CSI: NY (2004–2013): Season 8, Episode 10 - Clean Sweep - full transcript
A charred body turns into a hot mess for the CSIs when it appears a cage fighter has been murdered by his stalker.
Ladies and gentlemen,
here we go with round three
of tonight's Cage Fighting
Coalition heavyweight bout
between Derek Petrov
and Ryan Richards!
Go.
What are you doing? What?
Come on,
why don't you back it up.
No way. Come on.
Don't stop it.
Come on.
Come on. Are
you kidding me?!
And the winner...
Come on.
Don't blow me off.
You cheated!
No way!
You can't do this.
Ryan Richards!
That's right-- I'm getting you back.
Just wait.
Just wait.
Hey, Richards.
Petrov.
Tough break tonight.
Could've gone either way.
Either way? The only reason
I lost is because you cheated.
Sorry you see it that way.
That's the only way a punk
like you could've beat me.
Look, man, you're a good
fighter, all right?
Next time,
you'll probably beat me.
Right now,
I just want to go home
and see my wife. Cool?
You have yourself
a good night.
Hope you skipped breakfast.
That bad?
Worse.
Our vic is Ryan Richards,
25 years old.
How do we know?
That's his melted
driver's license right there.
This ring of scorched gravel
suggests the body
was burned here.
Any witnesses?
No. Fog was pretty heavy
last night.
It could have
obscured the smoke,
making it hard to see.
Fire burns up, which would
typically keep the underside
of the body
relatively unscathed.
Nothing unscathed
about this guy.
Which indicates the vic was
likely drenched in an accelerant
and allowed to burn
uninterrupted
for quite some time.
Someone wanted the fire to do
the maximum damage possible.
Somebody wanted
to destroy the evidence.
# Out here in the fields
# I fight for my meals
# I get my back into my living
# Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
#
- Sid.
- Yeah?
Smell that.
Gasoline.
So now we know
what kind of accelerant
was used to
start the fire.
What kept it burning
for so long?
I'd offer the wick effect.
Right.
Where clothing acts like
the wick of a candle
turned inside-out.
Feeding the flames
a continuous supply of fuel
in the form of
melting human fat.
It's particularly effective.
And particularly disgusting.
Indeed.
Got it.
Turns out,
Richards was a rising star
on the cage fighting
circuit.
I've seen a
few matches.
That's a brutal sport.
It's an excuse for two grown men
to legally beat the bloody
pulp out of each other.
- So you're not a fan?
- I didn't say that.
Now, I'm hearing that Richards
absolutely annihilated
his toughest competition
at an event last night--
some muscle head
named Petrov--
put himself in prime position
to win the title next month.
This guy was on the verge
of some serious fame.
Success could've put
a target on his back.
Kid definitely knew
how to defend himself.
Whoever did this risked
a serious ass-whupping
if things went south.
With the state of the remains,
it could take some time
before Sid determines a
COD, if he can at all.
Until then, we won't know
if Richards died here
or was only dumped and
burned here after the fact.
I'll start whacking the bushes,
see if anyone was
itching for a death match
with our fighter
outside of the cage.
What's up?
Okay. See ya.
Can I, uh, help you?
As a matter of fact,
you can.
But first,
let me do something for you.
Large French roast, black,
paired with a blueberry scone.
That is how you like
your coffee, right?
I gave up coffee
a year ago,
and I'm severely
allergic to blueberries.
Of course you are.
Seems your buddy Flack
is quite the practical joker.
Let me try this again.
My name's Jennifer Walsh.
I'm a freelancer
with the Journal.
I'm writing next month's
cover story.
Uh, interview
requests are made
through the Public
lnformation Office.
Truth is, I'm not a big fan
of the rules.
They seem to get
in the way
of what I want.
Did Flack tell you
to tell me that, too?
'Cause I am a big fan
of the rules.
All I'm asking is for
five minutes of your time.
You owe me that at least,
considering I did try to
poison you with blueberries.
Fair enough.
What's your article about?
The NYPD's inability
to police themselves.
Specifically in matters
of officer misconduct.
Ms. Walsh...
I have no official comment
about that.
I'm not looking for official,
Detective.
It's your personal
perspective I'm after.
I can't help you
there, either.
Can't or won't?
Because some people say
that your rigid adherence
to department policy
is more pliable than you let on.
That you've been known
to look the other way
and be creative
with those policies
on more than one occasion.
They're entitled
to their opinion.
And so are you.
I came to hear
your side of the story.
There is no story.
I do my job to the best
of my ability and I expect
the same from all the
officers under my command.
Now, if you'll excuse me,
your five minutes is up.
Making any headway?
Appropriately enough, yes.
Look at this, Mac.
Fractures across the
surface of the cranium.
As you know, extended
exposure to intense heat
will cause bone to shrink
and distort.
The brittle surface
will eventually checker,
breaking into tiny fragments.
What about
this fissure?
Something completely different.
The advanced soot buildup
on the edges suggests
they were exposed to flames
for a longer duration.
It occurred before the fire.
Exactly.
Richards had just been
in a violent cage match.
He could have been
injured then.
A trauma this severe
would have sent him
straight to the hospital.
Somebody may have blindsided
him after the fight,
struck him in the
back of the head.
But that may not be
what killed him.
I ran the metal nugget
Sid found through the GC/MS.
Came back as an alloy
of lead and antimony.
Consistent with a bullet.
Fused to the base of his skull.
Looks like our COD
- is a GSW.
- Ryan Richards was
struck in the head, shot in
the back, then lit on fire.
That's what I call overkill.
Why now?
It doesn't make any sense.
I understand
that Ryan participated
in an event last night.
Was there anything unusual?
I wasn't there.
I don't watch Ryan
fight anymore.
Seeing him get hit is worse
than someone hitting me.
Hard to watch someone
you love in pain.
He called me after the
match, told me he'd won.
He was supposed to pick up some
dinner for us and come home.
But he never did.
Was your husband having
problems with anyone?
Any arguments, disputes?
Every now and then, a fan
would stop him on the street,
challenge him
to a fight.
How would Ryan handle that?
He'd give them an
autograph instead.
Even the most celebrated
athletes have their detractors.
Was there anyone particularly
aggressive in their criticism
that might have wanted
to hurt him?
Oh, my God.
It was him.
Who, Lisa?
The man stalking my husband
back in Colorado.
Ryan said it
was just a cost
of being in the public eye,
but this guy made it personal.
He terrorized us
for over two years.
Did the police
ever identify him?
They tried, but
he was careful.
They said that there was nothing
more they could do for us.
Is that why you
moved to New York?
I didn't think it would
make much difference.
It was only a matter of time
before he tracked us down.
But it's been almost a year
since we heard from him.
I actually let myself believe
that nightmare was over.
We'll do whatever we can to find
out who's responsible for this.
I'm three months pregnant.
