Due to adult content, viewer discretion is advised. I always have such high hopes for the content that prompts these disclaimers -- will we be discussing tax rates? The need to take calcium lest we spent our twilight years snapping our forearms like they're pretzel rods? Car safety ratings?
Probably not. What "adult content" means is S-E-X, and nothing but. Funny how it's okay to show macerated, deteriorated human bodies with nary a warning shot across the bow of the American viewership's delicate sensibilities -- and funny how we can see stalking and violent rape flashbacks without anyone feeling compelled to flash the warning card -- but the moment two (or more) people are shown in a network-appropriate depiction of consensual sexual activity, all of a sudden, it's too graphic for the kiddies to see.
In any event, your adult content for the evening: a woman in a black bra and thong is atop a man; they're engaged in what looks to be a brand-new form of yoga. Instead of concentrating on your breathing, the intent appears to be to concentrate on sucking the breath out of your partner.
We then get a shot of a couple heading down the street in party clothes, carping at each other with the rancor-free bickering of the long-married. Every good marriage needs a long-running argument neither party takes particularly seriously; this one seems to have found theirs in babysitter management.
They come in, and we see that the couple's not going to a party, but to a yoga class, provided that you're still following along with the prior definition of "yoga" from two paragraphs back. Much more adult content ensues. Women appear to enjoy the attentions of men! Men get to kiss women they aren't married to! Nobody seems wracked with shame for not confining their marital relations to the actual person who put them in the "marital" category!
And then God punishes them by dumping a body in a fountain.
By the time Brass and Gil are on the scene, yoga class is over and Brass is shouting, "I told you already! Turn the damn fountain off! We're in a desert ecosystem, and this ostentatious display of water is an affront to mindful environmental management!" Or something along those lines. Brass turns to Gil and sighs, "You can't find good help." Gil replies, "As Lord Byron once said, 'In the desert, a fountain is springing.'" Well, nobody ever accused Byron of being an Earth-Firster. But they did call him "mad, bad and dangerous to know" and torrid love poems to his sister, like "For Augusta," from which Gil just quoted, don't help the unsavory rep.
Brass is unmoved by Gil's poesy, and snarks that this fountain sprung one Vanessa Keaton. Oh, Stephen and Elyse will be devastated. Gil pretends to listen to Brass while he surveys the crowd: it's all the yoga-practicing participants in the adult content scenes. They've put on a few more items of clothing; Gil notes as much with, "That's a well-dressed crowd for this time of night." Brass fills us all in on the party at 43 Niagara Circle, and notes that Vanessa's husband Dan left the party early. He's standing with his blonde teenage daughter Amy. Sara pops into the scene, looking less than thrilled. Gil tells her to snap a few discreet crowd photos. Sara muses, "A gated community, middle of nowhere…if this wasn't an accident, they're all suspects, aren't they?" And then she takes a series of photos. Since all the subjects are blandly attractive, they're more or less interchangeable.
Emergency Backup David gives us the skinny on dead Vanessa: the foam in her nose and mouth is consistent with drowning, but that abrasion on her head is mighty curious, and her lividity is unfixed. Gil is unfazed: "Since water motion has no effect" -- on lividity, one presumes -- "She's been dead less than two hours," Emergency Backup David concludes.
The fountain turns off and Brass angrily shouts, "Thank you! Finally!" Can you imagine if he wrote his holiday thank-you notes in that tone? Gil looks down at the female in the fountain and intones, "Still waters run deep." Too bad we can't say the same for the line that takes us to The Who.
When we come back from commercials, Dan Keaton is rubbing his head and whining to Brass, "I can't do this right now." Brass is not overbrimming with the milk of human sympathy: "What? A little hung over? Too much to drink, maybe? We'll have a police officer get you some water." And then Brass continues questioning Dan. We confirm that the last time Dan saw his wife was at the party, which was hosted by Erin and Paul Brady. Any relation to Greg, Marcia, or the rest of the bunch? We also learn that Vanessa had been in the mood to do a little yoga, but Dan wasn't feeling particularly flexible that night, so he came home and watched a little TV around 11. His teenage daughter Amy -- who takes great pains to point out that Vanessa wasn't her real mom -- admits she blew her 1 AM curfew, so she snuck in later. She claims the sirens woke her up. Brass is all, "The sirens, huh?"
