04x06 - The Cost of Doing Business

[bunniefuu]

Watson: Previously on Elementary...

The district attorney is, at this very moment, deciding whether or not I should be charged with felonious as*ault.

What happened?

I b*at a former acquaintance nearly to death.

That was my barrister. It seems you will not have to visit me in prison after all.

Did you misplace my number?

Some things are better to discuss in person.

Like violating campaign finance laws, bribing elected officials, that sort of thing.

You funded a super PAC that supports the district attorney.

And just like that, Sherlock is no longer facing criminal charges against Oscar Rankin.

I've always been willing to go to lengths to protect Sherlock.

So have I. You should keep that in mind, because Sherlock is gonna call you tonight and he's gonna accept your help.

(siren wailing in distance)

(jackhammering)

♪ Oh, God didn't make the little green apples ♪
♪ And it don't rain in Indianapolis in the summertime ♪
♪ ♪
♪ And there's no such thing ♪
♪ As Dr. Seuss, Disneyland ♪

Hey, watch it. (grunts)

♪ Mother Goose, there's no nursery rhymes ♪
♪ God didn't make the little green apples... ♪

(screaming, shouting)

(g*nsh*t)

(g*nsh*t)

“Brother, hearken, while I tell you, What we Masons pledge to do. Prepared at yonder altar, We assumed the Mason's vow...”

(doorbell ringing)

“Foot and knee, breast, hand and cheek... Hearken while I make them speak...”

(doorbell ringing)

(sighs)

Man: Dude, whoever they are, they can wait.

Apologies.

(man groans)

Father.

Sherlock. Forgive my appearance.

I'm just paying off a debt to some online associates.

I see. Nothing untoward.

A hacker collective asked me to perform a few Masonic chants for their amusement.

Perhaps it's best I don't hear the full explanation.

Well, it was a small price to pay for their help.

We just recovered an original printing of The First Book of Urizen.

Oh, the prophecies of William Blake.

Stolen by a hammer-thumbed dry cleaner.

As I predicted. Watson is at this moment obtaining a confession at the station.

Why haven't you answered my calls?

Aside from force of habit?

I'm unable to.

One of the hackers locked my phone until I've finished chanting.

So what's so important you couldn't leave a message?

Reporter: ...this horrible scene in the Financial District.

We are just getting word now that a ninth victim, who was taken to the hospital, is reported stable. That brings the tally to four dead, five wounded in Mannahatta Park.

Not a good day to be out of reach.

Why are you here?

Who's this?

sn*per named Pierre Gagnier.

Formerly French Special Forces.

He's the one responsible for this bloodshed.

♪ Elementary 4x06 ♪
The Cost of Doing Business
Original Air Date on December 14, 2014

♪ ♪

Bell: sh**t picked the right perch.

Building management says construction here got shut down a month ago.

Union dispute with the law firm that owns it, Zyckner Williams.

Floor's always vacant. No cameras. Nobody saw a thing.

There's no latent prints on the g*n. He must've worn gloves.

I'm gonna go ahead and guess: it's not registered.

Serial number says it was stolen from a sporting goods store in 2005. Dead end.

I had to go through a metal detector in the lobby to get up here. The bottom six floors of this building are SEC offices, so security's pretty high.

Just... not high enough.

(phone ringing)

This is Joan. She's with the building people, pulling tape.

You've got me and the captain.

I wish I had good news.

Security just finished a second sweep of the building, but the g*n is still the only trace of the sn*per.

Any way in and out of this place that he could've avoided the security cameras in the lobby?

No. He has to be on the tape, coming and going.

But we've been looking, and so far nobody jumps out.

You able to get ahold of your partner yet?

No, I still haven't been able to reach him.

Well, dig him up.

We got a lunatic out here, and he didn't leave us much to work with.

Three years ago, I was shepherding a project in Maharashtra, India.

A large mining company wanted to secure extraction rights for a particularly promising vein of bauxite.

We had a problem with a local bureaucrat who was overzealous in his application of red tape.

The delay was costing my client millions, so they asked that I consider certain remedies.

If you're about to confess a crime and you're expecting my confidence, I beg you reconsider.

I told my client that I would never entertain the idea of harming the man.

So I was dismissed.

