05x02 - Back and to the Left

[bunniefuu]

Ah, pleasure to meet you.

A pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your support. Enjoy the parade!

Hello there, how are you?

Well, Mr Hidell, no-one can say that Toronto doesn't love us now.

As for members of the Orange Lodge, yes, Mr Mayor.

As for our policies at City Hall, that's up for debate.

Not today it isn't.

When the parade turns on to Queen Street, keep your eyes open for anyone concealing hands, handkerchiefs, newspapers, hands in pockets, that sort of thing.

You're taking the threats against the Mayor's life seriously? We can't take any chances, George. Sir.

Another summer, another bloody Orange parade.

At least the crowd looks cheerful.

They're Protestants here. Wait till the parade cuts through Corktown.

See how cheerful everybody is then.

Why does the parade have to go through Corktown?

It's all about rubbing the Catholic noses in the dirt.

Take away the Catholics, there's nothing to parade about.

That was a bloody g*nsh*t!

Driver! Go! Go!

This is good.

Mayor Hopkins, are you hit?

The b*llet just passed through.

Oh!

Yes, sir, I'm afraid it did.

George! Detective! Sir, we're getting conflicting reports.

Some people think the sh*t came from this direction, others think from here, behind these packing crates.

No, George. What they heard was an echo.

Let's see... The carriage was here.

So the sh*t must have come from... there.

Was that a g*nsh*t I heard just now?

It was. Where were you when you heard it? I was on the stairs.

I was coming down to see the parade. Your name, ma'am? Judith Lance.

Have you see anyone else on these stairs? A man passed by with a carpet a few moments ago.

Check the upper floors.

You there! Stop! Identify yourself!

Leonard Bowers. What's your business here? I'm the janitor. What's happening?

Who are you?

Toronto Constabulary.

What's your name and what business do you have in this building?

Clay Miller. I own this building.

Do you have a key to this door?

Yes.

Yes, of course.

Sir.

What have you, George? The building is mostly empty, sir.

Everyone was likely outside, waiting for the parade.

There was a janitor on the third floor landing.

What's his name? Leonard Bowers. That's right. He works for me.

Mr Miller...

Who rents this space?

No-one at the moment.

A shell casing, sir.

No sign of the sh**t, but the roof door was open. He likely used the fire escape.

Nevertheless, Henry, have constables do a thorough check of the building.

Mr Miller, you have a camera.

Did you take any photographs prior to the sh**ting?

I did, yes. Then I'll be needing your camera.

George, Henry, confiscate every camera out there today. Yes, sir.

We found where the sh*t came from, sir.

What about the sh**t? Must have slipped away with the crowd.

Bloody hell. Well, let's round up the usual trouble makers.

Who would they be, sir? The Irish Catholic, of course.

Sir, I'm Catholic.

Are you a trouble-maker?

Start with the known agitators, and let's see where we are.

You were found two blocks from the sh**ting. What were you doing there?

I was waiting to see the parade.

Why would a Catholic man want to watch the Orangemen march?

I love a good parade.

You were arrested last year for inciting a riot.

You once threatened to firebomb the Orange Lodge.

I've seen the error of my ways.

Where were you between 11.30 and noon?

I was having lunch with a friend. Sean Gallagher's his name.

Mr Gallagher, are you at all familiar with Liam Cuddy?

Indeed I am. I've known him almost 20 years.

Oh! When did you see him last?

Sitting in your hallway, wondering what he's doing here, like the rest of us.

Before that? We were having a pint and a beef stew in Murphy's lunch counter.

Until what time?

Until shortly after noon, I'd say.

Sir, I've conducted...

Detective Murdoch, I see you've returned.

Chief Constable, yes, I have.

Congratulations on your promotion.

Yes, that's right, you left town before I was appointed.

Quite suddenly as I recall. Almost as if you were fleeing justice.

What have you got, Murdoch?

Sir, I've interviewed all of the known Irish agitators and all of them claim alibis.

Well, it'll take a couple of days to check them all out.

Until you do, all of the suspects remain in custody.

That's impossible. My jail cells are fit to burst as it is.

