The Murdoch Mysteries (2004) s05e12 Episode Script

No, it's good.
It's good.
- It's all right.
It's all right.
- Nice out there.
- Yeah.
Are you all right? You took that hit pretty hard.
Oh, I think I'll survive.
Damn it, Driscoll, stop that! It's called control.
I'd hazard you could learn some of that.
As could you, Eddie.
You almost injured three of your teammates today.
- The Shamrocks, the Victoria’s, they come at you in waves.
We need to be ready.
Captain.
I said stop that.
- He's still smarting after being made to look the fool on the ice.
- Watch your mouth, Driscoll.
- Easy, boys.
We all play for the same side.
Not all of us.
Driscoll here doesn't play for the team.
He plays for himself.
And you're lucky to have me.
- You care nothing for the science and strategies of this game.
Science my arse.
I skate like the devil and get the puck past the goalkeeper, which I haven't seen you doing lately.
Take it easy.
Take it easy.
Captain, you all right? What is wrong with you? Simpson, man.
Come on, wake up.
- Sorry, Simpson.
I didn't think.
That's your problem, Eddie.
- Looks like we could all use a drink.
The Mongoose and Ferret? I'll be there presently.
Ow.
Crabapple.
- Eddie Driscoll.
Good to see you.
- Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes.
Sorry I kept you waiting, Georgie boy.
I had a little errand to run.
Quite all right.
It's on the house, sir.
And my friend here? Of course.
- Not bad for a working man, eh, George? - You know, I read in The Gazette that somebody by your name had joined the Wellingtons.
Thank you.
I was sure it would be you.
Been here a month.
Look at you now, a big city copper.
And a mystery novelist.
I published a novel.
I brought you an autographed copy.
Now, I signed it to you and Lydia.
I wasn't sure if- Married last year.
Married? That's fantastic.
I'm very happy for you both.
Well, what can I say? I guess the best man won.
His name is Archibald Simpson.
He was found at 6:15 by one of his teammates, Mr.
Jerome Bradley.
- I've yet to take his internal temperature, so I can't give you a precise time of death.
And the cause? Uncertain, but he appears to have suffered an injury to the back of the head.
- According to Mr.
Bradley, sir, the victim was involved in a dustup after the afternoon practice.
Where is this Mr.
Bradley? He's just outside.
Bring him in, Henry.
Jerome Bradley? You know him? When I was younger.
Emily.
Hello, Jerome.
- Mr.
Bradley, I understand that Mr.
Simpson was involved in a scuffle earlier.
- Yes, he took a punch and bashed his head open on that post there.
There was quite a lot of blood.
He came to, though.
What time was this? You think that's what killed him? - If he suffered subdural bleeding, death could have been delayed an hour or more.
Who delivered the punch? Eddie Driscoll is his name.
- Where might I find this Mr.
Driscoll? At the Mongoose and Ferret.
Eddie Driscoll? Pleasure to meet you.
Buy you a drink? I never say no to another.
- Really gave it to those boys from Ottawa.
That I did.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm talking to my good friend here.
Well, been a happy man since I discovered the true love of my life.
Or should I say, since it found me? It'? Hockey of course.
Detective Murdoch.
Oh, please, make the acquaintance of my good friend Eddie Driscoll.
- It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr.
Driscoll.
I wonder if you could accompany me to Station House number 4.
The station? Why? - I'm placing you under arrest for manslaughter.
- He came at me first, George.
I simply clocked him back.
He was alive when we left him.
It will all get sorted out.
Do you want me to contact Lydia for you? No.
I won't have her see me here.
Maybe a solicitor, then? You think I'll be needing one? - The players all agreed to meet at a tavern after the practice, but Simpson never arrived.
Who saw him last? A Samuel Farrell, but he claims that Simpson was very much alive and conversive when he last saw him.
- Murdoch, if this is just a matter of fisticuffs, don't you think that a manslaughter charge is a little harsh? - Sir, a man is dead as a direct consequence of a violent assault.
By definition, that is manslaughter.
