All language subtitles for Bones S06E11 The Bullet in the Brain

Prisoner on the move!

Prepare to transport!

An angry crowd is gathering downtown...

where prosecutor-turned-killer
Heather Taffet...

is expected to arrive
at the courthouse for a final appeal.

Move out!

Also known as the Grave Digger...

Taffet was sentenced to death
for a single kidnap-murder...

after escaping conviction
for a string of similar crimes.

Are you nervous, Dr. Sweets?

- You seem uncomfortable.
- I'm fine.

I'm merely here to comply with
your request for psychological
counseling during transport.

Are you comfortable?

Right.

I do appreciate the company.

On death row,
one spends so much time alone.

It- It tests the sanity.

Oh, I assure you, you are sane,
technically speaking.

And you're not gonna
convince me of otherwise...

if that's your plan
to win your appeal.

So young.

You remind me of a little boy
dressed up in his father's suit.

Are you saying I remind you
of one of your victims?

You remind me of all of them, Lance.

An eye for an eye!

- She's gonna fry!
- Yeah!

Take care of those people
over there in that area.

- She's crazy!
- He said we could stay!

There she is.

Two wrongs do not make a right!

These people are so unreasonable.

Most of them are here in protest.

There's a remote possibility
your conviction could be overturned.

No, they're deflecting, Dr. Sweets.

You should know that.

They know I'm not the only one
responsible for my crimes.

Okay, 84, change of plans.
They're bringing her around the front.

- Into all of this?
- We got no choice.

That parking garage- the gate's closed.
It's not opening.

Let's go.
Move it in.

- What's wrong?
- Change of plans.

Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go,
go, go, go, go, go, go.

Hey, hey, hey, hey! Knock it off!
Knock it off! Knock it off! Knock it off!

I'm the lucky one, Lance.

My appeal falls through, I die.

But you're forced to live every day...

as a repressed,
immature imbecile...

spouting canned theories
to people who don't really care.

Everyone knows who's
the weakest link in the chain.

You testify at my appeal,
and I'm gonna walk.

- Step out of the van.
- You okay?

- Yeah.
- All right, what'd she say?

- Nothing worth repeating.
- Nothing worth repeating. All right.

Let her die!

Fry! Fry!

Let her fry!

Give her the gas! Come on!

Whoa-whoa-whoa!
Down, down, down, down, down!

Let me see! Let me see!

Hold on. All right,
just push everybody back.

Everybody back! Behind the line!
Back 'em up!

Booth! Booth! I'm so glad you're okay.
Are there any other victims?

- Just Heather Taffet.
- Did you see the shooter?

No, I was looking out in the crowd.
The next thing I know,
her head was gone.

- Where's Sweets?
- He's right over there.

He was standing right next to her.
We're bringing in the trauma guy.

Don't just stand there!

We got a shrink
who needs shrunk...

and a headless child-killer
in a puddle of brains.

- Who's gonna take
the witness statements?
- Does it matter?

- That shot came out of nowhere,
straight from God.
- Oh, excuse me!

Don't touch those.
Cam talked to the medical examiner.

He agreed that the skull fragments
can go to the Jeffersonian.

Okay, fine. All right.
You get the body. She gets the head.

- Where are you going?
- Over here.

Right there.

There it is.
Damn!

That is a powerful rifle.

So, if it, uh- if the bullet
impacted here and...

penetrated her head...

there-

Where do you think
it came from?

Somewhere up there.

You sure that damage was
caused by a single bullet?

When a faster-than-average
bullet hits the brain...

the shock waves
can cause an explosion.

It's called hydrostatic shock.

So, cause of death-
exploded head.

Behold!

The granddaddy of all bullets
was retrieved from the scene.

- That is not a bullet. That's a blob.
- Yeah, that's an understatement.

Look at that. It looks like
a giant piece of... gum.

It's awfully big.

Beyond that,
I can't estimate caliber.

Looks like pure copper though.

