When an episode starts out with the shrill child soprano and the foreboding gong of church bells, it's a surefire indicator that we're in for a downer hour. It's like there's a checklist:
( ) Mournful, inarticulate keening, pitched directly below the range used to summon dogs.
( ) Musical elements meant to evoke religious symbolism, thus cueing the listener that we're about to get a big morality trip laid on us.
( ) Listener silently wondering why musical elements meant to evoke religious symbolism can't come from the Rastafarian school of worship.
( ) Camera shots panning over empty landscapes at twilight, thus prompting the viewer to think about what a bummer it is to die and be alone and stuff.
( ) Close-up on religious icon, warning the viewer that they weren't kidding about the big morality trip.
( ) Viewer wondering why nobody ever bothers with the foreboding close-ups of Kali, or Thor, God of Thunder.
Anyway, we're all primed for a big downer morality trip, which is why, when the doors to a school open and a horde of Catholic school children exit screaming, I'm all, "Oh, please, let us not discover that the Diocese of Las Vegas is about to join Boston, Los Angeles, et al. in racking up the headline-grabbing lawsuits." We get a shot of a big Jesus statue hovering protectively over the children, because it's still considered offensive to show children in presumed danger while someone screams, "Your god won't protect you now!" and so would-be message senders have to opt for the subtle, ironic route.
A nun who looks like Linda Hunt looks up from her conversation with another nun. Both nuns look concerned. Perhaps it's because the conversation went like this:
Non-Linda Hunt Nun: So I told the guy, "No, I don't dress like this because I'm into Jil Sander. I'm the bride of Christ."
Linda Hunt Nun: Hold on, sister…I'm the bride of Christ.
Non-Linda Hunt Nun: We're both married to --
Linda Hunt Nun: That does it. Let me find out what this woman in the SUV wants, and then I'm off to see if the Baltimore Catechism covers bigamy in any meaningful way.
So she abandons that sticky discussion to see what soccer mom Sybil wants. Sybil asks, "What's taking Alicia so long? We have a doctor's appointment in 40 minutes." Sister Linda Hunt says that Alicia's not there, nor was she in any of her classes that day. Just then, Sybil's phone rings and she snaps, "April, get off the phone. I can't talk right now." Ah, but she'll be interested in this conversation, since April is gibbering about how it wasn't her fault, but someone took Alicia.
Within moments, Sybil's driven her gas-guzzler to the convenience from whence Alicia was presumably abducted, and charges out of the SUV toward April: "What'd you do?! What the hell did you do?!" Then she delivers unto her eldest daughter a big, juicy slap to the face, in full sight of the police officers already on the scene. The officers immediately separate them as Sybil screams, "Where is she? Where is she?" and April screams back, "I'm not sure! I'm not sure!" You know, if they were doing this in the key of B-sharp in Italian, we'd have an opera. And Sybil swings into the solo screaming with "Go find my daughter! Go find my daughter!"
After Sybil exits stage right, the camera switches to April, who's leaning against a squad car and explaining that she and Alicia often engineered outings like this because "I don't get to see her that much [and] her life sucks, so sometimes she'd play hooky and hang out with me." Brass asks, not unkindly, "After girls' day out, you stopped here for a snack?" The two of them are distracted while Alicia and April's father arrives and rushes to comfort his wife. April doggedly continues her narrative with, "I just went in, to, you know, get something while she changed back into her uniform." "In the car?" Brass presses. April says it's not that big a deal. Brass asks what the abductor looked like and what kind of car he drove, and according to April's flashback, the wanted man is a beard-sporting African-American in a crappy black or dark blue Buick. April trails off, clearly flustered, and Brass assures her she did well in recalling.
Gil is peering in the passenger side of the car and taking photographs. He really does work that recluse-living-in-the-woods chic with the sunglasses and the beard. And as the frazzled parents accost him, Gil looks as though he's fervently wishing he was currently living as a recluse in the woods. After patiently repeating, "We're doing everything we can" a few times while Mr. Perez is all, "That's what everyone keeps saying," Gil happens to notice the big bloodstain on the hem of Sybil's shirt. He asks if she injured herself. Mr. Perez looks at his wife, and she shoots him a panicky look before answering that it's just a nosebleed. Gil comments neutrally, "That's a lot of blood. I'm going to need to take your shirt." Mr. Perez does not like this one bit. Gil offers, "If you like, I can have someone follow you home so you can change." Throw in a trip to the dry cleaner's on the way back and I'll hand over a shirt. Instead of saying, "Fine. Anything to help," Sybil flips out with, "You think we had something to do with this? Our daughter is missing! She's out there somewhere alone and scared! What are you doing about that? Other than standing here wasting time listening to me holler, I mean." I might have added the last part of the They Doth Protest Too Much Monologues. Gil says that he's merely collecting evidence, and Sybil whips off her shirt in what's meant to be a gesture that will embarrass Gil. She smacks him in the face with the shirt and screams, "Go find her!"
The Who kick in just before Gil can ask, "Well, where did you leave her?"
When we get back from commercials, Brass is calling in an Amber Alert, which we then see spreading out as a news broadcast and a highway alert sign. It also doubles as handy exposition: Alicia Perez (pronounced Ah-LEE-see-ah by the anchordroid and Ah-LISH-ah by her mother) is a thirteen-year-old, suspected to have been abducted by a 36-45-year-old African-American.
Back at the Kwikee Kidnap, Nicky and Warrick are kibitzing as they process the car; Warrick asks how Nicky did on his shooting test, and Nicky's all, "I was rusty. They say I have a flinch." You've got to be kidding me. Nicky boffed his gun proficiency test? You're telling me that the man who is to gun-toting desperados what magnets are to metal filings never once thought, "Perhaps I should brush up on my firearms skills, what with so frequently stumbling into situations in which this sort of thing would be handy"? Anyway, Warrick suggests a little play date for practice, and Nicky gripes, "When do we have time to practice? If we're not processing a scene or working evidence, we're in court." Warrick sets forth his scheduling philosophy with, "When they take your piece, you make time." Nicky changes the subject in the interest of advancing the plot, noting that Alicia's a little too old for the "would you like some candy, little girl?" ploy. Warrick explains, "Easy -- with a map and a smile. Rolls up, 'Hey, little girl, I'm lost. You from around here?' She gets close enough, he pulls her out of her car and into his car." It's amusing to see that when Warrick breaks out the 'Hey, little girl' line, the camera swings over to Catherine working the scene. Nicky suspects the guy had a weapon; Catherine rolls over and offers the hypothesis that the guy was using his fists. We flash back to a tableau wherein the abductor is whaling on the shrieking girl. Thank God there was no explanation as to why Catherine's thinking along those lines. I hate when context and information get in the way of my gratuitously violent flashbacks.
