Original subtitles

In the criminal justice system,

sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous.

In New York City,

the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies

are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit.

These are their stories.

Push it back, Frankie. Push it back.

It's coming out of that apartment down the hall.

Engine 99 to Command.

We got a fire and a taxpayer on the first floor.

Hallway's knocked down. We're going in.

Come on, baby. Open up for me.

Let's get it done, ladies.

10-45 in the bedroom.

Command, 99. We need EMS on scene.

She's not breathing. No pulse.

Engine 99, 10-45, Code 1.

Send a fire marshal and PD.

Frankie, cut the hose so we can get her out.

On my count. One, two, three. Go!

Stabler, Special Victims.

Was she dead when you found her?

Yeah. Nobody could survive that smoke

for more than a couple of minutes.

What makes you think she was raped?

Her panties were pulled down and her dress was ripped.

She had a big gash on her head.

Must have been unconscious when the fire started.

Thanks. Any luck?

Yeah, I got a name. Jenna Ludlow.

Twenty-five. She lived here a couple of months.

Kept to herself. Nobody heard any screaming

or fighting last night.

So, he raped her, knocked her out,

lit the place up to finish her off.

No. She was dead before the fire.

There's no soot in Ms. Ludlow's nostrils.

CSU find the murder weapon?

There was a lamp on the floor next to Jenna's body.

Perp must have bashed her head in with it.

You guys are this good, what do you need me for?

Other than turning the world on with your smile? How about a pelvic?

Done. Fluids present.

And there's thick mucus at the cervical os.

She have an STD?

No. A bun in the oven.

From the looks of her belly, she wasn't too far along.

Wonder if Jenna knew she was pregnant.

Is anything salvageable?

Whatever trace evidence wasn't burned, the fire boys washed away.

And we get hosed.

We'll gather and sift, but I hope you find a good witness.

Prada shoes, Gucci... She was living the life.

All good things come to an end.

Eddie Brincado, Fire Marshal.

Shame about these oak ceilings.

Varnish is a natural accelerant.

You light them up,

these beams are like fuses on a Roman candle.

Where did the fire start?

Right here. And it was no accident.

I don't see any signs of an accelerant.

That's because you're looking at what's here. Now look for what's missing.

Drapes.

Destroyed. Actually, after the firebug lit them up.

Any idea what he used?

It's in the air, Detective. The nose knows.

Alcohol.

Jellied methyl alcohol,

otherwise known as Sterno.

Your victim kept it under the sink.

Two-pack. Missing a can.

Hey. Check this out in the kitchen.

What have you got?

Dishwasher was shut.

Contents untouched by fire or water.

Maybe we just got lucky.

Jenna had company last night.

Well, those glasses could have been sitting there for a week.

I mean, a single woman with a full-time job... Trust me.

Well, digs like these, must have been some job.

I found the site where Jenna advertised her services.

This discount suit cost 250 bucks at Morty's Suits For Less.

But with my personal touch, you can look like you spent two grand.

Size doesn't matter, guys.

Size of your budget, that is.

I'm Jenna Ludlow, and I'm going to help you dress to kill.

"Dress to kill." Too bad she didn't get to help Munch.

Are you insulting my sartorial splendor?

Well, if that means clothes, yes.

Easy, fellows. Now, what kind of a living

could Jenna make being a stylist?

With the right clientele, big bucks.

She only had $300 in her business account.

Well, I'm not surprised, with all those Gucci bags in her closet.

I don't know how she could have afforded them.

She hasn't made any deposits in months.

Because someone else has been making them into her personal account.

Ten large, wired in for the last three months.

From where? Liechtenstein.

Yeah. Conveniently untraceable.

Jenna had an offshore sugar daddy.

Payments started right about the time

Jenna must have got herself knocked up.

Okay. So, she blackmails him with the baby.

He comes over, they fight.

He rapes her, he kills her.

Well, how do we find Count Liechtenstein?

Go to Heaven. Heaven Moscowitz.

Jenna's been writing her a check every week for 200 bucks.

And the memo line reads "therapy."

Heaven only knows who Jenna was sleeping with.

