Psych (2006–2014): Season 6, Episode 14 - Psych - full transcript

A funeral mortician discovers a problem with an autopsy performed by Woody, the police coroner. Marked as an accidental death, she thinks it is a murder. Shawn & Gus investigate the problem to help Woody so he does not lose his job.

Are you wondering how healthy the food you are eating is? Check it -
Doctor Strode,
does the name Bob White

mean anything to you?

Is he a children's clown?

Adults 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 often confuse
clowns and bus victims.

Yeah, yeah, that was a...
That was a tragic accident.

Or was it?

It is very possible
that it was not

and that you made a mistake.

Ah, no. No, Chief,
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 your keys.

Do you remember
a missing ear lobe?

Well, this woman does.

She is the mortician
who was in the process

of embalming Mr. White

when she discovered
the inconsistency.

Hello, Woodrow.

Hello, Grace.

You two know each other?

Oh, Doctor Strode and I were
in forensic school together.

We were also briefly lovers.


The ear lobe 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 0.31.

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 Wood man 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 twenties.

Technically, he's a young
man, 23 or something.

So this is the address
on the report.

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

Well, you are standing right
where the bus ran 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?

What, do you want to
be out here all night

or do you want
to go get some food?


This says the street lamp

directly over
the bus stop was out.

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 decided
to bust one lamp and it just

happens to be the street lamp
that prevents the bus driver

from seeing the
drunkest guy in the world

laying in the street?


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'm trapped
in this box on casters.

Luckily, this box also
has an elevator.


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.

Well, with all
due respect, Whip...

Cream, was it?

I happen to be the
head psychic detective

for the SBDP 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.

That's very flattering.

Actually we don't have any
headshots 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.


Did you kill someone?


But the next best thing.

This is my establishment.

I know, you know
That I'm not telling the truth

I know, you know
They just don't have any proof

Embrace the deception
Learn how to bend

Your worst inhibitions tend
to psych you out in the end

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 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 saying the dwarf
is still at large?

What I'm saying is that murder
is always a macabre business

but one made to look like
an accident, well,

that takes skill, knowledge,
the most intricate planning.

Please turn around.

Rumps facing me.

Let me see your rumps.

What's that for?

I just got it, the at large joke.

Come, come.

Ooh, nice. You have
surveillance cameras.

Yes, we have three inside, and
here's the outside camera.

Wow, if someone decided
to commit a murder

inside of that 3-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 turtle-necky. 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. Wait.
Wait, wait, wait, wait.

Would you at least
bestow upon me

the honor of signing
my Yang book.


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.
Now, precedent tells us that

the victim's innards will tell
the story of his death.

Its contents are like a clock.

Work backwards from the time
of death, but you must hurry.

We know the drill, Whip, uh,
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...

- Two different things.
- 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.


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.

Ah, 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 admit 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 am exercising my discretion
in the county to hire

you on to consult on this case.

Well, that is just insanely ridiculous.
Rim shot?

Okay, look, Dr. Strode
is right. I didn't know

it was his case when
I called in. I don't want

to step on anyone's toes here.

I mean, obviously
the case is sensitive.

Well, 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!

Oh, oh, okay.
Oh, oh...

Pathologist fight!
Go, go, go!

Enough! 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 is lemongrass
and bean paste

but I also see 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?


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. 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?

Did you see this man
here two nights ago?

- Hey, Singh!
- Come on.

This guy might be more helpful.

I understand you have picture?

Whoa, whoa!

Keep it down, man.

Think that accent's
a little offensive?

My accent? Offensive? Yes.

Your accent offensive.
This is how I talk.

I'm his son.


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, 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?


Gentlemen, we are standing
in the presence of where

Bob White was approximately
seven hours before his death.

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 0.31.

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 insists, 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.


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.

He was allergic to alcohol.
Wow, I didn't realize plum cake

had that much alcohol in it.
Well that explains the dilation

of the blood vessels.

