05x10 - Pick Your Poison

[bunniefuu]

Holmes: Previously on Elementary...

A member of a rival g*ng was sh*t and k*lled in SBK territory last night.

I didn't have nothin' to do with what happened to that man.

They also saw two men who fled.

One of them tossed a g*n as he ran.

I think that one of the men the police is looking for is Shinwell Johnson.

I'm not back in SBK 'cause I want to be.

I'm an informant for the FBI.

He showed me his badge.

Watson: You said his name was Whitlock.

Any information that he gathered, anything he did for me was completely off the books.

If you don't do something, he's gonna be sent back to prison.

It's the cloth I used to wipe the g*n.

Hadn't been processed yet. When it is, there won't be any prints on it.

It's your second second chance.

Do make the most of it.

(door opens)

(whistling)

♪ ♪

Shinwell: What do you think?

About...?

Table.

I saw it downstairs.

Thought I'd restore it as a gift.

For you and Doc.

So, it is the one from the... storage area, in the basement.

Yeah, the top was nicked in a couple places, and one of the legs was loose.

But, uh, I fixed it up.

Refinished it, and... you can hardly recognize it, right?

What you did for me.

I just wanted to say thank you.

What?

Nothing.

It's just, um... the table was... i-it was evidence in a 78-year-old m*rder I was trying to solve.

(chuckles) You're playin' with me.

No, you're not playin' with me.

The Minetta Chess Club Slaying.

Greenwich Village, 1938.

The table was from the scene.

Took me, um...

Took me a few years to track it down.

The, uh... chips were the, uh... well, it was from all the stabbing.

No, it's just as well. Because, I mean, my progress was very slow, so... this is going to force me to look at the case another way.

It's an even more appropriate gift than you intended, because I destroyed evidence for you, and now... (phone beeps)

I would offer to break it in with you, but, uh, I have to go.

Can you tell the doc I said bye?

Shinwell is still engaged with SBK.

He's got two ringtones on his phone. One for his work as a handyman, the other for the g*ng.

The one I just heard upstairs was the latter.

Right. Because he's still gathering Intel.

Agent Whitlock of the FBI couldn't be more dead.

Even if he wasn't, his goal was to steal from SBK, not dismantle them.

Right. But he still wants to bring SBK down.

By himself?

No.

He knows he needs help, so he asked me to connect him with someone from the Bronx g*ng Squad.

You remember that Detective Guzman?

We helped protect one of his witnesses once?

When I committed a felony to keep Shinwell out of prison, it was so he would have the opportunity to get his life straight.

He is getting his life straight.

He's finishing what he started.

You think that's wise?

I think that's what he wants to do.

Ah...

Listen, he risked his life to get back into SBK. They trust him.

He doesn't just want to waste that.

Did you think he was just gonna leave town?

I thought he would find a clever way to extricate himself from the g*ng.

Well, then maybe you should've talked to him before you wiped his prints from that .38.

I should have.

Look, Guzman and Shinwell are gonna meet in a couple of days.

If things go well, he'll be registered as a C.I. for the NYPD. This time he'll have real support.

(phone beeping)

It's Marcus.

He wants to meet me at the morgue.

We'll talk more on the way there.

Actually, he only wants me.

(elevator bell dings, doors sliding)

Dead guy's name is Jeffrey Banks.

Opioid addict.

OD'd on oxycodone.

The 8-7 caught it, but a buddy of mine there gave me a heads-up.

DEA's been all over it.

They're considering criminal charges against the doctor who wrote the prescription.

Something about an online monitoring system, that it was the doctor's job to check?

Yeah, it's to make sure addicts aren't doctor shopping, getting the same script from multiple doctors.

So, if whoever wrote Banks' script didn't check it, they're liable.

So, how can I help?

So you don't know this guy, right?

Never seen him before? Why would I?

Because according to the script this guy used to overdose, you're the one who wrote it.

♪ Elementary 5x10 ♪
Pick Your Poison
Original Air Date on December 18, 2016

Man: All due respect, Dr. Watson, considering you're the subject of our investigation, there's only so much I can share with you.

