08x14 - Toronto's Girl Problem

[bunniefuu]

Listen up, everyone. I'd like to introduce my nephew, Charlie Brackenreid. He's just arrived from London and has passed his training day with flying colours. Make him feel at home, but don't go too easy on him.

Always good to have another man on the blue team. George Crabtree.

Pleased to meet you, Crabtree.

Detective William Murdoch.

Welcome to Station House Number Four.

I hope our fair city won't disappoint.

Thank you. Happy to be here.

Higgins.

Charlie, have that desk.

But, sir...

It's only a desk, Higgins. It doesn't have your bloody name on it, does it? Go on, Charlie.

Thank you, Constable. George, with me.

A body's been found off Amelia St.

Sir.

Murdoch. Take Charlie instead.

It can be an informative first day for him.

Of course, sir. Constable Brackenreid.

Your uncle seems very glad to have you aboard.

I hope I can match his standards, sir. He's a hell of a copper, I'm told.

I'm sure you'll do just fine.

Your initial assessment of the crime scene, Constable?

It's not a nice part of town, but she seems like a genteel sort of lady.

I concur.

She's in evening wear, so I'd say she d*ed at night.

There's no bugs, so likely last night.

With all that jewellery still on her, she didn't die for her money.

Excellent observations, Constable.

Detective Murdoch.

This is Dr. Grace, our coroner.

First day on the job, Constable?

Brackenreid.

Charlie Brackenreid.

Yes, I can see the resemblance.

If you would.

Doctor?

Detective... I know this woman.

I simply can't imagine it.

She was very much alive at the party last night.

Tell me about this party. Everything you can remember.

It was in a small space off Cherry Street.

A mixed crowd.

(lively music)

Lillian said she heard about the gatherings through a friend of a friend.

This is going to be a fun night.

Oh!

To friendship.

To us.

Do you recall anything untoward?

We mostly kept to ourselves all night.

I never thought a place like this existed.

Stick with me and I'll show and show all sorts of secrets.

Let's dance.

Together?

Why not? I'll lead.

(laughing)

I love this music.

When did you first see the victim?

She welcomed us.

We took her to be the hostess.

Hello, ladies.

Welcome. Hello.

I trust you're enjoying yourselves.

Indeed.

Just be sure to keep this place to yourselves.

We wouldn't want to begin attracting the "right" sort of people.

That's all I saw of her.

Have you determined the cause of death?

A single s*ab wound to the heart. I found fibers matching the victim's clothing in the wound, as well as traces of charcoal.

The w*apon was approximately half an inch wide and no more than three inches long, with a tapered point.

Sounds like a stiletto blade.

My conclusion as well. And there's these.

Diagonal cuts.

I believe she may have tried to pull the Kn*fe out herself.

Anything else, Doctor?

Yes.

I examined the rings on her right hand.

I found blood and tissue on each of them.

She tried to fight off her attacker.

And left a nasty row of cuts behind. But I saw no one with such a wound at the party.

Where exactly was this?

Do you think Dr. Grace got the right address?

In my experience, Dr. Grace is seldom wrong.

Hello?

We're closed.

You'll be open when we say you're open.

Thank you, Constable.

Detective William Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

Is this your establishment?

Yes.

Good. Do you know this woman?

Miss Diana White.

Rents the place out every now and again.

I guess I won't be paid my eight dollars for last night then.

Would you happen to have an address for her?

601A Jarvis Street.

Address like that, you'd think she'd be renting the ballroom at the Queen's Hotel.

The housekeeper says the "A" is around here.

This must be it just ahead.

Not exactly the dwelling of a well-to-do woman.

These dresses, sir.

Each one more fancy than the last.

A lot of very expensive jewellery.

And this, sir.

A Tiffany lamp.

That's worth a bobble or two.

Fine jewellery, silver, clothes, nothing in the larder but a bottle of champagne.

She's no thief either, sir.

Got receipts for the lot.

Where did she get this kind of money, living in a shack like this?

Who was this Diana White?

She sounds to me like a young woman more interested in finery than survival.

Why waste money on frivolous things like fancy dresses and jewellery when one is starving and cold?

