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Hi.
Darling, this isn't
the intimate engagement party your father described.
Dad doesn't do intimate, Colin.
He already agreed to no wedding announcement
in "The Times." Let him have this.
But he's spending so much money.
It's unnecessary.
Ostentation is not something that I'm accustomed to.
Look, I'm beginning to think the Devonshire Castle
is a bad idea.
You are a British Lord.
You have to get married in your family's castle.
I'm not a Lord. I'm a Viscount.
And no law says we can't elope.
Colin, I love you.
And I've waited my whole life
to meet my Prince Viscount.
- Emily! - Daddy!
- That's my girl. - Sir.
Thank you again for hosting.
It's going to be a charming affair.
Aw, it's nothing compared to the wedding.
Oh, we were just discussing that.
We're not sure who's more excited about the castle, you or me.
Yeah, well, my princess...
her fairy tale, it ends in a castle.
You got that?
Absolutely, Sir.
Now, this is one well-dressed victim.
Looks like something Henry might wear.
- You gonna call him? - Nah, it's his day off.
Whoa! Victim's a Brit.
Colin Cavendish, age 28, out of London.
Says he's a "vis-count"?
It's a title, like Royalty.
Oh. Well, we got a dead royal in Central Park.
You got to call him.
Henry. Breakfast is getting cold.
I'm gonna microwave it.
Absolutely not.
You know how I feel.
The microwave is to food
what the cellphone is to conversation...
it destroys the very thing it wishes to help!
Oh, calm down. We don't even own a microwave.
Let's just sit and have breakfast
like two civilized people, please.
Ah, okay.
Now, where are my obituaries?
What Sunday morning would be complete
without you scavenging the deceased for antiques?
Scavenge? This is market research.
Okay, what do we have here? What do we have?
"Dead travel agent. Laine Romero from Queens."
Must've picked up some nice tchotchkes on her travels.
I'm gonna circle that one till later.
Okay, who else?
Oh.
No.
What is it?
Lyle Ames died.
The name sounds familiar, but I'm...
He was a friend of mine from '57.
Oh, wow.
What a long time ago, huh?
I taught him my best curse words,
and he showed me my first nudie book.
Hmm.
I'm sorry.
I haven't thought about him in almost 60 years.
He used to live down the block
when we had that apartment on 69th and 2nd.
Remember that place?
Yes.
Those were good times with you and mom.
Mm.
They were indeed.
Who's that?
It's 9:00.
Now, the average murder victims
are discovered between 8:00 and 8:30.
Jo and Hanson most likely just arrived at the scene.
- Hello, Detective. - Hey, Henry.
I'm in Central Park. We've found one of yours.
Mine?
An aristocrat.
It's a courtesy call,
but, well, we could always use your help.
Abe, do you mind... ?
Go, catch a bad guy.
I'm on my way.
Passport I.D.'s him as Viscount Colin Cavendish.
He's royalty.
Uh, the title of viscount is that of a noble,
not a royal. There is a difference.
Not in New York.
20 minutes I'm on hold with this Embassy.
Doc, doesn't your country care
when one of your royals gets got?
Nobles. He's a... does no one understand
the difference between Nobility and Royalty?
What? What'd he say?
Never mind.
Hematoma to the back of the head.
Multiple lacerations on the face
indicates a possible struggle prior to death.
C.O.D. incised wound to the carotid artery.
But this wasn't done by a knife.
It's too irregular. Do we have a murder weapon?
No. And something is off here.
An English Noble takes a stroll through Central Park
in the middle of the night.
Somebody stabs him to death,
but doesn't take his wallet?
The story doesn't make sense.
Well, neither does the history.
In 1869, Queen Victoria
revoked Lord Marcel Cavendish's nobility
when he stabbed a man to death in a house of ill repute.
Six months later, the former Lord was killed in a duel.
In fact, the entire Cavendish family died out by 1881.
Mm, I thought you'd like this case.
This man is neither a viscount nor a Cavendish.
He's an impostor.
Jo, get this...
British Embassy's got no record of nobility
for anyone named Colin Cavendish.
The guy is a complete imp...
Henry already figured this out, didn't he?
We have two mysteries here, Detectives.
Who is Colin Cavendish, and who wanted him dead?
- Synced and corrected by martythecrazy - - www.addic7ed.com -
What we try to hide about ourselves in life
is revealed in death... our fears, our insecurities,
but most of all, our secrets.
