06x03 - Murdoch on the Corner

[bunniefuu]

(man): * You can hear them sigh and wish to die *
♪ You can see them wink with the other eye ♪

Edgar?

* At the man who brought *
♪ The banquet Monte Carlo ♪

Edgar Leeman, where have you been?

I have been to England to visit the Queen.

You left 2 hours ago to buy soup bones!

Why have soup... when you can have this... chicken!

We can't afford chicken.

Ah.

And then... there's this...

Edgar, what in heaven!

I bought it at a thrift store. 50 cents.

But it looks brand new!

Happy anniversary, dear.

You haven't been gambling, have you?

You swear on your mother's grave?

On my mother's grave and a stack of Bibles up to my chin, I swear, these were not bought with winnings.

Oh, Edgar!

(knocking on door) (Edgar): I'll get it.

(door opening) Can I help you?

I'm sorry, no!

Edgar, who is it?

(g*nsh*t) Edgar!

Oh, God! Edgar! Oh, Edgar!

Mrs. Leeman?

He left the house to buy bones.

We had a dollar and 4 cents to last us through the week, so we were making do with soup.

And yet he came home with chicken and a fancy hat.

He always had a keen eye for a bargain.

Well then, perhaps you can tell me how it is your husband came home with more money than he had when he left?

(woman): This way.

"I'm sorry, no."

Those were his last words?

According to his wife. Yes.

That's what I say to all those bloody door-to-door salesmen.

Maybe one of them just cracked. A man can only take so much rejection.

Sir, I think it has more to do with the money.

After all, he did come home with more money than he had when he left.

Perhaps he was a gambler.

He assured his wife he wasn't.

Ha! Ha! Ha! I assure the wife that the bottle in my desk is the same one I was working on last week. Men lie, Murdoch.

You may not, but the rest of us bloody do.

Yes, I'm aware of that, sir. But if he was gambling, why call attention to it by buying his wife an elaborate gift?

Well, if he had more money, someone else had less, and maybe that someone was unhappy about it.

Right then, any new insights into the pastor Henshaw m*rder?

I'm afraid not, sir, although I believe I've identified the m*rder w*apon.

According to the bruising, it's consistent with the pastor being beaten to death with a cane.

Any finger marks on it?

Only the pastor's.

And there's also this blood smear.

Is that it?

I'm afraid so.

Well, Murdoch, I think I'll take a cr*ck at this one.

Maybe there's something that the old Thomas S. Brackenreid nose can sniff out.

Hmm, have at it, sir.

(knocking on door)

Gentlemen.

Good morning, Doctor.

You're having a busy week. First, the pastor Henshaw m*rder and now another one.

Yes, I've asked the doctor for any insights she may have into what possibly motivated the pastor's k*ller.

I'm afraid I don't have any insights that aren't obvious.

Given the amount of bruising on his face, it's apparent he was struck repeatedly even after he collapsed.

So he was k*lled in anger.

That would be my analysis.

Well, you're right, that is bloody obvious.

But who would be so enraged as to k*ll a pastor?

Cause of death, a b*llet wound through the left aorta.

Death would have occurred within seconds, I should think.

Did you retrieve the b*llet?

Yes! .41 calibre.

A Derringer.

The gambler's choice, I believe.

May I take this?

We already know the calibre and the make of g*n, what more is there to discern?

Every g*n barrel has rifling which leaves striations on every b*llet.

These striations are as distinctive as finger marks.

Oh yes, I see, how interesting!

(Murdoch clears his throat.)

I beg your pardon.

Thank you.

Crabtree, have a look at the picture. Move your left arm.

Yes, that! That's it!

But, sir, I'm trying!

(Murdoch): What's all this?

Ah, Murdoch. Just working on a theory.

I don't believe that this was the m*rder w*apon.

But I thought the pastor's bruising was consistent with the shape of this cane.

Watch this. The victim was hit 8 times.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight!

And yet there is only blood on the middle portion of the cane.

I think that the cane belonged to the pastor, who used it to try to defend himself, but the k*ller Drove it, drove it into his face!

