03x09 - The Eternity Injection

[bunniefuu]

Looks like a standard car alarm.

Then go ahead and disarm it.

Odin (deep male voice): You have approached Odin.

Your photograph has been taken and forwarded to the authorities.

You have ten seconds to back away.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight...

It's a talking car alarm.

They are the pet rock of automotive security; they are a gimmick.

They were a gimmick.

I can't cr*ck it.

You have approached Odin.

Your photograph has been taken and forwarded to the author--

The sensor's field extends a full 360 degrees?

Well, it's an interesting problem.

I appreciate the help.

I'll leave it here.

We gotta go.

Meeting starts in 20.

Doing battle with Odin seems like a more stimulating way to spend an hour to me.

I'm not skipping a meeting.

I don't think you should, either.

What's going on with you?

Been bailing on meetings and then when you do show, you never talk.

Your enthusiasm for the program never waxes and wanes?

Sure it does. But I still go.

(doorbell rings)

My name's Shauna Milius.

I used to work with Joan Watson.

This is her address, right?

It was. She no longer lives here, sorry.

Can you tell me where she went?

I want to hire her.

One second.

Duty calls, Alfredo.

I'll let you know when I've defeated Odin.

Alfredo: About that...

While I was waiting for you downstairs, I stashed a few of the sensors around the place.

Just to keep the problem fresh in your mind.

Excuse me.

It's my friend, Marissa Ledbetter.

We started as O.R. nurses on the same day.

We've been close since.

Last week, she finished up a shift and told me she was headed home.

None of her neighbors saw her come into the building.

Nobody's seen her since.

I'm sorry. Marissa's parents are down in Florida. They're not well enough to travel, so I've kind of been keeping track of things.

You made some notes based on your conversations with the detectives? May I?

It says here she used her credit card at a bodega on West 44th Street shortly after leaving hospital.

Where does Marissa live?

Cobble Hill.

Right. And you and her work at Watson's old hospital in the West Village. Yes?

Hell's Kitchen is hardly on the way home from the West Village to Brooklyn.

Is anyone looking into this?

They think maybe Marissa owed money to some bad people.

They were pretty fixated on that.

Money-lenders to not want their indigent clients to disappear; they want them to work and make money.

It's a game of chance, going to the police, but you're in good hands now.

Odin: You have approached Odin.

Your photograph has been taken and forwarded...

Disregard this.

...to the authorities.

I'm doing a favor for a friend.

You have ten seconds to back away.

So someone I used to work with is missing, another old colleague friend tries to hire me to look into it, and somehow, Sherlock winds up on the case.

He just sort of slipped into it.

I think he did it mostly to get out of going to a meeting with Alfredo.

He wants us to catch up on the case file while he looks into something.

I've circled something on the first page.

Looks like Marissa received a payment of $150,000 right before she disappeared.

What is "Purgatorium, Incorporated"?

It's a company based in Luxembourg, founded a month ago.

There's no information about them anywhere.

Luxembourg's a tax haven, apparently, so the police can't find out anything about the people that founded it.

Well, you said on the phone that Marissa had debts, but this is hardly the same thing as a payday loan joint.

What did Sherlock say about it?

(phone chimes)

He doesn't know about it yet.

He's looking into the last place that she used her credit card.

It's Sherlock.

Watson: What does he say?

I don't know.

These abbreviations that he uses...

"At 748 West 45th Street.

"In rear. Bring Watson.

Wear sensible shoes."

Watson: So why did you want us to meet you in the alleyway behind a bar?

Not just any bar.

This Dumpster services Vladi's.

It's the kind of establishment which, despite the rapidly gentrifying neighborhood around it, still manages to attract a thoroughly seedy clientele.

Pins in this padlock were too heavy for my lock picks, so...

I'm not getting in there until you tell me what it is I'm looking for.

When I was investigating the, uh... the area around the bodega where Marissa Ledbetter last used her credit card, I couldn't help noticing that this place is subject to a litany of complaints from the neighbors.

Noise complaints, public urination, that kind of thing.

(clears throat)

One stood out.

A couple of days ago, two businesses complained of a f...

Oof.

...a foul smell coming from this Dumpster.

It does smell awful, but isn't it supposed to smell awful?

Yeah.

It's rancid... ugh!

(groans)

I'm sorry, Watson.

♪ Elementary 3x09 ♪
The Eternity Injection
Original Air Date on January 8, 2015

♪ ♪

Bell: So you found this on her body?

