02x07 - The Marchioness

[bunniefuu]

Let's do open discussion before we wrap up.

I have kind of a, uh, different topic in mind.

Craziest thoughts about your disease?

You know what I mean.

You know they're nuts, but they just keep popping into your head anyway.

I often wonder if I should have been born in another time.

(clears throat)

Sorry, my name is Sherlock, and I'm an addict.

ALL: Hi, Sherlock.

My-my...

My senses are unusually-- well, one could even say unnaturally-- keen.

(coughing)

And ours is an era of distraction.

It's, uh, a punishing drumbeat of constant input.

This-this cacophony which follows us into our homes and into our beds and seeps into our... into our souls, for want of a better word.

For a long time, uh, there was only one poultice for my raw nerve endings, and that was, uh, copious drug use.

So in my less productive moments, I'm given to wonder...

...if I'd just been born when it was a little... quieter out there, would I have even become an addict in the first place?

Might I have been more focused?

A more fully realized person?

What, like Ancient Greece?

You any idea what passed for dental care in the Hellenic era?

No, no, I'd, um, I'd want some of the wonders of modernity.

Just before everything got... amplified.

MAN: Something like what?

200 years ago?

Mycroft.

Web site said it was an open meeting.

I came to support my brother, so please go on.

It's-it's fascinating.

No. I, uh, I-I'm so sorry.

Sorry.

Hey, you leaving early?

Did you really mean what you said in there or were you just winding them up?

Mycroft. I wouldn't have said anything at all if I'd known the meeting was compromised.

Explain yourself! Your maid told me you'd gone out.

I wheedled her a bit to find out where.

You live in England! Did you know they've invented a flying conveyance capable of hurtling its passengers vast distances.

Ha. Joan, delighted to see you.

Oh, sorry.

(chuckles)

Oh, dear.

Um, so what are you doing in New York?

I planned to fly out next month.

We're opening a branch of my restaurant Diogenes in Tribeca.

I intended to give you plenty of warning, of course, but, um, circumstances brought me here earlier.

Circumstances?

Yes, a good friend of ours is in a bit of trouble, Sherlock.

We haven't got any mutual friends.

Acquaintance, then, might be a better way of putting it.

I'd like to explain it to you over dinner. Oh.

So we're planning on taking a couple of reservations a night.

The rest we'll fill with walk-ins.

I want the place to be spontaneous, playful.

Qualities you'll no doubt be charging through the nose for.

Oh, I think it's breathtaking.

Thank you. Once we've set the menu, we should be open in a couple of weeks.

I'm meeting with a couple of young chefs while I'm here.

I want to find a new voice.

Of course.

"Old acquaintance"?

Are you joking?

Yes, well, I thought it best explained by herself.

Sherlock Holmes, you look dashing as ever.

Do let me know when you decide to start aging, won't you?

Well, I wasn't told you'd be here. Oh.

Joan Watson, this is Nigella Mason.

She's my brother's former fiancée.

Oh. Oh.

It's nice to meet you.

Lovely to meet you.

Shall we? Yes.

WATSON: I'm confused.

Didn't you and your brother's fiancée...

What? Copulate?

Engage in several bouts of vigorous sex?

Yes, yes, we did.

♪ Elementary 2x07 ♪
The Marchioness Original Air Date on November 7, 2013

♪

The plates are designed to be shared, but pace yourself, okay?

I've got a lot of food back there.

I know we're not serving alcohol today.

Are there any other dietary restrictions?

I lose my appetite in the company of social-climbing trollops.

WATSON: Uh, no.

Thank you, we're fine.

NIGELLA: I realize there's been some awkwardness between the three of us.

I seduced you within weeks of your wedding and exposed your true character to Mycroft.

I cannot imagine how you've managed to worm your way back into his life.

It's complicated, Sherlock.

A year after my difficulties with Mycroft, I fell in love with and married a man by the name of Robert Suffolk.

He's also known by his title, the Marquess of Loudwater.

