The Murdoch Mysteries (2004) s17e10 Episode Script

Mrs. Crabtree's Neighborhood

I just realized it's been two
whole weeks without my usual shave.
I've been far too busy.
When you're finished with this
shave, you'll look like a king.
Let me just get my straight razor.
Constable Crabtree! Constable Crabtree!
Sir, did he just say Crabtree?
That's what I heard.
Constable Crabtree, there's
a story in today's Inquiry
that might interest you. Sea monsters.
I'm not Constable Crabtree.
I'm Constable Higgins-Newsome.
Oh, I-I'm sorry.
I-I thought you were Constable Crabtree,
but would you like to buy one anyway?
No, thank you.
I assume George usually works this beat.
Yes, sir. I suppose it's a
reasonable enough mistake,
but you would agree I have a
more manly stride, wouldn't you?
Just the one shot then?
Did you see a gunman?
It came out of the blue.
Well, whoever made the shot
knew what they were doing.
What can you tell me about the victim?
His name was Nathaniel Marston
of Marston & Sons Construction company.
He'd just taken over from his father.
I see.
He was such a kind man.
Always tipped generously.
Who would do such a thing?
In my experience, good men
die as often as bad ones.
Well, good morning, Mrs. Crabtree.
- Good morning!
- Oh.
Well, what's all this?
Well, I heard that shiny
objects can deter birds
from roosting around the home,
so I thought I'd try and
hang up these wind chimes.
Oh? You'll put that up yourself?
- Oh, why not? I like to be useful.
- Oh.
You know, they are awfully noisy.
You needn't worry, Mrs. Halston.
I'm sure they'll make a lovely sound.
Well, I think the
neighbours will mind it.
Well, I must do this, Mrs. Halston,
because if the birds do decide to roost,
- there'll be no removing those nests.
- I see.
Well, what about placing
spinning pinwheels on your yard?
Now that will scare the birds away.
You know, I've never thought of that.
But wind chimes are so charming.
I'd like my home to be
as pretty as a picture.
- Well, of course.
Oh, there's that stray again.
You know, I tried to give
him some treats the other day,
but it appears that he
only likes Mr. McDowell!
- Hi!
- That stray dog really likes you,
doesn't he, Mr. McDowell?
Oh, oh, Mrs. Crabtree!
Oh! Oh, no, oh!
- Oh. Oh no, no!
- Call a doctor.
According to the barber,
Nathaniel Marston was
a kind, hardworking man.
But you think he was
murdered by a contract killer.
I do, sir. Miss Hart
recovered a. 30 calibre bullet
from the victim's body.
It was rimless and had a pointed nose.
That would only have been
fired from a newer model gun.
Yes, sir.
The kind preferred by
a professional assassin.
And the victim ran a
construction company?
- Yes, he did.
- Hm.
My Nathaniel was a good, smart boy.
He wasn't the kind to make any enemies.
No one he may have hurt or offended?
This world is full of gossip
mongers and backstabbers,
but he was not one of them.
He was nothing but an
asset to my company.
A company you ceded to him.
For the most part.
I advise only on the larger decisions.
Mr. Marston, who would
have known of your son's
scheduled barbershop
appointment this morning?
Only his secretary, Mr. Tibbins.
He keeps Nathaniel's daily schedule.
Where might we find this Mr. Tibbins?
I can't believe I broke my leg.
You'll be back on your
feet in a few weeks.
But I have legal briefs to read,
and these drugs are making
me feel a bit lightheaded.
The wheels of justice
won't grind to a halt
just because you can't
read a brief or two.
I suppose I shall
resign myself to staring
onto the street until
I die of sheer boredom.
Look over there.
Mr. Sanders, poor man.
He's waiting to see if there are
letters for him; There never are.
- You don't know that.
- Oh, but I do.
The mailman arrives at
the same time every day
and Mr. Sanders gets up to meet him.
Well, we're all creatures
of habit, I suppose.
