All language subtitles for The Glades - 4x10 - Gallerinas.WEB-DL.en

Art Basel, my ass.

All these rich, annoying douche bags flying in
from all over the place, taking over Miami.

Traffic already blows.

Yeah, tell me about it.

Took me two hours
just to get home last night.

Well, as long as some euro-trash bankers
can get their over-priced crap...

excuse me...
art delivered safe and sound.

All right. Come on.

- Hold up, Manny! Hold it!
- Why? What is it?

The crate's not sealed.
It's about to bust open.

Last thing I need is some
bazillion-dollar sculpture

falling out and smashing
to pieces all over my dock.

Bring it back down now... easy.

Damn.

I have no idea
what to make of this.

Half of Ray's agreement with the U.S.
marshals office is redacted.

The rest is, you know,
standard language.

As long as Jeff is a minor, he can have contact
with his father under supervised visits,

which means
the minute he turns 18...

He can't see his dad again
unless he enters the program

with Ray, which means
no contact with us.

Or Ray could opt out of the program,
and then no one's protected.

What does Jeff's marshal
think's going on?

Tony thinks Ray's hit a wall,
might be trying to walk.

Thinks he and Jeff are in contact, trying
to work out what that means for them.

Well, one thing it definitely means
is if Jeff is in touch with his dad

outside the protection of WITSEC, he's
putting both his dad and his mom at risk.

Yeah, I know.

Look... I could reach out, get a
copy of Jeff's cellphone records.

Not exactly the way you want to start
your relationship with your stepson?

Not exactly. Right.

So, I won't.

You didn't ask. I didn't offer.

This conversation
never happened.

You've got
enough on your plate.

Sorry, but it looks like we have a
dead body at the port of Miami.

Rigor has started to reverse.

Taking into account
the heat inside the crate,

I'd say our victim's been dead
for more than two days.

Puncture wound in the chest
indicates cause of death.

I'll need to take him to the shop to
confirm and identify a murder weapon.

- Wrists and ankles are restrained.
- Yeah, some kind of steel wire.

So, someone restrained this guy,
killed him, wrapped him in plastic,

and then was about to
ship him overseas.

Turns out
he was dying to travel.

Oh, come on.
That was a good one.

Do we know where the crate
was shipped from?

Still tracking down
the bill of lading.

And I spoke to
the first officers on the scene.

They didn't find any cellphone
or I.D. On the victim.

Carlos, show me what's under
that sleeve?

"R.H.C."

- You thinking maybe...
- The initials of a very rich man.

Richard Harris Crawford.

I just read a piece about
Crawford in ocean drive magazine.

Yep. That's him, all right.

In the mid-'90s, he completely
reinvented himself.

Went from Texas oilman and venture capitalist
to South beach patron of the arts.

Miami in the '90s...
now, that was a scene.

South beach went from coked-out hookers and
heroin junkies to Madonna and Versace.

I'm sorry.
Did you say "went from"?

In less than three years, Richard Crawford
built the downtown art scene up from nothing,

literally put Miami
on the world-art-scene map.

He became the largest art buyer
in Florida

with a private collection
worth a half-a-billion dollars.

So, we're thinking his murder and the
start of Art Basel is not a coincidence.

Okay, I'm thinking that his murder and the
start of Art Basel is not a coincidence.

Probably not. Art Basel is more than just
a week-long gathering

for the rich and beautiful to party and ogle
over the world's most sought-after art.

There's serious money at stake.

Last year, the festival generated over $800
million in art sales in just five days.

Wow. That's 150
bad investments an hour.

You'd be surprised... half the pieces that sold
last year have more than tripled in value.

What?! That's crazy.

No crazier than whoever killed
our patron Saint of Art Basel.

Which unfortunately means that whoever
said art was dead wasn't kidding.

www.SubCentral.de
present

The Glades S04E10
"Gallerinas"

Rip and Resync:
Kreator

I know I'm getting old,
but, remind me.

Before I left for my conference in Madrid,
did I ask you to treat any of my patients?

From the look on your face,
I'd say that's a "no."

Darius Locke was in
a tremendous amount of pain.

His team physician gave him a
cortisone injection four months ago.

Treatments should be administered
in no more than 18-month intervals.

Yes, I'm aware.

Are you also aware that you need to
have a patient's entire medical history

before providing
any medical care?

I didn't have access
to his team doctor's files

until after I gave him
the cortisone injection.

I-I made a mistake.

Well, he contracted
a joint infection.

Which could have happened at
anytime during his treatment,

and... that is just an excuse,
I know.

Your field is
emergency medicine.

You can't spot a dope addict when he
comes sniffing around looking for a fix?

