Ripped By mstoll
[Insects chirping]
WOMAN: Holy Mary, Mother of God,
pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.
Amen.
Mother Isidora? You called for me?
He's taken a turn for the worse.
He's burning up with fever, and he's been severely distressed.
It's only natural, given his situation.
We're doing everything we can to make him comfortable.
It's not his physical discomfort I'm talking about.
It's his moral distress.
Something is weighing on his conscience.
That's more your realm than mine.
Father Ronan should be by in the morning.
Well, that's why I called for you.
He doesn't want a priest.
He wants a policeman.
MAN: Call them.
In the name of God, this must be made right.
I killed her.
[Click, whirring]
Mr. Roundhill?
Mr. Roundhill, I'm Detective William Murdoch
of the Toronto Constabulary.
You asked for a policeman.
Police?
How did you know?
You asked for me to come.
Said that you had a confession to make.
The murder.
A murder.
What murder, Mr. Roundhill?
I listened to the devil.
I did what I had to do.
I... I killed her.
Who did you kill?
Evelyn's blood is on my hands.
Who is Evelyn?
My wife.
Find her body buried at Monarch Lake on the south side,
near a stand of trees.
[Wheezes]
It was supposed to be so easy, yet so wrong.
I hit her in the head with a rock.
My hands around her throat... squeezing, squeezing.
But I wasn't strong enough.
I used her coat to suffocate her.
So slow.
And her eyes...
[Voice breaking] What have I done?
Mr. Roundhill, why?
Why did you kill her?
That's all for now, Detective.
You need to let him rest.
I suspect there'll be no rest for this man.
Sir, we're at the roots.
This hole is just like all the others.
Sir, this soil hasn't been disturbed in 50 years.
Maybe your man really was delusional.
I don't know, George.
At the time, he seemed quite lucid, so very certain.
I'm certain I'm going to expire
if I shovel another spadeful, sir.
The hospital staff seem to think
that his wife disappeared about eight years ago.
Perhaps he got confused on some of the details.
Mm.
All right, George.
A few more minutes of digging and then we'll take a rest.
All right, lads. One more hole.
Uh... here.
[Grunts]
[Thud]
Sir.
You see, George?
Good things come to those who wait.
Sir... who buries women's clothing?
Whoever buried the woman they belonged to.
Gentlemen.
Hold it.
[Man coughing]
[Clears throat]
Gentlemen, I believe we've just made the acquaintance
of Mrs. Roundhill.
[Indistinct conversations]
I bet you wish every case had such a simple resolution.
A confession and a description of where he buried the body.
Cheeky bugger even packed her a suitcase
to make it look like she was leaving him.
It certainly seems to have fallen into our laps.
Seems?
Well, sir, we should positively identify the body.
I've re-examined our skeletal friend
against Mrs. Roundhill's medical records.
I can say there's little doubt
that this is the poor lady in question.
The records say she suffered a broken humerus
three months before her disappearance.
The position of the injury matches precisely.
As well, this gold tooth was also in her records.
According to Mr. Roundhill,
it would have taken her some time to die.
Quite the opposite. I expect she died quickly.
The hyoid bone was fractured quite cleanly,
perhaps by some type of ligature...
a wire or a small rope.
Death would have been quick.
According to Mr. Roundhill's confession,
he hit her in the head with a rock,
then tried to strangle her.
After being unable to apply enough pressure,
he suffocated her with her own coat.
Unlikely.
From my inspection, I didn't find any damage to the cranium.
Well, that's odd.
As I said, Detective, this is definitely Mrs. Roundhill.
Thank you, Dr. Grace.
You can't do things the easy way, can you?
Why not file the report,
close the case, and accept the accolades?
It's simple, Murdoch.
She didn't die in the manner he described.
So what? He's half raving as it is.
But, sir, it's an inconsistency.
Well, then talk to him again. He may have made a mistake.
Given his mental state,
it's a surprise he can even remember which province he's in.
