All language subtitles for CSV.S02E17.720p.WEB.h264

* *

High drama in low tides
at Lake Mead this morning.

A shallow diver searching
for hidden treasure

found more than
what he bargained for,

deadly remains. Sir?

I'm here now with Jeremiah Beck,
the diver.

Sir, what were you
looking for down there

besides the shock
of your life?

Oh, uh, buddies of mine
have been finding

all kind of cool stuff
since the lake dried up.

Mm.

Y'all waiting
for an engraved invitation?

There are human remains
down there.

Let's get to work.

What?

It's a child.

Go for Roby.

* *

Look, it's a dollar bill

in a sealed baggie.

Oh, look,

they doodled on it.

- Little smiling little egg.
- Yeah.

Whoa, look at that date.

1982.

Hey, Greg.

Dr. Roby. You rang?

I get it.
Count Sanders 'cause I asked you

to be on the "vampire shift."
Yeah, you funny.

I vant to make you proud.
Yeah, yeah, yeah,

I know, I know.

Seriously, though, I'm happy

to pinch-hit for your
nightshift supervisor.

Thank you.
I thank you.

Claudia thanks you.

Her new little baby thanks you.

I think I can
lose some sleep

over one new mother's
maternity leave,

but I thought
my reunion tour of duty

didn't start
till tonight.

Okay, sorry
to tap you early,

but I'm in the middle
of a waking nightmare.

Let Count Sanders guess,
body in a barrel.

Mm-hmm.
Rumor has it,
it's an early '80s mob hit.

It's not a mob hit because
the body belongs to a child,

and what I really need

is an anthropologist.
You got one?

Let me grab my cape.

You've come
to the right vampire.
Come on, Count.

Well, hello.
Dr. Roby.

Oh, and you must be
Dr. Hudson.

I'm Dr. Heather Chumani.

Thanks for coming
on such short notice.

Someone show me a pelvic bone.

Boy, you guys did a nice job
of setting this out here.

Thank you.

Mm...

Oh... poor girl.

It's a girl.

It's difficult to determine
morphology of race,

but I do know that we're
looking at a female child.

Based on the...

non-fusion
of the basilar suture,

I'd say your girl was around
eight to ten years old.

Hmm...

What's less certain
is the cause

of this outer scrape,

the right side of the temple,

just above the orbital bone.

Antemortem or postmortem?
Neither, I think.

Probably perimortem,
near time of death.

I don't know how long
our Jane Doe

has been in that lake, but

based on the osteologic reaction
to the temple, I'm thinking

whatever happened
to her face

is the reason why
she's in that barrel.

So, can you bring
our little girl back to life?

All I need is a quiet work area.

I know just the place.

* *

* *

There she is.

Maxine Roby,

meet our little Jane Doe.

We have your face.

Now, all we need is your name.

* *

* Who... are you? *

* Who, who, who, who? *

* Who... are you? *

* Who, who, who, who? *

* I really wanna know *

* Who... are you? *

* Oh-oh-oh *
* Who... *

* Come on, tell me who are you,
you, you *

* Are you! *

Can I ask you a question?

Yup.

How did the anthropologist
determine her skin tone?

She didn't.

Uh, I mean, she's not
translucent, so...

It's called
"neutral palette technique."

When the race
of a victim is unknown,

the forensic artists use a blend
of all skin pigmentations.

Hmm. Makes sense.

We need an image that's
as inclusive as possible.

Cast the widest net.

We want everyone giving
this girl a careful look.

Yeah, I will.
I will be there in an hour.

Let me call you back.

Uh, what's going on?

It'll come to you.

Oh...

Bryan's art thing. Damn it.

The gallery opening
for his girlfriend.

We were, we were supposed to...
I know, I know. I'm sorry.

You don't have to apologize
to me. I'm just the ex-husband.

I expect
to be blown off.

Bryan, though...

What do you want me
to tell him?

I'll talk to him.

I got to put out my own fires.
Damn it.

I don't see any fires,
but I do smell smoke.

