All language subtitles for Homicide life on the street S06E11 - Shaggy Dog, City Goat

It is my privilege to present

the Medical Examiner
of the Year Award.

From the National Association
of Medical Examiners,

in recognition of her contributions
to the field of forensic pathology,

this year's winner is the Chief Medical
Examiner for the State of Maryland,

Dr Julianna Cox.

Thank you very much, Dr Frost,
and all my colleagues in NAME.

This is great.
I've never actually won anything before.

The convention's been terrific,
and this is quite an honour,

and I thank you very much.

Congratulations.

Insect activity in the corpse
marks the time of death

as approximately 72 hours
before discovery of the body,

but we don't know
where the crime occurred

until we call in
our forensic entomologist.

Forensic entomologist?

My, my, my! Talk about your specialists.
I'm a little jealous.

So, how's he crack it?

By analysing the larva
in the soft tissue of the victim

as a species of bottle fly,
indigenous to the Delaware River Gap.

The corpse was concealed outdoors
long enough for the fly to lay its eggs

and then driven to New Jersey
and dumped, hmm?

- Exactly.
- Not bad.

In fact, pretty nifty.

However, I've got one for you.

A few weeks ago, I get a call at home.

Now, it sounds like
a straight-up, no-frills suicide.

A jumper.

- Munch. Kellerman.
- Dr Cox.

What have we got here?
Who's our unlucky leaper?

White male. 20s.

- Name?
- Not yet.

- What do we know?
- He took a header off the roof.

- You been up there?
- Yeah.

No signs of a struggle
or presence of a second party.

Several bystanders witnessed
his lift-off as strictly a solo flight.

What are we talking? Seven storeys?

The mangled awning is mute testimony
to his tragic trajectory.

Pretty straightforward suicide.

I see no reason why we can't catch
the 9:00 movie at the Charles.

- Right.
- Yeah.

- What?
- I wouldn't jump to any conclusions.

I don't understand.
That looks like a gunshot wound.

I say, Holmes,
shotgun if I'm not mistaken,

which might make it a murder.

- It's a 12-gauge.
- 16.

- You wanna bet?
- You're on.

Ah. So you have an apparent suicide?

More than apparent.

Now several bystanders saw him
perched on the edge of this roof

5 minutes before he jumped.

And after examination,
you found a significant gunshot wound.

More than significant. It was fatal.

He was suicidal.

He goes to the roof to kill himself.

Stands on the edge. Gathers his nerve.

Just as he is about to jump, hmm!

He gets shot in the back
by an unseen assailant

who leaves no trace
of his presence behind.

All right, all right.

Actually, yes, that was
my first thought, however...

Uh-uh. He was shot in the chest,
not in the back.

Our eyewitnesses
say he was facing the street.

- Maybe he was shot on the way down.
- Upside down.

They wanted to make sure he was dead
and delivered the coup de grce.

It's overkill, don't you think?

You can't be too careful.
Remember Rasputin?

Actually, I don't.

They poisoned him, they stabbed him,
they shot him 12 times.

They dumped him in the Neva River,
and here's the beauty part,

an hour later, he pops up
five miles downstream still ticking.

That's why you're a great detective cos
you know stuff. Except about weapons.

Definitely a 12-gauge.
We saw the pellet spread.

- You're a duck hunter now?
- And you are?

I know the difference
between a mallard and merganser.

Did anybody hear a shot?

One woman thought she heard
something a split second after our pal

launched his short
but brilliant career as a kamikaze.

- So he was shot in the air.
- Right.

Like I said, somebody sees him
getting ready to cash in his chips,

takes the opportunity for a little moving
target practice, human skeet shooting.

Other eyewitnesses heard nothing,

transfixed by the sight of this shooting
star plummeting to the earth.

- Enough metaphors.
- Without them what are we left with?

We have a riddle
surrounded by a mystery,

wrapped inside an enigma
and stuffed in a body bag.

