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How do you know this guy again?
First time we've met, actually.
Bit odd, I know.
Postmortem bruising experiments
are more of third date activity.
No, I meant the attendant.
You said he's a friend of yours.
We frequent the same beekeeping chat room.
He has an impressive collection of Caucasians.
Species of bee.
Course it is.
This is important work, Watson.
It's crucial to my work
as an investigator.
These nameless individuals agree,
which is why they have donated their bodies to science.
Now help me roll this one over, so I can try a chokehold.
I did say you were free not to join me for these experiments.
I know.
It's hardly surprising that being in a hospital
makes you uncomfortable,
you being a disgraced surgeon and all.
I'm fine, okay? You've had your arms crossed
for 13 of the 15 minutes that we've been here.
It's a classic self-comforting posture,
an attempt to neutralize the distress signals
being sent by your limbic system.
Of course, it is possible that your stress
is subconscious and you really do believe that you're fine.
But given that your eyes are doing that thing they do
when you lie, I sincerely doubt that's the case.
- I'm not lying. - Doing it again.
Okay, I go where you go, remember?
My comfort doesn't factor in here.
If it did, I would not have bought tickets
to the Arms and Armor exhibit at the Met today.
Yes, they're displaying new examples of lorica squamata.
Should be quite fascinating.
Just keep an eye on the clock.
If we don't leave in 20, we're gonna be late.
Thank you, Bruce.
Good luck with the new hive.
This body-- when's it being autopsied?
Never. Funeral home's picking him up soon.
Died about an hour ago.
From a heart attack.
Yeah. How'd you know that?
There's a tiny blue dot on the patient's head,
just below the hairline.
That's a tattoo used to target radiation treatment,
which means the patient had brain cancer;
blood clots are a common complication.
He threw a clot, which led to a pulmonary embolism,
which led to a heart attack.
Huh. We're in agreement on the heart attack.
As to how it happened, you're completely off base.
What room was he in when he died?
Um, 704.
Where are you going?
The heart attack was intended to look natural,
but it was induced with epinephrine.
You've got it backwards.
Epinephrine is adrenaline; it's given in all cardiac codes.
That's why it's perfect.
Excuse me. The man who died in this room--
was there anybody with him when the code thingy went off?
No.
Sir, that room is being...
Stop cleaning immediately.
Don't touch anything else.
Who are you?
You should probably take care of that
before somebody slips and falls.
What is wrong with you?
How about you explain what's going on
before he lets himself back in?
Note the mark on the dead man's finger.
Care to identify it?
It's ischemia.
Tissue death due to constriction
in the blood vessels in the elbow.
Probably caused by the epinephrine going into his arm.
And if he only received the epinephrine during the code,
after his heart had stopped...
It wouldn't have had time to cause the ischemia.
So, as far as what's going on, Watson,
we're investigating a murder.
? Elementary 1x05 ? Lesser Evils Original Air Date on November 1, 2012
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
?
Sir, please open the door!
We should let them in.
We can explain. While we explain,
they will ruin our crime scene.
Lend me your former expertise, come on.
The nurse said the victim was alone when he coded,
but epinephrine is fast-acting.
So, how did our killer buy himself time to escape
before the onset of the heart attack?
Well, if he injected the epi into the I.V.
and then lowered the rate on the infusion pump,
he would have at least ten minutes
before the patient coded.
It appears to be set at 40cc's an hour.
That's just basic maintenance fluid-- water, dextrose.
There's no reason it should be slower than 100cc's.
Someone did turn the pump down.
Then we have our method.
All right, we're coming in!
Sherlock, they're gonna break down the door.
Yeah, well, saves us the bother of opening it.
I can live with missing the squamata at the Met,
but I'd rather not get arrested.
We're coming in!
Gentlemen, could one of you point me in the direction
of the administrator's office?
This is ridiculous.
We're wasting valuable time.
Just be glad the captain got here when he did.
You could've ended up in the psych ward.
Sure you'd have been devastated.
Joanie?
Carrie, hi.
I didn't know you were working here.
It's been, what, about a year and a half?
Isn't this a small world?
Carrie, this is my friend Sherlock Holmes.
Sherlock, this is Dr. Carrie Dwyer.
- Hey. - We used to work together.
Interesting that she didn't refer to you as her friend.
Probably because of your falling out.