It's a list of dosages.

Marissa was a nurse.

It doesn't look like an official hospital communication.

I've sent Kitty to St. Andrew's with a photograph of that.

I'm curious as to whether it has anything to do with her work there.

You all right, Watson?

I know you were acquainted with Ms. Ledbetter.

Well, I hadn't seen her in a long time, but she was a really sweet person.

We're all done.

Your friend d*ed shortly after she went missing.

She was, uh, struck in the head about a dozen times, before someone wrapped their hands around her neck and squeezed.

I'm sorry.

Was there any evidence on the body?

She had someone else's DNA under her fingernails.

She must have scratched her attacker, trying to fight him off.

I had someone at the lab run a preliminary check on the DNA.

It matches a sample someone left when they applied for a job at the DA's Office.

Guy's name is Christopher Jacoby.

So, we have the probable k*ller's name and his DNA.

He has a current address on file, too.

Watson, if you like, I could... give your friend the bad news.

Oh, I'll do it. Thanks.

Detective Bell, let us know when you have the k*ller in custody.

Yeah, hold on. I'm, uh... checking something on the department intranet.

Jacoby... Jacoby...

I knew I recognized that name.

It keeps coming up in our briefings.

He's missing, too.

His wife filed a report last Wednesday.

I'm sorry.

You're saying Chris is a suspect in a m*rder?

Well, his DNA was found under the fingernails of the victim.

It looks like it happened around the same time your husband went missing.

There has to be a mistake.

Chris is a kind man.

Did he know a woman named Marissa Ledbetter?

Not that he mentioned.

Bell: Well, according to the report you filed, the last time you saw Chris, he told you he was going to spend a couple nights upstate with some college buddies, but his friends say they didn't have any plans with your husband.

Well, I don't know why Chris lied about that, but he wouldn't cheat on me, if that's what you're wondering.

Chris is a good man.

We've been struggling since he got laid off, but we're dealing with it.

Something happened to him.

He wouldn't run away from our life, and he definitely wouldn't k*ll someone.

(knocking at door)

Uh, sorry to interrupt.

Did you bring a child to work with you today?

Oh, no, that's Mason.

He's older than he looks.

A bit.

He passed a note to me.

Said to give it to you.

Said it was urgent.

Okay, first of all, I don't mean to be rude, but your computers suck.

Holmes: You said you found Chris Jacoby.

Mason: I think so.

I compared his picture to the cached images from surveillance cameras all around the city.

There was a match from yesterday, right by Morningside Park.

It's weird, though.

You gave me a picture of a clean-cut guy.

The match I found was... something else.

That's Chris Jacoby?

Mason: Software says it's a perfect match.

Watson: So how often are you here?

Woman: I play here every day.

I have a permit from the city that covers the entrance to the park.

Would it be fair to say you're familiar with the local homeless population?

You get to know the faces.

Do you recognize this man?

Woman: Him, I know for sure.

He's come up to talk to me a few times this week.

He seems quite damaged.

So you've seen him more than once?

I've seen him coming out from the park in the morning.

I get the impression that he's sleeping nearby.

So how are you doing?

I beg your pardon?

How are you?

Well, my heart rate is normal for a man my age and my blood pressure is good to excellent, last time I checked.

You know better than to ask me such a non-specific question.

What are you getting at?

Well, Kitty said you ducked out of a meeting this morning.

And I know that you were upset because that guy posted your shares on his blog.

Firstly, I didn't "duck out" of anything.

I took a case.

And secondly, I've come to believe that the recent violation of my anonymity was, on balance, a good thing.

Good? How?

Well, it's given me some distance from the program.

A chance to evaluate which aspects of it work for me and which don't.

I don't think it's really an à la carte kind of arrangement.

Yes, it is.

At any rate, all systems can be improved upon, Watson.

What is it?

Looks like a good spot for an encampment.

Watson: Sherlock!

Hello?

Mr. Jacoby?

(sighs heavily)

I'll text Marcus.

Hold on.

This earth's been disturbed.

What is it?

Well, it seems Mr. Jacoby has kept a journal.

And he considered its contents important enough to keep hidden.

"The room never changed. Day after day, year after year, decade after decade. I went insane a dozen different times. Then I became convinced I d*ed and went to Hell. I thought no one would ever come for me until the morning the woman came for me. I was ready to strike."

