Murdoch Mysteries (2008–…): Season 8, Episode 7 - What Lies Buried - full transcript

- synced and corrected by chamallow -

Bloody hell!

How much longer do we have
to put up with this racket?

Not too long, Sir, they just
need to break up the concrete

- so they can lay the drain pipe.
- Newfangled flush toilets!

The pit was good enough for me. Oh...

- Do you hear that?
- What?

My thoughts... I can actually hear them.

- Sirs!
- Oh, good God. What now?

Sirs? Sirs...

You should come see this.



- Who is he, Sir?
- I have no idea.

Victim was adult male, ***.

Ah, look what we have here.

- Bullet?
- Most likely.

Is that what killed him?

I don't believe so, it has
been partially healed over.

Ah, here we are.

Cause of death was a blow to the temple.

Mm. Sharp or a blunt object?

Both, it would seem.

Most of the force is concentrated

in this small area here,
but the impact extended

several inches across the skull.

I'll need this brought back to the morgue,



as well as all the dirt beneath it.

Sir... Bit of a break, Sir.

Constable Forbes remembers the
floor being poured in the summertime;

Rawlings is sure it was 1881.

So I checked all the construction
records for that time.

- And?
- And we have a date.

June 22, 1881. I was here then.

- You were?
- He had your job,

- station house detective.
- Well, the first order

of business will be to identify the victim.

Someone who worked here
must know something.

We need a list of every constable

and officer that worked here at that time.

You think one of our own did this?

Oh! Let's not be blind
to the obvious, Inspector.

How else does a man end up
buried under a station house?

Right. Will you be taking
over the investigation?

Of course not!

I was a detective at the
station house at that time,

which makes me a suspect.
As are you, Inspector.

Stockton, as well.

The former chief constable?

He was inspector here at the time.

I will, of course, hold myself
available for questioning.

And obviously, I want to be kept apprised

of any developments.

There's Hodge.

- That's not Hodge!
- It is Hodge! Look at the sideburns, man.

- There's the inspector.
- Ha ha, he's just a young pup!

- Inspector! Come have a look at this.
- Gentlemen,

I hope you're doing more than
taking a trip down memory lane.

Yes, Sir, there's no
actual list of officers

and constables at the
station house in June of 1881,

but this photograph was
taken in May of that year.

So, if we can just put
names to all these faces...

- What is it?
- Sir, do you recognize this handsome young lad?

Oh, my God. Ha!

I remember when this was taken.

- I'd only been on the force two weeks.
- You remember that?

I'd just arrested Margaret.

Your wife?

She'd got into a tiff over
the lunch special at Maisy's.

Such a tart tongue.
Full of sass, even then.

Ahem... Sir, do you recognize
all of the men in this photograph?

Oh, well let's see.

That's Stockton, Giles,

uh... Franklin, he's dead now.

Gibbons... He wishes he was dead,
with that wife of his. Ha ha ha!

- So, whose dog is this?
- Oh, Giles'.

Bloody dog followed him everywhere.

Appleby, Perkins...

Of course, Hodge.

Uh, I don't remember him.

That's odd.

I remember everyone else.

Hodge! Come here.

- Sir?
- Who's this bloke?

- Constable Finch.
- When did he leave the force?

I don't remember... sometime in the 80s.

Sir...

I found this in the archives.

It's about Constable Finch.

Apparently he was shot
while foiling a bank robbery.

It's an exit wound,

which means he was shot in the chest.

Can you tell how long
afterward he was killed?

Given the rate of bone repair, 46 months.

And he was shot in February...

So he died sometime that summer.

Sir...

Constable Finch last checked
in for work June 21, 1881.

The day before the
concrete floor was poured.

Well, George, I believe we
have our victim's identity.

So how did he end up buried
under his own station house?

That's a very good question.

- Do you remember Constable Finch?
- Of course I do.

Did you not think something
was awry when he disappeared?

I don't even remember it.

It wasn't unusual. The
pay was bad in those days,

Constables would often quit
without notice to take better work.

Without picking up his last pay?

We were remiss, Detective, if
that's what you're getting at.

Or are you suggesting
complicity on my part?

- You are a suspect, Sir.
- This is complete bollocks!

Anybody could have done it.

Somebody could have
walked in off the street.

Doesn't necessarily mean
it was one of our own.

