Previously on Elementary:
You must be Andrew.
- Sherlock Holmes. - Sorry.
Joan said you were coming. It's not how I wanted to meet.
- I'm gonna give it a go. - You found your next business?
Holmes puts me on an e-mail chain, and 36 hours later,
I've got a ticket to Copenhagen.
- Kim, right? - Kim Holder.
So how can I help you?
I'm looking for someone who does what you do. A detective.
My sister, Jessica, she's missing.
Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Um, tell me more.
Well, it's been five years since her disappearance.
The anniversary just passed.
Most days I feel like no one's even looking for her anymore.
Would you like some tea? So tell me what happened.
I don't know. The last time anyone saw Jess
was inside her apartment. I, uh, keep a file on it.
- Do the police have any theories? - Ugh.
The police, the FBI, they've all got ideas.
And how is the FBI involved?
There's a man in the New York office, Blake Tanner,
he thinks Jess was abducted by a serial criminal.
This sounds strange, I know.
But when Jess' roommate got home the night she disappeared
there was a smell in the apartment.
It smelled like something was baking. Like nutmeg.
The thing is, over the years,
five other women have gone missing
and never been heard from again
and each time, the place where they disappeared from,
it has the same smell. Like nutmeg.
Tanner thinks the same person took all six women.
He calls the guy "Pumpkin."
Are there any suspects?
Look, I'm a lawyer. I've worked criminal cases.
I know the odds aren't good here.
But even if Jess is, ugh,
gone
I just wanna know what happened to her.
- Hi, Watson. - Good morning, Kitty.
I don't know how you found me. I hope you're not following me.
No, I just know that you like to come here to work sometimes.
You know, from when I was following you.
You weren't home, so I came here.
He wants to know what you're working on.
Tell Sherlock I can't jump into anything with you.
He wants to know if you got anything interesting going.
Oh, so he's bored.
I just took on a missing person's case.
- Could be a serial element. - Do you mind if I?
- You're gonna text him the article? - He said I was to forward him
any particulars right away.
Good news. Sherlock says that he'll help.
First step is to go to the FBI's
New York field office and get our hands on their profile.
Okay, tell him that I didn't ask for help.
- What did he say? - It's not my phone.
Behavioral Science Unit. Even the name is pompous.
Don't know why I subject myself to these people.
Nobody is subjecting you to anything. You butted in.
That's the fourth time you've looked at your phone.
- You expecting some news? - No, Andrew and I just got cut off.
- Checking to see if he called. - You're frustrated.
It's difficult to maintain what has become a long-distance relationship.
It's natural to wonder whether the difficulty in communicating
is a symptom of being apart or the disease itself.
- What? I didn't say that. - Not with words.
- You the PIs? - Detectives, yes.
Blake Tanner, right this way. I've only got a couple of minutes.
So you consult with the N.Y.P.D., but your interest in this is private?
That's right. We were hired by one of the relatives
- of the potential victims... - Victims? Nothing "potential" about it.
- I'm sure you're right. - Sorry to interrupt.
Agent Tanner, would you mind if I took some of your stationary?
- Go right ahead. - Thank you.
We're not looking to second-guess. We just want a look at your profile.
Sometimes it can be useful to get a set of fresh eyes.
No offense, but we're not hunting squirrels here.
Pumpkin is big game.
He's been active for 10 years, hasn't left a hint of evidence behind.
- Just the olfactory signature. - Heh.
- Something funny? - No, sorry.
It's just "olfactory signature"
struck me as an ornate way to say "the smell of nutmeg."
The official policy of the bureau is not to share information
- with private investigators. - We understand. We just wanna help.
That's fine. I don't think we need to take up this special agent's time.
He's got big game to catch. Thank you.
Why did you do that? He was just about to give us the file.
You overestimate your charms.
Blake Tanner is both arrogant and a fool.
He's never gonna share his work with us.
I decided within moments of meeting him
to pursue the profile via alternative means.
He's clearly a bully and a petty tyrant.
And I suspect he's also a credit hog.
I noted the way his colleagues were looking at him
as he escorted us through his office. There was no shortage of contempt.
So I wrote short notes to a few of them.
I'm quite confident that one of them will relish the chance
to share the profile behind his back. See?
- Got a copy already. - What?
Two, actually. Make that three.
Wait, is that the profile? You're scrolling too fast.
I'm speed-reading. You moved out before we got
to that portion of your training. Wonderful.