He's describing the m*rder of Marissa Ledbetter.

Maybe the version of it that existed in his head.

So, we found Marissa Ledbetter's k*ller, who's dead.

So, now what are we investigating?

Chris Jacoby's m*rder?

We know who did what to whom.

The why of the matter escapes me utterly.

A man lies to his wife about a trip upstate.

Within days, he's driven to utter madness.

His victim received a mysterious and untraceable payment to her bank account.

We don't know what Chris Jacoby was really up to the day he disappeared, just as we don't know what Marissa Ledbetter was doing in Hell's Kitchen. And we don't know how they met or where he k*lled her.

(computer buzzes)

Hmm!

What is it?

This is Chris Jacoby's laptop.

His wife lent it to me.

I'd been poking around and I found a number of e-mails, which suggested that he'd opened a new bank account shortly before his disappearance.

She didn't know anything about it.

I'd been guessing at his password and... voila.

"Purgatorium" That's the same company that put money into Ledbetter's account.

Why'd they both receive payments for $150,000 in the same week?

The slip of paper we found on her with the list of dosages on it-- you took it to the hospital where she worked?

None of the doctors had any idea what it was.

Why?

I'm not sure yet.

But Jacoby's autopsy is scheduled for the morning.

If it reveals what I think it might, we'll know exactly what's going on here.

I don't know how it happened, but Chris Jacoby incurred heavy brain damage recently.

There's serious deterioration of the cerebellum and the cerebral cortex and basal ganglia. He had a baseline scan done recently.

You can see he was fine a few months ago.

The autopsy performed on Marissa Ledbetter did not detect similar results, did it?

And the toxicology test you did on Jacoby, did you find any strange or unusual substances?

We did.

There was a chemical in his system--

I haven't seen it before.

We're trying to figure out what it is.

Don't bother. You won't find it registered.

How do you know that?

Jacoby was unemployed.

He was desperate for money.

He receives a payment from an untraceable shell corporation.

Then he goes missing.

When he turns up a week later, he's a k*ller with a destroyed brain.

And a mysterious chemical in his system.

Marissa Ledbetter. She has crushing debt.

She receives a payment. She's then found m*rder*d with a list of chemical dosages in her pocket.

So, you think someone paid Chris Jacoby to take whatever drug we found in his system.

You're talking about an illegal drug trial.

I think your friend Ms. Ledbetter was the nurse in charge of administering whatever chemical Purgatorium, Incorporated, is manufacturing.

The drug clearly did not work the way that they intended it to.

It destroyed Jacoby's brain.

And in his delusional state, he att*cked Marissa and escaped whatever facility they were using.

Whoever was in charge of the trial put her body in the Dumpster.

Kitty: If that's true, whoever did the trial must've been desperate to find Chris Jacoby.

Given what we know, I find it very hard to believe that his m*rder is the petty robbery that it appears to be.

I think someone's tying up loose ends.

So, you're saying that Jacoby k*lled Marissa, but in a way, he wasn't responsible for it.

The truly guilty party is whoever set up the trial and ruined his brain. And what's more, no scientific trial is going to administer experimental dr*gs to just one recipient.

Results would be meaningless.

The document we found on Marissa Ledbetter's body...

It has five different dosages of the chemical they call E-Zed-M-77.

Five dosages, five patients.

They gave the drug to four other people.

So, you think somebody is running an unauthorized drug trial in the middle of the city?

What does this...

EZM-77 do?

We don't know what it's supposed to do, but if you take it, you get brain damage.

I've studied plenty of drug trials in medical school. These things don't happen in a vacuum.

They're expensive and they take time.

There are four or five companies that drive almost every advancement in the field.

This probably traces back to one of them.

Now, you're talking about public corporations.

Would they really risk an illegal trial?

If a company thought they were on to something, and it could increase their market share?

Sure, I could definitely see it.

Get a drug that works first, and then try and fast-track it through the system.

So, how do we figure out which company it is?

Well, Jacoby was just one participant in the experiment.

We think there were four others.

The fastest way is to find one of them, and see if they can lead us back to the company that staged the trial.

"Bella, Edward,

"Jacob.

Immune to supernatural powers of the mind""

Wait a minute.

Are you guys researching the Twilight books?

We heard back from our friends at Everyone.

They've agreed to compile a list of everyone who's received a payment from Purgatorium, Incorporated, since its inception last month.

