All language subtitles for Crossing Jordan s01e08 digger 1.eng

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Hey, Lois,
what have you got?

Unidentified male.
Five gunshot wounds.

Looks like a good spot
for a mob hit.

There's a million stories
in the naked city.

How come all of yours
seem to involve me?

Luck.

Got a real live one
here, Jordan.

With all due respect to the dearly
departed, this guy's a chum bucket.

A what?

Don't feed the animals, Lois.

Chum is a factory-compressed
block of, uh,

dead fish with the smell and
consistency of rotting meatloaf.

Scavenger fish smell it a mile
away and just come running.

Case in point.

The gunshot wounds are all
in the abdomen and chest.

Want to help me
turn him over, Lois?

Oh, man.

That's odd. Look
how preserved he is.

Part of him looks like
he died in his sleep

but over here where the fish
got a hold of him, he's...

Well...

Chum.

But these bullet holes.

There's five entry wounds,

no exits.

These aren't bullet wounds.

Well, what the hell
are they?

Trocar marks.

From the hollow vacuum spear
morticians use to remove body fluids.

This guy wasn't shot.
He was embalmed.

Embalmed
like embalmed?

Yeah, as in embalmed.

So what was he doing
floating in the harbor?

That's what
I'm gonna find out.

But first we have to
figure out who he is.

I'm running his prints
right now. Thank you.

But unless someone
reports him missing...

If he was embalmed, chances
are he had a funeral, right?

Yeah, you're right.

Which means there's a death
certificate on file somewhere.

Garret.

What's with the scowl?
It's worse than normal.

Yakura's leaving.

As in vacation?
As in for good.

She's been asked to chair a panel
on medical ethics in Washington.

So as of this Friday she'll no
longer be our chief medical examiner.

Sweet.
High five me, baby.

No.

So, uh, when's she handing you
the keys to the kingdom?

Well, that's the problem.

Keys are going to someone
else, someone from outside.

She told me that until her replacement
arrives on Friday, she's gonna need me to

handle things for a couple days,
sort of as a de facto interim chief.

De facto interim? That is
so many shades of wrong.

Well, she's had it
in for me since day one.

Going with an outside hire is a deliberate
move to rub my face in my failure.

Is she in her office? 'Cause
she's not going to get...

Don't, don't, don't.

Come on, Garret!
I owe you one.

When you got me my job back I'm
sure you had to twist Yakura's arm.

I practically had to fracture her
left ulna to get her to take you back.

So, now it's my turn.

Jordan, no.

If you go in there,
you'd kiss your job goodbye.

Sometimes a man just has to accept the fact
that he's gone as far in life as he can.

Garret. Let's just leave it at that.

Okay?

Good morning, Garret.

Not for me,
it isn't.

Is everything okay?

Yeah, yeah.
Everything's fine.

I had a real nice time
with you the other night.

That's good.

You know, I've been on a lot
of really weird first dates,

but this one was
really cool.

So I was thinking maybe
Friday night if you're in...

You know, Lily...

This really isn't a very
good time to talk about this.

Okay?

Yeah, sure.

This is
downright slanderous.

"Poor hygiene,
smirking attitude?"

All right,
spare my feelings, Bug.

Would you describe
my attitude as smirking?

Well, maybe a hint of a smirk
now and then, but no,

I'd say you project more of a sneering,
simpering, leering sort of vibe.

Exactly.

How'd you do?

Oh, exemplary, outstanding, dedicated.

Practically perfect
in every way.

That's ridiculous. I'm
just as perfect as you are.

This is a disaster. What am I gonna do, Bug?

Don't worry about it.
It's just a report.

Yakura's not
gonna fire you.

You don't understand.

My immigration visa
expires next Tuesday.

You know how hard I've worked
to stay in this country?

I've got to turn this in, prove I'm
an invaluable member of the workforce.

This is gonna make that
a rather tough sell.

I see your point.

I've got exactly five days
before big men in dark glasses

grab me by the
scruff of my neck

and dropkick me
back to Brighton.

