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Previously on Elementary...

 

You must be Andrew.

 

Sherlock Holmes.

 

Sorry.

 

Joan said you were coming.

 

It's not how I
wanted to meet you.

 

I think I'm gonna
give it a go.

 

What, you found
your next business?

 

Holmes puts me on
an e-mail chain,

 

and 36 hours
later, um...

 

I've got a ticket
to Copenhagen.

 

(champagne cork pops)

 

Å´ ¾¾¶ó°í ÇϼÌÁÒ?

 

Å´ Ȧ´õ¿¹¿ä

 

¾î¶»°Ô µµ¿Íµå¸±±î¿ä?

 

´ç½ÅÀÌ ÇÏ´Â ±×·± ÀÏÀ»
ÇÏ´Â »ç¶÷À» ã°í ÀÖ¾ú¾î¿ä

 

ŽÁ¤¸»ÀÌ¿¡¿ä

 

Á¦ ¿©µ¿»ý Á¦½ÃÄ«°¡
»ç¶óÁ³°Åµç¿ä

 

¾Æ, Á¤¸» À¯°¨À̳׿ä

 

À½, Á¶±Ý¸¸ ´õ
¸»¾¸ÇØÁֽǷ¡¿ä?

 

±×°Ô, ±× ¾Ö°¡ »ç¶óÁøÁö
5³âÀÌ Èê·¶¾î¿ä.

 

½ÇÁ¾µÈ ³¯ÀÌ
¸çÄ¥ ÀüÀ̾ú°Åµç¿ä

 

°ÅÀÇ ¸ÅÀÏ ÀÌÁ¦´Â ¾Æ¹«µµ ±× ¾Ö¸¦
ã°í ÀÖÁö ¾Ê´Â °Íó·³ ´À²¸Á®¿ä

 

 

- Â÷ Á» µå½Ç·¡¿ä?
- ³×

 

- ¹«½¼ ÀÏÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú´ø °Å¿¹¿ä?
- ¸ð¸£°Ú¾î¿ä.

 

Á¦½º¸¦ ¸¶Áö¸·À¸·Î º» »ç¶÷Àº ±× ¶§°¡
±× ¾ÖÀÇ ¾ÆÆÄÆ® ¾ÈÀ̾ú´Ù°í Çß¾î¿ä

 

Àú´Â... ±× »ç°Ç¿¡ ´ëÇØ
ÆÄÀÏÀ» °®°í ÀÖ¾î¿ä

 

°æÂûÀÌ ¾Æ¹« ¾ê±âµµ
¾ÈÇÏ´ø°¡¿ä?

 

°æÂû, FBI, ±×µé ¸ðµÎ
¸¹Àº À̾߱⸦ ÇßÁÒ

 

FBI°¡ ÀÌ ÀÏ¿¡ ¾î¶»°Ô
°³ÀÔÇÏ°Ô µÈ°Ç°¡¿ä?

 

´º¿å »ç¹«½Ç¿¡ ¾Æ´Â »ç¶÷ÀÌ
ÀÖ¾î¿ä.... ºí·¹ÀÌÅ© ųʶó°í

 

±×´Â Á¦½º°¡ ¿¬¼â³³Ä¡¹ü¿¡°Ô
À¯±«µÇ¾ú´Ù°í »ý°¢ÇØ¿ä

 

ÀÌ»óÇÏ°Ô µé¸®ÁÒ,
Àúµµ ¾Ë¾Æ¿ä

 

ÇÏÁö¸¸ Á¦½ºÀÇ ·ë¸ÞÀÌÆ®°¡ ±×³¯ ¹ã
Áý¿¡ µ¹¾Æ¿ÔÀ» ¶§ ±× ¾Ö´Â »ç¶óÁ® ÀÖ¾ú°í

 

¾ÆÆÄÆ® ¾È¿¡¼­´Â
¹«½¼ ³¿»õ°¡ ³µ´ë¿ä

 

¹«½¼... ¹«½¼ »§ ±Á´Â
³¿»õ °°´Ù°í Çß¾î¿ä

 

À°µÎ±¸ ³¿»õ °°Àº..

 

¹®Á¦´Â...
¸î ³â µ¿¾È

 

´Ù¼¸ ¸íÀÇ ¿©¼ºÀÌ
´õ ½ÇÁ¾µÇ¾ú°í

 

µÎ ¹ø ´Ù½Ã ¾Æ¹«·±
¼Ò½ÄÀÌ ¾ø¾úÀ¸¸ç

 

±× ¶§¸¶´Ù ±×µéÀÌ
»ç¶óÁø Àå¼Ò¿¡¼­´Â

 

¶È°°Àº ³¿»õ°¡
³µ´Ù´Â±º¿ä

 

À°µÎ±¸ ³¿»õ¿ä

 

ųʴ µ¿ÀÏÀι°ÀÌ ±× ¿©¼¸¸íÀ»
´Ù µ¥·Á°¬´Ù°í »ý°¢ÇØ¿ä

 

±×´Â ¹üÀÎÀ»
"ÆßŲ"À̶ó°í ºÎ¸£ÁÒ

 

¿ëÀÇÀÚ´Â ÀÖ³ª¿ä?

