In order to tell you how the episode starts, permit me to provide some background:
Last week, I took a vacation day, and the husband and I went to Disneyland and Disney's California Adventure. Although the latter part is in no way the California Adventure -- for one, there's no roller coaster called The Real Estate Market, in which hordes of people would fight for eight tiny, cramped seats on a ride that goes up and up and up -- it does feature a very nice ride in which you and the seven people you are sitting with are suspended in mid-air and jostled around so as to get the feeling of flying while a huge panoramic screen shows you the parts of California not plagued by apocalyptic traffic jams or smog.
There we are, "flying" over the Pacific coastline, and the four nice Japanese tourist ladies to me are excitedly whispering comments to each other in their native tongue. And then we're "flying" over Lake Tahoe during winter, and they murmur appreciatively. And then we're "flying" over an orange grove as Disney's Surround Smell wafts cool citrusy breezes around us, and my seatmates are positively chattering. And then for the big finale, we swoop over Disneyland, lit up at night in anticipation of Christmas. And my four cross-cultural seatmates delightedly exclaim in unison, "LAS VEGAS!"
So you understand why, with the first shot of tonight's episode, I sat on my couch and bellowed delightedly, "DISNEYLAND!"
Anyway, we have an establishing shot, and then we're at the Four Aces, a hotel that seems to cater more to business and professional travelers than to your typical tracksuit-wearing tourist. Norman Bates, Jr. is manning the reception desk. He tells one of a long line of flight attendants, "Welcome back, Mrs. Krell." She smiles at him and says, "I keep telling you, it's Martha." That Martha is not recoiling and making the sign of the cross every time Norman Bates, Jr., fixes his creepy gaze upon her is proof that she is clearly the ne plus ultra of people persons. She tells the rest of her crew she's wiped out, and she'll see them in the morning. As she gets into the miraculously empty elevator right to the reception desk, Norman Bates, Jr., moons, "Call me if you need anything, Martha."
We then see Martha get out onto what is the most poorly-lit hotel corridor I've ever seen outside a horror movie, and then the perspective shifts to serial-killer view. We see him (it's clearly a him, by the pants-and-sneakers shot we get of him racing down the hall), and right as Martha's opening her door, he catches up to her, claps a hand over her mouth, and drags her inside the room.
Cut to Brass entering the hotel room and telling us the decedent's name was Martha Krell, and she's been stabbed to death. Martha's laid on the bed in posed position: on her side, hands tucked up around her head. She's also wearing only her lingerie. At least she was killed with her nice underwear on; there's nothing sadder than a woman with raggedy drawers.
Gil takes one look at the scene and pronounces it "weird." Coming from Gil, one can only wonder what supernatural phenomena we're about to see. Sadly, he only thinks that it's weird because there's "no sign of struggle. No clothes, no luggage." Sara adds that "the bedspread's undisturbed. Trash can is empty and the inside is spotless. It's possible a liner's been removed." She and Gil stand around, mutually creeped out by the orderliness. Brass orders everyone to take a sniff, but because I do not have Disney Surround Smell at home, I can't join in the fun. The CSIs tell me the place smells too clean -- like a hospital, full of bleaches and deodorizers. "Attack the victim, and then clean and sanitize the room," Sara says. Oh, great. It's another one of those goddamn overachieving serial killers again. Or worse -- one that read Home Comforts. Gil replies, "Ah, but here's the smell of the blood still. And all the perfumes in Arabia will not sweeten this little room."
The Who would like to know if maybe the killer also played Lady MacBeth in a local dinner theatre production.
After we get back from commercials, Emergency Backup David's sticking a meat thermometer in Martha's liver and coming up with 83 degrees Fahrenheit, so she's been dead approximately ten hours. Sara and Emergency Backup David then lay out the body so Sara can get a clear photograph of the wounds; as they rotate Martha on the bed and pull her legs straight, we hear all her joints crack. It would be more macabre if I didn't hear the same thing every time I shifted position. Martha's hands are covered in blood owing to the defensive wounds on her hands. "She did not want to die," Sara concludes. Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three chooses this moment to stumble in, and immediately asks as to the whereabouts of his Adopted Father. "Bathroom," Sara says calmly. Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three's expression telegraphs how very much he'd like to see the phrase "the powder room" reintroduced into polite conversation, and Sara explains that Gil's working the case.
Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three wanders into what is the second-nicest hotel bathroom I've ever seen, just in time for Gil to ask him to fetch his Leatherman/Swiss Army Knife/non-trademarked "multipurpose tool." Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three hands it over with the Philips head dingus extended. He asks why Gil's in the tub, and Gil explains, "Calgon is taking me away to a land where every minute is the 48-minute mark, so I can solve the case and go to Disneyland. I hear it looks just like Las Vegas."
Oh, he does not. Instead, Gil explains, "Well, the stabbing was brutal, but the crime scene was clean. No cast-off, no spatter. So I want to know if the killer washed the blood down the drain." Gil unscrews the tub's drain cover, gives it a quick once-over, then yanks out a large and disgusting clump of hair. He hands it over to his adopted son number three with a request to "Swab and phenol this, will you?" Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three does, and immediately reports that there is blood. Wow, that's a really good test. Gil orders Grasshopper, His Adopted Son Number Three to label the hairball and send it to DNA. Oh, Mia will just love it, no doubt.
Gil then wanders back into the main room, where Sara is searching in vain for a print, any print. She tells Gil all she's finding is "wipes and swipes."