- If you ask me, they should lock him up.
Why? - Driscoll is nothing more than a thug, a lowlife ruffian, and he hardly belongs in a sport for gentlemen.
- This scuffle in the locker room, who started it? Well, Simpson, I suppose, but Eddie Driscoll certainly brought it to a conclusion, didn't he? Who's in charge here? - That would be me.
And who might you be? Langston Wallace.
I'm the owner of the Wellingtons.
Manslaughter? That's ridiculous.
Eddie's my best player.
He's your best player, therefore, he couldn't possibly have committed manslaughter? - All he did was punch him in the jaw once.
- Were you even in the room when it occurred? - I heard enough to know it was an accident, and Simpson was up, walking, talking right after like nothing had happened.
I spoke to him myself.
- All points for a jury to deliberate.
You don't understand.
You see, the Toronto Wellies are about the challenge the Montreal Shamrocks for Lord Stanley's coveted trophy.
There's to be an announcement at a luncheon.
I don't see the relevance.
The relevance is this.
With Eddie, we win the Cup.
Without him, we lose.
I appreciate your position.
I don't think you do.
You see, no team from Toronto has ever won the Cup, a situation that your chief constable has an active interest in rectifying.
A fan, is he? Our biggest.
So if you appreciate your position, you- Listen to me.
I don't give a toss which team flag.
Chief Constable Giles likes to fly.
Sir.
- And I don't take kindly to threats.
Inspector Brackenreid.
Langston, my apologies.
- Your apologies are unnecessary, Percival.
- So what exactly is going on here? - I've arrested Eddie Driscoll on the charge of manslaughter.
On what grounds? He assaulted Mr.
Simpson, and later Mr.
Simpson died of his injuries.
- Langston, let me talk with my men here.
I'll keep you appraised.
Thank you.
I'll wait for you.
Sir, under the circumstances, we're required by law to charge him with manslaughter.
Bylaw, is it? Strange how a confessed murderer can slip freely from your cells, but a young man who lands an unlucky punch, well, the letter of the law simply must be applied.
- Are you suggesting it shouldn't? - Do you know for a fact that Simpson died from that punch? - Dr.
Grace has yet to complete her post-mortem but- - I have to go to an important luncheon, as does Mr.
Wallace.
When I return, you will present me with proof that Eddie Driscoll has committed a crime, or you will release him.
Dr.
Grace.
Have you confirmed the cause of death? I have indeed.
Take a look at this.
This is the injury he received when his head hit the post.
This is the blow that killed him.
- Are you saying he received another blow after the incident in the locker room? Based on the bruising, I'd estimate the fatal blow was delivered about half an hour later, which conforms to my best estimate for a time of death.
And what time would that be? Approximately 6:00.
- Which means this was no accidental death caused by a locker room scuffle.
- Gentlemen, our final order of business will be to strike a committee to see if we can find a unity of rules for each hockey organization.
I pledge that next year all hockey leagues will follow the example of our Ontario Hockey Association and adopt the use of the hockey net.
- It's not the rules we should worry about.
It's the damn professionals.
There won't be professionals as long as John Ross Robertson is in charge.
But we may lose some of our best players to the Americans.
Oh, it's our game.
The Yanks will never embrace it.
Besides, if you pay a man to play a game, who will work the factories? Hmm.
I have an announcement to make, gentlemen, if I may.
As you all know, the other day in a tragic accident, we lost Archie Simpson, the revered captain of our great team.
The Iron Dukes of Toronto, the Toronto Wellingtons, well, we still have the best hockey team in all the land.
Yes, yes.
And we are going to prove it.
Our newly appointed captain, Mr.
Jerome Bradley, will lead the Toronto Wellingtons' charge as we challenge the Montreal Shamrocks for the Cup.
- You mean Lord Stanley's punch bowl.
The closest you will ever get to the Cup, Wallace, is when we hoist it over your head in victory.
- We'll see about that, McLaughlin.
Archie Simpson will be watching over us as we show the Shamrocks who plays the best hockey.