"Marquess"?

It's mid-level nobility.

It's smack between an earl and a duke.

Oh, so that makes you a, um...

Marchioness of Loudwater, yes.

I retain my title though I no longer retain my husband.

The marquess turned out to be not as advertised.

Not terribly interested in holding up his end of the conjugal side, if you follow.

So...

I turned, in my loneliness, to Dalton, the man in charge of Robert's stable of racehorses.

I won't bore you with the details, but private investigators were hired, photographs were taken, and the usual ugliness ensued.

Do you see, finally, the magnitude of the favor that I did you?

While Robert and I were courting, I fell quite in love with one of his horses, a champion stallion named Silver Blaze, and thanks to the crafty work of my lawyers, I came out of my marriage with my title and ownership of Silver Blaze.

Now, he can't race anymore, you understand.

He's too old, but there is a thriving demand for his studly services.

So you've become a horse pimp?

How fitting. Must be lucrative.

Silver Blaze is being stabled in Ulster County at the moment.

The other night, Dalton was coming to the stables to give the animal his usual medication.

He had a friend in the car, and according to him, Dalton came upon a man who was trying to break in the stables.

Dalton confronted the burglar, and the man sh*t him.

He d*ed at the scene.

I'm so sorry.

Thank you.

It's been awful.

When the m*rder*r fled, he left behind a bag of supplies.

The police found a syringe full of concentrated potassium, and they believe that Dalton's k*ller tended to poison Silver Blaze.

So you want us to find him and protect your meal ticket?

And get justice for Dalton.

Look, I realize that I've made some mistakes in my life, but I have made efforts to improve myself, and when Mycroft fell sick, he found a way to forgive me.

Uh, Nigella, please.

And I believe that you can do the same.

Oh, you didn't realize that Mycroft was sick?

Spot of leukemia.

Bone marrow transplant.

I'm better now.

I tried to find different ways to tell you.

It just never happened.

I'm sincerely sorry for your troubles.

But... this is an awful, toxic creature.

Fortunately, I don't need to sleep with her again to get her out of my life, I just need to leave.

Marchioness.

(indistinct radio transmission)

Looking for something to solve?

My brother makes you uncomfortable.

Your posture stiffens subtly whenever he gets close.

I'm pretty sure it doesn't. I suspected he would try to sleep with you while we were in London, Is that what happened? No.

Were his advances ungentlemanly in some way?

There were no advances, and I can't believe that's what you want to talk about.

Your brother had leukemia, and he didn't tell you about it.

I know if that happened to me, I would be hurt and furious and sad and worried.

I feel annoyed.

Annoyed?

Profoundly.

Of course Mycroft's spiritual awakening is tied to some sort of illness.

The man has never met a cliché he didn't have a head-on collision with.

(doorbell ringing)

(sighs)

Hello.

I know it's late; I'm sorry.

(door closes)

Pleasant.

I owe you an apology.

Obviously, I should've told you.

You needed bone marrow.

A sibling is the most likely match by far.

I'm trying to be less stubborn now.

I think... I hope my illness has made me a more compassionate, better person. Well, of course you do.

You're following the same narrative all venal people do when they get sick.

A lot of people may go through the same thing, but it doesn't make it less real.

It's like an addiction in that sense, I'd imagine.

You asked how Nigella got back into my life.

When I was diagnosed, she got in touch, asked if there was anything she could do to help.

When she learned I was looking for a bone marrow donor, she organized a drive to find one.

Turned it into a cause, got the whole posh crowd she was running around with involved.

I found my match because of her.

One good turn deserves another.

Yes, I suppose it does.

In any case, I don't think this is about the quality of Nigella's character.

I think this is about you and me.

If we help her, it will prove tangibly that we've put this whole thing behind us.

Or if you're still feeling stubborn, you can just tell yourself it's about solving a m*rder.

So, Detective Bell said two NYPD consultants would be coming out.

Two did; we brought a restaurateur with us.