One of these men is the k*ller.

Which means the rest of them are not.

We detain them all, it could cause riots in the streets.

Do you really want a recreation of the Battle Of The Boyne in Toronto?

Well, have it your way.

But find me the k*ller... and soon.

This is a Protestant city.

The Irish Catholics are not the only people who can riot.

William!

Julia. I'd heard you were back. You look...

Uh, well, you're... you're married now. I...

Um...

Do I look that different?

No, no, of course not. What I meant to say is...

Well, my best wishes to you and Darcy.

Well, that's very kind of you, thank you.

And I apologise for not being able to attend. I think I understand why you didn't.

Julia...

We must accept the decisions we've made, William.

It's the only way to move on with our lives.

Now, how can I help you, Detective?

Have you completed your post-mortem on Alderman Hidell?

It's being done as we speak.

My protege, Dr Grace, is taking the lead on this case.

Your protege? She's more than capable, I assure you.

Death was instantaneous.

The b*llet entered the victim's right temporal lobe at approximately 22 degrees.

It deformed immediately after penetration, resulting in the massive wounds transecting the brain.

But I'm curious...

What kind of b*llet can enter a man's skull, cause extensive internal damage, and yet not exit the cranium?

Certain high-velocity rounds tend to deform faster upon impact, leading to less penetration.

In this case, it was a centre-fire 30-30.

Mmm.

Who would use this type of amm*nit*on? Hunters, farmers, sportsmen.

But you, of course, knew that already.

Dr Ogden tests me at every turn.

Please don't feel you have to do the same.

Dr Grace, Detective Murdoch is among the best in his field.

This comes from experience, and deserves respect.

It's quite all right, Julia. Julia?

Yes. Please excuse me, Dr Ogden.

Please, William.

Is the b*llet's trajectory through the Mayor's hat consistent with the entry wound in Alderman Hidell's skull?

The b*llet passed through the hat at an angle of 12 degrees.

But entered Alderman Hidell's skull at 22 degrees.

It is my theory that at the moment of impact, Alderman Hidell's head was tilted ten degrees to the right, perhaps leaning into the conversation.

Mmm... A single sh*t, then, intended for the Mayor, but k*lling Alderman Hidell instead.

That would be my conclusion. Dr Ogden?

I concur.

Very good. Dr Grace, it was a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for your insights.

Dr Ogden, once again, my regards to Darcy.

Sir?

What have you, George?

The photographs from the confiscated cameras and some slides and prints.

There's still some moving-picture film to be developed.

Anything of interest? Yes, sir.

See this chap in the background here?

I believe you interviewed him earlier today. Yes, George.

That's Liam Cuddy.

He told me he wasn't near the building at the time of the sh**ting.

I'd say that carpet he is carrying would easily conceal a r*fle.

Most people would handle a r*fle cartridge with their thumb, index finger and possibly their middle finger.

Now, the print I recovered from this shell casing is the wrong pattern and too small to be a thumb print. But...

It's just the right size... to match Liam Cuddy's index finger.

So we have our man?

Not anymore. I convinced the Chief Constable to release all of them earlier today.

On what basis? Not enough evidence.

But... here it is.

And I'll be sure not to let him go this time.

Toronto Constabulary. Liam Cuddy, show yourself.

Go.

Ah!

On your feet.

Who are you? Marianne Cuddy.

You have no right to trespass like this. Where's Liam?

I don't know. He left for work this morning.

Crabtree, check the apartment. Liam's done nothing wrong.

He lied to an officer of the law investigating a m*rder.

We have proof he was in the area just before the sh**ting.

What sh**ting? The Orange parade. Don't play silly buggers with me.

I'm Catholic, I don't pay any mind to that parade. I wasn't there.

I found this in the closet.

Ah.

A centre-fire 30-30.

Imagine that.

Liam would never sh**t anybody. It wasn't him! He was set up!

If you wish to help Liam, tell us where he is.

I honestly have no idea.

We had him, locked up, and what did we do?

We let him walk out, of course! Just brilliant.

Sir, we had no more reason to hold Liam Cuddy than any other suspect.

Send out an alert to all stations.

