03x01 - The Murdoch Identity

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Stop him!

Stop that man!

Out of the way!

Down here, this way.

Try the pub!

Please.

What are you doing, barging into my pub?

Did a man just run in here, miss? He's a k*ller. A k*ller?

Special agents from London.

We need to catch this man before he harms someone else.

I didn't see anyone.

You don't mind if I look around a bit? Suit yourself.

He's not here. Let's go.

Who are you?

Did I just help a m*rder*r? No.

I don't think so. You don't think so?

No, wait! I don't know who those men are, I don't know why they are after me, because I don't know who I am.

I don't even know my own name.

I believe someone sent for a detective?

Constable George Crabtree, Detective Hamish Slorach from Station House Number Five.

Ah, you're Crabtree, yes, well...

There you have it. Chief Constable Stockton feels that Detective Slorach is just the man to take over from Murdoch.

Take over, sir? Just until Murdoch is found and returns to his duties, son.

Of course. Welcome, Detective Slorach.

Thank you, Inspector Brackenreid.

Now then, where shall I locate my receptacle?

Ah, this will do.

Fair bit of clutter, I see.

Sir, where would you like me to locate your "receptacle"?

Here we go, put it over here, move some of this junk, it's not that difficult.

That's quite the blunderbuss you've got there, sir.

Old Betsy. More reliable than any woman, I'll tell you that.

Sir, we discourage pointing firearms at the inspector.

Right then, gentlemen. Our most pressing case.

Detective Murdoch's disappearance, obviously.

Yes.

Yes, yes, yes.

He's been gone a week then? When he didn't arrive at 8am sharp Monday morning, we knew that something was amiss.

The detective is never tardy.

And he was last seen? His landlady saw him going to church Sunday morning. That's the last anyone saw of him.

And you've checked the uh... Sir, we've checked everywhere. Twice.

Twice.

Well, gentlemen, it's been my experience that when a man chooses to disappear, he stays disappeared. Your meaning, Detective?

He's off on a bender.

Sir, Detective Murdoch is a teetotaller. He practises teetotalism.

Well...

Then it's a woman. A vacation between the sheets.

You've got him all wrong, Slorach.

Detective Murdoch is probably the most buttoned down man you'll ever meet.

Seven days ago, I woke to a railway guard hauling me out of a coal car.

I had no idea how I'd gotten there, where I'd come from, nothing.

That was in Montreal, Canada.

How did you end up in England then?

The only thing I had on my person was a steamer ticket to Bristol.

So you sailed the ocean on a guess and by golly?

Not exactly.

There was a name on the ticket.

John Dawson.

DOGS BARK OUTSIDE There was an address written on the folder.

I thought maybe I was Dawson.

But you're not?

I went to the address.

One of those men answered the door.

I asked after Dawson, and he told me he was dead.

I caught a glimpse of a w*apon. I told him I'd made a mistake.

I tried to leave, but they followed me out. Hey!

I ran.

They followed. And here I am.

They said you might be a k*ller.

Is it possible that you k*lled this Dawson?

I don't think that's something I would do.

But...

I keep having this nightmare.

I'm standing over a body, with blood on my hands.

Perhaps I should turn myself in.

Yeah, go to the cops with, "I might be a k*ller."

What do you think they'll do?

You don't even know who you are.

They might know my identity.

They'll throw you in the clink and put the boots to you for good measure.

'Sides, I've met K*llers.

Met two this evening.

And you don't have the look.

You've soft eyes.

Kind eyes.

You hungry?

I'll make you something to eat.

Constable?

Doctor, there's been a body found in a field near Detective Murdoch's church.

And from the initial description...

There's a carriage waiting for you outside.

Doctor Ogden. I believe you've met Detective Slorach. Of course.

We've worked cases together. I understand you've been assigned to Station Four, Detective.

Temporarily, of course. Of course.

Shall we go?

All right, Crabtree.

It's not Murdoch.

That's a relief. Not for him.

He's been sh*t clean through the temples.

The body appears to have been here for several days, possibly a week.

That's one big b*llet hole.

I'm done for now.

We try to avoid directly touching items at the crime scene.

Finger marks. Finger marks?

