Original subtitles

(ROCK 'N' ROLL MUSIC PLAYING)

(BEEPING)

Nigel, have you seen Lily? She's got some papers I need to sign.

No, no, I haven't seen her.

(BEEPING CONTINUES)

Are you about to blow something up?

Maybe.

Well, don't.

Damn.

Lily, I've been looking for you. Do you have... Yeah.

You going somewhere?

Yes, Dr. Macy. I'm off to visit my brother in Mexico.

Just thought I'd come by and say adios.

I wish you'd told me this sooner.

You signed a vacation request form two weeks ago.

Don't sweat it.

I can't expect you to remember every little piece of paper you initial, can I?

Let me help you. I'm fine.

Lily, I hope this doesn't have anything to do with you and me.

I'm just gonna get some sun

and lie on the beach

and get really stinking drunk.

Have a lovely week, Dr. Macy.

Lilita! Hasta luegoand...

Oh, don't forget my tequila. Oh, yeah.

And remember, no worm.

Of course.

Bye, Dr. C.

So you knew she was going to Mexico?

Sure, she's only been talking about it for, like, a month, man.

Guess I've been a little distracted.

And would this distraction happen to answer to the name of Maggie?

(PHONE RINGING)

(SIGHS)

Macy.

Yeah, she's here right now.

Okay, I'll send her right over.

Dispatch has got a decedent in a motel on Columbus just off the Skyway.

They requested you personally.

Hooking up with your ex, driving Lily out of the country,

I'd say you got a lot of balls in the air, there, Chief.

Body's getting cold, Jordan.

Yeah, yeah.

(EXPLOSION)

(ALARM RINGING)

Woody.

Doc? Stuck together again. Must be karma, huh?

Either that or you keep telling dispatch to specifically request me.

So what do we got?

Night maid came in, saw this.

Lividity's consistent with the position of the body.

She's been dead at least two hours.

Sheets are gone.

Someone must have been cleaning up after themselves.

Yeah, everything's been wiped down. Not a print in the house.

There is a big hole by the phone jack right here.

Maid said it was not there before.

Peeping Tom?

No. Doesn't go all the way through.

So, Doc, what is she telling you?

Possible strangulation. Thumb marks on the neck.

Anyone see who was in here with her?

The desk clerk said she checked in alone, registered under "Jane Smith."

You think that's an alias?

(SIGHS)

No prints, no ID. Heck, no clothes.

Oh, we did find these on the dresser.

"Q Storage."

CHESTER: Quiet broad. JORDAN: Oh? What did she store in here?

CHESTER: Not much. She just liked to hang out in there.

WOODY: Who hangs out in a storage facility?

None of my business.

This woman, she give you a name when she rented the unit?

I got the card back in the office.

Jane, uh...

Let me guess. Smith?

Yeah, that's it.

Here we go.

(INDIAN-SOUNDING POP MUSIC PLAYING)

Jeez, Louise.

Well! Looks like our girl had herself a hobby.

(ROCK SONG PLAYING)

Whips and chains?

Yep.

(EXCLAIMS IN DISGUST)

See, I understand the whips,

but what does one do with the chains, exactly?

Oh, they're more for show, cosmetic thing.

From what I hear!

Uh-huh.

Oh, hello. Look at the minute punctures on her thumb.

Definitely ante-mortem.

Thumb screws. She was tortured.

If we're assuming she wasn't restrained, she probably enjoyed it.

(SIGHS)

What?

Hmm? Oh, nothing. I just realized how tragically boring my life is.

(CAMERA CLICKS)

Look, it's not my problem if you didn't receive them,

it's my problem if I didn't send them.

And I sent them!

(STAMMERING) Hold on.

May I help you?

No, I'll wait. Finish your call.

Yeah.

Yes, I know they're time-sensitive. They're eggs.

(WHIRRING)

No, I do not have a tracking number.

Can you put that down, please?

Sorry.

Huh?

Yeah.

No.

Look, I'm gonna have to call you back.

