How many this time?
- 12. It's double our last attendance. - Wonderful.
At this rate, we'll have a best-seller in 40 years.
There is not a lot of people, but the ones that are here
are very much looking forward to your reading.
Ahem.
I know you're all dying to hear Detective Murdoch
read from his and Dr Ogden's new book.
Let's have a big round of applause for Toronto's most famous detective!
Good evening. Thank you for coming.
Each chapter in our book recounts a different murder investigation.
Chapter one
is about a most peculiar case.
It was a bright, sunny day on July 16th, 1904,
when strollers at Cawthra Park
- happened upon a most unusual statue. - There's really nothing to...
- Oh, my! - .. nothing to see here! Just stay back!
Where did the statue come from?
No one knows. It certainly wasn't commissioned.
A nude not commissioned by our city fathers.
Why am I not surprised?
I must say, it's very good. She looks almost real.
- Hysteria is clearly what the artist intended. - No, sir!
- Sir, get back here! - This vulgar display is an affront to decency!
Sir! Sir! Give me that!
Oh, my God. Sir.
- Doctor. - What is it, George?
I believe this is no ordinary work of art.
The statue was, in fact,
the electro-plated body of a young woman.
Excuse me. What is it, Henry?
The owner of the Windsor House Hotel has asked for you.
She thinks she's found a body in her lobby.
"She thinks"?
It's best that you come, sir.
You'll have to excuse us.
We have an urgent matter to attend to. Ahem.
Is it a murder?
Possibly.
- The books are for sale in the lobby. - I'll take one!
Hello, Miss Matthews.
Thank you for coming. I hope this isn't a waste of your time.
If it isn't the famous detective
and published author, I'm to understand.
You remember our hotel detective.
Mr Fellows.
We understand you've discovered a body.
It was delivered anonymously to the lobby,
and I told Ralph to have it carted away.
But I recognised it for what it was.
Oh, my goodness. It--
I believe you'll find it's an electro-plated body.
Just as in our book.
Have you read our book, then?
It may astonish the two of you that the world
doesn't revolve around just you.
The case was in the newspapers.
I think you'll need this.
You were just reading about this; it's chapter one.
It may be a coincidence.
Mr Fellows is right. It was all over the newspaper.
In my professional opinion,
this is the work of a copycat.
You're a hotel detective, Mr Fellows.
Your professional opinion is hardly required.
- Nevertheless. - You may be correct, Mr Fellows.
But is the killer copying the newspapers or our book?
During the electroplating process,
dissolved metals are drawn by electrical attraction
to form a thin, coherent coating
on a surface of opposite charge.
In this case, a waxy coating.
The waxy substance likely contains a pulverised nitrate of silver.
The body is then immersed in copper sulfate
and the electrical current is applied.
The result is a metallic mummy, as it were.
George, were you able to find any information
- on electroplating facilities? - Yes, sir.
There's only one electroplating factory in Toronto.
We actually had cause to visit there on another case some years ago.
An endeavour such as this required a large electrolyte bath,
and the capacity for large current draws,
suggesting the killer made use of a purpose-built factory.
"James Kirkham's electroplating facility on Niagara Street
provided the perfect means."
And there you have it.
All the instructions on how to electroplate a body.
You even gave the killer the address.
Henry, head down to Kirkham's factory
- and see if anyone's been in there after hours. - Sir.
It's horrific, but we must face the possibility
that the killer got the idea from our book.
It shouldn't be too difficult to obtain the identities
of those who purchased the book.
Perhaps it's a good thing that so few have sold.
Hmm.
I'm sorry, folks. It is impossible to know who has the book now.
But you told us we've only sold 12 copies.
Sold, but we've given copies to libraries,
police stations, book reviewers.
The number of people with access to your book
would be in the hundreds.
Inspector Hamish Slorach! What brings you to my station house?
I'm packing it in, Tom.
Had a long talk with the dog, and we decided it's time.
You're younger than me, aren't you?
Oh, no, no. I'm just better looking, and I plan to keep it that way.
Well, the constabulary won't be the same without you.
Ah. Well, I'm having a little bash tomorrow night,
- and I would like you to give the farewell speech. - Me?
What, is there a cop I've known longer? Huh?
- Well, I'd be honoured. - Thank you. Thank you.
