Law & Order: Criminal Intent (2001–2011): Season 1, Episode 6 - The Extra Man - full transcript
A man found dead in a hotel room is thought to be an international con artist who has cheated a number of wealthy investors.
Narrator: In New York
City's war on crime,
the worst criminal offenders
are pursued by the detectives
of the Major Case Squad.
These are their stories.
This one is you, Karen.
Martinis in Millbrook
or punch in Palm Beach,
it's so versatile.
Oh, Sydney, really, I got to go.
Are you sure you
know what you're doing?
If Bernie ever found out...
Oh, just be happy for me.
(alarm clock beeping)
I know I'm late.
I had to give your appointment
away to a walk-in client.
Rochelle, this is an emergency.
I have a date.
With him?
I can't help myself.
He's French. Even when
he's just ordering a sandwich
it makes you feel
like you're in a movie.
Karen: He says he loves me.
Talk is cheap. So what color?
- Oh, just give me the usual.
- (sighs)
Oh Damn. Erma, I
have to go. I'm hours late.
He won't care how long he's
waited when he sees you in this.
- Oooh. Mmm.
- Want to try it on?
Oh, I can't, I'm
late. Just wrap it.
Cheri? Yoo-hoo?
Denis?
Ow.
Oh, damn. I can't
believe it. I broke my nail.
Denis?
(gasps)
(theme music playing)
Man: His name is Denis Dupont.
He checked in sometime
around 1:00 this afternoon.
He's stayed with us before.
- Always the same lady?
- Lady?
- The champagne, the strawberries?
- I never paid attention.
I know sometimes he held
business meetings here.
- How long will you people be?
- It depends. What business?
This room is reserved
for tomorrow night.
The more you can help me,
the faster we'll be out of here.
Finance, I believe.
Any phone calls, in or out?
The operator put one call
through, a woman, at 10 to 2:00.
Then Mr. Dupont phoned
down, asked not to be disturbed.
Do you have a home
address for him?
No, but I believe he
lives in town someplace.
How did he pay?
Uh... credit card,
from Paris bank.
And he never gave
you a local address?
No, and we never asked.
This is a woman's fingernail.
I brought him champagne and
strawberries just before 2:00.
- He was by himself.
- You see anybody go
in or out of his room?
Anybody on the floor
who didn't belong?
I saw a woman by the elevator,
and she was not a guest.
She was in a hurry,
she kept pressing...
you know, the button,
to go down very fast.
- What did she look like?
- I think she was redhead.
- Fat, thin?
- Medium maybe.
In big fur coat, Russian
sable... Very rich lady.
There's no wallet.
Just an international
driver's license...
with a very bad picture.
Denis Dupont, Paris, France, 33.
The maid said he
was good looking.
- This makes him look like
all of the Three Stooges.
- (laughs)
Maybe he had a pay date...
Ordered a girl, got the pimp?
Champagne and
strawberries for a hooker? No.
Anyway, there's too much
blood and guts for a robbery.
Denis Dupont was attacked practically
the moment he opened this door.
Blood spattered on the doorjamb.
The beating carried into here...
and ended with a
broken glass ashtray.
And the way the face is
mutilated makes it personal.
Eames: A jealous husband.
If Dupont chose his girlfriends as
carefully as he chose his jackets,
he'd still be alive. Enzo Pari.
Custom-made.
Things like this do not
happen to our customers.
I mean, he was just in
here three weeks ago.
Picked up his new suit,
ordered two summer suits.
No, I do not have
an address for him.
This is a disaster. The pattern
is made, the cloth's been cut.
- How about a phone number?
- No, he said he was traveling.
How'd you tell him when
his suits were ready?
He called me. He was always
in a hurry to get his suits.
- He's a busy fellow.
- Busy doing what?
I don't know.
Mr. Dupont did not use
his personal
life for small talk.
What did he talk about?
Business, politics,
stock market.
He used to tell me I should
invest, as if I had that kind of money.
So he just walks
in off the street
and orders a bunch
of $5,000 suits?
He was referred to us
by a very good customer.
Jonathan Phelps.
I kept running into
him at dinner parties.
He was great fun.
It's a tragic loss for
the family, I'm sure.
First John Dupont killing
the wrestler, now this.
Denis was one of those Duponts?
Yes, by his father.
His mother was French.
He was raised there.
So what's the inside story?
We think he was meeting
somebody at The Newbury.
Any candidates?
I wouldn't know. I'd been out of
touch with Denis since last summer.
I thought Denis could talk
his way out of any tight spot.
He had talent for
that sort of thing?
Oh, speeding tickets,
social blunders.
Denis can charm his
way in or out of anything.
And the last time you saw him?
A few weeks ago.
I ran into him at La Goulue.
He was hanging
out with a new crowd.
Roy Markham, the investment
banker, and his wife Sydney.
Denis and I threatened to call
each other, but we never did.
Woman: Dead?
We had no idea. We
just came in from Bedford.
I don't know what
we can tell you.
He was really just
an acquaintance.
Well, the people at
the restaurant said
you ate there together
a number of times.
As part of a group. Denis was a
good extra man to have around.
- This is awful news.
- Goren: We're having a hard time
pinning down where he lived.
Somewhere around the
Park. Isn't that right, Sydney?
Mm-hmm.
If you leave me your
card, I'll ask around.
We'll do everything to help.
- Louisa?
- We'll be expecting your call.
I thought you said
no one would get hurt.
- Will you shut up?
- (Door closes)
Far as anybody knows,
this guy lived in the ether.
You'd think the Dupont
family'd keep track of their heirs.
We got calls into them, the
French Consulate, Interpol...
Good. You found a
fingernail at the scene?
The nail polish was fresh.
Forensics matched it to a polish
sold only at very exclusive salons.
Only a few hundred
of those in the city.
(phone rings)
Major Case Squad,
Detective Eames speaking.
Yes, thank you for
returning my call.
Question came up at a
briefing... If Dupont was using.
There was only champagne
found in the room.
That was the French Consulate. Dupont
was a guest at a reception last month.
They mailed the
invitation to his home.
Man: It's a sublet.
The owners live across town...
The Blackstones.
Maybe you should talk to them
before you start going
through Mr. Dupont's things.
Was he a friend of theirs?
Mrs. Blackstone told me
that he was a close
personal friend of hers.
Did Mr. Blackstone know that
Mr. Dupont was living here?
Can't see that he couldn't.
Dupont have many
visitors? Lady friends?
No, no.
He was minding his p's and q's.
The residents here
are thin-skinned about
any kind of bad behavior.
He was already on notice
for smoking in the elevator.
The French, you know.
Eames: We'll need the
Blackstones' address.
There's something so chilling
about picking up the paper
and reading about an
old lover being murdered.
(sighs)
When did you stop
seeing Mr. Dupont?
Months ago.
And we only slept together once.
The French are highly overrated.
He lived in your apartment.
He needed a place to stay
while he was house hunting.
What about your husband?
Mrs. Blackstone: He didn't mind.
He travels a lot,
he's rarely in town,
the dog show,
funerals, the US Open.
Yes, I see he likes tennis.
But that's not what I meant.
Did your husband have
a relationship with him?
Denis wasn't a switch-hitter,
and if he were, he wouldn't've
been my husband's type.
Mind if I ask how you...?
The photos... your husband
and his male tennis friends.
You and your horses.
No photos together. No children.
Separate but equal lives.
Very good.
Well, if you want to know
who Denis was sleeping with
why don't you ask Felix?
Who's Felix?
Felix Perez was Denis' gofer.
Goren: Do you have
an address for him?
Heavens, no. Why would I?
Rodgers: The blows
were methodical,
intended to inflict the most
pain... Kidneys, ribs, groin.
The variation and color
of the bruises indicates
the victim was worked
over for an hour or so.