Cut to Brass interviewing Norman Bates, Jr. He's looking stricken. Still creepy, but stricken nonetheless. He tells Brass slowly, as one would tell a particularly slow child, "Mrs. Krell was a real nice lady. She brought me a Dodgers baseball cap." Brass says with his patented False Guilelessness, "Oh? You were friends then?" Norman Bates, Jr. candidly admits, "Not really. The airlines book a block of rooms here for their trolley dollies -- discounted." The rooms, one hopes, and not the stewardesses. It's not like airline employees have that many perks left anyway. At least, those airline employees who aren't executives. ANYWAY, the camera pulls back so we can see how Norman Bates, Jr. is standing: slightly stooped, slightly pigeon-toed, with his arms drawn up like a preying mantis's inside his immaculately pressed, too-large suit. Whomever conceived of this character has a wonderful eye for detail.
Norman Bates, Jr. continues, "[Martha]'d been staying here for a few months," and we find out he discovered the body when "her supervisor called to say her AM flight was cancelled. She wasn't answering her phone. He asked me to make sure she got the message." Brass asks, "So you knocked on the door, and when she didn't answer, you just went right in?" "Yeah. I got a master key," Norman Bates, Jr. says. Tub of hair goop to slick back the too-long 'do: $4. Suit that doubles as a Riff-Raff costume at the local midnight showing of Rocky Horror Picture Show: $400. Having untrammeled access to every room in the joint? Priceless.
Just then the manager comes over and introduces himself as Hayden Michaels. From the depths of the couch, the husband sarcastically mutters, "It's a shout-out." Brass is all, "Whatever, glad-hander," to Hayden, but the sleazery hasn't begun in earnest yet. Hayden's all, "Detective, if there's any way we can prevent people from knowing a killer with a cleaning fetish lurks in our dimly-lit hallways, smug in the knowledge that we lack surveillance cameras with which to capture his image…it'll hurt my per-room earnings target for the month. So let's keep any safety concerns out of the media, huh? The shareholders and I thank you." Or something along those lines. Brass is as unimpressed with Hayden's false plight as I am: "I'm trying to catch a killer. I can't control the press. If this makes the news, it is what it is." Let's hear it for Brass, accidental defender of the first amendment!
And let's hear it for the B-plot. We move to the 'burbs, where Nicky and some modestly-dressed woman in black sungla--- oh, wait. That's Catherine. What's she doing in a shirt with a collar line around her suprasternal notch and actual sleeves? She looks good. Anyway, they're walking into a house just as Lee Tergesen walks on out. Lee's sporting one of those hostile, haunted looks he wore, like, constantly on Oz. Well, I guess if you practice something for years, you're always looking for ways to use it. Lee's followed by an anguished-looking woman, and a confused-looking kid. Cavaliere greets Catherine and Nicky at the front door with, "Victim's in the bedroom. Ty Hawkins. Twelve years old. Sentence fragments. More effective than subject-verb construction."
We head to the bedroom, where the considerably tenderized body of Ty Hawkins is curled up on the bed. "Mother came in to wake him, and found him like this," Cavaliere says, gesturing so we can all see the nasty purple marks all over the kid. Nicky checks him out and sighs deeply, "Beaten to death." "This many blows makes it personal," Cavaliere concludes. Emergency Backup David pops up out of nowhere to take a liver temperature. What, did they summon him by chanting, "Fahrenheit, Fahrenheit, Fahrenheit"? Catherine's wearing a look like "this would really upset me if I had kids," and she asks if anyone's found a weapon. Nope. Also, how the killer got in is something of a mystery, as the house was locked tighter than a drum and there's no sign of a forced entry. Cavaliere's about to head down to the station to talk to the family. "I'll leave you two here to look all doleful at the preteen tartare," he adds, before taking off.
Oh, he does not. He asks Nicky to come on by later and print the Hawkins family. After Cavaliere rolls, Catherine decides she'll work the inside of the house. "I could use the fresh air," Nicky agrees, and goes to work the outside.
Thus beginneth the montage. Catherine begins swabbing and printing everything in the room while Nicky works on the yard right outside the boy's window. He finds a few footprints and begins pouring plaster, while Catherine eliminates a baseball bat from the would-be murder weapon list. Nicky also notices that someone scratched the word "BRAT" into the window. Catherine, meanwhile, has gone to check the laundry room. She finds some crumpled clothing and bed sheets in the washing machine, runs an ALS on it, and finds…some sort of stain.
The montage, she continues as the music keeps playing. Frankly, all the music is beginning to sound alike to me: the producers could have simply bought one track, then played it slower or faster depending on the episode, and I wouldn't be able to tell the difference. Nicky heads toward the trash cans and finds a bundle of pipes stashed there. One appears to be missing. He picks up a similar pipe and begins taking photos of it. He then brings it over to Catherine and explains that he's using it as an exemplar of a possible murder weapon. Catherine shares her laundry room discovery and adds, "ALS'd for blood, found urine." That passes without comment, and Nicky concludes, "Whoever killed this boy knew how to get in and out of the house without waking the family." Or they're actually still in the house. Hey -- why not leave that possibility open?
Back at the morgue, David the Direct Coroner shrugs, "No mystery here: Ms. Krell was violently stabbed to death." He sounds so bored by that. Is he hoping for one of those situations where Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three brings a body stuffed in a suit of armor with a duck poking out of the mouth, then gasps, "You figure it out, Doc. I'm stumped!" Anyway, this isn't so much of a stumper: Martha Krell was brutally raped, then stabbed. After establishing that even among rapes this was something of a doozy, Gil muses, "I don't know why people think rape has anything to do with sex." "If a guy just wants sex, he can hire a hooker," David concurs. Then there's an awkward silence as both men mentally add, …so I've heard.
