Snuff

Warning: Adult Content. I'm going to have to ask all of you underaged TWoP readers only to access this recap with an adult nearby. Parental discretion is advi...wait a minute. This is CBS. When it comes to their core audience, "parental discretion" doesn't involve gleefully flouting the rules, but enforcing them. Heck, read away.

The episode opens with a shot of the Stratosphere, and a glowing half-moon hanging behind it. We hear an ominous chord, and then we immediately see the discretionary content: what looks like a blue movie in the most literal sense of the word. It's all loud and violent sex with Joel Schumacher-like cuts from assorted body parts to assorted facial expressions. Gil and Catherine are standing there watching it; both of them look like they'd rather be watching anything else, up to and including a Saturday Night Live alumni film festival including The Ladies Man, The Animal, It's Pat, and Adam Sandler's Eight Crazy Nights. The technician -- whose long nails are just the icing on her cake -- catches the overtly reproving look on Gil's face and says, "Okay, this is where it got weird." On the screen, we see the blue people: the woman's being yanked off the bed, whimpering and sobbing in fear as the man she's with pulls out a butcher knife. We move from the action on the screen to Gil and Catherine watching the screen. Then we move back to the screen: the movement of an arm and subtle "snick" tell us that the knife has been used, and the woman staggers back, her hand clamped over her throat a second too late, as a fine jet of blood arcs away. She collapses. The sassy tech -- have I mentioned how much I love her style? -- says, "I've processed hundreds of bogus snuff films, but this -- this one just felt different." Catherine is still watching the screen; she looks sad and outraged. She says, "Yeah, it should. Arterial spray was real." Gil -- who's elected to skip the "sad" portion and head straight toward pure misanthropic digust -- weighs in: "It's not fake blood; it's human." We switch back to the screen to see a large clot of blood slide down the window in the room, and then we focus on Gil, who looks very intent. He brings home the teaser: "That was a murder on 16-millimeter." ["Boooooooooooo." -- Wing Chun]

The Who play as I giggle over the diss to the big-screen snuff movie whodunit, 8MM, which stole hours from my life that I'll never be able to get back.

Then we get another warning that we're going to see adult content. Usually, I see this on the BBC only when I'm watching Manchild and idly fantasizing about the depredations to which I'd subject Anthony Stewart Head if the opportunity ever presented itself. If this episode contains adult content and Anthony Stewart Head, I'm all for it.

Gil's asking the sassy tech whether this particular pornographer's sent her film to be developed in the past. The sassy tech replies, "I'm sure he has. We get raw films from hundreds of adult-film companies. No names, just those private boxes. You can film porn, develop it, buy it, sell it, but you can't send it through the U.S. mail." Catherine corroborates this with the news that she's found several envelopes from private shipping companies. When Gil tells my new favorite one-episode character that he'll be taking those with him, the sassy tech shrugs, "Whatever."

Just then, Gil's cell phone rings. It's Captain Exposition, who's reporting a dead body on Henderson Road. Gil tells Brass he's already on a case -- and I entertain the brief, flickering hope that Gil and Catherine will work together, because we see them do so far too infrequently for my liking -- and Brass says, "Yeah, well, reconsider. These ants just came flying out of the body, and they're taking chunks out of the coroner. The CSI day guy says he's not going near the body again." Gil's interest is piqued; he replies, "They're fire ants. Keep everyone away from the body: [the ants are] evidence." Wouldn't it suck if you were the lab tech assigned to tracking down recalcitrant evidence? Brass implores Gil to reconsider; in the background, we can see Emergency Backup David thrashing around, obviously beating at something and twitching. Brass also barks, "Bring bug spray." Gil replies, "No bug spray!"