He also said you'd be moving Silver Blaze to the NYPD stables?

Yes, it seems the best way to safeguard against further possible att*cks.

So what happened here?

Be thorough.

Well, Dalton Ladd parked his car there.

He'd been out for a drink with his friend Asa, who waited in the car while Mr. Ladd went to give the horse his sh*t.

He came upon a guy trying to pick the lock.

Asa said he was about six feet tall, but he couldn't see much more than that.

Guy fires twice, he takes off and he leaves his bag.

Now, the owner had been getting ready for bed.

He heard the g*nshots.

He comes out with a shotgun, but, by that time, the k*ller had reached that tree line.

Were there any prints on the lock?

Yeah. Too many.

People are in and out of here all the time, so no prints of value.

So, did the owner pursue the gunman?

Yeah.

Stayed on him for about a quarter mile, till he reached a clearing in the woods.

But when he got there, the guy was just gone.

Sorry, it'd be bet... could you just stay out of the eye line here?

You're joking. I was just standing here.

Yes, that's the problem.

Oh, could you show us the clearing?

So, like I said, the owner chased him this far.

But when he got here, the guy was just gone.

How much of a lead did the gunman have?

Well, the owner says he was about a hundred yards behind.

I know-- there's no way that the gunman would've had time to make it clear across the field.

But I figure... the owner was further back from the gunman than he thought.

Yes, that's one possible explanation.

Another possible explanation is that he didn't disappear at all, he just took to higher ground, to see how many people were following him and then planned his escape.

These trees are over a hundred years old.

There's no low-hanging branches.

But this young oak would work.

He would have to hoist himself up, off that branch.

Yes, which means he had to grab it.

Right.

Fortunately, the bark is smooth on top.

There.

(camera clicks)

I'll wager these are the fingerprints of our m*rder*r.

There's one missing.

The man we're looking for is missing the ring finger from his left hand.

Should we see if he's been arrested before?

Right. Let's see what a would-be horse assassin brings on his rounds, shall we?

Mycroft, if you'd like to be useful as something other than a means of transportation, feel free to take notes.

That policeman in Ulster County said we could look in the bag, not take it away.

Yes, well, I find it best not to ask.

They can get quite territorial when you say you want to take evidence with you.

They certainly weren't using it to solve any crimes.

Two sets of lock picks... one very large Kn*fe... three syringes bundled in duct tape and one map of Ulster County.

Map has pin impressions on it.

WATSON: 2501.

Maybe an address?

HOLMES: Not a useful one.

BELL: You guys are swimming in some deep water here.

There's a hit on your prints, but it's not to a person, it's to a crime.

A series of crimes, actually.

The index fingerprint you found matches partials that were found at the site of 13 murders.

What?!

They happened in two batches.

Two mass sh**t the DEA thinks are tied to a w*r between the Robles cartel and a couple lieutenants who tried to go into business for themselves.

In both cases, they believe the sh**t is a Robles assassin nicknamed "El Mechanico."

Would you get in touch with the Marchioness?

I would very much like to ask her why drug dealers want to m*rder her horse.

What else do we know about this El Mechanico?

BELL: Not much.

This first m*ssacre happened at a dock in Tampa.

There was a civilian cleaning his boat when the sh*ts started flying.

He gave a description but...

(phone chiming) no one's seen him since.

Nigella says we can see her at her hotel.

She's at the Sutner.

Suite 2501.

(distant siren wailing, car horns honking)

(phone ringing)

Hello?

Nigella, listen very carefully: The same man who k*lled Dalton Ladd is targeting you.

NIGELLA: What?!

Have you noticed anyone unusual?

Any deliveries to your room?

No, no, no.

It's been quite peaceful, actually.

I've just been enjoying the view.

Your curtains are open?

NIGELLA: Yeah, just the one.

Would you kindly go into another room at once?

Why?

(silenced g*nsh*t)

For God sakes, of course I don't know anybody in the Robles cartel.

