01x02 - Glass Ceiling

[bunniefuu]

MAN: Gentlemen, it is my distinct honor to introduce our keynote speaker, Inspector Thomas Brackenreid.

[ Applause ]

Thank you.

[ Clears throat ]

Gentlemen, those of us at Police Station Number Four of the Toronto Constabulary had never been confronted by such a puzzling crime.

The victim was found in a windowless room that was locked from the inside.

But that was not the most baffling part.

The victim had been electrocuted, yet the room had no electricity.

All that was out of the ordinary was a shattered jar, a chain, a wooden disc, and some foil. It soon became apparent that the victim had been k*lled by a Leyden jar.

A question, Inspector.

Chief Constable Stockton. Of course.

What is a Leyden jar?

Uh, it's a device for storing electric charge.

Then it's a battery.

No. No, it's... It's a...

[ Papers rustle ]

It's a capacitor.

What's a capacitor?

Uh...

A device for storing electric charge.

Then it's a battery.

Well... Inspector, if I may interject...

BRACKENREID: Of course.

Detective William Murdoch, gentlemen.

Gentlemen, both a battery and a capacitor do store electrical charge.

However, a battery creates that charge internally by chemical reaction.

A capacitor needs an outside source of power.

So, in 1746, van Musschenbroek had made the same discovery that von Kleist had --

The foil inside the jar could store a significant electrical charge, in the order of hundreds of volts.

More than enough to k*ll a man.

So, in summary, there was no foul play.

The cause of death was misadventure.

Good God, man.

How did you ever come up with such a conclusion?

Sometimes these things just come to me.

Thank you, Detective.

Now, might I suggest that we take a short break for tea and cake and maybe a wee dram, gentlemen?

Detective, might I have a word?

Yes, sir. Of course.

"These things just come to me. "
[ Scoffs ]

I'm sorry.

I did not mean to commandeer that meeting, sir.

Forget it, Murdoch. I'm used to you and your ideas by now.

What did Stockton want to speak to you about?

He suggested I apply for the inspector position coming open at Station Number Three.

You, an inspector?

I think my record speaks for itself.

Murdoch, you're a bloody good copper, and you've got a mind like no one else I've ever met.

But trust me --

You're not cut out for the shite that comes with the job.

Perhaps.

But I could use the raise in pay.

And I suppose the change in scenery could do me good.

What, are we not good enough for you at Station Number Four?

No, no. Not at all. It's just that...

Well, as you know, I've had some challenges as of late.

Yes, yes. Well, suit yourself.

But don't say I didn't warn you.

Thank you, sir.

Inspector, there was a trunk delivered for you.

This note came with it.

Right.

Whatever's in there is, uh, quite substantial.

Open it, Crabtree.

Oh, my God.

Have you finished with the trunk?

Yes, for now.

Gentlemen.

His name is Pollack. Percival Pollack.

The lawyer?

Yes.

When can I expect your report, Doctor Ogden? I'll perform the postmortem right away.

Thank you.

Murdoch.

What kind of man delivers a corpse to a police station?

MURDOCH: "Dear Inspector Brackenreid, have you missed me?

Percy did. I paid him a visit. "

He's taunting me.

This note would suggest you, the k*ller, and the victim had a relationship of some sort.

Percy Pollack and I have crossed paths with lots of men who didn't particularly want to see the inside of a jail cell.

Would any of them want to see you dead?

Dozens.

Right, then.

Time to perform the messy part of the job.

Hello, Molly. We're here to see Clara.

CLARA: [ Sobbing ] No. No.

BRACKENREID: Clara.

Clara.

Shhh, shhh.

Hey.

CLARA: [ Sobbing ]

BRACKENREID: Shhh, shhh.

CLARA: Thank you.

BRACKENREID: This will help.

Why would anyone do this to Percy?

We don't know, Clara.

Mrs. Pollack, had he any trouble with any cases recently?

An accused, perhaps?

He was a lawyer. There was always little things.

But nothing that would suggest...this.

When was the last time you saw him?

A week ago.

A week ago?

He was taking the train to Montreal.

Something to do with some case.

Wait.

He was going to make a stop before leaving.

Any idea where?

At a business meeting.