Very good, sir.

You're welcome, Murdoch.

Right, up you get, George.

Any progress on the hat?

Sir, we've checked with every thrift store this side of Yonge Street. None of them have sold an Italian straw hat with ostrich plumage and champagne ribboning.

That's a very detailed description, George.

Oh, sir, my aunt Primrose used to send me to fetch hats all the time. One had to be very specific, there was a great many hats.

Right, uh, George, perhaps Mr. Leeman lied about where he obtained the hat to conceal from his wife that he had suddenly come into money.

Check all the other hat shops.

Sir, we have, and there is one store that sells that exact hat, with the ribboning also available in plum and raspberry.

Where is this?

(Crabtree): On the corner of Carlton and Parliament.

I believe this to be a reasonable exchange.

Let me tell you what hell is like.

Imagine placing your hand over a candle at the tip of the flame.

After a second, the pain is already unbearable I don't care! I don't care! I'm the one who's talking!

That's right! She's the one. She's the one. She's the one.

She begged me. She begged me.

(man): Come on in.

You're going to love it.

Honestly. Thank you so much. Ok, bye-bye.

Keep walking, Grimsby.

As ugly as ever.

Thank you. If you need some rope to hang yourself...

Fresh pizza pie!

Pizza pie! Fresh pizza pie!

(man): Beautiful day today! Come on in and get your meat!

All right, George. Show this photograph around and see if anyone recalls seeing Mr. Leeman yesterday afternoon.

Sir.

Pizza pie, don't be shy!

Come on over, everybody!

Pizza pie! Fresh pizza pie!

(Butcher): Sale over here, ladies and gentlemen!

Come on in for some specials on our meats today!

Oh yes. I remember him.

He came in to buy a hat for his wife.

What time was this?

Just after closing, around 6.

We weren't going to let him in, but he was in such good spirits, we couldn't say no. Came in singing, kissed our hands, even tried some of the hats.

How much was the hat that he bought?

4 dollars and 15 cents.

It was our most expensive hat.

Hmm.

Paid using a brand new 10-dollar bill.

You don't see many of those.

(man): Best price here.

(Man): I don't care.

I don't care. I don't care. I don't care. She wanted me to, but I don't care...

(man): The devil tempts you all the time.

She wanted me to. I don't care, don't care.

Excuse me, sir.

She wanted, wanted me to go ahead and do it.

Sir, did you see this man yesterday afternoon?

He's dead.

Yes, but did you see him yesterday afternoon?

It wasn't my blood on him. Him. He knows.

He knows what?

Ooh, he's one of them. And then, then, then she just told me to do it, she wanted me to do it.

I just didn't want to, I didn't want to...

Pizza pie! Fresh pizza pie!

Excuse me, sir.

Did you see this man yesterday afternoon?

Hmm, sorry. Pizza pie! Fresh pizza pie!

This chap seems to think that you did.

That man's a bloody lunatic!

Ah, who knows? Maybe I did see him.

But if he didn't buy a bite, I'm not going to remember, eh?

What is this pizza pie?

It's a tomato and cheese pie.

If you want meat, you have to wait for the next one, eh?

Well, a penny a bite, eh?

Well, there you go.

(preacher): Trust no one but your Lord...

It's delicious!

Yeah!

That's very good!

Yeah! Pizza pie!

Fresh pizza pie! Anything, George?

Ah, sir. Nothing yet, I'm afraid.

(woman): Constable Crabtree!

Mrs. Lynd, it's good to see you.

You still have your purse, I see.

Yes, thanks to you.

Two weeks ago I left it on this bench right here and when I came back it was gone!

Along with the only photograph of my dear Jack.

Higgins and I did a search of the alleys.

Yes, and you found it!

You know, someone just took what they wanted and tossed it away.

I mean, can you believe that?

I was just so grateful I brought a pie to his house.

Yes, you did. It was excellent as well.

Mrs. Lynd, did you see this man yesterday afternoon?

Oh...

Yes... yes, a nice man.

He tipped his hat to me. People don't do that anymore.

