02x11 - Internal Audit

[bunniefuu]

Previously on Elementary...

You ruined my life. g*n!

WOMAN: A blood clot got wedged in his right subclavian artery, obstructed the blood flow to his arm for about 30 minutes.

He may never regain full use of the limb.

WATSON: This is about your guilt.

You're not directly responsible for what happened.

But this time your fondness for blowing past bureaucratic guideposts got a man you respect sh*t.

You may very well have saved my life.

I'd rather not see you around here.

Look at you, southpaw.

Well, life has changed, right?

At least nowadays most of the paperwork's on the computer.

Well, I made you some ready-to-nuke dinners.

Nothing fancy.

Baked ziti's about the extent of my culinary skills.

Thanks.

That's really nice of you.

What did the doctor say about your hand?

Uh, he doesn't know.

It's only been a few weeks.

Physical therapy's helping, but they still can't tell me if the damage is permanent.

Well, you're back at work, that's good.

Yeah.

If you call, uh, pushing papers around work.

Hey, you know they say that learning to write with your other hand is good for the brain.

Builds new pathways, keeps you young.

Great.

So if this, uh, trauma sticks around forever, I'll have a really long time to enjoy it.

Marcus, do you think you... need to talk to someone?

No, honestly, I think what I really need is to talk less.

Thanks again for the food.

Okay?

All right, I'll see you later.

Mm-hmm.

Don't trip the proximity sensor.

Actually, would you mind stepping back a couple of paces?

I'm feeling a little bit crowded.

(alarm blaring)

Hey!

(alarm stops)

Are you crazy?

That's a half-million dollar car. Surely when your employers hired you to test the security measures they knew it would result in a little bit of wear and tear.

Wouldn't explain a foot in the door.

Well, they should be pleased.

Their system's obviously impregnable.

Actually, it's totally pregnable.

I b*at it ten times today.

You got a lot on your mind.

All the stuff that happened with your buddy, the detective.

Is utterly irrelevant to breaking into a car.

Obviously.

In terms of my actions on the case which resulted in Detective Bell's injury, I was completely in the right.

I've reviewed every decision I made.

Every inflection point in the investigation.

And it is indisputable from any rational cost benefit analysis that I did everything correctly.

So, why can I not move on?

Why does the matter persist in buzzing away at my most precious commodity, my concentration?

Maybe we should head for a meeting.

I came here tonight, not as your sponsee, but as a friend and colleague whose vocation creates certain overlapping interests.

Besides I think this is what I need tonight.

Fine.

But tomorrow, we're hitting a meeting.

(tool clattering)

Allegations continue to mount that Donald Hauser, trusted money manager to New York's elite, may, in fact, have been running a decades-long pyramid scheme.

Sources inside the SEC confirm that they're now scrutinizing Hauser's private hedge fund, which seemed to yield consistent annual returns of 12% or more.

Thanks to the work of independent journalist Rosalie Nuñez, who first sounded the alarm, we may now discover those returns were all lies.

If so, Hauser will be looking at criminal charges that could put him behind bars for the rest of his life, while hundreds of his investors will absorb the news that their life savings have vanished.

Neither Hauser nor anyone at his firm responded in time to comment.

Stocks were relatively flat today, as analysts...

(broadcast continues indistinctly)

(g*nsh*t)

(yelling)

Ow! God! Ow!

(crying)

(gasping)

Wait.

(yelling)

(crying)

I was about to k*ll myself.

(sobbing): Please.

What's done is done.

I know. That's what I want to talk about.

MAN (on TV): Good morning to you, as well...

Donald, it's me.

(TV broadcast continues indistinctly)

(screams)

♪ Elementary 2x11 ♪
Internal Audit Original Air Date on December 12, 2013

♪

Well, someone had some anger to work out.

Steal a few hundred million dollars of other people's money, somebody's bound to get ticked off.

WATSON: So, who found him?

Personal chef. She came in, said the alarm system was off, and the TV was on.

She's here in the kitchen.

Miss, uh, Butler?

Miss Butler, this is Joan Watson.

Sorry to meet under these circumstances.

Thank you.

Miss Watson and her partner there, Mr. Holmes, consult for the department.

So, you are a personal chef?

Mr. Hauser was a client for a long time.

I prepared meals for him at my house and-and brought them here a few times a week.

