CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (2000–2015): Season 1, Episode 22 - Evaluation Day - full transcript

Unit 584-Adam.

Please be advised
we're in pursuit of a BMW

going southbound
on Interstate 15

at a high rate of speed.

You are cleared for maneuver.

Driver

roll down
your window.

Let me see your hands.

Don't shoot.

Don't shoot.

Don't shoot.
Don't shoot.



Dispatch, Unit 584

is a Code Four.

We got a couple
of girls joyriding.

Rookie, clear
the vehicle.

4-19?

More like a four.

"Ichabod was horror-struck

on perceiving
that he was headless."

...Sleepy Hollow.

Vitreous humor
is glazed over.

What does that mean?

That means that,
six to eight hours ago

somebody lost their head.

Then... somebody
lost their head.



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¶ Who... are you?

¶ Who, who, who, who?

¶ Who... are you?

¶ Who, who, who, who?

¶ I really wanna know

¶ Who... are you?

¶ Oh-oh-oh
¶ Who...

¶ Come on, tell me who are you,
you, you ¶

¶ Oh, you!

Sayonara.

Well, well, what a switch.

You actually
beat us here.

It's evaluation day.

Hmm.

Where's Warrick?

He's working
spillover--

personal thing--

kid he knows
who's in trouble.

Oh, that's right.

He told me. I forgot.

Well, maybe we should
be evaluating you.

You're a riot, Alice.

You and I
are going

to work the head case.

Goody.

Nick, another homicide.

4-19, 40 miles
outside of Baker.

Okay. Good. I'm on it.

Sara, you go
with him.

Yes. Road trip.

I'm going
to go switch boots.

Cath, I'll catch up

with you.

I'll meet you
at the autopsy.

Head-topsy.

Sit down.

Look, Grissom

I know this is a bad time
to bitch to the boss

but, uh, I've been a CSI Level 3
for nine months now.

I was a CSI before Warrick.

Warrick works d.b.'s solo.

Why can't I?

Repeat after me.

Silk, silk, silk.

"Silk, silk, silk"?

What do cows drink?

Milk.

Cows drink water.

They give milk.

A simple riddle.

Common sense disguised

in a puzzle of words,
but an excellent barometer

for evaluating
someone's readiness.

Look, I'm not one of your
suspects you can trick, okay?

If I'm not ready, be a man--
tell me I'm not ready.

You're not ready.

You know why I took this job?

Honestly?

I wanted to pack heat

walk under
the yellow tape

be the man...

but mostly, because I want you
to think I'm a good CSI.

And that's the reason
I have to hold you back.

Anybody who's great at anything,
Nick

does it for their own approval

not someone else's.

¶ I'll speak for you...

¶ When you're gone...

Uh, voice sound familiar?

Kind of sounds
like the daytime coroner.

Gary Telgenhoff?

Yep. A songwriter
in his off-time.

What do you think?

It sucks.

Hmm.

Hey, I just filed
for divorce.

I'm feeling
a little confident.

I guess.

I like it.

So, where's the head?

Well, police I.D.'d him at the
scene when they ran his plates

compared the DMV
head shot to the head.

Grissom, Catherine,
meet Victor DaSilva.

What did this?

Hard to tell
without making a mold.

Fatal blow?

Looks like it.

Man,
look at those chopping wounds

on the jawbone.

They almost
look like

practice swings.

It could've been dark.

Bad aim, maybe?

Definitely a crime of passion.

You think a female
could do this?

I could have.

Scared of you.

If you want to know

what exact tools were used

we're going
to need to boil the head.

Really?

You want me to prepare it?

Sure. What, uh,
additive do you put

in your boil?

Laundry detergent.
Works great.

It's like peeling off

a rubber
Halloween mask.

Excellent.

Well, I'm out of here.

I'm going to be with Brass;
see if I can get anything

on those
Victoria's Secret girls.

Where's your Crock-Pot,
Doc?

Mr. Moore.

My grandson
won't take my calls.

He'll only talk to you.

I think James
called me tonight

because he thought
I could help him.

That was a nice thing
you did

giving him your pager number
when he went away

but he should
be calling me.

I'm his grandfather.

I deserve
to know what happened.

James is all right

but, uh, there
was a big brawl

at the detention center.

James was at
the wrong place

at the wrong time.

What's my grandson
looking at?

If he talks,
he'll be dead
inside a month.

Now, if he keeps quiet,
the D.A. will put
the squeeze on him.

He'll probably end up
in the Big House.

You could lose your
boy forever then.

Why didn't James call me...

tell me?

He probably knew what
your advice would be.

To do the honorable thing.

There's no honor in jail.