I guess we're not gonna make
"The Full Monty".

- Is that me?
- No, it's me.

I am so sorry.
Duty calls. I've got to go.

Wait, wait, wait!
You're not going anywhere!

The rest of you are on vacation.
For me this is a busman's holiday.

- You can't leave us hanging.
- See you at happy hour. How's that?

I'll be taking this with me.

Don't have too much fun without me.
See you later.

Well, I'd say sole custody's
a long shot.

Even shared custody.

You agreed to the present arrangement
as part of the divorce decree,

and unless there is a compelling reason,

no judge is gonna overturn
the original order.

I have to get him outta that environment.
My ex has this boyfriend...

- Is he a danger to your son?
- Yeah. He's a drunk.

On what do you base
your characterisation?

I checked the guy's records.
He racked up a DUI.

- One?
- How many do you need?

The guy's a menace.
It's irresponsible of Daniel's mother.

All right.
We can file the papers if you want.

I ought to warn you that I don't think
we've got much of a chance.

I'm not afraid. This is important.

Definite non-starter.

- Why do you say that?
- Street dealer.

- You know this guy?
- I don't have to.

The way he's dressed,
neighbourhood he's in.

Well, Department policy, right?

We're not supposed to profile people
according to their ethnicity

or neighbourhood
or socio-economic status.

What a crock!
What else does a cop do?

OK, so call it an educated guess
based on years of experience.

So he's a dealer.
That makes him a non-starter?

That makes him one more
unknown soldier of the drug wars.

Instead of investigating his murder,
we ought to build him a tomb.

A mook like this.
What we call collateral casualty.

Hope I never get that cynical
in this job.

Yeah? Well, just wait.

- Hey.
- Hey, there.

Well, let me guess. Drug dealer?

Oh, heaven forbid
I should profile anyone prematurely.

Right. OK...

Wow! Mercy! Somebody was really,
really ticked off with this young man.

How did it go?

He says I got all of a clam's chance
on Mount Everest.

- That good, huh?
- Put it this way, it'd be like...

...Tyson and Holyfield sitting down
to dinner. Theoretically possible, but...

Will you give up on the whole thing?

Hell, no. Gonna make her work for it.

Maybe I'll get lucky.
I'll find a sympathetic judge.

This no-fault divorce, it's a laugh!
It's all about fault.

Divorce is just swappin'
one set of problems for another.

Well, I guess that's why some people
choose the other solution.

Murder.

Don't think it didn't cross my mind.

What have we got?

Well, we found
at least 26 identifiable entry wounds.

Missed it by four.

Like the commissioner said,
"Drive-bys are out, executions are in."

We recovered about a dozen or so
suitable slugs, mostly.38s.

More than one shooter?

Well, there could've been
a whole regiment.

Any idea who this fellow is?

Someone gave us a street name.
We took it to Narcotics to identify...

They got a bunch of new people who
don't know the territory or the players.

Talk to Stivers. She was in Narcotics
before she went to Sex Crimes.

Hey, how's the MEs' convention?
Congratulations on the big award.

Thanks. I was telling my colleagues
about that weird jumper case...

A shotgun blast perforated his chest.

Severed all the major arteries.
Shredded his heart and lungs.

Fatal, no question.

- So it is murder?
- Not necessarily.

If his intent was to commit suicide,
and he would have died anyway

as a result of injuries
incurred from jumping off the roof,

it's still suicide in my opinion.

Well, then it's suicide.

- A 7-storey fall kills him, no question.
- Not necessarily.

If the awning
slowed his momentum sufficiently,

then he might have survived his fall,
had he not been shot.

In which case, it's a homicide.

So you're saying he could've been left

a pulverised, paralysed,
drooling, brain-dead individual

with very few prospects for future
happiness and full-time employment.

I'll run some tests.

It's homicide
if the shot was fired with intent.

- If it was an accidental discharge...
- Hate it when that happens.