In my days, everybody greeted with a little tip of the hat...

Mrs. Lynd, hm, did you see where the man went?

Why, yes. Of course.

People think I'm half-daft, but I remember everything.

Yeah, he was here. Came in with 4 cents wanting to buy soup bones, like I'm some kind of charity.

Charity?

Hey, you want soup bones for less than a nickel, find 'em somewhere else.

But he bought a chicken from you, did he not?

Yeah, that was later.

Comes in smiling like he's my best friend, puts down two bits and buys a chicken.

Didn't you find that strange?

No, I call that business.

You give me two bits, I give you a chicken.

That's about market price for a chicken, sir.

Sir, do you know of anywhere near here where a man might be able to gamble?

Right next door. Name's Robert Grimsby.

Runs the tailor shop, but he's really a 2-bit bookie.

Never seen him before.

So he wasn't here yesterday afternoon?

If he was, I would have seen him.

That's odd... because we believe this man won some money gambling, and the word on the street is that your... business doubles as a betting shop.

Who told you that? Oh, wait, let me guess.

Runs a butcher shop next door?

Do yourself a favour and don't listen to anything he says.

Why would he lie?

He owes me money.

Oh!

Well, I suppose that explains whey he told me you were running a betting shop.

It's in your best interests to let us take a look around.

(tailor): Well, Detective, I can assure you that there is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary for you to find here. Sir?

Here's a book with some interesting-looking measurements.

Why, yes! Oh!

And here is an E. Leeman right here. That's odd. You say you don't know him, but his name is right here.

All right, I knew him.

He was here yesterday. He put one dollar on Wishbone to win. Said he had been given a tip.

And he won?

No, he lost.

Wishbone came in third.

Sir.

(g*nsh*t)

He lost?

Where did he get the money then?

I don't know, sir.

Is it the one that k*lled Leeman?

Doesn't appear to be.

Bloody hell.

Sirs, there's been another m*rder. Mrs. Thelma Greene.

The victim d*ed from a g*nsh*t to the heart.

Right ventricle this time.

I found some powder residue on her dress.

She was sh*t at close range, then.

Indeed, I extracted this.

From a Derringer I expect.

Perhaps the same one that k*lled Edgar Leeman.

Would you like to confirm it yourself?

May I?

They're a match.

Same g*n, same k*ller.

Two very different victims.

Edgar Leeman was a coalman, a bon vivant, drinker, gambler.

While Thelma Greene was thick as thieves with the Temperance League.

They both lived in different worlds, professionally, socially, and geographically.

So what's the connection?

It's yet to be determined.

Any chance the pastor's m*rder could be related?

Not likely, I think.

The pastor was beaten, the other 2 were sh*t.

Yes, but all 3 victims were found m*rder*d inside their own front doors. There could be something to that.

Higgins!

George, what have you?

Sir, according to household staff, Mrs. Greene left her home on Jarvis Street yesterday afternoon to attend a...

Sir, your mail.

... Temperance League luncheon at Broadview and Gerrard.

Right. We'll need to find out if any of the luncheon guests had a connection to Leeman.

Sir, if I may, I believe I have already found a connection between the victims. It lies in their names.

Their names?

Yes, sir. I had time to ponder this on the streetcar.

As you know, sir, I enjoy a good word game.

Actually, no, George, I didn't know.

Well I do, and I found, sir, that if you eliminate the common letters in both of the victim's names, you are left with D-E-A-T-H.

Death!

Surely, sir, you don't think that's a coincidence?

George, do we know when Mrs. Greene left the luncheon?

2:45 or thereabouts.

Do we have any idea where she went?

According to witnesses at the luncheon, she grew tired of waiting for a hansom cab and walked home.

Walked home. Right.

If I'm not mistaken, George, the shortest distance between the luncheon and Mrs. Greene's home is through Carlton and Parliament.

(preacher): The lion's den.

All right, Higgins, you take this side of the street and I'll take this one.

Well, why do you get this side of the street?

Well, what's the difference?

It shall come to pass to all who are not written in the Lamb's book of life...