Yes. Now I have all the
time in the world to watch
the same habits repeat themselves.
Oh, look! There's the Rimer boy.
His mother always picks him
up to have lunch at home,
and then he throws a tantrum
on his way back to school.
Oh, dear.
Never misses a day. It's amazing.
Oh, Mr. Ken McDowell.
He helped me earlier when I fell.
Well, that was kind of him.
That's odd.
He was so dexterous
with that hose earlier.
Hey, get outta here!
Get outta here! Shoo!
- Hey! No! Get out!
- Mr. McDowell!
Get out! Just playing!
- Really?
- How strange.
Earlier, that dog was wagging
his tail and seemed to love him.
Effie, I must get back to the clinic.
You rest up.
Mr. Marston is correct.
As his secretary, I keep
Nathaniel's schedule in this ledger.
Mr. Tibbins, who else knew of Mr.
Marston's barbershop appointment?
If I could be perfectly honest,
there's something that
weighs heavy in my heart.
Feel free to share it with us.
Yesterday, someone telephoned
the office to inquire
about Nathaniel's schedule.
I didn't recognize his voice.
The caller had said that
he had a meeting scheduled
with Nathaniel for the morning,
but unfortunately needed to cancel.
I told the caller that
he must be mistaken
because Nathaniel had a barbershop
appointment in the morning.
Please, go on.
The caller then asked
whether Nathaniel still
frequents Perry's Barbershop.
I told him no; He goes
to Goodwin's Barbershop.
You offered this
information to a stranger?
He was very conversational.
He he then said he must
indeed be mistaken and,
uh, hung up without
Without giving his name.
I'm afraid I may have
fallen for a trick.
I'm a fool. Oh!
- We'll give you a moment.
Well, the killer very
clearly learned the victim's
whereabouts from the secretary.
Don't you think Tibbins
is putting it on a bit?
He seemed upset, but
I didn't think so. Why?
Maybe Tibbins fabricated the call.
You think so?
I've got good instincts
for these things, Murdoch.
- Never wrong.
- Right then.
Let's see if Henry can find the
origins of the telephone call.
Mr. McDowell!
Thank you for your help today!
Julia, Julia!
- It's me.
- Effie?
It's quite late. Is
everything all right?
There's something very strange
happening at the McDowells.
You remember my neighbours?
You remember Ken and Lize.
Uh, not really.
What seems to be the problem?
They're they're
digging in their yard,
and they've got a sack and they're
burying whatever's inside of it.
Uh, Effie, I'm sure it's
nothing to worry about,
but I'll ask William to pop
over first thing in the morning.
All right?
Well, I'll be damned.
Come in.
- Hello?
- William!
Thank you so much for coming so early.
Yes, Julia said you
noticed something strange
- about your neighbour?
- Yes. Yes.
Mr. Ken McDowell, over there. You see?
Yesterday morning, he was doing
up his garden hose, like this.
Perfectly, as if he'd been doing
that it way his entire life.
But in the afternoon, he was all thumbs,
as if he didn't know how
to handle the thing at all.
Perhaps he was just
feeling a bit out of sorts?
But now he's gone back to
handling the hose perfectly!
Oh. Well, all the more the reason
to assume he made a mistake.
I felt as though he
were a different man.
Oh, that's quite a leap.
But, William, there's a stray
dog in the neighbourhood.
Yesterday morning, the dog
absolutely loved Mr. McDowell,
wagging his tail, licking him.
Then in the afternoon the dog
was growling and barking at him.
Animals without owners can
sometimes behave unpredictably.
I called out the window "Thank you!"
Because he'd helped me when
I fell and I broke my leg
and he gave me a blank
look, as if I were crazy!
Effie, um, what exactly
happened late last night
that led you to call Julia?
He and his wife were digging.
They had a sack, and they were
burying whatever was inside.
How big was the sack?
Well, it was very
dark, and I don't know.
Would you go and ask?
I don't really see any
evidence of wrongdoing.
