CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (2000–2015): Season 1, Episode 8 - Anonymous - full transcript
Grissom, Catherine and Sara investigate an apparent suicide but soon realize that the death has not only been staged but is almost identical to a case they investigated several months before (in episode 1.1). The case takes yet another turn when Grissom's fingerprint is found on an object from the crime scene. Warrick and Nick, meanwhile, look into a car accident, but the only occupant is in the backseat and no driver is to be found. When fingerprints from the car are examined, they find them embedded with a strange blue dust.
Oh... you're
going to love this.
Ring any bells?
Rub-a-dub-dub,
dead man in a tub.
Sleeping bag
for easy cleanup.
Open window so the stench
alerts
the neighbors.
It's Royce Harmon
all over again.
What do you think?
"Suicide" note
in the same place?
You tell me, Karnak.
Now, that's weird.
Not weird. Intentional.
What kind of language is that?
Swedish?
It's backward.
Would you
excuse me a minute?
Sure. Okay.
He okay in there?
Quincy wants to be alone.
We had a case like this
three months ago--
a guy found dead in his bathtub.
Turned out the suicide
was staged.
Found a minirecorder
as a suicide note.
Killer may have struck again.
Why does he want
to be alone?
He wants
to get his mojo working.
My name is Stuart Rampler.
I reside
at 818 Boeing Hill Court
Las Vegas, Nevada.
I am 43 years of age,
and I'm going to kill myself.
I just can't do it anymore.
I love you, Mom.
You're back.
Captioning sponsored by
PARAMOUNT PICTURES
¶ 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!
Shibley, take this recorder
to the print lab.
Have Manny dust it
and run prints on it right away.
Photos from
tonight's suicide.
Put a "rush"
on them for you.
Photos. Thank you.
Oh!
Throw the flag, ref!
Uncatchable, bro.
Hey! you guys want
an assignment slip
or a pink slip?
Just taking
a little coffee break.
Is it true?
Same guy?
I don't know.
We'll see.
Here. 410.
Reckless driver
out at Hoover Dam.
Car went over a cliff.
Anonymous caller.
Could be foul play.
Oh, me and him,
working together?
Oh, it's on.
You're going down, bro.
Hey! Work
together tonight.
All right?
Okay, we're going
off the board tonight.
Off the board?
"The ones that got away."
Fish.
Ah. I missed that one.
First victim,
Royce Harmon.
About three months ago,
Brass and I found this guy
dead in his own bathtub,
but his "suicide"
was staged.
I think the killer
has killed again.
Photos of tonight's victim:
Stuart Rampler.
Play the "Pick
six things that
are different" game.
Bet you lose.
This guy's good.
Not good. Exceptional.
Print Examiner lifted a
thumbprint off the minirecorder
near the tub
of our first victim.
The print came back this.
The killer purchased one
of these rubber hands
laced the fingertips
with cooking spray
and proceeded
to place false prints
all around
the crime scene.
This guy is good.
Whose prints are these?
Some guy who works
in a warehouse
making Halloween paraphernalia.
Scary masks,
air-brushed tombstones
rubber hands.
Turns out he used
his own hand
for the mold.
So what do we do?
We split up.
You and I go
to the coroner.
Sara, you go
to the hotel.
Dust every inch
of that bathroom.
Here. Use this--
"Red Creeper."
My own concoction.
Wow.
Well, serious case,
serious print powder.
Be thorough.
Don't take anything for granted.
Yes, sir.
Everyone still
breathing
in that car?
So far.
Call came in blind.
You see who
could have made it?
No. We were first
on the scene.
Fire department came in
two minutes behind.
Place was dead quiet.
Where's the driver?
He get thrown?
Didn't find anybody.
I'm thinking DUI.
You calling it?
I'm calling
that beer bottle.
How you know it's from the car?
It's still cold.
Foam in the bottle.
Take it up top?
After you...
I've read Klausbach's report
on Royce Harmon
the first staged suicide.
Similarities?
Well, based
on the entry wound,
they were both murdered.
But here's where it gets fun.
That looks like
he was shot
trying to protect himself.
What else, Doc?
My mind is painting.
He was paid a little visit
from Mr. Muzzle Stamp.
Forced into the tub at gunpoint?
Okay.
Let's play it out.
The killer's got him
at gunpoint, right?
Standing over him
like this.
No!!
But this time, things got messy.
Royce Harmon didn't fight back.
That's why there was no muzzle
bruising to his temple.
Stuart Rampler
was resistant.
He didn't want to get
into that tub too easily.
He took a few jabs
to the temple.
But the killer
just lost round one.
We know how he gets his vics
into the tub
and we know that both deaths
were homicides.
Not a bad start.
The skid started
way up the road.
I got him doing at least 70.
More like 80.
These grooves
are from the car's frame.
It balanced
before it fell.
This is where he bailed.
Wide spacing,
slipping of the heel.
He ran.
Who?
The phantom driver.
Hey, hand me another beer.
No, you've had enough.
Hey, hey...!
So your drunk driver
just got out
and ran away?
Where to?
I don't know.
That's why we're up here.
But he left his buddy
hanging out to dry.
I can tell you that.
Then how do you explain
car number two?
Driver ran to this point,
car picks him up.
Here are your tracks...
Probably took him
to the hospital.
Not if we have these.
They're kind
of out of place.
A walking stride
up to the edge.
No.
This is a crime,
not an accident.
You care to back
that statement up?
My phantom driver
against your criminal?
How much?
$50.
I don't get out of bed
for less than a bill.
Hey, Evans.
Hi.
Victim's name
is Stuart Rampler.
Lives in town
reserved a room
for one night
because his house
was being fumigated.
Hmm.
Find anything unusual?
I bagged a couple
of utility bills.
Ready for mail.
It's almost
as if he wanted
to take care
of some unfinished business
before he checked out.
Well, it's not likely.
His suicide was staged.
It's an upside-down stamp.
What does that mean?
I don't know.
Wow. This stuff rocks.