Well, what do you think of our chances? Greatly improved.
This Driscoll fellow is a crackerjack player.
- Mr.
Wallace.
- Yes, he is.
Excuse me.
What's the meaning of this intrusion? - Chief Constable, I regret to inform you that Mr.
Simpson's death was no accident.
It was murder.
Mr.
Wallace, I'm afraid your run for the Cup will have to wait.
It's about time, I'd say.
- Mr.
Driscoll.
- Yes? Would you sign this for me? - You gonna give it to the Shamrocks? - Do my best.
- Move along now, son.
You see that, George? Your detective Murdoch arrested a hero.
I'm sorry, Eddie.
Detective Murdoch did what was required.
- Be that as it may, I missed a full practice.
Eddie, a man is dead.
It's all very sad, but it wasn't me that killed him, was it? Besides, he was hardly good enough to be worth all this fuss.
- Dinner is the least you owe me.
You did, after all, leave me standing bereft at the altar.
- That's not exactly true, Jerome.
I informed you well before the wedding day.
- The invitations were already printed and addressed.
But not yet mailed out.
- Nonetheless, all expected to be dancing with us at our wedding.
- I never meant to hurt or humiliate you.
But there is nothing to be regained by attempting to rekindle that which was never meant to be.
- I agree, Emily.
Let's let bygones be bygones.
Please indulge me with your company over dinner tonight.
Just as old friends.
That's what we are now, right? All right.
Detective.
Dr.
Grace, why are you entertaining a potential suspect here? - I didn't invite him, Detective, and I certainly wasn't entertaining him.
- Under no circumstances is a suspect to be allowed anywhere near evidence.
It won't happen again.
You have something for me? - I believe it may be able to help identify the murder weapon.
I found these in Mr.
Simpson's hair.
- Wood slivers.
- Exactly.
You are looking for a long, thin implement made of wood.
- I believe I know where I might be able to find one.
Thank you, Doctor.
A hockey stick.
A hockey stick.
Sir, it pains me that such a joyful apparatus could be used in such a terrible way.
- Not as much as it pains me that they cleaned up this locker room.
Have a look at this, George.
Simpson was found here with his back to his locker.
- It would be hard to strike him in the back of the head if he was there, sir.
Exactly.
I believe his body was moved here.
- Why not just leave him on the floor? - Clearly, the killer wanted us to think that Simpson died of his earlier injury.
Sir, look at this.
- What? - Oh, these skate marks.
It appears that one of the best skaters in this city walks like a duck when he's off the ice.
- Have you finished labeling the sticks, George? Yes, sir.
They're all marked according to their owner.
Shall we? What have you got, Murdoch? - Sir, I believe one of these hockey sticks to be the murder weapon.
The task before us is to figure out which one.
How are you going to do that? - Through chemi-phosphoro luminescence, sir.
You see, sir, this compound will emit a blue glow when it's oxidized.
In this case, the iron and the hemoglobin will act as the catalyst.
The effect should only last about half a minute, but it will be long enough to tell us which one of these sticks has been exposed to blood.
Now, sir, if you could turn out the light.
Bloody hell.
It's a tough sport.
I'll give it that.
- Any one of these sticks could be the murder weapon.
- What are you doing in the dark? What have you, George? - Sir, McTavish, Danton, and McKenna were all at the Mongoose and Ferret between 5:30 and 7:00.
The barkeep vouches for their presence.
Jerome Bradley was at the Mongoose and Ferret but left to go to the rink.
Apparently, he'd left his wallet there.
- Mr.
Bradley claims to have found the body at 6:15.
He could have arrived sooner, so he remains on the list.
Fair enough.
Now, Farrell claims that he stayed after the practice to work on his wrist shot but that he was on his way to the Mongoose and Ferret when the murder occurred.
No alibi, then.
- Finally, Mr.
Wallace was on his way home at 6:00, but that's yet to be confirmed.
What about Driscoll? - He was supposed to stop by, sir, to give an account of his whereabouts, but- - Driscoll had a dustup with the victim.
