09x15 - House of Industry

[bunniefuu]

(musical theme)

(grunts)

(dog barking)

(choked groan)

I'll take care of it as soon as we get back.

Thank you, William.

Are you sure about this?

We could always cancel.

No, the Psychiatry Conference was planned a year ago.

Some time away from home may do us both good.

Besides, I am rather excited about engaging in debate on the Keeley methods for rehabilitating inebriates.

And I am rather excited to hear you speak about it.

(Phone ringing)

Doctor Julia Ogden.

Thank you.

His throat's been slit.

No sign of residual blood though. That's curious.

He was found in a bathtub at the House of Industry.

That explains it, then.

I thought you two were taking some time off.

We've decided to take a later train.

I'm afraid circumstances intervened.

So who's this unlucky bloke?

A resident of the House of Industry, it would appear.

A pauper then.

Yes, but... trim beard, sound teeth...

Look at his hands.

Soft, well manicured.

Hardly destitute then.

Anybody can fall down on their luck, Murdoch.

Here's something. Look at this.

O, 1, O, 3...

40...

2, 19, F, P.

What does it mean?

I'm no detective, but I think it might be a clue.

This is where we found him.

Rather gruesome sight.

Not a lot of privacy.

Someone must have seen something.

We found him after the men had retired for the night.

You're welcome to ask around but I should warn you the men here have little trust in the police.

Who was he?

His name was Jefferson Brick.

According to the register, he arrived two weeks ago.

Where was he from?

I have no idea.

He did his work, received his meal and bed, just like all the men here.

Did anyone here have it in for Mr. Brick?

I wouldn't know.

The men here keep their own counsel.

Like convicts.

Our residents are not criminals, Inspector.

They are destitute and friendless and have learned to trust no one but themselves.

For all we know, they could be Christ among us, come to test us.

Of course.

Excuse me, gentlemen.

There was a man found dead in the baths last night.

A man by the name of Brick. Did either of you know him?

No.

I'm told that you both slept near his bunk. You must have talked to him on some occasion.

I had no reason to.

Nor me.

Something else we can help you with?

They won't talk to you.

And you will?

I didn't say that.

How about a name?

John Dempsey.

Did you know the dead man, Mr. Dempsey?

I slept in the next bunk.

What can you tell me about him?

He snored.

Snored.

William, it's almost three o'clock, we need to get...

You don't want to go?

Julia, a man's been m*rder*d.

I don't feel right turning my back on the investigation.

I understand.

I'll go on my own.

Are you sure it's wise to be alone right now?

I'll be fine.

Taking some time apart might be good for us.

I'll see you to the train station...

No.

I'll manage.

Goodbye, William.

Take care.

(door opens)

I'll tell you, Higgins.

That House of Industry is a sad place.

Could you imagine toiling all day just food and a bed?

At least they're not starving.

Even slaves don't starve, Henry.

What's your point?

If you have to ask I can't possibly explain it.

Well, this oughta cheer you up.

"City facing growing rat problem."

Below that.

"Banana split... "

They split a banana lengthwise...

"With ice cream.

Topped with pineapples and nuts... "

They drizzle the whole thing in a thick chocolate sauce.

My God, Henry. This could be the best concoction ever conceived.

Well, they're selling them down at the Beaches until their banana supply runs out.

Really?

Crabtree! In my office.

Alright, then. What have you found out?

Sir, unfortunately, very little.

None of the men there wanted to speak to us. Even the friendly ones.

Not easy for a man down on his luck to trust anyone, much less a copper.

Ah, Murdoch!

I thought you were off with the missus.

Sir, I've decided to stay on.

Then take some time off.

Go home, invent something. It'll make you feel better.

If it's all the same, sir, I believe work will help to focus my mind.

I know that getting back to it has always helped me in times of trouble, sir.

So...

What do we know about the dead man?

Unfortunately, not very much, sir.

I've been through city records. I can find no mention of a Jefferson Brick.

Perhaps he's from out of town.

Or simply using a false name.

Jefferson Brick...

Why does that somehow seem...

Familiar.

I felt the same way, sir, but I've been through city records.

Jefferson Brick simply doesn't...

Martin Chuzzlewit!

Right!

Chuzzlewit?