What if he comes after us next?
I used the reference sample
Richards' wife provided.
Compared it to the blood drops
at the crime scene.
Positive match.
Our vic was Ryan.
For his wife's sake,
I wish it wasn't.
Yeah. Also spoke
to the Denver PD.
I mean, the Richards were
dealing with a whack job, here.
I mean, this stalker,
he was relentless.
Were there ever
any physical attacks?
No. Everything but.
I mean,
he made death threats.
He also broke into their house
and left a cake
frosted with dog feces
on the kitchen counter.
Delightful.
Authorities ran every lead,
but came up short.
I mean, whoever he was, he knew
how to avoid being caught.
The wife said everything
stopped once they moved.
Ah, maybe the stalker
got a life.
Or maybe he had a hard time
tracking them down.
Right, and when he finally did,
this psycho decided to
step it up to
the next level.
Good theory.
It's more than just a theory.
I searched Ryan's laptop.
I found three dozen threatening
e-mails from the same person.
All over the last month from an
untraceable webmail account...
it's the same account that was
used in the Colorado threats.
When was the last e-mail sent?
12 hours ago.
It said, "Savor the victory now,
cause you'll be
dead by morning,"
and it came with
this image attached.
Okay, well, this photo
was taken last night,
right after Ryan
won his fight.
Yeah, looks like that shot
was taken from the bleachers.
So we might not be able
to trace the e-mail account,
but maybe we can figure
out who took this picture.
#
Hey, boss.
You're just in time
for the main event.
I gathered all the pictures
from the fight last night
through Internet
and sports press.
Using the images, I was able
to create a 3-D rendering of
the exact moment our stalker
took a picture of Ryan Richards.
Okay, well,
based on the angle,
we know that he was
sitting in the bleachers
almost eye-level with the cage.
So I would say our perp's
probably sitting in
the second or third row.
Okay.
Whoa. Stop.
Go back just a bit.
Oh, that's our guy.
Can you rotate it just a bit,
so we can see his face better?
Blocked in every angle.
Nope, that's the best I can do.
That might be good enough,
because, look,
he's got something
around his neck.
VIP credentials.
And that's a code number
that'll tell us
exactly who it was issued to.
Yeah, the VIP pass was mine.
But I was too busy last night
in the cage to be using it.
- Then who'd you give that pass to?
- I don't remember.
All right. Fine. I sold it to
some guy in the parking lot.
What did he look like?
Looked like he was eager enough
to give me 300 bucks for it.
Petrov was humiliated last night
in front of 2,000 people.
He also lost his shot
at the title.
Plenty of reason
to want Ryan dead.
Gives us another suspect.
But not the person
who took that photograph.
#
Need some help, buddy?
Is that gasoline?
Do not move!
What the hell happened?
I think I killed
somebody last night.
You're telling me you woke
up doused in gasoline,
covered in blood,
and you don't know
how it happened?
- I was drunk.
- Yeah, Marty,
I've had my fair share of rough
nights, yet I think I'd remember
taking a bath in
somebody else's blood.
I mean, I was really drunk.
Yesterday was
my 21st birthday.
Some friends,
they-they took me to
Dutton's Tavern
to celebrate.
Let me guess--
part of this celebration
included you doing 21 shots?
I made it through the first
ten without a problem.
After that, things get
a little sketchy.
Try me.
I was really sloppy.
Everything was spinning.
I'd never been so wasted.
Well, I-I decided to walk home.
Next thing I remember,
I woke up in my dorm.
Is that when you saw the blood?
Yeah, I was so scared, I...
I thought it was mine, you know?
When I realized it wasn't,
I came straight to the station.
You recognize that guy?
Yeah, it's, uh... Ryan Richards.
I've seen him fight.
Why?
There were three murders
in the city last night.
Two of them
have been solved.
And the third?
Ryan Richards.
He was killed,
then set on fire
using gasoline.
Just like the stuff
you were drenched in.
You think maybe I did it?
I don't know, Marty.
But we are going to find out.
Surprise.
How did you get up here?
I took your advice and called
the Public lnformation Office.
They were surprisingly
accommodating
when I dropped your name.
The flowers are beautiful,
but I can't accept them.
Well, I'm sure whoever
sent them will be devastated.
You didn't send these?
Flowers aren't my style.
If I was gonna bribe you,
I'd offer a tub of popcorn
and court side
Knicks tickets.
That's not why I'm here.
I come bearing
a new proposition.
Just read a draft
of the article.
You just want me to read it?
Yeah. And let me know
if I'm in the ballpark.
Unless, of course,
it magically inspires you to
offer an additional perspective.
Ms. Walsh...
Uh... Jennifer.
And don't feel obligated
to commit right away.
I don't.
And in case you're wondering,
I am free for dinner
later tonight.
I wasn't.
Help me get the facts right.
You of all people
should understand
how important that is.
My number's on the back.
See you around,
Detective Taylor.
Mac.
Ms. Walsh, wait.
It's nice to see
you again...
Jennifer.
Who was that?
Nobody.
"Nobody" is pretty cute.
Did you process the clothing
that Flack sent over?
Uh, yes, I did.
It was covered
with human blood,
but it was not Ryan Richards'.
The DNA didn't match the
secondary sample from his wife,
or the other blood
at the scene.
And, uh,
no hit in CODIS.
What about the gasoline?
The kind used to burn up our
vic had winter additives,
and the gasoline on Marty
Bosch's clothing did not.
So they were two
different varieties.
That's an almost
unbelievable coincidence.
Yeah, but the science
doesn't lie.
Marty Bosch did not
burn up our vic.
All that human blood suggests
that he did try to
hurt somebody else.
But without a body,
how do we prove it?
By figuring out where that kid
went after he left the bar.
I did find asbestos
fibers on his shirt.
There are thousands
of buildings in Manhattan
that still contain asbestos.
Yeah, but if Marty was as
drunk as he says he was,
how far could he possibly
have wandered?
Start checking zoning
records for the area.
Any building constructed
before 1979 is a possibility.
Okay, I'm on it.
Oh, just curious-- Mac,
are those flowers on your
desk also from "nobody"?
Lindsay, go.
#
#
Mac, how do you
eat your peanuts?
Peanuts?
Uh... like everybody else,
I suppose.
Well, down south,
we like to eat ours boiled,
'cause it makes
the shell soft,
and we can open them
with our teeth.
The obscured photo
of Ryan's stalker?
He had a can of boiled peanuts
on his lap.
He must have
Southern roots.
Anyway, I crawled
underneath the bleachers
and I found peanut shells
that have saliva on them.
From opening peanuts
with his teeth.
So I'm waiting
on a CODIS search.
Okay, Aaron Collins.
Felony robbery conviction
in Colorado.
Got three years.
Paroled after one.
That explains why
the death threats
against Ryan stopped
after they moved.
