Original subtitles

The story you are about to see

was inspired by actual events.

The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

*

It was Monday, it was overcast in Los Angeles.

My partner and I were working the day shift

out of Robbery-Homicide.

The call came at 12:41.

Hikers found a girl's body by the old L.A. zoo.

The zoo was abandoned way back in the '50s.

That was L.A., the city that refused to grow old.

You tore things down and replaced them

before anyone noticed.

I used to come here as kid.

The site was overgrown now.

Silent.

The buzz of flies, the familiar sound of death.

My name's Friday.

I'm a cop.

Body was partially covered by brush.

Birdwatchers found her by the smell.

- Damn. - How old?

My guess, 15 to 18.

At first, I thought the throat was cut with a knife,

but there's ligature marks along the hyoid.

Garrotted.

My guess, wire was sawed back and forth

in attempt to decapitate her.

Rape?

Inconclusive.

With the decomp, insect activity,

I'd estimate her TOD sometime late Friday night.

Clothes, purse, bookbag?

Anything that might ID her?

Not that we found.

- What is this? - Some sort of herbs.

So what, he kills her and then sprinkles herbs on the wound?

And all over her body.

Look inside her mouth.

That's a peyote button, Joe.

She's clean.

With this wound, she should've been

soaked in blood.

Melted wax.

Someone was lighting candles.

Frank.

There's vomit here.

I want this bagged and checked,

maybe get some DNA.

That bothers me.

Oh, this?

It's a kid thing.

Way to mark your territory.

You never tossed your tennies up on a tree, Joe?

Would you mind getting those down?

Shoes in a tree.

My partner said kids everywhere did it.

My question:

Did it have anything to do with this girl's murder?

*

We ran her through Missing Persons.

One hit, 16-year-old Laurel Witkowski.

The family lived in Hancock Park,

an old neighborhood in L.A. built for the very rich.

Safe, protected.

The girl had been reported missing this morning.

Why?

She'd been dead for two days.

Didn't her parents wonder where she'd been?

When the door opens, the first thing you see is hope.

"Will my child be there?"

*

When the parents saw our faces

it all started to crumble.

My wife's from Chicago.

She and Laurel only moved to L.A. this summer.

You're Laurel's stepfather.

We were married seven months ago.

Just after I got transferred to L.A.

What about the biological father?

We've been divorced for five years.

He wasn't involved in her life.

You, uh, reported Laurel missing since Friday.

That's when we last saw her.

Around seven Friday night.

We were leaving for a weekend retreat.

But we wanted her to come with us.

We returned late Sunday night and she wasn't here.

But you waited until, uh,

this morning to call Missing Persons.

Well we thought maybe she was at a friend's house.

It wasn't until she didn't show at school that we got worried.

I know that sounds bad but--

Laurel was very independent.

We wanted to know her friends,

where she went, what she did.

Teenagers have their own worlds.

What about boyfriends?

Oh, I don't think so.

In Chicago, there was a boy she liked,

but here--

How about trouble in school?

We never heard of any.

Laurel was not a happy kid.

You don't know that.

She didn't confide in you.

Or me.

She was smart.

She was too smart for her own good.

That doesn't mean she was unhappy.

We're gonna have to check Laurel's personal effects,

her writings, phone records.

She was the sweetest little girl.

She used to laugh all the time.

*

What do we leave behind when we die?

Memories for those who knew us,

and possessions that usually don't mean much to anyone else.

We hoped what Laurel's parents provided

would give us a clue to what they didn't know themselves:

who Laurel was, and maybe why she died.

Dressage Junior Championship.

What the hell is dressage?

Dressage.

Horses prancing, doing fancy steps.

Driving school lessons,

first grade report card, Cook County Spelling Bee.

Phonebook.

All of her friends.

This looks like a diary, but it looks like it's in code.

Me and my sisters wrote in code to keep our parents

from finding out what we were up to.

Call every name in that phonebook.