He might be good for it.
- Now, sirs, I know that Eddie can seem full of himself, but I can vouch for his character.
- You keep your distance from your pal, Crabtree.
As long as Driscoll remains a suspect, we can't risk giving him any information that would compromise this investigation.
Sir, I would never.
- Just remember your obligations as an officer of the law.
Understood? Sir.
What about Farrell? He was once a team forward, right wing, if I'm not mistaken.
If you say so.
- Well, when Simpson was brought from Ottawa, Farrell had to give up his spot.
That would have given him a bone to pick with Simpson, surely.
Enough to kill him, sir? It's just a game.
- You're not much interested in sports, are you, Murdoch? If you were, you'd know that there's no such thing as "just a game.
" - I had no idea you were such an enthusiast.
It's not rugby, but it'll do.
- I've always enjoyed playing the game, but to sit and watch the game being played seems like a waste of time.
- It's a product of our age, Murdoch.
More leisure time.
People looking for ways to spend it.
You should try it sometime.
Could read a book.
Mm.
Enjoy it while you can, Driscoll.
You'll soon be back shoveling horse dung.
Doubt that.
I'm the future.
Eddie, we have to leave.
- I'd love to buy a round for the house before we go.
Aw, you're an angel.
Mm-hmm.
One of the many perks of being the Wellington's ace in the hole.
- Eddie, you're drunk as a skunk.
- Let me buy you one.
- No, no, no.
I'm not even supposed to be talking to you.
- Then why are you? - Because I'm your friend.
- So who does your Detective Murdoch think committed the murder? Eddie, you were supposed- You were supposed to come in and give an account of your whereabouts.
- My whereabouts are nobody else's business.
No one's business.
Eddie, this is a murder investigation, man.
Now, when you met me after that practice, you were late.
Where were you? You suspect me? I don't- Eddie, we have to go.
- What's this? What about Lydia? - We're only young once, Georgie boy.
Time's fleeing! Have fun while we can.
Excuse me, gentlemen.
A moment of your time? We're busy.
Oh, it's you.
This lanky chap's a police officer.
Really? Well, I'm tremendously reassured as to the safety of our streets.
You're Samuel Farrell.
I am indeed.
- Do either you suspect that anybody on the team might have a grudge against Simpson? His name was.
Mr.
Archibald Simpson, Constable, and he was as fine a man as you'd meet.
- A gentleman if ever I've encountered one.
He'd intended enlisting after season's end to fight for our mother country against the Boers.
He was a highly principled fellow.
Yes, unlike your lout friend.
Do you want to know who hated Archie? It was Eddie Driscoll.
Archie made it clear that Driscoll didn't belong in a gentleman's game.
And Eddie killed him for it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an assignation with a young lady.
Between you and me? I wanted Eddie on the team.
He made us contenders.
If you want someone with a grudge, look no further than our new captain.
- Good night, barkeep.
Same time tomorrow.
Good night, Mr.
Bradley.
Bradley? - We should have called the wedding off sooner, but I was trying to make everyone happy- everyone except myself.
Well, I plan to win you back.
- Jerome, you promised you weren't going to bring that up.
- And you promised you'd marry me.
So I suppose we're both liars.
You're coming back to me.
It's just a matter of time.
You don't have a choice in the matter.
I'll win the Cup, and then I'm gonna win you back.
Now, shall we order desert? - I really should be going, Jerome.
I rise early.
Thank you for a lovely dinner.
Good-bye.
- Good-bye? I don't think so, Emily.
I'll be seeing you sooner than you think.
Good-bye, Jerome.
Jerome Bradley? - Sir, when the Wellingtons' first captain retired last year, Bradley was set to become captain.
Then they brought Simpson in from Ottawa.
Simpson insisted that he become captain, and Wallace capitulated.
- Ah, that must have made Mr.
Bradley upset.
So upset that he quit, sir.
He only rejoined last month when he found out the team was gonna challenge for the Cup.
- But still, that's hardly a reason to kill Simpson.