I love bathrooms.
Last time I printed
a hotel bathroom
I had over 1,000 prints.
Okay...
close the doors
and hit the lights, Daddy-O.
Not a single print.
He wiped it clean.
Yeah.
This guy's a real pro.
Not only did he wipe it clean--
it's sterile.
I thought you were going
to tell me that you caught him.
Mrs. Harmon, we believe
that the person
who did this to your son
may have done it to someone else
and we need your help.
Well, what can I do?
We talked to
the second victim's girlfriend--
played his suicide recording
for her.
She confirmed that
it was his voice.
But I already told you
that the voice on that
tape was not my son's.
I know. We just need
to be absolutely certain.
Do you have a recording
of your son's voice
so that we could tie
the killings together?
Anything, Mrs. Harmon--
a home movie?
A recorded message off
your answering machine?
All I have are pictures.
I may have something.
Royce gave this to me
for Mother's Day
last year.
It's a talking frame.
It's all I have left.
Hey, Mom, it's Royce.
I know you're always complaining
you don't hear my voice
in the house anymore.
Well, now you can listen to it
anytime you want.
I love you, Mom.
I love you, too.
Mr. Backseat
going to make it?
Name's Walter Bangler.
He'll live.
He well enough
to talk?
Subdural hematoma,
compound rib fractures...
All right, all right,
I get the picture.
How long
until we can see him?
I didn't say you
couldn't see him.
He's sedated.
If you want to talk to him
you're going to have to wait
until he comes off his meds
in about 12 to 24 hours.
Tan lines, no watch
and no ring.
Check his personal effects.
That's it?
Must have been
one hell of a fall
to knock his watch
and his ring off...
and take his money.
So what do you say?
Do you want to up the stakes
another hundred?
To what, a deuce?
Say my foul play
against your phantom driver?
You bet.
Sanders:
Okay...
I've got Stuart Rampler's
DNA profile ready.
All I need is something
to compare it to.
Coming right up.
Let's see if we can find out
who this licker is.
What do you got?
Well, according to the DNA
Stuart Rampler licked
the right-side-up stamps.
What about the envelope
with the upside-down stamp?
Well, it came back
unknown.
He's toying with us.
Who?
Anonymous.
Supergluing the entire car?
It's a little excessive,
don't you think?
Hey, man, this is war.
You know, I checked
with six different medical
centers, and no phantom driver
at any of them.
Minor setback.
How about the 911 call?
Las Vegas cell phone.
PD's putting a name to it.
Good.
What's all this?
Car was rented
from the airport three days ago.
To...?
Walter Bangler.
I figure Vegas
vacation;
side trip to Hoover Dam.
Makes sense.
Mm-hmm.
You find his watch and ring?
No.
My pockets
are getting fat!
No, he travels light.
There was only a change of
clothes in the damn suitcase.
God, you see all
that money in there?
All right, the fumes have
settled. Give me a hand.
Yeah.
You can run...
but you can't hide.
"Disco Placid"--
what's that?
He's a jazz producer.
Specializes in audio.
Does voice comparisons
for me from time to time.
He hears in perfect pitch.
Really?
He's gifted.
¶ I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know ¶
¶ I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know ¶
¶ I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know ¶
¶ Yeah, better leave
young thing alone ¶
¶ But ain't no sunshine
when she's gone. ¶
I'm sorry to hear that.
Oh, that's Bill Withers, man.
The man cuts me up inside.
Catherine Willows,
Disco Placid.
A pleasure.
A pleasure.
¶ Ain't no sunshine
when she's gone... ¶
How are we coming
with our voice comparisons?
Got it right here.
All I got to do is,
uh, heat this thing up.
It's a minicassette recording
of the first victim.
I'm going to kill myself.
Comparing the "I love yous..."
I just can't do it anymore.
I love you, Mom.
Now the talking frame.
Now you can listen to it anytime
you want. I love you, Mom.
Minnesota Twins.
The mother was wrong.
That is her son's voice.
I laid in both
suicide notes in the computer,
stripped the tracks one by one.
Picked this up in the b-ground.
My name is Royce Harmon.
I reside
at 7642 Carpenter Street
Las Vegas, Nevada.
I am 41 years of age.
What is that?
I don't know, man. It sound like
a flag or a tarp
or something.
Give me a sec. I'll give it
to you in a Chinese to-go box.
Play the second victim's tape.
Okay.
My name is Stuart Rampler.
I reside at 818 Boeing Hill
Court, Las Vegas...
No. Play it through.
...Nevada.
I am 43 years of age,
and I'm going to kill myself.
Play them side by side.
My name is
Royce Harmon.
Stuart Rampler.
I reside at
818 Boeing Hill
7642 Carpenter Street.
Las Vegas, Nevada.
I am 41/43 years of age.
It's "fill in the blanks."
He's just reading
from a suicide script.
What do you think?
Disco.
So I've got some good news
and mysterious news.
Give me
the good news.
Well, your results are back
from the prints on the car.
And your vic, Walter Bangler,
is top of the list.
It's a big list.
You fumed the entire car.
What did you expect?
What's the mysterious news?
I found some speckles
of blue dust
in the ridges
of Bangler's print.
Here. Look.
Let me see.
What do you think?
I have no idea.
I did some comparative digging
on both victims--
Royce Harmon and Stuart Rampler.
Both are white males
in their 40s, single
and... both have
the same birthday.
Royce Harmon,
born August 17, 1958.
Stuart Rampler,
born August 17, 1957.
One year apart.
Okay, so maybe it's some reverse
or backwards pattern.
August 17, 1958...
1957. The suicide message
was recorded backwards;
the postage stamp
was upside-down...
Yeah.
Maybe he's telling us,
in order to go forward, go back.
Sara, go back
one more year--
August 17, 1956.
See if anything pops up
with the same MO.
I'm gone.
Mr. Grissom, the prints are back
from Stuart Rampler's
minirecorder.
Can we see the print?
Not print-- prints.
What do you mean?
It's more than
one person?
