All language subtitles for 02-WithTrace

We used to sit in the bleachers
in that short right field.

We could practically touch Roger Maris.

How about Mickey Mantle?

Well, Mickey, he was in center field.
That was 465 feet back then.

And it was different than it is now.

Here you go. Happy birthday, kiddo.

Thanks.

Okay, you go first.

Damn it. You stay right there.
I gotta put more money on this, okay?

You stay.

Dad, come on.

Wait.

$10, please.

Dad.

Excuse me.

My son is out there. I'm sorry.

- Gabe!
- Dad!

Open the door! Get off at the next stop!

They separated
at the West 57th Street Station....

What began
as a classic American rite of passage...

a father taking his son
to a baseball game on his 11th birthday...

has become
the worst American nightmare.

Police say they need your help in finding....

Any information you have
will be appreciated.

The father thought that Gabe
would be at the next station...

so he jumped the next train
to meet him there.

When he wasn't there,
he came all the way up here.

He checked the platform,
the gate, then finally the seat.

- The boy had his own ticket?
- Apparently.

- And then the father called the NYPD.
- Last night at 7:00.

Why the hell did they wait
till this morning to call us?

The Yankees are calling in everyone
who worked last night.

Hopefully someone saw something.

We don't even know
if he ever made it here.

Even if he did,
it was the Red Sox last night.

There were 50,000 people.
10,000 kids his own age.

Nobody would've even noticed him.

Missing 16 hours and counting.

He got on the subway at 6:05,
but that's all we know about it so far.

How do we even know that?
His father's word?

We checked his MetroCard.
It supports his story.

- There are no eyewitnesses?
- Tons of eyewitnesses.

Just none that we can find.

This would've never happened at Shea.

It's so sad how bitter Met fans are.

Okay, Danny, you pick up
the subway detail with the NYPD.

I want you to cover
all the way from here to the Bronx.

Got it.

I'm into convicted child abusers
and pedophiles in the same vicinity.

Check all the ones above 57th Street.

If he was lifted at that time, it was
probably by somebody on their way home.

Mr. Fitzgerald,
we've got a missing kid all over the news.

We're going to have
a ton of incoming calls.

Most of them bogus.
But they've all gotta be run down.

So you want me here?

Break major protocol on the first day,
that's what happens.

How long does it take
to get out of his doghouse?

Depends on the dog.

Don't mind Danny.
He's just marking his territory.

You gonna polygraph the father?

We'll see. I hate this part.

I thought he understood
what I was saying.

But then he wasn't at 66th Street.

So I assumed that he must've
gone ahead to the stadium.

I don't know what I was thinking
and why I didn't call the police right away.

Look, I understand that this is difficult.

Mrs. Freedman, I'd like to have
a word with your husband alone...

if you don't mind.

Okay.

It's time to feed the baby anyway.

Thank you.

Are you having any financial problems?

We struggle, like everybody.

Any problems in the marriage?

No, not beyond the normal marital stuff.

The normal marital stuff?
What does that mean exactly?

I don't understand
how this is remotely relevant to anything.

It may not be, but I have to ask.

Some sick son of a bitch
may be out there with my son.

You're asking me questions
about my marriage?

I've worked hundreds of these cases.

And certain patterns develop.
I may not like the pattern...

but I can't ignore them.
You wanna know what those patterns are?

When a child goes missing...

whoever claims to have seen them last
is usually the one that took them.

And if that person happens to be
one of the parents, the incidence doubles.

My gut says you're okay,
but I don't know you.

I'm trying to get to know you
so that I can help you.

But I can't help you
unless you earn my trust.

Next thing you'll be asking me
to take a lie detector.

It may come to that later.

Do you usually give Gabe
his own ticket to hold?

No.

Why yesterday?

It was his birthday.

He's 11. I wanted him to feel that he
was old enough to be trusted with it.

- Okay?
- Okay.

- You and Gabe been fighting lately?
- No.

- Was he playing hooky from school?
- No.

Does he have any friends
that could lead him into trouble?

No.

Is he involved with drugs?

No, he isn't.

You think you saw him where?

Okay, what time was that?