I'm in the peerage.

And I don't understand why they'd want me dead.

I have no idea whatsoever.

All right, what about your boyfriend?

You think it's possible he did business with them and... hid it from you? Dalton was an alternate on the national steeplechase team in 2000 and 2004.

That's her way of saying no.

What about your other employees?

She's lying.

I know Miss Mason to be a woman of low character.

You've incurred the wrath of these people, and it wasn't through an honest difference of opinion.

I will give you access to all of our books, records, anything-- but there is no connection between these vile people and me.

What's this?

I spent most of the day as a spare wheel.

I thought I'd make myself useful.

I know you and Joan rarely sit down for a meal.

That's by design-- a lingering dinner, especially in the midst of a case, is an indulgence.

You think conversation's an indulgence?

The meal itself is an indulgence.

Conversation is an annoyance within an indulgence...

Well, I suppose it's harmless enough.

As long as you don't try to stop me from working.

You're welcome.

So... did you learn anything?

The police believe a man named Joaquin Aguilar heads up the Robles cartel's East Coast operations.

The cartel is always at odds with one or another of its rivals, so the man is very rarely seen in public.

In fact, he's only been spotted six times in the last two years.

He's always at a private box he maintains at the Aqueduct race track.

He's a horseman. A passionate one.

There's bad behavior to be unearthed here.

Be prepared for that.

You seem quite invested in the idea that Nigella has changed.

From what I can see, change is sloppy.

It's a process, not an absolute state.

Why are you so invested in the idea that Nigella has to be a good person to deserve your help?

What are you doing?

Something has just occurred to me.

Mmm!

This is the best risotto I have ever had.

(clears throat)

Why are you hiring a chef? You should do it.

Owning restaurants is a lot more fun.

Mm.

He means less work.

Yes, I suppose you could say that.

I don't quite believe I'm going to say this to a grown man: Your food's getting cold.

(phone chimes)

Brilliant.

I've just heard back from a forensic accountant I once helped out of a spot of bother involving a naked self-portrait of himself-- anyway-- he's confirmed something I already suspected.

I noticed that Joaquin Aguilar comes to the race track when one of two horses is racing-- both animals are owned by Mariotti Farms, it's a stable and training facility in New Jersey.

Mariotti Farms, I've just learned, received its initial seed money from a limited liability corporation with substantial holdings in manganese mining and canned foods.

The corporation has, three times, been investigated by the DEA, who have long suspected it is a front for... the Robles cartel.

You think Joaquin Aguilar is the real money behind those horses?

It's called shadow ownership.

Happens all the time in racing.

Look at this...

(paper rustling)

This is a list of all the horses owned by Mariotti Farms, this... is a list of all Silver Blaze's sexual partners since the Marchioness began pimping him out.

"Twice for No" is on both these lists.

Joaquin Aguilar paid to have one of his mares impregnated by Silver Blaze-- I need Nigella's records.

The pairing alleged to a male offspring, born healthy, who was then sold... to... a third party.

WATSON: That's weird.

He paid for a champion to impregnate his horse.

Why would he just sell off the baby?

HOLMES: It is curious.

The foal is housed at a stables in Long Island, so I say we go and have a look.

But not till the morning, right?

So does this mean that you can actually sit down and have some dessert?

Hmm?

Excellent.

(clears throat)

Ah, sorry, I can't do this.

There's just too much tension.

What are you talking about? There's no tension.

We're having a nice time.

You must be joking. Watson carries unease between her shoulder blades. Her trapezius muscles are in knots, and it's carrying over to her deltoids. My back is fine.

What happened between you two in London?

(sighs heavily)

I'm not so sure this is a good idea.

Thank you for your company.

(door opens, closes)

What is the matter with you?

Your brother is reaching out to you.

You guys have a chance to fix things, and you're wasting it.

I'm not wrong, though.

You're uncomfortable in his presence.

I am not uncomfortable around Mycroft.

