Law & Order: Special Victims Unit (1999–…): Season 1, Episode 2 - A Single Life - full transcript

In the criminal justice system,
sexually-based offenses

are considered
especially heinous.

In New York City, the
dedicated detectives

who investigate these
vicious felonies are members

of an elite squad known
as The Special Victims Unit.

These are their stories.

Tomatoes, two
for 50¢... special.

Just one.

Four for a dollar.
I only need one.

(police sirens approaching)

Pity.



Tragic.

(camera clicks)

Excuse me, police.

Step aside, make room here.

Benson, Special Victims Unit.

Jumper? Jumpers
open the windows first.

Cleared the sidewalk,
nailed the car.

Oh, God...

Excuse me.

(arguing)

Anybody notify SVU?

'Cause she's not wearing
panties, you mean?

Just cover her up!

Check that out.



Hey... what are we looking at?

No sign of forced entry,

two glasses of half-drunk wine,

two clean sets of
prints... Lovers' quarrel.

Lovers' quarrel... they
usually kiss and make up.

Detective... pack of ultra-ribs.

Looks like maybe
they did more than kiss.

Yeah, he read her
a little Walt Whitman,

they made hot, passionate love,

then before he rolled
over and fell asleep,

he heaved her out the window...
Excuse me... through the window.

I'm not sure what this
outburst is leading up to.

Rape.

(laughs)

Like I said, no forced entry.

I didn't say it was a stranger.

Plus, she wasn't exactly
dressed in her "refusal" outfit.

- I didn't hear you say that.
- I didn't catch your shield.

Are you with the "political
correctness squad,"?

Elliot Stabler,
Special Victims Unit.

My partner, Detective
Benson, and I

were called in on an apparent
homicide with obvious sexual overtones.

All right, you want
it? Fine... you take it.

Detective: Scootch,
Jacoby, let's move it.

Okay, guys, wrap it
up. We're outta here.

(theme music plays)

(phone ringing)

Eight stories up, eight down.

Looks like she was shot out
of a cannon. Guy on steroids?

Munch: No, the Yankees
are on a road trip.

They're down in Baltimore
kickin' a little Oriole ass.

How about plain old
testosterone-driven rage?

- Her boyfriend?
- Munch: Or girl.

You could toss 100 pounds
without breaking a sweat.

- Toss you, you skinny-ass geek.
- See? The rage?

- What about the neighbors?
- Nobody knew her beyond
the usual nod and wave.

She worked at home... all they
knew was she carried a laptop with her.

- The whole thing's
a pyramid scheme.
- What whole thing?

Laptops... we've become a nation of
"laptoppers"... writing orders on our laptops,

more laptops... Whatever
happened to pens?

Vic had an appointment with a Dr. Daniels
every Tuesday and Thursday at 5:15.

Check her address book.
What did she do, the vic?

She was a writer... "Street Crazies:
Budget Cuts and the Mentally Ill."

"The Short Life of Alice
H."... About a suicide.

"Designer Vaginas... Is This
Health Care?" "New York Ledger."

"Michael, Steven,
Sam W."... all men.

Daniels, Mark... clinical
psychology at 911 East 72nd Street.

"How to Build a Better Orgasm,"

in "Cosmopolitan."
Somebody might kill for this.

- You two... check
the neighborhood again.
- Stabler: Yo!

Cassidy, you're in court on
the "Subway Stroker" case.

Is that correct? Yes, sir.

Okay, you get hung
up, you call me.

Recording: This is Gretchen.
Leave a message. Bye.

Electronic voice: You
have no messages.

(repeating) This is Gretchen.
Leave a message. Bye.

You have no messages.

Woman: I heard roughhousing,
like someone throwing something.

- Then what?
- That scream, then "crunch,"
and the car alarm going off.

Did you see anybody
leave her apartment?

I was supposed to stick
my head out and look?

Right... so he
could see my face.

Excuse me, how long does that
girl's apartment stay a crime scene?

- Why?
- We're next on the list
for a one-bedroom.

- What's your name?
- Jason Cargill.

Mr. Cargill, I'm with the real
estate board... you're now off the list.

(car horn honks)

Half of them admitted they couldn't
tell their neighbors from the perp.

Could you? Could I what?

- Tell your neighbors apart?
- Why, because I live here?

I'm never home.
I'm always with you.

And people say the
suburbs are anonymous.

Queens is a suburb? Since when?

Since we got a little space,
some trees, grass to mow.

Yeah, I got a regular 8x10
of you mowing the lawn.

I do... sometimes.

Admit it, Kathy does all the
housework 'cause you're never there.

Okay, I admit it, Kathy's
the man of the house.

Exactly. Till
Dickie's old enough.

You're lucky... you got
nothing to worry about.

Definitely got no lawn to mow.

Yeah, I'm a regular monk.