It's daylight by the time Vanessa's finally hauled from the drink. Sara comments that the bystanders rarely disperse before the body's taken away, and Liam the Erstwhile Lab Tech musters all the world-weariness a not-yet-certified CSI can have with, "Necrophiliac voyeurs." Sara then fishes a strappy stiletto from the fountain and Liam comments, "Hot shoes. I wonder if they'll fit -- whoops." No, he merely comments on the shoes. Sara gets all militant on him: "You think these are sexy, huh? Did you know that shoes like these put degenerative stress on the hip joints, throw off the curve of the spine, and they tilt your pelvis? Over time, women get headaches, sore backs, shortened calf muscles -- and bunions, of course." It's so cute how Sara assumes people are standing up when they're wearing those shoes. None of the yoga positions I saw in the earlier adult-content scenes demonstrated any need for vertical balancing skills. Anyway, after Sara finishes the stiletto monologues, she quizzes Liam on his assessment of the scene. He replies, "Vanessa Keaton was walking home. She'd had a few. Her feet hurt. She takes off her shoes. Dolce vita." We see her weaving around the edge of the fountain drunkenly, sans shoes, before slipping, knocking herself out on the aforementioned fountain, and falling into the water. Sara counters that there's no hair or blood on the fountain to support that theory. Liam ripostes that the running fountain washed away the evidence. Before he can get too smug over being able to defend his hypothesis, Sara attacks it from another angle: what's to say Vanessa didn't have company at the fountain? Liam is forced to admit that we don't know she didn't. Having cowed her protégé, Sara then puts him to work collecting samples from the water and from the cruel shoes.
And now, the soundtrack shifts to the whimsical, so we must be in for a comedy-laden B-plot. It starts off with Nicky and Warrick inside a commercial space being renovated. Nicky asks if Warrick's okay to drive, and Warrick snaps that he's not, what with having worked a triple, then three back-to-back crime scenes. One might wonder what he's doing now working his fifth crime of the shift. Recognizing that there's no plausible way to get Captain Exposition on the scene -- his superpowers are limited to explaining background information, and therefore flying and teleportation are out of the question -- the writers invent a new way to fill us in quickly: by having one CSI ask another to run the likely crime scene. It's Nicky's turn to tell us a story: "Landlord's working late, trying to fix up the place for the new tenant, kicking up dust, paint fumes. Door's open for ventilation, killer strolls in, the thing you know, landlord's deli meat." We flash back to the random act of table-sawing. Warrick muses that the eviction notice means there was no cash on the premises, so robbery's not a plausible motive. Off-screen, Det. Cavaliere's running down the ex-tenants, Melissa and Charlie. On-screen, the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man has just invaded the crime scene. Today would be the day Warrick and Nicky leave their proton packs at home. Actually, it's some blowhard berating Warrick and Nicky for not having solved the crime in four hours; it turns out he's here to do cleanup. Warrick chortles, "Blood bucket brigade!" and Stay-Puft sniffs, "I prefer 'bio-recovery services.'" Nicky muses, "Funny, I don't see an American Bio-recovery badge." Stay-Puft bloviates that all you need are "a strong stomach, a working knowledge of solvents, a little sensitivity, a little tact -- whoa! Man! There must be three quarts of blood [on the wall]." It's funny 'cause it's situational irony, you see. Like the black flies on your wedding day and the old man with the ten thousand spoons on the smoking break. Or something along those lines. There's some more talky-talky to establish that Marty the cleanup guy is a colossal pain in the ass, and Warrick boots him shortly after we learn that the grieving wife managed to pull it together long enough to retain Marty's services. And the strings of whimsy play on. It's going to be a long subplot.
Back in the morgue, David the appreciative coroner is commenting that Vanessa's one of the more attractive bodies he's had on the table recently. It's nice to see him relish the little joys in life. He then philosophizes, "But beauty's skin-deep. Inside, we all look pretty much the same." Gil's in no mood for small talk; he wants to know from whence the abrasion came. David's all, "Have you no poet in you?" Gil rattles off, "'Beauty is truth, truth, beauty; that is all you know on Earth, and all you need to know' -- except cause of death." As Gil scorns knickknacks like Grecian urns (see all: Keats), so he scorns small talk. David tells us it was pulmonary edema due to drowning; all the appropriate samples have been dispatched to different parts of the lab. Although the abrasion may have knocked Vanessa out, it's the small puncture wounds on her back that have David intrigued. There are four -- small, uniform in diameter, delivered perimortem, and delivered while she wasn't wearing her dress. Ergo, she was dressed after she was stabbed. David then says,"[I] collected lubricant from the labia, which means…uh, I don't know if she had a date with her husband or herself. I sent an SAE kit to DNA. Personal observation: you don't wear La Perla to a Tupperware party." Gil is staring at the lingerie like it's a lacy extraterrestrial. David explains that it's very expensive lingerie, adding morosely, "I gave some to my wife once. She accused me of having an affair. You know -- sex on the steel." Gil now looks actively revolted.