And replaced not with a rival consultancy but with Réponse.

French mercenary outfit?

That was November, two years ago, in Mumbai.

When a sn*per k*lled 13 people.

All to mask the assassination of the offending paper pusher.

A singular target was never presumed.

He was too well hidden.

A pin among so many in a pincushion.

sh**t was never identified.

Not by the authorities, no.

I made my own inquiries. I developed a contact inside Réponse, and they served up this man, a freelancer hired to do the k*lling.

Sadly, I could never manage to interest the local police.

And what makes you think he repeated his pincushion performance today?

We'll need your computer.

Search for cell phone videos of today's att*ck.

You know how quickly these things leak these days.

(shouting, crying)

You'll see in the footage a perfectly alternating pattern of fatalities and leg wounds.

It was the same in Mumbai?

That such a precise pattern should happen once, much less recur, is highly unlikely.

(shouting continues)

I think you're right.

The sn*per is making a concerted effort not only to hide his target but also his skill.

Well, I must say I'm impressed.

If there's room on your wall amongst the Thatcher photographs, you may soon be able to hang a commendation from the NYPD.

You can't share any of this with the police, Sherlock.

Your mole in Réponse.

There's no way to turn this over without exposing him.

I'd expect the group's reprisal to be thorough.

Well, there's been enough blood spilled today.

I'll set to work corroborating Gagnier's involvement independently, and then I will go to the police.

I'd like to help you.

I know we rarely spoke during your Scotland Yard days, but I do recall that you often made use of experts in other fields. Your...

Unusuals.

Irregulars.

And unless you've become an expert in sniping, I fail to see how you can assist me.

I'm no detective, but I do have resources and contacts.

You're set to profit in India if the sn*per is captured.

My former client will certainly lose their mining rights if the truth comes to light.

And I won't deny that I have positioned myself to scoop them up for one of their competitors.

But that's not why I'm here.

I'm here because four people are dead.

Gagnier was out of the country six hours after the Mumbai att*cks.

We can stand here and talk if you wish, but I think you'd be wiser to accept my help and begin.

You must be Morland's boy.

How do you do? I'm Bill Wellstone.

This is our general counsel, Joel Fitzgerald.

Bill, I said there was no need for a lawyer.

In fact, I told you we'd be content sitting down with your head of I.T.

Well, to be honest, we were fighting over who got to take a meeting with the Morland Holmes.

I, myself, can never get enough backslapping, but I'm afraid our time here is limited.

Obviously you're aware of the sn*per att*cks in Mannahatta Park today.

One of your executives was k*lled, Ethan Parris.

Uh, it was our understanding that the victims' names weren't being given out yet. I managed to procure a list from the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner.

We're here because we have reason to believe these sh**t were not random, but rather cover for an assassination.

What?

We think Mr. Parris may have been the real target.

He was the most prominent of the victims by far.

I'm sorry, what does that have to do with anything?

If it was an assassination, it would be the kind which would cost upwards of $1 million.

Look, I don't know what to say.

I didn't know Parris personally, but the report I got, he was a good man.

What kind of work did he do?

Negotiations, mostly.

I mean, he was heading the Peru thing, right?

Mmm. We-We've got a big hydroelectric dam on the drawing board down there.

Ethan was part of the team that was hammering out the contract with their government.

I think he was headed to a meeting with Zyckner Williams today when the sh**ting started.

Zyckner Williams?

Mm-hmm. They're the stateside firm handling the talks for the Peruvians.

Their offices are right near there.

We know.

The sn*per set up his perch on a floor of theirs under construction.

Wellstone: Wait a second.

You think they had him k*lled?

What we would need would be copies of Mr. Parris's correspondence with Zyckner Williams and e-mails so that we could find out.

Do you have a warrant?

We're here as friends, investigating the m*rder of your employee.

I get that, but we're talking about a $2.3 billion deal here.

Turning over all of our internal deal memos?

That kind of exposure, I mean, even under the circumstances, that is a huge ask.

It may only be so much time before the gunman flees the country, gentlemen, so I'll be blunt.

The value of your dam is $2.3 billion in theory only.

It can be zero... if I call certain friends in Lima.

Wellstone (chuckles): Now, that, boys and girls, is how you deliver a thr*at.

