02x02 - Am I Not Monstrous?

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( Laboured breathing )

( She moans )

( She groans )

Argh!

Argh!

Help!

Get the beast out before it cleaves me in two!

( She screams )

Get your bastard hands inside me and tug the bugger free!

Fetch Treves.

Chloroform, now!

Which nimgimmer's this, then?

The one who's to cut you open, woman.

( Baby cries )

( Gurgling )

( Footsteps )

( Trickling; she cries out )

Please, sir, he's mine.

I beg you!

Please do not take him from me!

( She screams )

Morning porter found her, at the foot of the Eastern Stair.

She came to you when?

A touch after eight this night last, as I prepared my testimony for the Linklater enquiry. She was filthy.

Cursed like a stevedore.

Her son delivered by Caesar one hour later and now removed.

We know not where. Or by whom.

Whoever pushed her down that stairwell, I should think.

With a mother now dead, poor child, vulnerable does not quite cover it, Inspector.

No belongings?

Nothing to say her name or who might miss her now?

None.

Then she goes to my American at Leman Street.

One last thing you should see.

Sergeant, help me turn her.

It may help identify her.

Oh, blimey.

Who's to say you are not beautiful?

Wilson!

Jedediah Shine lays his sergeant in earth this morning.

Needs must, our respects are paid.

It is yet to be stated how, precisely, Sergeant Linklater met his end.

Granted, the iron railing that passed through him had a say.

But there are whisperings on the wind, Wilson, our dear friend Edmund Reid may have lent a shoulder to that passing.

Talk of the wolf.

How now, Inspector?

Such an injury, Mr Reid.

It changes a man.

Humbles him, in fact.

Humble Fred Best.

I wonder how it is you show your faces here.

He was my friend.

And yet you are happy to remain at the side of a man whose hand is suspected in that friend's own timely demise?

You ought to be careful, Mr Shine, making such statements.

How, Sergeant?

Fellas might ask, what's to be gained from slurring the reputation of a man such as Mr Reid.

Yeah, indeed.

And that slur hides the truth.

Whose?

Yours! Inspector. Your activities in this division.

Wilson!

You are a disgrace to badge and uniform.

It is your inspector here that is the disgrace, and you would slur me?

Then I must seek recompense.

Then seek it, sir!

Word had it you'd left the roped ring.

Word has it right.

Well, then, I confess myself relieved that you have not grown entirely soft... on your whore wife's perjury of love.

No. Not here. Not now.

But soon, Sergeant. Once the world has heard Mr Treves sworn testament and knows Inspector Reid for the k*ller he is.

Bruising and breakage to the hip, pelvis, knee and back. Her humerus, radius and ulna, however, are intact.

She didn't use her arms to break the fall.

She kept the child clutched to her chest.

She d*ed to protect it.

A mother's instinct.

Gone to nothing.

Treves described her as filthy and abject, didn't he?

But I think she is beautiful.

And whoever cared for her thought the same.

Torn and distressed. However, the stitching is highly skilled...

These threads, stolen most likely.

Tell me, did she steal her skin as well?

See her face - zinc oxide.

It keeps the skin fair.

Kept well for a while.

Oh, she was kept perfect.

And yet, no attempt was made to remove...that from her.

You think that makes her, what?

Less than human?

We were all animals once, it is now said.

Some more closely related than others.

I would, in conscience, leave off riding Sergeant Drake.

He has buried a friend today.

Blessed though she may be, this woman was m*rder*d and her child taken.

This tail is a vestige.

It is a memento of all that we once were.

In water, beneath the canopy.

Sergeant Drake.

The freak shows were run off the street fronts last year, but there was talk, was there not, of Tom Norman's troop splintering, a faction returning from Nottingham?

Hidden away under the railway arches, up on a*tillery.

Chief Inspector Abberline.

Inspector Reid.

Reinforcements.

He's a boy. I said...

I asked... Not another boy.

Sergeant? You are short here.

I am correct in that understanding?

You are.

He is. We are, sir.

You believe there to be a line outside my office, do you?

A battalion of gnarled veterans, each and every one of them begging to bring their fight to your division?

Light, friend? This one.

Detective Constable Flight - worked overtime in uniform on his own coin, his collar rate in so doing sufficient to push both yours and mine into the corner.

In Bloomsbury, Fred.

And now appointed to the CID.

He wishes to work here.

He volunteers for this sink, Edmund. For Whitechapel.