- This should give us a good start. - Is there something helpful in there?
The report is full of sophistry and various instances
of tautological thinking and is plagued
by the kind of laziness and intellectual vanity
which is native to the profiler profession.
So why do you say it's a good start?
Even a cursory glance at this document convinced me
that there's no such person as "Pumpkin."
He's a construct of Blake Tanner's mind.
A product of a profession which is trained to look for bogeymen
in every dark corner. No, it's clear to me
that each of the abductees attributed to Pumpkin
was in fact taken by different people.
- The crimes aren't connected. - What about the olfactory signature?
I can't explain the nutmeg. Not yet.
But I do know that Blake Tanner has seized on one detail to form a link
and then woven a web of tortured psychology
in an effort to connect seven crimes which are, in fact, quite separate.
We're gonna discover what happened to Jessica Holder.
And then we're gonna explain the nutmeg connection.
Then prove to anyone who cares to listen
that Blake Tanner has been a fool these past five years.
Ripped By mstoll
Have you considered correspondence?
To alleviate your frustrations with Andrew,
I recommend proper correspondence.
Hundreds of letters, informed by deliberate and careful thought.
It is the most direct route to meaningful communication.
I don't have frustrations that need alleviating.
Andrew and I just had a hard time connecting this morning.
Hmm.
Don't tell me you have another insight about my relationship.
I'm looking through this box of Jessica Holder's belongings.
She is a very organized person. Even her keychain
is meticulously arranged. Each one is labeled.
And here we have three keys of the exact same make and model.
What does that indicate to you?
- Apartment keys look identical. - Precisely.
You've got one key for your apartment building
one key for your apartment proper. That's two.
She has three identical keys. One is labeled "A"
probably apartment building. "FD", front door.
This one has no label. Wonder what it opens.
We need to go to Jessica Holder's apartment building
try every lock until we find what this opens
and then divine her connection to whatever's inside.
- Let me know when you got it sorted. - You're not coming?
I'm here to help. Trying one key in an ocean of doors, that's scut work.
No, my spirit of volunteerism is not without its limits.
No luck on the fifth floor.
What are you humming?
Beethoven's "6th." Clarinet part.
I would not have pegged you as a classical music fan.
My dad was the fan. Which meant I practiced
four hours every day.
You still play?
He sold my clarinet when I turned down a place
at the Royal Academy of Music.
Hello?
Middle-aged couple with a kid in college.
Looks like one of them's a lawyer.
Probably him. He looks boring.
- Liz, I'm home. - Your wife's not here, Mr. Kramer.
Who the hell are you?
We're looking into the disappearance of Jessica Holder.
How did you get in here?
This key, from Jessica's key ring.
Now, why did Jessica have a key to your apartment?
- I'm calling the police. - I wouldn't do that.
You're a defense lawyer. We know because we had a look around.
You have had some shady clients over the years.
We found some papers locked in your closet.
Something about a criminal negligence case.
Is there any reason you kept those hidden
instead of turning them over for discovery?
So tell us about your relationship with Jessica.
I didn't wanna have an affair.
Not again.
Jessica was right downstairs. She was a sweet kid.
- Did you kill her? - Of course not.
Jessica disappeared in, what, October that year?
- October 17. - I was out of state that whole fall.
I worked a class-action thing in Oregon.
I can show you my tax returns for the receipts from that year.
If you do find out what happened to Jess,
let me know, please. I miss her.
- We've got a 10-95 at.... - We've got reports of...
- Negative, dispatch. - Ms. Hudson.
- What are you doing here? - Hi.
Sherlock asked me to keep an ear on the police scanner
and tell him if anybody mentions the word "nutmeg."
- So you're on nutmeg duty? - Not strictly nutmeg duty.
We are casting a wide net. I've asked Ms. Hudson to notify me
if she hears any mention of the aroma of pumpkin pie at the crime scene
or any reference at all to the scent of baking.
You really expect the police to smell nutmeg?
I expect nothing, which is why I'm such an exceptional detective.
I don't know why the aroma has been present
at six separate crime scenes. I also don't know
that those six are the only scenes which smelled of baked goods.
Those are just the ones that Tanner has lumped
into his specious "Pumpkin Case."
But I am curious. It's a detail I'd like to reconcile.
So Kitty's gonna look through old records
see if she can find any additional references to the smell
while Ms. Hudson keeps an ear out for new appearances.