I've taken care of that.

Sir, the late edition already has the story, with a picture of Liam Cuddy.

How did they know he's our suspect? First to tell the story sells the paper, George.

Good thing. With his face all over the city, it shouldn't be too difficult to pick him up.

Again!

Crabtree, I want you, Higgins, and every available Constable out on patrol, looking for Liam Cuddy. Sir.

Well, get a move on!

Aren't you glad you came home, Murdoch?

It seems the whole Orange Day parade just smacks of being a sore winner. How so?

Well, every year, the Protestants want to remind the Catholics that they lost a battle.

One battle 200 years ago.

Ah, it's a simple show of pride, Henry.

Woah!

You call that pride, George?

There's nothing on Liam's whereabouts yet.

Any luck with the r*fle? Yes, sir. I've lifted two sets of finger marks.

Liam Cuddy's, and his wife Marianne's.

Judging by the residue in the barrel... the g*n was fired very recently.

That's it, then. Enough to put a rope around Liam's neck.

Yes, sir, I suppose it is.

Hey! You there!

What's that all about? Crabtree.

Oh, my god. It's Liam Cuddy.

Mr Cuddy, can you hear me?

We'll get you some help. I'll be right back.

You're going to be all right.

It wasn't me. What did you say?

I'm just a patsy.

George, did you get a good look at the men running from the alley?

No, sir. I just found these around the corner.

Looks like the k*ller discarded the evidence.

Do you think he was deliberately targeted, sir? Detective Murdoch...

Station House Three just arrested a g*ng of Orangemen for assaulting an Irish Catholic, sir.

One of them wasn't wearing shoes.

Or boots.

Listen, I was the one who got b*at down.

I was going home after pints, and a bunch of God-loving Catholics knocked me down, took my boots.

How do you explain your arrest?

Well, I chased after them, and by the time I caught up with them, my mates were already swinging fists with these bastards!

Then the police show up, haul me off, and the only thing I got was my arse kicked and my boots stolen!

Those aren't mine.

Try them on. I insist.

So I'm a size ten. What of it?

Same as half the men in this city.

With Liam dead, someone saved the Crown attorney a pile of work.

If we assume his guilt, sir. All we have at the moment are two unsolved murders.

If I may say, I think we should consider Liam Cuddy's dying words.

He dismissed himself as being "just a patsy". Yes.

What the bloody hell's a patsy?

It's an Irish expression, sir, for "unknowing dupe."

Well, that's bollocks. We've got Liam's finger marks on his r*fle, and on a shell-casing recovered from the scene of the crime.

He lied about where he was at the time of the sh**ting. He had "guilt" written across his forehead.

Exactly, sir. I find it odd that he would only admit to being a patsy.

I mean, as a Catholic, is he not supposed to confess his sins before he dies?

Crabtree, has it ever occurred to you that a m*rder*r can also be a liar?

Even to the Great Almighty?

Yes, but shouldn't we give Liam the benefit of the doubt before we condemn him posthumously?

Show him the photograph.

Sir, this is a picture of Liam Cuddy entering the Miller building.

Look at the reflection in this window.

It's the City Hall clock tower. Note the time, sir.

One minute after 12. How's that?

It's a reflected image.

Right, right. So it's one minute before noon.

That's pretty tight, isn't it?

Did Liam Cuddy have time to enter the building, set up his r*fle, take the sh*t, all in less than 60 seconds?

You better find out.

According to the photograph, he was standing roughly here, George.

Shall we assume the r*fle's loaded? It could add four seconds to our time inside the building.

Right. Assume it's loaded for the first run.

The first run?

Oh, boy.

All right, George. On my mark.

Go!

Take time to line up a proper sh*t.

Bang.

Right. Stop there, George.

I thought we'd time the escape as well, sir. No need. We're already at the 75-second mark.

It's unlikely Liam Cuddy had time to make the sh*t.

Let alone escape from the fourth floor. Exactly.

Yet a witness claims to have seen a man running up the stairs with a rolled-up carpet.

I was right here on the third floor when he passed me by.

On his way to the fourth floor. Yes.