Outside of Mimico.

You have an address?

Thomas, I think I'm going to be sick.

Thank you, Molly.

Will she be all right?

She has a sister coming to stay with her.

There's no way Percy Pollack was in that trunk for a week.

No.

We need to know when he d*ed and where he was in the interim.

Doctor Ogden will supply the time of death. I'll retrace his steps. I'll go over the cases Percy and I worked on, see if I can come up with a name.

Very good.

Murdoch...

I want this bastard caught.

Understood.

[ Motor revving ]

[ Motor idling loudly ]

Excuse me!

[ Whistles ]

Excuse me.

Yes?

Dr. Gilbert Birkins?

Yes!

Detective William Murdoch, Toronto Police.

[ Motor stops ]

Police?

What are you doing all the way out here in Mimico?

[ Motor revving in distance ]

It's the way of the future. Percy thought so too.

Mechanical power, I mean.

The horse is a thing of the past.

Yes, well, a device like this has some advantages.

Some, Detective? Why, this is liberation.

Anyone can travel wherever they desire.

Well, I understand, but a world full of mechanized vehicles like this --

The fumes alone, let alone the roads needed to carry them --

It's all quite manageable, if it's thought through.

Yes, "if. "

So you and Mr. Pollack were business associates?

Partners.

Pioneers in the mechanized-bicycle business.

Percy was one of the few men I knew who shared my passion.

Mr. Pollack visited you before he left for Montreal?

He came up for a brief meeting about some milling work to be done on a cylinder.

Was anything bothering him?

Not that I'm aware of.

No, in fact, he seemed in exceptional spirits.

Do you know of anyone who might have wanted to harm Mr. Pollack?

Harm Percy?

Couldn't imagine it.

And the last you saw of him?

Stepping into a coach bound for the city.

Right, then. Should I need to get in touch with you again...

I , uh... I'm mostly here.

I still practice medicine in Toronto.

Even Renaissance men need to pay the bills.

[ Telephone rings ]

Oh. You have a telephone out here?

In case I'm needed for my patients. If you'll excuse me.

Of course.

[ Rings ]

[ Motor revving ]

Yeah, I remember him.

I took him out to a farm in Mimico.

I remember it because there was this noisy bike that scared the tar out of my horse.

Then you came back to the city?

Dropped him at Union Station.

[ "Three Little Maids" playing ]

Three little maids from school are we Pert as a schoolgirl well can be F illed to the brim with girlish glee Three little maids from school Everything is a source of fun Nobody's safe, for we care for none Life is a joke that's just begun Perfect timing. Just finishing with our patient.

And?

The cause of death was massive blood loss due to a single puncture wound to the heart.

And the w*apon?

A narrow-bladed Kn*fe.

I think the k*ller knew what he was doing.

What makes you say that?

There's no bruising around the wound.

He realized there was no need to drive the w*apon to the hilt.

As if he had done it before.

Were there any defensive wounds?

None. Perhaps the k*ller surprised Mr. Pollack.

That, or the victim and k*ller knew each other.

Did you find any fibers or hairs?

No hair.

But I did find this in the scalp.

Sawdust?

Precisely.

Where did he pick that up?

Perhaps a construction site or sawmill?

Anywhere where there was carpentry.

And the time of death?

Based on decay, discoloration, rigor, I'd say 36 to 48 hours ago.

I nteresting. He was last seen a week ago.

That leaves five days unaccounted for.

There's one last thing. I found these in the wound.

Pupae.

Any idea what species?

Entomology is not my field.

Thank you for these. It's my pleasure.

Could you have the operator connect me to Lawson's Butchery, please?

MAN: Right away, sir.

CRABTREE: Sir?

Chief Constable Stockton's office called for you earlier.

Mmh. Did they?

Something about an appointment this afternoon?

Oh.

Yes, of course. I almost forgot.

[ Telephone rings ]

Thank you, George.

Yes, this is Detective William Murdoch at Police Station Number Four. I'd like to place an order, please.

Nova Scotia, eh?

Yes, sir. That's where I was born.

What'd your father do?

He was a fisherman, sir.

Still out there?

We've lost touch.

Oh.

And your mother?

My mother passed away when I was just a lad.