All possibilities must be
investigated, of course.

However, we must remain cognizant

of the probability that
this was fratricidal.

So what next, Detective?

We are conducting interviews
with all of the surviving

constables from that time.

I'll be wanting to speak with former
Chief Constable Stockton, as well.

I wouldn't hold that
much hope there, Murdoch.

He's away with the fairies,
from what I can gather.

I'll speak with him nonetheless.

There are 13 pieces in all.

I found them while sifting
the dirt beneath the skeleton.

It appears to be a negative of some sort.

Could it predate the burial?

Two of the fragments were
found in remnants of silk.

- It was in his pocket.
- That was my supposition.

Well, judging by the number of pieces,

it was struck with a considerable force,

perhaps a struggle?

Or a plain, old-fashioned beating.

Do you know anyone who might have been on

unfriendly terms with
Constable Finch? I mean,

not enemies, per se, but may
have been rubbed the wrong way?

What I want to know is,

what was Inspector Brackenreid
like as a constable?

George, Henry.

How are the interviews coming along?

- Not much to tell, Sir.
- Everybody remembers Finch.

Some people remember that he left suddenly.

No one suspected foul play?

No. Uh, Cavell said that Finch didn't
have any family here in the city,

which would explain why
nobody reported him missing.

Does anyone remember anything
from the day in question?

Not as yet, Sir.

And you've made contact with everyone?

Everybody still alive and in town.

It's hard work tracking them down, Sir.

Is it ever! We found Grimsby
living in a shack by the river.

We're still waiting for
Appleby and Perkins to show up.

- They shared a beat with Finch.
- I see.

George, complete the remaining interviews.

Henry, I have a different job for you.

These are the remnants of a glass negative.

I need you to recreate that negative.

You want me to put all
these pieces together, Sir?

Yes, but handle them carefully.

- This could be very important.
- Stockton's here.

- Oh right, I'll just...
- He's in your office.

Hodge! HODGE!

Hello, Sir.

Ah,

Tommy Two-Cakes!

- "Two-Cakes"?
- Never call me that.

- Ah...
- Where's my tea?

- Tea, Sir?
- Just get him some tea, Hodge,

plenty of sugar.

Why are you out of uniform?

Uh, Sir, it's 1902.

Tommy Two-Cakes is the inspector here, now.

Oh, dear God, uh...

I'm sorry, uh... Ahem.

This must be your desk, Detective.

- Shall we use my office, Sir?
- Yes, yes.

Make that the last time!

Yes, yes, yes...

After you, Sir.

Oh...

Ah!

I'm so glad to see Nelly
still standing guard.

Nelly, Sir?

It's the station mascot. Where's
your sense of history, man?

We all pass through Station House Number 4.

Only Nelly stays. She's seen it all.

Maybe she could shed some
light on what happened.

What happened?

Uh, Sir, why don't you have a seat?

Oh, I thank you.

Chief Constable,

do you remember a Constable Finch?

Finch?

Ach, I love the boy!

What's he up to?

Um... Well, Sir, he's dead.

Did I know that?

No, no, this is recent news.

He was found buried.

- ... In the basement.
- Dear God!

Sir, we believe he was killed

on June 21, 1881.

- June 21?
- Now, I don't expect you

- to remember the date...
- He wanted to talk to me!

- You remember?
- Yeah, it was my wedding anniversary.

Well, I didn't have time. I
told him to come back tomorrow.

Well, Sir, what did Finch
want to talk to you about?

- Who?
- Sir.

Oh! Ah, nothing like
a hot cup of tea! Oh...

Ah, you're a good man, Dodger.

"Dodger"?

Yes, he worked with
what's-his-name. You know...

- The detective. What...
- Giles?

Giles, that's him. Imperious bugger.

Oh, he was purer than Jesus.

Did you know,

he once came into my
office before I retired,

and he was talking about how Murdoch

let a confessed murderer just out of jail.

Can you believe that?

Hmm? Murdoch!

Sir, do you know if Constable
Finch had any enemies?

Ah...

What?

- Enemies?
- Fellows who would sooner

pop him one than buy him a beer.

Yes, yes, there were a couple.

Oh... What were their names?

Ah...

- Tweedledum and Tweedledee.
- Appleby and Perkins!

That's them.

Yeah, yeah, Appleby, he popped him once,

right in front of me. HA!