It's two thumbprints
overlapped.
Can you separate them?
Yeah.
Running both prints
through AFIS.
How can that be?
"Compliance"?
Someone within the department?
What?
Uh, Catherine, can you excuse us
for a moment?
I need to speak with
Mr. Grissom in private.
Anything you have to say to me
you can say to her.
Well, the top print came back
Paul Millander.
I expected that.
He's the guy who makes
the rubber hands.
I've already cleared him.
What about the compliance--
the bottom print?
It came back you.
It's Grissom's print?
Wait a minute.
Somebody got ahold
of your prints.
How?
I wear gloves
at every crime scene.
I was printed for the job.
We all were.
Well, somebody's obviously
making this personal.
They could've got your print
from a glass that you touched
at a restaurant.
From a latex glove
that you discarded
and they turned
inside out...
Oh, God...
I get it.
Whoever it is is telling me that
he's got me under his thumb.
So... who's your
phantom driver?
Possibly a cop from Philly.
Or a...
a nurse from Omaha.
Don't forget the mail carrier
from Nashville.
Man, it's a rental.
Those prints are probably older
than you are.
Well, this is going nowhere.
You giving up?
No, no, no, no.
We're still on.
I may be stalled,
but I'm not out.
You want to
take it to three?
You want to take it
to three?
You still think
he was robbed?
Tan lines where his ring
and watch used to be.
On vacation in Vegas,
but no money in his wallet.
His face all bruised up before
he took that cliffside tumble.
Damn right,
I think he was robbed.
You all right, man?
Yeah.
Yeah, I guess so.
I want the ring, the watch
and all your cash.
Okay, all right.
Come on.
All right, all right.
Now get your ass
in the back.
What?
I said get your
ass in the back!
Strap in.
Okay.
What are you doing?
He lays in wait,
he robs him,
he tries to kill him,
but he lets him buckle in?
I don't think the robber
expected Bangler
to get drunk
and go crash his car.
He probably freaked
and put him in the back seat
trying to fool me into thinking
someone else was driving.
But he only fooled you.
What about the blue
dust, Warrick?
What about it?
Don't you think
it matters?
Maybe.
There's other questions
to answer first.
Okay, like?
Footprints and tire tracks.
I hate you.
You love me.
Who you kidding?
Mr. Millander?
Hey, it's
the forensics guy.
I forgot your name.
I-I'm sorry.
Gil Grissom.
Hi, Mr. Grissom.
It's been a couple
of months.
How are you, sir?
I'm okay.
What are you making?
I-I-I call it...
"Good versus Evil."
You like it?
Yeah, it reminds me
of our supervisor on days.
So, what brings you down
to my humble abode?
I have a couple
of questions
regarding that
staged suicide.
Remember?
Yeah. How's that going?
Not too well.
Say, w-would you like
a cup of coffee?
I got instant.
Sure.
I envy you,
Mr. Millander.
I do.
You can work by yourself...
no one around to bother you.
You just...
do what you do.
I'd love to have
that kind of autonomy.
It's really all I know.
I...
started out doing ice carvings
but the artwork never lasted.
I know what you mean.
Thank you.
Let's sit.
How can I help you?
Do you remember the,
uh, rubber hand mold
that you made
from your own hand?
How could I forget?
Well, whoever
the perpetrator is
has killed again.
And again, your
print came up.
So I was hoping
you could help me.
Sure.
The last time we
talked, you told me
that you had sold
several thousand units
last Halloween?
Bestseller. Yes, sir.
Could you provide me with
a list of your distributors?
I really don't
have a list.
Why?
I was hoping to do
a credit card search...
go back ten days before
the first murder occurred...
try and run some names...
see if any priors pop up.
I would really love to help you,
Mr. Grissom, but...
I just don't keep track
of... of individual
purchasers.
I-I-I'm just a wholesaler.
I don't...
I don't crunch numbers.
I-I just... spook the children.
Of course you do.
I'm sure you
do it well.
Finally.
Hey, partner,
you get a match yet?
Ooh! Converse
All-Star.
Size 11.
And you needed all
the books for that?
Those soles have been
around 20 years.
I needed to be sure.
You look tired, buddy.
You want me to make you
a bottle, go nigh-nigh?
You want me to clack that jaw,
make you go nigh-nigh?
You should have worked
the tire tracks.
Jimmy in Trace put together
a digital catalog of treads...
has thousands on file.
Took me three minutes.
Pirelli Low Profile P-Zeros.
High performance.
And standard on your
alleged getaway vehicle...
the '99 Bentley Arnage,
Red Label.
It's a sweet ride, man--
handcrafted.
So, how many people in Vegas
you think drive
that kind of price tag?
Three.
Did a DMV search.
Any reported stolen?
Yeah, one.
Last week.
It came in a couple
of hours ago.
Take a look.
Oh-ho!
So sweet!
Check this.
One-to-one says
that's the car.
Yeah, well, don't bet
the sub shop, Warrick.
That's about
all the evidence
you're going to get
out of the Bentley.
We found it at a car wash
off of Warm Springs.
It's been vacuumed
detailed--
the whole works.
It's cleaner
than brand-new.
Well, I wish Bangler's
rental car company
were as considerate
as your thief.
Dr. Livingston.
Your dead man is making
cash withdrawals.
Which one?
The first victim or the second?
The second. Stuart Rampler.
The bank called.
His ATM card showed
a couple of withdrawals
after his time of death.
ATM machines take photographs
every three seconds.
Maybe we can get a Kodak moment
of this guy.
I want the machine here.
I want prints. I want film.
I want everything.
The whole machine?
Yeah, the whole machine.
Okay.
You got his clothes?
That's right.
What are you doing?
His laundry?
Something to compare
our mystery blue dust to.
Ah.
So... what's the pot up to?
We don't bet on cases.
Ah. Of course you don't.
So who's winning?
I am.
I am.
Fiends.
Your mystery dust is...
silicon blue dye.
What's that?
Pool cue chalk.
