05x02 - The Painful Truth

[bunniefuu]

Extra! Extra! Jack the Ripper

strikes the Devil's Elbow!

Extra! Extra! Jack the Ripper

strikes the Devil's Elbow!

Ripper hanged today!

Any last words?

You are gathered here today

to witness a m*rder.

One not as gruesome

as the m*rder of Margaret Mehar

and yet nonetheless m*rder.

I may be guilty in the court

of public opinion,

but I did not k*ll Margaret.

And my Lord and Saviour knows the truth.

And I am blessed this day.

I am blessed to return to my maker.

That noose is made of your words.

He k*lled her and then mutilated her corpse.

And if he did not? Then this is indeed

m*rder, one you'll have to atone for.

Make way. Make way.

Hey!

You know it's headlines like yours

that makes v*olence like this happen?

If reporting the truth creates vigilantes,

then maybe there's something

wrong with the status quo.

Maybe we need truth tellers more than ever.

So you've decided this is the work

of your so-called Avenger

of the Poor, have you?

The Widow. She's called the Widow.

Because you named her that.

If you cared enough

about the people down here

to actually talk to them,

you'd know the full story.

Well, why don't you save me that step? What?

You'd discover it was Eddie Jacobs

who k*lled these two, not the Widow.

- Basil Garvey's

- Right-hand man.

Came down here to knock a

little sense into these people.

Too much by the looks of it.

But you didn't hear that from me. No.

I'll blame this one on the Widow

and give the good people of this city

all the sensation they could want.

- Pardon the intrusion.

- No intrusion, my dear.

I was

supposed to see your show last night.

I was very much looking forward to it.

Ah, but you wanted something

a little more personal,

up close.

No.

My husband passed away.

Oh, you poor dear. Oh

You must be Regina Simcoe.

Ah.

I'm so sorry for your loss. Please.

Thank you.

It's his death which brings me here.

I've heard that you can commune with

those who've passed to the other side.

Oh

It is a burden I've borne since birth.

I want to speak to my dear Alistair

to find out what happened to him.

- Yes, yes. - To find out who k*lled him.

- Oh, of course, we must.

I could hold a seance.

Here?

Make an even stronger

connection to the other side.

I would, of course, need time alone to

spiritually cleanse the space.

You understand. But

if I wasn't disturbed,

oh, I could set the table

for a revelatory seance.

Perhaps one evening this week.

Today.

Whatever the cost. I must have answers.

For my poor Alistair.

Ah of course, yes.

Well I will require a group of

spiritual believers to bear witness.

Your friends, acquaintances,

people who understand

your great need and grief.

I know just who to ask.

Thank you, Monsieur Rondeau.

- Oh.

- For helping a poor soul

destroyed by grief.

Three dollars from Beau Bouquet?

Viv, we have nothing left.

Oh. Hmm.

I don't want to make you sell

one of your jewels or your gowns.

- You wouldn't dare!

- You still have that old thing.

- My citrine?

- I don't expect it would fetch very much.

- It's the last gift our mother gave me.

- Posh.

Oh, don't give me posh.

Good morning, dear.

Good morning.

I owe you a profound apology, Viviana.

You were absolutely right about

everything you accused me of.

- I behaved terribly.

- Hmm.

I got swept up in the

excitement of our being reunited.

And this big, exciting night out.

And the attention I got as your sister.

It's all so new to me and

I behaved shamefully.

I should've been demure and ladylike.

Instead, I betrayed

both of your faith in me.

I can see that our session last

night has helped you learn contrition.

Wholeheartedly, sister,

and I thank you for it.

Think of me as your spiritual North Star.

I hope you will someday

forgive me my transgressions.

In good time perhaps.

My goodness.

What is it?

Regina Simcoe, poor creature,

she has invited us to a seance today

with the very great,

very handsome Georges Rondeau.

Oh, what fun! I have

many questions for the spirits.

As have I.

But w-w-would that

not be risking our souls,

communing with the shadow realm?

Oh, you have nothing to worry about,

because you will be accompanying

us to our dear friend's gathering.

Nor you, dear sister.

Pardon?

The coal delivery arrives today and

someone must be here to receive it.

It can't possibly be me.

The only thing I know

about coal is that it turns into diamonds.

- But

- I-I could receive these workmen.

Oh, I'm certain you

would love to, but no, no, no.

We cannot leave you alone with any men.

Besides, you will be too busy doing all

the other chores we've lined up for you.

Certainly you didn't expect to be

expunged of all your guilt quite so easily?

Foolish girl.