Inside the Kwikee Kidnap, Brass is talking to the store manager, who's insisting, "Dude, I didn't see it. Chica had a nice, round ass. That's what I was scoping." Callipygian criminals, take note. Brass asks what time the clerk was communing with his inner Sir Mix-A-Lot. It was about 3 PM, the clerk replies; she came in, picked up some candy, waved at someone, then went into hysterics. He concludes, "I didn't see a girl or a car. Besides, there's a lot of traffic out there." We then establish that although there are five surveillance cameras inside -- the better to document the frequent robberies -- there are none outside the property. Brass says dryly, "I'm glad to see you're so concerned about your customers once they leave the store." Clearly, Brass is a fan of the transparent society.
Outside, Catherine's taking a call that doesn't appear to be from her sci-fi sexpot of the week. Gil, meanwhile, has ambled over to rip Nicky a new one: "You failed your firearm qualification. You can't be here." Nicky does the Dance of the I'm Taking The Retake, Honest, but Gil pissily exiles him to the lab. Warrick sits around and tries to look like he's not thinking, "I told you so." Catherine cadges a ride, as there's apparently a short person back at the Labitrail claiming to be her "daughter" and she needs to go straighten it out. Or something.
Cut to the Labitrail, where Catherine's donned a jacket over her usual tank in an effort to dress like she's a responsible professional. She introduces herself to the uniform, who explains that the Amber Alert has made everyone sensitive to the prospect of little girls in peril, and "We found your daughter up on Boulder highway, she was trying to hitchhike downtown. Now, kids this age, they need a firm hand at home, or they get in trou --" "Thank you, officer," Catherine says. She doesn't sound thankful. I bet you she will after the third or fourth lecture on her parenting skills during this episode. She collars Lindsey and marches her into an empty conference room. She asks, "Who or what is on Fremont Street that you would risk your life to get to? Mouthing off to teacher, slipping grades, and now hitchhiking? I mean, what is , Lindsey?" "Stripping," Lindsey shoots back. I would have gone with "Making out with potential murder suspects," but I give the child points for spotting the opening and exploiting it. Catherine's all, "What did you just say? Okay -- no phone, no friends, no nothing." Lindsey's all, "For how long?" "A month," Catherine shoots back. I could have done that time standing on my head. Lindsey could too. Catherine loses her shit and shouts, "You want to make it two?" Lindsey pushes buttons like she's Dr. Strangelove with "Dad always said you were a drama queen!" and Catherine veers off into defaming the dead, pancake-making bastard. Lindsey does the exit stomp while Catherine hangs out in the conference room and wonders how it all went wrong. Since everyone else is going to chip in, let me get in my digs early: Catherine's first mistake was not rolling out the thermonuclear explosion of temper -- sometimes, the most effective way to cow your smart-assed preadolescent is to plant in their mind the possibility that you are capable of and/or willing to ship them to Sri Lanka for a life of high-risk factory work. At least, that's how Mabell and Pabell played it with us.
And now, Liam the soon-to-be-erstwhile lab tech -- but possibly not an erstwhile Liam, as the Great Renaming Project of Aught-Four has indicated that a majority of you prefer the nickname so far -- anyway, the guy moseys in with the lab tech replacement of week: the woman who desegregated Friends, and the plot-element-in-reserve should this Warrick and Catherine business prove to go nowhere, a.k.a. Aisha Tyler. She goes by "Mia" on the show. Warrick's examining the contents of the backpack. He asks the audience, "What's missing?" A copy of Judy Blume's Forever? Liam doesn't know Warrick elaborates, "Her sister said the victim changed back into her school uniform in the car." Mia asks, "So where are the clothes she changed out of?" "Hello!" Warrick replies. Liam introduces the two. Warrick is mildly charming as he bids her welcome but Mia heads him off at the pass with, "Look, I already know you have a running bet with how long the new hire lasts, so let's skip it." "Actually, I also have a standing bet with Sara over how quickly I can nail the new DNA tech, so I win either way," Warrick replies. "Hey, if I can survive locking lips with David Schwimmer, you'll be no problem. So bring it on," Mia shoots back. Liam stands there wondering if the scene's about to get any more awkward. Or imaginary.
Actually, she merely asks if he's got something for DNA while Liam grins at Warrick's discomfiture. Warrick tosses over a package: "The mother's bloody shirt." "Exemplar?" Mia asks. "It's on its way," Warrick snots. He's halfway in love already. Liam grins as Mia stalks out. He turns back to see a skeptical-looking Warrick leveling the evil eye in his general direction. Liam explains, "Just hedging my bets." "How so?" Warrick demands. "Well, I need field experience, but before I get that, I need to find a replacement. So far, I'm oh-for-one. Plus, she's hot and thinks you're a tool, so I'm way ahead." Warrick laughs as Liam leaves. It's not clear whether he's laughing because Mia thinks he's a tool, or because it's funny how Liam pretends to be into the hot women.