- The work of a professional.
- Yeah, I'd say so.
- Internal injuries?
- Ruptured spleen, broken ribs,
punctured lungs.
Goren: Somebody wanted
something from Dupont... information.
You can't talk very clearly
with your face looking like that.
The damage to the
face was postmortem.
Cause of death was asphyxiation.
So somebody tortured him
for an hour, suffocated him,
and then for the hell of it
beat his face into hamburger?
I guess they didn't get
what they were after.
Charity balls, gallery
openings, nightclub passes,
receipts for
Daniel, Le Cirque...
This guy was living a
high-octane existence.
I'm heading upstairs
for a Compstat.
Any breaking news on Dupont
to liven up my presentation?
Uh, sure. The DMV
shows an address
on his assistant, Felix Perez.
Progress.
The building was
torn down last year,
- Felix didn't leave
a forwarding address.
- Thank you.
- What's all this?
- Dupont's personal effects.
Maybe whatever the bad guys were
looking for will show up in his papers.
Anything does, page me.
Here's George W.'s
number in Texas.
Really? I have a letter
here from Donald Trump
thanking Dupont for
his timely advice...
and he misspells
the word "investment."
You'd think Trump's secretary
would use spell check.
Here we go.
Washington Livery, Felix Perez.
Yeah, okay, maybe
he did work here.
But that doesn't mean I had anything
to do with anything he was doing.
- Like what was he doing?
- What I heard from
the other drivers...
He'd pick up these Asian
businessmen at the airport,
offer to get them hookers,
take a couple of
hundred off them...
and then disappear.
That and other things.
- So you fired him?
- No. He got a better offer.
- From?
- Customer he picked up
at JFK last summer.
A rich guy.
Perez said he was going to
be this guy's personal assistant.
Good luck to the both of them.
The landlady says Felix has
been MIA since the murder.
Look at this...
signatures. Donald Trump,
Rupert Murdoch,
Prince Ernst of Hanover.
Perez was practicing forging.
And here, letters of reference
for Denis Dupont, unsigned.
Now why would the
heir to the Dupont fortune
need phony character references?
Low self-esteem?
Well, we can always
ask the Duponts.
I'm sorry I was
tardy in responding
to your inquiry
about Denis Dupont.
All the newspapers were calling
and I had no information
to give them, naturally.
Why naturally?
I did an in-depth search
of the family records
regarding Denis Dupont,
this time concentrating
on the French
side of the family.
Dupont's a very
common name in France,
but he's not one of ours.
There's no connection
to the family.
You said this time... You
made another search?
- Mm-hmm, a few weeks ago.
- For whom?
A Mr. Bernard Cove.
Said he was in real estate.
Dupont kept hawking
me to invest with him,
so I checked him out.
When the Duponts said
they'd never heard of him, well,
I decided to keep my
money where it was.
We should've known. His
manners, his name-dropping,
He just didn't feel
like old money.
Did he find other investors?
I don't know.
Where'd you meet him?
- A gallery opening, right?
- Mmm. Mm-hmm.
Somebody introduced
us, I don't remember who.
We heard that women
found him attractive.
Did you find him
attractive, Mrs. Cove?
I suppose.
What was it about
him, specifically?
Being a man, I'm curious. I
couldn't tell from his photo.
Was it his mouth, his eyes?
You'll have to excuse me.
Dupont's finances track like a
game of Snakes and Ladders.
Wire transfers to
five different accounts,
withdrawals by cashier's checks.
And all the money's missing.
Over two million bucks.
Missing? You mean
out of the country?
I checked the feds for
notifications of foreign transfers...
Nothing. The money's
here somewhere.
Well, where does
the money come from?
He had some kind
of investment club.
Heavy hitters at
300 grand a piece.
Roy Markham, Mindy
Blackstone, George Reid
and guess who?
Bernard Cove said he
never invested with Dupont,
but here's a cashier's check
receipt for 250K from his account
payable to Dupont, four weeks
before he called the Dupont family office.
He found out Dupont was a
phony after he gave him the money...
Which isn't what he told us.
So we don't like Perez?
He's low-rent, he's missing?
Or now that his boss is
dead he's running scared.
You think Cove knew Dupont
was shtupping his missus?
Might've.
Might've used the
affair to set up Dupont.
If a guy was picking
my wallet and my bed,
I'd want him whacked, too.
How do you want to proceed?
A search warrant?
What are you looking for?
A fur coat. Russian sable.
You could save
yourself a lot of trouble
if you just show us
where you keep it.
My husband just left for
his office. He'd prefer...
- You mind turning this way?
- What're you doing?
- We need a photo to show
the staff at The Newbury Hotel.
- Why? What for?
The warrant is also valid
for nail polish products,
or any records of
visits to nail salons.
Someone left a broken
nail in Denis Dupont's room.
Oh my God.
I could use a drink.
You want to tell us something?
I didn't kill him.
He was already dead
when I got to the room.
There was nothing
that I could do.
Did your husband know
you were meeting him there?
My husband? No,
absolutely not. Why?
We suspect he was
setting a trap for Dupont.
No, not over an affair.
Besides, he did not
know about Denis and me.
Who knew you were
going to the hotel?
Nobody. Just Sydney.
Sydney Markham
is a friend of yours?
Yes, a very good friend.
She introduced Denis to me.
Sydney Markham...
whose husband gave
Dupont $325,000?
Oh, I had no idea
they'd invested.
She never said a word.
Oh my God.
Oh my God. How could
I have been so stupid?
It must have been all of them.
They were all in on it.
They came to my
house, two of them.
They're not going
to find out anything.
How can you be so sure,
hmm? They got this far.
There's no point
arguing among ourselves.
We just pay this guy
off and get it over with.
We paid him to get our
money back, which he didn't do.
Now we're going to pay him
more 'cause he botched the job?
- We want him to leave town, period.
- Don't you people get it?
We killed a man.
We might not have
meant it to happen
but we are responsible.
Okay, we're responsible.
This is what the son
of a bitch is asking for.
I divided it four ways.
Good God!
We pay this and we never
have to worry about it again.
You hope.
A murder conspiracy?
By some of our more
prominent citizens.
I'm as shocked as you are.
If Dupont was ripping them off
then why not go to the police?
Embarrassment? Savvy
businessmen taken in
by impostor with
continental accent?
Ooh! There'd be cautionary
tales in The Journal.
Their credibility would be shot.
I don't see the evidence.
Can you substantiate
Mrs. Cove's story?
Dupont got a call at his hotel
room at 2:00 from a woman.
Karen Cove said it wasn't her. She
said Sydney Markham delayed her.
Sydney Markham might've
been the one who called Dupont
to make sure he was
in place for his beating.
They want to subpoena
her phone records.
I'll make it happen.
No, I did not call
Dupont at his hotel.
I didn't even know
he was at a hotel.
Your phone records show
the call came from here.
Well, I don't know
how that's possible.
I do. You're not going
to like my explanation.
Sydney, your
driver is downstairs.
Oh, tell Sammy
I'll be 20 minutes.
You're forcing me to
betray a confidence.
Karen Cove was
here that afternoon,
and I believe she was
having an affair with Dupont.
Now if there was a phone
call, it must've come from her.
She already told
us about the affair.
She denied making the call.
I don't like to say
this about a friend,
but Karen is lying.
She called him. I overheard her.
Give me your license
and registration.
What's the problem, Officer?
Uh, well, you're parked
too close to the hydrant.
I thought the rule was 15 feet?
You look about 14 feet to me.
Okay, Sammy. Here you go.
Eames: Besides
driving Mrs. Markham,
Samuel Bell's been arrested for
bookmaking and a couple of dope pops.
In the bookmaking,
who were his associates?
Two. Tommy Doonan...
Looks like he was the bank...
And Leslie Roche...