We're all set on the nutmeg front. The disappearance of Jessica Holder?
Well, that's your territory. With my assistance, of course.
Strictly on a voluntary basis.
The defense attorney's alibi is sound
so it seems to me your next step should be to look through belongings.
Why don't you start with her laptop?
Let me know if you find anything interesting.
I'm not into this whole voluntary thing.
You're either working the case with me or not.
We'll divide up the box. You take the laptop.
Let me know if you find anything interesting.
Joan?
Chris. Hi.
Well, it's been forever.
You look great.
Thanks. You too.
Are you still practicing at White Peaks?
Fifteen years. I'm an old man now.
- Ha, ha. - I heard you're a private investigator?
- Yes. - That's why I'm lingering
outside your building. I've got a problem.
- Nothing serious, I hope. - Not really.
Someone stole my ID, my medical ID, actually.
I didn't know until I went in for a physical
and the doctor had the wrong blood type on file.
Sometimes this stuff is hooked into a scam.
I thought if you had some time, maybe you can, you know,
figure things out? I'd pay you your fee.
Oh, no, no, don't worry about that.
You know, I'm a little busy, but I can get someone else started on it
and then I'll jump on when I'm free.
- You won't take any money? - No, don't be silly.
You're a friend.
It's really good to see you again.
So, what are we doing at Sing Sing?
All things in good time, Watson.
Did you ask Kitty to look into the medical history
of a man named Christopher Santos?
It's a favor. We're busy, so I thought she could look around.
You've engaged in horizontal refreshment with this man?
We dated for two years.
He bought me an engagement ring, so, yes,
we engaged in horizontal refreshment. Does that matter?
You turned down his proposal. That's interesting.
What are we doing at Sing Sing?
I spent quite a bit of time with Jessica Holder's laptop last night.
She had a rather interesting text file hidden away
in a folder titled "November's Bills."
Her lover, Noah Kramer,
represented a rather notorious drug trafficker.
- Raymond Carpenter. - Hmm.
- I know that name. - Apparently, Kramer divulged
to Jessica that his client was guilty of several murders.
Jessica could not live with what she knew.
She details her plans to come forward in the document.
But disappeared before she could.
I wonder, did Kramer glean his girlfriend's plan
and then pass a warning on to his client?
So you think Carpenter had Holder killed.
- That's an interesting theory. - Raymond Carpenter
is doing hard time here for an unrelated matter.
I thought we might have a word.
So, I'm sorry, you came here hoping I'd just tell you
I killed someone named Jessica Holder?
It's not an entirely outlandish request.
You're serving life in prison with no chance of parole.
Things can't get any worse for you.
And if there's anything you covet here in prison,
one phone call from our colleague, Captain Gregson
at the N.Y.P.D., could go a very long way.
You'd be giving closure to Jessica Holder's family,
if that means anything to you.
There's an inmate greens crew here.
I've been trying to get on it for years
but the Dominicans have got it wired.
That's what you want? A chance to plant flowers?
They get to go outside. A lot.
Well, one phone call from our Captain Gregson
and you'll be gardening amongst Dominicans in no time.
Kramer tipped me off. I had the girl taken care of.
I don't know where she is, though. I outsourced the job.
Where can we find the killer?
He's named Danny Tacelli. Last I heard
certain parts of him were floating in the East River,
certain parts were in the Hudson.
Did you tell Kramer what you did?
Not in so many words, but, I mean, the guy knew.
Soon as he tipped me off, he issued that girl
a death sentence.
So now what? Noah Kramer just gets away with what he did?
I suppose a zealous prosecutor could try to make a case.
But there are alternative means of punishment.
I still maintain contact to some of your tabloids.
"Married attorney betrays mistress to murderous client."
We've solved the problem you were hired to address,
but we still have work to do. We've had a spot of good luck.
Ms. Hudson texted. Apparently, the custodian
of a Harlem band shell arrived at work this morning
to find that his structure had been marked up with bullet holes overnight.
- How is that good luck? - Custodian told police
that the area smelled very strongly of nutmeg.
Those bullet holes weren't here yesterday.
This place is pretty much an open-air drug market after-hours.
Guess it was some kind of deal gone wrong last night.
Let me know if you need anything.
Thank you.
Yeah, smells like nutmeg.
But does it smell only of nutmeg?
We need to plumb every nuance on this aroma
and for that, we will need The Nose.
- What nose? Your nose? - The Nose.