In exchange, they want me to compose a treatise on why the character of Bella should've ended up with Jacob rather than Edward.

Apparently, there's some kind of convention in town, and then want me to read my essay out loud in the lobby.

Personally, I see no reason why they couldn't have come to some arrangement which involved all three of them.

But that's the position that Everyone has asked me to take, so...

Everyone never gets tired of embarrassing you, do they?

Humiliation is the favorite currency of the hacker.

Everyone didn't mention anything about me reading anything out loud, did they?

No. Excellent.

Well, I'm gonna... work from home.

(classical music playing)

(lock clicks)

(door opening, latches clicking)

Hello?

♪

Hmm, that's pretty.

It seems suitable for pondering eternity.

You came in using keys, not lock picks.

Kitty had a key made for me.

She didn't want me to have to break in every time you didn't feel like, uh, answering the door.

And why are we pondering eternity this morning?

These are the five men who received payments from Purgatorium.

You're familiar with Christopher Jacoby.

The man next to him, Spencer Redding, checked into a hospital three days ago with tremors in his limbs.

He d*ed a day later.

An autopsy revealed damage to his cerebellum, cerebral cortex and basal ganglia.

Now, there have been missing persons complaints filed on behalf of two of the remaining men.

The last one, Louis Carlisle, not officially missing, but he hasn't shown up for work in almost a week.

I've dispatched Kitty to inquire after him, although I'm not very hopeful.

So, you think these men were m*rder*d by the same person who k*lled Jacoby?

Spencer Redding was barely coherent when he checked into hospital.

But he was awake long enough for a doctor to ask him his age.

Apparently, Spencer said he was 34 years old, but he'd been alive for many more years than that.

Sounds like the same things that Jacoby wrote in his journal.

What are the chances of two men with brain damage experiencing virtually identical delusions?

Miniscule. I have a notion what E-Zed-M-77 is meant to do.

I think someone has been experimenting with time-dilating dr*gs.

Such chemicals target the regions of the brain which govern the perception of time.

The cerebellum, the cerebral cortex and the basal ganglia. These dr*gs would speed up the functioning of these regions so that the person who took them would experience one hour as, say, two hours.

Or a week or, theoretically... hundreds of years.

Sounds like you're saying that these dr*gs stop time.

Not quite. They just cram more neurological function into a shorter period of time. Now... the potential applications are vast.

You could learn a new language or a new skill in a couple of weeks.

You could sentence a prisoner to one day in prison, and he would emerge having experienced the equivalent of ten years worth of punishment.

You think someone invented that?

I think there are still kinks to be worked out.

Now, whether or not Jacoby and the others experienced actual time dilation?

It's very difficult to say.

They would presumably have been briefed on the potential effects of the drug, so it's possible their damaged brain seized on that information and built a delusion around it.

Odin: You have approached Odin. Your photograph has been taken...

I'm helping Alfredo with something, so...

.. and forwarded to the authorities. You have...

(phone chimes)

Kitty went to Carlisle's workplace.

He hasn't been there for a while.

One of his colleagues said they received an e-mail from him last night.

Apparently, he's gone into hiding.

Someone who took the drug is still alive?

Lou's only been into work once this week.

And he had to go home early.

He was in bad shape.

Did his e-mail say why he planned to go into hiding?

He said people were following him.

He thinks his life's in danger.

Is that true?

I thought he was having a breakdown or something.

We're not sure.

Did he mention where he was going?

Uh-uh.

Jessa and I talked before you got here.

Apparently, Lou's been having money problems.

Yeah, ever since his mom got cancer.

He was helping pay for her treatments right up until she d*ed.

Any idea what happened to her apartment after she d*ed?

I think Lou was getting it ready to go on the market.

An empty apartment and a desperate young man in need of a hiding place.

Louis Carlisle, we're with the NYPD.

Hello?

If you'd like to test your skills in a practical environment, the floor is yours.

That's a bit unwieldy for the job at hand, don't you think?

Um, that's too delicate for the deadbolt.

Would you two mind?

(clicking)

Hello?

Louis Carlisle?

Mr. Carlisle, we're here to help you!

Stay away from me!

(panicked muttering)

We're from the NYPD, we're not gonna hurt you.

Mr. Carlisle, we know about E-Zed-M.

We know that there are people after you.

If you tell us about the trial, we'll make sure that they never thr*aten you again.

You'll keep me safe?

If you can help me, I'll t-tell you... I'll tell you whatever you want to know.