Never put much stock in them myself.

No identification.

Doctor. Sirs!

Come take a look at this.

It looks to be bone fragments and brain matter.

What kind of b*llet drives bone and brain matter 30 feet after impact?

Oi. I'd done my specials for tomorrow on that!

That's all right, I'll put it back as it was. Really?

Your memory being so reliable?!

Mutton stew, three pennies. Sardines on toast, two pennies.

Treacle tart, one and a half pennies. A bit dear, if you ask me.

I didn't.

I'm sorry.

It just felt like something I would do.

Work out a problem on a blackboard.

Could it be you're a teacher?

No. Not a teacher.

Clean shirt. Thank you.

So, what have you and my menu board figured out?

When I woke up on that train in Montreal, my head was injured, possibly from an altercation of some sort.

My left side was very bruised, suggesting a fall, perhaps from a railway bridge or some such. Railway bridge where?

It was early evening when I arrived in Montreal.

My watch had been broken, it stopped at 11:14.

Perhaps in the fall?

Yes.

Accounting for a train's top speed of 47 miles per hour, travelling for between eight and nine hours, that means somewhere between 376 to 423 miles, making me from either New York City or Toronto.

You've a head for numbers. Perhaps you're an accountant?

Oh, I hope not.

Well, you've had quite a week, Mr...

I need a name to call you by.

You pick one.

Harry. I've always liked Harry.

Good. Harry it is.

What's yours? Anna. Anna Fulford.

That's lovely.

Your name.

I feel a bit light-headed.

That's only your second pint. You're not much of a drinker, are you?

Perhaps I should rest my eyes only for a minute.

Come on, Harry, you need to lie down.

Excuse me, Doctor. Do you mind if I take the victim's finger marks?

Oh, yes.

George, I'll do that.

Doctor, I'm sure we'll find him.

I hope you're right, Constable.

Look at this scar.

It looks like an "S".

It's completely symmetrical. How odd.

So, the victim's unidentified.

There are no witnesses, no m*rder w*apon.

Exactly.

Sirs, I checked the finger marks on our victim's silver case against our police files.

I found two matches excluding the victim's own.

Now, one was yours, Detective.

But the others were Detective Murdoch's.

Murdoch?

You mean the one who pulled the trigger?

No, sir.

Regardless, he left the scene of the crime.

Sounds like a job for Betty.

Betty? Your r*fle? No, that's Betsy. Betty's my hunting dog.

She smells something awful but she has got a nose of gold.

We'll leave at first light.

What the bloody hell was Murdoch doing at the m*rder scene?

Excuse me.

THUDDING AND BANGING AT THE DOOR Open up in there!

I said open up!

Harry, quick, get up!

Move and we'll sh**t.

Now both of you, let's go.

Move!

Down!

Anna!

Anna. Get on it.

Hurry!

Bloody hell, he's got me! Hang on!

Ha!

Sir, are you sure this will work?

Not in the least!

No, Betty's desire to track is only exceeded by her desire to sleep.

She seems like a fine dog, sir.

Her gamey odour notwithstanding.

You're a dog lover, Constable?

Indeed, sir.

Good man. All right, let's go.

Find Murdoch!

What am I going to do about the pub?

Anyone could walk in with that door busted.

You can't go back there now.

No, I can't, can I?

This is all my fault.

We need to find some place safe and lie low until this all blows over.

And what are you going to do?

I have to find out why those men are after me.

How do you propose to do that?

Harry?

I've seen this bridge before.

Of course you have. Clifton Suspension Bridge, it's famous.

We need to find a safe place, a sanctuary.

All right, Betty, come. Find that scent, find it.

Good. Come on.

DOG WHINES What is it, huh? Where is that Murdoch? Where is he?

Sir, look here.

Blood.

There seems to be some sort of, um... altercation.

That's a way down, that.

Sir, do you think Murdoch could have gone over here?

Is that why Betty lost the scent?

We really need a place to stay.

He's a decent chap, perfectly harmless.

He's been injured.

I promise we'll be no trouble.

He's a good person.

It will be just for one night.

It's all right, yeah. Hi.

Harry.

Nothing.

Like he vanished into thin air.