I understand.

But if you're focusing on me, your investigation is off to a bad start.

Gregson: Agent Ritter.

Your boss, Ken.

He tell you how far he and I go back?

Then give us some credit.

We're trying to save you some time.

She didn't write that prescription for Jeffrey Banks.

Mr. Banks' name is just one of many.

We've identified multiple improper opioid scripts, all bearing your license and DEA numbers.

Obviously, someone stole my information.

I haven't practiced medicine in ten years.

Then why did you keep your license current?

Holmes: I asked my partner the same question.

The answer is simple: professional pride.

Watson studied for over a dozen years to become a surgeon.

So, if she's guilty of anything, it's of not wanting to let hard-won accomplishments fall by the wayside.

I don't know what to tell you.

It's her name on all the scripts.

You say we're dealing with an identity thief, only I haven't come across any evidence of that.

Holmes: We'll be happy to find you some if you tell us what you know.

I got another idea.

Don't step on another agency's toes. Let us do our jobs.

Bell: Hey.

How'd it go?

They suspended my license and sent out an alert to pharmacies saying that no one should accept my prescriptions.

Not that I'm writing any.

The act inspires little confidence in the DEA's investigation.

It's hard to imagine a government agency finding an imposter when their position is the imposter doesn't exist.

You holding up?

I'm fine.

I just want to find this person before anyone else gets hurt.

Thanks for putting in the call.

Keep me in the loop.

Bell: Got a sec?

Yeah.

I talked some more with my friend at the 8-7.

He said the doctor's address that was printed on Jeffrey Banks' script led to a mailbox store.

No security cameras, just a box rented to Joan Watson.

Phone number's a prepaid cell.

Meaning it could have been me just as easy as someone else.

As far as the DEA's concerned?

Yeah.

He also gave me this.

That's the pharmacy where Banks filled the prescription.

It was handwritten, so they would have the actual sheet of paper the imposter wrote on.

If you can talk them into letting you look, maybe it'll help.

It's in Hoboken.

Yeah. It makes sense.

Scripts in New York are almost entirely electronic now.

It raises fewer eyebrows to fill a handwritten one out of state.

Plus, that monitoring system that's supposed to keep patients from doctor shopping, from what I read, it gets checked a lot less consistently between states.

Convincing the pharmacist to show us the prescription might be another hurdle altogether.

You're right. I think it'll be better if I go alone.

That way, it's one medical professional to another.

Let me know how it goes.

Can I see your department directory?

Sure. Who you calling?

There's a detective in the Bronx I need to speak to.

(quietly): Thank you.

If you need me again, all right? Take care.

Holmes: Detective Guzman.

Hey! Holmes, man.

How the hell are you?

Your squad said I could find you here.

Yeah.

I know Joan is expecting a call back from me about her friend, Stonewall?

Shinwell.

I just needed to get through this court appearance, and now that I'm clear of it, I'll be able to meet up with the guy.

Don't.

Don't what?

Don't meet Shinwell.

I thought he was all dialed in with SBK.

He is.

That's why you should keep your distance.

Pharmacist: I'm sorry, this doesn't feel right.

The DEA's already been here.

This is part of their investigation.

You're not even really police.

True, but I'm not asking as a police consultant.

I'm asking because I am Dr. Joan Watson.

Which means I either wrote the prescription, in which case I know everything that's on it, or I didn't write it, in which case the DEA could decide to penalize you for filling it.

I hate to say it, but it's perfect.

I mean, it's not my handwriting, but other than that, I can see why the DEA doubts my story.

I'm sorry it wasn't more help.

Actually, I spoke too soon.

That J, it stands for Jingyi, it's my Chinese name.

I used it for a short time professionally at a hospital I used to work at.

How does that help?

Well, it tells me where the identity thief stole my information from.

Corona General Hospital in Queens.

Thank you very much.

Mm-hmm.

(door opens)

♪ ♪

Sometimes I wonder what hobbies other people's roommates have.

I briefly shared a flat in London with a collector of wild game urine.