Cut to a shot of a file box with the legend "Stein, Sue. May 12, 1999." We pull back to see that Ecklie's actually standing in a lab workroom, and then Sara appears in the doorway and says with a bright, forced smile and bright, forced casualness, "Ecklie! What's up?" Ecklie shows the true magnitude of his nature with "I paged Grissom." "And he paged me. How can I help you?" "You can help me plot against the guy who contrived to get us in this awkward little labside chat," Ecklie snarls. Oh, he does not. He just basks in the phosphorescent glow of Sara's shining professionalism, then shifts to a carefully neutral tone as he explains, "Five years ago, there was this day shift case. Homicide. Victim was a flight attendant named Sue Stein, from Palo Alto, California. She was raped and murdered in a local hotel. Killer was never apprehended." Sara studies the pictures, in which a lingerie-clad Sue Stein -- and wow, do flight attendants have the best lingerie, or what? -- is lying in the same posture in which we saw Martha, with the same defensive wounds and fatal torso knife wounds. Sara has several flashbacks between Martha's crime scene and Sue's, just so we make the connection. Ecklie continues, "Vic's clothing and suitcase were missing, room was immaculate, smelled like disinfectant." "Same signature," Sara says. "One difference. In the prior case, the body was found in a first-floor room. Sliding glass door facing the pool was unlocked." Martha was killed on a second floor. Sara then asks if there was any semen collected in Sue's case; Ecklie says there was, and he's already asked Mia to compare it to Martha's sample. It's funny how in this scene, Ecklie can't even bring himself to look at Sara directly. So apparently, the secret here is to treat him like you do a cat: outstare him, and you'll have established your dominance during the transaction. Now all Sara has to do is hope Ecklie doesn't adopt the feline payback method of the 4 AM face dance.
Sara is too busy asking about an evidence photo to think that far ahead. Ecklie hands over a photo of "the only print we found. Impressed in Sue's blood on the bedspread near her hips. The pattern on the [bedspread] fabric made it impossible to read." Sara tells Ecklie much has changed in this, the future.
When we get back from commercials, we're already five minutes in the future -- plenty of time for technology that can read tricky fingerprints to have been developed, right? The scientists are presumably busy working on it off-screen, because now is B-plot time. Cavaliere's trying to get Mr. Hawkins's prints, and Hawkins is snapping, "My son is dead! Why are you fingerprinting me?" Poor Lee Tergesen -- he must get tired of playing people whose sons get killed. Nicky explains politely, "I'm going to dust your house for prints, sir. I need to know which ones are yours." This seems to soothe Mr. Hawkins. So Cavaliere spins him up again establishing the particulars of his story, but doesn't get too far before Hawkins blurts, "I already told you [everything]. Twice. I got questions too, you know. Why Ty? Why not me? How could my wife and I sleep through it all?" His voice breaks and his face crumples and I am reminded once again that insofar as actors go, you could do a lot worse than this guy. Unfortunately for Hawkins, nobody in that room is equipped to answer any of his questions. Instead, they're going to ask him to stand up so they can take pictures. Hawkins pleads, "Is this really necessary?" and Cavaliere goes to bat for Nicky, explaining, "Let him do his job." Nicky throws in a few more "please" and "sir"-type things to soothe the inconsolable, and then he snaps photos of the tremendously unhappy-looking Hawkins. And really, who would expect Hawkins to grin at a time like this? His day isn't getting any better; he's got to leave his shoes. Will the indignities never end? Apparently not: he asks what happens , and Cavaliere's all, "You and the missus are free to go." "What about [my son] Matt?" Hawkins asks. "Oh, we're putting him in with the neo-Nazis tonight. What's the worst that could happen?" Cavaliere replies.
And now David's got a case that baffles him: looking at the preteen Ty's pulverized face, he asks, "How could a preteen have made someone so mad? COD's blunt force trauma. I counted 14 separate blows. Several more were coinciding. Cylindrical object about one inch in diameter." Golly, that sounds a lot like our exemplar. Especially after David points out the threaded pattern apparent in one of the deep, skull-caving blows on the boy's forehead. The boy has no defense wounds, so Catherine and David conclude that he was beaten to death in his sleep.
And now, in a scene proving that Cavaliere doesn't just appear on CSI, he watches it too and is therefore familiar with the thesis "when in doubt, assume the kid did it," the cop pins the murder on baby-faced Matt. As Nicky tries to process evidence, Cavaliere snarls, "The second I laid eyes on you, I knew what went down. You took a pipe from the backyard, you went into Ty's bedroom, and while he was sleeping, you beat his brains to a pulp." Nicky looks up all, "Do you mind? Some of us have delicate stomachs here." Cavaliere continues, "What the hell is wrong with you, kid? Your little brother is dead. What'd he ever do to you? Don't you look at [Nicky]. He can't help you. Nobody can help you. You're going to prison. And at 14, that means life. I'm TALKING TO YOU, YOU LITTLE --" "Detective!" Nicky interjects, thinking that perhaps before Cavaliere introduces any new words to the would-be perp's vocabulary, now might be the time to see whether they should maybe have a parent or advocate or lawyer present during this minor's interrogation.
Nicky and Cavaliere repair to the hallway for a frank and open exchange of views:
Nicky: We don't have enough evidence to suggest that the boy killed his brother.
Cavaliere: What are you getting at?