I understand, Dr. Hardy.

And it won't happen again.

You're damn right it won't.

Now, I got rounds.

Houses like this
make me nervous.

Look at this. This couch alone?
Probably cost more than my car.

The couch, Carlos?
Try the pillows.

This place is like
walking into a museum.

Crawford definitely had a
preference to what he collected.

Modern. Contemporary.

Nothing before
the art nouveau movement.

How the hell do you know that?

Chicago has some of
the best museums in the country.

Uh, walking past them
doesn't count.

Three months
of subfreezing winters, Carlos.

There's only so many movies
you can see, right?

You find anything in here?

Daniel?

No. Nothing on her...in here.

Sorry. I-I've never been
in a place this nice before.

Everywhere I look is
something I'm afraid to touch.

Well, you don't need to be
looking or touching that.

I've seen these nudes
all over the house.

Looks like the same woman,
same style.

- Probably the same artist.
- Alexander Barnes.

All the nudes were painted
during his "rose" period.

- His website links to his representation,
the Koski Gallery. - I know that gallery.

- Walking past it doesn't count.
- This time it does.

Marisol makes me go
to these art walks

every, uh, couple of months...
says it keeps us cultured.

- Does it? - No, but there's free food and
drink, which makes me happy.

Alexander Barnes is showing at the
Koski Gallery during Art Basel.

I just received an e-mail with the bill
of lading from the shipping company.

Let me guess... Richard Crawford's body
was shipped from the Koski Gallery?

Well, I hope they insured for loss
or damage or, you know, murder.

Brilliant, isn't it?

Yeah... Brilliant.

Yeah, that's the word
I was looking for.

You could pour yourself into it for hours
and never see the same thing twice.

Actually, what I was looking for
was the price tag.

Which, I know, if you have to
ask, you can't afford, right?

But if you're Hanna Koski, then I
think I found what I'm looking for.

This is about Richard, isn't it?

I'm still in shock.
I just saw him a few days ago.

That is awful. I know.

No, I mean the look on your face,
which I'm assuming is for my benefit?

Meaning what, that I had something
to do the murder? That's ridiculous.

Well, the body was shipped
from this gallery.

We've shipped dozens of pieces
over the last week.

Do you have any idea how crazy it
gets around here during Art Basel?

I know how crazy people get when
there's $800 million at stake.

Money really isn't
an issue for me, Detective.

My family has plenty of it.

Richard was
an old family friend.

I've known him since I was
a little girl, and I loved him.

You,... loved him?

What? No, not like that. That's, like, disgusting.
He was like a father to me.

Okay. So, like, last time you
and daddy Richard were together,

what did you guys, like, talk about?
What is...?

I was Richard's
exclusive art buyer.

We were discussing which pieces he was gonna
purchase from Alexander Barnes' new works.

The same Alexander Barnes who did all those
romantic, rosy nudes, but now does this?

Okay, this... is genius.

His dalliance with emptiness expressed
in sallow, anguished tones,

void of lesser meaning.

Dalliance, emptiness, yeah, lesser meaning.
What's behind here?

That's where we crate and ship
our purchases.

Where my victim was shipped?

I'm sorry, Detective, but we have millions
of dollars worth of art back there.

For insurance purposes, I can't
allow you access without a warrant.

Okay, for someone with boatloads of
family money, you sure seem stressed-out.

I am stressed
because it is Art Basel

and your investigation
is scaring away my customers.

No, I'm pretty sure that's
Alex's dalliance with emptiness.

So, I mean, why...
why the creative makeover?

He's Alexander Barnes. He
doesn't need a reason.

He paints what he paints,
and what he paints is brilliant.

You can't put genius in a box.

Well, someone
put my victim in one.

So, maybe you want to tell me who
was responsible for the shipping?

Sasha Graham, but my father
fired her three days ago.

Oh, yeah. Actually,
I need to talk to your father.

Well, he's at our London gallery
six months out of the year.

I run this gallery
when he's abroad.

Oh, so, he didn't fire Sasha.
You did.

Just... yes! Okay, fine!

I fired her.

Okay, busiest week of the year, and you
fired the person responsible for shipping?

That doesn't make sense, unless, of
course, you're trying to hide a murder.

I did not kill Richard,
Detective.

And I fired Sasha because
she's a total interloper

with, like, zero breeding
and no self-control.

No self-control?

Sasha had this way-over-the-top argument
with Richard at our Art Basel preview

right before
all my biggest clients.

It was totally unprofessional.

And what was this over-the-top
argument about?

Honestly, I have no idea.

Now, if you'll excuse me,
I have buyers to attend to.

