That's it, Amos.
Let's go. Keep those hands high.
Whack him, whack him.
That's it, that's it!
Okay, you've given them 30 rounds.
Time to end it. Right?
Okay. Let's go, Amos.
Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!
You're supposed to go down.
Stand up and make this look good.
Let's go. Let's go, Amos. Let's go, Amos.
Okay, boy. Go on.
Oh!
Mr. Robinson.
Mr. Robinson, a picture for The Gazette?
Lovely.
Name is Amos Robinson. Paid fighter.
I take it he fought tonight.
30 rounds with Bob Sullivan.
Powder burns.
Did you recover the murder weapon?
Yes, sir. A derringer.
How old is the queen this year?
76, I believe.
When my grandmother turned 76,
I got her some oranges.
They were quite juicy.
But all this fireworks business makes me wonder
if I should have done something more.
What are you measuring, sir?
The length and the width of the barrel.
To determine the spread of the powder.
I'm trying to estimate
how close the victim was to the perpetrator.
How close was he?
It's hard to tell.
But as close as 18 inches, I believe.
- Where is the accused? - Just down the hall.
Sir, the front desk clerk found her
standing over the body, gun in hand.
- Stop her! - No! No!
I didn't kill him! You have to believe me!
No! Aah!
Sorry, sir. She's a slippery one.
I didn't do it! I didn't kill him!
You have to believe me!
Fleeing custody to boot.
This one is as guilty as they come, sir.
She may be guilty of some things, George.
But shooting Amos Robinson isn't one of them.
I was at my desk when I heard a scream.
It was long and intense.
I-it raised the hair on the back of my neck.
And when was this in relation to the shot?
You heard a scream. You must have heard a shot.
I could have mistaken it for a firecracker, I suppose.
They've been going off all night.
Thank you. You've been most helpful.
He's a boxer. Fought this evening.
Yes, I can see that.
He's quite the physical specimen, isn't he?
Look at the size of his arms.
- What time did the fight end? - Around 8:00.
And when was he shot?
Half past 11:00 or thereabouts. What are you thinking?
His nose is broken.
I would expect to see more swelling
in the intervening hours.
Perhaps it was broken after the fight?
That would be one explanation.
Shot at very close range.
Directly in the heart, it would seem.
I'll know more when I can open him up.
- Am I free to take the body? - Yes.
George, make sure no one steps in this blood.
Sir.
George.
Where's the accused now?
Uh, room at the end of the hall, sir.
You've done a preliminary interview?
Yes, sir. Here are my notes.
Sir, you still haven't told me
why you think Mrs. Robinson is innocent.
Newton's third law of motion, George.
Are you going to run again?
Thank you, Constable. You can step out.
Mrs. Robinson, I need your help.
My help?
I'm trying to find your husband's killer.
- Aren't you looking at her? - I don't know. Am I?
What does it matter?
- They're gonna hang me anyway. - Maybe you're right.
Personally, I have somewhat of an obsession for the truth.
However, if it's of no consequence...
Good luck to you.
What? Hey.
Hey! You're just gonna walk away?
I have a murder to solve.
If you are unwilling to help me --
I didn't say that.
But a police officer helping a colored woman --
That hasn't been my experience.
Have a seat.
You say that you left the boxing match
in the company of your husband, Amos,
his manager, Ozzie Beers,
and you went to the Mockingbird Tavern on Queen Street
in the company of an unknown man and his wife.
Ozzie knew them. I didn't.
You then left the bar with Ozzie Beers.
- Why not your husband? - He was busy.
Doing what?
Drinking. Running around.
So you returned to the hotel. What happened then?
Ozzie went to his room, and I went to mine.
A little while later,
the fireworks started going off down by the harbor,
so I went to the roof to look.
It was like the Fourth of July.
You then returned to your room at half past 11:00,
whereupon you found the body.
What did you do?
I screamed.
At least I think I screamed.
And then I got down on my knees to see if he was alive.
Is that how you got blood on your dress?
I guess so.
And then I-I saw the gun lying there, so I-I picked it up.
And that's when the front desk clerk saw you.
Looks bad, doesn't it?
- That all depends. - On?
Your dress. I'll -- I'll need you to remove it.
Of course.
Where do you want me?
What are you doing? Please! Put that back on.
Mrs. Robinson, I-I simply meant
that I need your dress as evidence.
Oh.
One of the constables will take you down to the station,
and we'll get you another dress.
George.
I need you to run out and purchase a dress.
Oh, we've already got one for Mrs. Robinson.