It means so much to me. It really does.
Detective Murdoch! Oh, I was hoping I'd run into you!
I bought your book. Heh!
Soon as it came out. I couldn't put it down.
- Entertaining as well as instructive. - Thank you.
Can you imagine how many more criminals I would have caught
if I'd read this thing earlier?
Boy oh boy, huh?
Can I get you to sign my copy?
Oh, certainly.
Oh, allow me.
I am the co-writer, after all.
- To Hamish, my good friend. - Hamish.
Good friend.
There's a man, huh?
And I'd like to invite you to my farewell bash tomorrow night.
- Oh, you're retiring. - Dying, actually.
Just kidding! I'll see you all there.
- Is this the way I came in? - Yes.
OK.
Sir, Mr Kirkham died last April. His factory is closed,
but the lock on the back door was broken.
So, the killer could have accessed
the facility at any time without detection.
Also, sir, a Mr Robert Brown claims his daughter is missing.
That's my Amelia.
What kind of monster would do such a thing?
We intend to find out.
She was stabbed in the heart,
just as in your book.
Oh, you've read the book?
The relevant passages.
This page in particular.
"The victim had been stabbed in the heart, but that's not how she died."
A single thrust to the heart.
The wound was very clean, suggesting the knife
was pushed in and withdrawn at the same angle.
Which led you to believe that she was incapacitated
- when she was killed. - Yes. I analysed the stomach contents.
She'd drunk and eaten shortly before she died.
I found significant amounts of the sedative sulfonyl.
He wanted her unconscious.
She died approximately 18 hours ago.
The killer waited until rigour had set in.
And once rigour was fully in evidence,
and the body was fixed in the pose,
he set about the task of electroplating.
It's quite the operation.
She sat down to share a meal with her killer.
It might have been someone she knew.
I don't know why you came to that conclusion.
She could have just as easily dined alone.
But in all other respects--
The meal, the sulfonyl and the timing of the rigour
are the same in Amelia Brown's case.
I raised her by myself.
She was a handful as a child,
but she grew into a fine young woman.
I can think of no one who would wish her harm.
Although,
I could name a few who would wish harm on me.
How so?
I've been with the Pinkerton Detective Agency for 30 years,
and I've dealt with my share of hoodlums and bad actors.
And you fear one of them may be out for revenge?
Sir? We've found another body.
His body was pulled from the lake an hour ago.
He appears to be in his 60s or early 70s.
He was struck in the back of the head with a blunt instrument,
and then fell or was pushed into the water and drowned.
So, not inspired by our book.
That's something of a relief.
- I know this man. - You do?
Dr Morley.
He was a surgeon at Toronto General for many years.
Dr Ogden, his blood is black.
The vessels of his brains, lungs and liver
are all filled with black blood.
- Poisoned. - Precisely.
What kind of poison turns blood black?
- Something organic? - An alkaloid, perhaps.
- Was it ingested? - Most unlikely.
The dosage required to kill someone would need to be massive.
- Injected, then. - It's much more likely. Far more efficient.
Then there would have to be an injection site.
I was hoping to have found it before you arrived.
Ah.
I can wait.
Have you had a chance to visit with your sister?
- Yes. - Hmm.
I received some arresting news from her.
Regarding?
Your conviction of character.
Ah.
Puns, the feeblest form of humour.
Is it true then?
Your arrest?
One hot summer evening, when I was home from university,
my colleagues and I enjoyed swimming off Hanlon's Point,
sans clothing.
Most risqué.
I don't know which was worse:
being arrested or having your parents find out.
I found it.
I'm sorry?
I found it, the puncture mark. Come see.
It goes straight through the sclera and into the anterior orbit.
There it is.
William,
this is from chapter two.
The killer appears to be going through the book,
one case at a time.
Oh, Henry?
Find out all you can about Dr Morley:
- any enemies, debts, that sort of thing. - Sir.
So, we have a sequential killer on the loose.
You think he's working through it one chapter at a time?
That would appear to be the case.
How many chapters in your book?
- 28. - Oh, crikey.
What's chapter three?
The Lipstick Murders.
The woman who kissed her victims to death?
I suppose I should pull out the case files.
Murdoch, before you go,
Slorach has asked me to give the farewell speech,
but I'm having a bit of trouble.