Okay, I'll do that. You're welcome.

Jackass.

Some people, huh?

Can I help you, Dr. Stiles?

I was hoping we could talk.

About what?

Oh, I don't know, the usual. The weather,

how cheery life is here in the morgue.

What is this?

What is what?

You're a shrink. Why do we need to talk?

Oh, I don't know. So you can feel better?

And who says I need to feel better?

Doesn't everyone need to feel better?

I feel fine! No, you don't.

(SCOFFS)

You're trying to provoke me.

Is it working?

You're not a very good shrink.

(SCOFFS) You got that right.

But, uh, you're still stuck with me.

Now, they sent me the incident report, so we should talk.

How about the conference room?

Say, uh, elevenish?

Sounds like I don't have a choice.

It does, doesn't it?

Doesn't matter because... Whoa! Hey, uh, Doc, I was looking for you.

Nigel. Hey, Woodrow. What it is, mate?

You guys find anything interesting?

Yeah, you could say that. Thumb screws, toe screws,

and judging from her collapsed larynx,

the death squeeze was the last in a very long line of squeezes.

Anything from the rape kit?

No. No fluids, no condom residue.

So we have a naked woman who was choked and tortured to death, but no sex.

Yeah, whatever this was about, it was not sex.

Any luck with your prints?

Uh, yeah, RMV has her as Marsha Schraber,

37, married, address in the burbs.

Her husband have an alibi?

He's gonna be at the precinct in an hour.

(HESITANTLY) You could come down and watch if you want.

I mean, if you're not doing anything, or...

Yeah. No, cool. I'll be there.

Okay! Great!

All right. Well, uh, I'll see you then.

Yeah.

(SINGSONGING) Jordan's got a boyfriend!

Oh, you want to yank on my pigtails, too, Nige?

'Cause I got cheerleading practice.

Come on. That sweet country innocence? Those sparkling blue eyes?

I would chew him up and spit him out!

Ah, now, that sounds like fun.

(EXCLAIMS)

I can't believe this is happening.

Anything you can tell me about your wife

would really help us out, Mr. Schraber.

Any friends we could talk to?

Marsha doesn't...

Didn't have friends. She was a very private person.

You said you haven't seen your wife in over a week,

but you never filed a missing-persons report?

It wasn't the first time she disappeared.

(HESITANTLY) We weren't really getting on very well.

Are you aware your wife rented a unit at Q Storage downtown?

No, I didn't know that.

Then why were your prints in it?

You...

You were in there.

Jerry,

(QUIETLY) is there something you want to tell me?

Marsha spent hours on her laptop.

I got the feeling she was making friends.

One day while she was out, I tried to check her correspondence,

but I tripped some sort of security bug.

Next day, the computer disappeared. So did she.

When did you go to the storage facility?

I followed her there once, but I didn't go in.

Then when she disappeared, I was worried,

so two days ago, I went back,

bribed the day man to let me inside. Marsha wasn't there.

But your prints were.

What were you looking for?

I am a respected attorney.

If there is any way you could ensure

that none of this could be made public...

Jerry.

You take something out of that room?

The laptop.

I thought we were supposed to talk.

Great! Let's talk.

Aren't you supposed to ask me something?

Am I?

(SCOFFS)

And you actually get paid for this.

You don't want to be here, do you?

Oh, you are good.

Thanks.

So what? You want me to talk about the incident?

Let's back up.

What caused the incident?

A disagreement.

A disagreement with whom? And about what?

Dr. Macy. A case.

Fantastic! Now we're getting somewhere.

Feel better yet?

Okay.

Tell me about this case.

Last week, the police brought in a dead boy, Brian Kirsh.

They asked for a blind autopsy.

STILES: What's that?

When the police think that the M.E. might have to eventually testify in a trial,

they don't tell us anything on the admit.

It eliminates potential bias.

This detective didn't tell me under what circumstances the boy was found.

He just wanted the medical facts.

Cause of death, method of death.

STILES: Anything striking about Brian Kirsh?

Striking?

