03x11 - Hangman

[bunniefuu]

This is a miserable business.

Believe me, the prosecutor's office takes no pleasure in it, but Cecil Fox did k*ll a judge, a dear colleague.

I meant no disrespect. Judge Mead was a fine man.

I hope you're not a faint-hearted sort.

Fox crawled out of hell to be born.

Mr Dillard and me, we're just shipping him back.

Even so, Detective MacDonald, bearing witness to execution is a duty I will never grow accustomed to.

I'll take good care.

Thank God I caught this bugger. Some men just deserve to die.

Those who argue the ethics of capital punishment forget we are delivering society's unwavering response to evil.

The Lord's Prayer.

Our father...

CREAKING ROPE

Delivery.

Mr Catchpole. And this must be Mr Cecil Fox.

Yes, ma'am. Well, help me get him on the table so I can dispense with formalities.

Ready?

Is there something else, Mr Catchpole?

Mr Pleasant says I'm the best apprentice he's ever had.

Oh! Well, good for you.

I'll be the best hangman that ever was, too.

I don't doubt it.

Well, you best be off. Yes, ma'am.

Good to see you, Dr Ogden.

One more sound and you're dead.

You've had quite a shock, Julia.

Are you sure you're all right? I'm fine, William.

Sir, this metal tube?

Yes, George, it would appear that Mr Fox has given himself a tracheotomy.

You mean he jammed this thing into his own throat?

Windpipe, to be precise. Eurgh... He'd have been able to breathe shallowly as he hung from the rope. Hardly noticeable.

But Dr, when a man is hanged, the neck is snapped from the spine, is it not? The C2 vertebra.

How could Fox have survived, even if he did have a...trae, Trae... A tracheaenemy...?

Yes, George, clearly Mr Fox's neck wasn't broken.

I suspect this was no accident. We'll have to speak with the hangman.

Theodore Pleasant, yes, sir.

Are you aware that he and the Inspector are old friends?

No, George, I wasn't aware of that. Thank you.

'Are you being serious?'

Theo Pleasant botching a hanging to let a k*ller go free?

I would have interviewed him straightaway but given your relationship, I thought you might want to accompany me.

You're damn right.
20 years in the job and he's not mucked up a single execution.

Murdoch, we have visitors.

Now, listen, Detective MacDonald's an obvious dunce, but the Crown Prosecutor's the top dog.

He could make life difficult if we bugger this up, right?

Fox drove a blade into the judge who sentenced him to hard labour.

He'd happily k*ll a few civilians if it meant his freedom.

We've got the train stations, the waterfront and hospitals covered. Fox won't get far.

All right, then. For a half-wit like Fox to survive the hanging, he must have had help.

I'd be talking to that hangman.

Well, yes, Detective MacDonald, excellent suggestion.

Detective, you know Fox, any idea at all which rock he's crawled under?

Oh, uh... Well, there was the hussy.

The prost*tute? I doubt he'd go back to her after the way she bungled his alibi on the stand.

She claimed Fox was with her when Mead was m*rder*d but she had her times mixed up.

And since Fox defended himself, he didn't have the brains to fix that.

Gentlemen, this woman's name? Myrtle Smith.

Myrtle Smith?

Myrtle Smith?

I didn't do nothing.

I said, "I didn't! "

Hey, watch the hands there, Huckleberry.

Miss Smith, what were you doing in the trunk?

I was hiding, of course, in case Cecil come back again.

Mr Fox was here? How long ago?

A little bit ago. He came barging in with that hole in his neck, scared me half to death.

I says, "Cecil, why aren't you dead?"

Well, he didn't like that.

Sir, looks like Fox was leaking quite a bit.

Tried to clean himself up here. Miss Smith, did you help Mr Fox escape the noose?

Me? Ha, I can work miracles between the sheets, honey, but that's asking a bit much.

Did Mr Fox give any indication as to where he might be going?

The man's got a bunny's brain, he's just running.

(George, we'll post a constable outside in case Mr Fox returns.)