Oh, no. Attend away.

Just don't go skipping off
into the renaissance period.

Colleen?

Yeah, I need you
to look into a warrant.

Richard Crawford died of a fully
penetrated wound to the heart.

So, we're looking for a knife?

It's not consistent with
an incised wound from a knife.

Murder weapon is most likely a
hard-metal object with an abraded edge,

approximately 1.6 inches
in diameter.

Kind of sounds like those tools
that I'm guessing

they keep in the back room of the Koski
Gallery for all the packaging and framing.

I've got to tell you. A man Crawford's
size wouldn't just sit there

while you pound a stake
of some kind into his chest.

Which means he had to be drugged
or subdued somehow?

There's no indication
of any blow to the head.

I'm still waiting on
the tox report

but according to his medical record,
he wasn't on any medications.

Detective, I have checked,
and Hanna's father has been

in London
for the past three months.

I also looked into
Hanna's cellphone records.

Nothing unusual,
except for the last month.

Hanna got daily automated calls from a
local pharmacy that "her order was ready."

They've really wanted her
to pick this up.

Okay, look into that.
Anything on Sasha Graham?

I found her mentioned a few
times in some online art sites.

The majority of gallery employees
are women in their early 20s.

They're kind of
their own subculture.

They even have a nickname...
Gallerinas.

Gallerinas? Is that a real job?

Basically over-glorified
assistants minus the glory.

Sounds familiar.

They make minimum wage, have
prestigious art-history degrees

from top-notch universities,
and spend most of their time

partying with
the rich and famous.

In the hopes that one day,
they'll own their own gallery

and be just as fabulous in real life
as they are in their own minds.

These women sound like
my worst nightmare.

Trust me. Having just met a
Gallerina, I can confirm that.

And they also love a healthy dose
of backstabbing and smack talk.

I just can't wait to hear what
Sasha has to say about Hanna.

Sasha tweeted
that she's at an art event

promoting her pop-up show
tomorrow night in South beach.

- Pop-up? - Last-minute art event,
usually at a bar, caf�, or restaurant.

That sounds pretty low-rent.

Sasha couldn't have been happy
with getting fired.

Maybe she blames Richard for
making her a ghetto Gallerina.

- Sasha Graham?
- Yes?

Haven't I seen you
somewhere before?

That is so hilariously
not original...

it's original. Hi.

Oh-kay.

I am sorry.
I am terrible with names.

Who do you represent again?

Taxpayers, mostly. FDLE?

The police.

Sorry. I thought you were
someone I should talk to.

Trust me.

As the naked woman who's hanging all over
the walls of my murder victim's house,

I'm definitely someone
you need to talk to.

I see when you finally put your clothes
on that you like the expensive kind.

How do you pay for those pricy
threads? Credit-card debt?

Rich parents?

Yeah. No, that's not me.

When I decide I want something,
I figure out how to get it.

I'm not some aimless d-bag or a
spoiled trustafarian like Hanna.

No, but you were spoiled
by Richard Crawford.

As in his recent credit-card charges from
Valentino, Chlo�... all women's stores.

Maybe he was a cross-dresser
on the D.L.

Good one.

Or he was your sugar daddy
and had had his fill of you

and moved on to
his next Gallerina.

Is that what your over-the-top
argument was about at the gallery?

He dumped you?

Okay, first of all, Gallerina?
Totally sexist.

And, yeah, okay.

I was sleeping with him,
and he bought me stuff,

only because I'm an awesome,
loving human being.

Listen, Art Basel is
all about how you look, okay?

And I already did the whole
ironic $10 target dress

and payless shoes last year, so,
yeah, no, I'm good with myself.

Good enough to kill Richard and pack
him in a crate for cutting you off?

I mean, that is your job,
isn't it?

Or was, until boss and head Gallerina
Hanna Koski fired you for being lame.

That's ridic.

And despite what skank-ass Hanna
thought of me,

I would have continued seeing
Richard if he wasn't so needy.

You broke up with a billionaire?
Yeah, that's ridic.

Richard just wanted me as arm candy,
and that's not what I'm about.

My career is everything to me, and I've never
compromised who I am to be with a man.

Not even for Alexander Barnes,
who you quite publicly

compromised yourself
on a regular basis.

I posed nude for Alex
because he's a genius.

And when a genius asks you to expose
yourself, you expose everything.

You should try being
that vulnerable, Detective.

It's a total mind flip.

I'll get back to you on that.

In the meantime, don't go
posing for any passport photos

or leave the country
without checking with me first.

Colleen?

Richard Crawford gave Hanna
Koski access to a bank account.

It was designated solely
for art purchases.