Uh, yeah. It doesn't mean that it is.
I mean, I'll check it out.

Wait, the Grave Digger
was wearing a suit?

Uh, Dr. Sweets got some spatter.

- Is he okay?
- He's a little shaken up, but he's fine.

- Wasn't Booth there too?
- And Caroline Julian.

That's a fair number
of trained eyeballs at the scene.

Booth should have this
under control in no time.

You'd think when a highly trained,
world-class sniper
witnesses an assassination...

we'd have it all sewn up.

You could say the same thing
about the United States attorney.

- I'm too short to see a thing.
- What bothers me is that
I didn't hear the shot.

- It was a loud crowd.
- It wasn't that loud.

- A silencer?
- Nah. Must've been long range.

- What about the roof next door?
- Well, I checked with SWAT.

There were two sharpshooters
on the roof...

with standard-issue M24s.

You think it was
one of the good guys?

We checked the rifles,
but we couldn't find any casings.

What about those microphones
police put up all over town...

to pick up the sound of gunfire?

The ShotSpotter system.
I put a request into Metro.

They're gonna send the recordings
to the Jeffersonian.

I also called in a witness.

- Who?
- James Kent.

The father of those poor boys
the Grave Digger buried alive?

- He was there watching.
- There is a long list of people
who wanted this woman dead.

You know who leaps to my mind?
Dr. Brennan's father.

Max?

He took a shot
at the woman before.

Maybe he got nervous
when he heard "appeal"...

thought he had to come
keep you people safe, like a lifeguard.

Supposedly he's in Mexico,
but I'll put him on the list.

And while you're at it,
put yourself on there too.

- Me? I was standing right next to you.
- Don't worry, cher.

I told you, I couldn't see a thing.

You gotta be kiddin' me.
Come on! Huh?

... repressed, immature imbecile...

spouting canned theories
to people who don't really care.

Everyone knows who's
the weakest link in the chain.

You testify at my appeal,
and I'm gonna walk.

... testify at my appeal,
and I'm gonna walk.

Yeah.

- Hey.
- Hey.

- You okay?
- I'm fine.

Um, I should be asking you
if you're okay.

Yeah, I'm fine. You're the one
who had to take the shower.

I can acknowledge
that I witnessed a traumatic event...

but for some reason...

be it textbook disassociation
or the onset of P.T.S. D...

I feel relief.

Well, you survived.

Yeah.
It's more than that though.

I'm just- I'm happy that Heather Taffet
can't hurt anyone anymore.

I get that.

Um, a thought occurred to me.

Y-

You don't think that shot
was meant for me, do you?

I mean, she asked for me
to be there.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Whoa.

Sweets, whoever did this
was aiming at one thing-

Taffet's head.

He got off a clean shot.
Got me?

- Mm-hmm.
- All right?

So take the day off.
Go get some rest.

You don't need my help
with the investigation?

If I do, you'll be
the first one I call.

- Right. Thanks, Agent Booth.
- Mm-hmm.

Cool. Oh, could you
close the door?

- Yeah.
- Thanks.

Everyone knows who's
the weakest link in the chain.

You testify at my appeal,
and I'm gonna walk.

So, the bullet weighed 12 grams
and was made of pure copper.

Hodgins found only
trace amounts of lead.

- This is the base of the bullet?
- Yeah, what's left of it.

What are these grooves?

Cam says they aren't related to
internal ballistics, but that's all we know.

Well, is there anything
you can do...

to determine the original form
of the bullet before it was fired?

You mean, can I unsquash it?

Yes. It needs unsquashing.

Okay, well, I can render
an educated guess...

based on metallic properties
and total weight.

- Will that help?
- Yes.

Okay.

Do you think my father
killed the Grave Digger?

Whoa!
Where did that come from?

Booth put him
on the suspect list.

It's not so far out of
the realm of possibility.

Heather Taffet
was headed to an appeal.