I can't talk to you about Jenna.

Doctor-patient privilege.

And you're a doctor of what?

Angel healing.

You got a license to practice?

I'm certified by a higher authority.

I'm sorry, but cherubim don't have legal standing in this state.

What Jenna and I discuss in this room is between us and the angels.

What's this about?

Well, I guess you didn't get the 411 from on high.

Jenna was murdered this morning.

No. It can't be. It's before her time.

It usually is in our line of work.

Your guardian angel is supposed to

protect you from untimely death.

You see, that's the problem with guardian angels.

They're never around when you need them.

I know you think this is a big joke, but Jenna believed.

I taught her how to speak to the angels.

About what?

Her future. Jenna had a choice to make.

Together, we asked the angels for help.

What choice?

I don't listen to words.

I feel them and spirit them to the other side.

You feel anything about Jenna having a boyfriend?

I see Africa.

Possibly Ethiopia. Great body.

Is his name Fabio?

Pierson.

Six million people in this city, and "Pierson"

is the best your angels can do?

Okay.

Cleopatra says to try the commodities exchange.

What's Special Victims Unit doing down here?

We're looking for somebody named Pierson.

A first name would really help.

We think he's African. Maybe from Ethiopia?

We were told that he has a great body.

Ethiopia and a great body?

Someone's yanking your chain.

Sounds like your guy trades coffee,

so you're probably talking about Pierson Bartlett.

What can you tell us about him?

Fourth generation coffee trader. Family had seats here

on the exchange since it was founded.

Well, you see him around here?

No, but he might be up in the grading room.

Looks like the world's greatest coffee break.

They're all traders. They sample the coffee and cocoa

to make sure it's up to trading standards.

There's Pierson Bartlett over there.

Thanks.

Mr. Bartlett?

Hold on. Last cup.

Great body. Excuse me?

The coffee.

But I'll bet yours is smooth and robust.

I didn't catch your name.

Detective Benson.

I'm Detective Stabler.

What can I do for you?

Tell us about Jenna Ludlow.

Why?

She was found murdered this morning.

Oh, my God.

Jenna?

How do you know her?

She's my son P.J.'s fiancée.

They met when Jenna temped in our office.

And where is he now?

Brazil.

That's where most coffee is grown.

P.J. works with me. He took our corporate jet down there

on business last week.

Well, can you get him back here?

We need to ask him some questions.

He'll want to come home right away.

But you know, Rio's a 10-hour flight,

so it won't be before tomorrow.

We'd appreciate a heads-up when he lands.

Yeah. I'll call when I know.

Dad's story checks out. Rio airport confirms the Bartletts' plane

has been parked there since last Tuesday.

I wonder if P.J. knew about the baby.

Don't know about him, but Jenna was planning to keep it.

How do you know that?

High levels of folic acid in her system.

She was taking prenatals.

You got a lunch date with Ryan?

Special delivery.

Anyone you like for Jenna's murder?

Well, fiancé was out of the country, so probably a stranger.

Maybe a push-in rapist. I don't think so.

That's why you brought over Jenna's clothes.

They were torn to shreds, but there wasn't a mark on her.

No cuts, no bruises. Nothing on her skin

that matched up with those tears.

So, I asked Ryan to take a look.

Check it out.

Okay, so the tears start out smooth,

they get ragged at the ends...

Your perp used scissors to start each tear,

then ripped it the rest of the way by hand.

After he killed Jenna to make it look like a stranger raped her.

Because it was someone she knew well enough to have sex with.

Let's make sure our fiancé didn't jet back here for a booty call.

November six-eight-Tango-five-Delta left last Tuesday for Rio

and hasn't returned.

You sure?

Aircraft just can't fly into American airspace willy-nilly.

They have to file a return flight plan.

Did they file one for today?

Not until early this morning.

Mr. Bartlett's plane was scheduled

to depart Rio at 0600 local time,

which puts them in here at...

Something wrong?

Weird.

They should be landing just before 3:00 this afternoon,

but they scheduled a refueling stop in Aruba.

Why is that weird?