Two weeks ago, he cut her off
and froze the account.

Surrogate daddy cut off
stressed-out Hanna's allowance?

That had to piss her off.

Oh, it did.
Check your text messages.

Daniel sent you a vine of Hanna
he found on a bunch of art blogs.

Apparently that drink in the face
is all anyone at Art Basel's

been texting, tweeting,
and blogging about.

That's not how you treat
a pseudo-family friend.

And it looks like Hanna was ready
to paint the town blood red.

It was a disagreement,
Detective.

It was nothing to kill over.

Even after he froze your access
to his personal art accounts?

Embarrassing you in front of everyone
who's anyone in the process?

Okay, fine.

He got a little angry
over our commissions,

but galleries inflate prices
for their artists all the time.

It's so that they eventually
sell better at auction.

It builds the gallery's prestige.

Okay. Just because everyone's doing it
doesn't mean that Crawford

was happy that you were lying
to him and taking his money.

Are you kidding?
Richard was a bazillionaire.

He never blinked at prices.

Money was his way
of controlling people.

He froze that account
to punish me.

So, you punished him with that,
I'm guessing?

1.6 inches.

And what is that?
Do you smell chlorine?

It's bleach.

Looks like this entire section
of wall has also been cleaned.

Which means we just found
the crime scene.

And this... looks like blood.

On very familiar-looking wire.

Did I tell you Crawford
had his wrists were tied?

As in a man his size would have
to be subdued in order

to allow a woman your size to
pound a chisel into his chest?

Look... Richard embarrassed me in front of
some very prominent New York City curators,

and I threw a drink
in his face.

I bruised his ego, and he cut off the account.
That's all it was.

Embarrassed you about what?

What it was always about
with Richard.

He considered himself a taste maker and
didn't like it when you questioned his taste.

As in Alexander Barnes'
new artistic direction?

I loved it. He despised it.

He called it the three d's...
dark, depressing, and derivative,

nothing like his previous work.

The rosy nudes of
Crawford's former lame lover?

Said he wouldn't perpetuate the myth
that Alex was some kind of genius,

called his new works rubbish, and refused
to buy a single piece from his collection.

Insulting two birds
with one stone.

Well, I wonder what dark,
depressing, and derivative

Alexander Barnes thought about
that assessment.

You're wrong, Detective.

I would never kill Richard Crawford
because he wasn't a fan of my new work.

Hey, babe.
Chin up, and out a little?

Yeah. Okay.

See, he was the single largest collector
of my work. Why would I kill him?

Because as the largest collector, he could
make or break you, and he chose to break you,

dismissing your new work as rubbish
and refusing to buy a single piece.

You obviously have no idea
how the world of art works.

Maybe not.

But I do know how jealousy
and murder work.

And your new work has all the signs
of a man in a not-so-cheery place.

But, hey, if my lover and muse
left me for an older, richer man,

I probably would slip into a
depression, too, or jealous rage.

I was neither jealous
nor depressed.

But you couldn't handle
losing Sasha to Richard.

So, you knocked him off in the
most dramatic way you knew how.

And by shipping him out as a piece
of art, you were making a statement.

That would be ironic.
It's also wrong.

I slept with Sasha a few times.
Why not?

She's... Gorgeous.
She was game.

My single human emotion
towards her was lust.

Richard was not a rival.

He bought my art.
He helped launch my career.

Yeah, just not this Art Basel.

This one, Richard gave a...
a billionaire's thumbs down.

Yeah, which is Richard's loss, and it helps
to have more than one collector, okay?

And I will sell everything by the
end of Art Basel. You'll see.

I'll see you on death row
if it turns out

you've let your artistic,
raging ego get in the way.

Wow. I don't get it.

Blood from that spindle of wire
doesn't match the victim's.

Well, maybe the killer missed
a spot on his cleaning spree.

Hope so, because it's definitely the
same wire they used to tie him...

same gauge and type of steel.

I've asked manus
for a warrant request...

A warrant request for Hanna
Koski and Sasha Graham's DNA.

- Yeah, yeah. I'm already on it.
- Then my work here is done.

And you can add Alexander Barnes
to that warrant list, as well.

And where are we
on Crawford's financials?

My first billionaire.

Turns out his financial history is as long
and complicated as the U.S. tax code.

I've got three forensics accountants
sifting through all of it.

What about his will?

I'm still trying to track down the
executor to get a copy of it.

I was able to get one piece
of information, though.

Richard had
a little slush fund.

- How little?
- $5 million.

His walking-around money was the
gdp of a small African nation?

And this one-man nation cut
a $400,000 check to Sasha Graham

and then immediately
stopped payment.

