01x04 - Elementary, My Dear Murdoch

[ Horse whinnies ]

[ Indistinct conversations ]

Mr. Doyle?

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?

I suppose it's a book you'd like me to sign.

No, no. We have an engagement.

My name's William Murdoch.

You, sir.

Good God, man. I was expecting someone twice your age.

Well, there's no time to dally. We're late.

Late?

Yes.

You see, I , unfortunately, have double-booked myself.

Here we are. It's an awful habit of mine.

I do hope you'll forgive me.

Of course, of course. I'm honored you agreed to meet me in the first place.

Your Sherlock is an inspiration.

Was, sir, was.

The man is dead and gone and good riddance, I say.

Ah, in any case, if anyone's honored to be met, it's me by you.

Detective William Murdoch.

Your work on the Cabbagetown murders, sheer genius.

Thank you, thank you.

Might I inquire where we are going?

Suffice it to say that you're not the only Toronto resident who's come to my attention.

My dear Mr. Doyle.

What an honor, a pleasure, and a coup to have you with us.

May I present Mr. Arthur Conan Doyle?

Doctor, adventurer, and creator of the most brilliant of all detectives, Sherlock Holmes.

And now spiritualist.

Thank you very much indeed, Miss Pensall.

And this must be the police officer you mentioned.

Yes, this is Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary, who, I can assure you, is not a fictional creation.

Please do sit. We're about to begin.

Thank you.

Tonight, we are attempting to once again contact the unfortunate young son of dear Conrad Hunt.

The angels came too soon for James.

Are you ready, Conrad?

More than you can ever know.

I ask that everyone in the room think of their own dearly departed ones.

Ask them to join us in exhorting young James to travel to our welcoming den, if only for a moment.

Yes.

He's coming. James?

[ Thumping ]

James?

No.

Not James.

Someone else.

A young woman.

To whom do you wish to speak?

She wants to talk to you, Detective.

She says she was murdered.

What?

Murdered?

She was buried in a shallow grave.

What are you talking about? Is this some sort of joke?

Quiet, man!

This young woman, where is she buried?

Here we are.

Ah, 20 paces from the road, towards the water tower.

Where we will no doubt find the elusive wild goose.

Really, Mr. Doyle, I'm surprised at you.

A man of science, being taken in like this. It is as a man of science that I'm interested, Detective Murdoch. If these things are not true, they must be disproven scientifically.

19 and 20.

There.

And... 19 and 20. It was 20.

Satisfied, Mr. Doyle?

Unfortunately, there is no cable strung between our world and the next.

Perhaps the message may have been garbled somehow.

But, yes, I am satisfied.

Excellent, because I am exceedingly hungry.

[ Squeaking ]

Oh, wait.

Shh.

What is it?

[ Squeaking ]

There, you see.

Psst!

Psst, psst, psst, psst!

The earth has been disturbed.

Bugger.

Your murder bag, sir.

Excellent. Some light, please, George.

Uh, what's this?

A little something I rigged up.

Turn it on, George.

DOYLE: Good God.

Daylight in a box. How extraordinary.

Two sets of tracks. One wider than the other. I'll have molds taken of these.

Yes. Yes, well done.

This will be the doctor from the coroner's office.

I hope I didn't take you away from anything important.

Ah, in fact, you rescued me from a rather wretched comedy at the Princess Theatre.

You're Arthur Conan Doyle.

Guilty.

Yes, Mr. Doyle, may I present Dr. Julia Ogden?

Mr. Doyle is in town...

To give a lecture on spiritualism.

I have a ticket already, and I'm quite looking forward to it.

Yes. Yes, yes.

May I see the body?

Uh, yes.

MURDOCH: I counted two bullet wounds.

OGDEN: This one seems to have powder residue.

Yes. The first shot would have been fired from a distance of at least 10 feet.

I would think the second at much closer range.

The finishing shot, as it were.

Help me roll her.

Oh, may l?

Allow me. Here we are.

1 , 2, 3.

[ Grunting ]

Well, given rigor, I'd say she was killed within the last 2 4 hours.

There's one exit wound.

Second bullet is lodged in the body.