The INS only gave you a
five-day deportation warning?

Yeah, well,
give or take six weeks.

I came here on a six month
student visa 13 years ago.

Well, you obviously
weren't a student of math.

What's your in, eh, Bug?

How'd you scam the Yanks
into staying here?

I happen to have marketable skills
which are highly valued in many lands.

But you...

Yeah, I can see why you'd
have to resort to trickery.

Jordan.

I got a print match
on our floater.

Lealand Jacobs,
died two months ago.

His wife doesn't know
how he got in the water.

Last she knew, he was resting
in peace in National Cemetery.

The military cemetery
out in Quincy?

That's the one.

Hey, Trey.

Why would someone go through all the
trouble of covering up the grave again?

Whoever took him needed
to cover his or her tracks.

Or maybe he or she needed
to bury something else.

Who's that?

I don't know. It looks
like we're gonna find out.

Can I help you?

Don't know yet.
Who are you?

Detective Lois Carver,
Boston P.D., Homicide.

You?

Who wants to know?

Ooh, FBI.

Your turn.

Jordan Cavanaugh,
Medical Examiner's Office.

Well, ladies, I'll be handling
things from here on in.

Handling things?

Yeah. Federal land,
federal case. So, you mind?

Doing the honors?
Oh, not at all.

There's
a dead woman in here.

What the hell
is going on here?

There's a walkie-talkie
in her hand.

Claw marks on the lid.

This woman was
buried alive.

What happened? I beat you
back here by 15 minutes.

I had to park
three blocks away.

Tell me, what breed of moron takes a
parking spot of a medical professional?

The nerve.

Yeah, well, it's the
presumption that's involved,

that whatever business
he has is more important

than the person whose name is
actually on the parking spot.

Plus, it's only guys with size
issues that drive cars that big.

Tinted windows,
no plates.

Jordan.
Yep.

You two met earlier,
I understand.

Oh, you have
got to be the guy.

What guy would that be?

The moron who took
my parking spot.

You do remember this is Special
Agent Drew Haley of the FBI?

Or moron,
if you prefer.

There's something
I want from you two.

You kicked us out of the crime scene.
You wouldn't release the girl's body.

You absconded with evidence
pertinent to our decomp case.

What else could you
possibly want?

Your photographer
was taking pictures.

I'm gonna have to ask for that
disk from your digital camera.

What?
What?

I'm sure you're
a model of discretion,

but we wouldn't want those
getting out. Nothing personal.

Give him the disk, Jordan.
It's not up for discussion.

Now, if you'll excuse me,

I've got to go keep the Chief M.E.'s
chair warm until her replacement arrives.

For the record, I'm a medical
examiner, not a photographer.

Hey, sorry about the "moron. "

Nothing personal.

I got to say,
I'm surprised.

Why is that?

You giving up
the goods so easy.

Since when did you
cooperate with the Man?

Since never.

Come on, Darmesh.
Be a man.

You won't get any if you
can't even court the woman.

Why are you grinning at me?

What sign are you?

I'm busy.
Go away.

You're a Pisces,
aren't you?

You know, we're
extremely compatible.

Go away.

Uh...

"Business is questionable, but
marriage more than favorable. "

Face it.
If Yakura's gonna sack me,

only one option remains
for me to gain citizenship.

You're not talking about what
I think you're talking about,

are you?
Come on.

Yeah, you and me,

a scenic jaunt to Vermont for
a quickie same-sex wedding.

But, there's method
to my madness.

You see, the INS is bound to ask
questions to make sure our love is true,

but you and I,
we're co-workers.

So it minimizes
the subterfuge.

We can say we fell in love over
bacteria slides and splatter patterns.

I like girls.

As do I, but our love
can transcend sexuality.

What do you say, Buggles?
Help out a friend in need?

Be my wife?

You know, I can't think of a
way to be sensitive about this.

No.

No.

No!

All right then,
see you at lunch.

Doctor Macy,
can we talk?

Lily, this may not be
the best time.