You call her by a familiar nickname and yet
you haven't spoken in a year and a half.
What was it that drove you two apart?
A man, job?
Failed sapphic dalliance?
Fingers crossed for the last one.
He's got a form of Tourette's.
Are you interviewing for the spot in Cardiothoracic?
No, actually, I'm done with medicine.
I thought your suspension was only for a couple months?
It was.
I decided to move on.
Holmes.
It was good seeing you again.
Yeah, you, too.
Holmes, Ms. Watson, this is Mr. Sanchez.
Administrator, correct?
Aka the guy who's still not convinced he shouldn't
press charges against you for
barricading yourself in one of our rooms.
And what's your role here?
Do you reach things off high shelves for this one?
I'm Dr. Baldwin, I'm the Head of Surgery.
And you were treating the dead man?
No, but seeing as he was pre-surgical,
it does fall under my departmental purview.
All right, here's how things are gonna shake out here.
Once you apologize to Mr. Sanchez...
Apologize? I alerted him to a murder at his hospital.
Once you've apologized to Mr. Sanchez,
he'll release the body to our M.E.
and allow CSU full access to the room.
That's it?
You should count yourself lucky
you're getting that much.
We need the dead man's name,
access to his medical records.
It would be a flagrant violation of HIPAA guidelines.
Not to mention the patient's privacy.
He's dead; do you think he's worried about his privacy?
Holmes.
Can't believe I had to apologize to that pencil-pusher.
Would you have preferred he press charges?
Why are you in such a hurry?
We need to find the woman.
The one who brought the victim coffee before he was murdered.
There were two coffee cups in his trash.
One of them had lipstick on the lid.
Obviously a woman brought him coffee shortly before he died.
- You think she killed him? - It's possible.
At the very least, she might be able to tell us his name!
But we don't know anything about her.
No, but Dave might.
Who's Dave?
It's from a place called Think Coffee.
The barista, Dave, put his name
and number on the back. Number's smudged,
so we can't call him, unfortunately.
We'll just have to find him at work.
Well, how do you know Dave was a barista and not a customer?
Well, the receipt says she was charged for two small coffees,
she received two large.
Dave was flirting.
Tall half-skinny, half-two-percent, extra hot,
split quad shot latte with whip.
These coffee orders-- the Magna Carta was less complicated.
Quite informative running into your former friend, Carrie.
You'd allowed me to assume you were no longer
permitted to practice medicine.
I'm not. I let my license expire.
But that was your choice.
I hadn't realized
quite how traumatic it must have been, losing your patient.
It's no small thing, walking away from a career
requiring 12 years of training.
It's pretty hard to be a surgeon when you freeze up
every time someone hands you a scalpel.
I just didn't trust myself anymore.
What can I do for you folks?
Help us return this to its rightful owner.
I give out my number a lot.
Got to be in it to win it, you know?
Speaking of which, can I interest you
in a complimentary chai? No, thanks.
The receipt indicates she was here
at 8:35 a.m., wearing deep red lipstick.
Oh, yeah, the blonde.
Cleavage, tight white skirt, heels.
And her perfume.
I mean, how often do you meet a sexy doctor?
How do you know she was a doctor?
She was wearing a white lab coat under her jacket.
Ms. Cleavage is not a doctor.
Of course she wasn't.
No doctor would wear her lab coat out of the hospital.
Nor would she wear revealing attire or heavy perfume,
which could trigger a patient's asthma attack
or chemical sensitivity.
The lab coat is a bit confounding, though.
Actually, I don't think it is.
This chain only has two stores in New York City,
so we have a 50/50 shot
of finding our blonde here.
Try one in one.
I can't believe Trent's dead.
How exactly did you know Mister...?
Kelty, Trent Kelty. We were neighbors.
A few months ago, he told me he was having trouble seeing.
He just thought he needed new glasses.
Then they found the tumor.
After he lost his eyesight completely,
I started visiting more.
I used to read him the sports section from the Post.
You two were close.
Honestly,
I just felt bad for him.
Seemed like the right thing
to do, you know?
What time did you leave the hospital this morning?
Oh, a little after 9:30. Why?
Because we have reason to believe Mr. Kelty succumbed
to something other than natural causes.
You think he was murdered?
Oh, quite certain, I'm afraid.
Did anyone see you leave the hospital?
Someone from the nurses' station?