Well, what was your first impression, looking at his body?

Nothing.

I see lots of dead bodies.

First thing that pops into your mind.

He was wearing muddy sneakers.

The laces on one were untied.

Go on.

I performed the autopsy with Dr. Sanders.

The boy was covered in bruises.

Arms,

legs,

chest,

back.

Some of them were a week old. Others were more recent.

There was also considerable damage to the head.

Doctor.

Yes?

What happened next?

The detective was pushing for a quick preliminary ruling.

And it was obvious what had happened.

The cause of death was repeated abuse.

Method: homicide.

What did you feel making that determination?

I didn't feel anything.

Of course not.

NIGEL: So our girl spent a lot of time surfing the net, did she?

Uh, you might want to be careful what you push, there.

Her husband said she may have installed security.

So, what, you think a middle-aged Hausfrau

could design a system worthy of me?

FEMALE VOICE: Welcome back, bitch.

If you're ready to be punished, please enter password.

(SCOFFS) All righty, then!

Password, eh?

Righty-o, let's give "dominatrix" a try, shall we?

(STAMMERING) You uh, may not want to do that.

(SINISTER LAUGHTER)

Okay, this doesn't look good.

FEMALE VOICE: Warning. Unauthorized user.

A tapeworm will be employed in 30 seconds.

Tapeworm? What the hell's a tapeworm?

It's a self-manifesting virus designed to eat the hard drive.

In 30 seconds, this thing's gonna be about as useful

as a toaster that does not make toast.

Oh, what do you know about self-manifesting viruses?

Hey, there are computers in Wisconsin. Maybe if you had listened...

Oh, I suppose you could do better, then?

Hey, if you hadn't messed up and typed "dominatrix..."

I barely touched it! What are you...

You guys, you can arm-wrestle later. Woody, just get in there!

Be my guest. Excuse me.

Okay. Let's see what we can do here.

Oh, she is a smart one, all right.

Okey-doke. Ten seconds.

No, no, no, no, no.

All right, let's see how you like this.

You broke it. I didn't break it.

Did, too. Did not.

Did, too! Did not!

Did, too! Password accepted.

Let's play.

We're in.

What's that? Uh, "mydeath.jpg."

Okay, it's a file created a week ago.

I think it's a compressed digital photo.

(INDIAN-SOUNDING POP MUSIC PLAYING)

Want to tell me how a dead woman

got a photo of her own murder scene onto her computer

a week before she died?

(SINGSONGING SOFTLY) Woody.

Time for school.

Five more minutes, Mama.

Mama? I haven't heard that one in a while.

Hey. I must have fallen asleep.

I brought you coffee. Just the way you like it.

Extra cream and six sugars.

Sugar's good for you, you know.

Mmm!

Oh, jeez!

(WOODY HUMMING TO HIMSELF)

(WHISPERS) Ah.

Oh, uh, do you mind?

Oh! No! No.

So, uh, you figure out how Marsha predicted her own death?

I did a pixel count on that digital photo.

It's bogus. Cut-and-paste job.

She probably posed for it herself, played dead for whatever reason.

Something kinky is afoot, that's for sure.

Hey, what's this?

Oh, phone records from a private cellular line in the laptop.

I traced every website Marsha visited.

Looks like there's only one.

How the hell do you stare at a website for four hours a day?

Interactive website.

I took a quick peek myself.

Webcam, fantasy fulfillment kind of stuff.

Pretty good place to escape.

Oh, and get this.

It's based right here in Boston.

Lucky us!

WOODY: "S-triple-X-T-C.com."

Gee, I was expecting something...

Dirtier? Welcome to the new millennium, Wood.

White collar meets spiked collar.

Good afternoon. May I help you?

Hey, there. We're from...

Los Angeles.

We're in the industry out there.

My name's Nina LeVeaux and this is my partner, Dale...

O'Bone.

Our assistant called you about setting up a tour?

I'm sorry, I don't see anything here.

May I ask what this is regarding?