I've got a splitting headache
and I can't seem to...

I can't seem to open
this damn bottle.

Well, it'll only take a second and
then you can get back to banging.

Our conversation
this morning...

I was... I was just trying to
convey my feelings for you,

feelings that I just assumed were mutual.

Look,
I'm very sorry.

I've just had
a really bad day.

Well, maybe you shouldn't take
that out on people that

were

really starting
to care about you.

It's just bad karma.

Bad karma.

You're gonna tell me
about bad karma?

Try doing a job for 15 years
that you despise,

only to be passed over time and time again,
stuck forever in the seventh level of hell.

Relegated to being
some temporary

interim de facto vice idiot!

Whatever I did in a past life,
it must have been a doozy.

I know what's
happening here.

You're all the same. You give a
girl enough to keep her interested

and then you pull away
and treat her like crap.

Which, of course, only
makes her like you more.

Lily, it's...
Please.

I've been through it enough to know when
I'm gonna get my heart broken by a bad boy.

And you, Garret,
are a bad boy.

What do we have?

Well, I took the liberty of enlarging
the walkie-talkie in her hand.

Thought maybe I could read
a model number.

It's worth a shot.

How come this is all
you've got to go on?

Can't you read the boot print
on my ass that says FBI?

Oh, yeah,
there it is.

So, uh, have you got room
on your dance card tonight?

Oh, please.
No, I'm serious.

What sign are you?

Well, I've got several.
Uh, "Danger,"

"Do Not Enter,"
"Beware of Men Who Are Dogs. "

Fair enough.

So what are the chances that you'd be
free to marry me, say, uh, next Tuesday?

I'd say, uh, the chances of that
could be expressed mathematically

as diddly over squat.
But thanks.

Well, you can't blame
a bloke for trying.

Yeah.

Now, if we can just make out
the model number here.

Series 7-2000.
It's a two-watt output.

Geek-free version, please?

It's a short range
two-way radio.

Whoever was listening in
on your girl's last rites

was within 200 yards of her.

Looks like my dance card
just opened up.

Got any plans?

Wherever he was hiding out, I
guarantee you he left a trace.

Hold it right there, sugar.
You, too, twinkle.

Whatever necrophilic skinhead
Goth hippie freak show

you're thinking of putting on,
it ain't gonna happen.

Not on my watch.

Your watch?

And, what watch
would that be?

Do you realize my colleague
Agent Bollocks and I

penetrated the perimeter
an hour and 27 minutes ago?

What?
Yeah, we could have dug up

half the east lot and reenacted the
Battle of Bunker Hill in that time.

You know, it's employees
like you, Milo,

who give all graveyard security
personnel a really bad name.

Look, I thought you guys
were done.

Wait, are you guys
with the Feds?

Do we look like
we're with the Feds, Milo?

Well, then
who are you with?

I wouldn't ask too many
questions if I were you.

All you need to know is we're here to
file a report on lax security measures

and your name is gonna be
above the title, Milo.

Especially after
last night's desecration.

It takes me an hour and 43
minutes to walk the perimeter.

I can't be everywhere
at once, Agent.

An hour and 43 minutes.
Make a note of that.

I'd start right now
if I was you.

Try and get that down
to an hour 38.

Thank you,
Agent Bollocks.

But I can't do that.

I am timing you.

Yes, ma'am.

Okay, where did he hide?

This entire door's
been dusted for prints.

Ah, you smell that?
Industrial bleach.

I smell something else.
Government cleanup job.

God, look at this place.

The Feds have been over it with a
fine tooth comb and then hosed it down

so no one
would be the wiser.

Not quite.

I ask myself,

why do I do these favors for you
when I get so little in return?

I just gave you a story about
a top secret FBI investigation.

Oh, yeah.
Some headline.

"Vandals Strike
Boston Boneyard. "

Vandals?
What are you talking about?

I ran your LexisNexis search for "FBl"
and "Cemetery" over the last six weeks.

Kept it New England,
like you said.