I don't know.
Um, I can give you my Metro card.
That'll tell you what time I caught my train
after I left. Hmm.
I place Trent Kelty's death around 10:30.
If she left at 9:30...
Too early for the epi to have been administered.
She couldn't be the killer.
Thank you.
Can you think of anyone who would've
wished to harm Mr. Kelty?
Family member, romantic partner, business partner.
One of the reasons I made a point
to visit Trent was he was so alone.
No family, hardly any friends.
The only other person he used to talk to was this doctor
that used to come by at night.
His doctor visited him at night?
Not his oncologist.
Just a doctor at the hospital.
They used to talk about his cancer, how to manage the pain.
It seemed like he was helping Trent cope
with what was coming.
His cancer was terminal?
He only had a few months to live.
You didn't know?
You didn't happen to cut up
his food for him this morning, did you?
Oh, the pancake?
No, it was like that when I got there.
Why?
Whoever cut up Trent Kelty's breakfast
came back after Jacqueline left, killed him.
We may have a much bigger problem on our hands
than this morning's homicide.
Because of the pancakes?
You know I dislike proposing a theory
in its formative stages before I feel confident
of its conclusions.
Tell me.
We know that Trent Kelty's killer
had some degree of medical expertise.
We also know that Trent was visited
almost exclusively by a man claiming to be a doctor,
a man who I believe cut an adult's food
into child-size bites.
Now, why would a killer do that?
It reflects a particular... mindset.
That of an individual who tended to Trent's needs
not out of empathy but out of a craving for his dependence.
And that mindset, in turn, reflects
a particular kind of killer:
one who chooses victims who are sick and weak,
one whose victims, he believes, are doomed to die.
A man who would be drawn to someone with a few months to live.
Someone whose preferred hunting ground is a hospital. Why?
Because it provides an endless supply of victims.
You're talking about an Angel of Death.
If I'm right, Angels are prolific, relentless.
Even if Trent Kelty was our Angel's first kill,
it won't be his last.
Angel of Death here? I don't know,
we've got some pretty top-notch people on board.
I think they would have sniffed it out.
It is just a theory, for the moment,
but I've been right about everything so far.
The autopsy showed that Trent Kelty's epinephrine level
was well in excess of what he received during the code.
He was murdered.
I'm very sorry to hear that.
If I'm going to prove
that someone is killing patients here, I need information,
access to all medical records of in-hospital deaths
and all logs relating to the supply
and usage of epinephrine.
Why are you talking to me?
Sanchez handles all the records.
I'm not talking to him, because I know that he'll say no.
I came to see you, because you smiled
when I made fun of his height this morning.
You don't like him.
I don't blame you. You're also the head
of a very important department, so your opinion carries
a lot of weight around here.
Okay, I'll talk to him.
And by "talk," I mean I will threaten
to hold a press conference to express my grave concerns
regarding this hospital's apparent indifference
to the possibility that a murderer
may be stalking its halls.
You should have everything you need in a couple of hours.
All this 'cause you made a couple of short jokes.
Any luck?
Luck is an offensive, abhorrent concept.
The idea that there is a force in the universe
tilting events in your favor
or against it is ridiculous.
Idiots rely on luck.
So that'd be a "no."
Fill me in.
Maybe I can help.
12 years of training, remember?
We're in my wheelhouse.
Over the past two years at Chandler Memorial,
73 seriously ill patients have died of cardiac events.
Well, chances are some of those are natural.
I mean, sick people do have heart attacks and die.
Which means that one, none, or some of them
may have fallen victim to the same person who killed Kelty.
But without the Angel's victims, I can't see his pattern,
and without his pattern, I can't develop a list of suspects.
Okay, so forget potential victims.
Let's focus on the murder weapon.
Epinephrine is hard to get ahold of.
Even if our killer had a prescription
because of an allergy, he would have
a very limited amount. It's more likely...
That he nicked it from the hospital pharmacy.
I already checked the records. The pharmacy reported
epinephrine missing on only two occasions,
neither of which corresponds to any of the 73 cardiac events.
Okay, then, the crash carts.
It's stocked with epi, and they're usually unlocked.
I think the logs
are over here.
Okay, during 2011,
epi went missing from various crash carts
on January 6...
March 19...
March 27...
June 20... October 28.