Bangler's shooting stick
with the phantom driver...
tosses a few back...
piles into the rental...
...I-93, Hoover Dam.
But don't drink
and drive.
You might spill your drink...
car skids...
bangs into the railing...
see-saws...
on the edge...
What does
the driver do?
Man, he bails.
He leaves Bangler
in the back seat
to take the fall.
Literally.
Fingerprints, grooves,
footprints:
all the bases are covered.
Victim, suspect, crime scene.
Like a laxative...
it works.
Bangler shooting stick--
I'll give you that.
Burping bourbons--
I'll give you that, too.
But he left solo.
A few miles down the road,
Bentley thief flags him down...
spooks him into a skid...
boom, crash!
He's robbed...
forced into the back...
pushed over the edge.
With Bangler out of the way
the thief gets
in his stolen Bentley...
hightails it
out of there.
No watch...
no rings, no cash...
stolen Bentley tire treads,
Converse All-Star size 11...
all bases covered.
Victim, suspect, crime scene.
Like a canary... it sings.
You know, I hate to admit it...
but I like your theory.
It does work.
I was sitting here
thinking the same thing
about your phantom driver.
So, what do you think?
Can two solid theories,
each backed by evidence
both be correct?
There. There's our guy...
handing it off.
Life...
Like holding a dove.
Hold it too hard...
you kill it.
Hold it too soft...
...and it'll fly away.
Have we located this bum?
Brass's guys are
looking for him.
Okay... significance
of the flipping?
He's obviously
making a point.
What does the dove symbolize?
Peace.
But I don't think
it's peace in terms of...
human civility or unrest.
I think maybe
it's "peace of mind."
What do you
have to attain
to have peace of mind?
Justice.
"I'm going to keep doing
this over and over again
until I get justice."
How you doing?
Hmm.
How'd you find him?
We canvassed a square-mile
radius of the ATM machine.
Started throwing bums
hamburgers out the car window
in a nice tight spiral.
They ratted him out
in 20 minutes.
You want to tell him
how you were approached?
You know, I think
better when I eat.
No kidding?
Jim, call
The Steak House
at Circus.
Get this fella
a porterhouse.
How do you like it--
medium rare?
No, you look like
a well-done kind of guy.
Rare.
Two minutes,
understand?
That's all we'll need.
Hey, hey. How are you feeling,
Mr. Bangler?
Uh, better, I guess.
I understand last night
was exciting, though.
Yeah.
I'm going to come
right out and say it.
What happened to you
is not right.
The person responsible needs
to be brought to justice.
You tell me
who that person is.
Who was
driving that car?
Who the hell are you guys?
I'm Warrick.
I'm Nick.
I'm Nick Stokes.
This is Warrick Brown.
We're with Criminalistics.
We've been working
your accident.
Actually, sir,
I-I don't think
it was an accident.
I think you were robbed
and any information
that you remember
about your attacker
would be
very helpful.
I wasn't attacked.
I was drunk...
really drunk.
No way I should've been driving
that car.
Yeah!
I guess that's
enough for me.
Then it's time
to pay up.
Looks like
I'm a little short.
Hit him.
Take everything
he's got.
Jeez!
You mean you got hustled?
I won the first game.
You climbed in the back seat
yourself?
Yeah.
So buckling up...
really did save your life.
You know that?
Yeah, I guess it did.
You get well, okay?
Glad we could help.
Well, the only thing
we didn't factor in
was his will to live.
And the Bentley thief,
size 11--
he could've been
at that crime scene
anytime last week.
So we push
on the bet?
No winner?
No loser.
406. Burglary.
Double or nothing?
You're talking
to the wrong guy.
Can we start
again, please?
Now, how did this
man approach you?
He walked up to me.
Told me he'd give me
a hundred bucks
if I flip some cards.
He pay you cash?
Mm-hmm.
A hundred-dollar bill.
You still have it?
How tall was this man?
Was he... shorter or taller
than Mr. Brass here?
A hair taller.
By a hair, do you mean
the hair of a rabbit
or the hair
of grizzly bear?
Somewhere in the middle.
Okay.
Let's say
he was five-ten.
What else do
you remember
about this man?
He had a narrow chin.
Uh... his eyes were blue--
deep-sea blue, you know?
Uh, jet-black hair
Uh, Spock-like ears
pointed nose, bushy eyebrows.
Sunken cheeks
with a bad complexion,
almost pock-faced.
Uh... thin
as a soda cracker
and his clothes
were wrinkled,
like, uh, he slept in them.
And when he spoke,
he spoke with a...
Stutter.
Yeah.
Paul Millander.
He set me up.
Son of a bitch!
I had him
and I let him go!
You ever make
any rubber hands?
I sold 10,000
of those units
last Halloween.
Even used my own
hand for the mold.
So when I picked
up the hand
he must have
lifted my print.
Latex rubber surface,
freshly dried paint
a snip of Scotch tape--
it wouldn't be that hard
to lift and replant.
Sara, we'll
be on headsets.
Run everything you can
on Paul Millander.
Use Forenz-L
use Nexus, search anything
and everything.
I'll call the brigade.
Typing in search word:
Paul Millander.
Here it is. Paul Millander:
Age 42, five-eleven,
male Caucasian.
Address not on file.
No criminal record.
Keep looking.
Listen, check
the business database.
Search word: "Halloweird."
There's no listing, Grissom.
How can that be?
I was just there.
Change databases.
Newspaper index,
periodicals index--
just keep trying.
I got something out
of the newspaper index.
What is it?
"Two hotel security guards
exonerated
"in alleged 'staged' suicide.
Boy's testimony shaky."
"Paul Millander, age ten,
testified
"that he watched in the closet
while his father, John
"was escorted
by two hotel security guards
"into his own bathtub
at gunpoint
"where he was found
shot to death.
Official cause of death
was ruled..."
Suicide.
Check the date.
Catherine, you were right.
August 17, 1959
it's a pattern.
So he was killing men
who were born on the same day
that his father died.
All clear.