It's these fire and brimstone types, George, they...

It makes me uncomfortable.

Well, I'll gladly switch with you Henry, but I've got a demented beggar on my side who talks night and day to Heaven-knows-who.

So, it's your choice.

Fine.

(Man): Pizza pie!

The family's gonna love it!

(Butcher): Got fresh meatloaf!

Mrs. Lynd!

Hello, Constable.

How are you?

I'm very well, come have a seat.

Piece of cake?

No, I mustn't.

I'll pop the buttons off my tunic.

Mrs. Lynd, I'm afraid there's been another m*rder.

Oh no!

Do you remember seeing this woman?

(man): Pizza pie! Everybody, come and get the best pizza in town!

Was she wearing a pink dress?

Yes.

I would have called it more a coral tone, but that's her.

I miss wearing colour.

Ever since my dear Jack d*ed, I only wear black. It's only right.

Do you remember where she went?

Oh yes. She went into the hat shop.

Oh, I know her all right.

Wish I didn't.

Why is that?

She comes in all the time, treats everyone like a servant, tries on all the hats one by one.

And if she ever does buy, she tries to haggle with the price, like she can't afford it.

It's my observation that rich people are often the stingiest.

Which I suppose has something to do with how they became rich in the first place.

What happened to her?

She was m*rder*d.

Oh, my Lord!

She didn't deserve that, no matter how miserly she was.

Does it strike you as strange, Mrs. Palmerston, that both victims passed through your store shortly before their deaths?

Are you suggesting I had something to do with this?

It's routine questioning, ma'am.

I hardly think I'd still be in business if I were in the habit of k*lling off my customers.

Yes, of course. Thank you.

Revelations 21 verse 8 makes it clear.

"The fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers...

(Crabtree): Sir...

"And fornicators, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars..."

Sir!

"Shall find their part in the lake which burneth with fire! "

If you don't pay attention to what I'm showing you, you'll be preaching atop a jailhouse bunk.

Never seen her before.

This is the second death, which shall come to pass to all who are not written...

George?

I've just spoken to the pizza Man. He says...

Did you have a bite?

No, I didn't have a bite.

I don't want a bite of something someone else has chewed on.

Oh, honestly, Henry, you're so particular sometimes.

Anyways. He remembers her.

Really? From where?

He saw her outside the Bank of Toronto counting money. The Bank of Toronto?

That's what he said, sir.

What is it?

Well, I was going through pastor Henshaw's finances, and he does his banking at the Carlton branch of the Bank of Toronto.

Look at the final transaction.

"May 11th."

The day he was k*lled. That connects my m*rder to your 2.

It could be just a coincidence.

Or it could be good news.

You said so yourself, Murdoch, all 3 victims passed through this neighbourhood the day they were k*lled.

So let's keep this quiet, Murdoch. No need for a panic.

What kind of person would randomly target people as they walked by?

I suspect we're looking for a sequential k*ller.

A sequential k*ller?

It's my coinage.

It refers to K*llers who m*rder multiple victims, one at a time, usually separated by a period of a few days to several months.

Jack the Ripper.

The most famous, but there have been others.

Joseph Vacher k*lled 11. H. H. Holmes k*lled dozens, possibly hundreds.

Were there any similarities between the victims?

Jack k*lled only women.

Vacher tended to k*ll teenagers.

Holmes k*lled anyone who would cross his path, it would seem.

But why? Why did they do it?

No one knows. The Ripper was never caught, and the others were ex*cuted before they could be studied.

Were they insane?

Some maybe but not all.

The only thing we can say with certainty is that they felt a compulsion to k*ll.

All you who walk in the shadow of ignorance, who deny the true light of God.

All you who stare at the ground in contemplation of your own selfish wants.

You have no idea what I'm capable of.

The blood on my hands. No. I'm the one who's talking...

Good day, Billy. Take care of yourself, now.

(Crabtree): Mrs. Lynd.

Oh, Constable!

I'm sorry to show you such a frightful picture, but we need to know if you've seen this man.