I am uncomfortable around you and Mycroft together.

For what reason?

This is none of your business.

But you're being weird and I don't want you to wreck your relationship with your brother-- again.

Okay, we had dinner... I was a little bit nervous because I thought he was gonna hit on me, but it became obvious that he just wanted to talk about you.

He was sincere and sweet and he's funny, too. Oh, my God.

I was in London-- I didn't know he was gonna come here.

You had sex with my brother.

Willingly?

Great-- you had to push, so now you know.

Two consenting adults went to bed together.

Okay? You can let that ruin your relationship with your brother, or not.

Your call.

Watson, I've decided not to hold your dalliance against you.

As you said, you're a grown woman.

I'm disappointed in you.

I thought you were attempting to move beyond petty revenge tactics.

It wasn't revenge.

I-I have just one question for the both of you.

Is this going to be an ongoing arrangement?

Because, if it is, I'll need to plan accordingly.

You haven't discussed it.

Well, get it sorted immediately, would you?

It's the least you could do.

Just out of curiosity-- was he any good?

My brother.

Does he have a talent for the act of coitus?

Mycroft, your thoughts on Watson?

WOMAN: We were real surprised we even got a sh*t to bid on a foal from Silver Blaze and Twice for No.

This little guy cost us big.

Here he is-- Nutmeg.

You pet him, you got yourself a friend for life.

Hi, Nutmeg.

You mind telling me why the NYPD's so keen to see a baby horse?

It's a winding tale.

It involves the British peerage, syringes full of concentrated potassium and 13 drug-related murders.

WATSON: You want to tell me what we're looking at here?

Whorls. Whirls?

Whorls-- small patches of hair which grow in the opposite direction to the rest of the coat.

I'll only be a moment.

If you can't wait patiently, feel free to find something to occupy your time.

Have sex with my brother, perhaps.

(horse neighs)

Well, it gives me absolutely no pleasure to say, "I told you so," but Nigella Mason is a horrid witch.

If it gives you no pleasure, why you looking so satisfied?

Because I know why Joaquin Aguilar is angry with her.

Summon the marchioness.

Did you know there have been several studies done on whether or not the placement of whorls on horses is a heritable trait?

I beg your pardon?

The placement of those little cowlicks is inherited.

And why are you telling me this?

Well, it's not something that most people would look for, but appears to be true.

I'll show you.

(Holmes clears throat)

This...

(clears throat) is a photograph of Silver Blaze.

You will observe there is a whorl directly between his eyes.

Mmm. The same is true of Twice for No, who recently birthed Silver Blaze's son.

Now, the laws of nature tell us that their offspring should also have whorls between his eyes.

We looked at this young beast this morning.

Nutmeg has whorls positioned well above his eyes.

Which leads me to the pertinent question: What exactly happened to the real Silver Blaze?

Is he dead?

Dead?

(chuckles)

You saw him yourself yesterday.

Well, I saw a horse that certainly looked like Silver Blaze.

But you and I both know that the horse whose sexual favors you are selling for upwards of £100,000 a pop is an imposter.

You have no idea the battles that I fought to get ownership of Silver Blaze included in my prenuptials with the marquess.

And why shouldn't I have something to show for giving years of my life to that man's lie?

You were married for 22 months.

Yes, and I earned that horse during that stretch-- believe me.

I earned a pack of horses.

And, of course, it wasn't ten weeks after we signed the papers that I get a call out of the blue--

3:00 a.m., heart failure.

So you hatched a plan to keep the money rolling in.

Where did you find the imposter?

Silver Blaze has a brother.

He never amounted to much.

But their markings are almost identical.

We bought him for a few hundred quid, applied a bit of hair dye here and there.

Dye? You're charging these people hundreds of thousands of dollars.

Don't they want to have proof that it's the real horse?

Yes. Well, the racing world's always been a little bit backward.

With studding, most of the scrutiny falls on the mare.

They're screened for disease, for the tendency to inflict injury during the live cover.