- Sir?
- Yes, George.

I've been going through the constables'
notes for the week prior to Finch's murder.

- Anything interesting?
- Only how uninteresting it is, Sir.

The drunkards, pickpockets,
the usual rowdies round.

Have Appleby or Perkins come in yet?

- Not yet, Sir.
- Right.

Call me when they do, I'd like
to conduct that interview myself.

- How goes it, Henry?
- Oh...

Well, Sir, uh...

- May I?
- Sir...

Don't touch this.

- Dr. Grace!
- Detective?

I'll need you to do a finer sift.

I'm missing an important
piece of that negative.

- What size mesh?
- Quarter inch should do it.

- You're going to end up with a lot of material.
- So be it.

Hodge, you old bugger, you're still here!

Ha! Appleby,

Perkins... This is Constable Crabtree.

- Thank you for coming in, gentlemen.
- Is it true?

Was Finch buried in here?

It appears to be the case.

That explains why he suddenly buggered off.

Detective Murdoch?

These are former constables Albert Perkins

and Ernest Appleby.

Gentlemen. It's a pleasure.

Let's speak in my office.

I didn't punch Finch!

I shoved him. He hit me.

I remember it the other way around.

Nobody cares what you remember.

- I was the one that got hit!
- What was the fight about?

Oh, who knows. They were always at it.

I think he was asking
me the question, Perkins.

I don't remember.

Probably had something to
do with the telegraph boys.

He was always beating up on them.

- "Telegraph boys"?
- Yeah, you know, the street boys.

That sell themselves.

Finch hated the telegraph boys.
I think he was shaking them down.

Could one of them have killed Finch?

Well... Would have taken
more than one to do it.

I mean, they're just lads.

As I recall, it was one
of them that ended up dead.

Oh, right you are, Bert!

I believe a street boy was murdered.

I always wondered if that's
why Finch up and left.

You think Finch was somehow involved?

Well, I know he was involved
in the investigation.

Who was the detective on that case?

That would have been Detective Giles.

Of course I remember the case.

The victim was a street boy.

His throat had been slit.

Carleton was his surname,
I don't remember his first.

- Who killed him?
- The case was never solved.

- Why is that?
- Why is it ever such?

Insufficient evidence, no witnesses...

Street boys don't talk to
the police. You know that.

Besides, there was...

How can I put this?

A culture of indifference.

- Were you indifferent?
- I was never indifferent to any crime.

However, resources were
finite, and I had no control

over their allocation.
That was Stockton's job.

And he was indifferent.

To this crime, at any rate.

What have you, Dr. Grace?

Chunks of minerals, mostly.

Some are quite lovely. I
believe this one is garnet.

Oh, and I found this.

Cast iron?

I have no idea if it's
related to the murder.

- Were you able to find any...
- Yes.

I found several more slivers of glass.

Is that what you were looking for?

Exactly.

- Henry, excuse me.
- Oh... Sorry.

- Where did that piece go?
- What?

That... That piece, right there.

- The other half of the face.
- You sure it was there, Sir?

- Of course I'm sure! Who's been in here?
- Sir, just Higgins and I!

And Appleby and Perkins...

And Jackson,

Hodge, Worsley, Jones, the Inspector...

- Pretty much everybody, Sir.
- Were there any other pieces taken?

- No, just the one we need!
- What's all the fuss?

Sir, someone's taken a
piece of this glass negative!

You think it could be the killer?

Well, if it was, he's just
been in our station house!

From now on, the bullpen
is off-limits to everyone,

except Constables Crabtree,
Higgins, and myself.

- What about me?
- Someone from this station house

has deliberately foiled this investigation.

- Very likely someone who was here in 1881.
- Well, it wasn't bloody me!

- No exceptions, Sir.
- Fine, I'll keep out of the bullpen.

But I will not stay out of this case.

So where are we?

At the moment, I'm looking
into the murder of Joe Carleton.

- The telegraph boy?
- What's the connection?

Well, Sir, Finch hated the telegraph boys,

and very likely they hated him as well.

And why was a negative of two men

in an illicit embrace in
his pocket when he died?

So who do you think took
the piece of the negative?

Oh, I don't know, Sir, it
could have been any one of them.

They all had access to the bullpen.

Henry and George were
hardly paying attention.

Sirs... Excuse me.

