All language subtitles for CSI.New.York.S07E16.720p.HDTV.x264

I told you not
to taser the neck!

He's still breathing.

He better be.

On your knees.

On your knees,
you son of a bitch.

Now!

This path you're on...

it leads here.

Only next time,
the trigger gets pulled.

Sync by n17t01
www.addic7ed.com

911. What is your emergency?

This is Detective Mac Taylor.

I need to be connected

to the New York Crime Lab
and Jo Danville.

Froth around the nose and mouth
are consistent with an overdose.

No cash.

No ID.

Dime bag... traces of heroin.

And a ton of candy wrappers.

Can you say "sugar cravings"?

Cravings usually don't come

for a couple of months after you
quit, post withdrawal.

Maybe she fell off the wagon,
her tolerance was low?

These syringes are clean
of prints.

I mean, not that you always
find any,

but she's not wearing gloves.

And I'm not even getting
any smudges or partials.

Are you thinking they might have been wiped down?
I'm thinking there

was definitely someone else
in this alley.

Junkies, thieves, transients.
This place

is covered with biologicals from
a whole collection

of creatures that were
in this alley.

Couple uniforms responding

to a disturbance call,
found the body.

Hey, Mac.
Uh, Jane Doe's an addict.

Looks like
a straight-up OD.

She's no Jane Doe.

Her name is Tessa James.

All right. Enough of
this quiet man crap.

Are you okay?

I didn't expect
to find Tessa that way.

You've been looking for her?

On and off.

More waiting than looking.

She'd usually find me.

That's a bit cryptic.

Listen, if I'm sticking my nose
where I shouldn't...

No, no.

I met Tessa almost a year ago.

I guess you'd call it a series
of really strange encounters.

Detective Taylor?

Yeah.

They're following me.

Who's following you?

Can I trust you?

I can trust you, I can trust
you, 'cause...

I saw you in the paper, and...
you tell the truth.

Tell me your name.
What's your name?

The woman with the purple
feathers, I-I saw her,

with the blood all over
her face.

Is she hurt?

Did this... just happen?
Where is she?

I delivered papers...

for work.

And, I went to wash
my hands, and...

I... and he was crying.

All right, okay,
slow down. Who-who's "he"?

I saw...

in the room.

There was...

there was a beautiful light,

and, um... an angel.

They carried her
down the hall...

and...

the white-haired man
just kept crying.

And, um... now
she's out there

and it's so...
it's so... cold.

All right, wh-where
did this happen?

Just, I-I want to help you.
Just tell me your name.

All right.

Oh, my name's... Tessa James.

Uh, uh, uh. Wait-wait a minute.
Who's hurt, Tessa?

Oh... she's not hurt.
She's dead.

I tried to find her but she had
no driver's license,

no fixed address.

I only had her name.

She'd been an assistant
at a law firm

but was fired the year before

for erratic attendance
and behavior.

Well, the hand rubbing, fast
speech, fractured sentences,

at the very least, sound like
extreme OCD...

which can involve fantasy.

Yeah, I know.

I couldn't find any proof
of her story.

Despite that...

there was something
about her, Jo.

I believed her.

Based on...?

My gut.

Mac, you're always
telling the guys

to... use their heads
not their hearts.

I didn't say, "My heart."

I said, "My gut."

Tox screen came back positive
for diacetylmorphine.

Heroin.

Enough to kill her.

Junkie, addict, drug user.

None of those words describe
the woman I knew, Sid.

She was a little different,

but Tessa was certainly no
substance abuser.

Well, that might explain

why there are no other drugs
in her system.

With most users,
you'd find at least

THC or alcohol.

There are no scars from
former track marks.

Nothing suggesting she was a
recovering addict

who suddenly fell
off the wagon.

Just one injection site.

What about histology?

All of her internal organs
appeared healthy.

No signs of chronic drug use.

Everything I'm seeing is

consistent with what
you believe, Mac.

She's not an addict.

So what does that leave us with?

She woke up today and decided,

"Hey, I'm going to
try some heroin"?

I'd believe that, except for one
observation.

The injection site is in her
left arm.

And given calluses and muscle
formations in her hands,

I have every reason to believe
she was left-handed.

She would have injected her
right arm, not her left.

Someone else injected her...

dumped her body in the alley,

and left the candy wrappers
and the needles.

Set up to look like an
accidental overdose.

Or to disguise a murder.

Well, this is possibly...
grease.

Yeah, you better hope it's
that, given where we found her.

You're gross.

You wanted the coat.

The paint fragments samples
off Tessa's jeans...

I separated out the layers,
and ran them through DART.

Spectral results
for the first layer

indicated the presence of lead.

Lead paint

was banned after 1956.
Mm-hmm.

The more recent layers
were lead-free. Newer.

I made some calls,
and they were all catalogued.