It's far more compelling than a warrant.

Anything you need... from Dynastic Energy... you've got it.

Sherlock?

Holmes (recorded): I would prefer a concise text, but if you absolutely must, leave a message.

(beep)

Unless you're dead, you're starting to annoy me.

The sn*per thing's officially a mess.

The captain wants us to comb through security footage from the building.

Call me.

Let me know nothing's wrong.

Man: You guys must be some kind of major leaguers.

I got an e-mail from a partner I've never met telling me to get my ass down here ASAP or he'd have me disbarred.

We appreciate you taking time off from your drinking.

Sorry.

Look, can you blame me for making the most of sn*per Day?

It's like a snow day-- we all got sent home after the sh**ting.

Perhaps your drinking is your way of coping with the guilt.

What?

Four people are dead, five more in hospital, and all because you couldn't get along with your opposite number on a Peruvian dam negotiation.

What are you talking about?

Your working relationship with Ethan Parris turned sour, and stood in the way of a $2.3 billion deal.

So a sn*per was invited into your firm's offices to solve the problem.

You think I had Ethan k*lled?

Morland: Of course not.

The black-bag operatives that your firm keeps on retainer don't take calls from junior associates.

Holmes: Divulge the name of the senior partner that you turned to for help, and I will petition the powers that be to extend you an immunity deal.

(chuckles): Oh, no, no way.

No way. This is a joke.

We've reviewed the complete record of your correspondence with Ethan Parris.

We're not here by accident.

This makes no sense!

The sh**ting made no sense; it was random.

It was made to look random.

Look, if you've seen the e-mails, if you've seen the deal, then you know--

I didn't need Ethan dead; I was kicking his ass.

Mr. Parris was fleecing you on concrete and overages.

No, no. Because...

Holmes: The longer you play dumb, Mr. Pruitt, the less likely we are to help you.

I can prove nobody here wanted Ethan dead.

I doubt you can prove you tied your own tie this morning.

Come with me.

Okay.

You see that, uh, brown tower?

Just to the south there?

That's where Ethan worked.

Now, we went back and forth a dozen times on this deal, and every time I went to his office, I walked out the south entrance right below us, and any time he came here, he used the same doors.

Now, that's the side of the building the sh**t was on, the east side.

Now, if I wanted someone to pick Ethan off, I never would've told them to set up there, because that's not the direction he would've been coming from.

He'd have no sh*t.

Morland: You're a spectacular liar, Mr. Pruitt.

We've just come from Dynastic Energy's offices.

They're on the river, east of here.

No, you're talking about the main offices.

Dynastic outgrew that space years ago.

Ethan worked in their satellite offices right there.

You don't believe me, look it up.

To compare a m*ssacre to inclement weather.

It's a shame that cretinous man wasn't involved.

Detection is an exact science, or it ought to be, and should be treated with the same cold, unemotional manner.

What are you doing?

I'm attempting to divine the PIN number that Everyone used to lock my phone.

(electronic clinking)

“Leet.” Should've guessed it. 1-3-3-7.

Numeric spelling of the word “leet,” as in “elite.”

It's a standard hacker boast.

Why would you care?

Who are you calling?

A colleague in the department.

I told you, we can't...

You're not the only person who can keep a secret.

Bell: Holmes? I was starting to think you fell in a ditch or something.

I'm attempting to come up to speed on the sn*per att*ck.

I'm curious to learn more about the fatalities and what brought those individuals to the park.

At the moment, all I have are their names.

Why just the fatalities?

My theory is too embryonic to share at the moment.

Okay. We got... (sighs)

Ethan Parris.

He...

Not him.

All right.

There's Ronda Walley, tourist from Minnesota.

Uh, Steve Sachs was an ad exec.

He'd just left a job interview.

Finally, there's Frank Bova.

He was a plumber. Ate lunch in the park every day.

Every day?

According to a homeless guy we talked to.

Bova used to share his food with him.

He wasn't, by any chance, the first person sh*t, was he?

Yeah. How did you...

What is it?

There's only one person who could reasonably have been expected to end up in the sn*per's crosshairs today.

Frank Bova.

Ate lunch there regularly.