She's a young woman who's been given gifts and money, perhaps the patronage of an older man.

Patronage?

For talents that many young women possess.

This type of girl isn't thinking about her future, William.

She isn't interested in marriage or security.

She's had a taste of a life she thought was forever beyond her grasp, and she'll do anything to keep it.

Hm!

So that's her then.

Yes.

Her name is Diana White.

Alive last night and then... our existence is truly fleeting.

All the more reason to follow one's true passions while you can.

Emily, I picked up someone else's coat last night.

And you won't believe what I found in it.

I bought the coat at Eaton's, along with a hundred other girls. And I can assure you, Detective, it didn't come with hidden pockets.

Well, these are obviously well-cut stones in expensive settings.

The most likely explanation is the owner of this coat was attempting to secret away stolen goods.

Where do you believe the mix-up occurred?

I wore it to the party last night.

I did notice a blond woman wearing the same coat, but I paid it no mind.

I imagine I took hers and she took mine.

You didn't notice anything amiss at the time?

It was a warm night.

I didn't put it on until today.

Perhaps the jewels belonged to Miss White.

Then the blond woman could be her k*ller.

Yet Miss White's body hadn't been robbed, so thievery likely wasn't the motive.

I'll attempt to trace these pieces back to their origin.

Perhaps the jeweller who made them will be able to shed some light on their unusual journey.

Thank you, ladies.

So what's that Dr. Grace do when she's not hanging about dead bodies?

Ah, so you noticed her then, did you?

It's hard not to.

I know it's not been easy for you.

But you're here now, doing the Brackenreid name proud.

Thank you, Uncle Tommy.

Inspector, when we're in the Station House, alright? Oh. Half a mo...

Dr. Grace.

What a happy coincidence.

Inspector. What can I do for you?

I was hoping that you could come to dinner this evening.

Oh, how kind, but...

Charlie thinks very highly of you, and he could use some friends his own age.

I'm afraid I have to work this evening.

Tomorrow then.

Uh... Perhaps, but I...

Perfect.

Seven o'clock.

Sounds lovely.

Good day, ladies.

(laughing)

Miss White was an excellent customer.

Can you confirm that Miss White purchased these items from your store?

Mr. Jamieson?

These were stolen a few days ago.

Oh. And you didn't report it?

My clientele, they tend to shop elsewhere if they catch a whiff of the underclass.

I would rather suffer the loss than face the bad publicity.

Did you ever at any point see a blond woman wearing a coat like this in your shop?

I couldn't say.

But I can tell you not all these pieces are mine.

Oh?

Whomever the thief was, I was not the only target.

The victim was present at the Jamieson robbery. And likely the others as well.

She played a part in the thefts.

Which would explain where she got her money.

Right then. Crabtree, you take Jarvis and Church Streets.

I'll take King Street, Murdoch Queen, and Charlie Wilton Street and above. Report back as quick as you can.

Sir.

Let's try this other tray over here.

Excuse me, sir. I have a couple of questions...

In a moment.

Oh. Surely you have better pieces in the back.

Hello, ma'am.

Rather forward, don't you think?

Hey, now.

Oh!

Excuse me!

Hey!

Hey, stop there!

Hey, you! Come here!

Leave me be!

Give me that box!

Give it to me!

Give it!

But I saw you.

I don't know what you mean!

Her name is Elaine Henshaw. I've given her a dose of heroin, which has finally managed to calm her down.

Thank you, Julia.

She's of a nervous constitution.

I can't imagine her a successful shoplifter.

Constable Crabtree believes she had an accomplice.

And Dr. Grace confirms that she was at the party last night.

You believe she may know something in relation to Diana White's death.

A m*rder, a shoplifter, a coat full of stolen jewellery, all of which point back to that party.

There's something else going on here, Julia.

Miss Henshaw may be the person to tell us what that is.

Good luck.

You found nothing. Let me go.

This isn't about the jewellery store.

Do you recognize this woman?

You attended a party last night.

So did the woman in the photograph.

And it was the last place she was seen alive.

You don't understand.

The girls will k*ll me, too.

What girls?

I can't say.

I can't say anything.

We can protect you, but you have to be truthful with me.