Who the hell's that?

It's a Charles Dickens novel, sir.

Of course it is. Never heard of it.

Well, sir, it's not one of his better known novels but very good, very underrated.

Then, why are we discussing bloody Dickens?

Sir, Jefferson Brick is a minor character in that novel.

A w*r correspondent, if I remember correctly.

So we know the man was trying to hide his identity.

But why an obscure character from and obscure novel?

Perhaps he was reading the book at the time.

By the way, all we really know is that we don't know his real name.

Seems we're at a dead end, sirs.

Not necessarily, Crabtree.

We know that he wasn't used to hard labour and we know that he didn't want anyone to know who he was.

Sounds to me like he was hiding out.

You could be right, sir. The question is why.

And did whatever he was hiding from find him?

Hurry it up, Higgins, or they'll be sold out before we get there.

We're taking the motorcar, George.

Yes, but we'll only be as fast as the wagon we're stuck behind.

Good day, Miss James.

Is that your car out back?

It is indeed.

Really?

Is that so hard to believe, Miss James?

Yes.

Well, I suppose you won't be wanting a ride in it, then.

That depends on where you're taking me.

As a matter of fact, we've just found out about a new ice cream concoction that is a hit out in the Beaches.

We're driving out to give it a try.

It's called a banana split.

Bananas. How exotic.

It's a combination of ice cream...

... And cut length wise bananas...

... Topped with things such as pineapples and nuts...

And then they drizzle the entire thing in a thick chocolate sauce.

My mouth is watering already.

What are we waiting for?

Now, we have to remember to get one for Jackson.

He was very keen on the idea of the banana split.

Well, by the time we get back it will be a banana soup.

The key ingredient is ice cream.

Would they even let you take the dish with you?

That's a good point, Miss James. I wan...

(horrified scream)

Oh my God, Higgins, you've hit somebody!

It wasn't me!

Oh no!

(Woman crying)

You've k*lled him! You've k*lled him!

He's not dead. He's just had the wind knocked out of him.

Are you alright, son?

Are you hurting somewhere?

No, he's not alright!

Get your hands off my boy!

This wasn't our fault, you know. He wasn't looking where he was going.

What's your name, son?

Ewan Gallagher.

Oh, Lord, my poor boy. Can you walk, son?

Oh! Lord! I need a doctor.

Ma'am, I'm a trained...

You people keep away from him.

You've done enough harm already.

Higgins, give me your money.

Why?

Just give me whatever money you have.

We should give her something for a doctor.

My banana split money.

Ma'am, please accept this and our apologies.

You could probably make a bob or two if you sold this thing.

Kept the band nice and quiet.

I promised that I would send his things along, sir.

I have to tell you something, Murdoch.

You're a damn good man.

Not many people would have given up that child.

He already has a father.

What choice did we have?

Some people would have made a choice.

Inspector?

Sorry to intrude, but my name is Edmund Sheppard, of Saturday Night Magazine.

Whatever it is you're selling, we're not buying.

No, no, I'm not soliciting. I'm here to report a missing person.

One of my writers has disappeared.

That's him.

Cal Graveman. What a damnable shame.

How did he come to be in the House of Industry?

He was on assignment.

To write about the poor house?

To report on conditions. Treatment of the men.

That kind of thing.

Why not simply go in as a reporter, under his own name?

You can't write it if you haven't lived it.

How did you know that something had gone wrong?

Cal never missed a deadline.

He was supposed to be back this morning, story in hand.

But you didn't hear from him?

No.

Well, he was in communication, in a sense, up until last night.

How do you mean?

Cal didn't like to carry notes when he was undercover, lest they be found.

So he was sending himself telegrams, reminders of details meant just for himself.

In his own sort of code.

I'm afraid it doesn't mean a thing to me, gentlemen.

You have no idea of how the code works?

I know some.

It's just Cal's own shorthand, abbreviations, dropping vowels and the like. Nothing systematic.

Well, I'm afraid without a system, he would be the only one who could decipher it.

This here is the last telegram he sent, from Tuesday evening.

It's got things in it that Cal would use regularly.

W, T, N, S, 2, B, B, 6, 1... 5, P.

Can't help you on that one.

But this bit here, X, 2, F, P...