Inspector Reid. It is an honour.

I shan't let you down, sir.

Easily said, Constable.

Harder to prove.

Inspector, private word?

Little birdie hopped on my shoulder earlier.

Told me a story about a ruckus at a funeral.

That birdie currently sporting a tea cup for an ear?

Oi! You two!

If Drake cannot keep his spleen inside him, it is up to you to provide discipline.

Oi!

Sergeant Linklater was his friend.

And Jedediah Shine is his superior.

And if that superior merits such insubordination, merits worse than that, perhaps?

No. You leave be.

It's not as if your name is currently being sung from the rooftops with the acme of probity.

And should Treves not clear you at that inquest, so it will remain.

You are my friend, but, Ed - you make accusations against a man of such standing without evidence.

No. You hear me?

Inspector? Am I heard?

To a*tillery.

All men of ambition need a trade to fall back on, Miss Hart.

A skill, which keeps both body and soul apiece when the wind of fortune turns cold.

So I'm glad to see you're not broken by our new terms, Miss Hart.

You do not wish to count it?

We are friends.

And friends do not break trust.

Or forget their obligations to each other.

Obligations which, should you need reminder, might be forgot, within just one word and just one night. If you have my meaning?

If that will be all, Mr Duggan.

Oh.

Do send my regards to your p*stol twister.

You must have him working those skilled fingers to the knuckle.

What ho! Caliban! I say!

Wouldst thou seek to violate the honour of my child?

I will rack thee, Caliban, make thee roar that beasts shall tremble at thy din.

That's enough now, Sergeant, I think.

Now, now, lady.

This sideshow is now shut down.

On what grounds?

On the grounds of a m*rder inquiry, Miss Pettigrew.

m*rder and abduction. An infant boy taken from his m*rder*d mother.

And you believe we can help you in this because?

She also had a blessing.

A protrusion at the base of her spine.

A tail?

You must mean Stella Brooks.

Oh, John.

She was found last night, Mr Goode.

And a child?

You say, her child?

A boy. We believe alive.

But taken. Oh!

When did you last see her, Mr Goode?

Almost seven months ago to the day.

That is precise recall.

I have been looking for her.

She was what - your lover?

At the hospital, she was unaccompanied?

Nothing upon her but the ragged clothes she wore.

But those clothes...once pretty.

She had been, at one point at least, well treated.

By folk with money. Here, brother.

Let me give you something.

There is nothing for me!

Out the way, Haystack.

That man...trussed up as Caliban, with you, all last night?

He was.

And all here will confirm it.

That's an impressive artifice you got there.

Oh, it's not artifice.

It's John's gift.

He's impervious to pain.

But not, alas, to suffering.

And Miss Brooks? What of her?

Rootless. Orphaned. Tom Norman had her displayed in a glass cabinet - only her rear, mind.

For an extra penny, they could open the box and a man might tug on her.

And no family?

No friends other than yourselves to tell who might mean her such harm?

There is a friend.

And he is known to you already, sir.

You must, Joseph.

You must say what you saw.

( Knocking )

Come!

Mr Treves.

How can I help you, Inspector?

I'd have you confirm something.

What of it?

In one week, you will stand in front of a judicial inquiry and pronounce what took my sergeant from this life.

I would know now if you will tell precisely what it was you witnessed when you came upon Edmund Reid at my man's bedside.

That is for me to share with none other than the coroner.

Good day to you.

Good day, Mr Merrick.

You are a good man, sir.

But you have no clue of the suffering that is meted out in the Leman Street cells.

Suffering that Inspector Reid sanctions in the name of investigation.

( Knocking )

Mr Treves?

J...Joseph?

There is a matter urgent, I believe, which I would share with you.

Mr Merrick. I don't believe I have had the pleasure.

I... My... My apologies.

Do not disturb.

( Knocking )

( He breathes heavily )

Hush now. No panic, Mr M.

No harm is meant here.

Not yet, leastwise.

Please, my supports...

I'm suffocating...

Upsadaisy.

So it is true, then?

You must sleep upright, like a marionette on a puppeteer's shelf?

This life - six bags of sh*t till Sunday, is it not?

And here am I about to make yours worse.

You see, it strikes me you may have laid eyes on me some place before.

The night my man Linklater passed?

No, I...I must have myself confused.

That is a relief.

Nevertheless...

I hope neither of us will now forget the other.

Forget how easy it is for me to come by and say, "How do, Mr Merrick?

