Murdoch Mysteries (2008–…): Season 7, Episode 12 - Unfinished Business - full transcript

Holy Mary, Mother of God,

pray for us sinners now and
at the hour of our death, amen.

Mother Isidora, you called for me?

He's taken a turn for the worse.

He's burning up with fever, and
he's been severely distressed.

It's only natural, given his situation.

We're doing everything we
can to make him comfortable.

It's not his physical
discomfort I'm talking about.

It's his moral distress.

Something is weighing on his conscience.

That's more your realm than mine.



Father Ronan should be by in the morning.

That's why I called for you.

He doesn't want a priest;
he wants a policeman.

Call them.

In the name of God,
this must be made right.

I killed her.

Mr. Roundhill.

Mr. Roundhill, I'm
Detective William Murdoch

of the Toronto Constabulary.
You asked for a policeman.

Police?

How did you know?

You asked for me to come.

You said that you had a confession to make.

A murder. A murder.



What murder, Mr. Roundhill?

I listened to the devil.

I did what I had to do.

I... I killed her.

Who did you kill?

Evelyn's blood is on my hands.

Who is Evelyn?

My wife.

Find her body,

buried at Monarch Lake on the south side,

near a stand of trees.

It was supposed to be so easy,

yet so wrong.

I hit her in the head with a rock,

my hands around her throat,

squeezing, squeezing,

but I wasn't strong enough.

I used her coat to suffocate her.

So slow.

And her eyes...

What have I done?

Mr. Roundhill, why?

- Why did you kill her?
- That's all for now, Detective.

You need to let him rest.

I suspect there'll be no rest for this man.

Sir, we're at the roots.

This hole is just like all the others.

Sir, this soil hasn't
been disturbed in 50 years.

Maybe your man really was delusional.

I don't know, George.

At the time, he seemed
quite lucid, so very certain.

I'm certain I'm going to expire
if I shovel another spadeful, sir.

The hospital staff seemed to think

that his wife disappeared
about eight years ago.

Perhaps he got confused
on some of the details.

All right, George, a few
more minutes of digging

and then we'll take a rest.

All right, lads, one more hole.

Uh, here.

Sir.

You see, George? Good things
come to those who wait.

Sir, who buries women's clothing?

Whoever buried the woman they belonged to.

Gentlemen.

Hold it.

Gentlemen, I believe we've just made
the acquaintance of Mrs. Roundhill.

I bet you wish every case
had such a simple resolution.

A confession and a description
of where he buried the body.

Cheeky bugger even packed her a suitcase
to make it look like she was leaving him.

Hm. It certainly seems to
have fallen into our laps.

Seems?

Sir, we should positively
identify the body.

I've re-examined our skeletal friend

against Mrs. Roundhill's medical records.

I can say there's little doubt that
this is the poor lady in question.

The records say she
suffered a broken humerus

three months before her disappearance.

The position of the
injury matches precisely.

As well, this gold tooth
was also in her records.

According to Mr. Roundhill,

it would have taken her some time to die.

Quite the opposite. I
expect she died quickly.

The hyoid bone was fractured quite cleanly,

perhaps by some type of
ligature, a wire or a small rope.

Death would have been quick.

According to Mr. Roundhill's confession,

he hit her in the head with a rock,

then tried to strangle her.

After being unable to
apply enough pressure,

he suffocated her with her own coat.

Unlikely. From my inspection,

I didn't find any damage to the cranium.

Well, that's odd.

As I said, Detective, this
is definitely Mrs. Roundhill.

Thank you, Dr. Grace.

You can't do things the easy way, can you?

Why not file the report, close
the case, and accept the accolades?

It's simple, Murdoch.

She didn't die in the manner he described.

So what? He's half-raving as it is.

But, sir, it's an inconsistency.

Well, then talk to him again.
He may have made a mistake.

Given his mental state,

it's a surprise he can even
remember which province he's in.

- Excuse me.
- Yes?

I need to question Mr. Roundhill
again. Where might he be?

Hades, I imagine.

I beg your pardon?

Mr. Roundhill is dead.

Not entirely unexpected.

He was at the end of his resources.

The reward for a life of debauchery.

- Could you explain?
- He died of neurosyphilis.

His brain was eaten from the inside.

Detective, much of what he told
you could have been pure delusion.

Undoubtedly.

Except that a woman's body
is lying in the city morgue,

suggesting that at least
some of it must be true.