What's that?
He dyed his hair.
Note the cuticle and cortex... blond.
I know plenty of girls out there
who would kill to be natural blondes.
For our victim, it's more likely he did it
because he was hiding.
I'm impressed, Henry.
This older look suits you quite nicely.
But let's not go overboard.
There's a fine line between precaution and paranoia.
I know what it looks like, but at some point,
someone's gonna start wondering about me
and why I don't age like everyone else.
All your lady admirers?
Look, we've been here for seven years.
It's either this, or we move on again.
Henry, we don't have to move.
A few grays make you look like Clark Gable.
And in case you haven't noticed, I like older men.
Does our victim have a name?
Not yet.
Vic's prints didn't turn up anything.
Whoever he is, he's not in our system.
Other than the fake passport,
there's no paper trail to follow on Colin Cavendish.
What did you get off the body?
We found small flakes of gold in the neck wound.
We've sent them for a metallurgy test.
And down here, you'll notice some deep scarring
on the inside of the ankles
and some gravel that's healed into the wound.
Guy looks more "Blue Collar" than "Blue Blood".
And he's an American.
How can you tell that?
Oh, this part's really cool.
The soft palate is the road map to how we sound.
Americans tend to push sounds together
in the back of the mouth.
That's why American English is said to sound harder
and more aesthetically displeasing.
Easy, Doc.
Based on the curvature of the palate,
Colin was most assuredly an American.
So we got a lot of details, but no real name yet.
Hell, we don't even know anything about his fake name.
Well, we do have this.
At the time of his death,
the impostor was wearing a London travel suit
from Paul Stuart's fall collection...
not only an excellent English suit,
but the perfect look for a young man of nobility.
It projects stature, sophistication, and...
And deep pockets.
So he knew what he was doing.
But look at this... the left-handed under roll,
an almost extinct alteration stitch.
There is only one master tailor
remaining in New York who uses it.
Mine.
Can I ask you a personal question?
Yeah.
How can an M.E. afford to shop here?
I've saved a bit over the years.
Finished... two weeks.
Oh, Dr. Morgan.
So good to see you!
No appointment today?
Actually, Arturo, I'd like to introduce you
to my partner. This is...
Dr. Morgan, please, you know I don't work with the women...
Even if they wear the pantsuit.
Uh, Detective Jo Martinez, NYPD.
Do you recognize this man?
Well, of course. Mr. Cavendish.
Something's wrong?
Arturo, I'm afraid to say that Mr. Cavendish is dead...
Also not a Cavendish.
Well, I don't understand.
He's not who he claimed to be.
We're trying to find his real identity,
so anything you have...
credit-card receipts, delivery address...
that would help us identify him?
No, he paid in cash,
uh, always picked up his suits in person.
Well, except for the last one.
- What is it? - A tuxedo.
A tuxedo for what?
Oh, Mr. Cavendish was getting married.
The wedding registry... it's on the second floor.
I can't believe he's dead.
Were you close with the deceased?
I wouldn't say close,
uh, but we worked closely on the registry.
You can get very friendly with the couples.
Can you tell us about his fiancée?
Of course. Emily Sontag.
Her father owns garment factories in New Jersey.
- That's it. - They supply most of our high-end designers.
You have her contact info?
Yes.
I must have it somewhere.
- Hey. - Hello.
You got a problem?
I wondered if I could have a closer look at your legs.
Dude, even for New York, you're a weirdo.
Step back.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey, hey, hey.
- NYPD. - What the hell is this?
Look at his calf.
It has the same distinct scarring
as the inside of Colin's ankle.
It's called a chain scar.
You ride in the city all day, every day, you get it.
I believe Colin was a bike messenger.
You recognize this guy?
He would've had blond hair when you knew him.
Wow. That's Dwight.
Dwight?
Dwight Dziak.
We used to ride together.
Haven't seen him in like a year,
but if you find him, tell him he owes me money.
I believe we've found our noble.
Dwight Dziak.
Sir Dwight Dziak.
Touché.
Ahh! Your Bernard Weatherill.
It looks splendid on you.
You think? Hmm.
It doesn't make me look like a bit of a dandy?
You use that word like it's a bad thing.
When you wear a savile row suit,
you must exude confidence.
Here.
Ah!
What's the big occasion?