I wonder if Brass brought out the bug spray line to goad Gil into coming on out. Whether or not it was intentional, it worked. Gil walks on the scene and Brass is explaining that a guy driving along the side of the road saw the toolbox, thought it would look nice on his truck, checked inside, and got the surprise of his life. The minute Brass finishes this tale, Gil is waylaid by Emergency Backup David, whose arm is wrapped in ice packs. He asks Gil, "You ever see anything like this?" "This" is a series of large and painful-looking blisters. Gil replies, "Any species that finds itself in a place that it doesn't belong can do this kind of damage." Now that's a sentiment that should be copied on postcards and sent to the White House en masse. Then maybe they'd reconsider the logging policies they're putting in place, or actually listening to the eighty thousand or so people who wrote in to protest the relaxing of the snowmobile restrictions in Yosemite. But I forget: I'm not recapping a political show. My bad. Let's get back to the part where Gil is offering Emergency Backup David the dubious comfort of knowing that he's but a pawn in ecological chess. Gil and David agree that cortisone will be David's best friend, and then Gil continues to walk toward the body with Brass. Brass asks, "I've heard these things can kill a deer. Is that right?" Gil replies that enough colonies working in concert can kill off humans. Brass and Gil arrive at the toolbox, and Brass asks whether the ants did in this body. Gil replies, "Well, only if they also learned how to put him in a box and dump him in a ditch." Gil's not ruling that out, mind you.

Gil then opens the box, and it gets all disgusting -- which is saying something, given that this episode opened with a snuff movie. There are ants swarming. Yeah, I know it's what they do, but in terms of volume, this is one seriously impressive swarm; it's picked the skeleton clean. Gil waves off the flying members of the swarm as Brass asks from several yards upwind, "Man or woman?" Gil replies, "Anthill. They're using this body as a colony site. I'm going to have to take this box and this specimen back to the lab as-is. These insects are evidence." And by "I," Gil's actually referring to himself and not a squad of long-suffering second-stringers. However, I'm not sure if he's so hands-on because he's innately a better manager, or because he doesn't want the grubby fingers of the B-squad touching his six-legged pretties.

Back at the snuff plot, a detective whom I don't ever recall seeing before is busy telling Catherine that this film-processing place is the soul of discretion -- no records, and cash transactions only. Catherine shares her news: Archie blew up a head shot of the victim, so it might be possible to match her to a missing-persons photo. Only if the original photo was taken during the throes of a particularly tedious bout of sex, if the position of the head and the expression on the girl's face are anything to go by, but I guess in some circles, that might not be as hard to come by as I'd think.

Catherine heads in to where Sara's got the unenviable task of searching the filmstrip for fingerprints. Sara explains how she should be able to take prints, because the gelatin the film is made of offers a particularly pliable medium for leaving a permanent mark; however, the prints are too smudged to do too much good. Sara then tries to end on an up note by explaining that she's nailed the film's manufacturer and year, so the homicide department is calling the company for a buyer's list. Catherine replies, "Won't help. Pornos buy short-ends from legitimate clearing houses. Saves money, and they're impossible to trace." I thought most porn was shot on video or digitally, because it's even cheaper to produce and easier to distribute, but I suppose there's a niche market for the consumer who has both a 16mm projector and a hard-on for dead chicks. I can't see it being a growth market, but who am I to question the business plan of a snuff auteur? Sara's kind of intrigued as to how Catherine knows all this. Catherine explains, "I pulled a porno ring using teenaged girls a few years ago. Learned all you want to know about the adult entertainment industry." Catherine takes the film from Sara and scans it, commenting again, "Hell of a way to go." I wonder if she's thinking about what might have been if she hadn't stopped dancing. Sara looks uncomfortable for a moment, then addresses the episode's biggest plot hole: "I always thought snuff films were an urban legend. I mean, outside of urban Bangkok." Catherine says the FBI's official position on snuff films is that there's no such thing; I imagine they might get involved if the film involved intrastate trafficking in minors, intrastate commerce, or some other offense. Sara asks what the unofficial position is, and Catherine replies, "Single film goes for a hundred grand -- original negative." So the FBI's unofficial position is to buy them and place them in the warehouse to the Ark of the Covenant? Doesn't that just, you know, encourage people to try and make a hundred grand off Uncle Sam the sordid way? My head hurts from trying to parse the logic here. Sara's head hurts too, because she's trying to understand why a snuff filmmaker would send his film out to be processed. Catherine muses, "Greedy doesn't mean smart."

That butterscotch dirt yielded gold, provided your definition of "gold" is "dead woman from snuff film." Warrick heads out to the area to crouch by her body.