In the Carleton case,

Perkins' notes make
mention of a bloody knife.

There's no sign of it in the evidence log.

- Could have been removed.
- Well, if it was,

it would have been removed prior
to the evidence log being compiled.

- By Finch?
- Appleby seems to think Finch is involved.

- Could Finch be the murderer?
- Possibly.

What else do you have, George?

- Just this list of names.
- Suspects?

Witnesses?

Third name on the list. Frank Porter.

He was a street boy
himself back in the day.

- Mr. Porter.
- Am I under arrest?

- Why would you say that?
- You have me sitting here.

I just need to ask you a few questions.

- About what?
- About an old friend of yours,

goes by the name of Joe Carleton.

It's been a while since I heard that name.

I assume you know what happened to him.

Of course I know, I'm
the one who found him.

Lying there, eyes wide
open, flies buzzing about.

I didn't do it, if that's
what you're thinking.

I'm more interested in a
policeman from that time,

a Constable Finch. Did you know him?

There ain't a boy from that
time that don't remember that...

bastard.

- He harassed you?
- Harassed us?

He owned us!

Every week he collected, two bits
a day, whether or not we earned it.

And what happened if you didn't pay?

You'd get a beating,

or he'd put you in jail, and then
double your tax when you got out.

And then one day he stopped collecting.

- What did you think happened?
- Figured someone done him in.

Who?

I don't know.

One of the older boys, maybe.

Either that, or he
killed Joe then took off.

Right.

Now why would Constable
Finch kill Joe Carleton?

I... I don't know. All I was
told is that a copper done it.

Who told you that?

- What does it matter?
- I want the name.

... Peter Reid.

Good luck talking to him.

He died 10 years ago.

Thank you.

You're right, it's the same man.

- What does it mean?
- I'm not sure, Sir.

Peter Reid was a former street boy.

He's in this photograph that
was found with Finch's body.

Now, Reid also told Mr.
Porter that it was a policeman

- that killed Joe Carleton.
- Copper.

- Do you think it was Finch?
- Well, it would explain the anomalies in the case.

Finch removed the knife before
it could be entered into evidence.

But then, why did he wish
to speak with Stockton?

I wouldn't pay much attention
to what Stockton has to say.

Well, Sir, he's muddled in the present,

but his memories of the
past seem to be clear enough.

I think I should speak with him again.

So, what's next?

I need to find out who the
other man in this photograph is.

Henry!

- Sir?
- I have a job for you.

I've built a device that allows

for the superimposition of two images.

Excellent!

What I need you to do is to
superimpose the image of each

of these slides over top of the image

- from the glass negative.
- All right.

Do you understand what
I'm asking you to do?

Superimpose the images.

Why?

You asked me to.

Henry... you're familiar with the
Bertillon system of identification?

Uh... yes, every

person has unique features
that can be measured.

- Exactly and compared.
- Yes.

What we are attempting to do

is to identify the
person in this photograph

by applying the Bertillon principle.

What we need to do is to compare

the relationship between those features

to those of the constables
from this photograph.

- Right.
- Now, I've created a slide

for each of the constables,
and I've drilled holes

at precise feature locations.

All you have to do is place the slide

in the tray, and as you move it forward,

if the identity matches, then
the features should line up.

Seems simple enough, Sir.

- Ah...
- Sir,

do you remember this case?

Carleton... Yes.

Yes, he was one of those, uh,

nancy street boys.

Well, Sir, is this what Constable Finch

wanted to speak to you about?

Yes! I, I think I...

It was your wedding anniversary.

- Hmm... Huh?
- Your wedding anniversary.

June 21. Longest day of
the year, didn't you know?

Constable Finch wanted to speak to
you, but you didn't have the time.

Yes, that's right... But I asked him!

"Will this take longer than two
minutes?" And he said, "Yes,"

and I said, "Well, tell
me about it tomorrow."

I was late, you see.

It was my anniversary!

What did Constable Finch
want to speak with you about?

Giles.

Detective Giles?

Yes, yes, he had some sort of complaint,

and I said to him, "Tell
me about it tomorrow."

Did it have something to
do with the investigation?

What investigation?

- This. The Carleton case, Sir.
- The what?

I'll see the inspector out, Murdoch.

Come on, Sir, let's get
you a nice cup of hot tea.

Well, I love tea!