He's an Irregular I've used from time to time.
His sense of smell outpaces even my own.
Does he have a real name?
I don't know. I've never asked him.
How do adults have a relationship where one
never calls the other anything but The Nose?
If you must know, you can ask him yourself.
I suppose I should be grateful, Holmes.
Usually when you ask for my help, there's a decomposing body
- somewhere nearby. - Hi, I'm Joan Watson.
Excuse the potpourri bag.
I need coffee beans when I'm out and about.
This city can be an assault on the senses.
You said something about nutmeg?
Is this the spot?
The nutmeg is dominant, yes,
but it's the olfactory equivalent of a burlesque dancer.
The pretty lady in the spotlight
meant to distract you from everything else that's going on.
- What else? - Chemicals.
Hints of bleach.
Something metallic.
Oh, there's one note that's stronger than the rest.
Sodium hydroxide.
A powerful base otherwise known as caustic soda.
Suitable for the melting of murdered bodies.
Jessica's murder is connected to what happened here
just as it's connected to every disappearance
- attributed to Pumpkin. - The man who killed Jessica
isn't responsible. He's dead. And there was no serial element.
There isn't. There are many different murders
committed by many different killers
but one man, the inventor of this nutmeg concoction,
was brought in to clean up the mess every time.
Crimes aren't connected by a common killer.
They're connected by a common cleaner.
So somebody commits a murder, and you think
there's a guy out there that they can call to clean it up?
We have crime scene cleaners on our side of the law.
Surely there'd be a thriving market for an illicit one.
How do the killers find him? What does he got, a Yelp page?
Well, obviously he or she... Watson, I would never suggest
a woman cannot melt corpses. He relies on word of mouth.
I wager most of the work comes from organized crime.
People for whom homicide is a semi-regular occurrence.
Our cleaner has invented a solution
which, as far as I can tell, cleans crime scenes
and dissolves any inconvenient dead people.
That's where the smell comes from?
The spice conceals the harsher odors underneath.
It's a nutmeg concoction
suitable for erasing any and all signs of murder.
Sounds like something my aunt would give me for Christmas.
Be thankful she didn't. You would've dissolved from the inside out.
You see the opportunity we have here?
The FBI profiler has unwittingly linked
our cleaner to six separate murders
but that could be just the tip of the iceberg.
He could be connected to dozens, maybe hundreds of crimes.
Imagine the information he could provide.
If he exists, how do we find him?
Canvass contractors who hire out for crime-scene cleaning
check schools that issue certificates
in disposing biohazardous waste.
Oh.
- Something wrong with that plan? - No, perfectly sensible. Just...
It sounds a bit dull.
Where would you start?
Oh, my God. What are you doing?
Hello, Watson. I figured out who stole your friend's identity.
- It's in a file on the desk. - Stop talking.
I'd like the pigs' blood to coagulate a little bit.
I'm taking out a wanted ad of sorts.
We theorized that our cleaner works mostly by word of mouth
but what if he has an alternative means of finding work?
Some other way to pay bills when career criminals aren't murdering.
You've heard of the Dark Internet, I assume?
Yeah, websites that are not visible to search engines.
People buy drugs there. Didn't the FBI shut it down?
They shut down the Silk Road. Others popped up in its place.
Narcotics are not the only product bought and sold
on the Dark Internet. Contracts for assassinations
have been consummated there. Humans sold to the highest bidder.
I am going to post photographs of Kitty in her current state
and claim to be a desperate man who's committed a crime of passion.
Hopefully our cleaner gets in touch with you.
- Have fun with that. - You're not gonna stay?
- We'll have our man by morning. - I'll stick to the dull stuff.
- Thanks for your help, Kitty. - Welcome.
Ah. Pigs' blood, please.
That's the guy who stole my medical ID?
My colleague had a contact run this through facial recognition.
Guy is all over social media. His name is Ermel Janic.
- Wow. You work fast. - You can take this to police.
Hopefully, it'll help clear things up with your insurance.
But check all your records. Make sure he didn't change anything else.
Thanks so much for doing this. You were always efficient
but it looks like you found another gear.
You had an interesting way of describing my type-A tendencies.
Now I cringe when I think about how immature I was.
I'm not sure there's a statute of limitation on apologies.
But I'm sorry. I had a lot to learn about accepting people for who they are.
Did you?
- Learn? - I had to.
Next time someone great comes along, I'd like to be better
husband material.
