15x13 - Murdoch on the Couch

[bunniefuu]

William, we have to hurry.

The lecture isn't until one o'clock.

Yes, but Dr. Jones told me that
they're leaving for New York

almost immediately after.

I want you to meet him.

- Dr. Jones?
- No! Dr. Freud.

- Yes!
- I studied with him in Vienna.

Man with strange theories.

Yes. I'm very curious
to see what you think.

Mr. Davidson? How can I help you?

I wish to report a m*rder.

- Of whom?
- My wife, Lizzie.

- I believe someone has k*lled her.
- You believe?

I saw it in a dream two nights ago.

And I haven't seen her since.

Why don't you have a seat?

MAN: No, please, you are not
listening. Please just listen.

We have a conference. We cannot...

[OVERLAPPING SHOUTING]

You stopped. I walked into you.

I know this woman.

- Dr. Freud!
- Dr. Ogden.

We were just coming to see your lecture.

This is my husband,
Detective William Murdoch.

Ah, yes!

What brings you to our station house?

Uh, my colleagues and I are not
here out of desire, or intent.

I detained them, sir.

They were all participants
in a brawl at Chez Pierre.

It was hardly a brawl.

Their tables were overturned,
and people were screaming.

Apparently, there was
some sort of death thr*at.

Death thr*at?

Ah, this was delivered
to me at my table.

I'm afraid I don't speak German.

It reads, "Use this to
k*ll yourself before I do."

It's most disturbing.

Why did it lead to a brawl?

Because the only people who
knew I would be at the restaurant

were seated at my table.

One of these men wishes to k*ll me.

My dreams? You think
this is about my dreams?

What else am I to think?

You could start by
not making assumptions.

Uh, find out how this
letter got to the restaurant.

- Sir.
- Dr. Freud does not need you

- to speak for him.
- I will speak for Dr. Freud...

What's all this about?

This is about the
subconscious expression

of displaced oedipal rage.

JUNG: Are you referring to
my father now, or just to you?

You assume this is about you?

- How am I to assume anything otherwise?
- Enough!

Sit down and shut up!

Or you can all carry on as
much as you like in my cells.

Can we not just spank
this lot and send 'em home?

- Well, sir.
- What's this gibberish?

It's German. It says, "Use this
to k*ll yourself before I do."

OGDEN: Apparently, one of
these men sent it to Freud.

Right. Interview them one at a time.

- But keep them away from me.
- Sir.

William...

Yes, Julia, given your
experience in the field

I should like you to help
me with the interviews.

- If you like.
- Yes! Uh, but...

well, when I was in Vienna,

with Dr. Freud, I participated
in his talking cure.

And, well, much of the talking

was about you.

Oh.

How nice.

Yes.

Dr. Ogden, what a pleasure
it is to see you again,

even if you did challenge my theories.

I'm flattered you remember.

Ah, remembering is easy when
the experience is pleasant.

Detective, as I recall,

you lost your mother at an early age.

I did, yes.

And you believed your
father to have k*lled her.

Perhaps we should proceed
with the interview?

- Yes.
- Of course.

Please continue.

[CHUCKLES]

Is there something?

Oh, no. You are merely conforming

to my expectations of you, Detective.

Oh! Ah, I see.

And what expectations would those be?

You are a typical retentive.

I'm retentive?

Dr. Freud believes that
infantile development

is defined by pleasure-seeking
at distinct stages.

If one cannot derive sufficient
satisfaction at any one stage,

one becomes fixated.

And what stage would I be fixated at?

The a**l.

It's a complex theory, William.

FREUD: Retentives are rigid.

Socially inhibited.
They resist new ideas.

You have an expression in English, huh?

Uh... a stick in the... ground, is it?

Mud.

Ah.

I'm a stick in the mud?

FREUD: Well, it is, of course,
complicated by an Oedipus conflict

resulting in repression and
unconscious feelings of inferiority.

Oedipus? You're referring to
the king who k*lled his father

in order to marry his mother?

Perhaps we should get
back to the matter at hand.

Ah, yes, yes. You wish to
know who sent the death thr*at.

It was Dr. Jung. I'm certain of it.