(Sir.)

Thank you, Miss Smith. Good day.

Theo! Theo?!

Is it raining? No, your front door was open.

Oh! With you in a minute, Tommy boy. How about a wee nip of gin?

I'm sure there's ample supply.

Mr Pleasant, I'm Detective Murdoch.

I'd like you to have a seat please.

HE SIGHS Mr Pleasant... I'll save you the trouble, detective.

No, I don't know what went wrong.

Cecil Fox should be dead.

Vexes me that he's not.

Murdoch, allow me.

You're the expert, Theo, speculate.

Well, some men are just hard to k*ll.

But even if the man's neck was the size of a bull's, I always leave them hanging 10 minutes.

He should have suffocated to death.

Except that we think Fox shoved a metal tube into his gullet to enable him to breathe.

Yes, isn't that interesting?

My gut's in knots for days before I have to hang them.

But I treat everyone with dignity, never a judgment.

And after, they're just dead.

But me? Well...

Your friend is obviously in some turmoil, sir.

Theo was a good pal, a good family man.

He only took the job because nobody else would and it needed doing properly.

A little while back, something happened. A pint a day turned into... Well, you saw for yourself.

His wife had enough, left with the daughters, went back to Halifax.

Sir, I admire your loyalty to him and I sympathise with his situation, but...

Murdoch, his reputation is all he's got left.

I just can't see him involved in Fox's escape.

What about this assistant, Catchpole?

And that's what happens if the drop is too long - the noggin goes a-sailing.

William, if Catchpole is a suspect, why are you allowing him to give this demonstration?

Your expertise could be handy if he puts a foot wrong.

Well, all right, but just being here is draining.

Capital punishment IS the will of the majority.

Surely, William, you can't support a law so prone to error?

I have my qualms, Julia, but I also have my duty to the law.

Now, on the other hand, too short a rope and the client's neck don't pop.

Then you just sit back and wait. The more he fights, the slower he goes.

Kicking like mad, some of them.

Mr Catchpole, I've perused Marwood's table of drops.

It's rigorously specific.

Yes, sir, it lays it all out. How far the prisoner has to drop, according to his/her weight and physique, so the neck snaps nice and neat.

Did Mr Pleasant use Marwood's calculations?

Everything by the book, sir. He weighed Fox the day before, came in at 190lbs on the nose.

Table of drops says eight feet two inches for 190lbs, but Fox had a strong neck so Mr Pleasant added eight inches to the drop length.

8ft 10.

Making it 8ft 10 inches.
8ft 10 inches.

As always, Mr Pleasant hung sandbags the same weight as the prisoner for 12 hours.

It takes the stretch out of the rope.

You don't want any recoil. No, sir, causes the client some grief.

Client?

Yes, ma'am, it shows we respect the poor buggers.

And lastly, he marked the 8ft 10 distance on the rope with copper wires.

Then, all is ready.

Is this the rope Mr Pleasant used to hang Mr Fox?

Oh, no, sir. That would be in execution box A.

But only Mr Pleasant has the key. Execution box A.

Would be worth some money now, I'd say.

Dr...

Copper wires marking the drop length are exactly 8ft 10 inches.

That's right. Mr Pleasant says 8ft 10 drop, 8ft 10 it is.

That means the drop length was correct.

Fox's neck should have snapped.

Look at this, Dr.

There's a fragment of copper in the rope.

Where one of the copper wires was originally set to mark the length.

Meaning the drop would have been...

6ft. No broken neck.

And the tracheotomy allows him to survive the strangulation.

That can't be right. Only Mr Pleasant handles the rope.

So that would mean Mr Pleasant...

Let a k*ller go free.

Why would I destroy my reputation on a low-life like Cecil Fox?

I don't know why you did it, I only know you did.

We found copper wire at the 6ft mark on the rope.

I'd have hoped you'd have let that pass, Thomas, showed me the respect that our friendship has earned.

