♪ ♪
(shatter echoing)
(gasping, crying)
(woman screaming)
(sobbing)
(screams)
(pop music playing)
(pop intro playing)
♪ The bittersweet between my teeth ♪
♪ Trying to find ♪
♪ The in-betweens ♪
♪ Fall back in love eventually ♪
♪ Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ♪
♪ ♪
♪ The bittersweet between my teeth... ♪
♪ ♪
(phone rings)
Hello?
Yeah, I'm coming to get him in...
I'm sorry, did you say he escaped?
Hi. It's Joan Watson. On the off chance
you haven't already been contacted by Hemdale,
your son left rehab a little early this morning.
I'm already at his house to see if he's here.
I'll call you if there's a problem.
WATSON: Excuse me,
I'm looking for Mister...
(door creaks)
Hello?
(several televisions playing in distance)
(televisions continue playing)
Excuse me, Mister--
Shh!
(all TV audio stops)
My name is Joan Watson.
I've been hired by your father
to be your sober companion.
He told me he was going to e-mail you about me.
I'm here to make the transition
from your rehab experience
to the routine of your everyday life as smooth
Do you believe in love at first sight?
Um... I know what you're thinking:
the world is a cynical place, and I must be a cynical man,
thinking a woman like you would fall for a line like that.
Thing is... it isn't a line,
so please hear me when I say this.
I have never loved anyone as I do you right now...
in this moment.
MAN (on TV): Do you believe in love at first sight?
I know what you're thinking: the world is a cynical place,
and I must be a cynical man, thinking a woman like you
would fall for a line like that.
Thing is, it isn't a line,
so, please...
hear me when I say this.
I have never loved anyone
as I do you right now,
in this moment. (remote control clicks)
(remote clatters to floor) Spot on.
Sherlock Holmes.
Please don't get comfortable.
We won't be here long.
Mr. Holmes,
did your father tell you about me or not?
Uh, he e-mailed, said to expect some sort of addict-sitter.
Well, then he explained his conditions
with respect to your sobriety?
Well, if you mean his threats to evict me from this,
the shoddiest and the least renovated of the five--
count them, five--
properties he owns in New York, then yeah, he made his conditions
quite clear.
I refuse your, quote-unquote, "help,"
I wind up on the street.
It's my understanding that most sober companions
are recovering addicts themselves, but...
you've never had a problem with drugs or alcohol.
Your father told you.
Of course he didn't.
Uh, would you care to explain why you broke out
of your rehab facility the same day you were being released?
Bored.
You were bored?
No, I am bored right now.
It happens often; you'll get used to it.
Regarding our mutual friends
at Hemdale, I'd say they should be thanking me
for exposing the flaws
in their rubbish security system, wouldn't you?
(sniffs) Excellent.
There was a woman leaving just as I got here.
Did she get you high?
Actually, about six feet.
I actually find sex repellent.
All those fluids and all the sounds,
but my brain and my body
require it to function at optimum levels,
so I feed them as needed.
You're a doctor; you understand.
Uh, I'm not doctor.
Were a doctor-- a surgeon, judging by your hands.
Is your car parked nearby?
Uh, yes, it's just outsi...
How did you know I had a car?
Parking ticket-- fell out of your purse when you dropped it.
Can't have one
without the other, can you?
We're late. We need to get going.
Uh, late for what?
Actually, scratch the car.
Manhattan Bridge is down to a single lane.
We'll take the tube instead.
Look at this place. Yuck.
Can't wait for you to tidy it.
Prior to my stint in junkie jail,
I worked as a consultant at Scotland Yard.
Your father told me-- he said you were a detective?
I was a consultant. I wasn't paid for my services,
and therefore I answered to no one but myself.
(phone ringing)
(indistinct announcement over P.A.)
WATSON: What about London?
What about it?
He told me that's where you bottomed out.
He thinks something happened
to you there-- he just doesn't know what.
Handsome woman, your mother.
It's very big of her to take your dad back after the affair.
How could you possibly...?
You still haven't told me where we're going yet.
About that, I think you and Father will be pleased to hear
I have devised a post-rehab regimen for myself
that'll keep me quite busy.
I decided to resume my work as a consultant here...
in New York.
(siren chirping)
♪ Elementary 1x01 ♪ Pilot Original Air Date on September 27, 2012
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
Tell me, how do clients typically introduce you?
What do you mean?