And the stud, well, the whole world knew that Silver Blaze was mine.

There were some requests for genetic testing.

We took some hair and some blood before we got rid of the body.

So, really, we didn't run into that many problems.

You're the first three people who have figured it out.

Actually, we're not.

Joaquin Aguilar caught on, too.

But he couldn't just expose you.

That would destroy the value of the foal born to his mare.

So he did what drug kingpins are wont to do.

He planned his revenge.

Poisoned your horse.

And after you watched it die over several days, he would then come for you and your consort.

Dalton.

Are you going to tell the police what I've done?

I see. I'm at the mercy of the Holmes brothers.

MAN: I knew it was a drug deal.

That's why I stayed hidden, even after I heard the g*nshots.

I heard men screaming.

I got up to run, and I saw him.

He was sitting there like a statue.

His eyes, I...

I don't know.

They were just cold.

Like the Arctic.

The only man to ever lay eyes on El Mecanico has a weakness for unhelpful metaphors.

Are you still sulking about Mycroft?

No.

I hope you don't expect me to apologize.

Look, if I had a sister, would you even hesitate for a second before you slept with her?

It's not the act itself that gives me pause.

It's that I can't put it into context.

There is a certain... intimacy which is a byproduct of our partnership.

We work well together, and I think we both value that fact.

Right?

You must have known that I would deduce that you had slept with my brother.

It is unlike you to introduce such a free radical into an otherwise highly functional relationship.

Unless, of course, the unlikelihood was precisely the point.

Do you think you're maybe overthinking this?

You wanted to demonstrate that I don't have a monopoly on boorish or outrageous behavior.

That you won't become a sl*ve to the roles we have assigned each other.

Hmm.

I'm glad we cleared the air.

Message received.

There was no message.

(sighs)

Does that man's reliance on hazy metaphor seem almost willful to you?

What do you mean?

I guess I thought he looked like... vengeance.

MAN 2 (over video): Vengeance. Okay.

He's selling an idea, not describing a person.

I guess I thought he looked like... vengeance.

Vengeance. Okay.

Can you be more specific?

You're a crafty cow, aren't you?

Look at his hand.

He's missing his ring finger.

As is the man who m*rder*d Dalton Ladd the other night.

I don't think we' looking at the witness to a m*ssacre.

I think he's the perpetrator.

That's El Mecanico.

GREGSON: This is the guy the Feds have been chasing for years?

If that's true, why did he even bother giving this statement?

We think that the police got to the scene of the m*ssacre before he could get away.

He had to come up with a cover story.

We're dealing with an exceptionally cunning opponent.

He'd have to have this identity in place as a fail-safe.

Once the authorities arrived, he crafted a tale that took advantage of everyone's preconceived notions of what a cartel hit man should look like.

He sent the DEA hunting for a myth.

And no one noticed that the guy's missing a finger on his left hand?

They've been working off of partial fingerprints.

No one knew that they were pursuing a four-fingered man until we found a complete set of prints at the scene of Dalton Ladd's m*rder.

That's him.

We're about to apprehend El Mecanico.

Well, let's say you're right.

This guy told the Feds his name was Kent Jenkins.

I'm guessing that's an alias.

All right, so we know what he looks like-- that's more than we had-- but I don't see how we're about to put cuffs on the guy.

We know what he looks like, and we know what he wants.

El Mecanico is nothing if not thorough.

He was contracted to k*ll Nigella Mason.

Rest assured he's going to try and do exactly that.

We don't use civilians as bait.

There's no need to put her directly in his crosshairs.

No.

There's no doubt he's monitoring her movements.

One of the simplest ways to do that is listen in on her phone conversations.

Anyone with 50 pounds to spend can buy the software which lets them listen in on virtually any wireless call.

That's why we told her not to use her cell.

Yeah.

So, what if she slips up?

GREGSON: Miss Mason told her friend she'd be at the bar at quarter to 5:00.

We can expect this guy to set up shop early.