Yes, I spared his life. And for one simple reason -

Cecil Fox did not k*ll Judge Mead.

Cecil Fox, lawfully convicted of m*rder, is innocent based on...your intuition?

It's more than that.

I could see it when I was sizing him up for the drop. It's in the eyes.

You think I did it, but I didn't.

Have you ever looked into the eyes of the condemned, Detective, as I have, in their final moments?

No... Then wish you never do.

I've put 155 men to death, do you think I don't know what the guilty look like?

And the innocent?

But how can you possibly expect us to believe...? Because it happened before.

Before?

A few months before. A young man named Michael Workentin.

Workentin.

The young man who was hanged for strangling his girlfriend. That's the one, yes.

That was the day, Thomas, that's what I could never tell the missus.

I didn't k*ll her. Please!

You've got to believe me, sir, I would never...

I believed him, but I buried it deep. I'm good at that.

But, Theo, it was just a feeling.

That's what I put it down to, until a month later, Freddy Duckworth was to be hanged.

Duckworth was a foul scrag to the bone.

He cut an old woman to pieces.

How does it feel to hang an innocent man?

That won't work with me, Freddy, you're as guilty as Judas.

I don't mean me, I mean that Workentin boy you hanged.

It was me who strangled his girl. How's that feel, hangman?

Now, at night, I see Michael Workentin standing on the trap, begging for mercy, until I'm almost mad with an unholy fear.

It was the same feeling with Cecil Fox.

It was the same feeling I had when I sent the Workentin lad off.

I swore I would never go through that again.

So you plotted with Fox?

I showed him how to use the tube for his breathing. I took care of the rope.

After that, he was on his own.

I've told you my secret now, Thomas.

That earns us a drink, no?

No wonder the man's all cracked up.

He seems to genuinely believe what he's saying.

But the charges against him will have to stand in the absence of evidence exonerating Fox.

In the absence of evidence.

Sir, you aren't actually considering?

I can hear Dillard's voice now.

You want to re-open the Mead case because the sozzled hangman is a mind reader?! Sir!

And you agreed, Murdoch?

I remain open to the possibility.

Gentleman, I prosecuted Cecil Fox, I had no doubt of his guilt. The trial judge and jury had no doubt.

True, but... Let's start with Fox's alibi that he was with Myrtle Smith, her testimony was so confused it sealed Fox's fate rather than exonerate him.

Motive - the six years that Fox spent at hard labour, thanks to Judge Enoch Mead.

Admittedly, we've got little...

Opportunity -

Cecil Fox was seen at the courthouse on the day Judge Mead was k*lled.

And several people heard a loud argument.

Between Fox and the judge?

Yeah. The jury didn't need much help to draw their own conclusions there.

Conclusions you made for them.

That's my job.

Inspector Brackenreid...

I suggest you put your friendship with the hangman aside and start behaving professionally.

Enoch Mead was m*rder*d by Cecil Fox.

I vowed to put my friend's k*ller to the noose, and that's what I did.

The case is closed. Of course. You're right.

Good.

Well, I'll begin preparing the charges against Mr Pleasant.

And, please, find Cecil Fox.

Gentlemen.

Still want me to re-open the Mead case?

What do you think?

Higgins, you in there?

Come on in, George.

Hot tea and doughnuts.

Bless you, my good man.

Any sign of Fox?

Long and boring watch, I'm afraid.

Got me thinking about being ex*cuted.

Oh, you must be bored!

No, what would it be like to know that your life is going to end at a certain point, you know?

I think I'd like to go suddenly without knowing.

Like my Aunt Begonia, she d*ed laughing. Quite literally.

My Uncle Calvert fell off a milking stool and she d*ed laughing.

I guess she went happy, then.

I suppose so.

I think I'd go happy if I d*ed choking on one of these doughnuts.

They're so good.

Did you know a cow invented the doughnut? Go on.

Some old Bessie knocked over a vat of boiling oil, there was a glob of pastry there, and the doughnut was born.

Really?

Yes, Higgins, really.

