Bones (2005–2017): Season 6, Episode 11 - The Bullet in the Brain - full transcript

Prisoner on the move!

Ready to transport!

NEWS ANCHOR: An angry crowd
is gathering downtown

where prosecutor-turned-killer

Heather Taffet
is expected to arrive

at the courthouse
for a final appeal.

Pull out!

Also known as the "Gravedigger,"

Taffet was sentenced to death
for a single kidnap-murder,

after escaping conviction
for a string of similar crimes.

Are you nervous,
Dr. Sweets?



You seem uncomfortable.

I'm fine.
I'm merely here to comply

with your request
for psychological counseling

during transport.
Are you comfortable?

Right.

I do appreciate
the company.

On death row,
one spends so much time alone,

it... tests the sanity.

Oh, I assure you,

you are sane,
technically speaking.

And you're not going to
convince me of otherwise,

if that's your plan
to win your appeal.

So young.

You remind me of a little boy



dressed up in his father's suit.

Are you saying I remind you
of one of your victims?

You remind me
of all of them, Lance.

Listen, take care
of those people

right over there,
in that area.

She's crazy!
You said we could stay!

There she is.

These people
are so unreasonable.

Most of them
are here in protest.

There's a remote possibility

your conviction
could be overturned.

Oh, they're deflecting,
Dr. Sweets.

You should know that.

They know I'm not the only one
responsible for my crimes.

Okay, 84. Change of plans.

They're bringing her
around the front.

Into all of this?

We got no choice.
That parking garage--

the gate's closed;
it's not opening.

What?
Let's go. Move it in.

What's wrong?

Change of plans.

Go, go, go, go, go,
go, go, go, go.

Hey, hey, hey, hey!
Back it off!

Back it off, back it off,
back it off!

I'm the lucky one, Lance.

If my appeal falls through,
I die.

But you're forced
to live every day

as a repressed,
immature imbecile

spouting canned theories
to people who don't really care.

Everyone knows who's the
weakest link in the chain.

You testify at my appeal
and I'm gonna walk.

Step out of the van.

You okay?
Yeah.

All right.
What'd she say?

Nothing worth repeating.

Nothing worth repeating,
all right.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!
Down, down, down, down!

Let me see.
Let me see!

Hold on.

All right,
just push everybody back.

Everybody back, behind the line.

Back 'em up!
Booth! Booth.

I'm so glad you're okay.

Are there any other victims?

Just Heather Taffet.

Did you see the shooter?

No. I was looking
out in the crowd.

The next thing I know,
her head was gone.

Where's Sweets?
He's right over there.

He was standing
right next to her.

We're bringing in
the trauma guy.

Don't just stand there!

We got a shrink
who needs shrunk

and a headless child-killer
in a puddle of brains.

Well, who's gonna take
the witness statements?

Does it matter?

That shot came out of nowhere.

Straight from God.

Oh, excuse me.
Don't touch those.

Cam talked to
the medical examiner.

He agreed that
the skull fragments

can go to the Jeffersonian.
Okay, fine.

All right. You get the body.
She gets the head.

Where are you going?

Over here.

Right there.

There it is.

Damn! That is a
powerful rifle.

So if it, uh...

If the bullet
impacted here

and penetrated her head

there...
Where do you think

it came from?

Somewhere up there.

♪ Bones 6x11 ♪
The Bullet in the Brain
Original Air Date on January 27, 2011

♪ Main Title Theme ♪ The Crystal Method

Are you sure that damage was
caused by a single bullet?

When a faster-than-average
bullet hits the brain,

the shockwaves
can cause an explosion.

It's called hydrostatic shock.

So, cause of death:
exploded head.

Behold-- the granddaddy
of all bullets

was retrieved from the scene.

That is not a bullet,
that's a blob.

Yeah. That's an understatement.

Look at that.
Looks like a giant piece of...

gum.

Well, it's awfully big.

Beyond that,
I can't estimate caliber.