Be ready.

He'll definitely want the lay of the land before he makes a move.

Hi there.

Don't move.

MAN: Hands behind your back.

BELL: Get on the ground.

WOMAN: I'll thank you not to refer to my client as "El Mecanico" again.

He's a gainfully employed citizen.

GREGSON: He's on the books at one of Joaquin Aguilar's front companies.

Thank you.

Your text said you found him.

El Mecanico's real name is Keith Newell.

I don't envy his attorney at the moment.

GREGSON: Your "gainfully employed" client was carrying a $10,000 handgun when we picked him up.

That w*apon is registered.

We have him on videotape lying through his teeth to the DEA.

ATTORNEY: I'm not completely convinced that's my client.

GREGSON: We have his fingerprints at three different m*rder scenes.

You should be begging to talk to me right now.

You've just caught a mass m*rder*r.

People have been hunting for this guy for a decade.

Well done.

And thank you.

What's going on?

Be right back.

I just got a call from Latent Prints.

Something wrong?

We just compared that guy's prints to the ones we found at all the murders.

They don't match.

What? Not even close.

No, there's been a mistake. We ran it three times.

Do it again. That man lied on videotape, he's missing a finger on his left hand, and he was carrying a designer handgun which he intended to use to m*rder Nigella Mason.

Holmes, are you listening? The prints don't match.

We can hold him for trespassing, but he'll make bail soon.

And when he does, we're going to have to let him go.

MYCROFT: Must be a hazard in your line of work; frustration.

What? No, I'm just saying you've both built a brilliant case.

I really thought you had your man.

It must be frustrating being wrong.

It's true we've reached a crossroads, but we're not wrong; Keith Newell is El Mecanico.

And his fingerprint didn't match.

That's a factor which needs to be accounted for.

There's only one explanation I can come up with.

Which means there's only one explanation that we need to investigate: fake fingerprints.

Fake fingerprints?

It makes perfect sense.

El Mecanico, he's a cautious man in a hazardous line of work.

He has a set of false fingerprints as a last line of defense against exactly the kind of meeting he had today.

I get it. But fake fingerprints?

Is that even possible?

Yeah, of course it is.

They're rarely seen in the underworld.

To make a top-notch pair, you need a high-resolution camera, you need a industrial-grade chemistry lab, and ideally, a set of human hands for your prints.

El Mecanico works for a cartel, so money's no issue, and I imagine they're awash with severed hands.

Yeah, that's how he's done it. Fake fingerprints.

He must have peeled them off while they were bringing him to the station.

Uh! Why are you poking me with your single stick?

I'm poking the covers to determine whether or not my brother is in there with you.

It's just me.

We should get in touch with him right away.

We're going to Denning.

What's in Denning?

Well, it's where Keith Newell lives, for one thing.

And why do we need to see where he lives?

From the DEA files.

Did you know that the partial prints attributed to El Mecanico were found at three different crime scenes?

I thought it was two murders.

Two murders, three crimes.

So they found the same print at the scene of a liquor store robbery?

Someone stole all the Strawdog wine in the place.

Well, that doesn't make any sense.

Newell, or El Mecanico, or whatever you want to call him, he works for a billion-dollar business.

He's got to be paid well, so I doubt he drinks cheap wine.

And if he does, he can pay for it himself.

Which is how I arrived at my theory: Newell committed the massacres wearing someone else's fingerprints.

But he didn't do the robbery.

The robbery happened six months before the first murders.

It was perpetrated by the original owner of the fingerprints, who then donated their hands to El Mecanico, presumably not voluntarily.

Mm. Was there a suspect?

There's no mention of one.

The sheriff who looked into the robbery retired some time ago, but she has agreed to speak with us.

WOMAN: I remember what you're talking about, sure, but it's a stretch to call it a case.

Why is that?

Someone stole all the Strawdog.

Just the Strawdog.

We used to have a handful of homeless people in town, not more than ten or 12, but I kept tabs on them.