Cut to Cavaliere quizzing Charlie the ex-business owner on how it was that his landlord came to be sliced deli-thin. Nicky comes in just as Cavaliere and Charlie are having this exchange:
Charlie: You want some advice?
Cavaliere: No.
Charlie: Never go into business with someone you're sleeping with.
Nicky: Melissa Pooley?
Charlie: Bitch.
Cavaliere notes that the aforementioned bitch is nowhere to be found, and Charlie's all, "Hi, we broke up." He's either moved past the stage where you obsessively monitor your ex's moves, or he's still in the seething rage portion of the proceedings. Cavaliere figures that Charlie was angry enough to saw himself some vengeance; Nicky adds that he's got motive, with the landlord having kept the $20,000 worth of classic video game machines against the missed rent. And I have to wonder: in this age of retro-techno-nostalgia, how do you own $20,000 worth of classic videogame machines and not manage to turn a profit? Charlie continues to spin a story about how he wasn't in the store, and when Nicky wants to get fingerprints, Charlie goes decidedly squirrelly. The big, red neon sign blinking "GUILTY, GUILTY, GUILTY" probably doesn't help his peace of mind.
Meanwhile, in another part of the Labitrail, Hodges has decided the best way to woo the modern lab tech is with a smooth line like, "You alternate hands when you double-glove?" Mia snaps, "Yes. And I don't like being watched." Hodges thinks this is flirting, so he continues by crooning, "If you alternate, there's more contact between the first latex glove and atmospheric microbes." This observation fails to cause Mia to fling herself across the lab bench and into Hodges's arms. And just when his day couldn't get any worse, along comes Liam to ask about the lab results on Vanessa Keaton. Hodges snots, "I'll have them in five. I'm in the middle of the rest of my life." And here we all thought the rest of Hodges's life entailed making elaborate lists of withering put-downs against the day he'd have opportunity to use them. ["No, that's my life, but I can see how you'd get confused." -- Sars] Liam presses that he needs the results now, and Hodges gives the busily-sanitizing Mia a look replete with sexual promise. "I'll be back," he vows. "Take a while," her look responds.
Thus thwarted, Hodges takes out his frustration on Liam with, "Good thing you don't have to pass a spelling test to work in the field. 'Funtain' water?" "My people are Norwegian. That's how we spell it," Liam shoots back. Nice recovery. Is it just me, or is the repartee more snappy this season? He presses, "So. Is the 'funtain' water in her lunges?" Hodges replies, "All bodies of water contain a unicellular algae called diatoms." "They're unique, like fingerprints. Those from one body of water don't match those from another," Liam adds. "Shut it -- I know from diatoms," Hodges replies. Oh, he does not. Instead, he invites Liam to take a look at the diatoms found in the victim's lungs -- they're not a match for those found in the fountain water. Liam concludes, "Not even close -- which means she didn't drown there." Hodges smirks and says, "I'll throw you a bone." Liam barely suppresses a grin as he says, "[Mia] blew you off, didn't she?" Hodges turns around, wielding a test tube like a rapier, and says, "The water from the fountain is heavily chlorinated, and no, she didn't blow me off. I didn't ask her out." Because he hasn't had time to construct her shrine yet. Hodges continues, "The water found in your vic's lungs contains polymethylhexalene biguanide, and I heard she blew you off first. It's a chlorine alternative." Liam chooses to ignore the more interesting parts of Hodges's speech and concludes, "Vanessa Keaton died in a pool." "Or a spa. And by the way, that's spelled S-P-A in any language." Hodges says.