I wonder what she did
to deserve that.

Or more like
what did she stop doing?

And, ... That thing
we're not talking about?

You know, the Jeff thing?

Tacoma, Washington?

Called three times,
same time each day.

Could be family.

Or maybe a friend of Jeff's
you don't know about.

Jim... Think carefully
about what you want to do.

Thank you.

Seriously?

Seriously.

You can't seriously still think that I had
anything to do with Richard's murder.

I know, right?
It does defy logic.

But then I found this... Richard's
canceled check to you for, ooh, $400,000.

Wow. What happened?

He, cut you off when
you cut him off in the bedroom?

I'm sorry. I thought we cleared
up the whole whore thing already.

And, yet, evidence keeps
piling up to the contrary.

That check was for an art deal.

I discovered this new,
amazing street artist in Spain,

convinced Richard
he was the new banksy.

The money was for three of his pieces.
Or three of yours.

I mean, come on.

You wanted to be Crawford's exclusive art
buyer, a move that would launch your career.

So, you thought to yourself,

"hey. What's a few rolls in the
hay? I can live with that, huh?"

Until you realized that he had
no intention of seeing you

seriously as an art buyer
or even as a girlfriend.

Okay, yeah, whatever. I was upset.
Richard didn't see my potential.

To him, I was just another
Gallerina with a nice ass.

But I didn't kill him,
Detective. I swear I didn't.

Get out of my way!

These are not for sale!
These are private sketches!

My God! I'm being gutted!

Okay, Alex. I think you've had a
little too much to drink, yeah?

How could you do this to me?
How can you sell my sketches?!

They're not your sketches! You
gave them to me! They're mine!

Not to sell in some bar,
you whore!

Let's settle down?

I love you, Sasha. I love you.

Oh, my God.
You are so pathetic.

- Really?
- You whore!

I gave you everything. I gave you my heart
and my soul, and this is how you treat me?

I love you so much, I hate you!

Yeah, there is that fine line
between love and hate.

Seriously.

Come on. Walk it off.

So, for someone whose only human emotion
for Sasha was nothing more than lust,

you sure went to jealousy
and rage real fast.

I spent a year of my life...
painting Sasha...

making love to her,
adoring her.

How could she just sell
my sketches like that, huh?

How can someone so beautiful
be so heartless and so cruel?

Oh, you'd be surprised how often
those two go hand-in-hand.

I loved her, Detective.
But she didn't love you.

All she cared about was being
immortalized in your paintings.

To her, you were just a meal ticket...
oh, well, one of them, anyway.

It goes with the territory.

I'm surrounded by parasitic
phonies and hypocrites.

Like Richard Crawford,
who was a friend to your face,

banging your muse
behind your back. That had to hurt.

I don't blame Richard.
I certainly didn't kill him.

But you needed Sasha to keep your
creative juices flowing, yeah?

To keep your gloom at bay.

Pain and suffering are the currency
of any great artist, Detective.

Oh, no. I've seen your suffering,
Picasso, and trust me, it's painful.

And without Sasha, your genius wasn't selling.
And, hey. Muses don't grow on trees.

I would have found someone else, and
I would never resort to murder.

Really? Because according to Richard's
security company, you'd just recently made it

to the top of their
"do not admit" list...

which means I'm thinking
you went around to his house

and did more than just
tear art off his walls.

Okay, fine! I'll admit it!

When I first heard about the affair... I
was angry, and I went to talk to Richard.

I behaved like an animal.
I'm not proud of it.

But I certainly wouldn't
kill him.

See, my life's purpose
is to create.

It's to build something
from nothing.

Not destroy it.

You can cut Pablo loose.

I have a match on the blood
from the frame-hanging wire.

It's Sasha Graham.

Of course it is.

Okay, so a little of my blood
was found in the back room.

That's really not surprising
since I did

all the gallery hangings
and most of the framing.

Oh, my God. I love Art Basel.

There is, like,
10 things tonight.

Things?

Parties?

Which, actually,
I really need to get ready for.

And, seriously, the whole blood
thing is so not a big deal.

Okay, you're not understanding how
being dumped by my murder victim,

who was keeping you
in all these designer... things,

is a big enough deal
to make you a prime suspect.

Fine, whatever.

Listen. I liked Richard,
but I didn't like like him.

I feel bad that he's dead, but I don't know
what you want me to do, like, open a wrist?

Wow! That is cruel and
heartless, just like Alex said.

Oh, please.
Alex is so dramatic.

You saw how he flipped out
at my thing.

If by that you mean popping up
at your pop-up show

where you were selling
his sketches...

gifts from the heart that
you saw as just cold, hard cash.