...then we're talking manslaughter.

With that moustache
and those beady eyes,

he's a cross between Steve Buscemi,
John Waters and Edgar Allan Poe.

- Aren't they all the same guy?
- Stay with me here, guys.

We've ruled out a shooter on the roof.

We don't know yet
if he would have survived the fall.

We don't know much.

We know he was shot after he jumped,
but before he hit the ground.

Right. Which I said.

- By someone from inside the building.
- How do we know that?

Because we found hundreds
of minute fragments of glass

wooden window frame and
glazier's putty embedded in the body.

So much
for my coup de grcetheory.

He was shot by someone
as he plummeted past their window.

'Munch and Kellerman
went back to the building,

'looking for telltale signs,

'clues to the location
where the shot had come from.'

Detective work
is not always neurosurgery.

I can't believe
we missed that last night.

It's hard to tell an open window from
one that's been blown to smithereens.

- Yeah?
- Mr Cochran, we have a few questions.

Oh, yeah. Sure. Sure. Come in.

Thank you. Thank you.

Mrs Cochran.

Oh, thank God! The long arm of the law!

Do you happen to own a shotgun?

I've been waiting for this!

- Yes, I do. Want me to get it?
- Point me in the right direction.

- OK. Turn right there...
- And it's on the left-hand side.

Excuse me.

Yes, turn right here, and then
it's the second closet on the left.

- I'm telling him...
- All the way down.

- This one?
- Yeah.

- Is it loaded?
- It's never loaded.

- Ha!
- Well, almost never.

Did you have occasion to discharge
that weapon on Friday night?

- Yeah. I confess I did.
- He was aiming the damn thing at me.

- You may be guilty of murder.
- We're not sure yet.

- But I didn't hit her.
- No! Just terrorised me emotionally.

You shot the guy
who was jumping off the roof.

Somebody jumped off the roof
of our building?

- You didn't hear about the suicide?
- We don't get out much.

How could I murder somebody
who was committing suicide?

- You did it before he killed himself.
- I didn't know he was out there!

If you try to kill A but you kill B,
it's still murder.

I wasn't trying to kill her.
I was threatening her.

- I've been doing it for years.
- It's true.

You threaten her with a loaded shotgun?

Of course not!
Don't be ridiculous. Unloaded.

He points the shotgun at me,
pulls the trigger, says, "Boom,"

and cackles like a maniac.

- See? See what I have to live with?
- Oh!

Mr and Mrs Cochran, please sit down.

When was the last time you two staged
this little pas de deux of connubial bliss?

Oh, before last night... I dunno.
Ages ago.

Thanksgiving, to be exact.
A real knock-down drag-out!

- Precipitating incident?
- Excuse me?

- Why did you wave the gun at her?
- I scorched the gravy in his opinion.

Scorching has nothing
to do with opinion.

It's a chemical effect.
The whole meal was a disaster.

Started with the cranberry sauce.
And went downhill.

- But it was unloaded?
- Right!

- It's been in that closet since?
- He keeps it handy.

- What made you take it out last night?
- She burned the pot roast.

- I blackened it.
- What are we talking? Cajun pot roast?

- Cajun...
- Whoa!

So between Thanksgiving and last night
who loaded it? Elves?

I dunno. I wouldn't be surprised
if she did. Trying to get me into trouble.

A perfect case of cutting off your nose
to spite your face.

Oh, sure, sure.

I was the second gunman
on the grassy knoll, too.

Senile dementia.

We'll have to take this with us
for evidence.

It's a 16-gauge. You owe me 50 bucks.

Gentlemen. So you are going
to the electric chair. And about time!

- It was an accident!
- We'll get back to you.

Ah, get back to yourself!

I don't know, Dr Cox, if I'd heard
this story from anyone else,

I'd have dismissed it
as just another urban myth.

- Alligators in the sewers of New York.
- The poodle in the microwave!