He used it as a lure for hunting and trapping.

Oh. Then I count my blessings.

Well, I embraced the opportunity to educate my olfactory palate, but...

I must admit, it's not for everyone.

I thought you said the table wasn't helpful anymore.

I noticed that Shinwell hadn't sanded down the Kn*fe chips, but rather packed them with wood filler.

I can still make out the angle of att*ck of each strike.

Hence, my efforts to determine the k*ller's height, build, left- or right-handedness may continue.

Did you see my text about Corona General?

I did. I checked the hospital's online directory.

Sure enough, your contact information had been replaced with the thief's mailbox information and burner phone. I also gave the hospital's computer security measures a thorough prodding.

System is far too porous to have logged who made the changes and when.

I've had a harder time breaking into an advent calendar.

Which is why you turned your attention back to the cold case.

Not before the ease of breaking into the system itself gave me another thought. Hmm?

It occurred to me to look for other doctors whose information had also been changed.

If, like you, their office numbers were now... prepaid mobiles, then surely the area codes would be easy enough to spot.

I identified three such doctors.

Like you, their office addresses are now mailbox stores.

So you think these three doctors had their identities stolen by the same thief.

I've passed this information on to Marcus.

He's now canvassing the mailbox stores.

The one which was rented in your name was no help, but perhaps these others will be.

Have you, uh, heard from Detective Guzman today?

No, why?

I paid him a visit.

I advised him not to take on Shinwell as a C.I.

What?

Understand, I admire Shinwell's ambition.

I think his goal could not be more worthy.

But as an undercover operative, I find him wanting.

What are you talking about?

He lacks the guile to play multiple sides.

Not to mention the rudimentary skills of survival.

Shinwell's not a survivor?

He was a g*ng member most of his life.

He survived nearly a decade in prison.

Both of which involve rigid societal roles and say nothing about his capacity for subterfuge.

That doesn't mean he can't do it.

No, evidence suggests that.

He allowed himself to be duped by an FBI agent who told him he was a registered informant, when he wasn't.

He left his fingerprints on a g*n at the scene of a m*rder he did not commit.

And how did you two meet again?

Wait, hold on a second.

That's right!

You pulled five b*ll*ts out of him after he was ambushed and sh*t.

Now that I know him better, I'm surprised he didn't step on an open bear trap and then fall down a well.

I'm sorry, but if I'd have known he was going to remain with SBK, I never would have wiped his fingerprints from that g*n.

The man's safer in prison.

You...

(computer chimes)

What is this?

It's Marcus.

“Checking other mailbox stores paid off.

“Security picture of woman who rented one of the boxes attached.”

I know that woman.

She was at Corona General the same time I was.

Dr. Franny Krieg.

That's her. She's the identity thief.

Were you close?

She was in rheumatology, so we didn't intersect much.

We just said hi in the halls.

According to this, her practice is in Jamaica.

Hello?

Dr. Krieg?

I don't think anyone's going to answer.

There's burnt gunpowder in the air, about an hour old.

(door creaking)

(sniffing)

It's Dr. Krieg.

She's gone.

Marla Ridgley Moore, address in Great Neck.

It's hard to say whether she had anything to do with Dr. Krieg's opioid trafficking.

Her getting k*lled certainly did.

These are from the Bureau of Narcotic Enforcement.

They print all the prescription pads for New York state.

They're packing slips from those boxes-- they're all empty.

Whoever did this took the pads.

Holmes: Five boxes.

One for each of the doctors she was writing as.

You included.

20 pads per box, 100 pages per pad.

(sighs): That's 10,000 more opportunities for addicts to overdose.

Entry wounds are all in the front, so they were facing their attacker.

He fired from the doorway before entering to collect the pads.

Blood spatter on the cabinet supports that it was closed at the time of the sh**ting before being opened, where the blood dripped down onto the floor here.

Any receptionist out front?

She'd already left.

Watson and Bell went to speak with her.

According to her, Dr. Krieg was in the habit of sending her home for the day once the last appointment had arrived, which, in this case, was 4:00 p.m.