He was in such a rush, he nearly hit me on the head with the carpet.

But he apologised. I thought that was very nice.

And what then? Well, I continued downstairs to catch the parade.

That's when I heard the loud bang.

You heard the g*nsh*t after the man passed you on the stairs?

Yes, that's right.

Thank you, Mrs Lance.

Sir, if the g*nsh*t came from the second floor while Liam was heading to the fourth, there's no way he could have pulled the trigger. He was a patsy.

So it would seem, George.

Mrs Lance was standing on the third floor landing when Liam Cuddy passed by her. That was before the sh*t was fired.

You think she's a reliable witness?

She seemed fairly sharp to me, sir.

And the sh*t came from the second floor?

It's consistent with the angle of the sh*t through the Mayor's hat and the relative height of the two men.

It's also where we found the spent shell casing.

Which you now think was planted?

There's no other explanation, sir. Liam Cuddy was set up.

Some diligence could have uncovered this before we announced Cuddy as our chief suspect.

We weren't given the opportunity, were we? This is bad news. The city believes we've got the k*ller.

The Orangemen are calm. The Catholics are cowed.

If this gets out, it could set them all off again.

And the parade has been rescheduled for two days from now.

Could be a blood bath. We need to re-interview all the witnesses. Who provided Cuddy's alibi?

I don't think we're looking at a Catholic, sir.

And how's that?

Sir, if the sh**ting was motivated by hatred toward the Orange Lodge, why then set up a fellow Catholic?

Yes, you lot do like to stick together, don't you?

This doesn't get out. Conduct your investigations as if you're tying up loose ends. Is that understood?

The liver is a treasure house of information.

A cursory inspection of this liver tells us he was a heavy drinker.

Further analysis will no doubt confirm it.

So why have you chosen to work here?

As opposed to the land of the living?

I don't have the patience to adopt a cheerful bedside manner.

And you, Doctor?

I suppose I see myself as an agent of the law.

Detective Murdoch and I have brought many criminals to justice.

I've found it to be richly satisfying.

"Found it?"

Oh, yes, I meant "find" it.

Like I said, I don't know anything.

Mrs Cuddy, I understand your reluctance to speak to the police.

I, too, am Catholic.

It's my intention to clear your husband's name.

But I need to know everything he's told you.

He came home wild with fright.

He showed me a r*fle he had wrapped up in a carpet.

He said he found it at the office. Which office?

Where he was delivering the carpet to.

The r*fle was just leaning against the desk.

Why did he take it? It was his r*fle. He recognised it.

What was it doing there?

Someone must have taken it and put it there.

He was set up.

Yes. A regular Patsy Bolivar, he was. I can prove it, too.

This is his waybill for the carpet he was delivering.

It's says right there. "Must deliver by 12 noon."

Now why would they say that if they didn't want him to be there, right at that time?

Yes, that's my carpet. I had it sent out to be cleaned.

It was delivered by Liam Cuddy.

I never received it.

Did you ask for it to be delivered to your fourth floor office before noon? I believe I did.

I couldn't expect my staff to miss the Orange Parade, waiting for a carpet to be delivered.

Don't you find it strange that the man delivering your carpet was the same man accused of an assassination attempt on the Mayor?

I imagine that was his excuse for being there.

You took this photograph, did you not? I did.

May I ask, what were you taking a photograph of?

I guess I was just recording the day.

Oh. So I suppose we're just lucky that you happened to take this photograph at this exact time?

May I ask the purpose of this interview?

Just tying up loose ends.

Sir, I spoke to Liam Cuddy's boss. He left the carpet cleaners at 11am.

It's a 20-minute walk to Mr Miller's office.

Then he should have arrived well before noon.

I wonder what took him an hour?

Perhaps someone held him up.

We were having a pint and a beef stew at Murphy's lunch counter.

Until what time? Until shortly after noon, I'd say.

Mr Gallagher, this photograph was taken shortly before noon yesterday.

What of it?

You claimed you were with Liam Cuddy until after noon.

I was wrong about the time. I bought the man lunch. I wasn't lying.

Do you often buy him lunch?

I wanted to talk with him. What about?