And why they started up again.
Look where Collins
lives now.
A halfway house
in Spanish Harlem.
That's right around the corner
from the Richards' apartment.
Oh. Excuse me.
Hey, how you doin'?
Looking for Aaron Collins.
His PO says he works here.
Yo, Aaron Collins,
how you doin'?
Need to talk to you for a sec.
Why do they always run?
I don't know.
Must be brain damage.
What do you got there?
Threats...
intimidation, harassment--
you're nothing
but a coward.
You don't know anything
about me.
I know you terrorized Ryan
Richards and his wife for years.
I also know you
weren't man enough
to take credit for it.
It was supposed to be me.
I was supposed to be
the star athlete.
Best friends
in high school.
Made the wrestling
team together.
Except I was a standout
on the squad.
I was the one that
couldn't be pinned.
But Ryan couldn't handle that.
We were practicing
for nationals,
he took a shot at me--
a cheap shot.
Shattered my knee,
blew out my ACL,
ruined any chance of me ever
becoming a pro cage fighter.
Sounds like a tragic
accident to me.
Yeah, you weren't there.
You didn't see
the look in his eyes.
He did it on purpose.
He... he stole my dream.
And in turn, you
stole his life.
What?
You waited for him
after the fight.
Hit him from behind,
then shot him in the back.
Dumped his body
under the bridge,
then set him on fire
to cover your tracks.
You're wrong!
I didn't do that!
Did you send this?
It was just a picture.
"Savor the victory now 'cause
you'll be dead by morning."
That's more than a picture,
that's a death threat.
I just wanted him to lie awake
at night, dreading the sunrise,
the same way I have, every day,
since I was 17 years old.
It was just a threat.
I never would've acted on it.
Where'd you go after the fight?
To the halfway house,
to make curfew.
You don't believe me?
You can ask the gestapo
pigs who run the place.
Yeah.
On my way.
Sid, what's wrong?
Everything.
Based on the X-rays I took,
that is.
Surgical screws?
Internal fixation of a
severe ankle trauma.
The tibia and talus were fused
using titanium hardware.
Have you seen
cage fighting?
Broken bones
would have been
an occupational hazard
for Ryan Richards.
A logical assumption, so I had
the victim's medical records
sent over and cross-referenced
them to verify the injury.
In the course of his career,
Mr. Richards had suffered, uh,
at least 20 distinct bone
fractures, but none of them
in this region.
Are you sure?
I called his physician
to confirm.
There's absolutely no history
of a broken ankle.
That means this burned body
is not Ryan Richards.
Someone wanted us to think
that Ryan Richards was dead.
But how did they get his
driver's license and blood
to leave at the scene?
The drops were gravitational
with no directionality.
So either Ryan's blood was
drawn without his knowledge...
Or Ryan planted it himself.
Wouldn't be
the first time
a person faked their
own premature demise.
What about Marty Bosch?
He could have
been helping him.
Or, as unlikely as it may seem,
these two cases may be
completely unrelated.
Either way, if it's not Ryan's
body, we have a new victim.
And a new murder suspect.
Ryan needed a fresh body
to pull this off.
So, if he was desperate enough,
he may have been willing
to kill someone.
He cut himself
to leave the blood, then
planted his I.D. on the body,
set it ablaze to conceal
who the victim really was.
Without viable remains,
he knew that we'd be forced
to make a circumstantial I.D.
Sid issues
the death certificate,
so Ryan Richards
officially ceases to exist.
Now we have to figure out who's
really lying down in Autopsy
and where Ryan is hiding.
#
#
Lisa Richards has already
made funeral arrangements
for Ryan.
Friends and family
have all been notified.
Either she doesn't know he's
still alive, or she's in on it.
A funeral would make
the illusion more convincing.
Richards did apply
for an insurance policy,
$5 million,
three months ago,
and his sole beneficiary
would be his wife.
That application was denied.
The underwriter said
Ryan's choice of career
was uninsurable.
Besides, they have
enough money in the bank
to live comfortably for years.
Any other skeletons
in the closet?
From what I can tell,
Richards was a great guy.
I mean, when he wasn't
volunteering in soup kitchens,
he was giving out
clothes and meals
to the homeless.
What's our motive here, Mac,
if it wasn't
for insurance money?
And if he's really
such a great guy,
why would he walk away from
all that fame and adoration?
When we find him,
remind me to ask.
I'll call Navy Medical
and see if we can get
any other information.
Hey, Mac, we
got something.
As you know, the FDA requires
fastidious documentation
of any surgically-implanted
medical devices.
Every detail is recorded--
type and size,
placement and location,
lot and serial number.
Tell me you were able to extract
the screws from our vic's ankle.
Just one, but that's all
we needed to find this.
Manufacturer's serial number.
Should be able to tell us which
hospital performed the surgery.
Already did.
The National Naval
Medical Center
in Bethesda, Maryland.
Our victim's a veteran?
Yeah.
PFC Charlie Hunt,
U.S. Marine Corps.
Wounded while deployed
in Afghanistan.
His Humvee was hit by an RPG.
Killed everyone on
board except Charlie.
His only injury was
a crushed ankle.
And it wasn't the private's
first close call
on the battlefield, either.
He was shot nine months earlier.
Bullet entered through his
shoulder, lodged near his spine.
Surgeons thought
it would be
safer to leave it there
than to remove it.
That's the bullet you found.
Means Ryan didn't shoot Hunt.
Could've bashed
his head in though.
Causing the blunt force
trauma to his skull.
But why him?
What's the connection between
an up-and-coming cage fighter
and a twice-wounded Marine?
V.A. confirmed that Charlie Hunt
was diagnosed with severe PTSD
after being discharged
from the military.
I spoke to his sister.
She said he was self-
medicating with alcohol.
You know, the horrors that
these young people endure
while fighting
for their country.
Is it any wonder they're unable
to cope with daily life?
We have an epidemic
of homeless veterans
on our nation's streets.
Over 100,000 brave men and women
just lost in the shuffle.
It's shameful.
Charlie Hunt was no exception.
Sister last saw him
a few months back-- filthy,
malnourished, losing a battle
with the demons in his own head.
She lost contact
with him after that.
Lisa Richards said
Ryan spent time
volunteering
with the homeless.
It must have been
where he met Charlie.
He staged his own death
using the perfect victim.
Someone nobody would ever
notice went missing.
Hey, guys.
There are 61 buildings
within walking distance
of Dutton's that are known
to contain asbestos.
That would take weeks
to check out.
We may not have to.
Marty Bosch told Flack
that he was
going home
after leaving the bar.
Now, his dorm room
is at 2409 Lenox Avenue.
There's a condemned building
filled with asbestos
around the corner from Dutton's,
and the address
is 2409 Madison Avenue.
So Marty, in his drunken state,
may have gotten the number
of his dorm building right,
but not the street.
