CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (2000–2015): Season 9, Episode 12 - Disarmed and Dangerous - full transcript

Oh.

Open the door, please?

Come on, open up.

Come on, man. Please?

Open the door!

Oh!

You seen The Incredible Hulk?
This dude was this big, man.

And he comes out like that:
But he was-- Man.

And he comes out
and he gets in his car...

Three detectives for one homicide.

The call out was for an officer down.



Usually brings in more help
than we need.

I don't believe they're L.V.P.D.

He was kicking the door.

- David?
Hey. Um...

There's not much room in there.
I'm more than happy to wait.

Catherine, this man's arm is gone.

No, it isn't.

The tissue is ragged.

It's not dismembered,
it's disarticulated.

Takes an awful lot of rage
to tear a man's arm off.

Or an awful lot of PCP.

Try not to get too far ahead
of the evidence.

"Department of Justice."

Actually, he's FBI.



Meet Agent William Ray Hatford.

- So those suits you were talking to...?
- They're all in from D.C. on a case.

They stopped here to get gas.
Agent Hatford came in to take a leak

and never came out.
They found him like this.

They notified their field office
and then they called us.

Well, they acknowledged
our jurisdiction. That's refreshing.

Yeah. Whoever did this took his gun,
his badge and his wallet.

I mean, this doesn't feel like
a simple robbery.

He's supposed to get ahead
of the evidence.

I'm gonna take the agents
to the station, get their statements.

They're kind of shook up.
Feds are human too, I guess.

Ray, I know you're not doing
what it looks like you're doing,

so, what are you doing?

This man lost more than an arm.

Look, the stoner outside
said a big red hulk did this.

Maybe he was right.

I don't think this hunk of flesh
came from him.

Maybe it came from the killer.

There are no defensive wounds
on the victim's body

- suggesting a sign of struggle.
- Maybe it came from another victim?

Witness on the scene
didn't mention anyone else.

Another argument for DNA.

All right. I'll call P.D.
and have them check all the hospitals.

I'll get his prints.

- Actually, would you mind if I did that?
- Not at all.

Um, is there a problem?

Actually, there is a problem.

There's no ridge detail
on any of his fingertips. See?

This looks surgical.
Maybe microdermabrasion.

What kind of FBI agent
doesn't have fingerprints?

Agent Hatford had been working
undercover for several years.

His fingerprints were removed
as a security measure.

See, these days,
the bad guys can run prints too.

They've seen Donnie Brasco.
They know how we work.

Well, I presume the, uh, Bureau
requires

- a confirmed ID.
- That's the procedure.

We don't have fingerprints.
We'll run DNA.

I'll get an STR profile to Quantico
for verification as soon as possible.

- Fine.
- Where are you on a suspect?

Oh, well, right now, all we have is
the, uh, you know, eyewitness report

of a guy who looked like
the Incredible Red Hulk.

But CSI's got some surveillance video
from the gas station.

They're analyzing it now.

Is it possible this case is connected
to the case you're working on?

Of course it's possible.
We work with scumbags every day.

Like who?

If I had a name,
I wouldn't be standing here.

Agent Stanley,
would you give us a moment alone?

Please?

- How long you been working together?
- Feels like forever.

Okay.

All of our active files
are at our command post.

I can assure you, captain, you will
have the full cooperation of the FBI.

Great.

All right, that is Agent Hatford
making his last trip to the can.

And that is a Class 2 misdemeanor.

Well, the FBI does not concern itself
with state fire codes, Greg-o.

Okay, almost there.

Now.

Take a look at the mirror.

Looks like a vintage muscle car.

And that face, it's a bloody mess.

Yeah, you should have seen
the bathroom.

We'll have Brass put out a broadcast.

Investigation's been
focused on human trafficking.

Underage women
in the Vegas sex trade.

Smuggled them from South America.
Brazil, primarily.

There's been a little chatter
about that on the streets,

but, uh, nothing really concrete.

They've only been operating
for a few months, low-key,

select clientele, contacted directly
by e-mail only.

Agent Hatford was in source targeting
and recruitment.

He did most of our field interviews.

Hookers, pimps,
mid-level scumbags.

We're just starting to put
the network together.

Who'd you piss off to pull this duty?

Oh, this is important work.
We requested this.

Homeland Security
gets the lion's share

of the Bureau's resources
these days.