He was also the first person sh*t, guaranteeing he couldn't scamper off in the ensuing chaos.

Someone engaged an international contract k*ller to go on a sh**ting spree, spending somewhere in the neighborhood of $1 million...

All to disguise the m*rder of a plumber from Staten Island.

(blowing whistle)

Where are we going now?

(blows whistle)

I'm going to visit Frank Bova's widow in Great Kills.

You can go back to your gilded throne in Midtown.

(blows whistle)

I offered my assistance for the duration.

You accepted.

Someone wanted to hide the assassination of a plumber.

My path now clearly diverges from your sphere of influence.

I thank you for the doors you've opened thus far, but I'll take it from here.

Uh... never mind, our mistake.

There isn't time for this.

You said yourself Gagnier fled Mumbai within hours of the att*ck.

I did.

So why did you just send my cab away?

Because I can get you to Staten Island much faster.

Jessica, dear, I'm going to need you to send the helicopter.

I don't understand.

The cops that drove me down to identify Frank said this was just some crazy person, like... domestic terror or something.

I can't say beyond all doubt that your husband was specifically targeted.

But that's what you think.

Morland: We want to be sure that the man that did this is put to justice.

Uh, and there's a chance you can help.

There's just no way.

Frank had his faults, but, I mean, we're talking socks on the floor.

He would put empty milk cartons in the fridge.

He never did anything to make somebody want to k*ll him.

I'm not suggesting that your husband brought this on himself, Mrs. Bova, not necessarily.

But if someone powerful wanted him dead, the method suggests... that they thought their motive would be too easy to detect without a great deal of window dressing.

You're saying that he had... no such enemies?

He did a lot of jobs down near Wall Street.

Tempers flare when there's a delay sometimes, but nobody gets sh*t over toilets, you know?

Perhaps he saw something he wasn't supposed to see while he was working in one of those buildings.

If he did, he didn't tell me.

(crying): I don't know.

I guess we didn't talk as much as we should.

I know this is difficult.

Would you mind if I had a look around?

I'd also like to see any personal effects that were returned to you by the police.

They're right in the kitchen.

You found something in the dead man's phone.

Oh, you noticed.

What is it?

Confirmation that Frank Bova was the sn*per's real target.

It's a hidden tracking program.

I forwarded the relevant data to my phone.

So Gagnier was observing Bova to determine the best place to strike.

Obviously, he settled on his quarry's favorite lunch spot.

It's a clever method of surveillance, but it is revealing--

I might be able to track it back to Gagnier.

I should know by the time we reach your whirlybird.

I need to ask you something personal.

It's a medical question.

I-I wouldn't intrude, but it may well be genetic, so on that basis I feel entitled.

Are you suffering from low T?

Excuse me?

A deficiency, an imbalance in your hormone levels.

Is it what's causing this late-onset humanity that you've been exhibiting since your return to New York?

Is that why you comforted Mrs. Bova?

Was I such a terrible father that you can't imagine me being kind to a widow?

I'm only asking because it is treatable.

It's not uncommon in men of your age.

Isn't the more likely explanation that you've never seen me as I am?

Owing to my deficient powers of observation.

You live a life, Sherlock.

If you're not a fool, it changes you.

I don't think that either of us is a fool.

I don't know Gagnier's location, but I do know where the program was uploaded and where it first began transmitting Bova's whereabouts.

If we go there, we might find a trail.

What's the location?

Not surprisingly, it's somewhere Bova took off his pants.

Man: I'm sorry, I don't think so.

Would've been two weeks ago. Tuesday.

I'm here every day-- I don't remember either of these guys.

I could have sworn I saw a hint of recognition there.

Just to be clear, you are covering for a k*ller.

This man, Pierre Gagnier, followed this man, Frank Bova, in here so he could tamper with his phone.

Subsequently, Mr. Gagnier sh*t nine people downtown today.

That's the guy who...?

Yes. Would you like to start again?

Listen, I got no reason to believe this story of yours, and I don't like cops.

Neither do my clients.

You come in here asking for our security videos.

You got to get a warrant.

Procuring one will be simple enough.

If I must, I assure you, when I return, I will also return with the Health Department.

I will get the materials that I'm requesting, and you will be shut down for insufficient chlorination.