All right, thank you.

No, we appreciate it. Every tip is useful.

Yeah, I've seen him.

- You sure?
- Yeah, I'm sure.

He came upon me yesterday.
Must've been between 6:00 and 6:30.

Excuse me. This isn't the stop
for Yankee Stadium, is it?

You got off too soon.
It's the next one. 161st Street.

Thanks.

I like your jacket.

Thanks.

He went back up to the subway
and that was it.

- Did he mention his father?
- No.

Did he seem nervous or worried?

No, just seemed like a nice kid
on his way to the ball game.

Thank you, sir.

Lots of little red dots.

Phone keeps ringing every 15 seconds.

Must be a lot of little brown-haired kids
unaccounted for.

I know people are trying to be helpful.

For example, this lady keeps calling me.

She's convinced that she saw Gabe
on TV this morning...

ringing the bell
to open the Stock Exchange.

Trouble is, when you think
you've got every nutcase in America...

calling your number, that's
the exact moment you get a live one.

One better come in soon
'cause I'm running out of push-pins.

Okay, I got a guy.
Gerald Dearborn, recently paroled.

Committed lewd acts with a minor,
and neighbors saw him on 118th...

at a McDonald's with a kid
fitting Gabe's description.

What do you got
around Morningside Heights?

Let's see. I got two sightings.
One at 125th, and the other, I think...

was outside the Columbia gym.
Both were around 9:00 a.m.

See? Could be our live one.

Need an extra body?

Maybe next time.

What have we got?

Neighbor saw the pervert
this morning with a boy.

- Sounds like this kid could be yours.
- Let's go.

Freeze! Get your ass on the ground.

- I didn't do anything.
- Get on the ground.

Hands behind your back, Gerry. Easy.

I didn't do anything, man. I'm clean.

Checking the bedroom.

Take it easy. Stay still.
Let me get the cuffs on you.

Let's go, bring him out.

You wanted to speak to me alone?

- Sure, if you've got the time.
- It's all right, she's finally asleep.

She's beautiful.

Gabe could never sleep
when he was her age.

He had so much energy.

I want to apologize for Bob.
He knows that you're just doing your job.

It's okay.

I don't think I'd be as patient
if I were in his shoes.

- Do you have any children?
- Two girls.

- How old?
- Six and eight.

That must be nice,
having them so close together in age.

Yeah, it is.

I've heard that if you don't find
a child in the first 48 hours, that--

That's not always the case.

Luckily, we're involved in this early.

Yeah.

Okay.

Bring it to the office and check for prints.

Somebody showed up in Gabe's seat
yesterday in the third inning.

Luckily, they struck up a conversation
with the people sitting around them.

He claims to have bought the ticket
from a scalper outside the stadium.

How did a scalper get Gabe's ticket?

That's what we're gonna find out.

What have you got?

The stub from Gabe's ticket
had six partial prints on it.

I'm trying to find a match.
How's the office treating you?

The office is fine. I think Danny's got
a bit of a problem with me.

Well, when you found that he missed
something on that alibi last week...

you didn't have to bring it up
in front of everybody.

Unless, of course, you wanted
to show him up, or show off.

Here we go.

George Lincoln. Auto theft, petty larceny.

Did ten months at Riker's.

He lives in the Bronx.

George Lincoln?
FBI. We need to talk to you.

You recognize him?

I mean, I bought a ticket
off of him yesterday. So what?

He's been missing since yesterday
and you're the last person to see him.

Man, I ain't got nothing to do with that.

All I did was a little business with the kid.

Got two. Anybody need some?

I got one.

All right, little man. Let me see.

I hold it. You look.

You a smart little cracker, ain't you?

All right, look, I'll give you $30 for it.

Face value's $45.

That's a single
and the game's about to start.

It's the Red Sox and it's a sell-out.

All right, I give you face.

$50, or I'm walking.

I gave him $50.
He went his way, I went mine.

You see where he went?

No, man. On to the next, you know.

Look, I got 15 other guys
that'll put me at that stadium till 11:00.

Get their names.

He's clean.

Smart little kid.