Ah.

You joined the force 10 years ago.

Where were you before that?

I worked in a lumber camp up north.

I went there from Montreal, stayed two winters.

I met a lumberman there who had done a stint as a constable.

I liked the sounds of it, so I applied.

What makes you think you'd make a good inspector?

I spent five years as a constable before becoming acting detective at Station House Number Four.

I was promoted to full detective three years ago. I've headed up 36 m*rder investigations and achieved convictions in all but two. I get on well with the men.

Very impressive.

Marital status?

Bachelor.

I was engaged to Liza Milner.

She passed away just over a year ago.

My condolences.

Well...

What else should I know about you?

Sir, I like to read.

Mostly medical and scientific journals. I'm strong, healthy, punctual.

Religious affiliation?

Roman Catholic.

I can only attend but once or twice a week, but I try to make confession as often as possible.

Well, Inspector Brackenreid gives you a fine report.

I think that's all I need from you at the moment, Detective.

All sounds very impressive. I'll let you know.

Thank you.

[ Door opens, closes ]

Sir?

George, please don't sneak up on me.

Sorry about that. What are you doing?

I nspecting the note the k*ller left with the body.

Anything to be learned?

Unfortunately not. It was written using a straightedge, so it's impossible to link it to a suspect's handwriting.

The paper's commonly available, as is the trunk.

I could try to raise fingermarks.

Already tried it, George.

No marks on the paper, and the trunk is heavily smudged.

What about on your end? I spoke with the stationmaster.

And?

Mr. Pollack did have a ticket for Montreal, but it was never used.

So he was dropped at the station but never boarded the train.

What became of him?

Murdoch.

Get your hat.

Thomas.

Where is it? In the study.

Father!

Father!

Whoa!

Guess what I did today! I'll tell you what --
You can tell me later.

But at the minute, Daddy's really busy, so go to your mother.

You come here and let your father be.

The missus found it when she got back from the Ladies Auxiliary. I see. Is it for me?

John! Get away from that trunk!

[ Sighs ] Listen, I didn't mean to shout at you.

But that's a present for your father.

Margaret.

Come.

MURDOCH: It's addressed to you, sir.

First, Percy Pollack, lawyer.

And now Judge Henry Scott. It would seem as though someone has it in for officers of the court and that the next target is you, sir.

Gentlemen, I have preliminary results.

Judge Scott d*ed from --

A wound almost identical to the one that k*lled Percy Pollack.

That's right.

The w*apon was a narrow-bladed Kn*fe, possibly a --

Stiletto.

That would be consistent, yes.

Uh, the blow was delivered --

Between the third and fourth vertebrosternal ribs. Is there something you haven't shared with us, sir?

[ Indistinct talking, up-tempo folk music playing ]

Scotch?

No, thank you.

There was a case five years ago.

Small-time gangster named Walter Ayotte.

Smuggling, gambling, petty theft.

Yes, I remember.

He had no qualms about getting rid of anyone who stood in his way.

Stiletto. That was his trademark.

Ah, the Kn*fe wounds.

Mmh.

We finally nailed him on the m*rder of his mistress's husband.

I brought him in.

Percy Pollack was the Crown prosecutor.

Henry Scott was the judge.

He vowed that all three of us would pay.

I made inspector because of that case.

But Walter Ayotte can't be our man.

I remember he d*ed in a jailbreak.

Did he?

You're suggesting he didn't? I'm not suggesting.

Sir, if Ayotte is still alive, then we should assign a man or two to protect you.

What do you think I am? A frightened schoolgirl?

No, sir. It's just that you are the last name on his list.

The criminals don't dictate to this police force. I'll look after myself, Murdoch.

Cheers.

Listen up, lads.

This piece of filth's name is Walter Ayotte.

I want every tavern, every brothel, every gambling den in and around the city scoured for Ayotte and his cronies.

I want anyone who's ever had anything to do with this two-bit gobshite questioned.

Sir, Ayotte's pals aren't exactly the type to squeal. If you can't make him talk, I will!

Now get out there!

Sir.

Sir, a word.

What is it?!

Sir, I don't believe that such a strong-handed approach is the right one.

Oh, you don't?

No.