I'll tell you everything.

Kitty: It's odd, the other people who took this drug could barely talk.

One of them we know went insane.

But he seems... not fine, exactly, but he's functioning.

The experimenters gave different amounts of the drug to everyone who participated in the experiment.

Clearly got some sort of brain damage.

Look at his hand.

Must have gotten the smallest dosage.

Just so we're clear, Mr. Carlisle, you're not under arrest.

We just want to ask you some questions, all right?

Who did this to you?

I wish I could give you names.

Wait a minute, you participated in an experimental drug trial without even knowing who was conducting it?

It was a lot of money.

It was 150 grand, up front.

Another 150 grand a year for the rest of my life, if I didn't, you know, tell anyone about the study.

They were gonna give you $150,000 a year for the rest of your life?

They said it was incentive to keep quiet.

I mean, did it seem shady?

Of course, but... that kind of money, I can live with shady.

How'd you find out about the study?

It was just an ad online.

Had an e-mail address.

I wrote them, they wrote back.

It was all anonymous.

But the wire transfer cleared, and, you know, it-it seemed professional.

And the trial itself, where did it take place?

Just some office they rented out.

They gave me the dr*gs, and I spent the night there.

They said, um, I might feel like a lot of time is passing, and it definitely felt weird, but I was okay.

Till a couple days later...

...when this started.

I sent them an e-mail.

Thought they'd help.

Instead, people start following me.

People, who? What did they look like?

I don't know, I never got a great look at anybody.

How about the people who came to you to conduct the study?

Can you describe them?

Yeah, sure, um...

There was a nurse.

You guys know about her already.

I saw another person.

Once.

Black guy.

He was about 40.

I think he, uh...

I think he was the one in charge.

(cell phone chimes)

(door opens)

Hey.

To what do I owe the pleasure of this unannounced visit?

Alfredo called me.

He said you missed a meeting, he was worried.

I'm working, Watson.

We have a sketch of the man who is in charge of the illegal drug trial. Now... someone with a talent for dabbling in time-dilating dr*gs is not your average citizen.

He is, in all likelihood, connected to one of the major pharmaceutical conglomerates.

So, you're going through their annual reports, looking for a picture that matches.

I was looking through their annual reports, till I found a photograph of Dr. Dwyer Kirke, PhD.

Hmm.

That's him.

Dr. Kirke heads up a research laboratory at Ubient Pharmaceuticals.

He's a leading light in the field of neurochemistry.

I do believe we have found our man.

Did you tell Marcus?

The NYPD are on the prowl for Dr. Kirke.

Okay, that's great.

So, you're not exactly working anymore, right?

I mean, the police know who did it.

So why not go to a meeting while they go and find this guy Kirke?

I sent Kitty to look through the office space where the trial was conducted, and I need to be available should she wish to get in touch.

What's going on?

Hmm?

You're skipping meetings.

What is going on?

Sherlock?

Okay.

Well, I can't force you to talk to me.

But I wish you would.

If you must know, Watson...

I've been feeling a little bit down of late.

It's the process of maintaining my sobriety.

It's repetitive.

And it's relentless.

And above all, it's tedious.

When I left rehab, I...

I accepted your influence.

I committed to my recovery.

And now... two years in...

I found myself asking, is this it?

My sobriety is simply a grind.

It's just this leaky faucet which requires constant maintenance.

And in return offers only... not to drip.

You have your work.

You have me.

You're alive.

I've told myself that many times.

So many times that it has become unmoored from all meaning.

(chuckles)

Odd.

I, uh...

I used to imagine that a relapse would be the climax to some grand drama.

Now I think that if I were to use dr*gs again, it would in fact be an anticlimax.

It would be a surrender to the incessant drip, drip, drip of existence.

I'm sorry you're feeling this way.

What can I do to help?

Do you want to talk more?

Do you want to maybe speak to Alfredo?

Yes, I think perhaps I will see Alfredo.

But in any case, I shan't be using dr*gs this evening.

(playing "Reveille" on bugle)

(Watson gasps)

(groans)

Cold feet on the warm deck, Watson.

(groans)

It's a wonderful morning to be preoccupied by the meaninglessness of existence.

(groans) Why is that?

It led you to spend the night here.

Which, in turn, affords me the opportunity to rouse you.

I've missed it.

Food.

Clothing.

Which you left here when you moved out.

I didn't know you played the bugle.

I have a bugle.