I would be sceptical, too,
if I hadn't caught the case myself.

Oh... I am so embarrassed.

You must think that Charm City
is the murder capital of the country.

We are not always this busy.
I take it back. We are most of time.

- Excuse me. I'll be right back.
- Bye.

I'll call you tomorrow, OK, Paula?

Thank you.

- Ballard, Gharty, what's up?
- Hey!

You need to know which of my favourite
serial rapists might've crossed the line?

No, no, no. Just a dead dope-slinger.

The new guys in Narcotics
had no idea who this was.

Jake the Jake.
Real name's Antonio Livingston.

Wow! I'm surprised he lasted this long.

He wasn't the best liked guy
in the neighbourhood.

Uh-huh. Hardly. Jake was a baker.

- Baker?
- He peddled counterfeit drugs.

He'd sell raw sugar as smack,
oregano spliffs, baking soda for crack.

Anything white that fits in a vial.

- He ripped someone off once too often.
- Might've been more than money.

You can get sick snorting or shooting up
behind Jake's products.

I were you, I'd check any one
of his many dissatisfied customers.

Great.
Must be thousands in West Baltimore.

Want to help us
get off the schneid on this one?

Sure. Let me get my coat.
Introduce you to Jake's world.

- Detective Terri Stivers?
- Right.

I want to thank you in advance for
accepting this in a civilised manner.

Accepting what?

Hey, I don't read the card.
I deliver the flowers. Have a nice day.

I'm being sued?

Georgia Rae Mahoney.

Holy cow.
Ooh!

So have you ever been sued?

Not for 60 million bucks.

Stivers won't have to pay a cent.
City's on the hook for the lion's share.

Yeah, but still, I don't envy her.
Must be a nightmare.

This Luther Mahoney shooting,
what a fiasco.

Does anybody know
what really happened?

Besides Stivers, Lewis and Kellerman?
Luther. He ain't talking.

- Here she comes.
- Hey!

How are you?

Stoney says a couple of white boys
in a trashed-out pickup truck

came looking for Jake yesterday.

Seems they were very unhappy
with his product.

- White boys? Isn't that unusual?
- Not very.

They roll up the hill from Pigtown.
This is the closest place to get a fix.

How trashed out was the truck?

Bona-fide city goat stretch, bailing
wire, caulking compound and string.

Not to profile anybody, Ballard,

but whites in a neighbourhood like this,
which is 99% black,

drug bazaar on every corner,
chances are they're dope fiends.

Or cops.

- Have fun. I gotta go find a lawyer.
- Thanks for your help, bud.

My pleasure.
It's a nice break from my life.

He says,
"I'll eat my way to your heart."

That's funny!

- Either of you Detective Lewis?
- That's me.

I have something for you.

What's this? Fan mail from a flounder?

Ah, you're too young.

- Georgia Rae?
- The other spiked heel finally dropped?

With a vengeance.

Wrongful death civil suit.

She claims that Kellerman
killed her brother in cold blood,

and that Stivers and I
connived to cover it up.

- Well?
- Well what?

Either of you gentlemen know where
Detective Kellerman is at the moment?

Yeah. Follow me.

So where was I? Thank you.

They'd found the old couple
with the shotgun.

- The murder weapon.
- Ah, yes, the Cochrans.

But... was it murder?
That was the question.

So I ran some projections

based on velocity, distance,
body weight of our John Doe,

speed with which he struck the awning,
angle of impact at the sidewalk.

I tried to factor in the torque
of the shotgun blast.

The shotgun torque?
How about prevailing breezes?

And the bottom line is?

Assuming median emergency
response time

and no mistakes by the paramedics...

A major assumption.

I think he might have survived.

- So it's a homicide?
- Tentatively.

Tentative homicide?

Avec torque.

It was impossible
to determine to a certainty

whether John Doe would've survived
his suicide attempt.

I thought that the odds in his favour
were pretty good.

Was the old man guilty of murder
or of manslaughter?