Damn! We were hoping to speak to somebody

about setting up a West Coast franchise office.

It looks like we brought our checkbook for nothing, Dale.

Uh, yeah, Nina.

Well, I'm sure Mr. Little, our Chief Operating Officer,

can free himself up for a tour. One moment.

Excuse us. Mmm-hmm?

(WHISPERS) What are you doing?

What, do you think they're gonna talk to us with you whipping out your badge?

Believe me, I'm not whipping anything out around here.

LITTLE: We're very proud of our little operation here.

Anything in particular you'd be interested in seeing?

It'd be great if you could give us an idea

as to how things work around here, Mr. Little.

Of course. Behind each of these doors is one of our characters.

Characters?

All our clients have different tastes.

The character plays a role, catering to each particular client's fantasy.

What you see on these screens is exactly what the client sees.

The client types in a desire and the character acts it out.

I see Dale's already taken an interest in Mary Catherine, our bad school girl.

(CHUCKLES SELF-CONSCIOUSLY)

Actually, she doesn't seem to be with a client right now,

so why don't I give you a little demonstration?

She sees what I'm typing

on a monitor below her webcam.

"What happens when you forget your homework, Mary Catherine?"

(SQUEALS)

As you can see, we can pretty much cater to any desire here.

We have foot fetishes, squashing fantasies, male-female cross-dressing.

Who's that?

That's The Punisher.

He's just about to take a break, actually. Would you like to meet him?

Very much.

Excellent. Meantime, I'll take Dale down

and we'll have a little chat with Mary Catherine.

If that's okay with you, Dale?

Yes, I'd like that.

You're late.

Sorry.

I had to talk a jumper off a rooftop.

Yeah? And how did that go?

Oh, he'll be arriving here shortly.

Hope we have better luck with you, eh, Doctor?

(STILES CHUCKLES)

So, now, tell me,

what made you decide to become a Medical Examiner?

(SCOFFS) What? Excuse me?

Well, I've always been fascinated

by why you guys do what you do.

I mean, of all the medical sciences,

you choose to cut up corpses.

Death doesn't bother me. It's natural.

So there was no defining moment?

I thought we were talking about Brian Kirsh.

Okay,

let's talk about Brian Kirsh.

You ruled it homicide as a result of abuse. Now, what happened next?

It was the night after I filed the prelim report.

Dr. Macy asked if I could join him in his office.

He wasn't alone.

Doctor, please have a seat. This is Mr. and Mrs. Kirsh, Brian's parents.

I'm just now familiarizing myself with the case,

and they were hoping you might be able to help them out.

Of course.

Police stopped by our house a few hours ago.

They were asking some very, uh, unsettling questions.

We were hoping you might be able to tell us why.

Mr. Kirsh, I found a series of bruises on your son.

There was also a trauma to his head.

Of course there was. He was always getting hurt with his condition. We tried.

His condition? Brian was autistic.

(INCREDULOUSLY) You didn't know that?

They didn't tell you that? How can they not tell you?

Doctor, our son had a seizure disorder.

This morning, he was in the back yard, playing.

I only left him alone

for a minute!

I came back, he was in the midst of a grand mal.

By the time the paramedics got there...

I ran a full tox screen on Brian.

I didn't find any anti-seizure medication.

The side effects were too severe.

Obviously not as severe as the grand mal.

Are you accusing us of killing our son? Okay.

Who the hell do you think you are?

Who the hell do you think you are?

Mrs. Kirsh, please. I understand how tragic this loss must be,

but let's try not to jump to conclusions.

I'm not the one jumping to conclusions!

This new information definitely warrants a closer look at your son.

I'll conduct an examination myself and we'll speak again.

Do you resent Dr. Macy for second-guessing you?

Dr. Macy is my boss.

But that doesn't answer the question.

It's not my place to question Dr. Macy's judgment.

So you still believe the parents were responsible for the boy's death.

I don't have an opinion one way or another. It's not my job...

Now, that's getting a bit tired.

Just between us,

were they or weren't they?