Good day.

Thank you for coming so quickly, Father.

Oh, you're welcome, although I'm not sure

how a country priest could
help the Toronto Constabulary.

Is one of my flock in trouble?

As a matter of fact, one
has been, well, murdered.

Do you recall a parishioner
named Evelyn Roundhill?

Oh. I so hoped...

Are you sure?

- You knew her well?
- Mrs. Roundhill

was a deeply pious person.

She helped the poor,
organized women's groups,

a stalwart of the parish community.

Did no one think it strange
when she disappeared?

I had hoped she'd got away,

found a new life, found peace.

Her husband was a very complicated man.

He had a weakness of character

that no amount of money or
romantic liaisons would fill.

Mrs. Roundhill knew of these liaisons?

We spoke of it.

It was a loveless and abusive relationship.

Privately, I suspected he was
the one who had broken her arm

a few months before she had disappeared.

Did the rest of the parish

- know of their troubles?
- To all appearances,

the Roundhills maintained
a very civil front.

He bought her gifts, and then
took his affections elsewhere.

She never spoke of leaving him?

Nor would she grant Mr.
Roundhill the divorce he wanted.

- When did you last see her?
- Easter Sunday, 1893.

When she missed a prayer meeting
the next day, I knew she was gone.

I allowed myself to believe that she
might have found happiness elsewhere.

Perhaps she has.

I'm Miss Dignan. How can I help you?

Detective William Murdoch
of the Toronto Constabulary.

I have some questions
regarding your former employer,

- Jeffrey Roundhill.
- Certainly.

You understand, though,
there are a thousand details

- to attend to with his passing.
- Of course.

As long as you're not too busy to
assist in a murder investigation.

Murder?

I understood Mr. Roundhill
to have died from his illness.

He did, but not before confessing

to a murder he committed in his past.

Mr. Roundhill was many things,
but he was not a murderer.

Who are you suggesting he killed?

He confessed to killing his wife.

I'll be needing statements from
the rest of the staff as well.

He was ill. He was delusional.

His condition was not a secret to me.

I've taken his condition
into account, Miss Dignan.

The truth is, Mr. Roundhill led
us straight to his wife's body.

Well, he didn't do it.

He was in Winnipeg on the
day his wife disappeared.

I can show you his itinerary.

I would very much like
to see that, along with

the rest of his correspondence.

Ok.

Ah. You can't leave well
enough alone, can you?

There are witnesses, sir.

Constable Crabtree wired
Roundhill's associates

in Winnipeg, and he was
indeed there April 2nd,

- Easter Sunday, the day his wife disappeared.
- So he didn't do it?

- I'm afraid not.
- Then he hired someone.

If that's the case,

how was able to recall the
murder with such detail?

Guilt and time do funny things to a mind,

especially one that's been
half ruined by disease.

I don't know, sir.

At the time of the
confession, he was quite lucid.

All right then, Murdoch, you tell me.

Why would Roundhill confess to
a murder that he didn't commit?

And if Roundhill didn't kill his wife...

then who did?

William, I must confess, I've
been desperate to come here

ever since they've engaged the new chef.

I hear he's from Paris, France.

Just look at this menu.

The soup is a consomm? S?vign?,
The fish, a choice between

the casserolette of
scallops ? la Newburg...

or cold lobster ? la Ch?tillon.

And for dessert, the Charlotte Russe!

Or maybe that. What is that?

What are you going to have?

Oh, um, I don't know. The beef?

William,

something other than fine cuisine

and my charming self has
clearly taken your attention.

Not at all, Julia.

If whatever case has its teeth in you

is interesting enough to distract
you from lobster ? la Ch?tillon,

it must be fascinating.

A dying man confessed
to murdering his wife,

and I found the body exactly
where he said he buried it.

And?

He wasn't in the city at
the time of the murder.

- What?
- He was in Winnipeg.

He hired someone.

Possibly. But he described

committing the murder
in great detail himself.

But his wife, the body I found,

died in a completely different manner.

Perhaps it was a false confession.

Presupposing you didn't force
it out of him, he could have been

- protecting someone.
- He didn't need to.

The murder occurred eight years ago.

He could have taken it to his grave

and no one would have been the wiser.

Coercion then. Someone compelled him.

What leverage could someone possibly have

against a dying man to
make him confess to a crime?

He had no heirs, no loved ones to threaten,

no need of money.

If only I could have heard his confession.