Red Granite, Woodland Green,

and Hudson Taupe,

which was discontinued in '83.

So at some point
Tessa was in a building

that was painted
the first shade before 1956,

and then repainted
anytime up to 1983.

Right.

There's a lot of possibilities
out there.

True. But the most recent paints
contained alkyd binders,

indicating they're industrial.

Maybe I can help, there.

I analyzed the smudge
embedded in the fibers

on Tessa's coat.
Found high concentrations

of sulfur dioxide.

A compound commonly found
in "killer smog."

That's what happened
in 1953 and 1966.

A temperature inversion
created a kind of a ceiling

over the city, trapping
chemicals from exhaust.

Sulfur dioxide, to be exact.

Now, the stains
on Tessa's coat?

They would indicate that she
somehow came in contact

with these killer
concentrations.

So we're looking for a location
that trapped enough killer smog

to leave behind a residue
after all these years.

Yeah.
Hey.

So this sweater that Tessa
was wearing was cashmere, right?

Still had the price tag on it.

Only $5.99.

Vintage, or she scored a
major deal on Seventh Avenue.

I don't think so.

I found the manufacturer
who designed the tag.

It was made in the '70s.

It was sold to hundreds

of different department stores
around the country.

But only half
of them still exist.

Sulfur dioxide concentrations

have been preserved in
some kind of enclosure.

Probably above the ground,

so that it could trap
the rising exhaust.

An old space that was
painted before '56...

and not after '83...

and clothing at
an absurdly low price.

I don't know,

maybe she was squatting
at an old clothing warehouse.

Or maybe some kind of
an overpass,

close to heavy traffic?

Or an abandoned high-rise.

My name is Tessa James.

Wait, wait a minute.

Who's hurt, Tessa?

Oh, she... she's not hurt.

She's dead.

Or all of the above.

How did she get
in here without getting caught?

Buildings on either side
are abandoned.

No one's been up here for years.

What the hell
was she doing in here?

Looks like
Tessa was living here.

I don't think the elevator
goes to the top floor,

if you know what I mean.

That's amazing.

Somewhere in here is the answer

to what Tessa
was trying to tell me.

Must've taken her a
long time to compile all this.

Yeah...

Who are all these guys?

Mac, between everything
Tessa told you,

and your own investigation,

was there ever any hard evidence
that Tessa witnessed a murder?

No. But there was nothing
to disprove it, either.

Tessa wasn't
delusional, Lindsay,

she didn't think people were
listening in on her thoughts,

or that she was
receiving messages

from television or aliens.

Tessa was onto something.

And she may have been
murdered for it.

It's an "L."

The "L"

stands for "Loyalty,"

the "T" for "Trust."

I did an icon database search.

It's the motto of
The Vonner Club.

The Vonner Club.

Where you need to be
a billionaire boy

and know that funny handshake
to get through the door.

A Southern girl like you has a
problem with gentlemen's clubs?

Hell, no.

What I have a problem with
is a gentleman

who may have committed murder.

The white-haired
man just kept crying.

And... now she's out there.

And it's so...
it's so cold.

It was cold.

Lindsay? On that wall
where she compiled

newspaper sections
and magazine pages...

any particular time of year?

Here it is.

Yeah.

Seems like she was obsessed
with February 17th.

Crime sections,

articles on

female homicides,
missing persons,

suicides...

Obituaries, also February 17th.

You think maybe
she was looking for

a report of the woman she saw?

Hang on. Mardi Gras!

It could've been around February
17th last year, right?

We need to find out

how The Vonner Club was
celebrating Fat Tuesday.

Yeah, I'm sorry.

The event was for Mardi Gras.
Everyone comes in masks,

so it'd be really hard
to recognize someone's face.

We'll need to see a guest list
from that night,

and a seating plan,
if you have a record of it.

Sure. I'll get that
for you right now.

You'll keep that
confidential, right?

Absolutely.

Mind if we take a look around?

Sure. Help yourself.

Uh, this may sound
strange, but...

do you happen to have a room
with bright lights

and angels in it?

As a matter of fact, we do.

This is our VIP room.

A lot of sex
going on in this room.

Apparently "VIP room"
means something else.

Well, sex isn't a crime.
Murder is.

We need to find blood.

Bingo.

Spatter suggests
a gunshot wound.

Tessa was right.

The woman with the purple
feathers, I saw her,

with the blood
all over her face.

The woman carried out of this
room could've been murdered.

Hey, is she all right?

This is Detective Mac Taylor.

I need to be connected with
the New York Crime Lab

and Jo Danville.

I saw a black SUV.

Xenon headlights.

Inside, I felt a pass-through
rear seat.

The cargo space was
about six feet.

What about the woman who jumped
in front of the car?

Did you get a good look at her?

Caucasian...

black jacket with a hood.

I'd remember her voice.

When I reached for her,

she turned her head away.