Only hits were vandalism
investigations in military graveyards.

Pretty boring.

But there is one thing
that's kinda hinky.

You want to tell me why the FBI's ace
behaviorist is digging up graveyards?

Behaviorist?

Profiler.
Serial killers.

This is the guy who closed the
Klineman case in Montana last year.

You're welcome.

Come on, Vicki. What better way to
get to know someone than matrimony, eh?

I'll do it.

I'll marry you.

Oh, ha-ha.

Rub it in, Lilliput. Kick
the Brit while he's down.

Hey, I'm serious.

Lily, while
I appreciate the gesture,

perhaps you'd better
think this through.

Already have.

I've been waiting for you to
ask me since Bug turned you down.

I never thought
I'd hear myself say this,

but why would you
want to marry me?

Let's just say it has something to
do with my karma and leave it at that.

It's just something
I have to do.

Oh, so this is
all about you then?

Focused self-interest.

One of the first things
we have in common.

How's next Tuesday for you?

Perfect.

Oh, thanks, kid.

If you're looking for me, I didn't
know we had any unfinished business.

Want to try again?

And this time, tell me why this
was coated in fingerprint powder?

Hmm.

This wasn't on the curiously
blank photo disk you gave me.

The girl we found,
what number was she?

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

That's funny, 'cause as a profiler
specializing in serial killers

I'd have thought
you would have been filled in.

Her name was
Valerie Wenner.

She was the fifth.

Two in Portland,
two in New Hampshire.

So he still has one left
here in Boston, huh?

I'm gonna appeal to your professional
nature, assuming you have one

and ask you
to keep this to yourself.

Good night, Doctor.

Tell me, how many fingers
did you have to break

to pry that radio
out of the girl's hand?

This guy taunting her,
terrifying her,

that was the last thing
she heard in this life.

Look, I just want to
help you get him.

Good night, Doctor.

Okay, since my appeal to your
sense of decency isn't working,

here it is in language
you do understand.

Unless you want to hear my own
personal account on this tragedy

accompanied by a photo spread in
tomorrow's paper, you better start talking.

Who is he?

We call him The Digger.

What's his thing?
Why does he do it?

I don't know

yet.

Well, five bodies in three states,
that's a lot of ground to cover.

Which is why I'm having all the bodies
exhumed and sent here to the field office

so an expert can get a
look at them side by side.

Well, look no further.

Why do I get the feeling you're
not gonna take no for an answer?

'Cause I'm not.

Be here tomorrow morning,
9:00 a. m. Sharp.

These numbers he etched in
the wall, what do they mean?

We think they're
biblical references.

This is the second one
we've found.

We're bringing
the bodies in now.

Valerie Wenner.

Well, what do you see?

Is this a test?

I'm just curious.

Well, I'll know a lot more
once I get her on a table.

These puncture wounds
in her neck,

he injected her with something
to get her into the coffin.

Phenobarbital
and diazepam.

So much for
the blood work.

Other than that, there's
no distinguishing marks

except for the mole
on her left cheek.

Drawn on
with an eyebrow pencil.

Why don't you save us both a lot of time
and just tell me everything you know?

Victor, bring them all in,
would you?

Victor's on loan to me
from Spatter Analysis.

Give this guy a bloody sheet
and he can triangulate

the height, the weight and the posture of
the shooter, all using computer imagery.

Cool as that may be, I'm
really a low-tech girl at heart.

I figured that.

Oh, that's right. You profilers
like to get inside people's heads,

figure out why they do
what they do.

They say you're
pretty good at it.

They? They don't know
a damn thing about me.

So, dazzle me.

Tell me about how my dad
spanked me when I was eight

or how I kissed my first boy
at the age of 12.

Hey, what color underwear
do I have on?

I take my work
pretty seriously, Doctor.

And so does Digger.

Now the nature of his crime leaves
us five steps behind every time.

He places each of these girls
in a freshly dug up grave.

It's always men's graves and
they're mostly in their 50s.

Then he transports their
bodies in some kind of a truck,

like a flatbed.