"I do hope the day finds you well.

And safe.

"And not inclined to say nothing you should not."

Are we understood, sir?

Sergeant Artherton, how do we find Mr Flight?

He is calm, sir. And quiet.

Which is a bonus. Mr Flight, would you agree with that assessment?

I would always agree with my sergeant.

Oh, biddable, are we? Servile, even?

We shall see. For now, Detective, let's see how developed your archive and telegraph skills are.

John Goode. A common enough name and most uncommon man.

See what you can find.

I want to know why he would run from us.

Follow me. Up here, son.

Yes, sir.

Mr Merrick.

Mr Merrick...

Detective Inspector Reid.

I'd hoped to talk with you.

Please. I...I am not well.

I have only a few questions, Mr Merrick.

I have said that I am unwell!!

Sir, sir, sir, sir, sir...

No! You overstep, Inspector. Or have you no respect for my wishes?

Of course.

But it is a friend of yours from the side shows... No, sir!

Reid! This is unconscionable!

You will not bring your Leman Street ways to this hospital again.

But...

No, sir.

Joseph. I'm sorry, Joseph.

Does Mr Merrick have knowledge of her, sir?

If he does, he will not share it with me.

John Goode's books.

That's some technical reading.

Mr Galton.

Mr Galton is a cousin of Mr Darwin.

This, he investigates if our abilities might be inherited from our parents, and if we, in turn, hand on those same abilities to our children.

Pugilism, for example.

Or depravity. Quite.

Here, his argument evolves.

He invents a term - eugenics.

Suggests that the qualities to which we might aspire could be bred into the family line.

And what of the weak?

The weak, the idle, the ugly, the dim-witted, the mad.

The deformed?

They are to be bred out.

Take a seat, Detective.

Drink, Flight?

My thanks. No.

A Mick that doesn't take a sip, uh?

And a unicorn stopped traffic on the East India Dock Road.

What do you have, Flight?

John Goode, sir.

Sit down. Not so hard to dig out.

The man has history here, recent, but history nonetheless.

Fines for drunken brawling, mainly.

Ropemakers, The Trinity - that's low-rent boozing, even round here.

The first we know of him here.

He and a woman breaking the peace, assaulting one another in the street.

And see her name, Mr Reid...

Stella Brooks.

Nothing before, not a sneeze, and then September 22nd, this.

Almost precisely seven months past.

When she leaves him.

And his behaviour degenerating in her absence.

And this the reason for her leaving?

Did she drop on him the news that she carried his child?

He didn't exactly rejoice.

They fight. She leaves.

And he hunts her.

He hunts her down the same streets.

Here - more arrests for vagrancy, drunkeness.

Ropemakers, Trinity, Thomas Street.

There's pattern to his behaviour.

And so, I thought, Inspector, if I took a turn through those streets myself, I might build an understanding of him, may indeed pick up his trail.

Then go.

Flight - Drake goes with you.

I'm sure Mrs Drake expects the sergeant.

He's right. She does. Take Drake or you're scrubbing latrines.

Nursemaid, is it?

Just watch him.

You know, Drake or no Drake - this place is going to sh*t in his shoes one day or the next.

He ain't Hobbs.

He ain't.

Will you eat, Captain?

Sorry, Reid. I got, er, I got dinner with the lady tonight.

Oh, of course, of course, of course.

The challenge we face, therefore, those of us who rightly refuse to accept the biological status of our species, is how the debilities and handicaps that impair our existence might be corrected for our heirs.

What is called for, I believe, is courage, the courage and conviction.

Systematically, to experiment upon the whole process of breeding.

But not amongst Sativa or Crustacea.

On complex organisms... organisms more like ourselves, in fact.

The correction and improvement of humankind is indeed realisable.

Thank you.

( Applause )

I say?

Hello, there?

I say, this wing is research fellows only.

Do I know you?

Oi! Get back here.

Three separate occasions, he was ejected for brawling.

Only two of us in that doss-house.

We get cornered.

It's a long fight out.

Should we be so frightened, Sergeant?

Come then, Constable.

I shall show you.

Pretty, ain't it?

John Goode?

I seek a John Goode.

How does one find a man in such a place?

They are not men no more.

You may not tell 'em apart.

Come. Our luck is already chanced.

John Goode? Oi!

Do you bob from me?

Police. Get back.

Pigs! Bloody fool!

Pigs in the pen.

Back off! Back off!