Back at the Perez household, the camera lingers over a sofa table covered in photos of a young man, then zooms in on the Perez family telling Brass that their gardener and their pool man come once a week, but they don't have a maid because they're keeping it real. Brass goes in a different direction, hoping to steer talk toward Alicia's routines, her routes to and from school, her extracurriculars and her friends. Sybil insists, "There wasn't any after-school stuff. Alicia isn't a joiner. She walks to school, I pick her up, that's it." For reasons known only to God, and possibly the writer, director and/or the actress Melissa Leo, Sybil has a mysterious northeast accent. The pronunciation of her As and Rs is commuting between Albany and Boston with each sentence she utters. Why? Is this to subtly underscore Nevada's extraordinarily high percentage of residents who were born elsewhere? Is the fact that fewer than 20 percent of Nevada's citizens are born in the Silver State even relevant to the episode? Brass asks how often April got Alicia to skip school, and Sybil slips from decisive to silent, looking to the mister to field this one. He admits they don't know. Brass comments, "I'm curious, because April said she hardly ever gets to see Alicia. Why didn't she just come here?" This is how we find out that the Perezes kicked out their oldest daughter, following a stint in juvie for possession of narcotics with intent to distribute. Way to steer that herd of red herring into the investigation.
And now Sara's in Alicia's bedroom, not finding anything incriminating in her log records until -- "Wait a minute! An organ transplant sites [sic] for kidneys, lungs, heart and liver." Gil asks, "What is that -- homework research?" Sara's all, "Maybe. These are pretty detailed biochem and immunosuppressant citations. It's a little over a seventh-grader's head, don't you think?" Gil hazards a guess that Sara could've parsed the topics as a seventh grader, a throwaway comment that is the equivalent of using radar to check for the sunken wreckage of the S.S. Geek Love. Yup -- still there. Sara flips the page on a spiral notebook and sees a lot of scribbling -- "I love Jimmy," "aJO," "Mrs. Jimmy Jones," "Mrs. Alicia Jones." Sara concludes, "She has a serious crush on a boy named Jimmy Jones." She also has a serious hate-on for her parents, if the "I HATE MOM & DAD" inked into her fitted bed sheet is any indication. That must make laundry day particularly fun in the Perez household. Gil reads the message aloud, and a haunted-looking young man comes in to ask, "Who doesn't, once in a while?" He introduces himself as Daniel Perez; he's also the subject of the photo gallery I alluded to earlier. It's interesting to note that he's framed in the doorway to a cross. This is about as subtle as The Passion of the Christ. Sara asks if Daniel should know Jimmy Jones. Daniel gets a far-off look in his eye as he says, "Yeah, a boy in her school. She liked him. He's so dreamy." Well, maybe he only thinks that last part. Gil asks, "What's your sister like? Personable, friendly, outgoing, trusting, maybe?" Daniel says, in a voice clearly meant to be Freighted With Meaning, "She's a giver, has been since the day she was born." Gil then notices that Daniel's got a massive nosebleed. As he's staunching the blood flow, Daniel declares today two-for-one day at the Clue Emporium, and offers, "If you want to know my sister, you should check her diary under the mattress." The soprano kicks in again before being strangled by the strings of foreboding. The diary contents are even more ominous: Alicia complains of not being able to sleep for fear of some surgery. "I guess we know why she was doing transplant research," Sara concludes.
In the scene, Sybil explains, "Serious illness takes a toll on a family. I wouldn't expect you to know. You're not a martyr." Oh, she does not. Instead, she notes, "Alicia never complained." Brass does not call her on the use of the past tense -- odd, since he's normally so good at catching it. Sybil continues to carry on, claiming that Alicia's social life is at the doctor's, since she's surrounded by people in the same situation. Brass points out, "You know, if a victim has a serious illness, you really should disclose it right away." Mr. Perez clarifies, "Our daughter isn't sick. Our son's kidneys are failing. Alicia is his matching donor. Without her, he'd die." Well, it's a darn good thing for him the whole deal has been cleared, and it's been established that she wasn't coerced into anything by an independent donor advocate, per the Consensus Statement on the Live Organ Donor. Right?
When we return from commercials, Catherine's talking to the dreamy Jimmy Jones. It appears he may have reciprocated Alicia's affections, if the admiring way he talks about her aggressiveness on the soccer field is anything to go by. He also shares that Alicia had to drop her beloved soccer because Sybil was always dragging her off to the doctor, and "you can't really play with one kidney anyway." Catherine asked, "So she told you about her brother?" Jimmy says, "Yeah. On the way to school. Hell, I thought it was pretty cool she was saving his life, but she seemed pretty pissed about it." His mother chides, "Jimmy, language." I love it -- a scant week after I joke about the perils of Mom chiding you in the interrogation rooms, it happens! Also, how funny is it that we're seeing an example of the strong-hand business the cop was advocating to Catherine? Why, this episode is full of parental examples! So subtle. Anyway, Jimmy continues explaining, "She didn't seem too happy. Said she had no life, and she never would." Brass then broaches the topic of strangers and child molesters, and Jimmy says, "There was this one guy in a track suit. He was supposed to be running. He gave me the creeps…to start with, his gear. I mean, nobody runs in velour. And he never had any water, and he was always on the phone." Brass asks what the guy looked like, and Jimmy says he was an African-American with facial hair. So the kids were being stalked by Velvet Jones? Then Jimmy twists the knife by guessing this attentive stranger was "Old? Like, thirty?" Catherine looks dismayed. Jimmy concludes, "I never liked the way he looked at Alicia." Oh, he does have a crush. How sweet. How futile.
And now, we return to Nicky, who's busy harnessing the power of computers to show exactly how many child molesters live in the greater Las Vegas area. And then stuff happens, but I've decided a better use of my time would be to wander off into a long and mostly pointless daydream about Angry Danny Taylor from CSI: Missing Guy and New Television Boyfriend Sayid from Lost, wherein they make me try to solve the brainteaser, "Who looks hotter in the Crime Scene Bingo tee?" You can play along too -- pick a few people and go. Or buy your own Crime Scene Bingo tee, and have people tell you how hot you look. I bet you the Crime Scene Bingo shirts wouldn't look half-bad on Nicky, Warrick, and Gil in this scene, but the guys are too busy narrowing their list of probable abductors to one to bother changing. Our loss. And Marlon Waylord's, as the convicted child molester more or less fits the description they're looking for, and he happens to be within spitting distance of both Alicia's route to school and the Kwikee Kidnap.