What do you think,
we just chase terrorists,

spy on Americans, then investigate
paranormal activity, is that it?

Sorry. No offense intended.

I hope your taxes are in order. I think
you just bought yourself an audit.

Case files and suspect interviews.

Anybody with the physical strength
to do what was done to Agent Hatford?

I doubt it.

- Did Agent Hatford wear a wire?
- Sometimes.

I don't know if those tapes
were transcribed yet.

We haven't been able to ID
the head of the operation.

He's referred to on the street
as Os Punho,

which is Portuguese for "The Fist."

Anybody look familiar?

I don't know.

Gradual application of dry heat

is generally the best way
to bring a muscle out of rigor.

And the man can cook.

The question is,
what are we having for dinner?

This muscle has two heads
and a shared, single point of insertion.

Judging from size and weight,
uh, we can rule out biceps femoris.

Biceps brachii then.

The tissue is clearly infected.
In fact, it looks necrotic.

What do you make
of these, uh, linear streaks?

Well, I think they're hemorrhage lines.
I bet this guy was shooting steroids.

With a dirty needle.
That seems pretty stupid,

even for somebody stupid enough
to kill an FBI agent.

Well, I guess he neglected
to swab his skin.

Contaminants could have been
pushed in with the injection.

The muscle looks like
it fell right off the bone.

Like a piece of well-cooked chicken.

You know, I found some pieces
of mirror glass inside the muscle.

Maybe this guy was in so much pain

that he had to rip it out
right then and there.

You listening? I asked you a question.

What are you doing on Hill Street?

Agent Hatford taped this interview
the night before he was killed.

I guess those muscles make you deaf.

Suspect at the gas station
was heavily muscled.

Which is why this could be the guy.

Oh, don't eyeball me like that, Vinnie.
I am the FB-frigging-I.

Are you feeling me?
Now put your hands on the hood.

We know about all those sweet-ass
Brazilian ho's you've been running

and we don't like it.
But you know who bothers us more?

That armpit you work for,
that sewer rat.

- Where is he?
- How would I know?

- I don't work for no one.
- Os Punho.

You don't know who I'm talking about?
The Fist?

- You know nothing about The Fist?
- How would you like a fist up your--?

Unfortunately, Vinnie was only referred
to as Vinnie. No last name.

Agent Hatford never had a chance
to write up a full report.

Tox on your orphaned biceps.

Nandrolone decanoate,

methenolone enanthate,
oxymetholone and HCG.

That's quite a cocktail.

Maybe this Vinnie is a bodybuilder.

It could be.
This specific mix was very popular

with the local weightlifting community
a while back.

The VELCORE Lab was supplying it
to all sorts of athletes,

before we shut them down.

You know, there is someone
who is very familiar with this case.

And he's real easy to get to.

He's a murder suspect.
He's using your juice.

His name is Vinnie.

If you know his last name,

we'd appreciate the information.

Let me get this straight.

You guys bust my company
for selling 'roids,

give everybody else a chance
to plead out for easy time

so the DA can make an example
out of me

because I, me personally,

I'm corrupting the very fabric
of American sports.

You ruined my life

and now you want me to help you.

That pretty much sums it up, yeah.

Screw you.

Yeah, I figured you'd have
an adverse reaction to that.

I've only got 22 days left
of a 16-month rap,

which means there is nothing
you can do for me or to me.

Yeah, that's why I decided
to bring in an associate.

Agent Bechman,
would you come in here, please?

You work much with federal agents?

Actually, this is my first time.
I'm a CSI-1.

Were you held back?

Career change.

I was a physician.

And screw you too, fed.

I would prefer to just educate you.

For instance, did you know

that many people convicted
of drug offenses

continue to engage in some form
of drug trade while in prison.

Now, United States v. Delgado held

that if you so much as
speak to someone

for the purpose of dealing drugs,
even while incarcerated,

that's conspiracy to conduct
a racketeering enterprise.

Doesn't matter whether or not
you handed out the drugs.

Your business activities from prison
violate the RICO statute.

Even if I did something like that,
and I am not saying that I did,

I already got busted for it.
That is double jeopardy.

Not according
to Garrett v. United States.

The double-jeopardy clause
does not bar cumulative punishments

for continuing criminal enterprises
and underlying predicate offenses.

Your man knows the law.