William, please! It could
be anything in there!
Maybe I am going crazy.
Effie, I'll go over and speak with them.
Put on your hat, William.
Good morning.
Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary.
Is there a problem, Detective?
Someone called in concerned
that you were burying something
in your yard last night.
What of it?
May I ask what it was?
It was that pesky neighbourhood raccoon.
It had mange and it was
getting into everyone's trash,
- even during the day.
- Yeah.
Probably died of rabies.
It was a dreadful, ugly thing.
Dig it up, if you care to take a look.
Sorry to disturb.
- Have a good day.
- You too, Detective.
- A raccoon?
- Hm.
Apparently, your
neighbourhood has had an issue
with one getting into food waste.
- Yes, but
- Well, that explains it, then.
You see? There's nothing
to worry about, Effie.
You can relax.
I was so sure.
Sure about which?
Ah, Julia did mention you
should try to be careful
with your morphine dosage.
Perhaps a nap would be a good idea?
- Inspector.
- Ooh.
Oh, oh. There's a lovely
couch right over here.
- Is there?
- Oh, my goodness!
You must be the detective
and the inspector.
I'm the inspector, he's the detective.
- And you are?
- I'm Marcel Marston.
Nathaniel was my older brother.
Oh. Terribly sorry for
your loss, Mr. Marston.
Thank you. I only just heard.
I was out of town supervising
a project in Peterborough.
I rushed home and I found
this in my home mailbox.
"You'll be next."
The note is obviously
from my brother's killer.
I'll admit I'm extremely disturbed.
Do you have any idea who
may have uttered this threat?
Someone who was obviously
unhappy that my brother and I
acquired some property recently.
It was our first
successful deal together.
You mean the Rosedale property?
- You're aware?
- Yes.
I had a constable pull all of
the public land registry records
that show Marston & Sons
Construction won the bid.
It seems the legal
wrangling went on for months.
Yes. It wasn't a secret that
my brother and I together
were part of the bidding war.
Well, then, is it possible that
one of the unsuccessful bidders
in particular made this threat?
I wouldn't be able to say.
Right. I'll be taking
this note into evidence.
We'll post a constable outside
your home for protection.
Accompany Mr. Marston
for the rest of the day.
Make sure he gets home safe.
We'll be in touch, sir.
Well, I suppose we can narrow
our pool of suspects down
to all those that bid on
this Rosedale property.
Maybe Tibbins was
conspiring with one of them.
I suppose so.
I won't eliminate Mr. Tibbins
as a suspect just yet, sir.
Constable Tucker!
I need you to get addresses and details
on all of these parties that
bid on that Rosedale property.
Will do, sir.
I'll get them for you as soon as I can.
You've been a bit of a keener since
the oyster bar incident, haven't you?
I just want to work hard, sir.
Oh, wait.
Before you do that,
go to Marston & Sons Construction
and obtain a set of fingermarks
for a Norman Tibbins.
And while you're at it,
take into evidence his ledger
that outlines his boss' schedule.
The ledger?
Well, sir, it's one way to compare
Mr. Tibbins' handwriting to this note.
Julia, is that you?
Where's my
Dr. Julia Ogden.
Julia, Mrs. McDowell
has broken into my house!
- What?
- She stole my logbook!
What on earth are you
talking about? What logbook?
I've been jotting down the
goings-on in the neighbourhood,
especially after what
happened with Mr. McDowell.
Effie, I'm afraid you may be
blowing things out of proportion.
I woke up from my nap because
I heard the front door slam,
and then I noticed my logbook was gone.
I've been taking notes
on her and her husband,
and now she's taken them.
(SIGHING) Effie, I
I'm worried you may be
ingesting too much morphine.
It's known to produce
auditory hallucinations.
Julia, I am certain she's
been inside my house.
Could you please go over there
and ask her for my logbook?
What? You can't be serious!
Julia, please!
Love you.