Perhaps it would be best if we didn't let on that we know that Ayotte's still alive. Is that what you think?

You'd rather wait till Ayotte strikes again?

No, sir, but there are dissimilarities between the two murders.

The Kn*fe, the wound -- They're Ayotte through and through.

Granted, but I think there's more to this than meets the eye -- the pupae recovered, the time of death.

Let me make this clear, Detective. If you want to spend your time dilly-dallying on your modern little theories, feel free.

But I'm gonna find Ayotte before he finds me.

The last of the jailbreak files, sir.

Excellent.

Has something gone off in here?

What?

That smell.

I don't smell anything.

Here it is.

Don Jail. June 10, 1890.

Prison riot and jailbreak.

Fire broke out in the kitchen, spread to the cell area.

Two prisoners managed to scale a wall.

Suspected escapees are Carson O'Day and Daniel Vitacelli.

I believe those two are still on the loose, sir.

Badly charred body of one inmate was found, that of Walter Ayotte, convicted m*rder*r.

How badly charred, I wonder.

Badly enough that the doctor doing the postmortem may have mistaken his identity?

Only one way to find out. I want that body exhumed.

Right away. And you, sir? I'm going to try to determine Judge Scott's whereabouts before he was k*lled.

[ Clattering, grunting ]

CONSTABLE: Come on! Come on!

Hey. What's all this, then?

Well, well, well. If it isn't Delmer Ward.

Pleasure to see you again, Delmer.

[ Spits ]

I see the feeling's not mutual.

But I'm sure that I'll soon win you 'round.

Get him in the back, lads.

Come on.

[ Grunting ]

[ Cell door opens ]

[ Cell door closes ]

Judge Scott was a gentleman through and through.

I can't imagine who would want him dead.

Had he recently mentioned a man named Ayotte?

No.

Nothing unusual?

No.

What about the judge's family -- his wife, children --

Might they be able to help me?

Mrs. Scott passed on several years ago. It was a great tragedy for the judge.

They didn't have any children.

Female troubles, I heard.

What can you tell me about the judge's activities that day?

He was in court and then left at end of day.

Nothing out of the ordinary?

No.

Wait.

Wait, there was that telephone call.

What about it?

The judge received a telephone call about half past 4:00.

And there was something unusual about this call?

Well, l-I'm just the judge's secretary, but, uh, it was from a woman.

Do you have any idea who placed the call?

No. But, uh, whoever it was, she sounded upset.

So, me old mucker, anything coming back to you?

Any sudden rush of memories?

[ Coughs ]

I can do this a lot longer than you can.

[ Coughs ]

Have it your way, then.

I relent. I relent.

Good boy, Delmer.

Good boy.

George.

Judge Scott received a telephone call the afternoon he was m*rder*d.

I need you to find out where it came from.

That can be done? I don't see why not.

Murdoch.

You may have your fancy-dan way of doing things, but sometimes my way can be very effective.

He's been here recently. It's still fresh.

Sergeant Mulligan, I want every available man searching the surrounding area.

Someone's tipped Ayotte off.

But who?

We've got Ward still locked up tight down at the station, so...

Sir, wait!

What?

Trip wire.

May I see your walking stick?

Pardon me.

Bloody hell.

[ Grunting ]

Aah!

Come here, Delmer! Come here!

You set me up, you shifty little bastard!

Now I'm gonna tell you something, sunshine. I'm gonna make you wish you hadn't!

Now, where is Ayotte really at?!

Huh?!

Go ahead. Do your worst. I'd rather take my chances with you than face Ayotte's Kn*fe.

[ Coughing ]

BRACKENREID: Ayotte and Ward.

They were in this together.

They knew that I'd come to Ward looking for Ayotte, and they knew that I'd be eager.

Perhaps too eager.

But I won't be making the same mistake again.

Sir, it's clear Delmer Ward won't be telling you anything further.

Oh, he'll talk, all right.

Should he not?

Well, then, some other bugger will!

With all due respect, sir, you can b*at every crooked man in this city, but I don't believe you'll find Ayotte that way.

He's covered his tracks too well.

So, what do you suggest?

I suggest we follow the evidence.

And just what evidence might that be?

Well, there are a number of leads.