Maybe we can find somebody who can decipher this.

Strange stuff.

Well, that's Goth.

- Goth? - Yeah.

You know, like Gothic.

Kids are into these days.

It's witches, druids, stuff like that.

Look how she changed.

That's before and after.

Like Christmas and Halloween.

I don't know how I'd feel if a kid of mine changed like this.

I'd be scared something bad was gonna happen.

Yeah.

Something did.

Shoe casts from 14 different pairs of footprints

found within a ten meter radius of the body.

They're all labeled with size and some makes.

Skateboard shoes, sandals,

gotta be teenagers.

Goes right along with the junk food wrappers.

Tobacco, marijuana, beedies, cloves.

Candles were pure paraffin.

Mr. Zog's Sex Wax.

Seems someone got creative and stuck a wick in them.

What about the blood?

The ground underneath her body was soaked.

All matches the victim.

From the tree.

We haven't started on these yet.

They were all tied with cotton laces, except for these.

Blood.

A garrote needs handles

or the wire slices through the hands.

Check for prints, get a DNA match on the victim.

You think they were hers?

I don't know whose shoes they were but I'll tell you this,

I think they killed her.

*

*

*

Laurel Witkowski attended a private high school

called Oakcroft Academy.

No graffiti, no boom-boxes.

For 20 grand a year, her parents hoped to buy

peace of mind, security.

But it didn't work for Laurel.

This is Reverend Hugh Hightower,

co-headmaster and school chaplain,

and Matt Margolis, head of security for Oakcroft.

- Matt, long time. - It's good to see you, Joe.

I wish it were under different circumstances.

- My partner, Frank Smith. - Hello, Frank.

Uh, Joe and I worked together in Metro.

Gentlemen, please have a seat.

In our 72 years, not a single student has been murdered.

Suicide, yes.

We had a kidnapping, but never, never this.

The students are devastated.

I'm sure.

Laurel's other classmates.

We'd like to speak to anyone that was close to her.

With a parent's permission.

Well, that would take time, Reverend,

and time is something we don't have.

We can't allow it without parental consent.

How about Laurel's teachers?

If a teacher said anything about a student that resulted in--

I don't know, some problem for the parents?

Gotta admit, there's a potential for a lawsuit there.

Lawsuits.

Parental consent.

What were they talking about?

A young girl was murdered and this was all they would do?

Until we come back with a court order.

Is that a threat?

The school's attorney would challenge that.

We'll just assume for now that our feelings

about Laurel's murder are stronger than yours.

Thanks for your time.

Wire cut deep, through the trachea.

Killer was strong.

Any sign of struggle?

Abrasions on the hands and arms.

Had a .2 level of alcohol in her system.

So she could've been unconscious or knocked out

while the attack occurred.

Found a partial boot imprint on the upper mid-back.

So, he killed her when she was face down.

And he wraps the garrote around her neck

and uses his boot as leverage.

Then turns her back over.

Now, if there was rape or sexual activity,

the assailant was careful.

There's no trace of semen.

That's unusual in a case like this.

Now, on the peyote button,

there's relatively little saliva residue.

Most likely placed post-mortem.

So, how long after he killed her?

My estimate?

Three, four hours prior to rigor.

That's a big button.

I'd like to see the cacti that was cut from.

It must have been massive.

Maybe purchased legally from a licensed dealer.

Licensed peyote dealers?

Native American church members can buy peyote legally.

Friday.

Thanks.

They've checked Laurel's phone records.

The right Reverend Hightower may not be as right

or as reverend as he would like to appear.

I didn't exactly lie.

Laurel called you the night she was killed.

What would you call that exactly?

An oversight?

An omission?

She's been brutally murdered.

If anyone knew she was here, I'd be branded a pedophile.

So, she was here.

Why?

She just appeared at my door upset.

A child in need is a child in need.

We can see you needing her.

We talked, that's all.

What about?