I spent the last hour learning that particular tune.

The police searched Dwyer Kirke's apartment last night.

They found several hidden vials of a chemical, which matches the one that we found inside Chris Jacoby's body.

And some written records of the trial.

We have everything we need to make an arrest.

Except for Dwyer Kirke himself.

I have a notion where we might find him.

With a bit of luck, we can apprehend him and convince him to turn on his superiors at Ubient Pharmaceutical by, say, lunchtime.

Are you gonna wake up Kitty?

Of course not.

I am a courteous housemate.

Bell: This guy, Kirke, he's running from m*rder charges.

Why exactly are you expecting him to show up at his aunt's nursing home?

Dwyer Kirke has power of attorney over his aunt's affairs.

He's responsible for her care.

She raised him, and, according to the staff here, he's a regular visitor.

Poor woman is recovering from a broken hip.

That can be the kiss of death to elderly patients.

Isn't that right, Watson?

It's a psychological thing.

They have a tendency to give up.

Sherlock: Mr. Kirke has accompanied his aunt to every physical therapy session she's undergone.

I think it's fair to say that his presence, motivating factor that it is, could be the difference between life and death for her.

She has a physical therapy session starting in 20 minutes.

I'm just saying-- you're putting a lot of faith in a guy behind at least three homicides.

The killings were an undesired side effect of his experiment gone disastrously wrong.

He's not a m*rder*r by avocation.

(elevator bell dings, doors sliding open)

Marcus.

Dwyer Kirke?

You're a good nephew.

You're also under arrest.

Listen... you've got me.

I understand that.

Just, please... be careful with my research.

It's important.

It needs to be published.

People will want to continue this work once I'm in prison.

Gregson: You're referring to the work that ruined the brains of five different people?

Obviously, there were issues.

We had dosage problems.

But this is incredible stuff.

Some of those people experienced actual time dilation.

You don't know that.

Bell: You don't strike me as someone who's eager to throw their life away.

Why wouldn't you just test the drug through the proper channels?

We couldn't. We had to move quickly.

Why?

Gregson: You said "we", Dr. Kirke.

Right now, there is no "we""

You're the one taking the charges.

The trial cost north of $1 million.

There's no way that you could've financed that on your own.

We're also reasonably certain you weren't the one running around k*lling people when things went south.

Tell us about Ubient.

Give us names, and we'll do what we can for you.

I'm not telling you anything about where the money came from.

Gregson: You think they're gonna pay you to carry the weight on this?

Kirke: It's got nothing to do with getting paid.

I'll tell you about the study, I'll take responsibility for the deaths, but I will never say a word about the funding.

I'd like my lawyer now.

Why would he go to prison for the rest of his life just to protect his bosses?

No one gives up everything just for a corporation.

No, that kind of resolve...

This is personal to him.

Watson: You think we were wrong about Ubient.

They didn't give him the money.

Dr. Kirke is not protecting a company.

He's protecting a person.

Alfredo: There some reason we can't turn the lights on?

Holmes: Yes.

The sensor is remarkably sophisticated.

It's virtually impossible to approach it without incurring Odin's wrath.

Odin: You have approached Odin. Your photograph has been taken and forwarded to the authorities.

There isn't enough time to deactivate it before the alarm goes off.

You have ten seconds to back away.

However...

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.

If you manipulate the electrolytic capacitor Six. Five. on a disposable camera and run our rigging Four. through a suitable load coil, you can generate - Three. an electromagnetic pulse capable of scrambling - Two. One. the alarm's electronics.

(alarm whooping, alarm shuts off)

As you can see, the Norseman falls quite silent.

You ruined the rest of the electronics.

You didn't b*at the alarm if you can't steal the car.

Actually, electronic devices are more susceptible to an EMP if they're turned on.

You simply calibrate the pulse so it doesn't affect the automobile's dormant electronics, and the prize is yours.

(phone buzzes)

An electromagnetic pulse.

Mm-hmm.

Well, I never would've thought of that.

Yes, well, you're a burglar.

You're a very good one, but you're not an electrical engineer.

Well, neither are you.

Mmm.

So we haven't talked about the meetings.

What's up?

You coming back?

Yeah, I can't promise I'm gonna find any more meaning in them, but...

I respect you and everything you have done for me.

So if you want me there, I'll go.

Think that'd be a good idea.

(phone ringing)

Watson.

Watson: Hey, I got your message to call, but if you're still with Alfredo...