Convictions for
assault, assault, assault.
- A collector.
- He's still on probation.
Couple of phone numbers.
Let's track him down. Here.
Hi, is Les there?
It's Sandy.
Well, I owe him some money,
and you know how he is.
(laughs) Florida?
Oh shoot, I'd so
love to talk to him.
You think you got his
number down there?
Thanks a bunch. Bye.
Boca Raton. Sportfishing.
What do you know?
A parole violation.
Man: I don't do
things like this.
I'm a professional.
No muss, no fuss, no murder.
You can check my rap sheet.
We looked in that
doctor's bag of tricks
the Boca Raton
police got off you.
Slapjacks, brass knuckles...
All of which are
illegal, by the way.
My client collects those for
entertainment purposes only.
He'd never actually
hit anybody with them.
Then Mr. Dupont must have bumped
into your client's brass knuckles
because they match
the bruises on his body.
We're all grown-ups here.
You have one chance
to take your
chestnuts out of the fire
and tell us who hired you,
or go down for
this all by yourself.
Roy Markham got my
name from his driver.
He told me some guy
ripped off him and his friends.
Markham told me to go to this
hotel room, the guy would be there.
They sent me to reason with him.
But the guy headbutts me, makes
for the door, so I gotta knock him down.
It took me a little while to
get control of the situation
but when I did, I asked
him where the money was,
he kept saying he didn't know.
About a half hour
later he passed out.
It was time to quit. I left.
He was still breathing.
I did not kill him,
I did not break an
ashtray on his face.
You said it took a while for
you to get things under control.
This guy was fighting you?
Oh, yeah. From the get-go.
You know, I think
he liked to fight.
Might've had a little training.
- Is this the guy you beat up?
- No.
Yeah, that's the guy.
Felix Perez.
Who's Perez?
That's the guy you
beat up. The wrong guy.
Somebody tipped Dupont
off, so he put Perez in the room
to get the beating
meant for him.
He came back after
Leslie Roche left,
finished off Perez,
disfigured him
and left him unidentifiable.
Do we even know
Dupont's real identity?
We sent the prints from his
apartment to France. No hits yet.
So now he's free to disappear.
While the people he conned
take the rap for his murder.
Uh, there's a chance
he's still around.
He's flamboyant
and narcissistic.
He's going to want to be where
he can witness his handiwork.
Oh, and he still has two million
bucks stashed somewhere.
So then it's just a
question of flushing him out.
The moment that he has an
inkling that we're on to him,
he's gone.
We need to maintain
his sense of security.
So what are you suggesting?
Charge Markham and his
friends with Dupont's murder.
Charge them for a
murder they didn't commit
of a person who isn't dead?
I can't begin to count the number
of violations that would entail.
Mr. Carver, this man Dupont,
or whatever his name is,
has had us chasing our tails
for the last couple of weeks.
I don't know about you, but I
do not like being made a fool of.
Payback is the healthy
human response here.
Well, I suppose
Mr. Roche could be lying
and he did kill the
man at the hotel room.
And since the identity of the
deceased is still a matter of conjecture,
it's entirely proper
that we charge them
with the murder of John
Doe, AKA, Denis Dupont.
Meantime, we give
this to the papers.
The bigger the headlines the better.
We want Dupont to take the hook.
Reporter: The people charged
in the murder of Denis Dupont
include financier, Ron Markham;
his wife, hat designer,
Sydney Markham;
real estate developer,
Bernard Cove and his wife...
Didier, why are you hiding here?
I always hated that picture-
It doesn't even look like you.
Come on now, I have
someone I want you to meet.
Quentin,
this is my boyfriend, Didier.
He's opening the nightclub
I was telling you about.
Simone, you bad girl, I
told you not to talk about it.
I only did it because
Quentin is so nice.
He's looking for a place to...
how do you say it?
"Park your money"?
- Yes.
- I have to be honest with you,
I'm not really
looking for investors.
May I ask...
did you get this
suit at Savile Row?
Well, yes. I was just in
London for some meetings.
I get very intrigued
by a man who doesn't
want my money.
So, tell me about
your club, huh?
- Man: Not guilty.
- Not guilty.
- Not guilty.
- Not guilty.
Not guilty.
People on bail?
A million dollars
each, Your Honor.
Such high bail, Your Honor, when
the charges are patently ridiculous.
There's no motive
for any murder.
The monies my clients paid
Mr. Dupont were venture capital,
with no expectation
of repayment.
Your Honor, they make $2
million gifts to perfect strangers
and here they are
squawking about bail.
Your protestations do
sound hollow, Mr. Bascomb.
Bail is set at a million
for each defendant. Next!
Docket number 3922,
People v. Nanette Cohn.
Charge is two
counts of larceny...
My client, Mrs.
Markham, wants to talk.
All right.
I warned Denis.
My husband put
this scheme in motion
to get our money back, but
I couldn't go through with it.
So I called him...
from my showroom.
I told him that they were
sending a man over to his hotel.
I told him he should leave.
I don't understand
why he didn't.
Since she renunciated the plan,
she's off the hook
for the murder.
Carver: I'll consider it.
Mrs. Markham, were you
and Mr. Dupont lovers?
Briefly.
And you knew he wasn't
who he claimed to be?
Yes, before my husband
or any of the others.
- But you didn't care?
- No.
To see someone like him trick
my husband and his friends...
Someone like him,
what do you mean?
He was raised in an orphanage.
My father owned a grocery store.
I know what it's
like to climb up.
We were very good friends.
Well, how'd he show it?
Like my hat business.
Roy called it a
money drain, a hobby.
But Denis made
me take it seriously.
He helped me develop
a business plan.
He organized my books.
Organized your books?
Yes. He believed in me.
Mrs. Markham brought him
in a couple of months ago
like he was some
kind of business god.
He didn't know a line
sheet from an order form.
Did he ask about any
banking information...
Routing numbers,
that sort of thing?
No. But he asked for the
Articles of Incorporation
and the corporate seal.
Did he say why?
No. I know he kept
them overnight.
I don't know what for.
To open a bank
account, for one thing.
This letter from the IRS,
you know anything about it?
- It's a tax lien.
- Tax lien?
It's dated three weeks ago.
Man: Mode O'Day Hats,
$65,000 in unpaid payroll taxes.
With penalties and
interest, it comes to $90,000.
Your letter said that you already
seized that money from the bank account.
But the bank said that they
have no record of seizure.
Well, they should.
Nissei Bank...
Whoa, whoa, whoa,
that's not their bank.
Well, we found an account
there under their name.
It opened two months ago.
- How much in the account?
- As of two weeks ago,
$1,865,000.
The account's frozen until
we get a notarized release
stating they accept our
findings of a tax delinquency.
A notarized release
signed by whom?
Mode O'Day's sole shareholder...
Mr. Sydney Markham.
Once we get it, it takes a
couple of weeks to process.
Until then, the account's
frozen like winter in Siberia.
I explained all of
this to Mr. Markham.
- You spoke to him?
- Yes, twice.
He even came in, he was so
insistent to clear up the problem.
If only they were all like that.
Is this Mr. Markham?
Yes.
Goren: He thought he had the
perfect place to hide his money,
but he didn't count on the
Internal Revenue Service.
Neither did Al Capone.
We still have some time. He has
to phony up some ID for the notary,
and then there's the
turnaround time for the IRS.
Two weeks. If we haven't found him
by then, we're not letting that money go.
We can stall for a few days,
but the minute he picks
up our scent, he'll scoot.
You've got your work cut out.
What's the plan?
- Engage his ego.
- Ah.
He was a confidence man
with too much confidence.
He overestimated
his own charisma
and died a fool.
- Is that good for you, Tom?
- Perfect. Thanks, Bobby.
Isn't that Santini
from the "Ledger"?