Well, X-2 is what he'd use for "connection to."

He's got a question mark after so he's wondering...

If something is connected to F-P.

And we've got an F-P in the code on his hand as well.

I'm sorry to ask the obvious question, Mr. Sheppard, but have you any idea what "F-P" could mean?

Not a damn clue.

Are you sure you want to do this?

Mr. Graveman was investigating something.

I want to put myself in the same place and see what he saw.

What he saw may have got him k*lled.

I'll endeavour not to meet the same fate, sir.

Next!

Your name?

Henry Weldon.

Have you been here before?

Never.

Your occupation?

Lumberjack.

Are you willing to work?

Yes, sir. I want to earn my keep.

I've just fallen on hard times...

No explanation of your circumstances is required.

But you will need to be deloused.

Oh... I haven't got lice.

That's what they all say.

The fumigating room is up the stairs.

Remove all your clothes and place them in the box provided.

Next!

Your name?

These your boots?

They're yours if want them.

They belonged to a dead man.

That's his bed you're getting into.

What happened to him?

Why do you care?

Wouldn't you?

They found him in the bath with his throat slit.

Where were you when that happened?

I was sleeping. I'm a heavy sleeper.

Who was he?

Called himself Jeff Brick but that wasn't his real name.

How do you know that?

Because he was a greenhorn pretending he wasn't.

Like you.

I never said I wasn't new to this.

So what is your story?

I fell on hard times.

Everyone here fell on hard times.

You married?

I was.

Where's your wife?

She left me.

Kids?

I had a son.

He d*ed?

He has a different father now.

That's tough.

I'm sorry.

So why would someone want this Jeff Brick dead?

I dunno.

I'm guessing it was someone who didn't like all his questions.

Put them down.

They belonged to a dead man.

They belong to him now.

Next time you pull a Kn*fe on me, you better use it.

I thought you were a heavy sleeper.

I wasn't sleeping.

Thank you.

So what kind of work am I in for?

Anything the city needs.

Breaking rocks for gravel, mainly.

What about the sawmill?

Who told you about the sawmill?

There was sawdust in the laces of those boots.

A man called Riley has a sawmill in the Don Valley.

He comes to us for extra labour when he needs it.

I thought we worked for the city.

What do you care?

He pays. Fifty cents a day.

That's cheap labour for Mr. Riley.

Who cares? We get free room and board.

Attention, fellows.

Mr. Riley needs six strong men today.

That's seven. I said six.

I was a lumberjack.

Any mill work?

I was a sawyer too.

You'll do. Get in the wagon out front.

What about me?

Next time.

Alright, that's it.

You'd best mind your place in the queue.

Brick didn't and look what happened to him.

My face has been itching me all day.

How often do you sharpen your razor, Henry?

On the first Sunday of every month.

You sharpen your razor once a month?

Dear God, man, that would be like shaving with a spoon.

I don't... Henry, look.

Look, it's that boy.

I wouldn't want his luck.

Struck by a motorcar twice inside of two days?

Oh, Higgins, he hasn't been... We've been had!

They're queerplungers!

Conniving little bastard.

I'll k*ll him! Hey!

Hey!

Let's go!

Hey!

We've been made fools of, George.

It's time for us to turn the tables.

(indistinct chatter)

(whirring machines)

(whirring machines)

(whistle)

That's rest time.

Ten minutes.

Worked up a sweat yet?

How do they get away with this?

Using us for private labour.

Everybody gets paid.

Everybody's happy.

'Til someone complains.

Not something I'd advise you to do.

Who's that?

It's Mrs. Riley.

Looks like your work is done here today.

What do you mean?

She likes the handsome ones.

And the new men. Like Brick.

For what?

Odd jobs.

You ever done any handyman work?

As a matter of fact I have extensive...

Get in the carriage.

(laughs)

Sir, this just came in from Station House Five.

Apparently someone reported seeing a body being buried in the Don Valley, just north of Pottery Road.

Why aren't they following it up?

They say it's our jurisdiction.

Lazy sods.

Talk to the man who made the report.

Sir, the report was anonymous.

Telephoned in from the Gerrard Street exchange.

Well, we're not digging up the entire Don bloody Valley.

