One-Hit Wonder

We open with one of the coolest transitions we've seen on this show: the colorful neon skyline of the Strip morphing into a series of perfume and cosmetic bottles on top of a bathroom counter. The camera passes the counter and goes down the hall to the bedroom, where we see a hamper and a treadmill blocking a barely-open door, and focuses on a sleeping woman. We hear a few rustles and rattles, which are enough to wake up the woman. She rolls over -- it's worth noting that she's in full makeup and lip gloss, which makes me suspect that either she went to bed massively drunk, or the makeup artist forgot that every chick magazine on the planet harps on its readers to wash off the war paint before bed -- and listens for a moment before walking downstairs toward her living room. She's wearing the kind of strappy camisole and boy-cut briefs that all but signal the serial killers to fire up the chainsaw and sprint in her direction. The woman notices lights on, her ceiling fan on, and a fresh drink with a moisture ring on the coffee table, and right before she takes a deep breath to begin screaming, her -door neighbor beats her to it.

The camera zooms through the first apartment's door lock, goes down the sidewalk to the house, and zooms in through that keyhole, twisting and turning until it comes to rest in the bedroom, where another nubile young lovely is screaming for help as she struggles beneath her black-clad assailant. The assailant sprints out moments later.

Cut to the sirens going around as Gil, Brass, and Catherine arrive on the scene. Gil asks, "Dispatch says breaking and entering, and sexual assault?" Brass clarifies, "Well, he never touched the first girl. The bedroom door was blocked." Gil asks for clarification, and Brass explains about the treadmill blocking the door, then points out that the two apartments are adjacent and they think the girl in the second one has physical findings. Catherine asks, "You think?" Brass elaborates, "The girl locked herself in her bedroom. Won't let anyone with a Y chromosome within fifty feet of her." He says this like a victim of sexual assault has never behaved this way before.

Catherine then saunters into the apartment, introduces herself, and asks nicely for everyone to clear the residence. A uniform does a swaggering sidle toward Catherine and tells her, "I'm first officer, ma'am. I can't leave the scene unless I get an order from my commanding officer." Catherine reflects on this in the time it takes to remove her hat, and tells the first officer, "The victim's well-being takes precedence over everything else. Right now, this is Joanne Crooks' apartment, not our crime scene, so...there's the door." As everyone leaves, Catherine awkwardly thanks them. She notices Joanne's door opening up.

Meanwhile, Brass and Gil are checking out the first woman's apartment. She locks her doors every night, but fat lot of good it does if you leave the window open just enough for people to reach in and unlock the door. It is astounding that the design which places the window so close to the door was approved; surely architects are aware of safety considerations, if not developers, who are aware of how much money they stand to lose if prospective tenants notice the security hazard. Anyway, we establish how this guy got in. Brass is all, "Crime of opportunity, huh?" Gil pulls back the curtain to look at the window and notices the giant face-print on the outside, which prompts him to say, "Yeah -- except someone was watching this girl."

Well, we'll have to find out who after the credits.

Catherine is easing her way into Joanne's bedroom, assuring her that all the guys have left and it's just her. Joanne tells Catherine that she's already been through the drill -- she doesn't know what the guy looked like and it was pitch black. As Joanne talks, she strips her bed. That's gonna get in the way of evidence collection. Catherine comes further in the room and says, "I'm not a cop; I'm with the crime lab. I'd like to, ah, process the bed sheets." Joanne doesn't think so. Catherine asks if she can take samples from Joanne; Joanne shoots her down. Catherine begins a harder sales pitch with, "Look, I know this is really horrible," and Joanne interrupts with, "I just want to get the bastard off me, okay? Off of my things. Don't you get that?" Catherine says levelly, "Washing away evidence hurts any chance of finding out who raped you." Joanne counters that she wasn't raped; she woke up and the guy was on her chest. To make her point, she shows Catherine a lock of her hair and says, "Look at this -- it's not hair gel." Catherine points out, "If you let me recover that evidence, we can stop him from doing this to somebody else." Joanne mumbles, "Maybe I'm selfish. I don't know -- I don't really care about anybody else right now." Catherine, to her eternal credit, does not shoot back, "Wanna bet that's what the person victimized right before you said about this too, princess?" Instead, recognizing that the benefits to society at large aren't going to win Joanne over, Catherine says, "Well, then let's get him for what he did to you." Them's the magic words, and Joanne cedes her sheets.