Their G4 can fly from here to Tokyo without a pit stop.

Rio's a lot closer.

Your victim has some record.

Arrests?

Employment. Jenna was a job-hopper.

Temp agency says she never worked

anywhere for more than two months.

She was fired?

No. She'd request transfers.

Receptionist at a white-shoe law firm,

secretary to a plastic surgeon,

event planner for a Fortune 500 company.

All jobs where she could meet rich men.

Looks like Jenna was shopping for a husband.

And when she didn't find Mr. Right, she'd move on.

Her last gig was at the commodities exchange

working for the Bartletts.

She may not have had a nose for coffee,

but she sure could smell money.

And she went after it any way she could.

One guy dumped her and she sued him for breach of promise.

She could do that?

Be careful, my brother.

Being a player can be very, very costly.

A Park Avenue surgeon proposed,

then he broke off the engagement.

He find out about her past?

Girl went wild.

Jenna logged a lot of hours at spring break.

Apparently, she was into girl-on-girl action.

Not quite the pedigree for a society doctor's wife.

The court let him off the hook,

but they let her keep the engagement ring

for her pain and suffering. Two-karat rock.

Big payday for getting jilted.

She was up for an even bigger one.

The Bartletts' net worth is about a quarter of a billion dollars.

Our little gold digger caught herself quite a big fish.

Maybe P.J. killed her to get off the hook.

You know, he should be landing soon.

Why don't we go pick him up at the airport?

Thanks for the heads-up you promised.

Sorry. It slipped my mind. Right.

Hand your passport to the customs officer.

What's going on here, Dad?

Police officers, P.J.

My son and I are grieving.

You can talk to him tomorrow.

Last entry stamp in here is for Aruba.

There's nothing for Brazil.

So, you were never in Rio.

You sent him to Aruba yesterday

after we told you Jenna was dead, huh?

So your plane could pick him up

and make it look like he was in Rio all along.

Wait. I didn't kill Jenna.

All right. Let's go.

You're not taking my son anywhere.

We'll take you both.

For what?

Obstruction of justice.

We don't have enough to charge P.J.

with Jenna's murder.

Well, if we hadn't collared them,

that jet would be on its way back

to Brazil with both Bartletts on board.

So, now they're just going to waltz out

the front door of the courthouse

after a judge slaps them on the wrist for the obstruction charge.

I think that P.J.'s soft.

We grill him, he'll give it up.

You think? 'Cause I think once you mention "murder,"

Richie Rich and Daddy Starbucks

out there are gonna lawyer up.

So, what's your plan?

You guys are going to get what we need

to charge P.J. with Jenna's homicide,

while you and I do a little legal tap dance.

Casey, it's 2:00 in the morning.

You can't just snap your fingers

and expect us to tie P.J. to Jenna's murder.

Well, then, P.J. walks. It's your choice.

Let's wake up O'Halloran. See what he can give us.

Why don't you call Munch? Tell him to haul his ass out of bed

and get down here.

I apologize for the inconvenience.

My detectives were a little overzealous.

So, we're free to go?

Yes. I voided your arrests.

It's as if none of this ever happened.

We still need to talk to you about your relationship with Jenna.

I'll send detectives to the exchange tomorrow.

In front of everyone?

Unless you'd rather answer a few questions now.

Sergeant Munch, would you take the Bartletts

up to the lounge, please?

Yeah. But can I put on a pot of coffee first,

for the love of all things holy?

Gentlemen, could you please have a seat upstairs?

Yeah, as long as it doesn't take forever. We've got a conference call

with Addis Ababa at the crack of dawn.

We'll stall as long as we can.

Okay.

Any progress? Warner called.

She has the preliminary DNA match

on Jenna's fetus. P.J.'s the father.

What about the semen inside Jenna?

Confirmed match. Also P.J.'s.

How did Warner know that DNA belongs to P.J.?

Wine glass from Jenna's apartment. I pulled epithelial cells

from one of his fingerprints.

They show up in the system?

SEC prints all traders before they're bonded.

So, P.J. and Jenna were having a romantic glass of wine

before he whacked her and faked the rape.