She said she hated her parents.

Said her mother was selfish.

Married a man she hated.

Intimated her stepfather was cruel,

both mentally and physically.

So, after you talked?

She stayed here.

She said she was scared to go back home.

She pleaded.

My room's in the back.

Laurel slept down the hall in the guest room.

In the morning, she was gone.

So was my silver and turquoise cross.

Are you willing to take a polygraph?

*

I can understand him talking to Laurel,

even offering her a place to stay,

but what I don't understand is why she went to him.

He's not someone you would confide in?

Sixteen-year-olds don't confide.

Well, maybe she went there to steal his fancy turquoise cross.

Fits with the satanic angle,

Goth stuff.

We got a break.

Metro cops picked up a kid for tagging.

He spray-painted on a billboard, big red letters,

"Laurel Witkowski died because of you."

You sprayed "Laurel Witkowksi died because of you"

on a billboard across from the main entrance at Oakcroft.

Who's the "you"?

Society.

Be more specific.

Human society.

All right, let's cut to the chase, Randy.

Did you kill Laurel?

Does it matter?

I'm just gonna get blamed for it anyways.

We don't act on blame, that's not satisfying.

We want to arrest the real thing.

So, who did kill Laurel?

Let me tell you guys a little story, okay?

A few nights ago I go to this club

and there's this dwarf there

and he's got this big badass belt buckle

that says "Dwarf" on it, and I think, "that is so cool."

So I say to the guy, "That is so cool.

You've got 'Dwarf' on your belt buckle,"

and you know what he says to me?

"It says Dwayne."

You get it?

Dwayne, not dwarf.

I just assumed it said "Dwarf" because of how he looked.

What, no comment on my parable

about society's preconceived notions?

This way.

Oh my God, it's Chester the Molester.

Hey, Hughey!

What do they got you in for?

Fondling little boys or killing Laurel?

Okay, Randy.

Let's stop wasting each other's time.

Any information you have to help us solve Laurel's murder?

Like your whereabouts Friday night.

Oh, you're not gonna make me call

Mommy and Daddy's attorney, are you?

'Cause I hate them almost as much as I hate cops.

You come up with something, call us.

God bless.

Put him on the list.

We were calling the names in Laurel Witkowksi's phonebook.

All we heard was no.

Parents didn't want their kids talking,

not to cops investigating a murder.

I understood.

That didn't mean I wasn't angry.

We had a job to do.

They were in our way.

I got one.

Yeah, that would be great.

Okay, we'll wait here.

A classmate of Laurel's, Mallory Tasker.

Her mom's bringing her in.

Laurel taught me how to make a code.

She was wicked smart.

No one without the template could decipher it.

Laurel used to be at our house all the time.

It's because she hated being at her own house.

Why is that, Mallory?

She hated her stepfather.

He was a total jerk-off.

Laurel was into some guy.

See?

That's a symbol for a hot guy,

but there's no name.

What does it say about him?

"I can get him to notice me.

I'll steal Reverend Hightower's cross."

You have no idea who Laurel was trying to impress?

After she went Goth, she stopped talking to me.

I heard a rumor.

Some guys went to the old zoo

to drop peyote,

and they saw Laurel dead.

Who are they?

I don't know.

I--

*

I always thought,

you know, we'd make up.

*

We'd be friends like we, we were.

*

I can't believe she's gone.

*

Did those guys kill her?

Is that who killed her up there?

*

No discrepancies in Reverend Hightower's polygraph.

But keep checking, just in case.

You look at our Goth, Randy Southbrook?

He turned 18 last month.

Juvenile records are sealed.

People at Oakcroft wouldn't even divulge his GPA,

but he's got his own website.

We're searching it now.

Allegations of abuse against Laurel's stepdad,

John Feldkirk.

No priors, no record,

not even any parking tickets gone to warrant.

All right, check and see if there's an ex-wife.

Check the murder weapon, the garrote, any matching M.O.s.

