Criminal Minds · Season 1, Episode 15
“Unfinished Business” · Season 1, Episode 15
In this episode: Dean Winchester (940), Damon Salvatore (715), Sam Winchester (665), Olivia Benson (637), Stephen Fry (608), Narrator (554), Clark Kent (523), Nate (486)
Aren't you an artist, too, Monsieur Poirot?
On the whole, I would say no. Oh, I have known crimes that were artistic, supreme exercises of the imagination, but the solving of them, no. No, the creative power is not what is needed. What is required is a passion for the truth.
If you see me with a pistol in my hand, Simmons, the proper thing to do is to come to me and say, "Mr. Gudgeon, would you be so kind as to give me an explanation?"
Yes, Mr. Gudgeon.
The improper thing to do is to go babbling to the police. That is common. Now where would her ladyship be if we all ran around doing things like that, hmm?
Why did you do it, Gerda? Why did you kill John?
Because it was all a lie! Everything! I thought he was the noblest man in the world. But I saw his face when he followed that woman that evening. I knew he'd loved her before he'd married me, but I thought ... I thought it was over. I tried to sleep, but I couldn't. It was the middle of the night. I had to know. They were there. I could hear them. John and Veronica Cray. I believed in him as though he were God. I worshipped him. And it was all a lie. I had to kill him. You do see that? I had to.
What happens to me now?
Go, my child. Your place is with the living. I will remain here with the dead.
May Poirot sit, signora? He wishes to tell to you a little story.
I despise fiction.
Ah. But this little story, it is true. It is about Monsieur Rufus Van Aldin, a man of authority accustomed to acquiring whatever he wants whenever he wants it. But he is not able to secure the divorce of his daughter, Ruth, without the evidence of the adultery of his son-in-law, Monsieur Derek Kettering. Alors, he learns that his son-in-law plans to join his daughter, Ruth, on the Blue Train.
I don't know any of these people.
And, you know, he does a thing most extraordinary. He sends his lover on the train, also, to offer herself to Monsieur Derek Kettering. Et quel cauchemar. The plan, it fails, no? Monsieur Kettering proves immune to her powerful charms because he has a secret that nobody else knows.
He loves his wife.
C'est ça. Why did you enter the compartment of Madame Kettering?
That was weakness. I wanted to see her things.
But while you were in there, you found and kept the page of a letter concerning the wife of Monsieur Van Aldin. And reading it at dinner, it naturally upset you. But you resolved to see the woman for yourself.
I was curious to see what would be my fate should I ever marry Rufus. She was convinced that I was her daughter. Color-blind as well as mad. However, it seemed cruel to disabuse her. Her life has been sufficiently unfortunate.
Well, that was kind.
I've spent most of my life being kind, monsieur. Mostly to men of about your age. And look where it has got me. Whoring for no pay. Life. Grossly overrated, I find.
Is it off-season for the criminals or is our little gallery about to be robbed?
Oh, alas, monsieur, non. Non. I am here purely in my private capacity. But I see that you yourself have lent a few pieces.
Oh, one picks up trifles here and there. I have a few interesting objects I could show you. I daresay I could even produce one or two things in your line, Poirot.
Ah. So you have, then, your private Black Museum?
Oh, no, no, no. I don't collect the artifacts of crime. The murderer's hammer, the poisoner's cup. I collect only the finest objects of their kind.
And what do you consider to be the finest objects, artistically speaking, in crime?
Why, the human beings who commit them, monsieur.
Good to see you, Shaitana. I'm not late, am I? An elderly patient called me out. She thought she had a tumor. I thought she was depressed.
And what did you prescribe?
Champagne and oysters at Wilton's. She'll be right as rain by tomorrow.
[sotto voce, to Poirot] Remind me never to go to him if I'm poorly.
It's jolly curious. Here are the four of us and we're all, well, for want of a better word, sleuths. So who are those four in there?
Criminals?
They don't look like criminals.