No, we're just finishing up.

So what's going on?

I think I know who funded Dwyer Kirke's illegal trial.

(intercom buzzes)

Man (over intercom): Hello?

Oh, good evening!

We'd like a quick word with Jack Connaughton, please.

I'm afraid Mr. Connaughton isn't feeling well this evening.

Oh, I'm confident he'll make time for us.

Tell him our business involves an illegal clinical trial, several murders and a drug which promises its users a kind of immortality.

Ah.

Thank you, Brett.

Something to drink?

I don't touch the hard stuff myself anymore.

Holmes: Mr. Connaughton, did you know the NYPD arrested a man named Dwyer Kirke today?

He's been pursuing the invention of time-dilating dr*gs.

I hadn't heard that.

Holmes: At first, we assumed that Mr. Kirke was working on behalf of his employers at Ubient Pharmaceutical.

But he's been strangely reticent to name his sponsors.

That led us to believe that he was being funded by a private benefactor.

You know Dwyer Kirke, don't you?

Name sounds familiar.

Well, the two of you crossed paths not long after you sold your first patent for $20 million.

You set up a scholarship fund for promising kids from inner-city neighborhoods.

Your charity pulled him out of a terrible school and placed him into the Appleford Academy, and you gave his aunt a stipend to help raise him.

We've helped a lot of kids.

But he's the one you called when you learned that you were dying of pulmonary hypertension, isn't he?

I haven't told anyone about my diagnosis.

You paid Dwyer Kirke to develop E-Zed-M.

He owed you everything, so he obliged.

You were looking for a pharmaceutical fountain of youth.

A way to prolong your perception of the time you have left on this Earth.

Weeks could feel like months-- years, even.

It wouldn't be the best of lives, but at least you could work.

Beats the grave, in any case.

I'm not saying that I... have anything to do with this trial, but what you're describing sounds incredible.

It should elicit praise, not threats of arrest.

We will prove that you founded Purgatorium, Incorporated... just as we will prove that you had surviving trial participants ex*cuted.

Admit what you did.

Do it now, and we will see to your comfort in your final days.

Brett...

I'm tired.

I'd like to go to bed.

The man's facing death.

We have precious little leverage over him.

Maybe Jack Connaughton isn't the one we should be appealing to.

Brett: I don't know why you asked me to come in here.

I'm just a nurse.

I'm not involved in any of this.

Well, in my experience, Mr. Won, employees in the homes of the very wealthy are often seen as little more than sentient furniture.

As such, their overseers will often do or say things in their company they would never share in public.

You've cared for Jack Connaughton for the last nine months.

Did you hear anything strange during that time?

Bell: Brett... people are dead.

I can't talk to any of you about this.

I signed a nondisclosure agreement when I took this job.

I could get sued.

Gregson: There isn't an NDA on this planet that can protect against criminal activity.

Bell: That's Marissa Ledbetter.

She was a nurse, too.

These are the men that signed up for the study.

Two of them are missing.

Two of them are dead.

Their families don't have closure.

You can help us bring it to 'em.

A little while back...

Mr. Connaughton had me look through his safe for a business card.

When I was in the safe, I saw a bunch of papers with the name of the business you asked him about on them.

Purgatorium, Incorporated.

I found the business card.

It-it didn't have any names on it, just a phone number.

He called the number, and two men came over.

They didn't introduce themselves.

They made a point of not introducing themselves.

I heard most of what they talked about.

Mr. Connaughton... mentioned these men.

Said they all had to be "taken care of."

Jack Connaughton, wake up.

You're under arrest.

What's wrong with him?

His pulse is okay.

I don't think it's from the hypertension.

He's taken a dose of Dr. Kirke's medicine.

These are unlabeled, but I'll wager they contained E-Zed-M.

That drug kills people, doesn't it?

Dr. Kirke believes it also dilates time.

If Mr. Connaughton thought he was going to be arrested for m*rder, why not extend his last few hours of freedom?

The most he'd have to lose is a few weeks of life.

We need EMS down here.

Oh...

You think his brain is just tearing itself apart, or is he just living in there?

I don't know.

The best we can do is wait for him to come around and... see how much of Jack Connaughton is left when he does.

You know, I've been thinking.

If it helps to have me around, even for a little bit, I can come back for a while.

That's very kind of you, Watson.

But it's a temporary malaise.

It's nothing more.

I will be fin