Blank. What's that mean?
We have nothing.
Mr. Grissom in?
No. He's out on assignment.
Do you want to leave him
a message?
No. Just tell him a friend
stopped by.
A friend?
A friend. He'll know.
Captioning sponsored by
PARAMOUNT PICTURES
going to love this.
Ring any bells?
Rub-a-dub-dub,
dead man in a tub.
Sleeping bag
for easy cleanup.
Open window so the stench
alerts
the neighbors.
It's Royce Harmon
all over again.
What do you think?
"Suicide" note
in the same place?
You tell me, Karnak.
Now, that's weird.
Not weird. Intentional.
What kind of language is that?
Swedish?
It's backward.
Would you
excuse me a minute?
Sure. Okay.
He okay in there?
Quincy wants to be alone.
We had a case like this
three months ago--
a guy found dead in his bathtub.
Turned out the suicide
was staged.
Found a minirecorder
as a suicide note.
Killer may have struck again.
Why does he want
to be alone?
He wants
to get his mojo working.
My name is Stuart Rampler.
I reside
at 818 Boeing Hill Court
Las Vegas, Nevada.
I am 43 years of age,
and I'm going to kill myself.
I just can't do it anymore.
I love you, Mom.
You're back.
Captioning sponsored by
PARAMOUNT PICTURES
¶ 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!
Shibley, take this recorder
to the print lab.
Have Manny dust it
and run prints on it right away.
Photos from
tonight's suicide.
Put a "rush"
on them for you.
Photos. Thank you.
Oh!
Throw the flag, ref!
Uncatchable, bro.
Hey! you guys want
an assignment slip
or a pink slip?
Just taking
a little coffee break.
Is it true?
Same guy?
I don't know.
We'll see.
Here. 410.
Reckless driver
out at Hoover Dam.
Car went over a cliff.
Anonymous caller.
Could be foul play.
Oh, me and him,
working together?
Oh, it's on.
You're going down, bro.
Hey! Work
together tonight.
All right?
Okay, we're going
off the board tonight.
Off the board?
"The ones that got away."
Fish.
Ah. I missed that one.
First victim,
Royce Harmon.
About three months ago,
Brass and I found this guy
dead in his own bathtub,
but his "suicide"
was staged.
I think the killer
has killed again.
Photos of tonight's victim:
Stuart Rampler.
Play the "Pick
six things that
are different" game.
Bet you lose.
This guy's good.
Not good. Exceptional.
Print Examiner lifted a
thumbprint off the minirecorder
near the tub
of our first victim.
The print came back this.
The killer purchased one
of these rubber hands
laced the fingertips
with cooking spray
and proceeded
to place false prints
all around
the crime scene.
This guy is good.
Whose prints are these?
Some guy who works
in a warehouse
making Halloween paraphernalia.
Scary masks,
air-brushed tombstones
rubber hands.
Turns out he used
his own hand
for the mold.
So what do we do?
We split up.
You and I go
to the coroner.
Sara, you go
to the hotel.
Dust every inch
of that bathroom.
Here. Use this--
"Red Creeper."
My own concoction.
Wow.
Well, serious case,
serious print powder.
Be thorough.
Don't take anything for granted.
Yes, sir.
Everyone still
breathing
in that car?
So far.
Call came in blind.
You see who
could have made it?
No. We were first
on the scene.
Fire department came in
two minutes behind.
Place was dead quiet.
Where's the driver?
He get thrown?
Didn't find anybody.
I'm thinking DUI.
You calling it?
I'm calling
that beer bottle.
How you know it's from the car?
It's still cold.
Foam in the bottle.
Take it up top?
After you...
I've read Klausbach's report
on Royce Harmon
the first staged suicide.
Similarities?
Well, based
on the entry wound,
they were both murdered.
But here's where it gets fun.
That looks like
he was shot
trying to protect himself.
What else, Doc?
My mind is painting.
He was paid a little visit
from Mr. Muzzle Stamp.
Forced into the tub at gunpoint?
Okay.
Let's play it out.
The killer's got him
at gunpoint, right?
Standing over him
like this.
No!!
But this time, things got messy.
Royce Harmon didn't fight back.
That's why there was no muzzle
bruising to his temple.
Stuart Rampler
was resistant.
He didn't want to get
into that tub too easily.
He took a few jabs
to the temple.
But the killer
just lost round one.
We know how he gets his vics
into the tub
and we know that both deaths
were homicides.
Not a bad start.
The skid started
way up the road.
I got him doing at least 70.
More like 80.
These grooves
are from the car's frame.
It balanced
before it fell.
This is where he bailed.
Wide spacing,
slipping of the heel.
He ran.
Who?
The phantom driver.
Hey, hand me another beer.
No, you've had enough.
Hey, hey...!
So your drunk driver
just got out
and ran away?
Where to?
I don't know.
That's why we're up here.
But he left his buddy
hanging out to dry.
I can tell you that.
Then how do you explain
car number two?
Driver ran to this point,
car picks him up.
Here are your tracks...
Probably took him
to the hospital.
Not if we have these.
They're kind
of out of place.
A walking stride
up to the edge.
No.
This is a crime,
not an accident.
You care to back
that statement up?
My phantom driver
against your criminal?
How much?
$50.
I don't get out of bed
for less than a bill.
Hey, Evans.
Hi.
Victim's name
is Stuart Rampler.
Lives in town
reserved a room
for one night
because his house
was being fumigated.
Hmm.
Find anything unusual?
I bagged a couple
of utility bills.
Ready for mail.
It's almost
as if he wanted
to take care
of some unfinished business
before he checked out.
Well, it's not likely.
His suicide was staged.
It's an upside-down stamp.
What does that mean?
I don't know.
Wow. This stuff rocks.
I love bathrooms.
Last time I printed
a hotel bathroom
I had over 1,000 prints.
Okay...
close the doors
and hit the lights, Daddy-O.
Not a single print.
He wiped it clean.
Yeah.
This guy's a real pro.