Nicky and Warrick are looking over the crime scene photographs and filling us in on the fingerprint deal -- nothing out of the ordinary. They continue to discuss how the table saw would have sprayed blood in a manner designed to put Quentin Tarantino's movies to shame, and Nicky sticks by the contention that Charlie's good for the crime. Just then, a receptionist comes in and apologetically notes that "There's a Mr. Gleason here to see you? I told him you were busy. He won't leave." Her tone adds, "I'd like him to." The two amble out, looking very cool (the unbuttoned shirt-over-black-wife-beater look works for Warrick. I paused the TiVo for ten minutes so that I could study the matter and pass that judgment on to you) and Warrick asks, "What's the matter, Marty?" "You and you," Marty bellows, pointing an accusatory finger. He continues ranting, "You treat me like a janitor, like a garbage man -- I'm a professional, same as you. An unsung hero, worthy of respect." Ah, but you're tooting your own horn, so you're getting musical tribute in some form, Marty. The point to this whole tirade -- which continues for far longer than necessary -- is that there's still the smell of decomp back at the store, and Marty suspects it's a practical joke on Nicky and Warrick's part. No, hide-the-dead-body-part is something Liam would do.
The upshot is, the CSIs are back at the scene. Nicky sniffs and says, "That's decomp. It's subtle, but it's in here." Marty sniffs, "The nose knows." It is my sincerest hope that his knowing nose gets knocked into week. Warrick asks if Marty steam-cleaned, as that process often brings out the decomp smell. Marty says nervously, "I don't get paid until this place smells like Eternity for Men." For someone who was bellowing about how he made six figures in last scene's interminable monologue, you think he'd be a little cooler over one job. The CSIs sniff around, then get Mister Six Figures to agree to take them to lunch.
Meanwhile, in the A-plot, Dan's getting overly symbolic with Sara as he shows her his empty pool and explains, "The crack runs right through the deep end. Had to drain it. Half the neighbors have cracked slabs, leaky roofs. This was perfect when Vanessa and I moved in. The place isn't built to last." Oh, gosh, do you want to continue talking about how Metaphor Acres may look delightful but actually conceals a host of problems? Sara grows tired of these literary devices, so she breaks the news that Vanessa didn't drown in the fountain, and so the CSIs are testing every pool and spa in the community. She asks if there was swimming at the Brady bash, and Dan's all, "Why?" Sara's alarm bells do not go off as she replies, "Routine question." Dan replies, "Some, I guess. It was that kind of party." A pool party? I hope swimmers waited half an hour after fornicating. Throughout this whole thing, daughter Amy has been sitting on the edge of the empty pool, sporting a pair of sunglasses that turn her into a dead rip-off -- I mean, "homage to" Lolita Haze. Dan cops to Vanessa maybe swimming after he left. Sara and he go a few rounds over how well he knew the other partygoers.
In another backyard, Liam scoops some water out of the pool while Deedee Pfeiffer (whom, some forum members and I agree, reminds us of a poor man's Cameron Diaz) and the guy who played Gay Matt on Melrose Place look on. Poor Doug Savant -- not only is he immediately known to an entire generation of TV-watchers as Gay Matt, but he's got this habit of getting cast in shows where he's the relatively sane one on the block. Between MP, Desperate Housewives and this, he's going to get a rep as a warning sign that you're moving into Crazy Glen Estates. ["Or about to die of an airborne virus." -- Sars] By the way, these two actors are playing the Bradys. While I've been carrying on about Doug Savant's career legacy, we've learned that the HOA bylaws prohibit using chlorine in your pools, and the pool boy's been by this morning to take care of the pool. I bet he has. Brass asks if last night's party was a special occasion, and Mrs. Brady says, "We just had the neighbors over for cocktails." And what looks to be the largest game of strip poker played in Nevada. Mr. Brady adds, "We do it once a month. We all take turns." We establish that Vanessa was wearing a LBD (Little Black Dress) and, according to Mr. Brady, there's no inter-neighbor bickering because "we are a friendly group." Gil then asks, "May we take a look inside your house?" Mrs. Brady leans back so as to take her tank top to the kind of topological extremes not even Catherine is brazen enough to attempt. "Look anywhere you want," she invites Gil. So he gives her a once-over, behind the Bug Man sunglasses. Brass smirks.
"Well, by the way you've cleaned up, Mrs. Brady, I wouldn't even know you'd had a party here," Gil comments. She probably has help. Someone named Alice, maybe? Gil asks, "What kind of party was it?" "A mixer," she responds. Liam is openly goggling, and Gil gives him a look to check the goofy, hormone-addled grin. So he contents himself with checking out the sideboard while Gil wanders into the spacious kitchen. Maybe this is what they mean by adult content -- a frank discussion on the merits of sub-zero fridges and Corian counters. Gil notices that a few shish-kabob skewers are missing from the case. He soon concludes they're probably in the dishwasher, and pops it open to discover a dish rack full of vibrators draining. Mrs. Brady looks mildly chagrined as Gil holds up what looks like an eight-inch purple dildo. He comments, "Well, cleanliness is to godliness." Liam openly guffaws.