Or have you not noticed that your so-called “baths” are little more than fungal soup?

You do what you need to do.

Right now, you need to leave.

Morland: Please forgive my son.

He misread you.

You're obviously not a man who can be bullied.

But you are a man who can be bribed.

Shall we say $10,000?

(line ringing, cell phone rings in distance)

(door opens)

(cell phone ringing)

So you do have your phone with you.

Were you with your father all day or just this morning?

How did you know?

There were two cups of coffee downstairs. One had honey in it.

I remember that's how he takes his.

So, where have you been?

I get that your cell wasn't working, but you are aware there are other phones you could have used.

As I said, we literally flew to and from Staten Island, and there was never an idle moment to bring you into the fold.

Not really. Besides, I felt better knowing that the police's search was fortified by someone trained in my methods.

You said the captain knows everything now.

He knows a version of everything.

What matters is he knows the sn*per's presumed location.

Pierre Gagnier used a stolen credit card at the Turkish baths.

He used the same credit card to secure a room at a no-tell motel on the Lower East Side.

When I called, the staff said he was still on the premises.

Hmm. Captain will let us know soon enough.

I would have expected you to be a little more... exasperated after spending an entire day with your father.

It was interesting.

Interesting.

Well, he was helpful at certain points.

And I could get used to having a helicopter at my disposal.

11:32 this morning.

Looks like he walked in almost an hour before the sh**ting.

Holmes: You can be forgiven for failing to flag him.

Aside from a vaguely martial gait, he does not look suspicious.

And it seems he didn't bring his r*fle in himself.

After his arrest, perhaps he will tell us who he employed to help him smuggle it past the metal detectors.

Your team leader broke down the tactical situation.

I got nothing to add to that except this.

The man up there opened fire on a crowd of innocent people.

He's not gonna have any qualms taking aim at you.

Be safe. Now, let's get to it.

Hold up.

Hold up. You guys!

I got a camera here.

(g*nshots)

E-11. Requesting a 10-13.

sh*ts fired. I got one hit in the vest.

Take the door.

On three. One, two.

Clear!

Clear!

Detective Captain Manhattan South to Central. I need a 10-13 (g*nsh*t) at 236 Broome Street.

I got an officer sh*t at this location.

Damn it.

(distant shouting)

(kicks g*n)

Bell: When I first saw him lying on the pavement, I assumed he'd been sh*t, but this graze wound was the only sh*t that hit him.

It spooked him, he fell off the fire escape.

Hawes said he d*ed instantly.

Don't know what's more regrettable.

That a mass m*rder*r didn't suffer, of that he couldn't be taken alive.

ESU did what they could.

They were taking fire.

This guy had the place wired.

He saw 'em coming.

I was not implying fault.

I just wish he could have given us what we needed and then d*ed.

GSR on his right palm is from the .22 caliber he fired at the police.

And there's more on his forearm that's consistent with the b*ll*ts used in the sn*per att*ck.

Only trace he left to connect him to the crime-- we found a slag cell phone and computer in his room.

Guy was wiping the decks, getting ready to skip.

You just caught him.

Looks like he was pre-boarded on a flight to Managua.

Bell: All things considered, I'm glad he ended up here instead.

Nothing else of note?

You guys are welcome to pick through the luggage he was packing, but nothing jumped out at CSU.

Looks like this guy's secrets d*ed with him.

I dated this French guy once.

I thought they were all as bad as he was.

Three bags for one weekend at the beach.

This guy traveled light.

I could see why Marcus was pessimistic.

All in all, a waste of the tip my father gave us.

You don't care for him much, do you? My father?

Not really, no.

Hmm.

Is it because he bribed the district attorney to keep me out of prison?

You know about that?

It was a difficult pill to swallow, knowing that my absolution was paid for, accepting a literal get-out-of-jail-free card for the b*ating of Oscar Rankin.

Considering the alternative, I made peace with it.

What I don't understand is why your father would tell you what he did.

Both agreed you didn't need to know.

Well, he never said a word.

Then how did you...?

I've had a lifetime observing Morland Holmes.

There's little he can do to surprise me.

Although I must admit, my grasp of the finer points of his personality seem ripe for reconsideration.

What does that mean?

