02x01 - The Old Switcheroo

[bunniefuu]

The board of the Royal Ontario Museum?

What, you got a problem with that?

That is really something.

Well, yeah. What's wrong
with being civic-minded?

It's hardly your strong suit.

Well, if you must know,

I've decided it's high time
I went legit.

Hmm? God knows this place could
use some livening up.

I mean, look at them. Deadly dull!

Yet well-heeled
and ripe for the picking.

Why must you always think
so poorly of your mother?

Who, by the way, didn't ask you here

- to get a lecture.
- So, why am I here?

(FAST-PACED JAZZ MUSIC)

I didn't set out to find treasures

of lost civilizations.

That happened quite by chance.

On an overnight train to Marseilles,

I met the renowned archeologist
Howard Carter.

What a charmer.

He persuaded me to go with him

to the Valley of the Kings,

where he was looking
for the lost tombs

of the pharaohs.

Digging in the sand
has been my passion

- ever since.
- I thought you two should meet.

You know,
the whole Egypt thing and all.

Marian and I have
crossed paths before.

You don't say. Where?

- Here and there.
- Care to elaborate?

- No.
- C'mon, what's the big secret?

(SHUSHING)

Working with Hiram Bingham III

in the lost city of Machu Picchu,

I excavated

in the field
of a dirt poor farmer who,

like his forefathers before him,

feeds his family with the work
of his honest hands.

In the very same dirt,

I unearthed... this.

(CROWD MURMURING)

And now, thanks to Ms. Amory,

this marvellous example

of th century Incan earthenware

will be the centrepiece

of the ROM's
new antiquities collection.

Very nice!

(CHUCKLING)

Oh, please, yes.

- That's something, huh?
- Isn't it just.

How much does she want for it?

, give or take.

It's gonna make a fabulous splash.

I bet it will.
And as Marian's champion,

I'm sure you'll just bask in the glow.

And wouldn't that be swell?

That's my brother.

My condolences, Mr. Parkes.

His full name and address?

Jack Arthur Parkes.

Rusholme Road.

Your particulars,
should we need to reach you?

Ronald Parkes.

Prospect Street.

I'll make arrangements for burial.

No funeral?

- He wasn't a religious man.
- Not all of us are.

Your brother's belongings.

Again, my sympathies, Mr. Parkes.

Thank you.

Well, yes, I would say
I've lived an adventurous life.

Excuse me. Excuse us.

These provincial types love
to ogle anyone exotic.

But here is someone I think you know.

- Hello, Marian.
- Ah... Frankie Drake.

- Long time.
- You've been busy since Cairo.

Small world, huh? How 'bout that?

I didn't know you were
living in Toronto.

And you thought
you'd seen the last of me.

- I'm sorry to disappoint.
- Well, you girls sure

seem pleased to be
reacquainted, but...

Excuse me. I mustn't keep
the patrons waiting.

No, of course not. You go right ahead.

What the heck was that all about?

She was nowhere near
Howard Carter's dig in Egypt.

- What are you talking about?
- The overnight train

- to Marseilles? That was me.
- What?!

"He persuaded me to go
to the Valley of the Kings...

he was looking for the lost
tombs of the pharaohs..."

- I told you that story!
- Yeah, well, the details

do sound vaguely familiar
now that you mention it.

- No kidding.
- Oh, Frankie!

Come on, let it go. Honestly!

What interesting person hasn't
exaggerated a thing or two

- about their past?
- Well, not me.

- Well...
- I'm sure you don't want

- to hear that Marian is a fraud.
- Oh, stop it!

Stop trying to spoil this
for me, Frankie.

So, chop suey
or something more adventurous?

Ooh, what did you have in mind?

Well, there's this restaurant
serving this chicken thing,

and it's called coq Au vin.

Coq Au vin? Coq... It's French.

- Oh, no.
- Well, all right, then.

We can just go to Quon's. What's that?

This wasn't here this morning.

It must've fallen off
Jack Parkes' hand

when they brought him in.

"To My Beloved Husband. Love Ingrid."

Oh, Flo, it's his wedding ring.

- I gotta return it.
- Well, absolutely!

His wife will want a keepsake
of her lost love.

Funny. The brother didn't
mention a wife.

Rusholme Road.

Fancy a tram ride?

Yes!

