02x05 - The Green Muse

Excuse me.

Get out!

Go! Get out!

Where's Cora? Did you see Cora?

Did anybody see Cora?


What have we, George?

The fire started around midnight, sir.

And the cause?

An incendiary device was thrown through this window.


Housed in a bottle, it would seem.

Gather up all the shards. See if we can raise fingermarks.

Some may have survived the fire.

What else?

The madam couldn't find one of her... employees.


She went to look for her in her room.

Where she found the victim.


Right, then. Nothing's to be touched.

I want a list of everyone that was here tonight.

The girls, their customers -- everyone.

Oh, sir, that list could include the mayor, a bishop.

I mean, this was, after all, the Music Academy.

It could include the chief constable himself.

I want that list.


The body's up this way.

This is how the madam found her.

Good Lord.

It's a horrible wound.

She appears to have been garroted.

Do we know her name?

Cora Devereaux, age 23.

Letters from admirers.

It appears Miss Devereaux was a very popular woman.

Perhaps it had something to do with her taste in fine spirits.

Ab-sinthe. Ab-seenthe?


It's a liquor popular in Europe amongst the intelligentsia.

Made with an herb -- Wormwood.

Said to cause hallucinations.


How intriguing.

Anything else, George?

No, sir.

That's all the madam would tell me.


Was she being uncooperative?

Well, sir, she said she wanted to give the rest of her statement to you personally.

Really? Where is she now?

Right here, William.

It's good to see you again.

Always a pleasure, Miss Weston... despite the circumstances.

I've always looked after my girls.

Arranged doctors, kept their bellies full, advised on affairs of the heart.

I didn't do a very good job with Cora, I'm afraid.

What can you tell me about her?

Not much.

She was in high demand with my customers, even though she'd only been here a short while.

Oh? How long?

About six months.

And where was she before that?


What brought her here?

I believe she had a spot of trouble.

What kind of trouble?

A violent customer.

Had she any difficulties with customers here?


Arthur Webster.

The painter?

He'd become obsessed with her.

In my experience, that can only lead to trouble.

I see.

He refused to leave tonight, so I had him removed.

Tonight? When was this?

Around 10:00.

Two hours before you discovered Miss Devereaux's body.

He could have returned, killed her, and set fire to the house to cover his tracks.

Except I keep the doors locked at all times.

Security is very important for my girls and my clients.

Perhaps he found a way to sneak in.

Well, I suppose that's possible.

Well, I think that's enough for now, Miss Weston.

Thank you.


In all these years, you haven't changed.

Not a bit.

And you, Ettie.

You've done very well for yourself.

Ah. Doctor.


May I ask why such a pretty dress for a murder?


A gentleman asked me to dinner.


Yes. A rather stuffy accountant, as it turns out.

He was busy explaining the difference between single- and double-entry bookkeeping when I was called away.

The garrote appears to have severed both the carotid artery and the jugular vein.

So the killer would have been covered in blood?

Not necessarily.

The attack appears to have been from behind, meaning he would have avoided most of the blood spray.

This is most interesting.

What is it?

There's another scar winding around her neck... suggesting a previous attempt to garrote the victim.

As though someone returned to finish a job they had already started.

Well, this is a right cock-up.

What have you got there?

What does this smell remind you of, sir?

Mineral spirits?

More specifically, turpentine.

Mm. Fuel used in the fire bomb, was it?

One of them. Likely the accelerant.

To light something heavier.

Kerosene more than likely.

At least that's what they taught us in the regiment.

So the killer chucks it in through the window, hoping to cover his tracks.

But the bomb was poorly constructed.

Caused more smoke than fire.

Many lives were spared.

Do we know which of the city fathers were caught with their strides down?



Uh, pants, pants.

Yes. I have a list.


Bloody hell, Murdoch.

Don't let this out of your sight.

We're not gonna be able to keep what happened out of the press, but at least we can try and limit the damage.

There's quite a few friends of the department on here.

Yes. I'll try to ensure discretion.

Do we have a suspect?

Yes. A painter with a jealous obsession.

Miss Devereaux... dead?

It can't be.

I'm sorry to have to inform you, Mr. Webster.


