Bones (2005–2017): Season 5, Episode 9 - The Gamer in the Grease - full transcript

Sucking fry oil out from these
seafood restaurants is the worst.

I don't mind the chicken places,
but the seafood makes me sick.

Quit moaning and put the hose in.

Ugh. Smells like shrimp.

Okay. Suck it.

Hold it! Hold it!

I got hair. A lot. It's gross.

Probably a rat. Let's just open her up.

Go ahead and pull it out.

Fishing is not a sport.

What? Monuments to sporting events
in ancient Egypt include fishing



as well as swimming and wrestling.

- Come on. No sweat, no sport.
- Well, Boris Spassky and chess.

He used to perspire profusely.

Well, why you got to make
things so complicated?

Let me break it down for you, okay?

Basketball, football, hockey, that's a sport.
Board games, fishing, not a sport.

No problem going easy
on the fried food after this one.

Well, the International Olympic Committee
is considering adding chess as a sport.

- Not a sport.
- See? Not a sport.

Neither is ribbon-twirling,
bridge or synchronized swimming.

Synchronized swimming,
that's not a sport, that's for sure.

God. I'm in the middle
of something, aren't I?

Oh, Look. Dead guy.

Yeah. Look at that.
The colonel's not going to like this one.



Male. No sign of clothing.

All the stats, still unknown.

He was found at the bottom
of this grease receptacle.

By those lovely gentlemen over there.

Well, the remains are covered in flesh.
Why am I here?

I don't know. I told Booth.

God, in the middle again.

Guys, look. I heard murder victim,
you know, in cooking oil,

and I thought,
"Bones would just love this one."

So how long has tempura guy
been in there?

The tank hasn't been emptied in
a couple of weeks.

Two weeks. Okay.

Well, I could be biking now.
An activity during which I perspire.

Daily addition of hot oil
hastened decomposition

and led to early hydration of body fat.

God, so he drowned or maybe he fried.

Billiards is considered a sport
by the International Olympic Committee.

- Bones, we're working here.
- Not me.

- Whoa!
- Can we get the body out of here, please?

Slowly. Slowly.
Careful now. Easy.

Okay, careful.

- Easy. Is the skin slipping?
- The skin is slipping!

Oh, my.

Bones. Look at that. Bones.

- This is good for me.
- Yeah. Right?

You're kidding. Avatar?

Yep. There were over 10,000 entries
for 500 tickets.

- And you won?
- Yeah. Good fortune.

If I thought that good fortune existed.

And you're taking us?

All friendship is fleeting
and ends in abandonment.

So, why not spend a few good hours
with you guys until it all falls apart?

- Works for me.
- Heck yeah, it does. Nice. Avatar.

I guess you realize that being this excited
about a sci-fi film

will drastically cut down on the
number of women that will sleep with us.

Oh, I'm into the high double digits,
sex-wise, so, not worried.

- You're closing in on 100 women?
- Mmm-hmm.

Mr. Fisher, I'm ready.

Coming, Dr. Brennan.

A hundred women? That's a lot.

Yeah. Hats off to the guy.

Compound depress fracture
to the temporal bone.

More hairline fractures on the femur,
humerus and scapula.

And, here, on the right ilium.

There are puncture marks on the ilium,
iliolumbar and sacroiliac.

So he was beaten and stabbed.
Somebody really went after this guy.

Those injuries didn't kill him.
There's grease in all levels of the bronchi,

which means our victim was alive
when he was tossed into the vat.

Cause of death is drowning and cooking,
or vice versa.

Saturated fats. They're a killer.

Also, carboxyhemoglobin test

shows our victim had
a 17% carbon monoxide level.

Triple the norm and double
what even a heavy smoker would have.

He could've worked with cars,
along the freeway, maybe a toll booth.

Let's review occupational markers.

Acute asymmetrical spinal subluxation,

which in life would've been apparent
in a pronounced leftward lean.

Chronic periosteal reaction
with bone formation over the clavicle.

- Constant pressure on his collarbone?
- Mmm-hmm.

Remodeled bite marks on the tibia.
Probably canine.