But, to me, the key still seems to be the time of death.

Yes, yes, you keep telling me this, but I've yet to see a result. If you'll bear with me, I just need a bit more time.

I will get to the bottom of this.

Time.

Time's not something that I have a lot of.

I believe it's our best course of action.

Fine.

But I want to know everything you come up with. Understood?

Yes, of course.

And, again, I suggest a couple of men be assigned to you.

Sod that!

There might not be much I can do right now.

But if Walter Ayotte comes looking and expects me to go quietly, then he's got another think coming.

Detective.

What on Earth is that odor?

Perhaps something has d*ed in the walls.

A mouse or a rat or something.

I don't think there's any perhaps about it.

How can you stand it?

I suppose I've become accustomed to it.

Yeah, or lost your sense of smell.

Shall we step outside?

Yes.

Oh, much better. I've finished with the exhumed remains.

Ah. And?

The bone structure is too small to be Ayotte.

But it is consistent with one of the other escapees -- Vitacelli.

So Vitacelli is k*lled, his body b*rned.

The doctor performing the postmortem misidentifies the corpse as Ayotte, allowing him to escape.

I find it hard to believe a doctor worth his letters would make that kind of mistake.

So do I . Let me look into it. I'd appreciate that.

So is it true? Is what true?

That you've applied for a new position.

Yes.

Well, I-I would be sorry to see you leave.

CRABTREE: Sir? Sir. It took some work, but I found Judge Scott's caller.

I think I'll call the technique I used "tracing. "

I had the operator literally trace the wires from the switchboard.

Yes, yes, fine. Do you have a name?

I do. And it may surprise you.

So why did you call Judge Scott?

I needed some advice -- legal advice.

And so I called Henry, and he agreed to come by the house.

When I saw the paper the next day...

First Percy. And now Henry.

What time did Judge Scott arrive?

Straight after he'd finished work.

How long did he stay?

Perhaps half an hour.

Did he give any indication as to where he was going?

Home. I remember he said he had had a long day.

Did he seem anxious, off?

No.

This advice you were seeking --
What was it?

Percy had made a large investment just before he d*ed.

Practically all of our savings.

An investment. What kind?

That...

... pardon my language -- darned motorcycle business.

With Dr. Birkins?

What if the venture fails? I could be left destitute.

And so I asked Henry for advice.

This investment --
It was a surprise to you?

I knew that Percy was considering it, but I hoped that he had changed his mind.

Why?

He was concerned about a previous venture that had not gone so well.

This previous venture --
Do you know what it was?

I don't know.

Only that it was another one of Dr. Birkins' inventions.

CRABTREE: [ Chuckles ]
Look at this.

The self-pouring teapot.

Pours a steaming-hot cup of tea without you ever having to touch the pot.

Thank God.

What will they think of next?

Oh, you'll like this one, sir.

A bicycle tire is engraved with lettering so that you can leave messages behind when you ride through the mud.

George.

So I heard you were interviewed for that inspector's position.

Obviously, a very poorly kept secret.

Well, on behalf of myself and the lads, it's, uh --

It's been an honor working with you. It was just an interview, George.

Oh, you're a shoo-in, sir.

Let's just concentrate on the task at hand, shall we?

Ah, here it is.

"Dr. G. Birkins, applicant. Patent number 405060. "

What's it for?

Corn shards.

"A breakfast product made from reconstituted corn pulp, meant to be eaten with cold milk. "

That sounds revolting.

You know, I had an idea once to put meat in a can.

Think about it.

You could send it halfway across the world if you wanted to.

[ Knock on door ]

DR. Bl RKl NS: Corn shards weren't a bad idea. I'm sure they would have taken off if that Kellogg fellow hadn't got his product on the market first.

Causing your venture to fail.

That and my backers getting cold feet.

I think they made a very large mistake.

But only time will tell.

Had Mr. Pollack gotten cold feet about the motorcycle venture?

Percy had questions. Any good businessman would. Is that what you two discussed when he came out to meet with you? It came up.

But we ironed out our differences.

So he decided to make a sizable investment?

$5, 000.

That's a fortune.

Well, to some.

To others, those with foresight, the rewards far exceeded the risk.

