16x13 - Vengeance Makes the Man

[bunniefuu]

(THEME MUSIC)

Who called it in?

A rummy in a room down the hall.

Said he heard shouting and a g*nsh*t.

- Any witnesses?
- Just one, sir.

Gave us a description of a
man entering the rooming house

shortly before the sh**ting.

Poor bastard.

Ah, Constable!

Sir, here's the g*n we found.

I've never seen anything
like it on the streets.

It's a m*llitary revolver.

British Army.

So how does it end up in Cabbagetown?

I know this g*n.

And I know the man who fits
this witness' description.

(VOICES IN THE DISTANCE)

Thomas!

- Thomas! Wake up!
- (THOMAS GROANS)

I think someone's in the house!

Wake up!

- Ooh.
- Oh!

Oh, bloody hell. What's going on?

- Get that torch out of my eyes!
- Thomas Brackenreid, get up.

You'd better have a damn
good reason for dragging me

out of my bed in the
middle of the night.

- You're under arrest.
- For what?

m*rder.

- What are you talking about?
- Put the cuffs on him, Constable.

- Really?
- Now!

(MARGARET): What? What?

Where are you taking my husband?

Thomas, what's happening?

- Margaret, call Murdoch!
- (MARGARET): Ah!

Let go of me!

How are you faring, sir?

I was yanked out of bed, arrested

and paraded in front of my
neighbours in my nightclothes.

How do you think I'm faring?

Thank you for grabbing
my clothes from Margaret.

What on earth did Inspector Decker
say to you when he arrested you?

That I was under arrest for the
m*rder of a man in a rooming house.

- And you don't know this man?
- Absolutely not.

And you were never
at this rooming house?

I was asleep. Ask Margaret.

Apparently your revolver was
found near the scene of the crime.

- The one I used in Afghanistan?
- I suppose.

(CHUCKLING)

If I was going to sh**t someone,

I wouldn't use that manky old thing.

It jammed more than it ever discharged.

Nevertheless, the fact that it was found

near the scene of a
m*rder is concerning.

How do they know it's mine?

I'm not the only ex-army
man wandering around Toronto.

Your fingermarks are on it.

(SOMBRE MUSIC)

Well, of course, they
are... if it's mine.

Someone took it then.

Where did you keep it?

In my study,

in a display case on the wall.

Somebody took it and
placed it at the scene.

Possibly.

But there is also an eyewitness

who claims they saw you
walk into the rooming house

shortly before the man was sh*t.

Witness?

What are you saying?

Only that these are the reasons
I was given for your arrest.

I'm being set up.

You've got to get me
out of this, Murdoch.

You're wasting your
time, Detective.

We have your inspector dead
to rights for this case.

If I could just review the
evidence you've collected thus far.

No.

This incident didn't
occur in your jurisdiction.

This is a Station House One case.

Well, surely you can make an exception,

especially given who is accused.

- No.
- No?

You're biased, Detective.

You wouldn't be able to
see Brackenreid's guilt

if it was staring you in the face.

Good day.

(PHONE RINGING)

Julia? What are you doing here?

- Oh.
- Susannah all right?

She's fine. I just heard about Thomas.

- Margaret's beside herself.
- Can't say I blame her.

Well, clearly, he's not guilty.

I shouldn't think so.

I suspect that the evidence
against him has been orchestrated.

Who's investigating?

Inspector Decker at Station House One.

And, unfortunately, he seems to believe

that it's an open-and-shut case.

- Do they have a motive?
- No.

The inspector didn't
even know the victim.

Henry?

- Yes, sir?
- I need you to look into this man

that the inspector allegedly k*lled.

His name was Jameson Hawley.

- What do you want to know?
- Everything!

Who was he? Where did he come from?

Did he have a criminal record?

No stone unturned, do you understand?

The inspector's life may depend on it.

Absolutely, sir.

Detective. To what
do I owe the pleasure?

If you've completed your
post-mortem on Jameson Hawley,

I'd like to have a
look at your findings.

- Station House One brought him in.
- Yes...