Liam was a firebrand. He liked to stir things up with the Orangemen.

As a businessman and leader of the Irish community, I felt obliged to impress upon him that such behaviour was in conflict with our interests.

I thought I had succeeded.

Is Gallagher involved, then? I have no proof, sir.

But I can't think of a better way to time Liam Cuddy's arrival at the m*rder scene.

You think he set him up? He knew where Liam lived. Had access to his r*fle.

The question is, why. Why would he set him up?

Sir, I arranged the photographs chronologically.

I've noticed something very interesting.

See these two chaps in the background.

Note that this man is pointing in exactly the same direction as these witnesses are here.

This photograph was taken after the sh**ting. But this one was taken beforehand.

He's pointing to where the sh*t came from, before the sh*t was fired.

That's Alderman Ketchem.

Look who he's speaking to. Do you recognise the sideburns?

Curious.

Now what would a warehouse stacker like Jack Leary be doing chatting up an Alderman?

They're both Orangemen. Oh, but they're not like Masons, sir.

A man like Leary wouldn't mix with the toffs.

Right, then, George, look into why an Aldermen might want to have the Mayor k*lled.

Remember, be discreet. As far as anyone's concerned, Liam Cuddy's our only suspect. Yes, sir.

And George, there was a moving picture of this. When will that be developed?

I'll check into it, sir.

Sir, I believe I've discovered something.

As you know, a few years back, City Council appointed a Board Of Control, comprised of three aldermen. Well, sir, according to my sources at City Hall...

What sources?

Well, sir, my Aunt Petunia works at the lunch counter where the Mayor takes his meals.

She said she overheard the Mayor speaking with a colleague about how the Board had become too powerful.

He was going to break up the Board Of Control, and that's why they tried to k*ll him.

Who is "they", George? Well, sir, everyone who stood to benefit from the status quo.

Business owners, contractors, the members of the Board themselves.

The whole... call it the municipal industrial complex.

George, the victim was part of the Board.

Well, sir, it's my belief that Hidell was the only one who was not one of the conspirators.

Hold on, Murdoch, Crabtree may be onto something.

The Board Of Control oversees lucrative contracts, worth millions of dollars.

There are powerful interests at stake.

Right, then, George, bring in Alderman Ketchem for a conversation.

Sir.

Who were you speaking with in this photograph?

I don't know his name.

What were you talking about?

I don't recall. Why?

He's a suspect in this case.

I thought you had your suspect.

We believe more than one person was involved.

What were you pointing at?

I don't remember.

It was the open window the sh*t came from, before it even happened.

Are you suggesting I somehow had foreknowledge of this?

The Mayor wanted to break up the Board Of Control.

As a controller, you stood to lose a great deal of power.

Even if one were to accept your absurd premise, I'd have been no further ahead by k*lling the Mayor.

How's that?

His replacement would have been the head controller, Alek Hidell.

Alek wanted to break up the board too.

Could they both have been targeted?

With a single b*llet, sir?

Two birds with one stone.

Even if it were physically possible to penetrate both skulls with a single b*llet, those skulls would have to be in perfect alignment.

Hard enough to set up even if the victims were co-operating. And why bother?

If the intention was to k*ll both, then why not simply keep sh**ting, until the task was done?

The b*llet entered the right side of Alderman Hidell's skull.

Now that we've removed the calvaria, the skull cap, and pulled back the dura, you can see that the b*llet travelled in a downward trajectory, stopping just above the left ear.

It's that downward angle that troubles me.

It's inconsistent with the b*llet's trajectory through the Mayor's hat.

Well, Dr Grace speculated that his head was tilted to the right, at the moment of impact.

But it wasn't.

You see, both men are facing forward just prior to the sh*t.

My goodness, you're right.

Now watch, as the b*llet strikes, the Mayor's hat pitches forward and to the right, and Alderman Hidell's head goes back and to the left.

It's as if the b*llet entered from this side, reversed direction and instantaneously went through Hidell's head. A magic b*llet.

Or there were two sh*ts coming from opposite directions.

Impossible. Both men are seated side by side. To sh**t one you would have to sh**t the other.