- Rusholme Road.
- It's quite the fancy place.

- Ahem!
- Oh, excuse us.

Flo, I think this is...

A nunnery.

I guess Ronald Parkes made a mistake.

Easy to do under the circumstances.

- No problem. I got his address.
- Right.

Hey.

This must be it. Prospect Street.

It's another wrong address.
That's odd.

I don't think so.

One wrong address is a mistake.
Two is a lie.

(THEME MUSIC)
So, a nunnery and an empty lot.

Someone is messing
with the integrity of my morgue.

Well, if the addresses are
fake, the names could be too.

I don't understand it. I checked out

the coroner's reports.
John Parkes, or whoever he is,

he d*ed of a heart att*ck.
It was textbook. No fuss.

But tell them
about the inscription, Flo.

Whoever the dead man was,
he has a wife named Ingrid.

And she needs to know
what happened to him.

We're here for you, Flo.
What do you need from us?

I can ask Bill to take a sneak
peek in the city records.

See what he can find
on the elusive Parkes family.

What about the dead man's
photograph and fingerprints?

None on record.

(SIGHING)

But there's one way we can get them.

(ENIGMATIC JAZZ MUSIC)

You sure dress nice for grave digging.

Well, what did you expect,
a miner's helmet?

Yes!

Jeepers. Sorry to be so gruff.

No, no, no.

No, these tears aren't for you.

OK.

Cemetery's closing for today.

I see that.

You know...

He d*ed...

in my arms a year ago this day...

And so we... we walked
all the way here.

It was four or five miles.

And... I brought him these flowers...

...because it was
such a special day, you see.

I would really appreciate it.

Thank you. This is my friend.

Thank you. You're very kind, sir.

- Nice work.
- Thank you.

(DOG BARKING)

It's Jack Arthur Parkes.
Parkes with an E.

- OK.
- And there should be

some records on his brother,
Ronald, as well.

I'll check as soon
as the secretaries leave.

Why'd you want to know, anyway?

The less you know, the better.

What, do you think
the Head of Records is

gonna tie me to a chair
down at City Hall

and blind me with some bright light?

You're reading too many spy novels.

No, I just don't want you
losing your new job is all.

No one's gonna notice
if I check a name for you.

- What would I do without you?
- You'd be lost.

Honestly, a little sneaking
around livens up the file room

a little bit. Besides,

I wouldn't mind a little cloak
and dagger lifestyle

you lead, Miss Trudy Clarke.

(INDISTINCT SHOUTING)
(OBJECTS CLATTERING)

You wanna cheat at Mahjong,

you find another joint to play in.

- Wendy, you need help?
- Nope. I'm good.

(SHOUTING IN CHINESE)

Honestly, sometimes,

I just hope for a simpler life.

Nah. I don't buy it.

You ladies live for the excitement.

No. I hear you, Wendy.

There's some nights
the only thing I really want

is some nice music playing and
strong arm wrapped around me.

Think your girl is dropping
you a big hint, Bill.

Well, I should get back
to work or I'll lose my job.

City Records will
fall apart without me.

I'll be seeing you soon.

I'll get you a drink.

- Good, you're alone.
- What's going on?

- You tell me.
- What is that supposed to mean?

There is a lot riding on this urn.

clams to be precise.

I wouldn't rush to write that cheque.

All right, Frankie.
Come on, spill the beans.

What do you know about Marian Hartley?

I already told you. She's a fraud.

Wrong.

The museum curator has
already verified the urn.

You know, expert eye,
testing, the whole shebang.

- It's the real McCoy.
- Good.

Great.

- What are you not telling me?
- You'll find out on your own.

Something happened
in Egypt, didn't it?

Hmm?

Oh, you're stubborn as a mule,
just like your old man.

So, tell me where you met her.

The Windsor. Just before the w*r.

- The palace?
- It was a drinking hole

- in the back streets of Cairo.
- Oh, that sounds like fun.

Marian ran the place.
She liked to booze people up

- and get them talking.
- Including you.

Oh, and now she's passing off
some story about you

and Howard Carter
as her own, and it's got

your nose all out of joint,
doesn't it, baby?

Let's just say it's not only stories

she likes to pass off as her own.

What, you saying the urn isn't hers?

What I'm saying is
you should be careful,

because she's pulling one over on you.

On me? (CHUCKLING)

Oh, sweetie.