Not without a price.

Look, a crime occurred.

CSI's got
full jurisdiction.

I got myself assigned
to the case.

I'll see if I can
take James out
of the middle.

Can we offer you girls
something to drink?

Please don't
say that word.

You want to tell us
why two college freshmen

were driving a stolen BMW
with a head in the trunk?

We already told you.

We had no idea
that was in the trunk.

Gross.

Now there's a
start-- "gross."

Gross negligence--

flying down I-15
in a stolen car.

Gross anatomy--

a human bowling ball
in the trunk.

Gross details--

let's hear it.

We lost our friends
at Bar 911.

We had no ride home.

We were bored.

So, we started doing

shots of tequila
with some guy

who looked like...
like Cat Stevens.

Whoo!

Next thing we know,
we're in his van

playing strip poker.

I can't believe
we're doing this.

It was a blast
at first.

Then, um...

then he said
the creepiest thing.

So, I met this girl
on the Internet

who offered me
a round-trip ticket

to fly out
and help her end her life.

She wanted me to shove
a tennis ball down her throat.

Lori! Lori, over here! Lori!

Let me guess.

You left your
clothes in the van.

We were so out of there.

This guy was weird.

Like, way weird.

I was thinking

that he was going to pull
a Silence of the Lambs

on me and tell me to "put
the lotion in the basket."

You know what I think?

I don't think
you two are murderers.

I think you're
just felony stupid.

But, for now,
you're being booked

on evading arrest,
grand theft auto

DWI.

You go
with this officer here.

Lockdown is in effect.

All guards remain at your posts.

I love my Grandpa--
don't get me wrong--

but he's got no idea
how it works in here.

I'm not sure
you do, either.

Why don't you tell me?

First off, this place
only sees two colors:
black and white.

You stay with your own.

Despite what those
Chucks think upstairs

this entire place is
infiltrated with Rolling 60s.

Overflow from L.A.

That's a lot of education
in a short time, huh?

Yeah.

I mean, I'm just trying
to survive, man.

I'm 60 days

and a wake-up
unless I get got.

James, why don't you take
a deep breath

and tell me what happened here.

First, you got to
tell me something.

You got to tell me
what side you're on.

Whose side I'm on?

Who reached out to you, man?

Who put me in here?

James, I'm trying to help you.

All right.

It breaks down
like this--

Kingpin from Gerson Park
and Kingpin

from L.A. County/Slauson
both under one roof.

It was time for one of them
to stake their claim.

Vegas fool got shanked.

I was sitting right there.

I had two things
going against me:

I'm the newest face
and the only witness.

So it's your life
versus time.

Basically, yeah

and everybody
knows about it.

They're just waiting to see
what I'm going to do.

I sing... they send
me a song back.

I shut up...
I'm your age when I get out.

Who found the body?

Department
of Agriculture.

They were searching
for wild horses in their chopper

when they found it.

None of the boys

would even go near it.

I had to tape
the perimeter myself.

Where is it?

Just follow my prints.

Oh, man.

There's no head.

Think it's DaSilva?

If it's the rest of him

he's been skinned.

Uh... Hands and feet

have been
amputated.

Yeah.

Most likely to avoid I.D.

Hey, Sara.

Yeah?

No approaching surface prints.

No tire tracks.

Only O'Riley's
boot prints.

These are ours.

Look at the area
around the corpse.

Look at the big dent
in the ground,
like a meteor hit.

That guy's from
the crime lab.

You gonna spray
some chemical stuff
over the dorm, man?

Hey, what you got
in the tackle box, babe?

You going fishing?

Hey, brother,
what's up?

Let me talk to you
real quick.

Welcome to juvie.

It's all yours.

I'm not sure you
should be doing this.

What are we doing?

Walking through the garage.

Snooping for trace on
Grissom and Catherine's
stolen BMW?

All right.
It's simple.

We got the body,
they got the head.

The BMW's fair game.

Come on, Sara,
where's your "Noriega"?

What has gotten
into you?

Grissom.

Uh... Sara...

want to take a look at this?

It's like nothing
I've seen before--

honestly, Gil--
in all my years.

The head or the torso?

Torso.

Look at the width
of the ribcage--

it's enormous--
and the shoulders
are significantly

larger in proportion and size

compared to
the average endomorph.

The bone structure
is disproportionate.

Correct.

I measured the tibia
and fibula around
the ankle area

then the radius
and the ulna

at the wrists--
the bones are 10-15% larger

than the standard
Homo sapiens.

Left fracture

of the ischial prominence
of the pelvis.

Fracture of the pubis synphisus.

Fracture of
the lumbar spine vertebrae...