The trauma to the head is...

Autistics can self-inflict injuries to the head

in any number of ways.

The bruises on his chest were in a hand-shaped pattern...

Could have been the paramedics administering CPR.

I just had a feeling, all right?

I guess that answers my question.

Hi.

You must be The Punisher.

Oh! Hey.

It's Herb, actually.

"The Punisher" is just a stage name.

You must be the lady from California.

Mr. Little said you had a couple of questions.

Just have one.

This woman's handle was "PunishMe."

I get the feeling you two were acquainted.

Oh, jeez.

Marsha.

Who are you?

Someone who wants to find out what happened to her.

(SIGHS)

She was one of my best clients.

Three, four-hour sessions.

I didn't mind it at first when she started making weird requests,

but then a few weeks ago, it just started getting weirder.

What did she want you to do?

Well, you know, most of my clients,

they just want me to wave the whip around, talk mean to them.

Honestly, I'm just in the fantasy business here.

I don't actually do anything.

She wanted it for real.

Then why did you agree to meet with her?

Oh, I didn't meet with her.

You recognized her from the photo, Herb.

(WHISPERING) This place doesn't pay that well, see,

so I get a little extra on the side,

putting people of certain tastes together.

I met her in a diner, gave her a couple of handles.

I don't know their real names,

but they were guys who could make her fantasies come true.

She'd been exchanging emails with one of these guys for weeks.

It was perfect.

They were gonna meet.

Man.

I can't believe she really meant it.

Meant what?

She wanted to die.

Hey, how was Mary Catherine?

Swell. We discussed the finer points of spanking techniques,

so this trip wasn't a complete waste of time.

"DirtyBirdy" and "Sickboy23"?

Screen names.

Our leather-clad friend put Marsha in touch with these two.

I'm guessing one of them got a little carried away.

Okay, assuming you're right, how are we supposed to catch the right one?

Why, red-handed, of course.

Traditionally, when you invite someone over to dinner,

you're supposed to do the cooking.

Fine, then you come over here and write the bait to these two sickos.

Putting yourself out there to lure these guys from behind their computers.

I don't know how you talked me into this.

Because you failed to come up with a better idea.

Okay, what do you think of this?

"Sickboy23, got your name from The Punisher.

"Let's not play games.

"Games are for the weak.

"And patience is for those who lack conviction.

"I've been very bad.

"I've been so bad, I don't deserve to live.

"We should meet."

I think you're too good at this.

Takes a thief, Wood.

"Naughty." What?

"I've been so naughty, I don't deserve to live."

Got a better ring to it.

I think I'm starting to rub off on you, farm boy.

Mmm!

(CLEARS THROAT)

You're in big trouble, mister.

Maggie.

You stood me up, Garret.

(STAMMERING) Oh, God. Look, I'm so sorry. I must have lost track of...

It's not the eating alone that I mind so much.

I'm used to that.

But when I make a date

to have sex with someone,

I expect them to be punctual.

Look, I'll make it up to you, all right?

Tomorrow, I'll leave early.

Yeah, promises, promises. What are you doing?

What do you think? Well...

You're drawing the blinds to...

Oh.

Do you realize that in 15 years of marriage,

we never once

had sex outside of the bedroom.

Come on, Maggie, there's still people here. I'm the chief now.

Oh!

Is that supposed to arouse me, that you're the chief?

Maggie, I can't.

(COYLY) Well, we both know that's not true.

You're seducing me. Am I?

Yes. Is it working?

Maybe.

Hmm.

Well,

how about now?

Yeah.

Well, you can't win 'em all.

(SIGHS)

They'll answer sooner or later.

I'll leave the computer on. If I hear anything, I'll let you know.

Thanks for dinner.

And for letting me talk you into another harebrained scheme.

It wasn't that harebrained.

(CHIMES)

The laptop.

Sounds like someone just took the bait.

(READING)

"Would you like to view?"

Here goes nothing.

(ROCK 'N' ROLL MUSIC PLAYING)

I don't like the look of it.