MURDOCH: Excuse me.
Yes?
I need to question Mr. Roundhill again.
Where might he be?
Hades, I imagine.
I beg your pardon.
Mr. Roundhill is dead.
Not entirely unexpected.
He was at the end of his resources.
The reward for a life of debauchery.
Could you explain?
He died of neurosyphilis.
His brain was eaten from the inside.
Detective, much of what he told you
could have been pure delusion.
Undoubtedly.
Except that a woman's body is lying in the city morgue,
suggesting that at least some of it must be true.
Good day.
Thank you for coming so quickly, Father.
Oh, you're welcome.
Although I'm not sure how a country priest could help
the Toronto Constabulary.
Is one of my flock in trouble?
As a matter of fact, one has been, well, murdered.
Do you recall a parishioner named Evelyn Roundhill?
Oh.
I so hoped...
Are you sure?
You knew her well?
Mrs. Roundhill was a deeply pious person.
She helped the poor, organized women's groups.
A stalwart of the parish community.
Did no one think it strange when she disappeared?
I had hoped she'd got away, found a new life, found peace.
[Sighs]
Her husband was a very complicated man.
He had a weakness of character
that no amount of money or romantic liaisons would fill.
Mrs. Roundhill knew of these liaisons?
We spoke of it.
It was a loveless and abusive relationship.
Privately, I suspected he was the one who had broken her arm
a few months before she had disappeared.
Did the rest of the parish know of their troubles?
To all appearances,
the Roundhills maintained a very civil front.
He bought her gifts and then took his affections elsewhere.
She never spoke of leaving him?
Nor would she grant Mr. Roundhill the divorce he wanted.
When did you last see her?
Easter Sunday 1893.
When she missed the prayer meeting the next day,
I knew she was gone.
I allowed myself to believe
that she might have found happiness elsewhere.
Perhaps she has.
I'm Miss Dignan. How can I help you?
Detective William Murdoch of the Toronto Constabulary.
I have some questions
regarding your former employer, Jeffrey Roundhill.
Certainly.
You understand, though,
there are a thousand details to attend to with his passing.
Of course.
As long as you're not too busy
to assist in a murder investigation.
Murder?
I understood Mr. Roundhill to have died from his illness.
He did,
but not before confessing to a murder he committed in his past.
Mr. Roundhill was many things, but he was not a murderer.
Who are you suggesting he killed?
He confessed to killing his wife.
I'll be needing statements from the rest of the staff as well.
He was ill.
He was delusional.
His condition was not a secret to me.
I've taken his condition into account, Miss Dignan.
The truth is, Mr. Roundhill led us straight to his wife's body.
Well, he didn't do it.
He was in Winnipeg on the day his wife disappeared.
I can show you his itinerary.
I would very much like to see that,
along with the rest of his correspondence.
Okay.
Ah.
You can't leave well enough alone, can you?
There are witnesses, sir.
Constable Crabtree wired Roundhill's associates
in Winnipeg,
and he was indeed there April 2nd, Easter Sunday,
the day his wife disappeared.
- So he didn't do it? - I'm afraid not.
Then he hired someone.
If that's the case, how was able to recall the murder
with such detail?
Guilt and time do funny things to a mind,
especially one that's been half ruined by disease.
I don't know, sir.
At the time of the confession, he was quite lucid.
All right then, Murdoch. You tell me.
Why would Roundhill confess to a murder that he didn't commit?
And if Roundhill didn't kill his wife, then who did?
[Indistinct conversations, piano playing]
William, I must confess, I've been desperate to come here
ever since they've engaged the new chef.
I hear he's from Paris, France.
Just look at this menu.
The soup is a consommé Sévigné,
the fish a choice
between the casserolette of scallops à la Newburg
or a cold lobster à la Châtillon.
[Gasps]
And for dessert, the charlotte russe!
Or maybe that. What... What is that?