Find out if anybody's been reported missing.

Sir.

You men work so hard.

My husband can be very demanding.

We appreciate the work, ma'am.

I appreciate the work that you men do for me.

My husband is never up for it. Over there.

The doors just... don't close properly.

Oh! The bottom hinge is loose.

I'll just need a screwdriver.

I'll fetch one when we're done.

Mrs. Riley...

Please.

Call me Candace.

No, no. Don't.

No one says no to me.

Not if they know what's good for them.

Candace? Where are you?

Not again.

Again?

Hurry, get in there.

Go, go!

But, I...

(man): What are you doing?

(speaking indistinctly)

O, 3, 40...

2, 19...

F, P...

It's in the study.

What? No! It's okay.

Just stay here and come to bed.

I found it.

Looks like we're gonna be busy for the next little while.

(sights with relief)

"FP". What does it mean?

I have no idea.

But it clearly meant something to Mr. Graveman.

Speaking of which, look at this.

Courtesy of Station House Five.

A body seen buried north of Pottery Road That's close to the Riley sawmill.

Look at the date and time the report was made.

7:52 PM.

The night that Mr. Graveman was k*lled.

Now look at the telegram that Graveman sent himself.

7:54 PM.

The telegram and the telephone call came from the same place.

Mr. Graveman called Station House Number Five.

W-T-N-S. Witness to... body being buried at 6:15 p.m.

North of Pottery Road Bridge.

Police Station Five notified.

Helps when you know what it's saying before you translate.

And then of course "Connection to FP."

This is why he was m*rder*d, sir.

He saw who buried the body.

What does "chall" mean?

C. Hall?

I imagine there's more than one C. Hall in the city, Murdoch.

I'll get Crabtree to check them out.

If we can figure out who FP is, sir, we can solve this m*rder.

I should be getting back.

Be careful.

Graveman had knowledge that cost him his life.

Now so do you.

(indistinct chatter)

Whoa, hey, hey, hey!

What are you doing?

There's a copper in there.

So?

Are you in trouble with them?

Let's just say I've had bad luck with them in the past.

(laughs) What the...

You two hiding from anyone?

If we are, it's none of your business.

You should have seen him Tuesday afternoon.

Copper showed up and he bolted.

Didn't even come back for his pay.

Same copper inside?

No.

Different one.

I know this guy. Constable Frank Peakes.

Comes by regular-like.

He's gone.

(laughs)

Sir, I'll tell him straight away.

Inspector!

That was the Detective.

He wants you to meet him at Riley's sawmill.

Right.

Also, sir.

I did some looking into it. There are eight people in Toronto with the last name Hall and a first initial C.

But I was also thinking C Hall could mean City Hall.

City Hall. Never thought of that.

But why use the full name Hall and not City?

I don't know.

Sir.

What do you know?

Sir, we just had a visit from a Constable Frank Peakes of Station House Number Five.

FP, sir.

Ah, and you think...

It occurs to me that using workhouse men for personal advantage may not have escaped the attention of the police.

And you think that Frank Peakes is taking money to look the other way?

It's possible.

Even if he is, what's the connection to the Graveman m*rder?

I don't know. And I don't think Mr. Graveman knew either.

He wrote "connection to F-P" with a question mark, implying that he was merely speculating.

And we're only assuming FP is in fact Frank Peakes.

That's true.

I'll have a word with him. Get his measure.

Thank you, sir.

And also, please have George look into John Dempsey.

Any outstanding warrants.

He seems unduly wary of the police.

(Crabtree): There he is.

Ewan Gallagher.

(cries with pain)

(woman sobbing) You've k*lled him!

You've k*lled him!

Are you alright, son?

He needs a doctor!

How will I ever afford a doctor?

My poor boy!

Thank you.

Now! Now, now, now, now!

Hey! Hey, stop!

Unhand me!

I know you...

I've got you now, you little guttersnipe.

Be still.

Please sir, let go.

I'm hurt.

That won't work on me this time, Ewan.

No, sir, I'm terribly hurt.

I must see a doctor straightaway.

You know, if you keep these shenanigans up, you really will hurt yourself, you'll injure yourself badly.

I know you're right because that's what's happened!

Really?

Well, no wonder, doing something so foolish.