Then, in a shot lifted straight out of the pilot ofTwin Peaks, we see the girl on a monitor in the morgue, washed in a bluish light with her eyes closed and mouth faintly curved up, hair tangled back from her face. David the Ant-Free Coroner walks over to the gurney where the girl is, and asks Sara and Catherine, "Warrick stick you with post?" Catherine replies that Warrick's working evidence down at the riverbed. David shares what he has: "Susan Hodap, twenty-six. Exsanguination from transection of the carotid artery. Slicing stab." Catherine asks about serration marks on the hyoid bone. David shrugs that he'll have to do a boil -- I assume he means her head -- but adds, "I can tell you conclusively is that Susan Hodap was already on borrowed time. I tapped her cerebrospinal fluid; didn't wait for a batch, had the lab run it solo. She was HIV-positive." Catherine and Sara take this opportunity to look at each other meaningfully.

Catherine and Sara repair to the computer, where they call up something called "Adult Entertainment Health," subtitled, "Health Services for Your Mind, Body." There's probably more, but it's not like we're getting a look at the whole site. It's apparently a big, publicly accessible list of adult industry names, with two columns to it: the HIV status, and other STDs. There are three HIV statuses: negative, HIV+ and HIV+ Quarantined. Catherine murmurs, "There it is -- tested positive six months ago." Sara says, "I can't believe that porn actors' monthly health records are on the internet." Me neither. How convenient for the plot! Catherine says, "Rule is, actor tests positive twice, they go on permanent quarantine." Sure enough, Susan Hodap's on permanent quarantine. Sara says, "That's why she ended up in a snuff film: she got bounced out of regular porn." Somehow, this makes me imagine a Burt Reynolds-like director screaming, "You'll never gangbang in this town again!" Catherine muses, "[Susan] walked into her own death scene. The thing is, the porn director may have, too."

Back at the ranch, Gil and Nicky are nosing around the property. They walk over to a blue truck, and Nicky comments, "This would be a pretty cool little truck if it weren't for the shiny new toolbox." Gil notices the bucking-bronco sticker and suspects it's Billy Rattison's truck. Banson comes out from making sure all the creatures of the earth are subject to his dominion and says, "I see you boys are back." Gil confirms with Banson that the truck does indeed belong to Ratisson, and then says they need to speak with Ratisson.

Simply look for the brooding figure in the black cowboy hat. He'll be endearing himself to the audience by saying, "I don't know nothing about no damn retard." This is Gil's cue to snap, "He wasn't a retard, Mr. Ratisson. He had what we call Down's Syndrome." That don't make no nevermind to Ratisson. He adds that Randy was always "sticking his nose where it didn't belong." We see one such example: Randy noticed Ratisson's can of chaw on the fencepost, held it up, and told Ratisson, "You left this." Ratisson responded with a hail of saliva-soaked tobacco leavings. Wow -- the writers couldn't make this guy more unlikable if they began flashing subtitles detailing his contributions to David Duke's election campaigns. Gil then tries to engage Ratisson in a discussion of his toolbox, and Ratisson demonstrates an even greater capacity for predjudice by insinuating that the stall-muckers are continually pilfering his possessions. Gil then pulls out a photo Nicky's been carrying around of Ratisson at the Bronc Finals in Witchita, Kansas. Ratisson tells us he spent a month there. We establish that Las Vegas is actually Ratisson's home base. Gil asks, "What month, exactly?" Ratisson sighs at the prospect of trying to sort through a whole calendar's worth of ignorance and predjudice, grabs the photo, and says, "March 2000." Nicky rolls his eyes and leans in to tell Gil sotto voce, "Nineteen months ago."

Gil and Nicky then wander among the barns to brainstorm. Nicky: "Your ants put the time of death at nineteen months, Rattison puts being out of town at nineteen months, yet Randy Traschel's been missing seventeen months. So, now what?" "We need a more precise timeline," Gil replies. Or he could just blame Liam and his math; that whole timeline seems hinky to me because it assumes that the fire ants arrived immediately after the last of the pupal casings was shed, as opposed to maybe coming in a few weeks earlier. But Gil decides that to go the precise timeline route, and decides to look at the rust in the toolbox.