Most criminals don't look like criminals, Mrs. Oliver.
I had every motive for disliking Shaitana. For disliking him, not killing him.
And what were your motives for disliking him, Major?
He dressed like a ... Well, you know. And the perfume.
And yet you accepted his invitation to dinner.
Were I only to dine in houses where I approved of my host, I wouldn't eat out much, I'm afraid.
Don't you like London society?
What we call civilization? Only for very short periods. To come back from abroad to well-lit rooms, beautiful women in beautiful clothes ... Yes, it's pleasant for a time. But after a while, it palls. The insincerity sickens me, and I want to be off again.
I know what you mean.
Have you redecorated?
No, madame. I have moved.
Of course. How silly of me not to remember. What was wrong with your last apartment? Walls not straight enough?
You've hit the nail right on the head.
No one can always be right.
But I am. Always I am right. It is so invariable it startles me. And now it looks very much as though I may be wrong, and that upsets me. And I should not be upset, because I am right. I must be right because I am never wrong.
[after Poirot reveals Shaitana's killer] But why did Shaitana drug himself?
He is tired of life. He has a madness in his soul. He is searching for a thrill that would be for him the ultimate. And in order to achieve this, he invites four people to his house whom he believe have killed, and then he goads them.
[flashback, the night of the murder] There's always an accident. A shooting accident, for example. Or a domestic accident. One of the little tragedies that never gets reported.
And then he takes the sleeping draught so that when it happens he will feel no pain. And it does happen. And as an extra twist, he tries to throw the blame on one of us. He makes us to believe that the crime that is opportunistic is made to look as though it was planned most carefully. And we start ... Oh, pardon, even Hercule Poirot, he starts to believe it. When all the time the plan was to allow a crime that was opportunistic to happen.
As a plot, that is distinctly odd.
The plots, madame, they are all the same. It is only the psychology that is different.
You must marry Rowley Cloade. And do it quickly. Forget about me. I shall make it my business to forget about you.
I don't believe you.
You and I, we'd tear each other to pieces, destroy each other.
You're lying to me. Why? Why are you lying to me?
I'd certainly destroy you. It's in my nature, Lynn, to desecrate the things I cherish. And I love you too much for that.
Do you know when the priest, he is buried, he is always facing his parishoners? Oui. Because when the Day of Judgment, it comes, and the dead, they all arise, he can greet them, and lead them through the gates of paradise. It is a beautiful idea.
He shan't be leading me.
You must not say that, ma chere. Despair is a sin.
I'm cut off from the mercy of God.
No, no, no, no, no. Nobody is cut off from the mercy of God. Ever.
I would never harm my sister.
No. But the lady presently watching you from over there, she is not your sister.
Good heavens!
What?
No. Her name is Eileen Corrigan, a simple farm girl, as she defined herself to me at the church. And, whatever the papers may say, she did not die in Mayfair two years ago. No. But the real Rosaleen Cloade, she did. Why? Because you murdered her! More than any Cloade, you hated Rosaleen. For in her happy marriage to Gordon Cloade, she had excluded you. Your first love, your little sister, had surrendered herself to another man. But you had already made your own arrangements to deal with her, for you had drawn under your spell a parlourmaid who was young, Irish, and in the service of your sister. Her name? Eileen Corrigan. You had seduced her, had deliberately impregnated her. And had had the baby disposed of.
Not true.
True! Outside of the church, Eileen Corrigan told me that she had been cut off from the mercy of God!
She miscarried.
No, Monsieur! She endured abortion! As it was always your intention that she should. You wanted to crush the very soul of this simple Catholic girl. To make her so terrified by the state of her own life that she would deliver it to you. Maintained by morphine, ruled by terror, Eileen Corrigan would do whatever you told her to do. Why? Why? Because you, Monsieur, offered her salvation if she did. And the fires of hell if she did not.
These quotes come from Wikiquote's Criminal Minds pages and are available under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.