In the B-plot, Nicky and Warrick are sitting on the curb, eating the lunches that are presumably the fruits of Marty's largesse. If Marty were paid by the word, he would be raking in the six figures he claims to make. Warrick asks Marty how many cases he works a week, and Marty shoots back, "How many cases you do a week." Warrick and Nicky do between 10-20; Marty replies that he does too. Around a mouthful of sandwich, Nicky asks, "You're trying to tell me you make between three and ten grand a week?" Why, yes. Also, just in case Warrick and Nicky are looking for a little pocket change, Marty's happy to take them on as freelancers. In fact, while some may see a rising crime rate as a problem, he sees it as a franchise market in Arizona. Before Marty can outline his plans to clean up decomposing bodies all over the entire American southwest, along comes the table-saw victim's widow, who is all torqued because the store still isn't clean yet. Marty instantly assumes a generic cracker accent and drawls, "Iht's outta mah hainds, ma'am. Tha lab boys, they hahven't released the sce-yun ye-yut." Back on the curb, Warrick and Nicky exchange looks and shake their heads ruefully. Marty continues sweet-talking the widow -- awfully nice of her to swing by and introduce herself -- and when he comes back, Warrick calls that Marty ought to be ashamed of himself. Marty begs to differ: "The bereaved often find a Southern accent very comforting." Nicky looks put out by this observation. When he turns to look at Warrick, the other man's suddenly very interested in his drink.
Everyone troops back inside, Marty continuing to carry on, and Nicky finally realizes what stinks: it's the Ms. Pac-Man machine. After Nicky rips off the plastic, the two CSIs reel from the odor, and Warrick cracks, "It smells like eternity for somebody in here." A few quick turns of the screws and disassembly of a machine later and, in the words of Marty, "Holy mackerel, bitch in a box!" Nicky snaps, "Hey, hey, hey!" and Marty apologizes. Everyone coughs from the stench.
Liam returns to his old haunt to ogle Mia as she reviews the contents of the dishwasher: "Five vibrators, five plugs, four strands of beads --" "And a partridge in a pear tree," Liam adds. Mia gives him a dour look, which he interprets as an invitation to keep talking: "Some kids are happy in the sandbox. Others want every toy in the store. And these are dishwasher-safe." Mia promises to swab for evidence anyway. Liam says hopefully, "My money's on bag number two." That would be the one with 26 used condoms. Liam says perkily, "Just like being back in college, right?" Mia replies, "Sara says you didn't lose your virginity until you were 22." Ah, Clark County government employees -- having inappropriate conversations on your tax dollar. And I don't even want to know how Sara knows, unless Liam brought in a cake to celebrate the anniversary of the big day. Without missing a beat, Liam says, "Grissom and I figured that they practiced safe sex, so we processed the trash. Check them inside and out, please." Mia snaps, "I've analyzed condoms before, Liam. Just not in bulk." Liam also hands over the skewers for possible blood analysis.
And now, because Melissa's body is kind of gross, what with having effectively been cooked in plastic for a day or two, we get through the autopsy by means of a montage.
Cut to Nicky slapping the autopsy photos on the table in front of a horrified-looking Charlie. Cavaliere chirps, "She didn't leave town after all. Want to revise your story?" Nicky implies Charlie's motive with, "The semen in her vaginal cavity matches your dead landlord." Cavaliere concludes, "Your girlfriend was paying the rent on her back, and you didn't like it." Cut to a flashback of Charlie shrieking, "You've gone to the barter system! How dare you undermine the utility of U.S. currency! And with the dollar so weak against the euro!" Or maybe he's all jacked up about his girlfriend sleeping with another man, and that drove him to kill. Because people who have sex for the wrong reasons incite their murderers. At least, that's the object message I carried away from this episode. This hypothesis is news to Charlie, and his protestations that he didn't kill Melissa fall on deaf ears. However, he does roll over and admit that he killed his landlord after Nicky does a number on him by casually pointing out that blood has a habit of seeping into the most unexpected places: "Are you sure you got it all, Charlie?" So now I'm confused. Did the landlord sleep with Charlie? How is this murder sex-related? I…I can't imagine an episode in which some fornicator doesn't get their just desserts.