I-I mean I find it hard to believe they'd actually tell someone
they've been assigned a glorified helper monkey.
Helper monkey? Well, you and I have
what's known as companion/client confidentiality,
which means that you can introduce me however you like.
Friend, coworker, relative, and I'll play along.
But to be honest, most clients just call me
their companion.
Hm.
Captain Gregson.
Ah. Holmes.
(chuckles) How you doing? Miss Watson,
this is Captain Gregson. Captain Gregson,
this is Miss Watson, my personal valet.
GREGSON: How do you do?
She waits out here. I'm afraid she's
quite crucial to my process, Captain.
It's okay, really.
Actually, it isn't.
At least not according to my father's e-mail.
'Cause he-he explained it's the job of a proper valet
to accompany his or her charge to their place of business.
Well, consider this my place of business.
Consider every wretched hive of depravity and murder
in this city my place of business.
Unless, of course, you don't think you have
the stomach for the work I do.
I'm good.
Could you put these gloves on, please?
Dr. Richard Mantlo came home a few hours ago
to find his door kicked in and his wife...
Amy Dampier, missing.
That's, uh...
that's Mantlo over there.
He's a headshrinker out at Sanbridge Hospital.
Says he caught an emergency last night,
didn't get home till 5:00 a.m.
Saw the front door,
called 911.
First officers on the scene found signs of-of a struggle
in the kitchen
and in the master bedroom.
But no Ms. Dampier.
Ransom demand?
Hm.
GREGSON: What is it?
I'm not sure.
Ms. Dampier's cell phone, have you recovered it?
We have her cell phone?
Thank you, Detective.
Hm.
She either lost a tremendous amount of weight or underwent
significant plastic surgery sometime in the last two years.
WATSON: She looks the same in all the photos.
That's my point.
Ovular frames...
are older, have been here longer
You can tell by the way
the wall has faded-- square frames newer.
They're the only ones that feature Ms. Dampier.
Coincidence? No.
Check her cell phone.
No photos of her older than two years.
Yet there are countless pictures of other people
in her life, as many as five years ago.
WATSON: I take it you two have worked together before?
Yeah, ten years ago.
A few months after 9/11 I was assigned to Scotland Yard
(sniffing) to observe their counterterrorism bureau.
Holmes mostly worked homicides, but, uh...
...our paths still crossed a few times.
Captain, if you please?
Yeah?
Ms. Dampier knew her attacker.
She let him into the house herself.
(chuckles) Captain,
who-who is this guy?
There are two broken glasses here.
HOLMES: You can tell from the volume of shards.
Obviously, she was pouring a glass of water for her guest
when he assailed her.
Right. Is that something you would do
if some nut job comes in and kicks your door in,
you ask him if he's thirsty.
Could I...?
Thank you.
Base of glass number... two.
If you take another glance
at the boot print on the front door,
you will see an almost imperceptible spot of blood
where the heel made contact. Lab tests, I'm certain,
will conclude it's the victim's blood, and could only have been
left there after the assault had already taken place.
Ms. Dampier
let the man in because he was
familiar to her.
He kicked the door in as he exited
to try to obscure this fact.
Also, he took something from the living room.
Note the symmetry of the space, hm?
This wall is very nearly a reflection of that one.
Pictures, pictures, knickknacks, knickknacks.
I see balance everywhere, except...
this one space.
Hey, something was here-- what was it?
I'm sorry? Maybe this isn't the best time.
No, no, please concentrate.
Something used to occupy that space.
I need you to tell me what it was.
MANTLO: Uh, it was an old...
ring box-- Amy's grandmother gave it to her. Why?
You said there were also signs of struggle
in the master bedroom?
Mm-hmm.
What is it?
Why is it so important that the kidnapper took a ring box?
Kidnappers don't take trophies. Killers do.
OFFICER: There's no body, genius.
There's no blood on the front stoop or walk, either.
It's rather difficult not to leave any
when you're abducting someone
with an arterial wound, wouldn't you agree?
You're certain your men have been
over every inch of this house?
Of course.
But as you can see, there was a struggle here.
She's in the safe room.
What safe room?
The one behind that wall.
Husband didn't say anything about any safe room.
There's a slight angle to the floor in here. You can't f...
It's...
The extra weight
of the safe room steel reinforcements
can cause the floor around it to decline slightly,
creating a slope between
one and five degrees.