Outside, Warrick is taking plaster casts of the footprints outside the window. Gil is busy lifting the face-print from the window and imagining what the perp saw while he was waiting to make his move. I'm distracted once again by how nice everyone's pajamas are. Where are they getting these cute things? I don't even care if the camisole-and-boxer thing is serial-killer bait; I've got a maglite beside the bed, and no problem at all flinging a cat in someone's face if necessary. Just tell me where to get those pajamas. Okay, where were we again? Oh -- Nick calling Gil over to show him a crusted-over semen stain. As Nicky says, "It confirms your theory he's been watching her for a while," Gil wanders off. Nicky turns around to continue talking to Gil and chuffs in surprise as he notices he's talking to thin air. Undaunted, Nicky follows Gil over to the window, where Gil tells him, "He's been watching a lot of people." Nicky, unfortunately, turns his back to Gil as he explains, "There are hedges outside every one of these apartment windows. That's built-in concealment. Yeah, this guy was having his own little peep show." And Gil's having his own little deaf moment, because he's totally unaware that Nicky was talking, and wanders off again. Either that, or Gil's picked up the habit of wandering off the minute Nicky opens his mouth. Nicky shrugs at Warrick, who shrugs back.

It's Night Court! But there's no Dan Fielding in sight. Sara lets herself into the courtroom as the lawyer -- blonde, pretty, articulate -- says, "I would like to thank you for working late into the night. During this trial, you have heard people portray the defendant in glowing terms. He may be all of these things. He certainly seems likable. That doesn't change the fact that he got behind the wheel of his car legally drunk, and drove through an intersection, killing Shelley Daniels, a twelve-year-old child." This is the point where the camera pulls back and we see that the lawyer has been delivering her speech from a really bitchin'-looking wheelchair. The lawyer continues, "When you go into that jury room, I ask that you seek justice and return in a verdict of guilty. Not for me, not for His Honor, not even for Shelly Daniels. I ask because justice itself demands it. Justice is greater than our personal feelings. Than revenge. Than pity. Do not shrink. Do not disappoint, but rather...embrace it. Thank you." In the audience, Sara smiles. The judge sends the jury to the jury room, where they will play the slots of justice and weep over the oratorical miracle they just witnessed. The lawyer wheels back to her table, and Sara comes over to ask, "Where do I sign up?" "Oh, I wish you could," the lawyer responds. They then get down to business: People v. Archer's coming up this Thursday, and Sara's quite excited about it, as she's prepped all week. The lawyer tells Sara she's handed the case over to another D.A., Greg Rubio. Sara protests, "Melissa, we've been building this case together for six months! What's going on?" Melissa tells her, "I'll be dead." Well, that's a pretty good excuse.

And now, the sensitive music plays as Sara and Melissa have themselves a little chat. Sara's all, "I never felt comfortable asking you about --" "My wheels?" Melissa says. Oh, she's so plucky! Sara adds, "I mean, I know someone broke into your house, shot you and your husband --" "Made me a widow, left me a souvenir," Melissa adds, fingers going to the lump in her neck where the bullet presumably is lodged. The TMICam helpfully shows us how the bullet got there, complete with squishy-sounding thump upon impact. Melissa explains that at the time she was shot, the doctor told her that removing the bullet would have killed her, but in the last few years, the bullet's migrated. She continues, "Last week, my voice gives out during a cross, I have trouble swallowing, hand starts to shake. My neuro calls it a traumatic basilar artery aneurysm. He has to 'clip' the artery." Sara rallies and says, "If they're fixing the artery, that's good." Melissa says, "The operation's delicate. The odds are...low." How low can you go? Try a one-in-ten survival rate. Melissa sticks out her hand and shakes Sara's, saying, "I've really enjoyed working with you, Sara." Then she wheels off. What an inspiring story of determination! I'm sure this person whom Sara obviously admires has no skeletons in the closet, nothing that will present an ethical dilemma or a crushing disappointment later in the episode. After all, only Gil and his mentor, Catherine and her mentor, and Warrick and his mentor were freakish aberrations in this staff of six. No doubt Sara, Brass, and Nicky will dodge this bullet, so to speak. Brass won't discover that the partner who taught him everything was, in fact, Himmler. Nicky won't have to apprehend his visiting fraternity brother for that showgirl rape spree. They all have social lives where the people they like and admire with don't do the perp walk, right?