Dr. Freud is convinced I
harbour a death wish towards him.

Every dream, every conversation

- is subject to this interpretation.
- Why is that?

He believes I have a
displaced Oedipus conflict.

Yes, what is this Oedipus conflict?

A boy's sexual desire for his mother

leads to conflict with his father

who he fears wishes to castrate him.

So, he therefore wants
to k*ll his father

and claim his mother for himself.

You think this pertains to me?

It pertains to all males.

Ah, though Dr. Freud
places too much emphasis

on the sexual dynamic.

So, Dr. Freud feels this conflict

pertains to his relationship with you?

The parallels are obvious.

I am the son, the heir apparent.

He is the father, the authority.

It's a displaced conflict, of course,

but it presupposes a death wish
arising in the unconscious mind.

This was clearly a product of the ego.

Dr. Freud's ego, to be specific.

- MURDOCH: How so?
- I believe he sent this to himself.

When I realized what he
had done, I felt rage.

Not at the implicit accusation,

but the rage of the son when
he discovers his father is weak.

I am afraid I was cruel.

- In what way?
- I quipped the only death wish

he correctly diagnosed was Edie's.

Who is Edie?

A patient of his who committed su1c1de.

Oh.

I suppose I should have
expected a violent reaction.

- From Dr. Freud?
- No.

No, his defender and imitator,

Victor Severn.

I defended Sigmund. Someone had to.

What did you do?

I slapped Jung's silly Swiss face,

sent his eyeglasses flying.

He looked so shocked, I
almost felt sorry for him.

So, you believe Dr. Jung
sent the death threats?

Oh! Heavens, no.

That was Dr. Ferenczi.

OGDEN: Dr. Ferenczi?

He was well aware of
Sigmund's preoccupation.

With Dr. Jung's death
wish towards Dr. Freud?

Ferenczi knew Sigmund
would believe it to be Jung.

- Why would Dr. Ferenczi want...
- Because he wants to be the favoured son.

His craven adoration
is an embarrassment.

Victor Severn said this?

He is the one who is adoring!

He dresses like Dr. Freud,
he wears the same beard,

uh, smokes the same cigars.

He parrots whatever he
says in the same accent.

And he's American!

Do you think it's possible that
Victor Severn sent the thr*at?

He wouldn't have the imagination.

There is only one person
who could have who sent it.

The man who knew where
we were to be lunching.

The man who arranged our
whole trip to Toronto.

Dr. Jones.

I arranged it all, that is true.

The tickets, the restaurant.

At this moment, a group
of my distinguished peers

are awaiting a lecture that
I organized, boasted about,

but will never take place.

Perhaps you might
inquire of Dr. Ferenczi

what analysis he can
offer as to my motivation

in bringing all this on myself.

Well, if you didn't
send it, then who did?

If I knew I would tell you. As it is...

These are the most brilliant
men of their generation.

Attempting to outwit
them is a fool's errand.

Well, I am not a stick in the mud.

- Of course you're not!
- I'm open to new ideas.

- You're a veritable fount of them.
- And I'm certainly not rigid.

Sir?

- What have you, Henry?
- Well, the death thr*at was sent

from the Union Station telegraph office.

Were you able to get a
description of the sender?

They can't even remember
if it was a man or a woman.

[SIGHS]

Very well.

Oh! Uh, I'm writing to
George in Newfoundland.

Is there anything you'd like me to say?

Oh, yes! Tell him to
say howdy to his aunts.

Howdy?

And be sure to wish he
and Effie a wonderful time.

Certainly. What I mean to
say is can I share your news?

- Yes, Henry. Please do.
- Oh! Yes.

Yes. Right.

Howdy.

Ah, all right. Tell me again.

I was in front of a
building with double doors.

Do you know this building?

- All I know is it was number .
- Uh-huh.

I went inside

and there was a foyer
with a large staircase.

Top of which was a hallway
with two doors at either end.

I knocked on the one to the left

and was told I had the wrong door.

So, you tried the other.

There was no answer, so I went inside

and saw Lizzie lying on a red blanket

and a strange man behind her.

Who you didn't know.