Clearly you get your brains

from your mother.

I know you k*lled those two.

Funny

I heard the pretty one fell

and cracked her skull.

Tragic accident.

Nothing to lose your head over.

Detective, you've had a busy morning.

Word, please.

- You know who that is?

- Yeah, and so do five other witnesses

who say they saw him and multiple

other men walk into that alleyway

where Horatio Dixon and

Daisy Zywiecki were m*rder*d.

And these witnesses,

were they all in the trade?

Yes, sir, but that doesn't

discount what they saw.

Maybe they were playing. I wouldn't

put it past one of the other pimps

to knock out the competition.

Eddie.

I got a problem here.

I'm hearing two very conflicting stories.

One that makes sense and one that don't.

My boss would never sh*t

where he eats, so

why would he send me and my boys

all the way to the Elbow to k*ll anyone?

Especially since

we're all the way in Hamilton.

Well

until we gather more evidence

Sir, what? You're just

gonna take him at his word?

Till we gather more evidence,

you are free to go.

I hope you catch your guy.

Eddie!

Get it through Basil's thick f*ckin' skull:

He is not untouchable.

This w*r ends now.

We just stopped it.

By relieving Horatio Dixon of his

head? This is not the Middle Ages!

We went down there to scare people,

not k*ll anyone.

- The harlot.

- It was an accident, I swear.

And when we left, Horatio's

head was still on his shoulders.

It wasn't us.

It was her.

Jesus.

Hmm.

I can't help but wonder about

the relief and solace you might find

if you came to my church rather than your

regular visits to your

favourite temple of sin.

Back the f*ck off, Padre, or

instead of some grateful whore,

I'll take my aggression out on you.

- Just hearkening you to God.

- Oh, f*ck your God,

his promise of a heaven when it's all over.

Where did that devotion get your father,

other than at the end of a swinging rope?

You can blow and bluster all you want,

but even you answer to God,

for all your sins, past and present.

And if you will not repent, the

devil may send the Widow for you.

Find goodness, find purity.

For the Widow will show you no mercy.

I'll have another edition

ready in half an hour.

The hell you will.

k*ll the f*ckin' Widow story.

We're on our third edition.

We're printing money!

k*ll it,

or find yourself another job.

We haven't sold a

day's paper like this in

Twelve years. I know.

k*ll it. Burn everything

yourselves already printed,

k*ll the story now and forever.

You made the Widow, now I'm burying her.

If we k*ll it,

the real story's gonna get out.

What story is that?

Town philanthropist Basil

Garvey directs his henchmen

When are you gonna realize

that you don't exist without my say-so?

You owe everything to me!

I am the truth around here!

I am life and I am death!

And you!

You are just a maggot who does

my bidding, or have you forgotten?!

Every single word you print,

an ad for the f*cking church bazaar,

it all has to get approved by me.

Uh, I'll deal with the pimp m*rder.

You're pulling me.

Sir, I'm not afraid of Basil Garvey.

You should be.

This is a powder keg of local

politics and power struggles.

It's best handled by someone

with experience. And connections.

- Connections.

- I'm f*ckin' protecting you, Detective.

The world out there is

not just black and white.

Sir, they're K*llers.

That may be, but if it is them,

they're the K*llers we know.

What worries me is the K*llers

we don't know. Out there, circling,

striking when she wants.

That's what's scaring the city.

Well, did make a breakthrough.

Hallelujah.

I found this in Alistair

Simcoe's desk in his home office.

Margaret Mehar?

- But he's just a m*rder nut.

- You know, lots of people are.

No. I would've thought that too, sir, but

the note - "Friends of Margaret

are my target" -

it must be referencing the same woman.

I arrested the sick f*ck that k*lled her.

Sir, what if you got the wrong guy?

What if Alistair Simcoe is

somehow connected to her m*rder?

Sir!

If you're here to try to connect me

to the att*ck, you'll be out on your ass.

I cared about those people.

I know. You and I both know

who ordered their murders.

Basil has you, me, and

this entire city under his boot.

But it doesn't have to stay that way.

Oh, really? You got an army full

of g*ons ready to do your bidding?

'Cause I sure as f*ck don't.

No, but you must have some dirt.

And me I have a printing

press.

I don't think you appreciate

who you're dealing with.

That's why it would have to be bad.

Oh, it would be bad for both of us.

You stay anonymous.

Anything I know about Basil he knows I know.

And thank you very much, but I don't

wanna join Horatio Dixon in the morgue.

I'm a smart man.

Answer will always be no.

Unlike Terrence

I never say no.