Back! Back off! Run!

Clever fellow, ain't ya?

Tough bugger, ain't you?

Right, Detective Constable, run along now.

Is there no-one at home waits for you, Albert?

Not currently, Mrs Drake.

You should call me Bella.

You should call her Mrs Drake.

I lay my head at Mrs Burton's lodging house on Commercial Street.

Once I am settled, I shall find more permanent accommodation.

Well, head you home and get your rest.

Rest, Mrs Drake?

Not this night.

Villainy does not rest.

I do not intend to either.

My thanks, Mrs Drake. Sergeant.

Where did you come from?

Over the hills and far away.

What's stopping us? Life ain't work.

Cairo, you and me.

Your sergeant's salary stretches this far, does it? No.

We're going to take what we've made here, we're going to cash in...

And what has been made here, save the names Long Susan and Captain Jackson?

C'mon, I see the bills you count.

I see the numbers you scratched in, in that ledger.

Yes, but once counted, you do not see where those bills leave to.

Nothing here is yours.

Nothing here is mine.

Then whose?

Three years - you never asked.

Never cared.

Hey, you're the one that wanted to play business-lady and now I'm asking.

Whose is it?

Whose?!

Silas Duggan.

'..businesswoman who gives all the profits away to somebody else, I wonder why I didn't think of that!?'

I swear to God, you... are as dead in the head as this slab of meat!

How could you be so god damn reckless?

So, so, so, so god damn...

What?! What?!

..irresponsible!? From you!

I mean it. I had a right to know.

You have no rights, save the ones you took, for gratis, each and every night, in my view and hearing.

Things were different then.

No. The same.

And the same reality prevails.

This place - its people and profits.

The property of...Silas Duggan.

We were destitute, wanted, criminal.

Not what you would call a sound investment. Duggan took the chance.

No. What he took was our lives, Susan. Ground rent plus 50% income.

Any more, Mr Shine?

Sufficient, I think, Mr Duggan.

Barton, good of you to come when summoned.

I wait on your orders, Inspector, you know that.

Nothing like loyalty, is there, Mr Duggan?

Oh, nothing in the world, Mr Shine.

I'm relieving you of your everyday duties, Barton, send you to some surveillance.

Because as we know, elephants do not forget.

Inspector Reid!

I will not stand.

Mr Merrick. I am well known to you and I mean no harm.

I come only to enquire after a friend to you - Stella.

Stella Brooks, delivered of her child just hours before she...met her death here, sir, on these corridors.

( He cries )

When was it you last saw her?

September. L...last year.

After they had fought and she had left him? Yes.

And can you say, was it on account of her pregnancy?

She said she could not forgive him.

Because he struck her?

No - she could not forgive him for...for the rage he felt at the child inside her.

Did she say where it was she meant to go?

To John's father - a doctor.

And did Goode know this?

John had for ever kept his family a secret from her, his true name also.

The father, a man of wealth, well able to care for her and her child - did she mention a name?

No, she did not, Mr Reid.

I cannot help you further, I...

Mr Merrick, your help in this matter... it is invaluable.

Been like this all night, they have.

'Your ingratitude is dazzling!'

Oh, so I'm supposed to be grateful for this sl*ve status, huh?

Oh, good morning, Reid.

And, er, what is it that brings you by?

There's insight I'd share with you.

So you didn't come for your shirts then?

Oh, come on - you truly believe I cannot tell when another man's shirts are laundered in my own house?

Although given your head, you would not have it so a great deal longer now, would you?

What? You will not tell your friend and accomplice? Then allow me.

Your mercenary hireling has designs on a change of location.

Wishes to up and leave you, Inspector.

Come on, don't be such a baby, Reid.

You think this is the garden spot of the world?

My one ambition to remain here, chained to you?

Anyway - it's not like I'll be sailing away any time soon!

You know, this brooding martyr thing you perfect - it can really grate.

John Goode. Not his real name.

What of him?

A rich man's son, finding fellowship in a freak show.

We must ask why.

The thing with the poker.

It's a skill, not a handicap.

But the palsy...

The tremor in him.

So whilst I still may make use of it, set your great medical mind to that, will you?

Detective Constable Flight.

Mr Reid.

In the future, you will do Sergeant Drake the service of knowing what is best for you. Will you not?

I will, sir.

Now, speak.

John Goode has been incarcerated - not in gaol, however.

Two spells at The Lark House Asylum.