GREGSON: You any idea who might want to hurt Mr. Hauser?

Oh, with what's been going on in the press, plenty of people.

What-What's he doing?

(garbled radio transmission)

He, uh, has a process.

Captain?

Would you excuse me?

I take it the victim's g*n was found here?

Yeah, by the first uniforms on the scene. Registered to Hauser.

However, different caliber than the casings we found on the floor.

Figured Hauser tried to defend himself.

Never got a sh*t off.

I can assure you Mr. Hauser did not pull his g*n in self-defense. At least, not at first. Rather, he was about to commit su1c1de when he was very rudely interrupted.

The handgun was stored here in this drawer.

Whoever removed it bothered to close the drawer when they were done.

This is a very unlikely action on anyone's part during the middle of a heated home invasion.

No. Mr. Hauser's g*n was out before the k*ller entered.

The whiskey-- Glen Lochaber, 1926, single cask, aged for 55 years.

Yum. Only 100 bottles ever produced.

Probably set Mr. Hauser back about $10,000.

This is the proverbial good stuff, and, judging by the ring of dust where it usually sat on his bar, he kept it for only the very rarest of occasions.

Miss Butler said the television was on when she entered.

We all know what story dominated the news last night.

Hauser himself was sitting, watching as he filled his glass to the very brim.

No longer any point in saving it.

Lastly...

...g*n oil on the roof of his mouth.

The irony of ironies.

Our k*ller arrived just in time to stop Mr. Hauser from sh**ting himself.

So, what? k*ller just wanted to squeeze in some t*rture first?

Probably not as satisfying as getting his or her money back, but I suppose you take what you can get.

Oh. According to this article, there could be over a thousand people that were affected by Donald Hauser's pyramid scheme.

I'd say our works cu it for us, wouldn't you?

Actually, I've got a rather good idea of where I'd like to start.

The chef, Chloe Butler. Why?

You not see how nervous she was when we were interviewing her?

Her haptics were practically screaming that she was hiding something.

Well, she just found the mutilated corpse of her boss.

Her alibi left something to be desired, as well, no?

Well, just because she said she was home alone during the time of the m*rder doesn't mean she did it.

Nor does it mean she didn't.

Obviously, there's no shortage of other suspects, but Miss Butler seems like a worthwhile place to start.

(phone chimes)

You saw Detective Bell last night, did you not?

Yes, I did.

And?

He's better. He's riding a desk for now, but, um, at least he's up and around.

As a matter of fact, I promised I'd run a few errands for him.

I will be back in a bit. If I'm not here, I will be at the station, reviewing case files.

I will text you if I identify Mr. Hauser's k*ller all by my lonesome.

I am sorry about this morning.

I... I just...

It's fine. Seriously.

You didn't do anything wrong.

(babbling)

Oh. I can't believe you have a baby now.

You can't believe it?

(laugh)

(baby fussing)

So, uh, you said the dad is... out of the picture?

I can't say I got any better at picking men just because I got clean.

Ross, my ex-- as far as bad decisions go, he's right up there with heroin.

Oh.

But, hey, it got me Shane.

I had no idea what I was supposed to do when I saw you.

I didn't know you'd switched careers, and with the police around, I didn't know if I was obligated by law to say that I knew you, or...

Chloe, there is no right or wrong.

When I run into a former client in a social setting, I let them decide whether they want to say anything or not.

You were obviously caught off guard, so I took the lead.

I just try not to tell anyone about that part of my life.

You know, if-if I can help it.

Are you still going to meetings?

Oh, yeah, of course.

No, I-I don't mean I don't talk to anyone, I just... take the "anonymous" part seriously.

Actually, that's one of the reasons I wanted to see you.

With your permission, I would like to explain our history to my partner.

Why? He's very perceptive.

He could tell that you were hiding something last night.

He thought it might have something to do with what happened to Donald Hauser.

He thinks I'm a suspect?

You're just someone who caught his eye.

Look, if you don't feel comfortable, I totally understand.

If you do... know that our confidentiality agreement will extend to him as well.

I just want to make sure the investigation is moving in the right direction.

You must really trust him.

I do.

Hey.

Can we talk about Chloe Butler?

In 2009, she was one of the hottest chefs in the city.

Yes, I saw that when I looked into her.

Well, you didn't see all of it.