Well, think about it, sir.
If Jerome Bradley was captain and they won, he would be the first ever Ontario athlete to hoist Lord Stanley's mug.
And, sir, he's had a few run-ins with the Constabulary.
No convictions, of course.
His high-priced lawyers have to seen to that, needless to say.
- George, you seem to have it in for this Bradley.
No, sir, I don't.
Well, perhaps I do.
I know he's well-bred and from a good family and all that, but he's- He sort of lords it over you, doesn't he? Bring him in.
What's this? - It would appear you have a history of violence, Mr.
Bradley.
- I have a history of getting into punch-ups when I've had a few.
- I would like to note that my client has never been convicted.
You have the nerve to suggest that this predisposes me to murder? - Did you or did you not quit the team when Mr.
Simpson became captain? - I quit because I could not stand by and watch the team I loved sullied by the likes of Eddie Driscoll.
Archie felt the same way.
He and Mr.
Wallace almost came to blows over it.
When was this? - Last week in Mr.
Wallace's office.
I don't know what they were shouting about, but I heard Eddie's name loud and clear.
If anyone killed Archie, it was probably that low-class farm boy.
You call yourself a lawyer? Then why do I have to do all the talking? - Bloody toff.
I wish he was guilty.
- I'd like to know what Simpson and Wallace we’re having words about.
Tread lightly, Murdoch, or Giles will be all over us like a rash.
- Sir, Chief Constable Giles is an honest policeman.
If he holds any malice for us, it's because we've earned it.
What were you and Mr.
Simpson arguing about? .
Strategy- Proper deployment of players.
Specifically.
Simpson was unhappy with Eddie Driscoll's place on the team, as were a number of players.
And why was that? By all accounts, he was your most talented player.
- Oh, yes, he was that, but he wasn't one of them.
If I could speak frankly, most of the players on the team thought Driscoll beneath them.
They only tolerated him because of his abilities.
- And your captain shared that view? - No, Simpson didn't care about Driscoll's background.
He was somewhat of a republican in that sense.
He disliked Driscoll because of the manner in which he played the game.
- And he wanted him off the team? - Well, that's what we were arguing about.
I told him it was none of his business to be issuing me ultimatums.
But Simpson said it was either him or Eddie.
- Did Eddie Driscoll know that Simpson wanted him dropped? - Well, he certainly didn't keep it a secret.
Now, I'm due for my supper, Detective.
Can you let yourself out? - Yes, of course.
Good.
Aha.
George, bring in Samuel Farrell.
- I wasn't in Mr.
Wallace's office that day.
- Then how do you explain this piece of your stick that we found on the floor in Mr.
Wallace's office? I have no idea.
Anybody could have grabbed it, either by mistake or by intent.
- Where were you at the time of the murder, Mr.
Farrell? - As I recall, I stayed late after practice.
I went for a walk and then to the tavern.
- Do you always take a walk after a hard practice? A stroll cools me down.
Did anyone see you? I have no idea.
- So you have no alibi for the time of the murder? - All you have is a shard of my stick, Detective.
I don't see that I need an alibi.
So if you'll excuse me.
Not so fast, Mr.
Farrell.
You'll have plenty of time to remember who saw you strolling when you're cooling off in one of our cells.
- Mr.
Farrell, how tall are you? - What's it to you? - Answer him.
I'm 5'8".
My low center of gravity gives me an advantage.
- Hodge, escort Mr.
Farrell to the cells.
What were you thinking? - Sir, Mr.
Farrell is the shortest player on his team.
If I can determine the height of the killer- It can prove it was him.
Right here, ma'am.
George Crabtree.
Lydia.
- Hello, George.
It's lovely to see you.
Well, you as well.
What brings you here? - I was asked to make a statement as to Eddie's whereabouts at a particular time, which I've now done.
- Of course.
So he was with you? That's correct.
Immediately after practice, right when poor Mr.
Simpson was killed.
- Right, well, thank you for coming in.
Lydia, sit down.
Thank you.
I know you and Eddie have been chumming around.