At the labitrail, Sara's walking down the hall when she has to skirt to avoid a flying phonebook. We hear Warrick exclaiming, "Damn!" off-camera. She walks into the lab where Warrick's looking at the drape Susan Hodap was wrapped in, and asks, "Why are you throwing phone books?" Warrick logically replies, "Because a beaker gets glass all over the place." Plus they'd probably take it out of his paycheck. Sara asks what's wrong, and Warrick replies, "It's this curtain that the porn girl was found wrapped in. I've got no fingerprints, no second donor. I've got nothing linking this porn guy to the girl and it's driving me nuts." Sara takes Warrick's mind off matters by saying tartly, "I'm fine." Warrick looks abashed and asks if Sara's okay; she grins and lets him know she was yanking his chain by saying, "You missed me by a mile." Then she tells him she may have something -- she and Catherine suspect HIV transference from Susan Hodap's blood to Douglas Sampson's. Warrick asks how they're going to get the blood for comparison, and Sara replies, "Warrant, based on the butterscotch dirt that you found in his car." And now Warrick feels better. He throws another phone book in celebration; it hits Liam. Y'all know I'm kidding about that part, right?

Cut to a shot of Sulik watching Sampson get his blood drawn. Sampson looks sullen.

Back at Rancho de B-Plot, Gil's telling Nicky how he's taking the spur shard and looking at layers 100 microns thick to measure for oxidation: "Moisture from the body hits the carbon steel, and then corrosion begins. We can be certain there was moisture right away." Nicky grapples for a metaphor: "So it's like slicing mold off bread." Gil continues, "And measuring it. The rust penetrated through the thirteenth layer and just barely touched the fourteenth." He then has Archie run the weather patterns to help measure corrosion over time. The results, in Nicky's words: "Spur exposure time was exactly seventeen months." "And we can testify to this," says Gil. Nicky says, "Missing Persons was right -- the ants were off." Gil's sensitive about that, and he replies a little tartly, "Yeah. So was Rattison. He was in town." Gil then sets to studying the pictures of the wounds, trying to figure out the cause of death. He takes two pencils and a rubber band and stretches the band eighteen inches. Gil then holds up the pencils, one in each hand, tilts his hands in so the pencils splay out slightly, and has an obvious brainstorm.

We see the results in the very scene: a steer with a wide, if blunt set of horns. Nicky leans over the chute and measure the horns' span -- two feet. Gil explains to Banson, "We have reason to believe that the wounds that killed Randy Traschel were made by one of your bulls." Banson replies, "That's why we cut the horns -- to prevent such." The CSIs establish that they're looking for horns with the points still attached, and Gil asks to see the other bulls. Banson laconically replies, "Curly's the only one I got." Both Gil and Nicky turn to look at him. It's a nice visual moment.

Then Rattison goes sauntering by, shouting, "What do y'all want now?" Brass amiably says, "We're waiting on you. Mr. Rattison. We have reason to believe you were in town the month Randy Traschel was murdered." Gil then asks in his usual just-curious tone, "Can you tell me what used to be here?" with "here" being the front hood of the truck. Rattison claims that his belt buckles used to be there, but they were stolen. Gil observes, "You do get a lot of stuff stolen, don't you?" Gil asks if they can look around his truck, and Rattison consents. As Gil begins looking around, Rattison stands to Brass; Brass turns to him and mutters, "Don't get any tobacco juice on my shoe." Within moments, Gil has found a pair of uncut steer horns that happen to measure eighteen inches and display traces of blood residue. Wow, is Rattison stupid. Gil says, "The only thing stolen was Randy Traschel's life. Mr. Rattison, want to explain this?" What is there to explain, really? He had held Randy in contempt simply for being Randy, and after an incident in which Randy appeared to be laughing at him after he fell off a horse -- when in fact, Randy was simply standing around with a small, habitual smile -- he decided to tie Randy to an unbroken horse and set him loose in the corral. Then Randy broke his collarbone. He tried to run out after Rattison and apologize, and Rattison responded by slamming the man into the steer horns on his truck. Class act, that Rattison.