All language subtitles for Psych s06e14 Autopsy Turvy.eng

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Dr. Strode,
does the name Bob White

mean anything to you?

Is he a children's clown?

- No.
- Adult's-only clown?

No, he's not
a clown of any sort.

You performed an autopsy
on him two nights ago.

He was hit by a bus?

Oh, of course. I'm sorry, yeah.

I-I often confuse clowns
and bus victims.

Yeah, yeah. That was a--

that was a tragic accident.

Or was it?

It's very possible
that it was not

and that you made a mistake.

Uh, no, no, chief,
I-I don't make mistakes.

Says the guy who left his keys

in an old lady's spleen
last month.

Oh, please, detective.
Like you've never lost keys?

Do you remember
a missing earlobe?

Well, this woman does.

She is the mortician who was in
process of embalming Mr. White

when she discovered
the inconsistency.

Hello, Woodrow.

Hello, Grace.

You two know each other?

Oh, Dr. Strode and I were
in forensics school together.

We were also briefly...

lovers.

Ew.

The earlobe was sliced
prior to quietus

and certainly not by a tire.

The incision was clean,
precise,

as though made
by a box cutter or something.

This was no accident.

The Woody I know would never
have missed something like this.

Ah, no.
The blood alcohol was .31.

He passes out, falls.

I mean, chief, look,
I may have missed this detail,

but I still don't know
that this was a murder.

I mean, clowns fall.

I got to tell you, Woody.

I'm getting a little fed up
with this sloppy work.

Okay.

If the Woodman says it's
an accident, then so do we.

I'm going to need
a little bit more than that.

All right, fine.
Gus and I will hit the scene.

And don't worry--
it's going to be pro bono.

We're going to go all
Haley Joel Osment on this--

pay it forward.

Why can't we go all
Haley Joel Osment

and get paid, like he did
with Country Bears?

H.J.O. was in Country Bears?

He played a bear
named Beary Barrington.

My God.

Is there anything
this kid can't do?

Well, he's not really
a kid anymore.

He's in his 20s,

technically, he's a young man.

So this is the address
of the report.

Where do you want to start?
You want to walk the scene?

Well, you are standing
right where

the bus ran over
over Bob White's body.

- Why don't you just lay down?
- I will not.

Gus, you're the victim.

Why do I have to be the victim?

Because to cast you as
the killer wouldn't be very P.C.

Since when are you P.C., Shawn?

Do you want to be
out here all night,

or do you want to go get
some food?

Fine.

This says the streetlamp

directly over
the bus stop was out.

[Electricity crackles,
glass shattering]

Gus, you still there?

You see my face
on this asphalt, Shawn.

Hurry up.

That's interesting.

So the lamp was vandalized--
probably teenagers.

- Still says accident.
- I don't know.

They decide to bust one lamp,

and it just happens
to be the streetlamp

that prevents
the bus driver from seeing

the drunkest guy in the world
laying in the street?

Gentlemen...

might I ask why this man
in straight-cut denim

is lying in the street

while you are making bus sounds
in the moonlight?

If you must know,
we are pantomime artists

from New Guinea
developing a new routine.

Look, I am trapped
in this box on castors.

Luckily, this box
also has an elevator.

Good-bye.

- No.
- We are detectives.

And we're investigating
a possible murder

that happened here
two nights ago at 1:00 A.M.

Really?
Right here on the street?

Unbelievable.

I mean, the one night
that there's a murder,

and I was sleeping.

I never sleep.
Damn you, circadian rhythms.

You couldn't just go
with the pantomime thing?

Gentlemen, my name
is Whip Chatterly.

And I can tell you anything
and everything you need to know.

We, with all
due respect, Whip...

Cream, was it?

I happen to be
the head psychic detective

for the S.B.P.D.,
and my partner here is black.

So I believe
our bases are covered.

What does that have to do
with anything?

Oh, my.
Oh, you're Shawn Spencer.

Oh, oh, hi.

Oh, you guys
are like celebrities to me.

[Chuckles]

That's very flattering.

Uh, actually we don't have
any head shots on us right now,

but, uh... Ah, to heck with it.

Why don't
you give Gus a big hug?

- I would love to.
- How about you don't?

All right.

Listen, I would like to offer
you up my prowess.

You see, I am a--
bit of a murder expert.

What? Did you kill someone?

No.

But the next best thing...

This...

is my establishment.

[The Friendly Indians'
I Know You Know]

So, we have a drunken man
run over by a large vehicle

after he was already murdered.