I've been poisoning your opinion of the man for the last few years.

Now that he's in our orbit, perhaps you should draw your own inferences.

Find something?

Yeah.

See this Sudoku?

The handwriting looks like a match for Gagnier's other little notes to himself.

But the puzzle is filled out completely wrong.

Not even close.

Ah. Little chance Gagnier could be this innumerate.

Think it's some sort of code?

I think the last 13 digits are a bank account, and the first seven are a Swiss routing number.

Always wisest to commit secret accounts to memory.

That's if you want them to stay secret.

Gagnier should have taken some ginkgo biloba and honed his memorization.

Doesn't much matter now.

If that's a Swiss bank account, everything about it stays secret.

You're right, and you're wrong.

Bankers in Geneva wouldn't bend their privacy rules for American law enforcement, but for my father's friends...

Seriously?

As I said, ripe for reconsideration.

Just to be clear, Morland, nobody here at Interpol knows what I've done.

You certainly did not get that from me.

Well, if you can trust us to keep that under our hats, why not trust us with these redacted bits?

Without the authorizing signatures, this report is less revealing than we'd hoped.

Credit Suisse has their limits.

I pushed as hard as I was able.

You have what they gave me.

As you can see, YJN Incorporated sent Gagnier $750,000 American last week-- the initial deposit to open the account.

Another $750,000 hit the wire yesterday.

An hour after Bova and three others were confirmed dead.

Morland: The sh**t won't be the only one well-compensated for getting the job done.

Truly above and beyond this time, Agent Muller.

I-I went a bit further, actually.

Looked into this YJN company for you.

It is, of course, a shell entity.

It turns out to be a wholly owned subsidiary of Dynastic Energy.

Oh, that's interesting.

You have our thanks and our deepest confidence, Lukas.

(beep)

What do I not know about Dynastic Energy?

You didn't tell her?

Didn't seem relevant when I relayed our progress yesterday.

Had a bit of a false start at Dynastic, although we didn't realize it at the time.

All the executives we spoke to were quite happy to answer our questions, but we were asking about the wrong target.

Mm, there can't be more than a dozen people there that can funnel funds in this manner.

Imagine one of them won't like hearing the name “Frank Bova.”

So, uh... what's all this about?

Told you on the phone, I gave you everything that we had on Ethan Parris.

And now I'm sitting in what?

What do you call this room?

Is this the box?

We call it “Interview One.”

It's just a good, quiet place to talk.

Okay. Maybe I've just seen too many movies.

Perhaps that's how you became so desensitized to v*olence.

I think you ought to tell me what this is right now.

I guess I'd say it's the end of the line.

It's your last chance to start making this easier for yourself.

Holmes: When my father and I visited with you yesterday, we knew only the method of the madness in Mannahatta Park, not the target.

Nor the author of the att*ck.

You paid a French sn*per with Dynastic Energy funds to k*ll Frank Bova in a manner which would conceal your motive.

Oh, and-and what exactly was my motive?

Watson: Jealousy, Mr. Fitzgerald.

It's as simple as the crime was complex.

We found the tracking software the sn*per put on Mr. Bova's phone.

It helped him find a target-rich environment with which to mask the ill intent of a cuckolded husband.

And that would be me?

The tracking software he mentioned-- it shows Bova going to a motor lodge out near your place in Westchester a couple times last week.

Watson: He went there to meet your wife.

Seems they really hit it off after he renovated your bathroom a couple of months ago.

Been hitting it off every few days ever since, matter of fact.

That's not true.

I mean, yes, this guy worked at our house, but that's just a coincidence, that's nothing.

The rest is you slandering my wife, and you're coming damn close to being named in a defamation lawsuit.

I'm sorry, Mr. Fitzgerald, but defamation only applies to statements that aren't true.

I'm gonna k*ll her.

What was that?

I'm gonna k*ll her.

Hey, you can't be threatening people in here.

Sit down!

No! You don't get to tell me what to do.

You don't get to show me this and then tell me what to do.

I'm gonna k*ll the bitch.

I'm gonna k*ll her.

I'm fine. I'm gonna... Okay, you do not need to touch me.

If that's an act, he's one hell of a liar.

He's a highly paid lawyer.