Depending on his intent, and whether
or not he knew the gun was loaded...

Before you answer, I have to give
a paper on ligature strangulation.

- Could we continue this over dinner?
- Absolutely. Tomorrow night.

- Oh...
- Sorry. I'm booked till then.

- Tomorrow night it is.
- OK.

Wha? Er...

OK... Er... I'll get it. You can just...

Why do you call them city goats?

Hillbillies.

Appalachia's only 90 miles from here,
due west.

They started coming to Baltimore
during the war.

Get out of the mines.
Look for work. Still do.

These days there isn't any
unless they want to sell T-shirts.

Lookie, lookie. Here we go.

How do you know these are the guys?

We'll bust 'em,
see what they know.

If these aren't our guys, they're probably
cousins, kinfolk of some kind.

Oh, God! That is such a stereotype.

I'm telling you, all these hillbillies
are related. You'll see.

When we catch 'em,
we'll get 'em to take off their shoes.

- Why?
- Six toes and webbing in between!

- Stop it!
- You think I'm kidding?

It's not politically correct?

- Oh, no. Absolutely not.
- Which part?

City goats, hillbillies,
the whole thing.

You would prefer white trash?

Why is that less offensive
than any other racial epithet?

It's not racial, it's descriptive.
Look at the truck.

Stuart!

It must have been so difficult
being a cop in Seattle, you know.

Having to come up
with all those euphemisms.

How about
"chromosomally challenged"? No?

- "Inbred gene pool syndrome."
- OK.

Damn it. They made us.

Like the lady said,
dope fiends and cops. Hang on.

Name, address.
Just give me anything you got.

Yes... Thank you.

Douglas McCord.

- You got a name?
- Yeah.

I'm surprised that truck had a licence
plate, much less a current registration.

South Carey Street?

Scary Street... Whoa!

Let's run his sheet before we go,
and see what we got on him.

Well, now...

The Georgia Rae lawsuit.

Besides the two of you and Stivers,

she's also suing the city,

the Police Department and me.

It was a clean shooting.
We were cleared. She's got no case.

The standard of proof in a civil case
is much lower.

This is a high-profile lawsuit.

The boss is already
looking for scapegoats.

Sorry to drag you in this, Gee.

- So what happens to us now?
- Stay on active rotation.

Go about your business
as much as possible.

Act like nothin' ever happened?
A little late for that.

- I'll do whatever to support you.
- Thanks. I appreciate it.

Is there anything
I should know about this?

- Don't leave me twisting in the wind.
- It went down like we said.

See that?
Used to be the Pigtown public baths.

Five cents a scrub,
and if you were in the mood to splurge,

another nickel
for a towel and a cardboard comb.

- I've never seen a cardboard comb.
- I don't think they make 'em any more.

There is a whole sense of history here
that they do not have out West.

Baltimore is a place where history had
its people by the throat on a daily basis.

We're looking for Douglas McCord.

Who are you? The police?

Baltimore detectives.
We wanna talk with him.

He in trouble?

We hope
he can help us out on something.

- He ain't here.
- You know where we can find him?

I ain't seen him.

He does live here, right?
His truck is registered here.

Er... some. Time to time.

When did you see him last?

It's hard to tell. He comes and goes.

Anyone else here
who could tell us where Douglas is?

Can't think of nobody.

- Er... who's Rodney?
- Rodney?

Rodney McCord?

Oh... Doug's brother.

- Where's he?
- He ain't here.

Do you know where
Douglas or Rodney might be?

I don't. I surely don't.

When would be a good time for us
to come back to catch up with them?

Oh, any time. It don't matter.
Whenever, tomorrow, the next day.

- Well, you're not expecting them?
- No. Not really.

This is a waste of time.

Listen, here's my card.

Why don't you tell Douglas to call me?
It's Laura Ballard.

- And your name, ma'am?
- Donna.

- Donna what?
- McCord.