Oh, dear heavens, not another one.

This man was k*lled 2 weeks ago.

Oh dear. Let me see.

Yes.

I know him, he was a pastor.

My dear Jack was in the ministry as well. Anglican he was.

Mrs. Lynd, do you recall seeing him 2 weeks ago on May the 11th?

That was a Friday.

Uh...

Yes. He went into the tailor shop.

Yes, pastor Henshaw was a customer.

And was he here on May 11th?

He put $10 on Spendthrift to win. He lost.

Was he a regular?

Every week.

(butcher): Thank you very much. How are you doing today?

Come on in. Come on in...

Bloody preacher playing the ponies.

Not what you'd expect.

I know what you mean, sir.

I used to think of this corner as being so... bright and lively, and now it just seems full of... menace.

Repent now!

On your knees and pray!

You have no idea what I'm capable of.

Pizza pie.

What are you hoping to capture here, sir?

Unusual behaviour.

Does our k*ller stand and watch?

Does he argue with his victims?

Does he follow them? That sort of thing.

And if there is another m*rder?

Well then I'll have the evidence I need to catch him, won't I?

Sir, I have another theory.

Go on.

Well, we know that we're looking for a sequential k*ller like Jack the Ripper, but something you may not know sir, is that Jack the Ripper's last victim was a prost*tute who was favoured by none other than the Prince of Wales.

Indeed!

Oh, it's a fact, sir. It's also established that at the time of her death, she was with child.

And of course it's widely suspected that the child was the prince's.

Now of course, the monarchy couldn't have some bastard pretender to the throne running around, so many people believe they had her k*lled!

George, why are we discussing Jack the Ripper?

Pass me the film magazine.

To illustrate my point, sir.

Perhaps only one of these murders was truly motivated.

The others were simply committed to deflect our attention from that one true motive.

And what would that motive be?

Well, sir, the very fact that we haven't discovered a motive yet leads me to believe that perhaps the one truly motivated k*lling has yet to happen!

An interesting theory, George.

(soft whirring of camera) (clicking)

Ahha! Ha!

So, where are we going to put this, sir?

George, we know for certain that all of the victims, at one time or another, passed through the intersection of Carlton and Parliament.

I suggest that the scrutiny camera would be best set up there.

(woman): Don't be a stranger.

(Butcher): Come on in, ladies and gentlemen.

(Higgins):So he's hoping to film a m*rder, then?

Good grief, Higgins! He's not hoping to.

But if there is another m*rder it is incumbent on the detective to gather as much evidence as possible.

I just thought film was very expensive.

Well, it is, but he's rigged it in such a way that it takes a picture every 4 seconds.

That allows us to capture a full day on a single roll of film.

(church bell ringing)

All right. Right there.

(click) There we go.

Now I suppose the rest is up to the camera.

(click)

(click)

I'm hungry, George.

Are you now?

You're right, George, that's really good.

Henry, would I ever steer you wrong.

Still seems a bit unhygienic.

(Man): Fresh pizza pie!

Fresh pizza pie! One penny a bite!

George, there's $10 in here.

It's half my month's salary!

What are you suggesting?

Hmm...

Oh, for Heaven's sake, Henry, you can't keep the money.

What if we couldn't find the owner?

Well at least, have a look inside.

"If found please deliver to 349 Parliament Street."

(beggar mumbling) Oh, not this chap again.

Stay away! It's not time! Not time!

Sir, we're on official police business if you don't mind!

It wasn't my fault. They wanted me to do it.

Shut up. Shut up! Ok, I'm just... ok. Shut up. Shut up.

Lunatic!

We're not open until 6.

What's this about?

We found your wallet.

Well... thank you.

You don't want to keep your wallet?

Consider it your reward.

There you go, Henry, virtue is its own reward.

You've got a nice new wallet.

I'd would have preferred the $10, George.

Anything?

Nothing I can discern, sir.

It's been 2 days since we set this up.

He's due to strike again.

I know.

Sirs...

Like the rest, Robert Grimsby was sh*t through the heart.

And the markings on this b*llet match the others.