[Exhales deeply] What are you going to have?
Oh, um, I don't know.
The beef?
[Chuckles]
William, something other than fine cuisine
and my charming self has clearly taken your attention.
Not at all, Julia.
If whatever case has its teeth in you is interesting enough
to distract you from lobster à la Châtillon,
it must be fascinating.
A dying man confessed to murdering his wife,
and I found the body exactly where he said he buried it.
And?
He wasn't in the city at the time of the murder.
- What? - He was in Winnipeg.
He hired someone.
Possibly.
But he described committing the murder in great detail himself.
But his wife, the body I found,
died in a completely different manner.
Perhaps it was a false confession...
presupposing you didn't force it out of him.
He could have been protecting someone.
He didn't need to.
The murder occurred eight years ago.
He could have taken it to his grave
and no one would have been the wiser.
Coercion, then.
Someone compelled him.
What leverage could someone possibly have
against a dying man to make him confess to a crime?
He had no heirs, no loved ones to threaten,
no need of money.
If only I could have heard his confession.
There are often clues
that point to a subject's inner motivations.
I can arrange that.
What? I thought you said he died.
I recorded the entire confession.
You could listen to it.
O-Or we could have dinner.
[Laughs]
Dinner can wait.
And I promise to honor this engagement at a later date.
DR. OGDEN: Of course you will.
I have no intention of missing a good charlotte russe.
GARLAN D: Julia.
- Detective Murdoch. - Mr. Garland.
Leslie, how lovely to see you.
How was dinner? I hear their chef just arrived from France.
- We didn't eat. - We didn't eat.
Oh. Well, it's fortuitous that I saw you here.
I promised to take you to the opera tomorrow night,
but I'm afraid I won't be able to make it.
Well, I'm sorry to hear that.
Julia, please, take the tickets.
I'd hate to see them go to waste.
It's "Rigoletto" by Verdi.
That's very kind of you, Leslie.
Perhaps the detective will accompany me.
I will drop them off tomorrow.
Thank you, Mr. Garland.
Oh, and a fine table has just opened up.
[Chuckles]
Good evening.
ROU N DH I LL: I lios tened to the deviol.
I diod what I had to do.
I...I kiolled her.
MURDOCH: Who diod you kioll?
ROU N DH I LL: Evely n 's blood ios on my hands.
MURDOCH: Who ios Evely n?
My wiofe.
Fiond her body bu rioed at Monarch Lake on the south siode,
near a s tand of trees.
[Wheez es]
Despite the fevered tone,
it... it does sound like fractured memory
rather than delusion.
Listen to this next part, Julia.
So passionate and so detailed.
[Wheez es]
It was s upposed to be so eas y, yet so wrong.
I hiot her ion the head wioth a rock.
My hands arou nd her throat... squeeziong, squeeziong.
But I was n 't s trong enough.
I used her coat to s uffocate her.
So slow.
And her eyes...
[Voice breaking] What have I done?
How does a man, even one so delusional,
sound so contrite about a murder
he couldn't possibly have committed?
Julia?
The killing he's describing...
Perhaps it wasn't his wife's murder.
There's something familiar in the detail.
What is it?
William, come with me.
The murder was eight years ago, correct?
Yes.
The year I became a coroner and the year I met you.
Julia, are you going to tell me what we're looking for?
Not what.
Who.
Amelia Johnston.
Remember?
Oh, of course.
Murdered April 12, 1893.
The victim suffered a contusion
to the right side of the cranium,
enough to crack the bone, but nonlethal.
As well, there were markings around the throat
which appeared to be from an attempted strangling.
But not strong enough to kill her.
And what finished her off was...
Suffocation.
Fibers from the victim's own coat being found in the airway.
Exactly as described by Jeffrey Roundhill in his confession.
Amelia Johnston's murder
was one of the first cases we worked on together.
Yes. I remember.
I believed her husband killed her
to gain control of their company.
We could never prove it.
