Original subtitles

[intro the Who's "I Can See For Miles"]

♪ I know you've deceived me

♪ Now here's a surprise

♪ I know that you have

♪ 'Cause there's magic in my eyes ♪

♪ I can see for miles and miles ♪

♪ And miles and miles and miles ♪

[tires screech]

♪ Oh yeah-- ♪

I've been waiting an hour.Yeah?

Think that has something to do with the fact

that you can't give directions?

I got here just fine.

Yippee for you.

So, what'd the rangers say?

Hiker on his way out this morning,

leaves the trail to take a leak.

He's just got the lizard out

when he practically trips over a body.

You sure know how to talk to a lady, Seely.

Well, maybe next time they'll send a man to do a man's job.

Then what are you doing here?

Oh, and by the way, nice shoes.

Practical.

You got a guess how long he's been dead?

Okay, I would put time of death anywhere between a month ago

and...last Wednesday.

You said guess.

Seems pretty straightforward.

He took a header off that cliff,

tumbled down through this vegetation

and, uh... met his Maker.

Not right away, he didn't.

Dried blood.

And those drag marks there.

Looks like he crawled for a few feet

before he finally bled out.

He survived the drop.

[chuckles] This guy was one luckless bastard.

Gee, Seely, don't get all misty on me.

I just call 'em as I see 'em.

Check out his clothes.

Those boots. I mean, this is high-tech gear.

A lot of these guys hike the Appalachian Trail

from Georgia to Maine.

So you gotta wonder.

Where's his pack?

No wallet either.

You know what? Give me a hand here.

[Jordan] Wait a minute.

Say cheese.

[techno-rock]

[cameras clicking]

Whew. Nobody goes in there until the M.E. arrives.

Nigel. Nigel...

It is so good to see you.

Good to see you.

Let's not jump to any hasty conclusions here.

If I was looking for the whackadoo conspiracy version,

I would've called Jordan in.

I am somehow both flattered and insulted by that.

So what happened, Wood?

Did someone go out the window?

Yeah. Uh, that's how we found it.

Uh, that's what I'm trying to tell you.

This is kind of a crazy crime scene.

Could you come this way, please, over here?

Okay.

Um...I'd appreciate it if you handled this

with a little bit of sensitivity.

I don't know if you know this or not,

but I'm up for a promotion this year,

so if word got out--Yeah, Woody, Woody, Woody.

I promise I'll keep an open mind. Okay?

And anyway... sensitivity is my middle name.

Sweet Mary in the manger!

Look at all that blood.

Guy's name is Samuel Burnham.

He is 48 years old.

He called 911 at 4:52 this morning,

said he was being attacked by an intruder.

Two uniform officers showed up 17 minutes later.

They knocked, but there was no answer.

They had to bust the door down.

Now, the door was bolted from the inside.

And the only way out is through that window out there.

And it is a 150-foot drop down to the pavement.

He's completely exsanguinated.

Exsanguinated?

I'm gonna take a wild a guess

and say that means his blood is gone?

Arterial spray.

But from where?

Nigel...This is the part I'm gonna ask you

to chill out about before you react, okay?

Just because something looks a certain--

don't do that, don't do that, Nigel.

Whoa...those are.Don't say it.

Bite marks.

I asked you not to say that.

Must've hit the carotid artery.

Nigel, I don't think you're following me here.

Okay, I need you tell me those are not bite marks, okay.

Because if they are bite marks,

then that means that our killer is a--

Vampire.

There goes your promotion.

[suspenseful rock music]

♪

[techno-rock]

Dr. M.

Detective Hoyt just called me.

Oh, did he?

He seemed concerned that his case might be made a mockery of.

Something about being afraid that he'll be quoted

in the Weekly World News on the same page

as the photo of Bat Boy.[chuckles]

So I'm officially reminding you that this is reality.

People are killed by other people.

Not werewolves.

Not mummies.

And absolutely not by vampires.

Well, that's a rather narrow world view, isn't it?

Okay. That's it. You're off the case.

What? Why?

Because you're too excited about this.

I'm not about to turn this morgue

into an episode of the X-Files.

I'm a man of science, Dr. Macy.

But there are more things in heaven and earth

than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Now, my beliefs might trend towards the fringe, yeah.

But please trust me when I'm telling you

that I'm just like you.

I only want to uncover the truth.

I'm gonna be watching you like a hawk.