Not only did he wipe it clean--
it's sterile.
I thought you were going
to tell me that you caught him.
Mrs. Harmon, we believe
that the person
who did this to your son
may have done it to someone else
and we need your help.
Well, what can I do?
We talked to
the second victim's girlfriend--
played his suicide recording
for her.
She confirmed that
it was his voice.
But I already told you
that the voice on that
tape was not my son's.
I know. We just need
to be absolutely certain.
Do you have a recording
of your son's voice
so that we could tie
the killings together?
Anything, Mrs. Harmon--
a home movie?
A recorded message off
your answering machine?
All I have are pictures.
I may have something.
Royce gave this to me
for Mother's Day
last year.
It's a talking frame.
It's all I have left.
Hey, Mom, it's Royce.
I know you're always complaining
you don't hear my voice
in the house anymore.
Well, now you can listen to it
anytime you want.
I love you, Mom.
I love you, too.
Mr. Backseat
going to make it?
Name's Walter Bangler.
He'll live.
He well enough
to talk?
Subdural hematoma,
compound rib fractures...
All right, all right,
I get the picture.
How long
until we can see him?
I didn't say you
couldn't see him.
He's sedated.
If you want to talk to him
you're going to have to wait
until he comes off his meds
in about 12 to 24 hours.
Tan lines, no watch
and no ring.
Check his personal effects.
That's it?
Must have been
one hell of a fall
to knock his watch
and his ring off...
and take his money.
So what do you say?
Do you want to up the stakes
another hundred?
To what, a deuce?
Say my foul play
against your phantom driver?
You bet.
Sanders:
Okay...
I've got Stuart Rampler's
DNA profile ready.
All I need is something
to compare it to.
Coming right up.
Let's see if we can find out
who this licker is.
What do you got?
Well, according to the DNA
Stuart Rampler licked
the right-side-up stamps.
What about the envelope
with the upside-down stamp?
Well, it came back
unknown.
He's toying with us.
Who?
Anonymous.
Supergluing the entire car?
It's a little excessive,
don't you think?
Hey, man, this is war.
You know, I checked
with six different medical
centers, and no phantom driver
at any of them.
Minor setback.
How about the 911 call?
Las Vegas cell phone.
PD's putting a name to it.
Good.
What's all this?
Car was rented
from the airport three days ago.
To...?
Walter Bangler.
I figure Vegas
vacation;
side trip to Hoover Dam.
Makes sense.
Mm-hmm.
You find his watch and ring?
No.
My pockets
are getting fat!
No, he travels light.
There was only a change of
clothes in the damn suitcase.
God, you see all
that money in there?
All right, the fumes have
settled. Give me a hand.
Yeah.
You can run...
but you can't hide.
"Disco Placid"--
what's that?
He's a jazz producer.
Specializes in audio.
Does voice comparisons
for me from time to time.
He hears in perfect pitch.
Really?
He's gifted.
¶ I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know ¶
¶ I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know ¶
¶ I know, I know, I know,
I know, I know, I know ¶
¶ Yeah, better leave
young thing alone ¶
¶ But ain't no sunshine
when she's gone. ¶
I'm sorry to hear that.
Oh, that's Bill Withers, man.
The man cuts me up inside.
Catherine Willows,
Disco Placid.
A pleasure.
A pleasure.
¶ Ain't no sunshine
when she's gone... ¶
How are we coming
with our voice comparisons?
Got it right here.
All I got to do is,
uh, heat this thing up.
It's a minicassette recording
of the first victim.
I'm going to kill myself.
Comparing the "I love yous..."
I just can't do it anymore.
I love you, Mom.
Now the talking frame.
Now you can listen to it anytime
you want. I love you, Mom.
Minnesota Twins.
The mother was wrong.
That is her son's voice.
I laid in both
suicide notes in the computer,
stripped the tracks one by one.
Picked this up in the b-ground.
My name is Royce Harmon.
I reside
at 7642 Carpenter Street
Las Vegas, Nevada.
I am 41 years of age.
What is that?
I don't know, man. It sound like
a flag or a tarp
or something.
Give me a sec. I'll give it
to you in a Chinese to-go box.
Play the second victim's tape.
Okay.
My name is Stuart Rampler.
I reside at 818 Boeing Hill
Court, Las Vegas...
No. Play it through.
...Nevada.
I am 43 years of age,
and I'm going to kill myself.
Play them side by side.
My name is
Royce Harmon.
Stuart Rampler.
I reside at
818 Boeing Hill
7642 Carpenter Street.
Las Vegas, Nevada.
I am 41/43 years of age.
It's "fill in the blanks."
He's just reading
from a suicide script.
What do you think?
Disco.
So I've got some good news
and mysterious news.
Give me
the good news.
Well, your results are back
from the prints on the car.
And your vic, Walter Bangler,
is top of the list.
It's a big list.
You fumed the entire car.
What did you expect?
What's the mysterious news?
I found some speckles
of blue dust
in the ridges
of Bangler's print.
Here. Look.
Let me see.
What do you think?
I have no idea.
I did some comparative digging
on both victims--
Royce Harmon and Stuart Rampler.
Both are white males
in their 40s, single
and... both have
the same birthday.
Royce Harmon,
born August 17, 1958.
Stuart Rampler,
born August 17, 1957.
One year apart.
Okay, so maybe it's some reverse
or backwards pattern.
August 17, 1958...
1957. The suicide message
was recorded backwards;
the postage stamp
was upside-down...
Yeah.
Maybe he's telling us,
in order to go forward, go back.
Sara, go back
one more year--
August 17, 1956.
See if anything pops up
with the same MO.
I'm gone.
Mr. Grissom, the prints are back
from Stuart Rampler's
minirecorder.
Can we see the print?
Not print-- prints.
What do you mean?
It's more than
one person?
It's two thumbprints
overlapped.
Can you separate them?
Yeah.
Running both prints
through AFIS.
How can that be?
"Compliance"?
Someone within the department?
What?
Uh, Catherine, can you excuse us
for a moment?
