Night, sir.
BRACKENREID: Bloody hell!
How much longer do we have to put up with this racket?
Not too long, sir.
They just need to break up the concrete
so they can lay the drain pipe.
Newfangled flush toilets.
The pit was good enough for me.
Do you hear that?
What?
My thoughts.
I can actually hear them.
CRABTREE: Sirs!
Oh, good God. What now?
Sirs!
Sirs, you should come see this.
Who is he, sir?
I have no idea.
Victim was adult, male.
Young, by the looks of it.
Oh, look what we have here.
Bullet?
Most likely.
Is that What killed him?
I don't believe so.
It has been partially healed over.
Ah, here we are.
Cause of death was a blow to the temple.
Sharp or a blunt object?
Both it would seem.
Most of the force is concentrated
in this small area here,
but the impact extended several inches across the skull.
I'll need this brought back to the morgue,
as well as all the dirt beneath it.
Sir. A bit of a break, sir.
Constable Forbes remembers the floor being poured
in the summertime.
Rawlings is sure it was 1881.
So I checked all the construction records
for that time.
And?
And we have a date.
June 22, 1881.
I was here then.
You were?
He had your job.
Station House Detective.
The first order of business will be to identify the victim.
Someone who worked here must know something.
We need a list of every constable and officer
that worked here at that time.
You think one of our own did this?
Let's not be blind to the obvious, Inspector.
How else does a man end up buried under a station house?
Right. Will you be taking over the investigation?
GILES: Of course not.
I was a detective at the station house at that time,
which makes me a suspect, as are you, Inspector.
Stockton as well.
The former chief constable?
He was inspector here at the time.
I will, of course, hold myself available for questioning,
and obviously I want to be kept apprised of any developments.
CRABTREE: There's Hodge.
That's not Hodge.
It is Hodge. Look at the sideburns, man.
There's the inspector.
CRABTREE: [Laughs] He's just a young pup!
Inspector, come have a look at this.
Gentlemen.
I hope you're doing more than taking a trip down memory lane.
Sir, there's no actual list of officers and constables
at the station house in June of 1881.
But this photograph was taken in May of that year.
So if we can just put names to all these faces...
BRACKENREID: What is it?
Sir, do you recognize this handsome young lad?
BRACKENREID: Oh, my God.
I remember when this was taken.
I'd only been on the force two weeks.
You remember that?
I'd just arrested Margaret.
Your wife?
She'd got into a tiff over the lunch special at Maisie's.
Such a tart tongue.
Full of sass even then.
[Clears throat]
Sir, do you recognize all of the men in this photograph?
BRACKENREID: Well, let's see.
Stockton.
Giles.
Franklin. He's dead now.
Gibbons. He wishes he was dead with that wife of his.
[Laughs]
So, whose dog is this?
BRACKENREID: Oh, Giles'.
Bloody dog followed him everywhere.
Applebee, Perkins.
Of course Hodge.
I don't remember him.
That's odd. I remember everyone else.
Hodge!
Come here.
Sir?
BRACKENREID: Who's this bloke?
Constable Finch.
When did he leave the force?
I don't remember.
It was sometime in the '80s.
Sir, I found this in the archives.
It's about Constable Finch.
Apparently, he was shot while foiling a bank robbery.
DR. GRACE: It's an exit wound.
Which means he was shot in the chest.
Can you tell how long afterward he was killed?
Given the rate of bone repair, four to six months.
He was shot in February.
So he died sometime that summer.
Sir, Constable Finch last checked in for work
June 21,1881.
MURDOCH: The day before the concrete floor was poured.
Well, George, I believe we have our victim's identity.
So, how did he end up buried under his own station house?
That's a very good question.
Do you remember Constable Finch?
Of course I do.
Did you not think something was awry when he disappeared?
I don't even remember it.
It wasn't unusual. The pay was bad in those days.
Constables would often quit without notice
to take better work.
Without picking up his last pay?
We were remiss, Detective, if that's what you're getting at.
Or are you suggesting complicity on my part?
You are a suspect, sir.
BRACKENREID: This is complete bollocks.
Anybody could have done it.
Somebody could have walked in off the street.
It doesn't necessarily mean it was one of our own.
All possibilities must be investigated, of course.
However, we must remain cognizant
of the probability that this was fratricidal.
