“ Lockwood tries for a Chandler-esque world weariness with, 'Death -- the cheapest show in Vegas.' I get the feeling he was shooting for Raymond Chandler, but he ended up at Chandler Bing. ”
Special thanks to Wing Chun for the index page poll.
This episode begins with a startling degree of verisimilitude -- loud, guitar-heavy music blasting as a car tears down the highway. Who hasn't been there, done that? The car -- a SUV, really -- then pulls onto what looks like a surface street, swerves wildly to hit one parked car, then swerves again to hit another. It's like watching someone play San Francisco Driver, only with real cars instead of pixilated ones. And it's not going to be anything like watching me play until this guy starts swerving to hit bicyclists on purpose. The cops want to prevent that sort of misanthropic misfortune, so they've put a few cars on the tail of the SUV, and a helicopter. Everyone's having an adventure as the car slices across a parking lot, decides to drive through, rather than around, a culvert, goes through another just for kicks, and eventually ends up on a two-lane road. Don't ask me where: my Las Vegas road skillz include finding such far-flung destinations as the county offices, my wedding photographer's office, and the In 'n' Out by UNLV, but otherwise, I have no idea where anything is. I usually just aim for the nearest neon sign and improv from there. This guy seems to be adopting the same strategy, but he's eschewed observing such niceties as lane lines, stoplights, or even roads -- he eventually ends up parked at the entrance of the Plaza Casino. Not just on the curb by the door -- at the door. Detective Lockwood, who was apparently in charge of making sure that this car chase dragged on long enough to cost millions of dollars in damage, gets out of the police cruiser, gun drawn. He orders the driver to roll down the window and fling the car keys out, but the driver's listening skills seem to be about on par with his vehicle-handling finesse. The detective repeats, "Cut the engine and throw the keys out the window!" The driver decides to cut the engine and stagger out of the car instead. As he slowly turns around, Lockwood is taken aback -- the driver has a giant wooden stake protruding from his head. Lockwood stares down, perhaps wondering if the man was victimized by a particularly inept vampire slayer, or if this is some new form of body modification gone awry. The man doesn't provide any answers, preferring instead to drop to his knees, then fall over.
Cut to Gil making his way through a gaping crowd; even in Las Vegas, a guy with a stake in his head is more compelling than a casino advertising the most liberal "21" in town. Lockwood's with him, and as the two of them finally fight their way to the actual scene of Stakehead's death, Lockwood tries for a Chandler-esque world weariness with, "Death -- the cheapest show in Vegas." I get the feeling he was shooting for Raymond Chandler, but he ended up at Chandler Bing. Gil actually does manage to sound jaded when he replies, "That doesn't surprise me -- you remember the MGM fire? We found people burned to their slot machines because they wouldn't leave the action." What an ignominious way to die. On the other hand, it does provide support for those Darwinists among us. Lockwood replies, "Only in Vegas." Or Atlantic City, should any of those casinos begin burning. Now I'm nitpicking. Anyway, Gil and Lockwood finally get to the body, and Gil whips out the flashlight to verify that yes, there is a stake sticking out of the guy's head. He says as much: "This guy's got a piece of wood sticking out of his head." What, you were expecting fine china? Lockwood tells us that Stakehead is Alex James, age 42, if the wallet ID and SUV registration are anything to go by. Lockwood asks how James was able to drive; Gil replies, "I once saw a guy walk fifteen blocks with three bullets in his face." So what you're saying is that the human body is a mysterious thing? Lockwood tells us the victim was traveling west on Flamingo Avenue, presumably to head to nearby Desert Palms hospital -- the only hospital in all of Las Vegas, if its many references on this show are anything to go by. I'm betting Western Las Vegas University sends its medical students there for their residencies. Gil replies, "I don't much care where he's going. I want to know where he's been."
Lucky Strike
“ Not even a homonymic 'Would that I knew how where he came from' crack? I feel so...let down. ”
And then, we go to credits. Wow, that was kind of a non-tagline. I can't believe there was nothing about "I'd stake a bet that he was in trouble" or some other belabored pun meant to showcase Gil's detached and superior way of looking at a gruesome and cryptic scene. Not even a homonymic "Would that I knew how where he came from" crack? I feel so...let down.
After we come back from commercials, we see a few shots of the casinos from above -- the Mirage and the Venetian feature heavily -- and then we're in a parking garage where liveried footmen are helping the beautiful people out of limousines. The beautiful people are ignoring them so they can concentrate on their cell phone conversations instead. Having thus established that a) most rich people are repellent, and b) they're also allergic to going through hotel check-in with the hoi polloi, we find out that c) Catherine and Warrick are coming in this way, with Catherine commenting on how "this makes us VIPs tonight." As if to underscore her point, a bag flunky comes along to try and take their kits. Catherine warmly thanks him and points out that it's not really luggage.