Detective, there is some good news in that.

Sir, I've found several more items here.

An empty whiskey bottle.

A biscuit wrapper.

A photograph of a bridge.

This is a hotel key, from the Gladstone.

All those years attending Mass, I never thought I'd get use out of them.

But the Father couldn't refuse the request of a good Catholic girl.

Are you Catholic?

I believe I am.

I felt at home in the church.

You're not a priest, I hope.

Are you worried I took a vow of celibacy?

Aren't you brash!

That train you fell into must have come from New York City.

They come brash from New York?

The ones I've met.

Always wanted to live in New York.

Be nice if I knew someone there.

What about your pub? It was my dear dad's, but it's not where my heart is.

Nothing left for me in Bristol.

Thank you.

For what? Fixing your bandage? Or saving your life?

Both.

For everything.

HE CLEARS HIS THROAT So what now, Harry?

I go back to the house where I encountered those men.

I should slap you for that. You're going to get k*lled.

I'll be careful.

It's the only way I'll find out what they're after.

The victim's personal effects from the Gladstone Hotel.

His name is John Dawson. He was a guest at the Gladstone on and off for the last six months.

A week ago, he disappeared.

Ah. One of those new-fangled matchbooks.

Gentlemen. Dr Ogden.

Post mortem complete? No surprises.

I must say, I have never seen a b*llet wound so wide and clean.

The b*llet all but cauterised the surrounding tissue.

We need to find that b*llet.

Sir, there are some numbers inscribed in the matchbook.

An equation of some sort?

I've seen numbers like this.

I believe these are lens specifications.

What kind of lenses? Eye glasses? Actually, it seems to be something much more powerful.

A glass grinder would know. A glass grinder.

You and I need to find out who he is and what he knows.

Keating's afraid he may be working for Treadstone, putting the whole plan in jeopardy.

So we damn well have to find the slippery bugger and fast, cos Keating will be here inside three hours.

Bloody Treadstone. Only good news is Charlie's watching the girl's pub, and if the bugger goes back there, we'll have him.

Excuse me!

DOOR CLOSES Don't move.

What do you know about me?

Nothing. Who was John Dawson?

You tell me. I will k*ll you. All I know is Dawson went soft.

Couldn't be trusted.

Why all the pictures of Clifton Bridge?

I tell you and I'm dead anyway.

DOOR SLAMS, FOOTSTEPS APPROACH THUD! GROANS OF PAIN Sir, we've walked hundreds of feet. There's no way the b*llet could have travelled this distance.

I don't know about that, Constable... Crabtree.

No, I think that's an elm.

Ah, there it is.

Isn't that a beauty?

60-calibre. Pointed, lead core, copper-iron jacket to withstand the friction.

Three inches long when fired at least.

The casing must have been, you know...

Big. Yes, right. No question, it was specially made.

As was the r*fle. To fire this, you can be sure.

Sirs, the glass grinder recognised the figures from the matchbook.

He said a man came in claiming they were for a telescope. Telescope?

Yes, sir, it's for scanning long distances.

I know what it is! How does it relate to the case?

We're talking about a w*apon of considerable range.

Bloody hell, it's for the g*n. Crabtree, this customer? The glass grinder said he gave the name Quinn, and I have an address.

If "Quinn" has a g*n that can sh**t a b*llet that size that far, we'll need amm*nit*on. Crabtree...

Break out the armoury. Break out the...armoury.

Anna?

Anna?

Harry!

Anna.

You're safe.

Where did you get to? I went to block up the pub door.

I couldn't afford to lose everything.

But they'll be watching the pub. Nobody saw me. I was careful.

I was worried about you.

Were you? I brought you something back.

It was my father's. I thought we should even out the odds. Right.

Let's get inside.

Higgins, Fisher, on the left. Morris, Graham, right.

WHISTLE BLOWS We need him alive, Slorach. Hold your fire, you lot.

Decent sh*t.

Sirs, look at this.

That's our m*rder w*apon. Now that's some r*fle.

You know your way around a g*n.

Seem to. You are not an accountant, Harry.

Those men think I'm affiliated with someone named Treadstone.

Lord Treadstone? You know him? He's some high-up Government type.