Sounds like this guy spent most of his life

carrying something heavy
on his left shoulder while dodging dogs.

Together with the high levels
of carbon monoxide,

I posit that our victim was
a mail carrier.

Someone went postal on this postman.

Steve Rifton. 26 year-old mailman,
reported missing by his wife 12 days ago.

You figured out he was a mailman,
and guess what, he's a mailman.

- Why are you surprised?
- It just surprises me.

It amazes me sometimes
how you figure that stuff out.

- He's a mailman. You figured that out.
- Well, I'm good at my job.

- Wait till you see what I got here. Okay.
- Okay.

- Here...
- All marked in red.

Right. Is Steve Rifton's postal route.
And here...

- Marked in black.
- Right. Is the grease truck route.

See what I've done here?

Yeah. Obviously you've created
a geographic Venn diagram.

No, no, incorrect.

What I've shown here is
they've overlapped in the same area.

You need to google "Venn diagram."

No, you know what I'm thinking,
lonely housewife,

you know,
husband away on a business trip.

Bow-chicka-wow-wow.

What's "bow-chicka-wow-wow"?

You know, boom-clicka-bow-bow.

It's a very common porno plot theme,
which in real life is,

jealous husbands stuffing, you know,
horny mailmen into grease traps.

- Who's that?
- That's the victim's wife.

Well, are you going to tell her about the
clacka-wow-boom-chicka-bow-bow-boom?

No, no. It's bow-chicka-wow-wow,
boom-backa-wow-wow.

It's so unfair. All those years of effort,

Steve finally gets somewhere
and then gets killed.

Can you think of anyone who would
want your husband dead?

You know who Steve is, right?
I mean, was.

- A postman.
- Yeah. A mailman.

That was Steve's job, his vocation.

His avocation was gaming.

What, he was a professional gambler?

Video gaming.

My husband became
the reigning world champ in Punky Pong

after he got a perfect score.
It was on the news.

Did he have any enemies?

Sure. The thousands of people he beat out
for the world title.

It's a very competitive sport.

Agent Booth would never
accept Punky Pong as a sport.

Did your husband have
any trouble at work?

Steve was never going to be
Postmaster General, that's for sure.

He had a very high IQ.

You know how those people can be,
very absentminded.

I don't think that's true at all.

Sometimes, it was tough
to get his attention.

But he was a good man.
Please find whoever hurt him.

Does Dr. Brennan know
you're soaking the body in beer?

Yeast speeds up the putrefaction process.

It's the kinder, gentler way of removing

the last vestiges of flesh
and cartilage from the skeleton.

- Is that beer?
- Yeah.

Yeah. Beats being scraped
or eaten by beetles.

Technically, his remaining cells will be
very drunk before he ceases to exist.

So, hey, Fisher, how long
does this thing take to marinate?

- Few hours.
- Okay, good.

Both of you, come with me. Come on.

Okay. I am no longer able
to discern special effects from live action.

This is 2D.
3D's going to blow your minds.

One of us needs to be in line right now.

Okay, we're up against
freaks and fanatics for the best seats.

So to defeat them,
we must become freaks and fanatics.

Wait, well, I cleared most of my days,

but I am a mental health professional
with responsibilities.

Between me and Hodgins,
we'll have the forensics covered.

What's with the blue people?

- The Na'vi.
- The Na'vi.

I beg your pardon?

Denizens of a lush planet called Pandora.

You boys are not allowed to watch movies
on my monitor.

Angela, this is so much more than a movie.

Yeah. I mean, we're sorry,
but the screen is so big.

You get porn on this thing?

Get out. Out!

All right, listen, I'll take the first shift.
You guys cover.

Everyone e-mail me
your projected availabilities,

and I'll set up a schedule.

- Yep.
- Okay.

Our mailman had a clean record, except
for complaints from this guy Seeger.

Wait. Seeger claims that he trespassed
and was acting creepy around his son.

Well, protecting the well-being
of your own kid,

it seems like
a good reason to kill someone.

I'm not saying that I approve.
I'm just saying, look, I understand.

This is probably the child
who got creeped on. Hello?