And what was Mr. Pollack's investment to accomplish?

The final adjustments to the prototype in the first phase of production.

Look, the bank wired the money through the day after we met.

So the money arrived the day after they met?

Yes. Also the day after he was last seen alive.

Curious, isn't it?

Mmh.

But how does it affect matters?

The time of death was determined to be a few days later.

Something about that is bothering me as well.

Surely you're not questioning Dr. Ogden's finding.

Not at all.

I believe her interpretation of the facts was accurate.

But she can only reach an accurate conclusion if provided with all of the necessary information.

And how much information was she missing? I'm not completely certain. Yet.

However, if I'm not mistaken, I believe the stork has paid me a visit.

Of sorts.

William. You wanted to see me?

Oh, my!

I really must insist that you do something about whatever has d*ed in your walls!

Nothing has d*ed. It's liver rotting. I've been conducting an experiment, and you're just in time.

The pupae recovered from Pollack's wound have hatched.

June bugs.

According to this, the pupal form has an 18-day incubation period before hatching into adult beetles.

The june bug pupae virtually all hatch on the same day.

Yes, I spoke to an entomologist at the University of Toronto, and he told me that they all hatched five days ago.

But your june bugs hatched today.

Yes. What could cause that?

Well, there could be a number of factors that could cause a delay in their development, I suppose.

A cold snap, for example.

But the weather has been singularly hot.

Percy Pollack was stabbed.

His body was left on the ground for some time.

That's how the june bug pupae got into the wound.

But something delayed their hatching.

Sawdust.

Excuse me?

You told me you found sawdust on Pollack's body.

Sawdust is used as insulation in icehouses.

Which means Pollack's body --

Was kept cold in an icehouse, causing a delay in the hatching of the june bugs.

But more importantly, if we factor in the five days' delay in hatching, that would mean Percy was actually m*rder*d --

The very night he was to have left Toronto.

And that changes everything.

Like I told you before, Detective, I took that fellow out to the farm and then dropped him at the train station.

Yes, well, now please think hard.

When your fare came back outside, did you actually see his face?

Now that I recall, it was a bit strange.

What was strange?

Well, it was a warm evening.

But he had his collar turned up and his hat pulled low like he'd taken a chill.

So it may not have been Mr. Pollack.

I suppose not.

So you're saying that Pollack d*ed the night he was supposed to get on the train.

I don't think Mr. Pollack ever made it to the train station.

So he was k*lled at Birkins' farm, and then someone impersonating him got into the cab.

Which would seem to suggest some association between Ayotte and Dr. Birkins.

Why would Birkins want Percy Pollack dead?

Mr. Pollack was having reservations about the business deal.

I believe he wanted out.

So Birkins has Ayotte k*ll Pollack to keep him from backing out of the deal.

Yes, but Dr. Birkins still needed Mr. Pollack's money.

So he put the body on ice, delaying the time of death, until the transaction was completed.

And then Pollack's found tragically m*rder*d just days later.

Never to see the results of his investment. I'd like to revisit the suspected crime scene.

Keep an eye out, me old mucker.

[ Up-tempo piano music plays ]

Ah, the Ayotte postmortem files. Thank you.

Inspector?

Chief Constable. Please come in.

Can I get you tea, sir?

No, thank you. I'm looking for Detective Murdoch.

He's off investigating a new development in the Pollack case.

New development, eh?

Yes, we have reason to believe that Walter Ayotte wasn't acting alone.

He's looking into it as we speak.

Murdoch.

Good copper.

But it'll be a bloody cold day in hell before a papist becomes an inspector in my police force.

Sir, Detective Murdoch is quite exceptional.

The fact that he's Catholic --

Thomas.

You're an ambitious man.

And I can see someday you being an alderman or maybe even a mayor.

But Toronto is a Protestant city.

You'd be wise to remember that.

Yes, sir.

Give Murdoch the news for me.

Prick.

[ Mid-tempo piano music playing ]

Take no chances. Understood?

Yes, sir.

Dr. Ogden.

Inspector, I was looking for Detective Murdoch.

Detective Murdoch is conducting an investigation.

Can I be of any help?

Perhaps.