That's a fair amount of a drug to go missing
without anyone raising an alarm, no? You know,
hospitals are more worried about oxy
and other opiates being sold on the street.
Epi doesn't qualify.
You ready for 2012?
'Kay, February 17...
April 4...
May 25...
September 19.
Each of the dates you mentioned
corresponds with one of the 73 cardiac deaths.
If you're right, he's killed nine people.
We have our pattern; now we'll find our suspects.
23 suspects
is a lot-- how long do you think
it's gonna take you and Detective Bell to interview them?
Far less time than it would have taken to interview
the roughly 2,000 male doctors and nurses I started with.
I cross-referenced time cards to identify
men who were working on the days of the murders,
then eliminated those who did not have ready access
to floors where the deaths occurred.
You said nurses-- Kelty told his neighbor
that the man who visited him was a doctor.
Kelty was blind from his tumor, remember?
For all he knew, his visitor could've been a circus clown.
You go get started-- I'm gonna meet Carrie
for a coffee, see if she can point us
in the direction of any hospital oddballs.
About yesterday, I got a bit carried away.
Apologies.
It's all right.
Shouldn't you be in the conference room
starting your interrogations?
Well, I thought I'd start here.
With me? You serious?
I got you access to those files.
Calculated risk. Perfect way to deflect suspicion
in the event I eventually got access.
Okay.
If you say so. By now,
I'm sure you've realized three of the nine patients
I believe fell victim to the Angel were yours.
Coincidence?
Uh, actually... no.
Not at all.
According to you, the Angel kills severely ill patients.
I operate on the sickest people we got.
Still, your practice shares a certain casual attitude
towards life and death.
Your mortality rates go up each year.
That's because I take on patients that no one else will treat.
Last year the hospital
forced you to stop performing an experimental procedure
when you racked up a 75% failure rate.
There are risks associated with innovation.
Lawsuits among them.
Among your failures
were two fatalities, each of which
cost the hospital several million dollars
when the families sued.
It's my understanding
you've been on unofficial probation
since then-- one more mistake,
you're gone from Chandler Memorial,
complete with a recommendation to the State Board
to suspend your license.
Now, maybe you started killing patients
to punish the hospital for losing faith in you.
Or perhaps you just wanted to feel like God again.
Okay, do you really want to know why I'm not
the killer that you're looking for?
This Angel, if he exists,
kills people who are pain.
It's a mission of mercy.
Me, I'm a surgeon.
My favorite kind of patient is unconscious on a table
with a tube down his throat.
These people, to be honest,
I'm not really interested
in whether they're suffering or not.
It doesn't... really affect me,
and that's what makes me exceptional at what I do.
So you're too indifferent to your patients
to be the Angel of Death.
Novel alibi.
Well, there's also the fact
that, uh, at the time Mr. Kelty was killed...
yesterday...
I was on a train from my home in White Plains.
But I got to get back to work, and, uh...
it seems like you do, too.
Your friend who works with the police,
he's sure there's an Angel here?
Well, "sure" is a strong word,
but the pattern is pretty hard to deny.
Oh, crap, I got to run.
- I have this pre-op consult. - Okay.
You know, why don't you come with me?
I'll keep trying to think of weirdos.
- No, thanks, that's fine. - Yeah, come on.
It'll only take a few minutes.
Hi, Morgan.
This is my old friend, Joan Watson.
Hi. Hi.
Morgan's here 'cause she tore her ACL.
Let me guess.
Soccer player, right wing?
Center, actually.
Heart of the offense-- nice.
Okay, can you flex your knee for me?
Are you a doctor, too?
No. Not anymore.
How come?
I'm just gonna take a listen to your heart.
I'm afraid I'm a little confused, Detective.
'Cause most of the people you're asking me about
weren't even my patients.
Well, all nine of them died of cardiac events
while you were on shift. Oh, wow.
Nine sick people died in a hospital. You assisted
in several of their operations.
Yes, I'm a surgical resident--
I am involved in lots of surgeries.
Look, I have been on call for the last 29 hours,
haven't slept, barely eaten,
and still have an hour drive home, so...
is there anything else I can help you with?
Yeah, this guy here, James Romano,
had pancreatic cancer.
One of the worst forms there is.
I know, 'cause...
that's what killed my grandmother.
Sometimes I wish...
I wish there had been someone there
with the strength to, uh... end
her pain.