Smart enough to blow off the Yankees.

And his father.

Where the hell was he going?

It's 37 hours and he's slipping away. Sam?

We know Gabe got to Yankee Stadium
and sold his ticket for $50.

That was 7:00 Friday night. Question is,
where was he going after that?

His parents have no idea?

No, they would've
volunteered that information by now.

I can't go back there until I have more.

Maybe it's not like the father says.

Maybe the kid
gave him the slip on the subway.

Why would he do that?

Because he's 11, and going to a ball game
with your dad could be lame.

Maybe he wanted
to meet a friend, or a girlfriend.

Maybe he planned on ditching
his dad once he got to the game...

but then he took
the opportunity with the subway.

Then that's one pissed-off kid.

But he's not so pissed-off
that he doesn't go home for 37 hours.

I mean, he's never done
anything like this before.

According to his parents.

No, I think Viv's right.

Something happened to him
between 7:00...

and the time he planned
to get home that night.

- Any chance this kid just ran away?
- Why that day? Why like that?

I think he took the $50,
got back on the subway...

and went to go meet someone.

So we gotta profile this kid like he's
an adult. Find out everything about him.

Exactly. Okay, let's do it.

I know I'm not supposed to play favorites,
but Gabe's one of those kids that...

when I go home at the end of the day,
I feel like...

no matter how tired I am, it's worth it.

Well, you're here on a Sunday morning.
That says a lot.

How was Gabe in class?

What is it?

I could just shoot myself.

I didn't think anything of it at the time.

He was usually so attentive, but lately...

I think something
might have been going on with him.

Like what?

I don't know. It's hard to describe...

but something was different.

Drugs?

I don't know, I don't think so.

Maybe I'm crazy
because of what's happened.

But then, his birthday....

The last time I saw him...

we had a cake.

We all sang Happy Birthday,
and he just ran out of the room.

And I tried to talk to him
about it after school, but....

What's going on, Gabe? Talk to me.

I told you, nothing.

Nothing's the matter,
but you react like that to Happy Birthday?

Birthdays are stupid.

Is there something going on at home?

Everything's fine. Can I go, please?

Okay.

But whatever it is,
I want you to know that I'm here, all right?

I was going to talk
to his parents about it on Monday.

But now....

I can't imagine what that was about.
He seemed fine that morning.

I thought he was excited
about going to the game with his dad.

His teacher says he's been
withdrawn lately. Have you noticed that?

She said that?

God, maybe a little.

I thought it was probably
just his reaction to the baby, or...

moving.

You never mentioned that you moved.

Yeah, about six months ago.

How could he have gone to that game
and sold that ticket?

What is he involved in
that I don't know about?

You were right,
asking me those questions.

Apparently there was some stuff going on
with Gabe that we didn't know about.

Every parent can say that.

I know she thinks it's my fault.

She won't say it,
but I can see it in her eyes.

I don't think so.

I'd like to take that polygraph,
if that's all right.

Sure. We'll set it up.

Let's check that one, right there.

Find anything?

He was surfing some porn sites.

- Look at that.
-Baby.

I didn't even know what girls
looked like when I was his age.

Well, I was all over it.

My brothers were good for something.

- Any weird chat rooms?
- No.

This kid doesn't feel like
predator-prey to me.

Where would an 11-year-old
go skateboarding around here?

E-mails from his friends
keep talking about these...

old loading ramps downtown,
on the West Side.

- Let's check it out.
- Okay.

- I didn't call,'cause I had nothing to say.
- You didn't think him coming here...

the night he disappeared
would be helpful?

I figured some guys like you
would be all over it.

- What's your name? Is it Wally?
- Yeah, Wally.

Okay, Wally, don't worry about it.
Just tell us what happened that night.

What time did you get here?

Got here about 7:00.
Little man came a little bit after that.

- About 7:30?
- Yeah, something like that.

Anyway, when he came up, I noticed he
had a little extra pep in his step.

What up, dogs? Check what I got.

Where did you get this?

You must've mugged some old lady
or something.

Ditched my old man on the subway.
Scalped my ticket.

You tripping, man.
He's going to whup your ass.