Once the M.E.'s given us the time of death, we'll be able to confirm the receptionist's timeline and check the security footage at Jamaica Station.

Make sure she was there when she said she was, yeah?

So Joan's identity was stolen by a doctor?

She was running a pill mill.

She stole the credentials of four doctors, including Watson's, and used them to sell opioid scripts.

Using multiple identities makes it much less likely to raise any flags.

Maybe one of her customers decided to cut out the middleman.

Why pay a doc every time you want a new script when you can take all the pads for yourself?

Yeah, that's what we were thinking.

And the other victim, Miss Moore?

Do we know her connection?

Holmes: The receptionist said she was the mother of a patient.

She was here for consultation.

So perhaps she was just collateral damage.

Perhaps she was the mother of a patient and involved in the pill mill.

It's very difficult to say.

And hopefully we'll know more once we've spoken to the family.

I'll reach out to the DEA.

Tell 'em about this and everything you found out about Dr. Krieg.

Should get them off Joan's back.

Man: I should have been there with her.

I was the patient, not her.

There's nothing you could have done.

I'd have lost you, too.

Ethan, come on, sit down.

Was it unusual for your mom to go to Dr. Krieg's office without you?

No.

I've been sick since I was a kid.

My mom always dealt with everything, with all of the doctors.

There was a scheduling mix-up.

My physical therapy was at the same time as my appointment with Dr. Krieg.

They were just gonna talk over new treatment options for me, so I didn't go.

Can I ask you about your diagnosis?

You can ask.

I just wish I could tell you.

Mostly they call it “non-specific autoimmune disorder”, which, I've learned, is doctor-speak for “we have no idea”"

I have a lot of joint pain.

My muscles are weak.

I get sick a lot.

I really hit the jackpot.

And, Mr. Moore, were you here with Ethan while your wife went to Dr. Krieg's?

Uh, no. I don't actually live here.

Marla and I split up last year.

I-I came over as soon as I heard what happened.

Then I have to ask, can you account for your whereabouts between 4:00 and 6:00 p.m. yesterday?

Yes, I was at a friend's watching the Riviera Cup.

It's a golf tournament.

I'll give you his number.

Did your ex-wife have a history of pain?

Was she on any medications?

No. Why?

We think Dr. Krieg was operating a pill mill.

Are you familiar with the term?

Wait, you think she was a drug dealer?

To be clear, as of right now, we just think your mom was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But if she was involved in the other side of Dr. Krieg's business, getting it all out in the open might help us find whoever did this.

I'm sorry, no, no.

Marla wasn't involved in anything like that.

Y-You can look around if you want, I mean, check the medicine cabinets. but I don't think you'll find anything.

I remember seeing this guy once... in Dr. Krieg's waiting room.

It was a couple of weeks ago.

He was older than me.

20s, maybe.

He was in real bad shape.

Shaking, sweating.

Hunched over, like he had a stomachache.

I just thought he was sick.

So now you're wondering if this was an addict who was in withdrawal?

Well, Dr. Krieg told him to leave.

And he did.

But he was angry.

I'll check with Dr. Krieg's receptionist, see if she can tell us who that patient was.

Meantime, you think you could describe him to a sketch artist?

I could try.

That time already?

Why? You light, D?

Hell no.

It's been like this all day.

We're gonna have to start using bigger bags.

Ain't you gonna take it?

You see that homie over there-- the big one?

Duane: What about him?

Could have sworn I saw him outside my apartment this morning.

You think he's Five-O?

What you think?

I think you trippin'.

Duane: Brother's too big.

Never seen a big cop?

I'm looking for cops all the time.

It's what I do here.

I got, like, a spidey sense.

Dude's no cop.

We'll finish our business later.

Take care.

All right, then.

(doorbell ringing)

Can I come in?

Sure.

Something the matter?

I was being followed.

A big dude.

I lost him, but I don't...

Shinwell, I'd like you to meet my friend Luc.

Luc, voici Shinwell. Luc, Merci pour ton excellent travail et á trés bientôt.