Unless...

Julia, this photograph was taken at the exact same moment as this frame, but from a slightly different angle.

If we were to merge the two using a stereoscope...

You could reproduce the illusion of depth. Very clever, William.

Julia... Have a look.

Oh, my goodness!

Look, William, they're not sitting side-by-side after all.

They couldn't have been sh*t by the same b*llet.

No, the b*llet that k*lled Hidell came from the left.

And the b*llet that went through the Mayor's hat must have come from the right.

You were right, there were two sh**t after all. You never cease to amaze, Julia.

We've always made a good team.

Two sh**t? Yes, sir.

The b*llet that k*lled Alderman Hidell came from Clay Miller's building, but the b*llet that passed through the Mayor's hat...

Came from behind the crates at the other side. Exactly, George.

Sir, what I assumed was an echo was in fact, a second sh*t.

Which would explain the angle of the b*llet's path through Hidell's skull.

It didn't come from the second floor. It came from the third floor.

So who else was in the building other than that old girl?

You say you were on the third floor at the time of the sh**ting, and yet you saw nothing. That's true.

What were you even doing there at that time?

I thought Mr Miller gave his employees time off to watch the parade.

Just the office folk. I'm the janitor.

And how long have you been at the job, Mr Bowers?

Mr Miller hired me two weeks ago.

Is he our trigger man?

One of them, I believe, but we have no proof.

What's the plan, then? Keep the janitor in custody?

For now. George and Henry are going through his room.

In the meantime, sir, I find it curious that Clay Miller is connected to this incident in so many different ways.

That's right. I hired Leonard Bowers about two weeks ago. Good worker.

Why was he not given the same time off as your other employees?

He was. I suppose I forgot to tell him.

Mr Miller, you had a carpet cleaned and delivered by a supposed assassin at a very specific time.

You took the photograph that proved that man was in that building, at that time.

Haven't we discussed this?

Liam Cuddy wasn't the sh**t.

Our prime suspect is now the man you hired barely two weeks ago.

The same man that remained in the building when all of your other employees went outside.

Are you suggesting I conspired to k*ll Mayor Hopkins?

Mayor Hopkins and Alderman Hidell, yes.

I don't even know Hidell. And the Mayor?

He's one of my closest friends. Hell, I funded his campaign!

He's not my only friend, either. I have a lot of friends.

Ask your Chief Constable. He's one of them.

Sir, a moment.

Have a seat, Mr Miller.

Retrieved from Leonard Bowers' room. It's a centre-fire 30-30.

We also found this membership card for the Toronto r*fle Club. Very good, George.

That's not all, sir. Guess who else was a member there? Enlighten me. Shoeless Jack Leary.

So we were in the same r*fle club. What of it?

You also know Alderman Ketchem.

What were you two talking about?

I don't remember.

What's he pointing at?

Pigeons.

Pigeons? Now I remember. We had a nice conversation about pigeons.

Interesting fact, did you know that pigeons mate for life?

We've got nothing that will support a charge, and less than a day to hold them.

Oh, bloody hell.

And that's your case against these men? Are you both mad?

Sir. Let me summarise, if I may.

You've arrested a man because he was a member of a g*n club.

You've arrested another man because he was a member of the same g*n club.

Oh, and he once wore socks outdoors.

You suspect Clay Miller because he had his carpet cleaned.

And Alderman Ketchem is clearly a suspect because he points at pigeons.

Am I missing anything here? Sir, the fact that there were two sh**t...

Tells me that there's one other person involved.

One, not the baker's dozen that you seem intent on conjuring.

Who's the second sh**t? Someone from the Catholic community, obviously.

They were the ones making threats. Against the Mayor. Why target Alderman Hidell?

I don't know.

But what I do know is that your evidence against these men is laughably inadequate.

He's right, you know.

We don't have enough evidence to hold them much longer.

Bloody hell. We'll be releasing them just before the parade.

This might sound like a daft question, Murdoch, but would you care for a drink?

Thank you, no.

I thought the Klondike might have loosened you up a bit. It'd do you good.

Well, that's my philosophy, anyway.