There are often clues that point
to a subject's inner motivations.

I can arrange that.

What? I thought you said he died.

I recorded the entire confession.

You could listen to it...

or we could have dinner.

Dinner can wait.

And I promise to honour this
engagement at a later date.

Of course you will. I have
no intention of missing

- a good Charlotte Russe.
- Julia.

- Detective Murdoch.
- Mr. Garland.

Leslie, how lovely to see you.

How was dinner? I hear their
chef just arrived from France.

We didn't eat.

Well, it's fortuitous that I saw you here.

I promised to take you to
the opera tomorrow night,

but I'm afraid I won't be able to make it.

- Well, I'm sorry to hear that.
- Julia, please, take the tickets.

I'd hate to see them go to waste.

- It's Rigoletto, by Verdi.
- That's very kind of you, Leslie.

Perhaps the detective will accompany me.

- I will drop them off tomorrow.
- Thank you, Mr. Garland.

Oh, and a fine table has just opened up.

Good evening.

I listened to the devil.

I did what I had to do.

- I killed her.
- Who did you kill?

Evelyn's blood is on my hands.

Who is Evelyn.

My wife. Find her body,

buried at Monarch Lake on the south side,

near a stand of trees.

Despite the fevered tone,

it does sound like fractured
memory rather than delusion.

Listen to this next part, Julia...

so passionate and so detailed.

It was supposed to be
so easy, yet so wrong.

I hit her in the head with a rock, my hands

around her throat, squeezing, squeezing,

but I wasn't strong enough.

I used her coat to suffocate her. So slow.

And her eyes...

What have I done?

How does a man, even one so
delusional, sound so contrite

about a murder he couldn't
possibly have committed?

Julia?

The killing he's describing...

perhaps it wasn't his wife's murder.

There's something familiar in the detail.

What is it?

William, come with me.

- The murder was eight years ago, correct?
- Yes.

The year I became a coroner,

- and the year I met you.
- Julia,

are you going to tell me
what we're looking for?

Not what. Who.

Amelia Johnston. Remember?

Oh, of course.

Murdered April 12th, 1893.
The victim suffered a contusion

to the right side of the cranium,
enough to crack the bone, but non-lethal.

As well, there were
markings around the throat

which appeared to be from
an attempted strangling.

- But not strong enough to kill her.
- And what finished her off...

- Suffocation.
- Fibers from the victim's

own coat being found in her airway.

Exactly as described by Jeffrey
Roundhill in his confession.

Amelia Johnston's murder was one of
the first cases we worked on together.

Yes, I remember.

I believed her husband killed her
to gain control of their company.

- We could never prove it.
- It appears I was wrong,

and that Jeffrey Roundhill is responsible.

What is it?

George Crabtree should watch himself.

It appears Dr. Grace is the subject

of the attentions of Leslie Garland.

This is his stationery.

And this is Dr. Grace's
personal correspondence.

William, it's not as if
I was going to read it.

Would you have if I hadn't been here?

Well, there's someone I'm
going to have to speak with.

You have a lot of a nerve.

I told you I never wanted to see you again.

Accusing me of murdering my
wife, slandering my good name.

- I recall the events, sir.
- What am I doing here?

- I have some questions for you.
- Really.

Detective Murdoch will not

talk to my brother without
my attendance. Raymond,

don't say anything.

My brother and I have
nothing to say to you.

Mr. Johnston, I believe I have
discovered who killed your wife.

- You what?
- A man named Jeffrey Roundhill

made a deathbed confession about a murder,

the details of which
match your wife's murder.

Well, who the hell was he?
How did he know my wife?

He was a manufacturer from Caledon.

You don't recognize the name?

- Of course not.
- He just said as much.

Did your wife have reason to visit Caledon?

My wife was a city girl.
She wouldn't have been

caught dead out in the
country. Why do you ask?

Are you finished?

Or are you going to
continue trying to impugn

my brother's dead wife's character?

I'm simply trying to
ascertain the connection

between Mr. Roundhill and your wife.

He killed her. How's that for a connection?

Mr. Johnston, I am
speaking to your brother.

One would think that you
would be quite interested

in finding out who's
responsible for her death.

Let's go, Raymond.

Oh, Detective Murdoch, aren't
you forgetting something?

You accused Raymond of murdering
his wife, hounded him for months.

Is an apology not in order?

My feelings were quite hurt.

I apologize

for wrongfully accusing
you of your wife's murder.