My father would never allow her
to go free out of concern for my safety.

Honey, I- Max didn't do this.

Besides, isn't he in Thailand?

Don't worry about this.

I'm sure there's plenty of people
who want to kill the Grave Digger...

right here at home.

Twenty-seven convicted killers she
put away as a prosecutor now on parole.

Then there's 22 family members
of her victims.

Eighty-six attorneys
she's faced in court.

- One of them works
right next to the courthouse.
- Agent Booth.

- Yeah?
- A James Kent is here to see you.

- I hope I didn't keep you waiting.
- Oh!

- No, that's okay.
- Have a seat.

- So, I saw you today at the crime scene.
- Yeah.

A lot of the victims' families were there.
We all stood together.

Some of us were gonna testify.

- I guess that won't be necessary.
- Nope.

- How do you feel about that?
- How do I feel about that?

This woman buried my children alive.

I couldn't even identify their bodies.

That's how I feel about that.

I sympathize with your loss,
Mr. Kent...

but most witnesses
that were there today...

they ran when they saw Taffet shot.

- Yeah? So?
- So you just stood there.

I just stood there because
I didn't know what the hell was going on.

- Or because you knew it was over?
- Are you nuts? How-

- You had a video camera in your hand.
- Yeah.

I thought that's why
you brought me in here.

Like you said, I was standing right there.
I got it all on tape.

Here's my paper on how to
reconstruct gunshot injuries to the skull.

I prefer to create an accurate
representation of hydrostatic shock.

So the reconstruction can show us
how the head exploded.

Yes. For ease of examination,
the base should rotate.

We're gonna put the Grave Digger's head
on a lazy Susan?

Yes.

- Brennan.
- Hello, Tempe, it's me.

Dad. Where are you?

I'm in Maui on- on vacation...

taking a- a little rest
for that weary soul of mine.

But I heard all about
that nasty old hag.

- Are you referring to the Grave Digger?
- She's all over the news.

- So you're not the killer?
- What? No.

- You're on the suspect list.
- Well, you don't think I did it, do you?

Well, unless you can provide
quantifiable evidence, I can't rule it out.

- I can provide evidence.
- That you were in Maui
at the time of the murder?

Uh, no. I was, uh-
I-I'm in New Hampshire.

Well, l-I met this woman
in Cape Cod.

But she had a husband.
I'm sure you can guess the rest.

How can I believe you?
You lied to me just now.

When you get a second,
I have to show you something.

Dad, I'm sorry. I have to go.
Angela has something to show me.

Okay, okay.
Listen, I love you. All right?

And tell everybody I didn't do it.

Bye.

I definitely found the moment of impact.

- Right there.
- Mmm.

Yeah, the shot is definitely coming
from the south-southwest.

I don't hear anything.

- Yeah,
the shooter was definitely far away.
- Mmm.

- Hi.
- Hey.

What are you doin' here? I thought
you were puttin' a head together.

I have something important
to show you.

That's the bullet?

- .338 Lapua Magnum.
- Yes!

Angela did a rendering based on
the classic Sears-Haack
aerodynamic profile.

This shouldn't be pure copper,
and it shouldn't look like that.

Well, what if it does look like that?

This is a custom job.
I mean, this was machine-made by hand.

A handmade bullet? That doesn't
sound like an angry father to me.

This was a professional hit.

I just keep thinking
how awful it would be to...

watch a baby become a child...

and then lose that child...

to somebody like Heather Taffet.

When we find out who shot her...

I'm sending a gift basket.

- Hodgins!
- What?

That's taking it a little far,
don't you think?

A gift basket?

No. Honey, your attitude.

You're suggesting that
you'd reward a killer for killing.

In this case, I would.
I'd drive him to Mexico.

Angie, Heather Taffet
buried me alive.

What do you want me to say?

I get your point.

Thank you.

Your lack of sensitivity
concerns me a little bit though.

Maybe you should talk to Sweets.