Tox screen didn't show any alcohol in Jenna's system.

She probably wouldn't drink when she's pregnant.

Explains why the second glass had Jenna's prints

and nothing but cranberry juice.

Well, did you get any genetic material off the lamp?

If there was any, fire hoses washed it away.

We're screwed.

O ye of little faith.

I've got something else to show you.

Well, make it quick. Munch has the Bartletts on ice back at the station,

and the clock's running.

It's 4:00 in the morning.

Are we done here?

I'm sorry. I have to ask you a few more questions.

Can't you people afford anything better than this high-acid crap?

Another shining example of your taxpayer dollars at work.

This stuff is so vile, we don't even trade it on the exchange.

You know, I took a coffee appreciation course at The Learning Annex,

and it turned out it was just a bunch of barista "wannabes."

Yeah, those national chains have ruined

the American palate for coffee.

Can I ask you a question?

How do you make a good cup of joe?

Well, it starts with the right water-to-bean ratio.

You can't rush the process.

We sifted through the ashes and found something interesting

on the desk in Jenna's apartment.

Everything there was burned to a crisp.

What are you going to do? Read a piece of toast?

Even burnt toast still has bread underneath.

Put a charred piece of paper between two photographic plates,

keep them away from light, then develop the film.

And if you're lucky, you get a negative from which you can create

a photo duplicate of the original document.

A credit card receipt.

Complete with Jenna's signature.

This receipt's one of the few we found intact.

Most of the others are in fragments.

But maybe there's something you can use.

"By and between the parties Jenna Ann Ludlow

"and Pierson David Bartlett, Junior.

"Whereas the parties intend to be married

"and wish to enter this agreement..."

It's a pre-nup.

Makes sense.

P.J. was bringing home the coffee.

He wanted to protect his beans.

Or Daddy insisted on it.

I didn't insist that P.J. get a pre-nup.

I just suggested it.

I bet your suggestions sound an awful lot like orders.

I don't interfere with my son's personal life.

Orders are for business.

I think this was business.

Your son got Jenna Ludlow pregnant.

Now, was she pressuring him into marriage?

Getting married was my idea.

Okay. So, you have wine, you make love to soften her up,

and then you lay the pre-nup on her.

It didn't work.

She went ballistic. She said, "I'm going to be the mother of your child

"and you don't trust me?"

I guess ten grand a month just wasn't enough for Jenna anymore?

P.J. was wiring her money?

From one of your tax shelter accounts.

By the way, the IRS says that those are illegal.

We were just trying to put aside some cash.

Well, Jenna and her baby were going to cost you plenty.

You think that my son murdered

his fiancée just to save a few bucks?

I think you found out about the baby,

and Jenna was going to bleed P.J. for child support.

You didn't want her getting her hooks into half of your company.

So, you told P.J. to handle it.

No.

But you didn't think that he would kill her.

And when he told you what he did,

you hustled him onto the first plane out of the country.

Dad had nothing to do with it.

Going to Aruba was my idea.

Okay, look. I can help you out here.

But you've got to cowboy up and tell me everything.

After we fought about the pre-nup, Jenna threw me out.

I just wanted to get away.

We have a house in Aruba.

I asked Dad if I could take the jet, but it was in Rio.

So, he drove me to the airport and bought me a plane ticket.

And you didn't know what happened to Jenna?

I swear. When I left her apartment, she was still alive.

I wouldn't kill Jenna. I loved her.

Don't say another word, P.J.

Avery Hemmings. How dare you interrogate

my client without counsel present?

Your client didn't ask for counsel.

Are you okay? Yeah, yeah.

What did you tell them?

The truth. That I didn't do it.

You should have called me, P.J.

You defend P.J. often?

We've been friends since college.

Their friendship explains why she took his murder case.

Ms. Hemmings usually tries SEC violations in federal court.

Well, she's in over her head on this one.

Junior's DNA matches the semen

in Jenna and her fetus.

No, it doesn't.

P.J.'s DNA only matches the semen.

I jumped the gun.

Who's the baby's father?

Congratulations, P.J.