Looks like pure copper, though.

Uh, yeah. Doesn't
mean that it is.

I mean, I'll check it out.

Wait, the Gravedigger
was wearing a suit?

Dr. Sweets got
some spatter.

Is he okay?

He's a little shaken up,
but he's fine.

Wasn't Booth there, too?

And Caroline Julian.

That's a fair number of
trained eyeballs at the scene.

Booth should have this
under control in no time.

You'd think
when a highly trained,

world-class sniper
witnesses an assassination,

we'd have it
all sewn up.

I could say the same thing about
the United States Attorney.

I'm too short
to see a damn thing.

What bothers me is, I
didn't hear the shot.

It was a loud crowd.
It wasn't that loud.

A silencer?

Nah, must've
been long-range.

What about
the roof next door?

Well, I checked
with SWAT.

There were two
sharpshooters on the roof,

with standard-issue M24s.

You think it was one
of the good guys?

We'll check the rifles, but
we couldn't find any casings.

What about those microphones
police put up

all over town to pick up
the sound of gunfire?

Oh, right-- you mean the
Shot Spotter system?

Yeah, I put a request
in to Metro;

they're gonna send the
recordings to the Jeffersonian.

I also called
in a witness.

Who?
James Kent.

The father of those poor boys
the Gravedigger buried alive?

He was there watching.

There is a long list of people
who wanted this woman dead.

You know who leaps to my mind?
Dr. Brennan's father.

Max?

He took a shot
at the woman before.

Maybe he got nervous
when he heard "appeal."

Thought he had to come
keep you people safe.

Like a lifeguard.

I'll tell you what.
Supposedly, he's in Mexico,

but I'll put him
on the list.

And while you're at it,
put yourself on there, too.

Me? I was standing
right next to you.

Don't worry, cherie.

I told you,
I couldn't see a thing.

You got to be kidding me.
Come on! Huh?

TAFFET
...repressed, immature imbecile

spouting canned theories
to people who don't really care.

Everyone knows who's
the weakest link in the chain.

You testify at my appeal,
and I'm gonna walk.

...testify at my appeal,
and I'm gonna walk.

Yeah?

Hey.
Hey.

You okay?

I'm fine.

Um, I should be asking
you if you're okay.

Yeah, I'm fine.

You're the one who had
to take the shower.

You know, I can acknowledge that
I witnessed a traumatic event,

but for some reason, be it
textbook disassociation

or the onset of PTSD,

I feel relief.

Well, you survived.

Yeah, it's more
than that, though.

I'm just... I'm happy

that Heather Taffet can't
hurt anyone anymore.

I get that.
Um...

a thought occurred to me.

You... you don't think that shot
was meant for me, do you?

I mean, she asked
for me to be there.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

Sweets...

whoever did this
was aiming at one thing:

Taffet's head.

He got off a clean shot.
You got me?

Mm-hmm.
All right. So, hey.

Take the day off, all right?
Go get some rest.

You don't need my help
with the investigation?

If I do, you'll be
the first one I call.

All right.
Thanks, Agent Booth.

Mm-hmm.
Cool.

Oh, could you
close the door?

Yeah.
Thanks.

Everyone knows who's
the weakest link in the chain.

You testify at my appeal
and I'm gonna walk.

So, the bullet weighed 12 grams
and was made of pure copper.

Hodgins found only
trace amounts of lead.

This is the base
of the bullet?

Yeah.
What's left of it.

What are these grooves?

Cam says they aren't related
to internal ballistics,

but that's all we know.

Well, is there
anything you can do

to determine the original
form of the bullet

before it was fired?

I think you mean,
can I unsquash it?

Yes. It needs unsquashing.

Okay, well, I can render
an educated guess

based on metallic properties
and total weight.

Will that help?

Yes.

Okay.

Do you think my father
killed the Gravedigger?

Whoa.

Where did that come from?

Booth put him
on the suspect list.

It's not so far out
of the realm of possibility.