Nicky then suggests that Cavaliere maybe try talking in his indoor voice, and consider catching flies with honey rather than vinegar. Cavaliere suggests that perhaps Nicky would like to bypass using the urinal in the men's room in favor of pissing up a rope.
We then move on to a plot where someone from the swing shift isn't picking a fight with a coworker. I know! Radical idea! But try working with me here. Anyway, Sara wanders in as a bearded Jason Segal burbles, "Call me a geek, but this background subtraction application software is the bomb!" I wouldn't have called you a geek over that, boy-o. I would have called you a geek because the beard makes me think "Gil Grissom; the Larval Years." Clearly, it's having the same effect on Sara too, as she says amiably, "Only geeks still say 'the bomb.' But if you ask me, geeks should be revered." Can you imagine a geek temple? Wouldn't it be awesome? Of course, you'd have to have a sacrificial platform on top, upon which you'd offer up violators of Godwin's Law to a harsh pantheon of left-brainers.
Okay, stepping out of my happy place and back into the scene…Jason Segal gets all kerfuffled in the presence of a live female human who is not recoiling from him or asking for help on her homework, and dives back into the safety of software talk: "The technology's pretty new, you'll get hammered on cross, but it definitely works." And how: the algorithm is cued to recognize the dominant red color and wipe out all the others so that only the splotch remains. Sara asks, "Mind if I watch?" Jason Segal gets all flustered again and says, "Voyeur, huh? I like that." Sara's all, "Oh, if only I had the ability to more sharply focus my power to turn grown men into tapioca." Within seconds, all that's left is the big splotch, and then Jason Segal amplifies the fingerprint, scans it into AFIS, then finds a hit. Unsurprisingly, the splotchy print belongs to a splotchy guy -- one Jesse Acheson: "Multiple convictions. Cocaine, possession, intent to sell. In and out of jail for the past seven years," Jason Segal rattles off. And also, Jesse's in an acting gang. All the members swell up like beached whales and travel on a trail of their own perspiration. As luck would have it, Jesse was out during both murders.
We're now at stately Acheson Acres over in Henderson, where a lot of Las Vegas's finest are knocking on the door. Mrs. Acheson is none too sympathetic towards Brass and Sara's search for her husband. Brass asks if she knows where Jesse is, and Mrs. Acheson snorts, "No idea." "Well, your marriage is just full of romance, isn't it?" he shoots back. Oh, Brass, how I love you. Sara tries to talk her way in, but Mrs. Acheson would rather get back to ripping all her t-shirts up in her ongoing efforts to pilot a Flashdance fashion revival. She and her "Vegas! Vegas! Vegas!" t-shirt (complete with fashionable rips) disappear behind a slammed door. "That was fun," Brass deadpans. It cannot be said enough: Oh, Brass. How I love you.
Sara then gets a bright idea. She asks Brass and the uniforms to make a big, showy exit, the better to let her lurk around this dodgy neighborhood without any protection whatsoever. In Sara's five minutes of spying time before the cops swing back around again, Mrs. Acheson puts down the fabric scissors long enough to call her husband on his cell phone and clue him in that the cops were just there. The entire tenor of the conversation: she's tired of being Jesse's girl.
Back in the Labitrail, we go into montage number two. It is doing nothing to disprove my thesis that the music supervisor's working off one track. Nicky's matching up shoe impressions and confirming that the Hawkins parents didn't kill their kid, but discovering that Matt Hawkins had better have a good explanation for why his shoe prints are outside the window or else. Catherine's futzing around with fiber samples, the better to share her discovery that Matt's hair was on Ty's t-shirt. Nicky points out that their evidence "could be related to the murder, or just to the result of two brothers living together." The interesting new thing: the blue fibers Catherine pulled off Ty's t-shirt. The reason they're so interesting: nobody in the family was wearing anything blue.
But evidence, schmevidence. It's not the swing shift if someone doesn't have a personnel beef, and Nicky's is that "I am concerned that Detective Cavaliere's moving ahead of forensics on this one." Catherine replies, "He can move as fast as he wants -- the D.A. won't file without physical evidence, and right now, we got nothing."
Meanwhile, Sara's busy amassing some evidence of her own. While sitting in front of a computer screen and tapping away, she explains to Gil, "Sandra Acheson called her husband at exactly 3:30 PM today. I secured a 2703-D court order for the number she was calling. It was a cell phone. I contacted the cell phone company and found out that Jesse answered his cell near Tower 8, phase west. Given the signal strength, he was within two blocks of the tower. His wife said she hadn't seen him in several days, so I had Homicide check registration at all the hotels within the [specific] area. He's booked at the Tangiers." Going by the look on Gil's face, he's just fallen in love with Sara all over again. Frankly, I may have too -- she's bringing the A game this episode, and it's a welcome relief from boozy Sara, or lovelorn Sara. Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three interrupts this little moment to share the news: the rapist's semen came back positive for cocaine. Gil's all, "But…we usually don't screen semen for cocaine," and Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three burbles, "I know that, but given our suspect's priors for blow, I had a tech run an immunoassay specific to the drug." Gil's impressed. He comments, "Wow. You guys are rendering me obsolete." Ah, Gil. You'll always have a fervent internet cult to succor you, just like the Newton.
Sara begins brainstorming: "So Jesse's coked up. He commits the crime. He drives down to the Strip and he checks into the Tangiers?" Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three points out that there aren't any vacancies currently on the Strip. Gil suggests, "Maybe he's back in the game again, selling coke to out-of-town businessmen from the comfort of his hotel room." Sara's all, "So he takes a break from his job, rapes and kills the vic at another hotel, and then goes back to work?" Gil's all, "Well, when you put it like that, it sounds stupid." Oh, he is not. Instead, he comments, "Even cokeheads need a diversion every now and then." There's clearly a market opportunity for a motivated hobby store operator here: "Get the cokehead in your life The Sims! It's that or homicide!"