Ooh, I need to. I need to check in on him,
make sure he's doing okay.

No, that's not what I mean.

The father of my child cannot
condone a full-out assassination.

Can he?

Baby's on my side.

Oh, God.

The entry wound is fairly clean
and is located here at the left parietal...

two centimeters above the suture.

The exit wound, however-
that's another matter.

It appears to be here at the right parietal,
but it's hard to tell.

Mmm. Well, it should still help us
determine the trajectory.

So let's take a look
at the images.

Here we go.

- So, how tall is Heather Taffet?
- Uh, 5 foot 4.

Okay.

Uh, wouldn't wind be a factor?

No, not this time.

It hit the wall at over
a thousand feet per second.

Yeah, but I mean it would have to be,
to clear the crowd and the van.

Yeah, well, that is not much of an angle.

That is one long shot.

I don't think Max could do this.

I think Booth should take him
off that list.

Sing it, sister.

- Uh, Max!
- How are you, Angel?

Oh, i-it's Angela.

Angela, of course.
But you're still an angel.

Uh, I think I know why you're here.

Well, it's not to clear my good name.
That ship sailed a long time ago.

I really don't care what anybody thinks,
unless it's my daughter.

Dr. Brennan
went to go see Agent Booth.

But she should be back any minute.

Well, I'll catch up with her
in the parking lot.

But just so I know-

Booth and Tempe, are- a-are they-

Actually, no.

Mmm.

I don't believe this.

So...

Booth has fallen in love
with another woman?

Her name is Hannah Burley.

Well, that's a familiar name.

She's a news correspondent.

Oh, y- Oh, right, right.
That girl.

Well, you're a lot prettier than that,
and smarter too.

I know.

I'm sorry, honey.

Why are you apologizing?

I just always thought that you and Booth
would get over the nonsense
and settle down.

I don't wanna talk about it.

Oh, wait, before I forget.

Your plane ticket?

Well, there's other receipts too.

There's for a motel,
and restaurant receipts and a ski pass.

You didn't kill the Grave Digger?

No, I didn't, and I'm not gonna
sleep at night until you believe me.

I do believe you.

But you need to talk to Booth.

Oh, I don't- I-I don't wanna
get all mixed up with the F.B.I.

Y-You believe me,
so it's not my word.

It's yours.

Okay, just tell Max that drunk
in New Hampshire is not an official alibi.

- But he has receipts.
- Cash receipts.

I mean, we all know that
Max has creative alibis.

My father is an average marksman.

Do you think he's physically
capable of doing this?

All people have a different threshold
for the ability to kill.

No, I'm talking about the skill.

I don't know. We never
know the full truth about Max.

- So he remains on the suspect list?
- I know this is hard for you.

But I have to consider every option.
Okay, Bones?

So the Grave Digger was standing...

right about... here.

Okay? I'm her.
You're Sweets.

- Wh-Why am I Sweets?
- Because, Bones.

- Just be Sweets.
- Okay.

- Back up.
- Something like this?

Around there?

Wow. Are you sure this is right?
It's very close.

According to the diagram,
1.2 meters.

Judging by the cone of trajectory...

the shot came
from somewhere up there.

That makes sense.
Statler & Harmon.

- What's that?
- The law offices on the top
two floors of that building.

One of our suspects works there.
This guy, Harvey Morster.

He served with the Seabees
in Gulf I.

Tested as an expert marksman.

- Is he a lawyer?
- He was. Now he's a paralegal.

Taffet had him disbarred.

So, what do you think?
Is he our sniper?

Harvey Morster didn't do it.

- He has an alibi?
- I didn't ask.

- Then how do you know?
- I just know.

This is amazing.

- Each one of these dots
represents a microphone?
- Yeah.

Fine-tuned to ignore any ambient noise,
yet pick up any gunfire.

That's the shot?

The acoustic sensor
has a mile radius.

So all we know is that a gun was fired
somewhere within that range.