Thanks.
It's great seeing you again, Joan.
What tedium is this?
Oh, I stopped by the Spaulding Technical Institute this morning.
Did you know they issue more cleaning certificates than anyone in New York?
They agreed to let us go through their records.
Hoping the apparent sociopaths would leap out of the pile?
Yes.
You ought to make a case against whoever acquired this mural.
Can't learn a trade with that abomination looming over you.
I'm surprised you came down here. I thought this was too boring for you.
After the events of last night, I could use the calm
that a dose of routine drudgery provides.
- What happened last night? - We had
a promising response to my ad.
So photographs of the supposed mayhem were provided,
a meeting set, and it was going well until the man
revealed himself to be an undercover police officer.
There was a bit of confusion, and some waving of guns.
- Did you get arrested? - A living Kitty did help.
And the phone call to Captain Gregson secured my release.
I still maintain that it was a sound tactic.
You can't judge an idea just by the results it provides.
Oh, damn.
Must I draw it out of you?
I met with my client last night. We talked.
He got the wrong impression. He asked me out for a date.
Did you mention that you were otherwise involved?
- Didn't come up naturally. - What you mean "naturally"?
Hardly surprising you've allowed this to happen.
Your relationship with Andrew requires tending, effort.
Naturally, you opened yourself up to other opportunities.
Like a female baboon broadcasts readiness
with inflated genitals. You, Watson,
are something of a romantic terrorist.
- "Romantic terrorist." - Your upbringing pushes you
towards a conventional relationship.
But your eccentric nature is repulsed by such arrangements.
That's why you find yourself drawn to unsuitable partners.
People like my brother. Chance will occasionally see to it
that you find a match. But on these occasions,
you sabotage the relationship.
It's connected to conflict. The tension between a conventional life
and yearning to heed the call of adventure.
Okay, I do not yearn to heed the call of adventure.
The only thing I yearn to do right now is to get some work done.
Kitty should be done tidying up the scene of her staged murder.
Between you, we should be through these stacks in no time.
- Where are you going? - This mural
Not only is it ugly, it's incongruous.
I shall not be able to volunteer until I know
how it came to be hanging here.
Those six stand out.
You may cease your drudgery.
That mural, I knew it was significant
the moment I laid eyes on its grotesque majesty.
I called the director and asked him all about it.
It is called The Magical Myristica Tour.
And painted by one of Spaulding's former students.
- Magical Myristica Tour? - It's primarily a witless pun.
But it also references the Myristica tree.
A tree which is known for producing two spices.
The first is mace. The second is nutmeg.
So one of their old students had a thing for nutmeg.
His name is Conrad Woodbine, and he's painted
an entire series of paintings, which detail hallucinogenic effects
of ingesting large quantities of the spice.
You can get high off nutmeg?
Can't say it's a particularly satisfying experience but yeah.
Conrad Woodbine has subcontracted to the city
as a crime-scene cleaner for a decade.
Until five years ago when he quit and purchased a building
full of art studios on Spring Street.
How does an ex-crime-scene cleaner afford real estate in SoHo?
Perhaps he hasn't quit the trade after all.
Mr. Woodbine?
I'm not to be disturbed while I'm working.
This building doesn't need a superintendent who can't superintend.
I know, but they're police.
- You three are cops? - To varying degrees.
We'd like to speak with you about your other job.
The one which requires some actual artistry.
- What are you talking about? - You dissolve corpses for money.
I'm calling my lawyer.
Why did you just come out and accuse him like that?
- Now he's never gonna talk. - I wanted him to step away.
I'm curious what's in that cabinet.
None of the others are locked. That one is.
Smells like pumpkin pie.
My lawyer says you have to leave.
Actually, you can have your attorney meet us at the police station.
We found your nutmeg concoction.
I'm not answering any questions till my lawyer gets here.
But I will tell you that supply cabinet was locked.
- Consultant said it was open. - Well, your consultant's lying.
In 1997, you graduated from Spaulding Technical Institute
you started your career as a crime-scene cleaner.
And over the next 11 years, you took on
dozens of cases for the city.
You were liked, you were in demand.
A lot of guys like that would've taken on more employees,
maybe even franchised. What did you do?
You retired. Took up painting.
- Is this interrogation bothering you? - No.
You've been to your fair share of crime scenes.
You know how difficult it is to see what we see.
The blood, the viscera, the heartbreak.