Monkette.

What?

Nothing.

(piano notes playing)

Did you give Sears a call?

I called Sears. And...?

And the limited
warranty expired.

How the hell did that happen?
How the hell do I know?

You're the one that wanted to buy the
garbage disposal and install it yourself.

Wait a minute... I
installed this properly.

If you guys would just stop
throwing so much crap down it.

- Marie, would you get
off the phone, please?
- I got to go.

(disposal rumbles)

Mommy, have you seen the
turtle? I left him in the sink.

When you asked the
defendant what was he thinking

at the time of the
assault, what did he say?

She said she thought
she was smiling at him,

so he took a seat next to her.

The number 3 train
at... what stop was it?

96th Street.

I believe the defendant's a
professor at Manhattan University.

Carmichael: So, he took a
seat, and then what happened?

He commenced to strike
up a conversation with her

but then, upon receiving no
response, he surmised she was asleep.

Mm-hmm. And then what did he do?

Hearsay, Your Honor.

Then what did Professor
Ormond tell you he did next?

He put his hand
inside of her blouse,

and then took her hand
and placed it on his b...

On his...

genital region,

and then he made
her rub him until he...

Until he reached
his intended goal.

No further questions,
Your Honor.

Detective, how did
this become your case?

Were you on duty in the subway
at the time of the alleged assault?

No, a passenger alerted a member

of the Transit Police,
who made the arrest.

The case was then referred
to the Special Victims Unit.

Of which you're a
member? Yes, sir.

For how long? Let's
see... eight months.

So you're an expert on
sex crimes... is that correct?

- We all have
something to learn.
- I'm sure.

Can you tell us the technical,

or "psycho-sexual" term, if
you will... for fondling a stranger?

Fromage...?

(scattered chuckles)

I believe it's "frottage."

Right, "frottage."

Since the passenger turned
out not to have been sleeping

but was in fact deceased,
what would you call that?

You know, I don't
know what it's called,

but I call it disgusting!

You disapprove on moral grounds,

but since the so-called
"victim," being dead,

couldn't have known
she was being fondled,

or "fromaged" by the
defendant, where is the assault?

(phones ringing)

You look about as happy as
a postal worker at Christmas.

So, make me feel better.

We brought back a bunch
of papers from her apartment.

No threatening letters
from ex-boyfriends,

not even a message on
her answering machine.

This woman makes J.D.
Salinger look like a Shriner.

Tell me about it. Not
one person in her life

knows she's dead
yet. You believe that?

Jeffries struck out with
the next of kin? Yeah.

On her lease application, she left
"Notify in case of emergency" blank.

If he killed her inside,
and left her there,

she could have been
there for weeks, months.

God, could you
imagine living like that?

What?

Still a lot of "Jane Does"
on the books, years later.

Not on ours. Somebody
knows her story.

Her shrink. Okay, her shrink.

Oh, hello.

Listen, folks, I don't
accept walk-ins or couples.

- In fact, I'm
expecting a patient.
- We're not a couple.

In any event... Your patient
won't be coming in today, Doctor.

- What do you mean?
- She's dead.

We've been unable
to locate next of kin,

a boyfriend...
any close friends.

We're hoping you
could help us with that.

- You know I can't do that.
- We know... "doctor-patient
blah, blah, blah."

We could get a court order to help
you out of your ethical quagmire.

Gretchen's parents are dead.

She has a sister named Ellen
Travis out in the Denver area.

Fiancé, boyfriend?

Not that she mentioned.

She was a very private person.

Except with you.

That's what I get paid for.

The shrink didn't even ask how
she died, did you notice that?

He was trying his best
not to answer our questions,

probably figured he
shouldn't ask any either.

Lacerations from the glass.
Broken neck, ribs, lumbar.

Before or from the fall? From.

Any sign of a struggle? Uh-uh.

The neighbor said that she heard
a lot of commotion before the fall.

It must have been
consensual commotion then...

No contusions, no
internal abrasions.

A gun to the head
wouldn't leave an abrasion.

I'm on your side, Detective.

I left messages for
everyone the shrink gave up,

including the
sister in Colorado.

Voice mail, voice mail, voice mail.
Doesn't anybody pick up the phone anymore?

She was hiding from
somebody. A violent ex?

- Exes.
- I thought the shrink
said "no boyfriend."

He seemed uncertain.
He seemed uncooperative.

You're gonna have to
make good on your threat...

Get a court order and compel
him to stop his pussyfooting.

Jackson.

What? Elliot.

Stabler. Yeah.

Good.

Get outta here.

Any priors? Thanks a lot.

I got to tell ya, I
love computers.

- The print on the wine glass?
- Matched one they got
on record on Albany.

- State prison?
- New York State
Department of Psychiatry...

A Dr. Mark Daniels.
Her own shrink?