I heard the car door open...

and I got tasered in the neck.

Was it a police-issue taser

or some runt gun that anyone
can buy?

I got zapped from behind.
I didn't see.

Are you sure you don't want
to see a doctor, Mac?

No, I'm good, Jo.

I pulled some fibers

from the carpet.

Yeah, I'll say. It's enough
to weave a new one.

Who the hell has the balls

to try to warn off the head

of the New York City Crime Lab
is what I want to know.

Either someone really stupid
or someone really powerful.

In the back of the vehicle,
I felt metal under

my shoulder,
and it had a sharp edge.

There's a possibility
the trace transferred

from the object to your shirt.

Which shoulder?

Left.

A license plate?

They must've put
on fake plates,

and tossed the real ones in
the back.

See? It's all
the little details

that criminals never
pay attention to.

Just one little
something they forget,

and we nail them.

I love this job.

Hey.

Oh, how you feeling?

Fine.
You all right?

Yeah, fine.
So, where are we?

Well, as far as we can tell,

Tessa photographed
half the men in Manhattan.

Adam I.D.'d them
through the DMV.

None of them were on
the guest list.

But if these are pictures
of guys

who look like our
perpetrators...

the VIP room.

So the guys upstairs never
attended the Mardi Gras party.

They were having a smaller
party of their own.

Which would explain why our
mystery female vic

also wasn't
officially signed in.

The woman with
the purple feathers.

You said there were three men

carrying the girl?
Yes, three men.

Three men.

And there was the, the, the
crying man with the white hair.

The crying man
with the white hair.

A muscled guy with the tiger.

A muscled guy with the tiger.

And someone else...

I couldn't find him.

A ton of candy wrappers.

Can you say "sugar cravings"?

Stratford chocolate.

Danny, the candy wrappers in
the alley all like this?

Exactly like that.

They belonged to Tessa.

She brought them there.

Yeah, which is why they didn't
make sense at the scene.

Oh... "Comiskey."

Comiskey?

Yeah, you know him?

It's a baseball stadium.

Charles Comiskey.

Chicago Black Sox?

1919?

You're so obsessed
with baseball.

Okay, so why pick that name

and put it on a wrapper?

You said Tessa mentioned
other names.

Yeah, code names
she'd worked out.

There was George Weaver
and Billy Gleason.

Is the white-haired man
Weaver or Gleason?

No. I don't know.
I don't... I don't know him.

But I ran 'em all,
and they didn't make sense.

Well, she was a bit
confused, right?

What were the other names?

There was George Weaver.

George "Buck" Weaver?

Third baseman for the Chicago
Black Sox.

Okay, so why pick these names:

Comiskey, Weaver,

for a guy she saw
at The Vonner Club?

I mean, the Black Sox threw
the World Series in 1919.

They were the bad guys.

What did Comiskey
have to do with the team?

He owned it.

Oh. Well, who owns Stratford

Confection Company?

I'll tell you right now.

The owner of Stratford
Confection Company is...

Matthew Stratford.

Take a look.

The white-haired man.

He just kept saying, um...
"I didn't mean to.

"I-I just wanted
to shut her up.

I didn't mean to."

She hasn't mentioned George
Weaver on this wall.

Wait a minute.

Wait.

All these articles,
they all had

to do with death
or missing persons.

Except there was one...

Derek Perry.

I think we found our Weaver.

Derek Perry's a Major League
All-Star third baseman.

He admitted himself into rehab
for cocaine addiction.

He was suspended from the team
for a year.

Owner of a major company,
pro ball player...

sounds like VIP's to me.

Um, there was George
Weaver and Billy Gleason.

And Gleason saw me.

Billy Gleason.

Billy "The Kid" Gleason.

He was the manager
of the Black Sox.

The manager
of The Vonner Club...

Keith DeYoung.

When I was leaving the club,

we had a very interesting
conversation.

Detective, do you have a minute?
Of course.

Uh... the club and its members,

I mean, there are some powerful
people in here.

Yes?

Uh, if they found out that I
gave you lists,

let you into that room

without, I don't know, talking to the
board of directors or something,

I could lose my job.

They take this loyalty and trust
thing pretty seriously.

Look, why don't you give me
your card?

I'll give you mine.

You have any
questions or concerns,

give me a call.
I'll do the same

if your board of directors
have something to worry about.

Keith DeYoung saw Tessa.

Thank you, Detective.

Bring him in.

Yeah?

Hey, Mac, you feel like
renting a couple limos tonight?

I found the luxury car service
that has your license plate.

It's over on West 57th.

I'll meet you there.
Let's go.

Can I help you guys?

On your knees,
you son of a bitch, now!

Drop it.

On your knees,
you son of a bitch.

Peter Grant.

Driver to some of The Vonner
Club's finest members...

and cop kidnapper.