- Higgins!
- Get the kettle on.

Inspector. Sir,

- I think I have something.
- What have you, George?

Sir, this is the evidence
log from the Carleton case.

Now, every evidence sheet has
a number that goes in the file.

This is 113. Note the date.

- June 16.
- The day after Carleton was killed.

Now, this is the sheet from a
subsequent case. Note the date here.

June 23.

- But the recorded number is...
- ... 112.

- So it came before the Carleton log.
- But it's dated afterward.

Sir, this one has to be a fake.

- Who signed it?
- Constable Finch.

Interesting that he was able to sign this
document at least two days after his murder.

Somebody cooked the evidence
here, Sir, and it wasn't Finch.

- Very good. Thank you.
- Sir.

Did you see anything?

Hey?

Today, not tomorrow,
I'm not increasing it...

What's that? Later, after.

- Bloody hell!
- Sir, turn off the light!

I believe I've found
the scene of the crime.

Henry!

Henry, put in Chief Constable Stockton.

- He has a moustache, Sir.
- He could have shaved it off.

- The holes don't line up.
- It's not him.

Murdoch, anybody could have
gotten into that office.

Sir, when Chief Constable
Stockton first came in,

he sat at my desk.

You're right. In 1881,
Stockton had your office,

and the detective had mine.

Henry, put in Chief Constable Giles.

George, bring in Chief Constable Giles.

- On what grounds, Sir?
- Suspicion of murder.

I take it there have been
developments in the case?

Is this man you?

It's hard to say; half the face is missing.

Am I to assume you believe it to be me?

Yes, very clever.

So it is you in the photograph?

You seem to have proven that.

You are a homosexual?

Yes.

Did you take the shard of
glass from the negative?

I've just confessed that I'm a homosexual.

My career is over. I'll be dismissed
at the next council session.

That much, I don't contest.

But I'm damned if I will confess to a crime

when you have not a shred
of evidence to back it.

If you think I've
interfered with this case,

prove it!

Interference in an ongoing
police investigation

is not the crime for which you
are currently being investigated.

Yes, of course, I've been brought
here on suspicion of murder.

And which murder would
that be, Finch or Carleton?

- At the moment, both!
- Ho!

Well, you're ambitious,
I'll grant you that.

And where's your evidence against me?

This.

Yes, I'll admit it, it does look damning.

If Constable Finch had shown
that to Inspector Stockton,

my career would have ended then.

If it's motive you're
looking for, you've found it.

But motive is not evidence.

It is merely supposition.

And... And tell me this.
If I did know about this,

would I really have left it in
Finch's pocket for you to find?

How did you know it
was found in his pocket?

Well, where else would he
have kept it, under his hat?

The truth is that I did not know
about this and therefore I did not

have a motive for killing Constable Finch.

And even if I did,

I would not have killed him to save my job.

Would you have killed
him to save your life?

My life?

Oh, yes, of course, you think
that I killed the Carleton boy.

And do you have any evidence for that,

or are you again reliant on your own

- scurrilous suppositions?
- There was evidence:

a bloody knife.

Quite possibly, the murder weapon
was found at the scene of the crime.

Unfortunately, it never
made it into evidence.

Have a look at the evidence log.

Compare the numbers to the dates.

Well, this proves that
someone tampered with evidence.

It doesn't prove that it was me.

- Were you not in charge of the investigation?
- What of it?

Any policeman could have
accessed these files.

But not every policeman had cause.

And what cause did I have?

You lay with street boys!

Never!

Never!

You're making a fundamental
error, Detective.

You're conflating two perversions
which are very different.

Do you seek the company of little girls?

- Of course not.
- Well then,

just because I'm a
homosexual, do not assume

that I prey on boys. He

- was a man.
- He was a prostitute, just like Joe Carleton.

- They knew each other!
- Well, what of it?

Why would I kill a street
boy that I didn't even know?

You might,

if you thought he was the
one who took this photograph.

Oh, so that's your theory.

Taking this photograph would have
required a flash of limelight.

You cannot have been unaware of it.

I can assure you that
I was not unaware of it.

And I can also assure you

that my response was
anything but murderous.

What was your response?

I was heartbroken.

You see, Detective, Peter Reid

was not a prostitute
whose services I was using.

He was the man with whom I was infatuated.

- But how did...
- Because I was a fool.