The attention was too much for her, and she fell in with the wrong crowd.

When did she start working with you?

2011.

She was one of my first clients.

I lived with her for a little over six months.

It wasn't easy, but she got her life back on track.

She knew that the restaurant scene could be a trigger, so she started a new business.

As a personal chef.

Yes. So everything you sensed that she was hiding last night was about her past.

And she has an alibi for the time of the m*rder.

She was with her sponsor.

Hmm.

Well, it's interesting that I failed to detect another addict when I met one.

More interesting that I didn't get a sense that you were hiding something from me, but anyway...

In that case, we should, uh, focus on culling our list of other potential suspects in Donald Hauser's m*rder.

I left a voicemail with the journalist who broke the story of his pyramid scheme, a woman named Rosalie Nuñez.

Any luck, she will have some insight which we can use to prioritize our investigation of Hauser's victims.

Actually, Chloe may have already helped with that.

She didn't think of it until we were talking, but she had an idea who the last person might've been to see Hauser alive.

Uh, the director of a nonprofit named Jacob Weiss.

Hauser had her prepare an extra meal for last night.

Part of her job is to know which friends ate what.

I was shocked when I heard the news.

I-I still don't believe it.

It couldn't have happened that many hours after I left.

Our thoughts exactly.

In fact, we're curious if you could account for your whereabouts for the rest of the evening.

The M.E. puts Mr. Hauser's death somewhere between 10:00 p.m. and midnight.

After I left Donald, I had a late meeting at the Palladian Hotel with a Swiss banker named Jonas Bitz.

We were there quite late. I'm sure he or anyone at the lobby bar will confirm that.

But... I'm the last person who had a reason to k*ll Donald.

Well, it's our understanding that he handled your... charity's finances.

Considering everything that's happened, that would give you motive.

Actually, it wouldn't.

Do you know what we do here?

You seek reparations for survivors of the Holocaust.

To this day, Swiss bank accounts are still being identified that belong to n*zi w*r profiteers.

Our investigators uncover that money and process claims on behalf of survivors and their families.

I can't deny what I'm hearing in the press about Donald, but he was my friend. He donated his services free of charge, as this council's CPA.

And as for our investments, the council never lost a dime.

Every penny has already been accounted for.

Can you think of why he might've left the council alone?

Maybe as he was stealing from others, he saw his work for us as a kind of... karmic counterbalance, a way to do some good to make up for the bad.

Whatever the reason, I'm grateful.

So, Donald Hauser was a swindler with a heart of gold.

Very few of us are either completely good or completely evil. It would appear that even Hauser had a moral line that he would not cross.

(phone ringing)

Excellent. This is Rosalie Nuñez, the reporter I mentioned.

Ms. Nuñez, thank you so much for calling me back.

MAN: Is this Sherlock Holmes?

It is. Who's this?

This is Detective Luntz of the NYPD.

You left a voice mail for Ms. Nuñez saying you were a... consultant?

I did and I am.

Why do you have her phone?

I think maybe you should join me at her residence so I can explain in person.

I may even have some consulting questions for you.

Well, it looks like Ms. Nuñez was k*lled by the same person who m*rder*d Donald Hauser.

The technique used to bind her, the size and placement of the b*llet wounds.

I'm quite confident a ballistics report will confirm that.

Our sh**t had a busy night two nights ago.

M.E. put tentative time of death only a few hours after Hauser's.

I'm gonna tell Luntz to put a rush on ballistics.

WATSON: This doesn't make any sense.

Why would the same person want to k*ll both the man who stole people's life's savings and the reporter who exposed him?

Seems like if you hated one, you'd be a fan of the other.

Rare to come across such a literal case of someone sh**ting the messenger.

Looks like she plugged in her laptop here.

We should find out if it's missing.

Come and have a look at this.

The k*ller entered by force.

Kicked the door here.

Mmm. Sap of the Osage orange, unless I'm mistaken.

I'm good.

Bit of a misnomer, really.

Aside from a vague... (sniffs) citrusy scent, it is unrelated to the orange.

It's a closer cousin to the mulberry, actually.

So, k*ller kicked in the door, transferred the sap from his shoe.

Which tells us the most likely route he took on his way here.

"Monkey balls."

Beg your pardon?

One of the many folk names for the Osage orange.