To clean my brushes.

What of it?

We believe it was used to set the fire.

But surely you don't think that I had something to --

Mr. Webster, you had to be forcibly removed from the brothel last night.

Sometimes I find it difficult to leave Miss Devereaux.

Surely you've felt the same way towards a love.

Where did you go afterwards?

I came here to paint.

I am... was always so inspired after being with her.

She was my muse.

You were obsessed with her.

So much so that you couldn't stand the thought of other men being with her.

I had already accepted that situation, as unfortunate as it was.


Yes. Her heart belonged to another.

I'm sorry to disturb you at your home, Judge Wilson, but as I mentioned, this is an urgent matter.

I'm sorry I haven't much time.

My caseload lately is very heavy.

Yes. I'll try to be brief.

Are you familiar with the Weston Music Academy?

No, I am not. Should I be?

It's a brothel, sir.

A young woman was murdered there last night.

I see.

Most unfortunate.

Sir, I believe you were a client of the victim's.

Are you suggesting that I frequent brothels, Detective?

With all due respect, sir, you were mentioned by name.

Well, many people would like to see me removed from the bench.

This is probably some ploy to discredit me.

Where were you last night?

I was working late in chambers.

And then I returned home.

What time?

About 10:00.

I had a small glass of sherry, and then I went to bed.

And you remained here at home the whole night?

You're quite certain?

I think I would know if I'd gotten out of bed, don't you?

Now, if there's nothing further, Detective, I'm needed in court.


There's a gentleman from the Temperance League to see you.

A Mr. Beecher.

Beecher? Bollocks.

And there you go, sir.

Send him in.

Go on in.

Thank you.

Inspector, the Temperance League is no longer simply concerned with the evils of drink.

All of society's woes require our attention.

So the missus has told me, Mr. Beecher.

In particular, it's the houses of ill fame and the plight of the women in them that concern us.

Same goes for the police.

Well, so you say.

And yet, Inspector, for some time, the entire constabulary, yourself included, has tolerated the existence of the Music Academy because it caters to the city's elite.

You and I both know that that place is first-class.

Those lasses are well looked after.

Are they?

Perhaps Miss Devereaux's parents would disagree.

Inspector, on behalf of the thousands of Temperance League members, staunch supporters of our cause, like your wife, I demand that place be shut down immediately.

You can tell your members that the police are doing their job.

In fact, we already have a suspect.



An artist.

An artist.

I see.

Somewhat convenient, Inspector, but a suspect nonetheless, huh?

What are you implying, sir?

I'm not implying.

I'm merely noting that of all the powerful people in that brothel, a lowly artist is the suspect.

Facts do not lie, sir.

Of course they don't.

Inspector, the Temperance League will be watching the progress of this case.

If justice is not served, you will be hearing from us.

I can't wait.

I would place time of death roughly around midnight.

Consistent with when the fire broke out.

The stomach contents revealed nothing out of the ordinary, except that she'd had an aperitif shortly before she was murdered.

Anise-based, I believe.

There was a bottle of absinthe in the room.

Oh? The green fairy.

Green fairy?

Yes, the inspiration of many a poet.

Some say she can be seen after drinking it.

Or overindulging in it.

It's a most exotic drink.

No doubt supplied by your friend, the madam.

How did you two meet?

A church function, perhaps?

Actually, we met during a case.

Her friend Alice Black, also a prostitute, was murdered.


Fortunately, I managed to save Ettie -- Miss Weston's life.

I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to imply --

I also misjudged Miss Weston when I first met her.

Were there any defensive wounds?

There would have been no time to struggle.

Death would have been almost instantaneous.

There was this, however.


Any idea how she got those scars?

A whip or a lash, I should think.

I've heard that those can be used in s*x play.

Yes. These scars are very nasty, though.

I don't think there was any play involved.

No, I suppose not.

Listen. She was a doxy.

She did things for money, and some people pay for pain.

Might explain how she got that older scar on her neck as well.

I highly doubt she would let someone do that to her, no matter the price.

She did allow herself to be put in a vulnerable position, allowing men to put things around her neck and so on.

She wouldn't have noticed the garrote until it was too late.