DOYLE: Excellent!

That means you can match the bullet with the gun that it was fired from.

Match the bullet?

Yes, a Frenchman has been doing some excellent work.

Yes. Lacassagne.

Do we know the name of this woman? lda Winston.

She had a number of calling cards in her purse.

Winston.

We were told in briefing that a woman by that name was missing.

Have the next of kin come round to the morgue in the morning, George.

CRABTREE: Yes, sir.

PENSALL: Have you found the hidden levers, Detec--

Oh, good heavens. Are you all right?

Fine, fine.

Tell me, Miss Pensall, how is it you come to know the precise whereabouts of a murder victim?

I was told.

You were told.

Are you familiar with lda Winston?

PENSALL: Well, of course.

She's a member of the Toronto Paranormal Society.

Mrs. Winston is the murder victim.

Are you sure?

Yes, quite.

I would have thought her spirit might have mentioned that to you.

The voice, it wasn't lda's.

DOYLE: Who, then?

Mr. Doyle, if you don't mind...

Tell me about this Toronto Paranormal Society.

They investigate people who claim to have supernatural abilities.

I ndividuals such as yourself?

Yes, Detective.

They have the gall to question my ability.

And...

And the term they're using is "inconclusive. "

Where were you yesterday?

I was here.

I was conducting a series of séances that went well into the evening.

I never left this room.

And you have witnesses to this effect?

Dozens of them.

Miss Pensall, I do not believe in psychic phenomenon, and I suspect that you are somehow involved.

I was only passing on...

MURDOCH: What the spirits conveyed to you, yes.

I can assure you, the killer will be found, and in the here and now.

Good night.

Miss Pensall.

Do you really believe the clairvoyant had something to do with the murder?

The woman led us straight to the body.

She may not have committed the murder, but she certainly had knowledge of its undertaking.

Knowledge gained through her psychic abilities.

Really, Mr. Doyle.

Tell me, Detective, do you think she'd hold a séance knowing that a police officer was in attendance and then point you straight to a body she'd just buried?

She'd be marching herself to the gallows. It makes no sense.

Perhaps not, but she is hiding something.

[ Indistinct conversations, bell ringing ]

Thank you.

Ah, top of the morning to you, sir.

Mr. Doyle, what are you doing here?

Well, truth be known, watching you work last night has rekindled my interest in sleuthing. If it's not too much of an imposition, I would like to tag along for a few days.

Well, actually, sir, it's going to be quite hectic.

BRACKENREID: Murdoch!

What's all this bollocks about a corpse being found by an alleged psychic?

Not alleged, sir.

And who the bloody hell are you?

Inspector, this is Mr. Doyle.

Doyle? As in Arthur Conan Doyle?

One and the same, sir.

Mr. Doyle, Thomas Brackenreid.

Inspector Thomas Brackenreid.

Call me Arthur.

Arthur. I'm a big fan of yours. A bit of a shocker, what happened in your last "Sherlock. "

I trust you'll find a way to bring him back, no doubt.

As a ghost, perhaps?

An interesting idea, but I think not.

What brings you to our humble station?

Your Detective Murdoch.

Murdoch?

Yes, I was hoping that I could accompany him on his latest case.

Murdoch, why?

Research.

Ah, yes, a book perhaps?

However, of course, I understand if you're too busy.

He told you that?

Well, sir, with the Aitken murder and now --

Nonsense, Detective!

I think you two make a lovely couple.

Now, do you need some office space?

Perkins, clear out your desk!

This way, Arthur.

Thank you.

Which one's Perkins?

Uh, the big one.

Ah, he is a big lad, isn't he?

Yes. It took me almost an hour to find the bullet. It was lodged in her spinal cord.

Always the last place to look.

Of course.

That was meant as a joke, Mr. Doyle.

Of course.

Ahh. I'm afraid the bullet's far too damaged to be of any use.

Do you have a time of death?

Midnight the night before last, give or take three hours.

That would corroborate Miss Pensall's alibi.

OGDEN: I take it you're not averse to the sight of congealed blood, Mr. Doyle.

My dear lady, I have been performing postmortems long before it became the purview of women.