Then he dumps them
in a remote area.

He's clever, but he's driven by the two
things that are gonna bring him down.

And the first is hatred.
Someone hurt this guy real bad.

The second is need.

The bigger the monster,
the bigger the need.

Well, you already know
Valerie Wenner.

Meet Susan Messenger,
victim number four.

Jane Doe, number 626,
victim number three.

Ann Ridley,
victim number two.

And Jaclyn Mercer,
patient zero.

As of now, you and I are the only
ones who have seen all the bodies.

Besides him.

Doctor Macy.

Oh, hey, Lily.
Um...

Listen, about
our last conversation...

I just wanted to ask
if I could have Tuesday off.

What?
This Tuesday, why?

Well, it's short notice,
I know, but, uh...

A friend of mine is in a bit of a jam, so...

Well, I don't see
why not, but

you're leaving me
a little shorthanded.

Nigel asked for
Tuesday off, too.

Yeah, I know.

We need to get the license signed before
we meet with the justice of the peace.

I'm sorry,
am I missing something?

It's no biggie. Nigel's having some green
card problems, so I'm gonna help him out.

You're helping him out?
You're... You're marrying Nigel?

Yeah. It's just so
he can stay in the country.

Do you have any idea of the world
of legal hurt you can get into?

I'll be fine.
It's the right thing to do.

I'm pretty sure
the INS would disagree.

If I were you,
I would forget all about this.

Well, you're not me.

When I see a situation that's unfair,
I don't just sit around for 15 years,

I do something about it.

Can I have Tuesday off,
Dr. Macy?

No, I need you here
at the office.

Fine. We'll just have the
wedding here then after work.

She fought hard.

An adult confined
to a small space

quickly regresses
into an infantile state.

Her last words
were probably "Mommy. "

That's a pleasant thought. It's
inhuman what he did to them.

I disagree. Cruelty and
violence are very human.

Look, we only have
four biological imperatives.

Feed, fight,
flee and fornicate.

And they all are linked
to pain and pleasure.

Man came down from the trees
a couple million years ago.

Meaning?
Meaning we evolved.

We've got this little thing
called impulse control.

Look who's talking about
impulse control.

Face it, we're a species
of bloodletters.

That's a bleak view. Is that
the world Digger lives in?

Digger? Oh, no.

Whatever impulse control
Digger had is long gone.

No, a killer this bold
wants attention,

all the attention
he can get.

How do we know that?

Lesson number one
in criminal profiling,

analyzing the killer's
first victim is crucial

in determining his psyche.

Now, you take
Miss Mercer here.

Digger grabbed her in broad daylight in
a crowded parking lot of a supermarket.

Blind rage,
untempered by fear.

There's just
one small problem.

I think the Portland M.E.
Made a very common mistake.

Now, both bodies were found at
approximately the same time

and Jaclyn was far more
decomposed than Ann.

Correct. That's how we determined
that Jaclyn was the first victim.

Except Jaclyn
suffered from hypothermia.

She fought so hard to escape from that
coffin that her body temperature soared,

virtually melting
her internal organs.

Now, Ann, on the other hand,
died from suffocation.

So?

So victims of hypothermia decompose
twice as fast as victims of suffocation.

Are you telling me...

Are you telling me
that Ann was killed first?

The bodies never lie.

Well...

That means my profile
was all wrong.

Don't be so hard
on yourself.

People die
when I make mistakes.

It wasn't your fault.
It was shoddy forensics.

You want to hear
what else I found or no?

I don't know, do I?

Ann Ridley was a natural
chestnut-haired brunette.

The other four all got dye jobs right
before they died, which would suggest...

That they were all made up
to look like her.

I thought you were gonna tell
me something I didn't know.

Well, if you'd let me in on
some of your little secrets,

I wouldn't be going over
the same damn clue trail.

And if I thought I could trust
you a little more, maybe I would.

Then you're not as good at
reading people as you think,

because you don't know
the first thing about me.

You're an only child.