Squirrels rip the fruit apart, spreading the seeds and the sap on the ground.

This park is the only place in the vicinity of Ms. Nuñez's apartment where one is likely to find one of these.

So you think whoever sh*t her walked through here on his way to her apartment.

And perhaps again when he left.

(cell phone ringtone playing)

Isn't that Alfredo's ringtone?

Yes, he's been harassing me. I promised I would go to a meeting with him yesterday, but the investigation took precedence.

It still does.

(skateboards clacking, boys laughing)

BOY: Check it out, check it out!

Behold, Watson, a generation lost to narcissism.

A populace who believes that no experience is worth having unless it's been uploaded and received its fair share of hits, for whom the pinnacle of achievement is having the moment you crush your genitalia on a metal railing achieve "meme" status.

And yet their self-absorption may, in this instance, serve us.

I happen to know from my police scanner that the police are often called to this park to chase skateboarders away.

They are, to the dismay of some parkgoers, here at all hours.

So if they were here two nights ago when the k*ller walked by, one of them might have caught them on their cell phone.

(cell phone ringtone plays)

I will talk to the narcissists.

You go meet Alfredo so you can get to a meeting.

I've stitched up a lot of these guys back during my E.R. rotation. I know how to talk to them.

You speak idiot?

You also don't seem like you're in the greatest mood.

This might need a softer touch.

I'll let you know if anything turns up.

You're not Alfredo.

You're Sherlock, right?

And you are?

Randy.

Name or adjective? What?

Short for "Randall"? Or state of sexual arousal?

Are you asking me if I'm horny?

Well, cars like this can have that effect on some men.

ALFREDO: Sherlock?

I see you guys have met.

Ah. I thought for a moment that your home had been infiltrated.

I see that's not the case.

No, Randy and I met at a meeting a few weeks ago.

Three months sober.

He's been going it alone for now, but... we were talking a few nights ago, and... we think he might benefit from a sponsor.

Yep. Yep. A wise decision.

Yeah. And a... excellent choice.

Yeah, um, Alfredo has, uh, helped me profoundly over the last 18 months, so, uh, yeah, you're in excellent hands.

Actually, I was thinking that you might be the man for the job.

RANDY: Alfredo tells me I can learn a lot from you.

Yeah. Um... could you just... Could you give us a moment?

We'll just be one second, all right?

(quietly): You're joking.

Do you think the idea of you becoming a sponsor is funny? Because I don't.

I've been thinking about it for a while, okay?

The stuff you said the other night pretty much sealed it.

What "stuff"?

Do you want to know why you've been so agitated for the last few weeks?

Why you've been so distracted?

Because you feel bad about what happened to your friend.

I told you.

I was completely in the right.

Maybe for the old you, that would've been enough.

But not now.

You're different now.

You committed yourself to the program and now you heard other people tell their stories.

And a little empathy crept in.

That's what's supposed to happen.

That's how it works.

You want to help Detective Bell, but he won't let you.

That is a good instinct to have.

Why not try to apply it somewhere else?

Being a sponsor means being available.

You know me. You know my work.

It's all-consuming.

You find time for meetings, don't you?

(phone chimes)

Oh.

I'm sorry. I won't be able to make this evening's meeting after all.

Duty calls.

As it always will.

(sighs)

(footsteps approaching)

Any luck? Aside from getting a master class in the difference between a switch and a fakie, no.

No one walking by jumped out as suspicious.

How was the meeting?

Probably quite good. I will never know.

Because as soon as I got to Alfredo's, I was the victim of an ambush.

What are you talking about?

He expressed his opinion that it was time I became a sponsor.

Oh.

And what did you say?

I told him my life is not conducive to making myself available every time someone else was in crisis.

You do get that no one's life is, right?

Oh, my God.

What is it?

WATSON: The man with the bag.

I know him.

Small world.

Not that small.

I don't remember his name.

We crossed paths when I first started working with Chloe.

He came to her apartment one night. Are you saying there's a connection between Chloe Butler, who discovered Donald Hauser's body, and a man seen in the vicinity of Rosalie Nuñez's apartment shortly after her m*rder?

You're right-- the world is not that small.

I can't believe it, but yeah, that's Nelson.

Nelson Maddox. You said this was taken outside the apartment of the reporter who d*ed?

A few blocks away.

You know how I recognized him, right?