Heather Taffet
was headed to an appeal.

My father would never
allow her to go free

out of concern for my safety.

Honey, Max didn't do this.

Besides, isn't he
in Thailand?

Don't worry about this.

I'm sure there's plenty
of people who want

to kill the Gravedigger
right here at home.

27 convicted killers
she put away as a prosecutor,

now on parole.

Then there's 22 family
members of her victims,

86 attorneys
she's faced in court.

One of them works
right next to the courthouse.

Agent Booth,
a James Kent is here to see you.

I hope I didn't
keep you waiting.

Oh!

No. That's okay.

Have a seat.

Oh, I saw you today,
at the crime scene.

Yeah, lot of the victims'
families were there.

We all stood together.

Some of us were
going to testify.

I guess that won't be necessary.

Nope. Nope.

How do you feel about that?

How do I feel about that?

This woman buried
my children alive.

I couldn't even identify
their bodies.

That's how I feel about that.

I sympathize
with your loss, Mr. Kent,

but most witnesses
that were there today--

they ran
when they saw Taffet shot.

Yeah. So?

So you just stood there.

I just stood there
because I didn't know

what the hell was going on.

Or because you knew it was over.

Are you nuts? How--

You had a video camera
in your hand.

Yeah.

I thought that's why
you brought me in here.

Like you said, I was
standing right there,

I got it all on tape.

Here's my paper
on how to reconstruct

gunshot injuries
to the skull.

I prefer to create
an accurate representation

of hydrostatic shock.

So the reconstruction can
show us how the head exploded.

Yes.

For ease
of examination,

the base should rotate.
We're going to put

The Gravedigger's head
on a lazy Susan?

Yes.

Brennan.

Hello, Tempie, it's me.

Dad, wh-where are you?

I'm in Maui.

On vacation,
taking a, a little rest

for that weary soul of mine.

But I heard
all about that nasty old hag.

Are you referring
to the Gravedigger?

She's all over the news.

So you're not the killer?

What?! No.

Well, you're
on the suspect list.

Well, you don't think
I did it, do you?

Well, unless you can provide
quantifiable evidence,

I can't rule it out.

I can provide evidence.

That you were in Maui
at the time of the murder?

Uh, no, I was, uh...
I'm in New Hampshire.

Well, I-I met this woman
in Cape Cod,

but she had a husband.

I'm sure you can guess the rest.

How can I believe you?

You lied to me just now.

Hey, uh, when
you get a second,

I have to show
you something.

Dad, I'm sorry, I have to go.

Angela has something to show me.

Okay, okay.

Listen, I love you, all right?

And tell everybody
I didn't do it.

Bye.

I definitely found the moment
of impact right there.

Mm!

Yeah, the shot is

definitely coming
from the south, southwest.

I don't hear anything.

Yeah, and the shooter
was definitely far away.

Hi.
Hey.

What are you doing here?

I thought you were
putting a head together.

I have something important
to show you.

That's the bullet?

.338 Lapua Magnum.

Yes, Angela did

a rendering based
on the classic

Sears-Haack
aerodynamic profile.

It shouldn't be pure copper,
and it shouldn't look like that.

Well, what if it does
look like that?

This is a custom job.

This was machine-made by hand.

A handmade bullet?

That doesn't sound like
an angry father to me.

This was a professional hit.

I just keep thinking how awful

it would be to watch
a baby become a child

and then lose that child to
somebody like Heather Taffet.

When we find out who shot her,
I'm sending a gift basket.

Hodgins...

What?

That's taking it a little far,

don't you think?

The gift basket?

No, honey, your attitude.

You're suggesting that you'd
reward a killer for killing.

In this case, I would.

I'd drive him to Mexico.

Angie, Heather Taffet
buried me alive.

What do you
want me to say?

I get your point.

Thank you.

Your lack of sensitivity
concerns me a bit, though.

Maybe you should
talk to Sweets.

Ooh, I need to.

I got to check in on him,
make sure he's doing okay.