Here's a crime with a similar M.O.

Last year, a woman in Olympia, Washington,

was found decapitated, maybe with a wire.

No prints, no DNA, suspect still at large.

Talk to the detectives in charge.

Get the autopsy report.

Check any ritualistic aspects of the crime that might match ours.

You got it.

Anything else, guys?

Open forum, let's go.

Only 65 members of the Native American church in L.A.

and one honorary member has a son attending Oakcroft Academy.

Also, there's a woman who reported an assault last night.

Stretch of road by the crime scene.

We asked her to come in.

Frank, take the woman. I'll follow the peyote.

Let's go, let's go!

This guy pulls up,

offers to take me to the nearest gas station.

Now normally, I would never get in a car with a strange man,

but this guy seemed okay.

- Stupid, but understandable. - I was desperate.

So, we start driving and he says he wants to hold my shoes,

and of course, I say no, and he freaks out.

Starts attacking me, and I start whacking him with my purse.

I got him backed off and got the hell out of his car.

The jerk did get one of my shoes though.

Uh, Caucasian man?

Mhm.

Late 50s, balding?

Mhm.

And the car, white four-door?

Oh, yeah.

Maybe Japanese, I don't know.

Uh, one thing, there was a pedal on the passenger side,

'cause I cut my foot getting out.

Like a driving instructor's vehicle?

Uh, I wouldn't know.

My dad taught me to drive in his pick-up.

Um, some of my stuff fell out when I was hitting him.

I'm missing a lipstick and a bunch of business cards,

and I work at home.

Well, you may wanna change your phone number.

Uh, I'll have a patrol car run checks.

Keep an eye out.

Thanks.

Peyote at the crime scene,

and a man who could legally possess it,

Dr. Rupert Miles.

His son Wes was a student

in Laurel Witkowksi's class at Oakcroft.

I heard, it's terrible.

Did you know her?

I had seen her around school, picking up Wes, that's my son.

I'd never spoken with her.

I don't think I could be much help.

Are you Native American?

No.

I'm an honorary member of the Native American church.

I'm doing research into addiction and, uh,

potentially curative effects of peyote

on a serotonin reuptake inhibitors.

Do you have peyote buttons?

I have a legal right to possess them.

Where's this going?

Well, for starters, where do you keep them?

They're locked in a safe.

Combination safe?

What's the number-- a birthday, anniversary?

I'd like to speak to your son.

Wes had nothing to do with this.

You have to understand how traumatic this crime

has been for these children.

He knew his son was lying.

That's why I'd never get to him.

I couldn't allow him to be subjected to questions

without seeking advice from an attorney.

Scary, isn't it?

*

I called in a favor from my days working Metro.

Matt Margolis was never much of a cop.

I wondered how good he was

at providing private security at Oakcroft.

I needed information,

and if there was one thing Matt loved,

it was the sound of his own voice.

All in all, I would say

private security is a good gig, it's good money.

I'm gonna need help with the doctor's son, the peyote.

Oh, you scared the hell out of Dr. Miles, you know.

He called, he's getting his kid out of town.

Well, somehow that kid's involved.

Well, it's too late, he's gone.

By the way,

I need a number too.

Have you thought about early retirement?

I'm gonna ignore that.

Why?

You're blocking access to witnesses, Matt.

Were you offering me a bribe?

- No, I didn't mean it that way. - Well, that's how I took it.

Well, I'm sorry, you misunderstood.

Well, then let me make something very clear.

You help us and help us now,

or you could be facing obstruction charges.

You don't get a free ride for being an ex-cop, pal.

Now, that Goth kid, Randy Southbrook.

Is he involved?

I don't know.

Kids went up there where Laurel died.

Now besides the doctor's kid,

who else would know about the peyote?

Wes Miles' best friend is a surfer kid, Jerry Richter.

Now, I'm not saying he was there, but he might know.