There, that didn't hurt, did it?

Raymond, don't talk to the
police without me around.

You apologized?

I didn't have much choice, sir.

You were like a dog with a bone.

Yet despite being a bloated arrogant
gob-shite, he not a murderer.

No, apparently not.

But why would Jeffrey Roundhill
have wanted Amelia Johnston dead?

There has to be some sort of
connection between the two of them.

Well, carry on, Murdoch.

Sir.

Fine job, son.

Crack on.

- What have you, George?
- Sir, I've never encountered

two people less connected than
Jeffrey Roundhill and Amelia Johnston.

According to Mrs. Johnston's friends,
she almost never left the city.

Gentlemen. I was just curious

as to how our case was progressing.

Dr. Ogden has a keen interest
in seeing this case resolved.

Call it unfinished business
for the Detective and me.

- I see.
- That's why we were wondering

if you have any leads. Unfortunately, sir,

very little. According to
Mr. Roundhill's journal,

almost all of his business was in
Winnipeg. He was rarely in Toronto,

and the couple of times that he was here,

he was in "entertainment establishments."

Houses of ill-repute. Pardon me, Doctor.

Yes, well, that would explain how he
contracted the disease that ended his life.

But how would he have come into
contact with Amelia Johnston?

Both men's wives are murdered
within two weeks of each other.

Both men had ample motive
for killing their wives.

And yet each was out of town at
the time of his wife's demise.

It's almost too much of a coincidence.

Unless it's no coincidence at all.

Sir,

if Jeffrey Roundhill
killed Amelia Johnston,

could Raymond Johnston have
killed Roundhill's wife?

- Why?
- Perhaps a contract between the two men.

- Some sort of pact.
- You still have it in for him.

Sir, I admit, I have never liked the man.

I've always believed that he
was guilty of his wife's murder.

And it's possible I may
have been right all along.

Mr. Roundhill talked about
a deal with the devil.

He knew he'd done something wrong.

He tried to make it right on the deathbed.

Think of it, sir. Two
men from different cities,

seemingly unconnected, make a pact,

kill each other's wife. Who
would ever make the connection?

You must appreciate the
symmetry of the theory.

You two.

You have a theory, nothing more.

If you intend to follow through
on this line of investigation,

you'd better have some solid proof

before you go after Johnston again.

Sir, if Johnston is guilty,

he won't get away from us this time.

George, we need to modify our search.

There may be no connection

between Jeffrey Roundhill
and Amelia Johnston,

but there may be one between
Roundhill and Raymond Johnston.

The two men?

Why would they be connected?

It's possible Mr. Roundhill and Mr.
Johnston killed each other's wife.

So, Roundhill strangled Johnston's
wife because Johnston strangled his?

Technically, she was suffocated.

But I believe it wasn't in retribution;

more that the men made a pact.

Sir, I've researched both
families extensively...

- they don't have much in common.
- They could have met through business

or a club or alumni organization.

Yes, or while travelling
on a ship or a train.

- Or a bordello.
- Exactly.

It seems unlikely to me. I mean,
two men meet for the first time

and make an agreement to
kill each other's wives?

What's the opening line
in that conversation?

You're right, George. For the two
men to have made such an agreement,

they would have had to have
known each other quite well.

Any connection between the two

could serve as the key
to exposing the truth.

Do your best.

Sir.

- George?
- Doctor?

I haven't seen Dr. Grace in
a while. How is she keeping?

To tell you the truth, Doctor, I
haven't seen her in a while myself.

Oh.

I see.

W...

Hello, Constable Crabtree.

Mr. Garland. I was just
here to see Dr. Grace,

but it seems she's gone to lunch.

Oh, that's unfortunate.

- What are you doing here?
- I have opera tickets for the doctor.

Mr. Garland, you know
I'm courting Dr. Grace.

I think it's hardly
inappropriate that you'd be

- asking her to the opera.
- Yes, that would be inappropriate.

These tickets are for Dr. Ogden.

The detective is taking her to see
Rigoletto in my place this evening,

and I was just on my way to the
station-house to drop them off.

Rigoletto is a fine play.

I haven't seen it myself,
but I hear it's a fine play.

Oh, I'm hoping so, for the doctor's sake...

- Dr. Ogden, that is.
- Right, of course.

Good afternoon, Constable Crabtree.

Mr. Garland.

What the devil do you think you're doing?

We have a warrant for your records.