A daddy's girl.

Something happened when you
were young, something awful.

It's a wound
that's never healed.

But you use it. It fuels you, drives you.

I bet you have nightmares
about it.

And they're powder blue.

Your underwear.

Wrong.

I'm not wearing any.

Well, it's not
an exact science.

And I'm not the one
you should be picking apart.

You're right.

Let's go.
Where are we going?

Inside Digger's head.

My favorite color?
Chartreuse.

Tell me about my tattoo.

Betty Boop,
left butt cheek.

We're all set then.

Wait, aren't you gonna ask me
something about myself?

You're an open book, angel.

What's my last name?

Point taken.
Mmm-hmm.

Oh, I forgot to ask you
the most important thing.

What's your size?

I usually take
a twelve and a half.

I don't mean your shoe size.

Oh, my size.

I'm gonna need to see it.
What?

What if they ask me
to describe it?

Well, um, do I get to
see yours?

No, of course not.

Well, I'm not dropping
trou. Come on. Hey, look...

Here's an instant camera.

I'll wait.

You're a twisted bird.

And I love that about you.

Tell me about Ann Ridley.

She has no family,
no friends.

She lives alone in a trailer
park outside of Portland.

The evidence shows
that he grabbed her at night.

So Digger's first kill wasn't
public and impulsive, but secretive.

He probably had
time to plan.

But why Ann Ridley?

Why was she his first kill?

We gotta go
deep enough inside him

to know what he craves,
to know what he fears.

I'm familiar with
the mechanics.

Daddy's girl,
remember?

Well, uh, Daddy was a cop and I've been
doing this since I was 12 years old.

So, you be Digger.

And I'll be Ann.

There's something about you.

I remind you of someone.

Yeah, someone I hate.

Someone I've been fantasizing about
getting revenge against for years.

How do you know me?

Maybe I deliver your mail.

Maybe I live next door.
But I watch you.

Every day, coming and going, standing
at the door, until finally I snap.

But you don't
kill me yet.

Because whoever
I remind you of,

you've never been able
to kill her either.

Does it excite you?

Yes. Oh, yes, enough to do it
again and again and again.

But why did you
choose me?

You're the only one I
didn't have to put makeup on.

You were perfect.

You remind me of someone.

Who? Your wife?
Your mother?

Whoever it is,

it takes time to make the
other girls look like you.

You use hotel rooms,
assumed names?

No, this is an act of intimacy.
I'm recreating someone.

I need a place of my own.
A home.

Then how did you kill so
many women in so many places?

Unless...

You live in a trailer.

He took his home
on the road.

That's why
Ann was the first.

You live right there
in the trailer park.

Right next door.

Watching her.

Wanting her.

Then taking her.

Gotta go.

Is that about Digger?

Gotta go,
that's all.

So, Jordan Cavanaugh
asks for help again.

Didn't Nostradamus
predict this?

You find anything out?

Let's get something straight.

I don't jump when you snap
just to get nothing in return.

I've kept you in the loop.

You...

All right, come with me.
Where are we going?

Practically had to sign
a blood oath with the devil

to get this information out
of my contact at the Bureau.

Please, just spill it.

Your boyfriend Haley applied
for a federal search warrant.

Residence outside Boston.

She slipped me the address.
Get this. It's...

A trailer park.

I'm not even gonna ask.

The Feds,
they're not here yet.

It takes time to wake a judge
and get a warrant signed.

We're looking for slot K.

Hope you brought
a change of underwear.

That's it.

What the hell
are you doing?

Knocking.

Excuse me.

You're gonna
get us killed.

But we're having fun. And isn't
that what's really important?

What the...
Dead lilies.

There are dates
at the top.

They correspond to the dates
those girls disappeared, right?

Yeah, but these numbers here,
they're not Bible references.

They're times.

He recorded how long
they stayed alive underground.

Get behind me.

Help me.

Help me.

Hello, hello.

Help me.
I can't see anything.

I'm a doctor. I'm gonna try to
help you, okay? What's your name?