No paranormal rantings, do you understand?

Consider this your first warning.

Uh, hey, Nigel? Yeah.

There's some guy waiting in the conference room

who's all upset.

Uh, something about his friend getting killed by a vampire?

Yeah, just tell him I'll be right there. No.

Five minutes.

I wanna see these bite marks first.

Uh, me too?

Okay.

[beeping]

[beeping]

Damn.

You find anything in his pockets?

Besides liquefied tissue?

Not even a gum wrapper.

I think someone picked him over.

Well, then why leave behind a gold ring?

He's got a wife out there somewhere.

With our luck he'll be from out-of-state.

People come from all over to hike the Appalachian Trail.

Not without ID, they don't.

God, this really stinks.

You got that right.

Tell me you found some photos in that camera.

The memory card was badly damaged.

There are picture files on it, but so far,

I've only been able to reconstruct one of them.

I'll take it.

You said he was found at the base of a cliff?

That's right.

Is that the cliff he fell off? Yeah.

And it looks like he had some help.

I can't believe it.

We were gonna have lunch today.

He called yesterday, despondent.

Said everything had fallen through.

Why don't we start from the beginning?

I've been Sam's agent going on 25 years now.

His agent?

Sam was a writer.

He wrote books about wacky phenomena.

You mighta heard of his first one, Roswell Revealed?

It was a big hit.

I must've missed that one.

His next five didn't fare as well.

Bigfoot Revealed, Loch Ness Monster Revealed--

I get the picture.

Poor bastard's career was circling the drain.

But he said this time he was really onto something.

He'd tapped into this whole Goth subculture of weirdoes

who actually believe they're vampires.

My hand to God.

'Course most of 'em are just disillusioned wackos,

but he claimed he found this one guy

whose story was gonna put him onto the bestseller list.

Wait. Are you suggesting that he actually found a real vampire?

Guy by the name of Dark.

Alistair Dark.

Called last week and said he'd just gotten this Dark character

to agree to be the subject of his new book.

It's too bad.

He had a great title for the book.

Vampires Revealed.

How did you know?

Lucky guess.

Okay.

So what?

So what?

This photo was taken by our John Doe.

Someone is clearly looking down at him.

Yet, this someone doesn't try to help him or alert the rangers?

Could be he didn't want to get involved.

Come on, Seely, whoever he is, he's involved up to his neck.

Okay, say you're right.

Mr., uh, Shadow here pushed our guy.

What do you want me to do about it?

Set up a lemonade stand on the Trail

and quiz every hiker that walks by?

Who needs beverages, you'll just win them over with your charm.

The victim's been dead up to a month.

All I've got is a silhouette.

Whoever this guy is, he's long gone.

The last thing John Doe did

before drowning in his own blood was take this photo.

We need to pick up where he left off.

We owe him that much.

I've got no evidence of foul play,

no time-line, no ID on the victim,

or the witness, which is all Mr. Shadow is right now.

You want me on board, Cavanaugh,

give me something to work with.

I'm starved for good news.

Tell me you've got some.

The sketch artist came up with a computer composite of his face.

I ran his prints through NCIC.

No criminal record, no military service.

What about Missing Persons?

Nope.

If he's missing, no one's noticed.

[Bug] But take a look at this.

Can you enhance the image to get a better look at his face?

Sorry, he's completely backlit by the sun.

Man, we cannot catch a break here.

Not off this picture, anyway.

Meaning?

Meaning I was able to reconstruct

three more of the photographs.

Bug, you rock.

And I determined the order in which all four were taken,

based on where they were stored on the memory card.

Ansel Adams he's not.

Great. A tree.

As tree photos go, it's not half bad.

What's behind door number three?

Something a little more interesting.

What if this guy...

is also this guy?

We were wondering the same thing.

I'm gonna go finish autopsying John Doe.

Bug, I need you to determine time of death.

I am not going over his clothes again.

I draw the line.

Forget about the clothes.

Your mission, should you decide to accept it,

is to track down Grizzly Adams here.

I'm all over it.

Only six people in the greater Boston area

with the last name of Dark, none of them Alistair.Alistair.

There's a name that'll get your ass whupped on the playground.

I bet it's an alias.

Maybe we should narrow our search to people

from Transylvania.

I'm just saying.Come on.

Don't tell me you believe all this crap?

Let's just say that I've, uh,

seen some pretty strange things in my life.