The time of death?

Difficult to tell precisely using body temperature.

But I've analysed his stomach contents and can say with confidence that he ate his last meal 45 minutes before his death.

Corned beef on rye bread.

♪

Sirs. I spoke to the owner of the Sumach restaurant.

Mr. Grimsby stopped by last night for corned beef on rye.

What time was this?

Between 8:15 and 8:25.

That puts our m*rder sometime after 9pm.

Sir, stop the projector!

That's Robert Grimsby there, arguing with the butcher.

(Brackenreid): So?

This is proof of my theory.

What is he rabbiting on about, Murdoch?

Sir, George suspects that the first 3 murders were random, to disguise the true motivation of our k*ller.

There's only one truly motivated m*rder and this is that m*rder.

So what is the motivation?

Hatred. Pure and simple.

The butcher k*lled the tailor.

The final blow in an ongoing feud.

I never said I hated him.

But you turned him in to the police.

He was operating a gambling business right next to my store.

Yes. And you owed him money.

You wouldn't have to pay him if he were dead.

Where were you last evening?

Minding my own business.

You have no alibi?

I keep to myself. No crime in that.

What about May the 11th, 17th, 24th and 26th?

What about 'em?

Can you account for your whereabouts on those evenings?

Why? You think I had something to do with those other murders?

Why would I k*ll those people? I didn't even know 'em.

That was precisely the point, wasn't it?

You randomly m*rder 3 people to throw us off the scent.

What?

It's our belief that you k*lled the others in order to disguise your motive for k*lling Mr. Grimsby.

You 2 are crazy!

He's a gruff old bastard, I'll give you that, but to cold-bloodedly k*ll 3 innocent people to throw us off the scent?

Call it copper's instinct, Murdoch, but I just don't think the old bugger has it in him.

Anything, George?

Possibly, sir. Watch this.

Here's Robert Grimsby going into the bank.

And here he is coming out. And then he stops to pick something up, but I can't figure out what.

Right, George, enlarge this section. Sir.

Sirs... it appears to be a wallet that Grimsby is picking up.

The thing is, Higgins and I found a wallet in almost the exact same location.

Crikey.

Help yourselves.

Really? I find this one quite handsome.

George.

None of these wallets belong to you?

People have been finding them on the street every couple of days.

I've been thinking of building a drop box. Save me from having to answer the door.

Hm, and they all have your address in them?

And money usually.

(Brackenreid): How much?

If it's there, $10.

Did that not strike you as a little odd?

Of course it does.

But I'll take donations any way I can get them.

How many of the wallets had no money in them.

Four.

Edgar Leeman had recently come into money and was in good spirits.

Thelma Greene was seen counting money outside of the bank.

Pastor Henshaw made a $10 bet.

He must have thought that he had God in his corner.

Four wallets, four deaths, sir.

If you returned the money, you lived.

If you kept it, you d*ed.

On the face of it, it seems to be some kind of morality test.

A morality test? Designed by a m*rder*r?

It's less ironic than it seems.

Cold-blooded K*llers can have strict codes of moral behaviour.

Heavens, God himself wasn't above smiting people who didn't measure up to his standards.

Could our k*ller be a religious zealot?

There is one on the corner.

Oh, my goodness! He stands on a soapbox and preaches hell and damnation all day.

And he was less than cooperative when it came to the investigation.

Now, there is also a beggar who mills about outside the Parliament Street Mission. I don't know if he's religious, but he's definitely off his nut.

Yes. We know our k*ller is angry.

What could he be angry about?

It's hard to say. He may not even know himself.

Anger of this magnitude is often displaced.

Sigmund Freud has speculated that our subconscious mind prevents us from expressing our anger directly to the person responsible, forcing us to take our anger out on persons unconnected to the true source of our rage.

So, say if a police inspector was yelled at by his wife, and then in turn takes it out on an unsuspecting constable...

George.

Suddenly makes sense, sir.

This could explain why sequential K*llers... pick their victims apparently at random.

Exactly.

(Crabtree): Sir, what are we looking for?