No, it's -- it's for me.
Tired of the old jacket and trousers, sir?
I'll need it to be a medium, white.
And I'll need you to phone this in
to the slaughterhouse on Tecumseh.
Uh, sir?
I've just spoken to the Crown prosecutor.
He thinks we've got enough evidence
that he can go to trial next week.
What?!
Murdoch, I know that you take great personal pride
in having just two speeds -- slow and dead slow.
No, it's not that, sir.
I-I believe this woman to be innocent.
Innocent! Bloody hell.
She was found standing over the body with a pistol in her hand.
She fled the scene, for God sakes.
Yes, but there's no blood spatter on her dress.
She was covered in blood.
Yes, a large blood stain
from when she cradled her dying husband.
But he was shot at close range.
If she had indeed pulled the trigger,
there would be traces of blood spatter
on her arm and her dress.
You can prove this?
- I believe I can. - Then you'd better.
They've not hung a woman in this city for some time.
Now, this woman, she's not got a lot going for her.
Higgins, get out of the way!
Sir, there's a gentleman to see you.
Detective. You've made a terrible mistake.
You've arrested the wrong person.
Fannie wouldn't do this.
And who might you be?
I'm Ozzie Beers, Amos Robinson's manager.
Amos was like the son I never had.
I was running this gym in Athens, Georgia,
when I found him living on the streets.
14 years old. Not a friend in the world.
- When was this? - That was 12 years ago.
At first I had him cleaning up around the place.
Then I noticed that this boy had some instincts.
For the ring?
Mmh. Like I'd never seen before.
So I brought him down to Atlanta.
Started him with the local kids.
His first 40 fights -- 40 knockouts.
He could have been a champion.
- What happened? - It all got to his head.
Women, drinking, gambling. There was no end to it.
Sounds like motive for a long-suffering wife.
Yeah.
Fannie had been with him since they were kids.
Through the good times and the bad times.
- The bad times? - Yeah.
Amos became lazy,
and it started to show in the ring.
He started losing a lot more than he won.
He gave Sullivan quite a beating.
There's a Bob Sullivan in every town.
Tough kid who thinks his hands are faster than they really are
and that he can take his punch.
But let me tell you something --
Amos might not have been what he once was,
but he sure could throw a mean right cross.
Did Amos have any enemies?
Course he did. That was his job.
I don't understand.
Everywhere he went -- different town, same fight.
The local white champ against the big black brute.
The crowd was never too happy when Amos won.
Do you think one of Sullivan's fans could have killed Amos?
Well, we had bottles thrown at us,
knives pulled on us.
Sometimes I think it's a wonder
that he was never killed before this.
Detective.
Sir, I've got your dress.
Oh, good. Hold it up.
Perfect.
Oh, and, sir -- Your pig has arrived.
Newton's third law states that for every action
there is an equal and opposite reaction.
So fire a bullet into the body,
and the body pushes back with equal force.
Hence blood spatter.
That's a bit snug in the bosom, sir.
Right, then.
Um, step forward six inches.
18 inches. We'll start there.
Away you go.
Will there be much spatter, sir?
That's what we're here to find out, George.
Hurry up. Shoot.
The blood is draining from the pig's flanks.
It's staring at me, sir.
George, the animal is dead.
There's no spirit left in the body.
Do pigs have a soul, then, sir?
Now, George!
You shot a perfectly good pig for this?
Yes. Look at the spray pattern.
From a pig. A dead one at that.
The physics are the same.
You've already explained it, Murdoch.
But it's not me you need to convince.
What are you gonna do? Shoot a pig in court?
Are you gonna parade Sir Isaac Newton for some
imbecile on a jury who shovels up after horses for a living?
- I hope it doesn't come to that. - Yes, but it will come to that.
Someone's been murdered.
And I'm not gonna release our only suspect
based on blood spatter from a dead pig.
- But, sir -- - I understand, Murdoch.
I really do.
But this is not some Presbyterian schoolgirl.
This is the Hottentot wife of a -- of a flashy --
Negress.
I believe the proper term is Negress.
I don't care what the proper term is.
What I'm trying to tell you is if this Negress goes to trial,
she could hang.
You wanted to see me, sir?
Yes, George, I need you to go
on another shopping trip for me.
I'm not gonna have to wear another dress, am I, sir?
No.
Because the lads really gave me a hard time when I --
It's not a dress, George.
I need you to get...
Fireworks.
Yes, I'm planning to use them
to clarify some details surrounding the shooting.