- I'm going to a funeral. - Oh.
No, it's a good one as far as they go.
Oh, Lyle Ames from the obituaries.
But there are gonna be a lot of people there
that I haven't seen in a very long time.
- Really? - Yeah.
And by "people," you mean a woman.
What's her name?
Fawn.
When did you see her last?
The Eisenhower administration.
She went to PS 6 with me and Lyle.
She was, um... well, special.
First love?
Ah! How sweet.
And uncharacteristically innocent.
You know, funerals, they're the best places to meet ladies
of a certain age and, uh, romantic temperament.
That's the Abe I know.
Bingo. Oh, could you come with me?
I mean to the funeral. I-I need a wingman.
No, no, no, sh-sh-she's, uh, I-important.
I mean, uh, it's hard for me to explain, but she is.
And, uh, it's been 60 years, and I'm just a little nervous,
so I-I just want to make a good impression, so...
Staid and dependable?
Or, uh, wild and spontaneous?
Why don't you just try being yourself, hmm?
It's always worked out best.
Okay, great.
And who is that?
So, who is Dwight Dziak?
He's 27 years old, born in Oklahoma,
and his juvenile search record turned up a few hits.
Case file reads like a Dickens' novel.
Guy bounced around from various foster homes
before striking out to the Big Apple to become a bike messenger.
Only 14 months later, he quits,
drops off the grid completely.
What about the fiancée? What's her story?
Emily Sontag should be here any minute,
coming in from Westchester.
Her father owns a textile factory.
The point is, Emily comes from a family
that a bike messenger doesn't marry into easily.
So maybe Emily helps Dziak come up with his BS bio
to pull the wool over daddy's eyes?
Yeah, we'll let you know what we get out of her.
This isn't real.
Um...
I'm sorry.
How does this happen?
Who would want to murder Colin?
Hoping you could help us with that.
When did you last see Colin?
Before I went to sleep.
When I woke up, he was gone.
You never left your apartment?
You have somebody who can back that up?
The doorman to our building.
You know, we're having a little bit of trouble
locating your fiancé's next of kin.
Colin was English.
He doesn't have any family in the States.
Um...
Maybe you could try the British Embassy?
Did you ever hear the name Dwight Dziak?
Why?
Is that... is he a suspect?
Is that who you think killed Colin?
Um... Emily, this is gonna be hard,
especially on top
of all that you're going through right now.
We have to tell you something about your fiancé.
Colin wasn't who he said he was.
What are you talking about?
Emily, meet your fiancé, Dwight Dziak.
Hey, Doc.
I was gonna put him on ice if that was okay with you?
Yes, I believe we've learned all we can
from his body for the moment.
It's a funny thing, huh,
just pretending to be someone you're not?
I was in the ninth grade, and I had to switch schools.
For a whole year, I made my classmates call me Fernando.
Uh, well, what happened?
Well, eventually I got tired of worrying
that my old life would catch up with the new.
And I didn't speak Spanish.
Yeah, can't imagine what it was like
for this guy always checking over his shoulder.
Crazy.
Never could tire of this.
What's that?
Seasons changing, nature's cycle of life.
Mm, all of us one year older...
even you, darling.
Your gray hair is flaking on your shoulder.
I have to start wearing a hat.
Oh, don't worry. No one saw a thing.
I need to pick up Abe from school.
- See you at home. - Bye.
Dr. Henry Morgan.
I thought it was you.
I saw you hit by an artillery shell
on the beach at Normandy.
What, don't you recognize me?
PFC Hemecker.
I know time hasn't been as kind to me
as it's been to you, Doctor.
I got a piece of that same shell in this old leg of mine.
Uh, you got the wrong guy.
Now, excuse me. I have to get back to work.
I got to say, I have seen my share of ghosts,
but none as real as you!
Henry?
Henry.
Or Dr. Morgan,
unless we're finally on a first-name basis?
Didn't think so.
What is it, Lucas?
Ah, well, when I was gonna go pack up his stuff,
I felt something crinkly inside his coat pocket.
And turned out it was paper, but just a bunch of pieces,
so I put what I could back together.
Look at that.
- A check! - Oh, yeah.
It's a lot of zeroes.
Yeah, a cool million, payable to the D.O.A.
From whose account?
One Norman Sontag.
Colin's would-be father-in-law.
Ms. Sontag, did you know about the check
your father wrote Colin the night he was murdered?