One advantage of having a younger partner

is his fluency is several L.A. regional dialects.

Skate rat, snowboarder, and surfer.

Like the ones you're wearing.

What size are you?

Ten, ten and a half?

Eleven.

You wanna try on a pair?

- What's the damage? - 84 bucks.

You're Jerry, right?

Yeah.

You're cops.

Wes Miles, you two are friends, right?

Yeah, me and Wes are buds.

The peyote.

Whoa.

I don't have to talk to you, right?

Wes ever go to the old zoo, Jerry?

I mean, legally I got no obligation.

How about you?

Been to the zoo lately?

Why are you harshin' on me?

I didn't do anything.

Because footprints near the body,

same size and make as the ones you're wearing now.

Candles surrounding the corpse,

made with Mr. Zog's.

*

- Hey! - Get him, Frank!

I'll catch up!

*

Stop!

You're really pissing me off!

You all right, Jerry?

You're not the brightest bulb on the porch, are ya kid?

Come on, let's go.

How ya doing, Frank?

I'm okay.

You look like hell.

*

Watch your head.

*

While some parents try to protect their kids

by keeping them away from us,

others are refreshingly straightforward.

My son and I had a little talk.

He's here to tell you exactly what happened.

Ain't that right, Jerry?

Thanks, Mr. Richter.

So, we dropped the 'yotes.

You guys ever taken peyote?

Kicks your ass.

This isn't the first time?

Wes's dad drops them in the name of science.

Go on.

And we wait for the old heave-ho to kick in.

Before you trip, peyote makes you barf.

I head for the bush, and as I'm blowing chunks,

I see Laurel,

and I totally freak out,

'cause her throat, it's like disgusting,

and her head's like half off,

and there's blood everywhere.

And everybody comes up, and we're like,

"This is bad, this is really bad."

And she looked so sad, you know?

Tragic, and we wanted to help.

We took the herbs from Wes's dad's medicine bag

and sprinkled 'em on her neck.

I swear, we were trying to help her.

*

Dad?

You gotta believe me.

I can't sleep.

Her head keeps popping in the back of my eyelids.

*

It's all right, son, you told the truth.

*

- These look related. - How many are there?

Only three right now, but we got a lot of calls out.

And we've been missing this the whole time?

We have one in Klamath Falls, Oregon.

Two in the state of Washington, Olympia and Spokane.

All killed with a garrote?

All three.

Mae Ling Chow, 16, Olympia, Washington.

Nearly decapitated.

Joanne Hanson, age 15 in Spokane.

Susan Bellinger, 18, Klamath Falls.

All in the Northwest.

And all in their teens.

Did they find garrotes near the crime scene?

Like wires with shoes maybe?

The scenes aren't fresh,

they're going back to look now.

Peyote, herbs, candles?

Maybe the Oakcroft kids were at the old zoo

just tripping on peyote, not killing Laurel Witkowski.

One thing's missing.

What ties our case to the ones in Oregon and Washington?

Northeast Division called.

A 911 call from the Reverend Hugh Hightower.

*

Do you see what he did to my house?

That son of a--

You think Randy Southbrook did this?

He's the one who spray painted that billboard, isn't he?

Did you see him?

I was watching TV when I heard some commotion.

He must've taken off when he heard me coming.

Did you talk to the neighbors?

Up and down the block, nobody saw anything.

Call SID, I want the works on this.

I'm terrified.

That boy killed Laurel Witkowksi,

now he's out to get me.

It's a possibility.

I'm an educated man, Detective.

I'm no reactionary,

but you better arrest him before he kills again.

Randy Southbrook is evil.

*

Reverend Hightower couldn't resist

spewing hellfire and brimstone.

Why?

Was it about his missing turquoise cross?

Anger that Laurel Witkowski

stole it for the boy she was in love with?

Because I had a feeling that boy was Randy Southbrook.

Nice house.

Where are your parents?

They're in Gstaad, which is in Switzerland.