And I went to Lizzie

and found the red blanket
was in fact soaked in blood.

And you saw the man had a Kn*fe?

- I think it was a scalpel.
- Oh! Hmm. Yes.

And you believe this
man m*rder*d your wife?

[TELEPHONE RINGS]

Detective Watts.

Yes.

You're certain?

No, no, no. That's fine.

Mr. Davidson, what is
your wife's full name?

- Elizabeth Mary Davidson.
- Elizabeth Mary Davidson...

And she lives with you at, uh,

- Water Street?
- Of course.

Wha-what's going on?

My constable was just at that address.

He spoke to your neighbours.

None recall a woman living with you.

Oh! Stay right there.

As far as I can see they're
just a bunch of eggheads

who'll talk themselves to death
before anyone can k*ll them.

I don't disagree, sir.

BRACKENREID: What time's their train?

- OGDEN: : , I believe.
- Perfect.

Release them on condition
that no one kills anyone

- until they've crossed the border.
- Pin this on me?

You asked for my opinion,
I give you my opinion!

Come, come. He was only
diverting blame from himself!

Let go of me now!

Let us not be children.
Or perhaps it was you.

- FERENCZI: Stop. This is enough!
- SEVERN: Yes. Enough.

Right! The next one to speak, or move,

gets a taste of my knuckles.

Is that understood?

What?

I don't feel well.

It is likely hysteria.

Are you experiencing chest pain?

It could be angina.

William, look at this. It's blood.

- What has happened?
- Dr. Severn!

FERENCZI: What has happened?

He's dead.

HIGGINS: Turn them out. Let's
see. Turn them right out.

The entrance wound suggests
something round and thin.

A needle? He was injected?

It's wider than a needle.

I believe it may have pierced his heart.

He was standing, talking.

Depending on the extent of the injury,

he could have lived
for more than a minute.

You're saying the man didn't
even know he'd been stabbed?

Adrenaline can keep someone
from feeling the effects

of even a mortal wound for a brief time.

BRACKENREID: Murdoch!

None of them did it.
None of them saw anything.

None of them had anything on them.

Henry, did you see who Dr.
Severn was fighting with?

I couldn't tell who was who.

Bloody hell, Higgins. You're a copper.

Well, they look just like each other!

I even separated them,
and I still couldn't tell.

It had to have been Dr. Freud.

He and Dr. Severn look very much alike.

Henry, escort Dr. Freud to
the interview room, please.

If you can do that.

Dr. Jung?

I could not help but overhear.

I believe I can be of some
assistance determining the truth.

How? Through psychic analysis?

Ah, no. Through word association.

I have used the technique
to help police solve crimes.

The idea is to allow
the unconscious mind

to speak the truth before the
conscious mind can suppress it.

It is a new idea. I understand
if you are resistant.

Mr. Davidson,

when was the last
time you saw your wife?

I, uh...

I don't remember.

Was it yesterday?

Last week?

Last year?

She's dead, isn't she?

She d*ed four years ago.

How could I have...

How was she k*lled?

According to the police report,

she committed su1c1de.

No, no. It was him. He
k*lled her. I know it!

You have to believe me.

[BOTH SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE] _

_

_

_

Yes. I shouldn't have
said that. I apologize.

Whatever for?

Her death was not my doing.

Shall we proceed?

Yes, of course.

[BOTH SPEAKING FOREIGN LANGUAGE] _

_

_

Uh, is that young as in age,

or Jung as in you?

That will require analysis.

Dr. Freud has conflated
these h*m* before.

He believes me to be the k*ller.

No doubt based on his
prior interpretations

of latent displacement.

You dreamt of skulls,

ancient skulls, in your basement.

- Not yours.
- Then whose?

If you must know, it was your wife.

And her sister.

Why would you think Dr.
Jung would k*ll Dr. Severn?

Dr. Freud believes I
desired to k*ll him.

When I said m*rder, he said mich: me.

Not ich: I. Object, not subject.

Dr. Severn imitated me in every way.

So, you think Dr. Jung may
have mistaken him for you?

It was not a mistake.

His unconscious mind
was at w*r with itself.

One part wished my death,
the other could not allow it

and redirected his
hand to my doppelganger.