It was for our wedding...
Colin's family's castle in Devonshire...
Which was obviously made up, too.
You must think I'm an idiot.
I think that you just fell for the wrong man.
Of everything you've told me,
the fact our love wasn't real is the hardest to believe.
You buying this story?
I'll subpoena her building's security footage
and talk to her doorman,
but I don't make her for a killer.
Now, her old man, on the other hand...
Forget about the money.
Daddies don't like to see their little girl's hearts broken.
And you think Norman Sontag
found out his daughter was being duped?
Talk to him.
Wow. Nice digs.
Looks like it belongs on the other side of the pond.
Remind you of home?
What? You think all Englishmen
grew up reciting poetry and hunting pheasants?
Well, it's just
you never talk about where you grew up.
Then Colin Cavendish and I have something in common...
the need to reinvent ourselves.
Well, there's no better place than here in America.
We've got no shortage of suckers.
You think that's what was motivating our victim...
a confidence game driven by greed?
The guy had a million bucks in his pocket.
That he'd torn up.
What if he was just a man trying to escape his past?
Dwight lied about who he was.
Because he aspired to be someone better,
then fell in love with someone better.
Haven't you ever wanted to be someone else?
Nope. For better or worse, I know who I am.
My daughter's happiness is all that ever mattered to me.
Then some sociopath comes into her life,
preying on an innocent girl.
When's the last time you saw your daughter's fiancé?
Was the, uh, night of the engagement party...
uh, when it ended, at about 10:00.
Is your back all right?
The way you're walking... slight limp.
Heat pad over there.
I threw it out playing golf.
Ice...
Much better than heat for a muscle strain.
Did you notice anything odd about Colin's behavior
the night you saw him?
Seemed happy as a clam to me.
'Course he had a check in his pocket for a million bucks.
Dwight, or Colin... whichever you prefer...
came back here after the party, didn't he?
I'm curious what the two of you discussed.
I already told you the engagement party
was the last time I saw that lying Okie son of a bitch.
We never told you
where the viscount Cavendish really came from.
Emily told me...
On the phone when she called to say that he was dead.
We never told Emily.
Dwight Dziak returned here after the party,
and you two had some sort of altercation.
That's why his jacket was torn.
I'd have to take it back to my lab,
but I'd wager that these exquisite wool fibers
match Dwight's suit.
You shoved him up against the wall, I assume.
But he was strong, a bike messenger,
so he shoved you back.
You fell onto the desk, injuring your lower back.
Marks on the carpet where it moved slightly.
You were no match for him physically,
but you couldn't let him leave, so what was handy?
Judging by the angle of the injury on Dwight's head,
I'd say you used a 7-iron, or perhaps a 6.
But you didn't catch him clean... a bit of a slice.
You need more shoulder rotation.
H-Henry, your gloves.
Doesn't matter.
It's already been wiped clean of any evidence.
Some sort of astringent cleaning fluid.
Next time use salt water...
just as effective at removing blood and no odor.
You followed Dwight to the city,
and you stabbed him in the neck at the fountain.
Is that true?
I am going to need to talk to my lawyer.
Well, that's the first truthful statement
you've made, Mr. Sontag.
I'm Peter Guzik, Mr. Sontag's counsel.
This is my client's statement
regarding the night in question.
Try seeing this from our perspective.
Mr. Sontag admitted that he attacked Dwight Dziak
with a golf club, but denies killing him?
Yeah, that's a tough needle to thread.
Good luck doing it with a jury.
What kind of a lawyer are you, anyway?
A corporate attorney for Mr. Sontag's textile business.
It says here your client called you
after he assaulted Dwight at his house.
Now, I don't speak legalese,
but it sounds to me like you told him to cover his tracks.
Is that true?
In general, innocent people don't cover their tracks.
What is it you want to know? Mr. Sontag.
Peter. You've helped enough.
You just tell us exactly what happened that night
after the party.
Colin...
Dwight, or whatever the hell his name is,
he came to the house, said that he wanted to talk.
Told me that everything about him was BS,
dropped the stupid British accent.
Told me that it was all some kind of con to steal my money,
except he had fallen in love with Emily
and now all he wanted was her.
So you assaulted him?
He told me that he was going to tell her the truth
and that, if she forgave him, that he would run away with her.
Mr. Sontag did
what any loving and protective father would do.