Chloe. My name's Chloe.
Oh, my God, please help.

We're gonna find you,
Chloe, I promise.

But I need you
to conserve your air.

From here on out, just take
slow, deep breaths, okay?

Oh, please, you've gotta get me out of here.

I don't know where I am.

We're on our way.

Call the morgue,
ask for Dr. Macy.

Tell him we're on our way in.
We need everyone there. Help me.

And we need to get that dead
body in the trunk of your car.

What for? He's gonna tell us where she is.

Got it.

Okay, people, listen up.
We've got 90 minutes

until that girl goes into carbon
dioxide-induced coma and dies.

Let's work some miracles.

Nigel, this is
a different walkie.

Any idea on the range?

No, he's jerry-rigged
the antenna.

It's a CB frequency.
She could be anywhere.

Lily, I need you
to keep her calm.

Her name's Chloe.
Just talk to her.

Okay, get Haley.
Bring him down here.

What do we know? White male
in his 60s, no viable prints.

I think we interrupted the
killer before he could dump him.

Wherever he was buried is
where we're gonna find the girl.

Skull is
completely fractured.

It'll be tough to do
a dental match.

Looks like he's been in the
ground less than two months.

Looks like a tattoo. Trey,
Bug, raise it and track it.

Nigel, you get the torso.

Garret, I think we can work the head,
maybe pull out a facial reconstruction,

but we're gonna have to separate
it and put it on another table.

All right, let's do it.
Come on, go, go!

This isn't gonna work. We're
gonna have to take the face off.

Nige.
Thanks. Let's see.

Okay, we got all the trace
we're gonna get. Ready to hose.

Funky looking Y-incision.

More like an I-incision.
Eastern European technique?

Most of his teeth
are still here.

At least 15 fillings.

Definitely had
a lot of work done.

Yeah, but not
in this country.

We stopped using platinum
in the '50s.

The only place I know that still
do are parts of Eastern Europe.

So where do we start?

This one must've hurt.
Amateur job, looks like.

Trusting fellow,
wasn't he?

Letting somebody poke him
50,000 times with a dirty needle.

What does this
look like to you?

I don't know,
I can't make it out.

It could be anything
from Greek to Russian.

Okay, that's good enough.

Let's upload these
in the computer,

see if we can clean it up
and get a match with VICAP.

Bingo. Armenia. It's the insignia
for the Armenian National Guard.

If he died overseas and
was shipped here for burial,

there's gotta be a trail
of paperwork somewhere.

I'm on it. We gotta find
that cemetery, Nigel.

Everyone out!

Can't get a hold of Haley,
but I left a message. Hello?

Keep trying.
Chloe?

How's she doing?
I don't know.

I just keep talking. I think
I can still hear her breathing.

Chloe?
Can you hear me?

Chloe, we're on our way,
sweetheart. Chloe?

Mama.

Marcon Napetian.

Died and autopsied overseas, but shipped
stateside to be buried next to his wife.

Where?
A small cemetery plot

right behind
the Armenian-American church.

It's just
10 minutes away.

I'll drive.

Lily, call Boston P.D.

Doctor Macy?

Grace. I received your call on my service.

Looks like
I've missed all the action.

It's all right.
We've got it under control.

Anything I need
to get involved in?

No. We're okay.

Very well then.
Good night.

Grace?

Listen, I know you're bringing in
some heavy hitter from the outside,

but whoever he or she is,
I want you to fire 'em.

Excuse me?

You're not gonna find anyone who's already
gone through all the stages of grief and hatred

before arriving
at acceptance,

even love, for this place,
these people and this work.

I want your job, Grace.

It was yours all along,
Garret.

I was just waiting
for you to ask.

Any minute now.
They're on their way.

I think we got a live one.

Chloe, I'm here.
Come on, breathe.

Chloe. Come on,
come on, breathe.

We'll take it from here.

Where have you been?
Getting a warrant.

It's a little thing
called the law.

What the hell happened?

I was trying to save her.

She's gone.

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