- Yeah. Don't worry,
I mentioned your name.
- (laughs)
I'm going jogging.
What's wrong?
What do you care what
they think? It's done.
You get that
stupid paper signed,
you come back to Rio with me
and I'll make you forget these people.
Where is your phone?
Here.
I'll get you some food
on the way back, okay?
Yes, I would like to place an
international call, person-to-person.
The number is 212-555-0109.
Yes, New York.
Tom Santini.
My name is Denis Dupont.
Santini: He said he
was very much alive.
He wouldn't tell
me where he was,
but the operator
said the call originated
from a cell phone prefix
from Rio De Janeiro.
What else did he say?
He didn't consider
himself a criminal.
He was on a holy mission
to cure the rich of their greed.
He was very funny about it.
What's funny is we've
had half a dozen people call
claiming to be Dennis Dupont.
Really?
This guy had a French accent.
They all had French accents.
(laughing)
Quote me. "Detective Goren says
that Dennis Dupont is dead."
Done. It'll be in
tomorrow's paper.
(phone rings)
Goren.
Detective Goren, pleasure
to put a voice to the name.
- Who's this?
- This is the man you call Dupont.
You're going to have
to do better than that.
I get a lot of crank calls.
It's such a shame what
they did to my friend Felix.
They killed him so brutally.
And I'm sold, Mr. Dupont.
Or... or do you want to
tell me your real name?
Dupont seems to
open so many doors.
Not this one.
I'm going to hang up now,
whatever your name is.
Wait, wait, wait. Why not?
There is no
intimacy without trust.
My name is Didier...
A common enough name.
A common name for
an uncommon beginning.
You were an orphan,
isn't that right?
No, my parents were alive
but unable to care for me.
It's a very different thing.
If they were dead, they'd
have had a better excuse.
Hey, what was it like
being in an orphanage
with all those kids
nobody wanted?
Must've been hard to be special.
I was special. You don't
know what you're talking about.
Maybe you're special now,
but back then you
were abandoned.
You were a ward of the State just
like thousands of other poor kids.
I was not poor.
I was only in an
orphanage a very short time.
Didier, you don't
have to be ashamed.
I'm not ashamed. I can't believe
we're even talking about this.
Well, we can talk
about anything you like.
Let's talk about...
how far you've come,
considering you were raised
in some state
orphanage with bad food,
bad hygiene, abuse...
Was there a lot of abuse?
I told you I was
not raised there.
The authorities in my canton
returned me to my parents.
I'm sure your
parents are impressed
with everything that
you've accomplished.
Or maybe they don't care.
This is intolerable. I
don't know how you people
make a living out
of sheer stupidity!
You made a mistake
about me, Mr. Goren.
That's all I wanted
to let you know.
Do we have the fingerprints
for Mr. Dupont over there?
What's up?
I just got a call from
our dead Frenchman.
He said his "canton" gave
him back to his parents.
Cantons are the
equivalent of states.
He's not French, he's Swiss.
The Swiss police
got a hit on the prints.
Didier Foucault, 33,
aliases up the wazoo.
Convictions for fraud, check
kiting, no record of violence.
Last stretch was seven years
ago... He served six months.
The Swiss faxed us
everything they had on
Foucault's early years.
Being Swiss, that probably
includes his dirty nappies.
Goren: Contrary
to what he told us,
he was in an orphanage run
by nuns from age four to 15.
He was never adopted.
His mother was a prostitute.
He had medical problems
right through his childhood.
That's good, but we
still have to find him.
Well, 10 to one he'll call back.
He has something
to prove to me now.
10 to one?
I've taken him on
before, Mr. Carver.
I'm down 18 bucks.
From Dr. Steven Pitt...
"Orphans live with a
perpetual sense of shame.
Some overcompensate
through achievement,
some mollify their pain
through substance abuse,
and some invent complex
fantasies with over-idealized parents.
Taken to an extreme,
these individuals develop
into pseudologia
fantastica... Impostors...
Who, when confronted
with evidence of their fraud
erupt in a rage,
and will go to any length
to persuade their audience
that their fantasy is true."
He'll call.
He could be using an alias.
Leonard Rochefoucault...
Goren, line four.
I'll call you back.
- Goren.
- Didier: Detective Goren, hello.
I wanted to apologize
for losing my temper
during our last conversation.
Hey, I understand. Your
childhood's a sore subject.
I don't take it personally.
I'm not the kind of person
who loses his temper.
I was raised with good manners.
You mean at the
orphanage? Who raised you?
Civil servants? Priests? Nuns?
What did you do when you
wanted somebody to hold you,
to comfort you?
Hmm, Didier?
Did you make yourself
sick and run to the nurse?
What are you talking about?
Kids like you, abandoned kids,
are hypochondriacs.
This is where you
have it all wrong.
My upbringing taught
me how to survive.
You survived by pretending
to be other people.
I survived because
I was superior.
I am always three steps ahead.
These people you conned, you
weren't three steps ahead of them.
You got out by the
skin of your teeth.
- But I got out.
- Only by killing Felix Perez.
- You screwed up, Didier.
- You think what you want.
I think you're living
up to your breeding.
I'll bet your parents were
crooks or drug addicts.
I'll bet your dad
pimped out your mom!
You stupid cop!
You have no idea! No idea!
I have an idea you're
terrified of going to prison.
It'd be like going
back to the orphanage.
Prison is nothing.
Oh, of course.
You've been to prison.
Another mistake
made by idiots like you.
But I didn't care.
It was a vacation.
Do you know how long it took me
to get special privileges in prison?
Less than 24 hours.
What's a special
privilege in a prison?
A tick-infested pillow?
Fresh fruit, caipirinhas,
women... anything I wanted.
I had the guards like a...
palm in a fist.
- Drugs?
- Drugs?
See how you think?
You see the pedestrian
level of your intellect?
It's the trouble
with you police...
So many guns, so little brains.
You think you'd make
a good detective?
I think I'd make the
very best detective.
Do you know why?
I understand human nature.
You might profit from such
a study, Detective Goren.
Caipirinhas.
He was in prison in Brazil.
Two years ago, he
served eight months
for credit card fraud in Brazil.
He was arrested at a
Rio airport with a girlfriend,
Simone DaSilva,
a Brazilian national.
The cell phone from Rio.
We figure he's here with
her. We're calling the hotels
looking for a registration
under her name.
Our boy's been
keeping himself busy.
The IRS got the
notarized release from him.
We're pulling in the notary...
We found the girl.
SoHo East, room 1216.
I'll handle the warrants.
- (door opens)
- Is that you?
I was just going
down to the bar...
Get your hands on the back of
your head! Sit down! Sit down!
I got her.
You have bitters and soda?
I'm trying to quit drinking.
Maybe Happy Hour isn't
the best place for you.
Well, at least I can smoke.
Nice to put a face to a voice.
(gun cocks)
You have the wrong man.
I don't think so.
- Judge: Bail is denied.
- (gavel bangs)
- Next case.
- Clerk: People versus
Didier Foucault,
Murder in the second degree,
larceny in the first degree.
How do you plead, Mr. Foucault?
- Not guilty, sir.
- People on bail?
We want him remanded
to custody, Your Honor.
Your Honor, my client's
friends stand ready to
put up any bail amount
to insure his appearance.
These so-called
friends are his victims.
He doesn't care
about their money.
He was arrested
with a ticket for Brazil
and passports bearing
three different identities.
Now if there was
ever a flight risk, he's it.
Thank you, Mr. Carver.
Bail is denied.
The defendant is remanded
to custody pending trial.
- (gavel bangs)
- Next case.
Clerk: Docket number 4604.
People v. Christine Chen.
One count child abuse.
Try telling them
they're victims.
Don't tell me you
feel sorry for this guy?
Nah.
Someone to teach
you how to ride a bike,
two people that think you're
special? It makes a difference.