2409 Madison is not far from
where Charlie Hunt's sister
last saw him alive.
Looks like these two cases
may actually be connected.
This place is
filled with asbestos--
insulation, ceiling tiles.
That explains the fibers
on his shirt.
What did you
do here, Marty?
I'm not sure.
You guys, check this out.
It's an automotive heater.
Gasoline-fueled heater.
I recognize that thing.
I tripped over it.
That's how I got the gas
all over me.
What about the blood?
I don't know.
Marty, come over here
with me for a moment.
This may sound
a little crazy,
but sometimes it
helps to remember
if you just take a
moment, clear your head.
Now look around
and tell me
what you remember.
I heard a noise.
It was like a growl.
It was too dark to see.
Hello?
Is anybody there?
There's blood
and hair on this beam.
That's what struck him
in the head,
caused the cranial fracture.
I can hear him
moaning in pain.
He was hurt really bad.
He was bleeding from his head.
I-I couldn't move him
by myself.
Instead of calling 911,
you left him here to die?
No, it...
no, it was...
it was an accident. I...
I didn't mean
to kill anybody. It...
I didn't...
I don't know...
Hey, Marty?
Let's take a walk.
I'm not sure Marty
did kill anyone.
Bloody handprints.
Smeared across the wall
with directionality.
They continue
toward that hole.
- The way out.
- If it is
Charlie Hunt's blood,
he walked out
of this building alive.
The question is, what happened
to him after he left?
Mac.
Look, I know I've called you
a genius before,
but this time,
I really mean it.
Why is that?
Ryan Richards
tried to contact his wife.
How?
As you expected,
he's smart enough to know
that we'd be monitoring
phone calls and e-mails,
so he tried a more antiquated
form of communication.
The U.S. Postal Service.
Uh-huh.
And because you told me to issue
a mail cover,
we intercepted this.
- A postcard.
- Mm-hmm. Dropped in a mailbox
this morning
in Midtown,
addressed to a Lisa Richards.
It's blank.
Well, that's why I swabbed
the stamp adhesive for DNA.
I know.
Why am I here?
Because you knew
that Ryan's stalker was
making threats again.
That's why you really
skipped the fight last night.
Ryan wanted to keep you
out of harm's way.
That's not true.
He would have done anything
to protect you and
your unborn child.
Faking his own death
was the ultimate way
to accomplish that.
Nobody stalks a dead man.
All he needed
was a body nobody would
miss, so a homeless man
was a perfect candidate.
It was pure luck
that Charlie Hunt
was already injured.
All Ryan had to do
was finish him off.
That's not how it happened.
Your husband called
and told you what he was
going to do, didn't he?
He said it was the only way
our family was ever
going to be safe.
He was supposed
to contact me
after he found
a place to hide--
let me know where to meet him
so we could all
disappear together.
But he never did.
I swear to you on my life,
I have no idea
where my husband is.
We do.
Have you been
to that motel before?
It, uh...
doesn't look like that anymore.
We stayed in room 102.
It smelled bad,
TV didn't work.
But it didn't matter.
It was the greatest
night of my life.
The night Ryan proposed to me.
He's there now, Lisa,
waiting for you to join him.
Ryan, it's me.
Sweetie, what's wrong?
I love you.
What... what the hell
is going on?
What is this?
It's over, Ryan.
I'm sorry.
Why, Lis?
To make sure
you didn't get hurt.
It was my turn
to protect you.
When Lisa found out
she was pregnant,
I felt like the luckiest man
in the world.
That's when the death
threats started again?
I was horrified.
Not for me;
for my family.
Police could have protected you.
They couldn't in Colorado.
I had to fix this on my own.
By staging your own murder.
At first, I didn't know
what I was going to do.
And that's when Charlie
Hunt came along.
I met Charlie
at the soup kitchen.
He'd come in a
couple times a week.
I'd try to break the ice,
but he, uh...
he wasn't interested
in talking.
After a while, he stopped
coming in altogether.
I finally tracked him
to a corner
where he was panhandling.
Started bringing him food
every couple days.
Took a while, but he, uh,
he finally started to trust me.
He told me about the war,
about the nightmares
that haunted him.
Tell me what happened last
night after the fight.
I stopped by the bodega
to get some sandwiches
to bring home.
Got an extra one for Charlie.
Figured I'd bring it by
on the way.
Charlie?
Charlie, where you at?
Charlie!
Hey. Oh, my God.
Sit down.
I found him in an alley,
covered in blood
and fading fast.
An ambulance
would have taken forever,me.
so I just, uh...
picked him up
and carried him to my car.
Drove as fast as I could
to the hospital, but...
we didn't make it.
Charlie died
in my passenger seat.
I pulled over.
Sat there...
for what seemed like hours.
Deciding if I was capable
of going through
with the unthinkable.
Burning his body
to make it look like your own.
Charlie was gone.
Nothing more
I could do for him.
I called Lisa and told her
what I was planning.
Bought gas at a local station,
switched our clothes,
left some of my blood
and my license near the body.
Took his dog tags.
Thought maybe I'd get them
to his sister one day.
I said a prayer.
Then I lit the fire.
I know what I did
to his body is wrong,
and I should be punished
for that, but...
I didn't kill Charlie.
Well, unfortunately,
the science can't confirm that.
The damage to the body
was so severe
that determining
a definitive time
and cause of death
is impossible.
What... what does that mean?
Well, the D.A. will consider
what we can prove,
and then decide whether or not
to charge you with murder.
Charlie was dead
when I lit that fire.
You have to believe me.
For what it's worth...
I do believe you.
But it's not up to me.
Yes.
I appreciate that, Colonel.
Thank you.
How'd it go?
Full military honors
for Private Hunt's funeral.
He and his family
will get the dignified closure
they deserve.
While I don't condone
Ryan Richards' choices,
I do understand
why he made them.
Love just makes you
do crazy things.
Well, sometimes I think that's
just an excuse for bad behavior.
Oh, I don't know, Mac.
When it comes to matters
of the heart,
I've had my share
of temporary insanity.
Maybe I have, too.
I guess it's just...
part of the human condition.
Which reminds me--
I hear you have
a new friend.
Lindsay has an
overactive imagination.
Are the rumors true?
Jennifer Walsh is a reporter.
She was just
doing her job.
She also happens to be
a beautiful woman.
- You did notice that, right?
- What I noticed
was how relentlessly
she was chasing a story.
She wanted someone
to confirm hearsay,
and that's not my style.
Are you sure that's all
she was chasing?
Jo.
Flack said she
was looking at you
like she wanted
something else.
Flack is dead.
He's dead.
Get over it, Mac Taylor.
Look at me.
You're a charming,
sexy single man.
There's no hiding
from the ladies.
I'm not hiding.
I think the word "sexy"
makes you nervous.