You okay?

They found the remains
of a child

in a barrel

at the bottom of Lake Mead.

It's a cold case.
Gonna be a long week.

Hmm.

They all are.
Yeah.

I understand. Um...

Work comes first.

Yeah.

If you just so happen
to get a break,

text me.

We can take Bry to lunch,
make it up to him.

Thank you.

Yeah.

Time?

37 seconds.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre fans
would be impressed

by the way
you wield that thing.

Well, I have been lumber-jacking
since I left CSI.

Really? Oh.
No.

I've been writing a book, but
I do own several flannel shirts.

I've got to wonder,
why so blue?

Hand me the scalpel
and a Q-pack.

Yeah.
I'm gonna get this to trace.

Wait.

What is that?

"Salt Mine Company"?

Salt Mine Company
specializes in the obvious,

sodium production.

Our facility
also manufactures

its own barrels
for transport.

I think what
you're looking for

is right here,
model MHAZ.

Made of
cold rolled steel.

We used them
in the late '70s, early '80s.

That's when you switched
to plastic?

Yeah.

Makes sense,
given the weather and oxidation,

this rock salt
becomes hygroscopic,

changes into liquid

and clumps... up...

You want a job here
or something?

No, we just want to confirm.

This barrel did come
from Salt Mine Co.?

Hon, I suspect
you can read.

We ship all over
the world.

That one with
your body in it,

it could've come from
Munich or Manhattan.

This one was dumped in
Lake Mead, not the East River.

When did you start working here?

Started in '79. Why?

I want a roster of employees
from back then.

Yeah, okay.

As if someone
couldn't have stolen

the damn barrel.

You ever think that, uh,
your kid in the can

might've been some
parent's way of, uh,

getting rid of a problem?

I think this was
some parent's worst nightmare.

Fellas,
I got to go get

a missing girl's face
out into the community,

and you got to get me
that roster.

Or I'll be back.

Dr. Milton Hudson examining
the skeletal remains

of an unidentified child,

presumed missing,

Jane Doe.

Full skeletal remains

came from a barrel
discovered in Lake Mead.

Approximate height:

four feet, four inches tall.

60 to 70 pounds.

There are no irregular,
identifying features.

Just who this little girl was,
that remains...

Unknown.

Capitate, hamate bones...

...nearly obliterated.

- Is that a gunshot wound?
- Looks like.

Can't say which direction
the shot was fired,

but the bullet hit
the right wrist square.

Uh-huh.

Uh...

Perimortem is the theme
of the day.

Looks like a clear, perforated
hole right through the scapula.

Through and through.

Looks like.
Mm-hmm.

Bullet exited her back
and just

kept on going.
It means that she was

probably shot
at close range, right?

All of this damage could be
explained by a single shot.

She's facing the shooter.
Mm-hmm.

Put up a hand.

Okay.

Ah...

Damn it.

That means that it was
the last thing she ever saw.

Okay. The blue substance

from the bottom
of the barrel was

a combination of aluminum,

colored reflective
and adhesive sheeting,

and paint.

Could be a million things.

But who knows,
you can never count out

Locard's exchange principle.
Every contact...

leaves a trace.
Leaves a trace.

Um, well, we can count out DNA.

I ran the clumps
of wavy brown hair.

It's too degraded
for a sample.

Greg, zero.
Penny, zero.

Uh, Greg, zero. Penny, one.

The white Mary Janes
are a youth size 5.

Patent leather.

My guess is

she might've been killed
before or after church.

Sorry, you lost me at

"my guess."
Well...

There's a Sunday school
patch on her shirt.

You sure that's what that is?

Every Sunday,
my entire childhood.

I was an acolyte.
I even taught Sunday school

for a few years.
Okay.

Penny, five. Greg, zero.

But these two
rhinestone barrettes

could get me on the board.

This one is in
perfect condition.

The metal on this one

is burnt and twisted.

Doesn't look like

corrosion from being
underwater 40 years to me.

Hard to say what did it, though.