You were here that night.

The night he came over.

WATSON: He was yelling at you. I mean, I assumed he was your ex, but... you didn't want to talk about it, so I didn't push.

Nelson and I were... together... when I was using. Donald used to bring him into the restaurant when I still worked there.

He introduced us.

Uh, Nelson said he was an entrepreneur.

But then I realized that was his way of saying "criminal."

What kind of criminal?

I don't know. Something with dr*gs.

He always had a fix, and back then, that's all that mattered to me.

But after rehab... I told him that I couldn't see him again, and... he got angry, and... (crying) he came to see me...

It's okay, take your time.

I never saw him again, not till you showed me his picture. How did he and Donald know each other?

Was Nelson a business client?

Yeah. Yeah, I'm pretty sure he was.

Well, if Donald swindled him, then he would have motive to k*ll him.

But why hurt Rosalie?

Joan... you know you can't tell anyone about this.

The only reason that you recognized Nelson was because you were here as my sober companion.

If you tell the police how you knew him, you're gonna have to tell them about me, about my past.

Chloe... I know you don't like to talk about it, but...

You don't understand.

I am in a custody battle for Shane.

His father doesn't know anything about my life before.

Wh-What do you mean?

The lawyers don't know.

The court doesn't know.

If it comes out now that I'm an addict, I mean, i-it looks like I hid it-- they could use it to take Shane away.

Two people are dead.

And that kills me, Joan.

But you signed a confidentiality agreement.

You gave your word that you would protect me.

I am sorry... but if you want to connect Nelson to Donald, you're gonna have to find another way.

Let's make sure I understand you-- we now have a name to put to the face of the man that we believe brutally m*rder*d Donald Hauser and Rosalie Nuñez, but we can't share it with the authorities?

Not unless we can connect the dots without involving Chloe.

Which, in this case, is the same thing, because Chloe is the connection.

And all this over a promise you made in another career?

Yes. Just like the promise I made you when we first started working together.

Uh, what was it you told people I was back then?

Ah. A personal valet.

If our confidentiality agreement had ever come between us and a m*rder*r, I would have exposed myself as an addict in a heartbeat.

This is not about Chloe being ashamed.

It's bigger than that-- she could lose her child.

That's unlikely even if the boy's father did find out, and it's far from a certainty that he will.

Donald Hauser was an execrable human being.

Rosalie Nuñez was not.

She had a family; they loved her.

She had friends, colleagues-- many people consider her a hero for exposing Hauser... This is not up for discussion.

We have to find another way to connect Maddox to Hauser.

And while we look for this other connection, Mr. Maddox remains at large, free to cover his tracks or disappear. We should at least tell the captain what we've uncovered. Explain the situation, but make it clear that Chloe's identity is to remain a secret.

I suggested that, okay? She said no.

What if we do it anyway? Why must she ever know?

So your solution is to make a liar out of me, after I told her that she could trust you?

I have us at the very doorstep of a solution, Watson!

Did you not learn anything from what happened to Bell?

He got hurt because of choices that we made!

There was no way to predict that he would be placed in danger.

Just like there's no way to know what's gonna happen to Chloe if we drag her name into this investigation.

(sighs)

(car engine starts, revs)

(engine idling)

(engine continues idling)

(engine turns off)

(mechanical whirring)

You b*at the alarm.

Only a matter of time.

And my home alarm.

Child's play.

Not really befitting a man in your line of work.

You might want to replace these.

(sighs)

(exhales)

Well, obviously you want to talk, so talk.

I've always had compassion for the victims of the crimes I investigate.

My capacity to place myself in other people's shoes, to imagine what they're thinking and feeling, is a... is a necessary skill in determining motive.

One at which I excel.

This capacity... has never been a detriment to my work.

Lately, however...

Bell's been on your mind; I get it.

And you would risk exacerbating this problem by assigning me a sponsee.

No one's "assigning" you anything.

That's not how it works.

I just think you're ready.

You think it's gonna... focus me, and provide a relief valve for all the feelings I've been having regarding the detective's situation.

Even if I did, there's one thing you got to remember.

It's not about you.

(exhales)

You've gotten a lot out of the program.

Don't you think it's time to give something back?

(sighs)

Early start, I see.

Late night, actually. I tried to sleep but couldn't, so I stayed at it.