(metallic creak, clacking)
(Watson gasps)
Sometimes I hate it when I'm right.
(sighs) For the last time, I loved my wife.
I didn't hurt her, and before this moment,
I had no idea there was any safe room in my house.
You get why that's hard for us to believe, don't you?
The place was gutted before Amy and I moved in two years ago.
She oversaw all the construction.
I'm sorry, but, uh, are you saying
she had it installed, but never told you?
How do you do it?
Do what?
Guess things.
I don't guess. I observe.
And once I've observed, I deduce.
You said you could tell from my hands
that I used to be a surgeon.
"Hand"-- singular, actually.
It was soft, no calluses.
Also, it smelled faintly of beeswax.
Oh, many surgeons, as you know,
use a beeswax cream to protect their hands
from the dehydrating effects of repeated washings. Well...
You're no longer practicing, but old habits die hard.
As far as why you gave up your medical career
to become a companion--
I'd wager that addiction claimed the life
of someone close to you, and his or her death moved you
to make drastic changes in your life.
Am I close?
What about my father?
What about him?
How did you know he had an affair?
Google.
Well, not everything is deducible.
(door opening)
I, uh, just want to say thanks for helping out today.
You-you got us our guy in, and, uh... and we're grateful.
We can take it from here.
Respectfully, Detective, I doubt that very much,
'cause I have reason to believe
that Richard Mantlo didn't kill his wife.
Wait, wait, wait.
Wait, wait.
Come again?
Dr. Mantlo has girls' feet, or hadn't you noticed?
He's a size eight if he's an inch.
The boot print on his front door was an 11.
So? So he was smart.
He wore bigger shoes to throw us off.
Did he also wear bigger hands when he strangled his wife?
Holmes...
Well, these strangulation marks are indicative
of a man much larger than Mantlo.
No just heavier, but-but taller.
I'd estimate his height
to be somewhere between six foot-one, six foot-three.
Your M.E. will come to the same conclusion in a couple of hours.
I'm delivering it now. You're a doctor.
Tell 'em I'm right. I'm not a doctor.
Were a doctor.
Surely you haven't forgotten how bruising works.
Okay, yeah, sure, these hands do seem a little small for the
bruise pattern, but I...
With your permission, Captain, I'd like a moment
alone with Dr. Mantlo. Captain, this...
You got two minutes.
Tall men in your life-- I'd like a list.
(siren blaring)
Amy was a good person, but if you're here
because you think I had something to do with it...
Dr. Mantlo said that you'd made a pass at her
at a holiday party last year.
Actually, no, I didn't.
I asked her about all the plastic surgery she'd had.
Plastic surgery?
Okay, look, I helped plan a fund-raiser
for the hospital, two years ago, that was before the surgeries.
I know I still have the pictures.
(beep, then indistinct voice over P.A.)
There.
That's a picture of Amy and Dr. Mantlo
that I took that night, okay? Tell me you wouldn't want
to ask her why she did it.
Tell me about the stalking charge
brought against you two years ago.
I asked my neighbor out.
She overreacted.
Hmm. Mr. Polk, can you tell us
where you were last night?
POLK: Home... alone.
I know.
Not much of an alibi, but I don't care,
because I didn't do it.
(door creaks open)
Um, did you know
that honey was dripping through the ceiling?
Yes. Happens sometimes.
I take it beekeeping is a hobby.
(buzzing) I'm writing a book.
Practical Handbook of Bee Culture
with Some Observations Upon the Segregation of the Queen.
Up here. I've just started Chapter 19.
Would you like to hear the last few paragraphs?
Did you talk to the police about that scary administrator guy?
I have not. But I thought that...
Mr. Polk is a prat, no doubt,
but his body language
said "sub," not "dom."
I don't see him having the berries to take another life.
Why do you suppose you hate your job so much?
I don't hate my job.
You have two alarm clocks.
No one with two alarm clocks loves their job.
Two alarm clocks means it's a chore
for you to get up in the morning.
You don't hate what I do, though.
That much was obvious when we talked to Mr. Polk.
There was a look
on your face.
I imagine it was the same look you wore to the O.R.
when you were still a surgeon.
You're wrong.
I know my father secured your services
for the next six weeks?
The simple truth is, I don't need you.
I'm finished with drugs.
I won't be using them again.
My advice?
Take a six-week holiday.
I promise I won't tell Papa.