Yeah, kind of shows me how
cruel and heartless you can be.

Richard was Hanna's client,
and it was her gallery.

She's the one with daddy issues
and bat-crazy eyes.

Okay, you're sleeping with a guy
who's old enough to be your dad,

and she's the one
with daddy issues?

Speaking of.

Yeah, that's me and my dad
at his office.

Wow, you look almost not
completely self-consumed here.

But then again, you were,
what, 3, 4, right?

4, and, if you're not planning on
arresting me, there's a thing at cameo,

and I only have like three hours
to get ready.

Three hours?

The horror.

You can show yourself out.

Boop.

Carlos?

My tox report came back.

Richard was dosed with
a very large amount of Diazepam.

It's an antianxiety medication.

Which I assume made him
very sleepy.

No, he was down
for the count, all right.

And, uh, there's no record
of our victim ever having

a prescription for anything
stronger than Viagra.

Well, Daniel said Hanna got a daily call
from a pharmacy about a prescription.

I mean, considering her bundle of nerves,
I'm assuming it wasn't for an antibiotic.

You want me to have Daniel get a
warrant in the works to find out?

Well, what's the point of having a
Danielrina if you can't put him to work?

You got it.

Hey, look at you, helping
your mom with the groceries.

Have you seen my phone?

I knew it was too good
to be true.

You lost your phone again?

I didn't lose it.
I misplaced it.

I'm not buying you
another one, Jeff.

Mom, it's not lost.
I just... can't find it.

Well, when was the last time
you saw it?

If I knew that,
it wouldn't be lost.

I'm sorry.

What time is it?

- Why? Are you expecting a call?
- No.

Not that I know of.

Want some help?

That would be nice.

Did you hear the news
about Darius Locke?

- He's out.
- Out?

Yeah, he's benched
for the rest of the season.

Why? What happened?

He collapsed during a lay-up
after practice.

Yeah, all the sports blogs are talking
about how his career is probably over.

Sucks, right?

Daniel, I sent you a photo I took from
Sasha's apartment/walk-in closet.

Yeah, I just got it.

That's it, yeah. Enlarge it
and send it back to me?

It's the only thing I could find
that was personal in her apartment,

and the only thing she didn't
buy at, like, Bergdorf Goodman.

- There must be a reason why.
- You got it.

- And the warrant came through for
Hanna's pharmacy records. - Good.

She was on a cocktail of
lithium and... Diazepam.

But the pharmacist was specifically
calling about her lithium prescription.

Lithium.
That's for depression, right?

It's actually prescribed more for the
treatment of mania and bipolar disorder.

And if someone with bipolar
goes off their lithium?

That someone can experience
a manic episode.

Which can turn violent.

Either swing of that pendulum isn't
pretty, but violence is not uncommon.

The pharmacist said Hanna finally picked
up her medication a few days ago.

It may have been too little,
too late.

I've confirmed that the chisel
from the gallery matches

the diameter from
the victim's puncture wound.

Any usable prints? It was wiped
clean with bleach like the rest of

the packing and shipping area
in Hanna's gallery.

But we definitely have
the murder weapon.

Thank you all for coming today.

I think this is such
a fitting place to say goodbye

to our beloved benefactor and patron
of the arts, Richard Crawford,

surrounded by what he loved
the most, art,

and by the people who loved him
the most, his art family.

Even a funeral is a performance
for you people.

I feel totally underdressed.

I am sorry, Detective, but is this
really the best time for this?

Well, I could wait for you outside,
where you'd probably see me and run.

Or I could wait
for your meds wear off,

and I can watch you go berserk
on all these nice people.

So, um... Yeah.

Yeah. Now is probably
the best time.

Hands, please. Thank you.

I know. It's very sad.

Sir. Your mascara
is running. Just so you know.

Thank you. Excuse us.

Excuse me, Dr. Hardy?
Do you have a minute?

I just want you to know that I've been
thinking a lot about our last conversation,

and I understand
why you're mad at me.

I'm not mad at you.

Disappointed, then.
I messed up with Darius.

I should have known
that he was fishing for drugs.

And now he's hurt, and
he might not ever play again.

Darius Locke is an idiot.

He was an idiot long before
you gave him that shot.

There's no shot for stupid,
so stop beating yourself up.

Anything else?

No. That's it.

Oh, yeah. Yeah.
Um, I'll need your keys.

- My keys?
- To the office.

I don't understand.

The keys to my office.
What's not to understand?

You're firing me?

I'm not firing you.
You're done.

Done?

This was a six-week fellowship.

Okay, I guess I just thought that maybe
there was some flexibility there.