Yeah, whatever. You got a board for me?

Then what?

Not much.

He hung out for a few hours,
till like 9:00, 9:30.

- Then we took off.
- Did he say where he was going?

Home, I think. We figured his dad
was going to smoke him, you know?

The little man wasn't even sweating it.

- He didn't tell you it was his birthday?
- No.

I didn't even find out about that
till I seen it on the news.

That's kind of whack, huh?

That's Line 2 for you.

Right. Thank you,
and we appreciate your help.

Fitzgerald.

Right.

Port Authority.

Okay, when?

You recall what color the jacket was?

And the sleeves?

Was there a logo?

You say this was 10 minutes ago?

Hang on.

That's him.

We've got him near the concourse!

Copy that.

Gabe! Hey!

- What the hell's your problem, lady?
- We're FBI.

- Where'd you get the jacket?
- What do you mean? It's mine.

Check it.

- Leave him alone.
- Just relax.

It's Gabe's.

Come on. Jack...

there's blood on the sleeve.

I swear to God, I found the jacket
right there in the garbage.

I never even saw him.

And you didn't notice the blood?

I didn't know what it was.
I thought it was paint.

- It was dry already?
- Yeah.

Leo's girlfriend corroborates his story.

She confirms the time?

4:00 a.m. She remembers
because the diner was closing.

And we ran Leo's name.

His mother reported him missing
eight months ago in Baltimore.

Abusive stepfather.

What about the girl?

She ran away from her foster home
in Boston.

No abuse, she says. Just neglect.

- I'm going to go call Social Services.
- Okay.

NYPD is canvassing ticket agents,
vendors, and janitors, but so far nothing.

Okay, we know he scalped
his ticket at 7:00.

He then took a train downtown
to the West Side...

hung out until about 9:00 or 9:30.

Then the bloody jacket shows up
at 4:00 a.m. at the Port Authority.

The question is,
how did the jacket get there? And why?

Maybe he was running away.
Maybe that's what this is all about.

- From what?
- Maybe he wasn't running away.

Maybe he was running
to something, someone--

You can't get too far on $50.

We don't know how much allowance
he had in his pocket.

But just because the jacket was there,
doesn't mean he was.

No, but he might have been in the vicinity.

We got three sightings
in that 10-block radius.

A movie theater, a diner, and a cybercafe.

But the cybercafe is the only sighting
that fits our timeline.

Plus, this place got busted last month
for letting underage kids access porn.

- Samantha, check that out, will you?
- Yeah.

We don't know if he made it
to the Port Authority.

For all we know, those boarders
ripped off his $50...

killed him, and dumped his jacket.

Okay, forensics.

The blood on the jacket is O positive,
same as Gabe's.

- Cybercafe, skateboard, Port Authority--
- Office.

You got it. I'm going to go see the parents.

We're not going to know it's his blood
until we do a DNA test.

What do you need?

His toothbrush...

or a comb.

Look, man, I'm not a cop. I don't
give a damn about what you're into.

I just want to do my job
and find your friend.

Look, I wasn't there when it happened.
So I don't know so much.

What do you mean?
When what happened?

The guys went to have some fun
with one of the Koreans.

What Koreans, Wally?

You know, from one of them delis.
I'm not even sure which one.

- They went to mess with the guy.
- What do you mean, "mess with"?

It was stupid, man.

They go in there, they trash the place,
maybe grab some smokes.

Like I said, it's stupid.

And Gabe was with them?

I tried to tell him not to go...

but I guess it kind of got
out of hand or something.

Like I said, I really don't know.

Thank you, brother.

You're not going to run me in for this?

Just need the information.

Yeah, he was here that night.

Came in around 11:30 or so.

I need to use one of your computers.

Can't do it. Got to be 16.

Please.

Just five minutes. Please.

Go ahead.

It wasn't five minutes, though.

He logged on.

Looked like he sent one e-mail,
then sat there staring at the screen.

Not doing much of anything
for maybe a half an hour.

Then all of a sudden
he starts typing away like crazy.

- Did he have blood on his jacket?
- Not that I saw.

Which computer was he on?