- Excuse me? Hello?
- Hello?

Hi, I'm Agent Booth. I'm with the FBI.

- Show him your gun. Kids love guns.
- Let me handle this.

- Can I help you?
- Yeah.

Agent Booth with the FBI.

I'm here to talk to you
about the mailman incident.

That was three months ago.

Right. What was the problem?

Problem was, I come out
and the guy is here, staring at my son.

Dougie is autistic.
He can't watch out for himself in that way.

Well, he's very focused on this game.

Punky Pong.
Dougie plays it most of the day.

We take it away, he shuts down.

So, someone else complain
about the mailman?

Is that why the FBI's involved?

Look, you're aware that this mailman
is the Punky Pong world champion?

You got to be kidding me.

That's why he was checking out Dougie?
The game?

Well, he should've said something.

He just took off.
That's why I made the complaint.

If I was out of line, I'll apologize.

Punky Pong is kind of an old school game,
but it takes a lot of skill.

There are a lot of message boards
and Web sites dedicated to it, even today.

But I found something
on one of them that...

How many people play?

Thousands. They put out a retro-version
on modern platforms like Xbox,

and it's having this whole resurgence.
But what I found...

Why do they only allow world records
to be attained on

a vintage arcade machine?

Well, I guess the purists like it old-school.

But, sweetie, I think you need to see this...

Are there many of those machines?
Because the autistic boy had one.

I think around 20,000 were made.

And there are probably about 1,500
that are still in existence.

But I think this is something that
you really need to see.

This is Billy Gabel.

He was the Punky Pong world champion

before our murder victim
claimed the throne.

I am still the rightful champion.

The manner in which Steve Rifton
stole my crown is shameful!

I will not put up with this.

Steve Rifton, I am the rightful
and eternal world champion,

and you are dead!

Angela, you should've shown me this first.

Well, okay.

I am still the rightful champion.
I will not leave this alone.

Steve Rifton, I am the rightful
and eternal world champion,

and you are dead!

Okay, so video games provide
the outlet for aggression

that more physically taxing sports
also provide.

Come on. Video games are not a sport.

Well, technically, they are a sport,

being a competitive activity,
governed by a set of rules.

Dr. Brennan is correct.

Right. Okay, so you actually think
that this geek is capable of murder,

- because some guy beat his high score?
- Oh, yeah.

If one's instincts are deeply rooted

in the status that they've enjoyed
from the game,

and someone takes that away...

It would just be another geek
lining up to see a space movie.

No. It's not just another space movie.

It's a symbol-laden,
alternate reality, with...

So, this guy was the recognized champion
for nearly 10 years, right?

If he feels that his notoriety was stolen,
he might take revenge.

Sorry.

- This is Dr. Lance Sweets.
- Yo.

Fisher just called from the movie line,
he's got to get back to the lab.

So you have to relieve him,
because I can't.

I understand. It's a fascinating case.

Um...

I'm needed for a consult.
We're through here, right?

No. You're coming with us to see
if this geek is actually psycho or not, pal.

Yeah. Okay.

So, I'm afraid you're going to have to
take care of the patient on your own,

at this juncture, right now.

Sweets, I'm knee-deep in
larvae and dicotyledons here.

I'm sorry, Doctor.

- Bye now.
- Sweets, don't...

Okay.

This is it. This is it.
This is all I got so far.

Please tell me
these all crawled into the dumpster

after the oil was removed
from the restaurant.

No. All the insects had anti-mortem burns,

which means they flew into the oil
while it was cooking.

It's so easy to diet around here.

So, I assumed that the fragment
of cricket exoskeleton

from the skull wound trace had migrated
into the skull from the grease,

but definitely uncooked, which means

my three mysterious particulates
were all transferred from the weapon.

Now, exoskeleton's
from the Gryllidae family,

probably a nocturnal cricket.

The graminoid seed is from a fescue grass.

And I thought the silk-like fiber
was from a tetrapod,

but what kind is indeterminate
at this point.

You're talking really fast.
Are you late for something?

No. No. Why?

Do you want me to go through it all again
more slowly?

No. That's okay.