The night Diana was k*lled, she said she was meeting some man.

That's all I know. I swear.

I'm still waiting on your report, Crabtree.

Charlie, come and sit in.

See if you can offer up some good old fashioned English insight.

My desk, and your position.

Might as well call this Brackenreid House Number Four.

You believe there is an organized g*ng of shoplifters operating in Toronto.

Yet it takes a m*rder before we hear about them.

If they are focusing their attentions on jewellery shops alone, they likely know that the shop owners would rather suffer the loss than the damage to their reputation.

Miss Henshaw mentioned "the girls" and Constable Crabtree saw two women conducting the theft.

I'm wondering if we're talking about a g*ng of women.

There may be one or two women involved, but I highly doubt...

There is such a g*ng of girls in London. The Forty Elephants.

Been around for a hundred years.

They operate in broad daylight, steal up half a shop, and almost never get caught.

Regardless of gender, this g*ng had a leader.

Let's assume it was the party's hostess, Miss White.

Then there will be a new leader taking her place.

There's your motive.

Right, let's find these lasses and bring them in.

A g*ng of women is still a g*ng. They live in a culture of fear and consequence.

I can't imagine any of them will speak with you freely.

If we can't talk to the ladies, we'll talk to their fence.

And I know just the one.

Constable Brackenreid.

What are you doing in here?

Is there something I can help you with?

I'm sorry, I hope I didn't startle you.

I just wanted to apologize for me uncle.

Oh?

For insisting that you come to dinner.

You see, once a Brackenreid gets an idea into his head, it's almost impossible to stop him.

I wouldn't disagree with that.

Well, I just wanted to say, you needn't feel obliged on my account.

Well, Mrs. Brackenreid is an excellent cook...

It's settled, then.

We might even have fun.

Eddie, put the g*n down.

Sorry.

You ever seen this girl before?

Sorry, Tom. Never seen her before.

Of course.

How's business these days?

Can't complain.

Any jewellery coming through?

I get the odd bit now and again.

Can't keep them on the shelves, though.

Where were you last night?

I was at a party with about a hundred other people.

Which party was this?

Off Cherry Street.

I was there all night, Tom. You can ask anyone.

I most certainly will. Good day.

Crawford wouldn't admit it, but we do know he was at the party.

The event that everything seems to point back to.

And if Eddie was the man Miss White was supposed to be meeting...

Then perhaps he is our k*ller.

I could get Charlie to stake him out, but we need hard evidence, and that's unlikely to be found by following him around.

I considered having Miss Henshaw followed, but the same problem arises.

We need someone on the inside.

So I'm to attend tonight's party, and return the coat with the jewellery intact.

And then once inside, I will attempt to ascertain any knowledge the women have about the m*rder and hopefully find some evidence connected to the crime.

The m*rder w*apon would be ideal.

Or a person wearing scratches from the victim's diamond rings.

Miss Moss will have to join. It was her coat.

They should have an escort.

In case something goes wrong.

Good idea, Crabtree.

Charlie will go.

Sir, I was thinking myself.

No, George, you've been seen in uniform by at least two of the g*ng's members.

Constable Brackenreid, you are to intervene only if Miss Moss or Dr. Grace are in distress.

Understood, Detective.

We'll meet later this evening, then.

Yes, we will.

Listen. Just to be clear, work's your priority.

But seeing as you're going to a party, you might as well show Dr. Grace a good time.

Emily, this is so exciting.

For the first time, I can see the appeal of a life in law enforcement.

Remember, we are looking for a m*rder*r.

I remember, but I can't pretend I'm having a good time unless I really am.

You'll have a good time. I'm here.

Seeing as we're trying to get in with a group of women, we might not want a man too close by.

Suit yourselves.

(lively music)

There a lot of places like this is Toronto, is there?

Now ladies, I'll be right here, okay?

We can handle ourselves, thank you.

Well, if you get yourselves into a bother, you just give me a nod.

That's her.

The woman with the coat.

I believe this is yours.

And I'd like to have mine back, if you still have it.

It's all there.

You didn't take it. Why?

We want in.

I don't know what you're talking about.

I think you best be leaving.

Listen, I don't know what your game is, but I'm not interested.

