway, back to Montreal.

It seems there were two
rather nasty garrote attacks

on prostitutes there.

One of the victims survived.

Went by the name
of Cora Devereaux.

So we have a prostitute
running from a killer.

Comes to Toronto to hide.

But her past comes calling.

Sir, might I interrupt?

Yes, George.
Have you news on the case?

You could say that.

Sir, I believe
we have our murderer.

You're leaping to conclusions, George.

I don't think so, sir.

He's left us a confession.

Mr. Webster suffered cerebral edema.

He was obviously cyanotic.

And I found petechiae
on his skin and in his eyes.

The cause of death was asphyxiation.

So your findings are consistent
with a suicide?

That troubles you?

Something about this crime
just isn't sitting right with me.

Well, I can run further tests
if you like.

I would appreciate that.

Was there something else?

Yes.

I was wondering if you would have dinner
with me tonight.

Oh, certainly.

I-I'm not sure that the results
will be back by then.

Well, there are other matters
we could discuss.

Current events.
Past events.

Constable Crabtree's
remarkably untidy --

Well, I... I'd be delighted.

Good.

Very good.

Mr. Beecher, I thought
I should inform you personally

before the newspapers publish.

We've shut down
the Music Academy.

The details are all there for you.

Very good, Inspector.

So this Mr. Webster hanged himself.

That's right.

And a confession written
in paint found by his side?

Near the body, yes.

What of Judge Wilson?

He's still in custody,
but I'm sure he'll be exonerated.

I should think there must be
some charge for him.

Solicitation, perhaps?

Yes. Well, there are unfortunate
vagaries in the laws.

Of course there are.

You must be quite pleased, Inspector.

This worked out quite well for you.

I'm not sure I appreciate
what you're insinuating, Mr. Beecher.

Then let me be clear.

The Temperance League
will change this city.

Mark my words.

Drink and loose morals
will be a thing of the past.

Next time --
and there will be a next time --

the rich and powerful
might not be so lucky.

And perhaps neither will
the constabulary.

Yes.
Well, thank you for stopping by.

I'll see you out.

Hello, Miss Weston.

- Spare me your false sanctimony.
- Miss Weston --

If I've offended you in any way --

You come into my business,
proselytizing like some preacher

about how you're acting
in the interests of women.

Well, you turned every one of them
onto the street.

They had protection
and medicine and clothing.

And now they have nothing.

Whatever happens to them
is on your head.

Miss Weston,
perhaps I could get you a cup of tea

in the detective's office?

Thank you, Constable.

The poor woman.

I don't think we've been
formally introduced.

Detective William Murdoch.
Who might you be?

Levi Beecher.
It's a pleasure.

Change is coming.

Spread the good word.

I'm sorry, William,
I caused a scene.

But I cannot abide
that man's hypocrisy.

It's quite all right, Ettie.

I need you to tell me more
about the nature of the relationship

between Miss Devereaux
and Arthur Webster.

He referred to her exclusively
as Miss Devereaux, did he not?

Always.

Then why would he write,
"Forgive me, Cora,"

at the scene of his death?

I have no idea.

So let me try to understand this.

You don't think
Arthur Webster killed himself

because he wrote "Cora"
instead of "Miss Devereaux"

on his suicide note.

Which apparently
is no longer a suicide note.

That's my thinking, yes.

Did it ever occur to you
that maybe he ran out of room?

Miss Devereaux is quite
a long name to write.

- Sir.
- Bloody hell, Murdoch.

I thought we had this
all wrapped up.

There is also no connection
to Montreal, sir.

I'm gonna have
that bloody temperance bastard

breathing down my neck again.

So we're dealing
with a double murder, is that it?

Not necessarily.

The two cases may not be related.

Not related?

Our prime suspect was found hanging

by a suicide note
bearing our victim's name.

Sir, we have nothing
to connect the two cases.

And until we do,

it would behoove us
to treat them separately.

So let's start with Miss Devereaux.

If Webster didn't kill her,
then who the bloody hell did?

Perhaps the man who stood
the most to gain from her death.

The judge's son.

Cora did stand in the way
of his inheritance.

And he's the one who brought us

the man's bloody clothing
to begin with.

What are you thinking?

Could I get you a spot of something
to take the edge off?

A Pimm's and lemonade
would be nice.

Yes. Well, I think you
might have to make do with tea.

Higgins! Tea!

We'd like to speak to you
about your father.

Judge Wilson has always been
a very great friend

to the Toronto police force.

He's often spoken very highly
of the constabulary's fine work.

Which is why we were so glad
to find another suspect.

I see.

And due to the overwhelming evidence
against this suspect,

we may soon be able
to release your father.

Why, that is terrific news.

Now, this doesn't entirely
clear your father's name.

Not yet.

We still have to clear up
some minor details, such as,

did the suspect have the ability
to build a fire bomb?

Or the means.

And we have to find the materials

or some evidence of him
having had such materials.

I see.

But the point is this, Mr. Wilson.

We think very soon your father's
good name will be cleared.

I can't tell you
how relieved I am to hear this.