Give your mother
just a little bit of credit.

She wasn't born yesterday.

Really?

For your information,
I've persuaded the ROM

to engage
a world-renowned authenticator

to look into the provenince...

- Provenance.
- Provenance of the urn,

as in, where did it come from.
And if it was stolen,

- he's gonna figure that out.
- What's his name?

Michael Walsh.
He's like the... head honcho

at the Field Museum in Chicago.
And I'm making a big splash

about it too. Big splash! I am putting

the ROM on the map.

What do you need me for?
Sounds like you have it

- all covered.
- Well, I do.

- Fine.
- Fine.

(RHYTHMIC JAZZ MUSIC)

(GRUNTING)

What happens if we can't
identify this dead man?

His wife is never gonna know
what happened to him.

And the unsolved mystery is

gonna haunt her forever.

Oh, Flo...

Oh, I'm sorry.
I mean, I'm such a nitwit.

Of course... of course you don't
know what happened

to your husband during the w*r.

I mean, how he d*ed. Oh, Flo.

- I am so sorry.
- Oh, it's all right, Mary.

That's why I don't want any woman

to go through what I went through.

I don't even know
where Herb is buried.

Flo, I really admire
how you cope with tragedy.

Well, wallowing won't bring Herb back.

And I've got my job. At least for now.

The Coroner gets a whiff
of this, I'm out on my ear.

I should think the Coroner would

admire this noble work.
You're trying to identify

an unidentified body.

- And on your spare time, too.
- Fat chance.

Dig faster.

Graveyards... creepy.

(DOOR OPENING AND CLOSING)

Hi.

You don't smoke that thing
very often. Nora, huh?

We had a difference of opinion.

I saw her get into a taxi.

She seems pretty worked up
about this exhibit.

Muttering something about
that urn and a Marian Hartley.

Yes. An old acquaintance
from my Cairo days.

Ooh. Seems there's a story there.

She stole something from this
young boy who had nothing.

I mean, who does that? Even Nora
wouldn't stoop that low.

- What was it?
- It was an ancient amulet.

It was in this boy's family
for generations,

and Marian sold it off as her own.

Let me guess. Frankie Drake,

champion of the underdog, stopped her.

I tried. I made a real stink.

Marian must've been thrilled.

She was furious...
but I couldn't prove it.

So she won.

Bet that ticked you off.

You could say that.

So, you think she's pulling
the same stunt at the ROM?

Well, she's done it before.

Maybe we should see what she's up to.

- What's she selling?
- It's an Incan urn.

Well, let me see what I can find

- about stolen Peruvian artifacts.
- OK. Good.

What about Bill? Did he have any luck

- finding the Parkes family?
- It's a dead end.

There's no record on Jack Parkes
or his brother Ronald.

Something's going on.

What has Flo's stumbled into?

Oh, Flo! You've got it!

(GRUNTING)

Is he, um... all right?

He's still dead,
if that's what you mean.

Well, uh, don't forget
the fingerprints so we can

fill in the grave and get out of here.

(CLICKING)

- Stranger and stranger.
- What does that mean?

The new part of his nail,
it's discoloured.

Fingernails grow after death?

No, not exactly.
It just looks that way.

They dehydrate and it retracts,

- exposing the nail bed.
- Right...

Wow, you really know a lot about this.

years of night school
eventually pays off.

Um... well, then, what does
the discoloration mean?

- Poison.
- What?

Our mystery man was m*rder*d.

(UPBEAT JAZZ MUSIC)

Were you followed?

No. Why the secrecy?

Keep your voice down.
I could lose my job.

Ahem. Our mystery man.

- You dug up the body?
- With difficulty.

- And a wheelbarrow.
- I'm impressed.

We didn't have a choice.
You are never gonna

- believe this, Frankie...
- He was m*rder*d.

I thought he d*ed of a heart att*ck.

He did. Likely brought on by poison.

My best guess is a massive dose
of thallium-laced rat poison.

Undetectable. The telltale sign
only showed up

- on his fingernails post mortem.
- But who k*lled him?

Could have been the man who
posed as the victim's brother.

- Could be.
- I got a good look at him.

I mean, I could try to identify him

but without a name
or an address to go on,

it's like finding
a needle in a haystack.

The best way to find
our k*ller is to figure out

who this dead man really is.