So, what next, Detective?
We're conducting interviews
with all of the surviving constables from that time.
I'll be wanting to speak with former Chief Constable Stockton
as well.
I wouldn't hold out much hope there, Murdoch.
He's away with the fairies, from what I can gather.
I'll speak with him nonetheless.
[ Footsteps approaching ]
DR. GRACE: There are 13 pieces in all.
I found them while sifting the dirt beneath the skeleton.
It appears to be a negative of some sort.
Could it pre-date the burial?
Two of the fragments were found in remnants of silk.
It was in his pocket.
That was my supposition.
Judging by the number of pieces,
it was struck with a considerable force.
Perhaps a struggle?
Or a plain, old-fashioned beating.
Do you know anyone who might have been on unfriendly terms
with Constable Finch?
I mean, not enemies per se
but may have been rubbed the wrong way?
What I want to know is,
what was Inspector Brackenreid like as a constable?
George, Henry.
How are the interviews coming along?
Not much to tell, sir. Everybody remembers Finch.
Some people remember that he left suddenly.
No one suspected foul play?
No.
Cavell said that Finch didn't have any family here
in the city,
which would explain why nobody reported him missing.
Does anyone remember anything from the day in question?
Not as yet, sir.
And you've made contact with everyone?
Everybody who's still alive and in town.
It's hard work tracking them down, sir.
CRABTREE: Oh, is it ever.
We found Grimsby living in a shack by the river.
We're still waiting for Applebee and Perkins to show up.
They shared a beat with Finch.
I see.
George, complete the remaining interviews.
Henry, I have a different job for you.
These are the remnants of a glass negative.
I need you to re-create that negative.
You want me to put all these pieces together, sir?
Yes, but handle them carefully. This could be very important.
Stockton's here.
- Oh, right, I'll just -- - He's in your office.
STOCKTON: Hodge!
Hello, sir.
Ah.
Tommy Two Cakes.
Two Cakes?
Never call me that.
Where's my tea?
Tea, sir?
Just get him some tea, Hodge. Plenty of sugar.
Why are you out of uniform?
Sir, it's 1902.
Tommy Two Cakes is the inspector here now.
Oh, dear God.
I'm sorry.
[Clears throat]
This must be your desk, Detective.
Should we use my office, sir?
Yes, yes.
Make that the last time.
Yes. Yes, yes.
After you, sir.
Ah!
I'm so glad to see Nellie still standing guard.
Nellie, sir?
It's the station mascot.
Where's your sense of history, man?
We all pass through Station House Number Four.
Only Nellie stays. She's seen it all.
Maybe she could shed some light on what happened.
What happened?
MURDOCH: Sir, why don't you have a seat?
Thank you.
Chief Constable,
do you remember a Constable Finch?
Finch?
I love the boy. What's he up to?
Well, sir, he's dead.
Did I know that?
No, no. This is recent news.
He was found buried in the basement.
STOCKTON: Dear God.
Sir, we believe he was killed on June 21,1881.
June 21st.
Now, I don't expect you to remember the date.
He wanted to talk to me.
BRACKENREID: You remember?
That was my wedding anniversary.
I didn't have time.
I told him to come back tomorrow.
Sir, what did Finch want to talk to you about?
Who?
HODGE: Sir.
Oh, ah, nothing like a hot cup of tea.
Ah, you're a good man, Dodger.
Dodger?
Yes, he worked with what's his name.
You know...
the detective...
BRACKENREID: Giles?
Giles, that's him.
Imperious bugger.
Ah, he was purer than Jesus.
Did you know, he once came into my office before I retired,
and he was talking about
how Murdoch let a confessed murderer just out of jail.
Can you believe that?
Hmm? Murdoch!
Sir, do you know if Constable Finch had any enemies?
What?
Enemies.
Fellows that would sooner pop him one than buy him a beer.
Yes, yes, there were a couple...
What were their names?
Tweedledum and Tweedledee.
- Applebee and Perkins. - STOCKTON: That's them!
Applebee, he popped him once.
Right in front of me.
Hah!
- Si r. - Yes, George?
I've been going through all the constables' notes
for the week prior to Finch's murder.
Anything interesting?
Only how uninteresting it is, sir.