I need to speak with
Mr. Grissom in private.
Anything you have to say to me
you can say to her.
Well, the top print came back
Paul Millander.
I expected that.
He's the guy who makes
the rubber hands.
I've already cleared him.
What about the compliance--
the bottom print?
It came back you.
It's Grissom's print?
Wait a minute.
Somebody got ahold
of your prints.
How?
I wear gloves
at every crime scene.
I was printed for the job.
We all were.
Well, somebody's obviously
making this personal.
They could've got your print
from a glass that you touched
at a restaurant.
From a latex glove
that you discarded
and they turned
inside out...
Oh, God...
I get it.
Whoever it is is telling me that
he's got me under his thumb.
So... who's your
phantom driver?
Possibly a cop from Philly.
Or a...
a nurse from Omaha.
Don't forget the mail carrier
from Nashville.
Man, it's a rental.
Those prints are probably older
than you are.
Well, this is going nowhere.
You giving up?
No, no, no, no.
We're still on.
I may be stalled,
but I'm not out.
You want to
take it to three?
You want to take it
to three?
You still think
he was robbed?
Tan lines where his ring
and watch used to be.
On vacation in Vegas,
but no money in his wallet.
His face all bruised up before
he took that cliffside tumble.
Damn right,
I think he was robbed.
You all right, man?
Yeah.
Yeah, I guess so.
I want the ring, the watch
and all your cash.
Okay, all right.
Come on.
All right, all right.
Now get your ass
in the back.
What?
I said get your
ass in the back!
Strap in.
Okay.
What are you doing?
He lays in wait,
he robs him,
he tries to kill him,
but he lets him buckle in?
I don't think the robber
expected Bangler
to get drunk
and go crash his car.
He probably freaked
and put him in the back seat
trying to fool me into thinking
someone else was driving.
But he only fooled you.
What about the blue
dust, Warrick?
What about it?
Don't you think
it matters?
Maybe.
There's other questions
to answer first.
Okay, like?
Footprints and tire tracks.
I hate you.
You love me.
Who you kidding?
Mr. Millander?
Hey, it's
the forensics guy.
I forgot your name.
I-I'm sorry.
Gil Grissom.
Hi, Mr. Grissom.
It's been a couple
of months.
How are you, sir?
I'm okay.
What are you making?
I-I-I call it...
"Good versus Evil."
You like it?
Yeah, it reminds me
of our supervisor on days.
So, what brings you down
to my humble abode?
I have a couple
of questions
regarding that
staged suicide.
Remember?
Yeah. How's that going?
Not too well.
Say, w-would you like
a cup of coffee?
I got instant.
Sure.
I envy you,
Mr. Millander.
I do.
You can work by yourself...
no one around to bother you.
You just...
do what you do.
I'd love to have
that kind of autonomy.
It's really all I know.
I...
started out doing ice carvings
but the artwork never lasted.
I know what you mean.
Thank you.
Let's sit.
How can I help you?
Do you remember the,
uh, rubber hand mold
that you made
from your own hand?
How could I forget?
Well, whoever
the perpetrator is
has killed again.
And again, your
print came up.
So I was hoping
you could help me.
Sure.
The last time we
talked, you told me
that you had sold
several thousand units
last Halloween?
Bestseller. Yes, sir.
Could you provide me with
a list of your distributors?
I really don't
have a list.
Why?
I was hoping to do
a credit card search...
go back ten days before
the first murder occurred...
try and run some names...
see if any priors pop up.
I would really love to help you,
Mr. Grissom, but...
I just don't keep track
of... of individual
purchasers.
I-I-I'm just a wholesaler.
I don't...
I don't crunch numbers.
I-I just... spook the children.
Of course you do.
I'm sure you
do it well.
Finally.
Hey, partner,
you get a match yet?
Ooh! Converse
All-Star.
Size 11.
And you needed all
the books for that?
Those soles have been
around 20 years.
I needed to be sure.
You look tired, buddy.
You want me to make you
a bottle, go nigh-nigh?
You want me to clack that jaw,
make you go nigh-nigh?
You should have worked
the tire tracks.
Jimmy in Trace put together
a digital catalog of treads...
has thousands on file.
Took me three minutes.
Pirelli Low Profile P-Zeros.
High performance.
And standard on your
alleged getaway vehicle...
the '99 Bentley Arnage,
Red Label.
It's a sweet ride, man--
handcrafted.
So, how many people in Vegas
you think drive
that kind of price tag?
Three.
Did a DMV search.
Any reported stolen?
Yeah, one.
Last week.
It came in a couple
of hours ago.
Take a look.
Oh-ho!
So sweet!
Check this.
One-to-one says
that's the car.
Yeah, well, don't bet
the sub shop, Warrick.
That's about
all the evidence
you're going to get
out of the Bentley.
We found it at a car wash
off of Warm Springs.
It's been vacuumed
detailed--
the whole works.
It's cleaner
than brand-new.
Well, I wish Bangler's
rental car company
were as considerate
as your thief.
Dr. Livingston.
Your dead man is making
cash withdrawals.
Which one?
The first victim or the second?
The second. Stuart Rampler.
The bank called.
His ATM card showed
a couple of withdrawals
after his time of death.
ATM machines take photographs
every three seconds.
Maybe we can get a Kodak moment
of this guy.
I want the machine here.
I want prints. I want film.
I want everything.
The whole machine?
Yeah, the whole machine.
Okay.
You got his clothes?
That's right.
What are you doing?
His laundry?
Something to compare
our mystery blue dust to.
Ah.
So... what's the pot up to?
We don't bet on cases.
Ah. Of course you don't.
So who's winning?
I am.
I am.
Fiends.
Your mystery dust is...
silicon blue dye.
What's that?
Pool cue chalk.
Bangler's shooting stick
with the phantom driver...
tosses a few back...
piles into the rental...
...I-93, Hoover Dam.
But don't drink
and drive.
You might spill your drink...
car skids...
bangs into the railing...
see-saws...
on the edge...