Whenever there's time, always have a drink. That's what I say.

Especially with that bloody Giles snooping around all the time.

He has us on notice, Murdoch.

Enjoy the present, that's what I say. One never knows.

Sir, both sh*ts were meant to coincide with the twelfth stroke of noon. Why?

To make us think there was just one sh*t, I suppose. But why? Why was it necessary?

Well, to make us think that... Bloody hell, Murdoch.

They wanted us to think they were sh**ting at the Mayor.

When in fact they were sh**ting at Hidell. And only Hidell.

But why go to all that trouble? Why not just bash him over the head in a dark alley?

They wanted Alderman Hidell's death to appear accidental.

As though he were struck by a misguided b*llet intended for the Mayor.

So what's the motive?

Alderman Hidell was the head controller, sir.

The head controller reviews all city contracts.

Perhaps he stumbled across something.

George! Sir.

Bring in all of Hidell's files and subpoena Ketchem's files as well.

At this time of night, sir? Wake up a judge if you have to.

Sir. What have you, George?

An undertaking by the city-owned Toronto Water Works to expand the city's pipelines.

Guess who was awarded the contract to oversee the project? Clay Miller.

And the contractor hired to build the sewers and water supply lines was? Sean Gallagher.

George, who authorised this project? Alderman Ketchem.

You allocated over $600,000 of taxpayer money to a water works initiative.

That seems a bit excessive to me. Is that so, Detective?

I didn't know you were an expert on the costs of city infrastructure.

I'm not. But Clay Miller was the highest bidder, and you awarded him the contract.

I imagine some pockets were lined with that.

This deal is rife with corruption.

And Alderman Hidell found out about it. You have no proof.

I have Alderman Hidell's files.

Something I never would have looked into had his death been an "accident."

But it was m*rder, and you will be going to jail.

You can follow this trail as far as you want, Detective, but you will never pin Hidell's m*rder on me.

We have motive, sir.

Yes, a motive, but all our evidence is entirely circumstantial. We need a confession, Murdoch.

Sir, I think I know how to get one.

Mr Gallagher, we know you're involved.

If you're willing to talk, we'll make a deal.

You wouldn't be offering a deal if you had any evidence.

Perhaps.

But that's the trouble with conspiracies.

The chances of getting caught increase exponentially with every added person involved.

How many were involved in this? Alderman Ketchem? Clay Miller?

The two sh**t?

And that's just the ones we know about thus far.

It only takes one person to talk.

And if that's not you, Sean, the noose goes around your neck as well.

What kind of deal?

They needed a patsy.

Who better than a known Catholic rabble-rouser to deflect the real reason for the assassination.

How did you find your sh**t?

Clay Miller knew one of them. He'd hunted with him.

Said he was the best sh*t he'd ever seen.

'Miller said the best place to do it was during the parade.

'With the death threats the Mayor had been receiving, he was sure the police...'

It was all Clay Miller's idea.

'It was a foolproof plan.'

Well, gentlemen, it would appear that you were right, and I was wrong.

That's big of you to admit.

We can continue with m*rder charges against Alderman Ketchem, Clay Miller and our two sh**t, Bowers and Leary.

But not Sean Gallagher, as per his plea bargain.

Yes, it's a pity that a guilty person has to go free.

But that does tend to happen here, doesn't it?

Gallagher is not free, sir. He framed a member of his own community for m*rder.

They'll likely k*ll him before the others hang.

At the very least, he's a ruined man.

Sounds like justice to me.

Julia...

I hear you've solved your case.

Thanks in a large part to you, as per usual.

Yes, well. I'm afraid you'll have to rely on Dr Grace from now on.

I beg your pardon?

I'm leaving, William.

I've decided to set up my own private practice, here in Toronto.

Are you quite sure? Your value here is... We both know why, William.

If we'd forgotten, we were reminded of it the last few days.

I just can't.

I'd hoped to leave before your suspension was up.

But I had so much to teach Dr Grace and, well...

I did want to say goodbye.

Goodbye, William.

Goodbye, Julia.

And thank you.

For what?

For being honest.

Above all, I have always respected that.

Always.