You think someone killed this man?
Th-The other patients, too?
He does. That's why he's trying to gain your confidence,
suggest to you that he's on your side,
that he actually empathizes with someone
who would take a life for the right reasons.
Only he's wasting his time; you're free to go.
You want to tell me why you did that?
Because it's highly unlikely that he's our Angel.
That guy was so nervous, he was about to come out of his skin.
You saw how he was tapping
his keychain. I also saw
how he stopped tapping when he realized
the only reason he was called in here
was because of the patient deaths.
Suddenly he relaxed and the tapping stopped.
Which means...
even if he is a creep,
he's probably not our killer.
And given the number of suspects we have left to question...
I'll bring in the next interview.
Thanks for your help in there.
She's been pretty scared.
Sure.
Hey, sorry if this is weird, but I noticed something in there.
Splinter hemorrhage under her toenail.
Yeah, she's a soccer player.
She probably just jammed her toe--
happens all the time. Or it could be endocarditis.
Joanie, come on.
She's a healthy 12-year-old girl
with a bum knee, not an I.V. drug user
or someone with a congenital heart defect.
I just checked her heart.
I heard no murmur and no rub.
If she has endocarditis,
she could crash during her surgery.
Please, just to be safe, run an echocardiogram.
And she says she's done with medicine.
Fine.
I'll order an echo, just to be safe.
You and Bell really moved through those interviews.
That's what happens
when you fail to turn up a single solid lead.
No one jumped out at you?
Uh-uh. What about your friend?
Any oddballs come to mind?
I was right earlier, wasn't I?
You two were close, but not anymore.
After my patient died,
I lost touch with a lot of my hospital friends.
Being around them was difficult.
Carrie just didn't get it. Speak of the devil.
Bad news?
Uh, good, actually.
I met one of Carrie's patients today.
I thought she might have endocarditis.
I asked her to run a test.
Turns out I was wrong.
You're disappointed. Of course I'm not.
No, you didn't want the patient to be sick,
but you wanted to be right.
Are you sure you weren't?
- Am I sure I wasn't what? - Right.
This test she performed--
is it the gold standard for endocarditis?
- Is it completely conclusive? - No, but most cases...
Forget most cases.
What was your first instinct when you saw the patient?
That she had endocarditis. Then hold the course.
Myriad studies have shown
that first instincts are typically the right ones.
What?
- What is it? - That car.
I think it belongs to one of my suspects, Dr. Cahill.
The bobcat sticker on the bumper--
it matches the one on his car key,
and his car key said his car was a Nissan.
Okay, so that's his car. What about it?
Well, Bell thought that he was a solid suspect
for the Angel. I disagreed.
Thing is, as of five hours ago,
Dr. Cahill wrapped up a 30-hour shift.
Said he was going to go home and sleep.
Legally, he's not allowed to set foot
in the hospital for another six hours.
When I got off call,
I couldn't get out of the hospital fast enough.
So what's his car still doing in the parking lot?
Dr. Cahill, we meet again.
What-what the hell is this?
Hey, what-what do you think you're doing?
Hey, get off of me! I work here!
You're not gonna take his word over mine.
Sherlock, I don't think he's the Angel.
There's no epinephrine in that syringe.
It's empty.
That's a PCA machine.
It dispenses morphine.
That's what he was in here for.
He was trying to steal it.
So, we didn't catch the Angel.
We caught an addict.
Stupid.
Registered his bloodshot eyes and general twitchiness.
Chalked them up to sleep deprivation.
I should probably have known what he really was.
He was a doctor using morphine on the job
and endangering patients.
You caught him. That's important.
W-Why are you taking all those down?
'Cause they're no longer suspects.
Your point regarding Dr. Cahill would be quite heartening
if his drug habit had anything to do
with the murderer currently stalking the hospital.
A murderer who is most likely
targeting his next victim as we speak.
A murderer I am no closer
to identifying than I was this morning.
You met 23 people in one day.
Maybe you missed something.
I spent today soaking in every word, every gesture,
every involuntary reaction of these 23 former suspects.
Dr. Cahill was the only blip on the radar.
Maybe not the only blip.
All of the Angel's victims were terminal...
except one-- her.
Samantha Cropsey. She was the second to last victim.
She was quite sick, she'd been in the ICU for two weeks.
Yes, but look here in her chart: CABG.