(sighs)
I'm gonna need your saliva now.
10:37.
I take back everything I said last night.
You obviously love your job.
Couldn't wait to get started this morning.
Open you mouth so I can swab it.
If you're on anything, the strip on the cup will turn blue.
I have a...
I have a new theory about our killer.
I think he may have struck at least once before.
I-- who love what I do-- woke up early and couldn't stop thinking
about the ring box he stole from Amy Dampier's living room.
You said it was some sort of trophy.
And you know what flavor
of killers takes trophies, don't you?
Serial. Souvenirs help them differentiate between victims.
It occurred to me that if Amy wasn't our killer's first,
though, there might be other cases in common.
Eileen Renfro.
Savagely beaten and strangled by an intruder
in her Bronx home two years ago.
He took a jewelry box on his way out,
but left behind a size 11 footprint.
Drug free. Congratulations.
Especially striking-- the physical similarities
between her and Amy.
Both were curvaceous with long red hair.
You think the killer has a type?
The one significant difference in the cases--
Eileen Renfro survived her attack.
I'm sorry.
I can see why you think it might be the same guy.
I just don't think I can help you. HOLMES: We know from the police report
that the man who assaulted you wore a mask.
That doesn't mean you can't help us identify him.
Did he say anything to you?
No.
I came in through my front door, and he was just... there.
Did he have a particular scent?
Uh... I don't think so.
Was he tall, short, somewhere in between?
I don't know. I mean,
he was on top of me so quickly,
his hands were around my throat.
And what about the mask?
What about it?
Was it ski, Mexican wrestling, paper plate?
Ski.
Good. Excellent.
So, you got a good look
at his eyes.
Oh, correct me if I'm wrong, but a-a strangler can,
literally, not be more than an arm's length
from his stranglee, can he? That's what? Two? Mr. Holmes?
Two and a half feet? I'm twice that distance from you now.
I can see that your eyes are a lovely brown.
I think I'd like you to leave now.
Why? 'Cause I know that you're lying?
Mr. Holmes! No. She is.
You can tell by the crucifix. You fiddle with it
every time I ask you a question.
It's-it's pacifying behavior.
It's just elementary haptic communication.
Just read a book, would you?
She did see her attacker's face. Sherlock!
I think she might even know who he is!
Get out. You realize
that because you protected him two years ago,
you have the blood of an innocent woman
on your hands, don't you? Perhaps you'd like
to go for two or three or four.
That's enough!
You're done here. Go wait in the car.
What a jerk!
I'm... I'm really sorry about that.
The name of the man who attacked her is Peter Saldua.
He was her brother's best friend growing up.
His father was abusive, so her parents took him in
his senior year of high school.
Eileen heard from her brother that he works
for a florist in Chelsea.
I knew it.
I knew that if I started a row in there,
you'd come to her defense, and if you came to her defense,
she might very well tell you the truth.
You are so full of it.
(phone beeps, line rings)
This is Gregson.
Captain Gregson, Sherlock Holmes.
I'm calling because I believe I've uncovered
the name of a strong suspect
in the murder of Amy Dampier.
Name wouldn't be Peter Saldua by any chance, would it?
How did you know?
'Cause I'm at his house
and I'm looking at him right now.
Are you saying he's in police custody?
Technically, yeah.
He's all ours.
Mailman saw the body through the window.
Calls 911,
said he thought someone on his route had killed himself.
Turns out he was right.
The gun was still in Saldua's hand
when we got here.
Watch the blood spatter.
We found the ring box
from Amy Dampier's home, right here.
Turns out Mantlo and his wife
used the florist Saldua worked for.
They order fresh flowers to the house once a week.
Saldua was the guy who delivered them.
Explains why she would have let him the other night.
What happened over there?
ABREU: Mixed his colors with his whites?
Who knows.
Guy was a nut bar.
Did you already take his phone?
It hasn't turned up yet,
but it will.
You wanted to be the one
who found him, didn't you?
I don't do what I do for the credit.
Then why do you do it?
MANTLO: I would like to thank
the police, again,
for finding the man who killed my wife.
I would've liked to seen him stand trial for what he did...
She had her mole removed
when she changed her look.
It doesn't make any sense.
She loved that mole.
Before her surgery she turned her head to feature it
whenever her picture was taken.
Where'd you get those photographs?
I reached out
to Amy's friends via her Facebook page.