Speaking of crazy love,
I got to go meet
my kids for pizza.
I'll see you in the morning.
Good night, Jo.
Good night, Mac.
here we go with round three
of tonight's Cage Fighting
Coalition heavyweight bout
between Derek Petrov
and Ryan Richards!
Go.
What are you doing? What?
Come on,
why don't you back it up.
No way. Come on.
Don't stop it.
Come on.
Come on. Are
you kidding me?!
And the winner...
Come on.
Don't blow me off.
You cheated!
No way!
You can't do this.
Ryan Richards!
That's right-- I'm getting you back.
Just wait.
Just wait.
Hey, Richards.
Petrov.
Tough break tonight.
Could've gone either way.
Either way? The only reason
I lost is because you cheated.
Sorry you see it that way.
That's the only way a punk
like you could've beat me.
Look, man, you're a good
fighter, all right?
Next time,
you'll probably beat me.
Right now,
I just want to go home
and see my wife. Cool?
You have yourself
a good night.
Hope you skipped breakfast.
That bad?
Worse.
Our vic is Ryan Richards,
25 years old.
How do we know?
That's his melted
driver's license right there.
This ring of scorched gravel
suggests the body
was burned here.
Any witnesses?
No. Fog was pretty heavy
last night.
It could have
obscured the smoke,
making it hard to see.
Fire burns up, which would
typically keep the underside
of the body
relatively unscathed.
Nothing unscathed
about this guy.
Which indicates the vic was
likely drenched in an accelerant
and allowed to burn
uninterrupted
for quite some time.
Someone wanted the fire to do
the maximum damage possible.
Somebody wanted
to destroy the evidence.
# Out here in the fields
# I fight for my meals
# I get my back into my living
# Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
#
- Sid.
- Yeah?
Smell that.
Gasoline.
So now we know
what kind of accelerant
was used to
start the fire.
What kept it burning
for so long?
I'd offer the wick effect.
Right.
Where clothing acts like
the wick of a candle
turned inside-out.
Feeding the flames
a continuous supply of fuel
in the form of
melting human fat.
It's particularly effective.
And particularly disgusting.
Indeed.
Got it.
Turns out,
Richards was a rising star
on the cage fighting
circuit.
I've seen a
few matches.
That's a brutal sport.
It's an excuse for two grown men
to legally beat the bloody
pulp out of each other.
- So you're not a fan?
- I didn't say that.
Now, I'm hearing that Richards
absolutely annihilated
his toughest competition
at an event last night--
some muscle head
named Petrov--
put himself in prime position
to win the title next month.
This guy was on the verge
of some serious fame.
Success could've put
a target on his back.
Kid definitely knew
how to defend himself.
Whoever did this risked
a serious ass-whupping
if things went south.
With the state of the remains,
it could take some time
before Sid determines a
COD, if he can at all.
Until then, we won't know
if Richards died here
or was only dumped and
burned here after the fact.
I'll start whacking the bushes,
see if anyone was
itching for a death match
with our fighter
outside of the cage.
What's up?
Okay. See ya.
Can I, uh, help you?
As a matter of fact,
you can.
But first,
let me do something for you.
Large French roast, black,
paired with a blueberry scone.
That is how you like
your coffee, right?
I gave up coffee
a year ago,
and I'm severely
allergic to blueberries.
Of course you are.
Seems your buddy Flack
is quite the practical joker.
Let me try this again.
My name's Jennifer Walsh.
I'm a freelancer
with the Journal.
I'm writing next month's
cover story.
Uh, interview
requests are made
through the Public
lnformation Office.
Truth is, I'm not a big fan
of the rules.
They seem to get
in the way
of what I want.
Did Flack tell you
to tell me that, too?
'Cause I am a big fan
of the rules.
All I'm asking is for
five minutes of your time.
You owe me that at least,
considering I did try to
poison you with blueberries.
Fair enough.
What's your article about?
The NYPD's inability
to police themselves.
Specifically in matters
of officer misconduct.
Ms. Walsh...
I have no official comment
about that.
I'm not looking for official,
Detective.
It's your personal
perspective I'm after.
I can't help you
there, either.
Can't or won't?
Because some people say
that your rigid adherence
to department policy
is more pliable than you let on.
That you've been known
to look the other way
and be creative
with those policies
on more than one occasion.
They're entitled
to their opinion.
And so are you.
I came to hear
your side of the story.
There is no story.
I do my job to the best
of my ability and I expect
the same from all the
officers under my command.
Now, if you'll excuse me,
your five minutes is up.
Making any headway?
Appropriately enough, yes.
Look at this, Mac.
Fractures across the
surface of the cranium.
As you know, extended
exposure to intense heat
will cause bone to shrink
and distort.
The brittle surface
will eventually checker,
breaking into tiny fragments.
What about
this fissure?
Something completely different.
The advanced soot buildup
on the edges suggests
they were exposed to flames
for a longer duration.
It occurred before the fire.
Exactly.
Richards had just been
in a violent cage match.
He could have been
injured then.
A trauma this severe
would have sent him
straight to the hospital.
Somebody may have blindsided
him after the fight,
struck him in the
back of the head.
But that may not be
what killed him.
I ran the metal nugget
Sid found through the GC/MS.
Came back as an alloy
of lead and antimony.
Consistent with a bullet.
Fused to the base of his skull.
Looks like our COD
- is a GSW.
- Ryan Richards was
struck in the head, shot in
the back, then lit on fire.
That's what I call overkill.
Why now?
It doesn't make any sense.
I understand
that Ryan participated
in an event last night.
Was there anything unusual?
I wasn't there.
I don't watch Ryan
fight anymore.
Seeing him get hit is worse
than someone hitting me.
Hard to watch someone
you love in pain.
He called me after the
match, told me he'd won.
He was supposed to pick up some
dinner for us and come home.
But he never did.
Was your husband having
problems with anyone?
Any arguments, disputes?
Every now and then, a fan
would stop him on the street,
challenge him
to a fight.
How would Ryan handle that?
He'd give them an
autograph instead.
Even the most celebrated
athletes have their detractors.
Was there anyone particularly
aggressive in their criticism
that might have wanted
to hurt him?
Oh, my God.
It was him.
Who, Lisa?
The man stalking my husband
back in Colorado.
Ryan said it
was just a cost
of being in the public eye,
but this guy made it personal.
He terrorized us
for over two years.
Did the police
ever identify him?
They tried, but
he was careful.
They said that there was nothing
more they could do for us.
Is that why you
moved to New York?
I didn't think it would
make much difference.
It was only a matter of time
before he tracked us down.
But it's been almost a year
since we heard from him.
I actually let myself believe
that nightmare was over.
We'll do whatever we can to find
out who's responsible for this.
I'm three months pregnant.
What if he comes after us next?
I used the reference sample
Richards' wife provided.
Compared it to the blood drops
at the crime scene.