Oh, come on, Dad. At least it's on your own turf.

She's a civilian, you know.

Using her as bait to catch some sick pervert...

All due respect, Mr. Cavanaugh, this was not my idea.

Of course it wasn't your idea.

Hey, you mind letting me ride shotgun on your op?

I'd appreciate the help.

What's your plan?

Okay, our two suspects are scheduled to meet Jordan an hour apart.

How will you know what they look like? We don't.

I told them I'd be carrying a Marquis de Sade biography

and they're supposed to bring a red rose.

As soon as we make them as one of our marks,

I'm gonna have one of my guys run the plates on the car they drive up in.

Guy looks dirty or anything comes up funky, we are gonna move in.

I am not gonna put you in a situation where you are in danger.

I can take care of myself, cowboy. See you guys at 5:00.

Was she always this way?

Always.

(MOANING)

If you keep talking,

I'm gonna have to start that elevator again.

(MOANS)

Maggie, we have to stop. I'm on duty.

I'll come by tonight, I promise.

(GROANS)

Fine.

But if you're a no-show,

there will be severe consequences.

Infernal contraption.

Maybe it's stuck.

Then why is the little light on, then?

(ELEVATOR BELL RINGS)

Trey, Nigel.

BOTH: Dr. Macy.

Garret! Just the man I was looking for.

How goes it, Howard?

Hey, are you all right?

Fantastic. Why?

Well, you look a bit flushed.

It's a little warm in here, I guess.

Hey,

you've been getting action, haven't you?

Now, what would make you say that?

Oh, I suppose it's my keen ability

to look deep into the hearts of men.

And the fact that your fly's undone.

Is it that cute intake girl you were doting on

the last time I harangued you?

What was her name? Phyllis?

Lily.

And I was not doting.

You mean you blew it?

And what was your excuse this time? Work?

Fear of intimacy?

Was there something you wanted, Howard?

Oh, you're no fun.

That's what they tell me.

Well, if you won't talk about your dysfunctional romantic life,

perhaps we could have a word regarding Dr. Vijay...

Bug.

Right!

Let's have a word regarding Bug.

(SLOW ROCK PLAYING)

It's 8:00. Where is she?

Making her entrance.

Hot damn!

(GASPS)

(STUTTERING) I mean, you have a very lovely daughter, Mr. Cavanaugh.

Very smart.

(SOFTLY) Showtime, boys.

We have our first mark.

Five-six, wire-rimmed glasses, blue shirt.

Let's run his plates.

You must be Evangeline.

And you must be, uh, DirtyBirdy.

How's about I just call you Burt?

(CHORTLES)

This guy's a Poindexter.

Are you okay, Burt?

Sure.

(STUTTERING) Just a little nervous.

Jeez, that's no good.

I mean, if we're both nervous, then

no one's in control.

Oh. Well,

not so nervous that I can't be in control.

I mean, if that's what you want.

Is that what you want?

That's what I want.

You know, usually I have to spend a lot of time online

before I can get a woman to agree to meet me.

But you seemed very eager for a submissive...

You haven't done this before, have you?

No.

Not in real life, I mean.

But I could.

I got an ID. Felix Lowe.

A couple busts for indecent exposure, nothing major.

This guy's a guppy. Throw him back in.

No offense, Burt, but I get the feeling that

you're a real big talker online,

but in real life, you're a sweetheart.

I could spank you if you want.

(WOODY STIFLING LAUGHTER)

Good night, Burt.

So what happened?

You saw the incident report.

Yes, but you make everything so officious.

I'd like to hear it from the horse's mouth.

What happened after you met with Brian Kirsh's parents?

Based on their information, I took a look at the boy myself,

and I didn't find anything that suggested abuse in light of the autism,

so I tossed the initial report and listed cause of death as undetermined.

So you overruled Bug.

Yeah.

And how did he take it?

Not well.

You're putting murderers back on the street.

Bug, this wasn't a homicide.

Well, how can you be so sure?