Anything not broken?

No, the trauma's similar to some
of the leapers I get in here:

out of state, out of cash
and out the window.

Suicide by hotel.

This was not a hotel.

What you see here
is the flattening
and expansion

of the body
that could only be caused

by the impact
of a very steep fall.

If I know anything, I know
two unequivocal truths:

DaSilva's head
does not belong
to this body.

And the reason I know that

is because the torso
is not human.

What is it?

I don't know.

You're going to need
an anthropologist.

Mm-hmm.

Uh-huh.

Squirrels love 'em...

they get tossed
at Dodger Stadium

and they make a
hell of a butter.

You're nuts.
You know that.

Exactamundo.

Peanuts!
Right scope's the shell

left scope's
the skin of the nut.

Think "peanuts Español."

Peanuts on the gas pedal.
You're kidding.

Uh-uh.

That's one of those funny clues.

Could mean nothing,
could mean everything.

Hmm.

Whoa.

Who are you, pal?

I'm Trent Calloway.
Who are you?

I'm Jim Brass.
Homicide.

This is Gil Grissom.

Crime Lab.

Does a Victor
DaSilva live here?

Yeah, but he's out.

And you're in.
Yeah. I'm painting the house.

In the middle
of the night?

Back up, Slick.

We got some bad news.

So when was the last time
you saw Victor DaSilva

with his head attached?

A day or two ago.

This whole painting thing

had him
stressed out.

"Picking up airheads
just got easier."

Yeah. He worked
freelance mostly.

He won a "Bandy" award
for that one.

So he worked for
an ad agency.

What else did he do
for a living?

That's it,
as far as I know.

What about you?

I mean, besides painting walls.

I'm a bouncer
at the French Palace.

I throw guys like you out.

Yeah.

You know,
you don't seem too shook up

about DaSilva's death.

We weren't that close.

We had some mutual friends,
he needed someone

to help him with this place

and, uh, I never
turn down a job.

Well, I hope you
got paid in advance.

Found a picture
of Victor DaSilva

and, uh... somebody.

What does that mean?

Cut out.

So bizarre, human behavior.

What you can't
cut out of your mind

you can always cut out
of your photo album.

Why are we in the closet?

I got a call from Greg Sanders,
at our lab.

He found peanut shells
on the foot pedals

of Victor DaSilva's car.

Hmm.

And voila.

Mr. Calloway, would you mind
coming in here, please?

Mr. Calloway...

is there a remote possibility
that Victor DaSilva ever worked

at a concession stand
of some sort

like at a ballpark or...

the Secret Garden
of Siegfried and Roy

in the elephants' habitat?

I don't think
it's Victor's style.

This is ridiculous.

Well, not according
to his size 11s.

Telling you...

the kids in here
got nothing but time.

You'd be surprised
what they can come up with.

Nothing surprises me anymore.

Yeah? Wait awhile.

This is the main
thoroughfare for
all the toilets.

All the goods
come through here.

You know, it's funny--
I wanted to be a surgeon.

Step back for Molly.

Step back for Warrick.

Whew!

Whew!

Uh-huh

Impressive.

Dr. Miller, this is
outside my purview

as a coroner.

The specimen's pelvic girdle
and spine...

are curved
and upright

suggesting the species
may be quadrupedal.

The left
and right femur

and humerus are derivative
of the Tarsius.

I think I know what this is.

Your preliminary evaluation
is correct, Dr. Robbins.

It's not human. It's a primate.

More specifically, a gorilla.

Bushmeat hunters thrive

on the murdering of gorillas
for profit.

In the United States

their meat is considered
a delicacy.

It is said if the animal
is ingested

its great powers will be
passed on to the consumer.

What are you doing?

Working the case.

What case?

The skinned gorilla torso
40 miles outside of Baker.

Remember?

I don't think that is a case.

Well, it was
at the start of shift.

A crime has
been committed.

I hate to be the one
to state the obvious, but, uh...

this isn't a human being
we're dealing with--

it's an animal.

And...

And every time
a dog gets run over

you can't go to the vet
to examine it.

I can't believe you.

You, with your pet tarantula

your maggot farms, that
Komodo dragon on back order...

You should be

more sympathetic
to the senseless murder

of an innocent gorilla.

You're right.

I apologize.

I was just checking

to see where your head was at.

For now,
you're working alone.

Catherine needed Nick.

Bummer.

We got another dead body call.

Wait. Is he missing a head?

Maybe.

Meantime, you're on standby
in case Nick needs backup.

Your evaluation form.

"Overall performance:
Outstanding."

"Ability to prioritize:
Improvement needed."