Cut to Gil, Sara, and a dozen of their closest uniformed friends paying Mr. Waylord a visit. When Waylord answers the door, Brass asks, "Did you cut yourself shaving?" Unfortunately for Waylord, he picked the wrong day to break out the Mach 3, since divesting oneself of a beard immediately after the Amber Alert for a man who wore one looks a mite suspicious. As Waylord steps outside to be patted down, he rattles off, "You all know that sex offenders under a felony conviction have absolutely no unconditional release and are under lifetime supervision, automatically assigned by the Nevada criminal state justice system. Mandated, of course, by state and federal Megan's Law, in effect 5/17/96, and therefore I am required to register and update my information whenever I move my, uh, current domicile." Brass comments on what a big word that is; it's the best comeback he can muster, considering how D.B. Woodside just picked up this episode and slid it into his back pocket with his nuanced delivery of that monologue. It takes a hell of an actor to make a convicted sex offender seem like a tragic figure to whom you find your sympathy involuntarily straying. And then Brass doggedly continues his line of inquiry, asking about the Buick (it's in the Tangiers, where it won't start). Brass says, "I'll have it towed to the lab." "You do that," Waylon replies, cool as a cucumber.
Sara and Gil work the Waylon domicile. He's not much on interior decoration, but that's not relevant right now. What is: there's a long hair on a jacket -- how these CSIs can zoom in on that thin filament is a mystery for the ages -- and there's a pair of small boy's underwear tucked beneath a semen-stained comforter. Sara calls Gil's attention to these, and to the cell phone she found. Gil checks the phone and notes, "Photos of children on his phone, including Alicia." And the dreamy Jimmy Jones, who happens to be the focus of every shot, but I suppose now that we've weathered the "Assume Nothing" season, we can resume merrily jumping to conclusions prior to the sacred 48-minute mark.
Back at the station, Brass and Waylon are locked in a battle to see who'll walk off with this scene. Brass proposes, "Here's the deal: when you go up, I won't yell 'Short eyes' first. How's that sound?" Waylon says evenly, "Sounds like a really good deal, you know, if I was, um, guilty." Also, Brass might want to consider updating the reference to "Sippel," but he'd prefer to state the obvious with "The inmates didn't treat you too gentle last time, did they?" Waylon finally turns to look at him before replying, "You know they didn't." Brass threatens, "So tell me what you did with Alicia." The name's not ringing a bell. Gil puts down a class photo and explains that she's been all over the news, ending with, "Isn't that why you shaved?" "Well, I did it so I wouldn't get picked up solely on suspicion of being a convicted sex offender who happens to be African-American and possessed of a beard, but it looks like that plan backfired," Waylon shoots back. Instead he does something nearly as antagonistic: he licks his finger, then runs it down the picture. Brass chortles, "Don't make me smack you." Gil shifts uncomfortably before taking back the picture, and mentions that dreamy Jimmy Jones pegged him as the staring faux-runner. Waylon replies, "She's sweet, very sweet. But I wasn't looking at her. You all should check my file." Brass evens the score by pointing out that Waylon's recent preference is for little boys, but his first time was with a female cousin: "Let me read what you said: 'I couldn't help myself, 'cause she was acting so hot. It was her fault. She was really hot.'" Gil, who's been trying to shoehorn himself into this discussion by dint of much glaring, asks, "How does a six-year-old act hot?" Brass's cell phone goes off.
Waylon takes the time to explain, "Listen. I'm, uh, I'm sick. You know, I got this-this, this illness which…look, I don't want to go back to prison. That's why I'm being so compliant. Now, yo, I don't work near no little kids. I stay a hundred yards from school grounds. Man, I don't even go to the park --" Gil cuts him off with, "It's not a disease, it's a compulsion." Okay, first, Gil, it's not like this guy isn't aware that it's aberrant behavior. He's acting within the confines of the law. Second, if you define "compulsion" as "an irresistible impulse, urge or desire to perform an irrational act that relieves anxiety," then you can argue that the compulsion is actually rooted in a mental illness. It's like the distinction a lot of people make with alcoholism: while taking the first drink is probably a voluntary act, the underlying factors that vault drinking into compulsive behavior are probably biologically based. In other words, I think Gil's being a hair-splitting prick here. But your opinion may differ, depending on what you think a behavioral compulsion is.
Undeterred by Gil's judgmental interlude, Waylon continues, "I stay away from youth organizations, after-school programs, churches --" "We found a pair of boy's underwear in your bedroom. Explain that." Waylon does: "I look at the photos. I look at the photos and I have the briefs for, uh, release." Gil decides, "You fantasize. And eventually, the fantasy's not enough and you relapse." Clearly, Gil is not a big believer in the deterrent powers of a prison term. Waylon snaps, "They're mine. I bought the underwear." "Well, if that's true, then you were in a store where little children were shopping with their mothers," Gil snaps back. "Nice try, but God invented e-commerce for a reason, Beardo," Waylon shoots back. Oh, he does not, but can you see how he would? I get that nobody in law enforcement likes a child molester, and I get that even the most open-minded CSI would get sick of seeing repeat offenders that slip through the system, but Gil's resorting to sloppy assumptions here, which seems out of character. Waylon asks, "What would you have me do -- what? I mean, I even thought about chemical castration!" Gil continues to drone on judgmentally, "Medroxyprogesterone is inconclusive. It renders the subject capable of erection, but it doesn't remove the sex drive. You could still be capable of sexual assault using other objects." Gil won't be happy until Waylon offers to commit seppuku there in the tank. Waylon looks like he realizes this too. He finally points out, "Listen. I haven't, uh, done anything, um, illegal. So you can't hold me in here forever. Oh! Is that killing look in your eyes a compulsion, Mr. Grissom?" Gil has no comeback.
In the scene, Mia and Liam confirm for Warrick that Waylon wasn't lying about the underwear. Also, the hair they found was from a synthetic. Warrick groans, "Great. That means we have to let the bastard go. That means it's only a matter of time before he snatches up another kid." Mia asks if Warrick has any friends in uniform. "Well, yeah, but what do nurses and cheerleaders have to do with --? Ohhhhh. You're talking about policemen," Warrick replies. Oh, he does not. He gloomily retorts that they can't watch this particular sex offender forever. Mia points out, "Megan's Law has holes. Police aren't required to notify a community about a predator. So, flood his block with flyers detailing his crimes. Trust me, the neighbors won't let him out of their sight." "Or they'll kill him," says Warrick. Mia looks like she's with Gil on the seppuku idea. Warrick's beeper goes off, and we all learn that they found Alicia Perez.