Alright, let's get you off to a hospital.

You're the nicest policeman I ever met.

I'm not being nice. I'm a good judge of character.

(cries with pain)

Hey, get back here!

You won't get very far away! We've got your mother!

She's not my mother!

What? (Grunts with pain)

(knocks on door) Inspector.

Constable Frank Peakes.

I was told you wanted to speak with me.

Come in.

I've heard that you dropped by Riley's Sawmill up by Pottery Road today.

That's right.

And you were a there a couple of weeks ago, as well.

What of it?

Did you notice that Riley's been using House of Industry men at the mill?

Why would I?

Using City workers for personal gain is illegal.

I'm sure that Riley would pay to keep that quiet.

Are you implying I'm on the take, sir?

You seem to be going there pretty often.

I was there two weeks ago to check on code violations.

I went there today to look for my b*at partner.

He's been missing for 3 days now.

And you thought you'd find him at a sawmill?

It was on his b*at.

And three nights ago we received an anonymous report of a body being buried in the vicinity.

What was the name of your partner?

Robert Hall.

Constable Hall.

Crabtree!

Sir.

Where have you been?

Sir, the boy got away, but Higgins is putting the mother in the cells now.

What are you talking about?

The boy from when Higgins and I were queerplunged on our way to get our banana splits!

q*eer...

Sir, queerplunged.

Tricked, conned, scammed. Sir... Queerplunged.

You're probably wondering about John Dempsey, sir.

I am.

Station Five issued an arrest warrant for him three weeks ago.

What for?

For b*ating up one of their coppers.

Did you speak to Constable Peakes?

Bugger Peakes.

He was at the sawmill looking for his partner, Constable Hall.

C-Hall.

Apparently the mill was on his b*at.

He's been missing since Tuesday.

You should have seen him Tuesday afternoon.

Copper showed up and he bolted.

Didn't even come back for his pay.

Dempsey wasn't seen around the mill after Constable Hall's visit.

Do you wanna deal with him now?

No, no. In the morning.

You're a copper?

A bloody copper!

(both grunting)

Don't move.

John Dempsey, you're under arrest for the m*rder of Cal Graveman.

Who?

Jefferson Brick.

I never k*lled Brick.

Why would I k*ll Brick?

Because he witnessed you burying the body of Constable Hall.

What?

He saw you, Mr. Dempsey.

He gave a full account to Station House Number Five.

Brick was no witness.

I was the witness.

You?

I called the police.

I told them I saw a body being buried.

Then why did you att*ck me?

And why did you run this afternoon?

I thought you were here to k*ll me.

Why would I k*ll you?

The copper who came by today?

He was the one I saw burying that body.

That's far enough.

I'm telling you.

I swear, I'm the witness.

You saw a policeman burying a body?

I didn't know he was a copper until he came by earlier today.

Hey! Hey!

You!

Get out.

You leave the premises, or I'm calling the police.

I am the police.

I'm Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary.

I'm acting under orders of Inspector Thomas Brackenreid.

I need you to telephone Mr. Brackenreid at Station House Number Four and have him meet me at the Riley sawmill.

And you, get up.

What?

You're coming with me and you're going to show me where that body is buried.

I thought you said it was in a shallow grave.

It was.

Are you sure this is the right spot?

Yeah. I'm sure.

I'm telling you the truth. You have to believe me.

I believe you.

Peakes must have come back and moved the body.

He had to.

He knew he'd been witnessed burying the body.

So he knew that if it had been found, it would be examined for evidence.

Right.

Question is: Where did he move it to?

There.

Traces of blood.

They sawed up his body?

Why not just move the body somewhere else?

Because once we had discovered that the victim was a police constable, we would have dug up the entire valley looking for the body.

A body is still a body whether or not it's in pieces.

That depends on how small the pieces are.

Where's the wood chipper?

In the basement.

Let's have a look.

You'll get your chance to see the chipper, Detective.

Just not the way you intended.

Constable Peakes.

So you're the fellow who reported a body being buried.

All this time we thought it was Brick.

Is that why you k*lled him?

I didn't k*ll nobody.

I k*lled Brick.

Wardell just pointed him out.

You should have minded your own business, Dempsey.