But we're talking about assault, not murder.
It's the God's honest truth.
When he left my house, he was alive.
So, then what?
In accordance with the advice of my counsel,
I did what I do every morning... I went into work.
Someone that could put you there at 5:00 in the morning?
About a hundred employees.
And there's security footage.
I'm sure my attorney would be happy
to get that for you if you want.
The injury from Norman Sontag's 7-iron was inflicted
hours before Dwight was killed,
judging by the inflammatory response...
Which also hid this.
Gauze fiber...
Hidden in the wound, blended into his hair.
It appears that Dwight's injury was cared for.
So maybe Dwight stopped by a pharmacy
after Norman hit him, but before he was killed?
Well, given the location of Dwight's injury,
it would've been difficult for him
to accomplish that by himself.
Hmm, someone could've helped him, then.
Perhaps.
Or just maybe he had help all along.
How does a bike messenger from Shawnee, Oklahoma,
learn a lifetime of culture and refinement
in a matter of months?
The Internet?
Well, not likely.
I mean, he knew how to speak, how to act,
and his sartorial acumen...
And cue the "aha" moment.
Like he stepped out of a Paul Stuart catalog.
Excuse me a moment.
Of course. Colin's clothes, his watch...
everything on his body was purchased at Paul Stuart.
It's all here in the winter catalog.
His pants. His shoes.
How could he not only know what to buy,
but have the money to afford it?
Because he had a Henry Higgins.
I played Eliza Doolittle
in my grade-school production of "My Fair Lady."
You must've been charming.
We can cross-check the items that he had on
with the ones sold at Paul Stuart.
Maybe we can find out who bought them.
Look at the pen on this page.
Remember the gold shards that I dug out of Colin's neck?
I believe we've found our murder weapon.
Turns out everything that Colin Cavendish purchased
was bought with an employee discount.
Here's whose discount he was using.
Patricia Abbott.
She's the wedding registrar we met at Paul Stuart.
Her manager confirmed she called in sick today.
- Do you got a home address? - You bet.
Clear!
All clear!
This... is where Dwight's nursemaid
preformed the triage.
But then I think Dwight betrayed her.
You see, they were partners, con artists,
but Dwight developed a conscience.
A piece of Norman Sontag's check.
So Patricia killed him
because he wouldn't make off with their money.
No, that's not what their fight was really about.
From your musical-theater days,
you mentioned "My Fair Lady"?
It's based on the myth of Pygmalion,
the story of an artist
who sculpted a statue so beautiful,
so perfect that he fell in love with it.
Dwight was her creation.
She gave him a crash course in nobility.
He was her statue, her masterwork.
Until he tried to leave her for another woman.
Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sontag.
My name's Colin Cavendish.
Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sontag.
My name is Colin Cavendish. Better.
But your vowels are still a bit iffy.
My vowels are a little bit iffy.
I'm rolling my r's. Enough.
Lord Cavendish is wiped out from all this work.
Perhaps he's earned himself a little study break.
Dwight!
In a minute.
Where is this woman?
We have a BOLO out on Patricia Abbott.
Her face is up on screens all over the city right now.
The feds are also looped in, along with FAA and transit.
If this woman is still here, we'll find her.
He was there.
Blood on the gauze is a DNA match for Colin.
Confirms he was indeed there at Patricia's house that night.
Okay, so Patricia transforms Dwight into Colin
so that he can get engaged to Emily and steal her money.
Right. Only thing is, Colin falls in love with Emily,
blows the con,
and when he tries to break it off with Patricia,
she kills him.
And this is what she leaves behind?
Yeah, but she's been working on this con for over a year, boss.
She'd have been ready to run.
She's probably halfway around the world by now.
She's not running.
How do you know that?
The pictures.
Patricia lived alone, worked long hours.
Her whole life was Colin and this plan.
If she was running, she would take what was essential
and what was irreplaceable.
Running or hiding, she's gonna turn up.
Can't get far in today's world.
Have you finished yet?
Photos and the photo album and then we finished.
But Abigail.
Henry, they can't be replaced. They're coming.
Of course.
Have you told Abe we're leaving?
Not yet. He has a friend over.
Today was the best day of my life.
Well, how was it, Abe?
Amazing.
I can't wait for my first kiss.
It'll happen soon, Lyle.
Fawn Mahoney.
What a tomato.