You up for a riddle?

Sure. Why not?

Okay, repeat after me:

Silk, silk, silk.

Silk, silk, silk.

What do cows drink?

Water. Why?

Never mind.

Who thought that a toothbrush
could take a kid's life?

Yeah. Son of a bitch
was crafty--
I'll give him that.

Melted the end of
the toothbrush to
insert the razor blade.

Then why the rubber band?

Concealment.

Oh, that's deep.

Yeah. Now all I got to do

is put this shank
in someone's hand.

Hey...

here's something new.

The cousin
of footprints.

Sock prints... look.

That's not from a shoe.

Look at
the fabric impressions.

The guy ran out of here
in his socks.

Mm-hmm.

Perp thought he could
cover his tracks

by taking off
his shoes.

He thought wrong.

Manager spotted
the blood during
a night sweep.

Want to know
who the shed
was registered to?

Victor DaSilva.

Our head.

Oh...

So this is the
rest of his body?

It ain't gorilla.

Well, this amount of blood

suggests that the victim
was killed here.

Why don't I do the one-to-ones

and you start looking
for the weapon?

Yeah-- whatever punctures,
whatever chops.

Bob Villa.

Paul Bunyan.

By the way, what
about my evaluation?

Keep up the good work,
Catherine.

Are those molds

dry yet?

They're tacky.

Hmm, positive to positive.

That'll never hold up in court,
though.

We're going to need
to make negative molds.

Tabling the ax.

Hammer time.

Um...

Pretty close.

All right,
I fed the measurements

from the claw end of the hammer.

Something doesn't seem right
about this.

Why would you use the claw end
of the hammer to kill him

and not the hammer end?

Wait a minute.

Maybe it wasn't about
hitting him in the head.

Maybe it was about

fitting him in the locker.

So the footlocker
had no headroom.

Exactly.

So, uh, Tricky Nick

what did you get
on your evaluation?

It's private.

Yeah, but how many
"outstandings"

did Grissom give you?

Enough.

What did he tell
you to look for?

Grissom didn't
tell me anything.

I put this together myself.

Give me some light here,
will you, partner?

Yeah.

All right,
it's like this:

sock prints were found
at the crime scene: size 11.

Shoes Grissom took from
the closet here: size 11.

DaSilva's shoe size: ten.

So whose
size 11's were they?

Grissom missed something.

"Spur's Corral."

I know that place.

They give you
peanuts for starters

instead of bread
or chips and salsa.

I'm calling Grissom.

Look, you obviously
don't need my help.

I-I got go put
something to rest.

See you later?

All right. Thanks.

The body from
the storage shed--

it's Victor DaSilva,
all right.

We ran his prints.

It's nice that he
still had his hands.

I was wrong
about the cause of death.

The hammer
didn't do it?

No. He was shot point-blank
in the heart.

.380.

Imagine the
human heart

as an apple.

Instant liquefaction.

We found everything else
in that shed.

I don't know why
we didn't find a gun.

Well, maybe he was shot
somewhere else.

That would explain the plastic.

What plastic?

You never told me
about any plastic.

I didn't?

Oh.

The victim was wrapped
in a plastic sheet.

Victor DaSilva's
entire house was
covered in plastic.

He was having
it painted.

Really?
Who's the painter?

Nobody famous.

Yet.

You had access
to Victor DaSilva's house?

Yeah, I was painting it.
You own a gun?

I don't mean a paint gun.

No.
Okay, let's
get right to it.

What's your shoe size?

Why?

I have a shoe fetish.

I love feet.

It's 13.

Take off your shoes and socks.

We need to verify.

Okay...

step on the paper.

Two sizes too big.

You can go.

I'd tell you not to
step on the evidence,
but, uh...

Yeah, but what's
the point?

Pretty good gimmick
they got here, though.

You eat peanuts,
toss the shells
on the floor--

nobody gives a rat's ass.

You sure you
can't help me out?

No. Victor DaSilva
never worked here.

We found one of your
uniforms in his closet.

Any idea how it got there?

Guys...
Look, boss, I'm sorry.

I thought I was
onto something here.

I had a conflict in shoe sizes

so I thought I'd play a hunch.

Sara was right there.

We were
checking out the shoes...

...so that's why
I buzzed you guys down.

You got to follow your hunches,
right?

Yeah, sure.

Tim, you still
got that picture

that you took
from DaSilva's house?

Yeah.

Yeah. Here it is.

What? You're looking

at the sombrero?

The earrings.

Victor DaSilva was here

with someone
he cut out of his life.

Probably his girlfriend.

Excuse me.

You recognize this ear?

You got to be kidding me.