And see, I'm a latchkey kid, officer.

It's the root of my neuroses.

Did you know that Laurel Witkowksi was in love with you?

Well, can you blame her?

Laurel went to Hightower's house the night of her murder.

Well, she didn't go over there to get laid.

Hightower likes little boys.

He had a blue cross.

She wanted to steal it and give it to you.

You like music?

*

Yes!

Yeah, my dad does that.

I bet you two would have a lot in common.

Friday night.

Did you send Laurel to Hightower's house?

Oh my God, did something happen?

Someone put a boar's head on Hightower's lawn.

No.

That is superb.

You think I did it?

All right, Randy.

Game time's over.

You either had something to do with Laurel's murder

or you didn't.

Either way, I've had it with you.

Now, you're 18 years old.

You're gonna agree to take a polygraph.

You're gonna give us fingerprints and DNA.

And what if I say no, what are you gonna do?

You're gonna beat me up?

You're gonna stick bamboo shoots under my fingernails?

Where'd you get the boar's head

you threw in front of Hightower's?

I know people.

You know where to get a boar's head?

Obviously.

You know the difference between

a boar's head and a sheep's head?

'Cause it was a sheep's head

that was in front of Hightower's.

Smart kid like you wouldn't make that kind of mistake.

You didn't do it.

Why do you want to get credit for bad things you don't do?

What's Hightower got against you anyway?

I don't know, he was up for this big grant a while back

and it's possible that I negatively impacted

his chances when I walked up to the visiting committee

and told them that he was my favorite teacher

and for some reason,

they held my endorsement against him.

I noticed your reaction when I told you

Laurel stole that cross from Hightower for you.

You liked her.

But you're getting off on being accused of her murder.

I am not.

Makes you feel superior.

Wearing that Halloween mask, people judge you how you look.

- You do. - Do I?

You'd be the only cop in history that didn't.

Nothing cuts through that shield of grease paint, huh?

Even the death of your friend.

I want you to get out of here, don't come back.

Great.

Joe.

Nancy Pringle, the girl that was attacked

by the Laurel Witkowski crime scene,

she thinks she's being stalked so I told her to come in.

I changed my phone number and I spot your patrol car sometimes

but I keep seeing this white car go by at night.

How often?

Three or four times.

And you think that it was the same make and model

as the car you were attacked in?

I think so.

But I can't be sure.

I mean, it's not like I can lean in

and check to see if there's dual brake pedals.

Right, the driver instructor's car.

I tried to see his face but it's always at night.

White, Caucasian, balding?

I think so.

Did you tell the patrolmen?

They're only there a couple of times,

and they say they've never seen the white car.

I'll notify our watch commander.

See if we can get some extra patrols to swing by.

Thank you.

It's possible I'm just being paranoid.

Nancy, you were attacked, okay?

It's not an easy thing to get over.

Not when you're as neurotic as I am.

Everybody in L.A. is neurotic.

I guess that makes me feel better.

She saw a passenger-side brake pedal like an instructor's car.

At first, we didn't know what to make of it.

The Spokane victim.

Fifteen years old, she took driving lessons six months ago.

I haven't found out yet if it was dual pedals.

Klamath Falls, she was 18, just got her license.

They're looking to see if she took lessons.

Find it?

I didn't even remember it and I had it in my hand.

It was in the box of her stuff.

Laurel Witkowski was taking lessons

at the Addison School of Driving.

We wanted a link to the other cases.

That's a pretty good one.

Frank Smith, LAPD.

You work here at the driving school?

Cliff Hartley.

I'm the manager as well as a certified driving instructor.

You have a contract with Oakcroft Academy, right?

Yeah, we teach spoiled rich kids

how to crash their brand new Mercedes.

You know who gave an Oakcroft girl Laurel Witkowski lessons?

That'd be me.

I read in the paper about her murder.

Awful.

- You liked her? - Not exactly.