You were gonna be a big brother.

What?

If this is some kind of trick...

No. No trick. DNA proves it.

Big Pierson here is Jenna's baby daddy.

You screwed her? You slept with my fiancée, you son of a bitch?

I was drunk. She came on to me.

I never meant for it to...

Hey! Hey! Hey!

Take it easy! Come on! Back off!

Oh, God. Somebody call an ambulance!

After what you did today, I should file a complaint

with the ethics committee.

You're lucky your cheap stunt didn't kill my client.

We didn't throw P.J. through that window. His father did.

After your detectives baited them so they'd turn on each other.

I need to see P.J. I've got to apologize.

He doesn't want to talk to you.

Then convince him. Please.

I'll try.

Any more shenanigans, and I'll make sure you spend

the rest of your short career tied up in lawsuits.

My son and I have had our problems,

Ms. Novak, but he's not a killer.

I'm beginning to think he's right.

Are we looking at the wrong Bartlett?

Well, marrying P.J. would make Jenna very rich.

But a paternity suit against Pierson Senior's

like hitting the Mega Millions.

Look at them. He pushes his kid through a pane of glass,

and they're still thick as thieves.

There's no way we're going to split them up.

Then find something that ties Dad to Jenna's murder.

Soot is a natural fingerprint dust, under the right conditions.

Which are? Any smooth surface

that wasn't hosed down during the fire.

Bathroom's the only room that was spared.

Okay. Any luck? Not yet.

But I'd put our chances at slim to none.

Well, Pierson Bartlett was here the night Jenna died,

so you've got to give me something.

You may have to settle for more burnt toast.

Just another batch of photos from the burned papers on Jenna's desk.

So, some more receipts, phone bill, a catalog...

What is it?

You're sure this stuff came off the desk?

Yeah. Why?

We were wrong.

About what?

Why Jenna Ludlow was killed

and who did it.

So, you're dropping the charges against my client.

In your dreams. I'm charging you both

with conspiracy to commit murder.

Conspiracy? This is insane.

Your divide and conquer strategy blows up in your face,

so now they did it together?

You're gunning for disbarment.

Read them and weep.

Where did you get this?

It rose from the ashes of your fiancée's apartment.

What is it?

It's a printed e-mail about the Bartletts' top-secret plans

to buy a coffee plantation in El Salvador.

Apparently their coffee's such a find,

it's going to make them even richer.

You want to tell me how Jenna got this?

You let that tramp get her hands on this?

Well, she must have stolen it from my briefcase.

How could you be that stupid?

Shut up.

Both of you.

Not only was Jenna going to have your baby,

she was threatening to spill the beans on your big deal.

Mr. Bartlett, you're going to need your own attorney.

How long have you been in the coffee trading business, Mr. Bartlett?

Forty years. My great-grandfather started the company in 1896.

This was his cupping spoon.

I still use it to sample and grade coffee.

People's three, do you recognize it?

Yes. That's an e-mail about our plan

to purchase a coffee plantation.

What's so special about this e-mail?

Nothing. It's just a piece of routine business correspondence.

And yet, the D.A. thinks you killed Jenna Ludlow

in some sinister plot to silence her when she got hold of it.

Sounds like something out of a trashy beach novel.

Mr. Bartlett, did you have anything

to do with the murder of Jenna Ludlow?

No.

Thank you. Nothing further.

What kind of coffee grows on this plantation, Mr. Bartlett?

Well, it's a new Arabica hybrid.

Mild, low caffeine, class-one quality.

How much would you stand to make if it were successful?

Well, it depends on whether our beans were picked up

by one of the big chains.

Would it be fair to say in the many millions?

From your lips to God's ears.

So, if some competitor learned

about your special coffee beans

and bought the plantation out from under you,

it would be a financial disaster.

We'd lose our initial investment.

And the millions you stand to make.

Jenna Ludlow stole that e-mail

and threatened to sell your trade secrets

unless you paid her off, didn't she?

That's not true. Yeah, but $10,000 a month

in hush money wasn't enough.

Like all blackmailers, Jenna got greedy.