Sir, I'm not the most entertaining writer, as I've come to discover.
Bugger the writing, I can't think of anything good
to say about his career!
He's not a very good policeman.
He only made detective because he solved
the case of the Jarvish strangler back in '91.
Speak about that.
What's to speak about?
As I recall, a witness told him everything.
He's a very upbeat fellow?
Oh! Mr Kellogg, honestly,
you tell the most fantastic stories.
Really, you are truly magnificent!
Ruthie!
Henry! What are you doing here?
I'm looking into a doctor who used to work here.
I thought I'd come say hello to my favourite wife.
Oh! Well, your timing couldn't be better. Try this.
- What are they? - We're conducting an experiment.
Mr Kellogg is hoping to market these,
- what did you call them again? - Granose flakes.
Ugh. Sounds like a disease. What are they made of?
Toasted corn mash.
- We'll call them that. Without the mash part. - Corn flakes.
- I like it. - Eat! Eat, eat, eat.
It's rather dry.
Exactly.
Now try.
It's rather good.
Suggest serving it with milk. It's a one-two punch of yumminess.
- It is better that way, I agree. - Help!
- She's stopped breathing! - Oh!
We need a doctor!
Oh!
Oh.
The case of the Lipstick Murders
began with the discovery of a young man's body in a swan boat.
While the motif of the swan was to prove a key clue,
the defining aspect of the murders
was the manner in which each victim was killed.
It's not clear what killed him,
but he died 5 to 10 hours ago.
A canoeist found him floating in the lake.
Oh, and William, look at this.
"Let's get acquainted for fun and results."
It's a flirtation card
to be slipped discreetly to someone you wish to meet.
So, a woman gave him this flirtation card,
arranging a meeting.
- He then brought her here to this lovely spot. - Romance ensued,
judging by the lip rouge on his face.
Love was in the air.
More than that.
I believe I'm detecting the smell of bitter almonds.
It could be cyanide.
Likely not the "fun and results" he was expecting.
"While it was clear the victims died from cyanide poisoning,
the manner in which the poison was administered proved to be a puzzle."
Yes, we discovered that the poison
was delivered by way of lip rouge.
But your book specifies that the poison came from a cut on the lip.
I don't see a point of entry here.
That's true. In this case,
it must have been administered some other way.
- Injected? - Or ingested.
That would slow the effects
long enough to see her to hospital.
And obscure the timing of the murder.
Is that what he's doing, then?
Copying crimes in your book
but leaving out the parts that would get him caught?
I don't know, sir, but we now have three murders.
Our best hope is to find any possible connection
between each of the victims.
We've had a few sequential murderers.
What's been the connections there?
Well, the point of connection is usually related to the motive.
In the electroplating murders,
it was the betrayal of a mutual friend.
But with the lipstick killer, it was the man who had humiliated her.
You needn't be afraid of this rouge stick.
I chose the colour especially for you.
And with the elder murders from last year,
the point of connection was a red herring to obscure the true motive.
Men over 60 should be euthanised with chloroform.
Perhaps Dr Osler didn't realise
the influence his words would have.
Right now, the only connection that we know of is your book.
Am I right?
Sir? Dr Morley had a reputation as a drinker.
He was also the defendant in several malpractice lawsuits.
Interesting.
Henry, find out if anyone involved in those lawsuits
was connected to any of the victims.
Oh, and while you're at it,
gather all of the information that you can on each of the victims:
where they were born, where they lived, where they went to school,
jobs, any friends they may have had.
We're looking for anything that connects one to the other.
All right. Oh, and
this just came out.
Well, at least we have a couple of suspects with motive.
Who is that?
You and you.
Yes, yes. This is Constable Higgins-Newsome from Station House 4.
All right.
Anything popping up?
We've found some connections.
Yes, sir. Amelia Brown and Dr Morley both lived on Wright Ave,
but at different times.
Rebecca Collins was once neighbours with Eve Wilson,
who was a patient of Dr Morley's.
Also, sir, Miss Brown and Mrs Collins
both appeared to enjoy romance fiction.
"Romance fiction"?
- Bloody tenuous, if you ask me. - I'd have to agree.