 

º¸¼¼¿ä, Àú´Â
º¯È£»ç¿¹¿ä

 

¹üÁË »ç°ÇµéÀ»
¸Ã¾Æ¿Ô¾î¿ä

 

°¡´É¼ºÀÌ... ¾ÆÁÖ
Èñ¹ÚÇÏ´Ù´Â °Ç ¾Ë¾Æ¿ä

 

ÇÏÁö¸¸...

 

¸¸¾à Á¦½º°¡...

 

 

Á×¾ú´ëµµ,

 

±× ¾Ö¿¡°Ô ¹«½¼ ÀÏÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú´ÂÁö
±×°Í¸¸ÀÌ¶óµµ ¾Ë°í ½Í¾î¿ä

 

¾È³ç, ¿Ó½¼

 

¾È³ç, ŰƼ

 

³¯ ¾î¶»°Ô ã¾Ò´ÂÁö
¸ð¸£°Ú±¸³ª

 

³¯ ¶Ç ¹ÌÇàÇÏ´Â °Ç
¾Æ´Ï±æ ºô¾î

 

¾Æ´Ï¿¡¿ä, ±×³É
´ç½ÅÀÌ °¡²û¾¿

 

¿©±â¼­ ÀÏÇÏ´Â °ÍÀ»
ÁÁ¾ÆÇÑ´Ù´Â °É ¾Ë »ÓÀÌ¿¡¿ä

 

´ç½ÅÀ» ¹ÌÇàÇßÀ» ¶§ ¾Ë¾Æ³ÂÁÒ

 

´ç½ÅÀÌ Áý¿¡ ¾ø±æ·¡
Á¦°¡ ¿©±â·Î ¿Ô¾î¿ä

 

´ç½ÅÀÌ Áö±Ý ¾î¶² »ç°ÇÀ»
¸Ã¾Ò´ÂÁö ±×°¡ ¾Ë°í ½Í¾îÇØ¿ä

 

¼È·ÏÇÑÅ× Áö±Ý ³»°¡ ³Ê¶û
ÀÏÀ» ÇÒ ¼ö ¾ø³ë¶ó°í ÀüÇØÁà

 

±×´Â µµ¿òÀ» ûÇÏ´Â °Ô
¾Æ´Ï¿¡¿ä, ±×´Â ´ç½ÅÀÌ

 

¹¹¶óµµ Àç¹Õ´Â ÀÏÀ»
¸Ã¾Ò´ÂÁö ¾Ë°í ½Í¾îÇØ¿ä

 

¾Æ, ±×°¡
½É½ÉÇÑ°¡ º¸±¸³ª

 

±×³É ½ÇÁ¾ »ç°ÇÀ»
Çϳª ¸Ã¾ÒÀ» »ÓÀ̾ß

 

¾î¼¸é Çϳª ÀÌ»óÀÇ
½ÇÁ¾ÀÏ ¼öµµ ÀÖ°í

 

»çÁø Âï¾îµµ...?

 

 

±× ±â»ç¸¦ ±×¿¡°Ô ¹®ÀÚ·Î
º¸³»ÁÖ´Â °Å´Ï?

 

³»°¡ ¹¹¶óµµ ãÀ¸¸é
¹Ù·Î Àü¼ÛÇÏ·¨°Åµç¿ä

 

 

ÁÁÀº ¼Ò½ÄÀ̳׿ä
¼È·ÏÀÌ µ½°Ú´Ù°í Çß¾î¿ä

 

ù¹ø° ´Ü°è´Â
FBIÀÇ ´º¿å »ç¹«½Ç·Î °¡¼­

 

ÇÁ·ÎÆÄÀÏ¿¡ Á¢±Ù±ÇÀ»
¾ò¾î³»´Â °Å·¡¿ä

 

¾Ë°Ú¾î, ±×¿¡°Ô ³»°¡ µµ¿òÀ»
±¸ÇÑ Àû ¾ø´Ù°í ÀüÇØÁà

 

 

±×°¡ ¹¹·¡?

 

ÀúÇÑÅ× ¿Â °Å ¾Æ´Ñµ¥¿ä

 

³» µµ¿ò ÇÊ¿ä ¾øÀ¸¸é ÇÁ·ÎÆÄÀÏ·¯
»ç¹«½Ç¿¡´Â ¿ÀÁö ¸»¾Æ¿ä

 

Çൿ°úÇבּ¸¼Ò

 

À̸§ ¸¶Àú
Àß³­ ü Çϴ±º¿ä

 

³»°¡ ¿Ö ÀÌ·± »ç¶÷µé¿¡°Ô
½Ã´Þ·Á¾ß ÇÏ´ÂÁö Á¤¸» ¸ð¸£°Ú¾î¿ä

 

¾Æ¹«µµ ´ç½ÅÀ» '½Ã´Þ¸®°Ô'
ÇÏ°í ÀÖÁö ¾Ê¾Æ¿ä

 

´ç½ÅÀÌ ÀÚÃÊÇßÀ» »ÓÀÌÁö

 

¿©±â ¾ÉÀº µÚ·ÎºÎÅÍ
´ç½ÅÀÌ ÇÚµåÆù º¸´Â°Å

 

¹ú½á ±×°Ô ³×¹ø°¿¡¿ä

 

¹«½¼ ¼Ò½ÄÀ̶óµµ
±â´ëÇÏ°í ÀÖ³ªº¸ÁÒ?