Do I look flexible to you?

Callie, we're in
different fields of medicine.

There's nothing more
I can teach you.

But there's still plenty for you
to learn, so go learn it.

So, your father says hi.

My father?
You called my father?

He also says to tell you that
he loves you and supports you.

Well, assuming that you didn't kill his
best friend and biggest client, that is.

And he thought that some years
later, this might come back.

That was three years ago.

In between your junior
and senior year at Columbia,

you spent six months
in a psychiatric hospital.

I had a hard time adjusting,
okay?

It was a really hard school, and I
was in a very demanding program.

No, yeah, those strolls through the
Louvre can really send someone over the edge.

I was stressed.
I needed a break from things.

Stressed?

You attacked a curator with a nail file
when he caught you dry-humping a rodin.

Dr. Lewis said I did that,
but I don't remember.

Now that I believe. People that have manic
episodes often don't remember what they did.

I don't see what my medical history
has anything to do with this!

It really is nobody's business!

But Richard Crawford made it
his business.

You know, as a family friend, he
knew something was up with you.

So he contacted a facility in California,
asked about getting you a private room.

He thought that you were
losing control.

He was trying to help.

And you reacted by proving his point...
by throwing a drink in his face

and stabbing him in the chest
three days later.

He only picked the worst possible time
to out me...the week before Art Basel!

I'm not feeling very well.

Can I just please
get to my purse?

- My... my medication is in there.
- The Diazepam?

The same antianxiety medication we
found in Richard's blood system.

Look... I know people think
I'm losing it.

But I swear I have everything
under control.

And I know this might
sound crazy, but I only

got off my meds because
they make me gain weight,

and I just wanted to look good
for Art Basel.

Yep. That does sound crazy,
all right.

And when Richard confronted me,
yes, I got mad.

But I was also scared,
and the idea of going back

to a hospital terrified the hell out of
me, so I started taking my pills again.

I swear, Detective.

I did not kill
Richard Crawford.

Really?
Dr. Hardy fired you again?

That's like, three... no, four... no
three times you've been fired already.

I guess technically
he didn't fire me.

Well, then what
did he technically do?

Well, he said that he hired me
for a six-week fellowship,

and the six weeks were up,
I was done.

Okay. So, then,
he didn't really fire you.

Well, it sure feels like
I've been fired.

I know the Darius thing was a disaster,
but I did some good work for him.

And this is the thanks I get?

"Give me your keys, your six weeks are over.
You're done."

I meant to ask you.
Have you seen Jeff's phone?

- Jeff's cellphone?
- Yeah, he lost it.

He's been looking
all over the house for it,

and, he thinks maybe
he left it at your house.

My place? Maybe.

I'll look for it
and get back to you.

I really have to go.

- Okay. I love you. Bye.
- Love you. Bye.

- Not even going to ask.
- Good. What do you got?

Finally got
a copy of Crawford's will.

He was a longtime bachelor
with no living heirs.

I picked him for the kind of guy that
would have three ex-trophy-wives.

Well, he's leaving his estate to three
charities...doctors without borders,

international child art
foundation, and the Sierra Club.

Sierra Club?

That's and interesting choice
for an oilman.

Even more interesting?

His entire art collection is heading to the
Museum of Modern Art in New York City.

He'll basically have
his own wing.

Wait, that collection includes most of Alexander
Barnes' work over the past five years.

Exactly... so I looked into how much
Barnes' paintings are currently worth.

The average price at auction happens
to be on a very steep decline.

But if gets them into a museum like
MoMA, the prices go up, up, up.

And he'll be filthy rich
and famous.

Bet he wasn't counting on
being infamous instead.

No model today?

I'm busy! Get out!

Okay,
but you're coming with me.

I'm not going anywhere.
I'm not done.

- How can you tell?
- I'm in the middle of this.

- You have to leave.
- I'm not leaving without you.

And I'm not leaving
till I'm done!

Okay.

Oh, God! God! Now you're done!

No! Oh, my... oh, God.

Oh, my God. It's done.

It's done.

You're welcome.

Richard's entire art collection was
gifted to the Museum of Modern Art.

Which means no matter what gloomy
piece of rubbish you'd crank out...

your fame and fortune
were about to skyrocket.

Except that Richard never told me where
his art was going after he died.

It's kind of a morbid
conversation, don't you think?

What I think is that you were determined
to be one of those rare artists

that enjoyed their wealth
and fame while still alive.

But in order for that to happen,
Richard had to be dead.

What... you think I'd kill Richard just
to get into the museum of modern art?

I'm young, Detective. I'm at
the beginning of my career.

I would have eventually made it
into MoMA.

