All language subtitles for L.A.Dragnet.S01E08.Sticks.and.Stones.1080p.PCOK.WEB-DL.AAC2.0.H.264-playWEB_track3_[eng]

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.

*

*

*

*