Whatever it was might've made
the hole in this glove.

Here. Check out the photo
of Jane Doe's right wrist.

Look at how the hole
in the glove lines up

perfectly.

She was shot
through the hand.

The bigger hole's
in the back,

which means that's where
the bullet exited.

It makes this
a defensive wound.

I think this confirms a theory
they had in the morgue,

probably a single shot fired.

Wow.

Penny, a zillion. Greg...

like, two.

I really appreciate you
letting us pass out the flyers.

It's gonna be very helpful.

Of course,
we're happy to help.

Is there
a particular reason

Plymouth Baptist
is on your list?

Longevity.

We're hitting
every Vegas church

old enough to have Sunday school
back in the '80s.

There's only a few
of them left.

I'll say a prayer
for you.

I'll never turn down
one of those.

* *

She's just at the end
of the hall here.

So, you're taking me
to the captain?

Yes, ma'am.

Person who makes decisions
around here.

Yes, ma'am.

Uh,

sorry, boss.
This woman...

Mrs. Williams.

Raquel Williams.

Mrs. Williams
is asking if...

Demanding.

To speak to you.

Uh-huh. Hello, Mrs. Williams.
I am Maxine Roby.

I need to speak
to the person in charge.

Okay, I-I...
Thank you so much. Thank you
Mm-hmm.

I am the person in charge.

I'm Maxine Roby.
I am director of the crime lab.

So, you're the one?

You're responsible
for this?

You have some information
about our Jane Doe?

Never mind this damn flyer.
Her name is Phoebe.

Phoebe Williams,
not Jane Doe.

This dollar bill
on her person?

That was money
to buy a book.

Humpty Dumpty
for her little cousin.

She was wearing
white patent leather

church shoes
for the Lord on Sunday.

How am I doing so far?

This...

...is Phoebe Williams.

Your child?

That's right.

I'm her mother.

Mrs. Williams, I am
so sorry for your loss.

And our lab has gone
to great lengths

to try to put a face
to your daughter.

You certainly did that.

And when the race
of a victim is unknown,

our standard
operating procedure...

I may not be in good
health, Dr. Roby,

but my mind
is just fine.

I know why you did what you did.
I just don't like it.

You made my girl
look like

she's someone else,
and then you put

that face everywhere.

That flyer is the reason
we found you.

That flyer makes us
one step closer

to finding out what happened
to your daughter.

And I know
you're upset...

No, don't. Don't.
I know...

Don't tell me how I feel.

You don't know how I feel.

You haven't lived with the loss
of your baby for...

...41...

...years.

You're right. I have not.

1982.

We were shot at in cold blood
in the middle of the street.

My girl's body was taken.

The police...

wrote their damn report

with a dull pencil
on a cocktail napkin.

My phone never rang.

They didn't care
about her back then.

They didn't care.
Sorry for your loss,

my ass!

Mrs. Williams.

Mrs. Williams,
don't walk out on me.

Excuse me.
Mrs. Williams,
do not walk out on me.

Mrs. Williams, you walk out
on me, you walk out on Phoebe.

"They" is me now, Mrs. Williams.

Phoebe is on my watch.

And my watch
does not need winding.

And I will do
everything, ma'am.

Everything within my power
to find the people

that did this to her
and put them away.

But, ma'am,
I cannot do it without you.

I need you.

Phoebe needs you.

What exactly
do you need from me?

A second chance.

A second chance

to make this right.

And, legally...

I need a DNA sample.

A simple swab, ma'am,
just a simple swab...

...to confirm, in fact,
that you are Phoebe's mother.

That's what you want?
Yes, ma'am.

Put a cotton swab in my mouth

to prove I'm her mother?

Yes.

That's what's gonna solve this?

Mm.

This conversation is over.
Leave us alone!

LVPD's 1982 case file.

Photography canvass of the site.

Eyewitness statement.

Site map of where the shooting
took place. The end.

I'm sorry, is that it?
Just a few pages?