Did you know him, Detective?

We crossed paths.

- Is there something amiss?

- Not amiss per se.

Uh, may I?

By all means.

No

not amiss, but special.

- In what way?

- Daisy d*ed by misadventure, but this,

this is clearly premeditated m*rder.

So the Widow

has struck again.

Did you find any note hidden in the body?

Would I not have told you if

I had? But you're free to look.

- I'm looking.

- And what do you see?

Bruising here shows us the first strike.

Cracking in the spine confirms that.

Agreed. A Kn*fe blade.

Lacerations here and here,

they show us a clear path of the cutting.

Right to left.

That's helpful.

How so?

Right to left.

Right to left.

The Widow's left handed.

Ah, welcome, my dear.

- Mm.

- Oh.

Don't you look ravishing.

I had hoped to see your beautiful sister.

- She is devastated that she cannot be here.

- Mm.

You rogue, Monsieur Rondeau.

Georges, please.

There's the poor dear.

- Thank you so much for coming.

- I am here for you in any way you need.

How are you holding up?

- I haven't been sleeping.

- I'm desperate for answers.

She's done the wise thing and

turned to the other side for help.

I've done this many times before. In fact,

a most learned shah once told me

he had never witnessed a more

direct contact with the dead than mine.

If you will join Shanika and I

in clasping hands.

I must demand total obedience

if you are to remain safe.

If you're to stay on the side of the living,

you must trust your care entirely to me.

I'm glad someone understands that

as long as Basil Garvey is in charge,

we are beholden entirely to him.

The days of Basil Garvey

and Alistair Simcoe are over.

What's that?

Print these and prepare to be shocked

or turned on.

If you are a size queen, you

definitely won't be disappointed.

Do I look like an anything "queen"?

Appearances can be deceiving.

But our dear Basil

is most definitely flag ranting his delicto

with a most domineering dominatrix

in these photos.

And I assure you

he will do anything

to keep these from getting out.

Thank you.

Uh

You didn't think this was a charitable

donation on my part, did you?

Oh, I thought you were

invested in the greater good.

I am.

But I'm even more interested

in a brand-new wig.

I'm thinking blond sausage curls?

The spirit realm is nebulous.

A hazy line separates our material world,

and in order to draw a spirit over,

requires a lure, something

valuable, something

unique.

Oh.

That was a gift from my maman.

Perfect. And has she passed

to the other side?

- Tragically, yes.

- Ah.

Is there anything you'd like to ask her?

Yes. Yes! Ask dear maman

if she thinks Basil Garvey and I

will have a happy union.

A perfect yes-or-no question

to warm up the table.

If it tilts to the right,

it means yes; to the left, no.

Now, everyone

focus.

And open your minds

to the cosmos.

Oh mother of Viviana Botticelli,

we ask you to grace us

with your spiritual presence

to answer a question

about the most holy of emotions,

love.

Will thine own daughter find

love everlasting with Basil Garvey,

her betrothed?

I beseech thee.

Come to us from the other side.

Will she find happiness,

O wise mother?

Oh, my.

That means yes, right? She said yes?

She said yes.

Happy day!

Ahem. As overjoyed as I am

for my dear friend,

we are not here to divine the future.

We're here to find answers

for the painful past.

Of course, my dear.

We forget ourselves.

Thank you, O generous mother.

You may return now to the other side.

Did you feel that?

That was maman saying goodbye.

Goodbye.

Now, on to the job at hand.

These were worn by your

dear departed husband, correct?

- For reading yes.

- Ah

to see

And now I shall drop the veil,

so that we can see what truly happened

to your loving husband.

Ladies

what the great Georges Rondeau

is about to do is far more serious,

and dangerous, so absolute focus and quiet.

Mm-hmm.

Spirit world

I call forth Alistair Simcoe

to speak with us this night.

I call forth Alistair Simcoe

to give his loving wife,

Regina Simcoe,

peace with the answers she seeks.

Please, Alistair,

tell us:

Do you know what vile person m*rder*d you?

Oh,

heavens! Regina, are you alright?

- I'm fine. I'm fine.

- I'm shaken, but I'm fine.

Ooh.

Oh!

Enid, you're starting

to believe your own headlines.

"Tattle Tails a Woman's

Wails A paper's lies for sooth

A living hell, if you don't

tell your evil buried truth"

I'd say that got their attention.

It always does.

Though Miss Simcoe

may charge you for the table.

We can't be held responsible

for the whims of the spirits.

And even if we did,

we'd still come out ahead.

Oh very far ahead.