 

¾Æ´¢, ¾Æ±î ¾Øµå·ù¿Í
ÅëÈ­¸¦ ÇÏ´Ù°¡ ²÷°å°Åµç¿ä

 

Ȥ½Ã ±×°¡ ´Ù½Ã ÀüÈ­¸¦
Çß´ÂÁö º¸°í ÀÖ¾î¿ä

 

´ç½Å ÁÂÀýÇß±º¿ä

 

Àå°Å¸® °ü°è¸¦
À¯ÁöÇÏ´Â °ÍÀº

 

´ëü·Î ¾ÆÁÖ ¾î·ÆÁÒ

 

±×·¯´Ï ÀÇ»ç¼ÒÅë¿¡¼­ÀÇ ±×·¯ÇÑ
¾î·Á¿òÀÌ °áº°ÀÇ Â¡ÈÄÀÎÁö ¾Æ´ÑÁö

 

ȤÀº °ü°è ÀÚü¸¦ º´µé°Ô
ÇÏ´Â °ÍÀÎÁö ¾Æ´ÑÁö¸¦

 

±Ã±ÝÇØÇÏ´Â °ÍÀº
¾ÆÁÖ ÀÚ¿¬½º·¯¿î °Å¿¹¿ä

 

¹¹¶ó°í¿ä? ³­ ±×·± ¸»
ÇÑ Àû ¾ø¾î¿ä

 

¸»¸¸ ¾ÈÇßÁÒ

 

¿©·¯ºÐÀÌ PIÀ̽Ű¡¿ä?
(Private Investigator)

 

ŽÁ¤µéÀÌ¿ä, ³×.

 

ºí·¹ÀÌÅ© ųÊÀÔ´Ï´Ù,
ÀÌÂÊÀ¸·Î ¿À½ÃÁÒ

 

Àú´Â ¸¹Àº ½Ã°£À»
³»¾îµå¸± ¼ö ¾ø¾î¿ä

 

±×·¡¼­ ¿©·¯ºÐÀº
NYPDÀÇ ÀÚ¹®À§¿øÀÌÁö¸¸

 

ÀÌ »ç°Ç¿¡ ´ëÇÑ °ü½ÉÀº
»çÀûÀÎ °Å¶ó´Â °ÅÁÒ?

 

¸Â¾Æ¿ä

 

Àú´Â ÀáÀçÀûÀÎ
Èñ»ýÀÚÀÇ Ä£Ã´µé Áß

 

ÇÑ ºÐ¿¡°Ô
ÀÇ·Ú¸¦ ¹Þ¾Ò¾î¿ä...

 

Èñ»ýÀÚ´Â Èñ»ýÀÚ
±× ÀÚü¿¡¿ä.

 

'ÀáÀçÀûÀÎ' À̶ó´Â °Ç ¾ø½À´Ï´Ù

 

±× ¸»¾¸ÀÌ ¿Ç³×¿ä

 

¹Ù-¹æÇØÇؼ­ Á˼ÛÇѵ¥

 

ÅÂ³Ê ¿ä¿ø, ¸Þ¸ðÇÒ Á¾ÀÌ
Á» ½áµµ ±¦Âú°ÚÁÒ?

 

¿¹, ±×·¯¼¼¿ä

 

°í¸¿½À´Ï´Ù

 

¿ì¸®´Â ´©±º°¡¿¡ ´ëÇØ
ÃßÃøÀ» ÇÏ·Á´Â °Ô ¾Æ´Ï¿¡¿ä

 

±×Àú ´ç½ÅÀÌ ÀÛ¼ºÇÑ ÇÁ·ÎÆÄÀÏÀ»
»ìÆ캼 ¼ö ÀÖ¾úÀ¸¸é ÁÁ°Ú¾î¿ä

 

°¡²û¾¿Àº »õ·Î¿î ½Ã¼±À¸·Î
º¸´Â °Ô À¯¿ëÇÒ ¶§µµ ÀÖÀݾƿä

 

ÀÌÇØ´Â ÇÕ´Ï´Ù¸¸ ¿ì¸®´Â
´Ù¶÷Á㳪 ÂÑ°í ÀÖ´Â°Ô ¾Æ´Ï¿¡¿ä

 

ÆßŲÀº ´ë´ÜÇÑ ³ð(big game)ÀÔ´Ï´Ù

 

±×´Â ½Ê³âµ¿¾ÈÀ̳ª
È°µ¿À» ÇØ¿Ô¾î¿ä

 

¾Æ¹«·± Áõ°Åµµ
³²°Ü³õÁö ¾ÊÀº ä ¸»ÀÌÁÒ

 

ÈÄ°¢Àû ÈçÀû »Ó.