Perhaps you'd care to demonstrate.

Yes, well, I have not been a doctor since...

Well, truth be told, I was never much of one, which is why I became a writer.

And what sort of writer kills off his finest character?

One which does not want to be shackled to his own creation.

Oh, Lord Jesus.

Have the next of kin arrived, George?

That would be the husband, sir, and I'm afraid not.

Said he couldn't possibly come down now.

To identify his wife?

Too distraught, I believe. He sent this along, sir.

What is it?

Have you an address, George?

Mr. Winston, I'm Detective William Murdoch.

My condolences.

This is an acquaintance of mine, Mr. Doyle.

Our fine police force. If you'd acted on my missing person's report, my wife might still be alive.

Perhaps we could speak in private.

Can this not wait?

We're in a house of mourning.

I am trying to find the person or persons responsible for your wife's murder.

Do you care to help me?

Forgive me, Detective.

As you can well imagine, it's been a trying day.

Of course. Is there anything you can tell me about your wife's activities the day that she went missing?

I was at my practice and couldn't say for certain.

I suspect, however, that she was at the offices of the Paranormal Society.

What makes you say that?

Because, Detective, she had fallen more and more under the influence of those people.

Might there by anyone to corroborate your whereabouts that evening?

I was at the hospital, tending to a patient.

Now, I ask that you please leave.

And you, a fellow doctor, lending your name to these fools who pretend to speak to the dead.

Shame on you.

MURDOCH: Excuse me, sir.

Detective William Murdoch.

Yes. How do you do, Detective?

Couldn't help but overhear. Terrible tragedy.

Honor to meet you, Mr. Doyle. Frederick Waters.

Looking forward to your talk. Shame about the circumstances.

And the upset.

There's no need to apologize, man.

Did you know the deceased well?

I did.

DOYLE: In what capacity?

Why, as a member of the Toronto Paranormal Society, of which I am the head and she, um, an adherent.

What exactly is an adherent?

WATERS: Lots of fakers at the moment.

Madame This, The Amazing That.

Taking advantage of the vulnerable.

Mrs. Winston, like myself, dedicated to exposing these frauds. ldentifying true clairvoyants.

Mr. Winston seemed upset at his wife's involvement with the Society.

Well, we're a devoted group.

Long hours. Perhaps too long for some.

DOYLE: What is your opinion of Miss Pensall?

WATERS: Certain members convinced of her ability.

DOYLE: Well, that's certainly understandable.

We have witnessed them ourselves.

Which members, exactly?

Conrad Hunt, for one, would be lost without her.

I trust this makes you a believer. I've seen things, Detective.

Things I can't explain.

What was Mrs. Winston's stance on all of this?

Less convinced.

Gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, must be going.

Certainly.

Was lda Winston about to reveal Miss Pensall as a fraud?

And if she was, potentially, she would have been a threat to her reputation, her livelihood. If Miss Pensall's authenticity is in question, I have a suggestion.

BRACKENREID: A séance?

Gotcha!

Are you stark raving mad, Murdoch? I'm afraid the idea was mine, Inspector.

Yours, Mr. Doyle?

Yes, Inspector, I realize that this must seem absurd to you, sir.

MURDOCH: Mr. Doyle, this is not the literary world.

As police officers, we're obligated to build our cases based on concrete evidence.

But, Detective, we both know there are numerous ways of uncovering that evidence.

And you believe a séance might shed some light on things? I do.

Nonsense.

I fear this would be nothing more than a diversion.

DOYLE: Perhaps.

But the spirit could give us a clue as to the killer's identity.

Or it may be that you'll just be able to prove that the clairvoyant is a fake, in which case, you'll have reason to suspect her of complicity.

Point taken, Mr. Doyle.

Proceed with the séance, Murdoch.

Close your eyes.

Concentrate.

Think of your loved ones.

Exhort them to ask the young woman that came to me yesterday to appear again.

Have them tell her that there's nothing to fear.

Think of them.

Speak to them.

[ Thumping ]

It's a... a beautiful park.

And there's laughter.

A silver horse.

A woman in red.

She's beautiful, this woman.

Liza.