It appears I was wrong
and that Jeffrey Roundhill is responsible.
Hmm.
What is it?
George Crabtree should watch himself.
It appears Dr. Grace is the subject of the attentions
of Leslie Garland.
This is his stationery.
And this is Dr. Grace's personal correspondence.
William, it's not as if I was going to read it.
Would you have if I hadn't been here?
- [Chuckles] - [Sighs]
Well, there's someone I'm going to have to speak with.
You have a lot of a nerve.
I told you I never wanted to see you again.
Accusing me of murdering my wife, slandering my good name.
I recall the events, sir.
- What am I doing here? - I have some questions for you.
Really?
Detective Murdoch will not talk to my brother
without my attendance.
Raymond, don't say anything.
My brother and I have nothing to say to you.
Mr. Johnston, I believe I have discovered who killed your wife.
You what?
A man named Jeffrey Roundhill
made a deathbed confession about a murder,
the details of which match your wife's murder.
Well, who the hell was he? How did he know my wife?
He was a manufacturer from Caledon.
You don't recognize the name?
- Of course not. - He just said as much.
Did your wife have reason to visit Caledon?
My wife was a city girl.
She wouldn't have been caught dead out in the country.
Why do you ask?
VICTOR: Are you finished?
Or are you going to continue trying to impugn
my brother's dead wife's character?
I'm simply trying to ascertain the connection
between Mr. Roundhill and your wife.
He killed her! How's that for a connection?
Mr. Johnston, I am speaking to your brother.
One would think that you would be quite interested
in finding out who's responsible for her death.
Let's go, Raymond.
Oh, Detective Murdoch, aren't you forgetting something?
You accused Raymond of murdering his wife,
hounded him for months.
Is an apology not in order?
My feelings were quite hurt.
I apologize
for wrongfully accusing you of your wife's murder.
There. That didn't hurt, did it?
Raymond, don't talk to the police without me around.
[Indistinct conversations]
You apologized?
I didn't have much choice, sir.
You're like a dog with a bone.
Yet despite being a bloated, arrogant gobshite,
he not a murderer.
No, apparently not.
But why would Jeffrey Roundhill
have wanted Amelia Johnston dead?
There has to be some sort of connection
between the two of them.
Well, carry on, Murdoch.
Sir.
BRACKEN REID: Fine job, son.
Crack on.
What have you, George?
Sir, I've never encountered two people less connected
than Jeffrey Roundhill and Amelia Johnston.
According to Mrs. Johnston's friends,
she almost never left the city.
Gentlemen.
I was just curious as to how our case was progressing.
Dr. Ogden has a keen interest in seeing this case resolved.
Call it unfinished business for the detective and me.
I see.
That's why we were wondering if you have any leads.
Unfortunately, sir, very little.
According to Mr. Roundhill's journal,
almost all of his business was in Winnipeg.
He was rarely in Toronto.
And the couple of times that he was here,
he was in... entertainment establishments.
Houses of ill repute. Pardon me, Doctor.
Yes.
Well, that would explain how he contracted the disease
that ended his life.
But how would he have come into contact with Amelia Johnston?
Both men's wives are murdered within two weeks of each other.
Both men had ample motive for killing their wives.
And yet each was out of town at the time of his wife's demise.
It's almost too much of a coincidence.
Unless it's no coincidence at all.
Sir, if Jeffrey Roundhill killed Amelia Johnston,
could Raymond Johnston have killed Roundhill's wife?
Why?
Perhaps a contract between the two men.
Some sort of pact.
You still have it in for him.
Sir, I admit, I have never liked the man.
I've always believed that he was guilty of his wife's murder.
And it's possible I may have been right all along.
DR. OGDEN: Mr. Roundhill talked about a deal with the devil.
He knew he'd done something wrong.
He tried to make it right on the deathbed.
Think of it, sir.
Two men from different cities, seemingly unconnected,
make a pact, kill each other's wife.