- For what crime?
- I'm not at liberty to say.

So, you're accusing me of
murdering my wife. Again.

I didn't say that, Mr. Johnston.

- Then why do you want my records?
- It's part of my investigation.

What is going on here? Stop this right now.

We have a warrant.

This is harassment, plain and simple.

This is nothing more than
a police investigation.

One would think you would be quite curious

to find out why a
seemingly complete stranger

murdered your wife.

Good day, gentlemen.

Sir, have a look at this. April 2nd, 1893,

the day Evelyn Roundhill was killed.

Her husband was in Winnipeg,
but Mr. Johnston was in Toronto,

and he'd booked off business
appointments the whole week.

Perhaps an opportunity to
fulfill his part of the pact.

Or just a man taking a week off work.

Quite right, George. Just because
the man's time is unaccounted for

doesn't mean he was anywhere
near Evelyn Roundhill.

- Have you had any luck finding that connection?
- Doctor, there's nothing.

Mr. Johnston was born and raised
in Toronto; Roundhill in Caledon.

- And they went to different universities.
- Religious affiliation?

Roundhill was a lapsed Catholic,
Johnston was an Orangeman.

- Business connections?
- Roundhill was in ladies' foundation wear.

Johnston was in the mining
business, coal and coke mostly.

- What about travel?
- Well, sir, they both travelled for business,

but so far as I can tell, they were
never in the same place at the same time.

Roundhill made regular trips to Winnipeg,

but Johnston was mostly
in Montreal, rural Quebec.

Sir, I've even gone through lists of
their friends and acquaintances to see

if there's a shared contact
that may have introduced them.

There's nothing.

- Well, perhaps we can try...
- Murdoch!

My office, now!

- Carry on, George.
- Sir.

Amelia Johnston was one
of the first murdered women

on my table. Her case
has haunted me ever since.

If her husband really
arranged for her murder...

We'll find it, Doctor.

We'll find it.

My brother may not be the
sharpest knife in the drawer,

but he is a good man and
he's certainly no killer.

He's also not above investigation.

I'd agree with you if you had a
shred of evidence, but you don't!

All you have is a detective
compelled to find guilt

where there is none.

Sir, I...

A lawsuit, against you and the
entire Toronto Constabulary!

You are to stop harassing my brother.

- I haven't harassed anyone.
- You are interviewing our clients,

implying Raymond is a murderer!

I'm simply conducting
a police investigation.

Yet you've admitted you've
already found Amelia's killer.

Maybe if I knew what you were looking for,

we might reconsider this lawsuit.

The Constabulary does not
discuss open investigations, sir.

You are on a single-minded
mission you began eight years ago:

to destroy my brother's reputation,

his business, and his life!

Good day.

George is still looking for
a connection between the two.

Are you certain that
Johnston is involved in this?

If he isn't, then the
truth will exonerate him.

We'll find the proof we need.

Make sure you're right, Murdoch,
or else we're all in trouble.

I'd wager you didn't hear
a note of the music tonight.

Oh, I'm sorry, Julia.

It's just I can't help thinking
about what this lawsuit means.

You said the inspector approved
of you continuing with the case.

Yes, I'm not worried about myself,

but the lawsuit itself means
we're getting close to something.

- A connection?
- Possibly,

but I am yet to find it.

I hope the great Detective
Murdoch isn't ready to give up.

- We'll find it, William.
- We, Julia?

Yes, we.

- Dr. Grace.
- George.

Thought you might fancy a walk home.

I'm... I'm actually still working.

Of course, my... my coat.
I... I was just chilly in here.

Well, should I come back?

Maybe we could go out on the town.

That's very nice of you,
but I'm rather tired.

Well, good evening, then.

Good night, George.

If there's a connection between the two,

there has to be a record
of it here somewhere...

some sort of hint as to
where their paths crossed.

Well, he was thorough. He packed

everything a woman would
need to go on a trip.

It's a pity this chapeau was ruined.

It's quite a fine hat.

And expensive.

It's from one of the finest
milliners in the country...

Danielle's of Montreal.

Montreal?

Where does it say that?

The label says Danielle's Millinery.

in Montreal.

But Mrs. Roundhill was a homebody.

She rarely set foot outside of Caledon.

You said her husband bought
her gifts to assuage his guilt.

But according to George's research,

Roundhill was never in Montreal.

According to the records.

Raymond Johnston did
business in La Belle Province.