She has a message for you, Detective Murdoch.

Stop this.

She -- She wants you to hear it.

She needs you to hear it.

I said stop this at once!

This is a trick.

This is all just a trick.

Are you satisfied, Detective Murdoch?

I was in an alley off Richmond Street doing some service for Miss Pensall.

And what was the nature of this service?

Spirits are fickle, Detective.

They don't always come, to quote Shakespeare, "when you do call them. "

I believe I asked Mr. Gall. I won't be needing a medium.

GALL: Sometimes we need information, sir.

About the people taking part round the table.

MURDOCH: In other words, you cheat them.

"Cheat" is such a strong word, Detective.

Miss Pensall, I will not ask you again to keep quiet.

You've been following me, haven't you, Mr. Gall?

Looking for scraps of information?

Yes, sir. Is that how you found out about Mrs. Winston?

GALL: I was in the alley behind the Paranormal Society on account of all the guests being members.

My plan was to sneak into the office and find out a thing or two.

I was startled when a figure stepped out.

He was struggling with something very heavy, which struck me as odd so late at night.

Naturally, I followed him, seeing as this could be of interest to Miss Pensall.

And I ended up in the middle of nowhere.

He was burying something.

I waited till he was gone, then pulled in closer for a look.

Then I discovered the horrible truth.

MURDOCH: And this figure? I never got a clear look.

Can you describe the carriage? It was a wagon. It was brown, I believe.

Or black, perhaps. It was dark.

Why did you not go to the police?

Because I couldn't risk betraying the fact that I was gathering evidence for Miss Pensall.

You didn't think to leave an anonymous tip?

No. No, of course not.

Because solving this crime with a supposed vision would have been quite a feather in your cap.

I know you believe I'm a charlatan, Detective.

But I provide a service to those in pain who seek closure from those they cannot reach.

You should be ashamed of yourself.

Trafficking in the pain of others.

Well, I may resort to embellishment, Detective, but I assure you, I am no fraud.

And you, of all people, should know this.

Tell me, Detective, just what do you expect to find in the Paranormal Society?

A crime scene. Is that all?

You think otherwise?

Yes, well, I can't help thinking there's something more.

Perhaps it has something to do with this Liza person.

I trust you were close.

She was my fiancée. I see.

Well, may I ask what happened?

She died of consumption over a year ago.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Um, Miss Pensall mentioned a silver horse.

Does this mean something? It means she has a vivid imagination.

Listen. You hear?

Someone's distressed inside. I hear nothing.

Ah, very good.

Mr. Doyle.


Hmm?

Slight discoloration.

DOYLE: Yes.

MURDOCH: This portion seems to have been cleaned recently.

A blood stain from Mrs. Winston?

Seems likely.

So, if her body was lying here... where was the killer?

Mr. Doyle.

Shoot me.

Excuse me?

Shoot me.

Ah, yes.

Bang!

Wait.

The first bullet was fired from a distance of at least 10 feet, so the assailant would have been further back.

Bang!

No.

Bang!

No.

Bang!

So, if the bullet entered her torso through her stomach, exited out of her back, then the bullet would be...

In the bookcase.

Sheer genius.

When we find the bullet, we can match it to the gun from which it was fired.

Yes, "we" can, provided we find that gun.

I must say, I'm pleased to hear you putting your faith back in science and not spiritualism.

Your world may consist of cold logic, Detective, but I'm afraid I need something more.

I do have something more.

My faith.

Oh, so, you do believe in an afterlife?

Yet you cut yourself off from the possibilities of communicating with it.

MURDOCH: Common sense tells me that if we were indeed able to communicate with the afterlife, we wouldn't require the services of an intermediary.

Yet you make your confessions to a priest.

A sort of intermediary.

Where is your common sense in that?

Confession is about earthly sin, not heavenly imaginings.

DOYLE: But last night, when Miss Pensall revealed that this Liza person may have a message for you, were you not the least bit hopeful?

Well? Detective?

This book gets interesting around page 143.

Elementary, my dear Murdoch. lda was murdered here in my building? I'm afraid so, Mr. Hunt. I'll need the names of everyone who might have access to the Paranormal Society offices.