And now, time for another installment of Can't the Swing Shift Get Along With ANYBODY? Nicky heads over to tell Cavaliere that there's not enough evidence to hold Matt Hawkins, but Cavaliere's all, "What? You mean I can't hold Matt even after he produced a signed confession? In! Your! Face! In! Your! Face!" Cavaliere smugly tells Nicky, "Sort of kicks the crap out of your evidence now, doesn't it? You and your witch science can burn in the clean fire of rapture now!" Or something like that. Nicky inquires as to whether Matt signed in the blood pouring from his split lip following Cavaliere's beat-down. Cavaliere's all, "No. I used science. I merely held a burning cigarette to his arm. It turns out my hypothesis was true: teenaged killers really hate fire." Or maybe Cavaliere just uses another equally spurious type of "scientific" test: a computer voice stress analyzer. Nicky points out that the device has been discredited for years, and Cavaliere shoots back that the internet tells him it's not. Dude, the internet should never be your primary source for anything. Except entertainment, maybe. Nicky asks if Matt had his parents or an advocate present, and Cavaliere's all, "Hey. He had a week of Constitutional studies in his social studies class before moving on to the XYZ affair. The kid knew what he was getting into." Ladies and gentlemen, your attorney general! Nicky's all, "Did you at least find out why he killed his brother?" Cavaliere's all, "No. I ran out of lit cigarettes. Got a pack I can borrow?" And then he condescends to Nicky. Nicky narrows his eyes, as if he's thinking, At last, a new target for my formless, pent-up rage.
When we get back from commercials, Brass is busy telling Gil he can't toss Jesse's room at the Tangiers because a) the manager won't let him in without a search warrant, and b) the judge is not exactly inclined to give him one. Gil promises to handle the judge, then asks Brass, "Could you just keep [Jesse] under surveillance for now? And take Grasshopper, My Number Three Adopted Son along. He might learn something." "I'll get him a bag of doughnuts," Brass promises. Oh, Brass. Don't be so spendy. I'm sure Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three would be just as happy with a Happy Meal.
Yay! It's Warrick! He spent the first 34 minutes allegedly "testifying," and tells Nicky in the locker room, "I ran into the D.A. He filled me in on your case. Looks like Matt Hawkins' confession is going to stand up in court." Nicky says, "Suspects are tricked into confessing all the time, but I'm telling you, Cavaliere intimidated that boy. Man, he would have signed anything." Warrick asks if Nicky thinks Matt's innocent. Nicky's not discounting it, but he'd like to eliminate all the other possibilities before declaring Matt guilty. He had checked the crime stats for the neighborhood and noticed "there's some homeless guy out there running around, peeping in windows, urinating on stuff, attempted B&E." "Sounds like a suspect," Warrick says. "I'm going to go out there and see if the Hawkins[es] know anything about it," Nicky replies. Warrick offers to help out, 'cause he's a pal.
And now, the scene that makes me think, "Wow, does it suck to be a judge," what with having to deal with warrant requests based on five-year-old fingerprints manipulated via a new computer program. "It wasn't manipulated. It was fabricated. There's a difference," Gil explains to the judge. No, not really. He says, "It wasn't manipulated. It was processed. That's what we do." The judge is all, "Feel free to make that distinction to the defense attorney. It's one thing to put the print through AFIS. It's another to use a background subtraction algorithm to isolate the print from a bedspread." Gil snaps, "It's not my fault the courts lag behind the technology." He leaves the "Judge Luddite" hanging in the air. The judge says, "I'm sympathetic to your request, but if I grant a warrant based upon this print, and the print is later thrown out of court, then everything you find as a result of it would be excluded and your pattern rapist could be back on the street. Give me something else, I'll be happy to grant you a warrant." "Your Honor, are you propositioning me?" Gil asks. Oh, he does not. But wouldn't this scene go in a whole new weird direction if he were? What Gil really does is argue that he needs the warrant. The judge says she'll be the judge of that, and tells him to find another way. Gil stares, clearly exasperated with these puny humans and their antiquated justice system.
Cut to Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three and some detective watching Jesse, a.k.a. the guy who used to be known as the Thin Baldwin. So does Stephen Baldwin get his BioDome residuals in the form of Cheetos? Did someone press an "inflate" valve on the back of his neck? Did he and Daniel swap bodies on a dare? I mean, I'm sympathetic to the metabolism deciding that your thirties are a fine time to slow down and all, but this is stunning. The detective watches Jesse take a swig of his coffee, and cracks, "It's kind of like bird-watching, isn't it?" "I wouldn't know. I haven't been able to do it since I watched The Birds," Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three replies. Or maybe that's my excuse. Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three just wouldn't know about birding. The detective asks, "So I got a question. I hear the killer completely wiped down the crime scene. So why do you think he left his semen behind? He could have worn a condom." Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three explains, "Before committing a crime, a typical serial rapist will often masturbate to the perfect rape-murder fantasy. Didn't wear a condom then, didn't want to wear one during the act." You know what they say -- it's like killing with your raincoat on. Another consideration: if the cops don't have your DNA on file, why bother? Anyway, Jesse wanders off without tossing his coffee cup, thus making it fair game for Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three to collect. He explains, "If the DNA on this cup matches the seminal DNA, then Grissom won't need a warrant, we'll be making an arrest."