Permission to speak frankly, sir.
Just say it, George.
What if Fannie Robinson is guilty?
- She's not. - Well, how can you be sure?
Because of the absence of blood spatter.
I see.
It seemed to me that your decision
had been based on something... less concrete.
Maybe something about her. A gut feeling.
Intuition. Is that what you're suggesting?
Well, I know that's not scientific,
but I've heard there are some things that one can't fake --
a genuine smile...
Involuntary nerve control. That's what you're speaking of.
Perhaps you saw some genuine goodness in her.
What I saw was the absence of blood spatter.
However, that's not enough to prove her innocence.
So we shall have to prove it by other means.
Sir.
Good God!
Detective Murdoch! What the devil?!
No need to be alarmed.
It's just Constable Crabtree firing a gun.
- In the hotel? - Yes, we're conducting a test.
Now, you say you heard no gunshot,
that it was probably masked by the fireworks.
That's correct.
Ah, yes. Please indulge me.
- George, have Higgins proceed. - Yes, sir.
There's another constable standing by outside,
waiting to fire off.
Mmh. Some fireworks, eh?
Now, to my ear, clearly not as loud as a gunshot.
So how is it possible you could have confused the two?
I-I don't know.
Perhaps that's because
you were not at your desk the entire time.
Come on, man. Think!
This is important. A woman's life is at stake.
Uh, I might have gone out for a peek at the fireworks.
- When? - From 11:00 until quarter past.
It -- It must have just slipped my mind.
Ah.
Well, should you recall anything else
that might have slipped your mind...
- I'll be sure to inform you. - Thank you.
So the gunshot could have occurred
half an hour earlier than we'd thought.
That would support Mrs. Robinson's claim.
- Precisely. - If she didn't do it, who did?
There was one very large loser at the boxing match.
Perhaps he didn't take it well.
Bob Sullivan.
What of it?
I'm Detective William Murdoch.
I'm investigating the murder of Amos Robinson.
- Yeah, too bad about that. - You don't seem very sorry.
Nobody's sorry. Anyone says they are is a liar.
Where were you last night between 11:00 and midnight?
Sitting in my chair with my hands in the ice bucket.
You have witnesses to this?
I wasn't very good company last night.
Sore loser, were we?
You can only lose when it's a contest.
The fight was a fix?
Amos was supposed to go down in the 31 st.
Bastard blindsided me.
Who set up the fix?
- Oh! - Ohh!
Nicely done!
Very good, very good. Well done.
Hello.
I'm looking for Mr. Cutler.
So why don't you ring the bell?
You were at the fight last night, weren't you?
- Yes. Were you? - No.
Oh. Too bad. It was spectacular.
I'm glad the murder of Mr. Robinson
hasn't tainted your memory.
Ma'am.
I've been around the fight game for a long time, Detective.
The bad bets and the good bets balance out over time.
Even the ones you're certain of winning?
Yes. Even those.
How much did you lose?
$2,000, more or less.
You must have been very upset.
How much do you make in a year, Detective?
$400, give or take?
I make 200 times that amount.
Was I upset? Of course.
Enough to kill a man?
Truth is I stood to gain as much as I lost.
Oh? How so?
I'd just agreed to buy Robinson.
I'm sorry -- "buy" him?
Ozzie Beers never saw the big picture.
It was all about the win with him.
He failed to realize that boxing isn't sport, it's spectacle --
the penultimate battle between good and evil.
With Robinson playing evil.
Oh, he was perfect for the part.
A hulking black Goliath.
I even had a nickname.
Amos the Animal!
My wife thought Untamed Beast was more provocative,
but I confess a weakness for alliteration.
Yes. It's quite a feat to reduce a man to a slogan.
Mmh, it was a business transaction.
And how did Mr. Beers respond
when you approached him with this business transaction?
I didn't go to Ozzie Beers, Detective.
Ozzie Beers came to me.
Keep jabbing. Keep those hands up.
That's it.
Eyeing the new talent?
Well, what else am I to do?
Yes, I suppose mourning would be out of the question.
Amos was, after all, just a commodity.
You've been speaking to Jeb Cutler, huh?
You told me Amos Robinson was like a son to you.
He was. Not a word of a lie in that.
But sometimes things change between fathers and sons.
So you sold him like an old racehorse.
I did it for his own good.
- The circuit was killing him. - So better a circus.
The way things were going,
who'd have known what would happen to Amos.
Maybe a man like Jeb Cutler could manage him,
but all I know is I couldn't control him anymore.