That's an A-1 felony.

Same as murder.

Including assault and the
threats I distinctly remember,

you're going down

for 25-to-life.

The severity of your sentence
is determined

by how much you cooperate.

Hey, there's your accomplice.

She works at the garage, too.
So, what is this?

You guys, uh, work together,
play together,

kidnap cops together?

The first one to talk

gets the deal.

Tell us who hired you.

Save your breath.

If I tell you, I'm a dead man.

Throw me whatever you got.

Your little talk with

Detective Taylor was really
a threat, wasn't it?

No. No, no.

Look, I just wanted
him to know how...

How much of a pompous ass you
and your club pals are?

Do you think money can get you
out of murder?

No. Look, I don't know
anything, okay?

I just do what I'm told.

Oh, so you're
a pompous lackey ass?

Keith...

you don't want to get
into any more trouble

than you're already in.

You were there
the night that girl died.

No.

You saw her.

No!

I allowed some girl into
the Mardi Gras party

to deliver papers
to her boss, but...

Tessa James delivered papers

that night.

You said you
didn't remember her.

I'm bad with faces.

Really.

I think I'm going to be sick.

Oh, doesn't bother me.

I've got two kids.

I've spent half my life
covered in throw-up.

I hear that.

The pail's right there.

Keith...

Give us the names of
the men in the VIP room.

I hosted the Mardi Gras party.

That's all I can tell you.

The Jane Doe Mac
asked me to trace...

the strangulation
from February 16...

Any Jane Does come in

with gunshot wounds around
February 17 of last year?

Uh, yeah, we did have
a Jane Doe,

but she died of strangulation.

Sid, check the blood trace we
found at The Vonner Club against

that Jane Doe's DNA records.

He was right.
Her DNA

is a match to the blood
found in The Vonner Club.

It appears she
suffered asphyxiation.

There was evidence
of recent sexual activity.

Two DNA donors.
No hits in CODIS.

Also, she had high levels
of cocaine in her system.

And the M.E. detected blood

in her nasal cavity.

Which can cause the victim
to sneeze or cough,

so our gunshot spatter pattern
was a symptom of an overdose.

Overdose, then strangled.

Not the night she signed up for,
I'm sure.

Yeah.

What's that, right there?

Yeah, right wrist...

Uh, well, she had a tattoo.

The tattoo...

it's the symbol that Tessa drew

repeatedly.

This is definitely our woman
with the purple feathers.

The M.E.'s office retains
clothing in Jane Doe cases

for a year, right?
Yes.

I need to see
this victim's clothing.

Clothes give us anything?

A whole lot of nothing.

I got a foreign print.

Just one.

Top button of her winter coat.

You get anything in AFIS?

No. It seems like
for every lead,

just... there's
another dead end, boss.

Now she's out there,

and it's so cold.

Maybe not.

It's your compassion
that nailed you.

I beg your pardon, Detective?

It was cold outside.

You did up the top button.

The other buttons were large...
you could keep your gloves on,

but the top button, small.

I don't know what you mean.

I found your print

on Jane Doe's winter coat.

I don't understand.
H-How could you

get my fingerprints?

You provided them when we had

our little confidential chat.

I-I-I handle so many coats

every day greeting members
of The Vonner Club.

Yeah, but how many are
high-class prostitutes

who snort so much coke,

they freak out right
before they get strangled?

I don't think you
were in the room, Keith.

No, I wasn't.

I was hosting.

I wasn't in that room.

But upstairs all hell
was breaking loose.

A girl OD's in front
of your VIPs.

One of them panics...

Shut up! ...Tries to shut
her up and strangles her.

And then they call you...

the loyal and trustworthy
club manager.

No.

I was busy with other guests.

You helped them carry her out.

I didn't mean to.
I just wanted

her to shut up.
I didn't mean to, to...

Shut the hell up.
I didn't mean to.

Just zip up your fly and make
sure you got all her stuff.

We should call an ambulance.

What part of "murder during
Vonner Club orgy" don't you get?

On your way down
the hall, Tessa saw you.

Matthew Stratford
and Derek Perry...

they left you to
clean up their mess...

drive to an abandoned part
of town and dump her.

Only, you couldn't stand

to see her there
all alone in the cold.

And so you did up her coat.

A final act of compassion.

I almost feel sorry for you.

I didn't kill her.

Not the girl in the room,

but you saw Tessa.

And you described her.

And you made it possible
for them to hire thugs

to find her.

You might as well have shoved
the needle in her arm yourself.

Anyone come forward
to claim her yet?

No, unfortunately.

It's always
a little more difficult

knowing a body's destined for
a pine box in Potter's Field.

She's not a Jane Doe, Sid.

Without a family member or
friend's official identification

I have to make
this determination.

I found you. I found you.

I'm her friend.

Her name is Tessa James.

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www.addic7ed.com