The Bad Boys of the Swing Shift are in the Hawkins living room, while the parents plead to see their son. I'm sure what they're saying is very heart-rending, but frankly, I'm more enthralled by the gorgeous built-in bookcases wrapped around their large living room window. "You could frame the Hawkinses for a crime they didn't commit, then snap up the house at a police auction," the husband suggests from the depths of the couch, and I consider it for a moment before remembering that this is a fictional show. Curses!
Anyway, in the scene, Nicky explains, "Right now, your son's under investigation…the detective asked him if he wanted a parent or advocate present at the interrogation. He's 14 years old, so it's his right to say no." Martin Hawkins protests that Matt's just a kid and only got a C+ in social studies, so it's not like he even grasps his rights. Or something like that. Yvonne Hawkins protests, "Matt's sensitive. He doesn't handle stress well. If we could just talk to him…he may need a change of clothes." Warrick has to look away, with an expression like, Days like this, I wonder why I didn't find a job petting kittens or something. Nicky cannily establishes that those clothes in the washer were Matt's, and promises to try and bring him a fresh change. Warrick's all, "Hi there -- topic. Homeless guy?" Yvonne alleges that "He's nuts. He scared the boys once or twice --" "How did he scare them?" Warrick asks, and Martin says that Ty caught the homeless guy writing "Brat" on the window, and "I chased him away, Matt cleaned off the window." And that explains the shoe impressions outside the window. Yvonne goes into a fit of remorse over not calling the cops on the homeless guy, and Martin tells Warrick that he sees the homeless guy's camp in the park that he jogs through every evening.
Cut to a bazillion cops rousting the homeless guy out of a sound sleep inside his makeshift shelter. Walter is not one of those people who snaps awake in the blink of an eye. As he's hauled out by two cops, Nicky's got his Toughskins on and he's all interrogative with, "Hey! What's your name!" The homeless guy, under the impression that it's polite to answer a question the same way in which it's delivered, shouts, "My! Name! Is! Walter!" Nicky then "asks," "Walter. That's a nice blue sweater! Where'd you get it!!" And it is a nice sweater -- except for the huge blood spray across the front. That's an unfortunate accessorizing choice in this context. Walter's wondering why he was rousted out of a sound sleep to talk fashion: "What?!" Nicky says, "I said I liked your sweater! Where'd you get it!" "It's mine! Yes! This is my sweater!" Walter replies. Warrick laconically inquires as to whose blood is on the sweater, and Walter has no idea where this is going. "We're going to give you a nice warm place to sleep tonight," he adds. Because Walter's getting arrested on suspicion of murder. Walter tries to make a break for it, but is quickly subdued. As he screams and flails on the ground, pummeled by cops, Nicky's all, "Take it easy on the sweater! It's evidence." Nice.
And now, a word about Walter. If I didn't know that was Wil Wheaton, I wouldn't have guessed. He's convincing enough as a homeless guy to fit in with any of the regulars that used to hang out in Multimedia Gulch. I had avoided reading his weblog entries about shooting this show, because I didn't want them to influence how I received his performance, but now that I've seen him, I am all about sending you here and here. He provides a pretty lively look at how the CSI sausage is made.
Meanwhile, back in the lab, Mia is confirming that she will never, ever favor the same coffee shop Jesse does, because there were two DNA contributions on the lip, "which means that your coffee shop recycles, and not in the good way." And it was a paper cup. If that isn't an argument to tote your own container everywhere, I don't know what is. And then the news gets even grimmer: neither of the contributions matches the semen, so it looks like Gil won't be beating down the Tangiers' door with an arrest warrant just yet. Sara wonders, "If Acheson didn't rape Sue Stein, what is his print doing on the sheet?"
Cut to Acheson saying, "Well, I certainly didn't kill anyone. Got some Cheetos?" I'm kidding about the Cheetos part. And then he drawls, "Ah dew naht know hahw mah finguhprint got theyah." Sara says slowly. "We don't think that you did rape or kill anyone. We simply want to know how your fingerprint ended up in a murder scene five years ago." Then Brass steps in to play Bad Cop: "Look, Jesse, we appreciate you coming in here voluntarily, but if you clam up, we're going to have to file an obstruction of justice charge and that's not good…for you." Jesse decides to tell them what he was doing in Sue Stein's room: "Ah did go to see Sue that naght." Cut to a flashback of Jesse entering through the patio door, whispering her name and ordering, "Come on, girl. Wake up." He rolls her over, gets a handful of blood for his trouble, and decides to take off. "You just took off? You didn't bother to report a murder?" Sara asks. Jesse says, "Ma'am, Ah got a rehcuhd. And I was on probation. If Ah'd have done all that, Ah'd have been suspect numero uno." Brass is all, "I grow tired of pussyfooting around. You were her dealer, weren't you?" Jesse admits, "That's whah she left the doahr unlocked. We'd been doin' it that way for yeahs. Whenevah Sue came to town, I always took cahr of huh. I'm really sorreh. She was my friend. Ah wish Ah could be more help." Well, he certainly is the politest felon Sara and Brass have dealt with in a while. One wonders exactly what the marital dialogue is like at home with that snap-jawed lady to whom he's currently plighted his troth.
And now, time for yet another donnybrook between Nicky and Cavaliere. In this scene, Cavaliere bears an uncanny resemblance to Latino pop sensation Marc Anthony, so it's amazing he's able to stand there without Emergency Backup David trying to poke him in the liver with a meat thermometer while David the coroner snaps on the latex gloves and gets out his favorite body-cutting saw. And in this scene, Nicky points out that all he's trying to do is eliminate all the other possible suspects before they go marching a 14-year-old boy off to a sleepover with the neo-Nazis.