What about Constable Hall?

He stuck his nose in where it didn't belong.

Much like the two of you.

Well... Thank you gentlemen for your confession.

You're both under arrest.

(laughs)

In case you haven't noticed, Detective Murdoch, we're the ones holding the axes.

Dempsey!

(saw whirring)

Look out!

Everybody stop! (g*nsh*t)

Aaaaaah!

(saw whirring)

(heavy breathing)

Bloody hell.

Was that Frank Peakes?

It was.

Who's he?

Sir, this is John Dempsey. He's with us.

And that is Mr. Wardell, Constable Peakes' accomplice.

Well, Mr. Wardell.

Consider yourself lucky you're only under arrest.

You saved my life, Mr. Dempsey.

I'm sorry that I ever doubted your character.

Thank you very much, Mr. Weldon...

Detective.

(Laughs)

Though I gather you did as*ault a police constable some weeks back.

That copper was roughing up a shopkeeper for no good reason.

I stepped in.

You hit him?

Only after he hit me.

Where will you go next?

Maybe up North.

Got a cousin up by Lake Simcoe.

Maybe I'll head back to the House of Industry.

Maybe...

I'll get invited inside by Mrs. Riley.

If you are looking for permanent employment, I could see to it that you're accepted into training.

As... ?

As a police constable.

You have great instincts.

And you were willing to put yourself at risk to report that m*rder.

I don't know that I belong here.

At any rate, I thank you for your aid.

And if you are ever in need of a favour, my door is always open.

Constable Francis Peakes.

Such a shame.

I always thought he showed such promise.

According to Riley's files, Peakes had been taking money for years.

I imagine you'll be paying Station House Five a visit.

I already have.

I can assure you his colleagues know nothing of his actions.

Except the one he k*lled.

Constable Robert Hall.

Young man, only on the force a year.

Their Inspector believes Hall learned of Peakes' corruption and was going to turn him in.

So only Peakes was involved?

The constables at Station Five are good men.

I groomed many of them myself.

You've heard the saying "one bad apple", surely.

I wouldn't put too much stock in a tired old adage like that.

How much stock would you put in the adage "a fish rots from the head?"

What are you implying?

I'm not implying anything, Chief Constable.

I'm telling you straight out: if there is rot, it stinks.

And I've got a damned good nose for it.

Perhaps you're a little overworked, Tom.

Good day, gentlemen.

Sir, that was dangerously close to insubordination.

Station House Five was his station, Murdoch.

Are you telling me he didn't know anything about this?

I'm sure your suspicions are accurate.

The question is what are you going to do about it?

I don't know.

But I'm going to do something.

I can't believe you let him go.

I thought the boy to be truly hurt, Henry.

All he does is pretend to be hurt, George.

It's his profession.

Well he's awfully convincing.

I think it's to Constables Crabtree's credit that he gave the boy the benefit of the doubt.

If we gave every criminal the benefit of the doubt we'd never arrest anyone.

I am not disagreeing with you there, Henry.

The boy is a menace. He should be locked up.

I'm still limping.

At least you caught the woman.

That's a good point, Miss James.

Would you look at that!

We're about to enjoy our first banana split.

All is good, Henry.

Oh, for pete's sake!

If we'd only gotten here earlier.

Maybe if you hadn't been limping.

Oh my God, it's him!

It's that little scallywag! You!

Come back here! Ow, ow! Get back here! Get...

Henry! What are you doing?

Go! Go! Come on!

Ow!

Julia!

When did you get home?

Minutes ago.

That conference was such a whirlwind.

How did you get on with your case?

It turned into quite an adventure, actually.

I'm quite exhausted.

I'm so glad to be home.

Oh...

It's still here?

I'm so sorry, I completely forgot.

I'll take it out first thing in the morning, I promise.

Should we go and see his father?

Yes. Yes, we should.

But... maybe not yet.

If that's all right?

Of course.

I'll check the mail.

Announcer: On an all-new Murdoch, an undercover sting backfires.

You are under arrest. This is blackmail.

It was a setup from the word go.

Announcer: Corruption so high...

We can't just give in. We need a name.

Announcer: ... jobs are on the line.

Murdoch Mysteries, next Monday at 8:00 on CBC.