I'm sure you have.

As somewhat of a misfit, I can't help but

consider myself a kindred spirit.

Minus the bloodsucking part, of course.

Yeah, well I'm wearing my crucifix, and I had garlic

for lunch today, so don't you get any ideas.

In the meantime, we've got a lot of legwork to do.

This is Samuel Burnham's date book.

We're gonna track his last 48 hours.

Everyone he called, every place he went, everyone he saw.

And it looks like this is the one to start with.

Burnham had an appointment last night at 10:00

with some guy named Frank Jones.

[Female Operator] Chatham Blood Bank, how may I direct your call?

Hello?

You want answers about this guy?

You've come to the right place.

His name's Amos Tibbs.

Wow, that was easy.

So you recognize him?

Hell, yes, I recognize him.

Not a month goes by, I don't get a complaint about him.

What kind of complaints?

Well, Tibbs' got a cabin off the trail,

but the AT's not always marked.

Sometimes hikers wander off onto his land.

Other times he harasses people on the trail.

How 'bout telling me who took this photo?

The hiker that was found dead.

So this Amos Tibbs, can you take me to him?

Sure. You and what army?

[wolves howling]

[brush crackling]

Tibbs' shack is just up ahead.

For the record, Dr. Maguire,

I think you tagging along is a bad idea.

Couldn't help myself, Detective Seely...

excessive commitment to my work.

This is no place for a lady.

Looking past the sexist-pig aspect of that comment,

I agree with you. I'm definitely a city girl.

Well, at least we have one thing in common.

Oh, you're a city girl, too?

[gunshot]

[Tibbs] That was a warning!

Next shot, I blow your head off.

This is Boston PD.

Put your weapons down and come out with your hands up!

Stay. Amos!

Don't go do nothing dumb!

These men just want to ask you a few questions.

[Amos] I'll let my shotgun do the talking.

Now you get the hell off my property!

We can't do that, Amos.

Anybody sets foot on my land does so at his peril.

[gun cocks]

[gunshot]

Oh, ow. My foot, my foot!

Come on, move up.

[groans] You shot me!

Yeah, you're damn right I did.

Rubber bullet, but it still smarts, doesn't it?

There now, that wasn't so bad, was it?

Now take the paperwork to the nurse outside,

and get yourself a cookie.

Okay?

Gentlemen, you'll have to roll up your sleeves.

I can only take you one at a time.

No, thanks, I just gave last month.

Frank Jones?

Detective Woody Hoyt, Boston PD.

You had an appointment yesterday with Samuel Burnham?

Forty-ish, stocky?

Yeah, yeah.

Strange guy. A writer.

Asked me a bunch of questions.

Said he was researching some book.

Questions? What kind of questions?

Blood stuff.

Said he wanted to know if it was possible to add elements

to human blood to aid in longevity.

Or immortality, as he put it.

Really? What did you tell him?

That it's not possible.

Well yeah, but couldn't one, theoretically,

lengthen one's lifespan with a constant source of blood--

highly oxygenated, of course,

renewed on an almost daily basis?

Yeah, I guess, but that would require

an almost continuous supply of fresh blood.

What is this about?

Shortly after you met with Mr. Burnham yesterday,

he was murdered.

Murdered? Wow.

That's awful.

Yes, it is.

Well.

Thank you for your cooperation.

Sure, no problem.

Uh, Mr. Jones, just one more thing.

You'd never seen Sam Burnham before yesterday?

No.

Never.

Thanks.

Just one more thing, Mr. Jones?

He's lying.

He met Burnham four other times.

I read it in the appointment book.

Gonna go find out who the hell Frank Jones really is.

You're in a lot of trouble, Amos.

That so? That is so.

Yet another epic battle of Big City Macho versus

Backwoods Macho is waged.

Just a matter of time before one of them marks his territory.

My money's on Seely.

We found your friend, Amos.

Why'd you push him off the cliff?

I didn't push nobody off nothin'.

Never seen him before in my life.

Then, uh, why'd he take a picture of you?

Yeah, I remember him now.

He come running outta the woods when I was clearing my traps.

Asked if I could help him.

Said he's in trouble.

Told him I weren't no charity for helpin' lost idiots.

That's when the other one come out after him.

[Seely] Other one?

[Tibbs] Yeah.

Introduced hisself as Mike.

Mike?

And what did Mike look like?