Oh, no, it's the child soprano again, warbling as we take in the sight of the body swaddled in a blood-stained blanket. What a bummer it is to die and be alone and stuff. Captain Exposition stands by the body and explains that a tour helicopter noticed the body first. I can't help but wonder what sort of tour is showing the power lines of the greater Las Vegas area, but I guess if you're into looking at rolling, tree-filled terrain, it's understandable that you have to leave Vegas to do so. We note that there are a few pairs of lug-soled shoe prints around in sizes 10 and 11, and the body's wrapped pretty tight, indicating that whomever dumped the body was concerned about carrion finding it. Catherine adds, "Her face is covered. That means remorse, guilt. Somebody cared." The body's also been re-dressed, sans undergarments. Gil orders a 360-degree grid search under the theory that the rapist hung around so they could relive the event. The CSIs do a grid search: Warrick finds a shoe print. Back at the scene, Emergency Backup David takes the body's temp and says, "Ninety degrees. It should be higher. That can't be right." Gil wonders if maybe the balmy weather affected the temp.
The anomalies continue to pile up at the morgue. There's no sign of sexual assault, no defensive wounds or wounds of any kind, which is odd, given that she was wrapped in a bloody blanket. "Since there's no trauma, maybe the blood belongs to her killer," Gil theorizes. They turn over the body and notice several long, rod-shaped marks; Gil points out that nothing at the crime scene would have made those. Emergency Backup David offers, "Maybe she was moved? Trunk of the car? Tire iron?" The men resume examining the body, and the soprano kicks up again, indicating that something important is about to be parceled out to the viewers. Either that, or everyone's just all worked up over this girl dying, since it's interpreted as proof that the Amber Alert system failed.
After the commercials, Gil's sitting on a chair in the hall, looking deeply tired. Catherine comes over and asks if he's been to bed. He claims he has. "Did you sleep?" she shrewdly inquires. Gil only sighs, and Catherine lets him off the hook with, "Me neither. She was the same age as Lindsey." What? That child was 13. Lindsey turned nine two years ago, and even that age is under dispute. I guess she aged at an accelerated rate when Catherine stuffed her into Limbo last season. Speaking of the little hellion, Catherine's still upset that her kid was trying to hitchhike. Gil asks where Lindsey planned to go; Catherine tells him it was Fremont Street. Gil twists the knife with, "Was she buying drugs?" Catherine replies, "No! She's twelve." Gil replies, "Oh, I see. You can understand my confusion. The only time I see little girls in here is after they've bought drugs." Oh, he does not. He looks concerned for his friend. As per usual, Petersen and Helgenberger are bringing the A-game to the scene; the Gil and Catherine scenes where they're connecting are usually my favorites. Catherine continues, "She's just so angry. She doesn't talk to me." Maybe Catherine can take some of that bribe money she got a while back and invest in some family therapy. ["And some shirts with sleeves." -- Sars] Gil refrains from suggesting this and points out, "If people knew what was out there hunting them, they'd never leave the house. I think you need to sit her down." Catherine points out, "Well, I don't want to scare her. I don't want my daughter to be this frightened, paranoid kid who's always looking over her shoulder." Why not? A little healthy suspicion keeps a kid safe. That was Mabell's philosophy: I grew up knowing who both Etan Patz and Mary Vincent were, thanks to lectures ending with, "And do you want to be kidnapped, or have your arms chopped off? How would you like it if you didn't have arms?" And I got off light compared to some kids. Anyway, Gil makes my point more succinctly with, "There's a big difference between scaring her and preparing her. And all the reasons why you should are in that room." For those of you keeping track, that's two men who have given Catherine parenting advice tonight.
Having planted ideas in his colleague's head, Gil's off to inquire about the series of round scars in Alicia's bones. David the Didactic Coroner says, "I thought you'd be interested. Twelve holes made exactly by a large-bore needle." Gil asks, "Marrow harvest?" David explains, "Young Alicia donated bone marrow at least twice. That's a pretty selfless thing to do once, considering how painful the procedure is." Gil asks, seemingly apropos of nothing, "What causes shortness of breath, obvious bruising, sudden nosebleeds, petechiae?" David ballparks it with, "Sounds like acute leukemia, but without phenotyping it, I couldn't tell you what kind." We find out that Alicia died from cardiopulmonary arrest, but pinning down the time of death is a little tricky, as all she had in her stomach was milky liquid and "livor mortis was fixed and deep purple with a vitreous humor potassium level of 20 millimoles per liter with putrefaction. So I'd say she's been dead for about 44 hours." I love how there was a whole lot of supposedly meaningful evidence there that nobody bothered to explain, like the livor mortis. Good thing we all know that livor mortis kicks in one-half to two hours after death. Otherwise, we'd have no idea how David came to his conclusion. Anyway, because of the way David pinned down the time of death, it turns out Alicia was killed between midnight and 8 AM on the day of her supposed kidnapping. Gil notes that April was lying, and David cracks, "Story's got more holes than her sister's bones." Heh.
Cut to Brass ripping April a new one. She has the brains to tell him she wants a lawyer, in a scene that effectively establishes her as the Perez family brain trust. And when a smack-addled teen is the one who's got the smarts in the family, that doesn't bode well for everyone else still under that roof.
We then find out Daniel was diagnosed with relapsing acute promyelocytic leukemia (APL) when he was ten. This is not a particularly common form of childhood leukemia: it represents about 1 percent of childhood leukemia, and is more common in 2-3 year olds and persons of Latino and Mediterranean descent; the survival rate is 75-80 percent. It's a form of the disease where the immature white blood cells (promyelocytes) accumulate in the bone marrow and replace the normal, mature blood cells. And apparently, it's effectively treated using a combination of retinoid drugs, which causes the promyelocytes to mature and stop proliferating, plus chemotherapy.