Chloe said Maddox was a client of Hauser's, but his name is not in any of Hauser's accounts.

I've been over the records a dozen times--

I cannot find a link between the two.

If we were able to establish that Maddox lost money on Hauser's pyramid scheme, we would have our connection without implicating Chloe... as well as Maddox's motive for m*rder.

In the meantime, I sent Captain Gregson the video of Maddox in the park and convinced him to release it to the press.

You were right.

If we bring him in, it'll at least buy us some time.

And getting him in a room might shake out another connection.

Did you tell the captain about Chloe? No. Remember how I noticed Rosalie's laptop was missing from her apartment?

Well, I looked into it-- it never turned up.

Then I told the captain about the sap on Rosalie's door and how that led us to the park.

Then I sent him the video of Maddox walking away with a laptop bag slung over his shoulder right around the time of the m*rder.

I couldn't give him Maddox's name without bringing up, Chloe, of course, but at least his face is out there.

I know it's not ideal.

But given the circumstances, it was quite literally all that we could do.

Well done.

(electronic dinging)

It's Captain Gregson.

Someone saw Maddox's face on the news and called in a tip.

WATSON: A member of your outreach staff met him at a fund-raiser your organization threw about a year ago.

She dug up the guest list for us.

The list gave us a name: Nelson Maddox.

I remember him.

I met him through Donald.

I-I think Donald was the one who invited him to the fund-raiser.

Do you think you'd be able to shed any light on their relationship?

Donald introduced him as another client.

Uh... I think he had something to do with the art world.

In fact, he donated a few paintings to the auction that night.

I'm pretty sure they all sold.

Thank you. This was very helpful.

(sighs) He said Maddox was a client of Hauser's who was involved in the art world.

I have been all over that client list-- the only thing that comes close is an art gallery in Chelsea.

Maddox's name was not associated with it.

But do you think he may have been a silent partner?

Well, it would explain where he got all the art he donated.

WOMAN: Sorry, mm... no. You don't know him?

Mm-mm.

Fabiana, did you say it was?

Fabiana, would it be safe to assume that you are not the owner of this establishment?

Why you assume that?

I mean no disrespect.

I'm sure you're a valued member of the team.

But do you know the owner, or owners?

Of course.

WATSON: But you don't know the man in the photograph.

And the name Nelson Maddox doesn't mean anything to you?

No. Sorry.

HOLMES: Uh, do you mind if we peruse?

Huge fans of the neo-deconceptualists.

Sure.

Thank you.

Neo-deconceptualists?

Not a thing.

Don't tell Fabiana-- it might crush her.

So she was obviously lying about not knowing Nelson Maddox.

Yeah, obviously.

(sighs)

Excuse me.

You see something?

Fabiana, did you open up the gallery this morning?

Yeah.

Nothing out of the ordinary?

No.

No.

Heel scuffs on the floor.

Yeah.

Looks like someone was dragged.

Out here.

(door squeaks open)

♪

(Watson gasping)

Would you care to revise your answers?

Because it would appear that Nelson Maddox has some connection to this gallery after all.

So, Maddox's car was parked up the block, and inside it, we found the g*n, right caliber, and the same kind of rope used to bind Donald Hauser and Rosalie Nuñez.

Now, under the circumstances, Fabiana admitted that Maddox was a silent partner, and that his main line of work was distributing street dr*gs to a discreet level of clientele.

As in, a dealer for rich people.

Presumably, her employers were not fond of admitting they had a drug dealer as an investor.

Hence, her initial silence.

GREGSON: So Maddox had money tied up in the gallery, and the gallery was a client of Donald Hauser's.

So, that explains why Maddox k*lled Hauser.

Now, the question is, who k*lled Maddox?

And why did Maddox k*ll Rosalie Nuñez and steal her laptop?

She must have found something on Maddox when she researched Hauser's pyramid scam.

But if his only connection to Hauser was this gallery, what's so incriminating about that?

Watson, I think you're right.

About what?

That Rosalie Nuñez knew that there was more to this gallery than meets the eye.

The red dots on the wall that are placed next to some of the pieces.

As you would find in any such establishment, they're placed next to an item to indicate that that particular item has been sold.

But in this gallery... the dots are consistently placed next to every third piece.

As if a single individual, walking at a relatively steady pace, circled the room, peeling off dots... randomly designating certain pieces as sold.