Positive match.
Our vic was Ryan.
For his wife's sake,
I wish it wasn't.
Yeah. Also spoke
to the Denver PD.
I mean, the Richards were
dealing with a whack job, here.
I mean, this stalker,
he was relentless.
Were there ever
any physical attacks?
No. Everything but.
I mean,
he made death threats.
He also broke into their house
and left a cake
frosted with dog feces
on the kitchen counter.
Delightful.
Authorities ran every lead,
but came up short.
I mean, whoever he was, he knew
how to avoid being caught.
The wife said everything
stopped once they moved.
Ah, maybe the stalker
got a life.
Or maybe he had a hard time
tracking them down.
Right, and when he finally did,
this psycho decided to
step it up to
the next level.
Good theory.
It's more than just a theory.
I searched Ryan's laptop.
I found three dozen threatening
e-mails from the same person.
All over the last month from an
untraceable webmail account...
it's the same account that was
used in the Colorado threats.
When was the last e-mail sent?
12 hours ago.
It said, "Savor the victory now,
cause you'll be
dead by morning,"
and it came with
this image attached.
Okay, well, this photo
was taken last night,
right after Ryan
won his fight.
Yeah, looks like that shot
was taken from the bleachers.
So we might not be able
to trace the e-mail account,
but maybe we can figure
out who took this picture.
#
Hey, boss.
You're just in time
for the main event.
I gathered all the pictures
from the fight last night
through Internet
and sports press.
Using the images, I was able
to create a 3-D rendering of
the exact moment our stalker
took a picture of Ryan Richards.
Okay, well,
based on the angle,
we know that he was
sitting in the bleachers
almost eye-level with the cage.
So I would say our perp's
probably sitting in
the second or third row.
Okay.
Whoa. Stop.
Go back just a bit.
Oh, that's our guy.
Can you rotate it just a bit,
so we can see his face better?
Blocked in every angle.
Nope, that's the best I can do.
That might be good enough,
because, look,
he's got something
around his neck.
VIP credentials.
And that's a code number
that'll tell us
exactly who it was issued to.
Yeah, the VIP pass was mine.
But I was too busy last night
in the cage to be using it.
- Then who'd you give that pass to?
- I don't remember.
All right. Fine. I sold it to
some guy in the parking lot.
What did he look like?
Looked like he was eager enough
to give me 300 bucks for it.
Petrov was humiliated last night
in front of 2,000 people.
He also lost his shot
at the title.
Plenty of reason
to want Ryan dead.
Gives us another suspect.
But not the person
who took that photograph.
#
Need some help, buddy?
Is that gasoline?
Do not move!
What the hell happened?
I think I killed
somebody last night.
You're telling me you woke
up doused in gasoline,
covered in blood,
and you don't know
how it happened?
- I was drunk.
- Yeah, Marty,
I've had my fair share of rough
nights, yet I think I'd remember
taking a bath in
somebody else's blood.
I mean, I was really drunk.
Yesterday was
my 21st birthday.
Some friends,
they-they took me to
Dutton's Tavern
to celebrate.
Let me guess--
part of this celebration
included you doing 21 shots?
I made it through the first
ten without a problem.
After that, things get
a little sketchy.
Try me.
I was really sloppy.
Everything was spinning.
I'd never been so wasted.
Well, I-I decided to walk home.
Next thing I remember,
I woke up in my dorm.
Is that when you saw the blood?
Yeah, I was so scared, I...
I thought it was mine, you know?
When I realized it wasn't,
I came straight to the station.
You recognize that guy?
Yeah, it's, uh... Ryan Richards.
I've seen him fight.
Why?
There were three murders
in the city last night.
Two of them
have been solved.
And the third?
Ryan Richards.
He was killed,
then set on fire
using gasoline.
Just like the stuff
you were drenched in.
You think maybe I did it?
I don't know, Marty.
But we are going to find out.
Surprise.
How did you get up here?
I took your advice and called
the Public lnformation Office.
They were surprisingly
accommodating
when I dropped your name.
The flowers are beautiful,
but I can't accept them.
Well, I'm sure whoever
sent them will be devastated.
You didn't send these?
Flowers aren't my style.
If I was gonna bribe you,
I'd offer a tub of popcorn
and court side
Knicks tickets.
That's not why I'm here.
I come bearing
a new proposition.
Just read a draft
of the article.
You just want me to read it?
Yeah. And let me know
if I'm in the ballpark.
Unless, of course,
it magically inspires you to
offer an additional perspective.
Ms. Walsh...
Uh... Jennifer.
And don't feel obligated
to commit right away.
I don't.
And in case you're wondering,
I am free for dinner
later tonight.
I wasn't.
Help me get the facts right.
You of all people
should understand
how important that is.
My number's on the back.
See you around,
Detective Taylor.
Mac.
Ms. Walsh, wait.
It's nice to see
you again...
Jennifer.
Who was that?
Nobody.
"Nobody" is pretty cute.
Did you process the clothing
that Flack sent over?
Uh, yes, I did.
It was covered
with human blood,
but it was not Ryan Richards'.
The DNA didn't match the
secondary sample from his wife,
or the other blood
at the scene.
And, uh,
no hit in CODIS.
What about the gasoline?
The kind used to burn up our
vic had winter additives,
and the gasoline on Marty
Bosch's clothing did not.
So they were two
different varieties.
That's an almost
unbelievable coincidence.
Yeah, but the science
doesn't lie.
Marty Bosch did not
burn up our vic.
All that human blood suggests
that he did try to
hurt somebody else.
But without a body,
how do we prove it?
By figuring out where that kid
went after he left the bar.
I did find asbestos
fibers on his shirt.
There are thousands
of buildings in Manhattan
that still contain asbestos.
Yeah, but if Marty was as
drunk as he says he was,
how far could he possibly
have wandered?
Start checking zoning
records for the area.
Any building constructed
before 1979 is a possibility.
Okay, I'm on it.
Oh, just curious-- Mac,
are those flowers on your
desk also from "nobody"?
Lindsay, go.
#
#
Mac, how do you
eat your peanuts?
Peanuts?
Uh... like everybody else,
I suppose.
Well, down south,
we like to eat ours boiled,
'cause it makes
the shell soft,
and we can open them
with our teeth.
The obscured photo
of Ryan's stalker?
He had a can of boiled peanuts
on his lap.
He must have
Southern roots.
Anyway, I crawled
underneath the bleachers
and I found peanut shells
that have saliva on them.
From opening peanuts
with his teeth.
So I'm waiting
on a CODIS search.
Okay, Aaron Collins.
Felony robbery conviction
in Colorado.
Got three years.
Paroled after one.
That explains why
the death threats
against Ryan stopped
after they moved.
And why they started up again.
Look where Collins
lives now.
A halfway house
in Spanish Harlem.