Do you know where the cricket
and the grass came from?

Yes. Yes. North America.

Great. So Asia's out.

I'm still analyzing what was in the water
where the fescue grew.

But, you know, I can check that
against specific water districts

and narrow down the location further.

Great.

Oh, have you seen Fisher?

Uh, no, no. But I'll go find him.

That's not necessary.
I'm sure he'll turn up.

Yeah. But you know what,
the mass spec is doing its thing,

and the computer really
checks all the districts,

so I'm on auto-pilot here
for at least the next two hours.

And you know Fisher,
how depressed he gets.

So I'll go find him.

- FBI. You Pong Master Bill?
- That's right.

We're here about the threats you made
against Steve Rifton on the Internet.

That guy cheated.

I don't believe he played a perfect game.
I want my title back.

Is this how you make a living,
repairing vintage arcade games?

It's a skill.

I know why he called you,
'cause he knows what he did was wrong.

He's dead. Murdered.

- What?
- Did you kill him?

These are very complex devices,

and it appears you have to machine
many of the parts yourself.

Look, if I was going to kill somebody,
it'd be the ref.

He's the one that accepted
Steve's crappy video tape

as evidence of a perfect game.

And this ref's name is?

Chris Ballinger.
He heads the Gemini Constellation,

the organization that decides
on world records for Punky Pong.

Right after ref declared Steve
world champion,

they went into business together.

Oh. What kind of business?

Going out on tours, signing autographs.
The way I hear it,

the ref is hooked up with some babe,
and now he's doing better than ever.

Maybe he killed Rifton.

Fisher. There you are.

Hey, you got to get going, man.
Cam's looking for you.

It's okay. I got to set this tent up.

Hey, this is good.

This is really good positioning here, man.
Not bad.

You might want to step back. Look out!

Wow, you do this often?

You got to come prepared.

Fresh meat tarts and a box of wine.

Have at it.

Nice.

- Hey.
- Hey.

Are you out of breath, Mr. Fisher?

No. I'm thankful I'm breathing, you know.
Never know when that luxury will end.

So I examined the marks on the pelvis.

They were made by
a hollow, rigid, weapon,

9.4 millimeters in diameter.

Was the same weapon
used on the victim's skull?

That seems unlikely.

Because the cranial injury
was made by a blunt instrument

that left a 12-centimeter fracture,
right there.

Any guesses to what it could be?

Not at all. No. But I did scrape
what looks like metal shavings

from both the cranial fracture
and the stab wounds in the pelvis.

Maybe Hodgins can find a match.

Very good, Mr. Fisher.

All right. I've always been a multitasker.

Multitasker?
What would be splitting your focus?

The head and the pelvis,
completely separate parts of the body.

Great.

Did Hodgins come back with you?
'Cause I haven't seen him.

Yeah, he should be out there.
I got to get back to work here. But he's...

Check the men's room.

Or don't.

Good luck.

There is some excellent
hand-eye coordination here.

This is an activity that can
definitely be considered a sport.

Yeah. There's an intense
competitive edge, skill.

- Yep.
- Stamina.

For something to be a sport, there has
to be some chance of injury. Okay, guys?

Booth. That man dressed
in traditional stripes could be the ref.

Not that kind of ref, okay? FBI.

What can I do for the FBI?

Well, I'd like to ask you a few questions
about Steve Rifton.

Well, I got a few myself.
The guy just disappeared on me.

We had a business deal,
and he left me high and dry.

- FBI, what... He wasn't kidnapped, was he?
- No, he's dead,

which is probably why he didn't keep
his business commitment.

He's dead? Oh, man.

Yes! Take that, Steve Rifton.
I am the reigning empress of Punky Pong!

Yeah!

She must be the babe who replaced Steve.

Wow. You didn't waste any time, did you?

Look, I had business commitments
with Steve.

I had to move quickly,
or I was going to lose a ton of dough.

What's up, Chris?

Dierdre, these people are with the FBI.

Plus, gamers
are predominantly male,

so a lot more are going to
turn out to see her compete, right?

Sexist little twerp.
It's not about looks, it's about ability.