He's been following me all evening.

Honestly. Do I look like that sort of girl?

We could have gone to the police, but we didn't.

Wait here.

We did it.

Maybe.

Oh, Emily, you can't tell me you're not a little bit excited by all of this.

No. I can't tell you that. (Laughing)

Your hair...

Perfect.

Put it in the back.

Oh, thank you.

I wouldn't waste my time.

What do you know about it?

Those women, they're devoted to each other.

You know, "devoted friends."

You two.

Emily, right?

Mm-hmm.

And Lillian.

I'm Helen. That's Elaine and Mary. We don't stand on ceremony around here.

Hello.

Why did you bring them back here? The last thing we need is a couple of new girls messing everything up.

You're one to talk, getting caught up by that constable.

So, how did you hear about our parties?

From someone named Diana.

Must have been before she turned up dead.

She's dead?

m*rder*d, just down the street.

No one knows who did it. Not even the coppers.

But my money's on Beatrice.

Shut up, Mary.

Who's Beatrice?

If she likes you, you're in.

And if she doesn't, you'll end up like Diana. We all will.

Here she comes.

I hear you've come bearing gifts.

The coat belongs to Helen Conroy, a widow who relies on the g*ng as her main source of income.

Mary Puddle is with them for fun. She's a bored society girl.

If a salacious story is a motive, she could be your k*ller.

Elaine Henshaw, whom you already know, is a nervous sort.

She seems to be in fear of her roommate, Beatrice Crawford. The new leader.

Crawford? As in...

Yes, her brother, Eddie Crawford, who fences their stolen goods.

And you believe Beatrice Crawford has the strongest motive.

I do.

Most importantly, she bears the scars that match Diana White's rings.

Right. Very good work, Doctor.

Thank you for your help.

I'd like to have a little chat with this Crawford woman.

See if we can't squeeze out a confession.

Oh, I doubt she'll confess to anything, sir, without evidence.

If I may, Miss Moss and I have been invited along to a shoplifting scheme at two o'clock.

Perhaps if you caught them in the act?

We could always use it as leverage.

Beatrice may not confess, but the other girls may say something of use.

We may as well use the diversion to search Beatrice Crawford's rooms.

We'll get something out one way or the other.

These would look beautiful on you.

You should try this.

I don't like any of this.

I would like to see what's in the case, please.

I require immediate service.

I have a function this evening and not a single necklace worth wearing.

In a moment, madam.

Oh, that would really bring out the green in your eyes.

Oh, miss, I believe this is yours.

Yes. Thank you.

I know you.

You tried to rob me.

Me? I... Yes, you and the other one!

Get back here!

Go. You have to leave, now.

I can't take it. If I take it, the whole plan will be ruined.

You don't have a choice. Come on.

Come with me, young lady.

What, can't a girl spend money?

You and your cohorts had no intention of buying anything.

I've never seen these ladies before in my life.

Get in the wagon. In the wagon.

Bollocks.

Was that really necessary, Doctor?

Overplaying it a bit, don't you think?

I'm afraid not.

Crikey.

So, how are you finding it here?

Must be a bit boring compared to London, England.

Yeah, it is, I suppose.

Why is it again that you came?

I can't recall the Inspector saying.

Seemed best for everyone I left London for a while.

Besides, my uncle is a good bloke.

He treats me like a son.

And there are some very pretty girls.

Yes, there are indeed.

I'll take this bedroom.

Talking of girls, I've been here a few days and the only women I've come across are two lady doctors and a female g*ng.

Well, perhaps we're not so boring after all.

Say, what do you know about this coroner, Dr. Grace?

I know she's excellent at her job.

She's not likely to be wrong, is she?

Almost never.

And what about fellows?

I don't know, Charlie.

Our relationship is professional.

I expected as much.

What do you mean by that, exactly?

I just mean I wouldn't expect a woman of her quality to hang around with a copper, is all.

Though every rule does have an exception.

Did you find something?

Some blood on a handkerchief, and a soiled glove that might be significant.

They might be.

But likely not as significant as this.

How did they know to find us?

We shouldn't have hit the same shop twice in one week.