Who would ever make the connection?
You must appreciate the symmetry of the theory.
[Chuckles]
You two.
You have a theory, nothing more.
If you intend to follow through on this line of investigation,
you'd better have some solid proof
before you go after Johnston again.
Sir, if Johnston is guilty,
he won't get away from us this time.
George, we need to modify our search.
There may be no connection
between Jeffrey Roundhill and Amelia Johnston,
but there may be one between Roundhill and Raymond Johnston.
The two men? Why would they be connected?
It's possible Mr. Roundhill and Mr. Johnston
killed each other's wife.
So Roundhill strangled Johnston's wife
because Johnston strangled his?
Technically, she was suffocated.
But I believe it wasn't in retribution,
more that the men made a pact.
Sir, I've researched both families extensively.
They don't have much in common.
They could have met through business or a club
or alumni organization.
Yes, or while traveling on a ship or a train.
- Or a bordello. - Exactly.
It seems unlikely to me.
I mean, two men meet for the first time
and make an agreement to kill each other's wives?
What's the opening line in that conversation?
You're right, George.
For the two men to have made such an agreement,
they would have had to have known each other quite well.
Any connection between the two
could serve as the key to exposing the truth.
Do your best.
Sir.
- George? - Doctor?
I haven't seen Dr. Grace in a while.
How is she keeping?
To tell you the truth, Doctor,
I haven't seen her in a while myself.
Oh.
I see.
Well...
Hello, Constable Crabtree.
Mr. Garland.
I was just here to see Dr. Grace,
but it seems she's gone to lunch.
Oh. That's unfortunate.
What are you doing here?
I have opera tickets for the doctor.
Mr. Garland, you know I'm courting Dr. Grace.
I think it's hardly inappropriate
that you'd be asking her to the opera.
Yes. That would be inappropriate.
These tickets are for Dr. Ogden.
The detective's taking her to see "Rigoletto"
in my place this evening.
I was just on my way to the station house to drop them off.
"Rigoletto" is a fine play.
I haven't seen it myself, but I hear it's a fine play.
I'm hoping so, for the doctor's sake.
Dr. Ogden, that is.
Right. Of course.
Good afternoon, Constable Crabtree.
Mr. Garland.
What the devil do you think you're doing?
We have a warrant for your records.
- For what crime? - I'm not at liberty to say.
So you're accusing me of murdering my wife... again.
I didn't say that, Mr. Johnston.
Then why do you want my records?
It's part of my investigation.
VICTOR: What is going on here?
Stop this right now.
We have a warrant.
This is harassment, plain and simple.
This is nothing more than a police investigation.
One would think you would be quite curious to find out
why a seemingly complete stranger murdered your wife.
Good day, gentlemen.
Sir, have a look at this.
April 2, 1893, the day Evelyn Roundhill was killed.
Her husband was in Winnipeg, but Mr. Johnston was in Toronto.
And he'd booked off business appointments the whole week.
Perhaps an opportunity to fulfill his part of the pact.
Or just a man taking a week off work.
MURDOCH: Quite right, George.
Just because the man's time is unaccounted for
doesn't mean he was anywhere near Evelyn Roundhill.
Have you had any luck finding that connection?
Doctor, there's nothing.
Mr. Johnston was born and raised in Toronto,
Roundhill in Caledon.
And they went to different universities.
Religious affiliation?
Roundhill was a lapsed Catholic. Johnston was an Orangeman.
Business connections?
Roundhill was in ladies' foundation wear.
Johnston was in the mining business...
coal and coke mostly.
What about travel?
Sir, they both traveled for business.
But so far as I can tell,
they were never in the same place at the same time.
Roundhill made regular trips to Winnipeg,
but Johnston was mostly in Montreal, rural Quebec.
I've even gone through lists of their friends and acquaintances
to see if there's a shared contact
that may have introduced them.
There's nothing.
- Well, perhaps we can try... - BRACKEN REID: Murdoch!