There is evidence that suggests

the actions of Inspector Brackenreid
may have landed Mr. Hawley here.

- I find that hard to believe.
- As do I.

But Station House One
seems to be convinced

that he m*rder*d this man.
I intend to prove he didn't.

Anything I can do to help.

- No defensive wounds?
- None.

No trauma to the body, save for
the g*nsh*t wound to the head.

Close range.

- And the b*llet?
- Unusual.

I've never seen one like it before.

Round nose lead b*llet.

What does it mean?

b*ll*ts nowadays have a copper jacket,

which results in a higher melting point.

- And?
- A fully lead b*llet

is the type used in the inspector's g*n.

Did you happen to notice

a large quantity of g*n
powder in and around the wound?

Yes. More than usual
for a g*nsh*t victim.

Also consistent with an older w*apon,

such as the inspector's.

I'm afraid your findings only
strengthen Station House One's case.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

Henry, could you stand here please?

- Sir?
- I have a theory.

The victim was found lying face
down on the bed with his head here,

meaning he had to have fallen forward

from a standing position, roughly...

here.

So, if the k*ller entered
through the door here,

he would have had to walk
all the way 'round to here

to position himself behind Mr. Hawley,

sh**t him at close range and
thus he would have landed here.

Meaning?

Why not simply enter,

sh**t him face on at close range here?

Perhaps he never came
through the door at all?

(SNAPS FINGERS) Exactly.

The k*ller could have come
in through the open window,

positioned himself behind
Mr. Hawley, sh*t him

and then retreated back
down the fire escape,

discarding the g*n as
he went somewhere nearby

so that police constables
could find it easily.

So the witness that saw the
k*ller in the hall was lying, sir.

Perhaps he simply posed as a tenant

in order to lead police astray?

Paid off by the real k*ller.

And whoever it was...

may have left fingermarks
on the windowsill,

either on his way in...

or his way out.

(DOG BARKING IN THE DISTANCE)

I'm telling you; he was with
me when that man was sh*t,

not at some rooming house!

(SIGHS)

I assume this is where
the g*n is always kept?

Yes. It's an old w*r relic he
keeps for some sentimental reason.

I don't know when it
could have been taken.

I hardly ever come in here.

Thomas is always telling
me to lock the doors,

but I often forget. It's all my fault!

I don't know anyone who locks
their doors, Mrs. Brackenreid.

Whatever is going on
here is not your fault.

I highly doubt the perpetrator

would have been deterred
by a locked door.

It seems whoever is behind
this is very motivated

to put the inspector behind bars.

You'll get him out, won't you, William?

I'll certainly do my best.

(SIGHS)

Is it good news?

It confirms what we
believed might be the case.

Fingermarks from the theft of the g*n

match those from the window ledge.

- And they're not the inspector's?
- No.

So he was never there. He's innocent.

Fingermarks obviously
belong to someone else.

What are the odds that someone
other than the inspector

would be both at the scene of the crime

and in the inspector's
study where his g*n was kept?

Clearly they belong to the k*ller.

I'll have Henry attempt to
find a match in our files.

So who would set Thomas up like this?

And why m*rder this
particular individual?

Sir. Everything I can
find on Jameson Hawley.

Anything of interest?

It seems Hawley committed crimes

in just about every jurisdiction
of the city over the last years.

- Even in ours?
- Yes. Years ago.

He was arrested by
Inspector Brackenreid.

I remember him now.

Odd that you would forget.

I don't remember every
arrest I ever made, Murdoch.

It was years ago.

Well, our file is scant at
best. What do you remember?

He was a lousy excuse for a human being.

He started off by nicking pay packets

off men at the pub too drunk to notice.

- He was a thief.
- Yeah.

But once inside,

he fell in with the
right g*ng of lowlifes.

(CHUCKLES DRYLY) It's funny,

I've not thought about that
bunch of scumbags in years.

Not since this past winter.

What happened this past winter?

Do you remember yet?

Where do you know me from?

I'm afraid not.

Last name's Majors. Maurice Majors.

One of them came back.

- Sir?
- I know who it is.

I know who's behind this setup.