You had me tailed this morning?

Actually, he's been following you since last night.

When you finally caught on and evaded him, he got a cab here.

I'm assuming that you walked.

I did, three miles out of my way.

(phone ringing)

Tell me, what is this about?

Watson said you want to continue your work as a C.I.

(ringing continues)

She thinks it suits you.

I don't.

(ringing stops)

So I urge you, quit while you're still alive.

What I do is none of your business.

I infiltrated a police lab on your behalf.

I wiped your fingerprints off a w*apon, I think that gives me plenty of skin in the game.

When you first came to Watson, you said you wanted to get your life on a better track, in order to become the kind of person that you would consider worthy of reconnecting with your daughter, Chivonne.

Operating as an informant is hardly that, is it?

You successfully distanced yourself from a g*ng once before, in prison.

So do it again, outside prison.

Watson could be there to help.

All you have to do is ask.

I'll think on it.

Hey, it's Marcus.

Ballistics came back on the rounds removed from the victims.

They match a slug pulled from the arm of a mugging victim two years ago.

Mugger was never caught.

Joan and I are gonna talk to the victim, see what he remembers.

Figured you'd want to join.

I was walking home to my apartment and this guy grabs me from behind.

Shoved me up against a car, sticks a g*n in my face, and he said, “Give me your wallet.”

I guess I took too long.

sh*t me right here.

Arm's never been the same.

The night it happened, you told police that you didn't get a good look at the mugger's face.

So, maybe you remembered something more after the initial shock wore off?

It was dark, it happened fast.

I think...

I was staring more at the g*n than at the guy.

According to the emergency room report, they also removed some auto glass from your shoulder?

Yeah, car window, uh, broke when he sh*t me, there was-- there was glass everywhere.

And the police subsequently looked for the car but couldn't find it.

So, presumably, the driver returned, he saw his broken window and he just drove off.

Yeah, I guess.

Yeah.

Except you're lying.

Excuse me?

You claim you were pushed up against the car before someone sh*t you there, in the front of your arm, but according to the ER, the glass came from the same direction as the b*llet, which means whoever sh*t you did so through the car window, so what's the truth?

I can come up with any number of scenarios.

You being mugged isn't one of them.

Given your deceit, I'm inclined to think that you were attempting a carjacking, and your would-be victim was armed.

Bell: Mr. Fisk, even without the attempted carjacking, I can still charge you with filing a false police report about a sh**ting.

But honestly, we're a lot less interested in any of that than we are in finding whoever fired the g*n.

So, how 'bout you tell us the truth?

And we'll all just agree that you've suffered enough.

It was a silver Lexus.

It just pulled out of a parking lot and up to a light; there was a guy and a girl in the car.

I pulled the driver's door open, I shouted for them to get out, but then the guy yanked it closed again.

And before I knew it, he had a g*n out from somewhere and he was sh**ting at me.

I ran.

I was lucky to get out of there alive.

You remember where this took place?

Yeah, out in Hempstead.

They were leaving one of those big furniture stores.

Ridgley's.

Would you excuse us a minute?

(door opens)

The woman who was k*lled alongside Dr. Krieg, her full name was Marla Ridgley Moore.

You think it's Ridgley like the furniture stores?

Furniture empire, more like.

Hundreds of stores, worth many millions of dollars.

Bell: All right, but I'm confused.

What does any of this have to do with Dr. Krieg and the stolen pads?

Nothing, that's the point.

The same g*n used to k*ll the heiress to the Ridgley furniture fortune was also used by a man exiting a Ridgley's Furniture lot two years ago.

That could be coincidence, but the odds overwhelmingly favor another explanation.

The stolen pads were a smokescreen.

Franny Krieg was just collateral damage.

Marla Moore was the real target.

We've been trying to solve the wrong m*rder.

This whole thing is insane.

Bell: Really?

'Cause the judge kind of saw it our way.

We checked, you own a 9mm Smith & Wesson.

Same caliber used to sh**t a would-be carjacker two years ago.

And to k*ll your ex-wife and Dr. Krieg yesterday.