Right. Now choose
a second microphone.

Really? That's so far
from the crime scene.

- Booth said it was a long shot.
- Okay.

Wow, you're right.

Okay, now all we have to do
is draw another circle...

and triangulate.

And where the two intersect
is the source of the shot?

Yeah.

Nearly 1,500 yards from the site.

- Is that even possible?
- I don't know.

Must be why the cops called
these results inconclusive.

Okay, well, I'll compare it to the trajectory
and see what we get.

It might take me a while,
but I think I can get an address.

Look, he is all wrong.
We're looking for a trained sniper.

- Will you tell her?
- He tested as an expert marksman!

Okay, maybe he made a good shot
once in a while, all right?
But he was sweaty and nervous.

You can't exonerate a man
for excessive perspiration.

Sweets! Help me out here.

- Uh, I- Wh-What do I know?
- What do you know?

You know the profile.

- Tell her.
- Okay. Agent Booth is right.

Most professionally trained
snipers are methodical.

Controlled, clean, patient.

Um, willing to kill
under morally acceptable circumstances.

No, no, no.
A sniper does not make the morality call.

He's just the hand
that pulls the trigger.

With the faith that the target
is a threat to innocent life.

- Right.
- Is this a revenge killing?

It's more than that.

A rookie sniper would go through
a transformative process...

as he struggled to develop
his professional identity.

I believe that
you're looking for a person...

whose process was destroyed.

Good work, Sweets.

Good, but slow.

Oh, come on. You can't blame a guy
who's not on his "A" game.

You need some time
to get your head together?

Really, I'm fine. Okay?
Even under the best circumstances...

my "A" game deserves a "C."

- Come on. That's not true.
- I'm good, really.

The lab compared the ShotSpotter
recording to the trajectory.

We got an address.

Miss Leveque! F.B.I.!

Ms. Leveque?
Open up. F.B.I.

Oh, there's a doorbell.

Do you know the woman
that lives here is an escort?

You mean a prostitute?

Doorbell.

- I don't think she's here.
- That's okay.

What, now you're picking locks?

Got a warrant.

Anybody home?

I don't-

I don't see the courthouse.

Yeah? That's because
you don't have one of these.

You know, if there's
a clear shot to be had...

only the best sniper in the world
would be able to pull it off.

Are you referring to yourself?
Because you do hold the official record
for the longest shot.

- Almost a kilometer.
- I'm not referring to myself.

And it was-
it was over a kilometer.

Yep.

It's a clear shot.
Max couldn't have pulled this off.

It looks like this table
was dragged over here.

- Do you smell something?
- Like what?

Like cleaning solution.

No. Yeah.

Here are the marks.

Tell you what.

The shooter...

dragged this table over here...

to get it in position.

Yeah.

No, the shooter didn't pick this-

this apartment just for the view.

He definitely did it
for the challenge.

He had something to prove.

He was a sniper, and so are you.

Elite members of a closed community
always intersect.

You must know
the man who did this.

- I do.
- Booth.

I think you need to see this.

Whoa.

My appeal falls through, I die.

But you're forced to live every day...

as a repressed,
immature imbecile...

spouting canned theories
to people who don't really care.

Everyone knows
who's the weakest link in the chain.

You testify at my appeal,
and I'm gonna walk.

All right.

Nope.

Hey, hey.

What are you doing
out of the lab?

I need to talk to you. Good to see
you're okay. We were worried about you.

No reason to be worried.

Cool. I just need your, uh,
professional opinion on something.

All right.

I've been having some
pretty strong feelings about
what happened yesterday.

Am I wrong to be happy?

Happy that the Grave Digger's dead?

Yes.

I mean, I'm completely okay with it.

In fact, it's the best thing
that's happened to me all week.

But, Angela, I don't know- She thinks
I've, like, gone off the deep end.

Right.

Um, no, no. What you're
experiencing is not uncommon.