We have hundreds of members who are free to come and go as they please.

Then it will be a long list.

Uh, would any of these members have any reason whatsoever to harm Mrs. Winston?

I should think not.

MURDOCH: And where were you two nights ago?

With my sister, having tea. What's this all about?

And Miss Pensall, did she have access?

I don't think so, but it's possible.

What was Mrs. Winston's relationship to Miss Pensall? If you're suggesting Miss Pensall had something to do with lda's death, you couldn't be more wrong.

DOYLE: And why would that be?

Because she had no reason to fear lda.

Not even being exposed as a fraud?

In other cases, I've had my doubts.

But I can assure you Sarah's abilities are real.

She's touched many people's lives, mine included.

Yes, I'm sorry to hear about your son.

I lost him two years ago.

And now you believe you have a conduit to him?

Perhaps you need to lose someone you love to understand.

Thank you, Mr. Hunt. I'll be in touch.

Well, this has been quite an adventure.

Perhaps I could treat you to a nightcap?

No, thank you, sir. I've had enough spirits for one night.

Detective.

What on Earth do you want at this hour?

Normally, I require some advance notice.

Think of Liza.

Send her thoughts of love.

Ask her to join us to bring you a message.

Yes.

Good. Someone's here.

You keep your eyes closed. Think of Liza.

Think of her.

She's here.

William.

Liza?

You're still holding on to me, William.

Yes, of course, I am. It's time to let go.

Release me.

Release yourself.

I can't.

We'll find one another in the next life, William.

Now you must rejoin the living.

No, no, Liza.

Liza!

She's gone, Detective.

She's gone.

What have we got?

Judge Edward Danby.

Died in the arms of a woman not his wife, which I imagine accounts for the smile on his face.

That was meant to raise your spirits, Detective Murdoch.

[ Laughs ]
Spirits.

Are you quite all right? You look a tad piqued.

What on Earth have you got there?

A telephonic probe.

I thought you could use it next time you were looking for a bullet. It's, um...

How unexpected.

Similar to the one used to search for the bullet in President Garfield's back, with some improvements. I'll be sure to make use of this, William.

Something tells me this isn't the only reason you're here.

I attended another séance last night, a private one.

Twice now, the clairvoyant has claimed Liza was in the room.

There were things, details, that no one could have possibly known but Liza or myself.

There are ways to say things in an ambiguous way.

Not these things.

Perhaps your mind found ways to bend the details?

Perhaps.

I suppose you're right.

DOYLE: Inspector, I normally only have one lunch.

[ Laughter ]

Ah, there he is, hard at work.

You should have joined us for lunch, Murdoch, instead of pouring --

By the way, what are you pouring over?

Carriage tracks.

These are molds of two sets of tracks found at the scene of the crime.

This is a mold of the tracks belonging to a carriage owned by Miss Pensall.

They do not match.

Which confirms her story.

Well, surely, we can strike Miss Pensall as a suspect.

Now, if we can only find the owner of this other set of carriage tracks.

Have you any idea how many carriages there are in this city? I'm only interested in ones belonging to members of the Toronto Paranormal Society.

What you're looking at is the future of policing.

Dare I say, the future of entertainment, books and theater, so on, so forth.

MURDOCH: Forensics?

Too dull and gory, I should think.

DOYLE: Quite the opposite.

I suspect the public has an endless appetite for this sort of tale.

I only wish these new methods were around when I was writing my Holmes stories.

BRACKENREID: Then you should write more.

In fact, I meant to mention it at lunch, but we got sidetracked.

I have an idea for you.

A wonderful story that I heard as a young man while visiting my uncle in Scotland.

I would love to hear it, Thomas. Unfortunately, I must be going.

A little rest before the lecture this evening. I'll see you there, Detective?

Certainly.

As for me, I tried to get a ticket, but, alas...

Oh, well, why didn't you mention something?

Wonderful, wonderful.

I was sent to live with my uncle in the Highlands one summer, and he told me a story about a neighbor, whose vicious dog attacked and killed a man.

Miss Pensall's gone shopping, sir.

Actually, it's you I wanted to talk to.