Dark hair.

Lots of muscles.

And he was gimpy.

Right ankle, I'd guess.

You said this Mike came out after him.

The two men weren't together?

Mike had his hand in his pocket like he had a piece in there.

This other fella clammed up real fast,

like he's scared of this Mike.

He apologizes, and then they go on their way.

Must've taken that without me knowin' as they was headin' off.

Tibbs didn't see him take his picture.

Odds are, neither did Mike.

Mike didn't know he had a camera.

John Doe took those pictures

because he knew Mike was gonna kill him.

He was leaving us a trail of bread crumbs.

All right, we know where John Doe winds up.

And Tibbs' cabin is here, about four miles away.

Okay. This landscape, this tree.

We need to figure out where he took these photos.

How? This trail covers 2,000 miles.

And since we don't have a time-line,

there's no way to know where these were even taken.

Devan?

What does this look like to you?

What?

This, this speck here.

We've got him.You got who?

Alistair Dark.Oh, the vampire?

There's no such thing as vampires, remember?

That's your second warning. Who you got?

We're not too sure. He's using a fake name.

Frank Jones.

Who, as fate would have it, was murdered three years ago.

Body washed up on the banks of the Charles.

Half of his blood was missing.

At the time nobody thought anything of it.

They just figured he bled out in the water.

Shortly after he dies, our new Frank Jones

gets a job at a blood bank.

Frank Jones. There's an unusual name.

Be that as it may, but since Jonesy started working there,

the facility has reported mysterious losses

of its blood supply-- all type O-positive.

The same blood type as our new Frank Jones.

You're gonna need a lot more than a blood type

to nail this guy.

He killed a man by puncturing two holes in his neck

and draining all his blood out.

I mean, motive, opportunity, and a murder weapon would be nice.

We've spoken to Frank Jones.

Now we're gonna go pay a visit to his alter ego,

Alistair Dark.

How do you plan on doing that?

The last four times Burnham met him,

was at some Goth club named Azmandeus.

Goth club, huh?

Let Nigel do all the talking.

[dance music]

Sure glad you decided to go under cover, Woody.

You're blending right in.

Sorry, I didn't get the memo.

You sew those pants on yourself?

Mm, an "O".

Just my type.

I've been known to have an "O" effect on the ladies.

Okay. Okay.

And you look like a "B."

That's yummy too.

B-positive, darling.

Mm, even better.

You two are really starting to creep me out.

We're looking for Alistair Dark.

Do you know where we can find him?

In the crypt. Where else?

Thank you.

Later.

[door bangs open]

Alistair Dark.

Or should we say Frank?

I'm sure you know by now Frank's been dead for three years.

Yeah, we've been meaning to talk to you about that.

Wow, check out those fangs.

Can't say I noticed those last night.

[sinister laugh] I just ate.

Isis, darling.

Why don't you get some libations for our friends here?

All right, Frankie, come on, let's go.

Hey!

Freeze, Frank, there's nowhere to go.

Ah, Alistair.

[Woody] Come on, man, get down from there.

You crazy, man? That's a hundred-foot drop!

What the hell are you thinking?

I can see your reflection.

Right there in the mirror.

Now, I couldn't do that if you were really a vampire.

Right?You invited me here.

Besides, this is a two way mirror.

There's people behind it.

Two of them, by the smell.

Come on, grab a seat.

Never invite a vampire into your own home.

That's warning number three.

So, we know you're not Frank Jones,

so who the hell are you?

Dark. Alistair Dark.

Your real name, please.

Alistreta Constantine Lazaro Darkona.

All right, Alistrator. Where are you from?

Romania.

What happened to the accent?

I watch a lot of TV.

You got an ID? Driver's license?

Don't drive.

Passport?

Unnecessary.

Unnecessary.

How did you get into this country?

In the hull of a ship.

Okay. And when did that happen?

[Dark] It's been a while.

Hard to remember exactly.

Let's forget about exactly.

Let's work with a ballpark figure.

1734. October, I believe.

[rapping on door]

What's up with the apple, Count Chocula?

I thought you people only drank blood.

Well, you thought wrong, Frankenberry.

Where were you 5:00 AM Saturday morning?

I don't remember.I think you do.

I think you were in Samuel Burnham's apartment.

And I think you killed him.

Why would I do that?

I don't know.

Maybe you didn't want him writing a book on you.