What if they were both
there at the same time?

Julia, you are brilliant!

It's a tenuous link, William.

Yes, but links turn into chains. Thank you.

Danielle's Millinery?

On Ste. Catherine Street. Thank you.

Millinery? A gift for Dr. Ogden, Murdoch?

I certainly hope so.

Oui, bonjour, j'ai d?j?
appel? au sujet d'un chapeau

vendus en 1893. Oui, c'est ?a.

Vendus ? M. Roundhill.

En personne?

Le 15 mars.

Merci beaucoup.

Bonne journ?e.

Roundhill purchased the hat
in person on March the 15th

Where was he supposed to have been then?

He attended a conference in
New York and took a train home.

Let's check the train schedules.

Thank you very much.

There was construction on the line

between March 14th and 16th.
All the trains were re-routed

- through Montreal.
- Montreal?

Julia, according to Raymond
Johnston's appointments,

he was in Quebec the week of March 13th

visiting equipment
suppliers. We've got them!

Well, William, it's a long way from
knowing they were in the same province

to putting them together
to plan a double murder.

That's a bit pessimistic.

We're well on our way to solving this.

Yes. All we have to do
is figure out where men

usually meet and plan
to murder their wives.

Hm.

Hotel? A tavern?

That's too prosaic. I
imagine they met at a place

where strangers find
themselves thrown together.

Perhaps not by choice.

Here's something curious. Mr. Roundhill had

a number of appointments
scratched off his ledger

on the three days
following his New York trip.

He cancelled them.

Perhaps he stayed on in Montreal.

No, these aren't good enough.

Miss Dignan.

Detective.

- What brings you back here?
- A number of appointments

were cancelled in Mr. Roundhill's book

the week of March 13th,
after his trip to New York.

Why were they cancelled?

As far as I know,

Mr. Roundhill's was where
his schedule says he was.

We know his train was
re-routed through Montreal,

and that he spent several days there.

That'll be all, thank you.

I suppose it won't hurt to tell now.

While he was travelling home, Mr.
Roundhill suffered a series of seizures,

the first symptoms of the
disease that would take his life.

He was taken to the H?tel Dieu de Montr?al.

- The hospital. How long was he there?
- Three days.

I cancelled all of his
appointments until he was

well enough to travel.
When he returned home,

he demanded I keep his disease a secret.

Something...

changed in him

in the weeks before his
wife's disappearance.

He was never really the same man.

Thank you.

According to Johnston's
agenda, he was to be touring

mining operations during
those same three days.

And these coincide with Mr.
Roundhill's hospitalization?

Yes. But the curious thing is

that during this time he was out
of communication with everyone.

So he could have been anywhere.

Yes. Let's hope that "anywhere"
was at Mr. Roundhill's bedside.

And you're quite sure?
Mr. Johnston from Toronto.

Merci beaucoup !

William, not only were
they in the same hospital;

they were in the same room.
Mr. Johnston was admitted

with abdominal pains on March 15th.

They're sending confirmation now.

- Well done, Julia.
- Doctors are usually

more forthcoming with other doctors
than they are with detectives.

Mm. Perhaps it's time to have
another word with Mr. Johnston.

Hello, Emily.

Hello, George. I'm afraid I'm not

quite finished the
report on Mrs. Roundhill.

Oh, that's no trouble. I can wait.

So, are you tired at all?

Not at all.

I must admit I am a little tired myself.

Well, I had quite the evening last night.

That's nice.

Quite the evening.

I started out with the lads at the pub.

It was nothing unusual, but
we had quite a few laughs.

- Well, good.
- And then we went on

to the music hall, and
there was a man there

all the way from the Sahara
Desert who ate fire. Emily,

- he actually ate fire.
- Amazing.

And then this young lass seated next to me,

she passed out out of sheer fright.

I had to revive her.

You wouldn't believe this, Em,

but they brought me up on stage
with this big hero's applause.

I daresay you would be
tired after all that.

Almost done.

So, how was your evening?

Oh, it was lovely, thank you.

Here's the report, George.

Now, if you'll excuse me.

You realize I'm gonna
continue legal proceedings.

I'll see that you end up in prison.

- Of course.
- Should be an interesting welcoming party, Murdoch.

Any other innocent people
you've put away coming to visit?

Mr. Johnston, I wonder if you can tell me

about your trip to
Montreal eight years ago.