We know you didn't quit the clean-up business, Mr. Woodbine.
You just switched sides. You started working
for the criminals instead of the cops.
And you helped disappear all of these people.
The bad guys pay more. We get that.
That's why we're not looking at you for any of the murders, for now.
But you give us names of the individuals who did kill these people,
we'll recommend a deal to the DA.
I've broken no laws. You have no proof of any wrongdoing.
Just some claims that some potential crime scenes
smelled like nutmeg.
My mother keeps nutmeg in her spice rack.
Maybe you wanna question her too.
Well, so much for getting him to cooperate.
Disappointing, but not surprising.
Fortunately there are other ways to undo him.
Conrad Woodbine is our cleaner. Of that we have no doubt.
Problem is, of course, he's a cleaner.
His MO is based on leaving no evidence behind. Right.
But you said there was another way to get him.
I submit that his undoing lies not in the physical evidence
but in the necessary evil of every business
in the service industry. Customers.
He wouldn't give them up. But they might give him up.
We figure out who wanted these people dead
and then we offer them the same kind of deal that he turned down.
The only person we know has a connection with him
is Raymond Carpenter.
Connection between Carpenter's hired hand and Woodbine.
You're talking about the man who killed Jessica Holder.
- But he's been dead for years. - Lucky for us,
though unlucky for the disappeared, Mr. Woodbine's career was prolific.
So while he was being interrogated this afternoon,
I began at where I believe to be the beginning.
Six years ago, Conrad Woodbine retired from cleaning.
At least, officially. At the same time,
a group of Armenian criminals arrived in New York.
They looked to establish themselves in Howard Beach.
Much to the chagrin of the Costa Rican gang
that already resided there. War ensued. But months later,
the brain trust of that Costa Rican faction just disappeared.
You think the Armenians killed them and Woodbine cleaned them.
There was never any word of what happened, only rumor
they'd been slaughtered in the backroom of a restaurant.
A detective who went there reported an unusual smell.
Like something from a bakery. Now, Artem Dedekian
was the Armenian group's leader at the time.
I think he's worth talking to, don't you?
- Is our investigation bothering you? - No.
Tomorrow, we will speak with Mr. Dedekian.
You will continue to pour over the cases of the disappeared.
In case he is not in a helpful mood, we will need backups.
Let me know when you have a time and a place.
I have something I have to take care of.
So that's Dedekian?
He looks hale. Retirement suits him.
Captain Gregson is just finishing something up
and then, we'll begin. Ahem.
I'm not a terrorist. I shut Chris down last night
and I'm preparing a welcome-home dinner for Andrew tomorrow.
I mean, maybe I do hear the call of adventure, whatever you said.
- I can do that and have a life. - Perhaps.
You do realize I wasn't criticizing you yesterday?
You compared me to a baboon with inflated genitals
- and then called me a terrorist. - I was using vivid imagery
to illustrate a point. It was an attempt to be helpful.
Your romantic inclinations are not a flaw to be corrected.
They're a trait to be accepted. I know you, Watson.
You'll never be happy within the confines
of a, quote, unquote, "traditional relationship."
And I said what I said because it pains me to see you try to fit into one
simply because it is the default mode of polite society.
There is no reason to feel pain because I'm happy with Andrew.
Or would you be happier without him?
Alternatively, with him as an occasional sex partner and confidant?
With him when in the States and free to pursue other interests when not?
There are any number of possible arrangements.
All you need to do is find one which is true to your nature.
Remarkable. All this time we've spent together and you remain
a far more interesting person than you give yourself credit for.
Thank you for coming in, Mr. Dedekian.
I understand you have questions about someone
named Conrad Woodbine? I don't know the name.
The name might escape you, but the work left an impression.
It was six years ago. He helped turn
a few Costa Rican gangsters into soup for you.
Sorry. Don't know what you're talking about.
You're quite a unique case in the criminal underworld.
A one-time kingpin who's managed to extract himself entirely
from his past and lead a quieter existence.
You're just one of Woodbine's clients. There were others.
We've set to work identifying them so we might offer a deal.
Tell us how you found Woodbine and what he did for you
and I'm gonna help you work out an immunity agreement
with the DA's office.
One of Woodbine's customers is gonna be a lucky person.
Why? Because he or she will get away with murder.
Perhaps even murders. Why?
Because we desire Woodbine above all others.
Why? Because he can, in turn, give us the names
of dozens of killers. Including yours.