 

 

-¹¹°¡ ¿ô±ä°¡¿ä?
-¾Æ´¢, Á˼ÛÇØ¿ä

 

±×°Ô, "ÈÄ°¢Àû ÈçÀû"
À̶ó´Â ¸»ÀÌ

 

"À°µÎ±¸ ³¿»õ"¶ó´Â ¸»À» ±¦È÷
È­·ÁÇÏ°Ô ²Ù¸ç³½ °Í °°¾Æ¼­¿ä

 

ÀÌ ºÎ¼­ÀÇ »ç¹«½Ç Á¤Ã¥Àº
»ç¼³ ŽÁ¤µé°ú

 

Á¤º¸¸¦ °øÀ¯ÇÏ´Â °Ô ¾Æ´Õ´Ï´Ù.

 

ÀÌÇØÇØ¿ä, ±×Àú
µ½°í ½ÍÀ» »ÓÀÌ¿¡¿ä

 

±¦Âú¾Æ¿ä, ¿Ó½¼

 

ÀÌ Æ¯º° ¼ö»ç°ü´ÔÀÇ
½Ã°£À» ´õÀÌ»ó »©¾ÑÀ¸¸é

 

¾ÈµÉ °Í °°±º¿ä. ±×´Â
'´ë´ÜÇÑ ³ð'À» Àâ¾Æ¾ß Çϴϱî¿ä

 

°¨»çÇÕ´Ï´Ù

 

¿Ö ±×·¨¾î¿ä?

 

±×°¡ ¿ì¸®ÇÑÅ× ÆÄÀÏÀ»
³Ñ°ÜÁÙ ÂüÀ̾ú´Âµ¥

 

´ç½ÅÀÇ È£°¨À»
°ú´ëÆò°¡Çϴ±º¿ä

 

ºí·¹ÀÌÅ© ųʴÂ
°Å¸¸Çϸ鼭 ¶Ç ¸ÛûÇØ¿ä

 

±×´Â Àý´ë·Î ¿ì¸®¿Í ÀÛ¾÷À»
°°ÀÌ ÇÏÁö ¾ÊÀ» °Ì´Ï´Ù

 

³ª´Â ±×¿Í ¸¸³ªÀÚ¸¶ÀÚ
¸î ºÐ ³»·Î

 

´Ù¸¥ ¹æ½ÄÀ» ÅëÇØ ÇÁ·ÎÆÄÀÏÀ»
¾ò¾î¾ß ÇÑ´Ù´Â °É ¾Ë¾ÒÁÒ

 

±×´Â ºÐ¸í ¾ç¾ÆÄ¡Àε¥´Ù°¡
¼ÓÁ¼Àº Æø±ºÀÌ¿¡¿ä

 

¶ÇÇÑ ³²ÀÌ ÇسõÀº ¼º°ú¸¦
°¡·Îä´Â ÀÛÀÚÀÏ °Ì´Ï´Ù

 

 

³ª´Â ±×ÀÇ µ¿·áµéÀÌ ±×¸¦
¾î¶»°Ô ÃÄ´Ùº¸´ÂÁö¸¦ ÁÖ¸ñÇß¾î¿ä

 

±×°¡ ¿ì¸®¸¦ »ç¹«½Ç·Î
µ¥·Á°¥ ¶§ ¸»ÀÌÁÒ

 

´Ùµé °æ¸êÀÇ ´«Ãʸ®°¡
º¸ÅëÀÌ ¾Æ´Ï´õ±º¿ä

 

±×·¡¼­ ±×µé Áß ÀϺο¡°Ô
¸Þ¸ð¸¦ ½á¼­ ³Ñ°ÜÁÖ¾úÁÒ

 

³ª´Â ±×µé Áß ÇѸíÀÌ
ųÊÀÇ µÚ¿¡¼­ ±×ÀÇ ÇÁ·ÎÆÄÀÏÀ»

 

³Ñ°ÜÁÙ ±âȸ¸¦ Å©°Ô
¹Ý±æ°Å¶ó°í ²Ï È®½ÅÇÕ´Ï´Ù

 

ºÃÁÒ? ¹ú½á º¹»çº» Çϳª°¡ ¿Ô¾î¿ä
- ¹¹¶ó°í¿ä?

 

µÎ °³³×¿ä, »ç½ÇÀº

 

ÀÌ°É·Î ¼¼ °³±º¿ä

 

Àá±ñ¸¸¿ä, ±×°Ô
ÇÁ·ÎÆÄÀÏÀ̶ó°í¿ä?