I told you it was a bad idea.

Shut up.

Just keep your mouths shut and we'll be out of here in no time.

Except Emily, you mean.

A pretty girl like her will get a year in the workhouse at most.

It goes by quickly enough.

A year? And you're alright with that?

She's new.

She got caught.

She won't get caught again.

Why were the coppers there at exactly two o'clock with a paddy wagon?

They must have known we would be there.

How would they have known?

Yes, how would they have known?

The new girl. Did you squeal?

I didn't say a word!

It was me.

What?

I work for the police.

Oh, what?

The police! I guess your plan didn't go too well.

And you know that's no idle thr*at.

Enjoy the workhouse.

It's only a year. It'll go by quickly enough.

So, Doctor. That was a bit of a cock-up.

I don't know why the plan changed. Miss Moss and I were supposed to be the distraction, never the runners.

It was an admirable attempt, Doctor.

Thank you.

So we've managed to not only lose our man on the inside, but we most likely don't have enough leverage against any of the girls.

We'll simply have to find a different course of action.

Any suggestions?

Maybe this'll be of some use. The m*rder w*apon.

Oh, good work, son.

I just got lucky.

It's nothing to do with luck. Eh, Crabtree?

He's a natural. It's in the blood.

Natural indeed, sir.

Well, George, we'll have to test that for fingermarks. No need.

I found the Kn*fe in the room of one Beatrice Crawford.

You appear to have taken up Miss White's mantel.

That's motive.

Also, the marks on your neck are an exact match for the rings that were found on Miss White's hands.

And there's this.

The Kn*fe that was used to k*ll Miss White.

It was found in your room.

Motive, and evidence.

That's not mine. I didn't k*ll Diana.

Besides, she wasn't stabbed. She was sh*t.

sh*t?

Yes, sh*t. After she hit me, she left. Some business meeting with a man.

I knew it wasn't Eddie and I was annoyed she would ally us with someone else.

So I tried to find her.

I heard a g*nsh*t. I followed the sound.

I found her dead in that laneway.

sh*t dead.

That's your story?

That's the truth.

Sir.

Full report on the search of Beatrice Crawford's flat.

Mine and Constable Brackenreid's, wherever he is.

I don't feel like you're getting on with my nephew, Crabtree.

Some people just don't get on, sir.

He's not a bad sort.

If you say so.

Did he tell you why he came here?

Well, I asked him, sir, but his answer was a bit vague.

This is for your ears only, understand?

Charlie saw his best pal, a young lad by the name of Harry Keating, m*rder*d right in front of his own eyes, in fact right in front of half of London's eyes, for that matter.

Sir, that's terrible.

He was the only one with the guts to come forward.

It came down to his word against the k*ller's.

Some fancy lawyering made it look like Charlie was lying. The m*rder*r got off, and a price was put on Charlie's head.

Sir. I had no idea.

He tried to do the right thing, George.

He deserves a fair sh*t.

I would appreciate it if you would give him that.

Sir, of course.

(Men laughing)

Now's as good a time as any.

Rafferty, cr*ck open this champagne.

Charlie, come here, son, come here.

Lads, I'd like to announce a new record, a constable solving a case within his first forty-eight hours on the job.

Well now, Inspector, I can't take all the credit.

If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have been here to find the Kn*fe, so...

Quite right, quite right.

I always knew that Charlie would be a good copper.

It's just something that you're born with, and a Brackenreid is as born to it as anyone.

Lads, a toast.

To Constable Charles Brackenreid.

Blood?

Dr. Grace.

May I call you Emily?

It's a shame you missed the champagne.

Constable Brackenreid.

What can I do for you?

I was wondering what time I should escort you to my Uncle's house for dinner this evening?

Dinner. I'm sorry, I'm distracted.

I can't imagine how blood found its way onto Miss White's finger.

From when she pulled the Kn*fe out. You said so yourself.

But I distinctly remember cleaning her hand.

I suppose you missed a spot.

What were you doing in the morgue yesterday?

I was being friendly.

You remember.

You were in here alone.

Were you tampering with the body?

What are you talking about?

I'm talking about the blood on the victim's finger I am certain I cleaned.

Now, Emily, I...