- Who?
- A dead man.

Now that the salon is yours,

what are you going to do with it?

I don't surely know.

You don't know?

You wanted it awfully badly.

I haven't decided what
I'll do with it yet.

Might redecorate it, might just sell it.

But I've got a lot going on just now.

A salon needs to stay
open to make money.

I don't need to worry
about money now, do I?

I suppose not.

Biscuit?

Thank you.

(DRAMATIC MUSIC)

Maurice Majors had an
axe to grind with me.

I had several run-ins with
him before he turned up dead.

You never told me about any of this.

You had your hands full with
Frank Rhodes at the time,

not to mention Susannah's christening.

Besides, I thought it was finished.

The man was dead.

Apparently not.

Right. What was the
nature of your conflict?

- He was trying to blackmail me.
- For what?

I was partly responsible for
one of his friends being hanged,

- a man by the name of Walter Milton.
- How so?

I made the case against him.

He m*rder*d two young women.

I'd say hanging was too good for him.

So he was seeking vengeance

because you did your
duty as a police officer.

Not exactly.

Like I said, he k*lled the two
women, but I couldn't prove it.

Go on?

I had to lock him up.

I just knew he would k*ll again.

You set him up?

Someone else turned up dead,
an associate of Milton's.

I thought he'd done it
at first, I really did.

But Majors was able to
provide Milton with an alibi.

I chose to ignore him.

Milton went to the noose.

Sir...

You weren't there, Murdoch.

These things are not
always black and white.

In this case, I believe they are.

A man went to the noose for
a m*rder he didn't commit?

And he should have been hanged
for a m*rder that he did commit.

What does it matter how he got there?

He was guilty and he was
going to get away with it.

That is not how the law works.

Or justice, for that
matter, and you know it!

Sometimes you have to bend the truth

to get the results that are needed.

You yourself have done the same.

I have done nothing like this.

Leaving the door open for Constance
Gardiner to waltz out of prison?

And how about Percy Giles?

Not only did you allow
him to escape capture,

but you handed him your g*n as he ran.

Giles and Miss Gardner were
guilty in the eyes of the law.

But in their case, the law was wrong!

- You went against the law.
- I let them go free!

I didn't send them to their deaths!

He was guilty, Murdoch,
in the eyes of God.

Well, then you should
have let God punish him.

Anyway, it's all done now.

Are you gonna help me
clear my name, or not?

Murdoch?!

Murdoch?!

And what do you want him to do?

I want him to admit he was wrong.

And?

Julia, he should turn
in his badge and resign.

William, that's not for you
to say, or to ask of him.

The inspector is meant to
represent the best of us.

Deep down, I'm sure he knows
that what he did is wrong,

even if he won't admit it to you.

No, I don't believe he does.

Well, Thomas made a decision

that he'll have to live with
for the rest of his life. That...

that is his cross to bear, not yours.

And what do I do now?

Now that I know what I know?

You know precisely what
you will do, William.

You have no choice.

You'll exonerate him
because he's innocent.

(SOMBRE MUSIC)

I have nothing more to say
to you, Detective Murdoch.

If I could just please
have a moment of your time.

I have some very important information

regarding Inspector Brackenreid's case.

What is it?

Fingermarks that prove

that someone else was involved.

Fingermarks. From where?

From outside the victim's windowsill.

But these could belong
to any number of tenants

- staying at the flophouse.
- True.

But the fingermarks that I
obtained at the victim's windowsill

happen to match another
set that was found

at Brackenreid's study
where he kept his g*n.

- You certain?
- Yes.

We have a witness who says
he saw Thomas Brackenreid

enter the rooming house.
It's a fellow tenant.

Yes. Who is this tenant?

IT'S HERE: Earl Janson.

My constables have been
searching for this Earl Janson.

No one matching his description
has been staying there.

So you're saying that
this man was told to say

he saw Thomas Brackenreid
in the rooming house?

Or was probably paid to do so, yes.

Then who... who do
these belong to? Wha...

I sense you have an idea,
seeing as you're still here.

- It says this man is deceased.
- He was.