I was puzzled by the postmortem done on Ayotte's body after the jailbreak, so I began looking through the medical records.

Did you find anything? I'm not sure. It may just be a coincidence.

Coppers don't believe in coincidences.

The postmortem was performed by Dr. Sherman.

He's dead now, but Dr. Sherman --

He shared his practice with Dr. Gilbert Birkins.

That's very interesting, Doctor.

Yes, I-I tried to get him on the telephone, but he's busy at his practice.

At his practice?

I think I'll pay the good doctor a visit.

No one, sir. They seem to be long gone.

George, is there an icehouse here?

There is, but I've searched it already.

As you can see, there's no one here.

Give me a hand, George.

What are we looking for, sir?

I believe Percy Pollack's body was stored somewhere cold.

Most likely here.

CRABTREE: But how would Ayotte know to keep the body cold?

MURDOCH: He wouldn't. But Dr. Birkins would.

CRABTREE: Then they're in on it together?

Jesus Christ.

Well, we've found Walter Ayotte.

So if Ayotte's dead...

Then the k*ller must be Dr. Birkins.

May I help you? Inspector Thomas Brackenreid. It's regarding the m*rder of Percy Pollack.

I see. Please, come in.

Thank you.

George, we have a problem.

Inspector Brackenreid is conducting a personal interview with Dr. Birkins.

He doesn't know that... The inspector's in grave danger.

We have to hurry.

Wait, wait.

We don't have time for that.

[ Motor revs ]

I don't know what I can tell you that I haven't told Detective Murdoch already.

Well, I've uncovered some information that he's not aware of.

Oh? It concerns Dr. Sherman.

What about him?

You two used to share this practice, I believe.

What of it?

Well, Dr. Sherman carried out a postmortem on a man named Walter Ayotte.

The only problem is that he didn't actually perform the postmortem, did he?

What are you talking about?

Well, his name's on the death certificate.

But you were the one who actually performed it.

That's how you knew that Walter Ayotte was still alive.

[ Laughs ]
This is absurd.

Percy wanted to pull out of your little motorcycle venture.

But you needed his cash, so you tracked down Ayotte and got him to do your dirty work for you. It was the perfect setup.

Ayotte got his revenge, and you solved your cash problems.

All you had to do was alter the time of the death.

We were about to change the world.

Percy was worried about a few dollars.

You think I could just let him back out?

What about Henry Scott?

He didn't have anything to do with this.

I never meant for anything to happen to him.

Look, I never wanted anyone to die.

Not even Percy.

Where's Ayotte?

He had to be stopped.

Stopped?

Aah!

Sir?

Murdoch. Good timing.

Well, maybe not.

Detective?

Yes, George.

He's coming in.

[ Applause ]

ALL: Hip, hip, hooray!

Hip, hip, hooray! Hip, hip, hooray! I'm not back from the grave, so don't think will curry any favors with me, you bunch of brownnosing bastards!

[ Laughter ]

Murdoch. Get in my office.

Close the door.

[ Groans ]

Are you all right, sir?

Course I'm not all right, you daft bugger. I've just been in hospital for two days.

Get me a scotch.

Birkins?

He confessed.

Seems as though he was in financial trouble over this corn-shards fiasco.

He needed money, fell in with a bad lot.

And that is how he met Ayotte in the first place.

And the judge?

That was Ayotte acting on his own.

Pull up a chair.

And it appears you were to be next.

But Dr. Birkins didn't want Ayotte's rampage to expose him.

So he k*lled Ayotte.

Yes.

And he was going to dispose of the body, making it appear as though Ayotte had moved on or vanished.

Leaving me looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life.

I suppose so.

Have you heard about that job yet that you applied for?

Not yet. I see. I'd like you to reconsider.

Sir?

This is a good station house.

And for reasons beyond me, the men seem to think the world of you.

And it's also plain to see that I could clearly use a good right-hand -- left-hand man, keep me out of trouble.

I also suspect that, as you warned me, I wouldn't care much for the politics involved with the job.

No, you wouldn't.

In that case, it would be my honor to continue to serve here at Station House Number Four. I'll inform the chief constable of your decision.

Thank you, sir.

And the raise, sir?

Don't push your luck, Murdoch.

Right, then.