- You are Douglas' and Rodney's sister?
- Oh, hell, no.

I'm their mama!

I'm sorry.
You're too young to be their mother.

Well, somebody should have told
their daddy that.

- A stereotype, huh?
- Yeah, OK.

You know that old expression
"head for the hills"?

Yeah.

When they're in trouble,
they go back home.

I'll bet our guys are hiding out with
Jed and Jethro until the coast is clear.

According to his sheet,

the first time Douglas was paroled
was to an uncle in Allegheny County.

- What do you think?
- What the hell? It's 90 miles away.

- Should we clear it with Giardello?
- Why? We just want to talk to 'em.

Hey, I'm game.

- Hey.
- How are you?

- I'm OK. How are you?
- I've been better.

I can't seem to get out
from under the justice system.

Yes, I know. I heard.

Yeah, well, it must be all over town.

It'll be in the papers tomorrow,
on the late news tonight.

I'm really sorry.

It's like the song says,
"I fought the law and the law won."

You have dinner plans?

Er... yes, unfortunately.
It's just colleagues.

- ME shop talk over dinner?
- Yeah.

You wanna come?

Formaldehyde and focaccia?
No, thanks.

How about?
We could do it tomorrow night.

Sure.

- Yeah?
- Yeah.

Good.

- OK. Well, I should probably go...
- Right.

OK.

- Dr Cox?
- What do you want?

- Detective. Dr Cox, am I late?
- No. I was about to begin.

I better go find a seat.
I've been looking forward to your talk.

Sorry.

Get out of here! This is America?

Makes Baltimore
look like Paris, doesn't it?

I can see why
they'd want to be out of here.

They love it, though. Lot of 'em
never stop going back and forth.

The lure of the hills.
No hillbillies where you come from?

- Whoa, Nellie!
- Not like this.

Baltimore must have been a revelation.

Oh, yeah. West Coast ghettos
are deceptively pleasant.

Eugh! You know,
single family homes and yards.

You can't see
the harder stuff underneath.

When I first got to Baltimore,
I thought, "This is the real thing.

"This is not make-believe tough. This is
hardcore tough. East Coast tough."

Which is what I wanted.
I wanted to test myself.

Someone's living in that pigeon coop.

It's a shock to see white people
live like this, isn't it?

Yeah, as a matter of fact.

It's... It's so Third World.

I couldn't do nothin'
But sit down on the road and cry

I couldn't do nothin'
Sat on the road and cried

Yeah, a high stake roller
Waving my baby goodbye

I should have known better
That they were loaded dice

I should have known better
That they were loaded dice

You know a cheating hand
Always throws snake eyes

And I couldn't do nothin'

I still couldn't do nothin'

I couldn't do nothin'

I couldn't do nothin'

I couldn't do nothin'

Oh, baby

Hey, Georgia Rae.

Detective Lewis,
I see you're up to speed.

- I want to talk to you about this.
- Make an appointment.

Which one of your mouthpieces
cooked up this scam?

My idea. If you'd like
to be dropped from the suit

in exchange for your testimony
as to what really happened,

Mr Lansing would be happy
to speak with you.

Sounds good.
Let me lay it out for you right here.

Your brother put a gun to my head
and got himself killed.

- Drop me from this suit!
- Worried about prosecution?

We can talk immunity
with the State's Attorney's Office.

No doubt. You got a cop on the pad.
Why not a prosecutor or a judge?

I'm just a small businesswoman
trying to get the system to work for me.

Nah. No, you're a murderer
and a drug dealer.

Why don't you stick this where you used
to mule crack and skank for Colombians?

No, no, no! No! Don't!

- Least we got a weapon.
- Inadmissible in a million years.

We can send it to the lab,
and if it is involved,

then we will wait
for Douglas and Rodney

to saunter back
to the bright lights of Baltimore.

We'll spend all our free weekends
for the next two years

chasing our city goats around.