Catherine then explains that Alicia was conceived in vitro as a genetic match. Gil points out, "Well, that's not unheard of. Have a baby, get the undeveloped stem cells from cord blood. New parents are even storing [the cord blood] now." Ah, but the story doesn't stop there. Catherine explains, "When she was four, they took her blood for a transfusion. At seven, they took her blood to remove stem cells." Gil's beginning to get a little creeped out by this -- maybe the flashbacks where they hold down a screaming toddler and drain her blood got to him? -- and says, "Well, Daniel must have relapsed because they took bone marrow twice." And it's the most painful TMIcam ever, as the giant needle goes punching through layers of skin, muscle, and bone. Catherine points out that it takes one to one-and-a-half liters of marrow for a "successful harvest." I'm betting there are no Oktoberfest goings-on in the wake of this particular harvest. Gil realizes that Alicia was "a living DNA factory."
Cut to Mia doing bench work while Liam grins at her. He's clearly in the throes of short-timers' fever. I have a feeling that at this point, he'd even make the goo-goo eyes at Hodges if it meant he'd be getting out in the field. And the summer's firing follies continue to dog this show. I'm guessing the writers were busy with the first few scripts while the higher-ups were busy figuring out who works on this show and who doesn't, and so were working under the mandate, "Write a lot of scenes with Brass and Liam. A LOT." I look forward to seeing episodes written and produced some time after August, unless the big plan for Season Five is to have Sara and Nicky make such fleeting appearances, they become the Yeti of the Labitrail -- rumored to exist, but rarely spotted by reliable eyewitnesses.
But because Nicky and Sara are off being stalked by cryptozoologists, Liam's the star of this scene. He's asking Mia if she'd like to grab a bite at a diner afterward, and she somberly explains that she never eats out because there's too much expectorant -- everyone talks while they prepare food and repeat your order over the plate. She also shuns birthday cake for the same reason. In this lab, that's nothing. She and Sara can get together and compare food horror stories. And then Gil can use food as a metaphor for something disgusting, as he was so fond of doing for a while.
Since it's been at least six minutes since Catherine's parenting style has been critiqued, it's time for another throw-down courtesy of someone who's nowhere near the situation. This time, it's Sybil. She flags Catherine down and asks what happens to April now, and Catherine's all, "Have you seen the latest issue of Martha Stewart Living? She outlines it in the monthly calendar feature." Catherine explains that April's being charged, and the court will probably grant her bail. Sybil wants to know much, and Catherine spits, "Why?" "Because she didn't do -- I mean, she's my daughter." Catherine climbs on her friend Flicka, the high horse that accompanies her everywhere. She points out, "[April]'s refusing to talk about what happened to your youngest daughter, Mrs. Perez." Sybil's not too keen on keeping April in jail. Catherine's all, "Why the hell not?" Sybil then begins the self-blaming routine. Right line of thought, entirely incorrect premises: she's flogging herself for not paying attention to her daughter once her son got sick, as opposed to flogging herself for treating her youngest child as a DNA factory. Catherine indirectly alludes to this with, "Where did Alicia fit into this, except with what she could give to your son?" Ooh! Burn! And yes, while I personally would prefer to see a world in which every child's a wanted child for the sake of their existence alone, I say this from the luxurious pinnacle of someone who has never had to examine my ethical stance on the subject in anything other than a highly theoretical sort of way. It's comfortable up here, which probably explains why Catherine's up here too. That, or Flicka's one tall equine.
Sybil whispers, "You have no idea what it's like." Catherine peers down from her vantage point on Flicka the High Horse, and snots, "I saw her X-rays, I read her medical files, I know how that little girl suffered, what you put her through." Sybil asks, "You would let your child die and do nothing." No, Catherine would fish her imperiled child out of a sinking car, then forget her existence for an entire TV season. Sybil points out, "Never. You'd talk to doctors, and you'd research, and then you'd find out that the National Bone Registry can't help you, 'cause your son's mixed-race. And even if he wasn't, there aren't enough donors. Out of the 4 million, only 205,000 are Latinos. I did what I had to do." Catherine rebuts, "You put one child over another." That's an easy thing to condemn when you've only got one kid to look out for. Sybil smirks that Catherine can say that because she doesn't have kids. How can Sybil not know that Catherine has a child? Everyone in Las Vegas knows Catherine has a child. Everyone in North America knows. Aliens are leaving crop circles in Nebraska that, when translated from the Alpha Centaurian, read, "Yeah, we KNOW she's a mother. ENOUGH ALREADY."
Catherine rebuts that she most certainly does have a kid. Sybil snots, "What kind of mother are you?" "The kind that doesn't rent out my kid for her spare parts," Catherine shoots back. Oh, she does not. She sits there and takes it while Sybil attempts to lay the working-mom guilt trip on her with, "When do you see her? You work nights." So there's mornings before school and afternoons after school. Sybil smugly asserts, "Alicia's life may not have been simple, but at least I knew her." This is the point where, if I were Catherine, I would have whipped out the bed sheet and the diary and congratulated Sybil on her in-depth knowledge.
And now comes the scene where Gil tries to scare off Mia by berating her work after she tells him what he doesn't want to hear: the blood on Sybil's shirt matches the blood on the blanket in which Alicia was wrapped.
And now comes the scene where Liam finds out that fieldwork isn't all glamorous field trips through sewers, as he's about to go through April Perez's garbage. Sara is merciless in puncturing his delusions of grandeur, although she is pleased when Liam finds a MapQuest printout with directions to the convenience store from the pedophile's address. Smells like teen set-up!