Something happened to her in Montreal.

I have a mate on the force there.

He might be able to tell us a bit more.

Sir, there's someone here to see you.

I'm Detective William Murdoch.

Yes. I'm Paul Wilson, His Honor's son.

Ah, yes. Of course. Mr. Wilson, how can I help you?

Well, this is rather difficult, and I fear that it may implicate my father in something unseemly.

But if I'm not mistaken, Father told you he didn't go out last night, did he not?

That's correct.

Well, I remember waking in the middle of the night, and I heard someone come into the house.

There was a lot of commotion, banging and whatnot.

Did you investigate?

This is very difficult for me.

It was Father.

You're certain?

He's recently taken to coming in at all hours of the night.

Mm. I see.

I'll be sure to look into this.

Unfortunately, there's more.

I... I feel terrible about this.

I found these in the rear of his wardrobe.

I'll ask you one more time, Judge Wilson.

How did you get the bloodstains on your clothes?

I couldn't tell you.

You'll have to forgive me, Your Honor, but you're not being forthcoming.

I'm telling you what I know.

You also told me you never left your home.

I just... don't know what happened.

How can that be?

Either you left your home or you didn't.

Such a damn muddle, I can barely remember a thing.

Let me help you.

You went to the brothel. You saw Miss Devereaux.

Yes. Cora.

What time was this?

About 11:00.

And then what?

I...I must have dozed off.

We'd been drinking, and when I woke... there was blood, and... she was there beside me... dead.

And the next thing I know, I was in front of my door at home.

And you have no idea how you got there?


Yet you had the good sense to remove the bloodstained clothing.

Yes, I suppose so, yes.

But I didn't kill her. Of this, I am certain.

How can you be?

You don't seem certain of anything else.

Have you ever been in love?

Deeply and profoundly in love?

I have.

Well, then you understand when I tell you that, no matter how confused I am, I-I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Cora.

Why else would I have asked her to be my bride?

He's gone completely daft.

A judge just can't up and marry some scarlet woman.

He'd be throwing away his career.

According to the judge, they were very much in love.

Love. Ha!

The only thing she loved was his money.

And I think the judge finally realized that as well.

You think he discovered Miss Devereaux was a gold digger.

And in a blind rage, killed her.

How could he have been in her room and thrown the fire bomb at the same time?

That's a good point.

And for that matter, why not just set fire to the bed with her in it?

Why not, indeed.

The killer wasn't trying to cover up his crime.

He threw the fire bomb to create a diversion.

And in the confusion, slips in, goes upstairs, kills Miss Devereaux.

Bloody diabolical.

But then why is the judge still alive?

Perhaps someone wanted us to think that he was the killer.

Then again, maybe the judge had a partner, and this is all just a wild theory.

Seems we've got nothing but questions.

Why am I here, William?

You know very well why you're here.

The judge was in Miss Devereaux's room, wasn't he?

I'm sorry.

Tell me what happened. And I want the truth this time.

Very well.


I went to Cora's room, looking for her, just as I told you.

When I opened the door, I saw him... holding her... crying.

The building was burning, so I helped him out, and I had him taken home.

Even though he murdered one of your own girls?

He did not murder Cora.

How can you be certain? You found him over the body.

If you know anything about me, William, it's that I'm an expert on men.

You won't deny that it's useful to have a judge in your pocket.

You trusted me in the past when so many wouldn't.

Trust me now.

Very well.

In the past, Miss Devereaux was involved with customers who enjoyed the lash.

Am I correct?

Yes, in Montreal.

And did she have any clients here with that certain proclivity?


The judge?


Of course not.

Then who?

What's the meaning of this?

I searched the rest of your house and found these in your bedside table.

What was the nature of your relationship with Miss Devereaux?

Miss Devereaux... dominated, disciplined me.

You couldn't possibly understand.

Oh, I think I understand you fully.

You enjoyed being humiliated.

Or at least you thought you did... until Miss Devereaux decided to marry the judge.

That was too much humiliation for even you to endure.

My wanting to kill Miss Devereaux is as unlikely as the judge wanting to.

You don't think he had reason?

I had only respect for the way he treated Miss Devereaux.