Sirs, according to
the telephone operator,
the call that Mr. Tibbins received
was made from a public phone box
at the corners of
Grandview and Pine Street.
What else is at Grandview and Pine?
I think shops and businesses.
Go find and interview any
shoppers or shopkeepers
who were in the vicinity
of the phone box.
Ask if they remember anything
from the time of the call.
- Yes, sirs.
- Shame you didn't think of that yourself.
Oh. Hello!
Who are you?
Oh, I'm sorry. I don't mean to intrude.
I'm I'm a friend of your neighbour's.
Okay, well, what exactly do you want?
Ah, well, I wanted to thank
you for helping her yesterday.
She fell from the ladder.
That's the reason you're snooping
around the side of my house?
You couldn't have
just rang the doorbell?
Oh. I I'm sorry.
Have you, by chance,
seen a notebook anywhere?
- Uh, what?
- Never mind.
You've come at a bad time.
Yes, I do apologize. I see
that you've hurt your arm.
Are you all right?
I dropped a crate of milk
bottles and, um, cut myself.
It's nothing I can't handle.
Well, I'm a doctor. Would
you like me to take a look?
No. Thanks.
Thank you.
Well, have a good day.
I found the logbook!
- Oh, you did?
- It was in my room the whole time!
- Ah!
- I was at my wits' end!
Well, I'm so glad you found it.
I thought I was losing
my mind. (LAUGHING)
I think it's time for
me to go back to sleep.
I think that's a good idea.
Most of the ledger is
in shorthand notation,
but I did find some writing.
Mr. Tibbins did not write this note
and there are no fingermarks on it.
Sirs, I've just returned
from speaking with the locals
where the call to Mr. Tibbins was made.
- So, what did you find?
- Well,
the interviews weren't
exactly noteworthy, sir.
Mostly trivial details. But I have
written them down, just in case.
Detective Murdoch.
Who the hell is that?
Mr. Anthony Marston.
I thought his son was
supposed to be next.
It appears someone is
after the entire family.
I served Mr. Marston as I
do every Wednesday night.
Oh, this was routine for Mr. Marston?
Yes. He's a regular
at our establishment.
It wouldn't be too difficult
for someone to trail him
and find out where he
went every Wednesday.
I agree. What time exactly
did Mr. Marston arrive?
He arrived at 4pm, as he always does.
I met him at the back door
reserved for our select guests,
then I brought him to this room.
This private room.
- And what happened then?
- He ordered the ribeye steak,
which I brought him
straight from the kitchen.
I shut the door behind
me, giving him the quiet
and the privacy that he prefers.
- You found the body?
- I did.
- I nearly jumped out of my skin.
- Hm.
He seems to have been
dead for a few hours.
Why did you wait to call us?
Mr. Marston always rings
the bell when he's finished
with his meal because he
does not like to be disturbed.
I decided to check in on him
because it seemed a bit strange
he'd been in there for so long.
- I called as soon as I found him.
- Hm.
And this is the only
entryway into this room?
Thank you, Mr. Wohl.
Single stab wound to
the back of the head.
It appears the blade was
inserted into the space
between the base of the
skull and the first vertebra.
Poor fella barely made
a dent in his steak.
Hm. The murder must have occurred
shortly after Mr. Wohl exited the room.
The killer would have entered quietly,
struck and then exited
before being seen.
No rest for the wicked.
Do you think it's the same killer
as the older son's, Murdoch?
Well, sir, based on
the professional nature,
- I would have to think so.
- Sirs.
What is it, Higgins?
Have a look at this.
A steak knife covered in blood.
Looks like our murder weapon.
Hm. That's odd.
Right. Henry, send this along
with Mr. Marston to the morgue.
We'll have Miss Hart analyze everything.
Sure, sir.
Mrs. Crabtree.
On the mend I see.
Oh, instead of being out and about,
I'm just watching everyone
else go about their busy days.
Oh. Well, then let me ask you this:
Have you seen that stray dog anywhere?
The stray?