Look, it's not your fault the police manipulated your findings

by not giving you the relevant information.

(SCOFFS)

I was not manipulated.

My findings were completely unbiased.

I wish I could say the same for you.

Excuse me?

The parents have impaired your judgment.

You know, we can't allow ourselves to become emotional

about these things, Dr. Macy.

We can't let these things affect our objectivity.

It seems to me I'm not the one having objectivity issues.

Forget it. Hold it. Just...

Wait, wait, wait. Just a second. Bug.

What's going on here?

Please, just get out of my way, Dr. Macy.

This isn't like you. Please, get out of my way.

No, I'm not gonna get out of your way.

Now, is there something about this you're not telling me?

Get out of my way!

STILES: He pushed you. MACY: Yeah.

Now, why do you think he did that?

I don't know. You're the shrink.

Maybe he has a history of abuse himself.

Well, maybe.

These things are not usually that black and white.

I mean, he clearly identifies with this dead boy on some level he's not aware of.

But, uh,

I'll get there.

I always do, you know.

(BILLIARD BALLS CLATTERING)

Looks like bachelor number two is a no-show.

I'm getting a soda.

Hey there, Evangeline.

Sorry, I forgot to bring my rose.

Hi. Uh, you must be...

No need for names. No need for questions.

How about you speak when spoken to?

What the hell's going on? How did we miss this guy?

Where are we going?

Someplace with a little more privacy.

A positive ID on the second mark.

Entered the bar approximately 40 minutes ago.

Hey, wait.

I need to know exactly what's gonna happen to me.

Want to know what's gonna happen to you?

Who do you think you are to ask me what I'm gonna do?

I'm sorry.

Oh, you're gonna be sorry. You think this is a game?

Now, I know what you want.

You set up this cute little blind date in this cute little bar

so you'd feel safe.

But you don't want to feel safe, do you?

No,

I don't.

Good.

Then let's go.

Okay.

Take him down. Take him down now!

(EXCLAIMS IN SURPRISE) Get down! Down!

You all right? Yeah.

Come here.

Sickboy just finished a stretch for sexual assault.

Got out four days ago.

You didn't waste any time, did you, big guy?

Come on, get him out of here.

OFFICER: All right, now, let's go. Come on.

Looks like we got our guy, Jordan.

Yeah, there's only one problem.

Marsha was emailing Sickboy for three weeks.

Now, unless that guy had a computer in his cell, he wasn't writing to her.

Someone else was.

WOODY: Okay, Daryl,

explain to me why you're not trying to help yourself out here.

Because I spoke to your warden,

and I know you didn't have any access to the Net,

You know, the ones that said you wanted to kill her.

You know what a safety word is?

What? No, I don't know what a...

I'm not talking to you.

Talking to her.

You know what a safety word is, bitch?

No. Why don't you tell me,

bitch?

It's a time out.

You give it to her just before you start to play.

It gets too intense, she can always stop it.

She can stop it any time.

Charming. But what does this have to do with Marsha?

Hers was "tap dance."

When I had my hands around her throat,

I watched her lips

real close.

But she wanted to die.

She only had to say it once.

If she did, I would have let her go.

Why should I believe you, Daryl?

Those were the rules.

Whose rules?

The man's rules.

What man?

The man with the plan. The man who gave her to me.

The man who was watching.

Anything good on TV, Mr. Little?

It's a little late to discuss franchising, isn't it,

Ms. LeVeaux, was it?

It's never too late to discuss murder,

Sickboy23, was it?

Your online alias.

You wrote out the words and Daryl acted out the fantasy.

(CHUCKLING) The Internet is a very confusing place.

It's too much information. You obviously have gotten lost somewhere along the way.

Maybe.

But a removed T1 Internet line

leaves an awful big hole in a hotel room.

You were watching.

That's a very interesting theory, Ms. LeVeaux.

Actually, it's Cavanaugh.

Medical Examiner's Office.

Ha. Well, one might ask why the police aren't here instead of you.

Gone rogue, have we?