It would be remarkable if he wasn't a skilled liar.

Well, if he did it, we need him to say he did it.

I don't see a judge letting that redacted bank paperwork into trial. Do you?

I mean, we can't explain how he got it.

Not yet.

It'll be simpler once Dynastic opens their books to us.

Why would they do that?

Honestly, I don't think my father is gonna give them much choice.

All right, just get it to me before Tokyo opens.

And let's get Grant Felgner on the line before I'm out of here tonight.

Woman: Absolutely, but first, sir, Morland Holmes has come to see you.

Ah. All right, send him in.

(door opens)

Morland.

What brings you back?

Nothing good, I'm afraid.

I'm sure you're trying to get home to Lisa and the children, so I'll be direct. My son and I have found a paper trail between the sn*per and YJN Incorporated, one of your firm's tax havens.

I know what it is.

What are you trying to tell me here?

We believe that Joel Fitzgerald authorized the transaction.

His wife was sleeping with one of the sh**ting victims.

What do they have on him?

Not quite enough at the moment.

But if you would cooperate with the NYPD and provide the wiring paperwork that shows his signature, well, I'm sure you'll weather the storm just fine.

No, I'm sorry, I'm not gonna do that to his family.

We'll handle it internally.

He'll step down.

Four people are dead, Bill.

Five more were maimed.

And that's a tragedy, but I'm not going to inflict another one on his wife and kids, not if I don't have to.

You're right. The police do lack the leverage to compel a full financial disclosure.

But as I said the other day, I do possess that leverage.

That is, if you still want to build a $2 billion dam in Peru.

If that's the way it's gonna be, then so be it.

You call whoever you want.

I'm gonna protect my people.

And I don't like being threatened in my office.

You're not worried about Joel Fitzgerald.

You're worried about yourself.

You would never let a ten-figure deal evaporate to spare a lawyer on your staff.

But to keep yourself out of prison, no price would be too high.

You hired the sn*per yourself.

Why would I do that?

Well, I've heard rumors.

We all have.

You make a sport of pursuing your employees' wives.

It's... unseemly.

But not altogether uncommon.

But it's certainly put you on the spot here.

What do you want?

This is a shakedown, isn't it?

'Cause you don't have any proof.

You're not gonna dig any up.

You just have this story that you want me to hear that you pulled out of your quiver.

And it's a good one, but what do you want?

You want a piece of our offshore business, you want to pair us up with somebody in Ukraine?

Because you can forget about us pulling back in the Jordan Valley.

Oh, I'm sure I'll do plenty of business with Dynastic Energy in the future, Bill.

But I'd prefer to wait until there's someone I can trust in this office.

It won't be long.

When I first met Bill Wellstone, he was working to open the Tengiz pipeline in Kazakhstan, 2001.

Even then, he had a reputation of hunting prey close at hand, married or not.

You're suggesting Joel Fitzgerald's wife wasn't just cheating on him with a plumber, she'd previously had an affair with his boss.

Watson: That's why Fitzgerald acted the way he did at the station-- he really didn't know about his wife.

A cheating spouse is a time-honored motive.

Cheating mistress, that's more tenuous.

Fidelity cannot be expected if you yourself are the other man.

Or, in this case, another man.

He could've seen her as his soul mate, for all we know.

If you're right, she no longer felt the same.

She reconsidered what she wanted from an extramarital outlet, moved on from cuckolding her husband to the more visceral enjoyment of bedding a blue-collar stud.

Enter Frank Bova.

Literally.

You think we'd be better off starting fresh in the morning?

Men require less sleep than women.

That's generally true.

We use more of our brains during the day.

But I didn't think you'd assume that applied to you.

Sherlock, you've been up since the second day of our last case.

I'll rest easier when I discover the moment the sn*per r*fle was smuggled into the building.

If Gagnier used an accomplice to plant the g*n, do you really think that person's gonna tell us something that we can use against Wellstone?

It's a long sh*t that such a person would know of Wellstone's involvement.

It's a long sh*t that person exists at all.

But I'm almost certain that they do.

I've almost finished rewinding the tape from the moment Gagnier entered the building to the day that Frank Bova's lunch routine became known.

It does not appear that he himself set foot in the building before the day of the att*ck.