That's right around the corner
from the Richards' apartment.
Oh. Excuse me.
Hey, how you doin'?
Looking for Aaron Collins.
His PO says he works here.
Yo, Aaron Collins,
how you doin'?
Need to talk to you for a sec.
Why do they always run?
I don't know.
Must be brain damage.
What do you got there?
Threats...
intimidation, harassment--
you're nothing
but a coward.
You don't know anything
about me.
I know you terrorized Ryan
Richards and his wife for years.
I also know you
weren't man enough
to take credit for it.
It was supposed to be me.
I was supposed to be
the star athlete.
Best friends
in high school.
Made the wrestling
team together.
Except I was a standout
on the squad.
I was the one that
couldn't be pinned.
But Ryan couldn't handle that.
We were practicing
for nationals,
he took a shot at me--
a cheap shot.
Shattered my knee,
blew out my ACL,
ruined any chance of me ever
becoming a pro cage fighter.
Sounds like a tragic
accident to me.
Yeah, you weren't there.
You didn't see
the look in his eyes.
He did it on purpose.
He... he stole my dream.
And in turn, you
stole his life.
What?
You waited for him
after the fight.
Hit him from behind,
then shot him in the back.
Dumped his body
under the bridge,
then set him on fire
to cover your tracks.
You're wrong!
I didn't do that!
Did you send this?
It was just a picture.
"Savor the victory now 'cause
you'll be dead by morning."
That's more than a picture,
that's a death threat.
I just wanted him to lie awake
at night, dreading the sunrise,
the same way I have, every day,
since I was 17 years old.
It was just a threat.
I never would've acted on it.
Where'd you go after the fight?
To the halfway house,
to make curfew.
You don't believe me?
You can ask the gestapo
pigs who run the place.
Yeah.
On my way.
Sid, what's wrong?
Everything.
Based on the X-rays I took,
that is.
Surgical screws?
Internal fixation of a
severe ankle trauma.
The tibia and talus were fused
using titanium hardware.
Have you seen
cage fighting?
Broken bones
would have been
an occupational hazard
for Ryan Richards.
A logical assumption, so I had
the victim's medical records
sent over and cross-referenced
them to verify the injury.
In the course of his career,
Mr. Richards had suffered, uh,
at least 20 distinct bone
fractures, but none of them
in this region.
Are you sure?
I called his physician
to confirm.
There's absolutely no history
of a broken ankle.
That means this burned body
is not Ryan Richards.
Someone wanted us to think
that Ryan Richards was dead.
But how did they get his
driver's license and blood
to leave at the scene?
The drops were gravitational
with no directionality.
So either Ryan's blood was
drawn without his knowledge...
Or Ryan planted it himself.
Wouldn't be
the first time
a person faked their
own premature demise.
What about Marty Bosch?
He could have
been helping him.
Or, as unlikely as it may seem,
these two cases may be
completely unrelated.
Either way, if it's not Ryan's
body, we have a new victim.
And a new murder suspect.
Ryan needed a fresh body
to pull this off.
So, if he was desperate enough,
he may have been willing
to kill someone.
He cut himself
to leave the blood, then
planted his I.D. on the body,
set it ablaze to conceal
who the victim really was.
Without viable remains,
he knew that we'd be forced
to make a circumstantial I.D.
Sid issues
the death certificate,
so Ryan Richards
officially ceases to exist.
Now we have to figure out who's
really lying down in Autopsy
and where Ryan is hiding.
#
#
Lisa Richards has already
made funeral arrangements
for Ryan.
Friends and family
have all been notified.
Either she doesn't know he's
still alive, or she's in on it.
A funeral would make
the illusion more convincing.
Richards did apply
for an insurance policy,
$5 million,
three months ago,
and his sole beneficiary
would be his wife.
That application was denied.
The underwriter said
Ryan's choice of career
was uninsurable.
Besides, they have
enough money in the bank
to live comfortably for years.
Any other skeletons
in the closet?
From what I can tell,
Richards was a great guy.
I mean, when he wasn't
volunteering in soup kitchens,
he was giving out
clothes and meals
to the homeless.
What's our motive here, Mac,
if it wasn't
for insurance money?
And if he's really
such a great guy,
why would he walk away from
all that fame and adoration?
When we find him,
remind me to ask.
I'll call Navy Medical
and see if we can get
any other information.
Hey, Mac, we
got something.
As you know, the FDA requires
fastidious documentation
of any surgically-implanted
medical devices.
Every detail is recorded--
type and size,
placement and location,
lot and serial number.
Tell me you were able to extract
the screws from our vic's ankle.
Just one, but that's all
we needed to find this.
Manufacturer's serial number.
Should be able to tell us which
hospital performed the surgery.
Already did.
The National Naval
Medical Center
in Bethesda, Maryland.
Our victim's a veteran?
Yeah.
PFC Charlie Hunt,
U.S. Marine Corps.
Wounded while deployed
in Afghanistan.
His Humvee was hit by an RPG.
Killed everyone on
board except Charlie.
His only injury was
a crushed ankle.
And it wasn't the private's
first close call
on the battlefield, either.
He was shot nine months earlier.
Bullet entered through his
shoulder, lodged near his spine.
Surgeons thought
it would be
safer to leave it there
than to remove it.
That's the bullet you found.
Means Ryan didn't shoot Hunt.
Could've bashed
his head in though.
Causing the blunt force
trauma to his skull.
But why him?
What's the connection between
an up-and-coming cage fighter
and a twice-wounded Marine?
V.A. confirmed that Charlie Hunt
was diagnosed with severe PTSD
after being discharged
from the military.
I spoke to his sister.
She said he was self-
medicating with alcohol.
You know, the horrors that
these young people endure
while fighting
for their country.
Is it any wonder they're unable
to cope with daily life?
We have an epidemic
of homeless veterans
on our nation's streets.
Over 100,000 brave men and women
just lost in the shuffle.
It's shameful.
Charlie Hunt was no exception.
Sister last saw him
a few months back-- filthy,
malnourished, losing a battle
with the demons in his own head.
She lost contact
with him after that.
Lisa Richards said
Ryan spent time
volunteering
with the homeless.
It must have been
where he met Charlie.
He staged his own death
using the perfect victim.
Someone nobody would ever
notice went missing.
Hey, guys.
There are 61 buildings
within walking distance
of Dutton's that are known
to contain asbestos.
That would take weeks
to check out.
We may not have to.
Marty Bosch told Flack
that he was
going home
after leaving the bar.
Now, his dorm room
is at 2409 Lenox Avenue.
There's a condemned building
filled with asbestos
around the corner from Dutton's,
and the address
is 2409 Madison Avenue.
So Marty, in his drunken state,
may have gotten the number
of his dorm building right,
but not the street.
2409 Madison is not far from
where Charlie Hunt's sister
last saw him alive.