You mean you couldn't get him to throw fights for you anymore.
I have never asked a boxer to throw a fight before this one.
And that was only because Cutler wanted to build a rivalry
between his man and Amos.
- And Amos agreed to throw it. - So why did he change his mind?
I don't know.
Did he know you were going to sell him?
I sure as hell didn't tell him that.
He sold Amos?
How could Ozzie do that to him?
Do you think Amos knew?
If he did, he never told me.
But had he known, do you think he would have changed his mind
about throwing the fight?
If he felt wronged.
Amos was his own man, capable of anything.
He must have known.
But why didn't he tell me?
Maybe he just never found the right time.
It wasn't always like this.
We had planned to go to California,
settle down, once Amos finished fighting.
Can I ask you a personal question?
Why not?
You could have left Amos.
Why didn't you?
I don't know.
Guess I should have.
Something just kept me holding on.
He was shot in the heart.
The bullet entered the right ventricle
and lodged in the left atrium.
He died quickly.
Before he hit the ground, I would imagine.
It amazes me how something so large and vigorous
can be brought down by something so small.
I've recovered the bullet, if you'd like to see it.
Yes, I would. Thank you.
Is that why women were so attracted to him?
How do you mean?
Is brute strength so compelling?
To some women.
Mr. Darwin calls it sexual selection.
Large males able to defeat other males
have more reproductive success.
Therefore women find them appealing.
And what of peaceable types who live in their mind?
How do they fare in this great Darwinian struggle?
Some women are attracted to intelligence.
Others prefer a combination.
An intelligent thug.
A somewhat intriguing concept, don't you think?
We have a problem.
It's called a light load.
- A light load? - Yes.
See the plier marks here on the lead?
Next slide.
Thank you.
Now, you can make out the vise marks here
on the spent cartridge.
It's an old trick.
Remove the slug from the cartridge.
Empty out most of the powder.
And replace the slug.
The load has been lightened.
Now, at close range, the bullet is still deadly.
But the sound of the discharge is significantly dampened.
Uh, close the door, George.
And turn off the lamp.
Right, then.
That's remarkable.
If the door of the hotel room was closed,
the front desk clerk may not have heard that.
If we can't prove what time the gunshot happened,
then we can't separate the time of the shooting
from the discovery of Fannie standing over the body.
I guess it's not looking so good for Fannie after all.
No, it's not.
I'll agree it's a setback, sir.
But you still have the blood-splatter evidence.
With the lighter load,
the muzzle velocity would be reduced
and the spatter dynamics different.
I suppose we could always shoot another pig.
No, I'm done shooting pigs, George.
Problem is there really is only one viable suspect.
Mrs. Robinson.
Maybe we just haven't dug deeply enough.
No. No, we haven't.
Go back to the hotel. Turn the place upside down.
If there's something we've missed, I want it found.
Yes, sir.
How would Fannie Robinson know how to light-load a bullet?
She could have bought the bullet from someone who did.
That would suggest premeditation.
I don't believe she's capable of that.
Really? Based on what?
I don't know. Something in her face.
She's a very attractive woman.
You think I want to prove her innocent
because I'm attracted to her?
Any man could be swayed, Murdoch.
If I'm swayed by anything, it's the truth.
- Better a guilty man go free. - Exactly.
You have any other suspects?
Several.
Then find out if one of them was at the hotel.
The killer's not invisible, Murdoch.
Somebody must have seen him.
These are all the photos
from the night of the fight?
Would I keep anything from you?
If you thought it might sell a paper, yes.
You know, Detective,
your problem is that you haven't quite grasped the system.
What system might that be?
Oh, come on. You know how things work.
You and me -- We need each other.
I find that hard to believe.
Look, we need stories, and you coppers need to look good.
And on occasion you need information.
This arrangement sounds less than scrupulous.
Scruples.
Scruples have nothing to do with it.
Acumen. That's what I'd call it.
Right.
I'll take this one,
this one -- no, this one's better --
and this one.
No need to thank me.
Your natural charm compels me.
Come in.
Sir, we found something.
It's only a partial print,
but it should be enough to make a match if we find the killer.
Show me your boot tread, George.
- As I suspected. - Sir, I swear it wasn't me.
No, no, no. It means the boot is standard police issue.
Could have been any one of us.
No one stepped in the blood in Amos Robinson's room.
I saw to it personally.
Then where did the blood come from?
He was shot here and stumbled back to his room.
No. It can't be. He died instantly.
He was shot somewhere else and dragged back to his room.
We just have to follow the trail of blood.