What does
the driver do?
Man, he bails.
He leaves Bangler
in the back seat
to take the fall.
Literally.
Fingerprints, grooves,
footprints:
all the bases are covered.
Victim, suspect, crime scene.
Like a laxative...
it works.
Bangler shooting stick--
I'll give you that.
Burping bourbons--
I'll give you that, too.
But he left solo.
A few miles down the road,
Bentley thief flags him down...
spooks him into a skid...
boom, crash!
He's robbed...
forced into the back...
pushed over the edge.
With Bangler out of the way
the thief gets
in his stolen Bentley...
hightails it
out of there.
No watch...
no rings, no cash...
stolen Bentley tire treads,
Converse All-Star size 11...
all bases covered.
Victim, suspect, crime scene.
Like a canary... it sings.
You know, I hate to admit it...
but I like your theory.
It does work.
I was sitting here
thinking the same thing
about your phantom driver.
So, what do you think?
Can two solid theories,
each backed by evidence
both be correct?
There. There's our guy...
handing it off.
Life...
Like holding a dove.
Hold it too hard...
you kill it.
Hold it too soft...
...and it'll fly away.
Have we located this bum?
Brass's guys are
looking for him.
Okay... significance
of the flipping?
He's obviously
making a point.
What does the dove symbolize?
Peace.
But I don't think
it's peace in terms of...
human civility or unrest.
I think maybe
it's "peace of mind."
What do you
have to attain
to have peace of mind?
Justice.
"I'm going to keep doing
this over and over again
until I get justice."
How you doing?
Hmm.
How'd you find him?
We canvassed a square-mile
radius of the ATM machine.
Started throwing bums
hamburgers out the car window
in a nice tight spiral.
They ratted him out
in 20 minutes.
You want to tell him
how you were approached?
You know, I think
better when I eat.
No kidding?
Jim, call
The Steak House
at Circus.
Get this fella
a porterhouse.
How do you like it--
medium rare?
No, you look like
a well-done kind of guy.
Rare.
Two minutes,
understand?
That's all we'll need.
Hey, hey. How are you feeling,
Mr. Bangler?
Uh, better, I guess.
I understand last night
was exciting, though.
Yeah.
I'm going to come
right out and say it.
What happened to you
is not right.
The person responsible needs
to be brought to justice.
You tell me
who that person is.
Who was
driving that car?
Who the hell are you guys?
I'm Warrick.
I'm Nick.
I'm Nick Stokes.
This is Warrick Brown.
We're with Criminalistics.
We've been working
your accident.
Actually, sir,
I-I don't think
it was an accident.
I think you were robbed
and any information
that you remember
about your attacker
would be
very helpful.
I wasn't attacked.
I was drunk...
really drunk.
No way I should've been driving
that car.
Yeah!
I guess that's
enough for me.
Then it's time
to pay up.
Looks like
I'm a little short.
Hit him.
Take everything
he's got.
Jeez!
You mean you got hustled?
I won the first game.
You climbed in the back seat
yourself?
Yeah.
So buckling up...
really did save your life.
You know that?
Yeah, I guess it did.
You get well, okay?
Glad we could help.
Well, the only thing
we didn't factor in
was his will to live.
And the Bentley thief,
size 11--
he could've been
at that crime scene
anytime last week.
So we push
on the bet?
No winner?
No loser.
406. Burglary.
Double or nothing?
You're talking
to the wrong guy.
Can we start
again, please?
Now, how did this
man approach you?
He walked up to me.
Told me he'd give me
a hundred bucks
if I flip some cards.
He pay you cash?
Mm-hmm.
A hundred-dollar bill.
You still have it?
How tall was this man?
Was he... shorter or taller
than Mr. Brass here?
A hair taller.
By a hair, do you mean
the hair of a rabbit
or the hair
of grizzly bear?
Somewhere in the middle.
Okay.
Let's say
he was five-ten.
What else do
you remember
about this man?
He had a narrow chin.
Uh... his eyes were blue--
deep-sea blue, you know?
Uh, jet-black hair
Uh, Spock-like ears
pointed nose, bushy eyebrows.
Sunken cheeks
with a bad complexion,
almost pock-faced.
Uh... thin
as a soda cracker
and his clothes
were wrinkled,
like, uh, he slept in them.
And when he spoke,
he spoke with a...
Stutter.
Yeah.
Paul Millander.
He set me up.
Son of a bitch!
I had him
and I let him go!
You ever make
any rubber hands?
I sold 10,000
of those units
last Halloween.
Even used my own
hand for the mold.
So when I picked
up the hand
he must have
lifted my print.
Latex rubber surface,
freshly dried paint
a snip of Scotch tape--
it wouldn't be that hard
to lift and replant.
Sara, we'll
be on headsets.
Run everything you can
on Paul Millander.
Use Forenz-L
use Nexus, search anything
and everything.
I'll call the brigade.
Typing in search word:
Paul Millander.
Here it is. Paul Millander:
Age 42, five-eleven,
male Caucasian.
Address not on file.
No criminal record.
Keep looking.
Listen, check
the business database.
Search word: "Halloweird."
There's no listing, Grissom.
How can that be?
I was just there.
Change databases.
Newspaper index,
periodicals index--
just keep trying.
I got something out
of the newspaper index.
What is it?
"Two hotel security guards
exonerated
"in alleged 'staged' suicide.
Boy's testimony shaky."
"Paul Millander, age ten,
testified
"that he watched in the closet
while his father, John
"was escorted
by two hotel security guards
"into his own bathtub
at gunpoint
"where he was found
shot to death.
Official cause of death
was ruled..."
Suicide.
Check the date.
Catherine, you were right.
August 17, 1959
it's a pattern.
So he was killing men
who were born on the same day
that his father died.
All clear.
Blank. What's that mean?
We have nothing.
Mr. Grissom in?
No. He's out on assignment.
Do you want to leave him
a message?
No. Just tell him a friend
stopped by.
A friend?
A friend. He'll know.
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