Some people get
by on a lot less.
They shouldn't have to.
(theme song playing)
City's war on crime,
the worst criminal offenders
are pursued by the detectives
of the Major Case Squad.
These are their stories.
This one is you, Karen.
Martinis in Millbrook
or punch in Palm Beach,
it's so versatile.
Oh, Sydney, really, I got to go.
Are you sure you
know what you're doing?
If Bernie ever found out...
Oh, just be happy for me.
(alarm clock beeping)
I know I'm late.
I had to give your appointment
away to a walk-in client.
Rochelle, this is an emergency.
I have a date.
With him?
I can't help myself.
He's French. Even when
he's just ordering a sandwich
it makes you feel
like you're in a movie.
Karen: He says he loves me.
Talk is cheap. So what color?
- Oh, just give me the usual.
- (sighs)
Oh Damn. Erma, I
have to go. I'm hours late.
He won't care how long he's
waited when he sees you in this.
- Oooh. Mmm.
- Want to try it on?
Oh, I can't, I'm
late. Just wrap it.
Cheri? Yoo-hoo?
Denis?
Ow.
Oh, damn. I can't
believe it. I broke my nail.
Denis?
(gasps)
(theme music playing)
Man: His name is Denis Dupont.
He checked in sometime
around 1:00 this afternoon.
He's stayed with us before.
- Always the same lady?
- Lady?
- The champagne, the strawberries?
- I never paid attention.
I know sometimes he held
business meetings here.
- How long will you people be?
- It depends. What business?
This room is reserved
for tomorrow night.
The more you can help me,
the faster we'll be out of here.
Finance, I believe.
Any phone calls, in or out?
The operator put one call
through, a woman, at 10 to 2:00.
Then Mr. Dupont phoned
down, asked not to be disturbed.
Do you have a home
address for him?
No, but I believe he
lives in town someplace.
How did he pay?
Uh... credit card,
from Paris bank.
And he never gave
you a local address?
No, and we never asked.
This is a woman's fingernail.
I brought him champagne and
strawberries just before 2:00.
- He was by himself.
- You see anybody go
in or out of his room?
Anybody on the floor
who didn't belong?
I saw a woman by the elevator,
and she was not a guest.
She was in a hurry,
she kept pressing...
you know, the button,
to go down very fast.
- What did she look like?
- I think she was redhead.
- Fat, thin?
- Medium maybe.
In big fur coat, Russian
sable... Very rich lady.
There's no wallet.
Just an international
driver's license...
with a very bad picture.
Denis Dupont, Paris, France, 33.
The maid said he
was good looking.
- This makes him look like
all of the Three Stooges.
- (laughs)
Maybe he had a pay date...
Ordered a girl, got the pimp?
Champagne and
strawberries for a hooker? No.
Anyway, there's too much
blood and guts for a robbery.
Denis Dupont was attacked practically
the moment he opened this door.
Blood spattered on the doorjamb.
The beating carried into here...
and ended with a
broken glass ashtray.
And the way the face is
mutilated makes it personal.
Eames: A jealous husband.
If Dupont chose his girlfriends as
carefully as he chose his jackets,
he'd still be alive. Enzo Pari.
Custom-made.
Things like this do not
happen to our customers.
I mean, he was just in
here three weeks ago.
Picked up his new suit,
ordered two summer suits.
No, I do not have
an address for him.
This is a disaster. The pattern
is made, the cloth's been cut.
- How about a phone number?
- No, he said he was traveling.
How'd you tell him when
his suits were ready?
He called me. He was always
in a hurry to get his suits.
- He's a busy fellow.
- Busy doing what?
I don't know.
Mr. Dupont did not use
his personal
life for small talk.
What did he talk about?
Business, politics,
stock market.
He used to tell me I should
invest, as if I had that kind of money.
So he just walks
in off the street
and orders a bunch
of $5,000 suits?
He was referred to us
by a very good customer.
Jonathan Phelps.
I kept running into
him at dinner parties.
He was great fun.
It's a tragic loss for
the family, I'm sure.
First John Dupont killing
the wrestler, now this.
Denis was one of those Duponts?
Yes, by his father.
His mother was French.
He was raised there.
So what's the inside story?
We think he was meeting
somebody at The Newbury.
Any candidates?
I wouldn't know. I'd been out of
touch with Denis since last summer.
I thought Denis could talk
his way out of any tight spot.
He had talent for
that sort of thing?
Oh, speeding tickets,
social blunders.
Denis can charm his
way in or out of anything.
And the last time you saw him?
A few weeks ago.
I ran into him at La Goulue.
He was hanging
out with a new crowd.
Roy Markham, the investment
banker, and his wife Sydney.
Denis and I threatened to call
each other, but we never did.
Woman: Dead?
We had no idea. We
just came in from Bedford.
I don't know what
we can tell you.
He was really just
an acquaintance.
Well, the people at
the restaurant said
you ate there together
a number of times.
As part of a group. Denis was a
good extra man to have around.
- This is awful news.
- Goren: We're having a hard time
pinning down where he lived.
Somewhere around the
Park. Isn't that right, Sydney?
Mm-hmm.
If you leave me your
card, I'll ask around.
We'll do everything to help.
- Louisa?
- We'll be expecting your call.
I thought you said
no one would get hurt.
- Will you shut up?
- (Door closes)
Far as anybody knows,
this guy lived in the ether.
You'd think the Dupont
family'd keep track of their heirs.
We got calls into them, the
French Consulate, Interpol...
Good. You found a
fingernail at the scene?
The nail polish was fresh.
Forensics matched it to a polish
sold only at very exclusive salons.
Only a few hundred
of those in the city.
(phone rings)
Major Case Squad,
Detective Eames speaking.
Yes, thank you for
returning my call.
Question came up at a
briefing... If Dupont was using.
There was only champagne
found in the room.
That was the French Consulate. Dupont
was a guest at a reception last month.
They mailed the
invitation to his home.
Man: It's a sublet.
The owners live across town...
The Blackstones.
Maybe you should talk to them
before you start going
through Mr. Dupont's things.
Was he a friend of theirs?
Mrs. Blackstone told me
that he was a close
personal friend of hers.
Did Mr. Blackstone know that
Mr. Dupont was living here?
Can't see that he couldn't.
Dupont have many
visitors? Lady friends?
No, no.
He was minding his p's and q's.
The residents here
are thin-skinned about
any kind of bad behavior.
He was already on notice
for smoking in the elevator.
The French, you know.
Eames: We'll need the
Blackstones' address.
There's something so chilling
about picking up the paper
and reading about an
old lover being murdered.
(sighs)
When did you stop
seeing Mr. Dupont?
Months ago.
And we only slept together once.
The French are highly overrated.
He lived in your apartment.
He needed a place to stay
while he was house hunting.
What about your husband?
Mrs. Blackstone: He didn't mind.
He travels a lot,
he's rarely in town,
the dog show,
funerals, the US Open.
Yes, I see he likes tennis.
But that's not what I meant.
Did your husband have
a relationship with him?
Denis wasn't a switch-hitter,
and if he were, he wouldn't've
been my husband's type.
Mind if I ask how you...?
The photos... your husband
and his male tennis friends.
You and your horses.
No photos together. No children.
Separate but equal lives.
Very good.
Well, if you want to know
who Denis was sleeping with
why don't you ask Felix?
Who's Felix?
Felix Perez was Denis' gofer.
Goren: Do you have
an address for him?
Heavens, no. Why would I?
Rodgers: The blows
were methodical,
intended to inflict the most
pain... Kidneys, ribs, groin.
The variation and color
of the bruises indicates
the victim was worked
over for an hour or so.
- The work of a professional.
- Yeah, I'd say so.
- Internal injuries?
- Ruptured spleen, broken ribs,
punctured lungs.