Steve is dead, Dierdre.

We are suspects,
so you don't say a thing to these people.

- Booth?
- Yeah.

The front of this machine
has been scrubbed.

- Blood.
- Okay, that's it.

Machine is coming with us.
Part of a federal investigation now.

Come on, man.

Did you sign this check,
Mr. Ballinger?

Yeah, yes, made out to Steve Rifton.

$12,000, that's a lot of money
for an old arcade machine.

Steve not only got the world record
in Punky Pong on that very machine,

he got a perfect score.

What that machine is there
is a piece of gaming history.

Serious gamers would drop 50 bucks a pop

to play on a unique piece of
equipment like that.

100 if Steve was standing beside it.

Now, that is a conflict
of interest right there.

So you decide if Rifton
gets the world record

and you profit from it.

You've been talking to Billy Gabel,
am I right?

No, we got a tape proving that
Steve Rifton won fair and square.

- Am I right?
- Yeah. That's how we do it.

Now, if you guys want it
for verification, fine.

I'll hand it over.

How about the blood?
Can you explain the blood on the machine?

Kids play the game, all right?
They get anxious, hyper, even.

Sometimes, their noses bleed.

Sometimes, they put a little sauce into it,
and they bash their heads.

Either way, I'm cleaning blood off the floor
every day.

We had a business plan, me and Steve.
Why would I kill him?

I don't know.
Maybe he reneges, you take exception.

Heat of the moment, it's an accident.

I'm not like that. Ask anybody.

What I am like is a guy
who's smart enough to ask for a lawyer.

No problem.

Hey.

- Hey.
- What's with the formal wear?

A little light reading you got there.

What are you, like, a first-year
psychology student or something?

Sort of. Not first year, though.

I'm Lance.

Lance. Very phallic name you got there.

My name's Payne.

And if your name's as accurate as mine,

then we should get better acquainted.

Oh. Well, that's...

I have a girlfriend. I'm sorry.

So? I have a boyfriend.
But he's not coming to this movie.

Is your girlfriend?

No.

- We're just talking, right?
- Yeah.

- Albeit somewhat suggestively.
- So I'll change the subject.

Do you... Do you like my tattoos?

Very much.
I've always enjoyed calligraphy.

What is that, 10 centimeters in length?

- Twelve.
- Great. One of us needs to relieve Sweets.

I got to write a report up on this.

There's a lip here.
I'm thinking a smooth rounded edge.

Okay, Sweets said he had an appointment
he can't miss. So...

Follow me on this.

The mailman is delivering his package
to the lady of the house,

if you catch my drift.

The husband comes home,
finds the nearest blunt instrument,

which is a cast iron frying pan.
And, wham!

The postman who rang twice
never rang again.

Yeah. Yeah. That totally works.

If the husband is a peacock wrangler,

who fights crickets after work
in a creeping red fescue field.

- Peacock?
- Yeah. What I thought was silk,

turns out to be a thread
from the after-feather of a peacock.

You and your particulates
always ruining the day for me.

Okay, look, I'm going to go relieve Sweets.
You just... If anyone asks,

tell them I'm defligistgerizing
Tachymosis Franklangellacum.

What, is that a real thing?
Or are you just trying to be funny?

'Cause that didn't sound real at all.

This is Steve Rifton's winning tape.

How many times have you watched this?

- I'm not watching it. I'm analyzing it.
- And?

Uninterrupted control track,
which means no tampering.

The only thing you see on this tape
is the game playing.

- No hands, no audio, just the screen.
- Mmm-hmm. For three hours.

This perfect game's been downloaded
and watched

hundreds of thousands of times
by expert gaming eyes.

Not one anal-retentive, detail-oriented,
paranoid geek is calling foul, so...

Can I see the last part?

The last stage of the game
is called the kill screen.

Three hours of his life to get to this point,
to flipping the monkey.

Wait, can you play that again?

What do you see?

The injuries the monkey suffers
are the same as the victims.

Oh, my God.

Okay, sometimes, I taste salt in my mouth
when there isn't any.

Okay.

What mental illness do I have?

Do you taste salt now?

You tell me.