Site photos of buildings,
a handful of sketches,

and one witness
statement?

Max is dead serious
about our approach.

We're gonna do what they didn't.

But any old evidence,
we have to bring back to life,

whether we can get the mother
to help us out or not.

Okay, so...

says here
"single gunshot wound."

I don't think so.

I think there were two gunshots.

Second gunshot
killed Phoebe.

First one missed.

If this pencil is our
trajectory rod,

the bullet skimmed
Phoebe's temple

and shot right through
the barrette.

That's two gunshots.

That's twice as much info
as LVPD had back then.

Gives us
a puncher's chance

to learn something
about the shooter.

Height, handedness,
maybe even a general sense

about the weapon
involved.

Let's put this scene
on its feet.

Okay, so,

according to Mrs. Williams'
original statement,

she and Phoebe left
the Plymouth Baptist church

for this bus stop.

She said that they
were approached

from the northwest corner,
right there.

I'm the gunman.

Give me a sec
to be multiple heights.

Oompa Loompa to Yao Ming.

No.

No, this doesn't-- These angles
don't make any sense.

You're right.

To get that scrape
on the temple,

it's almost like...

it's almost like Phoebe
would have to be

taller than
the shooter.

Let me stand her up
on the bench.

She's a kid.
She's bored waiting for the bus.

Oh, yes.
Does that help

- our height issue?
- Yeah.

Folsom, how tall
are our three shooters?

From here, the killer
is five-foot-eight.

Red laser.
Back it up some...

Six foot.
Green laser.

Back it up even more,

six-foot-four. Blue laser.

Without knowing the type of gun

and the exact position
the killer was standing at

40 years ago,

it's impossible
to determine height.

Wait a minute.

Wait a minute.

That building.

What about the building?

That apartment building
wasn't there in 1982.

And that building
on the far corner.

I mean, back then,

it would've been a bunch of
metal and wood.

It would've been a spiderweb
for catching errant bullets.

The bullet didn't stop there.

It hit that office building
over there.

With any luck,

the bullet could be lodged
in the walls somewhere.

Guys, we're close here,
all right? More-more-more smoke.

Let's play laser tag
over here.

Order of magnitude.

It's close enough.
Set up for the mean average.

Six feet.

Hmm.

Hang on, gents.

Allie's getting
into heavy metal.

Scratch that. Now, she's getting
into the blues. No bullet.

Hey, do you still have
those photos from earlier?

The-the one
with the damaged barrette.

You see how the metal from the
barrette is twisted to the left?

The projectile
might've redirected,

like fingers tipping
a field goal.

So, I'm thinking
they need to start looking

a smidge more
to the right.

Hey, guys,

we need to redirect
the angle, like,

three or four degrees
to the right

and a good half a foot higher.

Here.

There we go.

Guys?

Any luck?

Yeah.

Big progress.

With a bullet.

All my sledgehammering's
going to cost the city

a pretty penny.

Please tell me
we found something probative

from that bullet.

I wish I could.
The striation marks

have been severely damaged,

and even if we had the gun
in question,

this'll never hold up.

You're telling me
we found a miracle bullet,

41 years after the fact,
and... nothing?

Not exactly nothing. We know
the killer was about six-four.

And you see
those shiny crystals

along the jagged tip
of the projectile?

Well, I took the liberty
of grinding a few

of Phoebe's rhinestones from her
barrette into a fine powder.

Blingo. It was a match
to the bullet.

At least we know. The bullet
you found was the first shot

fired at Phoebe Williams.

Okay.
What about the second shot?

Thought I told you
to leave us alone.

Yes, ma'am, you did,
but I'm a little hardheaded.

And I have some new information,
ma'am. Some...

I'll put some coffee on.

Last picture I ever took of her
was her coloring.

She would wear
some crayons out.

When she was real little,
I asked her,

"Phoebe, what color
is your favorite?"
Mm-hmm.

You know what she told me?
"Mama, I can't answer that.

It would hurt
the other colors' feelings."

Mm. Mm.