No, not for a few days, actually.
- I take it you haven't, either?
- No.
And I've a nice beef knuckle he'd like.
Well, if he meanders back, let
me know. I'd like to feed him.
I'm sure he'd appreciate that.
Well, I mean, living alone as
a widow, it's sometimes nice
to have something to take care of.
Of course.
Well, going to have my morning tea.
Have a good day.
- Detective Murdoch.
Here's a list of names
and addresses of the others
who bid on the Rosedale property.
Thank you, Constable Tucker.
Here to serve, sir.
The bidding war for the
land was among these parties.
Those are a lot of names,
sir. Who do we start with?
Well, let's start with
the one nearest to us.
Larue & Company Textiles,
2112 Simcoe Street.
Mr. Garrett Larue?
Detective William Murdoch,
Toronto Constabulary.
We'd like a word.
We understand your company bid
on a Rosedale property recently.
- Yes.
- Do you know who won that bid?
Uh, I forget the name, um, Martin,
Morton. Something like that.
Mr. Larue, two members of
the company who won that bid
were discovered murdered.
Good God!
Yes, we believe it
has to do with the bid
and we need you to share
with us fulsome details.
Uh, I let the secretary, Mr.
Heller, take care of the details.
I'm afraid I don't know
much about the nitty-gritty.
Are you saying you
weren't involved in a bid
that had your name on it?
Well, I advised only
on the amount to offer.
Were you not aware that there was
a bidding war for the property?
I was.
This type of situation is
not uncommon, Detective.
There's an auction-house sort of fervour
whenever there's prime
property up for grabs.
But I became uninterested
in the property.
Why is that?
Buying bigger land in Leaside
instead was a better business move.
Besides, we felt a bit pressured
by some bidders to back off.
That's why we stopped bidding
on the Rosedale property
after raising our offer only once.
Mrs. McDowell.
I was wondering how you'd
been faring since the accident.
- Oh, as well as I can, I suppose.
- Hm.
I made you a little
milk pie to cheer you up.
I hope you like baked custard.
How delightful.
I'll come back later for the pie plate.
Sir, Larue's story checks out.
His firm bid high on the
property at first but dropped out.
A few other bidders backed
out as well, citing pressure.
I wonder if Marcel knows
anything about this.
Mr. Marston. Please have a seat.
I'm sorry to tell you that
your father has been murdered.
But I was the one who was
supposed to be under threat.
We suspect it's the same killer.
Do you have any thoughts on this?
I didn't say this earlier
because I was afraid it
would make things worse.
But look what happened anyway.
My entire family's been killed.
What is it, Mr. Marston?
I've an idea of who the killer is.
The Grimecrux family.
In the bid, most of the
others backed off early,
but that family was persistent.
There are rumours that
they're a shady bunch.
I'm scared, Detective.
Well, that certainly narrows it down.
We'll look into this family.
Thank you so much.
I'll rejoin the constable
I left in the hall.
- I've heard of the Grimecruxes.
- Oh?
I didn't want to say anything
in front of the poor fella,
but depending on who you talk to,
they're either a respectable family,
or they're a gang of criminals.
They lied!
I did some digging into the Grimecruxes.
It seems the family has been
linked to several unsolved murders,
but no one has ever been arrested
due to insufficient evidence.
See? Not exactly the saintly type.
And all of the murders employ
our contract killer's methods.
A single .30 calibre
gunshot to the forehead,
a single, precise stab wound
in the back of the neck,
all whilst entering and
exiting without a trace.
It all makes the Grimecruxes look
plenty suspicious, doesn't it?
And as you mentioned, all of
their dealings are well-concealed.
But the head of the
family, Liam Grimecrux,
just happens to be in prison at the
moment on charges of embezzlement.
Penny for your thoughts.
Mr. Grimecrux, are you aware
that your family recently lost
a very heated bidding war
for a property in Rosedale?
It was briefly mentioned to me.
Did you have a hand
in commanding this bid?