The victim of a crime
often feels ambivalent in the aftermath.

They have feelings of guilt
or relief or...

even a sense of-
let's not call it pleasure.

Let's call it pleasure.

Pleasure...

when the perpetrator meets justice.

Do you believe that Heather Taffet
got what she deserved?

Do you?

I do.

Me too.

I feel much better, Sweets.

But you felt good in the first place.

- I felt good the Grave Digger was dead.
- Oh.

I feel double good my wife was wrong.
Thanks, buddy.

- You're a big help.
- If you think so.

- I'll see ya later.
- All right.

I have not seen any evidence
that proves that the same person
who shot the Grave Digger...

also killed this victim.

Are you suggesting that the sniper
was looking for a place to shoot...

and just so happened upon
a dead girl in a bathtub full of lye?

- Your Socratic question
constitutes a powerful argument.

Confirmed.
Tracy Leveque, escort, age 29.

Nobody knew she was gone.

- And this is not lye.
- What is it?

Do we know
what killed Ms. Leveque?

Uh, the atlas is fractured.

Maybe she broke her neck
when he threw her in the tub.

No.

A thin object, like a knife, was inserted
between the cranium and the atlas...

severing her head from her spine.

- Sounds pretty gruesome.
- Actually, it would be quite effortless.

Stab, twist.

Should I create a mold
to match the weapon?

Yes, please.

Has Hodgins
determined time of death?

Hodgins- Whew!
What is going on?

Goggles! Goggles!

Crystal Cloggo super-strength
drain clog remover is caustic stuff.

Wow! Good old-fashioned
Cloggo, huh?

Yep. It's a combination of
sodium hypochlorite, sodium hydroxide,
potassium hydroxide...

otherwise known as caustic potash.

Good thing the experiment is over...

because otherwise I'd need
some more ventilation in here.

Why are we doing a dangerous
and irrelevant experiment?

Dr. Brennan asked me to help
ascertain time of death...

by determining how fast
the Cloggo dissolved Ms. Leveque.

Now, used according to
directions, right...

this stuff dissolves a two-ounce
hot dog every nine minutes.

- There's a hot dog in there?
- Yeah, was.

Hey, how much
did the victim weigh?

Uh, 1,900-ounce escort,
minus the bones...

divided by a two-ounce hot dog
every nine minutes...

equals 144.

Six days.

Six days? The hearing wasn't
in the paper until the day before.

- Then how did he know about it?
- I keep coming back to an inside job.

- I haven't ruled that out.
- Forget the suspect list.

Let's call in every person east of the
Mississippi who could pull off the shot.

Regardless of alibi, I already did.

- How many men are we talkin'?
- Six.

- Know any of 'em personally?
- Every single one of 'em.

Sorry, cher. I hate to startle you
when you're traumatized.

No, Agent Booth asked me to look into
the psychological background
of our six suspects.

But here you are
with a look on your face like a hamster
is running around in your head.

- Well-
- I knew it.

I told that judge that bitch
was gonna mess with your mind.

If my appeal falls through, I die.

But you're forced to live every day
as a repressed, immature imbecile...

spouting canned theories
to people who don't really care.

Everyone knows
who's the weakest link in the chain.

You testify at my appeal,
and I'm gonna walk.

You know what she was doin',
don't you?

- Her strategy was to shake me.
- To the bone, ch�ri.

By the time she got done with you, you
couldn't get up on that stand if you tried.

You're right. I couldn't.

Makes sense.

I've never been so scared...

as when her head...
blew to pieces.

Don't tell anybody.

I messed myself.

You did?

We're all just people, ch�ri.

You're an expert with
the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Now, who's Heather Taffet?

A dead serial killer.

You're damn straight.

Dr. Brennan has her head all rigged up,
spinning like a Christmas tree.

It's over.

She can't get to any of us anymore.

We know Tracy Leveque
was stabbed at the top of the spine,
severing the spinal column.