Well, maybe he had a criminal record.

I could check his fingerprints.

We've gotta work fast.
We're lucky it's Saturday.

The coroner never shows up
on the weekends,

unless it's an emergency.
Make sure no one spots you!

I go... got it!

This birthmark could be useful.

And check out this unusual scarring

on his abdomen that was
noted by the coroner.

- Intriguing.
- It's not an injury.

- No.
- Could it be a surgery?

Not recent. I'll do some research.

OK.

(RHYTHMIC JAZZ MUSIC)

Officer Shaw.

Oh! Detective Greyson.
What are you doing here?

What are you doing?

I'm... uh,

just taking some time
to educate myself.

Should I,
in the line of duty, have cause

to take a fingerprint or two,
I would like to be prepared.

A morality officer
taking fingerprints.

That's really something.

And I think I'm actually
getting quite good at it.

- I see.
- Ah...

- It always helps to practice.
- Yes.

Well, Officer Shaw,
I commend your initiative.

Oh, Detective, that's...

- Thank you.
- Oh, there is one more thing.

Mm-hmm?

Oh, of course.

Thank you.

So, I looked into
the Peruvian artifacts.

A lot of Incan stuff was unearthed

when the lost city
of Machu Picchu was discovered

- by some Yale professor.
- One Hiram Bingham III.

- You know him?
- I don't,

but Marian claims to have
worked with him in Peru.

Well, it seems Bingham's
excavation was pretty extensive.

There were hundreds of workers
and Thousands of artifacts

that were uncovered.
Who knows what happened

to them or how many were pilfered?

- The Wild West of archeology.
- You got it.

- (DOOR OPENING)
- Just me.

Hello, Nora.

Oh, no time for a drink
but thanks for asking.

Listen, much as it pains me
to say this, I need your help.

- We're busy.
- Don't make me beg.

- What's up?
- There was a break-in

- last night at the museum.
- So call the cops.

Well, they were called!
They took their time arriving,

- missed the intruder.
- What was stolen?

Well, see, that's the thing.

Those oafs they call constables
swarm all over the place,

- can't find anything missing.
- Nothing?

Yeah, I don't buy it.
I mean, Who breaks into

the Royal Ontario Museum
and doesn't steal anything,

all those priceless things
just lying around,

begging to be taken? Something's up

and I want to know what.

Well, what do you want us to do?

I want you to figure out
what the cops missed!

You're still private detectives,
aren't you?

Oh. OK. What's the retainer?

Hmm? Oh, no. I am not kidding.

Going legit is no picnic.
And my reputation

is at stake with this urn.

Nothing can go sideways.

Hmm? Hmm?

You in?

(MAN): This lock was
the only one tampered with.

(TRUDY): They must want
something in this room.

(MAN CHUCKLING)

If it was our beautiful urn,

Mrs. Amory was ahead
of the thief. She insisted

on installing this secure cabinet.

Completely burglar proof.

Seems that way.

This is the list of our inventory.

I'll check it out.

I'm gonna have a chat
with an old friend.

That new Detective Greyson,
for a moment,

I thought he was
going to be different,

that he was going
to take me seriously,

but it turns out
he's just like all the rest.

He has no respect
for my policing talents.

- Did you find out anything?
- Well...

There's the real frustration,
Flo. I checked

every fingerprint.
Whoever this mystery man is,

he's got no record.
And there was no luck

- on the phantom brother either.
- Mary. Look at this.

Oh, Flo! These are the same
incisions as on the body.

Exactly. I think our victim
had an organoscopy.

Oh. That sounds unpleasant.

It's a revolutionary
surgical technique.

Pioneered by a Dr. Bertram Bernheim

- at Johns Hopkins University.
- So, if our victim was

one of his patients,
maybe they can identify him.

Has he got any particular
identifying features?

A birthmark on his left shoulder. Why?

Perhaps I can put my policing
talents to use after all.

Your ongoing patronage is
very appreciated.

I look forward
to seeing you next time.

Oh. You're back.

- (SIGHING)
- I'm here to investigate

- last night's break-in.
- Oh, well. Why you?

Because I'm a private detective.

Private detective?

That's quite a step down
from archeology to snooping.

Well, at least I've
been an archeologist,

- unlike some.
- Meaning?

You were nowhere near
the Valley of the Kings.