No, that's not what I mean.

The father of my child
cannot condone

a full-out assassination.

Can he?

The baby's on my side.

Oh, God.

The entry wound
is fairly clean

and is located here
at the left parietal,

two centimeters
above the suture.

The exit wound, however,
that's another matter.

It appears to be here,
at the right parietal,

but it's hard to tell.

Mm, well, it should
still help us determine

the trajectory, so let's
take a look at the images.

Here we go.

So how tall is
Heather Taffet?

Uh, five-foot-four.
Okay.

Wouldn't wind
be a factor?

No, not this time.

It hit the wall at over a
thousand feet per second.

Yeah, but, I mean,
it would have to be,

to clear the crowd
and the van.

Yeah, well, that is
not much of an angle.

That is one long shot.

I don't think Max
could do this.

I think Booth
should take him off that list.

Sing it, sister.

Uh, Max!

How are you, Angel?

Oh, i-it's Angela.

Angela, of course,
but you're still an angel.

Uh, I think I know
why you're here.

Well, it's not
to clear my good name.

That, that ship sailed
a long time ago.

I really don't care what anybody
thinks, unless it's my daughter.

Dr. Brennan went
to go see Agent Booth.

But she should be back
any minute.

Well, you know what? I'll catch
up with her in the parking lot.

But just so I know...

Booth and Tempie--
ar-are they...?

Actually, no.

Mm.

I don't believe this.

So... Booth has fallen in
love with another woman?

Her name is
Hannah Burley.

Well, that's a
familiar name.

She's a news correspondent.

Oh, yeah-- oh, right,
right, that girl.

Well, you're a lot
prettier than that.

And smarter, too.

I know.

I'm sorry, honey.

Why are you apologizing?
Well, I just always thought

that you and Booth would
get over the nonsense

and, and settle down.

I don't want to talk about it.

Oh, wait, before I forget...

Your plane ticket?

Well, there's other
receipts, too,

there's for a motel and,
and, uh, restaurant receipts

and a ski pass.

You didn't kill the Gravedigger.

No, I didn't, and I'm not
going to sleep at night

until you believe me.

I do believe you,
but you need to talk to Booth.

Oh, I don't,

I-I don't want to get
all mixed up with the FBI.

I mean, y-you believe me,
so it's not my word.

It's yours.

Okay, just tell Max that
"drunk in New Hampshire"

is not an official alibi.

But he has receipts.

Cash receipts.

We all know that Max
has creative alibis.

My father is an
average marksman.

Do you think he's physically
capable of doing this?

All people have
a different threshold

for the ability
to kill.

No, I'm talking
about the skill.

I don't know.

We never know
the full truth about Max.

So he remains on
the suspect list?

Hey, look, I know
that this is hard

for you, but I have
to consider every option.

Okay, Bones?

So, the Gravedigger
was standing

right about...
here, okay?

I'm her,
you're Sweets.

Wh-Why am I Sweets?

Because, Bones,
just be Sweets.

Okay, well, so, maybe like this?
Back up.

Around there?

Wow, are you sure
this is right?

It's very close.

According to the
diagram, 1.2 meters.

Judging by the cone
of trajectory,

the shot came from
somewhere up there.

That makes sense.
Statler & Harmon.

What's that?
The law offices on the top two floors

of that building.

One of our suspects
works there--

this guy--
Harvey Morster.

Served with the Seabees
in Gulf One.

Tested as an expert marksman.

Is he a lawyer?
He was.

Now he's a paralegal.

Taffet had him disbarred.

So what do you think?

Is he our sniper?

Harvey Morster
didn't do it.

He has an alibi?

I didn't ask.

Then how do you know?

You just know.

This is amazing.

Each one of these dots
represents a microphone?

Yeah,

fine-tuned to ignore
any ambient noise

yet pick up any gunfire.

That's the shot?

The acoustic sensor
has a mile radius.

So all we know is
that a gun was fired

somewhere within
that range.