We've been over every inch of this hotel, sir.
This is the only spot of blood we've found.
No, there's a blood trail here.
We just need something sensitive enough to follow it.
A bloodhound or something.
Ted Manson keeps a bitch on Mercer.
Get it. You know what this means, don't you?
It means a 120-pound woman
couldn't drag a body twice that weight.
Across carpet, no less.
Means she's innocent.
Ozzie, I'm scared.
I know. I know. But it's gonna be all right.
I'm sure of it.
Mrs. Robinson.
Hope I'm not interrupting anything.
But I believe I have some good news.
- Good news? - Yes.
Based on blood that I found in the hall,
I think I can prove that your husband
was killed in one location and then moved to your room.
But this proves it's not me.
It strongly suggests your innocence.
We still have to determine that
and, of course, find out who the killer is.
You said killed elsewhere.
- Yes. - Where?
I was hoping you might be able to help me with that.
Do you know of anywhere else he might have been that night?
Maybe he went for a drink.
Were you having any trouble with anyone else
staying in the hotel that night?
Perhaps one of Sullivan's supporters?
No. Not that I can think of.
Me neither.
But there were lots of people coming and going.
Well, if you think of anything.
Of course.
Ozzie, this means I'm not gonna hang!
See? I knew something would happen.
I knew it.
A ferret?
Ted Manson took his dog hunting.
But his son swears this ferret will follow a trail of blood
like no hound he's ever seen.
Let's see what it can do.
Okay, boy.
Take a good whiff. Take a good whiff.
Here you go.
Come on, sweetheart. There you go.
Hey! Careful, sir, they're -- they're known to bite!
What?!
Cut off access to your -- to your sensitive bits!
I am! I am!
Ah! Ow!
He's going up the stairs.
Is it following the blood at all?
I'm sorry, sir. I-I thought it was worth a shot.
There he goes.
I don't see him.
Do you think he's hiding?
I don't care.
Get Ted Junior up here to ferret him out.
"Ferret." That's very good, sir.
Humor in the face of adversity.
I see him!
Careful, George. They're known to bite.
Well, you have him?
I have this.
Who rented that room?
The room was rented by a Mrs. Smith.
Mrs. Smith?
We get a lot of Smiths and Jones.
This isn't exactly the Queen's Hotel.
Now, see here --
You have a statutory responsibility
to accurately record all --
I get paid 18 cents an hour, all right?
If you have a problem with how I do my job,
take it up with the boss.
Fine.
I'll need you to look at these photos
and tell me if any one of these people
were here at the hotel last night.
Use this if it helps.
No.
- No. - None of them?
If I'd known there was gonna be a murder,
I would have paid more attention.
Now, him I recognize.
- This man? - No.
- Him? - No. No, no.
Him. He was here last night.
We caught him boarding the 716 to Kingston.
Where were you heading in such a hurry, Mr. Sullivan?
- New Brunswick. - Why?
Why not? I'll never fight in this town again.
- I think you were running. - From what?
You were at the Prince Albert Hotel
the night of the murder, weren't you?
Yeah. I had a score to settle with Amos.
- So you killed him? - I never killed Amos Robinson.
I just gave him a taste of his own medicine.
You hit him?
The last time I saw Amos, he was on his knees in the hallway,
holding his nose like a little boy.
I don't believe you. I think you're lying.
Well, then, lucky for me I've got a witness.
Who?
Hello, Detective.
Care for a swing?
Were you at the Prince Albert Hotel the night of the murder?
- Who told you that? - Bob Sullivan.
Oh, yes. Of course.
More to the point --
What were you doing in a room with Amos Robinson?
Why...
I was seducing him.
Does that shock you?
Did your husband know of this encounter?
Of course he knew.
He was in the room with us.
My wife and I have an unusual marriage.
If we weren't forthcoming earlier,
it's because we like to keep these things to ourselves.
Surely you can see that.
I think you're both lying to me.
I think you arranged a rendezvous with Mr. Robinson.
You found out about it, and in a jealous rage, you shot him.
Now you've both cooked up this ridiculous story.
Is it so ridiculous for a man to take pleasure
in his partner's pleasure?
In this manner, yes.
So judgmental.
It was clear Mr. Robinson wasn't interested in fighting for me.
I'd hoped to change his mind.
What Jeb means is he hoped
I would change Mr. Robinson's mind.
And were you successful in either seduction?
No, I'm sad to say.
Seems he'd decided to embark on his new life.
He was going to give it all up.
He'd made some money betting on himself.