Hodgins.

Yeah, yeah.

- Who's your friend?
- This is Tory Payne. This is Jack Hodgins.

Hi. Sweets.

Right. I'm sorry. I should have called you.

There's a sudden opening in my schedule.

This doesn't have anything to do
with Fisher's double digits?

No, no, no, no. Of course not.
That is not this situation.

- Sweets.
- Yeah.

You need anything, just call me.

No, I'm good. I'm good. We're good.

- Bye.
- Bye.

Salt.

Did the blood come from our victim?

No. Like the guy said, it seems to have
come from a number of people,

and it's been totally degraded by a liquid.

- What liquid?
- Mostly cola.

Here's the Mikrosil cast of the wound,
Dr. Brennan.

Well, I don't see any protuberances
on the machine

that correspond to the shape of the wound.

Also, no sign of crickets, grass seed,
or peacock feathers.

The particulates Dr. Hodgins found.

Well, those particulates were
only found in the head wound,

- correct?
- Yes.

Is there anything on this machine
that could explain the groin wound?

There's an access panel at groin level.

- I don't see anything.
- Shall I get an ALS?

I don't see how something
can pop out of there,

stab our victim and then withdraw.

- Are you all right?
- Yeah, that was dumb. Yeah.

I just jammed my hand
against the bottom of the control stick.

The dimensions and the shape
are very similar to

the marks on the victim's pelvis.

The joystick isn't long enough
to pass through

the abdominal wall and the intestines.

Billy Gabel has a whole supply
of this piping at his workshop, uncut.

- Hey, Pong boy.
- Now what?

Get your hands off everything.
We got a search warrant.

Are you guys following me?

"Some babe," Billy?

- You knew her all along.
- I'm not allowed to fix my game?

Billy's the only one
with first generation Qbert parts.

- Yeah.
- Really?

Because it seems to me that
you two have reason to get rid of Steve.

Look, man, I didn't have to kill him.
I got a nice rack, a cute ass.

I can wipe out anyone at Punky Pong.

Right, except for Steve,
which is why you two teamed up.

She's just here for parts.

- Booth?
- Yeah.

These are the types of piping congruent
with the wounds on Fisher's hand

and the victim's groin.

Pipe. Okay, bag that. Bag the pipe.

An actual shrink. That is so hot.

Yeah, but, you know,
my profession doesn't really preclude me

from my fascination
with sci-fi and fantasy. Really?

- Does this tent zipper have a lock on it?
- Hmm?

No, no, no, there's no kind of privacy here.

And, God, you really have fleet fingers.
I got a girlfriend.

Yeah. So you said.

That shouldn't have happened.
Why did that happen?

I know. It's like that one scene in Mimic,
where you're in a hot kiss one minute,

and in the next, you're getting
your brain sucked out by a mutant.

I'm sorry. I got to make a call.

Would it help you get over
this whole girlfriend thing

if maybe you saw my tattoos again?

I... Where are you guys? I need backup.

You told me to get lost. So, now,

I got to test the tensile strength of the...

Please. I need to be released.
Relieved. Please.

Yeah. Sorry, Doctor.
Save me a meat tart. Bye now.

That was an emergency,
family emergency.

This could be an anomaly of the scaphoid.

Oh. Magnify that, please.

Looks like resorption.
What could have caused that?

A cyst. The victim had
De Quervain's Tenosynovitis.

A painful condition caused by
extreme stress on the wrist.

Which means?

Billy Gabel was correct.
Steve Rifton must've cheated.

On the date the videotape was made,

he would not be capable
of playing the game.

Okay.

Brennan found five types of piping
of the same dimensions.

Aluminum, brass, steel,
stainless steel and copper.

I'm testing to see if any of them
shatter under pressure.

So far, they just bend.

Tensile strength is 760 megapascals.

So far, I've tried torsion, impact,

and gotten nothing more
than bending and denting.

So, the pelvic injuries
couldn't have been caused

by the piping we found in Billy's workshop.

- Yeah, I know.
- I'm... I'm...

I'm tattooed on your arm.

We're looking for a more brittle substance.

Ang, it's not what you think.