Goren: Somebody wanted
something from Dupont... information.
You can't talk very clearly
with your face looking like that.
The damage to the
face was postmortem.
Cause of death was asphyxiation.
So somebody tortured him
for an hour, suffocated him,
and then for the hell of it
beat his face into hamburger?
I guess they didn't get
what they were after.
Charity balls, gallery
openings, nightclub passes,
receipts for
Daniel, Le Cirque...
This guy was living a
high-octane existence.
I'm heading upstairs
for a Compstat.
Any breaking news on Dupont
to liven up my presentation?
Uh, sure. The DMV
shows an address
on his assistant, Felix Perez.
Progress.
The building was
torn down last year,
- Felix didn't leave
a forwarding address.
- Thank you.
- What's all this?
- Dupont's personal effects.
Maybe whatever the bad guys were
looking for will show up in his papers.
Anything does, page me.
Here's George W.'s
number in Texas.
Really? I have a letter
here from Donald Trump
thanking Dupont for
his timely advice...
and he misspells
the word "investment."
You'd think Trump's secretary
would use spell check.
Here we go.
Washington Livery, Felix Perez.
Yeah, okay, maybe
he did work here.
But that doesn't mean I had anything
to do with anything he was doing.
- Like what was he doing?
- What I heard from
the other drivers...
He'd pick up these Asian
businessmen at the airport,
offer to get them hookers,
take a couple of
hundred off them...
and then disappear.
That and other things.
- So you fired him?
- No. He got a better offer.
- From?
- Customer he picked up
at JFK last summer.
A rich guy.
Perez said he was going to
be this guy's personal assistant.
Good luck to the both of them.
The landlady says Felix has
been MIA since the murder.
Look at this...
signatures. Donald Trump,
Rupert Murdoch,
Prince Ernst of Hanover.
Perez was practicing forging.
And here, letters of reference
for Denis Dupont, unsigned.
Now why would the
heir to the Dupont fortune
need phony character references?
Low self-esteem?
Well, we can always
ask the Duponts.
I'm sorry I was
tardy in responding
to your inquiry
about Denis Dupont.
All the newspapers were calling
and I had no information
to give them, naturally.
Why naturally?
I did an in-depth search
of the family records
regarding Denis Dupont,
this time concentrating
on the French
side of the family.
Dupont's a very
common name in France,
but he's not one of ours.
There's no connection
to the family.
You said this time... You
made another search?
- Mm-hmm, a few weeks ago.
- For whom?
A Mr. Bernard Cove.
Said he was in real estate.
Dupont kept hawking
me to invest with him,
so I checked him out.
When the Duponts said
they'd never heard of him, well,
I decided to keep my
money where it was.
We should've known. His
manners, his name-dropping,
He just didn't feel
like old money.
Did he find other investors?
I don't know.
Where'd you meet him?
- A gallery opening, right?
- Mmm. Mm-hmm.
Somebody introduced
us, I don't remember who.
We heard that women
found him attractive.
Did you find him
attractive, Mrs. Cove?
I suppose.
What was it about
him, specifically?
Being a man, I'm curious. I
couldn't tell from his photo.
Was it his mouth, his eyes?
You'll have to excuse me.
Dupont's finances track like a
game of Snakes and Ladders.
Wire transfers to
five different accounts,
withdrawals by cashier's checks.
And all the money's missing.
Over two million bucks.
Missing? You mean
out of the country?
I checked the feds for
notifications of foreign transfers...
Nothing. The money's
here somewhere.
Well, where does
the money come from?
He had some kind
of investment club.
Heavy hitters at
300 grand a piece.
Roy Markham, Mindy
Blackstone, George Reid
and guess who?
Bernard Cove said he
never invested with Dupont,
but here's a cashier's check
receipt for 250K from his account
payable to Dupont, four weeks
before he called the Dupont family office.
He found out Dupont was a
phony after he gave him the money...
Which isn't what he told us.
So we don't like Perez?
He's low-rent, he's missing?
Or now that his boss is
dead he's running scared.
You think Cove knew Dupont
was shtupping his missus?
Might've.
Might've used the
affair to set up Dupont.
If a guy was picking
my wallet and my bed,
I'd want him whacked, too.
How do you want to proceed?
A search warrant?
What are you looking for?
A fur coat. Russian sable.
You could save
yourself a lot of trouble
if you just show us
where you keep it.
My husband just left for
his office. He'd prefer...
- You mind turning this way?
- What're you doing?
- We need a photo to show
the staff at The Newbury Hotel.
- Why? What for?
The warrant is also valid
for nail polish products,
or any records of
visits to nail salons.
Someone left a broken
nail in Denis Dupont's room.
Oh my God.
I could use a drink.
You want to tell us something?
I didn't kill him.
He was already dead
when I got to the room.
There was nothing
that I could do.
Did your husband know
you were meeting him there?
My husband? No,
absolutely not. Why?
We suspect he was
setting a trap for Dupont.
No, not over an affair.
Besides, he did not
know about Denis and me.
Who knew you were
going to the hotel?
Nobody. Just Sydney.
Sydney Markham
is a friend of yours?
Yes, a very good friend.
She introduced Denis to me.
Sydney Markham...
whose husband gave
Dupont $325,000?
Oh, I had no idea
they'd invested.
She never said a word.
Oh my God.
Oh my God. How could
I have been so stupid?
It must have been all of them.
They were all in on it.
They came to my
house, two of them.
They're not going
to find out anything.
How can you be so sure,
hmm? They got this far.
There's no point
arguing among ourselves.
We just pay this guy
off and get it over with.
We paid him to get our
money back, which he didn't do.
Now we're going to pay him
more 'cause he botched the job?
- We want him to leave town, period.
- Don't you people get it?
We killed a man.
We might not have
meant it to happen
but we are responsible.
Okay, we're responsible.
This is what the son
of a bitch is asking for.
I divided it four ways.
Good God!
We pay this and we never
have to worry about it again.
You hope.
A murder conspiracy?
By some of our more
prominent citizens.
I'm as shocked as you are.
If Dupont was ripping them off
then why not go to the police?
Embarrassment? Savvy
businessmen taken in
by impostor with
continental accent?
Ooh! There'd be cautionary
tales in The Journal.
Their credibility would be shot.
I don't see the evidence.
Can you substantiate
Mrs. Cove's story?
Dupont got a call at his hotel
room at 2:00 from a woman.
Karen Cove said it wasn't her. She
said Sydney Markham delayed her.
Sydney Markham might've
been the one who called Dupont
to make sure he was
in place for his beating.
They want to subpoena
her phone records.
I'll make it happen.
No, I did not call
Dupont at his hotel.
I didn't even know
he was at a hotel.
Your phone records show
the call came from here.
Well, I don't know
how that's possible.
I do. You're not going
to like my explanation.
Sydney, your
driver is downstairs.
Oh, tell Sammy
I'll be 20 minutes.
You're forcing me to
betray a confidence.
Karen Cove was
here that afternoon,
and I believe she was
having an affair with Dupont.
Now if there was a phone
call, it must've come from her.
She already told
us about the affair.
She denied making the call.
I don't like to say
this about a friend,
but Karen is lying.
She called him. I overheard her.
Give me your license
and registration.
What's the problem, Officer?
Uh, well, you're parked
too close to the hydrant.
I thought the rule was 15 feet?
You look about 14 feet to me.
Okay, Sammy. Here you go.
Eames: Besides
driving Mrs. Markham,
Samuel Bell's been arrested for
bookmaking and a couple of dope pops.
In the bookmaking,
who were his associates?
Two. Tommy Doonan...
Looks like he was the bank...
And Leslie Roche...
Convictions for
assault, assault, assault.
- A collector.
- He's still on probation.
Couple of phone numbers.
Let's track him down. Here.