Well, George, if we can see who placed the wallet, then we'll have our m*rder*r.

(Crabtree): The soapbox preacher just went by.

As did 2 dozen others.

Any one of them could have dropped it.

For all we know the wallet could have been lying there for hours.

Then we'll set up a surveillance.

We know exactly where the wallet is dropped.

Crabtree and Higgins will be on the streets. Civilian clothes.

We'll watch from upstairs.

"We", sir?

It's my bloody case too, Murdoch.

Honestly, George, this is so tedious.

Do you remember that time we had to crawl through the sewer and look for the evidence that detective Murdoch thought had been flushed?

Ugh! How can I forget?

This is worse than that.

How is that, Henry?

Endlessly walking in circles just hoping we see someone happen to drop a wallet.

Well, look on the bright side. At least, we get to wear our civvies.

That's the best you got?

Well, you know, it could be worse for you, Higgins.

How's that?

You could be me having to listen to you complain.

Should have got Margaret to make us some grub.

George was telling me about this new Italian dish, sir.

"Pi-zah" pie.

Italian? Oh...

I'm strictly a meat-and-two-veg kind of fellow, Murdoch.

Oh, where's your sense of adventure sir?

(woman): Why, Constable Crabtree.

Ah!

You're out of uniform.

Well, you know, Mrs. Lynd, even coppers get a day off every now and then.

Well, you're very smartly dressed.

Oh, thank you.

Not like some these days.

(butcher): We have a big sale going on on all the meats I have in the sh!!

(Crabtree): Henry.

(man): How to get there?

$10.

(man): It's swallowing down my path.

Blast! I'm calling the detective.

(preacher): He's better because he is everywhere.

What is his address? Where does the devil live?

(ringing)

Yes?

[Hello, sir.]

We found the wallet, but we didn't see who dropped it.

That's all right, George. Stick to the plan.

Make a big show of counting the money, and then... spend it, as if this is the greatest day of your life.

Yes, sir.

Sin is not just k*lling and stealing. Sin lies in the very thoughts that slither through your mind.

It wasn't my fault. She wanted me to do it.

Evil. Hoo-hoo! Hoo-hoo! I know when I see it.

Hmhm, hm-hm, hm-hm!

Don't you want to come in?

Come on inside!

(Preacher): There's no grass amongst us, but there is a snake amongst us. There is no grass...

Absolutely, sir. Inside.

He's off to buy a bloody hat.

I didn't tell him what to spend the money on, sir.

Excellent selection sir.

That is one of our finest.

Well, you know I've always been partial to a Leghorn Flop, and nothing but the best for my gal.

I've just come into some money.

Come back anytime.

I will do. Thank you, ma'am.

Well, thank you kindly.

You enjoy that now.

Ah, thank you, sir.

(butcher): There goes another happy customer, folks.

George. Stick to the plan. Head on home now.

Sir.

(Murdoch clearing his throat)

Were you followed?

Oh, sweet mother of... Sir!

Yes, there was a chap about a block behind me, but he appears to have veered off.

Do you think he knows where you live?

I imagine so.

Put this on.

The bulletproof vest, sir?

Do you really think that's necessary?

Oh, bugalugs! If you get sh*t, do you want to be dead?

Good point, sir.

(bell ringing)

(knocking on door)

Who is it?

(Murdoch): It's me, George.

I've been watching from across the street all night.

I haven't seen anyone as much as slow down.

I don't think our k*ller is coming tonight.

Do you think he's figured out it's a set-up?

I don't know. Perhaps he recognized you as a constable and decided not to follow through.

Ah... I'm sorry, sir.

It's not your fault, Crabtree.

Get some sleep, lad. We'll try again tomorrow.

♪

(general hubbub)

(knocking on door)
(Woman): Constable Crabtree?

I have a treat for you!

Mrs. Lynd, you've brought me another pie!

You shouldn't have.

Oh! And plum. You know, that's my favourite!

You'll have to come in for a slice...

(beggar): She's still talking to me. You know, she knows I'm telling the truth...

Hey! Hey, come on!