My money, as it turns out.
And he was going to give his wife
the life she'd always wanted.
How dreadfully domestic.
What did Mr. Robinson do next?
The last we saw of him, he walked back to his room.
So his body wasn't moved.
The trail of blood was from Amos when he walked back to his room.
But that means...
I've built your hopes up.
I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.
No.
You tried.
You really tried.
I appreciate that.
You know, Amos wasn't always bad.
But all those years of people expecting something from him --
me included...
...all those punches,
night after night,
just wears a man down.
Sometimes I wonder if he had any love left in him at all.
If it helps, he did.
He was going to keep his promise
and give you the life you'd always dreamed of.
It does help.
Thank you.
I hear you're back where you started.
So it would appear.
You understand that she has to go to trial now?
My commiserations, Murdoch. I know how you feel.
- Sir? - I've seen innocent men hang.
It's the toughest pill I've ever had to swallow.
You think she's innocent?
I must admit I was skeptical at first.
Maybe even influenced by the color of her skin.
But you've since convinced me otherwise.
At least one of us is convinced.
Don't tell me you're having doubts now.
There is nothing that exonerates her.
Based on what?
Logic? The compendium of evidence?
Well, bugger that, Murdoch.
You think she's innocent
based on nothing but your own intuition.
But of what use is that?
Intuition isn't a reliable basis upon which to form an opinion.
What kind of socks am I wearing?
Pardon?
Brown, black, or argyle?
- I-I don't know. - Well, guess.
Argyle.
Well, sir, what kind of socks are you wearing?
You should learn to trust your intuition, me old mucker.
I need the key to Ozzie Beers' room.
Where were you between 10:30 and midnight
the night of the murder?
- I was in my room. - The whole night?
I went down to the docks for a bit and watched the fireworks.
- So you have no alibi? - Didn't know I needed one.
Did you happen to change your shirt that night?
Yes, I did.
Before or after you went to watch the fireworks?
Before.
- Why? - Because I felt like it.
There's no law against changing into a fresh shirt, is there?
No.
But it does raise questions when you decide to burn the old one.
Found these buttons in your stove.
I also found these train tickets.
San Francisco?
I've never been there. I hear it's quite nice.
Good boxing town, too.
Who was the other ticket for?
Fannie Robinson, maybe?
You were hoping she would leave Amos, weren't you?
He didn't deserve her.
But you did.
Is that why you sold him to Jeb Cutler?
So you could finally get him out of the picture?
Maybe I did.
But coveting another man's wife may be a sin,
but it's not a crime.
- But murder is. - Prove it.
I went down to the train station.
These tickets were Amos's.
He had had enough.
He was going to quit
and give Fannie the life she had always dreamed of.
And he told you.
So you shot him point-blank in the heart.
You burned your shirt because it had blood spatter on it.
I burned my shirt because it stank!
Are you willing to let her hang?
- She won't hang. - How can you be sure?
Neither one of us wants to see Fannie hang.
But only you can do something about it.
You see, Mr. Beers...
...I don't know what happened in that room.
Perhaps there was a confrontation.
Maybe it got violent.
And maybe you had no choice but to act in self-defense.
Do you understand what I'm saying, Mr. Beers?
It was violent.
And he got very, very angry.
I feared for my life.
"But he kept coming on.
I then fired one shot to save my own life.
Sincerely, Ozzie Beers."
Self-defense. A likely story, eh?
It's a defense he's entitled to raise.
It's our obligation to prove otherwise.
Better a guilty man go free, eh, Murdoch?
There is one thing, however.
Well? Out with it.
The gun did belong to Mr. Beers. He admits that.
However, the bullets were tampered with.
- The light loads. - Exactly.
Now I would ask myself,
why would someone carry a gun loaded with customized bullets?
Unless he planned to kill in advance.
I should think the Crown would have a very strong argument
that this is indeed a case of cold-blooded murder.
I believe Mr. Beers is in for a very nasty surprise.
Precisely.
I thought Ozzie might have feelings for me.
But he sure had a funny way of showing it.
- Where will you go? - I don't know.
I don't have anything now.
Except for my life, thanks to you.
It seems Amos had bought these tickets.
San Francisco. But how?
He bet on himself in the fight.
His gift to you.
That should be enough to start a new life.
But how could I?
It just won't seem the same without him.
I think he would want you to.
- Thank you. - Good luck.
How did you know?
You knew right from the start I didn't do it.
When I saw the dress, I calculated the angle of...
It was intuition.
Thank you.