Hi, is Les there?
It's Sandy.
Well, I owe him some money,
and you know how he is.
(laughs) Florida?
Oh shoot, I'd so
love to talk to him.
You think you got his
number down there?
Thanks a bunch. Bye.
Boca Raton. Sportfishing.
What do you know?
A parole violation.
Man: I don't do
things like this.
I'm a professional.
No muss, no fuss, no murder.
You can check my rap sheet.
We looked in that
doctor's bag of tricks
the Boca Raton
police got off you.
Slapjacks, brass knuckles...
All of which are
illegal, by the way.
My client collects those for
entertainment purposes only.
He'd never actually
hit anybody with them.
Then Mr. Dupont must have bumped
into your client's brass knuckles
because they match
the bruises on his body.
We're all grown-ups here.
You have one chance
to take your
chestnuts out of the fire
and tell us who hired you,
or go down for
this all by yourself.
Roy Markham got my
name from his driver.
He told me some guy
ripped off him and his friends.
Markham told me to go to this
hotel room, the guy would be there.
They sent me to reason with him.
But the guy headbutts me, makes
for the door, so I gotta knock him down.
It took me a little while to
get control of the situation
but when I did, I asked
him where the money was,
he kept saying he didn't know.
About a half hour
later he passed out.
It was time to quit. I left.
He was still breathing.
I did not kill him,
I did not break an
ashtray on his face.
You said it took a while for
you to get things under control.
This guy was fighting you?
Oh, yeah. From the get-go.
You know, I think
he liked to fight.
Might've had a little training.
- Is this the guy you beat up?
- No.
Yeah, that's the guy.
Felix Perez.
Who's Perez?
That's the guy you
beat up. The wrong guy.
Somebody tipped Dupont
off, so he put Perez in the room
to get the beating
meant for him.
He came back after
Leslie Roche left,
finished off Perez,
disfigured him
and left him unidentifiable.
Do we even know
Dupont's real identity?
We sent the prints from his
apartment to France. No hits yet.
So now he's free to disappear.
While the people he conned
take the rap for his murder.
Uh, there's a chance
he's still around.
He's flamboyant
and narcissistic.
He's going to want to be where
he can witness his handiwork.
Oh, and he still has two million
bucks stashed somewhere.
So then it's just a
question of flushing him out.
The moment that he has an
inkling that we're on to him,
he's gone.
We need to maintain
his sense of security.
So what are you suggesting?
Charge Markham and his
friends with Dupont's murder.
Charge them for a
murder they didn't commit
of a person who isn't dead?
I can't begin to count the number
of violations that would entail.
Mr. Carver, this man Dupont,
or whatever his name is,
has had us chasing our tails
for the last couple of weeks.
I don't know about you, but I
do not like being made a fool of.
Payback is the healthy
human response here.
Well, I suppose
Mr. Roche could be lying
and he did kill the
man at the hotel room.
And since the identity of the
deceased is still a matter of conjecture,
it's entirely proper
that we charge them
with the murder of John
Doe, AKA, Denis Dupont.
Meantime, we give
this to the papers.
The bigger the headlines the better.
We want Dupont to take the hook.
Reporter: The people charged
in the murder of Denis Dupont
include financier, Ron Markham;
his wife, hat designer,
Sydney Markham;
real estate developer,
Bernard Cove and his wife...
Didier, why are you hiding here?
I always hated that picture-
It doesn't even look like you.
Come on now, I have
someone I want you to meet.
Quentin,
this is my boyfriend, Didier.
He's opening the nightclub
I was telling you about.
Simone, you bad girl, I
told you not to talk about it.
I only did it because
Quentin is so nice.
He's looking for a place to...
how do you say it?
"Park your money"?
- Yes.
- I have to be honest with you,
I'm not really
looking for investors.
May I ask...
did you get this
suit at Savile Row?
Well, yes. I was just in
London for some meetings.
I get very intrigued
by a man who doesn't
want my money.
So, tell me about
your club, huh?
- Man: Not guilty.
- Not guilty.
- Not guilty.
- Not guilty.
Not guilty.
People on bail?
A million dollars
each, Your Honor.
Such high bail, Your Honor, when
the charges are patently ridiculous.
There's no motive
for any murder.
The monies my clients paid
Mr. Dupont were venture capital,
with no expectation
of repayment.
Your Honor, they make $2
million gifts to perfect strangers
and here they are
squawking about bail.
Your protestations do
sound hollow, Mr. Bascomb.
Bail is set at a million
for each defendant. Next!
Docket number 3922,
People v. Nanette Cohn.
Charge is two
counts of larceny...
My client, Mrs.
Markham, wants to talk.
All right.
I warned Denis.
My husband put
this scheme in motion
to get our money back, but
I couldn't go through with it.
So I called him...
from my showroom.
I told him that they were
sending a man over to his hotel.
I told him he should leave.
I don't understand
why he didn't.
Since she renunciated the plan,
she's off the hook
for the murder.
Carver: I'll consider it.
Mrs. Markham, were you
and Mr. Dupont lovers?
Briefly.
And you knew he wasn't
who he claimed to be?
Yes, before my husband
or any of the others.
- But you didn't care?
- No.
To see someone like him trick
my husband and his friends...
Someone like him,
what do you mean?
He was raised in an orphanage.
My father owned a grocery store.
I know what it's
like to climb up.
We were very good friends.
Well, how'd he show it?
Like my hat business.
Roy called it a
money drain, a hobby.
But Denis made
me take it seriously.
He helped me develop
a business plan.
He organized my books.
Organized your books?
Yes. He believed in me.
Mrs. Markham brought him
in a couple of months ago
like he was some
kind of business god.
He didn't know a line
sheet from an order form.
Did he ask about any
banking information...
Routing numbers,
that sort of thing?
No. But he asked for the
Articles of Incorporation
and the corporate seal.
Did he say why?
No. I know he kept
them overnight.
I don't know what for.
To open a bank
account, for one thing.
This letter from the IRS,
you know anything about it?
- It's a tax lien.
- Tax lien?
It's dated three weeks ago.
Man: Mode O'Day Hats,
$65,000 in unpaid payroll taxes.
With penalties and
interest, it comes to $90,000.
Your letter said that you already
seized that money from the bank account.
But the bank said that they
have no record of seizure.
Well, they should.
Nissei Bank...
Whoa, whoa, whoa,
that's not their bank.
Well, we found an account
there under their name.
It opened two months ago.
- How much in the account?
- As of two weeks ago,
$1,865,000.
The account's frozen until
we get a notarized release
stating they accept our
findings of a tax delinquency.
A notarized release
signed by whom?
Mode O'Day's sole shareholder...
Mr. Sydney Markham.
Once we get it, it takes a
couple of weeks to process.
Until then, the account's
frozen like winter in Siberia.
I explained all of
this to Mr. Markham.
- You spoke to him?
- Yes, twice.
He even came in, he was so
insistent to clear up the problem.
If only they were all like that.
Is this Mr. Markham?
Yes.
Goren: He thought he had the
perfect place to hide his money,
but he didn't count on the
Internal Revenue Service.
Neither did Al Capone.
We still have some time. He has
to phony up some ID for the notary,
and then there's the
turnaround time for the IRS.
Two weeks. If we haven't found him
by then, we're not letting that money go.
We can stall for a few days,
but the minute he picks
up our scent, he'll scoot.
You've got your work cut out.
What's the plan?
- Engage his ego.
- Ah.
He was a confidence man
with too much confidence.
He overestimated
his own charisma
and died a fool.
- Is that good for you, Tom?
- Perfect. Thanks, Bobby.
Isn't that Santini
from the "Ledger"?
- Yeah. Don't worry,
I mentioned your name.
- (laughs)
I'm going jogging.
What's wrong?
What do you care what
they think? It's done.