Yeah, but she's mine.
I'm gonna marry her someday.
Abraham.
Hey! I was just heading out.
Is, uh... should I change,
or is this appropriate attire for a funeral wingman?
What made you change your mind?
Well, a first kiss is hard to forget,
and it was my fault we had to move.
Oh. Okay.
Your digs are fine.
But dial back the immortal charm, you know?
This is my funeral.
- What? - Um, speaking figuratively.
You see her?
No, not yet.
At least you can pay your respects to your friend.
To who?
- Lyle. - Meh.
Wait! There she is!
Ah. Fawn Mahoney.
Ooh! What a tomato.
Abraham... she's the widow.
Did I not tell you that? Oh.
She's beautiful.
I'll just wait till after the service
- before I make my, uh... - Abraham!
You are not doing this.
I forbid you to flirt with a widow, your friend's wife!
What?
Someone you know?
Emily Sontag.
That must've been Dwight Dziak's funeral.
Who's the girl?
- The impostor's fiancée. - Oh.
Well, she looks like she's already moved on.
Kind of cozy with the guy she's with, huh?
That's Peter Guzik, her father's lawyer.
Not everyone comes to a funeral to hit on a widow.
I'm simply offering my condolences.
If a spark should re-ignite, who am I to blow out the flame.
Abraham, you're breaking an unwritten law so old,
they didn't have to write it down!
Wait.
It's her.
Who?
The killer, Patricia.
She's here!
We have to go follow her.
Come on! Are you kidding?
This is my one chance with Fawn.
Fine. Give me the keys.
You haven't driven for 37 years.
Abe, please. She killed a man.
I need your help.
All right, just a minute, just a minute.
Hey, kid! Come here.
Uh, is that your grandma Fawn? Yeah?
Uh, just give her this card.
Uh, tell her hi from an old friend
a-and that she aged well.
Hmm?
Yeah. All right.
Detective Martinez.
Patricia Abbott is getting away!
Getting away?
Henry, what are you talking about?
I'm at the cemetery.
She showed up at Dwight's funeral.
Okay, whoa. Slow down.
Abe! Hurry! Hurry up! We're losing her!
Look, we'll follow her, and you send up backup units.
No! No, no, no!
Do not approach her, do you hear me?
Uh, H-Hanson. Hanson.
Get state police on the phone.
Henry's got a beat on Patricia Abbott.
She's in some sort of Sedan... a Datsun perhaps!
They don't make those anymore. It's a Civic.
Abe, quickly.
Do I have police permission to violate all speeding laws?
- Yes. - N-no! Absolutely not.
Listen, maintain a safe distance
and get the license-plate number.
We're on it.
Thank you.
Sometimes our patrolmen can get a little overzealous
when they think a murder suspect is trying to flee town.
I wasn't going anywhere.
That was nice work, Henry.
As a matter of curiosity, though,
what were you doing in that cemetery?
My roommate was paying his respects to an old girlfriend,
the widow of the deceased.
I was his wingman.
I've got to learn to stop asking you questions.
I didn't kill Dwight.
Ms. Abbott, we know everything...
how you made Dwight into Colin,
how the two of you planned to con the Sontags.
You know, we also know that Dwight wanted to call it off.
And we know you were in love with him.
I was.
And he loved me, too, for a time.
Ms. Abbott, this would be a whole lot easier
if you could just come clean.
Just tell us exactly what happened that night
after the party.
He came back, told me it was over...
the con, our relationship.
- I can't do it, Patricia. - Look...
I don't love you anymore.
I saw them every day at the store,
the happy couples planning their lives, their dreams.
I knew exactly what Emily Sontag wanted.
What about Dwight Dziak?
All he wanted was a better life.
Which I helped give him.
Look where it got him...
dead, stabbed in the neck in Central Park.
Where in the park?
Bethesda Fountain.
That's where he proposed to Emily.
My idea.
Where was he headed that night
after he left your apartment?
I imagine to her to confess the ruse,
beg her forgiveness.
We are back where we started from.
I'd assumed, based upon the chafe on his pants,
that he fell to his knees because he was struck,
but what if he was on his knees apologizing?
Lucas.
Yeah, I was wondering if I could play the killer this time.
Kind of feel like I always play the victim.
It's much easier for me to get into character
murdering you.
Understood.
So, he apologizes.
But how could she forgive him?