Wait a minute.

Yeah, I do.

I do recognize those earrings.

Fred Applewhite?

Y'all here for lunch?

No. Takeout.

I heard you were disassembling
the gorilla.

For purposes of disease control.

Per the CDC,
I have to take samples

and dispose of this animal
immediately.

Well, I've been trying to find
out who did this to her

and, um, I have some questions.

You ask, I'll answer.

Why did they amputate
the gorilla's head?

It's a trophy.

American fetishists
would pay up to $10,000

for the head
of a Lowland Gorilla.

The hands and feet?

Novelty items.

Sold as ashtrays.

Here Nick and I were thinking
it was to avoid I.D.

Why skin it?

Purses, shoes, boots...
it's sad.

Genetically

we're 92.7% identical
with gorillas.

It's hard to tell
where the human ends

and the animal begins.

Well said.

I checked out
a couple of websites...

I think she
was killed

probably in
Cameroon or Congo

transported
to the Port of Los Angeles.

Dismembered, packaged...

loaded onto a small plane.

En route, they dumped
what they couldn't sell

but, uh, I just have to find
the plane.

Needle in a haystack.

Chances are,
whoever did this

are halfway

around the world
by now.

There has to be something
I can do.

Actually, there is.

For every one that parts,
one stands aboveground.

Okay, Mr. Applewhite...

take a walk.

Okay, great.

Now, Mr. Applewhite...

this time, I want you
to do something different.

This time...

run.

Footprints are
almost as reliable

as fingerprints

and every step
tells a story.

The first few steps,
you were walking.

See the complete heel, arch
and five little piggies?

The next few
steps, however...

the heel disappears.

All of the
pressure is put

on ball of the foot
and toes. Why?

'Cause you were running.

And my guess is
that, on the day

you had a head
in your hand.

You see,
everyone's foot makes

a unique well impression.

Check it out.

The, uh

width...
ball of the foot...

instep... arch...
and, uh...

size 11 for dessert.

Mr. Applewhite

your footprints... place
you at the crime scene.

Victor and I were partners.

We shared everything

including in our house
and the storage shed.

We know that. When
did you move out?

Three months ago.

He found somebody else...

kicked me out.

And you took all your
possessions with you?

Not everything.
So, you were hoping
for a reconciliation.

Yeah.

I thought, once Victor got
this new guy out of his system

he'd come around.

But he didn't, did he?

That's why you went to
his house last night.

Who said I went there?

The plastic.

You know...

the plastic that you lay down
when you paint a house.

The kind of plastic
that you, uh...

wrap a dead body in.

The plastic

that we that we found
your fingerprints on.

Let me tell you what
I think happened.

Take what you want.

I don't care.

I've moved on.

What do you think
you're going to do,
just paint me

out of your life?
Just take what you want
and get out.

I'll tell you what I want.

Damn it! God!

So, what did you forget?

You wouldn't believe it,
but I forgot to lock the shed.

And when you
came back out

your car was gone.

Yeah.

I don't know who took it.

We do.

Wait, Lori!

You know,
that reminds me--

I got to remember
to take Greg Sanders to lunch.

He did a nice job
sniffing out those peanuts.

Yeah, he did.

We were waiting for you.

Meet Ronnie Connors.

Where's his attorney?

What you talking to
him about my business?

Ask me.

Where's your lawyer?

Ask him.

How's your plaque?

My what?

Your teeth.

I mean, how many toothbrushes
does a guy need?

Apparently, for you

it's as many as it takes
to make the perfect shank.

Let me tell you
something, breeze.

I'm L.A. County/Slauson
payback Crip, cuz.

I got a lot of
offspring up in here--

black as night.

They answer to me
because I'm the macaroni.

I mean, seriously...

you have any idea
who you talking to?

Yeah.

So I don't
have to testify?

The evidence
will testify for you.

Ronnie Connors...
bought a toothbrush

and some rubber bands
at the commissary.

He didn't know it

but that's the last shank
he'll ever make.

How'd you know
it was RC's?

Before he made
the shank

he shaved
with the same razor.

His DNA was
all over the blade.

Oh, God.

I owe you, man.

It's not me
you have to thank.

I love you, Grandpa.

You're all
I got, James.

You're everything
to me, you hear?

I thought you said we
were grabbing a beer.

We are, after this.

Grissom, you know,
this is your thing.
Ah-ah-ah.

Every nine years
and 34 days

I feel like sharing.

You'll like it.

It cleanses you.

Cleanses me?

Whatever happened

to my evaluation?

You're sitting in it.

Oh, yes!

¶ Dead men do tell tales,
I'll speak for you... ¶

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