Any connection between two victims is likely happenstance,
but when a connection between all three victims is found,
- we need to pay strict attention. - Right then.
It's time for Slorach's send off.
Oh, I can't go.
These sequential murders are a bloody nightmare, Murdoch.
Get your head out of it for a while, then come back to it.
- Like a jigsaw puzzle. - Sort of.
Come on, Murdoch.
I'll just stay here then.
They're crowded into the alley.
It's quite the turnout.
Well, he was never much of a cop, but an easy man to like.
No luck in the case but book sales are good, I see.
- Mr Fellows. I didn't realise you-- - That I used to be a cop?
Of course not. I am just a hotel detective, after all.
- I don't remember you. - I had to leave the force.
Injury in the line of duty. Some pay the price.
So, you worked with Inspector Slorach?
My, you are the sleuth! How did you figure that out?
Oh, right. I'm here.
Ralphie boy! How's the knee?
Well, it's had 30 years to heal.
Great, great, great. Get yourself a beer.
- First round's on me. - I already have my first beer.
Great, I just saved 10 cents.
Oh, Tommy, I'm looking forward to your speech.
Give me your worst. No one will be laughing harder than me.
We'll see about that.
Ahem. If I could have your attention, please.
I'd like to say a few words
about everyone's favourite inspector.
Or, as we used to call him,
Sloppy Seconds Slorach!
That's true! That's true, they did! They did!
Sorry to interrupt,
but there's a telephone call for the man of the hour.
That would be me.
Right. Quiet down, lads.
Let the man of the hour hear the bloody phone.
Hello? Who is this?
Can you hear me now?
- NO! - What happened?!
He's been shot!
Angels. I see angels. Angels are carrying me.
- Oof. - I'm floating away.
- Learn anything, sir? - Bloody useless, the lot of them.
You'd think in a bar room full of coppers,
- someone would have seen something. - We didn't see anything either.
So, what would make an earpiece explode like that?
I believe it was struck
- by a high velocity projectile. - You mean a bullet?
- Well, - I didn't hear a shot.
not exactly a bullet, sir.
I believe this crime was inspired by chapter four of the book.
What's chapter four?
"Murder at the Hall of Inventions."
As you might remember,
I had been called to the convention
- to investigate a threat to an inventor. - That's me.
Mr Schreyer, under the circumstances,
- I would advise you not to go up on that stage. - No.
I have worked for years for this moment.
I'm not going to be intimidated.
Mr Schreyer accepted his award
and paid the price with his life.
Seal the exits, George. This man's been murdered.
- There was no gunshot. - None that was heard, sir.
Obviously, something penetrated his skull. As to how?
Must have been someone who used one of those mufflers
that silences a gunshot.
How could someone have used such a weapon without being seen?
A bit higher, Constable. Higher.
We determined the trajectory of the bullet. There.
Oh, that's odd.
You found it led to a killing machine.
- So, where would that be then? - Well, let's see.
Inspector Slorach was standing here, facing this way.
- So, the shot had to have come from-- - Well, well, well.
Your book has certainly turned out to be quite inspirational.
- How do you know that's what this is? - I am a detective.
I may not write books, but I am capable of abductive reasoning.
You're also connected to the first murder, and this latest attempt.
Oh, am I a suspect now?
How do you explain the coincidence?
How do you?
Yes, I'm connected to two,
but you're connected to all of them. Furthermore, you have a motive.
Your books are just flying off the shelves.
Nothing like a little murder to goose sales.
I'll goose you if you don't shut up and let him work.
Oh, yes. Of course. Let the master detective ply his trade.
He's written a book, you know!
Ho ho ho!
Bloody pain in the backside he is.
All right then.
Excuse me.
- What's behind here? - A storage room.
Well, we've seen this before, haven't we?
What is it?
I have no idea.
This is a battery.
There are wires leading to a
switch of some sort,
but then, this appears to be a switch as well.
I'm going to bypass these switches
to see if I can figure out
what the--
I believe we've found our murder weapon, George.
There are some similarities. But it can't be the same.
Why is that?
Because Karl Schreyer shot himself.
He put himself in the position and triggered the device.
In this case, the killer had to
control the timing as well as the position.
- So, the killer was among us. - Not exactly.
This device was triggered by this alarm clock.
It's set for 8pm.