 

³Ê¹« »¡¸®
³Ñ±â°í ÀÖÀݾƿä

 

³ª´Â ¼Óµ¶ÀÌ °¡´ÉÇØ¿ä
´ç½ÅÀº ÀÌ ÈÆ·ÃÀ»

 

¹Þ±âµµ Àü¿¡
¿ì¸® ÁýÀ» ³ª°¡¹ö·ÈÁÒ

 

´ë´ÜÇϱº¿ä

 

ÀÌ°Ô ÁÁÀº ½ÃÀÛÀÌ
µÇ°Ú¾î¿ä

 

°Å±â ¹º°¡ À¯¿ëÇÑ
Á¤º¸°¡ ÀÖ³ªº¸ÁÒ?

 

ÀÌ º¸°í´Â ±Ëº¯°ú

 

Áß¾ðºÎ¾ðÇÏ´Â
»ç°í¹æ½ÄÀÇ »ç·Ê·Î

 

°¡µæÂ÷ ÀÖÀ¸¸ç ´ëºÎºÐ
ÇÁ·ÎÆÄÀÏ·¯¶ó´Â

 

Á÷¾÷ ƯÀ¯ÀÇ °ÔÀ¸¸§°ú

 

ÁöÀûÀÎ Ç㿵½ÉÀ¸·Î
¾ó·èÁ® ÀÖ¾î

 

±×·³ ±×°Ô ¿Ö
ÁÁÀº ½ÃÀÛÀ̶ó´Â °Å¿¹¿ä?

 

¿Ö³ÄÇϸé ÀÌ ¹®¼­¸¦ ´ëÃæ
Åy¾îº¸´Â °Í¸¸À¸·Îµµ

 

"ÆßŲ"À̶ó´Â »ç¶÷Àº
¾ø´Ù´Â È®½ÅÀÌ µå´Ï±î

 

±×´Â ºí·¹ÀÌÅ© ųʰ¡
¸¸µé¾î³½ Àι°ÀÏ »ÓÀ̾ß

 

¸ðµç ¾îµÎ¿î °ñ¸ñ¸¶´Ù
µµ±úºñ°¡ ÀÖ´Ù°í ¹Ïµµ·Ï

 

ÈÆ·ÃµÈ Á÷¾÷ÀÇ
»êÀ¯¹°ÀÌÁö

 

¾Æ´Ï, ³ªÇÑÅ×´Â ºÐ¸íÇØ

 

ÆßŲÀÌ ÇÑ Áþó·³ º¸ÀÌ´Â
°¢ ½ÇÁ¾ÇÇÇØÀڵ鸶´Ù

 

½ÇÀº ÀüºÎ ´Ù¸¥ »ç¶÷µé¿¡°Ô
³³Ä¡µÈ °ÍÀ̶ó´Â °Ô

 

±× ¹üÁ˵éÀº
¿¬°áµÇ¾î ÀÖÁö¾Ê¾Æ¿ä

 

ÈÄ°¢Àû ÈçÀûÀº ¾î¶§¿ä?

 

À°µÎ±¸¿¡ ´ëÇؼ±
¼³¸í ¸øÇÏ°Ú¾î¿ä

 

¾ÆÁ÷Àº ¸»ÀÌÁÒ,
ÇÏÁö¸¸ ³ª´Â

 

ºí·¹ÀÌÅ© ųʰ¡ ¿¬°á°í¸®¸¦
¸¸µé·Á°í ÇϳªÀÇ ¼¼ºÎ»çÇ׿¡¸¸

 

¸Å´Þ·Á ¿ÔÀ¸¸ç ±× ´ÙÀ½¿£ ÀÏ°ö°³ÀÇ
¹üÁ˸¦ ¿¬°á½ÃÅ°·Á Áöµ¶È÷ °íÅ뽺·¯¿î

 

½É¸®ÇÐÀÇ ±×¹°À»
¿«¾î¿Ô´Ù´Â °ÍÀ» ¾Ë¾Æ¿ä

 

»ç½ÇÀº ´Ù º°°³ÀÇ
»ç°ÇÀ̾ú´Âµ¥ ¸»ÀÌÁÒ

 

¿ì¸®´Â Á¦½ÃÄ« Ȧ´õ¿¡°Ô Á¤¸»
¹«½¼ ÀÏÀÌ ÀÖ¾ú´ÂÁö ¾Ë¾Æ³¾ °Å¿¹¿ä

 

±× ´ÙÀ½¿¡´Â,
Àç¹Ì »ï¾Æ¼­

 

À°µÎ±¸°¡ ¹«½¼ »ó°üÀÌ
ÀÖ´ÂÁöµµ ¹àÇô³»°Ô µÉ°ÍÀÌ°í

 

¿ì¸®´Â ¿ì¸®ÀÇ ¸»À» µè´Â
»ç¶÷µé¿¡°Ô ºí·¹ÀÌÅ© ųʰ¡

 

Áö³­ 5³â µ¿¾È ¹Ùº¸°°ÀÌ
±¼¾î¿Ô´Ù´Â °É ÀÔÁõÇÏ°Ô µÉ °Å¿¹¿ä

 

¢Ü Elementary 3x07 ¢Ü
The Adventure of the Nutmeg Concoction
Original Air Date on Decemb

 

== ½ÌÅ©, ±³Á¤ elderman ==
@elder_man

 

¢Ü ¢Ü

 

ÆíÁö¸¦ ¾²´Â °Ç
»ý°¢Çغþî¿ä?