But he could have shipped the g*n to someone in the building.

That would have been extremely risky.

There was once an anthr*x scare at 46 Liberty Square.

Their mailroom is tight as a drum.

And yet someone... smuggled this g*n and these b*ll*ts past the metal detectors in the lobby.

Watson, I'm either hallucinating from lack of REM sleep, or that is a blade of grass.

You're not seeing things.

Would you say that was velvet bentgrass?

That I couldn't tell you.

Velvet bentgrass, not a particularly hearty variety.

It requires moist, fertile soil, near constant watering.

And yet it remains a favorite of golf course designers throughout the Northeast.

So maybe Gagnier was a golfer.

Him... or his accomplice.

That's you on the right, is it not, Mr. Wellstone?

And please confirm that you see the time there--

12:09 p.m. on the day of the att*ck.

We can all see that's Mr. Wellstone.

And I assume we all know how to read clocks.

If you have substantive questions, ask them.

Unless you just wanted us to watch him walking around with a golf bag.

He's not playing the back nine at Bethpage.

That's your client smuggling a Nemesis Takedown r*fle into 46 Liberty Square.

20 minutes later, the sn*per he hired used the same g*n to sh**t nine people.

Hold on.

You're alleging my client...

Conspiracy, m*rder, and aiding and abetting.

Don't worry, we'll provide some helpful charging documents when we're done here.

Watson: Someone had to have left the g*n for Gagnier before he arrived the day of the sh**ting, only that's not what happened.

Holmes: It was bold of you to send him up there to wait empty-handed.

Especially given the strictures of the timeline.

But you knew you could stroll past security any time you wanted with your golf buddy, the building's owner.

Gregson: After you wrapped up with him, you took the elevator up to the floor under construction, you met up with your other buddy, and you gave him everything he needed.

Bill, don't say a word.

Holmes: You do a very good job, Mr. Adler, but I must warn you your client is prone to sleeping with his lawyer's wives.

Look, that video doesn't prove anything.

I told you before: we're in the middle of a negotiation with Zyckner Williams.

I gave one of their guys a gift to butter him up.

A pricey new set of clubs.

The deal we're hammering out-- it's big.

Oh, it's quite massive, actually.

That's one of the reasons your adversaries at Zyckner Williams were willing to assist us.

Helping expose you gives them leverage over Dynastic Energies, so they gave us the golf bag without a warrant.

Gregson: It's been in the office of a vacationing partner all this time.

Watson: The Nemesis r*fle was way too big to fit in there with all the other clubs.

Gagnier had to disassemble it to get it to fit.

If he hadn't, security might have seen it.

But because he did, he smeared g*n oil against the inside of the bag.

There were traces that matched the r*fle he used.

Zyckner Williams has possessed that bag for how long?

Wh-Who's to say they...

Who's to say they didn't dab g*n oil inside of it to frame your client?

You can try that at trial, I guess.

But you're gonna have a lot harder time countering Sarah Fitzgerald's testimony.

Watson: Now that her husband is leaving her and you k*lled her new boyfriend, she's ready to talk about your affair.

You thought you were angry about the breakup.

Just wait till she takes the stand.

Lukas.

I hope you don't mind--

I started without you when I heard the flight was delayed.

It's fine.

Have the place to ourselves, I see.

So... what's so important that you had to cross an ocean to discuss?

Five million euros, Morland.

That's what I want you to pay me.

I'm afraid I don't understand.

Do you think I don't really know what's going on?

This business with your son-- do you expect me to believe you're here to help him?

Five million euros.

Or I pay him a visit.

And I warn him of the danger.

There is no danger, Lukas.

So you won't mind if I speak with him?

Did you know you had a predecessor, Lukas?

At Interpol.

Another friend of mine.

Someone I could turn to when I needed assistance.

His name was Jasper De Clerq.

We had a long and prosperous relationship.

Until one day, he decided it wasn't quite prosperous enough.

My God, Morland.

His children found him.

They were meant to.

Tell me, Lukas... how are your daughters?

Go back to Paris.

Go back tonight.

And both of us will forget we ever had this conversation.

I'm sorry, Morland.

I'm very sorry.

Lukas.

Call me Mr. Holmes.