Harrison Polk was right.
She was as beautiful before her surgery
as she was after, so...
why bother? What was the point?
Another thing. Saldua's phone records
indicate he used his cell phone constantly.
And yet, three days ago,
he just stopped. Didn't make a single call.
Didn't send a single text. Why?
His bank statements meanwhile,
there's several checks made out to Dr. Roland Jessup,
Psychologist. He seems worth a talking to, no? No?
No, 'cause he dropped dead of a coronary, 2010.
The Amy Dampier case is over. You helped solve it.
No.
Something's off. I can feel it.
(printer whirrs)
What's that?
I got us tickets to the opera tonight.
Celebrate.
When your father hired me, he mentioned
something about you liking it, so I thought--
I went to Le Grande Macabre
once, when I was nine, now I'm a buff.
(sighs) I'm worried about you.
I think you're making things more complicated
than they really are,
and it tells me that you're struggling.
No struggle with anything.
Or haven't you been paying attention the last few days?
I've been right about everything.
Actually, you haven't.
The day we met you deduced
that I gave up being a surgeon
to become a companion because I had lost someone close to me.
The truth is...
The truth is that you made a mistake
during a surgery that cost a patient his life.
It takes years of study
to become a surgeon, not to mention tremendous ego.
Surgeons don't just leave to become addict-sitters.
They're forced out. And they're only forced out
if they commit the sin of malpractice.
I knew it would be a sore subject so I made up
the bit about your friend to spare your feelings.
That was very big of you.
How do you know the patient died?
How do you know
I didn't just leave him paralyzed or in a coma?
The parking ticket! The one you had in your purse.
It was...
(sighs)
You incurred it two weeks ago
near the corner of 86th and Third.
The only thing there is Carver Cemetery.
Obviously you were visiting a grave.
Not a parent's grave, of course,
Google indicates that they're both alive and well.
Siblings? No. Carver is a pauper's field.
The picture that you keep on your phone of Mum and Dad
says that they're well-to-do.
No sibling of yours would be interred in a place like that.
The place doesn't even have a proper parking area,
hence the ticket. So...
a surgeon who's no longer a surgeon,
a parking violation incurred outside poor man's cemetery,
and two parents who are as moneyed as they are alive.
You add it all up. What does it say?
You were visiting the grave of the man
that you let die on your operating table.
It's so incredible,
the way that you can...
solve people just by looking at them.
I noticed you don't have any mirrors around here.
And what's that supposed to mean?
It means I think you know a lost cause when you see one.
Tomorrow I'll arrange for a new companion,
but tonight I've got plans.
Here you go.
Everything your dead shrink
had on my dead friend.
You can thank me.
It's dusty.
The guy's been dead almost two years.
His widow had all his stuff in storage.
You're lucky she even let me take a look.
According to this, Saldua never told him
about the attack on Eileen Renfro.
Just that he had an obsession with redhead women,
and a tendency towards violence.
Want something?
"Mr. Saldua, now obsessed with his own recovery,
"has taken to recording our sessions with his phone,
so he can listen to them again and again."
Has the phone turned up yet?
No.
I'm starting to think he lost it.
Listen, I got to take a leak.
Keep an eye on this coat, will ya?
MAN (over TV): God, it feels good! Whether it's me,
or both of us...
your ass is mine!
You're both dead!
Rage.
He felt rage.
(singing opera)
(whispers): Watson!
Excuse me. Oh, my foot!
Excuse me.
Peter Saldua felt rage
the night he killed Amy Dampier.
Now he had some measure of control...
You're not here right now. I don't see you.
I don't hear you... Shall I speak up?!
He had some measure of control
with Eileen Renfro, but not with her.
Why?
Tell me, what exactly,
does a Xanax tablet look like?
Small, white, ovular-- why?
(line ringing)
Detective Abreu, please.
Shh.
"Shh" yourself.
Not even on key.
(phone rings)
Abreu.
It's Sherlock Holmes.
Make it quick, Prince Charles.
I was just on my way out.
The pile vial from Saldua's desk, I know it was taken
into evidence. I need you to find it for me.
Hold on.
Now what?
The pills inside should be white and ovular,
but they're not, are they? They're round and pink.
How did you know?
(click, dial tone)
I need a ride, right now.
I'm in the middle of something.
You were right the other day.
About Eileen Renfro.
I had no idea she would respond to you the way that she did.