And because Catherine's parenting skills must be denied four times before the 48-minute mark, as per divine prophecy, she's bringing Lecture #4 on herself by hauling Lindsey into the morgue and showing her the corpse of a young woman who was beaten to death while waiting for a bus on Fremont Street. Catherine says tightly, "She was taller and stronger than you, Lindsey. She fought back and she didn't win. Someone's going to have to tell her family. Her parents are going to have to see her like this. Do you get it now?" Lindsey can't answer, as she's too busy heading for the door lest Mom see her get sick and hold that over her head too. She happens to pass David the Didactic Coroner, who fumes at Catherine, "Kids don't belong in the coroner's office unless they're in a drawer. You should have found a different way to deal with your daughter's rebellion." "Ah, the luxury of commenting on a situation that doesn't apply to you," Catherine says, since it's only okay for her to do it and not anyone else. Actually, she says tersely that "This doesn't concern you." David thinks it does: "Ever notice how childhood keeps getting shorter and shorter? Whose fault is that?" Oh, lord, I'd love to answer, but I don't have all day. Instead, she just wobbles on the verge of tears as she says, "I don't know!" David watches her go, looking concerned.
We've passed the 48-minute mark, so we're inexorably hurtling toward the plot resolution. And toward Archie. Who's just strolled in my long and mostly pointless daydream about Angry Danny Taylor from CSI: Missing Guy and New Television Boyfriend Sayid from Lost, wearing his own Crime Scene Bingo shirt and asking, "So what do you think? Am I hot?" And yes, Archie, you -- oh, that's right. The operative word was "daydream." In the actual episode, Archie's telling Sara that they subpoenaed MapQuest and the company rolled over like a pig in mud. So now Archie's at play in the data fields of the nerds. Sara notes that April doesn't have a computer, so where did the query come from? Archie throws some techno-mumbo-jumbo her way about tracing the MapQuest query back to the server, which will ultimately lead to the internet access point -- presumably a commercial account and not, say, a library terminal. And proving the power of the 48-minute mark, we learn that the query originated with Sybil Perez.
Cut to Brass and Sara back at the Perez house of pain. Brass waves around a subpoena as he establishes that Daniel happens to be at church. He escorts the Perezes to the police station as Sara and Brass give everyone contemptuous looks, then enter the house to look for incriminating evidence. The laptop computer and cabinet full of Alicia's Valium prescription (Valium is the marketing name for diazepam, which is what was on the label, since Roche Pharmaceuticals is unlikely to be all, "Go ahead! We'd love the product placement!") and Daniel's oxycodone. Warrick returns to his shoe-examining roots and notes a pair of lug-sole boots that match the tracks found at the scene. Outside, Nicky's about to examine the back of the Perez SUV, but then he turns sideways and disappears. Oh, yay -- he pivoted and became visible to the naked eye again!
Warrick's in Daniel's room, and he finds both fibers that match the blanket Alicia was wrapped in, plus a blood-stained tissue. Sara comes in, because there's no fun in being outraged about anything unless you've got an audience. She tells Warrick that Alicia was on diazepam, and Warrick's all, "That's a pretty hard-core antidepressant for a kid that small." "I guess they didn't want her complaining while they were mining her body for healthy cells," Sara snaps. Zing! I love it. Between this and the improved hair, Sara's on the comeback trail. Warrick is the first and last person in this episode to try and understand both sides: "You think they didn't care about her?" Sara really doesn't know; her tone suggests she doesn't care. Warrick continues, "Well, it must have been hard, trying to keep your son alive, keep the family together. It couldn't have been easy." Sara shoots back, "It wasn't for Alicia." Warrick looks up as if to say, Oh, you did NOT just play the I-speak-for-the-victim card.
The two of them end the bioethics debate and head outside, where Nicky's crowing, "I made 260 out of 300 on my firearms test. The Day of Rage is nigh, worms! All shall cower before me!" Or maybe he just engages in a little friendly overcompensation with Warrick, since he was humiliated by Gil the last time he was in the field on this case. Anyway, the whole point of this scene is to establish that the surveyor's tripod in the trunk space of Mr. Perez's car is responsible for leaving those long marks along Alicia's back. Things aren't looking good for the Perezes.
Mr. Perez would appear to agree with that assessment. Brass is busy slinging contempt his way: "I don't get you, man. Even if you could explain it, I could never understand how you could stuff her in the trunk of the car, AND DUMP HER BODY IN THE WOODS!" Mr. Perez says, "I was trying to protect my family." "Wasn't Alicia part of your family?" Brass shoots back. Zing! He then loses it, shouting, "You're her father, you dumb bastard! You're supposed to protect her!" He calms down only long enough to ask, "What kind of a man are you?" "Guilty," Mr. Perez replies.
Then Brass stops by to hand Sybil her head: "We got enough evidence here to charge you with premeditated murder." Sybil begs to differ, but Brass reasons that she helped with the body, since she most likely removed Alicia's underpants. And he's not too happy with her subsequent actions either: "You checked the sex offenders' registry, and you tried to frame an innocent man." Sybil attempts to muster outrage with: "Innocent? You're trying to make me believe you give a damn about a pedophile? Please." No, but Brass probably cares about misallocation of police resources, and abuse of a system that's supposed to protect the civil rights of its citizens while simultaneously protecting them from threats. Brass isn't even going there: "This is about you. You're the tough one. You run the house. You run the family. People do what you say in a crisis…this time, Alicia said no. She wanted to keep her kidney, and that pissed you off. So you killed her." Sybil looks fearful as she replies, "That's ridiculous." Sybil rationalizes Alicia's entire life with, "She'd have been devastated if Daniel died and she'd have done nothing to prevent it." What, because Sybil would have been telling her she would? Brass more or less says the same thing. Brass concludes, "Alicia wanted out of the game, and you couldn't let that happen. Not to Daniel. Not to your only son, your favorite child." He then hypothesizes that Sybil slipped Alicia a fatal dose of oxycodone in the milk she usually drank with her nightly diazepam -- a mistake, since she only wanted to drug her child into compliance. And then, he figures, she put the pressure on April to play a role in the "Oh, shit, how to explain the appearance of our daughter's dead body?" play. "I thought the slap was a nice touch," Brass says. Sybil doesn't say anything.
