The Alienist (2018): Season 1, Episode 9 - Requiem - full transcript

Joseph:
Now there are some of us

who don't even believe
he's human.

-We think he might be a spirit.
-He's most assuredly human.

There was a massacre
in New Paltz.

It's possible it was committed
by a man named Beecham --

John Beecham.

Do you think
it was an accident?

His throat was cut
from ear to ear.

Tell us about your brother.

I came across him sitting
astride a dead striker.

A young man -- a boy, really.



He was stabbing at the body
with a knife, over and over.

Connor: Dr. Kreizler!

Cyrus: Run! Run!

Uhh!
-Aah!

Moore: "...And if thou wilt,
remember,

"and if thou wilt, forget,

"I shall not see the shadows,

I shall not feel the rain,

"I shall not hear
the nightingale sing on,

"as if in pain.

"And dreaming through
the twilight,

"that doth not rise nor set,

"haply I may remember,

and haply may forget."



I'm so very sorry.

My deepest condolences.

Thank you.

Please forgive me

for offering you the same advice
you once gave me.

You are not alone
in your sorrow,

and there's no shame in grieving
for those you love.

Laszlo.

It's over.

This wretched investigation
is over.

Laszlo, give yourself
a few days before you --

Before I what?

Before I get you killed,
too?

You weren't responsible
for her death.

Who then, if not me?

So...there we were,

waitin' outside the house
for the Doctor to return.

And the Indian lass --
she invited us in.

"Would you like a lovely cup
of tea?" she said.

She invited you in
for a cup of tea?

Doyle: I could tell
that she was interested

in more than a cup of tea.

So I made myself scarce.

Mary couldn't speak.

I wasn't being literal,
Detective Sergeant.

She said it with her eyes.
Know what I mean?

You saw her lead Connor
up to the bedroom?

By the nose.

So when'd she fetch
the knife?

Well...

I suppose she had it hidden,

up her petticoat
the whole time.

You expect us
to believe you?

I expect you to believe me

over Sambo
and some halfwit stable boy.

Whoa, whoa! Whoa.

Marcus.
Look at yous,

a couple of heebs
playin' at cops.

Byrnes: Here's one for
the literary scholars among you.

Who is the greatest killer
of chickens

in all of Shakespeare's plays?

That would be Macbeth,
because...

he committed murder most fowl.

Hello, Commissioner.

You look like
you're on your way to church.

Here. Why don't you take a pew?

I've been to a funeral.

Have you now?

One could say you bear
some of the responsibility,

you and the police force you
built over the last 30 years.

You know, you got rioting
in the Points.

You got a multi-murderer
on the loose,

and you come walking in here,
accusing me of crimes

brought on by your own lack
of leadership?

And where will I find good men
in the department to lead?

Men, good or bad, do not follow
what they don't respect.

And what is it that
you teach them to respect?

I taught them to respect
a badge...

...and the uniform...

and all they stand for.

What they do not respect
is weakness.

Now don't you have
more pressing issues

other than making false
allegations against an old man

who's just trying to enjoy
the fruits of his retirement?

Weakness is hiding
in the past, old man.

I'm afraid it's no use.
I've spoken to Laszlo,

and he won't -- or can't --
change his mind.

Then we'll have to continue
without him.

I know how much
of an opportunity this is.

I know how much
it could help convince --

Please don't insult me.

Do you honestly believe I'm
doing this to advance myself?

I'm doing this because I want
to sleep soundly again.

And you suppose I don't?

What happens when
the next boy is killed?

I'm not talking about
what happens.

I'm talking
about what's possible.

And is it possible for you
to walk away from this?

Because I can't.

Dr. Kreizler's withdrawn
because he's been hurt,

as badly as anyone can be.

But we have a duty
to go on.

But we don't have the knowledge
or the know-how.

We have a name.

We have a suspect.

I believe Japheth Dury
killed his parents

and a man named
George Beecham.

He took his name,
or part of it,

and became John Beecham.

All we have to do
is find him.

-What is this place?
-Sara: It used to be a saloon

before the Commissioner's
Sunday Licensing Laws

put it out of business.

Welcome to
our new headquarters.

I followed him
to his place.

Connor.

He lives in Brooklyn.

They're the only family
in the house,

even got a yard
and an outhouse.

It ain't fair
he's living like that

and Mary's in the ground.

It's a pity she didn't
finish him off.

because if I got the chance,
I would stick a shank
in his throat.

You ain't gotta cut
a man's throat to kill him.

All you gotta do is...

cut a man on his leg,

nick a vein, you put
him away right quick.

Lucius: None of the murders have
taken place above 14th Street.

We should narrow our inquiries
to Greenwich Village
and the Lower East Side.

That's only half the population
of the city.

Lucius: He -- he knows his way
around the rooftops.

Perhaps his profession
is somehow connected.

Churches and charity
use the rooftops
to get around the city.

Then why don't we knock
on some doors and --

We don't have time.
We need to narrow down
our possibilities quickly.