That's our Miles.

If we determine that you do have some
information regarding this suspect,

which you choose not to share,

then I can promise
that the full weight

of the Department of Justice
and RICO, Section 1963,

will be brought to bear upon you.

And your 22 days
in Clark County prison

will become 20 years
in a federal penitentiary.

Oh, and we get to take everything
you own.

His name's Vinnie Mingus.

He's one of those
Supreme Force Fighters.

He's supposed to be fighting today.

Well, it sure ain't the Mandalay Bay.

Welcome to human cockfighting, man.
This is as real as it gets.

It's like a bar fight spilled out
into the alleyway.

Like the marquess of Queensberry,
I prefer boxing, the sweet science.

Now, there's Mingus.

Well, somebody must have
seen him. Let's take a look around.

Vinnie, please.
You've got to sit down.

Get out of my way.

Hey, Brass, I got him.

Didn't I get the message across
with the last guy?

I'm sorry. You can't come in here.

L.V.P.D. Clear everybody out of here.
I wanna have a word with Mr. Mingus.

Please. I'm his doctor.

What kind of getup is that?

- Don't touch me.
- We both know that gun's not loaded.

Las Vegas police, Mr. Mingus.
You're under arrest.

But you're gonna have to shoot me
before you arrest me.

Come on, go ahead. Shoot me.

Got backup coming
He's not going anywhere.

Don't make it harder on yourself.

They're all fake!

They're fake!

All right. Come on.

They're fake!

Vinnie, you're making a fool
of yourself.

I'm making a fool out of myself?
Good!

Hold your fire!

Put the gun down.

These guns are not even loaded,
you see?

Chaos erupted today
at the Delos Auditorium,

home to the Supreme Force Fighting
championship,

after a police chase through
the crowded theater ended

in the bizarre apparent suicide
of Vinnie Mingus, a league--

Thanks for your cooperation,
doctor. Thank you.

Okay, so the fight doctor says
that Mingus came to him

with his arm all torn up.
He's infected and feverish.

So the doctor wraps up his arm, tells
him go to a hospital, Mingus refuses.

So he gives him a bunch of antibiotics,
hopes for the best.

Clearly Mingus was involved
in some kind of assault.

Why didn't the doctor inform
the authorities?

He says he knows Mingus
and he's afraid of him.

He says Mingus is half psychotic
on a good day.

You know, maybe the Agent Hatford
interview spooked him.

Mingus goes nuts, follows him,
takes him out.

Well, thank you, captain,
for all your hard work.

Sure. So, what's next? Os Punho?

We're gonna finish what we started.

Keep me in the loop, all right?

- All right.
- We will.

In Mingus' gym bag,
we found Agent Hatford's notebook,

his badge, and his gun.

It's empty.

A Davis P-380.

That's a weird gun for a fed to carry.

- Oh, my bad. It's a street piece.
Uh-huh.

Must be Mingus'.

Which means Agent Hatford's weapon
is still unaccounted for.

Hmm.

'Roid boy was sending out
a lot of pictures.

They're all of the Feebs.

Looks like he was conducting
an investigation of his own.

Track down that number.
Run fingerprints, DNA.

And swab last for Trace.

We always save the best for last.

Yes, David.
That's already getting old.

- Hey, Catherine.
- Yeah.

Do you remember a Jane Doe
we found off of Spencer Street

about three months ago?

Sadly, you're gonna
have to be more specific than that.

Pretty brunette caught up
in prostitution, underage,

gunshot wound to the head.

Okay, yes, I do remember her.

I saw a picture of her on a board
in the FBI command post.

She's mixed up
in this human-trafficking ring.

Did the feds talk to her?

Yeah. And they got it on video.

That's quite an assembly line.

Out with the old, in with the new.

Yeah. Watch this.

Everything that you say
in this room is confidential.

Now, do you know
what confidential means?

My speak is not good,

but I understand good.

Okay. How old are you, sweetheart?

- Twenty-one.
No.

I know that
that's what they told you to say.

Sweetie, how old are you really?

- Sixteen.
It's okay.

You know, we've seen

a lot of young girls like you
on Hill Street

being shoved into limos

and forced to do God knows what
with dirty old men.

Who brought you here, Rio?

I can't.

He will kill me.

I will be dead, you understand?

You won't be dead
because we will protect you.