Now, his son -- That is a completely different story.

His son?

Miss Devereaux had ordered me to accompany her to an opening at the art gallery.

Young Mr. Wilson approached her, accused her of being after his father's money, was insulting and so furious I actually feared he would strike her.

I was about to put him in his place, but Miss Devereaux commanded me not to.

I see.

Mr. Wilson.

That's quite a contraption.

Yes! Isn't it?

An electric carriage. One of the first in the city.

Mm. Do you own it?

Well, I'm considering it.

But frankly, it's difficult to get excited about anything, given what's happened to Father.

Unless you've come with good news?

There have been recent developments.


Assuming it's something that will exonerate him.

I understand you had an extremely vitriolic exchange with the victim.

It was a heated argument, true.

But I was determined to protect Father.

Protect him? From what?

From that woman dragging his good name through the mud.

She would have ruined him, professionally, socially.


Well, that is what happens when one falls victim to an avaricious manipulator who's only after one's estate.

It certainly is.

Are you saying you suspect Paul?

His behavior makes me curious.

His behavior?

He had a heated argument with Miss Devereaux.

Paul did not take well to my decision to marry Cora.

And why not?

I've coddled Paul since his mother died.

He worshiped her.

And it's likely he thought he was defending her honor.


Or perhaps he felt that his finances were being threatened by your impending marriage.

I don't see why he would feel that way.

I had my attorney draw up a contract leaving him half of my estate in the event of my death.

What if half wasn't enough?

Detective, my son's flaws are many.

He's a talented pianist who never plays.

He requires constant validation from friends who don't care for him.

He's never worked a day in his life.

But he's still my son.

I see.

If I may, how were you planning to deal with the... ramifications of your marriage?

No need to be delicate, Detective.

Cora's dream was to have a home by the sea.

I bought us a cottage I found on the tip of Cape May.

And we were going to leave as soon as possible.

Just... it wasn't soon enough.

I loved Cora, deeply.

I never let a day go by without telling her.

It's cold comfort, but at least I didn't make that mistake.

I've just received word back from Montreal.

What's that, then?

It's a sample of the fire-bomb fuels collected from the carpet in the brothel.

I'm hoping that by identifying them, it might lead us to the killer.

And how do you propose to do that?

Specific gravity.

Much like separating cream from milk.

I'll have to send it to the university, however.

I would do it myself, but I don't have a centrifuge.

Oh, that's a shame.

Anyway, back to Montreal.

It seems there were two rather nasty garrote attacks on prostitutes there.

One of the victims survived.

Went by the name of Cora Devereaux.

So we have a prostitute running from a killer.

Comes to Toronto to hide.

But her past comes calling.

Sir, might I interrupt?

Yes, George. Have you news on the case?

You could say that.

Sir, I believe we have our murderer.

You're leaping to conclusions, George.

I don't think so, sir.

He's left us a confession.

Mr. Webster suffered cerebral edema.

He was obviously cyanotic.

And I found petechiae on his skin and in his eyes.

The cause of death was asphyxiation.

So your findings are consistent with a suicide?

That troubles you?

Something about this crime just isn't sitting right with me.

Well, I can run further tests if you like.

I would appreciate that.

Was there something else?


I was wondering if you would have dinner with me tonight.

Oh, certainly.

I-I'm not sure that the results will be back by then.

Well, there are other matters we could discuss.

Current events. Past events.

Constable Crabtree's remarkably untidy --

Well, I... I'd be delighted.


Very good.

Mr. Beecher, I thought I should inform you personally before the newspapers publish.

We've shut down the Music Academy.

The details are all there for you.

Very good, Inspector.

So this Mr. Webster hanged himself.

That's right.

And a confession written in paint found by his side?

Near the body, yes.

What of Judge Wilson?

He's still in custody, but I'm sure he'll be exonerated.

I should think there must be some charge for him.

Solicitation, perhaps?

Yes. Well, there are unfortunate vagaries in the laws.

Of course there are.

You must be quite pleased, Inspector.

This worked out quite well for you.

I'm not sure I appreciate what you're insinuating, Mr. Beecher.

Then let me be clear.

The Temperance League will change this city.