Maybe he found out you were a phony.

To tell you the truth, I don't really care.

That's a good story.

My, my. This is getting interesting.

We found Samuel Burnham

dead in his bathtub

from two puncture wounds in his neck.

Two puncture wounds I believe you made

with those pearly whites of yours.

You're making a very serious mistake.Zip it, Choppers.

Those two men that smelled you behind the mirror

are gonna forensically pin this murder on you.

Now we'll try and have this all wrapped up by sunrise.

I'd hate to see what happens when the sunlight hits you.

[eerie music]

It's a man.

A man falling out of the sky.

Yup.

I thought John Doe took a swan-dive off a cliff.

This guy is not John Doe.

And he isn't exactly falling.

He's sky-diving.

That bulge on his back is a parachute.

Are you saying this is our man Mike?

Yup again.

Tibbs said that Mike had a bum ankle.

Maybe it was from a hard landing.

I pulled tissue samples from John Doe,

and cross-referenced his biological data

with local insect activity,

and came up with a time of death.

That's my Bug.

Eleven days, four hours.

Four hours?

Well, give or take.

And using this time line, I was able to narrow down

when this photograph was taken.

The FAA then provided us with a list of planes that flew

over this area within a 24-hour time frame.

And how are we supposed to tell which of these planes

he jumped from?Twelve of the thirteen made it back safely.

Just under two weeks ago,

a Cessna 414 crashed off the coast of Maine.

The plane was never recovered, but the pilot's body

washed up on shore.

[Devan] I tried to contact the plane's owner,

but I'm getting the runaround.

Turns out it's Harold Fallon.

Harold Fallon?

The real estate mogul?

Great, we didn't even make it past his receptionist.

You should've let me do the talking.

There are certain things women just shouldn't try to do.

Anybody ever tell you you're a pig? Yes.

Yes, they have. I believe it was you.

Let's face it, we're gonna have to go through his lawyer

to get him to talk.Maybe, maybe not.

Mr. Fallon! A word please!

It's all right.

How can I help you, officer?

It's detective. Seely.

This is Dr. Maguire from the M.E.'s office.

Mr. Fallon, we'd like to ask you a few questions

about a plane of yours that crashed off the coast of Maine.

I've already spoken to the NTSB regarding the crash.

Unless the wreckage has been recovered--

Why did the plane make a flight from Miami to Boston

once a month?

It was a company aircraft doing company business.

Nothing more.

What're you moving, Mr. Fallon?

Moving?

Flight plans list the pilot as the only occupant.

I doubt you had him flying back and forth for the hell of it.

I have wide-ranging business interests, Detective.

Among them, significant real estate holdings in Miami.

What I'm "moving" is paperwork.

So, if it's just paperwork, why not fly a smaller plane?

You have a Cessna 310 in your fleet that burns half the fuel.

Well, I couldn't expect you to understand all the factors

that went into making that decision.

After all, what do you know about running a business?

Nothing.

But I know this.

Another man was on that plane besides the pilot.

Really?

Well, that's news to me.

He parachuted out before the plane crashed.

We've got a feeling he took some of your "paperwork" with him.

Then again, what do we know?

All right, okay. I'll see you back here.

Well?

That was Devan.

Fallon wouldn't talk.

One more photo.

It has to be significant. All the other ones are.

If we just knew why he took it.

Look, I have no idea why, but I have some idea where.

The FAA said that Mike's plane followed the Appalachian Trail

for around 11 miles before veering east.

Which means he bailed out somewhere around here.

We can't exactly check every tree

in nine miles of woods, Bug.

Oh, well, we don't have to. This is a scrub oak.

They only grow at elevations above 2,000 feet,

which would be this area here.

That's still a lot of territory.

What are the odds of finding just one tree?

A lot better if I'm the one looking for it.

There's a naturist camp around there.

I know the area quite well.

Naturist?

Naturalist.

Birds and things, you know. Yeah.

[door bangs open]

Are you boys staring at my teeth?

Where'd you get these things?

Using the bite marks from the apple,

I reverse-engineered a plaster mold.

I don't understand, why didn't we just do a DNA test

on the saliva and match it to the bite marks?

There wasn't any saliva in the bite marks.

He hit the carotid artery, remember?

So four to five quarts of blood pumped through that wound

in less than two minutes, washing any saliva out.

Which is why I redirect your attention to exhibit "A."