Gentleman, I'm stuck here in prison.
I can barely make a
phone call when I wish.
I only learned about
it after the bid closed.
Your family must have been
very sore when they didn't win.
Sore enough, perhaps,
to kill the ones who did.
That's a load of rubbish.
Killing someone is not
going to turn over the land.
Now what's this all about?
Mr. Grimecrux, we need your assistance
in identifying the killer
in these murder cases.
From two years ago, a .33-calibre bullet
to the forehead of a banker
named Mr. Robbie Simons,
who was seated at a diner.
A high precision shot
from a long-range weapon.
From four years ago,
a single stab wound to
the back of the neck.
The victim, a Mr. Herman Barnes,
who was suspected of having
borrowed money from loan sharks.
And from three years ago,
a landlord, Mr. Earl Ecker,
was found dead with double
coil wire marks around his neck.
He was garrotted at a private lounge.
And what makes you think I would
know anything about all this?
Well, in each of the cases,
your family was suspected
of being involved.
Well, good luck trying to prove that.
These photographs are
from more recent cases.
Now, we believe the same
hitman is behind these cases.
Tell us who.
Mr. Grimecrux, if you can
provide us with information,
perhaps we can provide you with
leniency on your current jail term.
These look like they could
be the work of a Mr. M.
Or so I've heard.
Mr. M?
Don't play games, sunshine.
- Who's Mr. M?
- I don't know his identity.
Only that he's a ruthless
and efficient killer
and available for hire to
anyone who has the money to pay.
Sir, I find his claims
that he had nothing to do
with the previously unsolved
murders hard to believe.
Look, Murdoch, one day, we'll
come back to those cases.
We'll return to Grimecrux.
But we promised him leniency in
exchange for what he's told us.
What's a promise to a killer?
One day his dodgy dealings will
catch up with him eventually.
Sirs. There's been a
call from Miss Hart.
She says the blood that
was found on the steak knife
at the restaurant was not the victim's.
Well, whose blood was it then?
It's impossible to know.
Perhaps Mr. Marston
got a couple of digs in
before he went to the great beyond.
Did you see any mention of this
Mr. M in the files, Murdoch?
I did not, sir.
I think this warrants a closer look.
There has to be something we've missed.
Let's have a look at this one.
"Before and after the
gunshot, local residents,
a Miss Aidy Cooper and a Mr. Tom Hewey,
reported seeing a milk truck being
parked a block from Woolworth's,
the butcher's " Blah,
Bloody useful information.
- What is it, Higgins?
- Well, I forgot to hand you my notes
- from the phone box interviews, sirs.
- Oh, great, more interviews.
It's like picking pennies
up in front of a steamroller.
Now, hold on just a moment.
- What is it?
- In the Barnes case, sir.
Uh, "two hotel staff and
one guest reported seeing
a milk truck drive by at the time,
even though no milk
deliveries were scheduled."
So what?
The Simons case you were just reading
Someone reported seeing a milk
truck near the scene of the crime.
- Yes.
- That's funny.
I spoke to a local who
said there was a milk truck
parked by the phone box.
What's a milk truck
doing in all of this?
A milk truck also in the Ecker case.
And this is the oldest file that
we have going back five years.
The murder of Mr. Lorne Parker.
A single bullet wound to the forehead
during a private fitting at a
tailor's on Claremont Avenue.
A witness, a Miss Nancy
Withers, age seven,
saw a man exit a milk
truck on the same street!
And I quote, "he was not my Mr. Milkman.
He was a different Mr. Milkma "
- Mr. M.
- Mr. M.
Good lord.
Our contract killer is a milkman?
- Bloody hell.
William, sorry for the interruption.
I'm finished at the clinic,
but I'm heading to Effie's,
perhaps for the night.
Is everything all right?
Ah, she still thinks that her neighbour
is up to something nefarious.
I did actually speak with
Mr. McDowell yesterday
and he was quite strange.
Her neighbour.