Once the two of them are in a bare concrete hallway -- I'd think the austere institutional look would be repellent to VIP types, but maybe this is some sort of reverse-chic thing where the more personality-free and drab the entryway, the more exclusive it is -- they meet up with a security person of unknown provenance who fills them in. They're dealing with a kidnapping case; they'd like to keep it low-profile, and away from the FBI, an understandable urge since the FBI would inevitably send in an ennui-riddled jackass named after one of twentieth century's greatest symbols of modern alienation, or a cherry-pie-snarfing man who has visions of dancing midgets, or two paranoid conspiracy freaks, and then nothing would get done. Catherine points out, "Until we know the victim was taken over state lines, the FBI has no jurisdiction. Do you have any contact from the kidnappers?" There was a ransom note left at the front desk, probably with one of the myriad hotel employees dressed like French mimes. What exactly is the theme of this casino? Do the slot machines feature someone pantomiming jubilee instead of ringing when you get lucky? We'll never know. Warrick asks who's been kidnapped, and the security guy tells us that Tavian Tombs's five-year-old son has been taken. Warrick tells us that Tavian Tombs is a high-profile professional basketball player.
He's also a highly pissed professional basketball player, if his tirade at his personal security team is anything to go by. As Warrick and Catherine enter the suite, the suit-wearing Tavian is facing a few similarly-attired men, snapping, "You people make sure something like this does not happen. Where the hell was everybody? Out spending my money? You're supposed to be the head of security, and you let my son get kidnapped right from under my nose." Catherine picks that moment to interrupt, and he rounds on her with, "You better have a good reason for being here." "We're here to find your son," Warrick replies. The camera swings back to Tombs. He's not too impressed with this. Catherine elaborates, "We're with the crime lab, and I'm assuming that that's our ransom note." The note in question is crumpled in Tombs's hand, and he replies, "That's my note, my kid, my show." Oh, please. Warrick steps in again with, "Look, I've seen you take out three guys on the glass and still finish. I'm not here to bang boards with you. I'm here to do my job. It's your son, it's your call." This apparently has an effect on everyone in the room -- Tavian's main squeeze (and, one presumes, the mother of the missing boy) finally crosses the group of people to tug on Tavian's sleeve, and Catherine's Mommy Sense kicks in and prompts her to notice the two boys playing with the PlayStation some feet away; one of the boys is much younger than the other. Tavian finally hands over the note, and Warrick reads, "I have Isaiah. Bring $5 million to the northwest corner of Telfair and Juniper, 4 AM." Catherine wants to know how many people touched the letter. Answer: A whole lot. Well, there goes the "maybe we can lift the prints" option for fingering the kidnapper. Catherine asks if the ransom note came in an envelope, and Tavian's crackerjack head of security replies, "Yeah. I threw it in the wastebasket." Gosh, it's hard to see how any child could have been snatched from under his alert, detail-oriented nose. Warrick rolls his eyes as Catherine pulls out the envelope. Then we establish that Brass is interviewing the nanny in the room.
The nanny is explaining, "We were at the carnival, me and the boys." We flash back to said carnival, with the boys pressed up against the fence around the carousel while a clown who makes Tim Curry's character in It look like a gentle jokester makes balloon Chthulus. She continues, "They wanted to ride the carousel. I said no." Brass observes that she gave in. The nanny, who's sitting hunched over on the bed and radiating a kind of numb misery, says flatly, "Special weekend. Dad's in town. Everybody's together. Trust me, they don't understand 'no.'" We see Isaiah riding the merry-go-round, smiling and laughing while the nanny gets distracted by the Chthulu Clown on the sidelines. When she turns back, Isaiah's missing. Cue the understandable freakout, with the nanny asking frantically, "Jason, where's your brother? Jason? Jason, where's your brother?" Back in the present, the nanny says, "He was right there. I swear to you, I looked everywhere. But I knew he was gone, so I brought the kids back here and had to tell Tavian." Brass adds, "And his wife." The nanny snorts derisively and informs Brass, "They're not married, and even if they were, it'd still be Tavian's show." Brass comments neutrally, "A woman who knows her employer." This time, he earns her scornful stare: "I should. He's my brother."