I just told you I did because I was embarrassed
I'd lost my temper.
Would I have gotten to the truth some other way?
Of course, but...
you got me there faster.
Now, please,
how fast can you get me to Sanbridge Hospital?
(car alarm chirps)
You were Peter Saldua's
last therapist, weren't you?
You started treating him, what, 18 months ago?
Probably just a few weeks before you talked your wife
into all that plastic surgery.
Excuse me?
Saldua wanted to fix himself.
Dr. Jessup was his first attempt.
You were his second.
It's quite a bit of luck, that.
You, a man with a wife he wanted dead,
stumbling across him,
a man with an obsessive personality
and a history of violence. Hmm.
Only problem was, of course,
Amy didn't fit his victim profile, did she?
But you accounted for that by pressuring her
to alter her appearance until she did.
Mr. Holmes, right? We met the other day?
Yeah. The pill vial
from Saldua's home came from you.
Sample from the hospital, no doubt.
Almost impossible to trace.
He thought he was taking tranquilizers, but he wasn't,
was he? He was taking a steroid.
You were whipping him into a killing frenzy.
A frenzy that only made him more and more confused,
more violent,
more likely to give in to his terrible compulsions.
I never even heard the name Peter Saldua
until the police told me he was the man who killed Amy.
Bollocks.
I imagine that you took to
meeting at odd places at odd times,
so you'd never be seen together,
and then when the time was right...
you took advantage of his job
as a delivery man to place him in Amy's orbit.
You arranged for flowers to be sent to the house
once a week, 'cause you needed him to see her.
You needed him to become obsessed with her.
You loaded him like a weapon.
Then you pointed him squarely
at your own wife.
You're insane.
No, he was insane, Doctor.
And you took advantage.
And then after you'd murdered him,
you made it look like a suicide.
You took his phone.
Why? Well, because
he'd taken to recording your sessions, as well.
Problem? Of course not.
Killing him was always part of the plan.
You'd just take the phone after you'd done the deed.
Hypothetically, Mr. Holmes,
a man wants out of his marriage to a very wealthy wife.
He knows that during the course of their relationship, he signed
a prenuptial agreement that gives him nothing
if he leaves her,
and a living trust that gives him everything if she dies.
Hypothetically, wouldn't that man be smarter
to look for a way to trigger the clauses
in the second document as opposed to the first?
What did he say?
He said that he did it.
Well, we have to tell the police.
No point.
We don't have any proof. He knows it.
Need your car keys.
What? Why? Car keys!
What...?
(engine starting, engine revving)
(tires squealing)
(engine revving)
(thudding, car alarm chirps)
Yes. (sniffing)
Better.
(buzzer sounds, door opens)
(keys jangle, footsteps approach, door closes)
I'm sorry.
Not just for your car,
but for the way I spoke to you earlier.
I knew that
the death of your patient would be a sore subject. I just...
Couldn't help yourself.
Yeah, I'm starting to see
how that's kind of a thing with you.
I assume you've told my father
about what happened tonight.
I'm going to miss that brownstone.
Actually, you're not.
I spoke with him, and since what you did at the hospital
had nothing to do with drugs,
he's agreed to give you another chance.
You've decided to stay on as my companion,
haven't you?
You never would have agreed if you hadn't...
I'm very pleased... Watson.
Oh, for myself, of course, but for you.
I happen to think there's some hope for you as an investigator.
I want you to let me in on the rest of the plan.
To get Mantlo.
I know you wouldn't have wrecked my car
unless it was part of some elaborate...
...temper tantrum. Correct.
In that case, I want you to tell me about London.
Big place. Lots of rain.
I want you to tell me
about what happened to you in London.
Why is it so important to you?
Because if I'm gonna stay with you,
I need to know everything.
Actually, you don't need to know anything
other than that I'm a recovering addict.
You want to know about London because you think
it'll connect us in a more meaningful way.
But in case you hadn't noticed,
I don't have meaningful connections.
Why are you smiling?
Because now I know it was a woman.
What makes you say that?
You're trying too hard.
Just like you were the other day with that tattooed lady.
All that sexist repellent crap.
You can connect to people.
It just frightens you.
My bail hearing is at 9:00 tomorrow.
I trust I'll see you there.
♪ ♪
(crowd chatter)
You're late, Miss Watson.
That barrister was rubbish.
I need to show you something.