I was sheriff, it was my job to know what was going on.

A month or two before Schultz's liquor store was robbed, this new guy drifted into town.

Jed something. I can't remember his last name, because everybody just called him "Strawdog Jed."

This guy spent most of his day panhandling out by the lot where he slept.

I went to pick him up.

Found about ten unopened bottles of Strawdog, but no Jed.

I figured he pulled up stakes after he robbed the store.

It's odd, don't you think, someone called Strawdog Jed steals great quantities of his favorite drink and then he just leaves it all behind?

His drinking buddy sure thought it was weird.

He swore up and down that something must've happened to Jed.

This lot where he slept, do you think you could show it to us?

The town redeveloped the lot with stimulus money.

It's been a park for about five years now.

And where was it that Jed slept?

Oh, I guess right around there.

So what was the ground like before the lot was converted?

Was there greenery?

Oh, maybe a weed or two. Other than that, it was just a patch of hardscrabble dirt.

Excellent.

Why is that excellent?

Well, everything would have been planted at roughly the same time when the lot was converted into a park.

So everything's of uniform age.

Well, except for this oak tree.

HOLMES: This tree's the same age as the others, just taller and lusher and healthier.

Maybe it got more food than the other ones.

Precisely.

Something in the soil's provided extra nutrients for this tree.

You think something was decomposing down there.

We're gonna need the police, some men with shovels.

But I think we might be standing on the grave of Strawdog Jed.

GREGSON: Mr. Newell, on behalf of the City of New York, we'd like to thank you for providing us with your fingerprints and your DNA sample.

We are unable to link them to either the mass killings associated with the Robles narcotics cartel.

So we wanted to apologize for any imposition on your time.

We appreciate that.

However, we have been in touch with the police department of Denning, New York.

It seems that they have a new lead in the disappearance of a man named Jed Eichen.

BELL: You might remember him as "Strawdog Jed."

Turns out someone k*lled him.

Buried him right there in town.

No hands.

But we did find some hairs that weren't Mr. Eichen's buried right in there with him.

Care to guess whose DNA they matched?

REPORTER: As part of a plea bargain,

New York resident Keith Newell confessed today to working as a hired gunman for the Robles narcotics cartel.

It remains unclear

(doorbell rings) exactly how many murders Newell...

Hi.

I'm here for Sherlock.

I'm sure he'll be right up.

We've hired a chef.

For the restaurant.

That's great.

We'll be refining the menu over the next couple of days.

Congratulations.

Thank you.

I-I was wondering...

...would you be my guest for the opening?

Wow, that's so nice. I would l...

Do you think that's gonna complicate things?

Look, uh... setting aside the events of London, I've come to think of you as an extraordinary person.

I'm so grateful you're in my brother's life.

And I would like very much the chance for you and I... to become friends.

(horns honk and beep)

Marchioness.

So, you'll be pleased to hear I have reached out to certain attorneys known to associate with Joaquin Aguilar.

I made it quite clear that if any harm comes to you, I will expose the fact that Aguilar knowingly sold a foal with fraudulent bloodlines.

I'm confident he'll cut his losses.

You should be safe.

Thank you.

And what about me?

Why, that's up to my brother to decide.

You are, as of this moment, out of the stud business.

You're not gonna report me?

I'm not done.

We've seen your records.

Between the insurance payments you'll get for Dalton Ladd's death and the money you've saved, you'll have enough to repay the victims of your scam.

You can keep the money Joaquin Aguilar gave you.

Use it to fund a new, hopefully more respectable start in life.

Sherlock and I will, of course, oversee the repayments.

Thank you.

It's been lovely seeing you again, Nigella.

But if it's all the same with you, I'd like to have a coffee with my brother.

♪

(door closes)

I won't discuss the holidays, you know.

That's fine.

I've no interest in covering our past in a glaze of nostalgia. I accept your terms completely.

Where does that leave us, then?

What would you like to talk about?