 

³×?

 

¾Øµå·ù¿¡°Ô¼­ ´À³¢´Â
ÁÂÀýÀ» ¿ÏÈ­½ÃÅ°±â À§Çؼ­¿ä.

 

Á¦´ë·Î ÆíÁö¸¦
¾²´Â °É ±ÇÇÏ°Ú¾î¿ä.

 

¼Õ±Û¾¾·Î ÆíÁö¸¦ ½á¼­,

 

½ÅÁßÇÏ°í ¼¼½ÉÇÑ
»ý°¢À¸·Î º¸³»µµ·Ï ÇØ¿ä

 

ÀǹÌÀÖ´Â ÀÇ»ç¼ÒÅëÀ» À§Çؼ­´Â

 

±×°Ô Á¤¸»·Î
°¡Àå ºü¸¥ ±æÀÌ¿¡¿ä

 

Àú´Â ¿ÏÈ­½ÃÄÑ¾ß ÇÒ
ÁÂÀýÀÌ ¾ø´Ù´Ï±î¿ä

 

¾Øµå·ù¿Í Àú´Â ¿À´Ã ¾Æħ
ÅëÈ­¿¬°áÀ» Çϴµ¥

 

¾Ö¸¦ Á» ¸Ô¾ú°í,
±×»ÓÀÌ¿¡¿ä

 

Èì

 

Á¦¹ß ³» ¾ÖÁ¤°ü°è¿¡ ´ëÇØ
´ç½ÅÀÌ ¶Ç ´Ù¸¥ ÀÇ°ßÀ»

 

°¡Áö°í ÀÖ´Ù´Â
¸»Àº ÇÏÁö¸¶¿ä.

 

Àú´Â Á¦½ÃÄ« Ȧ´õÀÇ ¼ÒÁöÇ°ÀÌ
´ã°ÜÀÖ´Â ÀÌ »óÀÚ¸¦ »ìÆìºÃ¾î¿ä

 

±×³à´Â ¾ÆÁÖ
Á¤¸®Á¤µ·À» ÁÁ¾ÆÇØ¿ä

 

½ÉÁö¾î´Â ¿­¼è°í¸®¸¶Àú
²Ä²ÄÇÏ°Ô ¹è¿­µÇ¾îÀÖ¾î¿ä

 

°¢°¢ ¶óº§ÀÌ ºÙ¾îÀÖÁÒ

 

±×¸®°í ¿©±â ¿ì¸®´Â ¿ÏÀüÈ÷ µ¿ÀÏÇÑ
Á¾·ù¿Í ¸ðµ¨ÀÇ ¼¼ ¿­¼è¸¦ °¡Áö°í ÀÖ¾î¿ä

 

ÀÌ°ÍÀÌ ´ç½Å¿¡°Ô
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== ½ÌÅ©, ±³Á¤ elderman ==
@elder_man

 

Previously on Elementary...

 

You must be Andrew.

 

Sherlock Holmes.

 

Sorry.

 

Joan said you were coming.

 

It's not how I
wanted to meet you.

 

I think I'm gonna
give it a go.

 

What, you found
your next business?

 

Holmes puts me on
an e-mail chain,

 

and 36 hours
later, um...

 

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?
Mmm.

 

So, tell me what happened.
I don't know.

 

The last time anyone saw Jess
was inside her apartment.

 

I, uh... I 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.

 

I-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-I know the odds
aren't good here.

 

But...

 

even if Jess is...

 

...gone,

 

I just want to 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 again.

 

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 wan to know
what you're working on.

 

Tell Sherlock I can't jump into
anything with you right now.

 

He's not looking for help,
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'd he say?

 

It's not my phone.

 

Behavioral Science Unit.

 

Even the name is pompous.

 

Really 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

 

since we've sat down.

 

You expecting
some news?

 

No, Andrew and I just
got cut off earlier.

 

Just checking to
see if he called.

 

You're frustrated.

 

It's difficult
to maintain what has become

 

largely a long-distance
relationship.

 

So, it's natural to wonder
whether the difficulty

 

in communicating is
a symptom of being apart

 

or whether it's
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 NYPD,

 

but your interest
in this is private?

 

That's right.

 

We were hired by one
of the relatives

 

of the potential
victims...

 

Victims, full stop.

 

Nothing "potential" about it.

 

I'm sure you're right.

 

S-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 anyone;

 

we just want to take a
look at your profile.

 

S-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 ten years,

 

hasn't left a hint
of evidence behind.

 

Just the olfactory signature.

 

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 want to help.