Inspector, Detective,
the constabulary's diligence

in this matter will not go unnoticed.

We certainly hope not.

I'll see you out.

- George.
- Sir?

The trap has been set.

Sir.

Just put it in the carriage.

You know which one --
the one without the horses.

Careful with that.

That was delicious, William.

Peanut butter and jelly.
Who would have thought?

I thought the occasion
called for something special.

I never took you for a gourmet.

William?

You seem preoccupied.
Is something wrong?

Oh. Well, here we are,
you and I.

Yes?

And I must apologize.

I can't help my thoughts
returning to the case.

Perhaps we should
just discuss it, then.

After all, I find it
as fascinating as you.

Well, good.
Good.

Um...

All along I've suspected

that the judge is incapable of murder.

But?

But there is another possibility.

The two had been drinking absinthe.

Perhaps the wormwood in it
caused him to become violent.

Studies of wormwood's properties
say hallucination

is a possible effect
of the thujone in it.

Yet other studies state the opposite.

Everyone's physiology
is as unique as their eyes.

Exactly.

So there really is no way
of knowing for certain

how it would affect an individual.

Doctor, how would you feel
about an experiment?

An experiment?

Yes.
I'd been saving it for later.

But with all of this talk of absinthe,
I thought it apropos.

William, I've never known you to drink.

Only on special occasions.

And this is one?

Yes.

Well, that would be delightful.

And now it could serve
a double purpose.

All in the name of science,
of course.

Of course.

Come on in.

Well, I am disappointed.

Hm?

Not one green fairy.

Disappointed?

William, we can't have that.

William, I think we should talk about
where this is heading.

I'm very happy with where I am,
thank you.

No, that wasn't what I meant.

Oh?

Y-Yes.

Oh.

Mrs. Kitchen doesn't usually
allow visitors.

Oh.

No.

Oh.

No.

I was talking about precautions.

Precautions?

Yes.
I mean, do you have anything?

Oh, you mean...

Yes.
Prophylactics.

Oh, I didn't think
I'd be needing any.

Yes, we do, William.

We -- We really, really do.

How very modern of you.

There will be other chances.

But for tonight,
saner heads must prevail.

For tonight.

All right.

- Here you go.
- Thank you.

George.

Oh, sir.
I'm sorry.

- I must have nodded off...
- Shh, shh.

...writing up my report.

- Are you all right, sir?
- I'm fine.

I guess we both had
a long night.

What did you find out
on your surveillance?

Well, sir, it seems Paul Wilson
took the bait entirely.

Here's the list of items
he purchased

directly after your meeting.

Well, I guess we just wait.

And not for long, apparently.

Mr. Wilson.

Ah, Detective.

I desperately hope this is nothing,

but I knew my conscience wouldn't rest

if I didn't bring it to your attention.

- What is it?
- Well, I happened to be

in the gardening shed this
morning to repair a shuttlecock,

- and I found some items.
- I see.

And would these items include kerosene,
turpentine,

and some torn pieces of cloth?

Why, yes.

This is absurd.
I was trying to help you.

Mr. Wilson, you've been trying
to frame your father

ever since
you walked into this station

with his bloody clothing.

That is slanderous.

You've been spending
your inheritance,

throwing lavish parties

as if you were never expecting him
to return.

I needed to take my mind
off my father's incarceration.

And now you volunteer evidence to us
you yourself acquired.

I found those items.

Mr. Wilson, I had you followed.

My constables observed you

purchasing these items yesterday.

Now, not only are you guilty
of trying to frame your father,

but you murdered Miss Devereaux as well.

Murdered?

You knew that if she lived,

she would stand in the way
of your inheritance.

Oh, God.

Oh, God, this is a nightmare.

No, I-I swear to you,
I didn't kill her.

Enough, Mr. Wilson.

Please tell me the truth.

My father detests me.

He belittles my artistic aspirations.

He derides my taste in friends.

I have suffered indignity
after indignity.

So yes, I want my father's fortune.

All of it.

After all, it's rightly mine.

You would watch your father hang

so you could live out
your gadabout life?

I-I didn't think
he'd actually hang for it.

That's what happens

when a man is convicted
of murder, Mr. Wilson.

Luckily, it appears the noose
will be fitted

to the proper neck.

I didn't kill her.

I didn't.
You have to believe me.

I would never --

I would never have the gumption
to actually kill anyone.

Wait.
Wait, wait, wait, wait.

You're making a mistake.

You're making a terrible mistake!

Hello, Father.

Hello, son.

So the
little bugger framed his father,

but you don't think
he killed Miss Devereaux?

Why would he buy fire-bomb supplies
if he already had them?

Good point.

Besides, I fear he may be right.

He doesn't have the gumption,

let alone the competence, to kill.

So we're back to where we were.

Not quite.

I conducted
a personal experiment last night

with absinthe.

You?

Looking for little green fairies?

You're having me on, Murdoch.

I only wish, sir.

However, the experiment
did prove to be quite beneficial.

Oh.
Keep up the good work.

Good morning, Julia.

William.
How do you feel?

My mind is elated,

but my body seems to be
in a state of rebellion.