Mesdames

the spirits made contact

and they have something important to say.

Was it really my husband

you communed with?

There is a ripple in the ether,

a disturbance in the "ectenic psychode".

Can any of you feel it?

The spirits are restless.

They get this way when a great

injustice has violated the physical plane.

So I must wrestle our spiritual

advisor into submission and allow him,

or her,

despite Shanika begging me otherwise,

to inhabit me.

Are you talking possession?

I'm talking inwatso!

A secret calling I learned from

the Xesibe tribes of South Africa.

- Is it dangerous?

- Thrice banned on this continent.

But everything worth doing is

dangerous, my dear.

- Oh, really, Georges, is that wise?

- Yes, listen to her!

The last time you performed the inwatso,

you were committed to an asylum

for the insane.

All of this is true,

but a m*rder was committed

and I pledged my dear hostess

that I would do whatever it takes

in my means to find an answer.

So I must hazard it.

Now, please, good ladies, I need your help.

We'll all sit in a circle, join hands,

and with the help of inwatso,

I shall be your vessel of the truth.

Imimoya

wozani kimi.

Vula umnyango phakathi kwemihlaba yethu.

Woza

ungisebenzise

njengesitsha sakho..

futhi ungidle.

We must stop! We're in danger!

- Georges, what is happening?!

- Stop this now! We beg you!

I am here

Dear Lord, protect us.

He did not protect me.

Yeah. Why should he protect you

or anyone?

Who are you, spirit?

Do you have a name?

I am Alistair Simcoe.

Or I was.

But I was m*rder*d.

m*rder*d!

And my executioner still walks free!

Do you know who k*lled you?

She hides

behind a widow's veil.

Lurking.

Waiting until she can

strike again.

And again!

Twice the bell has tolled!

Six times more it will,

and only then will Margaret be avenged!

Unbelievable. Look. Regina?

She's moving. Is it her? Is she with us?

Regina, dear?

She's coming back to us.

But i-is it her? Is it dear Regina?

Speak, child. Is it you, Regina Simcoe,

or does a spirit still reside within you?

What? Of course, it's me.

Take it easy, slowly.

Let me help you there.

What happened?

You happened, my dear.

The spirit of your dear, departed husband

chose to manifest himself through you.

- I channel led Alistair?

- You did.

I've never seen such a clear manifestation.

Nor I.

Have you had any psychic

episodes in your past?

I was born with a caul.

- As was I.

- What's a caul?

Something which some people do not

wish to speak about in polite company.

And yet, a certain sign of psychic prowess.

I have had

I guess you could call them

feelings about things.

The night Alistair

I begged him.

I begged him not to go.

But he said he had work to do

and he couldn't be swayed.

I'm an abomination.

No, my dear Regina.

You are what I've long been looking for,

the rarest of finds.

A revelation.

"Tattle Tails,

a Woman's Wails

A paper's lies for sooth

A living hell, if you don't

tell your evil buried truth."

What lies did you tell?

Who is the Widow referencing

when she writes, "A woman's wails"?

You're asking me to decipher

the ramblings of a madwoman.

Yes. It's exactly what I'm doing.

Sorry, Detective, but I can't. Haven't

the first clue what that letter means.

It's pretty simple.

You published lies about someone,

and now the Widow wants you

to publish the truth. Otherwise

Otherwise Exactly.

Do you honestly believe this is the first

thr*at I've received

for revealing the truth?

It's part of my job, Detective.

I'll deal with this thr*at the

same way I deal with all the rest.

I'll thank the person for reading

and then I'll burn that letter.

No, you won't.

Hey, that's mine.

It was left for me.

It's also evidence

in a m*rder investigation.

Two, in fact.

Two?

Alistair Simcoe, obviously.

I suspect Horatio Dixon, as well.

Nah, Horatio was k*lled by

the hands of Basil Garvey's thugs.

Mm, not necessarily.

If he is the second in a string of murders,

you need to take this thr*at seriously.

If you know something, anything,

pertaining to the Widow,

now is the time to tell me,

for your own safety.

Enid, please, I know

we've had our differences,

but these are not just random murders.

They connect back to the m*rder

of Margaret Mehar.

That was 12 years ago.

Lust for vengeance doesn't expire.

Maybe it's you, Detective.

I'm sorry?

You come in here,

you interpret the Widow's note,

you steer me toward a m*rder I

haven't thought of in over a decade,

one that the police failed to

solve, but I did, this paper did.

Perhaps you're the Widow

jealous of my skill and seeking

vengeance for your own failures.

Be careful, Enid.

Please.