And the overnight train to Marseilles,

- I told you that story.
- I'm sure Howard Carter

took lots of trains
and met lots of young women.

Well, impress your camp
followers all you want

with my stories. I'm only interested

- in where you were last night.
- Last night?

Here and there,
being entertained by patrons

- of this fine institution.
- I'm sure you were doing

- most of the entertaining.
- I don't understand

why you're being so hostile, Frankie.

You and I go way back,
and how many people can

say that these days? Remember the fun

- we used to have at The Windsor?
- Did we?

Oh, come on! You remember
Lawrence, when he came in

dressed as a Bedouin demanding a drink

- in that charming English accent.
- No, I don't.

But I do remember
the scam that you pulled.

That's ancient history.

Not to Asim, it's not. You do
remember him, don't you?

- The amulet was mine.
- After his mother d*ed,

the amulet was all he had
to remember her by.

You stole from a child.

It was verified
as my archeological find.

- Just like the urn?
- Nora Amory's only bringing in

some other authenticator
to drum up publicity

- for this backwater pile.
- A backwater that's about

to pay you grand for some
fraud that you're pulling.

You've got it all figured out,
Miss PI.

Not yet... but I will.

Ah, Doctor Bernheim, thank you
so much for speaking with me.

Um, I'm calling on behalf

of Detective Greyson
of the Toronto Police.

The police, the Po... lice. Yes.

Um, we need your help
identifying a corpse.

(SIGHING) A corpse.

A body. Right.

We know he was
a patient at Johns Hopkins,

and we believe he had an
organoscopy some time ago.

Right. So, if you would kindly
check your records,

and... oh, you would?

That would be most helpful.

Oh, oh, oh, and, and, and
he has a distinctive birthmark

on his left shoulder... Right.
That, oh, that would...

Yes, absolutely, I can wait.

(TRUDY): See this?

Boy, that gal can
sure write a headline, huh?

Yeah. Seems you've got
a fan in Lipstick.

Don't I just. I got
all the press clamouring

for this story. Now if the guest
of honour would just show up...

Right. Michael Walsh is
on the slow boat to Toronto.

Yeah, you're telling me.
He left Chicago days ago.

This is the last item
in the collection.

That's it. Everything checks out.

You are kidding me!

Sorry.

I hate to say it,
but the cops were right.

Nothing's missing.

So, why did Marian break in?

- You don't know it was her.
- A break-in at the ROM

with Marian in town is
not a coincidence.

That's funny.

Nora's has a pretty good nose
and she couldn't smell anything.

- How come she didn't make Marian?
- Because she didn't want to.

- She has too much invested.
- Seems like you're

- pretty invested yourself.
- What's that supposed to mean?

Marian's gotten under your skin.

Cairo was years ago, Frankie.
You can't fix the past.

- I'm not trying to.
- Really?

Fine... but it doesn't mean

that I'm not right.

Yeah, well, there's
a first for everything.

- (KNOCKING AND DOOR OPENING)
- (MARY): Hello? Oh!

I've got it! I have got it.

- Got what?
- Well, Flo actually cracked it.

He was a patient at Johns Hopkins.

- Who was?
- The man in Flo's fridge.

He's got a name. It is Michael Walsh.

Michael Walsh.
That's the elusive authenticator

- from Chicago.
- So, our two investigations

- are one and the same.
- But who would want to k*ll

- an antiquities expert?
- Looks like Frankie's got

- her number one suspect.
- Really? Who is it, Frankie?

I need to send a telegram,

and then catch a train.

(THUNDER CRASHING)

(SOFT MUSIC)

- (KNOCKING)
- Come in.

Hiram Bingham III, I presume?

Oh... no, call me Bingham.

- You must be Frankie Drake.
- Thank you for meeting with me.

Oh, Howard Carter's telegram
was some introduction.

You made quite an impression.

I can see why.

So, how did you like Egypt?

(SPEAKING ARABIC)

So, Miss Drake, how can I help?

I'm looking for something
old and Peruvian.

- This Incan urn.
- Oh.

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

Oh. It's very nice.

I'd say this is quite a find.

Would you say it's authentic?

I can't be sure from this photo.

I'd have to examine the real thing.

- Have you seen it before?
- No.

- No, were you digging in Peru?
- I wasn't.

She was. Marian Hartley.