Mark my words.

Drink and loose morals will be a thing of the past.

Next time -- and there will be a next time -- the rich and powerful might not be so lucky.

And perhaps neither will the constabulary.

Yes. Well, thank you for stopping by.

I'll see you out.

Hello, Miss Weston.

Spare me your false sanctimony.

Miss Weston --

If I've offended you in any way --

You come into my business, proselytizing like some preacher about how you're acting in the interests of women.

Well, you turned every one of them onto the street.

They had protection and medicine and clothing.

And now they have nothing.

Whatever happens to them is on your head.

Miss Weston, perhaps I could get you a cup of tea in the detective's office?

Thank you, Constable.

The poor woman.

I don't think we've been formally introduced.

Detective William Murdoch. Who might you be?

Levi Beecher. It's a pleasure.

Change is coming.

Spread the good word.

I'm sorry, William, I caused a scene.

But I cannot abide that man's hypocrisy.

It's quite all right, Ettie.

I need you to tell me more about the nature of the relationship between Miss Devereaux and Arthur Webster.

He referred to her exclusively as Miss Devereaux, did he not?


Then why would he write, "Forgive me, Cora," at the scene of his death?

I have no idea.

So let me try to understand this.

You don't think Arthur Webster killed himself because he wrote "Cora" instead of "Miss Devereaux" on his suicide note.

Which apparently is no longer a suicide note.

That's my thinking, yes.

Did it ever occur to you that maybe he ran out of room?

Miss Devereaux is quite a long name to write.


Bloody hell, Murdoch.

I thought we had this all wrapped up.

There is also no connection to Montreal, sir.

I'm gonna have that bloody temperance b*st*rd breathing down my neck again.

So we're dealing with a double murder, is that it?

Not necessarily.

The two cases may not be related.

Not related?

Our prime suspect was found hanging by a suicide note bearing our victim's name.

Sir, we have nothing to connect the two cases.

And until we do, it would behoove us to treat them separately.

So let's start with Miss Devereaux.

If Webster didn't kill her, then who the bloody hell did?

Perhaps the man who stood the most to gain from her death.

The judge's son.

Cora did stand in the way of his inheritance.

And he's the one who brought us the man's bloody clothing to begin with.

What are you thinking?

Could I get you a spot of something to take the edge off?

A Pimm's and lemonade would be nice.

Yes. Well, I think you might have to make do with tea.

Higgins! Tea!

We'd like to speak to you about your father.

Judge Wilson has always been a very great friend to the Toronto police force.

He's often spoken very highly of the constabulary's fine work.

Which is why we were so glad to find another suspect.

I see.

And due to the overwhelming evidence against this suspect, we may soon be able to release your father.

Why, that is terrific news.

Now, this doesn't entirely clear your father's name.

Not yet.

We still have to clear up some minor details, such as, did the suspect have the ability to build a fire bomb?

Or the means.

And we have to find the materials or some evidence of him having had such materials.

I see.

But the point is this, Mr. Wilson.

We think very soon your father's good name will be cleared.

I can't tell you how relieved I am to hear this.

Inspector, Detective, the constabulary's diligence in this matter will not go unnoticed.

We certainly hope not.

I'll see you out.



The trap has been set.


Just put it in the carriage.

You know which one -- the one without the horses.

Careful with that.

That was delicious, William.

Peanut butter and jelly. Who would have thought?

I thought the occasion called for something special.

I never took you for a gourmet.


You seem preoccupied. Is something wrong?

Oh. Well, here we are, you and I.


And I must apologize.

I can't help my thoughts returning to the case.

Perhaps we should just discuss it, then.

After all, I find it as fascinating as you.

Well, good. Good.


All along I've suspected that the judge is incapable of murder.


But there is another possibility.

The two had been drinking absinthe.

Perhaps the wormwood in it caused him to become violent.

Studies of wormwood's properties say hallucination is a possible effect of the thujone in it.

Yet other studies state the opposite.

Everyone's physiology is as unique as their eyes.


So there really is no way of knowing for certain how it would affect an individual.

Doctor, how would you feel about an experiment?

An experiment?

Yes. I'd been saving it for later.