This reminds me of a case
from 1983 that I read about.

Wow, that's sounds cool.

Dude, we already hung out

with enough crazy
white people this year.

In this case,
an Illinois farmer

had seemingly been run over
by his own tractor,

but it was later discovered
that the gear pedals

had been adjusted
for a tiny person.

Turns out he was killed
with cyanide

by a dwarf before he ever even
got on that tractor.

They never caught
that little fellow.

You're saying the dwarf
is still at large?

What I'm saying is,
is that murder

is always a macabre business.

But one makes it
look like an accident--

well, that takes skill,

knowledge,
the most intricate planning.

- Please turn around.
- What?

Rumps facing me.
Let me see your rumps.

[Sighs]

What's that for?

I just got it--
the "at large" joke.

- Ah.
- Hilarious.

Come, come.

Oh, nice.
You have surveillance cameras.

Here's the outside camera.

Well, if someone decides
to commit a murder

inside of that three-foot
radius, we are covered.

Okay, confession...

I just wanted to get
you guys in here.

Why--to kill us?

Look, Whip,

you're rambunctious and odd
and turtleneck-y.

We always do enjoy
meeting a true fan,

but it's time for Gus and I
to run off into the night now.

Good night.

No, no, no, w-wait, wait.

Wait, wait, wait,
wait, wait, wait, wait.

Would you at least

bestow upon me the honor
of signing my Yang book?

Both: Ah.

Am I the only one who thought

that Mary Lightly
was the killer?

Wow. You really read
this closely.

Oh, I've read it 100 times.

In fact, I have read every book
published on murder since 1850,

to be precise.

Why are you so fascinated
with murder?

I don't know.

With one terrible act,
someone can become

immortalized forever.

I just find it fascinating.

Precedent tells us
that the victim's innards

will tell the story
of his death.

Its contents are like
a clockwork backwards

from the time of death,
but you must hurry.

We know the drill, Whip.
Uh, we've--

we've seen The First 48.

And so have I, every episode.

Okay. Well, watching it on TV

and even--even reading
about it in books

is a little different
than the real thing.

Gentlemen, allow me to be
your secret weapon.

What have you got to lose, huh?

I will also cover
the cost of all snacks.

What kind of snacks?

Keeping in mind that fruit
and dried fruit are not snacks.

Food for thought.

Let's bring it in.

No?

Mr. Spencer
has concluded as well

that Bob White
may have been murdered.

I'm sorry, Woody.

This miscue has cost us
the 40 hours of lead time

in solving this case.

I am willing to do whatever
it takes to solve this.

I will stay here until 6:15 P.M.
if need be.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I will recheck
for signs of head trauma.

Uh, since time
is of the essence,

wouldn't it be wise to start
with the stomach?

It would give us an indication
of where the victim has eaten

in the last 18 hours.

By the way,
I am sensing that, uh...

The stomach is probably
the right place to start.

All right,
look, chief, I, uh...

I admit, I am--I am thrown
by the idea that my mistake

may have set us
behind the eight ball here.

But if there is
a murder to be solved,

no one is better than me--
no one.

Well, maybe Gary Sinise.

- Maybe Sinise.
- Ms. Larson...

Are you a licensed examiner
in this state?

Well, I keep
my credentials up, but--

I'm exercising
my discretion in the county

to hire you on
to consult on this case.

[Scoffs]

[Laughing] Well, that is just
insanely ridiculous.

Rim shot?

Okay, look,
Dr. Strode is--is right.

I didn't know it was his case
when I called,

and I don't want to step
on anyone's toes here.

I mean, obviously
the case is sensitive.

She hasn't even practiced
since she left school.

I mean, let's face it.

A mortician's nothing more
than a glorified makeup artist.

Well, a makeup artist
who knew to start

with the abdominal cavity.

You looked better
with long hair.

You look like
a great, big gerber baby.

You move your lips
when you read.

Is that a bald cap
on your head,

because you know what?

It reminds me of one that I saw

in a really bad
high-school production

of The King and I,
which I've never forgotten.

By the way, I lied.

My father was never
King of Sweden.

Ha ha ha!

[Mumbling mockingly] Okay.

Come on, just fight!
Go, go, go, go!

Enough!

Okay, Woody,
I'm trying to help you here,

because if this case turns
into an unsolved murder--

and it's looking more likely
by the minute that it will be--

you may be out of a job.