Where did you hear this? You are such a sceptic.

It's common knowledge that a cow invented the doughnut!

I'll see you later.

Actually, it may have been a goat.

I'm quite sure it was a goat.

Ah.

Mead took his usual route home from the courthouse that night.

Cut through a laneway off King Street, and that's where Fox caught up and did him in.

You found no witnesses? Can't find witnesses if there aren't any witnesses.

I'll make a note of that.

Are you trying to get me going?

I'm doing my best to co-operate here. I brought you my files, didn't I?

And I appreciate it.

Well, I don't. It feels like people are doubting my work.

I don't care for that.

It says here that Fox claims Judge Mead sent him a note to meet him the day that Judge Mead d*ed.

The famous note, yeah.

Fox tried to say Mead asked him down there, but the note didn't say why.

Fox didn't go down there to thr*aten Mead for six years' hard labour. Oh, no.

Where is this note? There is no note.

Look, Fox went down to the courthouse on his own because he had a bee in his bonnet about Mead, can't you see that?

So, Fox admitted to meeting with the judge the day the judge was m*rder*d?

No! He said when he got there the judge had left!

Wouldn't you know!

And the postmortem? Single s*ab wound to the heart.

Old Doc Philpot did the exam. Francis Philpot? Isn't he retired?

He still likes to dabble in it.

It must be nice to be able to dabble.

Indeed. Perhaps we should have the judge's body exhumed and re-examined by Dr Ogden.

Suit yourself, Murdoch.

Fox was your only suspect.

The only one that mattered, since we knew we had our man.

Yes, but... There was another fellow who wrote the judge some mouthy letters after his son was hanged.

This other fellow - what was his name?

Oh, um, Workentin.

Joe Workentin.

Mr Workentin, is it true you sent Judge Mead threatening letters after your son was ex*cuted?

Yeah.

Is it because Judge Mead sentenced your son to hang?

No. Because Mead seemed bound and determined to do it, evidence be damned. What do you mean?

Michael was never anywhere near his girl's house that night.

But on the last day of the trial, all of a sudden, there's this new witness, out of nowhere.

She said she saw Michael fight with his girl.

Put his hands around her throat.

I see. A last-minute eyewitness with damning evidence is suspicious.

That's what Michael's lawyer argued.

But Judge Mead let her testimony stand.

That lady was lying through her teeth.

Do you recall her name?

Yeah. Agatha Meldrum.

And, Mr Workentin, where were you the night Judge Mead was m*rder*d? Me?

I was on duty at Fire Hall Number Three.

KNOCKING Higgins! For the love of God, you scared me half to death.

GENTLE MUSIC PLAYS Well, Judge Mead, a month in the ground hasn't done your health a weight of good.

You're not going to jump up and grab me, are you?

Oh, bloody hell.

Murdoch!

I got a call from Detective MacDonald. Apparently you're looking into another one of my cases.

Sir? The Workentin case.

Oh! Actually, we were simply confirming Joe Workentin's alibi in Judge Mead's m*rder.

Now that you mention that case, Mr Dillard, we had a chat with Joe Workentin, and he insists that his son was railroaded.

Rubbish.

Your case against Michael Workentin was going badly, until, in the 11th hour, you found an eyewitness who swore she saw Michael k*ll his girlfriend.

Lucky break? Due diligence.

Agatha Meldrum was a reluctant witness, it took some persuasion to get her to come forward at all.

What are you playing at? Grounds for appeal in the Fox verdict? We are just being thorough.

By suggesting that I sent, not one, but two innocent men to the gallows? My God.

I stand by my record, gentleman, I'm prepared to defend my reputation, even at the expense of yours.

That was interesting. Indeed.

What in the world?

Crabtree! Where's your bloody trousers?!

Cecil Fox stole my uniform, sir.

I'm afraid he caught me off guard.

Higgins found me unconscious.

Did he give you any indication as to where he might be headed?

No, sir.

Well, Inspector, you still think Fox is innocent?