Looks like these two cases
may actually be connected.
This place is
filled with asbestos--
insulation, ceiling tiles.
That explains the fibers
on his shirt.
What did you
do here, Marty?
I'm not sure.
You guys, check this out.
It's an automotive heater.
Gasoline-fueled heater.
I recognize that thing.
I tripped over it.
That's how I got the gas
all over me.
What about the blood?
I don't know.
Marty, come over here
with me for a moment.
This may sound
a little crazy,
but sometimes it
helps to remember
if you just take a
moment, clear your head.
Now look around
and tell me
what you remember.
I heard a noise.
It was like a growl.
It was too dark to see.
Hello?
Is anybody there?
There's blood
and hair on this beam.
That's what struck him
in the head,
caused the cranial fracture.
I can hear him
moaning in pain.
He was hurt really bad.
He was bleeding from his head.
I-I couldn't move him
by myself.
Instead of calling 911,
you left him here to die?
No, it...
no, it was...
it was an accident. I...
I didn't mean
to kill anybody. It...
I didn't...
I don't know...
Hey, Marty?
Let's take a walk.
I'm not sure Marty
did kill anyone.
Bloody handprints.
Smeared across the wall
with directionality.
They continue
toward that hole.
- The way out.
- If it is
Charlie Hunt's blood,
he walked out
of this building alive.
The question is, what happened
to him after he left?
Mac.
Look, I know I've called you
a genius before,
but this time,
I really mean it.
Why is that?
Ryan Richards
tried to contact his wife.
How?
As you expected,
he's smart enough to know
that we'd be monitoring
phone calls and e-mails,
so he tried a more antiquated
form of communication.
The U.S. Postal Service.
Uh-huh.
And because you told me to issue
a mail cover,
we intercepted this.
- A postcard.
- Mm-hmm. Dropped in a mailbox
this morning
in Midtown,
addressed to a Lisa Richards.
It's blank.
Well, that's why I swabbed
the stamp adhesive for DNA.
I know.
Why am I here?
Because you knew
that Ryan's stalker was
making threats again.
That's why you really
skipped the fight last night.
Ryan wanted to keep you
out of harm's way.
That's not true.
He would have done anything
to protect you and
your unborn child.
Faking his own death
was the ultimate way
to accomplish that.
Nobody stalks a dead man.
All he needed
was a body nobody would
miss, so a homeless man
was a perfect candidate.
It was pure luck
that Charlie Hunt
was already injured.
All Ryan had to do
was finish him off.
That's not how it happened.
Your husband called
and told you what he was
going to do, didn't he?
He said it was the only way
our family was ever
going to be safe.
He was supposed
to contact me
after he found
a place to hide--
let me know where to meet him
so we could all
disappear together.
But he never did.
I swear to you on my life,
I have no idea
where my husband is.
We do.
Have you been
to that motel before?
It, uh...
doesn't look like that anymore.
We stayed in room 102.
It smelled bad,
TV didn't work.
But it didn't matter.
It was the greatest
night of my life.
The night Ryan proposed to me.
He's there now, Lisa,
waiting for you to join him.
Ryan, it's me.
Sweetie, what's wrong?
I love you.
What... what the hell
is going on?
What is this?
It's over, Ryan.
I'm sorry.
Why, Lis?
To make sure
you didn't get hurt.
It was my turn
to protect you.
When Lisa found out
she was pregnant,
I felt like the luckiest man
in the world.
That's when the death
threats started again?
I was horrified.
Not for me;
for my family.
Police could have protected you.
They couldn't in Colorado.
I had to fix this on my own.
By staging your own murder.
At first, I didn't know
what I was going to do.
And that's when Charlie
Hunt came along.
I met Charlie
at the soup kitchen.
He'd come in a
couple times a week.
I'd try to break the ice,
but he, uh...
he wasn't interested
in talking.
After a while, he stopped
coming in altogether.
I finally tracked him
to a corner
where he was panhandling.
Started bringing him food
every couple days.
Took a while, but he, uh,
he finally started to trust me.
He told me about the war,
about the nightmares
that haunted him.
Tell me what happened last
night after the fight.
I stopped by the bodega
to get some sandwiches
to bring home.
Got an extra one for Charlie.
Figured I'd bring it by
on the way.
Charlie?
Charlie, where you at?
Charlie!
Hey. Oh, my God.
Sit down.
I found him in an alley,
covered in blood
and fading fast.
An ambulance
would have taken forever,me.
so I just, uh...
picked him up
and carried him to my car.
Drove as fast as I could
to the hospital, but...
we didn't make it.
Charlie died
in my passenger seat.
I pulled over.
Sat there...
for what seemed like hours.
Deciding if I was capable
of going through
with the unthinkable.
Burning his body
to make it look like your own.
Charlie was gone.
Nothing more
I could do for him.
I called Lisa and told her
what I was planning.
Bought gas at a local station,
switched our clothes,
left some of my blood
and my license near the body.
Took his dog tags.
Thought maybe I'd get them
to his sister one day.
I said a prayer.
Then I lit the fire.
I know what I did
to his body is wrong,
and I should be punished
for that, but...
I didn't kill Charlie.
Well, unfortunately,
the science can't confirm that.
The damage to the body
was so severe
that determining
a definitive time
and cause of death
is impossible.
What... what does that mean?
Well, the D.A. will consider
what we can prove,
and then decide whether or not
to charge you with murder.
Charlie was dead
when I lit that fire.
You have to believe me.
For what it's worth...
I do believe you.
But it's not up to me.
Yes.
I appreciate that, Colonel.
Thank you.
How'd it go?
Full military honors
for Private Hunt's funeral.
He and his family
will get the dignified closure
they deserve.
While I don't condone
Ryan Richards' choices,
I do understand
why he made them.
Love just makes you
do crazy things.
Well, sometimes I think that's
just an excuse for bad behavior.
Oh, I don't know, Mac.
When it comes to matters
of the heart,
I've had my share
of temporary insanity.
Maybe I have, too.
I guess it's just...
part of the human condition.
Which reminds me--
I hear you have
a new friend.
Lindsay has an
overactive imagination.
Are the rumors true?
Jennifer Walsh is a reporter.
She was just
doing her job.
She also happens to be
a beautiful woman.
- You did notice that, right?
- What I noticed
was how relentlessly
she was chasing a story.
She wanted someone
to confirm hearsay,
and that's not my style.
Are you sure that's all
she was chasing?
Jo.
Flack said she
was looking at you
like she wanted
something else.
Flack is dead.
He's dead.
Get over it, Mac Taylor.
Look at me.
You're a charming,
sexy single man.
There's no hiding
from the ladies.
I'm not hiding.
I think the word "sexy"
makes you nervous.
Speaking of crazy love,
I got to go meet
my kids for pizza.
I'll see you in the morning.
Good night, Jo.
Good night, Mac.