The killer used his left hand,
twisting counterclockwise.

Left hand? You said
he took the shot with his right.

He did. But it's very rare
for a shooter to stab someone.

This would not be an intimate killing.

The maneuver was fast and clinical,
very little blood.

Oh, like, uh, Israeli
close-quarter combat.

We believe the weapon may be
a heavy-bladed hunting knife.

We're lookin' for an ambidextrous,
Israeli-trained big-game hunter?

- Is that what you're saying?
- Precisely.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.
That narrows it down.

Okay. William Preston.
Dallas H.R.T.

I knew him in Afghanistan.

Bill.

Seeley.

Black, right?

- Sure.
- Yeah.

You know, Bill, I really hate to bring you in
under these circumstances.

No, you don't. You want me here.

If you didn't, I'd be at
a bank robbery in Austin right now.

Come on, Bill.
This isn't personal.

Your training is well established.

You know the machinery.
You hunt.

Yeah, what's well established is
you don't like me.

No, nobody likes you, Bill.

Yeah, well,
I have an alibi, Seeley.

I was on assignment.

Come on.

You and I both know who did this.

All right, I don't blame you.
He was a friend.

He was my mentor for 10 years.
I'm not gonna be the one
to point the finger.

Jake Broadsky is not a suspect.

Come on. Who else
could've made that shot?

It's him or it's you.

He was your instructor.
Close-quarter combat.

Yeah. Then we went together
to Dallas H.R.T.

He was like a brother to me
up until the day he disappeared.

- You still communicate with him?
- No.

- Do you?
- No.

- As far as I know, no one does.
- Yeah.

We'd all like to think that
he's retired somewhere happy.

But guys I know, other snipers...

sometimes they'll get a bill in the mail,
stuff we know he likes.

- Copper.
- Yeah.

Like that.

Stealing an identity, that'd be
nothing to him. He'd get a kick out of it.

You know he can hunt.

You know he loves to kill.

You know I'm right.

Jacob Ripkin Broadsky.
He trained countersnipers in the Gulf.

Then he moved to
a hostage rescue unit in Texas.

A year later, his superior accused him of
jumping the trigger in a hostage situation.

- He killed someone?
- It was a masked gunman,
but he didn't have the green light.

We call that murder.

Broadsky maintained he was acting
within his job description.

He said he did what he did to, quote,
"save the life of the hostage."

- A lot of guys agreed with him.
- What about the officials?

He disappeared before any charges
could come down.

His unit began calling him
"the hand of God."

lmplying sole judgment and the ability
to act outside human control.

That wasn't his job.
He should've waited for a green light.

Well, he thought
he was doing the right thing.

- You're glad he did it, aren't you?
- No. I don't condone it.

But you admire him.
You hold two beliefs at once.

- It's called cognitive dissonance.
- No, I understand him.

I'm busy. Talk fast.

- What happened to you?
- Caroline hollered at me.

We got a hit on a possible alias.

- Gary Gray.
- That's a famous British sniper.

Who died a hundred years ago
but somehow created
a bank account yesterday...

to cash a check for $2 million
hours after the murder.

- Who wrote him the check?
- Don't know.

But James Kent withdrew
the same amount yesterday.

James Kent. He's the father
of two of the victims.

$2 million is the ransom
she wanted for his boys.

I didn't kill anyone, Agent Booth.

Yeah, but you paid the man who did.
You see that?

That's your signature on the front of
the cashier's check. Am I right?

$2 million you paid him?

Your hit man killed
an innocent woman.

The Grave Digger wasn't the only victim.

Tracy Leveque.
She never hurt anyone.

I didn't know anything about that.

She was killed
for access to her apartment.

Then he did that on his own.

- Who's he?
- I don't know.

You're under arrest for
conspiracy to commit murder.

If I were you, I would cooperate.

- I don't know his name.
- What does he look like?

I didn't see him!

I dropped a check off...

in a restroom in a public park.