So, there was only one way to stop her.

Jenna wasn't blackmailing us.

That's not what that money was for.

What was it for, then?

It was for the baby.

When did you start negotiating

to buy that coffee plantation in El Salvador?

February.

February 10th, according to the e-mail.

And when did Jenna tell you she was pregnant?

Valentine's Day. That's why I proposed.

People's exhibit 10.

The autopsy report on Jenna Ludlow.

Could you please read the highlighted passage?

"Examination of victim's uterus reveals a fetus,

"estimated age, ten weeks."

She wasn't pregnant yet.

Jenna lied to you. She wasn't pregnant in February

when you started paying her off.

Jenna didn't get knocked up until late March. By your father.

P.J., I got more news for you. People's 18.

The report from the lab on the semen found inside Jenna's body.

"DNA testing confirms fluids are

"from Pierson Bartlett, Junior.

"Note that sperm are immotile."

P.J., did you know that you were shooting blanks?

Objection, Your Honor.

Overruled.

You're wrong.

I'm sorry, P.J. You've just got funky sperm.

Jenna was pretending she was pregnant

because you couldn't deliver the goods.

But then she figured, "Hey, why settle for you when I can bang Daddy

"and really rake it in?"

Your Honor, please. She's testifying...

Jenna loved me.

No. Jenna loved your family's money.

And she hit the trifecta. Marrying you, having Daddy's baby,

and learning the secret plans to buy the plantation.

I mean, you and Dad had no choice

but to solve the Jenna problem.

So, what did you do?

Did you plan it over a late-night latte?

I didn't kill Jenna.

So, you're saying that he did it?

Stay strong, Son.

Be quiet, Mr. Bartlett.

Did your father kill Jenna Ludlow?

No, he wouldn't do that.

I bet you didn't think he'd screw your fiancée, either.

Did he kill Jenna?

I don't know.

P.J., please.

Mr. Bartlett, I am not warning you again.

- I put you on that plane. - Mr. Bartlett.

I did everything I could to save you.

Mr. Bartlett, please!

Why are you doing this?

Counselor! Control your client!

Thank you.

There's nothing further, Your Honor.

I've seen CEOs who rape their employees' pension funds

get better treatment than this.

You're the one who screwed your client.

Did you even read the autopsy report?

Of course I read it.

Then maybe you should go back to defending white-collar criminals,

because a first-year law student wouldn't have missed the age

of Jenna's fetus.

The trial's not over yet.

Yes, it is.

Only question is how long the jury's out.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,

you've been deliberating for nine days.

Would further deliberation help you reach a unanimous verdict?

No, Your Honor. We've been hopelessly deadlocked from day one.

Then, I have no choice but to declare a mistrial.

Defendants are free on posted bail.

This court is adjourned.

We're re-filing immediately.

Why waste everyone's time?

The verdict's not going to change.

Hey, Dana. Wait up.

Hey, Case. Tough break.

You almost had them.

Yeah. Eleven-to-one to convict.

You have any idea what the hell happened in there?

Yeah. You had one crazy-ass jury.

Crazy how?

Day one, I bring them lunch,

everything's hunky-dory.

Second day, they're all screaming.

At each other?

No, at the holdout. Juror number four.

I felt sorry for her.

You took pity on the moron who screwed my case?

Not for that.

She's a single mom with a disabled kid.

Devon has cerebral palsy.

Must be tough.

We get by.

Why are you here?

I checked your bank account. You deposited $25,000

the day the jury started deliberating,

and another $25,000 this morning.

I got an interest-only mortgage.

And I was doing fine until the rates went up.

We lose this place, we got nowhere to go.

And Devon can't live in a homeless shelter.

He's going to go to foster care

while you do four-and-a-half years in prison

for selling your "not guilty" vote.

I know it was wrong.

But I was trapped.

They were going to foreclose on us next month. Please.

Ms. Novak.

You tell me what happened, and I'll cut you a deal.

You won't spend a day in jail.

The night we got the case, a man called.

He said he knew all about my money problems and that he could help.

Did he tell you his name?

Roger Fromm. He's a private investigator.