Put the word out to the other station houses.

Sir. You lot, stop gawping and move your arses.

George, are you all right? No, sir.

When he took my trousers, he took my dignity.

And my knees have taken a chill...

George, please go and fetch another uniform. Fox may still be in the vicinity.

Sir.

Sir, why would Fox need a police uniform? Sir?

Dillard was right, Murdoch.

Fox is as guilty as hell and Theo's just...pathetic.

Mr Fox!

Is that the last of the doors? Yes.

You try to scream and I'll k*ll you.

You're choking me! Don't talk to me about choking.

I won't try to escape.

You need my help. I can't help you if you don't let me go.

You think I believe a word you say?

Is that who I think it is?

Judge Mead, yes, I believe you've met.

I didn't k*ll him.

I just meant when he sentenced you to hard labour.

Why's he here?

Apparently, the police have doubts concerning your guilt.

Don't try to trick me, Doc, just fix me up.

George.

Sir.

Where did you get your uniform?

I borrowed it from Tiny Malone. Why?

If Fox is simply running, as Myrtle Smith said, then why is he still in Toronto?

Well, sir, I was thinking, he needed to have that wound tended to.

But then we're covering all the hospitals.

I also wondered, in order to fund his escape from the city, Cecil Fox stole my uniform as a disguise, in order to launch a series of daring daylight bank robberies.

That's an interesting notion, George, but wouldn't a police uniform attract more attention?

Well, maybe he just wants to stroll on in here and have lunch with the boys.

You could be right, George.

In that uniform, Cecil Fox could blend in near a police station.

This station happens to be across the street from a certain doctor Fox knows.

This thing hurts something awful.

There is a serious infection. You need... PHONE RINGS Don't answer it.

But... All right.

You need to get to the hospital.

Coppers are watching the hospitals.

Well, as you wish.

Remove your jacket and shirt.

Are you all right? Tore up my right shoulder doing hard labour.

Been like this for a long time.

Really? Relax.

BONES cr*ck What the hell?! You do that again and I'll...

k*ll me, yes, I know. BANGING ON DOOR Julia! Are you all right?

Open the door!

Come any closer and I'll stick her.

Mr Fox, let her go. We mean you no harm.

Right. You'll just bring me back to the gallows. No harm there.

Mr Fox, I must insist. No, everyone be quiet. I've examined the judge's Kn*fe wound.

The angle of the entry conclusively indicates that he was stabbed with an over-the-shoulder descending motion and that the k*ller was right-handed.

But I'm right-handed. For goodness sake, whose side are you on?!

Raise your right arm.

I can't. That's the point.

His right shoulder is quite immobile, and judging by my examination, has been for months.

Meaning that Mr Fox was sentenced to death and hanged for a crime he could not have committed.

Well, obviously, a grave miscarriage of justice has been averted.

Thanks to you both.

Had I had the benefit of Dr Ogden's expertise...

The blame rests with Dr Philpot's shoddy postmortem, does it?

And with Myrtle Smith's misguided attempts to provide Fox with an alibi, they seemed a certain lie.

Throw in Fox's history of violent crime and...what was I to think?

So what of Theodore Pleasant?

I regret that he will be relieved of his duties, for obvious reasons.

But release him, I'll drop the charges.

The obvious question now is, who did k*ll Judge Mead?

Yes, that's your priority.

I'm afraid this case was bungled from the beginning.

We were so sure about Fox.

Perhaps if we'd taken more time, properly collected evidence...

I trust you will revisit all that, Detective? Why, yes, of course.

Well, good. Fox is being treated at St Mike's, is he not? Yes, sir.

I owe him an apology.

And...tell Mr Pleasant I'll pay him a visit when he gets home.

Gentlemen.

I'll have the men do a thorough evidence sweep of the judge's office.

What the hell is that, Murdoch?

Sir, are you familiar with Symbolic Logic by John Venn?

What do you think? Right.

The idea is that connections between two or more groups of things can be represented by the overlapping portion of the diagram in the centre.