Well, either way,
you don't get 0.31 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 should start scanning
the body for injection marks

and it could take a while.

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

He left half a warm Coke,
oh, and also these.

But I keep for myself.
Carnival tickets?

The site of grisly murders.
Carn-Evil by Stewart 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 in 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.

We've arrived at Bob's
next destination.

Hi, hi.

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.

Now, look at this.
Any one of these

creatures could have
authored his demise.

We're going to need

Who? Who are 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 of 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?


Does this man's image
incite anything in you?

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

I was wondering...


Don't waste your
breath, brown sugar.

You just let
Sandy hold you tight

and all the pain will
melt away like butter.

Actually, I'm doing great.

But my friend Bob White,

so sad.

Did you know him?


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

because he just lost his mama.

He'd lay his head right here.

And I'd just let
him fall asleep.

That sounds real nice.

Um. Shawn? Hang in there, buddy.

Sandy, did Bob 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. Oh! 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'm seeing double.
I think our killer

was scouting Bob. I mean
he was 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, Shawny boy.

You suck it, Gus.

We'll see.
We'll see.

Miss 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?
- Shh! No talk.

You! Look at
my brain.

I'd rather not.
Do it.

What do you see?


Ooh. 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.

You were thinking whether
Ted Knight and Jim J. Bullock

had anything to talk about

on the set of

Too Close For Comfort.

Holy crap, she's the real deal.

Wow. Your turn
again, Shawn.

This time try
to let your guard down.

Gus, we are here
to investigate.

I believe you know this man.

Golly. How many potted plants
does it take to spell loser?

If it turns out this was a suicide,
I can't say I blame the guy.

Ugh. Don't be
ugly, Carlton.


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.

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?


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.

I'm not talking about Chad,
I am talking about Bob.

Yes. Him too.


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!

Say what?

Nuh-uh! I hope you're satisfied.

Oh, my God,
you guys, seriously?

This is all my fault.

I'm going to go 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.
We are leaving.

To find a girl named Penny.

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.

Isuse Boze.


Ah. Ooh.

I know what it is, uh,
I've got a dead tooth

and a toenail that's
gone completely black.

Leave, now! All of you get out!


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 whack.

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.

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

we'll give you a ride
home. Ah! What?

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. Okay.

I'll be damned.

Hey, hey, I got something!



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

Let's pay her a visit and
make this little piggy squeal.

Or we could just ask
her some questions.

We could, but it's
never as much fun.

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.


Kind of like After Hours.

Without the comforting
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.

I'm a master chameleon.

You're not a master chameleon.

Watch this.

It's open!

Hey, Chalmers?

Of course. Who else
would I be, silly?

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

Head Detective Carlton
Lassiter, of the SBPD

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.

Wake up, Sebastian. This
could get interesting.

Break a leg, Master C.

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.

Guys like Bob White pay money to
watch her live her everyday life.

You serious?

All right, beatniks, show's over.
Hit the road.

Are you people dense?

This is official police
business. Get out of here!


Spencer, you going to
help me out here?

Yes, we are.

The female cop's got a presence

but, uh, Detective Gangly is
a bit stiff, don't you think?

Hey, Officer, no
need to be nervous.

It's going to be okay. This
is just life imitating art.

Now, no lines, just life. So go
ahead, ask me anything you want.

Uh, look!

Miss, I, um...

We can't hear you!


Do you know Bob White?

Yeah, why?
We know him.

Well, I don't really know if you
want an audience for this, but

Bob is dead.

My sweet Bobby is dead?

We believe he was murdered.

Oh, Bobby! No!

Kind of clich?.

Well, someone may have been stalking
him for a while, if that helps.

Oh, yeah, that does.

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 going to set up all the
chairs in the holding cell.

How's that for honesty
and truth?

Does that cost extra?

Get them out of here.

Let's go! Come on!

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?


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?


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 could 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 web cam feeds.