We also know you used to drive a silver Lexus.

Just like the one Lee Fisk was trying to steal in 2014.

Why would I k*ll Marla?

You're divorced.

Yes, but it wasn't contentious, not as those things go.

And if you think I was after her money, I've been out of her will for over a year.

You're forgetting about the will of her father-- furniture tycoon Sam Ridgley.

I'm not in that one, either.

But your son is.

And while he's legally an adult, he still requires a great deal of care.

And with Marla dead, you're free to step back into the role of caretaker and resume a life of luxury.

(whispers): All right, fine.

I admit that I was carjacked two years ago and that I tried to sh**t the guy.

I didn't report it because I-- because I was having an affair with one of Marla's employees.

A woman named Janine Roth.

I was picking her up from work that night.

I couldn't tell Marla, so I lied about how the window broke and kept the rest to myself.

I was a bad husband.

But Marla, she was a saint.

Okay, the stress on her, the time and effort to take care of Ethan, I could have never done that.

And I could never have hurt her.

So where's the g*n now?

In the garage at the house.

I stashed it in my tool drawer after I sh*t the man who att*cked me and Janine.

I haven't seen it since.

Mr. Moore, I think you're forgetting I searched that garage this morning when we were checking to see if your wife had any hidden pills.

Hard for me to imagine I missed a g*n.

Well, you must have.

Either that, or...

What?

Or someone took it.

Tons of people go in and out of that house.

Domestic help, medical help.

I told you before, I was at a friend's when the murders happened.

Haven't you checked that?

We did. Problem is, no one else can corroborate it.

And your friend let it slip that you called him to make sure your stories were straight, so for now, we're gonna call your alibi “soft.”

Marla and I got along fine.

Just ask Ethan.

We will.

Okay, Ethan, good.

(door closing)

Good.

Okay. Okay.

Oh, hey.

Come in.

I didn't want to interrupt your session.

Believe me, we are not done.

I'll come back in ten, we'll keep going.

You still owe me for time we need to make up.

I remember.

How are you doing?

(chair motor whirring)

It still doesn't feel real.

But she'd want me to keep going.

Ethan, I'm here because my colleagues are with your father at his apartment.

The g*n that was used to k*ll your mother and Dr. Krieg is registered under his name.

The police are searching for it right now.

No. No, that has to be a mistake.

It's not a mistake.

I can't imagine being asked what I'm about to ask you, but if you know anything-- if you heard your parents fight recently, if you think your father was lying about where he was yesterday...

Stop.

I don't think you can imagine what it is you're asking me.

My mom was everything to me.

I don't leave this house.

I don't have friends.

Just the people she paid to help me.

And now you're asking me to believe that my dad is the one who k*lled her?

I'm alone.

I need him.

Wouldn't you want to know the truth?

No. And I already told you, you're wrong. Katie!

Look, I don't know anything.

I'm sorry you wasted your time, but my dad is innocent.

Katie: Ethan, what is it?

It's okay.

I'm leaving.

Watson: Did you go shopping?

I had to pick up some supplies.

I also stopped by the precinct.

The police have now searched Patrick Moore's home, car, office... researched the Moore family home, the m*rder w*apon hasn't turned up.

Nor have the stolen prescription pads.

In my other investigation, I now believe that the police in 1938 bungled the chess club case more than they even knew.

I don't even think the m*rder w*apon was a Kn*fe but a piece of trophy.

In order to confirm that, I'm going to have to un-restore Shinwell's restoration, regrettably.

Mm.

What about the soldering iron?

Heat softens the wood filler.

It pops right out. You?

I've been going over Marla and Patrick's phone records and e-mails.

I had hoped to find proof that Patrick knew that Marla was at Franny Krieg's office at the time of the murders.

But?

Well, Marcus called right before you walked in.

He said that Patrick and his friend ordered a pizza during the golf tournament.

Delivery guy recognized Patrick 'cause he was the one who paid.

So, Patrick Moore's not our k*ller.

What are you looking for now?

Anything that stands out.

Any reason why someone would want to k*ll Marla.