Can you speculate as to which physician?

Karl Crabbe.

The very same.

What tricks did he play on Mr Goode, I wonder?

Inspector Reid.

A pleasing interruption to an otherwise dull year.

I forget.

Oh, really, Inspector?

In the current mood?

My mind advances, but my frame is frail.

How would your newly sullied reputation cope with another interview concluding in a man's death?

Gossip, Reid.

It's a fact of prison life.

Were I to tell you the life of an infant boy depended on your speaking, might that make impact?

Not really.

Then what, Doctor?

There is a tale told, Inspector.

The guards here tell it.

Of your wife.

Rending herself in the Leman Street gutter.

Sergeant Drake has heard the tale too, I see.

How difficult for you all.

What is it you want?

To hear it from you, Reid.

The man who brought me so low.

Sergeant Drake.

Sir? Leave us.

But... You heard, Sergeant.

Captain Jackson found her.

In The Bear.

Barely dressed, it is said.

Demanding drink.

He attempted to remove her.

She would not be removed.

And so he carried her.

Which is when she screamed.

In the street. You tended to her?

I did.

Your sergeant, all others to bear witness?

And no man to ask you why?

Why such hysteria grew in her.

What cruelty could possibly merit so public a humiliation?

What did you do to her, Inspector?

I... I lied.

Lied, you say?

On what subject?

Damn you!

I offered her unfair hope and I deceived her.

I gave her false cause to believe our lost daughter alive.

And I took another woman to my bed.

Do you know, Inspector, of all the emotions, which is the most insidious and entrapping?

Shame.

It carves its home in the marrow of your bones and rests there for all time.

Where can I find him?

This John Goode.

Whatever he is truly called.

My secrets for his.

A name I cannot give you.

But there is a father, a doctor, as you know.

And there was a brother.

Both boys subjected to a regime, a physical regime akin, you might say, to t*rture.

Feats of strength insisted upon.

Their bodies stretched from an early age, beaten with sticks, bent double. But to what end, however?

He could never articulate it with precision.

Only that he and his brother shared a curse.

A curse that k*lled the boys' mother. A curse of the blood.

And what of the brother?

Drowned himself one morning, beneath the waters of the Serpentine.

The child you fear for, if it is Goode's, he will think it similarly cursed.

A curse of the blood, as Dr Crabbe would have it, Goode's palsy, the premature death of his mother.

An inherited handicap.

Yes, and so - the medical mind?

Huntington's Chorea! Huntington's Chorea. Slow death sentence, Reid.

What?

The piecemeal loss of all that makes you feel human.

If either or both of the parents manifest signs of the disease, one or more of the offspring will invariably suffer also.

If, however, those children manage to go through life and never manifest, the thread is broken.

The reason why, then, this doctor father sought to make his sons impervious?

To breed out the mutation.

What, then, would he have made of Miss Brooks' tail?

Perhaps he did not get sight of it.

Not for a good while.

He enjoyed her beauty, until he claps eyes on her behind.

His disgust sending her to the streets.

Until... Until he wonders at his grandson, at what manner of man he might become.

And goes to reclaim him.

Five, sir. Five men drowned in the Serpentine that year.

Corcoran. Robert Corcoran, age 25.

There is a zoologist named Corcoran.

He's a... He's a research fellow at the Natural History extension of the British Museum.

He concerns himself almost exclusively with the practical development of theories first pronounced by Jean-Baptiste Lamarck.

The biological inheritance of acquired characteristics.

Our children, Flight. The strength and skills acquired in this life, so he proposes, may be handed down to those who must live the next.

Corcoran is Goode's father, Corcoran has the child.

Sergeant Drake, a hansom.

We are for South Kensington.

Sir, should I...?

Big boy's game now, son.

( Gurgling )

Mr, take your mask off.

Go on, take your mask off.

( Jeering and shouting )

( All shout )

Back! All of you! Back!

Sir. Here, sir. With me.

What is wrong with you?

This man is your fellow!

You would stone him?!

You call him monster?!

Hm? Look on your own sins!

Sir, what is it that's brought you here?

Inspector Reid.

I...I would speak with him.

I...I believe it urgent.

The Inspector pursues a case.

But I might bring you to him, sir.

Driver! Step to it.

Alexander.

Hello, Papa.

Is he well?

He is fed and begins to thrive.

And the future? Is his blood cursed?

Well, the science is not yet exact.

But the work we performed, you and I, your strength, Alexander...