Ah! A brilliant analysis.

Albeit completely wrong.

Is that my letter to George?

- Your lover's name is George?
- George? No.

No, George. George is my friend.

You like to say his name, yeah?

BRACKENREID: Freud
believes Jung k*lled him?

- Apparently.
- Why?

- Well, sir, it's a...
- Sir, this just in. Oh, no... This.

Es w*r... It was...

It says: "It was meant
for you, Dr. Freud."

Detective Watts translated it.

Do you think one of this lot sent it?

Certainly possible.

They would merely have had to

pick up the telephone and
call the telegraph office.

Higgins, get one of the lads to
go down to the telegraph office.

- See if he can find out who sent this.
- Sirs.

Well, Dr. Freud was right.
He is the intended target.

Mrs. Hart and I have
determined the implement

that pierced Dr. Severn's chest.

It's a narrow spike at
least four inches long.

It passed through his heart.

- A knitting needle?
- Possibly.

But it would have taken some force

to penetrate so deeply
and through cloth.

I wonder where it is now?

Sirs!

It certainly looks
like the m*rder w*apon.

[BOTH BLOWING]

There's definitely a fingermark on it.

Henry, obtain fingermark
samples from all of them.

- Find out which one is a match.
- Sir.

Ah, Dr. Ogden!

Oh! Yes, Detective?

This man came in suffering
from what I believe to be

severe dissociation
related to his wife's death

and it appears you
performed the postmortem.

Ah, Elizabeth Davidson. Yes, I recall.

su1c1de, if I remember correctly.

Is that finding definitive?

Well...

She was found in a bath with a
longitudinal wound on her left wrist.

The algor mortis and the
temperature of the water

were consistent with her
having laid in a warm bath

and cut her wrists.

Could she have been m*rder*d?

Well, it's possible.

She...

She did have high levels
of opium in her system.

Do you have reason to suspect m*rder?

Detective.

Dr. Freud.

Are you familiar with
the term parapraxis?

A slip of the tongue.

An unintentional error that betrays
the workings of the subconscious.

Recite the telegram, please.

Es w*r für dich, Dr Freud.

Ah! The sender used "dich." Not "sie."

I'm afraid I don't understand.

Well, both words mean "you".

But dich is informal.

Ah, one uses it with
family, close friends,

those whom we call by their first names,

yet he refers to me
by my title: Dr. Freud.

Seems like a simple enough mistake.

No German would ever
make such a mistake.

You're saying, then, that
the sender was not German?

I am saying the sender is suffering

from emotional dissonance,

a man who wishes to be both a son

and a peer.

It grieves me to say only one
person matches such a description.

Dr. Jung.

Sir, we have a match for the fingermark.

Who is it?

It's Dr. Jung, sir.

Dich, not sie.

Dr. Freud claims he is both

a formal mentor figure
and, as per your slip,

a member of your family.

His analysis is sound.

I have cared very deeply for Dr. Freud.

We once shared a deep
bond of friendship.

You once did?

- Our philosophies are diverging.
- How so?

He is focused on his own theories
to the exclusion of all others.

Unfortunately, Doctor, we
have proof of your involvement.

The m*rder w*apon has been identified.

A paper spike, like this one,

was taken from Constable Higgins' desk.

And?

And your fingermarks are on it.

I see. And you believe
this confirms my guilt.

Anything else?

Dr. Jung claims to have
picked up the paper spike

in order to replace it on the desk.

I suppose it could have
fallen off in the scuffle.

I didn't see him pick it up, though.

Based on the orientation
of the fingermarks,

all we can ascertain is that
he did, in fact, pick it up.

But, holding it thusly would
not have allowed the k*ller

to strike Dr. Severn with
enough force to k*ll him.

Unless, of course, he picked it up

and then stabbed Dr.
Severn in the chest.

How do we prove it?

Henry...

There are marks under
the bottom of the base

of the m*rder w*apon.

I believe these to be palm marks.

Ah, palm marks?

Yes. Look at your hand.

On your palm there are ridges,

- similar to those of your fingertips.
- Oh, yes.