If you'll excuse me, I have a few things to discuss with your uncle.

You should watch yourself, Doctor.

You see, I know what you are.

I saw you and that Moss woman. "Devoted friends," as they say.

Pardon me?

Wouldn't go over too well with the men who employ you.

How dare you...

You best shut your mouth about what you think you saw, and I'll shut mine about what I know I saw.

Ah, Dr. Grace. Do come in, have a seat.

Hope you've worked up a good appetite.

Mrs. B's been slaving over a hot stove all day.

I believe Constable Brackenreid has done something.

What do you mean?

I believe he has tampered with a body. Diana White's body.

I found him in the morgue yesterday, alone.

As are all of your attendants at one time or another.

Yes, but I found blood on a finger I had already cleaned.

What are you suggesting?

It seems a great coincidence, Inspector, that your nephew should find the m*rder w*apon with the victim's fingerprint on its hilt.

That's one hell of an accusation to make, Dr. Grace.

You can't go around maligning a man's good name with only vague suspicion as proof.

I regret that my word is not enough to convince you.

Autumn is most certainly upon us. You can feel the chill in the air.

Mmm. Very warm.

William!

What are you thinking about? It certainly isn't the weather.

I'm sorry, Julia. I'm having trouble reconciling Beatrice Crawford's account of the m*rder.

She could well be lying. She is a criminal.

Yes, but why say she was sh*t when we know she was stabbed? Why be so specific?

A diversionary tactic?

It relies on a completely different set of circumstances.

It's ill-conceived.

No, if, as Beatrice Crawford says, there was a g*nsh*t, then there would be evidence of it at the scene of the crime.

Then perhaps you should look, if only to satisfy your curiosity.

It so happens we find ourselves in the exact location the m*rder occurred.

What an unlikely coincidence.

Hmm.

William, you do realise that Miss Crawford is a master of manipulation.

She could well be simply insinuating doubt.

I don't see how that could work.

You've shown yourself to be a man of reason, so any unreasonable element would likely prey on your mind.

Or there could be a simpler explanation.

What would that be?

She was telling the truth.

Dr. Grace missed an excellent meal.

What exactly was the reason she gave?

She was busy.

Nothing to do with you being in the morgue alone, then?

As she well knows, I was waiting for her.

I was trying to be friendly.

How was I to know my attentions would be so unwelcome?

Did she say that to you?

She didn't have to.

I can't believe she told you.

What, about you being in the morgue? were supposed to be secret.

You're gonna believe her?

And just what do you think she said?

You do believe her.

You take the word of a Sapphist over that of your own blood.

A Sapphist?

You don't know that about her?

I don't give a toss.

If you've been up to anything untoward, I will find out.

So, have you anything to tell me?

Of course not, Uncle Tommy.

(footsteps approaching)

Dr. Grace.

I felt the need to re-examine the evidence I lifted from the body.

Inclusive of that, I tested the charcoal traces I found in the wound.

And?

It was charcoal, sulphur, and saltpeter.

Gunpowder.

Likely dragged into the wound from traces found on Miss White's clothing?

No. The residue was found only at the insertion point of the Kn*fe.

It must have been transferred to the wound by the Kn*fe itself.

So the k*ller was holding the Kn*fe in close proximity when he fired the g*n.

That looks rather awkward.

It certainly does.

Could one person have done this?

Not one person. One w*apon.

Take away the barrel, fix a blade in the brass knuckle handle, and you've got yourself an Apache. A three-in-one w*apon from Paris.

Last time I saw one was in the East End of London.

Sir, that can't be.

We know that this stiletto found in Miss Crawford's room is the m*rder w*apon.

No, Murdoch. It isn't.

That's what Charlie was doing in the morgue, wasn't it? Putting Miss White's fingermarks on the hilt.

I feel as though I'm missing a vital piece of information.

Charlie planted the w*apon. I'll deal with him.

But our first priority is to find the real k*ller.

Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

I know there's an Apache in Toronto, and I bet my whole kit and caboodle that you've got it.

You know me, Inspector.

Lover of curiosities and collector's items.

It's right over here.

It's a terrible w*apon.