My office... now.
Carry on, George.
Sir. [Clears throat]
Amelia Johnston was one of the first murdered women
on my table.
Her case has haunted me ever since.
If her husband really arranged for her murder...
We'll find it, Doctor.
We'll find it.
My brother may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer,
but he is a good man, and he's certainly no killer.
He's also not above investigation.
I'd agree with you if you had a shred of evidence,
but you don't!
All you have is a detective compelled to find guilt
where there is none.
Sir, I...
A lawsuit... against you and the entire Toronto Constabulary!
You are to stop harassing my brother.
I haven't harassed anyone.
You are interviewing our clients,
implying Raymond is a murderer!
I'm simply conducting a police investigation.
Yet you've admitted you've already found Amelia's killer.
Maybe if I knew what you were looking for,
we might reconsider this lawsuit.
The constabulary does not discuss
open investigations, sir.
You are on a single-minded mission
you began eight years ago...
to destroy my brother's reputation,
his business, and his life!
Good day.
George is still looking for a connection between the two.
Are you certain that Johnston is involved in this?
If he isn't, then the truth will exonerate him.
We'll find the proof we need.
Make sure you're right, Murdoch, or else we're all in trouble.
[Indistinct conversations]
I'd wager you didn't hear a note of the music tonight.
Oh, I'm sorry, Julia.
It's just I can't help thinking of what this lawsuit means.
You said the inspector approved of you continuing with the case.
Yes. I'm not worried about myself.
But the lawsuit itself means we're getting close
to something.
A connection?
Possibly, but I am yet to find it.
I hope the great Detective Murdoch isn't ready to give up.
We'll find it, William.
Mm. "We," Julia?
Yes, we.
Dr. Grace.
George.
Thought you might fancy a walk home.
I'm... I'm actually still working.
Of course. My... My coat.
I-I was just chilly in here.
Well, should I come back?
Maybe we could go out on the town.
That's very nice of you, but I'm rather tired.
Well, good evening, then.
Good night, George.
[Door opens, closes]
If there's a connection between the two,
there has to be a record of it here somewhere,
some sort of hint as to where their paths crossed.
Well, he was thorough.
He packed everything a woman would need to go on a trip.
It's a pity this chapeau was ruined.
It's quite a fine hat.
And expensive.
It's from one of the finest milliners in the country...
Danielle's of Montreal.
Montreal?
Where does it say that?
The label says Danielle's Millinery.
There's only one shop... in Montreal.
But Mrs. Roundhill was a homebody.
She rarely set foot outside of Caledon.
You said her husband bought her gifts to assuage his guilt.
But according to George's research,
Roundhill was never in Montreal.
According to the records.
Raymond Johnston did business in la belle provionce.
What if they were both there at the same time?
- Julia, you are brilliant! - [Laughs]
It's a tenuous link, William.
Yes, but links turn into chains.
- Thank you. - [Laughs]
[Indistinct conversations]
Danielle's Millinery On St. Catherine Street.
Thank you.
Millinery? A gift for Dr. Ogden, Murdoch?
I certainly hope so.
O uio. Bonjou r.
J'aio déjà appelé au s ujet d'u n chapeau vendus en 1893.
O uio. C'es t ça.
Vendus à M. Rou ndhioll.
Uh, en person ne?
Le 15 mars.
Mercio beaucoup.
Bon ne jou rnée.
Roundhill purchased the hat in person on March the 15th.
Where was he supposed to have been then?
He attended a conference in New York and took a train home.
Let's check the train schedules.
Thank you very much.
There was construction on the line
between March 14th and 16th.
All the trains were rerouted through Montreal.
Montreal?
Julia, according to Raymond Johnston's appointments,
he was in Quebec the week of March 13th
visiting equipment suppliers.
We've got them.
Well, William, it's a long way
from knowing they were in the same province
to putting them together to plan a double murder.
That's a bit pessimistic.