Right.

Now, choose a second microphone.

Really?

That's so far from
the crime scene.

Booth said it was
a long shot.

Okay.

Wow, you're right.

Okay, now all we have to do
is draw another circle

and triangulate.

And where the
two intersect

is the source
of the shot?

Yeah.

Nearly 1,500 yards
from the site.

Is that even possible?

I don't know.

Must be why the cops called
these results inconclusive.

Okay, well, I'll compare
it to the trajectory

and see what we get.

It might take me a while, but
I think I can get an address.

Look, he is all wrong.

We're looking
for a trained sniper.

Will you tell her?

He tested as an
expert marksman.

Okay, maybe he made a
good shot once in a while,

all right, but he was
all sweaty and nervous.

You can't exonerate a man
for excessive perspiration.

Sweets...

help me out here.

Uh, I-- wha-what do I know?

What do you know?

You know the profile.

Tell her.

Okay, Agent Booth is right.

Most professionally trained
snipers are methodical,

controlled, clean, patient,
um, willing to kill

under morally acceptable
circumstances.

No, no, no,
a sniper does not

make the morality call,
all right?

He's just the hand
that pulls the trigger.

With the faith
that the target is a threat

to innocent life.
Right.

Is this a revenge killing?
It's more than that.

A rookie sniper

would go through
a transformative process

as he struggled to develop
his professional identity.

I believe that you're looking

for a person whose process
was destroyed.

Good work, Sweets.

Good but slow.

Oh, come on, you can't blame
a guy who's not on his A-game.

You need some time
to get your head together?

Really, I'm fine.

Okay? Even under
the best circumstances,

my A-game deserves a C.

Come on, that's not true.

I'm good, really.

The lab compared
the Shot Spotter recording

to the trajectory.

We got an address.

Ms. Leveque, FBI.

Ms. Leveque?
Open up. FBI.

Oh, there's a doorbell.

Okay. Do you know the woman
that lives here is an escort?

You mean a prostitute?

Doorbell.

I don't think she's here.

That's okay.

What, now you're picking locks?

Got a warrant.

Anybody home?

I don't...

I don't see the courthouse.

Yeah... that's because you
don't have one of these.

Well...

if there's
a clear shot to be had,

only the best sniper in the world
would be able to pull it off.

Are you referring to yourself?

Because you do hold
the official record

for the longest shot--
almost a kilometer.

I'm not referring to myself,
and it was...

it was over a kilometer.

Yeah.

It's a clear shot.

Max couldn't have
pulled this off.

Looks like this table
was dragged over here.

Do you smell something?

Like what?

Like cleaning
solution.

No. Yeah.

The marks.

Tell you what, the shooter...

dragged this table over here...

to get it in position.

Yeah.

You know, this shooter
didn't pick this...

this apartment
just for the view.

He definitely did it...

for the challenge.

He had something to prove.

He was a sniper, and so are you.

Elite members of a closed
community always intersect.

You must know the man
who did this.

I do.

Booth...

I think you need
to see this.

Whoa...

TAFFET ...my
appeal falls through, I die.

But you're forced
to live every day

as a repressed,
immature imbecile,

spouting canned theories to
people who don't really care.

Everyone knows who's
the weakest link in the chain.

You testify at my appeal,
and I'm gonna walk.

All right.

No...

Hi. Hey.

What are you...
What are you doing out of the lab?

I need to talk to you.
By the way, good to see Okay.

you're okay, you know?
We were worried about you.

No reason to be worried.

Cool. I just need your, uh,
professional opinion on something.

All right.

I've been having some
pretty strong feelings

about what happened yesterday.

I mean, am I wrong
to be happy?

Happy that
the Gravedigger's dead?

Yes.

I mean, I'm
completely okay with it.

In fact,

it's the best thing that's
happened to me all week.

But Angela, I don't know, she thinks
I've, like, gone off the deep end.

Right.

Um, no, no.

What you're experiencing
is not uncommon.