Well, I've seen him.
- George, is he still being true to me? As far as I can tell, he's still the same old Eddie Driscoll.
So you haven't seen anything? - Well, all I've seen, Lydia, is that he has many admirers.
He's always had that.
Mm.
- Well, look at you, big city policeman.
An important man.
Important, I don't know- - George, I need you to get me six melons.
- Uh, sir, they're out of season.
Right.
Six pumpkins, then.
Yes, sir.
Some of my tasks are more menial than others.
Thank you, George.
Right, then.
- The angle of impact is too high on the skull.
Still too high.
Perfect.
Now, given the difference between your height and the height of this pumpkin, and subtracting that from Mr.
Simpson's height, "we can conclude that the killer is 5'10" tall.
- Or maybe he was taller than that but crouching when he attacked.
That's a good point, George.
We can't determine the maximum height; Only the minimum.
- And if the killer was at least 5'10" - That means Samuel Farrell can't be our killer.
- Bloody hell, I was sure it was him.
No alibi.
It was his hockey stick.
Well, at the very least, sir, this narrows our list of suspects.
So what next? - I still think he was killed in Wallace's office.
- Do you think Wallace did it? - Not necessarily.
Mr.
Wallace kept his office door unlocked.
It does raise the question, however: What was Simpson doing in Wallace's office? What have you, George? - Sir, I was going through Simpson's effects as you asked.
Amongst the other paraphernalia was this: A return train ticket to Ottawa dated the 29th and 30th of November.
That's only a few days ago.
Why would he go up to Ottawa? - Well, I don't know, sir, but there's something else written on the back of it there.
John Ross Robertson? Why, yes, very good, sir.
Perhaps 221 is his Parliament Hill office number.
- Looks like you're going to Ottawa, me old mucker.
- Yes, Simpson did make an appointment to see me.
He lodged a very troubling complaint.
And that was? - Mr.
Simpson maintained that Langston Wallace was paying one of his players for his services.
- What would the consequence be if that proved true? - Immediate and permanent ejection from the Ontario Hockey Association.
I see.
What was your reaction to Mr.
Simpson's allegation? - I told him that if he wanted an investigation launched, he would need to provide some hard evidence.
- Had he any? - Nothing but hearsay.
While I knew Simpson to be an honest man, an investigation at this point would inevitably have forestalled the Wellingtons' challenge for the Cup, for which there's been so much anticipation.
- Yes.
So you did nothing further? - I made some discreet inquiries.
- Did you find any basis for Mr.
Simpson's suspicions? - I found no cause to pursue the matter further.
- Did he mention the name of the player he suspected was being paid? He did.
" And?" - With all due respect, Detective, a man's good name and the reputation of a fine hockey team is on the line here.
- I assure you, I will handle all aspects of this conversation with the utmost discretion.
- This game is being taken over by rogues and capitalists, Detective Murdoch.
I'm doing all in my power to stop it.
I do hope you are on side.
Sir.
The name.
Eddie Driscoll.
Eddie Driscoll is being paid? - That's what Mr.
Simpson believed, but he didn't have the proof.
- Perhaps that's why Simpson was in Wallace's office the night he was killed.
- Well, sir, if he did find the proof he was looking for, that would certainly spell the end of Wallace's grand ambitions for his team.
Well, forget the Cup.
This would get the Wellingtons kicked out of the league.
- Still, sir, it seems absurd that an individual would actually pay others to play a game.
- It's more and more commonplace, Murdoch.
It's even happening with the football back home.
Oh, bloody hell.
Chief Constable.
- I just had a message from Langston Wallace.
You're investigating a rumor that the Wellingtons have been employing a paid professional? We are, sir.
- But you must know what that means.
It would be the end of the team.
Sir, I'm only looking into it as it pertains to our investigation.
Should Langston Wallace prove to be innocent of murder, I see no reason why the allegations should come to light.
No.
No, if it's true, it must be brought to light.
'Sir? - There's no greater stain on the face of hockey than the specter of professionalism.