Thank you.

Okay, Woody,
let's be mature about this.

Let's not rehash old times
and play power games.

Let's slice open this man's
stomach and solve a murder.

What are these-- waffle chunks?

Seriously,

do we really have to be here
for this?

There's lemongrass
and bean paste,

but I also see...

these Greens...

Collard, maybe?

And what appears to be potato
and sugar content.

Sweet-potato pie?

Where would someone have gone

to have eaten
both soul food and Thai?

Afrothai.

Both: Phat Thai Jones.

I can't believe
you called Whip.

Well, believe it, Gus,
because here he is.

His vast knowledge
of murder and true crime

- may just come in handy.
- Until he kills us.

This is invigorating.

- I feel tingly.
- Mm-hmm.

I mean,
it might just be my shampoo.

You know,
it's got tea tree oil in it.

Now, how do these
psychic inquisitions work?

Will we be touching
our subjects?

- May I help you?
- Yes.

Did you see this man here
two nights ago?

Hey, Singh.

[Speaking Thai]

Come on.

Oh, this guy
might be more helpful.

[Thai accent]
I understand you have picture.

Whoa. Whoa! Take it down, man.

Don't you think that accent's
a little offensive?

- My accent offensive?
- Yes.

Your accent offensive.
T-this is how I talk.

I'm his son.

Oh, you're, uh--

Adopted, yes.
Okay, Bud from Cosby?

I grew up in Bangkok.
We came here three years ago.

Still have a little bit
of a twang.

Yes, yes, uh, Bob White.

Yes, of course I know him.
He's a regular.

He was here two nights ago.
He sit right over there.

Do you know what time
he was here?

6:00.

Gentlemen, we are standing
in the presence

of where Bob White was

approximately seven hours
before his death.

[Sighs]

Was he here with someone?

Table for one-- he lonely.

He have no honey.

- Was he drinking a lot?
- Drinking?

No, no, he allergic to alcohol.

Allergic?
Are you sure about that, Singh?

Autopsy report said
his blood alcohol level was .31.

No, I offer him plum wine,
but he say no.

I give him plum cake instead.

Plum cake is made with alcohol.

Teeny bit, yes, you know.

But he insist, you know,
because our plum cake--

it tastes like you have picked
a plum straight from a tree,

and you stick it in a cake.

Holy--

- Really?
- Hmm.

You thinking what I'm thinking?

- You want plum cake?
- You know that's right.

Could you make that happen?

Can we have two pieces
of plum cake, please?

- Three.
- Three.

He was allergic to alcohol?

Boy, I didn't realized plum cake
had that much alcohol in it.

Well, that explains the dilation
of the blood vessels.

Well, either way you don't get
.31 saturation from plum cake.

Someone with such an allergy

would never be able to ingest
that amount of alcohol.

Is it at all possible
the alcohol

could have been inserted
into the bloodstream somehow?

Two things--

that is the sexiest thing

I have ever heard
in this office.

And it is possible,
with a syringe.

We would start scanning
the body for injection marks,

and it could take a while.

No, he's pretty much
same old Bob White.

You know, he left
half a warm coke...

Oh, and, uh, also this.

But, uh, I keep for myself.

- Carnival tickets?
- The site of grisly murders--

Carn-Evil by Stuart Robson,
Middleton Press, 1971.

Gentlemen, these are not
carnival tickets.

But it is going to be
a hell of a ride.

That's weird.
All right, got it.

That was Woody.

Grace found an injection site
on Bob's left foot.

So apparently the alcohol
was pumped directly

into his bloodstream.

Ooh, was the injection site

between the second
and third toe?

Yeah, it was.
How did you know that?

Oh, straight
out of Lost in the Parade--

Tyne Hannerman,
Soji Press, 1931.

The point is,
somebody handpicked this guy.

It was controlled,
calculated...

Cold-blooded.

Get those tickets out, boys.

We've arrived
at Bob's next destination.

[Slow jazz]

Where the...

hell are we?

When the hell are we?

Gentlemen, we are standing
in a retro dime-a-dance hall--

one of the last of its kind.

Here, regular fellows can dress
up like servicemen

on leave from the 1930s

and offer up a coupon
to trip the light fantastic

with one of these alluring
and voluptuous women.

And how do you know
about this place?

Because I am
a lonely individual...

And so was Bob White.

Oh, look at this.

Any one of these creatures
could have authored his demise.

We're going to need
reinforcements.

Ooh...