So, Shinwell and Detective Guzman met today.

It went well. He's gonna register him as a C.I.

May my concerns have been for nothing.

This is weird.

Uh, Marla called this same number almost two weeks ago.

It's from one of Franny Krieg's prepaid cell phones, which she set up for the stolen IDs.

Mrs. Moore called a number of doctors at Corona General in the weeks preceding.

I recognize the prefix for their private exchange.

She was doctor shopping.

That's a practice of opioid addicts.

We found no evidence that she was one, though.

True, but people doctor shop for all sorts of reasons any time they're not getting what they want from their doctors.

I just thought of something, but I think we're gonna have to get a warrant.

For?

It's Dr. Krieg's medical file on Ethan Moore.

Ethan wasn't really sick.

His mother was poisoning him.

Come again?

She was committing Munchausen by proxy... by the looks of it, since Ethan was a little boy.

Watson: She was doctor shopping.

She was extremely involved in Ethan's treatments and got a lot of attention for it.

She spoke to his doctors on a regular basis without him, and the illness itself was a mystery.

None of these things on their own is significant, but together, they're signs that doctors are taught to look out for.

And you think he k*lled her for it?

And Dr. Krieg?

We do.

Marcus is on his way to the house.

I thought the kid had an alibi.

I heard the physical therapist say he had missed time to make up, so it's possible he told people he was going to the sessions, but really he canceled it or cut it short.

And what?

Drove himself to the doctor's office, sh*t her and his mom?

I thought this kid could barely walk.

We think he had some help, perhaps the physical therapist.

We're gonna speak to her, too.

Say you're right about the motive for the mom.

Why would he k*ll the doctor?

Because she discovered what Marla was doing and she told Ethan about it.

So, if he had k*lled only Marla, Dr. Krieg would've known it was him.

Ethan had been Dr. Krieg's patient for over a year.

She'd already ran a battery of tests.

Failed to find a diagnosis 'cause there was no disease.

Eventually, she ran out of tests, so Marla was looking to start all over again with a new doctor.

At which point, she unwittingly calls one of Dr. Krieg's stolen identities, a rheumatologist at the same hospital.

Dr. Krieg's burner phones were found at the scene of the crime.

We had CCS download voice mail.

Marla: Dr. Gordon, my name is Marla Moore.

I'm calling about my son, Ethan.

He's 18.

He's been in treatment since he was three, and our current doctor's just not on the ball.

At first, we were told he had juvenile arthritis, but the symptoms never added up.

She told Dr. Krieg the symptoms started at six.

She never mentioned juvenile arthritis.

So, her story was changing.

We think that's what tipped Dr. Krieg off.

Now, in her calendar, she had two more meetings involving the Moores.

The first one was a week before the murders.

In her notes, she says that she visited with Ethan alone, asking the mother to wait outside while she shared her discovery.

So, the mom is abusing her kid.

Why not call Protective Services?

Ethan's 18.

She decided to talk to him as an adult.

Given the events that followed, you could imagine how she shared her awareness of Marla's message on another doctor's voice mail.

Perhaps it was the only way to gain Ethan's trust, reveal her criminal activities, and explain that Marla had inadvertently called one of her aliases.

The final meeting... was the day they were both m*rder*d.

(cell phone rings)

Hey, the captain's here, too.

Bell: Something tells me you were right about Ethan Moore.

According to the housekeeper, he was real upset last night after we finished the second search.

He just went into his room, wouldn't talk to anyone.

About a half hour later, she heard a car pick him up and drive away.

Didn't see who got him or the car.

No one's heard from him since.

Ethan is gone.

Watson: Sherlock.

I'm here.

Are you done redestroying the table?

Decided not to, actually.

Got better use for it as is.

Marcus and I just finished interviewing the rest of the Moore staff.

No one knew anything.

Physical therapist?

She was on a Skype call with her boyfriend at the time of the murders.

Her phone's geolocation puts her at Ethan's house.

Now, when Marcus spoke to her the other day, she confirmed Ethan's alibi, but the truth is, Ethan canceled the session right when she got to the house.