So, no one in the room could have affected the timing.
As for the position, the killer had him speak into the telephone
at precisely 8pm.
- Henry! - So, whoever telephoned, tried to kill him.
- That would appear to be the case. - Sir?
- Any success? - The switchboard operator remembers the call.
She said the voice sounded like it was put on.
He likely disguised it.
Did she remember where the call came from?
Yes, sir. It came from the Windsor House Hotel.
Ralph Fellows works at the Windsor House Hotel.
Yes, but Ralph Fellows was at the retirement party.
He couldn't have placed the call.
He wasn't one of the coppers
that I talked to directly after Slorach was shot.
The Windsor House Hotel is what, three blocks from there?
Could he have run to the Windsor House,
placed the call and run back?
He did seem a bit winded.
As far as I know, Mr Fellows was here all evening.
He wasn't.
He was at a retirement party for at least part of the evening.
I didn't give him permission to leave.
Regardless, I need to know where he was at precisely 8PM.
Some time ago, I caught Mr Fellows sleeping on the job,
so I had one of these installed.
He's required to punch in on the hour, every hour.
"8:01."
- Is Fellows our man, then? - He is a strong suspect.
What could his motive be?
Taking you down a peg or two.
Well, he's always resented your success.
And you're Toronto's most famous detective.
And now, you're infamous for writing a how-to book for murder.
Not even Ralph Fellows is that spiteful.
But if he did have motive to kill these specific victims,
then I suppose taking us down a peg could be a welcome bonus.
Sir. Ralph Fellows once worked for Miss Brown's father.
The Pinkerton fellow?
- Bring in Mr Brown, Henry. - Sir.
Yeah, I hired Ralph. He lasted exactly one week.
What happened?
I came back from lunch and found my Amelia
shooting bottles in the alley with his pistol.
- He gave her his pistol?! - Well, no, he didn't give it to her, but
clearly, he left it in a place where she could find it.
Worst of all, he wouldn't admit it!
Claimed he kept it locked up.
I fired him on the spot. Haven't seen him since.
What, you think he murdered my Amelia
because she got him fired?
It did seem a bit much.
I don't disagree, but we have a connection and motive.
Let's see what the constables have found.
Henry. What have you?
Well, the hotel owner gave us the access to Mr Fellows' room.
- We found this. - "Learn German."
- It suggests he may be intending to flee. - Hmm. Anything else?
Yes, we found some of his old correspondence.
- Tells somewhat of a sad story, I'm afraid. - Go on.
Well, in 1865, Ralph Fellows applied to be a detective at Scotland Yard.
- He was accepted. - Ralph Fellows for England's finest?!
Why didn't he go?
The woman he was courting hid the acceptance letter.
How did you learn that?
Well, she wrote a subsequent letter admitting what she did, sir.
She blamed bad advice from a friend for her treachery.
What was the friend's name?
Becky Winters.
"Becky".
Becky is short for Rebecca.
Henry, telephone City Records
and see if Rebecca Collins' maiden name is Winters.
You're thinking she might be victim number three.
If Mr Fellows is our killer, he certainly would have had motive.
Sir. I just found this.
What is it, Murdoch?
A letter from Mr Fellows' lawyer.
He was suing Dr Morley.
Sir, Rebecca Winters married Rupert Collins in 1881.
What about Slorach? What's the motive there?
Ralph Fellows aspired to become a detective. He never made it.
Slorach did.
So, Slorach reaches the pinnacle of his profession,
while Ralph Fellows ends up a hotel detective.
- That's got to rankle. - Ralph Fellows had motive to kill all four victims.
Bring him in, Higgins. Three counts murder,
- one attempted. - Sir.
Planning on leaving town?
I suppose the notion of self-improvement
must be inconceivable to someone
who considers himself to be perfect.
But you're not perfect.
You have arrested the only man that I know
could not have committed these murders.
How is that?
I'm pretty sure I would've known
if I was going around killing people I don't know.
Oh, but you do know them.
I know Slorach. I have no reason to kill him.
Detective Slorach was promoted ahead of you.
Undeservedly.
But you wanted that job.
You may have eventually made detective,
but a botched surgery rendered you unfit for service.
A surgery performed
by Dr Morley.
You, of course, remember Robert Brown.