- He's a milkman!
- Ah, yes. What of it?
Julia, the contract killer
that we are looking
for may be a milkman.
Did you happen to
notice if he was injured?
Ah, did he have any wounds?
Yes! On his arm. That's
what was so strange.
It was fresh, but it looked as
if he'd stitched it up himself.
He worked for Lakeside Dairy, I believe.
I saw the tag on his uniform.
Sir, the man I spoke to said that
it was a Lakeside Dairy
truck by the phone booth.
- Effie was right.
- Right about what?
- Her neighbour.
- Come on.
- Why aren't you working?
There's no use calling for
help. We cut the telephone line.
Curiosity killed the cat.
Whoa, whoa.
It is a shame you didn't just mind
your own business, Mrs. Crabtree.
A milkman. That's him.
He's dead.
Our murderer is murdered.
Effie seems to think
there are two of them.
- You're not Mr. McDowell!
- You're right about that.
- So, there are two of you?
- Not anymore.
- What did you do?
- What do you think?
My husband was a vicious killer.
The world is better
now that it's rid of him
and, as much as I regret it,
you're to meet the same fate.
Milk will do your body good.
Open wide!
- Toronto Constabulary!
Stop! Come here!
Sit down! Don't move!
Are you all right, Effie?
Yes, I'm fine.
Curiosity may have killed the cat,
but satisfaction brought it back.
So, the truth.
Who are you, really?
My name is Daniel Dunn.
And what's your relationship
to the McDowells?
It's quite a story.
I first met Ken McDowell some years ago.
Seeing the similarities
in our physical appearance,
Ken hired me to replace him each
time he went on an assignment.
On top of his persona as a milkman,
Ken would always have an airtight alibi.
Whenever a murder was committed,
he was always at home,
with his loving wife.
And you knew of this?
And you went along with it? Why?
Over time, Daniel and I fell in love.
We planned to get rid of my husband,
take his money and start life anew.
And we would've been able to,
had Mrs. Nosy Parker
kept out of all this.
That's why you poisoned your husband?
Well, he would have seen a
weapon coming from a mile away.
But he didn't expect a wee bit of
cyanide in his glass of warm milk.
Then you tried to kill Mrs. Crabtree.
Pity she doesn't care for pie.
Your husband may have been the killer,
but the two of you have both
committed heinous crimes.
You'll likely hang for them.
- Those portraits came down quickly enough.
- Gentlemen.
Have you found my father's killer?
We have.
Mr. Marston, do you recognize these?
They are personal
cheques that were found
amongst the possessions of
the late Mr. Ken McDowell.
They bear your name and signature.
I have no idea what those are.
I don't even recall the man.
You hired the assassin, Mr. M.
He even placed a fake telephone
call here to Mr. Tibbins.
Perhaps because you couldn't figure out
your brother's schedule based
on Mr. Tibbins' shorthand.
You were greedy and quick to take over.
You had your father and brother killed.
After the bid, you put the
blame on an easy scapegoat.
What? That's preposterous!
I am the next victim!
Marcel Marston, you are under arrest
for soliciting murder and for
fabricating evidence to the police.
Come here.
Well, I certainly didn't imagine
such precarious adventure when
I moved to the neighbourhood.
I'm glad you're all right now.
- I was quite worried about you.
- Mm.
Mrs. Halston!
Oh, hello.
I find that the hardest part of
staying at home is the restlessness.
Hopefully, when George
returns, I can cope better.
Oh, I'm sure you will.
I wonder if that
stray's going to return.
I haven't seen him in a week.
I pray that he's all right.
That reminds me, Mrs. Halston.
There's, um, someone
I'd like you to meet.
For me?
Oh, you're beautiful.
I know how much you admired the stray
and I thought it would be suitable
for you to have one of your own.
Oh, I can't thank you enough. Hello.
Hello, darling.
I have a knuckle bone you might like.
Oh. Oh, there. Oh, no! You
can't do that on my lap.
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