Gah! It's Catherine's first appearance. I knew there was a reason we saw so much of the Young Turks in the first 36 minutes of the episode. She's following Gil into his office; he's looking as though he's kind of wishing his hearing disorder would return. She says, "I don't know that you got the memo. I'm not sure that you read it, but Ecklie is being promoted to assistant director, they are taking applications for his supervisor spot on days, and I want it." Gil continues to play deaf. Catherine barrels ahead: "You want the day spot for yourself? You're worried about giving me a good A.P. score? Breaking up the team? Or maybe you just think I'm incapable of the position, not worthy of the promotion. Is that it? I'm just always, always, always defending myself to you. Unbelievable! I have a daughter who's so starved for my attention, she is thumbing rides to Fremont Street to see her grandfather, the last person I want her around. I mean, not that it's much better with my mother, who sees Lindsey much more often than I do. I am missing out on my daughter's life. I have no life of my own. Would you just stop me here and say something?"
Yes, Gil. Feel free to stop feigning deafness and jump in at any point. The Emmy people only need a few seconds of this nonsense. Gil takes off his glasses and sighs. He does not say, "Now that you've assumed the worst of me and, as per usual, hidden behind your personal problems when you hit a roadblock professionally, let's talk about whether you'll be able to supervise people, or merely work them into a flirtatious tizzy." Instead, he rises above the petty and brings the boss-fu: "You want the job because you're worried about Lindsey?" Catherine deflates as she admits that's part of it, and Gil continues schooling her in the way of the boss: "The position calls for leadership, Catherine. You have to inspire others, solve problems…which means you have to leave your problems at home." Catherine takes a deep breath and makes a more effective sales pitch: "I want the job because I can do it. I'm qualified, I'm motivated, and I'm ready, Gil. You know it." Gil says simply, "I do." It turns out he's already sent in a glowing report and put in a good work for her. He adds, "The rest is up to you. And I hope you get it." Catherine gets all verklempt. She thanks him and leaves. Gil looks a little misty too. Or maybe he's having an allergy attack.
Back on the A-plot, Mia processes the condoms and the water-spot-free sex toys. She gives Gil and Liam a blow-by-blow (as it were) of her work, explaining that the condoms produced semen from ten different males. She adds, "The lubricant -- which seemed to be popular -- was good at retaining both epithelials and vaginal secretions. Eleven females, no CODIS hits." In other words, a lot of data, but no hard evidence leading to a killer. Vanessa's represented in the sample population; she can be linked to four separate males. "She was the belle of the ball," Liam says. I think he might want to reconsider whether "ball" ought to be singular or plural.
Cut to Mrs. Brady claiming she and her husband have a very strong marriage, because swinging saved their marriage. Brass and Gil look openly skeptical at this. Mrs. Brady explains, "Being with other people made us realize just how much I love my husband." Because one day, when the lady met this fellow…oh, I can't even finish the joke about the Brady Bunch, it's just so wrong. Cut to Mr. Brady claiming, "Erin is the greatest wife in the world." "But you still had sex with Vanessa Keaton." Mr. Brady explains rather lamely, "It's fun." As opposed to what? Compulsory swinging?
We then find out that the Bradys really liked Vanessa. No, really liked her. And Mr. Brady gives Sara the rules of "the lifestyle": "No means no. Arrive as a couple, leave as a couple. Drugs, never. Condoms, always." Mrs. Brady continues, "No affairs. Sex with someone other than a spouse is only allowed at parties. No photos, no video, and the kids must never know." Mr. Brady then gives the world's worst explanation for how an entire gated community got into wife-swapping: their houses are so bland and interchangeable, it was possible for someone to wander into the wrong one and not notice the difference. So why not extend the metaphor and wander into a different spouse every once in a while? Mrs. Brady is saddled with the sadly rote task of schooling the CSIs on what possesses people to make the kind of sexual choices that are later dissected on CSI episodes: "Everybody fantasizes. Even you, Mr. Grissom." Here, the camera swings from Gil to Brass. That imploding sound you heard was the S.S. Geek Love falling into an abyssal canyon as the S.S. Oh, God, The Picture In My Mind's Eye! rocketed up from the benthic depths.