Who you thinking of going with?

You said you had
a priority-one case

that involved my skills?

Yes, your dancing skills.

- Who are you?
- I'm Whip Chatterly.

Look, dad,
we only have a couple hours

to question
all these voluptuous women.

We need your help.
Woody's about to get fired.

I don't know, Shawn.

Count me in.

Does the name Bob White
mean anything to you?

Can't say that it does.

Can I call you Captain Magic?

Yeah.

Does this man's image
incite anything in you?

I'm sorry, honey.
I don't do three-ways.

- I was wondering--
- Shh.

Don't waste your breath,
Brown Sugar,

you just let Sandy
hold you tight,

and all the pain
will melt away like butter.

[Chuckles]

Actually, I'm doing great,

but my friend Bob White--
so sad.

Did you know him?
[Gasps]

[Whistling]

What?

Oh, I'm the a-hole?

Shawn! Shawn!

I just can't believe anybody

would want to kill
that poor little man.

Really?
Why is that so hard to believe?

Because Bobby
wouldn't hurt a fly.

He used to come in here
and dance with me for hours,

'cause he just lost his mama.

[Sighs]
He'd lay his head right here.

I'd just let him fall asleep.

That's sounds real nice.

Uh, Shawn?

Hang in there, buddy.

Sandy, did rob
come here to dance

and nap on your bosom
two nights ago?

He did.

It was the worst
I've ever seen him.

He seemed paranoid.

And he kept going on and on
about somebody following him.

Being followed-- ooh!

This reminds me of a case

that occurred
in Salt Lake City in 1992.

- Oh, it was a stormy winter--
- Spit it out, Whip.

I think Gus is losing
consciousness.

I think our killer
was scouting Bob.

I mean, he's a lonely guy,

you know,
kept a regular routine.

Who would miss him?

Sandy, where would Bob go
when he was finished

with the pleasure
of your company?

The other night
he seemed so down,

so I sent him
to a friend of mine.

I asked her
for a special favor.

- You sent him to a brothel?
- What? No.

My girl operates
on a more spiritual level.

Gentlemen, we stand four hours
from Bob White's last breath.

- Huh.
- This is all you, Shawnie boy.

Hey, suck it, Gus.

We'll see. We'll see.

Ms. Ivana, our friend
Shawn here is a psychic, too.

Maybe you want to test him out
before you answer our questions.

Dude, what are you doing?

[Russian accent] Shh. No talk.

You, look at my brain.

- I'd rather not.
- Do it.

- Okay.
- What do you see?

Um...

Oh, you...

are putting up a wall.

You don't want me to see
your naked, innermost thoughts.

True.

I have trust issues.
My therapist tells me this.

Your turn.

Have at it. I'm an open book.

[Grunts]

[Breathes deeply]

You're thinking...

whether Ted knight
and Jim J. Bullock

had anything to talk about
on the set of...

Too close for comfort.

[Grunts]

[Gasps]

Holy crap. She's the real deal.

Wow. Your turn again, Shawn.

This time try to let
your guard down.

Gus, we're here to investigate.

I believe you know this man.

Golly, how many potted plants

does it take to spell loser?

Turns out this was a suicide,
I can't say I blame the guy.

Oh, don't be ugly, Carlton.

What?

All right,
what do you want to check--

the empty answering machine

or the letters
addressed to "resident"?

Yes, he came to see me
the other night.

He was very sad.

He tells me he's in love
with beautiful woman.

Really?

- What's her name?
- Penny.

He said she is so beautiful,
he can watch her all day long,

pouring the tea
or reading the paper.

Even the way she folding
the laundry

is a thing of beauty.

So I tell him
she cares for him.

Oh, what do you know?

She was into old Bob, huh?

No.

I only told him this
because big Sandy asked me to.

I owe her a favor
for introducing me

to Chad Lowe at pajama party
at the Playboy Mansion.

You lied to him?

I had to.

Chad wasn't going to get
with a fortune teller.

Not talking about Chad.
I am talking about Bob.

Yes. Him too.

Oh.

But he was so happy.

He rush out of here
to go and see her.

This is an outrage.

Shame your face.

Poor Bob.

Who is now very, very sad.

You want to know why?
Mostly because he's dead.

[American accent] Say what?

- Murder!
- Nuh-uh.

Hope you're satisfied.

Oh, my God, you guys.
Seriously?

This is all my fault.

I'm going to hell
in a handbasket.

Uh...
What happened to your accent?