But with all of this talk of absinthe, I thought it apropos.

William, I've never known you to drink.

Only on special occasions.

And this is one?


Well, that would be delightful.

And now it could serve a double purpose.

All in the name of science, of course.

Of course.

Come on in.

Well, I am disappointed.


Not one green fairy.


William, we can't have that.

William, I think we should talk about where this is heading.

I'm very happy with where I am, thank you.

No, that wasn't what I meant.




Mrs. Kitchen doesn't usually allow visitors.





I was talking about precautions.


Yes. I mean, do you have anything?

Oh, you mean...

Yes. Prophylactics.

Oh, I didn't think I'd be needing any.

Yes, we do, William.

We -- We really, really do.

How very modern of you.

There will be other chances.

But for tonight, saner heads must prevail.

For tonight.

All right.

Here you go.

Thank you.


Oh, sir. I'm sorry.

I must have nodded off...

Shh, shh.

...writing up my report.

Are you all right, sir?

I'm fine.

I guess we both had a long night.

What did you find out on your surveillance?

Well, sir, it seems Paul Wilson took the bait entirely.

Here's the list of items he purchased directly after your meeting.

Well, I guess we just wait.

And not for long, apparently.

Mr. Wilson.

Ah, Detective.

I desperately hope this is nothing, but I knew my conscience wouldn't rest if I didn't bring it to your attention.

What is it?

Well, I happened to be in the gardening shed this morning to repair a shuttlecock, and I found some items.

I see.

And would these items include kerosene, turpentine, and some torn pieces of cloth?

Why, yes.

This is absurd. I was trying to help you.

Mr. Wilson, you've been trying to frame your father ever since you walked into this station with his bloody clothing.

That is slanderous.

You've been spending your inheritance, throwing lavish parties as if you were never expecting him to return.

I needed to take my mind off my father's incarceration.

And now you volunteer evidence to us you yourself acquired.

I found those items.

Mr. Wilson, I had you followed.

My constables observed you purchasing these items yesterday.

Now, not only are you guilty of trying to frame your father, but you murdered Miss Devereaux as well.


You knew that if she lived, she would stand in the way of your inheritance.

Oh, God.

Oh, God, this is a nightmare.

No, I-I swear to you, I didn't kill her.

Enough, Mr. Wilson.

Please tell me the truth.

My father detests me.

He belittles my artistic aspirations.

He derides my taste in friends.

I have suffered indignity after indignity.

So yes, I want my father's fortune.

All of it.

After all, it's rightly mine.

You would watch your father hang so you could live out your gadabout life?

I-I didn't think he'd actually hang for it.

That's what happens when a man is convicted of murder, Mr. Wilson.

Luckily, it appears the noose will be fitted to the proper neck.

I didn't kill her.

I didn't. You have to believe me.

I would never --

I would never have the gumption to actually kill anyone.

Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait.

You're making a mistake.

You're making a terrible mistake!

Hello, Father.

Hello, son.

So the little bugger framed his father, but you don't think he killed Miss Devereaux?

Why would he buy fire-bomb supplies if he already had them?

Good point.

Besides, I fear he may be right.

He doesn't have the gumption, let alone the competence, to kill.

So we're back to where we were.

Not quite.

I conducted a personal experiment last night with absinthe.


Looking for little green fairies?

You're having me on, Murdoch.

I only wish, sir.

However, the experiment did prove to be quite beneficial.

Oh. Keep up the good work.

Good morning, Julia.

William. How do you feel?

My mind is elated, but my body seems to be in a state of rebellion.

Well, we did consume the better part of a bottle of absinthe last night.

However, the experiment portion of our evening was not a complete failure.

How so?

We drank far more absinthe than the judge and Cora.

In fact... here's the bottle from her room.

Far less indeed.

Then why were they so much more affected?

Are you suggesting that something might have been added to the absinthe they drank?

It would explain why the victim showed no signs of struggle.

She was unconscious.

And why the judge was so disoriented.

Could it have been laudanum?

Possibly. Why?

I just received Arthur Webster's toxicology results.

And there was laudanum in his blood?

So much so that I suspect he was unconscious when he hanged himself.