You worked with him at the Pinkerton's.
The body of the woman that was found in the lobby was his daughter.
No.
- I believe she found your pistol-- - Yes, I know what happened!
- Likewise, you also remember Rebecca Collins. - Who is she?
Her maiden name was Winters.
Dear God.
That was Becky?
Each of the victims harmed you in a way
that forever denied your ambition to become a detective.
That was my ambition. I admit that.
As a child, I used to play detective.
I uncovered all my sister's crimes,
but I did not place that call.
Nor did I kill the doctor who destroyed my career,
or that loathsome child who decided to play pop gun
with my pistol outside my boss's window, and I most certainly
did not kill Becky Winters with a lipstick kiss of death.
Then who did?
Who else knows of all of these connections?
No doubt that you think that there's a lineup of people
around the block who wish to set me up for murder.
Nobody hates me that much.
Then how do you explain the connections, Mr Fellows?
I used to be lucky.
As a child, I was blessed. Everything went my way.
My father was a pathetic drunk.
He was gone by the time I was seven.
My sister got lumped with him.
I got to live with my mother in Canada.
I was always her favourite.
And her new husband just happened to have a brother
who worked in Scotland Yard.
So, when you came of age you applied,
knowing you would be accepted.
But you never heard back from them.
Because Miss Winters hid your letter of acceptance.
Her friend convinced her that she would lose me.
The irony is, I would have married Becky and taken her with me.
That's the day my luck turned.
You're a Catholic.
You must believe in God's hand.
Surely you must have felt it on your back
when you got your perfect job, your perfect wife,
your best-selling book.
I believe in His grace.
Then surely, you must allow for the opposite
denial of grace.
Malevolent fortune.
At every juncture, the fates conspired against my ambitions,
my happiness.
You want my explanation?
Here it is:
there is a killer out there using your book to kill people randomly.
It's just my bad luck they all happen to be people
who I have motive to kill.
Or do you consider me stupid enough
to leave a correspondence trail that links me to every victim?
Just my luck.
It's got to be him.
Who else would have the motive to kill these people?
I don't know, sir.
But I take his point:
would he have left such a trail of evidence?
Is he that stupid? And if so,
how did he conceive of, let alone execute, all of these crimes?
If it is a setup, is the real killer out to get Fellows, or
do they have the wrong motive?
Well, we know that the killer telephoned from the Windsor House Hotel.
What about the hotel owner?
She was the one who bought the machine that ensured
that Fellows would be there on the hour.
She's also the one who invited the constables to search his room.
Sir.
Becky Collins' friend, the one who advised her
to hide Mr Fellows' acceptance letter, her name was Eve.
- "Eve"? - It could be short for Evelyn.
You're thinking she acted to sabotage his career?
I don't know.
But if she was behind his first failure,
it stands to reason
that she had a hand in the rest of them.
Pookie!
Mr Kellogg. Ahem.
Mr Kellogg is forming the Battle Creek Toasted Cornflake Company.
We've come to see if you are free for dinner.
- I can't. We're in the middle of a case. - Oh. Pity.
Well, I suppose we'll have to celebrate our partnership without you.
- I'll meet you at the restaurant, Mr Kellogg. - Very good.
I'll see you shortly.
A rooster on the box.
Brilliant!
- Do I look like a rooster? - "Partnership"?
Oh, not an equal partnership, but he's given us 1000 shares.
Really? How much are they worth?
$100, but think about
how much more they'll be worth in 10 years' time.
Pumpkin,
I really don't see people eating dried flakes,
especially not at breakfast.
Are you sure, Henny?
- Sure as sunshine, Ruthie. - Oh.
I'll tell you what. Sell the shares.
We'll buy that new chesterfield that you were looking at.
Oh, I did very much like that chesterfield.
Evelyn Matthews' maiden name was Wilson,
and an Eve Wilson was a Pinkerton's client in 1886.
When Amelia Brown was five.
Do you think she tricked the little girl into stealing Fellows' pistol?
- Sir, did I hear you say Eve Wilson? - Yes, what have you?
Eve Wilson was a patient of Dr Morley.
Perhaps she got him drinking
before he operated on Mr Fellows?
Where's the connection to Slorach?
Did she arrange for him to solve the Jarvish strangler case?