This is Peter Saldua's medical file.
Look under the "known allergies" heading.
This was taken the morning his body was found.
Weird, right?
No, actually.
Not even a little.
GREGSON: Dr. Mantlo?
(clears throat) Oh.
Sorry for the wait.
I appreciate you giving me an opportunity
to apologize face-to-face for what happened last night.
I can't promise it'll change my mind
about suing the department
over what your consultant did to my car, but it's a start.
There is, uh, just one thing I wanted to ask you.
Did you ever treat Peter Saldua as a patient?
You have a funny way of saying you're sorry, Captain.
It's a simple question, Doctor.
No. I never treated Peter Saldua.
I never even met the man.
Now, if that's it,
I am late for an appointment with my attorney.
Detective!
You know you're just digging yourself deeper,
putting this man
in the same room with me?
Dr. Mantlo, this is a medical form
completed by Peter Saldua for another of his doctors.
As I've told you before, Mr. Holmes-- I was never...
My assistant, Miss Watson, was perusing it last night
when she very astutely noticed that Saldua had a rather strong
allergy to rice.
This is ridiculous.
Hmm. As I was saying,
Miss Watson noticed Saldua's allergy to rice,
so you can imagine her confusion
when she remembered seeing a sack of the stuff
sitting on one of his shelves.
We also found a credit card receipt
that told us he had bought it
exactly three days before his death.
Odd that, right?
Him going to the store
and buying the one thing he's allergic to.
Odder still, it was the same day he stopped using his cell phone.
First, I thought that was by choice.
Then I remembered the overturned washing machine.
What does a bag of rice
and an overturned washing machine
have to do with anything?
I was wrong the other day
when I accused you of taking Saldua's phone
after you murdered him.
You wanted to take it, but you couldn't, could you?
'Cause you couldn't find it.
He laundered it, you see?
Left it in his pocket when he put his trousers in the wash.
But the time he realized, it was too late.
The phone that he'd turned into a virtual library
of his therapy sessions was no longer functional.
Furious with himself and suffering the effects
of what he couldn't possibly have known
was steroid intoxication, he destroyed the washer
in a fit of rage.
And then he went to the nearest grocer's
and purchased a bag of rice.
(scoffs)
Rice, as you're apparently not aware, is a natural desiccant.
It can be used to absorb moisture
from electronic devices that have been immersed in water.
We went to Saldua's home this morning
and examined... his bag
of rice.
You'll never guess what we found inside.
(beep) SALDUA: Her name is Amy.
And, um, when I see her,
I get these feelings, and I...
Please, Dr. Mantlo,
you need to help me.
You need to tell me how to stop myself from hurting her.
I don't want to hurt her. Please!
MANTLO: It's okay, Peter. It's...
It's okay. I'm here for you.
Let's try upping your meds, see where that leads us.
MAN (on TV): ...now the two-one count.
There's a drive deep into center field!
That has got to be...
WATSON: Yes!
A home run for Ryerson...
Can we please go to dinner now?
It's the bottom of the ninth,
the Mets are within one, and no one is out.
(sighs)
Okay, don't look at me like that. You said
you were gonna watch with me to make up for last night.
That's before I got hungry.
Yeah, well, just because you don't understand something
doesn't mean it isn't awesome, okay?
Actually, Miss Watson,
quite familiar with the American pastime.
The other addicts at Hemdale would often gather
in the common room to watch the matches on the telly.
They're not "matches," they're "games."
Truth be told,
I find the science of the sport quite fascinating.
All of the statistical analysis, all of the strategy.
So if you'll allow me to save us both a little time...
ANNOUNCER: Here he comes again.
Pop up to center.
Intentional walk, game-ending double play.
Final score-- Reds of Cincinnati-- three,
Metropolitans
of New York-- two.
Yeah, right. Nice try.
ANNOUNCER: A high fly ball again...
I'll meet you at the door.
...caught...
(broadcast continues indistinctly)
Elvis Costello: ♪ Watchin' the Detectives ♪
ANNOUNCER: Bottom of the ninth...
There's a ground ball, right behind second...
No! Oh! Damn!
♪ Nice girls, not one little defect ♪
♪ Cellophane shrink-wrapped, so correct ♪
♪ Red dogs under illegal legs ♪
♪ She looks so good that he gets down and begs... ♪
♪ She's watchin' the detectives ♪
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
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