Following the interrogation, Sara's sitting in the hall watching the Bradys' warm reunion with a mix of disgust and detached curiosity. Gil plops to her, handing her a cup of coffee and looking at the Bradys with the same observational pique. Sara turns to Gil and says, "I know I'm supposed to be objective, but I think I have a problem with the lifestyle." Gil, to his credit, doesn't pass judgment. He says, "Well, they're consenting adults, it's not illegal. At most, they only hurt themselves." Sara snorts, "Tell that to Vanessa Keaton. Everyone has a jealousy gene." Gil asks, "You think it was a crime of passion?" Sara does: "When you have to go outside a marriage for passion, you're in trouble -- or you're asking for trouble." Gil says mildly, "They say they're happily married." Sara gives him a sharp look. "You think they're happy?" she asks incredulously. Gil looks like he's at a loss to respond. So am I -- this is the first scene in seasons where I've enjoyed these two connecting on some level. I…I don't know how to feel about that. Fortunately, my enjoyment of this scene is saved by the bell: Hodges calls Gil to tell him that he's matched the water in Vanessa's lungs to a new set of neighbors, the Cunninghams. And the Jeffersons, the Seavers, the Bunkers, and the Huxtables all breathe a little easier.
Cut to Gil noting the bloodstain on the side of the Cunninghams' spa and explaining to the couple that they've matched the water in Vanessa's lungs to the spa. Mrs. Cunningham figures her neighbors did a little pool-hopping. She also gives them a snow job about her and the mister leaving the party for a night at the Bellagio because "sometimes, being with others gives you the urge to be alone." Gil points out that he'd like to know if Mr. Cunningham was alone with Vanessa Keaton. Surprise, surprise, he was. And with Erin Brady -- or Karen Brady, as she's called here. And with someone named Mallory Stone. Brass quips, "Three strikes, you're out." Mr. Cunningham grins.
Back in the B-plot, David's puttering around the morgue when Warrick comes in. "Heard your suspect's looking pretty good," David says. "You heard right," Warrick chirps. He's all hepped up because not only did Charlie confess to killing his landlord, the blood on Charlie's watch matches his finely-filleted former landlord. But Charlie's still insisting he didn't kill his girlfriend and stuff her in a Ms. Pac-Man machine. The two of them engage in some dialogue about what could have possibly caused the rounded, blunt-force wound to Melissa's head, in an effort to flout the 48-minute rule. Fools, I say! Everything means something after the 48-minute mark.
Even this conversation with Mrs. Cunningham, wherein we discover that she did not actually have the urge to run off and be alone with her husband at the Bellagio. She had the urge to run off and be alone with another woman, which so offended Tom Cunningham's sensibilities, he went to the "what about the children?" argument and browbeat Marion here into saying they were together. She adds, "I swear, I don't know anything about what went on between him and Vanessa. I don't know."
But we soon will. Gil and Sara enter the Cunningham house, both of them glancing with concern at the Cunningham boy absorbed in his Xbox. Sara wanders into the study, notices an iBook on the desk, and hunkers down for a closer look at the area. After flipping through the magazines (which include the copy of Big Bodacious Babes that we've seen at least twice before), Sara shares her find with Gil, who sighs correctly, "Well, nothing new about this stuff." Yeah, you'd think the No. 1 show on TV could spring for some new props. Oh, wait -- Gil's critiquing it on artistic merits, pointing out that the Kama Sutra and several Pompeiian frescoes leave less to the imagination. He even name-checks the Decameron in his quest to make the point that sex can be an artistic subject. Sara, however, channels the spirit of Potter Stewart and tells Gil she knows porn when she sees it. Gil flips through the magazine, and a photo falls out. He sing-songs, "Here we go. A webcam photo. And she's wearing La Perla." Gil's a fast learner, I'll give him that. You think David and Warrick sat him down for a briefing on pricey underthings? Sara figures the photo -- which is from the neck to mid-thigh -- is of the late Vanessa Keaton.
Warrick and Nicky are back at what is now the site of two murders. Warrick walks us through the case: "The first victim was killed with a weapon of opportunity -- the table saw. The second victim gets a crack on the head." Nicky asks, "So you're thinking the weapon is still in here?" Warrick does. Nicky wonders why the killer would leave it there, and Warrick rebuts, "Well, the killer left the body in here." The two brainstorm about what the weapon might have been, and soon discover what the former shopkeepers used for security -- an old baseball bat. Murder weapon, meet Warrick. Warrick, meet the murder weapon. And this case is wrapped up with Marty's former customer, the wife of the landlord, being carted off in handcuffs.