- Greater than cold-blooded murder? - Yes, I admit that Langston Wallace has a strong motivation to try to keep this from getting out.
Perhaps at the expense of a young man's life.
Get to the bottom of it, Murdoch.
Langston may be my friend, but if he's broken the law Yes, sir, I will.
- You see, this is the difference between us, gentlemen.
I don't let my personal friendships come between me and my sworn obligations.
- I've been looking at your ledger, Mr.
Wallace, You make a significant amount of money charging admission to Wellingtons hockey games.
I do all right.
You would make even more if you were the owner of a championship team.
Acquiring Eddie Driscoll made that a very real possibility.
- I'm already a wealthy man, Murdoch.
I certainly am not in need of the gate recipes the team produces.
- You deny paying Eddie Driscoll, then.
Of course I deny it.
Professionalism would be the end of hockey.
The gate recipes would all end up going to the players as teams tried to outbid each other.
- Tell me, how does a man like Eddie Driscoll pay his room and board? He has no job, but he seems to have plenty of money to spend.
It's not my concern.
- Then why does your ledger list a $5 debit for miscellaneous expenses for every game? - Because I have miscellaneous expenses.
Of exactly $5, every game, and only since Eddie Driscoll began playing for the Wellingtons? According to the rules of the Ontario Hockey Association, payment of a player is strictly forbidden.
If it were to come out that you have been paying Eddie Driscoll, you would forfeit your chances at the Stanley trophy.
Cup, Murdoch.
It's a cup.
I believe Simpson stumbled upon this ledger and realized it was the proof he needed, and you killed him for it.
Look at me, Murdoch.
Do you really think that a man my age is capable of killing a young sportsman in the prime of his life? - So if it's not Wallace, that just leaves Driscoll and Bradley as suspects.
- But Eddie Driscoll had an alibi confirmed by his wife.
Sirs What is it? - Oh, I wouldn't pull much truck in Lydia Driscoll's words.
I'm quite sure Eddie coerced her to lie for him.
- Damn it, Crabtree.
- George.
- Why didn't you mention that earlier? - Because I think he's an adulterer, not a murderer.
And I think he had his wife lie for him because he couldn't get an alibi from the woman he was actually with.
Bloody hell, Crabtree.
- He wouldn't have killed anybody, sir.
I'm sure of that.
Bring him in.
- No, sir.
Bring the wife in first.
I wasn't lying.
My husband was with me after practice.
- He came all the way home after practice and then went the same distance all the way back to the tavern? He was being a good husband.
What's wrong with that? Why don't you believe me? - You were right, George.
She was lying.
Arrest Eddie Driscoll.
Sir.
- Eddie, I've been sent to arrest you.
" Again?" Just come with me.
Eddie Driscoll, who is this, this floozy you're with? You dare call me a floozy? I I'm not with anybody.
- You were with her, weren't you? You bastard.
You made me lie for you.
And to you, George Crabtree, of all people.
I thought you were my friend.
I ask you directly, and you as good as lied to my face.
- Lydia- - You should be ashamed.
- Did you bring her here, George? - No, I didn't bring her here, Eddie.
She must have followed me from the station.
She is a good woman, and she lied for you.
And I tried to believe her.
You better have a good story as to where you were when Archie Simpson was killed.
- I can't, Eddie.
You know that.
- Unfortunately for you, Mr.
Driscoll, your alibi no longer holds.
Your wife has retracted her statement.
I think that Mr.
Wallace had been paying you, Mr.
Simpson found out about it, and you murdered him.
You're wrong.
I don't care who knew I was being paid.
If I don't play for this team, I can play for another.
They pay people in America.
Better money than I make here.
All right.
Where were you the evening of the murder? I was with a woman.
- Her name? - A gentleman doesn't- Her name, sir.
Felicity Wallace.
- Langston Wallace's granddaughter.
- But she won't admit to being with me.
What time did you leave her? I don't remember.
- Where did you go after your assignation? - To the Mongoose and Ferret, where I met George.
- Constable Crabtree stated that you met him at 6:15.