These fingermarks were taken from
the corpse of one Maurice Majors.

And the corpse came back to life?

We believe he faked his death,

likely with the help
of the city coroner.

We also believe he's
responsible for the m*rder

of two men in a Toronto
cemetery some months ago.

This story is mad. Why
should I believe you?

Because this evidence proves it's true.

And you know it.

Why would anyone go to such lengths

to frame a police inspector for m*rder?

I suppose you'll have to ask him that.

I will order

Inspector Brackenreid released.

Thank you, Inspector.

(DRAMATIC MUSIC)

You don't think it was a little
bit dangerous to bury him here?

Ah, nobody will think to look
for dear Arthur so close to home.

What am I meant to
say about his absence?

He's a man away on business.

Let's say...

Baltimore.

It'll help to explain the large
cash withdrawal from the account.

Can't travel without funds.

How much do you want this time?

All of it.

It's time to get out
of this backwater town.

Where are you going?

Oh, we are going
wherever the wind blows.

- We?
- Of course.

There's nothing keeping you here.

And we make such a good team.

I have a job, responsibilities.

What am I to tell the constabulary,
the inspector, about leaving town?

Oh, don't concern yourself about
what Inspector Brackenreid thinks.

You'll be the least of his worries.

What does that mean?

It means he's been
taken care of, darling.

What have you done?

It was you.

You k*lled that man and made it
look like the inspector did it.

Why?

We have history.

Nothing stays hidden forever, Violet.

I had to help right a wrong, put
my thumb on the scales, if you will.

Well, it didn't work.

- He's no longer in jail.
- Come again?

I saw him walk into Station
House Four not two hours ago.

It seems the detective
has found evidence

- and released him this afternoon.
- (GROANING)

Arthur always did look good in pink.

Oh, it's like the air smells better

after being in that
damp, dank cell, Murdoch.

Thank you for that, by the way.

- Just doing my job.
- Right, then.

Enough of this fanning
about. Where to next?

Well, now that we know
Maurice Majors is alive,

I believe the first conversation
should be with Mrs. Hart.

- I'll come with you.
- I don't need you there, Inspector.

I've had a m*rder charge hanging over me

like the bloody sword of Damocles.

I'm partly responsible for this mess.

I plan on making it right.

Search every room, every closet.

And be thorough.

Detective. What do
you think you're doing?

- Where is he?
- Who?

Don't waste my time, Mrs. Hart.

We're looking for Maurice Majors.

- My father is dead.
- Drop the act.

We know he's alive.

And he set me up to hang
for a m*rder I didn't commit.

I'm the one who
performed the post-mortem.

There was definitely
a dead man on my slab.

Your father is a lowlife scoundrel.

He may have pulled the wool
over your eyes, as well.

She's the coroner, sir.

She's the one who pronounced him dead.

- He was!
- He was not! And you know it!

All I know is when I
examined him, he had no pulse.

I put him in the coffin myself.

I cannot speak for what happened
after I shipped the body to New York.

You're a very good actress, Mrs. Hart.

But, right now, we need
to find your father.

This isn't over.

Inspector.

May I say how pleased I was

to hear that you've
been released from jail?

Not as pleased as I am
to be free, Mrs. Hart.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

Aha! (CHUCKLES)

Ah!

Mm! Have a good evening, Detective.

You as well, sir.

Just having a wee dram of liquid courage

before heading home to face the missus.

Mmm.

"Happy to see you back
at work, Inspector."

"Oh! Really, Murdoch? That's
very kind of you to say."

Mmm...

(EXHALES)

Nothing yet, Higgins?

We've got officers searching, sir.

As soon as he shows
his face, we've got him.

You and the boys are doing a good job.

Thank you, sir.

I'm going to nip down here for a
quick shufti before heading home.

- Checking out this area next?
- Mm-hmm.

Keep up the good work, lads.

(MUFFLED WHIMPERING)

Ah, good.

Glad I didn't give you too much.

(GROANING)

Excuse me? Have you seen the inspector?

(SIGHS)

Inspector Brackenreid...
have you see him?