That's Coronary Artery Bypass Graft.
She'd had major surgery, she was recovering slowly,
but she was recovering. She wasn't going to die.
So, why did the Angel make an exception for her?
Captain?
That druggie doctor we scooped up at the hospital tonight?
He's talking. A lot.
Turns out he might be able
to help us find the Angel after all.
By the time I get out of surgery, I'm wiped out
and keyed up, all at the same time.
I can't sleep without the morphine.
No, it's not like the patients that you're stealing it from
need it to deal with their excruciating pain.
I'm telling you this because I want to help.
So help.
Tell him what you told me.
A couple months ago, I snuck into a patient's room.
Older guy, end stage liver cancer.
I knew he'd have morphine.
Raymond Sutter, Angel victim
number seven. Once I got
the morphine out of the PCA,
I ducked into the bathroom to...
I believe the words you're looking for
are "shoot" and "up."
And, uh, when I got myself together to leave,
I realized someone was coming into the room.
Did you see his face?
I hid out in the bathroom the whole time.
They talked for, like, an hour.
Uh, I didn't recognize the guy's voice,
but he was definitely a doctor, talked a lot about medicine.
Were they discussing Sutter's condition?
Yeah, yeah. The doctor explained
how the cancer was shutting down his liver,
how the, uh... the toxins would slowly build up in his body.
Really, you know, laid it all out for the guy.
I could tell it wasn't the first time talking about it.
The doctor knew that the patient didn't have much
in the way of family.
And the next day... died of a heart attack.
I didn't think anything of it.
Except that you'd need to find a new source for your morphine.
And when you and the detective asked about an Angel of Death,
it got me wondering.
Didn't know how to tell you what I'd heard
without explaining why I was in that patient's bathroom.
Nothing like getting caught to help one grow a conscience.
We're back on track, Watson.
Dr. Cahill described a doctor with an approach identical
to the one described by the neighbor
who'd been visiting Trent Kelty.
He talks to his victims, gets to know them before he kills them.
Finally, our theoretical Angel is proved real.
Where are you going?
To take another look at the hospital records.
Dr. Cahill's insights may cast them in a new light.
You have copies of the records at home.
I prefer to work on the originals.
There's more detail, more texture.
I was right about the Angel, Watson.
As a wise man once said,
"First instinct, usually the right one."
Joanie, hey.
I think you should run a T.E.E. on Morgan before her surgery.
Her echo was clean, as I expected.
She doesn't have endocarditis.
25% of cases don't show up on the standard echo.
In addition to her splinter hemorrhage, she's pale.
I'm not subjecting a 12-year-old
to a scary and invasive test because you have a hunch.
- Okay, I know I'm overstepping... - Yes, you are.
- Morgan is my patient, not yours. - Okay, I understand.
I just... My gut is telling me
that if you operate on her, she could die.
She'll be fine, Joan.
I'm operating on her, not you.
Expected you an hour ago.
I went to the hospital to talk to Carrie about her patient.
Victory?
I did what I could.
Well, on the bright side,
I've made a rather important discovery.
Dariya Ruseckas' consent form.
- Uh, she's the fifth victim. - Look closely.
It's a standard consent form for an angiogram with contrast.
This is the appropriate procedure.
Note the handwriting,
or rather, the handwritings.
Oh, they're two different kinds.
Dariya printed her name and signed it,
but someone else filled out the body of the form.
Exactly.
The nurse who initialed the form here.
A.J. It stands for Anichka Jones.
Jones, I'm assuming, is a married name,
because "Anichka" is as Ukrainian as it gets.
Explains why she filled out the form for Ms. Ruseckas.
Because Miss Ruseckas, born in Ukraine,
obviously did not speak enough English to fill it out herself.
Okay.
The killer liked to converse with his victims,
repeatedly and at great length.
Getting to know them was clearly part of the process.
And he could have only gotten to know her if he spoke Ukrainian.
We just need to check the personnel records
for a doctor who knows it.
I already did. There are none.
Then why are you so happy?
Because, Ms. Watson, as you very well know,
not all doctors stay doctors.
Your lack of accent is quite impressive, Mr. Gura.
Thank you.
I learned English as a boy.
Hmm. If I met you on the street,
I would never guess you were a native Ukrainian.
But at work, well, the tools of your trade gave you away.