But you need to help us.

Who is he?

- Who is he?
We're trying to help you.

We're giving you
the benefit of the doubt.

But you're a prostitute, a criminal.

Unless you help us,
you're gonna go to jail.

I don't wanna talk no more.

I go to jail, okay?

Please take me to jail.

Please take me to jail.

Let her go.

Their files indicate
that they never re-interviewed her.

Three days later, she was dead.

Maybe Os Punho found out that
she was picked up and questioned.

Had her killed on the street
as a warning to the other girls.

- What's happening, professor?
I just printed Vinnie Mingus' gun.

- At least I thought it was his gun.
- What do you mean?

It appears to have Agent Hatford's
prints all over it.

Now, why would an FBI agent
be carrying a street gun,

with a filed-down serial number
on it?

He wouldn't.
Maybe it's a dropped gun.

Are you saying Agent Hatford
was dirty?

It happens.

Maybe Agent Hatford was mixed up
with Mingus

or Os Punho somehow, you know.
It happens.

Excuse me, sir.
- Hold on.

Captain Brass,
you have a 420 on Hill Street.

Aah. Hooker or pimp?

Agent Bechman,
I was gonna call you.

- What are you doing here?
- The operation was undercover.

Okay, David,
what have you got for me tonight?

Oh, man.

It's Agent Stanley.

- Yeah, Wendy.
- Captain, I just got this e-mail

from FBI Quantico

and there is no record of any agent
by the name of William Ray Hatford.

I mean, this guy was a fake.

Okay, thanks.

There's stippling and powder burns
around the wound.

It was a close-range shot.

Somebody probably walked right up
behind her on the street.

Looks like Emma was suicidal.

Those are old scars.

Yes, but vertical,
which means she was serious.

Guess she finally got her wish.

Hey, Live Scan got a hit on her prints.

Her real name is Emma Mosler.

She's got a record.
She did two years for prostitution.

So she was a prostitute
posing as an FBI agent

posing as a prostitute?

To bust a prostitution ring.

Okay, take everything, we'll figure out
what's real and what's not real later.

There was this trucker
in Gerald, Missouri,

who rolled into town and told
everybody he was a DEA agent.

Started busting every meth head
in town.

It was months before
somebody finally caught on.

- Don't try to make me feel better.
Can I give it a try, Jim?

I've been with the Bureau 15 years.
This would have fooled me.

It didn't fool Vinnie Mingus.

He knew they were fakes.
He thought we were fakes too.

He blew his brains out
trying to prove it.

It'd be nice to find Agent Bechman
before Os Punho does.

- We anywhere on that?
- No.

All we have is a lease made out to
"I Can See For Miles, Incorporated."

All right. Nevada tags.
Alpha-Charlie-David-Foxtrot-348.

Registered owner is
"I Can See For Miles, Inc."

Same address
as their command post.

It looks Miles covered all his bases.

Yeah. Well, maybe Emma
didn't cover hers.

We know when and where
she swiped her card.

The bill's gotta get sent somewhere.

A halfway house?
Yeah.

Well, we think she was stealing
identities from the residents.

How hard could that be?

I'm Detective Jim Brass,
Las Vegas police.

This is Ray Langston
from the Crime Lab.

Is there someone in charge here
that I can talk to?

That would be me, until 4:00.

Do you know this woman?

Oh, yeah, sure, I know her. Emma.

You know, most of the ladies here
are pretty nasty.

But, man, oh, man, she is sweet.

I seen her in the shower once,
shaving her pits.

High point of my life.

- Is she a resident?
Uh-huh.

Okay.

Let's see.

Says here that Emma signed out
two days ago

and never signed back in.

And nobody noticed?

Look, this isn't a lockup facility.

Everybody here is free
to come and go.

They're just supposed
to sign in and out.

How about this guy, you seen him?

Yeah, sure. Uh, Miles Gelson.

He came to us courtesy of C.N.P.H.

Central Nevada Psychiatric Hospital.

Very good.
What about this man?

Oh.

Billy Ray Salvy, another resident.

- He's been MIA for three days.
- Another resident.

- We've been working with a couple--
Crazy people?

It's okay to call them that.
It's what I call them.

Look, uh, you're welcome to
talk to Miles if you'd like.

- He's here?
- According to this.

- Here we go.
- No, no, no. Hold on.