It shouldn't be too
difficult to get a palm print

from our circle of suspects.

We had best get started, Henry.

Ugh. You'll have to do it again.

Doctor, I wonder if I might be able

- to have a moment of your time?
- Uh, of course.

Dr. Ogden tells me that you're
the world's leading expert

- on the workings of the mind.
- Uh, this is correct.

Then I wonder if you could
offer me some guidance?

The missus, my wife Margaret,

has been having some troubles of late.

- Come in, come in.
- Oh, thank you.

Uh, what type of troubles?

She's been harping on about everything.

I'm working too much,
I'm eating too much,

I'm drinking too much.

Are you drinking too much?

Well, I don't think so. Same as ever.

Uh, but here's where
you come in, Doctor.

I don't think it's me
that she's worried about.

Ah! You think her true
concern is displaced.

Ah.

Our son, Bobby, has had a
spot of bother with the law.

He k*lled a man. Well, two men.

I see.

And now he's on the run.

If he comes back, they could hang him.

All sons are in conflict
with their fathers.

I was with my father,
my sons are with me.

But Bobby and I have
never had any trouble.

Ah, you are the police.

Any crime your son commits
is an att*ck on you,

a manifest expression of his
subconscious hatred of you.

Why would he hate me?

Well, a child is born and
falls in love with his mother.

When he becomes aware of
his father's intimate role,

he wishes to usurp him.

You're saying my son wants to...

- Well, yeah...
- With his own mother?

I was going to ask you for an autograph!

Get out!

Not another bloody word!

- Well, inspector, I...
- Not another word!

What have you, Henry?

Ah! Well, I'm only on
the second one, sir.

It's harder than it seems.

What did you find out
with the first one?

Well, I've only just got the
print. I haven't checked it yet.

- This is Dr. Jung's?
- Yes.

Well, then, check this one first.

If it's a match, there's
no need to proceed.

Huh! Yes, sir.

Um, uh, what do I do now?

What's wrong with me?

Traumatic events can
cause the mind to fracture,

and painful memories can be repressed.

- Do you still believe that she was m*rder*d?
- Yes.

And you're convinced it
was the man from your dream.

Excuse us.

What do you think?

Repressed memories can
certainly emerge in dreams,

but they have to be decoded.
They can't be taken at face value.

And we have the world's leading
dream decoder in our station house.

Oedipus.

Sir! It is not Dr. Jung.

You're quite sure?

I divided the palm print
into these six quadrants.

Sextants.

What?

Quadrants would be if
there were... Never mind.

So, no portion of his palm print matches

- the one found on the m*rder w*apon?
- No, Sir.

Uh, you are certain?

Dr. Jung's palm print did not
match that of the m*rder w*apon.

Well, I am, uh, vastly
relieved, of course.

Assuming your original theory holds.

Ah, displaced Oedipal aggression.

Could the same apply to
another one of your acolytes?

Well, I...

I've never seen any of them as a son.

But, huh! That does not mean
they do not see me as a father.

In fact, Dr. Ferenczi sent me a letter

in which he confessed
to wanting to k*ll me.

What? When?

Uh, some months ago.

And you didn't think to tell me?

I'd always assumed it
was a cloying attempt

to gain favour by affirming my theories.

He was so eager to please you

he told you he wished to k*ll you?

Yeah, that's right.

MURDOCH: Perhaps it's time to
take Dr. Ferenczi at his word.

This is ridiculous.

You deny writing the letter?

The letter was an academic exploration

of my psychic tendencies.

Did you harbour such
feelings, or did you not?

One harbours all manner of thoughts.

Well, then, I'm afraid
if you've thought it,

you have motive.

I understand your logic, Detective.

But this is impossible.

You can rest assured of this because

during the altercation

I was nowhere near Dr. Severn.

The closest I came was when I
was face to face with Dr. Jones.

Dr. Severn was behind Dr. Jones.

Jones was next to Dr. Severn?

Yes.

I was face to face with Ferenczi, yes.

But I have no clue who was behind me.

Dr. Ferenczi was pulled off of you.

What did you do then?

I sat down.

You sat down? In the middle of a fight?

My back ails me.