- Do you recognize her?
- Should I?

She claims she was working
with you in Machu Picchu.

Marian Hartley...

Are you sure you have the right name?

Yes, I'm very sure.

- She didn't work with you.
- I've never heard of her.

Why are you asking?

It's a long story.

Thank you for your help,

but I have a train to catch.

Must you rush off?

I'd be happy to drive you
to the station.

In the meantime...

I happen to have a bottle

of your Canadian whiskey tucked away.

Well, I'm more of a gin gal.

But... I could make an exception.

There you go.

So, is this what
brought you to Buffalo?

Yes, actually.

I'm on a treasure hunt.

Incan gold.

Supposedly hidden from
the conquistadors centuries ago.

You're looking for clues?

According to myth,

a secret map to the treasure exists.

You think it's woven into this?

- I was optimistic.
- But disappointed.

Mm-hmm.

The real map is said to bear

this Incan spider symbol.

Sadly, this tapestry has no such mark.

And you think this treasure's real?

I'm an adventurer.

We thrive on the possibility
of the impossible.

And the thrill's in the chase.

A woman after my own heart.

♪

- What's up?
- We got a problem.

There's been a traffic accident
with a couple of fatalities,

and the bodies are
on their way here now.

We've gotta get rid
of Mr. Walsh pronto.

Right. I have a friend from church

who works for
the Bethany Funeral Home.

- I could talk to her.
- I can hold the coroner off

for an hour or so.
Your friend, she's discreet?

Yeah, no doubt about it.

I mean, Walsh will be the only
white body in the place,

but at least he can lay in rest
'til we find his wife.

- OK. Help me dress him.
- What?

It's quicker with two. Grab an apron.

(GRUNTING)

♪

- Hello again.
- What do you want now?

Well, I just spent
a very pleasant evening

with an old friend of yours,
Hiram Bingham III.

Well, he isn't in Toronto.

No, he isn't. He's in Buffalo.

But we had a very interesting
chat about you.

- Oh?
- You weren't in Machu Picchu

- with him.
- Don't be ridiculous.

- Where did you get the urn?
- Give it up, Frankie.

You lost before,
and you'll lose again.

Not this time, I'm afraid.

Where were you four nights ago?

Why the sudden interest
in my social schedule?

Call it curiosity.

Four nights ago...

that was the evening
before my presentation.

Why don't you ask Nora Amory?

I will.

OK, you are absolutely sure?

Well, like, I had the filet mignon,

Marian had the lobster. I mean, it was

a charming evening
on the museum's tab.

- Why are you asking?
- Because Marian is a k*ller!

- At least I thought she was.
- Well, that's a little

dramatic, darling, even for you.
Who did she supposedly k*ll?

Michael Walsh, the authenticator.

You're kidding. He's dead?

- I'm afraid so.
- Well, no wonder

- he didn't show up.
- Yeah, well, somebody

k*lled him and went to a lot
of trouble to hide his body.

Why do you think it was
Marian? I mean, she's got

no reason to k*ll him.
The museum curator has

already confirmed the urn's genuine.

Yeah, well, I still don't buy it.

Yeah, well,
four nights ago, Marian was

sucking on a crustacean,
not bumping off Walsh.

Can you keep Walsh's demise quiet

- for a day or two?
- Yeah. He's dead.

- I don't expect he'll mind. Why?
- I just need some time

- to figure this out.
- OK. Go, go, go, go.

(RHYTHMIC JAZZ MUSIC)

♪

(CLICKING)

Just me. (SIGHING)

I wanted to let you know
that Michael Walsh

is safely tucked away
at the Bethany Funeral Home.

- Trudy came through.
- Yep, and I found

a way to reach his wife,
Ingrid, with the news.

Which won't be an easy call,
given that he was m*rder*d.

You might wanna hold off
on making that call.

- Why?
- I may have a lead

- on who the k*ller is.
- You do?

This guy.

Holy cats, you found him!

You know who he is?

That's the man who came
to identify his dead brother!

That's Ronald Parkes!

That's my brother.

My condolences, Mr. Parkes.

So, so, Marian's friend
Ronald k*lled Michael Walsh?

But if Ronald is the k*ller,
why show up at the morgue

- and risk getting caught?
- Because he wanted to make

very sure that if anyone came
looking for Walsh,

- he was never found.
- Like his wife.