What can I say? I do not believe
in collateral casualties.

And besides, I got sucker-punched,
and I do believe in payback.

- This is how rumours get started.
- We have the right to remain silent.

Under the circumstances,
that's probably a real good idea.

We went to Allegheny County
to interview some suspects.

- Yeah, unofficial.
- Hillbillies, huh?

Genuine third-generation city goats.

- Out of your jurisdiction, isn't it?
- True. What were we thinking of?

Rough crowd up there.
You're lucky to be alive.

We just went to interview them.
If they hadn't run...

- What are their names?
- McCord. Why?

I still got relations up there.

- You?
- It's the same as anywhere.

Some folks get out,
some get left behind.

Can I buy you a drink?

Thanks.

Er... Munch says you're a composer.

"Pea-tory Conserva-body", class of '74.

- That's Peabody Conservatory.
- Yeah, I got that.

What music do you write?
Bluegrass? Ow! What?

- Not bluegrass. Atonal minimalism.
- What kind of minimalism?

Atonal minimalism.

Oh. I'm a... I'm a tonal man myself.

Somehow,
I just knew that about you, Stu.

- She's crazy about me.
- Sure, you're the bee's knees!

- You are ridiculous. Tonal?
- What?

This is flirting.
This is harmless fantasy.

Well, it's like Rotisserie baseball.

- Rotisserie baseball?
- Yeah.

You are pathetic.

I am not pathetic.

I am... romantic.

OK, enough inconsequential chit-chat.
Let's have the rest of the story.

- Quit torturing us.
- You love it.

- Previously, in the ME's office...
- Yes, previously.

Previously,
I determined that our John Doe

might very well have
survived his suicide plunge.

Still didn't know who he was.

We didn't know if the Cochrans
were telling the truth,

but if they were,
who loaded the shotgun and why?

And who, if anyone, was culpable
for his murder, if it was a murder?

If the Cochrans are telling the truth,
it was an accident not murder.

Reckless disregard
for life and limb at their age?

Probation and three Hail Marys, max.

Find out who loaded the gun and why.

You want me to get the couple in
the Box, and give 'em the third degree?

Rubber hoses? Truncheons?

- Try talking to them first, huh, Munch?
- Gotcha.

'Armed with a warrant, they went
back to the Cochrans' apartment.'

- Did you bring me back my shotgun?
- It's evidence.

- How many times we got to tell you?
- You're not out of the woods yet.

Are you positive it was my shotgun
that fired the fatal shot?

You think there were other people
taking potshots when he jumped?

It's the only thing we're positive of.

- What have we here?
- What?

Don't tell me you don't know
what these are.

- Well, I don't. They could be cannolis.
- 16-gauge shotgun shells?

Are we gonna find
your fingerprints all over these?

- No way.
- What about you?

I wouldn't touch those things.
George Jr put 'em away for me.

I asked him to get 'em out of my sight.

- George Jr?
- Uh-huh.

'The lab lifted a fingerprint
from the box of shells,

'which we had to assume
belonged to the Cochrans' son.'

'So Munch brought Junior's parents in
for a little chat in the Box.'

When was the last time
you saw George Jr?

Thanksgiving.

Where's he live?
We'd like to match his prints.

Well, we're estranged. Thanks a lot.

- Had a falling out.
- I know what estranged means. Why?

- I cut off his allowance.
- Well, how old is George Jr?

- 30.
- 29.

- And he was mad about it?
- He was furious.

He stormed out of our house
and went to Tulsa.

We haven't heard from him since.

- That is so rude!
- Emily! Jeez!

Do you think

that before Junior returned to Tulsa,
he might have lingered long enough

to pop a couple of cannolis
in the old blunderbuss?

- Why would he do that?
- He knows you terrorise your wife...

- You pull the trigger.
- Boom!

Laugh like a maniac.

Junior loads the gun, figured you'll start
waving it around, and bye-bye, Mom.