Okay, y'all can stop laughing now.

Within seconds, Catherine and Brass are at the Galleria where Lamond spends his lunch hour. They manage to find the kid as he's going up an escalator right behind a young woman in a miniskirt. Lamond looks incredibly guilty and furtive. Brass checks out Lamond and snorts, "How can you miss him? Kid's pitching a tent." As Lamond gets off the escalator, Catherine, Brass, and some uniforms immediately surround him. Brass does the talking: "Come with me, Justin. Nice fanny pack. I'm a wallet guy myself, but I can change. Mind if I take a look at yours?" Lamond instantly snits, "I'm not doing anything." Brass begs to differ; he pulls out a small video player and tells Catherine, "Pack's a camouflage. And check out the tip of his right shoe." We see the blinking camera light, and then the wires leading the player which Catherine is watching. She says incredulously, "It's a spy camera. What, you can't peep in apartments during the day so you come to the mall to sneak some thrills?" Lamond's all, "I don't know what you're talking about," and attempts to go. Nice try. I'm still stuck on the camera get-up, as it's only confirmed why I'll never be any sort of committed fetishist; it's too much like work, what with all that equipment and all the effort required to get your yayas.

Back at the Labitrail, Bobby's examining Melissa's bullet and commenting on how much tissue is attached: "This must have been in your victim for a while." Sara elaborates, "Three years. Prosecutor friend of mine walked in to find a guy shooting her husband, then he turned the gun on her. She just had it surgically removed." Bobby comments on the amazing qualities of a human body; regrettably, his lab coat blocks me from reciprocating. Oh, wait. He's talking about its response to a bullet: "Tissue forms around the bullet, protecting the body from the leaching of the lead." We see this process in Technicolor TMICam glory as he rhapsodizes. Then Bobby is brought up short by caution: "Did you get approval from Grissom. I don't want him walking in on me." Sara nods hastily without making eye contact. Bobby says reprovingly, "Sara Sidle..." Sara grins and protests, "Yeah! I did!" Bobby smiles back and says, "All right -- just checking." He then commences bathing the bullet in an enzymatic detergent to slough off the tissue, and when that doesn't quite do the job, he sticks the beaker with the bullet in a vibrating water bath. As Sara watches the last pieces of tissue fall away, she protests, "Be careful with that bullet -- it's my only evidence!" Over the whir of the machinery, she explains how the husband's bullet was a through-and-through, so it decimated on impact with the couch frame. Well, that's convenient. It's as if someone who knew their way around building a case on evidence thought about how not to leave any. But I'm being unnecessarily suspicious here. Anyway, Sara gets her bullet, and Bobby gets a new to-do with tracing the bullet.

In another part of the building, Brass is asking how long Lamond's been videotaping women without their knowledge. He replies, "It's only breaking the law if you record their voices." He's right, although I'd be curious to see whether that law changes once the practice of furtively catching the frank-and-beans show on tape violates someone's sense of public safety. Brass compliments Lamond on his smarts, and Lamond responds, "Come on. Look at the girls out there -- tight tops, short skirts, bellies on show. They so much want it!" The real irony here is that Lamond's never actually talked to a girl, so what they do and don't "want" is about as real to him as a chaotic evil elf with +18 charisma.