Drunkards. Pickpockets. The usual rowdies roundup.
Have Applebee or Perkins come in yet?
Not yet, sir.
All right. Call me when they do.
I'd like to conduct that interview myself.
How goes it, Henry?
Well, sir...
May I?
Sir.
Don't touch this.
[ Footsteps approaching ]
- Dr. Grace. - Detective.
I'll need you to do a finer sift.
I'm missing an important piece of that negative.
What size mesh?
1/4 inch should do it.
You're going to end up with a lot of material.
So be it.
Hodge, you old bugger, you're still here.
Apmebee.
Perkins.
This is Constable Crabtree.
Thank you for coming in, gentlemen.
Is it true? Was Finch buried in here?
It appears to be the case, yes.
That explains why he suddenly buggered off.
CRABTREE: Detective Murdoch,
these are former constables
Albert Perkins and Ernest Applebee.
MURDOCH: Gentlemen, it's a pleasure.
Let's speak in my office.
APPLEBEE: I didn't punch Finch.
I shoved him.
He hit me.
I remember it the other way around.
APPLEBEE: Nobody cares what you remember.
- I was the one that got hit. - What was the fight about?
PERKINS: Oh, who knows?
They were always at it.
I think he was asking me the question, Perkins.
I don't remember.
Probably had something to do with the telegraph boys.
He was always beating up on them.
Telegraph boys?
Yeah. You know, the street boys that sell themselves.
Finch hated the telegraph boys.
I think he was shaking them down.
Could one of them have killed Finch?
Well, it would have taken more than one to do it.
I mean, they're just lads.
As I recall, it was one of them that ended up dead.
APPLEBEE: Oh, right you are, Bert.
I believe a street boy was murdered.
I always wondered if that's why Finch up and left.
You think Finch was somehow involved?
Well, I know he was involved in the investigation.
Who was the detective on that case?
That would have been Detective Giles.
GILES: Of course I remember the case.
The victim was a street boy.
His throat had been slit.
Carlton was his surname.
I don't remember his first.
- BRACKENREID: Who killed him? - The case was never solved.
- Why is that? - Why is it ever such?
Insufficient evidence. No witnesses.
Street boys don't talk to the police.
You know that.
Besides, there was...
How can I put this?
A culture of indifference.
Were you indifferent?
I was never indifferent to any crime.
However, resources were finite,
and I had no control over their allocation.
That was Stockton's job,
and he was indifferent,
to this crime at any rate.
MURDOCH: What have you, Dr. Grace?
Chunks of minerals, mostly.
Some are quite lovely.
I believe this one is garnet.
Oh, and I found this.
Cast iron.
I have no idea if it's related to the murder.
Were you able to find any --
Yes, I found several more slivers of glass.
Is that what you were looking for?
Exactly.
Henry.
Excuse me.
Sir.
- Where did that piece go? - What?
That piece right there. The other half of the face.
HIGGINS: Are you sure it was there, sir?
Of course I'm sure! Who's been in here?
CRABTREE: Sir, just Higgins and I.
And Applebee and Perkins.
And Jackson, Hodge, Worseley, Jones, the inspector.
Pretty much everybody, sir.
Were there any other pieces taken?
No. Just the one we need.
What's all the fuss?
Sir, someone's taken a piece of this glass negative.
You think it could be the killer?
Well, if it was, he's just been in our station house.
From now on, the bullpen is off-limits to everyone
except Constables Crabtree, Higgins, and myself.
What about me?
Someone from this station house
has deliberately foiled this investigation.
Very likely someone who was here in 1881.
Well, it wasn't bloody me.
There can be no exceptions, sir.
Fine, I'll keep out of the bullpen,
but I will not stay out of this case.
So, where are we?
At the moment, I'm looking into the murder of Joe Carlton.
The telegraph boy? What's the connection?
Well, sir, Finch hated the telegraph boys.
Very likely they hated him as well.
And why was a negative of two men in an illicit embrace
in his pocket when he died?
So, who do you think took the piece of the negative?
I don't know, sir. It could have been any one of them.
They all had access to the bullpen.
Henry and George were hardly paying attention.
Sirs, excuse me, in the Carlton case,
Perkins' notes make mention of a bloody knife,
but there's no sign of it in the evidence log.
Could have been removed.