What visit? I've travelled
to Montreal dozens of times

- in the last eight years.
- More specifically,

your stay there in March of 1893.

Before my wife died? Well,

I visited our coke manufacturing
interests in Quebec,

but nothing of note happened in Montreal.

- What's going on here?
- Dr. Ogden has

something she'd very much
like to share with you.

This is a message from the admissions clerk

at the H?tel Dieu de Montr?al.

You were admitted March 15th, 1893.

- I most certainly was not!
- My brother and I are done listening

- to these ridiculous accusations.
- Where you shared

- a room with Jeffrey Roundhill.
- With who?

The man who killed my wife?

- Of all the cockamamie ideas I have ever heard...
- Raymond, don't talk to him.

I told you, I never met that man.

Are you accusing me of hiring
a killer from a hospital bed?

No. We don't believe that you hired him,

but rather made an agreement with him...

he was to kill your
wife, and you to kill his.

What on earth? Are you mad?

We have statements that you
spent three days side by side

just two weeks before
your wife was murdered.

I don't care what those Frenchies say.

I didn't kill some stranger's wife,
and I was never in that hospital!

Well, that should be easy
enough to prove, then.

- We're leaving.
- Records show

you had an emergency
appendectomy, Mr. Johnston.

This is your case? Do
you want to see the scar?

Well, that would help to clear matters up.

Clearing up matters? You want
to throw me in jail for killing

- someone I've never even met?
- Raymond,

I do not want you to participate
in this ridiculous charade.

- I have nothing to hide.
- Raymond.

I am gonna shut this
man up once and for all.

Satisfied? Come on.

We're leaving. Let's go.

- You sure you want to do this?
- Yes.

- So we have a deal?
- Yes.

Mr. Johnston.

No scar, Detective. This is over.

Not you, sir; your brother.

- Excuse me?
- Get out of our way. We're leaving.

Mr. Johnston, we can clear up
this entire matter right now

if you would just lift your shirt.

If I see nothing suspicious, I
promise you I will resign this instant.

- William.
- What does he have to do with any of this?

Possibly nothing. Let's
see if he has the scar.

I will not.

It's bad enough you dragged
my brother through this.

I won't stand around while
you do the same to me.

Oh, for God's sakes, Victor, just
do it and let's be done with it.

- No.
- What are you afraid of, Mr. Johnston?

- Raymond. Let's go.
- No, show him.

- Raymond, I said let's...
- Victor.

Take off your shirt, Victor.

Raymond...

Did you kill my wife?

No.

Mr. Roundhill killed your wife.

Your brother here killed Mrs. Roundhill.

Isn't that right, Mr. Johnston?

It's over. Hospital records will
show that you were indeed there,

and a physical examination
will yield further proof.

Tell me the truth, Victor.

I tried to tell you that
Amelia was going to leave you,

but no, you were too stupid
to realize what was happening!

- I loved her!
- She'd made arrangements

to revert entire control
of the company to her!

Both of us would have been ruined!

She didn't know anything about
the company, not like you.

- You killed the woman I loved!
- I was helping you!

I was looking out for you,
like I've done my whole life,

- you idiot!
- Don't call me that, Victor!

I hate it when you call me that!

I was dealing with a problem
that you refused to acknowledge!

I did it for us.

You son of a bitch!

- No...
- Constables!

That's enough! Victor Johnston,

you are under arrest for the
murder of Evelyn Roundhill.

Constables, take him to the cells now.

Mr. Johnston,

my heartfelt apologies for ever
suspecting you in your wife's death.

I always did what he told me to do.

Always did what he thought was best.

A full confession.

Signed, sealed and delivered.

- We did it.
- Yes, we did.

Two peas in a bloody pod, aren't you?

Well, I don't think we'll
be facing a lawsuit anymore.

Good thing too. Well done.

- Thank you, sir.
- William,

I have to say, I'm never happier than
when I am working side by side with you.

As am I, Julia.

Well, I should go.

- Julia.
- Yes?

I do think we should do this more often...

- work together, that is.
- Yes.

Yes, we really should.

I would like that very much.

My dearest Julia,

it appears our relationship
has yet to come to an end.

But you can be rid of me once and for all

if you agree to my most simple proposition.

You and Detective Murdoch must part.

Forever.

If you marry him, he will die.

If you inform him of this
letter, you will both die.

Yours most fondly, James Gillies."

Murdoch Mysteries,

next Monday at 8:00 on CBC.