People are more comfortable
when I use it?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

- We are leaving.
- To find a girl named Penny.

[Gasps]

What the--

Damn, girl,
what's wrong with you?

I see death in you.

Me? No.

The reaper is coming
to collect your soul.

No, no. Wrong again.

Um, oh, see,
yes, I get this all the time.

You know, actually, it's because
death is my business.

[Speaking foreign language]

Don't.

Ah, oh, I know what it is.

I've got a dead tooth
and, um, a toenail

that's gone completely black.

Leave, now.
All of you, get out. Shoo!

- Okay.
- Shoo!

Don't got to tell me twice.

Bad juju, bad juju, bad juju.

Well, that was unsavory.

Don't sweat it, Whip, okay?

She was a freak. Trust me.

Full of "bologna."

Yeah, that shorty was wack.

Gentlemen, I appreciate
you both working overtime

to put me at ease,
but I think maybe it's time

I leave the residue
of this deadly cryptogram

to those far more equipped
to decode it than I.

What I'm trying to say
is that I'm freaked out.

[Sobbing]

I guess the least
we can do is, uh--

we'll give you a ride home.

- Ow. What?
- What's wrong with you?

- Well, look at him.
- Much appreciated.

Um, would it be out of line
to make a quick stop at Arby's

on the way home?

No, it would not.
That's happening, for sure.

I'll be damned.

Hey, O'Hara, I got something.

- Penny?
- Yeah.

Yeah.

Looks like Mr. Lonely
wasn't so lonely after all.

Well, let's pay her a visit

and make this
little piggy squeal.

Or we could just
ask her some questions.

We could.
It's never as much fun.

[Cell phone rings]
Hey, Shawn.

Jules, I'm having
a very strong feeling

about our guy Bob
and the name Penny.

Does that mean anything to you?

Yeah, it does.

I got to tell you, Lassie,

investigating this neighborhood
has been pretty bizarre--

Underbelly.

It's kind of like After Hours.

Without the accompanying
presence of Griffin Dunne.

Please, Spencer.

If anyone knows the underbelly
of Santa Barbara,

it's me, so I'll do
the talking, all right?

I know these people,

and I'm a highly trained
communicator able to adapt

into any situation
like a master chameleon.

Both: You're not
a master chameleon.

No? Watch this.

[Knocks on door]
- It's open.

Penny Chalmers.

Of course.
Who else would I be, silly?

I am not silly.
In fact, I'm quite the opposite.

Head detective Carl Lassiter
of the S.B.P.D.

I'm here to talk to you
about Bob White.

Oh, yeah. Well, come on in.

I'm just about
to make some tea.

Oh, yeah.

This girl's got underbelly
written all over her.

Detectives, please have a seat.

Make yourselves at home.

[Applause]

Look up, Sebastian.

This could get interesting.

Break a leg, Master C.

- [Clears throat]
- What the hell is going on?

He said she's so beautiful
that he can watch her all day--

the way she pours the tea
or reads the paper.

Oh, she's a performance artist.

- Oh.
- Oh.

Guys like Bob White pay money

to watch her live
her everyday life.

You serious?

All right, Beatniks,
show's over.

Hit the road.

[Laughing]

[Applause]

Are you people dense?

This is official police
business--get out of here.

[Laughs]

Whoo--whoo.

Spencer, you gonna
help me out here?

Yes, we are.

[Applause]

The female cop's got
a presence,

but detective gangly's
a bit stiff, don't you think?

- Hmm.
- Hey, officer.

No need to be nervous.
It's going to be okay.

This is just life imitating
art--no lines, just life.

So go ahead,
ask me anything you want.

Uh, look, miss... I, um---

We can't hear you.

Uh--

Do you know Bob White?

Well, yeah. Why?

Well, I don't really know

if you want
an audience for this,

but Bob is dead.

[Audience gasps]

My sweet Bobby is dead?

We believe he was murdered.

[Sobbing] Oh, Bobby.

Kind of cliche.

Well, someone may have been
stalking him for a while,

- if that helps.
- Oh, yeah, that does.

[Crying] Oh, Bobby, no...

All right, that is it.

You either get
these people out of here,

or I'm going to haul you
downtown.

We're gonna set up all
the chairs in a holding cell.

How's that
for honesty and truth?

- Does that cost extra?
- Get them out of here.

Let's go. Come on.

See you next time. Bye.

Thanks--thanks for coming.