- Exactly.
- Except for I found

- that wedding ring.
- And unraveled the plan.

Why go to all that trouble to
make sure Walsh was never found?

Because Ronald is planning
to steal Walsh's identity.

What for?

A very valuable urn
at the Royal Ontario Museum.

Michael Walsh from
the Field Museum in Chicago.

I am delighted
to meet you, Mrs. Amory.

(STAMMERING) Mr. Walsh. Hello!

(CHUCKLING) We were beginning to think

- you'd never arrive.
- An invitation to examine

an early piece of Incan pottery,
how could I resist?

- I am very keen to see it.
- I bet you are.

Please...

♪

(JAZZ MUSIC)

Michael Walsh,
a.k.a. the walking dead,

just strolled into the ROM.
What is going on?!

He certainly took his time.

You knew, and you didn't think
to tell your mother!

I'm still trying to figure it out!

Well hurry up. Being left in the dark

makes me very uncomfortable!

Frankie, I am used to running the con,

- not being the mark.
- The man that you just saw,

he k*lled the real Michael Walsh.

Oh, charming fellow!
What is he doing at the museum?

I don't know, but he has a partner.

Oh, if it isn't
Miss Hartley from Cairo!

- The one and only.
- You're not gonna gloat?

- No time for that.
- Oh!

What are they after?
It, well, it has to be the urn.

- That's what I've been saying.
- Now she gloats.

- They're after the grand.
- So they sell the ROM a fake.

- Except the urn's a genuine.
- So why bother

- impersonating the authenticator?
- It's a classic!

- It's the old switcheroo.
- Clearly a favourite of yours.

Well, I, I, you know, I, I may
have run it once or twice.

You find yourself a mark.
You offer the genuine article

for sale. The buyer agrees,
you set a price,

you collect the cash,
and then you switch

the genuine article for a fake.
And the beauty of it is

- No one's the wiser.
- And then you pull

- the same con somewhere else.
- Exactly.

So, how does the switch work?

Trade secret. What?
I'm saving it for my memoirs.

The question is how are
Marian and pal gonna

pull it off at the ROM?

The mysterious break-in.

Where nothing was taken.
Ronald broke in...

And he planted a replica.
But Trudy searched the place.

- She didn't find anything.
- Yeah, but she was looking

- for something missing.
- Not something hidden.

Well, there's only one way
to catch them.

We let it play out.

OK, so when is Walsh
authenticating the urn?

This afternoon.

- Old times, Frankie.
- Don't push it.

OK.

- [Operator.]
- Operator?

- [Can I help you?]
- Chicago, please.

- [What's the institution?]
- The Field Museum.

Well, yes, the urn is
a coveted treasure,

but so too is Miss Hartley,

who has been delighting us
with her tales of adventure.

I envy your travels to Machu Picchu,

- Miss Hartley.
- Oh, yes, Machu Picchu!

Words cannot describe the experience

of entering the lost city.
One's senses are

completely taken over.

It's truly like

holding history in your hands.

- Intoxicating.
- Completely.

Oh... I can see
you're just two little peas

in an archeological pod, so...
(ALL CHUCKLING)

I will leave Miss Hartley to
beguile you further, Mr. Walsh.

- Thank you.
- The urn has been prepared

for your inspection,
so whenever you're ready,

Miss Hartley will show you
the way. Take your time.

(TENSE MUSIC)

- Thank you.
- Isn't it something?

Quite.

The guard will remain outside
the door for security.

- You got the car?
- I'm picking it up tonight.

Be at the side door at .

♪

(LID CREAKING)

(WHISPERING): Huh.
Impressive hiding spot.

(WHISPERING): Yeah.
They've done this before.

(LID CREAKING)

There it is, the old switcheroo.

Now, Mr. Walsh,
don't keep us in suspense

a moment longer. What do you say?

- (CLICKING)
- Mrs. Amory,

patrons of the Royal Ontario Museum,

it is my pleasure
to confirm this is a rare

and marvellous piece. (CLICKING)

A genuine th century Incan urn...

worthy of a place of honour
in your fine institution.

And just one matter remaining.
Miss Hartley, your cheque.

And I hope you bring us many more

of your wondrous finds.

- Count on it, Mrs. Amory.
- Oh...

(CLICKING)

Did they suspect anything?