What I think is that
there's a very large tattoo of me

that's indelibly affixed to your skin.

I'm going to flee right now.

I didn't do it.

Wait a minute. My dad?
My father did that to you?

Let's just say
I think he was trying to prove a point.

I am so going to kick his Texan bad ass.
You need to get that removed.

- Why?
- Because we are not together anymore,

and I don't want you sweating
all over my face.

And I... You need to get that lasered.

Why are you avoiding me, Doctor?
It's just sex.

I know. It's just the combination
of meat tarts and boxed wine

has got me a little queasy.

Sorry.

You okay?

Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. Everything's fine.

This is Fisher.

- Are you a shrink, too?
- Nope. Forensic anthropologist.

He works with the dead.

The dead? Really?

What can I say?

I can relate to the boundary
between this existence

and whatever screaming
cold hell comes next.

Do you want to see my tattoos?

Wow. I love that poem.

I analyzed the games chip.

Since the programming is from the '80s,
it's pretty basic. But still...

One would certainly need to be
in command of the rapid cycling beta level,

as well as being exceptionally dexterous.

Right, which, according to you,
Steve Rifton was not.

Oh.

The computer has played a perfect game.

So, this is the second time

that this machine was played
to the perfect game.

The first time was
Steve Rifton's perfect game.

Well, if Steve Rifton played a perfect game,

he had to have done it
before he developed Tenosynovitis.

Well, that makes sense.

Can you pull up the videotape
showing this perfect game?

Could you freeze it, please?

Yeah. What do you see?

These are not
the same machine.

Sweetie, these look identical.

No. See, here.

This banana has exposed
central and lateral incisors,

as well as a white section
of peeled epicarp.

Right. The teeth and the peel.
Who would notice that?

Me. I'm extraordinarily observant.

So, this is the same machine
that was in the photo?

But not the same one
as in the videotape. See?

No incisors and yellow epicarp section.

Steve Rifton cheated.

He didn't play the winning game
on this machine.

What other machine do you think
he had access to?

Dougie Seeger's. The autistic boy.

This here is Dougie Seeger's machine,

and this is the one that
the ref bought from our murder victim.

We have photographic evidence

that our victim actually played
a perfect game on his own machine.

Maybe that photo there's doctored?

Angela says no.

Who wants to know about peacock poop?

Okay. All right. Not the greatest opening.

But I was looking at this thing all wrong.

I kept asking myself how
the peacock feathers, graminoid seeds

and insect legs get onto
the same blunt weapon.

That is exactly the question
we need answered.

Sometimes, peacock feathers
are in peacock poop

because they preen themselves.

The Indian blue peacock to be precise.

The murder weapon was dipped in
Indian blue peacock excrement?

Pavo cristatus.

Why would the murderer
dip his weapon into peacock excrement?

What if he didn't do it on purpose?
Check this out.

The only two places
with Indian blue peacock

are the United States Botanic Gardens
and the Annapolis Valley Golf Course.

The murder weapon
could have been a golf club.

It would also explain the crickets
and the fescue.

Let's see which one of our suspects
golfs at Annapolis Valley.

Who deserves a little love here?
A little love? Just...

Okay. That's all. I really got to go.
King of the Lab.

Why are you standing over here? What?

- Be careful with it.
- Fisher?

- Yeah.
- Yeah. It bites.

So he pitched his tent
when you didn't?

If by "pitch his tent," you mean...
Yeah, that's what he did.

No, it's not a play toy.

Fisher said that in the short amount
of time that I've been with Daisy,

he pitched his tent with seven women.

Yeah, but come on.

Fisher, he only ever pitches
his tent once with each woman.

You, you're the kind of guy,
you don't just pitch a tent,

you homestead the land.

So, he's the rock star and I'm the farmer?
That's great.

Okay, Sweets.
Let's do the math here, okay?

Fisher's seven women
versus your one Daisy.

- Oh, God.
- Seven one-night stands.

Let's give him the benefit of the doubt
and say that he's had sex what, 21 times.

Okay. Now, rough estimate, how many
times have you and Daisy pitched a tent?