Did you complete
the residue test

on those fingernails
like a good boy?

I did.

I found a mixture of pigment
fillers in the nail beds.

Is there anything hotter

than a man scaling
another man's dead cuticles?

No.

And by the way,

I realize I'm actually acutely
turned on by taking orders

from a woman.

If this continues,
I might have to change

my Facebook relationship status
to "It's complicated."

Are you trying to seduce me?

Maybe. Is it working?

It's not not working.

How's Elaine?

We're separated.

She cheated on me
12 times with 10 men.

- Not a very smart woman.
- That's why I married her.

You know, I do not appreciate
being made a part

of your little dog
and pony show.

Oh, I don't work with animals.

You think I'm kidding around?

I can take you downtown
for obstruction of justice.

Easy, okay?
I'm a performance artist.

I just thought I'd take
the opportunity

to milk the drama when a bunch
of detectives showed up.

That is an odd way
to make a living.

It's way less creepy
than doing webcam feeds.

And sure beats the hell
of my last gig.

Doing spots for "Howza Meats."

Wait a second.

You're the Bologna girl?
I knew I recognized you.

I just couldn't remember where.

You quite done, Guster?

In the commercial.

Yeah, I do it twice.

I'm done.

What can you tell us
about Bob White?

He would come to the show most
every day, but we never spoke.

Two nights ago, he came in.
It was really late.

I told him the show
was over for the night,

and he insisted on coming in,

and then he professed
his love for me.

He said that a fortune teller
told him I loved him, too.

[Scoffs]

[Imitating Thai accent]
He had no honey.

[Normal voice]
That is not offensive.

That's exactly how
the white waiter sounded.

Gus was there.

Please tell me
you let him down easy.

I'm sensing he was
very--very vulnerable.

I threatened to call the cops.

But you're the Bologna girl.

Yeah, but I'm also
a single girl in the city.

Who invites an entire
audience of strangers

into her apartment?

Any idea where he went

after you ripped his heart out
and stepped on it?

I watched him from the window.

He walked down the street,

an then this black Impala
pulled up,

and then he was talking to
the driver, and then he got in.

Great. It's only the most
popular car in America.

What time did
all of this go down?

Midnight.

Well, he died around 1:00,

which means whoever picked him
up in that car

is probably the last person
who saw him alive,

most likely because they're also
the person who killed him.

Hello, boys.

[Sighs]
I had to go to three stores

to find cream fresh
for our strawberries.

Well, I think we squeezed all
we can out of these intestines.

Mmm!

Worth the wait.
That is fresh fresh.

We are quite the team,
Grace and I.

As it turns out,

we also still enjoy both
Jerry Garcia and Cherry Garcia.

[Both laughing]

Guys, uh, here's what we know.

Someone drove him away
in what may have been,

uh, an Impala?

- Mm-hmm.
- 'Pala.

Okay, and that's
where the trail runs cold.

What you're doing
is positively disgusting.

Why are you still
messing with that?

Because it feels amazing.

Oh, uh, I don't know
what this will mean to you,

but I found a mixture of
calcium carbonate titanium oxide

and pigment fillers
in the nail beds.

Hmm.

Those are the common elements
of acrylic stains.

Paint.

I was--I was
just about to say that.

- No, you weren't.
- Right, Guster.

In addition, there was a string
of muriatic acid.

That's a preserving agent.

We're probably talking
about an outdoor location.

You thinking what I'm thinking?

- You want more plum cake?
- I do, but, no.

You preserve a mural.

I watched him from the window.

He was walking down the street,
and this black Impala pulls up,

and he was talking
to the driver,

and then he got in.

Okeydoke.

The killer drove Bob
to this alley from Penny's,

made him get out,
turns him around,

boom! Bludgeons him
over the head.

- So do it, bludgeon me.
- What?

- Bludgeon me.
- Why me, Shawn?

All you do is complain
about being a victim.

Now I am offering you
the role of the killer

just like Blair Underwood
in Just Cause,

- and you're gonna pass?
- I don't want to bludgeon you.

- Just do it.
- I don't want to bludgeon you.

Bludgeon me, bludgeon me,
bludgeon me, bludgeon me.

I don't want to do it.
I don't want to do it.

[Groans]

[Grunts]

[Sighs]

Holy crap.

Whip's our killer.

- What?
- Look...

He absolutely needed us
to solve this murder.

He wanted to get caught.

With one terrible act,

someone can be immortalize
forever.

I think it's fascinating.