No, good luck with that.

Your current show is bombing.

You had a falling-out
with your biggest patron,

who, by the way,
was sleeping with your muse,

and I've seen the way you handle
rejection, and it ain't pretty.

Okay. My relationship with
Richard was volatile.

I'll admit it.

But... The truth is,
I'd be nothing without him.

Richard Crawford
was like a father to me.

When he started collecting me, it made me
feel like something I never felt before,

like who I was
and what I did... just mattered.

All I ever wanted from Richard
was his approval.

His approval?

It's not exactly angst-ridden.

But even monet,
who hated waterscapes,

painted water lilies
to win his father's approval,

and his father had been dead
half a century.

You were right, Detective.

I enlarged that photo from Sasha's apartment
and was able to positively identify it

as a company once owned
by Sasha's father.

I also looked up the artist who did the
painting hanging in our victim's bedroom.

It's by an artist from Mexico

who was popular in the early
'90s with first-time collectors.

- So not worth much today? - Not even as
much as it was worth 20 years ago.

Also, a copy of the minutes from
her father's final board meeting

and his last tax filings,
where I also came across this.

Thank you, Daniel.

Seriously? Me again?

What am I supposed to do
with this?

Compare it to this, as in I knew I'd
seen that painting somewhere before.

And not just across from Richard Crawford's
bed, where I'm guessing you spent

many a blissful afternoon living the good life...
or should I say Richard's good life...

staring at that painting and just
wondering where you'd seen it before.

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

And then, just like me,
it hit you.

That's the same painting
that was in

your father's commercial
real-estate office. There, see?

It's right behind
your father's desk.

When I saw it in Richard's house, it just
didn't make sense as part of his collection

until I saw the family photo.

Okay, so, it's a cheap reproduction.
There's probably hundreds of them made.

No, actually. We checked.

No, it's an original
by an artist named Crisoforo,

who for a minute and a half 20 years ago
was prized by first-time collectors.

That's how you got interested
in art.

Your father was a collector...
or would have been

if Richard Crawford
hadn't snatched away

his lucrative real-estate
business in a hostile takeover.

'Cause Richard wasn't just
an oilman, was he?

He was a corporate raider, and your father
was just another business that he raided,

spoils of war that included
this painting.

Okay, give me... but the painting
and your father's business

weren't the only things that he
took from your family, was it?

Your father never recovered.

He slipped into a depression
and drank himself to death.

Okay, give me the painting. That was my
dad's favorite. He loved that thing!

And you loved your father... love that
led to your love of art and a career

that you'd hoped would actually
bring you closer to him.

And Richard, you remembered, was a
friend of your dad's back in the day,

but you were spared the ugly details
because you were too young.

All you knew about Richard
was that he was

a taste maker in the world
of art, and you wanted in.

And he let you in... right in through
the front door and into his bedroom.

Because apparently there was
one more thing of your father's

he wanted to complete
his collection.

That sick son of a bitch.

He knew what he did to my dad,
and he never said a word.

It wasn't enough for him
to rip my dad's heart out.

He had to rip mine out, too!
Now give me the painting!

Sorry, Sasha.
It's evidence now.

Give me the painting,
or I'll kill you, too!

Sasha, you really don't
want to do this.

You are a son of a bi...

All right. Let me go!

Now who's got
the bat-crazy eyes?

Talk about Greek tragedy.

I mean, here she tries to win her father's
love posthumously by following his love of art

and ends up in the arms of the
man responsible for his death.

And then gave him a piece
of her mind, so to speak.

Slipped him some of Hanna's Diazepam,
tied him up, waited for him to wake up,

so she could tell him
exactly why she was killing him.

Then drove a stake right through
his heart, like he did hers.

That is some hard-core
daddy issues at work there.

Speaking of daddy issues...
Any updates on Jeff?

What am I supposed to do,
Colleen?

Wait for something bad to happen?

Callie's worked so hard to move them
forward from the mistakes of Ray's past.

I mean, yes,
even if I am crossing the line,

how do I do nothing when there's something
I can do to help them from getting hurt?

I know we're in different
fields, but I still felt like

there was a lot I could have
learned from Dr. Hardy.

You mean how not to behave
around the people you work with?

He had his good side, too,
not that I ever saw it much.

I thought he liked me.

No, I'm sure he did.

And more importantly, he respected you...
and obviously wants to see

you go back to school
and become a doctor.

Yeah, maybe you're right.

Oh, hey. I'm cooking dinner.

Is there any way that you could swing by
your house and see about Jeff's phone?

No, I can do that.

He's like an addict
going through withdrawals.

- I can imagine.
- All right. I'll see you soon.