Seen him? No?

- Mrs. Brackenreid.
- Is Thomas here?

Ah, no, I don't believe
he's come in yet today.

He didn't come home last
night. Do you know where he is?

I left him here shortly
before midnight last night.

And then where did he go?

I believe he went looking
for the man who set him up.

- He didn't come home at all?
- No.

Something's wrong.

Something's wrong, isn't it?

- Something's happened to him.
- It's all right.

I promise you we will find him.

Everyone! Everyone, drop
what you're doing and listen:

the inspector has gone missing.

I want every man out on the
street looking for him, now!

Let's move out.

Detective?

Where is he?

- Who?
- You know who.

The inspector.

I haven't seen him since
you and your constables

tore up my home yesterday.

Mrs. Hart,

if you don't start giving me answers,

I will arrest you and drag
you down to our cells myself.

On what charges?

Withholding evidence;

fabricating a death certificate;

abetting a kidnapping;
harbouring a m*rder*r!

I am innocent of everything
you're accusing me of.

How can you stand there and claim...

I wasn't the only one who saw his body.

We were all duped.

You have been in on
this the entire time,

- working with your father.
- I haven't.

Justice will come for you, Mrs. Hart.

Detective Murdoch.

Whatever it is you think of me,

please believe me when I say

I have no idea where Inspector
Brackenreid is right now.

He has stood by me many times

and I do not wish him harm.

Then tell me!

Tell me!

(SIGHS)

(DOOR SLAMMING)

(MUFFLED SPEECH)

(COUGHING, EXHALING)

Yes?

I was just saying you
look good for a dead man.

Oh, resurrection does
wonders for the soul.

I've never felt so... free.

Tell that to the poor fellows
that you choked to death

out at the graveyard.

Nobody said coming back
to life wouldn't be messy.

Your plan to have me hang
didn't quite work out, did it?

You k*lled your pal for nothing.

Oh, by your logic, I
did the world a favour,

taking a criminal off
the streets permanently.

Or is it only wrong when I do it?

What do you want with me?

Oh, same thing I asked
you for last time:

retribution, recompense and...

well, let's forget the apology.

That's never going to happen.

So kidnapping me is
your idea of retribution?

Oh, this is nothing.

I have a lot more planned
for you. (CHUCKLES)

It was here, sir.

He talked with me and some
officers for a minute or two

- and then he walked off.
- In what direction?

Over there, near the alley. I
lost sight of him after that.

All right. Follow me.

(INDISTINCT CHATTER)

It's just a rag, sir.

Smell it.

Chloroform, sir?

The inspector could have
been coming down this alley

and been ambushed and
subdued using chloroform.

By whom?

Maurice Majors.

Sir, this area was crawling with
constables. We would have seen him.

Yes, but Majors could have
known to use a disguise.

As a... a... a pauper,
or... or a vendor,

or a ragman... someone who
could pass by unnoticed.

I did see a ragman
wandering around here.

And it was just before the
inspector and I parted ways.

You're not going to k*ll me.

No?

If you wanted me dead,
you'd have done it by now.

Ah...

For a copper, you're pretty sharp.

You're right.

Nah, I don't want you dead.

What I want from you...

... is a written confession.

You what?

Put it in writing.

Everything you did to send
an innocent man to his death.

- And then I'll set you free.
- (BRACKENREID LAUGHS DRYLY)

Bollocks!

You'll probably k*ll me before
my confession hits the press.

No, I won't.

- I'm a man of my word.
- As am I.

I won't be signing anything.

A man is dead because of you.

And several men are dead because of you.

Where's your confession?

Oh, I'm not holding myself up
as a paragon of law and order.

I know who I am.

A k*ller and a criminal?

Oh, don't fool yourself, Tommy.

We are two sides of the same coin.

(SCOFFS)

Now I know you're losing your mind.

(LAUGHS)

Have I?

Let's be honest with one another.

(CLAPS HANDS)

How many men have you k*lled

between your time in the army

and your job as a copper?

That's not the same thing.