I'll run some tests on the absinthe right away.

And I'll find out where the bottle came from.

Oh. Um...

Good morning.


The bottle came in a delivery package for Cora with her favorite flowers and French perfume.

It was sitting in a basket on her night table when I came.

She thought I'd sent it.

Well, he was always lavishing her with exotic gifts, so I just assumed it was Judge Wilson.

She was so happy with it, I didn't want to tell her it wasn't from me.

She loved absinthe.

She said the wormwood would give us the most delicious visions.

But all it did was put me to sleep.

So whoever sent the absinthe knew that Cora had a taste for it.

As well as for flowers and perfume.

They must have had a history.

Montreal again.

Most likely.

And now you believe this same person killed Arthur Webster?


We found a partial fingermark on a piece of glass from the fire bomb.

Note the occluded swirl just off-center.

We found another fingermark on a glass at Arthur Webster's house.

Not his.

Note the same occluded swirl.

So whoever threw the fire bomb was at Arthur's house.


And Dr. Ogden has confirmed that Cora's absinthe bottle was laced with the same drug that was found in Arthur Webster's body.

So the same man was responsible for both murders.

What did I tell you?

Yes, but we now have the evidence to prove it.

So who is he?

I have no idea.

Bloody hell.

Sir, we'll find him.

We have a fingermark, and we're still compiling evidence.


You said you wanted this as soon as it arrived.

It's from the university.

What's that, then?

It's the test results on the carpet water.

They found two combustibles.

Kerosene and turpentine.

Not turpentine. Toluene.


Never heard of it.

Neither have I.

Why does that not surprise me?

You're not likely to unless you work in industries that manufacture rubber, do electroplating.

And I don't.

And neither do any of our suspects.

Apparently, it's also used for lubricating printing presses.

Printing presses.

Change is coming.

Spread the good word.

I met her at a brothel on Berger Street.

She let me do things to her.

Things even I didn't know I was capable of.

I kept going back until --

Until you almost killed her.

I didn't realize how ill I was.

That's when I came here.

But every city has its temptations.

And I knew if I fell into my old ways, the illness would take hold.

And how to avoid that?

The Temperance League?

Doing their good work was my salvation.

But then you saw Miss Devereaux again.

At the Music Academy.

I was handing out pamphlets.

She recognized me, of course.

And I knew she would undo everything.

So you chose to undo her instead.

What choice did I have?

Killing her was my only hope of killing that thing inside of me.

However, you had a problem.

Miss Devereaux knew that if she left the Music Academy, you'd be waiting.

I had to get in.

I studied the comings and goings until I figured out how.

That's when you sent the absinthe bottle, knowing she was partial to it.

It should have been simple.

She should have just been lying there.

But he was with her.

And Arthur Webster?

I'd seen him come to the brothel several times.

When your inspector said the suspect was an artist, well...

I put two and two together and paid him a visit.

So you gave us a nice, tidy way to wrap up our investigation.

You know, Detective, when I went to the Music Academy, I...

I really just went to help those girls.


Why didn't Cora tell me about Beecher?

I'd have protected her.

Or is that why she finally said yes to me?

Just to help her get away again.

I have no doubt that Cora's feelings for you were genuine, Your Honor.

How could you know that?

Because she could have just run away.

But she chose to be with you.

You were the one who was going to take her to safety.

If only we left when we had the chance.

Why did I wait?

Miss Weston.

I've come to say goodbye, William.

You're leaving?

I was thinking of Winnipeg.


I have a little money saved.

Perhaps I'll put my skills to use and open a small café.

And is this a café where coffee is sold, much like the piano lessons were at your Music Academy?

You could always come to see for yourself, if ever you're in Winnipeg.

But that's unlikely now, isn't it?

It is now.

Good luck, Ettie.

Julia, I have something to tell you.


Last night, what happened between us --

It should never have happened.

Oh. Well, I--


Uh, what I mean to say is that I shouldn't have waited so long to share my feelings towards you.

Well, William, you should know that you're not the only one that lives inside their head.



Well, perhaps another picnic is in order, then?

Well, that would be splendid.

Without a visit from the green fairy this time.

I think that would be wise.