This man has betrayed her, made her fall in love with him.
But now he's tearing that away.
She's not marrying a prince, she's marrying a charlatan.
Exactly.
So she tries to leave, but he prevents her.
Maybe it's her pen... falls out of her purse.
Excellent.
Rage bottled up in her, overwhelmed her.
She sees the pen on the ground, grabs it.
As he reaches for her again based on the entry wound...
she thrusts the pen swiftly and with tremendous force.
Oh, easy, Doctor! This is just a rehearsal.
She would've had to gather enough inertia
to puncture his carotid artery and chip his mandible foramen.
A wisp over a hundred pounds,
Emily Sontag would never have had the strength.
Guys! Jo!
Subpoena came through on the security footage
from Emily Sontag's apartment building.
Hallway camera confirmed her alibi... wasn't her.
Henry already figured this out, didn't he?
So now we're back to square one.
Who followed him here?
Someone who wanted to get to Dwight
before he reached Emily.
Because if he reached Emily, she'd be gone forever.
Henry, what are you saying?
We need to arrest Emily Sontag.
Emily Sontag.
Need you to come with us, please.
Is this about Colin's killer?
Uh, we can tell you more back at the station.
Detectives! What's going on?
We found the murder weapon.
What? A goldtipped lanier pen.
There's a print on it.
We need to match it to your client's.
You can meet her back at holding, counselor.
NYPD!
Put your hands in the air.
Put your hands in the air now.
Do not move.
Hey, stop. Don't...
Peter Guzik, you're under arrest
for the murder of Dwight Dziak.
Your father called Peter
after he struck your fiancé with a golf club.
Peter was in love with you...
I imagine he had been for a long time...
and, in an act of misbegotten chivalry,
confronted Dwight.
They had a fight, and Peter killed him.
I knew Peter had feelings for me,
and... There was a time when I thought there was something.
And then you met Dwight... Colin.
And it was magic.
Like a storybook.
Guess that's what Colin was... a fantasy.
You know, he was going to see you that night.
He'd tore up the million-dollar check.
He didn't want the money or the name.
He wanted to tell you the truth
and see if there was a chance you might still love him.
Wasn't a fantasy.
His love was real.
The best impostors have many gifts.
They can change their voice, their look, their manner.
But there's a rule every impostor learns.
The one truth we cannot hide is love.
Sorry, we're closed.
Hello? Abraham?
Fawn Mahoney.
Uh, well, it's been Fawn Ames
for the better part of 50 years.
Yeah, but I didn't... I didn't expect that you'd be here.
Really?
You gave my grandson your card,
and let's just say you made quite an impression.
Right.
I was just paying my respects to Lyle.
But it's, um... I'm... I'm glad you're here.
I-I just live in Union Aquare, so I thought I'd stop by.
Wow.
Only 20 blocks away this whole time?
Big city.
Uh, big world.
I-I...
I am surprised that you remember me.
Well, how could I forget?
You're the only man I ever kissed besides my husband.
Huh.
Wow.
Ain't that a thing.
W-would you maybe,
um, let me, um, buy you a cup of coffee?
Abraham, I just buried my husband two days ago.
No, no, I just meant, um, a coffee.
Uh, that's it.
The last time it was a milkshake,
and we both know what happened next.
Yes.
Well, 20 blocks isn't so far.
Probably, it won't be long
before I'm back in the neighborhood again.
Mm.
Bye.
Where's the bike?
Abe started to insist that I take a cab home.
He hates it when I'm late for dinner.
He threatens to microwave it.
You want me to give you a lift?
No, I'm okay, thank you.
You know, Henry, I thought
that I was a tough nut to crack,
and I mean this with true affection...
you are one perplexing man.
How so?
You're intensely private, borderline medical savant,
and you dress pretty well for city work.
I suppose it's time I came clean.
I'm really Hank Morgan from Ohio.
No, no.
Your brand of eccentricity would take years to perfect.
How about centuries?
Someday, you'll let me in when you're ready.
Have a good night.
Good night, Detective.
Lower East Side, Stanton and Suffolk.
Hello, Henry.
We're the same, you and I.
We share the same pain, same curse.
When you suffer from our condition, you realize...
murder, it's just a part of life.
It's like breathing.
Buckle up, Henry.
I wouldn't want you to get hurt.
- Synced and corrected by martythecrazy - - www.addic7ed.com -