Don't tell me you
didn't get a tiny thrill

every time you pulled the trigger
or sent a man to the noose.

You're a monster.

If I'm a monster,

then so are you.

The only difference between us

is that badge that gives
you permission to k*ll.

You are no less a sinner than me.

I did what I did to take
a m*rder*r off the streets.

Now if that makes me a sinner,

I'll see you in hell.

I'm not going to ask you again.

Write your confession.

Definitely large enough
to transport a body.

You think he's dead?

Chloroform isn't
generally used to m*rder.

So where was he taking him, then?

Well, the inspector was last seen
several blocks in that direction.

Perhaps the kidnapper was
taking him in this direction.

Go on then! Pull the trigger!

Write that confession
and ruin your name.

Then I'll decide what I want to do.

Why now?

You've had years
to come looking for me.

I'd like to say vengeance
is best served cold,

or something similarly poetic...

but no.

I saw you in the morgue with my daughter

and remembered a score not yet settled.

I can't tell the constabulary.

And even if I did confess, as
you put it, it was years ago!

You're not gonna write
that confession, are you?

Where did you get that?

It's Margaret's.

Before I k*ll her,

I'm gonna say...

when given the choice to confess or die,

her husband's stubborn Yorkshire
pride got the best of him.

You're not going to get away
with this, Majors! (GROANING)

(DOOR OPENING)

- Mrs. Hart!
- Violet.

Thank God.

Here's the money, Father. Ready to go?

(LAUGHS MANIACALLY)

Our train leaves soon.

Just one loose end to tie up.

Oh, forget him. We have to go.

What goes around comes
around. Right, Inspector?

k*ll me and every copper in this country

will be out there looking for you.

Run all you want,

but you're gonna wish
you'd stayed dead, friend.

I am not your friend.

But you wouldn't just
push him most of the way

- and then start carrying him.
- Fair point, Henry.

Presumably he took the
inspector to where he wanted him,

then discarded the cart as a diversion.

Well, then they could
have gone in any direction.

Right. We need more constables
to help us search this area.

Let's head back.

Ah, wait...

What on earth...

Sir, that's the inspector's flask.

He must have dropped it.

Or he left it here for us to find,

which would suggest he was
taken in this direction.

Towards Queen Street.

Henry, where's the nearest call box?

There's one right
around the corner, sir.

Let's call in reinforcements. I
believe I know where the inspector is.

I don't see how k*lling me at
this point will solve anything.

He's right.

You have everything you want:

money, safe passage out of here

and I'm coming with you.

Listen to your daughter.

sh**ting him will only
make us hunted fugitives.

Is that what you really
want for our lives?

- Always looking over our shoulders?
- I don't care.

This is what I need to do.

Maurice, I was wrong.

- What?
- I was wrong to do what I did.

You were right.

I wanted vengeance, not justice.

I disgraced the badge that I wear

because I wanted to see
Walter Milton hanged.

So can we go now?

I don't believe you.

Give me the paper and
I'll sign a confession.

Too late.

- What are you doing?
- I can't let you do this.

Move out of the way, Violet.

(DRAMATIC MUSIC)

You wouldn't really sh**t your daughter,

would you?

- You think the inspector's in there, sir?
- Shh, shh, shh...

I hear voices.

- What do we do?
- He could be armed.

We should wait for other
constables to arrive.

- Are you sure?
- No!

Move.

This is not your fight, Mrs. Hart.

He won't hurt me.

You were right to tell me to
give my father a second chance.

Just like I gave you one.

- (g*nsh*t)
- Ah!

(MUFFLED SHOUTING)

(g*nf*re)

- Sir?
- I'm fine.

- (GROANING)
- Mrs. Hart?

Forget about me, Higgins.

Oh, Henry.

I think you'd best get an ambulance.

Straight away, sir.

I... i... it's all right.

I need you to calm down.

- (VIOLET PANTING)
- Calm down.

Everything will be all right.

It's all right.

So, no sign of Maurice Majors?

Nothing.

That doesn't change what I need to do.

Are you quite sure about this?

Don't try and talk me out of it.

You're a good detective, Murdoch.