We're well on our way to solving this.
Yes.
All we have to do is figure out where men usually meet
and plan to murder their wives.
Hm.
A hotel?
A tavern?
That's too prosaic.
I imagine they met at a place
where strangers find themselves thrown together.
Perhaps not by choice.
Here's something curious.
Mr. Roundhill had a number of appointments
scratched off his ledger
on the three days following his New York trip.
He canceled them.
Perhaps he stayed on in Montreal.
DIGNAN: No. These aren't good enough.
[Knock on door]
MURDOCH: Miss Dignan?
DIGNAN: Detective.
What brings you back here?
A number of appointments were canceled in Mr. Roundhill's book
the week of March 13th, after his trip to New York.
Why were they canceled?
As far as I know,
Mr. Roundhill's was where his schedule says he was.
We know his train was rerouted through Montreal
and that he spent several days there.
[Sighs]
That'll be all. Thank you.
I suppose it won't hurt to tell now.
While he was traveling home,
Mr. Roundhill suffered a series of seizures,
the first symptoms of the disease
that would take his life.
He was taken to the Hôtel-Dieu de Montréal.
The hospital.
- How long was he there? - Three days.
I canceled all of his appointments
until he was well enough to travel.
When he returned home,
he demanded I keep his disease a secret.
Something... changed in him
in the weeks before his wife's disappearance.
He was never really the same man.
Thank you.
According to Johnston's agenda,
he was to be touring mining operations
during those same three days.
And these coincide with Mr. Roundhill's hospitalization?
Yes.
But the curious thing is that during this time,
he was out of communication with everyone.
So he could have been anywhere.
Yes.
Let's hope that "anywhere" was at Mr. Roundhill's bedside.
And you're quite sure? Mr. Johnston from Toronto.
Mercio beaucoup.
William, not only were they in the same hospital.
They were in the same room.
Mr. Johnston was admitted with abdominal pains on March 15th.
They're sending confirmation now.
Well done, Julia.
Doctors are usually more forthcoming with other doctors
than they are with detectives.
Mm.
Perhaps it's time to have another word with Mr. Johnston.
[Footsteps approaching]
Hello, Emily.
Hello, George.
I-I'm afraid I've not quite finished the report
on Mrs. Roundhill.
Oh, that's no trouble. I can wait.
So, are you tired at all?
Not at all.
Well, I must admit... I am a little tired myself.
Mm-hmm.
Well, I had quite the evening last night.
That's nice.
Quite the evening.
I started out with the lads at the pub.
It was nothing unusual, but we had quite a few laughs.
Oh, good.
A-And then we went on to the music hall.
And there was a man there all the way from the Sahara Desert
who ate fire.
Emily, he actually ate fire.
Amazing.
And then this young lass seated next to me,
she passed out out of sheer fright.
I had to revive her.
Uh, you wouldn't believe this, Em,
but they brought me up onstage for this big hero's applause.
I daresay you would be tired after all that.
Almost done.
So, how was your evening?
Oh.
It was lovely, thank you.
- Here's the report, George. - Ah.
Now, if you'll excuse me.
You realize I'm gonna continue legal proceedings.
I'll see that you end up in prison.
Of course.
RAYMON D: Should be an interesting welcoming party.
Any other innocent people you've put away coming to visit?
[Both chuckle]
Mr. Johnston, I wonder if you can tell me
about your trip to Montreal eight years ago.
What visit?
I've traveled to Montreal dozens of times
in the last eight years.
More specifically, your stay there in March of 1893.
Before my wife died?
Well, I visited
our coke-manufacturing interests in Quebec,
but nothing of note happened in Montreal.
What's going on here?
Dr. Ogden has something she'd very much like to share
with you.
This is a message from the admissions clerk
at the Hôtel-Dieu de Montréal.
You were admitted March 15, 1893.
I most certainly was not.
My brother and I are done listening
to these ridiculous accusations.