Well, if it was, it would have been removed
prior to the evidence log being compiled.
By Finch?
Applebee seems to think Finch is involved.
Could Finch be Carlton's murderer?
Possibly. What else do you have, George?
Just this list of names.
BRACKENREID: Suspects?
MURDOCH: Witnesses?
Third name on the list. Frank Porter.
He was a street boy himself back in the day.
Mr. Porter.
Am I under arrest?
Why would you say that?
You have me sitting here.
I just need to ask you a few questions.
About what?
About an old friend of yours, goes by the name of Joe Carlton.
It's been awhile since I heard that name.
I assume you know what happened to him.
Of course I know. I'm the one who found him.
Lying there. Eyes wide open.
Flies buzzing about.
I didn't do it, if that's what you're thinking.
I'm more interested in a policeman from that time.
A Constable Finch. Did you know him?
There ain't a boy from that time
that don't remember that bastard.
He harassed you.
Harassed us?
He owned us.
Every week he collected.
Two bits a day whether or not we earned it.
What happened if you didn't pay?
You'd get a beating.
Or he'd put you in jail
and then double your tax when you got out.
And then one day, he stopped collecting.
What did you think happened?
I figured someone done him in.
Who?
I don't know.
One of the older boys, maybe.
Either that or he killed Joe then took off.
Right.
Now, why would Constable Finch kill Joe Carlton?
I don't know.
All I was told is that a copper done it.
Who told you that?
What does it matter?
I want the name.
Peter Reed.
Good luck talking to him.
He died 1O years ago.
Thank you.
BRACKENREID: You're right. It's the same man.
What does it mean?
MURDOCH: I'm not sure, sir.
Peter Reed was a former street boy.
He's in this photograph that was found with Finch's body.
Reed also told Mr. Porter
that it was a policeman that killed Joe Carlton.
A copper. Do you think it was Finch?
Well, it would explain the anomalies in the case.
Finch removed the knife
before it could be entered into evidence.
But then why did he wish to speak with Stockton?
I wouldn't pay much attention to what Stockton has to say.
Well, sir, he's muddled in the present,
but his memories of the past seem to be clear enough.
I think I should speak with him again.
So, what's next?
I need to find out who the other man in this photograph is.
- Henry! - Sir.
MURDOCH: I have a job for you.
I've built a device
that allows for the superimposition of two images.
Excellent.
What I need you to do
is to superimpose the image of each of these slides
overtop of the image from the glass negative.
All right.
Do you understand what I'm asking you to do?
Superimpose the images.
Why?
You asked me to.
Henry, you're familiar with
the Bertillon system of identification.
Yes.
Every person has unique features that can be measured.
- Exactly. And compared. - Yes.
What we are attempting to do
is to identify the person in this photograph
by applying the Bertillon principle.
What we need to do
is to compare the relationship between those features
to those of the constables from this photograph.
Right.
Now, I've created a slide for each of the constables,
and I've drilled holes at precise feature locations.
All you have to do is place the slide in the tray,
and as you move it forward, if the identity matches,
then the features should line up.
HIGGINS: Seems simple enough, sir.
[Sighs]
Sir, do you remember this case?
Carlton.
Yes.
He was one of those nancy street boys.
Sir, is this what Constable Finch
wanted to speak to you about?
Yes.
L-I think I...
It was your wedding anniversary.
Hm. Huh?
BRACKENREID: Your wedding anniversary.
June 21st.
Longest day of the year, didn't you know?
Constable Finch wanted to speak to you,
but you didn't have the time.
Yes, that's right.
But I asked him, "Will this take longer than two minutes?"
He said yes, and I said, "Well, tell me about it tomorrow."
I was late, you see.
It was my anniversary.
What did Constable Finch want to speak with you about?
Giles.
Detective Giles?
Yes, yes. He had some sort of complaint.
I said to him, "Tell me about it tomorrow."
Did it have something to do with the investigation?
What investigation?
This. The Carlton case, sir.
The what?
I'll see the inspector out, Murdoch.
Come on, sir, let's get you a nice cup of hot tea.
I love tea.
BRACKENREID: Higgins, get the kettle on.
Inspector. Sir, I think I have something.
What have you, George?
Sir, this is the evidence log from the Carlton case.
Now, every evidence sheet has a number that goes in the file.