The victim of a crime often feels
ambivalent in the aftermath.

They have feelings

of guilt or relief or...

even a sense of...
let's not call it pleasure...

Let's call it pleasure.

...pleasure when the
perpetrator meets justice.

Do you believe that Heather
Taffet got what she deserved?

Do you?

I do.

Me, too.

I feel much better, Sweets.

But you felt good
in the first place.

I felt good the
Gravedigger was dead. Oh.

I feel double good
my wife was wrong.

Thanks, buddy.
You're a big help.

If you think so.
I'll see you later.

All right.

I have not seen
any evidence that proves

that the same person
who shot the Gravedigger

also killed
this victim.

Are you suggesting that the sniper
was looking for a place to shoot

and just so happened upon a dead
girl in a bathtub full of lye?

Your Socratic question
constitutes a powerful argument.

Confirmed-- Tracy Leveque,
escort, age 29.

Nobody knew she was gone.

And this is
not lye.

What is it?

Do we know what
killed Ms. Leveque?

Uh, the atlas
is fractured.

Maybe... she broke her neck
when he threw her in the tub.

No-- a thin object,
like a knife,

was inserted between
the cranium and the atlas,

severing her head
from her spine.

Sounds pretty gruesome.

Actually, it would
be quite effortless.

Stab, twist.

Should I create a mold
to match the weapon?

Yes, please.

Has Hodgins determined
time of death?

Hodgins... whoo!

What is going on?

Goggles, goggles.

Crystal Cloggo Super Strength
Drain Clog Remover

is caustic stuff.

Wow. Good old-fashioned
Cloggo, huh? Yep.

It's a combination
of sodium hypochlorite,

sodium hydroxide,
potassium hydroxide,

otherwise known
as caustic potash.

It's a good thing
the experiment is over,

because otherwise, I'd need
some more ventilation in here.

Why are we doing a dangerous
and irrelevant experiment?

Dr. Brennan asked me to help
ascertain time of death

by determining how fast the
Cloggo dissolved Ms. Leveque.

Now, used according
to directions, right,

this stuff dissolves
a two-ounce hot dog

every nine minutes.

There's a hot dog in there?
Yeah, was.

Hey, how much did
the victim weigh?

Uh... 1,900-ounce escort
minus the bones

divided by a two-ounce
hot dog every nine minutes

equals... 144...

Six days.

Six days? The hearing wasn't in
the paper until the day before.

Then how did he
know about it?

I keep coming back to an inside job.
I haven't ruled that out.

Forget the suspect list.
Let's call in every person

east of the Mississippi
who could pull off the shot.

Regardless of alibi,
I already did.

How many men
are we talking?

Six.
Know any of them personally?

Every single one of them.

Sorry, cherie.

I hate to startle you
when you're traumatized.

No. Agent Booth asked
me to look into

the psychological background
of our six suspects.

But here you are with a look
on your face

like a hamster is running
around in your head.

I knew it.

I told that judge that bitch was
going to mess with your mind.

...my appeal
falls through, I die.

But you're forced
to live every day

as a repressed,
immature imbecile,

spouting canned theories
to people who don't really care.

Everyone knows who's
the weakest link in the chain.

You testify at my appeal
and I'm going to walk.

You know what she
was doing, don't you?

Her strategy was to shake me.

To the bone, cherie.

By the time
she got done with you,

you couldn't get up
on that stand if you tried.

You're right. I couldn't.

Makes sense.

I've never been so scared...

...as when her head...
flew to pieces.

Don't tell anybody...

I messed myself.

You did?

We're all just people, cherie.

You're an expert with the
Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Now, who's Heather Taffet?

Dead serial killer.

You're damn straight.

Dr. Brennan has her head
all rigged up,

spinning like a Christmas tree.

It's over.

She can't get
to any of us anymore.

We know Tracy Leveque
was stabbed

at the top of the spine,
severing the spinal column.

The killer used his left hand,
twisting counterclockwise.