Nope. The trap's all set.

So, Ronald just has to walk into it.

- What about Marian?
- I'll take care of Marian.

(INSECTS CHIRPING)

(TENSE JAZZ MUSIC)

♪

(LID CREAKING)

Looking for this, Mr. Walsh?

Or should we call you Ronald Parkes?

Hmm?

(FAST-PACED JAZZ MUSIC)

(GRUNTING)

I got him. You go.

(EXHALING HEAVILY)

(CAR ENGINE HUMMING)

- Hello, Marian.
- What? What are you...

- Expecting someone else?
- Don't be ridiculous.

- I was just leaving.
- I don't think so.

- You're going down for m*rder.
- I didn't k*ll anyone.

I contacted the Field Museum
in Chicago.

It turns out they have
the exact same Peruvian urn

in their collection,
authenticated by one

Michael Walsh.

You pulled the exact same con there.

The minute Walsh saw you,

you knew the game would be over,

so you and your partner k*lled him.

You should mind your own business.

You became my business the minute

you cheated Asim in Cairo.

(GROANING)

♪

The brush work, the seaming.

This... this detail.

It's a fine piece indeed.

Isn't it just.

So, you think it's the real deal?

Oh, there's no question.

I knew it!

I mean, I, I, I, I kind of have an eye

for, uh, for the genuine article.

- (CHUCKLING)
- Oh.

Tell me, how did you
come upon this urn?

Well, Mr. Bingham... (CHUCKLING)

This is an interesting story.

Well, I'm gonna
level with you, Bingham.

You're not just here to authenticate.

Well, you have my attention,
Miss Drake.

There's something else about the urn

that I think you might
find interesting.

Really?

Oh, I, uh...

NO! (SCREAMING)

Hold onto your hair, Nora!

Why?!

Take a peek.

Does it look familiar?

My God...

It's the map to the Incan gold.

Gold? What gold?

After Marian and her partner
were carted away,

I took a closer look at the urn and...

I found this.

Look familiar?

I'll be damned...

the symbol of the spider.

I remember you showing me the drawing

and there was nothing
on the outside of the urn,

so there was
only one other possibility.

Hmm. Well, wouldn't you know it?

Only Frankie Drake could
smash a priceless urn

and find some map to lost treasure.

She gets that from me.

(SOFT MUSIC)

My deepest sympathies, Mrs. Walsh.

You are kindness itself.
And a dedicated coroner.

- I'm not the actual coroner.
- Well you should be.

I'm grateful beyond words to you both.

She's right.
You should be the coroner.

And you should be the chief of police.

Don't let anyone hear you say that.

If our bosses knew
how competent we are...

We'd lose our jobs for sure.

(BOTH LAUGHING)

Narrowing down the vastness
of the mountain range will

- be a challenge.
- This painted map is

very specific.

This... this valley could
be a reference point.

Howard Carter's grid technique
could prove to be useful.

Methodical and laborious.

But scientific and effective.

Well, where's the fun in that?

(SIGHING)

Join my treasure hunt.

We'd make a great team.

The thrill is in the chase, isn't it?

Well, it's a tempting offer, but...

I'm a detective now.

And who knows where
your next case will take you.

And what I might have to smash.

- (CHUCKLING)
- Right.

Well...

if you change your mind,

you can find me in the Peruvian Andes.

Just look for the hat.

(SOFT MUSIC)

(BIRDS CHIRPING)

Sorry about the urn.

Yeah. How about a little
warning next time you smash

something priceless? Your mother's got

a dodgy pelvic floor.

Well, console yourself knowing
that Marian used the urn

for a cheap con without
ever knowing its true value.

A delicious irony,
I will give you that.

I still can't believe
that you didn't see through her.

Yeah, I don't know.
I think going legit

somehow clouded my thinking.
Well, it won't happen again.

Trust me. And for starters,
I'm quitting the board

- of this place.
- Oh. They let you go?

Yeah. All that juicy publicity?
They can kiss that goodbye!

So, they did give you the boot.

Must you harp?

So, tell me about
the charming Mr. Bingham.

- There's nothing to tell.
- Oh, sure there is.

You've got a thing for archeologists.

- How would you know?
- Mother's intuition.

- There's no such thing.
- So, you fancy a drink or what?

Thought you'd never ask.

♪