- You never met him?
- Not face to face.

- How did you find him?
- I didn't. He found me.

I got a phone call.

A man asks me if I'll pay him $2 million
to kill the Grave Digger.

- He chose the victim?
- Yeah.

And he set the price.

And I thought, "Hell, yeah."

I mean, he's- he's doing
a service to society.

The Grave Digger killed my two sons.

I paid him.

I was happy to.

Witness saw Broadsky on the news.

He swears it's the same guy
he saw in a gun shop off l-64.

Looks like the middle of nowhere.

This guy likes the middle of nowhere.

He likes to hide.
He likes to hunt.

History suggests...

that the notorious assassin
seeks foreign asylum.

Those guys are on the run.
This guy, he's on the offense.

Is it possible to search the area?

Tree canopy blocks
the view from the air.

- Property ownership.
- Right. Thanks.

So I ran a check on
the 60 private plots of land in that area.

What if we recruit volunteers
for a ground search?

Like a grid search for evidence?

Search for missing children, yeah.

But the search for a man who killed...
public enemy number one, I doubt it.

What is it?

Broadsky purchased land-
10 acres off the highway.

Under the name of another sniper?

Seeley Booth.

This is between me and him.

Seeley Booth.

Let me see the hands, Jake.

- Where's your gun?
- That's not why I'm here.

I just wanna talk.

It's good to see you.

It's over, Jake.
We both know it's over.

- So what do I have to do to bring you in?
- You can't do anything.

Not without a warrant.

I'm watching you too, Seeley.

- Why'd you kill the Grave Digger?
- I didn't.

But whoever did, I applaud him.

What about Tracy Leveque?

She didn't do anything to anyone.

Collateral damage.

Maybe she was warned to stay away
and maybe she didn't listen.

I should go.
I just wanted to say hello.

Wait, Jake. We can work
somethin' out here.

We're the same, Seeley.
We both wanna do the right thing.

Stop, Jake. I'm warning you.

Go ahead.
Jump the fence.

Don't wait for the warrant.

I don't need a warrant.
This land belongs to Seeley Booth.

Go ahead. Take the shot.

I've known you for a long time, Seeley.

You never could go for the kill,
not if there was any doubt.

He just took off.
I wasn't ready for the terrain.

Chasin' after him,
I fell and hurt my leg...

and dislocated my shoulder
from the explosion.

You should've waited for me.

I thought I could talk to him.

The Jake I know, he would definitely
have done the right thing.

Stop beating yourself up.

He destroyed all the evidence
when he booby-trapped his trailer.

We still have a case.

If we'd sent in the cavalry, guns blazing,
there'd be a disaster on our hands.

I didn't wanna let anyone down.

We may not have him tonight,
but we will. I promise, cher.

- Sounds exciting as hell.
I wish I'd been there.
- Probably best you weren't.

I did think this could have been you.

Well, it's nice to know
I'm still suspected.

I appreciate that. Thank you.
Thank you very much.

Look, there's my cab.

- I'm on my way to the airport.
- I'll walk you out.

Always a pleasure, Max.

The pleasure was all mine.

I've got paperwork. See you.

Right.

Uh, Tempe, I-I wanna thank you.

For what?

Well, I came here because I wanted you
to believe me, and- and you did.

You were exonerated by the facts.

But even if you weren't,
I- I did believe you.

You did?

Well, that's all I wanted to hear.

Oh, wait, I have something for you.

I almost forgot.

A conch shell from Maui.
I thought you were in New Hampshire.

Well, actually, it's, uh, ceramic.

I got it this afternoon on the mall
in front of the Natural History.

They, uh, painted your name.

- What are these holes?
- For toothbrushes.

Listen.

It works.

I know what you're gonna say.

That it is not the ocean.
It is the blood rushing through your head.

You always told me
that it was the ocean.

Good-bye, honey.

Bye.

Here we go.

To the airport.

What's that mean?

English - US - SDH