Grappling with Ferenczi
didn't help, so I sat.

Where?

In a chair.

After that, the constables interceded,

and I stood back up and moved away.

But I was never near Severn.

This is Mr. Davidson.

You would like me to
interpret this man's dreams?

One dream, in particular.
A nightmare of sorts.

Murdoch, McNabb just got back
from the telegraph office.

The thr*at wasn't called in.

Well, it can't have
been any of our suspects.

None of them have left the building.

It was sent from our telegraph machine.

What?

One of them has snuck
into our telegraph room

- and sent it directly?
- It seems that way.

So, I go to the other
door, and I open it.

And I can see Lizzie lying on
a couch on top of a red blanket.

And there is a man behind her.

Is she clothed or naked?

Naked.

- How did you... ?
- Continue please.

So, I go to Lizzie,

but when I reach her, I
realize the blanket is red

because it is soaked in her blood.

Then I look up and I
see that the man's hands

are covered in blood and
he's holding a scalpel.

And he says, "I have
completed my dissection."

This man, standing behind your wife...

Sitting, actually.

Can you see his face?

Yes.

But I can't make it out.

- Is he young, or old?
- Old.

Could it represent her father?

Her father molested her
when she was a child.

In any case, it is your dream, not hers.

Which way does he part his hair?

To the right.

The opposite of yours.

- Yes.
- WATTS: Uh, Doctor...

What are you thinking?

All dreams are derived from
wish fulfillment, but, uh,

what is the wish?

To save his wife, I assume.

Or is it to reveal her k*ller?

So, you think she was k*lled?

I have no doubt.

As the manifest content makes
clear, he saw the k*ller.

Normally, a naked
person represents desire,

but in this case, I think it is
a repressed memory of her death.

She's naked because he found
her that way in the bath?

Precisely.

There is a mirror in your bathroom?

Yes.

That is why the hair part is reversed.

The man you see is your own reflection.

You're lying. You're a liar!

The diameter is definitely cigar ash.

There's only two cigar
smokers in this lot

and one of them's dead.

And the one who sent the
telegram must be the other.

Why would Freud send a
death thr*at to himself?

To convince us that he was
the target and not the k*ller?

Higgins.

Where are you at with those palm marks?

I'm finished with everyone
but Dr. Freud, sir.

He's been detained by Detective Watts.

So, the palm mark on the
m*rder w*apon isn't a match

- for any of the others?
- No, sir. I checked them all twice.

By logic of deduction...

The k*ller is Sigmund Freud.

Sirs.

I was in your telegraph room, yes.

Why?

To send a telegram.

- A death thr*at. Against yourself.
- No.

The thr*at was sent from
that telegraph machine.

You claim you sent a different
telegram from the same machine?

That is correct.

What was this message
that you sent? And to whom?

I decline to discuss this matter.

Dr. Freud, you are being interviewed

under suspicion of m*rder.

Suspicion without evidence.

Of a m*rder for which I have no motive.

You confronted the man,
physically, during the melee.

We were in the same
place at the same time.

It was a coincidence.

You had him by the bloody lapels.

Our constable saw you.

I do not remember this.

Perhaps your subconscious
suppressed the memory?

Dr. Severn annoyed me.

His admiration was
uncritical. He imitated me.

Or your subconscious
identified him as you.

As me?

Your death wish toward him was,
in fact, a personal death wish

spurred on by your own self-hatred.

Well, uh, yah. Interesting.

But inaccurate.

I'm afraid I have no more
to say on this matter.

You can say no more in
our cells. Constable!

Wait.

All right.

If you must know,

the telegram I sent was to Minna,

my wife's sister.

This is the sister
from Dr. Jung's dream?

Dr. Jung dreamed of two skulls

he found buried together
deep beneath his house.

I had assumed it was
another manifestation

of his death wish towards me,

but I see now that
the skulls represented

a secret he had buried.

You understand?

No. Not really.

He believes Minna and I had an affair.

Did you?

I don't see how this is relevant.

Ah, sirs... there's a problem.

- What is it, Henry?
- I only left them for a moment, I swear, but...

Someone has taken the paper
spike and the fingermarks.