Exactly.

He wants to go down in history
just like all the killers

that he studies,
and if this goes unsolved,

then no one is going to write
about it.

Ah, I bet
he severed the earlobe

just to launch
the investigation.

That's why he wanted
to tag along--

to make sure we figured out
all the clues.

Of course.

This thing is so twisted,
it can only come from a book.

I'm calling Lassie.

We'll have him meet us
at Whip's.

The black Impala.

Chatterly, get out of the car!

We've got a body.

We got something else, too.

"Thank you, Shawn and Gus,
for being the sleuths

"I always knew you were...

"And for helping me
find my rightful place

"in the annals
of murder history.

File this under 'C'
for Chatterly."

Jeez, Whip.

I knew it.

- You did not.
- I kind of did.

Damn you, Whip Chatterly--
you ensnared us in a web

with turtleneck lies,
and now because of you,

we don't have any snacks.

You just can't tell
what a person is capable of

until you've seen them naked.

Hmm.

I'm almost positive
that's how the saying goes.

- Mm...
- Cakesters?

You betcha.

Yep, I have learned my lesson.

If it wasn't for you guys,
I'd be out of a job.

- Well...
- From now on...

I'm not half-assing
any autopsies

unless the corpse
has half an ass.

[Laughter]

You got to keep it light, guys.

Sure do.

I think wee gonna roll,
Woodster.

We got back-to-back episodes
of Hot in Cleveland on TiVo,

- and we're pretty spent.
- Yeah.

Whoa, Gus.
I have a missed call from Whip.

What?

Yeah, like, an hour before
we found his body.

He left a message.

[Static over phone]

[Gunshot, thud]

Creepiest butt-dial ever.

Wait a minute.
I got to hear that again.

What is wrong with you, Shawn?
The man is committing suicide.

Shh. Listen.

[Gunshot, thud]

All right, what does
that sound like to you?

- I don't know.
- Yes, you do.

There's a car door slamming
after the gunshot.

We got to go back
to Whip's bookstore.

What are we doing here, Shawn?

Looking for signs
of a struggle.

Oh, gosh.

I don't want to be here for one
more second than we have to be.

This doesn't add up, Gus,
and you know it.

And we're going
to figure out why.

What?

Come one, son.

You're gonna drink
a dead man's yoo-hoo?

You had to put that image
in my head, didn't you?

The man may be dead,

but that yoo-hoo is
very much alive, Shawn.

- I'm going inside.
- Yeah, suck it.

You're not going to die for
letting a yoo-hoo go to waste.

Whip did.

This investigation
is not over, and you know it.

Shawn, I don't want to be here.

I feel like I'm
in one of those movies

where a little Japanese kid
in death makeup

is going to be up
on the ceiling like a frog

- if I look up.
- So don't look up.

Besides, why would you
possibly feel that way?

I don't know.

What are you doing up there?
You're closer to the ceiling.

I don't know, Shawn.

Maybe because
I'm starving to death.

I gave you my cakester.

That was almost
half an hour ago.

[Clicks tongue] Come on, son.

Wait for it.

Dude.

What do we have here?

Why is Whip watching
old surveillance footage?

So we have five tapes.

And on each one of them,

the same weirdo's reading
one of these five books.

In this case,
an Illinois farmer

had seemingly been run over
by his own tractor,

but later, it was discovered
he was killed with cyanide

by a dwarf before he ever even
got on that tractor.

They never caught
that little fellow.

Dude, what are you doing?

Aah.

Oh, you scared me.

- Are those homemade biscotti?
- Is there any other kind?

- You look happy.
- Well, I guess I am.

Do you still take sugar
with your Joe?

Mm.

- Hey, what is all that?
- You don't want to know.

Let's pretend we're doing
an episode of Red Shoe Diaries.

Well, not if there's work
to be done.

Fine.

The contents
of Whip Chatterly's esophagus.

Oh, I thought
the case was closed.

It is. It was.

Or... that's what I thought.

Now I'm not so sure.

These were folded up
into tiny bits

and put inside
this metal capsule.

This is new evidence,
and it could be a game changer.

I think we may have to pull
another all-nighter.

God, I love this job.

You know, I do, too.

Okay, clearly there's a reason
whey these pages are torn.

Dude, I think Whip was framed.

Why?

Because he was
the perfect mark--

a weirdo obsessed with death
and strange murders

throughout history.

I mean, we didn't question it
for a second

when we heard
his suicide confession.