He seduced me with his charm and wit...

... and beauty.

That's what made it so pathetic.

I was blind.

And when that flash went
off, my eyes were finally open

to the fact of my own craven stupidity.

- It was a trap?
- Of course it was a trap!

And while you may think that

I pursued the photographer
with vengeance in mind,

the truth is that...

... I wept.

While the man I loved...

While my lover

got dressed and left.

He was the last man I ever took to bed.

I don't know why I'm telling you
all this. It's hardly relevant.

So you never found out
who took the photograph?

In hindsight it seems obvious.
Constable Finch took the photograph.

- Yes, but you didn't know that.
- I did not.

Then tell me this:

why would you take that
shard of the negative?

If you knew nothing of its contents,

how did you know to enter the
bullpen and take the critical piece?

I never said that I did.

Is it then also your supposition
that Finch killed Joe Carleton?

- Seems likely.
- Which would have given him reason

to take the putative murder weapon
and to doctor the evidence log?

- Adequate reason. how did
he do it after his death?

You're familiar with the
science of graphology,

- yes?
- Of course.

This is a sample

of Finch's handwriting.
Compare it to the evidence log.

It's a given that they won't match.

We've established that
Constable Finch was already dead.

Oh, but they match much
better than one might think.

Almost as if someone was deliberately

trying to copy Finch's style.

Who would think to be so precise?

But copying someone's handwriting
style isn't that simple, is it?

Reflexes are faster than the mind,

habit overrules intent,
and we get careless.

Have a look at the writing
at the bottom of the page.

It's decidedly different.

Much more like the
writing in this document.

This is your writing from the same period.

Is this the totality of your evidence?

- So far.
- Then I suggest you

lay your case before a judge and jury.

All I would have to do is
show them this photograph.

That's possibly true; in
which case, arrest me, try me,

and hang me, but just
bloody well get it over with.

if you knew nothing of
the photograph's contents,

how did you know to
remove the critical piece?

I've already given you an answer to that.

You've given me nothing but prevarication!

Oh, you haven't lied. You've just simply

danced around the truth,
confessing all when it serves you,

and shrinking into evasion when it doesn't!

So it's the truth you want?

Forgive me, I thought it was my conviction.

We're neither of us stalwarts
when it comes to the truth,

are we, Detective?

- Meaning what?
- Meaning that there is a truth

that lies between us that
you have yet to admit to.

- You're referring to Constance Gardiner.
- A confessed murderer

who somehow escaped from a locked cell.

I know you set her free.

And I know that you know.

I'll make you a deal, Detective.

My truth for yours.

I'm afraid I can add nothing
further to the official account.

That she escaped custody.

Yes, I understand, you
share this particular lie

with Inspector Brackenreid.

If you go down, he goes down.

Loyalty is the only moral instinct

that can exist on the
same plane as truth itself.

They may clash,

but one can never overcome
the other without cost.

But in this case, there's no cost to bear.

The only official statement
made by Inspector Brackenreid

was that he found the jail door unlocked.

All true.

So the door to the truth

lies open before you.

Murdoch! Come here.

You're bloody mad.

Sir, he's mixed up in all of
this and he's willing to tell us

the truth about what happened.

And what if the truth
is that he's innocent?

- He's still Chief Constable. He'll fire ya!
- Sir...

It's a trap, Murdoch.

I need to do this.

So, have you made a decision?

- Truth for truth.
- Your truth first.

Very well.

Constance Gardiner was failed by the system

that should have protected her.

She killed a man that
viciously assaulted her,

- along with countless other women...
- I don't see how this is germane.

I acted on the dictates of my conscience.

I let her go free.

And there we have it!

Hmm! I'm impressed.

You must want the truth very badly.

Well, a deal is a deal.

- Did you take the shard of glass?
- Yes.

How did you know to take it?

I knew that Finch had taken the photograph.

When I saw you begin to
examine the fractured negative,

I knew what it would depict.

Why did he take the photograph?

Because it was Finch who
killed the Carleton boy.

I knew it. He knew that I knew it.

That's why he dropped
my knife at the scene.

- Your knife? - Yes.
It was a clumsy set-up,

laughably so. I was
intent on disproving it.

But then came the photograph.

Yes, and that changed everything.

If I had pressed ahead with the case then,

it would have been the word of a
homosexual deviant against that of a hero.