Your janitor's cart-- you decorated the handle
with, uh, blue and yellow rags.
Since all of your cleaning rags were white,
I knew that the fabric was deliberately chosen,
and as I later realized,
representative of the colors of the Ukrainian flag.
Then I pulled your personnel file, and lo and behold,
under education, you listed Olesky University.
Congratulations. Arguably,
best medical school in all of Ukraine.
Not arguably.
Hmm.
Yes, I was a doctor in Ukraine.
Now I'm a janitor.
Is that why I'm here?
A problem with how I clean the floors?
Actually, we thought maybe you could help us.
Do you recognize any of these people?
They were all patients at the hospital.
"Were" being the operative word.
They're all dead now.
We believe they were all...
murdered.
Yes, I remember them.
Many of these patients were very sick.
Even dying.
That makes it okay to kill them?
When a patient is in pain, dying is not a tragedy.
It is a release.
You make it sound so noble.
The murder of defenseless, sick people.
I'm sorry. I still don't understand
why you want to speak with me.
We got a warrant, Mr. Gura.
We searched your apartment this morning
while you were at the hospital,
and we found... this.
It's a log
filled with medical notes, written by you.
Exclusively about these nine patients.
And we know that you're the man who killed them.
I freed them.
I freed them from the pain-wracked prison
their bodies had become.
I saw them,
I studied them.
Confirmed for myself there was no chance at recovering,
that all they had to live for
was the horror of dying.
And I did what needed to be done.
I showed them mercy.
What about Samantha Cropsey?
- What about her? - She was getting better.
How can you call what you did to her mercy?
Better?
People do not get better from metastasized cardiac cancer.
She didn't have cancer.
She was recovering from bypass surgery.
Her-her blood pressure was improving,
her oxygen saturation...
No. You're wrong.
- They'd found a mass in her heart. - What happened?
Did you get bored of waiting for somebody sick enough?
The pain was so bad, she could hardly form sentences.
She was begging me to make it stop. She had her entire life
ahead of her! No!
She was dying.
You're no better than the police
in Soviet Ukraine,
making up lies to suit your truths.
I am done talking.
You've said quite enough.
Holmes.
Great work.
We'll take it from here.
What, what is it?
He's telling the truth o-or at least he thinks he is.
About being the Angel?
About Samantha Cropsey's condition.
He's convinced she was suffering
from terminal cardiac cancer.
Well, he's also convinced
that he helped those people that he killed.
He's a lunatic.
What'd you expect?
I don't know, just not this.
I was thinking sushi tonight.
Salmonella, Vibrio parahaemolyticus,
mercury poisoning, Anisakis simplex:
all illnesses contractible from eating raw fish.
Anisakis, of particular note,
is a worm that can burrow into the wall of the intestine,
often requiring surgery
to remove it, but, yeah, sushi's good.
Why are you still
looking through those files? You caught the Angel.
I caught someone who is
smart, medically knowledgeable,
and fiercely attentive to detail.
His notes on Samantha Cropsey's condition
say that cardiac cancer
was discovered during her bypass surgery.
Why did he get it so wrong,
and why is he so convinced he was right?
You expecting someone?
Am I ever?
Mr. Holmes, right?
We met the other day.
Joanie's friend.
I got your information from Bruce in the morgue.
He seemed to think I might be able to find her here.
Watson, it's for you!
Carrie.
I wanted you to know you were right.
Morgan had endocarditis.
The lab found it when they ran a T.E.E.,
which, coincidentally, is the test
you wanted me to run on her.
The funny thing is, I didn't order it.
Some anonymous person
put the request in her chart and the lab followed through.
Remember, on our vascular rotation,
how the chief resident always used to say,
"Better lucky than good"?
Sounds to me like you were lucky.
Yeah, I guess I was.
I know what it's like not to be lucky.
It turned my life upside-down.
You were always a good friend, Joanie,
but you were a better doctor.
Aren't you full of surprises?
Of course you were listening.
Altering the girl's chart, saving her life.
Apparently your instincts were spot on.
Well done.
Thank you.
Actually it's me who should be thanking you.
You've given me an idea as to why Danilo Gura
would have killed Samantha Cropsey.
Get your coat.
I need to speak with Danilo right away.
I think he may have been holding out on us.
Dr. Baldwin,
you are a brilliant man, are you not?