The best I've ever worked with.

I thought I was a goner for sure.

We all worked hard to find you.

But if you hadn't left
your flask near that salon,

I don't know that I would
have looked for you there.

What are you talking about?

I left it here at the station.

- What?
- I drained it and left it at my desk.

Any word on Mrs. Hart?

I'm headed to the hospital
now to look in on her.

How could a man be capable
of sh**ting his own daughter?

In my experience, there's isn't
much that man isn't capable of.

(WOMAN, FROM AFAR): Doctor?

Detective.

Mrs. Hart.

How are you feeling?

Never felt as much pain in my life,

even with the morphine.

The surgeon says you nearly
d*ed from loss of blood.

You dropped the inspector's flask

as a clue for me to find, didn't you?

Thank you.

That was very brave of you to...

step in front of your father's
g*n in order to save the inspector.

He would have done the same for me.

It's the kind of man he is.

Of course.

Mrs. Hart, where is your father?

I don't know.

The inspector told me that

the two of you were to
board a train together.

I wasn't going anywhere with him.

Given all that's happened,
you'll have to forgive me if I ask

why should I believe you?

He's been terrorizing me
since he's been in town.

Terrorizing you how?

He's threatened both of our lives.

He's drained us of our money.

He even took the salon.

Arthur knew he wouldn't stop.

He tried to k*ll him...

but my father got the upper hand and...

What happened?

He k*lled Arthur.

And he used the Kn*fe that
had my fingermarks on it

and he said if I said anything,
he would frame me for it.

Uh... (SIGHS)

... and where is Mr.
Carmichael's body now?

In the garden.

Buried under the hydrangeas.

Why didn't you come to me?

To have you think that I did it?

You're not on my side, Detective.

You never have been.

I needed to protect myself.

By going along with his plan?

Yes.

He wanted me to leave with him

and I acted like I wanted to go

to buy time to save the inspector.

And he still sh*t you?

He sh*t me.

I'm very sorry for your loss.

Thank you.

I won't take any more of your time.

(SOBS)

Is this true?

Every last word.

Why now?

Because it's time.

I'm no better than the ones I lock up

if I knowingly send the
wrong man to the gallows.

- You were doing your job.
- But, sir.

Walter Milton was a m*rder*r.

- Yes.
- You did your job

and took a dangerous
man off the streets.

I've never felt good about it.

And you shouldn't.

You broke the law

and that's a circle that's
hard to square, Thomas.

But the Toronto Constabulary
doesn't need to dredge up

this kind of old news
to give it a black eye.

Got it?

Yes, sir.

- Good day.
- Good day.

(SOFT MUSIC)

They wouldn't accept it.

I see.

Well, it was the right
thing for you to write it.

How 'bout you?

Do you accept it?

We've all done things
that we aren't proud of.

Myself included.

Hm.

Have a seat, Murdoch.

Do you think Mrs. Hart knows
the whereabouts of her father?

She says she doesn't
know where he's gone.

That she did harbour him, but
that it was under thr*at of death.

Hm.

And Arthur Carmichael...
is he really dead?

Found buried in the
garden, as she described.

And he had been stabbed.

Crikey.

All that young girl's gone through.

Likely more than she'll
ever divulge, I suspect.

And it seems like she
didn't have anything to do

with my kidnapping, either.

Either she's telling the truth

and her father orchestrated all of it,

or she's lying about everything.

But absent any further evidence,
I'm inclined to believe her.

- She saved my life, Murdoch.
That's a hell of a thing.

And the search for Maurice Majors?

Wanted posters are
up across the country.

But mark my words,

he'll turn up like a bad penny one day.

Sir, he m*rder*d Arthur Carmichael.

He thinks he may have
m*rder*d his own daughter.

He tried to k*ll you.

I doubt he'll be too
eager to return here.

Good riddance,

for Mrs. Hart's sake, at least.

I want her to keep her job, Murdoch.

She's a good coroner.

Well, if she is hiding something,

I suppose we'll have to let
her conscience be her guide.

There's a lot of that going around.

(SOFT MUSIC)