Well, we did consume the better part

of a bottle of absinthe last night.

However, the experiment portion
of our evening

was not a complete failure.

How so?

We drank far more absinthe
than the judge and Cora.

In fact... here's the bottle
from her room.

Far less indeed.

Then why were they
so much more affected?

Are you suggesting that something

might have been added
to the absinthe they drank?

It would explain why the victim
showed no signs of struggle.

She was unconscious.

And why the judge
was so disoriented.

Could it have been laudanum?

Possibly. Why?

I just received Arthur Webster's
toxicology results.

And there was laudanum
in his blood?

So much so that I suspect
he was unconscious

when he hanged himself.

I'll run some tests
on the absinthe right away.

And I'll find out
where the bottle came from.

Oh. Um...

Good morning.

Morning.

The bottle came
in a delivery package for Cora

with her favorite flowers
and French perfume.

It was sitting in a basket
on her night table when I came.

She thought I'd sent it.

Well, he was always lavishing her
with exotic gifts,

so I just assumed
it was Judge Wilson.

She was so happy with it,

I didn't want to tell her
it wasn't from me.

She loved absinthe.

She said the wormwood would give us
the most delicious visions.

But all it did
was put me to sleep.

So whoever sent the absinthe

knew that Cora had a taste for it.

As well as for flowers and perfume.

They must have had a history.

Montreal again.

Most likely.

And now you believe this same person
killed Arthur Webster?

Yes.

We found a partial fingermark

on a piece of glass from the fire bomb.

Note the occluded swirl
just off-center.

We found another fingermark

on a glass at Arthur Webster's house.

Not his.

Note the same occluded swirl.

So whoever threw the fire bomb
was at Arthur's house.

Yes.

And Dr. Ogden has confirmed
that Cora's absinthe bottle

was laced with the same drug

that was found
in Arthur Webster's body.

So the same man was responsible
for both murders.

What did I tell you?

Yes, but we now have
the evidence to prove it.

So who is he?

- I have no idea.
- Bloody hell.

Sir, we'll find him.

We have a fingermark,
and we're still compiling evidence.

Sir!

You said you wanted this
as soon as it arrived.

- It's from the university.
- What's that, then?

It's the test results
on the carpet water.

They found two combustibles.

Kerosene and turpentine.

Not turpentine.
Toluene.

Toluene?

- Never heard of it.
- Neither have I.

Why does that not surprise me?

You're not likely to
unless you work in industries

that manufacture rubber,
do electroplating.

And I don't.

And neither do
any of our suspects.

Apparently, it's also used
for lubricating printing presses.

Printing presses.

Change is coming.

Spread the good word.

I met her at a brothel
on Berger Street.

She let me do things to her.

Things even I didn't know
I was capable of.

I kept going back until --

Until you almost killed her.

I didn't realize how ill I was.

That's when I came here.

But every city has its temptations.

And I knew if I fell into my old ways,

the illness would take hold.

And how to avoid that?

The Temperance League?

Doing their good work
was my salvation.

But then you saw
Miss Devereaux again.

At the Music Academy.

I was handing out pamphlets.

She recognized me, of course.

And I knew she would undo everything.

So you chose to undo her instead.

What choice did I have?

Killing her was my only hope
of killing that thing inside of me.

However, you had a problem.

Miss Devereaux knew
that if she left the Music Academy,

you'd be waiting.

I had to get in.

I studied the comings and goings
until I figured out how.

That's when you sent
the absinthe bottle,

knowing she was partial to it.

It should have been simple.

She should have
just been lying there.

But he was with her.

And Arthur Webster?

I'd seen him come to the brothel
several times.

When your inspector
said the suspect was an artist, well...

I put two and two together
and paid him a visit.

So you gave us a nice, tidy way
to wrap up our investigation.

You know, Detective,
when I went to the Music Academy, I...

I really just went to help those girls.

Really.

Why didn't Cora tell me
about Beecher?

I'd have protected her.

Or is that why
she finally said yes to me?

Just to help her get away again.

I have no doubt
that Cora's feelings for you

were genuine, Your Honor.

How could you know that?

Because she could have
just run away.

But she chose to be with you.

You were the one
who was going to take her to safety.

If only we left
when we had the chance.

Why did I wait?

Miss Weston.

I've come to say goodbye, William.

You're leaving?

I was thinking of Winnipeg.

Winnipeg?

I have a little money saved.

Perhaps I'll put my skills to use
and open a small caf?.

And is this a caf? where coffee is sold,

much like the piano lessons were
at your Music Academy?

You could always come
to see for yourself,

if ever you're in Winnipeg.

But that's unlikely now, isn't it?

It is now.

Good luck, Ettie.

Julia, I have something to tell you.

Yes?

Last night,
what happened between us --

It should never have happened.

Oh.
Well, I--

Oh.

Uh, what I mean to say

is that I shouldn't have waited so long

to share my feelings towards you.

Well, William, you should know
that you're not the only one

that lives inside their head.

No?

No.

Well, perhaps another picnic
is in order, then?

Well, that would be splendid.

Without a visit
from the green fairy this time.

I think that would be wise.