Oh. Your sisters drink swill.

I'll send you a case of my favourite

single malt; only the best for you.

- I don't imbibe.

- I do.

Too much.

I'm sure you would cure me of that,

among so many other bad habits.

Mr. Garvey, Venetia has gone to

meet Viviana at Mrs. Simcoe's manse.

Perhaps if you were to head

I know what I want.

Always have.

Always do.

But what do you want, my dear?

To live here in this empty shell of a house,

scrubbing your sisters' floors while

they enjoy themselves among society?

Do you not deserve so much more than that?

I can give you the world.

Anything you desire.

The life you so richly deserve.

And while I know I love you already,

I understand it might take you some time.

- You're betrothed to my sister.

- No.

No, uh, we're close, it's true.

She and Venetia are angling

for something I never promised.

Viviana has no engagement ring.

All I really owe her

is a little common courtesy.

So I'll wait an appropriate amount of time

before you and I announce our engagement.

No. This is

Verdi, why is this bucket in the

middle of the foyer for us to stumble over?

Because she's lazy, sister, that's why.

Mr. Garvey.

To what do we owe this pleasure?

At so late an hour?

I was just leaving.

Good night, ladies.

Good night, Verdi.

Harlot.

He came here unannounced, but I begged

him to go! Please, sister, believe me!

Sister? Is this how sisters

treat each other?

By stabbing each other in the back?

No, please! I'm not knowingly

doing anything to encourage Ah!

If it's subconscious,

I will whip it out of you!

No, please! Let me go! Ah!

We're just trying to help you, sister!

Keep staring like that,

your eyes will pop out.

Sir.

Are you seeing what I'm seeing?

- You're chewing your nails.

- The handwriting, sir.

Yeah, it's the same. Kid

if this is as good as you got,

maybe I was wrong about you.

Sir, whoever wrote these notes used

their left hand. You can tell by the slant.

Okay, pick up the pace. Your

flair for the dramatic is k*lling me.

Horatio, the pimp, he was decapitated

by someone who was left handed.

The parchment? They're the same. They're

most likely cut from the same source.

And then the ink looks to be

some form of iron tannate,

which is far more expensive than the

much more common aniline dyes that most

Okay, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, enough of

the grandstanding. We need actual clues.

These are clues, sir.

You're going to arrest every

left handed citizen in the city?

And anyone who owns

this fancy ink? Go ahead.

Build a thousand jails while you're at it.

Sir, all of this is giving me

a profile on who our k*ller is.

Someone left handed, yes,

but also someone educated,

someone rich enough

to write in expensive ink.

Well, go out onto

the streets and find him.

Her.

Oh, you hear that, boys?

Detective Kenny here has a big new lead.

Our Widow is a fancy lady who

likes to write poetry with her left hand

when she's not using it to

chop people up into stewing beef.

Case solved.

Gold.

Jesus Christ Almighty.

Wh

what do you want?

Please just t-take it.

Take whatever you'd like.

You asked me to print the truth.

Well, this is the truth.

Basil Garvey is

a miscreant, a vile, controlling criminal,

a perverter of the truth!

That's the story we should tell! I-it's the

story that will work, that will destroy him!

I'm the editor! I know what should

and shouldn't go into my paper!

Not anyone else! Not Basil, not you!

Just me!

You're not the voice

of the people, idiot.

You're my voice. You write

what I tell you to f*cking write.

Then I quit!

One day you'll see you

signed a deal with the devil.

It should've been

that exciting in your bylines.

assh*le.

You.

You're a woman. Under the threads, I mean.

Your point?

A female editor.

Now, that's forward thinking;

shows someone not stuck in their ways.

Not me as a publisher, not you as an editor.

Editor? Huh.

You want me to be an editor?

- You're not up for the job?

- No, sir, I'm very much up for the job.

Good. You better be.

'Cause I need someone in that office

who's gonna make sure

the Echo Tribune reflects

the ethos of its publisher,

like how you went after

Andrew May for the Ripper k*lling.

- It was your lead, sir.

- I just followed the evidence.

Yes. And you didn't question it.

That story sold more papers

than we ever have.

And a guilty man was brought to justice.

Right?

- Right.

- Good.

I look forward to working with you

Enid Jenkins. You get me.

And for someone in my position,

that's more valuable than gold.

- I didn't do anything!

- I can't undo what's been done!

No!

I'm not a k*ller!

Ah! It was Basil! He was behind it all!

But I couldn't print that!

He would never let me! Please!

All I did was make up a story

a long time ago

and take some photos!

I'm not a k*ller!