Hmm.

Things you remember.

Now, what's this business
about you have new information?

Okay, ma'am.

I've got some photos
of my own.

So we believe
that there were two shots fired.

The first one

we pulled from a building
near the church.

I'd like to show you a picture
of Phoebe's skull.

There is a bone scrape
right above her right temple.

we believe the first shot fired
grazed her face,

and then damaged her barrette.

May I?

You think
you know what happened.

I was there.

Phoebe and I

used to sell jewelry
and handcrafts for the church.

We were raising money
for a mission trip.

I think you earned this.

Now I can buy that
Humpty Dumpty book for Sharise.

Give me the money!

This kid with a gun

wanted our money box.

I gave him a piece of my mind.

I wasn't gonna let
some evil boy

take the good Lord's money.

I could see the Devil
in his eyes.

And the fear.

Mommy!

I am so sorry, Mrs. Williams,

but we haven't found
that second bullet.

And you'll never find it,
never in a hundred years.

Why do you say that?

'Cause I have it.

The through-and-through
went into you.

Phoebe died trying
to save my life.

I guess you could say

I carry this bullet

close to my heart.

How far would you go

to find the people that did this
to you and your daughter?

All the way.
I need that bullet.

That bullet is the only evidence
that can help us solve this.

When a... when a shot is fired,
it leaves grooves

on the bullet, right?

Those grooves, ma'am,
they tell a tale.

A tale that could lead us back
to the person who did that.

If the doctors say that it will
still compromise your health,

we don't have to do it.

Choice is up to you.

Mother to mother,
let me ask you something.

Yes, ma'am.

If you were carrying this lead
in your chest,

and you needed it to avenge
the death of your boy,

what would you do?

I think we both know
the answer to that.

If you don't want to do this,

we can just call
this whole thing off.

Don't you worry about me dying,
Ms. Roby.

One might say I died
41 years ago.
Mm-mm.

You're strong.

I'm not trying to be strong.

I need something from you.

Name it.

I don't have anyone.

Widowed, no brother, sister,
next of kin.

All I got is this
crooked old walking stick

and faded memories of my girl.

If something was to happen...

I'm listening.

...bury my child...

in her rightful state.

I want you

to make me that promise.

I promise.

Hey.
A little light reading?

Yeah. It's that child's case.
Please.

Thank you for meeting me.

I can't stay long, I've got to
get back to the hospital.

We don't have to eat.

Are you ready to order?
Hi.

Single malt neat.
Make it a double.

Mm. That bad?

I'm leaving. I'm leaving you
to your own world.

I don't belong here.

I thought I could unscramble
scrambled eggs, but I can't.

Wow.

I've had...

I've had a day.

I just convinced this woman

to have this
life-threatening surgery

where they're gonna
remove this bullet

that might not solve the murder.

Bad timing.

It's never a good time
to say goodbye.

If it doesn't end bad,

sometimes it just
doesn't end, Max.

Yeah, no truer words.

I'll always be here for you

and for our son
when it counts, always.

I know.

But all the king's horses
and all the king's men.

We both know how the rest goes.

Here you go.

* *

Mom.

How'd you know?

I got you on my phone so
I always know where you are.

My boy. My baby.

Maxine Roby?

Mrs. Williams will
see you now.

Hi.

Go get the man.

* *

It's nearly midnight.
Please tell me you're close.

I'm just comparing
striation marks between

the mangled bullet
that you found

and Mrs. Williams' bullet,

and I can't believe
the difference. Look.

The bullet from Mrs. Williams

is in pristine condition.
Yeah, that makes sense.

After it entered her chest,
the body would have treated it

like a foreign object.

Tissue wraps around it,
protects it,

like a warm blanket.

Lucky for us.

I'm running the striation
marks through NIBIN,

but I can already tell you
we now know

it's a .45 ACP.

Automatic Colt Pistol?

Standard issue, military grade.
Full metal jacket.

Most likely fired
from a government-issue

Remington Rand M1911A1 pistol
from World War II.