You didn't tell me he was going to be here.
I asked you a question.
Are you a, a brilliant man?
You're a step ahead of everybody for long enough,
people start calling you brilliant.
I get a feeling that you know something about that.
Ah, indeed I do.
One of the dangers of brilliance, however,
is that you sometimes fail to recognize
the possibility that others are--
at least in some respect-- just as brilliant.
Last night, for example, it occurred to me,
I may not have been the first person
to discover the Angel of Death at Chandler Memorial.
I'm sorry, you're saying that someone else knew
that he was there but kept it to themself?
A brilliant someone,
in this case a brilliant someone with extensive medical knowledge
and real reason to pay close attention
to the sudden death of two of his surgical patients.
Okay, if you're referring to me,
I can assure you I had no idea what Danilo Gura was up to.
We checked the morgue security logs.
Apparently you went there to examine the two bodies
of the first two patients you lost
to the Angel.
They were my patients.
I wanted to know what happened.
I didn't find out anything unusual.
I believe that you did realize they had been murdered.
Perhaps you noticed a bit of ischemia,
as brilliant men are wont to do,
but around the same time
you committed yet another surgical error.
You left a clamp in Samantha Cropsey's chest
during a routine bypass surgery.
Okay, I've had just about enough of this.
Whoa. It was inevitable
Samantha would develop complications.
The mistake could have been easily rectified,
the clamp removed, but not without earning you
your third strike and ending your formerly great career...
unless the Angel could make it all go away.
You realized that he targeted patients
who were not only terminal but also in tremendous pain,
so you set about making Samantha an attractive target.
First you found the biopsy of a patient
dying of cardiac cancer.
You put Samantha's name on the biopsy results,
you noted that the tumor was found during her surgery,
and then you placed them into her chart.
Secondly you made sure that she was in pain
so the Angel would feel compelled to end her suffering.
That was simple enough.
Just reduce her pain meds.
Now, this had the added benefit of making her too delirious
to effectively communicate with a killer who liked
to chat up his victims.
The Angel took the bait.
Samantha succumbed to a cardiac event.
Now, all you had to do was remove
those cancer results from her chart
and your mistake was erased until today.
We received permission to exhume
Ms. Cropsey's body.
The M.E. found this lodged in her ribcage.
It's a surgical clamp.
Look familiar?
Let's say that I believe you.
Let's say that you actually found that
in Samantha's remains.
All you've proven is that I made a mistake--
a mistake that'll probably end my career
and keep me from helping thousands of people--
but I see no evidence at all that I faked records
or that I killed people.
Excellent points,
which is why I visited Danilo Gura late last night.
His patient logs were so detailed, so comprehensive,
first I suspected he must have copied the data
directly from the charts.
But why would he risk doing that in a hospital
where someone could walk in at any moment?
Then it hit me:
he'd taken pictures.
Like this one for example.
At first
he refused to acknowledge the photos' existence,
but after I explained how you had manipulated him
into violating his code,
he told us we could find them on a flash drive
he had hidden in a vent near his apartment.
God forbid either of you should ever need surgery
to save your life.
I am the guy you want standing over you in the O.R.
I imagine it was that kind of thinking
that helped you justify Samantha's murder.
Her life versus the thousands you believed you'd save.
I was talking to the D.A.
this morning.
He figures murder two is a lock.
You're looking at 20 to life.
Chandler Memorial Hospital
was rocked by scandal for the second time in two days
when Dr. Mason Baldwin was arrested for his role
in the death of one
of confessed Angel of Death Danilo Gura's victims.
Recent...
My favorite bit-- this moment.
The slumped shoulders, the pallor,
like a turtle trying to retreat back into its shell.
I'm happy for you.
I'm also exhausted, I'm turning in.
I must say, Watson,
I enjoyed catching a glimpse of you in your former element.
Seems to me your friend was right.
You were quite a doctor.
I had my moments.
? You could never be a face in the crowd... ?
Maybe you'll give it another go one of these days.
? So you're travelin' on ?
? Travelin' on out ?
? Well, you know
? I'll never say it out loud ?
? I'll be travelin' on, travelin' with you ?
? Hey, I'm too weak ?
? It's too much to fight off ?
? The past so strong
? But now
? I don't think too much of the time ?
? I'll just try to keep up... ?
== sync, corrected by elderman ==
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