We need to find out all we can about Treadstone.

Harry, don't you ever relax?

We're safe here.

'William! '

Oh, Julia.

Julia? Who's Julia?

Don't move a bloody muscle.

Anna, run. Leave her!

Leave him to me, boys.

I believe we've met.

Excuse me.

Keating will be here inside three hours.

You're Keating.

Edmund Keating, yes.

Well. You know me, but I don't know you.

There's an imbalance we must rectify.

So, let's you and I have a little chat.

I'll give you credit.

I had you for dead when you tumbled into that coal car.

So... let's start with introductions.

Who are you? I don't know.

The fall must have jarred my brain.

I have no memory of anything. Hm.

Well, we both know you were following Dawson.

So I want to know what you know and whom you've told.

Or there will be unpleasant consequences.

It's a g*n. I can see it's a g*n, can't I?

Now what's a bloke from the Dales doing in Canada building a g*n that can sh**t as far as a mile?

That's my own business, isn't it?

Not when it puts a b*llet through someone's head.

Now what have you done with Murdoch? Who? He was at the m*rder scene.

I don't know what you're on about, mate. Oh yes, you do.

You don't think I'll break you?

You know who I am.

You know my reputation. Last chance.

Who are you working for?

VOICE: 'Keating's afraid that he may be working for Treadstone.'

Treadstone.

He's hiring colonials now?

Typical.

I was hired to follow Dawson. Why?

We'd heard he'd gone soft on the plan.

You thought you could turn him? What did Dawson tell you?

He knew about the Clifton Bridge. What about it?

The assassination.

That b*llet could only have been fired from your g*n.

But you didn't fire it, did you? You didn't know Dawson was dead. Who are you working with?

I don't remember.

HE CRIES OUT IN PAIN The scar on Quinn's hand is the exact same shape and in the exact same place as Dawson's.

It's not just a scar. When I was on the Khyber campaign, elite corps chaps had this sort of thing. The whole thing stinks of m*llitary intelligence.

Oh great, er... Scot, sir. Yeah.

I'll call my contact at the British consulate. Sirs!

Detective Murdoch is alive! Canadian Pacific sent this! One of their guards pulled him off a coal car in Montreal last week! I knew it!

I had his photo distributed to each station on the line.

Bloody good work, Crabtree. Higgins, contact Montreal Police and ask where Murdoch went from there. Sir.

But the question remains. Why hasn't he contacted the station?

It is puzzling, sir. I'm sure he had a hell of a good reason, Slorach.

You've heard of Quinn, of course.

This is his work.

60-calibre.

One in ten twist.

I dropped Dawson from 500 yards.

Did you even hear the sh*t?

Not that I recall.

Of course, neither did he.

Shame he had to die.

It's a shame you have to die.

But such is w*r.

I'll be in position in exactly one hour.

Sir, who knows who he's told. He knows everything.

No. He doesn't.

k*ll him.

Give an idea of what it was about. I've got an unsolved m*rder and a missing police officer down here.

Fine. Thank you very much.

And I'm sorry to have woke you.

What's the news, sir? He'd only give me part of it.

Dawson and Quinn were agents at the w*r Office Intelligence Branch.

They were banished to Canada about six months ago, after an internal shake-up that my contact was not at liberty to discuss.

There was a third agent sent here about the same time, an Edmund Keating. The three were associates.

Ah. Could this Keating be our sh**t?

What if that's why Detective Murdoch was on that train?

What if Keating was on his way back to England?

With the g*n? Yes, sir. Detective Murdoch jumps on to follow him. Crabtree...

There's only one way to travel to Britain. I'll check with the steamship companies.

KNOCKING ON DOOR Well, if it isn't your pretty little sidekick. Anna!

Careful, you wouldn't want to do anything foolish.

Your boyfriend's in a rather awkward position.

Now give me the g*n.

g*nsh*t, HE MOANS IN PAIN Thank you very much.
..Inspector!

Last Monday evening, a man travelling by the name John Dawson boarded a steamer in Montreal.

Dawson was already dead by then. Was it Edmund Keating? No.

Edmund Keating was booked on a ship from Halifax the same day. Both ships bound for Bristol.