Never mind all this symbolics logic, what are you doing?

I'm looking for a connection between the Workentin and Fox cases.

If there is another suspect in Judge Mead's m*rder, perhaps he or she is hiding in that area.

Right, well. Here's the evidence that Detective MacDonald originally collected from Judge Mead's office.

Perhaps that will help.

No notation of fingermarks, no hair or fibre samples. No notes.

Single malt Craigleith - pricey.

Judge's appointment book.

Oh! What? His last days.

The judge had an appointment at 8am at The Lion, two days before he d*ed.

The Lion is a bucket of blood on Church Street. What would a judge be doing there?

Detective, we went through Judge Mead's office again, as per your request.

In case MacDonald missed anything.

Which it seems he had done. We found hair and fibre samples, finger marks on the Judge's guest chair, various detritus, but most peculiar, sir, we found this piece of glass.

We found it wedged in the wall by the bookshelf.

The lettering is familiar.

George, I need you to get to Mr Pleasant's home before he does.

Sir, we may have a problem.

This is the shard of glass recovered from Judge Mead's chambers.

This is a bottle of Blue Cat gin George retrieved from Mr Pleasant's home.

Where are you going with this?

Sir, you saw yourself, Judge Mead preferred fine single malt whisky, not cheap gin.

This is a fingermark recovered from that shard of glass from Judge Mead's chambers.

The second fingermark was retrieved from the Blue Cat gin bottle from Mr Pleasant's home.

It belongs to Theodore Pleasant. Bloody hell.

It was Theo that was in chambers arguing with Mead the day he d*ed.

A fact Mr Pleasant chose not to divulge.

He said he looked in Fox's eyes and knew he was innocent.

Something I never fully accepted, sir.

I believe that Mr Pleasant did know that Mr Fox was innocent, but because Mr Pleasant m*rder*d Judge Mead.

KNOCKING Mr Pleasant. Come on in.

You're just in time.

Put it down, Theo. We have some questions.

Questions? Yes.

Why did you not let on you had an argument with Judge Mead?

If I'd said I went down there in a drunken rage, what would you have thought?

The same thing you're thinking now!

Mr Pleasant, did you k*ll Judge Mead? I did not.

I believe you did. You went down there and confronted him...

To tell him that Freddie Duckworth confessed to the m*rder that the Workentin lad had hanged for.

That he'd sentenced an innocent man to die and obliged me to k*ll him.

I needed him to hear that.

But he didn't seem to care.

We got into it. I suppose I threw my bottle at him.

Bloody hell, Theo, don't shrug it off.

You had a violent row with a man the day he d*ed. The day?

No, it was a week before. Not the day.

I didn't k*ll him, Thomas.

Murdoch...

If he had it out with Mead a week before the m*rder, then something's not right.

He has lied to us before. I'm just saying, "think", Murdoch.

If that wasn't Theo in Mead's office the day of the m*rder, who could it have been?

Who's left?

Perhaps whomever the judge met with at The Lion two days prior to his death.

That has to be it.

I'm telling you, Theodore Pleasant is no m*rder*r.

'Well?'

It would seem The Lion isn't open until noon, but the innkeeper does recall the judge being there at night, around 8pm, and with a woman.

The judge's tart? Apparently not.

The innkeeper seemed to think they didn't know each other, but that they had strong words before she left.

Who was she? He didn't know.

So, why would Judge Mead write 8am, if The Lion wasn't open at that time?

Oh. I should have seen this.

Sir, the comma after the hour.

"AM" isn't a reference to the time.

It's someone's... Initials.

Agatha Meldrum. The last-minute eyewitness in the Workentin case.

Judge Mead met with Agatha a few days after Pleasant confronted him.

Perhaps he believed the Workentin boy was innocent.

So he questioned her about her testimony that she saw Michael Workentin strangle his girlfriend.

He must not have liked what he heard, otherwise they wouldn't have fought.

Perhaps the judge had second thoughts about her testimony.