Get away from the shredder.

Who are you? Police.

Where's Roger Fromm?

He retired.

When?

About three hours ago.

Said he'd just come into some money.

Told me to shred all his records

and gave me a lousy thousand bucks.

Where did he retire to?

The Dominican Republic.

This is a cross-cutter.

Everything in there is gone for good.

Here's the deal.

You're going to prison unless you tell us

who your boss was working for.

Do you think that cheap bastard

told me anything about his business?

I just answered the phones.

He never brought any clients into this dump.

I know who paid him.

Pierson Bartlett.

I didn't bribe anyone.

No. That $50,000 payment to juror number four was charity.

Your errand boy took care of the bribery part.

Roger Fromm?

Your former Vice President of Security.

I fired him four years ago.

He couldn't keep his mouth off the business end of a bottle.

So, now he's your personal bagman.

Is Mr. Fromm prepared to testify against my client?

We have a sworn statement from the juror he bribed.

But you don't have Fromm.

Come on, Pierson.

We're not done here. Yes, we are.

Hey. I'll take that steak dinner now.

Ouch. What was the bet?

Roger Fromm erased his computer memory.

He deleted the files, but he forgot to scrub the hard drive.

That's not Jenna.

Yeah, but that's P.J.

How many more of these have you got?

Hundreds. With dozens of different girls.

Bartlett had his old crony tailing P.J.

full-time for years.

So, why is Dad stalking his son?

Well, why don't you ask P.J.?

His lawyer's never going to let us question him.

But you're not interviewing him as a perp.

This stalking makes him a special victim.

So, my father had me under surveillance.

Any idea why he'd do that?

Sure. He's a control freak,

and he has to be the boss of everyone and everything.

Your father strikes me as somebody

who's used to getting what he wants.

Yeah, well, he did from me. I wanted to be a painter,

but he made me go into the coffee business,

and he made Jenna get into his bed.

You sure that wasn't her idea?

Well, he's done it before.

Slept with one of your girlfriends?

Yeah. Yeah. Right after my mom died.

I lost my mother and my girlfriend in the same month.

You see, everything with him is a competition.

If I make a big trade, he's got to make a bigger one.

If my girl's 25, he has to show up with one who's barely legal.

Well, you won this round.

Jenna was marrying you, not your father.

Yeah, well, he couldn't let that happen.

My father and I were not in a conspiracy to murder Jenna.

He killed her because he was jealous.

And it was your dad, so he wasn't gonna let you

go to prison for something he did.

He hired Roger Fromm to bribe that juror.

He bribed that juror to save his own ass, not mine,

and I hope he rots in hell.

When are you guys going to arrest him?

As soon as we can tie him to Fromm.

Now, your father paid for these pictures,

which means that he has to have a set.

Do you have any idea where he would keep them?

You're going to burn down my house.

Like you burned down Jenna's.

That would be justice.

You have no right to do this.

No, the search warrant says we do.

There's nothing in there.

Do you think that we're here by accident?

P.J. gave you up because he knows what you did.

Last chance. Give me the combination or I'm going in.

The hell you are.

I have an injunction invalidating your warrant.

On what grounds?

You violated P.J.'s right to counsel.

We weren't questioning him as a suspect.

Nice try. But Judge Taten saw right through your little charade.

Avery Hemmings doesn't know what she's talking about.

You didn't violate P.J.'s rights.

So, get the judge to reverse the injunction and restore the warrant.

What's the point? You know Bartlett's already disappeared

with the photos from that safe.

It doesn't matter. We already have him

for Jenna's murder on his son's say-so.

How did Bartlett get here before we did?

You miss the chopper in his backyard?

- Congratulations. - For what?

Whatever you said to Big Daddy,

he's rolling over on his son like road kill.

He fingered P.J. for Jenna's murder?

Just waiting on you to seal the deal, Counselor.

What did Bartlett say to you?

That he can't protect his son anymore,

and that P.J. has a violent streak in him.

P.J. did throw the first punch

the day his dad put him through the door.

Bartlett also said P.J. told him

he had to get out of the country

the night that Jenna died.