Marty watches her go with a look of abject dismay. Warrick deadpans, "It seems the missus caught her husband collecting the rent from the late Melissa Pooley. She just waited 'til he left the building. Luckily, she left her prints behind. We had them from an assault case in '98." Well, that's convenient. Behold the clarifying powers of the post-48-minute mark! Marty moans that Nicky and Warrick should have waited until after he got paid before arresting Batgirl. Nicky tells him that they managed to get the city to pick up the tab this time. Marty is pleased by this. I am less so, as I perceive this resolution as a threat to make Marty a recurring character.
And now we hurtle toward resolving the A-plot. Gil and Sara open the drawer in which David stashed Vanessa, and check her torso against the photo. It's not a match, even without the giant autopsy incision making comparison tougher: the photo features someone with an innie, and Vanessa had an outie. Emergency Backup David then comes in to share something he noticed when he was preparing the body for pick-up -- port-mortem bruising around those mysterious puncture marks. Gil notes, "It can take a day or two after autopsy for the bruises to percolate through the soft tissue and become visible." Sara gets to the real point here: "Vanessa wasn't stabbed four times with a skewer. She was stabbed twice with a two-pronged instrument."
Liam heads back to the Cunninghams' pool and notices a set of barbecue tools dangling from the grill. Lo and behold, there's a fork. When Liam sprays it with luminol, it glows. Jackpot!
Sara, meanwhile, explains that she found many interesting things on Tom Cunningham's computer, not the least of which is an avid correspondence between Tom and someone on the Keaton email account. The last missive --which comes with photo -- reads, "U axed 4 my pic, so here is. SweetKeat." Gil and Sara take a moment to reflect on the demise of literate correspondence, then move on to the reply, which set up an assignation behind the skate park. Gil gives Sara a meaningful look. What, does he want to meet her behind the skate park too?
No. He just wants Brass to review security camera footage with Tom, so they can share an awkward moment as Tom realizes he's about to be charged with statutory rape for his activities with young Amy Keaton. Tom claims Amy came on to him, but that's not cutting it with Brass. Tom presses, "Does she look fifteen to you?" and his lawyer grits, "Tom, be very quiet." I would love to see how he asks his wife to cover for this. Tom says he's trying to explain, and Brass shoots back, "She's a minor. You're an adult. What's to explain?" The lawyer offers to make a deal with regards to information about Vanessa's death, but Brass is in no mood to bargain.
Meanwhile, Sara's talking with Amy and her dad, explaining to the two of them that Amy was emailing photos of herself in pricey underwear to her neighbor. Mr. Keaton is stunned until Sara casually notes that Tom's been booked for statutory rape, and when Amy protests, "It wasn't rape!" Mr. Keaton explodes, "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch!" Amy snots, "Why should you care who I have sex with? I know about your parties -- all the kids know, so don't get all righteous on me! I want to see Tom." Gil calms Mr. Keaton down, just in time to get him riled up by the news that his daughter stabbed his wife after catching her with their shared lover, then watched the older woman drown. It's worth noting that Tom was a) there, and b) curiously disinclined to do anything except cover for his underage cookie. Amy insists triumphantly, "He was trying to protect me, so he put her in the fountain. He loves me." She smiles. Nobody returns the grin. Amy presses, "Can I see him?" No. Because he's about to become embroiled in a whole new class of non-standard love affair behind bars.
As Gil and Sara walk out of the interrogation room together, Sara says disgustedly, "Arrive as a couple, leave as a couple." "No photos, no video," Gil adds. "No affairs," Sara adds. "And the kids must never know," Gil finishes. And there's your deep ending for the week.
And for those of you who want to skip this week's rant, you know the drill: pretend this paragraph is about something else -- oh, let's say, the radical idea that maybe Sara and Gil should just get together and have lots of judgmental, angry, boring sex -- and skip below. The rest of you, read on: what, was this episode underwritten by Concerned Women of America, as a lesson that women who enjoy sex are depraved and will either kill or be killed? There's a valid point to be made that any sexual practice works well so long as no innocent bystanders are harmed, but this whole episode was skewed to suggest that "deviant" sexual activity will inevitably backfire disastrously, and the people who practice it are smug and repellent.
Rant over. And really, when you think about it, the idea of Gil and Sara dourly engaging in a dull affair almost makes sense after an episode like this.