She was a snot-ass just like the rest of them.

Doesn't mean she deserved to die though.

So, where were you Friday night, Cliff?

Oh, you mean the night Laurel was killed?

- Yeah. - I was in Vegas.

A bunch of us flew up together for a bachelor party.

I didn't get back 'til Sunday.

I'll need the names and numbers of those you were with.

Is this the car you gave her the lesson in?

Yup.

How'd that blood get on the pedal?

What blood?

I don't see any blood.

How would blood get into my car?

I don't know, you tell me.

Well, how should I know?

Oh, that was like a trick, huh?

Yeah, I'll still need to impound her though.

Thanks.

Your driving instructor's bachelor party.

His three pals confirmed, Cliff was in Vegas all weekend.

Yeah, I checked with Vegas PD.

They went to the hotel, he was registered.

The lab guys are working all the cars at the driving school.

Lots of prints, no matches.

They haven't found blood on a pedal yet.

Something's wrong here.

Cliff Hartley gave her a lesson but his alibi holds.

Get a list of the other instructors.

See if anyone else gave Laurel Witkowski a lesson.

And get the whereabouts

of them all the night that she was killed.

Frank Smith.

Joe, don't tell me that.

*

Be right down.

Yeah.

*

What?

Nancy Pringle.

*

*

*

*

No, I don't want to hear it anymore.

You were supposed to be watching her.

Frank, I'm sorry.

We were doing six patrol checks a shift.

We couldn't sit out here all night.

Tell it to her.

Let it go.

The woman came to us for help, Joe.

She said that she was scared he might come back.

L.A. city's got what, four million people?

Under 9,000 cops, what are you gonna do?

Joe.

These what you're looking for?

Get 'em to the lab now.

Joe, Frank.

This is Ben Jameston.

He saw something that you need to hear.

What is it?

I was out running like I always am at this time,

and I noticed the same car circling the block.

Can you describe the car?

Yeah, it was a white four-door.

I didn't get the make.

You see the driver?

In profile.

He was an older guy, bald kind of.

He looked like a professor.

Sounds like the guy Nancy described.

Can you remember anything else?

When the car went under a streetlight,

I saw a bumper sticker on the back.

Rectangular, student driver.

*

So, Cliff.

One of your cars was out last night.

Commonwealth and Finley.

Nuh-uh.

Cars are either locked up on the lot or in for servicing.

So, who does the servicing?

We have a deal with a guy named Jeff Murphy.

This guy Jeff, he ever give a lesson?

No, you have to have a driving instructor's license

to teach driving.

He just does service.

So he never drove your car?

No.

*

Can you count to ten, Cliff?

'Cause that's what you'll get for accessory to murder.

Jeff drove your car.

Well, if you mean, because one time I got sick,

yeah, it did happen.

You let Murphy give a lesson to Laurel Witkowski.

I--like I said, once.

And your little omission might have cost a woman her life.

Seriously?

Hey, my bad, totally--

Where is Jeff?

Now.

Jeffrey Jackson Murphy.

Born Galveston, Texas, August 21, 1951.

Father's deceased, mother hasn't seen him in over a decade.

No siblings, as far as we can tell, no friends.

Now, there's a profile.

Aggravated assault, Lincoln, Nebraska, '98.

Did nine months, a year probation, nothing since.

Prints?

SID found a partial at the Nancy Pringle crime scene.

Three point match, not perfect,

but could possibly be Jeff Murphy.

or I'll personally drive over to your payroll office

and become very unpleasant.

*

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Jeff Murphy's last paycheck went to 4722 Gower.

Call for backup, tell them we're on our way.

*

*

*

Damn it!

All right, this is what we know.

Guy likes kids, likes to drive them around.

- Likes shoes. - Fixes cars for a living.

Judging from where he was staying,

has to keep working to keep eating.

Talk to family, friends,

anyone who's had any contact with this maniac.

Should talk to driving schools.