The transcripts would be illuminating.

We're bringing in Miss Meldrum for a chat.

Detective, Agatha Meldrum moved out of her flat the day after she met with Judge Mead.

She's left no forwarding address. Hmm.

What's that, sir?

A transcript of Agatha Meldrum's testimony in the Workentin trial.

George, what did Myrtle Smith call you?

Oh, yes, most unique it was.

Quite a low term, slang for somebody of little consequence.

Demeaning, really. It was "Huckleberry".

Have a look.

Hey, watch the hands there, Huckleberry!

Come on now, Huckleberry.

That's the Huckleberry I saw strangling that poor girl.

Michael Workentin. Alas, Agatha and Myrtle are the same person.

As I understand it, Agatha Meldrum has left town.

And Myrtle Smith is not Agatha.

Now, I have appointments.

Myrtle Smith is a woman of dubious character, to be sure.

The last nine times she was arrested for various crimes, your office dropped all charges.

For lack of evidence. Nine times?!

She's beholden to you, isn't she?

To do your bidding.

One time she's Myrtle Smith.

The next she's Agatha Meldrum, or whoever you need her to be in court.

A witness in your employ. Whatever gets a conviction.

You knowingly sent two innocent men to die on the gallows. I did no such thing.

Your case against Michael Workentin was falling apart.

So you brought in Myrtle Smith, who claimed to be eyewitness Agatha Meldrum.

Her testimony doomed Michael Workentin to hang for a m*rder he did not commit.

So far, so good.

Until another condemned man, Freddie Duckworth, confessed to the m*rder that Michael Workentin hanged for.

Pleasant tells Mead.

Mead confronts Agatha Meldrum.

And then she tells you the judge is onto your scheme.

Not so. So now there's only one option.

Judge Mead has to die before he exposes you.

And now you're accusing me of m*rder as well? That's delusional.

Sit down!

Your first step was to frame Cecil Fox.

So you had Myrtle Smith meet him, seduce him and provide him with an unreliable alibi to sink him.

You also needed Fox to be seen on the same day that you planned to k*ll Mead.

So you forged a note from Judge Mead to lure Fox down to the courthouse to be seen by witnesses.

You were sure to have a row with the judge, so a loud argument was overheard.

You tell Myrtle Smith to destroy the note so that Fox sounds crazy at trial.

And that was supposed to be that, until Dr Ogden's findings confirmed Fox was innocent.

You panicked.

So you planted evidence against Pleasant in Judge Mead's chambers.

You were going to let Pleasant hang for your crime.

Are you done with this fantasy?

And do you realise how thoroughly I'm going to ruin you both for this?

What's this? My man found it in your garbage.

It has your fingermarks on it. So we glued it back together.

It's all there, except for one piece.

That also bears your fingermark.

The piece you planted in Judge Mead's chambers.

The justice system must protect society.

But time and again it fails to keep dangerous criminals off the street. I've had enough.

This nonsense was going to stop with the Workentin boy.

But...Judge Mead was weak.

I did what I did in sacrifice for the greater good.

You see that, don't you?

I'll take good care. I promise that death will be swift and without pain.

Come on in.

Theo. What's become of you? A new leaf?

Ah! Hello, Thomas.

Well, what do you think?

And me - three weeks, not a drop. Really? And you're feeling better?

No, much worse, actually!

But it's a start.

Dillard was hanged today.

Hanging is a miserable business, Thomas.

The condemned die only once, the executioner dies every time.

Poor Catchpole.

Well, you don't have to worry about that any more. It never leaves you.

But I did the job, didn't I?

Not one of them suffered. You can be proud of that.

Well...

Julia.

I just performed the postmortem on Crown Prosecutor Dillard.

All is well?

No, William. Gideon Catchpole botched the hanging.

The drop was too long. Oh.

Do you ever question your calling, William?

What we have to do every day?

Well, I admit, sometimes there is a price to be paid.

But we must accept it.

Really? Must we?