Daisy and I are together
approximately five nights a week,

so that's 10 times a week
over seven months.

- You add in the mornings.
- Whoa!

Silent math.

- You got a number?
- Yeah.

Don't tell me.

- Is it more than 21?
- It's way more than 21.

Quality of the experience.

It's much more important
than the quantity.

Everybody get your tickets out.
Single file.

We are going in.

- No pushing.
- Yes!

- Should we tell Fisher that we're going in?
- That's it.

You're in trouble now. Hold on.

No. Screw him.

But he's going to miss the movie.

Yeah. Well, serves him right.

If you were in my shoes,
you would've gone for it, wouldn't you?

Heck yeah. Are you kidding me?
Did you see those tattoos? Epic.

Come on. There we go.

Why do you want to see my golf clubs?

You're a member
of Annapolis Valley, right?

Yes, for three years.
My golf clubs are in here, somewhere.

I don't get out there as much as I'd like.

Dougie just stands there all day,
waiting for his machine.

I'd like to get it back as soon as possible.

Well, you're very cooperative.

- Booth?
- Yeah.

Graphite shafts. These would snap.

We're looking for a broken shaft.
It would explain the stabbing wound.

Any of them damaged?

No. None of these is the murder weapon.

You think I killed the postman?
Well, why would I do that?

Well, perhaps it's a coincidence that
Mr. Seeger's a member of the golf club.

Perhaps we should check out
the possibilities at the Botanic Garden.

Where's your 3-iron?

Never needed one.

What's a 3-iron?

Guy like you,
course like Annapolis?

You definitely need a 3-iron
to hit that course.

So where is it?

My son only ever had one thing.
One thing his whole life.

Dougie can't even speak.
Do you understand?

He looks at me or my wife,
there's no glimmer of recognition.

But that machine...

It turns on, makes that noise,

and he gets this look on his face.

Maybe you wouldn't notice it
in a regular kid,

but I know what it is, it's joy.

And this guy, this mailman,
he watches Dougie play a perfect game.

And then, next thing you know, he's on TV
saying he played the perfect game.

It's a miracle.

It was too much of a coincidence for me.

You accosted him with your own golf club.
You scared him in telling the truth.

He admitted it.
He said he videotaped Dougie.

But he refused to credit Dougie. I lost it.

You beat him with your golf club,

and when the head broke off,
you stabbed him with it.

The only thing my boy has in this world,
one thing, this man stole it from him.

It wasn't right.

It's not as crazy as you think.
I'm a father so I sort of understand.

Well, I can't imagine
you killing someone

for stealing credit from Parker
for anything.

Well, not kill someone, but threaten them.

Even about something as frivolous
as bragging rights to a video game?

All right, how do we choose
who goes first?

- Right. Okay, go ahead. You go first.
- Why?

'Cause once I start, I ain't going to stop.

Besides, it's not how the dad feels,
it's how the son feels.

Well, we're discussing the murder again?

Someone breaks your kid's heart,
and your own heart rises up, gets fierce,

just a natural response.

There's a flaw in your reasoning.

I believe that due to
my superior learning curve,

I can beat you at this game,

despite your superlative strength
and your remarkable reflexes.

How do I start the game?

What's the flaw in my reasoning?

Well, Dougie Seeger's autistic.

He didn't care.

His heart wasn't broken.

So the dad loved him twice as much.

All right, you don't like
the reasoning of my math.

I've realized recently that
you use a different number system.

Like the Babylonians, which was base-60.

I don't understand your system,
but I can see that it works.

How do I start the game?

- Bones?
- Yes.

- There you go.
- Oh!

A quarter.

Knock them dead.

I will. I will knock you dead.

I will prove you wrong.

- Big words.
- Level one, baby.

- What happened?
- My turn.

No. It's not your turn. What do you mean?
It just stopped.

- That's right. That's it, right there.
- No, I didn't lose.

- Well, you put the quarter in. Game's over.
- No, it's not.

- Maybe it's your energy.
- It's... The machine broke.

Maybe it's your math. So my turn.

- It's not my math.
- My turn.

ENGLISH - US - SDH