- Think about it.
- So it was creepy Sherlock.

Well, it makes sense.

I mean, he obviously did all
of his research

right here in Whip's store.

He probably even had
a conversation with him.

That's sick.

The one night that there's
a murder, and I was sleeping.

Unbelievable-- I never sleep.

Oh.

He must have drugged
Whip's coffee.

That's why he fell asleep the
night Bob White was murdered.

He took Whip's car.
He took Whip's stamp.

And he put it all back before
he ever knew what hit him.

Oh, man, now I feel bad.

Poor Whip.
You know, he was a funny guy.

I've thought
about rocking the turtleneck,

but, you know, I think
about what you would say,

and then what people
at work would say.

Whip never worried about stuff
like that--he was fearless.

- Gus?
- What?

This is really,
really not good.

Well, we can send these
to the lab in the morning

and dust them for prints.

[Cell phone rings]
Oh, that's odd.

I thought they were going home
to watch Hot in Cleveland.

He must have come up
with something as well.

- I should fill him in.
- Um...

I'm afraid that's
not going to be possible.

Well, it's such an easy task,
even I can't screw it up.

Have some faith, banana.

[Chuckling]

Grace, what are you doing?
That's evidence.

You just had to go
and ruin everything,

didn't you, Woody?

I mean, the case was closed.

All the evidence pointed
to this dummy doing it.

I mean, he even confessed.

All you had to do
was cover him up,

eat some cookies,
and then take me to bed.

Hey, we can still
go two for three.

[Gun cocks]

[Gasps]

Let's go.

Grace, it's--it's Woody.

Don't you owe me
an explanation?

- You want an explanation?
- Yes.

Okay. Whip Chatterly set me up

by swallowing
that little capsule.

He was smarter than I gave him
credit for--

crafty, like a little fox.

I mean, whose fingerprints
do you think

the lab is going to find

on those stupid little
pieces of paper, huh?

For 25 years, I have been
putting makeup on corpses,

dreaming of the day

that I would get the call
when somebody would tell me

that I was as good
as Woody Strode--

teacher's pet, brilliant,
but misunderstood.

A dream worth killing for?
Come on.

I have applied
for every opening

in Crime Pathology

this side of the Gulf of Mexico,
with no success.

And then I met Bob White.

And I realized
that he was the perfect mark.

I mean, you know, it was really
kind of a mercy killing.

But when I got the idea
of pinning the murder

on Whip Chatterly, it was epic.

I broke open the case,
and I solved it.

[Gunshot]

I beat you, Woody. I owned you.

You sliced the earlobe
after my autopsy, didn't you?

Yes, Muttonhead, I did.

And you know what?

You and the police
had ruled it an accident,

but I needed it
to be an investigation.

You know,
you may not realize this, Grace,

but you're insane.

Well, I'm a woman,
and I can mask it.

Let's go.

You're totally going to pull
this off, aren't you?

No, I'm not ready to die yet.

I haven't even gotten to see
Gloria Estefan in concert yet.

Please. Please, Grace.

I will get down on my knees,

and I will beg
like a Saint Bernard.

No.

That won't be necessary.

- Put it down, Grace.
- Oh, thank God.

Well, that was quite
the all-nighter, Woodrow.

You're very lucky that O'Hara
was still here doing paperwork

when Shawn called.

Chief, uh, I just wanted you
to know that, uh...

Hey, I only cried
because I was tired.

That's reassuring.

Your status as chief coroner
has been fully restored.

All: Yes!

That said, I expect your work

to be nothing short
of exemplary moving forward.

Is that clear?

It is, and I can't thank you
enough for believing in me.

I didn't.

I believed in your colleague

who turned out
to be a homicidal maniac.

None of us is perfect, chief.

- Thanks for looking out for me.
- [Chuckles]

I love you, guys. I mean that.

It's just as easy for me
to love a man as it is a woman.

We're all just meltable flesh
and breakable bones.

Wow, this feels good!

Chief, are you
currently seeing anyone?

- Excuse me?
- Woody.

Don't be coy with me.

I don't need to play first
fiddle in this bluegrass band.

Teach me the notes. [Chuckles]

I am married with a child,

and this is wildly
inappropriate.

- Stop it.
- Of course.

Of course. I apologize.

I am just so overjoyed
at getting my mojo back.

I guess it will
just be in my dreams

that you are
the chief of doing me.

- Good talk, chief.
- Always a pleasure.

[Slow jazz music]

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