This is 113. Note the date.
MURDOCH: June 16th.
The day after Carlton was killed.
Now, this is the sheet from a subsequent case.
Note the date here.
June 23rd.
CRABTREE: But the recorded number is...
MURDOCH: 112.
So it came before the Carlton log.
CRABTREE: But it's dated afterward.
Sir, this one has to be a fake.
- Who signed it? - Constable Finch.
Interesting that he was able to sign this document
at least two days after his murder.
Somebody cooked the evidence here, sir, and it wasn't Finch.
- Very good. - Thank you, sir.
Did you see anything?
Eh?
- Today, not tomorrow, not -- -[ Banging ]
What's that?
Later, Rafferty.
Bloody hell!
Sir, turn off the light.
I believe I've found the scene of the crime.
Henry!
Henry, put in Chief Constable Stockton.
- He has a mustache, sir. - He could have shaved it off.
CRABTREE: The holes don't line up.
-It's not him. - BRACKENREID: Murdoch,
anybody could have gotten into that office.
Sir, when Chief Constable Stockton first came in,
he sat at my desk.
You're right.
In 1881, Stockton had your office,
and the detective had mine.
Henry, put in Chief Constable Giles.
George, bring in Chief Constable Giles.
On what grounds, sir?
Suspicion of murder.
I take it there have been developments in the case.
Is this man you?
It's hard to say. Half the face is missing.
Am I to assume you believe it to be me?
Yes, very clever.
MURDOCH: So it is you in the photograph?
You seem to have proven that.
You are a homosexual?
Yes.
Did you take the shard of glass from the negative?
I've just confessed that I'm a homosexual.
My career is over.
I'll be dismissed at the next council session.
That much I don't contest.
But I'm damned if I will confess to a crime
when you have not a shred of evidence to back it.
If you think I've interfered with this case, prove it.
Interference in an ongoing police investigation is not
the crime for which you are currently being investigated.
Yes, of course I've been brought here on suspicion of murder.
And which murder would that be, Finch or Carlton?
- At the moment, both. -[ Scoffs ]
Well, you're ambitious. I'll grant you that.
And where's your evidence against me?
[ Scoffs ] This!
Yes, I'll admit it does look damning.
If Constable Finch had shown that to Inspector Stockton,
my career would have ended then.
If it's motive you're looking for, you've found it.
But motive is not evidence.
It is merely supposition.
And -- And tell me this.
If I did know about this,
would I really have left it in Finch's pocket for you to find?
How did you know it was found in his pocket?
Well, where else would he have kept it, under his hat?
The truth is that I did not know about this
and therefore I did not have a motive
for killing Constable Finch.
And even if I did, I would not have killed him to save my job.
Would you have killed him to save your life?
My life?
Oh, yes, of course. You think that I killed the Carlton boy.
And do you have any evidence for that?
Or are you again reliant on your own scurrilous suppositions?
MURDOCH: There was evidence.
A bloody knife.
Quite possibly, the murder weapon was found
at the scene of the crime.
Unfortunately, it never made it into evidence.
Have a look at the evidence log,
compare the numbers to the dates.
This proves that someone tampered with evidence.
It doesn't prove that it was me.
Were you not in charge of the investigation?
What of it?
Any policeman could have had access to these files.
But not every policeman had cause.
And what cause did I have?
You lay with street boys.
Never.
You're making a fundamental error, Detective.
You're conflating two perversions
which are very different.
Do you seek the company of little girls?
Of course not.
Well, then, just because I'm a homosexual,
do not assume that I prey on boys.
He was a man.
He was a prostitute just like Joe Carlton.
- They knew each another. - Well, what of it?
Why would I kill a street boy that I didn't even know?
You might if you thought he was the one
who took this photograph.
Oh, so that's your theory.
MURDOCH: Taking this photograph
would have required a flash of limelight.
You could not have been unaware of it.
I can assure you that I was not unaware of it.
I can also assure you
that my response was anything but murderous.
What was your response?
I was heartbroken.
You see, Detective,
Peter Reed was not a prostitute whose services I was using.
He was the man with whom I was infatuated.
- MURDOCH: But how -- - Because I was a fool.
He seduced me with his charm and wit...
...and beauty.
That's what made it so pathetic.