- So you killed him.
- Yes.

It wasn't intentional.

He showed me the photograph,
I tried to wrest it from him,

we fought...

I grabbed the first thing I set
my hand on and hit him with it.

Not even very hard.

And you knew the cement
floor was about to be poured.

A lucky coincidence.

I dug beneath the gravel and buried him,

and then set about disposing
of the knife that he'd dropped.

- And changing the evidence log.
- Yes.

Percival Giles,

you are under arrest for murder.

Oh, for God's sake, sit
down. He confessed everything.

Exactly, Sir.

Why?

He could have simply
stopped talking at any point

and taken his chance with a jury.

- You had him dead to rights.
- I had nothing;

nothing but scurrilous supposition.

Your complaint is that it was too easy.

It's not just that, Sir.

How could he have taken the shard of glass?

I was with him the entire time he was here.

- You were called out by Dr. Grace.
- Right...

George, Henry!

Was Chief Constable Giles in the
bullpen at any point yesterday?

No Sir.

Not even when he left this office?

No, Sir, he went straight down
this hall, out the front door.

- Bloody hell.
- Right.

I'll be wanting to speak with the
Chief Constable again, gentlemen.

Sir.

- You lied.
- I made a full confession.

You made a false confession.

I know you couldn't possibly
have stolen that shard of glass.

I want to know who did and why.

- Was it a lover?
- No!

No...

No. Lovers deceive.

This is about something
more fundamental, isn't it?

Loyalty.

"The only moral force that can exist
on the same plane as the truth itself."

But who could command such loyalty?

Dodger.

- Dodger?
- My dog.

You have a dog named Dodger?

This inquiry is in danger
of becoming repetitive.

No, no, no, wait. Wait.

There was someone else named Dodger...

Constable Hodge.

- You worked with Constable Hodge, didn't you?
- At one time...

And that's why they called him Dodger,

because he was your
loyal servant. It was him!

- He stole the piece of glass.
- I don't know,

and that is the truth of it.

But how could he have known that
it was you in the photograph?

How could he have known
unless he had... seen it?

Oh, that's the truth of it, isn't it?

It was Hodge.

It was Hodge who saw the photograph,

it was Hodge who tried
to wrest it from Finch,

and it was Hodge who killed him, for you.

Loyalty cuts both ways, doesn't it?

I have said all I intend to say.

Constable.

Bring in Constable Hodge for me, please.

You know he'll crumble
if I interrogate him.

He'll trip over his words
like he always does and he will

incriminate himself.

It was an accident.

He told me after the fact.

We agreed to bury the body and the
evidence and never speak of it again.

It must have destroyed your friendship.

It destroyed our souls!

You asked to see me?

It's over, John.

It's finally over.

The detective knows everything.

I am so sorry, Sir.

I found Finch in the detective's office.

He was putting a photograph in his desk.

Did you know Detective
Giles was a homosexual?

I thought he might be.

I didn't know for sure until I saw it.

Finch

was going to blackmail Detective Giles.

I could not let him do that.

So you struck him with the iron mascot?

I didn't mean to kill him, William.

I swear, I just...

I just wanted to stop him.

Thank you very much,
Sir. I appreciate that.

Good night.

That was the Crown. Hodge
will be tried for manslaughter.

Hopefully the new Chief
Constable will argue for leniency.

And Giles?

The best we could get for
him is obstruction of justice.

Will he do jail time?

He's an admitted homosexual
who buried a body,

not to mention he's a copper.

He'll probably do more time than Hodge.

- That hardly seems fair.
- The law isn't about fairness, Murdoch.

You should know that better than anybody.

I wouldn't feel bad. You've
likely spared him the noose.

- I doubt it would have come to that.
- Perhaps.

You have to give the bugger
credit for his guts, though.

Not many men would have fallen
on his sword for a friend.

Actually, Sir, he seemed...

relieved to get it off of his chest.

Is that how you felt,

confessing about Constance Gardiner?

I suppose so, yes.

I did break the law.

You chose justice over the law.

You did right, Murdoch.

By her...

and by me. Good night.

Good night, Sir.

All-new Murdoch.

This current isn't enough to kill anyone.

Oh, my!

Murdoch Mysteries,

next Monday at 8:00 on CBC.

- synced and corrected by chamallow -