 

That's fine, Watson.

 

I don't think we need
to take up much more

 

of 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.

 

Eh, 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
by alternative means.

 

He is 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
to his back office.

 

There was no shortage
of contempt,

 

so I wrote short notes
to a few of them.

 

And 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 generally 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?

 

'Cause even a cursory glance at
this document has 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 really
happened to Jessica Holder.

 

And then, just for sport,

 

we're going to explain
the nutmeg connection.

 

And then we're gonna prove
to anyone who cares to listen

 

that Blake Tanner has been
a fool these past five years.

 

♪ Elementary 3x07 ♪
The Adventure of the Nutmeg Concoction
Original Air Date on December 1, 2014

 

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man

 

♪ ♪

 

Have you considered
correspondence?

 

Hmm?

 

To alleviate your frustrations
with Andrew.

 

I recommend
proper correspondence.

 

Handwritten letters,

 

informed by deliberate
and careful thought.

 

It really 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,
that's all.

 

Hmm.

 

Please don't tell me
you have another insight

 

about my relationship.

 

I'm looking through this box
of Jessica Holder's belongings.

 

She really is a very
organized person.

 

Even the 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?

 

My apartment keys
look identical.

 

Precisely.

 

So, if you're like most people,

 

you've got one key
for your apartment building,

 

one key for your
apartment proper.

 

That's two; she has
three identical keys.

 

This 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

 

and try every lock
until we find what this opens

 

and then divine her connection
to whatever's inside.

 

Let me know
when you've got it sorted.

 

What, you're not coming?

 

I'm here to offer help,

 

but 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 Sixth.

 

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 want to 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...

 

Ms. Hudson.

 

What are you doing here?
Hi.

 

Um, 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?

 

Mm.
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 a 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 have smelled
of baked goods.

 

Those are just the ones
that Blake 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.
Seems like we're all set

 

on the nutmeg front.

 

And 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 Jessica's belongings.

 

Why don't you start
with her laptop?

 

Let me know if you find
anything interesting.

 

You know what? 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.

 

Um, are you still practicing
at White Peaks?

 

15 years. I'm an old man now.

 

I heard you're

 

a private investigator?
Yes.

 

That's why I'm lingering
outside your building.

 

I've got a problem.

 

Oh, nothing serious, I hope.

 

Not really.
Someone stole my I.D.,

 

my medical I.D., actually.

 

I didn't even know
it happened

 

until I went in for a physical,
and the doctor

 

had the wrong blood type
on file.

 

Sometimes this stuff is
hooked into a bigger scam.

 

I thought if you had some time,
maybe you can,

 

you know, figure things out?

 

I-I'd pay you your fee.

 

Oh, no, no,
don't worry about that.

 

You know,
I'm a little busy right now,

 

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, 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; he's a friend.

 

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 NYPD,

 

could go a very long way.

 

You'd be giving closure

 

to Jessica Holder's family also,
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
that you were hired to address,

 

but we might
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.

 

And 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 two adults have
a relationship

 

where one never calls the other
anything but The Nose?

 

If you must know his real name,
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?

 

Mm-hmm.

 

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.

 

Uh, 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 Holder's murder
is connected

 

to what happened here,
just as it's connected

 

to every other
disappearance attributed

 

to Pumpkin.

 

The man who killed
Jessica Holder

 

isn't responsible for this;
he's dead.

 

And I thought you said 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.

 

The 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 professional
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

 

that a woman cannot
melt corpses--

 

he relies on word of mouth.

 

I would wager

 

that 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.

 

Nutmeg concoction
sounds like something

 

my aunt would give me
for Christmas.

 

Well, be thankful she didn't,
'cause you would

 

have 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?

 

We'll canvass contractors

 

who hire out
for crime scene cleaning

 

and check with schools
that issue special certificates

 

in disposing biohazardous waste.

 

Is there something wrong
with that plan?

 

No, perfectly sensible.
I just...

 

It sounds a bit... dull.

 

Oh. 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.

 

Please stop talking.
You're jostling the wound.

 

And 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 the
bills when career criminals

 

aren't murdering each other
in sufficient quantity.

 

You've heard
of the Dark Internet, I assume?

 

Yeah, Web sites that are
not visible to search engines.

 

People buy drugs there.

 

Didn't the FBI shut it down?

 

They shut down a site
called The Silk Road.

 

But others have
popped up in its place.

 

And 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 then claim to be

 

a desperate man who's committed
a crime of passion.

 

And hopefully our cleaner
gets in touch with you.

 

Oh, yeah. Have fun with that.

 

You're not gonna stay?

 

Any luck, we'll have
our man by morning.

 

I think I'll just stick
to the dull stuff.

 

Thanks for your help, Kitty.

 

Welcome.

 

Pigs' blood, please!

 

That's the guy who stole
my medical I.D.?

 

My colleague had
a contact run this

 

through facial
recognition software.

 

This guy is
all over social media.

 

His name is Ermel Janic.

 

Wow. You work fast.