I checked all the logs.
No violent crime was reported...

in that area
the night of the disappearance.

That Friday night. You sure?

Yes, I'm sure.
I ran Chelsea and the West Village.

Nothing in the time period
we're looking at.

Yeah.

I did, however, check all the local...

hospitals.

A Korean deli owner
checked himself into...

the ER at St. Vincent's around 11:00 p.m.

Head wounds.

Why didn't you tell me that
in the first place?

You didn't tell me
you were looking for a Korean deli owner.

I had to hear that from Jack.

You want the address?

Yes, I want the address now.

I'm here just doing business...

and they come in with their skateboards...

and making trouble.

I would have called police,
but they don't do anything.

I understand. Just tell me what happened.

They come in over there.

Hey, kid!

I wake up later and go to hospital.

I nearly died!

That's probably what he thought.

I haven't seen him. How about you, Sal?

Yeah, sure. I remember this kid.

He was here Friday night,
looking to buy a ticket.

Excuse me. Where do I buy a bus ticket?

- Depends on where you're going.
- Texas.

- This ticket for you?
- Yeah.

Sorry, kid, you got to be at least 15.

And to cross the state line,
you need a note from your parents...

or be accompanied by an adult.

I don't know what happened to him
after that.

An 11-year-old wandering around here
by himself at midnight...

trying to get to Texas.
Why didn't you call a cop?

Kids like that come here every day.

Hey, we got the e-mail
from the cybercafe. You ready for this?

"Dad, I really messed up,
and I'm in big trouble.

"Please e-mail me when you sign on.
I'm waiting."

What was the response?

We don't know. There were
instant messages but we can't read them.

- "Dad."
- Dad.

It wasn't Gabe's blood on the jacket,
it was the deli owner's.

Gabe must have thought he killed him.
He didn't know what to do.

So now he walks the streets, tries to
get a hold of himself, figure out a plan.

And finally, a couple hours later
he heads for Port Authority.

When he saw the blood on his sleeve,
he panicked and threw it in the garbage.

Oh, my God, he ran away!

He tried to buy a bus ticket
for somewhere in Texas.

We don't know anyone in Texas.

You said, he tried. He tried to buy a ticket?

He's too young,
so they wouldn't sell him one.

We think maybe he asked someone
at Port Authority to buy the ticket for him.

We're checking all children's tickets
bought in that 12-hour period.

This doesn't make any sense.

If he got into trouble
why wouldn't he come to us?

That's what we were trying to figure out...

until we found the e-mail.

What e-mail?

The e-mail he sent to your husband.

What the hell are you talking about?

He sent you an e-mail asking for help.

This is insane.

This is absolutely insane.

You think I was e-mailing my son
in the middle of the night?

After all of this, you still think
I know where he is?

You people are unbelievable!

I wasn't even on the computer that night.
You were here.

I don't know. I don't remember.

Look, we know you don't want
to get your son in trouble.

I swear to God, I have not seen or heard
from my son in two days.

Whoever he was communicating with,
he was calling him "Dad."

Oh, my God!

He found him.

The birth father.

Gabe's adopted, isn't he?

Why didn't you tell us this
from the beginning?

He's our son. He's been our son
since the second day of his life.

And you never told him?

We wanted to wait until he was older.
We thought that he would handle it better.

I don't understand this.
You're saying he's been communicating...

over the Internet with his biological father.

Then he gets into trouble,
and he goes to him? Not to us?

Right now, he doesn't trust you.

He probably feels like
he's been lied to his whole life.

That's why he acted out.

That's why he reacted the way he did
to his birthday at school.

That's why he didn't want
to go to the ball game with you.

And it was a closed adoption.

We don't even know
who the birth father is.

He couldn't have found the kid through us.

We don't give out that information...

without the consent
of the adoptive parents.

Maybe he hacked into your computers?

Anything before 1994
was never inputted in the computer.

We'd appreciate your help.

Listen, I'm sorry. But we need
to protect the anonymity of our clients.

Look, Mrs. Cannon, we could wait
another hour till we get a court order...

or you could help us now...

make it home in time
for dinner with your family...

and give us a real shot at finding this boy.