It's more likely that she impeded
Ralph Fellows' own investigation of it.
Why would she dedicate herself to ruining Mr Fellows' life?
Henry. I need you to telegraph Scotland Yard.
Your maiden name was Wilson
and you went by the name of Eve.
I'm still called Eve by my friends.
You were friends with Rebecca Winters in the late '60s.
For a short time.
You advised her to hide Mr Fellows'
letter of acceptance from Scotland Yard.
Your hired the Pinkterton Detective Agency
- while Mr Fellows worked there. - If you say so.
And you were a patient of Dr Morley's.
You are connected to every victim in this case.
- It doesn't mean I had reason to kill any of them. - I believe you did.
I believe you deliberately set out to destroy Mr Fellows' life,
and for the coup de grace, you set him up for murder.
And were prepared to watch him hang for it.
Why would I do that? I barely knew him.
Your birth name was Catharine Evelyn Fellows.
Ralph Fellows' sister.
- You resented him. - Is that what he told you?
He had good fortune, and you did not.
Fortune had nothing to do with it.
He got everything he wanted because he was a little bootlicker.
And as for me, every time I stepped out of line,
he was there with his magnifying glass
and abductive reasoning to find me out and turn me in.
And it wasn't just me.
It was Ralph who uncovered our father's adultery
and ended their marriage.
Everything bad that happened he made happen!
It's his fault! All of it!
- So, you admit it? - Oh, I admit I dedicated myself
to squelching his ambition, and I don't regret it.
He would have made a terrible detective.
The truth was staring him in the face the whole time.
I even hired him just to make his life miserable
and he never put it together.
That his own sister was the architect of his misfortune.
He thought it was all his bad luck.
What an idiot.
So, go ahead. Charge me.
All the evidence points to him.
Any jury will see that.
Evelyn was Catharine?
She set out to destroy you, Mr Fellows.
But,
I always liked Catharine.
I'd always hoped the best for her.
Will she hang?
If she confesses, no.
But she refuses.
I'm sorry.
Don't be.
You gave me back my life.
I always thought God hated me.
Turns out it was just her.
As a child, I used to play detective.
I uncovered all my sister's crimes.
Why did he tell me that?
If he'd never told me about his sister,
I never would have put it together.
So, you think Mr Fellows discovered
Evelyn Matthews was his sister?
Once he'd figured out what she'd done,
he set her up by setting himself up.
Gambling that you would figure that much out but no more?
If you look at the bulk of our cases,
the first suspect is rarely the culprit.
But to conceive of such a revenge,
let alone carry it out, would take a genius.
Does Ralph Fellows really strike you as a genius?
I'm saying it's a bad idea.
The banquet or the fact that it's being held in complete darkness?
Well, obviously I'm not against banquets, I do work in a hotel.
This dinner is in honour of a very special guest
who is both blind and deaf,
which is why we've invited blind and deaf guests
as well as charitable donors.
Exactly. Mixing the rich with the poor?
With the lights out?! And a constituency
specially skilled for such circumstance.
The opportunity for theft is obvious.
As a fellow detective,
you must appreciate my position.
He's not a fool, Julia.
He's just desperate to be taken seriously.
Which can make anyone seem like a fool.
He must have known we thought him unintelligent.
Maybe that's what he was counting on.
He uses our book to set up his sister
and gets revenge on us when we have an innocent woman hang.
But William, the one lesson he must have taken from our book
is that you always catch the killer in the end.
Would he not have taken precautions?
- We found this. - "Learn German".
It suggests he may be intending to flee.
Sir, Ralph Fellows bought a ticket to Hamburg on a ship
that sailed two weeks ago. Purchased September 18.
Right before the murders began.
- He planned it all out. - And he bloody well got away with it as well.
- Henry, contact the German authorities. - Right away, sir.
Ah, Hamish! How are you faring?
Have I seen fairies?
How are you faring?
Oh, good. Very good, very good.
I don't know why Tom was just asking about fairies.
- However did he make inspector? - I heard that.
Oh, come here.
Can you hear that?
- Yeah! - Detective Murd--
You figured it out.
Mr Fellows.
Where are you?
You win
for now.
Where are you going?
We're heading down to the Staten Island ferry.
Corrected by DB