Someone's gonna talk to us, Mr. Dedekian.
It may as well be you.
Conrad Woodbine! Police!
- Clear. - Clear.
- It's all clear.
Do you smell that?
Nutmeg.
He keeps his concoction hidden and sealed.
There's really no reason that the aroma should overpower the room.
Unless...
Did you notice how Conrad Woodbine walked with a limp yesterday?
Yes.
- He might have had knee surgery. - And why do you say that?
Because I've just found his artificial patella tendon
in the grease trap.
I don't think we're going to be hearing from Mr. Woodbine.
Our cleaner's been cleaned.
The ME just confirmed that the piece
of plastic you found is an artificial tendon.
It's got Kevlar in it. That's why it didn't melt.
She didn't know if there's any usable DNA on it.
As for the rest of the scene, whoever took care of Woodbine
left the place spotless.
Seems like the killer's just as good at cleaning up a mess as Woodbine was.
It doesn't make any sense. Woodbine was the cleaner.
This was his livelihood. He wouldn't broadcast his methods.
- He'd make himself irrelevant. - Maybe he had a partner.
Let's hope so. Because it sure looks like Woodbine's gone.
Whatever he knew about all those murders
went down the drain with him.
Maybe that man Artem Dedekian killed Woodbine.
He could have changed his mind about the deal.
Watson and I went straight to Conrad Woodbine's studio.
Hardly enough time to arrange a murder
and meticulous cleansing of the scene.
Why am I doing this? Disassemble the crime board.
I don't understand. You're just giving up.
Maybe we can find someone else who hired Woodbine.
Without a living cleaner, we have no leverage
to make a deal with one of his former employers.
And I'm not giving up. I'm retrenching.
A clean environment stimulates fresh lines of thought.
It's Raymond Carpenter, the guy who ordered
Jessica Holder's murder.
That's the day he was convicted of 18 different felonies.
Friends and family with him. They took it pretty hard.
- So? - So we've seen him before.
That's the superintendent of Conrad Woodbine's building.
What's he doing at Raymond Carpenter's trial?
Scan this. E-mail it to Watson. Tell her we've got work to do.
Jessica Holder may have been killed by one of your paid assassins
but her body was disposed of by Conrad Woodbine.
If you say so.
You, Mr. Carpenter, have three sons.
Now, your two oldest offspring, they've taken after you
and flourish in their own fledgling criminal ventures
helped along of course by your incarcerated hand.
But your youngest son, though, Jeremy, he's a different story.
Flunked out of several schools. Fired from every job
you managed to land for him. With all due respect, a wastrel.
Now, what's a father to do with a boy like that?
- Send him to trade school of course. - I don't know what you're about.
You apprenticed him to Conrad Woodbine.
It was a convenient arrangement.
Jeremy would earn a livelihood
and Mr. Woodbine was only too happy to accommodate
one of his most valued clients.
Jeremy served as superintendent while the two of them waited
for murder victims to dissolve.
Of course, when we went to see Woodbine at his studio
and ask him questions, Jeremy told you.
And you couldn't have that, could you?
Woodbine knew all your secrets, your family's secrets.
God knows what would happen if he told police everything
that you had hired him to do. So you had Woodbine taken care of.
Jeremy killed him and then cleaned up after himself.
It must be said, he did a rather good job.
You found him work he's taken to. I suppose congratulations are due.
What are you two doing here, anyway?
Do you really expect me to admit to any of this nonsense? We're done.
It's true, things can't get any worse for you. But for Jeremy?
He must know some damning secrets about very dangerous people.
We know some of the names of the people who hired Woodbine.
We'll get more. How do you think they'll react
when they find out that your son was his apprentice
and that police are pressing him to make a deal?
If you care for your son, call him.
If he issues a confession and agrees to testify
against people who hired him, we'll see he's assigned
to the safe environs of a white-collar prison.
If not, he's about to make some very potent enemies.
People who will find him wherever he hides.
- Too loud? - I'm not here about the music.
Authorities were stunned today when 20-year-old
Jeremy Carpenter confessed to killing Conrad Woodbine,
a man Carpenter says trained him to clean up after murders.
It's believed that...
Your insights made that arrest possible.
You are progressing. A pleasure to watch.
Normally, I ask you to keep your music at a reasonable level,
but, tonight, feel free to enjoy it at whatever volume you wish.
Ripped By mstoll