My strength, my strength to absorb your pain.

I made you strong so that our descendants might not suffer your curse.

I have hope for this boy.

But none for myself.

Not then, not now.

No.

His mother, Stella.

The day she came to you.

You must have rejoiced at her?

So fine, so strong.

What happened? Did you finally have full sight of her?

That thing.

We are not so backward as a race that she could not have had it removed.

But do you not see, Father?

She had the most fortunate gift of all.

She felt no shame for who she was.

And you k*lled her.

She would not hand him to me.

Slipped. Had she only understood what was best for the child...

Best for him! What is best for him?

That he suffer witnessing your everyday revolution of hope and despair at his progress?

Or lack of it? Is that his future?

No.

Best he never knows you.

Or me. Or himself.

Alexander, you hand that boy back to me!

I am too well-conditioned, Father.

Alexander, stop!

Alexander! Stop!

Stop!

Alexander, do not hurt that child!

Alexander!

William Corcoran?

Where is the child?

You are for jail, sir.

m*rder and abduction.

I care not for myself, officer.

No! Wait! Mr Goode, wait!

Back! Back, stay back!

Mr Goode. I beg you, I beg you.

Think what you are doing.

I know all too well.

I seek only to reduce the amount of suffering in this world. We are cursed!

But sir, I beg you. The child's fate cannot yet be known.

( Baby cries )

Please, John! Listen to him!

Joseph?

Mr Reid is known to me, John.

I...I...I...I trust in him, would...would help him.

Would...would help you.

No-one can help, Joseph.

My brother knew that.

But what of Stella's wishes for her child?

She is gone, Joseph, and this child and I, we are left with this truth.

And what is that?

That there is no hope for you?

There is a monster in him.

As surely as there is one in me.

John, look at me. Do it.

Do it!

Am I not monstrous?

It is the truth of my every waking moment.

And yet, despite all, I feel joy.

No, I do, I do!

I hear the bells ring from my room, the chatter of the nurses.

Once, beyond my window, I...I watched one of their number make love to the night porter.

I...I...I have never known that, John.

The...the secret intimacy of a woman, that might have told me I was...desired.

Beautiful in another's eyes.

You, you have known that, John.

Do...do you remember it?

I do.

And what does it feel like?

It felt like peace.

Would you deny your son that peace, that...that joy?

That...that hope?

It is life, John.

Only life.

What you hold in your arms.

For ever and always, Mr Merrick, I shall remember you for this.

He is my friend.

You would do no less, Mr Reid.

You put all above yourself.

I know that of you, sir.

You are the best of men.

It is no happy accident I came to you today.

I...I know not what the result of this will be, but there is knowledge I must share with you.

I...I...I should have said before, long before, but you see, I...I saw him.

I...I saw Inspector Shine m*rder Sergeant Linklater.

Detective Constable Flight!

You will escort Mr Merrick back to his rooms at The London.

You remain outside his door, and allow no man access unless it is myself.

Yes, sir. Please, Mr Merrick.

Allow me.

With me, Sergeant.

We must bring Chief Inspector Abberline here to hear Mr Merrick's testimony.

How do, Mr Merrick.

Why the long face?

Could not do as you were bid, could you?

Are you not the brave and noble fellow and I quite the contrary?

Forced to make a habit of stealing through these corridors to end another man's life.

I might almost resent you for it.

No, no.

Please, please...

What will men say?

The Elephant Man hoped to lay down in rest... like any other Englishman.

A forlorn and now tragic hope.

He must have lain back.

To rest his head.

Oh, Joseph.

You have your peace now.

What is this?

You may well ask.

I have, this past hour, come from the grieving fireside of Frederick Treves.

He is decided on what the Linklater jury shall now hear from him.

Your sergeant succumbed to his injuries, Jedediah.

I will not accept that, Fred.

Myself likewise, Chief Inspector.

Nonetheless, you shall both do so.

There will be no more talk of this officer and his role that night.

And you, Edmund.

You will cease all questioning and suspicion of Inspector Shine's good name.

You ask the impossible.

You ask me to wilfully fail in my duty.

You are both too valuable to the preservation of peace in this quarter.

And I will not have that undermined.

The two of you.

You shake hands.

Now!

I take orders from a man to come here.

I service the needs of another I call husband.

And there is the man Duggan who owns me.

Reid, I swear to God if anything happens to her...

What is it you fear?

What is it you fear?