So, she stuck around to adjust some of the equipment.

She just assumed he was upstairs the whole time.

So, the search for Ethan's accomplice, and by extension Ethan himself, continues.

Agent Ritter just sent this over.

After we discovered the murders, he broadened his alert so that pharmacies would report the scripts from Franny Krieg and the other doctors.

These are where users either filled their scripts off the bogus pads, or tried to, and were stopped.

His idea of a peace offering.

He wants me to know the DEA's net is working.

We should send Agent Ritter something very nice in return.

I don't think it's that big a deal.

You don't at the moment, but you're about to change your mind.

This dot... is dated the night of the murders, just before 7:00 p.m. in Fort Lee.

And that's meaningful because...?

Well, we're looking for Ethan's accomplice.

You know it's not his father, his physical therapist, or anyone on the household staff.

Ethan was a virtual shut-in... so where else could he have met someone to enlist in a double homicide?

Um... his doctor's office.

He said he met an addict in Franny Krieg's waiting room.

Maybe that wasn't entirely made up?

The stolen pads have never been recovered.

Whether Ethan intended them as payment or whether his accomplice just helped themselves to them, either way, they could've been incentive to participate in a m*rder.

What does an addict do when they find themselves with a cache of blank prescriptions?

He fills one as soon as possible.

Perhaps in this case, the night of the murders after dropping Ethan home.

The first pharmacy across the George Washington Bridge.

Can I have a few minutes?

Thanks.

I asked if I could speak with you alone, but you are not obligated to say anything back.

How did they find me?

Todd Fisher, the addict who helped you, gave us the name of the hotel where he dropped you off.

He also confessed to driving you to and from Franny Krieg's office the day of the murders.

We also found your father's g*n in your hotel room.

I found out some information that I thought you might want to know.

I had an idea where your mother got those dr*gs she was giving you all those years.

Now, your grandfather, Sam, was on a whole list of medications for his heart, blood pressure, thyroid... anti-seizure meds.

His staff knew for a long time that pills were going missing.

They even fired a nurse over it once, thinking it was her.

Never in a million years would they have thought his daughter was stealing them to poison her own son.

And these explain all my symptoms?

We won't know for sure which ones she gave you until you're tested... but a number of them can trigger the immune system to go haywire.

All the signs of an autoimmune disease show up.

Antibodies in the blood, the swelling, the joint pain... everything except a cause.

The effects should be temporary.

Now that you're not taking them anymore, your symptoms should improve.

Will you talk to the police for me?

About what?

Tell them you understand why I did it.

What she did to me.

She stole my life.

Here's what I understand.

Franny Krieg was selling illegal prescriptions to addicts.

If she was caught, she would've gone to prison, but somewhere in there she was still a physician and you were her patient.

She tried to throw you a lifeline and tell you what your mother was doing.

She had to know what she was risking, but she tried to save you anyway and you k*lled her for it.

♪ Are we just now until we start again? ♪
♪ We travel alone ♪
♪ This is not the end ♪
♪ Follow that road ♪
♪ Follow that road... ♪

Wow.

You could've just said, “No, thank you.”

Uh, I brought it here because I think we're gonna have to spend more time together.

So consider the table on indefinite loan.

Hmm, and how many games you figure we'll get in, what with how soon you think I'll be dead and all?

Watson told me you were going to continue with Detective Guzman.

I can't stop you.

I have a proposal.

You turned down Watson's offer once that she, uh, train you to be a detective.

(chuckles)

I offer now, instead, that we train you to be an informant.

We can teach you the skills you require to, uh, survive that undertaking: skills of deception, avoiding detection... how to extract information without the subject knowing they're being questioned.

And I pay for this schooling how?

By getting b*at at chess?

Every now and then, Watson and I have our own need of a pair of eyes on the street.

So, in addition to your official capacity with the NYPD, you'll also unofficially be our informant, as well.

♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh... ♪

Do you accept the proposal?

♪ Owns a map ♪
♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh... ♪

Let's see what you got.

♪ Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh... ♪