Left hand? You said he took
the shot with his right.

I did, but it's very rare
for a shooter to stab someone.

This would not be
an intimate killing.

The maneuver was fast
and clinical.

Very little blood.
Oh, like Israeli close-quarter combat.

We believe the weapon may be
a heavy-bladed hunting knife.

We're looking for
an ambidextrous,

Israeli-trained,
big game hunter,

is that what you're saying?
Precisely.

Whoa, whoa, whoa.
That narrows it down.

Okay-- William Preston--
Dallas, HRT.

Knew him in Afghanistan.

Bill.

Seeley.

Black, right?

- Sure.
- Yeah.

You know, Bill,
I really hate

to bring you in under
these circumstances.

No, you don't.
You want me here.

If you didn't, I'd be at a
bank robbery in Austin right now.

Come on, Bill,
this isn't personal.

Your training is
well-established.

You know the machinery;
you hunt.

Yeah, you know what's
well-established is,

you don't like me.
No, nobody likes you, Bill.

Yeah, well,

I have an alibi, Seeley.

I was on assignment.

Come on, you and I
both know who did this.

All right,
I don't blame you.

He was a friend.

He was my mentor
for ten years.

I'm not going to be the one
to point the finger.

Jake Broadsky
is not a suspect.

Come on.

Who else could have made
that shot?

It's him, or it's you.

He was your instructor--
close-quarter combat. Yeah.

And then we went together
to Dallas HRT.

He was like a brother to me

up until the day he disappeared.

You still communicate with him?

No. Do you?

No.
As far as I know, no one does.

Yeah. Well,
we'd all like to think

that he's retired
somewhere, happy.

But guys I know--
other snipers--

sometimes they'll
get a bill in the mail.

Stuff we know he likes.

Copper.

Yeah. Like that.

Stealing an identity--
that would be nothing to him.

He'd get a kick out of it.

You know he can hunt.

You know he loves the kill.

You know I'm right.

Jacob Ripkin Broadsky--

he trained counter-
snipers in the Gulf,

then he moved to a hostage
rescue unit in Texas.

A year later,
his superior accused him

of jumping the trigger
in a hostage situation.

He killed someone?
No.

It was a masked gunman, but
he didn't have the green light.

We call that murder.

Broadsky maintained

he was acting
within his job description.

He said he did
what he did to, quote:

"save the life of the hostage."

A lot of guys agreed with him.

What about the officials?

He disappeared before
any charges could come down.

His unit began calling him
"the Hand of God."

Implying sole judgment

and the ability to act
outside of human control.

That wasn't his job; he should
have waited for a green light.

Well, he thought
he was doing the right thing.

You're glad he did it,
aren't you?

No, I don't condone it.

But you admire it.

You hold two beliefs at once.

It's called
cognitive dissonance.

No, I understand him.

I'm busy. Talk fast.

What happened to you?

Caroline hollered at me.

We got a hit
on a possible alias-- Gary Gray.

He's a famous British sniper.

Who died a hundred years ago,

but somehow created
a bank account yesterday

to cash a check
for two million dollars,

hours after the murder.

Who wrote him the check?
Don't know.

But James Kent withdrew
the same amount yesterday.

James Kent-- he's the father
of two of the victims.

Two million dollars is the
ransom she wanted for his boys.

I didn't kill
anyone, Agent Booth.

Right, but you paid the man
who did. Do you see that?

That's your signature on the
front of the cashier's check.

Am I right? Two million dollars
you paid him? Your hit man

killed an innocent woman.

The Gravedigger
wasn't the only victim.

Tracy Leveque--
she never hurt anyone.

I didn't know anything
about that.

She was killed
for access to her apartment.

Then he did that on his own.

Who's he?
I don't know.

You're under arrest for the
conspiracy to commit murder.

If I were you,
I would cooperate.

I don't know his name.

What does he look like?

I didn't see him!

I dropped
a check off

in a restroom in a public park.

You never met him?

Not face-to-face.