"Gabe Freedman. Biological mother:
Barbara Young. Lives in San Francisco.

"Biological father: Edward Perkins...

"died three years ago."

Then who was he running to?

So far, all we got on that e-mail address
is that it's registered somewhere in Texas.

That doesn't help us much.

We already knew he was headed there.

So the theory is...

some friend, family member,
someone at the adoption agency...

someone who knew
that Gabe was adopted...

broke the news to him over the Internet...

has been using that information
to prey on him...

- and has now lured him to Texas?
- Right.

Why would that work?
Gabe didn't know he was adopted.

Why would he ever believe him?

Maybe they have a copy of his records,
or know about his birthmark...

or they're preying
on the insecurities of a kid...

that has a new baby
coming into the family.

Someone convinced him...

and conned him
into not telling his parents.

The first contact
must have been an e-mail.

After that, it must be instant messages...

because there's no record of
the communication on Gabe's computer.

John Scaperelli from Greyhound.

I think Gabe found out he was adopted,
and he's the one who initiated all this.

There's a bunch of these "find-your-parent,
find-your-child" websites.

Most of them aren't regulated.

Like Danny was saying,
any John Q. Pedophile...

who wants to lure kids into his lair...

puts one of these on the Net
and he's in business.

These kids log on, give them their names,
they ask for help.

These guys go along with it
and pretend they're doing this research.

And say, "I found your father.
Here's his e-mail address."

Except it's not the father's e-mail address.
It's the pedophile.

And the pedophile convinces the kid...

to communicate using instant messages...

- so that it's their little secret.
- Makes sense to me.

And I ran background checks
on all these websites...

and one of them
is registered in Amarillo, Texas.

I got the computer guys on it now.

One adult ticket, one child ticket
purchased at 1:30 a.m...

on the night of the disappearance.
But not to Texas...

to Santa Fe.

Santa Fe? That's 300 miles from Amarillo.

If you're Gabe, Santa Fe's
a lot closer than New York.

So some Good Samaritan
buys him a ticket...

escorts him on the bus,
and thinks he's doing him a favor.

We better call the regional authorities
right away.

- Fitzgerald.
- Yes?

We got a hit.

- How long?
- Just came online.

Here we go. We got the kid.

Here comes Daddy.

Sick bastard.

Listen up, guys.
Gabe is staying put in Santa Fe.

The "Dad" is driving from Amarillo
to meet him there.

If we hop on the next jet,
we might beat him.

Viv, I need you to call Santa Fe,
tell them I'm on my way.

Sam, contact the parents.
Danny, you come with me.

Martin, you, too.

Sometimes I wish I'd never quit smoking.

Any sign of the boy?

South entrance, negative.

East entrance, negative.

Snack bar, negative.

Possible ID on the boy,
coming from the jungle gym.

Hold your position.

I've got the boy.

Just hold.

Man with newspaper
heading towards the boy.

The boy's within range.
Should we grab him?

Do not seize the boy. Do not seize.

Come on.

- Got to go here, Jack.
-No.

Just wait. You've got five more seconds.
Just wait.

Suspect confirmed. Moving in.

FBI, get down on the ground! Now!

Get down!

- What'd I do?
- Dad!

I didn't do anything!

I was just....

- You good?
- I was just walking.

Hold your positions.
Second subject running towards lake!

- We got him.
- No, you don't!

Where'd you learn that? White collar?

Sixth-grade swim class.

I was gaining on him, you know.

Sorry about that.

His name is Darren Oaks.

He's a paralegal, he's married,
and he has two children.

We know he's contacted boys
on the Internet before...

but we don't think he's ever tried
anything like this.

Gabe's on his way up.

I don't know what to say to him.

Just tell him what you told us.

So they know everything that happened?

Everything we've been able
to tell them so far...

but you're going to have to
fill them in on the rest.

They're gonna kill me.

No, they're not.

They love you.

So...

if that wasn't my real father...

then who is?

Your parents can explain that
better than we can.

Heard you got a little wet.

Beats sweating my ass off
in the doghouse.

The Red Sox in October.