No barrel, no sights; it's practically useless unless you're right on top of the person.

I can't bring myself to part with it, though.

The ladies love to hear stories of the fearsome Parisian g*ng, Les Apaches. (Clicking tongue)

And you're just handing it to me.

Why wouldn't I?

Well, this may well be the w*apon that k*lled Diana White. (Clicking tongue)

Oh.

It's been recently fired. Gunpowder residue.

Blood residue on the stiletto blade which matches the wound on the victim.

No sign of a misfire. So why would the k*ller sh**t at Miss White, and then s*ab her?

The g*n is only good at close range.

Assuming the k*ller didn't know that, he may have sh*t first, missed, lost his advantage and then been forced to close in for the k*ll.

Beatrice Crawford is still our strongest suspect.

And she had free access to her brother's pawn shop.

Did you find the first set of fingermarks on the w*apon?

Nothing legible.

Unlucky for us.

Regardless, we need to find some genuine evidence.

Sir, isn't there a box of Beatrice Crawford's items we've yet to go through?

There is indeed.

Where's the rest of the evidence from Miss Crawford's rooms?

It's here.

Crabtree. Bring it in.

Well, chop-chop.

Yes, sir.

Sirs.

I'm not entirely sure how useful any of this is. But may I ask, why the need for additional evidence?

You may not.

Well, there's a handkerchief with a small amount of blood on it.

Too small of an amount to link to the crime.

A pocket watch that's stopped at 8:47.

Because it's unwound.

And the victim wasn't k*lled at 8:47.

Which leads me to believe that Miss Crawford will get away with it.

That's more or less it, sir.

Besides this soiled glove.

George.

Gunpowder residue.

We may still have enough evidence to link Beatrice Crawford to the m*rder, sir.

Sir, that's not Beatrice Crawford's.

That glove belongs to Elaine Henshaw.

You almost had us fooled, Miss Henshaw.

I know the how.

I just don't know the why.

Will it change anything?

Juries have been known to be merciful.

I did a job on the side, by myself.

I fenced it through Eddie.

Diana found out and was going to kick me out of the g*ng.

I couldn't let that happen.

And for that she had to die?

You wouldn't understand.

I knew Beatrice would be next in line.

She would take care of me.

Those girls are all I have in the world.

We're family.

I couldn't survive without them.

And yet they will probably survive without you.

You wanted to see me, Uncle Tommy?

I am not your uncle.

I'm your Inspector.

There are no second chances in this line of work, lad.

What we do affects people's lives.

You almost sent an innocent woman to the noose. Innocent?

She's a criminal. She deserves to be punished.

She doesn't deserve to be ex*cuted.

This is London all over again.

Is that why you did this? To make right what went wrong?

I watched Harry die.

I saw who k*lled him.

No one said anything.

I risked my life to do what was right for Harry.

But I had no evidence.

Just like we had no evidence.

What I did was right.

It had to be right.

No, it wasn't, son.

And because you don't know that, I can't have you in my Station House. Or my home.

You can't send me back.

I'm a dead man.

I've got you a job on a merchant ship sailing to New Zealand.

You have a cousin in Auckland. He'll be expecting you.

Your friend Harry would have been a good and honest man.

Walk in his footsteps, don't live in his shadow.

Crabtree? See through that Higgins takes back his desk.

Sir, I will.

And may I say I'm very sorry about everything with your nephew.

He'd have made a good constable.

Yes, well.

This Station House already has better.

I thought you'd like to know that my nephew's been sent on his way.

I'm sorry about the whole thing, Inspector.

Please, Doctor. I should be the one to apologize.

I should have believed you when you first came to see me.

One more thing.

I don't know if it's true, and I don't want to know.

But Charlie said something...

Oh?

I don't want to lose you as city coroner, that's all.

I appreciate your concern, Inspector, but what I do in my free time has no bearing on my work.

That's not the way the world works, young lady. These kind of shenanigans are not for a woman of your position.

Shenanigans?

You know this to be true.

Now, you've had your fun.

It's time to grow up and act in a proper fashion.

(knocking)

Emily. What's the matter...

Is this what you want?

Yes.

I'm not a toy.

I'm too grown up for toys.