I was blind.
And when that flash went off, my eyes were finally opened
to the fact of my own craven stupidity.
- MURDOCH: It was a trap. - Of course it was a trap.
And while you may think that I pursued the photographer
with vengeance in mind, the truth is that...
...l wept... while the man I loved...
...while my lover got dressed and left.
He was the last man I ever took to bed.
I don't know why I'm telling you all this.
It's hardly relevant.
So you never found out who took the photograph?
In hindsight, it seems obvious.
Constable Finch took the photograph.
Yes, but you didn't know that at the time.
- I did not. - MURDOCH: Then tell me this --
Why would you take that shard of the negative?
If you knew nothing of its contents,
how did you know to enter the bullpen
and take the critical piece?
I never said that I did.
Is it, then, also your supposition
-that Finch killed Joe Carlton? -lt seems likely.
Which would have given him reason
to take the putative murder weapon
and to doctor the evidence log.
- Adequate reason. - MURDOCH: Then tell me this --
How did he do it after his death!
You're familiar with the science of graphology, yes?
Of course.
This is a sample of Finch's handwriting.
Compare it to the evidence log.
It's a given that they won't match.
We've established that Constable Finch was already dead.
But they match much better than one might think,
almost as if someone was deliberately trying
to copy Finch's style.
Who would think to be so precise?
But copying someone's handwriting style
isn't that simple, is it?
Reflexes are faster than the mind.
Habit overrules intent, and we get careless.
Have a look at the writing at the bottom of the page.
It's decidedly different.
Much more like the writing in this document.
This is your writing from the same period.
Is this is the totality of your evidence?
MURDOCH: So far.
Then I suggest you lay your case before a judge and jury.
All I would have to do is show them this photograph.
That's possibly true.
In which case, arrest me, try me, and hang me.
But just bloody well get it over with!
I repeat, if you knew nothing of the photograph's contents,
how did you know to remove the critical piece?
I've already given you an answer to that.
You've given me nothing but prevarication.
Oh, you haven't lied.
You've just simply danced around the truth,
confessing all when it serves you
and shrinking into evasion when it doesn't.
So it's the truth you want.
Forgive me. I thought it was my conviction.
We're neither of us stalwarts when it comes to the truth,
-are we, Detective? - Meaning what?
Meaning that there is a truth that lies between us
that you have yet to admit to.
You're referring to Constance Gardiner?
A confessed murderer who somehow escaped from a locked cell.
I know you set her free.
And I know that you know.
I'll make you a deal, Detective.
My truth for yours.
I'm afraid I can add nothing further to the official account.
That she escaped custody. Yes, I understand.
You share this particular lie with Inspector Brackenreid.
If you go down, he goes down.
Loyafiy is the only moral instinct
that can exist on the same plane as truth itself.
They may clash,
but one can never overcome the other without cost.
But in this case, there's no cost to bear.
The only official statement made by Inspector Brackenreid
was that he found the jail door unlocked.
All true.
So the door to the truth lies open before you.
-[ Knock on door] - BRACKENREID: Murdoch.
Come here.
[ Door opens]
[ Door closes ]
You're bloody mad.
Sir, he's mixed up in all of this,
and he's willing to tell us the truth about what happened.
And what if the truth is that he's innocent?
He's still chief constable. He'll fire you.
- Sir. - It's a trap, Murdoch.
I need to do this.
[ Door opens]
[ Door closes ]
So, have you made a decision?
- Truth for truth. - Your truth first.
Very well.
Constance Gardiner was failed
by the system that should have protected her.
She killed a man that viciously assaulted her
along with countless other women.
I don't see how this is germane.
I acted on the dictates of my conscience.
I let her go free.
[ Chuckles ]
And there we have it.
[ Chuckles ]
I'm impressed.
You must want the truth very badly.
Well, a deal is a deal.
Did you take the shard of glass?
Yes.
How did you know to take it?
I knew that Finch had taken the photograph.
When I saw you begin to examine the fractured negative,
I knew what it would depict.
Why did he take the photograph?
Because it was Finch who killed the Carlton boy.
I knew it. He knew that I knew it.
That's why he dropped my knife at the scene.
- Your knife. - GILES: Yes.
It was a clumsy setup, laughably so.
I was intent on disproving it.