How did you find him?

I didn't. He found me.

I... I got a phone call.

A man asks me
if I'll pay him

two million dollars
to kill the Gravedigger.

He chose the victim?
Yeah.

And he set the price.

And I thought, hell, yeah.

I mean, he's-he's doing
a service to society.

The Gravedigger
killed my two sons.

I paid him.

I was happy to.

A witness saw Broadsky
on the news.

He swears it's the same guy
he saw in a gun shop off I-64.

It looks like
the middle of nowhere.

This guy likes
the middle of nowhere.

He likes to hide,
he likes to hunt.

History suggests

that the notorious assassin
seeks foreign asylum.

No, those guys are on the run.

This guy-- he's on the offense.

Is it possible
to search the area?

Tree canopy blocks
the view from the air.

Property ownership.

Right. Thanks.

So, I ran a check

on the 60 private plots
of land in that area.

What if we recruit volunteers
for a ground search?

Like a grid search
for evidence?

Search for missing
children, yeah,

but the search
for a man who killed...

Public Enemy Number One,
I doubt it.

What is it?

Broadsky purchased land--
ten acres off the highway.

Under the name
of another sniper?

"Seeley Booth."

This is between me and him.

Seeley Booth!

Let me see the hands, Jake.

Where's your gun?

That's not why I'm here.

I just want to talk.

It's good to see you.

It's over, Jake.
We both know it's over.

So, what do I have to do
to bring you in?

You can't do anything.

Not without a warrant.

I'm watching you, too, Seeley.

Why did you kill
the Gravedigger?

I didn't.

But whoever did, I applaud him.

What about Tracy Leveque?

She didn't do
anything to anyone.

Collateral damage.

Maybe she was warned
to stay away,

and maybe she didn't listen.

I should go.

I just wanted to say hello.

Wait, Jake...
we can work something out here.

We're the same, Seeley.

We both want
to do the right thing.

Stop... Jake.
I'm warning you.

Go ahead.

Jump the fence.

Don't wait for the warrant.

I don't need a warrant.

This land belongs
to Seeley Booth.

Go ahead.

Take the shot.

I've known you for
a long time, Seeley.

You never could
go for the kill,

not if there was
any doubt.

He just took off. I wasn't ready
for the terrain. I...

Chasing after him,
I fell and hurt my leg

and dislocated my shoulder
from the explosion.

You should have waited for me.

Well, I thought
I could talk to him.

The Jake I know--

he would definitely have done
the right thing.

Stop beating yourself up.

What? He destroyed
all the evidence

when he booby-trapped
his trailer.

We still have a case.

If we'd have sent in
the cavalry, guns blazing,

there'd be a disaster
on our hands.

I just didn't want
to let anyone down.

We may not
have him tonight,

but we will-- I promise, cherie.

Sounds exciting as hell.
I wish I'd been there.

Probably best you weren't, Max.

I did think
this could have been you.

Well, it's nice to know
I'm still suspected.

I appreciate that; thank you.
Thank you very much.

Look, there's my cab.

I'm on my way to the airport.

I'll walk you out.

Always a pleasure, Max.

The pleasure was all mine.

I've got paperwork.

See you.
Right.

Uh, Tempie,
I want to thank you.

For what?

Well, I came here because

I wanted you to believe me
and, and you did.

You were exonerated
by the facts.

But even if you weren't, I...

I did believe you.

You did?

Well, that's all
I wanted to hear.

Oh, wait,
I have something for you.

I almost forgot.

A conch shell from Maui?

I thought you were
in New Hampshire.

Well, actually,
it's, uh, ceramic.

I got it this afternoon
on the mall

in front of
the Natural History.

They, uh,
painted your name.

What are these holes?

For toothbrushes.

Listen.

It works.

I know what you're gonna say.

That it is not the ocean.

It is the blood rushing
through your head.

You always told me
that it was the ocean.

Good-bye, honey.

Bye.

Here we go!

To the airport.