Reality would never be so tidy.

What we have here is a shoddily ex*cuted lie.

I submit that these dots exist to make it look like business is being conducted in here.

Whereas, in truth, the gallery in which we stand is much more likely a money-laundering front.

(camera shutter clicking)

Fabiana?

Can I trouble you for one more thing? Your books.

If these items on the walls have indeed been sold, you must maintain a record of whom they've been sold to, yes?

Yes.

You wanted to see me?

Jacob Weiss, this is Captain Gregson of the NYPD.

How do you do?

Magnificent work you do.

Setting right, in at least some small way, such a horrific wrong done decades ago.

I wonder how some of the Holocaust survivors would feel, knowing that money had been claimed in their names without them knowing, or-or even seeing a dime.

Excuse me?

You've been embezzling millions from your own charity by filing false claims in the names of survivors who are either dead, or who were simply never informed.

How-how dare you accuse me...?!

This is a list of people who supposedly bought artwork from Nelson Maddox's gallery.

The same gallery that you claimed to know absolutely nothing about.

Funny thing is, I remember seeing all of these names somewhere before.

Here, on this sculpture.

It's quite a coincidence, isn't it?

So many of the gallery's customers being survivors that you'd helped.

WATSON: You and Nelson Maddox were business partners.

You laundered the embezzled money through his gallery.

That was the incriminating evidence in Donald Hauser's files.

HOLMES: We strongly suspect that, as the charity's CPA, Hauser realized what was going on, and even he couldn't stomach it.

When his own house of cards came tumbling down, and he decided to take his own life, he also decided to share what he knew about your scheme with Rosalie Nuñez.

In your own words, perhaps it was a "karmic counterbalance."

WATSON: We think his mistake was giving you a heads-up.

Probably when the two of you had dinner a few nights ago.

That gave you time to contact Maddox, who then tortured out of Hauser what he'd done with the files.

Maddox then k*lled Rosalie, and took her laptop.

HOLMES: When you saw on the news that we had identified Maddox as the k*ller, you k*lled him to cover your tracks.

GREGSON: We're already working our way down that list of supposed art buyers.

So far, not one of them or their families had any idea they'd been awarded six-figure settlements.

I don't suppose you'd like to explain why that is.

Oh, sorry. I was, uh...

I was looking for Captain Gregson.

Detective Bell.

That's all right. Come in.

Frank Da Silva.

(laughs)

Have a seat.

As in, Deputy Commissioner Da Silva?

Captain Gregson was nice enough to lend us his office so that we could speak privately.

What do you know about my division, Detective?

I got a pretty good idea.

You're in charge of an intelligence unit? Surveillance?

It's called the Demographics Unit.

(laughs)

The-the name's not mine.

(laughs) To me, uh, being so euphemistic-- it's, um, makes it sound like you're doing something wrong.

And we're not.

We're just... keeping an eye out on certain groups.

Listening for concerning chatter.

I think if you took a close look at what we've been doing, you'd agree that we're keeping the city safe.

You don't have to convince me...

No, but I'd like to. Sir?

I wanted to talk to you because your situation has been brought to my attention.

I'm told that you are an exceptional detective.

You're a man with a good head on his shoulders, who, by no fault of his own, may be staring at a desk job for a good, long time.

Or... you could come work for me.

Does that interest you, Detective?

Would you care to help protect your city from the next att*ck?

(clears throat)

(doorbell rings)

(clears throat)

Enter!

Randall, thank you for coming.

Sure.

Cool place.

Won't you please sit down?

(laughs)

Look, man... if you don't want to be my sponsor, it's all good.

I do.

I do.

When I chose Alfredo to be my sponsor, I did so on a whim.

I felt pressure to find one, so I chose him at random.

I had very low expectations of him, and of sponsorship, in general.

Didn't think I needed either.

I was wrong.

He has taught me how to get the very most out of the program.

He did not coddle me.

And so, if we choose to formalize our relationship, I will not coddle you.

If you have come seeking a friend, look elsewhere.

If you need a therapist, I will happily supply you with a list.

I will only ever be your sponsor.

I will share with you my methods, and hope that your commitment to sobriety is as great as my own.

Are these terms acceptable?

You're sober.

You have been for a long time now.

Of course I find the terms acceptable.