Nope. They're outside, actually.

I just wanted a little quality time before they arrest you.

Arrest me for what, exactly?

Exchanging e-mails with that woman who wanted to die?

Try putting her in a room with a convicted criminal

and then watching him kill her.

They both acted of their own free will.

I merely facilitated the process.

Oh, I can hardly wait to hear you explain that to a jury.

Well, I'll take my chances, because all I'm guilty of is playing a little Cyrano.

It's still murder.

Satisfying people's darkest and most personal desires

is what I do, Ms. Cavanaugh.

Now, how can that be murder?

I don't buy it. Seriously. I feel better.

You want to know what I think? No.

I think you only are pretending to feel better.

Oh, really?

I think there's something you want to get off your chest,

but you're not sure what it is.

It's an itch you can't scratch,

and it's driving you crazy.

Nothing is driving me crazy.

Do I look crazy?

Oh, definitely.

(SCOFFS)

Look, this itch, I don't know what it is,

but I suppose you're gonna tell me.

Now, that wouldn't be very cathartic, would it?

Well, how am I supposed to know...

You know, I was looking over the, uh, photos from the autopsy report.

What? Brian Kirsh.

I was looking over the photos you took,

and I recalled your first impression when they brought him in.

Do you remember what you told me?

No. Yes, you do.

I don't remember.

Sneakers.

He was wearing sneakers.

Fresh mud, shoelaces with one untied.

You know what the weather was like on the day Brian Kirsh died?

What does that have to do... It was sunny.

Not a cloud in the sky.

So?

You remembered fresh mud on his sneakers,

but there wasn't any mud.

(SOFTLY) No.

Who was wearing the muddy sneakers?

I remembered it wrong. I made a mistake.

No, you didn't. Who was it?

I don't know.

Who was wearing the muddy sneakers, Bug?

My brother.

My little brother.

Tell me.

We were the only ones home.

Where were your parents?

They were working. They were always working.

And it was raining outside?

No one can watch a little kid constantly.

It's impossible. I mean,

you can try, but it's impossible to watch him constantly.

It's always that five minutes you think that they're watching TV

that they can slip out the front door.

You don't even think they'd want to go out,

with it raining so hard.

But then you hear the horn blast

and the screech of tires on wet concrete,

(CLICKS TONGUE)

and you can feel it.

You know you made a mistake.

You were just a kid.

He was my responsibility.

You say that,

but you don't mean it.

Whose responsibility was he, really?

(WHISPERS) Theirs.

Louder.

Theirs. My parents.

They blamed me.

Why did they do that to me? I was just a little kid. Why...

Why did they look at me like that?

Sounds like a lot of anger,

with no place to put it.

I bet it would have felt great

to tell your parents how unfair it was

to saddle you with that responsibility.

But you couldn't punish your own parents,

because grief is an unpunishable offense.

So I punished someone else instead.

(SNORTS)

I'm not supposed to, um,

hug you now, am I?

No.

(CHUCKLES)

How about we just talk?

Why is it that I can spend days working on a guy

and get nowhere,

and you can mosey on into a room

and in two minutes get a confession?

I have a way with the sick and twisted.

Woman has a nice house in the burbs,

successful husband, good job,

yet she still wants some stranger to kill her for kicks.

I don't get it.

Why?

There is no why. People are sick. End of story.

Sweep it under the rug and move on.

Wouldn't it be great if you actually believed that?

Good night, Doc.

Night, Woody.

(SLOW ROCK PLAYING)

I didn't know you smoked cigars.

I haven't in years, but tonight I was in the mood for one.

I hope I'm not interrupting.

No. No. Just...

Just thinking.

I remember the first time I had one of these.

You get to a certain point in your life,

you've already done everything for the first time,

nothing's new anymore.

I've already heard my first blues record,

tasted my first piece of chocolate,

had my first true love.

I'm allergic to chocolate.

Violently. Yeah.

Dr. Macy, I wanted to...

Apology accepted.

This job,

it's hard sometimes.

Yes, it is.