“ Lockwood takes that moment to share his discovery of a .38 special -- the gun, not the band, although that would explain an awful lot -- and Nicky and Gil swap meaningful looks. ”
While Brass is digesting this information, Tavian's busy berating another one of his lackeys, this one apparently responsible for producing $5 million out of thin air. Catherine asks skeptically, "The casino's fronting the ransom money." Nameless Security Guy from a few scenes back tells us, "Mr. Tombs has a multimillion-dollar tab with us." Catherine looks around, somewhat incredulous at this turn of events, and says, "We strongly advise that you don't turn over the money." Warrick adds, "At least let us mark it?" Tavian asks if Warrick knows how long it would take to mark $5 million, then plows ahead with, "The kidnapper knows -- longer than the drop-off time. Now, the letter said the corner of Telfair and Juniper. That's where this bag is going." He then turns back to the pile of money. With an attitude like that, why did anyone bother to call in the law enforcement officials? Did Tavian require a larger-than-normal audience for his displays of control freakiness? ["My guess is that someone on the writing staff did a lot of reading about the Lindbergh case recently." -- Sars]
Back on the sidewalk in another plotline, Lockwood's looking through the SUV for piles of sharpened wooden pikes and other possible weapons while Gil and Nicky confirm that yes, that is a head with a wooden stake sticking out of it. Nicky comments, "Sharp force trauma. Shouldn't we get the spike out of his head before we try to get any prints off it?" Gil replies, "I'm afraid if we try to remove it, we'll eradicate the prints." Wow, that was surprisingly civil for a Gil/Nicky interaction. I wonder if Gil's feeling okay. He goes back to looking at the stake, then exclaims in frustration, "We're not going to get any prints off this." "Well, he sure is dirty!" Nicky replies. How does that increase the odds of prints? Oh, hold on, he's brainstorming: "He isn't homeless. This is his car, right?" Gil replies in the affirmative, then announces he's going to scrape the guy's nails. He then gives the guy a forensic manicure and discovers there's gold in them thar cuticles. Nicky hands Gil a bindle, and the gold nail cruft is logged for further investigation. Lockwood takes that moment to share his discovery of a .38 special -- the gun, not the band, although that would explain an awful lot -- and Nicky and Gil swap meaningful looks.
Warrick, however, is only staring at the ransom note. Whatever he's looking for isn't there; when Sara comes in and announces, "Catherine wants to know if you have anything. She can't convince Tavian to change his mind about the ransom money," Warrick only shakes his head. All the elements of the note are mass-produced, so there's nothing he can see. However, he can smell something, so that's his cue to put the note in a fume chamber and attach a vacuum suction sweeper to pull out the air in the chamber, thus pulling out any ambient odor particles and trapping them in a charcoal filter, where they can be extracted by means of titration with a solvent and what I suspect is liquid chromatography (the practice of extracting the target compound from other compounds for identification purposes). I guess that grant for the Cyranose didn't come through. Warrick caps his examination of the note by spraying it with a reagent that confirms that, yes, many, many people handled it.
Fortunately, David The Vampire-Literate Coroner has no such problems. Instead, he's got a body with a stake in the head, and the ready quip, "Looks like something out of Nosferatu." "Yeah, only the wooden stake is in his head, not his heart," Gil replies, and remarks off-handedly, "I've never seen that before -- a wooden stake embedded in the high parietal scalp in the midline." That's probably a good thing. David asks Gil casually, "Hold his head down firmly, would ya?" then counts to three before pulling out the stake. We see the wound in some detail, although not in TMICam -- yet. Gil's busy gaping at the stake while David leans in to assess the anatomical damage: "Regular puncture defect to the scalp, laceration to the sagittal sinus. The wound track stops at the falx cerebri, no gross penetration of the cerebrum. That stake is what kept him driving." I got curious as to where exactly the stake went, and from what I was able to see, it went through the vein-rich superior sagittal sinus, tore through the septum that separates the brain halves while encasing them as a protective layer (the falx cerebri), then neatly punctured the gray matter (a.k.a. the cerebellum). Gil points out that the stake tamponaded; David replies that the excessive force with which the stake was driven into the head caused the stake to act like a plug for all the assorted bits and pieces that would have normally shifted around and leaked out. David notes, "The spike probably stuck between the brain hemispheres, most likely lodging into the parietal bones [which held it] in place. They say it's a game of inches -- a centimeter to the left or right and he would have died instantly." That actually seems preferable to driving around in a disoriented frenzy while being peripherally aware that your head now resembles a martini olive, but I've always been picky about quality-of-life issues. Gil points out that anyone with this kind of head trauma probably would have died during surgery; David cheerfully counters that maybe the operation could have prolonged his life by an agonizing hour.
In a less uplifting conversation, Warrick's telling Catherine that Tavian's entire entourage fondled the ransom note in an effort to make things as difficult as possible for law enforcement personnel who might want to actually apprehend the kidnapper. Well, he didn't add all that stuff about Tavian's low-IQ posse. Catherine turns her attention to the liquid extraction results -- that thing Warrick was doing with the filter, the solvent, and the liquid chromatography -- and we find out we're looking for a menthol smoker.