But then came the photograph.
Yes, and that changed everything.
If I pressed ahead with the case,
then it would have been the word of a homosexual deviant
against that of a hero.
- So you killed him? - GILES: Yes.
It wasn't intentional.
He showed me the photograph. I tried to wrest it from him.
We fought.
I grabbed the first thing I set my hand on and hit him with it.
Not even very hard.
And you knew the cement floor was about to be poured.
A lucky coincidence.
I dug beneath the gravel and buried him
and then set about disposing of the knife that he'd dropped.
And changing the evidence log.
Yes.
Percival Giles, you are under arrest for murder.
[ Indistinct conversations]
Oh, for God's sake, sit down. He confessed everything.
MURDOCH: Exactly, sir.
Why?
He could have simply stopped talking at any point
and taken his chance with a jury.
- You had him dead to rights. - I had nothing.
Nothing but scurrilous supposition.
Your complaint is that it was too easy?
It's not just that, sir.
How could he have taken the shard of glass?
I was with him the entire time he was here.
You were called out by Dr. Grace.
MURDOCH: Right.
George, Henry.
Was Chief Constable Giles in the bullpen at any point yesterday?
No, sir.
Not even when he left this office?
No, sir. He went straight down this hall out the front door.
Bloody hell.
Right. I'll be wanting to speak
with the chief constable again, gentlemen.
Sir.
MURDOCH: You lied.
I made a full confession.
MURDOCH: You made a false confession.
I know you couldn't possibly have stolen that shard of glass.
I want to know who did and why.
- Was it a lover? - No.
MURDOCH: No, no.
Lovers deceive.
This is about something more fundamental, isn't it?
Loyalty-
The only moral force
that can exist on the same plane as the truth itself.
But who could command such loyalty?
Dodger.
- MURDOCH: Dodger? - My dog.
You have a dog named Dodger?
This inquiry is in danger of becoming repetitive.
No, no, no, wait, wait.
There was someone else called Dodger.
Constable Hodge.
You worked with Constable Hodge, didn't you?
At one time.
MURDOCH: That's why they called him Dodger,
because he was your loyal servant.
It was him. He stole the piece of glass.
I don't know. And that is the truth of it.
But how could he have known that it was you in the photograph?
How could he have known unless he had seen it?
Oh, that's the truth of it, isn't it?
It was Hodge.
It was Hodge who saw the photograph.
It was Hodge who tried to wrest it from Finch.
And it was Hodge who killed him.
For you.
Loyalty cuts both ways, doesn't it?
I have said all I intend to say.
Constable!
Bring in Constable Hodge for me, please.
You know he'll crumble if I interrogate him.
He'll trip over his words like he always does.
And he will incriminate himself.
It was an accident.
He told me after the fact.
We agreed to bury the body and the evidence
and never speak of it again.
It must have destroyed your friendship.
It destroyed our souls.
[ Door opens]
You asked to see me?
It's over, John.
It's finally over.
The detective knows everything.
I am so sorry, sir.
I found Finch in the detective's office.
He was putting a photograph in his desk.
Did you know Detective Giles was a homosexual?
I thought he might be.
I didn't know for sure until I saw it.
Finch was going to blackmail Detective Giles.
I could not let him do that.
MURDOCH: So you struck him with the iron mascot.
I didn't mean to kill him, William.
I swear. I just...
I just wanted to stop him.
Thank you very much sir. I appreciate that.
Good night.
That was the crown.
Hodge will be tried for manslaughter.
Hopefully the new chief constable
will argue for leniency.
And Giles?
The best we can get for him is obstruction of justice.
Will he do jail time?
He's an admitted homosexual who buried a body,
not to mention he's a copper.
He'll probably do more time than Hodge.
That hardly seems fair.
The law isn't about fairness, Murdoch.
You should know that better than anybody.
I wouldn't feel bad. You likely spared him the noose.
I doubt it would have come to that.
Perhaps.
You have to give the bugger credit for his guts, though.
Not many men would have fallen on his sword for a friend.
Actually, sir, he seemed relieved
to get it off of his chest.
Is that how you felt, confessing about Constance Gardiner?
I suppose so, yes.
I did break the law.
You chose justice over the law.
You did right, Murdoch, by her and by me.
Good night.
Night, sir.