Warrick and Gil lope on through the Labitrail. As per the dictate of the 48-minute mark, all evidence points to the Perezes. Liam shows up then and says, "I retested the shirt and the blanket. Blood still matches Alicia Perez. The evidence supports this -- unless you'd like to second-guess that also." Warrick looks shocked. Liam's just become a man! It's like one of those ads in the back of the 1950s comic books where the 98-pound weakling sends away for the Charles Atlas centrifuge. Gil's all, "I just want to make sure things are done correctly," and Liam continues, "We all have to learn how to accept change. Mia's doing a great job. It would be nice if someone other than me said so." Then Gil demonstrates why he's merely a demanding boss and not an overweening prick by conceding, "You're right." And then the case moves forward by confirming that the bloodstained tissue Warrick found -- a handkerchief, actually -- also matches Alicia's blood. The penny drops for Gil.
And then he heads over to St. Bede the Venerable in La Cañada, California. No, I'm not kidding: my friends Monkey Ben and The Lovely Missus Monkey got married in this church, and that stained-glass window is not easily forgotten. Anyway, let's pretend Gil's in a Catholic church in Las Vegas, where Daniel is busy meditating on how hectic visiting day is going to be at the local prisons, what with his entire family currently facing charges.
Daniel lifts his tear-streaked face and says, "I didn't realize until today how lucky I am. I know pretty much how and when I'm gonna die. Most people don't." Yeah, I imagine Alicia might have been surprised. Gil asks if Alicia was afraid, and Daniel says, "Never. I'm eleven years older than her, and she took care of me. She was my best friend, and I miss her. As much pain as I caused her…and she wouldn't give up, and she wouldn't let me either. That's why, during the last relapse, I made my parents swear that it was the very last time." Gil prods him along with, "But then your kidneys failed and they broke their word, huh?" They sure did; Daniel explains, "They told me they swore not to fight the cancer, so this didn't count." And because he's still a minor and his parents make all his medical decisions, he was powerless to -- wait a minute. Rather than point out to his parents that as an adult, he's got the final say on whether or not he'll be getting any kidneys from any family members, thank you, Daniel decides to give Mom and Dad the big eff-you by killing Alicia. We flashback to the a death tableau reminiscent of the Pieta, and then Sybil overriding her husband's one sensible statement ("We need to call the police") by concocting an elaborate scheme to keep her favorite child out of prison. Daniel justifies this with, "I couldn't watch her suffer any more."
Gil begins to call Daniel on his nonsense with, "This wasn't a mercy killing. This was an execution. Bone marrow, transfusions -- that's her blood in your veins." And how ironic that Gil's pointing this out in a church, what with the whole "this is my body, this is my blood, which will be sacrificed to guarantee you eternal life" thing we do there. Gil drives in the knife with, "If you cared so much for Alicia, why didn't you take your own life instead of hers?" Or simply refuse the kidney transplant? Daniel's all, "Suicide isn't an option. It's an unforgivable sin in the eyes of God." But sororicide is covered under an obscure clause courtesy of the Christian Council of Constantinople. Oh, not really.
And so Gil must again call Daniel on the steaming pile of manure he calls "a reason," by asking, "But you believe your God will forgive murder. If that's your defense, it won't keep you out of jail." Daniel more or less reminds Gil he's a dead man walking, and is counting on kicking it before the courts get around to hearing his case. Gil looks like he's moments away from whipping out a cell phone and putting in a few calls to grease the gears of the court system. Daniel gets up then, and says, "I do want to thank you, though." Gil is not sure he wants to hear this: "For what." Daniel says, "For speaking for Alicia. You're probably the first person in her life to think only of her." And Gil didn't even do that, since Alicia was dead before he had even heard of her. Daniel then continues, "You know, you may not believe in God, sir, but you do His work." Somewhere in Miami, a CSI sits bolt upright in bed and screams, "Those are fighting words! I am God's chosen CSI! I am not merely the red-headed stepchild!"
Daniel stumbles off to get arrested while Gil sits there and thinks about how this episode's logic has so many holes, it could be used as a pasta strainer. First of all, most medical facilities won't do a kidney transplant on anyone showing active signs of cancer, and Daniel's gushing nose et cetera suggest that he's not in remission. Second, the battery of assessment tests used to determine whether the donor's genuinely willing to do this, coupled with the recipient's tests, would have flagged this case in a minute, preventing the actual operation. Third, according to the Consensus Statement on the Live Organ Donor, published in the Journal of the American Medical Association (JAMA) on December 13, 2000, following the June 2000 Consensus Conference on Live Donor Organ Transplantation, a joint conference of the National Kidney Foundation, the American Society of Transplantation and the American Society of Transplant Surgeons:
Although minors (individuals younger than 18 years) have successfully donated kidneys to family members in rare instances, using a minor as a live donor remains controversial and requires careful donor consideration.
There are several concerns about allowing minors to act as live kidney donors. Organ donation by minors strains the concept of voluntarism and the ability to provide valid consent, it presents a clear conflict of interest for parents when siblings are involved…the conference participants were generally opposed to live organ donation from a minor.
So while this family is more twisted than a bag of Twizzlers, there's no way they'd be able to pull off a forced kidney donation in any reputable North American medical facility. Good luck trying to convince a medical team to take a kidney from an unwilling minor and plant it in an unwilling recipient who's also got cancer. And because I'm not done editorializing: below is my tirade on what's wrong with this episode. Skip it if you're only interested in reading about how inappropriately Catherine's dressed.
While the writers should be applauded for acknowledging the tricky ethical issues attendant with having one child for the express purpose of solving another one's health problems, they should also be bitch-slapped for equating live organ donation with involuntary and incremental cannibalism. So thanks, CSI, for producing an extensively viewed episode that makes organ donation look like a horror show without bothering to offer any sort of balanced perspective pointing out that, when done voluntarily, this practice saves lives. I don't think it's a fictional show's job to offer a fair and balanced assessment of hot topics as a matter of course. But the show itself repeatedly flogs the argument that you've got to look at more than one facet of a situation. It's amateurish and hypocritical to not practice what you preach. The sanctimonious moral posturing of this episode, combined with its staggeringly un-nuanced look at anything other than how police treat pederasts, is offensive.
And thus endeth the tirade. All of you who don't give a crap, feel free to look at the above paragraph and imagine it reads "Tank top, tank top, tank top. Tank top! Also, why the tank top?" ad infinitum. Because, really. What's up with the tank top?