Nicky and Cavaliere then bury the hatchet long enough to interview Walter, whom someone has wrestled into an orange jumpsuit. Too bad that someone couldn't also summon the strength to apply a conditioning treatment and a weed trimmer to Walter's hair. We establish that Walter merely found the sweater on a park bench by the basketball courts and, he barks, "I was cold!" Cavaliere's all, "If you're lying…" What are you going to do, Cavaliere? Threaten to use phrenology to determine his guilt? Throw him in a river to see if he floats? So long as you're using discredited interrogation technologies, why not make it colorful? Walter insists he's not lying, and tells the boys he doesn't remember when he found the sweater. A confused Walter is then led to lockup. Cavaliere's all, "I got a signed confession. You got a bum in a bloody sweater. What are you going to do about it?" Nicky's going to be all, "Clearly, there is no pointing out the merits of eliminating reasonable doubt to a pinhead like you."
To soothe himself, Nicky processes the sweater, and finds an ultraviolet cleaning stamp on there from Yung's Cleaners #555-99-A167. He runs off to tell Catherine of his discovery, and it turns out that it's Martin Hawkins's sweater. We quick zoom to the Hawkins place where, in short order, Martin goes from, "Hey! That's my sweater!" to "Did you just say, covered in my son's blood?" Yvonne's now looking all suspiciously at her husband. He's all, "Do I need a lawyer?" Now we know why Matt got that C+ in social studies.
Back in the Labitrail, Gil pops by Hodges's workstation. "You called me?" he asks, dread coating every syllable. Hodges tells him, "Yeah. Mia sent me that hair wad you pulled out of the hotel drain. It's coated in bleach. I'm thinking the killer must have poured the stuff down the drain, really compromised the trace." Gil doesn't even bother to keep the irritation out of his voice when he asks, "That's it? A compromised wad of hair?" I have that reaction every morning in the mirror, Gil. You get used to it eventually. Hodges soldiers on: "I called you to discuss the bleach. The hair wad smelled a bit woodsy to me, which is odd, considering it should only smell like bleach." Gil asks, "You sniffed it?" "That disgust you?" Hodges asks defensively. "No. It's the first time you've ever done anything to impress me," Gil replies. Hodges makes a mental note to stop breaking into Gil's place and spelling "I LOVE YOU" on his coffee table using old cicada molts, as it's clearly wasted effort. Hodges recovers and says he analyzed the bleach, which contains a cedar additive. Gil says absently, "Thanks, David." David? Another one? Why don't they just name EVERYONE on this show David and have done with it?
Cut to the Four Aces. We see another trolley dolly strolling down the hall with her roller bag behind her, and then we're in Hayden's office, where he says, "Smarm, smarm, smarm, here's my housekeeper to explain why the bleach smells like cedar, smarm." Lucy explains that a few years ago, the guests were carping about the smell of bleach in the bathroom, since they had gotten bored with bitching about how their diamond shoes pinched and therefore turned their attention to the unbearable burden of staying in a hotel room where the bathrooms were actually sterilized between guests. Well, Lucy doesn't editorialize as much as I just did. She just got creative and began dropping cedar chips into her bleach. So am I a total Stepford wife because I am now considering going out and buying a bottle of bleach and a block of cedar to test her solution?
Anyway, as Brass continues to grill Lucy over who could have had access to her bleach and why, Gil lets his eyes wander all over Hayden's desk. There's one picture of him with what looks to be two teenagers, and another of him with his new trophy wife and a baby one presumes is his. The music swells all dramatically as Lucy notes, "We've had problems with theft," but I don't think we're about to discover that a bleach thief unwinds with a little rape-and-murder. What we find out is that Hayden's two oldest kids are at UNLV, and his baby son is only six months old. Going by the looks of Wife #2, he met her while he was moving the kids into UNLV. What, was she their RA? Anyway, Gil muses, "So you must have had your vasectomy reversed." Hayden's all, "And why are we talking about my vasectomy?" but Gil plows on, "You also have access to the bleach. So you won't mind if I take a DNA sample." Actually, it turns out he will. And he's now more eager than ever to keep this whole thing out of the media. Lucy is giving Hayden a look like she is not at all surprised that he's a serial rapist-murderer too.
And now, Catherine's working with her boys, outlining the problem: "So we got three suspects, three scenarios." Nicky elaborates, "Matt could have worn his dad's sweater when he killed Ty, then dumped it in the park where Walter found it." Catherine rebuts, "Or Dad could have worn it and dumped it in the park." Warrick adds, "Or the sweater could have accidentally been left in the park, and Walter the homeless guy could have picked it up and worn it, when he entered the house through the screen door and killed Ty. But none of the evidence goes to motive." "Not our problem," Catherine says. She adds, "Let's just stay focused on the sweater. It's tied to the victim and the scene. We need to tie it to the killer."
So Catherine gets a bright idea: Martin Hawkins is about 6'2" -- Warrick's height. Walter is about 5'10" -- Nicky's height. And Matt Hawkins is 5'. She's off to round up a five-footer, and tells the boys to meet her in the garage in half an hour.