One of these people is our k*ller, Murdoch.

Possibly, sir.

Think about it.

Whoever dropped the wallet had to wait until the next victim picked it up. Who better to do that than somebody who made it their business to be here?

Do you think that's the old dear's?

Belongs to Mrs. Lynd.

She's always leaving it here.

Where is Mrs. Lynd?

How could you?

Such a nice young man and a police constable too.

All rig, , Mrs. Lynd...

What hope is there for the world if even the police aren't honest?

Mrs. Lynd, you've got it all wrong.

I didn't steal that wallet.

I saw you!

You bought a hat and a ham.

The same ham that's sitting right there.

No, Mrs. Lynd, this was all a set-up.

A what?

We knew all about the wallets that you've been dropping.

I took that money to set myself up as bait.

We were trying to catch the k*ller.

Oh, I don't know about that...

Mrs. Lynd, look at this.

This is a bulletproof vest. I wore this last night in case the k*ller showed up and tried to sh**t me.

But you're not wearing one now.

This time of morning she's usually visiting the grave of her "saintly" Jack.

You don't think he was a saint?

Sorry, did I just betray my thoughts?

He preyed on every widow in his congregation.

He even made a pass at me one time.

My... did Mrs. Lynd know this?

She found his letters after he d*ed.

Some people just can't face up to the truth.

(pizza man): Come and get it while it's hot!

Because you know that won't last long, I swear!

About the same width as a cane, sir.

Very unlikely, Murdoch.

She always had her nose in the Bible.

And she's an old woman.

I doubt she'd be a m*rder*r.

George.

So now you have a decision to make of your own, Mrs. Lynd.

You can either give me that g*n... or k*ll an innocent man.

It's not fair.

Mrs. Lynd, please give me that g*n.

George!

Sir, it's all right.

Hello.

Back in my day... people were honest.

If you found someone's purse, you just gave it back to them, never even expecting a reward.

But now they just take the money out, and they throw everything else away.

The world changed when your husband d*ed, didn't it?

Yes, it did.

It got mean and ugly.

And the more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

So you set up a test?

Yes, I did.

I wanted to see. I mean, who would do such a thing?

I thought at first a... a vagabond, a prost*tute... but a pastor... a minister of the church!

He should have known better.

(exclamation) Like your husband.

He was a pastor too, wasn't he?

Jack never let me down.

He saw that I'd be well taken care of.

Your husband violated your marriage vows.

This isn't about Jack!

This is about thieving and hypocrisy... people who have no sense of common decency... people who think they can do anything and get away with it!

They deserved to die.

All of them!

She's as batty as they come.

Imagine k*lling someone over a wallet.

It wasn't about a wallet.

Her husband was a church minister.

She believed he was morally infallible.

When she learned otherwise, her conscious mind just couldn't face the truth.

Yet her subconscious was still seething with hurt and anger.

Which she had to direct somewhere, hence the moral test.

Like I said, batty as they come.

Pizza pie is more of a meal than dessert, but it tastes just as good as pie, so in my opinion, it could be your meal and your dessert.

What kind of food is this?

It's Italian!

Ah! Italian, how exotic, George!

How much for a slice, sir?

A nickel.

Two then, please.

Oh!

Mmm! It's delicious!

And practical.

Practical?

Emily, think.

Pizza pie serves as its own plate. No dishes.

Hmmm... it would be handy to have at home.

Perfect for a bachelor.

Or a working woman.

You know, if that man used his bicycle...

He could deliver it right to your door.

Exactly, George. We really should starting writing down more of our ideas.

(man): Pizza pie! Fresh pizza pie!

I still, I still talk to her.

(preacher): And pure in God's footsteps...

(beggar): I still talk to her.

(Preacher): It shall find you.

Announcer: Next Monday, on an all-new Murdoch Mysteries...

You ready?

I'm the boss!

Someone was looking for something.

Who's the bloke dressed as Sherlock Holmes?

He claims to be Sherlock Holmes.

Announcer: An all-new Murdoch Mysteries, next Monday at 9:00 on CBC.