And it sure beats the
hell out 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.

Howza, Howza, Howza meats

You tell me Bah,
bah, bah, bologna!

Are you quite done, Guster?

Bah, bah, bah, bologna!

She does it twice.

In the commercial.

I do it twice.

I'm done.

What can you tell
us about Bob White?

He would come to the show almost
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.

He had no honey.

That is not offensive. That is exactly how
the white waiter sounded. Gus was there.

Please tell me you let him down easy.
I'm sensing he was very vulnerable.

No, 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.

And 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?


Well, he died
around 1:00.

Which means whoever picked him up in that car
is probably the last person who saw him alive.

Mostly likely
because they're also

the person who killed him.

Bah, bah, bah, bah, bologna!

Hello, boys.


I had to go to three stores to find
cr?me fra?che for our strawberries.

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


Worth the wait.
That is fresh fra?che.

We are quite the team,
Grace and I.

As it turns out,
we also still enjoy

both Jerry Garcia
and Cherry Garcia.

Guys, uh, here's what we know.

Someone drove him away in
what may have been an Impala?

Impala. 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.


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 then this
black Impala pulls up.

And he's talking to the driver
and then he got in.

Okey doke.

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.

Bludgeon me.

Why me, Shawn?

All you do is complain
about being the victim.

Now I'm 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!


Holy crap!

Whip's our killer.

Look! He absolutely needed
us to solve this murder.

He wanted to get caught.

With one terrible act, someone
can be immortalized 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. Oh!

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 could only come from a book.

I'm calling Lassie. I'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."

Geez, Whip.

I knew it.

You did not.

I kinda did.

Damn you, Whip Chatterly!

You ensnared us in a web
of 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.


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


You betcha.

Yep, I have learned my lesson.

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

From now on,

I'm not half-assing
any autopsies.

Unless the corpse
has half an ass.

You got to keep it light, guys.
Sure do.

I think we're going
to roll, Woodster.

I've got back to back episodes of Hot in
Cleveland on TiVo and we're pretty spent.


Whoa, Gus.

I have a missed call from Whip.

Yeah, like an hour before we found his body.
He left a message.

Creepiest butt dial ever.

Wait a minute, I gotta
hear that again.

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

Shh! Listen.

All right, what does that sound like to you?
I don't know.

Yes, you do. That is a car door
slamming after the gunshot.

We got to get back to
Whip's bookstore.

What are we doing here, Shawn?

Looking for signs
of a struggle.

Oh, my 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.

We're going to figure out why.

What? Come on, son!

You going to 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.
Suck it. Suck that.

Gus, 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.

And 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.

Come on, son.

Wait for it.


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?


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?


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.

Well, I thought
the case was closed.

It is.

It was. Or that's
what I thought.

But 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
why these pages are torn.

Dude, I think Whip was framed.

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, this makes sense.

I mean, he obviously did all of his
research right here, in Whip's store.

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.


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.

And I've thought about
rocking the turtleneck.

But then 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.


This is really,
really not good.

Well, we can send these to the lab in
the morning, I'll dust them for prints.

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.


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.

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.

We can still go two for three.

Let's go.

Grace, it's Woody.

Don't you owe me
an explanation?

You want an explanation? Yes.


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 had 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 then I solved it.

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

No, I'm not ready to die.

I still haven't seen Gloria
Estefan in concert yet.

Please! Please, Grace. I
will get down on my knees.

And I will beg
like a Saint Bernard!


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 want
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.


That said, I expect your work to be nothing
short of exemplary, moving forward.

Is that clear?

It is. And I cannot 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.

I love you guys.
I mean that.

You know, 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.

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'll just be in my dreams
that you are the chief of doing me.

Good job, Chief!

Oh, is that...

I know, you know
That I'm not telling the truth

I know, you know
They just don't have any proof

Embrace the deception
Learn how to bend

Your worst inhibitions tend
to psych you out in the end

I know, you know