But it misses her and hits a poor schmo
who just drops by at that moment.

He meant to get back at both of you
by killing his mother,

and framing you for her murder.

- How horrible!
- No, no, no.

'Munch and Kellerman
laid it out for Giardello

'who saw a few flaws in their theory.'

- Find Junior's prints on the shotgun?
- No. Just the father's.

Have you found Junior?

We made inquiries in the Tulsa area,
but nothing so far.

Kellerman, his prints,
if they are his prints,

on the box of shells means nothing.

Is he or is he not a viable suspect?

It depends on how
you define "viable suspect."

He had motive. Mommy and Daddy
cut off his allowance.

- Have we identified the victim?
- Not yet.

That's priority.
He's gotta have a family somewhere.

- Missing Persons is tryin' to get a match.
- No one's come forward?

No. The condition of the body precluded
his picture in the paper.

Look, identify the jumper.

Get George... What are you laughing at?

Find George and talk to him!

Get Cox to make a determination
whether it's homicide or suicide.

Charge the parents or leave 'em alone!
Close the damn case!

- Well, did you?
- Did I what?

- Find the son?
- Identify the jumper?

Make a determination?
Suicide or homicide?

- Close the case?
- OK, OK, OK! I'll level with you.

I finally broke the case
when I ID'd the victim.

- How did you do that?
- Old-fashioned way. Fingerprints.

- Fingerprints?
- For John Doe, it's standard procedure.

Yes, I know that, which I did,

but unfortunately our John Doe had
never been printed while he was alive.

' Therefore I couldn't match it.
So, one evening I'm out on the pier,

'looking at the reflection of the clouds
and the moon in the water.

'All of a sudden, it hits me,
I get this epiphany.

'Reflection, mirrored images.'

I raced back to the lab,
and I compare my set of prints

to the prints Munch and Kellerman
lifted off that box of shotgun shells.

Bingo!

- Bingo what?
- I don't get it.

They matched.

The dead man in my morgue,

John Doe jumper...

...was George Cochran Jr.

The guy who jumped from the roof
to commit suicide,

but was hit and killed
by a shotgun blast on his way down...

Was the son of the man
who fired the shot?

One and the same.

Angry at his mother for cutting him off

and despondent over his father's
failure to threaten his mother,

thereby triggering George Jr's
elaborate revenge scheme...

The Cochrans got along better after
Thanksgiving, thanks to counselling.

Junior decides to commit suicide,

ironically, the very night
his mother burns the pot roast,

sending his father into rage.

I told you what would happen
if you burned anything else.

'Cochran gets the shotgun and fires.'

Boom!

'Just as George Jr
is passing by their window.'

'Why did Junior jump off
his parents' rooftop? '

He figured they'd be the ones
to identify the body.

He underestimated his parents'
lack of interest in the outside world.

'They had no idea the jumper
was their son until we told them.

'They finally made a positive ID.'

Oh, no, no! Oh, George!

Oh, no! Don't take him away!
My God! Oh, no!

'John Doe jumper
was George Jr.

'No doubt about it.

'Suicide avec torque. '

What's torque?

With a twist.

And the rest, as they say, is mythic.

This time you can pick up the cheque.

- What the hell were you doing?
- She assaulted me, Gee!

Her attorneys were on the phone
with Barnfather, the mayor's office,

before you could scrape yourself
off the bank floor.

Harassment, intimidation.
Not to mention assault.

What are we supposed to do?

Just lie down and let this woman
manipulate us without fightin' back?

Uh-uh. No, no.

I wanted to send her a message.
No free ride.

She gonna be in my face,
I'm gonna be in her face.

Meldrick, in her face is one thing,
breaking it is another.

You're suspended... indefinitely.

Barnfather's orders.

- Well, talk him out of it.
- No.

For once, I agree with him.

You agree with him?

Fine.

Where are you going, Meldrick?

Get some cigarettes.

Well, you don't smoke.