That would have given you and make it back to the tavern.
- I was at a bookmaker's shop before I met George.
For what reason? - I was betting on myself to take my team to victory against the Shamrocks.
My lady friend fronted me the $50 I was to receive as a bonus if the Wellingtons won the Cup.
The Shamrocks may be heavy favorites, but the bookmakers know nothing about what I can do.
My $50 will soon net me $500.
- I care neither about your game or your wagering.
I'm looking for a murderer.
- I didn't kill Simpson, and that's the truth.
Hello, my darling.
- Jerome, you scared the daylights out of me.
Oh, I'm so sorry, my dearest.
Far from my intention.
You're drunk.
What of it? You can't be here, Jerome.
You must leave immediately, or I'll have Constable Crabtree- Oh, Constable Crabtree! Come and save you.
That's a joke if I've ever heard one.
Now, into my arms, my dearest.
- This behavior is unacceptable, Jerome.
Unacceptable? You have the nerve to say that to me? I offered to bring a lowly working-class girl up to my station.
I have apologized for that.
There's nothing further for me to do.
- You can reverse that earlier error.
It wasn't an error.
The mistake would have been to go through with the wedding.
You ungrateful whore.
Ah! Take your leave, sir, or I'll have to arrest you.
- This is none of your business.
Now leave us to it.
Get out of here! Get up! You're under arrest for assaulting a police officer and a lady.
I apologize for the mess, Dr.
Grace.
Good morning, sir.
Eddie Driscoll's alibi checks out.
He laid the bet at exactly 6:00.
He wasn't the only one who put some money on the Wellingtons, sir.
And not just $50.
Mr.
Farrell.
You're a gambling man, it would seem.
I've made a few bets.
But you've lost most of them.
In fact, you had to borrow the $2,000 to place on the Cup challenge.
- I'd have made good on it.
- How? You've squandered all of your money.
You have no profession.
Of course, with ten-to-one odds, you stood to make a small fortune if the Wellingtons won.
But that would have required that Eddie Driscoll play.
And had it been discovered that Eddie was being paid, you would have been ruined.
According to your statement, you stayed after the team practice to work on your wrist shot.
That's when you saw Simpson going into Wallace's office, isn't it? And you got curious.
Wallace is paying Eddie, Sam.
I got the proof right here.
You panicked.
But then you remembered Simpson's earlier injury and realized you could use it to your advantage.
At first, I didn't think it was you, because you're not tall enough.
But you would have been, had you been wearing hockey skates.
That's all speculation.
You have no proof.
And you have no alibi.
Your stick was the murder weapon.
Your motive is clear.
On the face of it, it looks like murder in the first degree.
But should you confess in your own words that this was a rash, unplanned act, you may be spared the noose.
- I was way over my head in debt, and I was counting on the Wellingtons' win to square it off.
I couldn't afford for us to lose.
I had to.
It would have disgraced my family.
But I've done that now, haven't I? Game on, lads! Yeah, George, yeah.
Take us out, Worseley.
Ooh, hoo, hoo, hoo.
- Oh, blood hell, Worseley.
Watch that, lad.
Right, then, George.
Better mind yourself.
I am going to make you look the fool.
- Oh, we'll see about that, sir.
Get it, George! - What was that you were saying, sir? Nice move, George.
- Who taught you that, Eddie Driscoll? - No, sir, I taught him that one.
Although no one could do it like Constable Deke, eh, boys? Whoa! Oh! Through my legs, Murdoch.
- Thank you for letting that one in, sir.
- Oh.
- Don't worry, Inspector.
I'm just letting him build some confidence.
- Wagon! - Wagon.
So where's Eddie now, George? - Sir, he's in Pittsburgh earning $6 a game.
$6? That's madness.
- He thinks he'll earn more, sir.
Maybe up to $10 somewhere else.
- Bloody hell.
- $10.
I doubt that, George.
But still, getting paid to play, he's a lucky man.
All right, game on! .
PW'!- Oh! ' Yes! ' Oh!