Where you shared a room with Jeffrey Roundhill.
With who? The man who killed my wife?!
Of all the cockamamie ideas I've ever heard...
Raymond, don't talk to him.
I told you. I never met that man.
Are you accusing me of hiring a killer from a hospital bed?
No.
We don't believe that you hired him,
but rather made an agreement with him.
He was to kill your wife and you to kill his.
What on earth?! Are you mad?!
We have statements that you spent three days side by side
just two weeks before your wife was murdered.
I don't care what those Frenchies say.
I didn't kill some stranger's wife,
and I was never in that hospital!
Well, that should be easy enough to prove, then.
We're leaving.
DR. OGDEN: Records show you had
an emergency appendectomy, Mr. Johnston.
[Chuckles] Thios is your case?
Do you want to see the scar?
Well, that would help to clear matters up.
Clearing up matters?
You want to throw me in jail
for killing someone I've never even met?
I do not want you to participate in this ridiculous charade.
- I have nothing to hide. - Raymond.
I'm gonna shut this man up once and for all.
Satisfied?
Come on. We're leaving.
Let's go.
- You sure you want to do this? - Yes.
So we have a deal?
Yes.
Mr. Johnston?
No scar, Detective. This is over.
Not you, sir. Your brother.
Excuse me?
Get out of our way. We're leaving.
Mr. Johnston, we can clear up this entire matter right now
if you would just lift your shirt.
If I see nothing suspicious,
I promise you I will resign this instant.
William.
What does he have to do with any of this?
Possibly nothing.
Let's see if he has the scar.
I will not.
It's bad enough you dragged my brother through this.
I won't stand around while you do the same to me.
For God's sakes, just do it
- and let's be done with it. - No.
What are you afraid of, Mr. Johnston?
Raymond, let's go.
No. Show him.
- Raymond, I said let's... - Victor.
Take off your shirt, Victor.
Raymond...
Did you kill my wife?
[Sighs]
MURDOCH: No.
Mr. Roundhill killed your wife.
Your brother here killed Mrs. Roundhill.
Isn't that right, Mr. Johnston?
It's over.
Hospital records will show that you were indeed there,
and a physical examination will yield further proof.
Tell me the truth, Victor.
[Chuckles softly, sighs]
I tried to tell you that Amelia was gonna leave you.
But no, you were too stupid to realize what was happening!
- I loved her! - She'd made arrangements
to revert entire control of the company to her!
Both of us would have been ruined!
She didn't know anything about the company, not like you.
You killed the woman I loved!
VICTOR: I was helping you!
I was looking out for you,
like I've done my whole life, you idiot!
Don't call me that, Victor! I hate it when you call me that!
I was dealing with a problem that you refused to acknowledge!
I did it for us.
You son of a bitch!
[Grunts]
- No. - Constables!
That's enough!
Victor Johnston, you are under arrest
for the murder of Evelyn Roundhill.
Constables, take him to the cells now.
Mr. Johnston, my heartfelt apologies
for ever suspecting you in your wife's death.
I always did what he told me to do.
I always did what he thought was best.
A full confession.
Signed, sealed, and delivered.
We did it.
Yes, we did.
Two peas in a bloody pod, aren't you?
Well, I don't think we'll be facing a lawsuit anymore.
BRACKEN REID: Good thing, too.
Well done.
Thank you, sir.
William, I have to say,
I'm never happier than when I'm working side by side with you.
As am I, Julia.
Well, I should go.
- Uh, Julia... - Yes?
I do think we should do this more often.
Uh, work together, that is.
Yes.
Yes, we really should.
I would like that very much.
GILLIES: "My dearest Julia,
it appears our relationship has yet to come to an end.
But you can be rid of me once and for all
if you agree to my most simple proposition.
You and Detective Murdoch must part.
Forever.
If you marry him, he will die.
If you inform him of this letter, you will both die.
Yours most fondly, James Gillies.
Ripped By mstoll