You get that
stupid paper signed,
you come back to Rio with me
and I'll make you forget these people.
Where is your phone?
Here.
I'll get you some food
on the way back, okay?
Yes, I would like to place an
international call, person-to-person.
The number is 212-555-0109.
Yes, New York.
Tom Santini.
My name is Denis Dupont.
Santini: He said he
was very much alive.
He wouldn't tell
me where he was,
but the operator
said the call originated
from a cell phone prefix
from Rio De Janeiro.
What else did he say?
He didn't consider
himself a criminal.
He was on a holy mission
to cure the rich of their greed.
He was very funny about it.
What's funny is we've
had half a dozen people call
claiming to be Dennis Dupont.
Really?
This guy had a French accent.
They all had French accents.
(laughing)
Quote me. "Detective Goren says
that Dennis Dupont is dead."
Done. It'll be in
tomorrow's paper.
(phone rings)
Goren.
Detective Goren, pleasure
to put a voice to the name.
- Who's this?
- This is the man you call Dupont.
You're going to have
to do better than that.
I get a lot of crank calls.
It's such a shame what
they did to my friend Felix.
They killed him so brutally.
And I'm sold, Mr. Dupont.
Or... or do you want to
tell me your real name?
Dupont seems to
open so many doors.
Not this one.
I'm going to hang up now,
whatever your name is.
Wait, wait, wait. Why not?
There is no
intimacy without trust.
My name is Didier...
A common enough name.
A common name for
an uncommon beginning.
You were an orphan,
isn't that right?
No, my parents were alive
but unable to care for me.
It's a very different thing.
If they were dead, they'd
have had a better excuse.
Hey, what was it like
being in an orphanage
with all those kids
nobody wanted?
Must've been hard to be special.
I was special. You don't
know what you're talking about.
Maybe you're special now,
but back then you
were abandoned.
You were a ward of the State just
like thousands of other poor kids.
I was not poor.
I was only in an
orphanage a very short time.
Didier, you don't
have to be ashamed.
I'm not ashamed. I can't believe
we're even talking about this.
Well, we can talk
about anything you like.
Let's talk about...
how far you've come,
considering you were raised
in some state
orphanage with bad food,
bad hygiene, abuse...
Was there a lot of abuse?
I told you I was
not raised there.
The authorities in my canton
returned me to my parents.
I'm sure your
parents are impressed
with everything that
you've accomplished.
Or maybe they don't care.
This is intolerable. I
don't know how you people
make a living out
of sheer stupidity!
You made a mistake
about me, Mr. Goren.
That's all I wanted
to let you know.
Do we have the fingerprints
for Mr. Dupont over there?
What's up?
I just got a call from
our dead Frenchman.
He said his "canton" gave
him back to his parents.
Cantons are the
equivalent of states.
He's not French, he's Swiss.
The Swiss police
got a hit on the prints.
Didier Foucault, 33,
aliases up the wazoo.
Convictions for fraud, check
kiting, no record of violence.
Last stretch was seven years
ago... He served six months.
The Swiss faxed us
everything they had on
Foucault's early years.
Being Swiss, that probably
includes his dirty nappies.
Goren: Contrary
to what he told us,
he was in an orphanage run
by nuns from age four to 15.
He was never adopted.
His mother was a prostitute.
He had medical problems
right through his childhood.
That's good, but we
still have to find him.
Well, 10 to one he'll call back.
He has something
to prove to me now.
10 to one?
I've taken him on
before, Mr. Carver.
I'm down 18 bucks.
From Dr. Steven Pitt...
"Orphans live with a
perpetual sense of shame.
Some overcompensate
through achievement,
some mollify their pain
through substance abuse,
and some invent complex
fantasies with over-idealized parents.
Taken to an extreme,
these individuals develop
into pseudologia
fantastica... Impostors...
Who, when confronted
with evidence of their fraud
erupt in a rage,
and will go to any length
to persuade their audience
that their fantasy is true."
He'll call.
He could be using an alias.
Leonard Rochefoucault...
Goren, line four.
I'll call you back.
- Goren.
- Didier: Detective Goren, hello.
I wanted to apologize
for losing my temper
during our last conversation.
Hey, I understand. Your
childhood's a sore subject.
I don't take it personally.
I'm not the kind of person
who loses his temper.
I was raised with good manners.
You mean at the
orphanage? Who raised you?
Civil servants? Priests? Nuns?
What did you do when you
wanted somebody to hold you,
to comfort you?
Hmm, Didier?
Did you make yourself
sick and run to the nurse?
What are you talking about?
Kids like you, abandoned kids,
are hypochondriacs.
This is where you
have it all wrong.
My upbringing taught
me how to survive.
You survived by pretending
to be other people.
I survived because
I was superior.
I am always three steps ahead.
These people you conned, you
weren't three steps ahead of them.
You got out by the
skin of your teeth.
- But I got out.
- Only by killing Felix Perez.
- You screwed up, Didier.
- You think what you want.
I think you're living
up to your breeding.
I'll bet your parents were
crooks or drug addicts.
I'll bet your dad
pimped out your mom!
You stupid cop!
You have no idea! No idea!
I have an idea you're
terrified of going to prison.
It'd be like going
back to the orphanage.
Prison is nothing.
Oh, of course.
You've been to prison.
Another mistake
made by idiots like you.
But I didn't care.
It was a vacation.
Do you know how long it took me
to get special privileges in prison?
Less than 24 hours.
What's a special
privilege in a prison?
A tick-infested pillow?
Fresh fruit, caipirinhas,
women... anything I wanted.
I had the guards like a...
palm in a fist.
- Drugs?
- Drugs?
See how you think?
You see the pedestrian
level of your intellect?
It's the trouble
with you police...
So many guns, so little brains.
You think you'd make
a good detective?
I think I'd make the
very best detective.
Do you know why?
I understand human nature.
You might profit from such
a study, Detective Goren.
Caipirinhas.
He was in prison in Brazil.
Two years ago, he
served eight months
for credit card fraud in Brazil.
He was arrested at a
Rio airport with a girlfriend,
Simone DaSilva,
a Brazilian national.
The cell phone from Rio.
We figure he's here with
her. We're calling the hotels
looking for a registration
under her name.
Our boy's been
keeping himself busy.
The IRS got the
notarized release from him.
We're pulling in the notary...
We found the girl.
SoHo East, room 1216.
I'll handle the warrants.
- (door opens)
- Is that you?
I was just going
down to the bar...
Get your hands on the back of
your head! Sit down! Sit down!
I got her.
You have bitters and soda?
I'm trying to quit drinking.
Maybe Happy Hour isn't
the best place for you.
Well, at least I can smoke.
Nice to put a face to a voice.
(gun cocks)
You have the wrong man.
I don't think so.
- Judge: Bail is denied.
- (gavel bangs)
- Next case.
- Clerk: People versus
Didier Foucault,
Murder in the second degree,
larceny in the first degree.
How do you plead, Mr. Foucault?
- Not guilty, sir.
- People on bail?
We want him remanded
to custody, Your Honor.
Your Honor, my client's
friends stand ready to
put up any bail amount
to insure his appearance.
These so-called
friends are his victims.
He doesn't care
about their money.
He was arrested
with a ticket for Brazil
and passports bearing
three different identities.
Now if there was
ever a flight risk, he's it.
Thank you, Mr. Carver.
Bail is denied.
The defendant is remanded
to custody pending trial.
- (gavel bangs)
- Next case.
Clerk: Docket number 4604.
People v. Christine Chen.
One count child abuse.
Try telling them
they're victims.
Don't tell me you
feel sorry for this guy?
Nah.
Someone to teach
you how to ride a bike,
two people that think you're
special? It makes a difference.
Some people get
by on a lot less.
They shouldn't have to.
(theme song playing)