That's why he sent him to Aruba.

What a mess. First, we can't get either one of them to talk,

now they're flipping on each other.

I'm never going to get a conviction.

And so what? If Jenna were alive,

we'd be collaring her for blackmail.

She's no innocent victim here.

She was a hustler.

Hustlers deserve justice, too.

This discount suit cost 250 bucks.

How many times are you going to watch that thing?

Until I figure out how this little scam artist

had such a hold on two powerful guys like the Bartletts.

Well, she was going to bleed them for millions.

Well, yeah, okay, so call the cops,

hire a lawyer, but don't risk everything by whacking her.

Dress to kill.

Wait a minute.

What is it?

You got the evidence inventories?

Yeah. Right here.

Come here.

You see something?

Well, I'll blow it up for you.

Look. That lamp there was the murder weapon.

That means Jenna made this video in her bedroom.

So then why didn't we find any trace of a camera or videotape?

Bathroom's clear. Okay. How about the bedroom?

I opened the pillows, the mattress, everything in there.

There's nothing.

For someone who slept with coffee traders,

you'd think Jenna would have brewed better beans.

What have we got brewing here?

SD card. I can play it on my laptop.

That bedroom cam sure came in handy.

Jenna's got some big insurance policies.

The baby, and now home movies.

Maybe she sent a copy of this to Bartlett

and that's why he didn't want us in his safe.

She puts this on the Internet, it's a huge scandal.

Exchange takes away Bartlett's seat.

It's bye-bye to his 100-year-old coffee trading empire.

He tried to buy her off,

she decides that's not enough, he whacks her.

You guys. In the bedroom.

The camera was hidden here, inside the wall.

How did it shoot through plaster?

Didn't have to. It's got a remote lens.

She probably hid it in the crown molding on this wall facing the bed.

Lens burned up, but the camera body's in perfect shape,

and there's an SD card still inside.

We didn't come here to watch TV.

You should stick around, Counselor.

You've never seen a performance like this one.

Jenna had a secret booty-cam.

You two have starring roles.

She made videos of us having sex with her?

Including the last night you were together.

She threatened to sell them to the tabloids if we didn't keep paying her.

Dad, why didn't you tell me?

I was trying to protect you.

Wait. You're not going to make us watch it, are you?

Just the encore.

P.J. had already come and gone.

The killer showed up after he'd already left.

Turn it off.

Why? It will prove we're innocent.

I said turn it off!

We can fast-forward it. Yeah.

I'm not going to sit here and listen to this.

I know exactly what you're doing.

What are you still doing here?

He doesn't love you!

I'm not going to ask you again.

Get out! You're a money-grubbing whore!

You don't know anything about me! Get out!

No, I'm not going anywhere.

Who do you think you are?

Look. We're engaged. What?

See this ring? Get out!

He loves me! He does!

I said get out!

Avery killed Jenna?

Why?

You're not just going to let her get away, are you?

Front door's the only way out of here.

I've already alerted security.

They're not going to let her leave.

Emergency stairs to the roof.

Avery.

Don't come any closer! I swear I'll go over.

Avery, what did you do?

I begged Jenna to let you go.

You want to know what she said?

"He's mine. Every last penny."

She was no good for you, P.J.

None of them were.

So, you had a PI follow me? Why?

To protect you. All of those whores, they just loved your money.

I loved you, P.J. Ever since college.

I always have.

You almost got me sent to prison.

And my father.

That's why I bribed the juror.

I never would have let you get convicted.

I would never do anything to hurt you.

I said get back!

Avery.

Be careful.

Avery.

We can work this out, okay?

Why don't you just come with me, all right?

It's too late.

No, it's not.

Please. For me, okay? Okay.

Get away from my son! No!

Bartlett, get back.

She almost destroyed us.

Me? This is all your fault.

If you hadn't knocked up Jenna,

none of this would have happened.

Back away from her, she's nuts.

Shut up, Dad!

Haven't you done enough damage?

I love you, P.J.

That's right.

I love P.J., and I'm never going to let you hurt him again.

P.J.!

No!

No... Please, no.