So...his teeth are real?

Not to open with a cliché, but I've got good news

and I've got bad news.

Which would you like first?

All right, let's start with the good news then, shall we?

Dark's fangs are an exact match to the wound

in Samuel Burnham's neck.

Then we got him.

Oh, Woodrow.

After all our adventures together,

one would begin to suspect that

you would anticipate the bad news.

Welcome to Vampirama.com. Based out of Utah.

Where for the low, low price of $399.99,

you, yes you, can be the proud owner of...

[Woody] You gotta be kidding me.

How many of these have they sold?

631 since the site's been up.

Each set exactly identical to Dark's.

Now what are we supposed to do?

We go back to the crime scene.

[Phantom of the Opera suspenseful organ music]

[Bug] Isn't this glorious?

The color, the light?

Air that cleanses the stench of death from one's nostrils.

Yeah, yeah, just great.

I sense sarcasm.

This whole outdoorsy thing you got going on here,

where the hell did it come from?

I always pegged you as the science nerd.

What is science, if it's not an appreciation of nature?

Is this really the plan?

Criss-crossing back and forth through a jungle?

What better way to locate our tree?

Well, how much of the territory have we covered so far?

About a tenth of it.

A tenth?!

We're making excellent progress.

This is insane!

We're in two square miles of forest looking for one tree.

Keep in mind, it is statistically unlikely

we'll have to search the whole area before we find it.

We're never gonna find it!

I'm not even looking anymore.

I'm too busy thinking about the blisters on my feet

and every bug that's taken a chunk out of my flesh.

[sighs] Besides, a tree is a tree.

Leaves, branches, bark-- they're all the same!

You know, that is an ignorant and an offensive statement.

Where are you going?

We need to conduct this search in a methodical manner.

It looks different from this angle, but...I think...

Hah.

O ye of little faith.

That's odd.

This pile of rocks wasn't there when John Doe took the photo.

You think someone put them there?

Why?Maybe as a marker.

A marker for what?

Let's find out.

Where do you even get one of those?

What is that?

Oh. my God! Is that what I think it is?

There's gold in these there hills.

Look familiar?

Where did you get that?

We found it buried in the woods.

It was left there by the guy who ripped you off.

He calls himself Mike.

He pulled off the perfect heist: you think your gold's at the

bottom of the Atlantic, while Mike's off living large.

Why were you moving gold from Miami to Boston, Mr. Fallon?

I simply converted some of my assets into bullion.

And now that you found it, I would like it back.

No can do. It's evidence in a murder investigation.

What murder?

Actually, that would be murders, plural.

After Mike took out the pilot, he bailed out of your plane,

pulled a DB Cooper.

Then he killed somebody on the ground.

I don't know what you're talking about.

Then how about I fill you in.

A John Doe is hiking the Appalachian Trail.

He snaps a photo of a sky-diver--

not something you usually see out there.

John heads to where the sky-diver landed

to make sure he's okay.

But he picked a bad day to be a good Samaritan,

because Mike is not a nice guy.

Yeah, see, Mike offloaded two duffels worth of gold

from your plane.

We're thinking his plan was to bury one

and hike the other one out.

Problem is, he twisted his ankle.

So when John Doe shows up, Mike pulls a gun.

Turns Doe into his own personal Sherpa.

And once Mike and the gold were close to the trail entrance,

John Doe was expendable.

As I said, I don't know anything about this.

We're not stupid and neither are you.

You wouldn't fly a load of gold without security.

This was an inside job.

You tell us where we can find Mike and everyone wins.

We get to solve a murder, and maybe you get to keep your gold.

So, unless you want your next colonoscopy performed

by the IRS audit team, I suggest that you take the deal.

[Phantom of the Opera suspenseful organ music]

All I'm saying is that perhaps

we should consider the obvious

before we consider the mundane.

Mundane being the version that doesn't have vampires in it?

Fine, then, perhaps you can explain

how he saw us behind the mirror?

Lucky guess. What about the fake teeth?

Clever ploy to avoid prosecution.

This is ridiculous!

Why are we even having this conversation?!

Let's at least listen to his theory, all right?

That's what this exercise is all about. Fine.

Thank you.

All right...

so what if it happened something like this?

[thunder]

[Nigel] What if Dark changed his mind

about having a book written about him?

Perhaps he didn't want to be outed,

his true nature revealed to the entire world.