The Feast of St. Barnabas is
only eight days away,

and we know he won't
stop killing.

We have until the 11th.

Then perhaps we should
involve the police.

We are the police.

Why did Japheth Dury change
his name to John Beecham

when the man who violated him
was named George Beecham?

Why take only his surname?

There could be
some twisted logic to it.

By taking his name
or part of it,

he changes from victim
to tormentor.

And by doing so,
assumes the identity

of the man
who betrayed him

and in turn betrays boys
who trust him.

Yes, but why John
and not George?

We know that John Beecham
was released

from St. Elizabeth's hospital
in the summer of 1890,

and the murders
of the Zweig twins
occurred in 1893.

If it was the same man,

where was he
those intervening years?

If I had your name and wanted
to know where you lived,

where would I go,
Detective Sergeant Isaacson?

Uh, police records.
Let's say you don't have
a police record.

Official hours are over.
We're with
the police department.

Uh, we were wondering
if we could have a word

with Mr. Charles Murray?

And what is the purpose
of your inquiry?

We'd like to check
the Census records

for the name of a man we're
trying to find.

Stop!

The Lower East Side wards.

John Beecham.

146 Allan Street.

Aged 2 years.

That would make him 8 now.

Nine...eight...

seven...

six...

five...

four...

three...

two...

one!

Perhaps he did change
his name.

Or moved to New York
after the Census.

Fee, Fi, Fo. Fum.

I smell the blood
of an Englishman.

Fee, Fi, Fo. Fum.

I smell the blood
of an Englishman.

What is it?

Look at this.

Fee, Fi, Fo. Fum.

I smell the blood
of an Englishman.

Fee, Fi, Fo. Fum.

I smell the blood
of an Englishman.

Look at the bottom
of the page.

He's here. He's real.

Hey! You kids can't be here!

I don't see what business
it is of the Commissioner

to inquire into
our employment practices.

We'd be happy to explain that
to Mr. Murray.

I am Mr. Murray.

Mr. Beecham's brother
may be involved

in a land speculation scandal.

The Commissioner thought
that John might be able

to help us locate him.

Mm. I hired Beecham
as an enumerator --

the men who did the counting

and the interviewing
for the Census --

in the spring of '90.

I hired 900 such men.

900, and you still
remember him?

I remember all the men
who work for me.

And he was particularly
hard to forget.

He had a...rather unfortunate
appearance.

I was concerned that
people would be unwilling

to allow him
into their homes.

You mean he had
a disfigurement?

A facial spasm of some kind.

I'm not a doctor.

-But you hired him anyway?
-He was a decent fellow.

Polite.
Religious. Scrupulous.

Personally, I never gave much
credence to the allegations.

What allegations?

I had to fire him

after a complaint
from a Jewish family.

They claimed he had been
visiting their daughter

on several occasions
when he wasn't scheduled
for an interview.

How old was their daughter?

12 at the time, but I'm sure
you appreciate it

that girls of that age
have vivid imaginations...

And people of the Hebrew faith
even more so.

You haven't, by any chance,
kept his employment records?

Mm.

We're the Census Department.
We keep everything.

They seem similar.

And this over here,
near the top of the page?

That's his address,
of course.

Whoa.

Marcus: This is the address
that he gave.

23 Bank Street.

I'd feel much safer
if there were a couple
of roundsmen present.

Not after they shot you
in the back.

- Hello?

I'm sorry, dear.
I frightened ya.

We apologize.
The door was unlocked.

Oh! Silly me. Are you
inquiring about the room?

Yes. Our friends are looking for
lodgings. They've gone upstairs.

I'm afraid I only have the one
room available right now.

-Have you any other lodgers?
-Just the kitties, for now.

An acquaintance of mine,
John Beecham,

gave me your address, ma'am.

Ah, dear Mr. Beecham.
Not a friend of the kitties.

Yet he spoke so highly of you.

I believe he was with you
for some time?

Almost six years.

He left last Christmas, after
he lost his job, poor man.

I remember it was
the same day that Jib ran away.

-Jib?
-My tabby.

He never told me
he lost his job.

Was that
at the Census Bureau?

Oh, no.
He was a charity worker.

What kind of an employer

dismisses a charity worker
at Christmas?

And is it his room
you're letting out?

I haven't had any lodgers
since he left.

It's a cozy little room.

Take a look for yourself.
Just along the corridor.

Ohh.

Something died.

Evening, Miss Howard.

-What do you want?
-Ah, nothing much.

Now that I'm no longer
gainfully employed,

sure, the world's my oyster.

May I walk you home?

You may not. If you idle here
a moment longer,

I shall alert one of
your former colleagues.

Oh. Well, good luck
finding one

at this time of night.

Still trying to be a detective,
are you, Miss Howard?

Get out of my way.

You don't want me
to see you home, well,

you best be careful is all.

All it takes is for someone
to come up behind you,

clasp a hand around your mouth,
and force you to your knees,

and you'll never know
who it was put it inside you.

Whoo!

No.

Don't worry, girls.
He's with me.