Me?

Tell me, Gall, what was it you were really looking for that night in the alley?

As I told you before, sir, information on Paranormal Society members.

But you didn't need to persuade members.

They were already convinced.

With the exception of one. lda Winston.

But she wasn't going to be convinced by some séance hocus-pocus, was she?

You needed something far more concrete.

What was it?

I have no idea what you're talking about.

Perhaps there was no man in the alley that night.

Perhaps it was you who carried out Mrs. Winston's body, after you shot her.

We had nothing to do with her death.

Convince me otherwise.

We were sure she was about to revise her position.

MURDOCH: Why would she do that?

Because I had found something out about her, and, if necessary, that would have been revealed at the next séance.

MURDOCH: You've been holding something back from me, haven't you, Mr. Waters?

Not sure what you're referring to, Detective.

Your affair with lda Winston.

You didn't think this was relevant?

Doesn't look good.

Murdered here.

Jealous lover.

Do you own a gun, Mr. Waters?

Owned. It's gone missing.

MURDOCH: Did you report the theft?

Never occurred.

Should have.

Another strike against me. I'll need the make and model, please.

Didn't kill her.

No reason.

Loved the woman, Detective.

Then who did?

Frederick Waters is a cunning, treacherous no-account who had the temerity to appear in my house of mourning.

But instead of confronting him, you snuck into the Paranormal Society and shot your wife in a fit of jealousy. If there's anyone I would have shot, it would be Frederick.

That man was trying to destroy my life.

Do you own a gun, Mr. Winston?

A rifle, which I use for hunting.

Forgive me for saying so, but you don't seem terribly shaken by your wife's death.

Grief is a private matter, Detective.

We all have our own methods of coping. lda and I had talked things through.

She was breaking it off with Frederick and coming back to me.

That's not what Mr. Waters led me to believe.

She came to her senses, Detective.

I should hope you follow suit.

Mr. Hunt.

Detective. I'm looking for Frederick Waters.

I expected to see him here myself. Is he not in attendance?

No, most unlike Frederick.

This is delicate, but, uh, did you know Mr. Waters and Mrs. Winston were... It was impossible not to notice.

But it had ended.

At her request?

That's my understanding.

And how had Mr. Waters taken that?

He tried not to show it, but I think he was despondent.

Perhaps even angry.

I see.

Do you have any idea where Mr. Waters might be?

All I know is the Society is his life.

Thank you.

DOYLE: In the last few years, a new idea has arisen to replace the cold, dead religions of the world.

This new idea we call spiritualism, which holds that alongside this material world there exists another world.

A world that is just as real as this one.

Most of us can't see this other world and therefore deny its very presence.

But there are among us those who have been endowed with a very special gift.

The gift of clairvoyance.

Now, I myself have seen these spirit sensitives make contact with the dead.

So convinced am I that this other plane exists that I stand here before you right now and I make this solemn promise that when I shuffle off this mortal coil, I will return with a message.

And speak to you of what lies ahead in the great beyond.

BRACKENREID: Hellhound... of the Highlands!

[ Sighs ]

[ Gunshot ]

MAN: Hurry up, lads! Speck out.

The holding cells, sir.

Come on, then!

Sergeant Mulligan, lock down the station!

What the bloody hell's going on?

Merely testing out a theory, Inspector.

What's that, then?

To see if a building full of coppers will come running at the sound of a gunshot?

Have you ever heard of a gentleman named Lacassagne?

Yes, of course I have.

But remind me again.

Monsieur Lacassagne is a forensics scientist at Lyons University.

He has perfected a test which matches a bullet to the gun from which it was fired.

Whoa!

Uh, yes.

This is the gun that was found in Frederick Waters' hand, from which presumably came the bullet which killed him.

We fired a bullet from that gun into this barrel of water.

This is the bullet that killed Frederick Waters.

This is the bullet that was found at the Toronto Paranormal Society that killed lda Winston.

And this is the bullet we just fired.

Note the striations here, here, and here.

CRABTREE: That's amazing. They all match.

So that means... It means that this is the weapon that killed both of the victims.

But what's the point?