But first, there's an A-plot to get through. Gil is busy stating, "Mr. Michaels, in my work over the last 25 years, I've come to understand the kind of person who's a rapist killer." "Is that an accusation?" asks the attack lawyer. Gil says coolly, "Well, a woman was murdered in your client's hotel. He has a right to hear our theory. The killer is clearly a psychopath. He's killed more than once. I'm sure that before his first rape and murder, he fantasized about it for years. During that time, he engaged in behavioral tryouts, stalking women and attempting to coerce them sexually, each time moving closer and closer to the actual event. I believe that after you consummated your first attack, you felt excitement greater than you anticipated. Your only regret was that she died too quickly. But you took solace in the knowledge that, uh, you could do it again. In fact, your subsequent victim had similar characteristics to your first victim." While Gil's been talking, every time the camera closes in on Hayden's face, we go to a flashback scene of one of the rapes and murders. It's not clear if we're getting the rapist's-eye view of what happened, or if Gil is imposing his narrative on Hayden or what. The attack lawyer makes a dominance display, and Gil shoots back, "What differentiates a psychopath from a heat-of-the-moment killer is forethought. And you thought about for a long time." "Thank. You. For the fascinating seminar, but you have no evidence so we are free to go."
Just then, the door clicks open, and Sara strolls in with an airline roller bag. "Actually, I have some evidence," she says perkily. She lifts the suitcase onto the table, notes Hayden's transfixed expression, and cocks an eyebrow as she asks, "Mr. Michaels?" Forget Gil falling in love with her all over again -- I'm digging her too. Cue Hayden's meltdown: "She can't do that. I know my rights! The bitch BROKE INTO MY CAR!" The lawyer's all, "Do you enjoy wasting $500 an hour, asshole?" And then he recovers with, "I don't remember seeing a warrant, Ms. Sidle." Sara says, "I don't have a warrant. I'm just following a hunch." "Well, then you just set my client free," the lawyer says. Wrong! Sara explains, "Western Airlines issues this exact type of wheelie to all its flight attendants. Since Martha's wheelie wasn't in the hotel room, we thought the killer took it as a souvenir. This particular suitcase is not Martha's wheelie." But it is a wheelie -- with a tape recorder. Gil says smugly, "Now that we know where to find it, and we have your client on tape, I bet you we'll get a warrant." Then, just to rub it in, he thanks Hayden. B-U-R-N, burn!
We now get to see Catherine's science experiment. She's soaking a dummy in blood. She looks up to regard Warrick, who is wearing a white cashmere sweater and a look like, Days like this, I wonder why I didn't find a job wearing leather chaps. He will be playing Martin in Catherine's experiment. Nicky, clad in a similar sweater, will be playing Walter's role, and Judy will be playing Matt. Yes, Judy is pressed into role-playing service regularly. Anyway, here's the deal: Catherine's set up a platform the same height as the bed; everyone is to come on up and whale away on the dummy, and she'll use the white sweaters to see how the blood spatters, as it'll appear in different parts of the torso depending on the height of the assailant. Judy comments, "Just like Chuck-E-Cheese. Whack a Mole." Yes. Only without any possibility of PETA protests.
Warrick whacks-a-dummy first, and we see the Osmont Cam shot of Martin doing it; Nicky does it and we see the Osmont Cam shot of Walter doing it; Judy does it, and we get the Osmont Cam shot of Matt doing it. Catherine then lines everyone up so she can look at the blood spatter -- Warrick wearing an expression like, Days like this, I wonder why I don't have a job at a batting cage. -- and it looks like Judy's spatter is the closest match. Aww, she's just so darn cute standing there. The flashback to Matt bashing in his brother's head? Not so darn cute.
Cut to our teenaged killer lipping off to Nicky, "Like I told [Cavaliere], I did it. You want a medal for figuring out what I already said." Yvonne and Martin and watching from behind the interrogation room's window, devastated. Cavaliere points out, "You never told me why." Matt wonders why it matters anyways. In the interrogation spy-chamber, Yvonne collapses all over Martin as Warrick stands there, wearing a look like -- oh, you get it. Just suffice it to say, if he hates his job as much as he looks like he does, there had better well be a darn compelling reason for coming in every day. Beyond "because I will be doing the horizontal bop with the boss lady," I mean.
Warrick tells Martin to go on into the room, and he does. Matt all, "Dad?" in a tone that's halfway between "Can you get me out of this?" and "Are you going to ground me for this?" Martin's all, "Don't you 'Dad' me, you little goblin. You're clearly the son of Satan." Oh, he is not. Instead, he rasps, "Why? I want to know why?" Matt, who is dissolving under his dad's gaze, chokes, "Dad…" and his father grits, "Why? I want to know why, dammit. Ty looked up to you. He…he loved you." Matt's face screws up in embarrassment, remorse and rage, and he shouts, "He told! He told everyone!" Martin's honestly puzzled: "That you wet the bed?" "SHUT UP!" Matt screams, livid that the police now know his horrible secret too. Both Matt and his father are absolutely stunned as it sinks in for both of them how jacked up the kid was over his bedwetting problem, and how permanent his solution was. Matt collapses into his chair and weeps, "Dad, I'm sorry." He struggles to say something, anything else as Martin looks toward the window his wife's hidden behind. Everyone is crying. Nobody has it together enough to say, "Sorry doesn't reattach your brother's skull now, does it?"
The shot is of Matt's small hands cuffed behind his back. He's walked down the hall, past his parents, and his sobbing mother reaches out to him as he passes. Martin holds her up and comforts her. Nicky watches all of this, deeply bummed, so of course that's when Cavaliere swings on by. "You owe me an apology," he says. Nicky gives him A Look and replies, "I'm sorry…that you feel that way." B-U-R-N, burn! He walks off, leaving Cavaliere to reach down and gently snap his own unhinged jaw back into place.