We'll have to get a telegraph to the Bristol police.

Tell them one hell of a big g*n is heading their way.

Who's travelling as Dawson? Well, perhaps Detective Murdoch.

If he had seen Dawson k*lled...

Constable. There's to be an assassination at Clifton Bridge in the next hour!

I don't know who I am, Chief. But I can only tell you what I do know.

And how did you know the Queen would be travelling through Bristol? It was a closely-guarded secret.

I didn't mention the Queen.

Only that there's to be an assassination.

Sir... Telegram from Toronto Police.

Toronto? It's Canada, sir.

They say there's a sn*per on the SS Mayfair bound for Bristol.

The Mayfair docked earlier today. They also want to know if we've been contacted by a Detective William Murdoch.

Murdoch! Murdoch!

Murdoch! Bloody hell, Murdoch!

William. William.

William.

Harry?

Chief. I am Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary.

And I implore you to listen to what I have to say.

The Queen is on her way to a private conference at Ashton Court.

She'll pass over the bridge in 25 minutes.

You're sure that's where the assassination attempt will be?

Yes, sir. I've seen maps and photographs.

The best vantage point is on either of the two support towers.

Ah, perfect line of sight.

No. The sh*t won't come from there.

All of the images of the bridge I saw were from the side, from a much greater distance.

What's this here? It's the Observatory, sir.

Then that's the spot. Impossible. That's over half a mile off. Sir, they have a very special r*fle.

There's no r*fle that special. I want all available men now. I want those towers secure.

But sir, can't you delay the procession?

You obviously don't know your Queen. After four assassination attempts, she thinks she's invincible.

Besides, the Secretary of w*r will be with her.

And Lord Treadstone always travels with tight security.

Lord Treadstone? Sir. He's the intended target.

What? Yes, it's Lord Treadstone they're after, not the Queen.

Sir. The carriages are ready, sir.

Let's go. But, sir, it's Lord Treadstone, I...

Go and do what you've got to do, William.

Go.

g*nshots Who the hell are you?

Detective William Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.

A bloody copper?

That's right, sir, a bloody copper. And you are under arrest.

Britain owes you a great debt, Detective.

And you too, Miss Fulford.

I must admit, Chief, I am perplexed.

If Keating sought to destabilise the British Empire, why not simply choose the Queen as his target?

Because he was after more than simple disruption.

Keating and his people wanted to control a more aggressive, expansive m*llitary.

And Lord Treadstone stood in their way.

One can only imagine the consequences, not only for Britain, had Lord Treadstone been k*lled.

Her Majesty was informed of the role you played in averting this situation.

This contains a letter of thanks, and a modest recompense.

Oh, sir, I was simply doing my duty as a police officer.

I couldn't possibly accept payment.

Although I believe... Miss Fulford could.

Thank you.

I suppose this is goodbye.

Anna, I have obligations in Toronto.

My position, my men.

And Julia?

It's all right, William, I understand.

And I admire your loyalty.

I want to thank you.

Thank me? If it weren't for you, I'd have spent my life in that pub.

The Queen just bought me a ticket to New York.

If I like it, I'll sell the pub.

Well, you'll have to watch out for those brash New Yorkers.

They'll pale in comparison to my Harry.

BELLS TOLL I'd best be heading to the harbour.

Come and visit sometime.

Right, Crabtree. I want it level and taut. Taut.

Higgins, up at your end.

No, no, not down! Up.

Oh, for God sake's!

Murdoch! MEN CHEER Welcome back. It's about time you turned up for work.

We hear you had quite an adventure over there. Sir...

Perhaps what transpired in England should remain in England. You saved the Queen's life. Oh!

Oh, that? Sir!

Good to see you, sir. It's good to see you too, George.

You know Detective Slorach, of course. He was instrumental in discovering where you'd gotten to.

Don't forget Betty, Constable... Crabtree. Crabtree, Crabtree.

You've got a good team here, Detective.

Thank you.

I'm almost sorry you're back.

HE LAUGHS

Oh, William.

THEY LAUGH AND CHEER

Welcome home, Detective.

Thank you, Doctor.

EVERYONE CHEERS