Keep an eye out, Maxie.
We won't be long.

What are you doing
out on the street?

The cops threw us out.

Where else we got to go?

You find a room
in a rescue society.

And if they don't take you,
you go to a boarding house.

Here.

There's enough money there.

If you need any more,
you just ask.

I don't want you working
or living on the street.

Understand?

You sure what you told me
about the the man you're
looking for is right?

Yes.

It's just, a friend
of mine met someone

who promised to take him away
to live with him.

What of his face?

He didn't say there was
anything wrong with his face.

I asked.

What if I were the killer?

Yeah,
no offense, Mr. Moore,

but there's more chance
of pigs flying.

Well, I ask because the man
we're looking for

may not be a client.

He might have a job
that allows him

to get close to you boys
and win your trust.

A charity worker,
for example.

Yeah, I wouldn't trust
those sons of bitches

as far as I could kick 'em.

They just pretend to care
so they can cop a feel.

A preacher then,
or -- or a medical worker?

Did Fatima
ever mention to you

what his saint did
for a living?

Can you think of any reason
why he would've trusted him?

All he said was the man was
nothing like his father,

that he hated his father
more than anything in the world.

How am I supposed
to keep goin' with that din?

It's all that whisky
you been drinkin'.

Don't you blame my Nievie.

Gosh damn you, woman.
And your Nievie!

Cyrus?

Cyrus?

You called, sir?

For Cyrus. Where is he?

Jesus Christ!

Scared me.

-What are you doin' out here?
-Same as you.

Ah. Go on, then, if you can
find the wee thing.

Fat bastard.

Broyt is "bread" in English.

Lena, repeat after me,

"The bread is stale."

Ze bruht ist stehl.

The. The.

Woman: Yes, I remember him.

Your parents filed a complaint.
May I ask what you told them?

Only that he was my friend.

What exactly do you mean
by "friend"?

I mean friend.

I teach English. I know
what the word means.

I'm sorry we have to ask,
but did he lay hands on you?

Not once. I made that clear
to my parents,

but they filed the complaint
about him anyway.

When you were together,
what did you talk about?

How much I hated my parents.

Then all these years later,
why do you think

a grown man would befriend
a 12-year-old girl?

I think he wanted
someone to talk to.

Hello. My name is
Detective Sergeant
Lucius Isaacson.

George Beecham.
Do you recognize his face?
No.

Hey, boys. Boys.

Have you seen this man?

-No.
-No, I haven't.

The Feast of St. Barnabas.

Do you think it has meaning
for him?

Sara: Everything
has meaning for him.

Whatever he does,

it allows him to befriend
these boys.

The teacher we questioned,
Ellie Leshka,

used the word "friend"
about him several times.

And we should keep talking
to charity organizations

and church volunteers.

Boys like these must have
nothing but contempt

for charity workers.

As a Census worker,
Beecham would most probably have

dealt with their parents.

He hated his father more
than anything in the world.

That's what Joseph said
about Ali ibn-Ghazi.

He hated his father more
than anything in the world,

and Ellie Leshka
said something similar, no?

"How much I hate my parents."

And Giorgio Santorelli
was beaten.

Think of it.

It's like he can read
their minds.

He knows all about them --

their wretched childhoods,
the beatings, the poverty.

Everything he says
chimes with them.

He understands them.
That's why they trust him.

What else do we know
about Ali's father

other than the fact
that his son hated him?

Joseph told me Fatima's father
was a gambler.

Giorgio's brother said
the same thing.

Mr. Santorelli owed money.

Mr. ibn-Ghazi was
in debt to you?

He was in debt to the people
I work for.

I collect for everybody
in the neighborhood.

-Or my guys do.
-Your guys?

I'm a little too old to be
knocking down doors myself.

ibn...
whatever-his-name

was a testy son of a bitch.

The first man I sent 'round
came back with a broken nose,

so I had to send
a bigger fella.

-Do you have his name?
-The people who work for me

don't volunteer their names,
so I don't ask.

Maybe you should start.
You know, you don't look
like a cop.

Yes, I've heard that.

John something-or-other.

Had something wrong with his...

Do you know where he lives?

That I don't know,

but I can tell you
where he's likely to be.

Lucius,
you and Miss Howard stay here,

keep watch.

Don't want the drinks?

Information
about a customer.

Get out.

John Beecham.

Tall fella. Facial tic.

End of the street.

3-story house,
second floor.

You heard nothin' from me.

Jump in the water and scram.

We're about to close.

You coming in?

You go ahead.
I'm gonna get changed.

Police officer: Time to go home,
boys! This way!

Is he lookin'?

No. Why?

I'm meetin' someone.
I'll s-see ya later.

Giorgio.

Ali.

Ernst Lohmann.

Today.

We may be too late.

Beers and smokes
are on me, boys.

Maxie, you son of a bitch!

What was the line in the letter
about Giorgio?

"It fed me for a week."

Is that you?

His father's pictures.

What is it?

It's a heart.

How many have there been?