We already know the killer, Frederick Waters.

He murdered his former lover, lda Winston, in a fit of rage.

And then with the constabulary closing in, he took his own life.

MURDOCH: Only one problem.

Frederick Waters did not kill himself.

Then who did?

Some spirit, no doubt.

Well?

I had Frederick Waters write something down for me.

He was left-handed.

The gun was found in his right.

Hmm, tell me, Detective.

Have you ever heard the term "ambidextrous"?

Yes, I'd already thought of that and confirmed that he was, in fact, left-handed.

Thomas, about this dog story of yours. I've been thinking about the setting.

The Highlands.

Yes, I'm not entirely convinced it's evocative enough.

The Highlands?

Yes, the Highlands.

I feel sorry for him.

Yeah, terrible shame.

He wasn't much older than you or I .

No, not him. Arthur Conan Doyle.

The way he droned on in his lecture.

" I will return with a message. "

How a man like that goes from devout Catholic to devout spiritualist, it's beyond me.

Beyond me.
[ Laughs ]

That's funny.

What if it is possible?

What if there is a second plane?

I mean...

You want to talk to her, don't you?

There were a number of fingermarks on the murder weapon, but none that match Frederick Waters.

Well, then, the gun must have been placed into his hand.

Definitely not suicide.

So we can rule him out as the killer.

We've already eliminated Sarah Pensall as a suspect.

And Hubert Winston had reconciled with lda.

That only leaves the Toronto Paranormal Society.

MURDOCH: And at the top of that list is Conrad Hunt.

Why would he want Mrs. Winston dead?

Because she was a threat to Miss Pensall.

Enough to kill her?

I know how desperate one can be to contact a loved one beyond their reach.

Given the right conditions, one might take drastic measures to ensure that connection is never lost. If Hunt is our man, the evidence against him is tenuous.

And he's not likely to up and confess now, is he?

Actually, he might.

He's here. James?

You have a message for your father?

Yes, I'll tell him.

What is it, Sarah? What does he say?

He says something is troubling you.

What? Troubling me?

That you're living under a dark cloud.

That you're afraid that he's going to drift away from you.

There's darkness between you.

Darkness?

Darkness is in your soul, Father.

James? I'm leaving. I've come to say goodbye.

No, no! Why?

There's a river of blood. I can't cross it.

Blood. James, there is no blood.

The lies have to stop, Father.

James, I would never lie to you.

Something's happened to you, what you've become.

Nothing's happened. Nothing's changed. It's because of me.

No!

Yes.

She didn't have to die.

You killed her because of me.

No, James, please.

I have to leave, Father, for your sake.

For your sake, Father.

No, James, don't go!

I didn't do it for you. I did it for us.

James, I did it for us!

He's gone.

[ Gasping ]

James.

James.

[ Door opens ]

[ Gasps ]

Ida Winston was going to discredit Miss Pensall, wasn't she?

You would have lost your son.

I couldn't bear to lose him again.

And Frederick Waters? Why did you kill him?

I had to kill him.

To throw you off the scent.

Do you understand?

I understand grief all too well.

But the murders of two people...

Mr. Hunt, you are under arrest. I'd do anything, anything to speak with him again.

DOYLE: Well done, Detective.

Well done.

So, Hunt killed Waters hoping it would look like a lover's quarrel.

He knew we were closing in.

No, no, you were closing in.

Uh, right, then, Arthur, I'll drop you at the train station, me old mucker.

By all means. I can't wait to hear the end of this "Hellhound of the Moors" story.

Highlands.
"Hellhounds of the Highlands. "

DOYLE: Yes, I'll be with you in a moment.

Well, I suppose this whole thing has done nothing to alter your skepticism, Detective.

I will admit the boundaries between physical and spiritual happenings can be blurry. It's a step. It has been a great pleasure to meet you, Detective Murdoch.

Likewise, Mr. Doyle. I'd like to thank you for all of your help.

I know at times I was somewhat difficult, and I --

You're welcome.

Miss Pensall, I was wondering if you could help me speak to Liza again. I'm sorry.

Liza gave you her message already, Detective.

Good evening.

[ Door opens ]