So they had a fight.

Now Burnham's afraid for his life.

[disembodied laughter]

[Macy] How did Dark get through the bolted door?

He didn't come in through the door.

[thunder]

[wind howling]

[Macy] Okay, now it's all starting to make sense.

But Burnham's powerless, mesmerized.

A deer in the headlights.

Finally, Burnham has nowhere left to run.

And so he gives in.

[yells]

Surrenders to his killer's cold embrace.

And when Dark's finished feeding,

he goes out the way he came in,

leaving Burnham in a state of half-death.

Doing his best to stop the bleeding, he calls 911 for help.

But by the time the paramedics arrive...

it's too late.

Fine. Fine! Fine.

Then perhaps one of you two can explain

how the door was bolted from the inside

when the paramedics arrived?

In the real world, there's only one answer

to a locked room murder.

Suicide.

We know Burnham interviewed Dark earlier that evening.

We know he was depressed.

Now, this latest book was supposed to be

his ticket back to the big time,

but instead he found out that Dark was a hoax.

Maybe he stumbled across the same website we did.

Anyway, all of his work was for nothing.

He was gonna be a loser again. A never-was.

But maybe there was a way out.

If he could somehow stage an attack and make it look like

Dark was indeed a vampire,

that's what I call publicity.

Sure as hell beats Oprah's book club.

So he dials 911.

Says he's been attacked. He knows they're on the way.

Then it was time for phase two.

The only problem was he must've slept through Anatomy class,

because he mistook his carotid artery for his jugular.

[yells]

Burnham's in panic mode now.

He knows the paramedics are gonna be there any second,

but if they find the fangs, the whole charade was for nothing.

So with what little strength he has left,

he makes his way to the window, opens it,

and tosses out the evidence.

He staggers back into the bathroom,

collapses in the tub still holding the towel to his neck.

And once it's saturated, all of his excess blood

goes down the drain, leaving his body exsanguinated.

Damn.

That him?

Yeah, that's him.

Let's get him.

[sirens]

What'd I do?

What's going on?

[Officer] Hands on the car.

Put 'em on the car.

Give me the keys.

What, no parachute this time?

Who's the hiker?

What's his name?

I don't know what you're talking about.

The man you killed?

Who is he?!

Come on.

Tomato juice.

Sorry, we're fresh out of blood.

I'd like to speak to my lawyer.

No need, Marilyn.

We found the remnants of enamel fangs

on the street below Burnham's apartment.

So, sorry to disappoint you, but you're off the hook.

I am?

He found out you weren't real, didn't he?

Oh, we also found Frank Jones' killer.

He's serving time in Delaware.

He actually admitted to two other murders last January.

So the only thing illegal you've done

is use an alias to gain employment.

And while, technically, that's still a crime,

I'm willing to let it go, 'cause you obviously have...

other problems.

So I can go?You can go.

[makes a squealing growl]

[still growling]

Hey, man, I gotta ask you one more question.

What is your real name?

[sighs]

Jeremy Shenkman.

Shenkman? Is that of Romanian descent?

Very funny.

I'm from Yonkers.

What about Alistair Dark?

I made him up to get laid.

I mean, that's how it started.

As it does with all great men.

I mean, the girls...

they loved the mystery and the danger.

And...a whole world, you know, like this whole thing.

And I fit in.

Finally, I fit in because Dark is...

He's just a lot more interesting than I am.

[door opens and closes]

[whispering] Good work.

♪ I'm so lonely

♪ I wish I was the moon tonight ♪

[knocking]

Found it in Mike's apartment.

Go ahead. Look inside.

Oh, Jeffrey Montgomery.

Community college professor, taught botany.

Every spring he'd head out for a month,

hike the trail. No phone.

No contact.

Just him out in the wild.

Now, I'll always be a city boy,

but I can't help but respect him for that, y'know?

Any family?

A wife.

No kids.

I, uh, figured you're better at this kinda stuff then I am.

Thanks.

Nice doing business with you, Doc.

Let's not make it a habit.

Yeah.

Captioning byCaptionMax www.captionmax.com

Mrs. Montgomery?

I'm sorry to be calling so late.

My name is Jordan Cavanaugh.

I'm with the Boston Medical Examiner's office.

I'm so sorry,

but I have some bad news about your husband, Jeffrey...

♪ I'm so tired

♪ And I wish I was the moon

♪ Tonight