- Er, palm marks.
- What? All of them?

I was about to compare
them to Dr. Freud's.

He was in the interview
room the whole time.

Who else was near that area?

All of them, at one
point or another, sir.

- Well, search them.
- I have, sir. Nothing.

One of them must have
stashed them somewhere, but

the lads are already
searching the station house.

It had to have been one of them,
trying to protect Dr. Freud.

Although I am skeptical that
he is, in fact, the k*ller.

But none of the other prints match.

It has to be him.

MURDOCH: Don't turn around, Henry.

What if it was someone else?

During the melee, Ernest Jones
stated that he took a seat

because his back was in pain.

Meaning that Mr. Davidson
was not at his customary seat

over by Watts' desk.

Instead he was in a position
to pick up the paper spike

and to strike the man he believed

was Dr. Freud.

Why the bloody hell would he do that?

He was in the station house
before that lot even arrived.

He doesn't know these people.

OGDEN: Is it painful?

Detective Watts?

Hmm, yes?

What was the name of
Mr. Davidson's wife?

Elizabeth Davidson.

I quipped the only death
wish he correctly diagnosed

was Edie's.

Edie.

E.D.

Could they be one and the same?

Dr. Freud.

Your patient who
committed su1c1de, Edie?

This was a pseudonym, I take it?

Yes. I would not publish
details of a patient's case

under her real name.

Doctor, we need to know
your patient's name.

It could have bearing
on this investigation.

Her name was Elizabeth Davidson.

That's her. Charlie's
wife was Freud's patient.

That's right, Doctor.

I'm the one who's going to k*ll you.

- Mr. Davidson, don't do anything rash.
- Rash?

I've been planning this for years.

Dreaming of it every
night since I found her.

Your wife suffered from hysteria

brought about by an unresolved
wish to possess her father.

It was her father who possessed her.

Night after night he came into her room

while her mother
pretended not to notice.

It was my belief these
memories represented

the psychic repression of latent desire.

You made her doubt what
she knew to be true!

She came back thinking
she had lost her mind.

Nothing I said, or did,
made any difference.

Your dream? It was an allusion to Freud.

I wanted him to know who
was k*lling him and why.

Easy, Davidson.

But he was too arrogant to see it.

And now he's going to
get what he deserves.

Why don't I just give him a sock?

What is sock?

MURDOCH: Watts!

No! No!

I heard Freud was
travelling to Niagara Falls.

I was going to go there to find him.

But then I got word he
was coming to Toronto.

You waited for him at the train station.

I overheard where they were dining

- and sent the letter ahead.
- With a razor in it.

What use is revenge if the
subject doesn't see it coming?

Were you there to see him find it?

No.

By the time I arrived, your
constables were arresting them.

So, I decided to get here first.

Wasn't what I'd planned.

But I knew just the story to
make up, so you'd keep me here.

- Well, it worked.
- Yes.

Got to watch him squirm.

You k*lled a man, Mr. Davidson.

Yes.

That was regrettable. I
suppose I'll hang for it.

But it was Freud I wished to k*ll.

Yet he lives on.

I only hope his ideas die
out before they take hold.

Well, goodbye, Doctor.

I'm sorry we didn't
get to see your lecture.

- Oh!
- Perhaps on your next visit.

Oh, I can assure you, this will
be my last trip to the Americas.

Yes. Attempted m*rder
does leave a certain taste.

Oh, it's not that. It's the
food, the culture, the...

intrusive informality.

I simply do not care for it.

Auf wiederschauen.

Well, what do you think?

Will psychic analysis
be the way of the future?

I doubt it. Dr. Freud was
wrong about nearly everything.

He was right about one thing.

Oh, that hardly seems fair.

You told him everything about me.

All I did was describe a stick
in the mud that I wouldn't...

I wouldn't change for anything.

Now, William, you can take your
hands out of your pockets now.

Eggheads! They're all bloody crackers.

Any attempt to know the minds
of men seems like folly to me.

Maybe so. But even I could do
a better job than Dr. Freud.

I'll say. Dr. Freud said
I'm in love with George.

[LAUGHS]

Even a broken clock's
correct twice a day.