So we're looking for a military
man from World War II?

Didn't Mrs. Williams claim
that the shooter was a teenager?

Someone from World War II
would be nearly 100 years old.

Might be looking for
a gun collector.

Hey.

Who told you all to stay late?

Folsom.

The gun that killed Phoebe was
used in a liquor store

robbery in 1961.

It went unsolved.

I thought Mrs. Williams said
a teenager did the shooting.

She did. Okay, so now
we are looking for

two crimes, one gun,
and two different perps, right?

The prime suspect in this old
case was Matthew Beck.

He died in 1973, but his name,
his name lives on, right?

You're thinking
a family member?

Son of a gunman.

This is insane.

19 children and
grandchildren.

So we could door-knock
all these people, right?

One of 'em is bound to know

who granddaddy left all his guns
to, or I don't know.

Hold on.

I-I've seen this guy before.

I know I have.

You all have.

Oh, my God, of course.

Oh, my God, of course who?

...skiers didn't
pull me and the barrel.

I got all tangled up
down there. It was spooky.

Are you kidding me?

One thing we know for sure,

killers do return
to the crime scene

to get rid of evidence.

41 years
after the fact.

His dad was a suspect
in a related gun crime.

Will that be enough, or...

I spy something new,

something damning,

something blue.

Screen-grab that net pouch.

Go tighter.

Penny. Penny!

Blue license plate.

Run it through the DMV database.

Pickup truck.
Las Vegas area code 702.

Registered to Jeremiah Beck.

Scuba Steve.

He was right under our nose
the entire time.

And just like a guilty
prize fighter, he took a dive.

Oh, that was forever ago.

I was a teenager,

a salt mine company was hiring.

I think I worked there
for about half a summer.

Six weeks, to be exact.

Until you were fired for theft.

And according to your
disciplinary files,

you were taking barrels and then
recycling them for cash, so...

Not that they weren't all
stamped "Salt Mine Co."

Rifle, Glock, nine-mil, Glock,

and Remington Rand 1911A1.

So let me tell you how
this is gonna go.

My team's gonna head back
to the crime lab.

We're going to dust

every one of those weapons
for prints.

And my guess is yours
will be all over

that World War II relic.

So we're gonna test-fire it...

...and we're gonna compare
the striation marks

on the bullet that we recovered

to the ones fired by your gun.

Your second shot killed
the girl in cold blood.

You were going to
get rid of the bodies...

...but an eyewitness
scared you off

before you even realized
Mrs. Williams was still alive.

And then when you
dumped the body,

you didn't know how heavy
a 65-pound girl

could be in a metal drum.

The water levels at Lake Mead
hit record lows,

and so did you.

You had to get rid
of the evidence,

and you ended up wearing it
on the local news.

Hands behind your back.

Hey. Where you off to?

Desert Palms.

I owe Mrs. Williams a visit.

Ma'am, visiting hours are over.

Yeah, but where's Mrs. Williams?

* No, I never felt like
I belonged here *

No.

* This world wasn't quite
ready for me *

* Whoever's out there
in the stratosphere *

* Got a question for
the cosmic engineer *

* Is it all you believed
it would be? *

* Hey, God, why don't you
take me home? *

Looks like you didn't miss
the art show after all.

* So we might as well
blast off today *

* For fun *

* I'm waiting on
my spaceship to come *

* How much pain can we bear
being human? *

* I'm pretty sure that
my mission is done here *

* How much more
do you want from me? *

* Haven't I earned the right
to be a nominee? *

* To float out past
the Pleiades *

* Oh, no, you can't be
that hard to please *

* Hey, God, why don't you
take me home? *

* Beam me up,
I got a ticket to board *

* Yeah, you know I'm
coming home anyway *

* So we might as well
blast off today *

* For fun *

* I'm waiting on my spaceship
to come *

* I'm waiting on
my spaceship to come *

* Waiting on my spaceship
to come *

* Oh, whoa *

* Waiting on my spaceship *

* To come. *