See if they have any new mechanics in.

Driving schools.

There were hundreds of them.

Dual brake pedals.

The only other thing we knew was that Jeff Murphy was a mechanic.

That was all we had to find him.

That, 25 telephones, and detectives with persistence.

I could feel Murphy's presence.

He was close.

Out there somewhere, just inches under our radar.

We had to find him before he found another victim.

Marked by a pair of shoes, tied with wire.

California School of Driving.

Out in Pomona.

Manager's been looking for a new mechanic for weeks.

Guy came in this morning, answered their prayers,

and ours.

Certified dual-brake specialist.

Named Jeff Murphy.

Yes!

*

*

- Jeff Murphy? - Yup?

- Come on up out of there. - Sure thing!

What can I do for you folks?

Get up.

Get up!

Put your hands behind your back.

You're under arrest for the murder of Laurel Witkowski,

and Nancy Pringle.

*

How did he get away with it?

Wouldn't any woman, even a child,

look into those eyes and see danger?

But they didn't.

A drifter moving from place to place,

leaving little of himself behind,

except his victims.

Cold cases all over the country are becoming hot.

Phoenix, St. Louis, Montgomery.

Bangor, Maine, Atlanta, Orlando.

The man got around.

Murphy doesn't want a lawyer.

Get his statement.

We'll deal with the cold cases.

I enjoyed driving little Laurel around despite

her unbecoming black makeup and disappointing tennis shoes.

She was the one that told me about the old zoo.

How it was a party place for kids.

I like kids.

Yeah, I can tell.

Friday night, little Laurel comes along,

and I think she was drunk

'cause she kinda passed out there in the grass.

Girls her age shouldn't be drinking.

No, they shouldn't.

Yeah.

I just felt her a little and she started to scream,

and I told her not to.

*

They never listen.

*

Then what?

That's when I got out the wire.

Grabbed her shoes.

I like ladies' shoes.

That's how come I gave that girl Nancy a lift.

She had these nice, buttery soft leathery shoes.

Sometimes they have rings.

Jewelry.

A cross, maybe.

Something that's worth a few bucks.

*

So, I got Laurel turned over,

got my boot in her back,

got the wire on her,

and she got all quiet and nice,

and I could be with her as much as I wanted

without having to hear all that screaming.

*

You wanna solve your case, scour the crime scene vicinity.

Shoes might still be there.

Look up in the trees, the telephone poles.

If you find shoes tied together with wire,

you've got your murder weapon.

All right, keep me posted.

He was in the lobby.

Said he wouldn't leave 'til he could talk to you.

Thanks.

They, uh, said on the news you caught Laurel's killer.

Not just Laurel's.

So, how many people did he kill?

What're you doing here, Randy?

I was just wondering if, um,

maybe you had something of Laurel's I could have.

Well, you'd have to check with Laurel's family.

Yeah, I tried that, but, uh,

for some reason they don't want to have anything to do with me.

I just wanna know if you thought that, uh,

maybe if Laurel didn't go to Hightower's that night,

you know, and steal that cross for me, that maybe...

I don't know.

Yeah, I feel kinda bad about that.

I can tell.

Anyways, thanks for, you know,

catching Laurel's killer.

You're welcome.

*

Why did he come in here?

I guess to tell me what I already knew.

He wasn't as tough as he pretended to be.

I could barely remember what I was like at his age.

I rebelled in my own way,

kids do, but it was a safer world back then.

Smaller.

What can you tell kids?

We try not to scare 'em.

Keep them too close.

We look for ways to say the one thing they can't really hear.

They're not immortal.

Hubert Hightower's position as chaplain and head of school

at Oakcroft Academy was terminated.

He pled guilty to filing a false police report

and is serving weekends in the L.A. County Jail.

Jeff Murphy confessed to the murders of 13 women

in seven different states.

His trial in California has been continued

until all extradition charges have been filed.

*

*

*

*