We'll take it from here.
Thanks. Thanks.

Hello, Miles.

We have some questions
that need to be answered.

I'm undercover here.

All the people,
they think I'm with them.

So if you wanna talk,

put the handcuffs on me
and take me outside.

Got to be careful, very careful,
because I can't blow this cover.

I understand.

Just hold on a second.

Captain, the man is clearly
a fantasy-prone personality type.

I think it's best if we

go along with him.

You're the doctor.

Miles Gelson,
we have a warrant for your arrest.

Stand up, put your hands
behind your back.

Let's go.

You're probably wondering where
I was when Agent Stanley was...

Uh, was, uh... I...

I, uh-- Well, I received a call
from a guy--

Gun!

Dispatch, this is Brass.
Shots fired, my location.

- Suspect down.
He's dead.

- Dead?
Yes, sir.

Code 4.

Good work, detective.

- I'm putting you in for commendation.
- Shut up.

Shut up, you whack job.
You see this?

- Captain.
You see this? This is real.

People are dead because of you.

- Jim, I got it.
You're a fraud.

- I got it.
- Get him out of here.

The driver's cell phone
was recovered at the scene.

Clearly, Mingus was spreading
the word about the phony feds.

I figured the shooter was one
of Os Punho's lower-levels punks,

finishing what Mingus started.

How much time is he looking at?

Let's see.
Impersonating a federal officer,

at least two counts
of accessory murder,

and every person he hauled off
the street to interview

would be an additional count
of kidnapping.

Fifteen to 20, minimum.

His best bet would be to plead
diminished capacity.

He's got that covered.

This is all from
the fake command post?

Uh-huh.

- What are you doing?
- That is a good question.

This is the evidence ledger
from the fake feds' locker.

It's filled with dates
and corresponding alphabetic codes.

This is the date that
that girl Rio was killed.

So it stands to reason that--

This code could identify
the murder weapon.

That is a perfectly
logical conclusion.

It's also wrong.

That code isn't on
any of these weapons.

In fact, none of the codes
on the ledger are.

I've tried to decipher it using
simple shift and substitution codes.

No luck.

Unless we find a cipher key,
we may never figure it out.

Maybe Miles is the key.

Hello, Miles.

I'm truly sorry about your friends.

I'm here because I need your help.

This, uh, entry
in your evidence ledger

corresponds to the day
that girl Rio was killed.

What does it mean?

All right.

Miles, uh...

I think I know what happened, Miles.

I think you and Emma and Billy Ray

were trying to clean up your corner
of the world, do some good.

To do that,
you had to reinvent yourselves.

All I did was get them killed.

Look, they died fighting,

trying to help people
who couldn't help themselves.

Let me help you finish
what you started.

"LGDGDS-dash-UAP"

means "little guy dropped gun
down sewer,

unable to apprehend perp."

Corresponding evidence tagged with

"Gun the little bastard dropped.

Gonna nail his ass someday."

Now, have you tried this before?
Have you screened a weapon?

- No.
- Wanna try?

- All right.
- All right.

Okay, you take the gun

and I want you to swab the grip,
right in here.

Perfect. And I hit it with phenol.

Nothing.

All right.
Now we're gonna swab the magazine

because that gets a lot
of handling action.

Okay.

No.

So now we're gonna try the opening
and I want you to swab right here

underneath the lip.

Great.

Our killer caught his thumb
when he was loading the weapon.

The fight doctor is wanted
on a long list

of open trafficking indictments

and Interpol's been after him
for years.

We believe he's the one
who shot Rio.

It's over, Miles.

It was the doctor posing
as Os Punho.

He was running the operation
the whole time.

A fake cop taking down
an imaginary villain.

Not imaginary.

The suffering, the death he caused,
was real.

And you put a stop to it.

- I did?
- He's in jail.

I don't believe he'll ever get out.

That's good.

I brought you something
to pass the time.

As I recall,

Quixote regained his sanity
in the end,

but his melancholia persisted.

He died emotionally broken
and alone.

Well, they didn't have antidepressants
back in those days.

"Chapter 1.

At a village of La Mancha,

whose name
I do not wish to remember,

there lived a little while ago

one of those gentlemen who are wont
to keep a lance in the rack,

an old buckler, a lean horse,
and a swift greyhound."

Those windmills you tilted at,
they really were giants.