 

Well, you can take
all this to the police.

 

Hopefully, it will help
clear some things up

 

with your insurance.

 

But you should check
all your records.

 

Make sure he didn't
change anything else.

 

Thanks so much
for doing this.

 

You were always efficient
when we were together,

 

but it looks like
you found another gear.

 

You always had
a very interesting way

 

of describing
my type A tendencies.

 

Uh, 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 that they
issue more crime scene

 

cleaning certificates
than anyone in New York?

 

They agreed to let us
go through their records.

 

Hoping the few
apparent sociopaths

 

would leap out of the pile?

 

Yes.

 

You ought to make a case

 

against whoever acquired
this mural.

 

You can't learn
a trade with that

 

abomination looming
over you, can you?

 

I'm surprised
you even came down here.

 

I thought this stuff
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?

 

Well, we had what
I considered to be

 

a promising response to my ad.

 

So, photographs of the supposed
mayhem were provided,

 

a meeting was set, it was
all going rather 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?

 

The appearance of a living
Kitty did help my cause.

 

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, so...

 

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?

 

No, it didn't come
up... naturally.

 

What do you mean "naturally"?
I mean, given your history,

 

it's hardly surprising
you've allowed this

 

to happen at the
very same moment

 

that your relationship
with Andrew requires

 

tending, effort.

 

Naturally, you've
opened yourself up

 

to other opportunities.

 

Much like a female
baboon broadcasts

 

her 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 the reality of
such arrangements.

 

That's why you find yourself
drawn to unsuitable partners.

 

People like my brother.

 

Of course, chance
will occasionally

 

see to it that you do find
an appropriate match.

 

But on these occasions, you
sabotage the relationship.

 

It's connected to the
conflict at your core.

 

The tension between
a conventional life

 

and yearning to heed
the call of adventure.

 

Okay, I do not yearn to head
the call of adventure.

 

The only thing
I yearn to do right now

 

is to get some work done.

 

Well, Kitty should
be done tidying up

 

the scene
of her staged murder very soon.

 

Between the two of you,
we should be

 

through these stacks
in no time.

 

Where are you going?

 

This mural-- not only is it
ugly, it's incongruous.

 

And I shall not be able
to volunteer effectively

 

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
of the program,

 

and I asked him all about it.

 

It is called
The Magical Myristica Tour.

 

And it was 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
the hallucinogenic effects

 

of ingesting large quantities
of the spice.

 

You can get high off nutmeg?

 

I 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.

 

Now, 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.

 

Our 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?

 

Presumably 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 the
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 want to
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 M.O. is based on leaving
no evidence behind.

 

Right. But you said
that 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
each of these people dead

 

and then we offer them

 

the same kind of deal
that he turned down.

 

Well, the only
person we know has

 

a connection with him
is Raymond Carpenter.

 

In point of fact,
the connection lies

 

between Carpenter's hired hand
and Woodbine.

 

You're talking
about the man

 

who killed Jessica Holder.

 

But he's been dead for years.

 

Well, 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 they frequented.

 

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 for the meet.

 

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, uh,
we'll begin.

 

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, or whatever you said,

 

but 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 you 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.

 

I know you'll never be happy

 

within the confines of
a "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.

 

Well, 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?

 

Or with him when
he's in the States

 

and free to pursue other
interests when he's not?

 

There are any number
of possible arrangements.

 

All you need to do

 

is find one which is
true to your nature.

 

It really is quite
remarkable to me.

 

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 must have
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, aren't you?

 

A one-time kingpin
who's managed to extract himself

 

entirely from his past

 

and lead
a quieter existence.

 

You were just one
of Woodbine's clients.

 

There were others, many others,
and 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 very
lucky person indeed.

 

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.

 

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.

 

I think he might have had
knee surgery recently.

 

And why do
you say that?

 

'Cause 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

 

any time soon.

 

Our cleaner's been cleaned.

 

Well, the M.E. 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.

 

'Cause it sure looks
like Woodbine's gone.

 

And 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
that you offered him.

 

Watson and I went straight

 

from interviewing Dedekian
to Conrad Woodbine's studio.

 

That's hardly enough time
for him 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 told you

 

he ordered Jessica
Holder's murder.

 

That's the day he was convicted
of 18 different felonies.

 

Friends and family with him.

 

They all look like
they took it pretty hard.

 

So...?

 

So, we've seen him before.

 

That's the superintendant

 

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 already begun to 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've 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 the hell
you're talking about.

 

You apprenticed him
to Conrad Woodbine.

 

It was a convenient arrangement.

 

Jeremy would earn a livelihood,

 

and Mr. Woodbine was
only too happy, I'm sure,

 

to accommodate one of his most

 

valued
clients.

 

Jeremy even served
as his superintendant

 

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.

 

I mean, God knows
what would happen

 

if he told the
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 finally 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
very damning secrets

 

about some 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 the 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
during my reading hours,

 

but tonight feel
free to enjoy it

 

at whatever
volume you wish.

 

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man