Well, I guess the
pussyfootin's over.

I'm sorry, my brother
wants to be helpful,

but legally, his hands are tied.

His hands were in her apartment.

We lifted some very "well-educated
prints from a glass of wine.

Benson: Dr. Daniels,
can you explain

when and why you
were visiting your patient?

Wait... he was in
Ms. Quinn's apartment

briefly at lunchtime,
at her request,

to attend to a crisis.

Or an erection?
That's insulting.

I thought it was the absence
of one that was insulting.

Whoa... what's your point?

The point is, what was your
brother doing in her apartment?

A brief professional
consultation.

He returned to
the office at 2:30

to attend to patients
for the rest of the day.

Doctor, where were you
that evening... around 8:00?

I don't think...

I was at a fellow therapist's...

A lady fellow therapist's...
Having dinner at her apartment.

I got there around 6:30
and I left there around 9:00.

You got a name and number on
your "lady fellow therapist" friend?

Dr. Mark Daniels was at
my apartment last evening

from about 6:30
till a little after 9:00.

Do you have a doorman,
or was anyone else home?

No, can you tell me
what this is about?

Maybe you should ask
the doctor about that.

Dr. Daniels is extremely
busy. Yeah, I'll bet.

You know any other women
he's gettin' "busy" with?

We have a
professional relationship.

I have absolutely no
interest in his personal life.

Excuse me.

Think she's lying for
him? Who can tell?

(cell phone ringing)

It's me.

Stabler.

Hey... Woody, thanks for
getting back to me so quickly.

No, no, no... this is about a
woman. She wrote for ya...

Perfect. See you then.

- How you been, Elliot?
- Everything is good.

- This is
my partner, Olivia Benson.
- Hey, how you doin'?

You're better-looking
than Alfonse. Thanks.

- What happened
to "Big Fatso"? Coronary?
- Retired and moved to Florida.

Ah... same diff. You
know this woman?

I don't think so,
no. What about her?

Oh, yeah, the girl who was
defenestrated on 82nd Street.

I saw the photo
in the competition.

We don't go much for death scenes.
Her name was Gretchen Quinn.

No... you sure?

We found your name in her
Rolodex... thought you could help us out.

Man... I talked to her on
the phone once or twice...

When she called to say she liked a
certain column, but I never met her.

You ran some of her articles.

I'm a columnist,
honey, not an editor.

She was just
another by-line to me.

Wow, she was
kind of a... A what?

A "stone-cold fox"? A "babe"?

No, you're a babe...
And a stone-cold fox.

No, this girl... this is some
deep, deep well you'd fall into.

What a waste.

Maybe Munch is right... people
should get off their computers.

Relish. Relish.

Get out, rub elbows...
What do you think?

Uh-huh. Right. A
little more relish.

Thank you.

Her credit card shows a regular series
of expensive dinners for the last year.

The last one at "Il
Posto Vecchio" for $372.

Not cheap. Nope. Ah, grazie.

So many beautiful
faces to remember.

Oh, dumb me...

Will this help jog your memory?

She was with one of the
anchors... not local either.

National. But then,
they all look the same.

I remember her. She
was with Dallas Warner.

Got a serious tip. You did, huh?

Those anchors make a lot
of money. Not from him... her.

Guess she was
his boss. I love that.

We got a lead with
repercussions to the Senate run.

She was in incredibly
riveting interview.

I'm sure she was, but we're
here about Gretchen Quinn.

She related to Sally? My wife
and I are having dinner with her

in Georgetown next week... Ben,
too, if he gets back from Europe.

Not Sally, Gretchen... she was also
a writer. I believe that you knew her.

Is there anything
you can do with this?

Mr. Warner...?

Excuse us.

Yes or no?

Knew her?

Does anybody ever
really know anybody?

Don't get
philosophical with us...

You're just a teleprompter
jockey, we're just cops.

I haven't seen her
in over a month.

Were you on the air last night?

No, I'm off Saturday
through Monday.

I was having dinner
with my wife last night...

There's a maitre d' and a room full
of waiters who know that I was there.

I assume you can confirm
this without contacting her.

If you'd like a picture of her,
I'd be happy to provide one.

On in five, Mr. Warner.

Good evening, I'm Dallas Warner.

White House sources today...

He's either a sociopath or he
really believes his line of B.S.

Sociopath.

What does he think, he's the
second coming of Walter Cronkite?

Well, he was kind enough
to grant us an interview.

Like he was doing Gretchen a
favor by having her on the side.

Hubris. Tell me about it.

He's already
figured that her death

is less important than
his life, his career...

Oh, man. What?

I just know, a guy like
that... his alibi's gonna check.

Bastard.

Waiter: A couple of days
ago. How could I forget?

She was having drinks with
that gorgeous anchorman.

What's his name? "Warner"?
"Warren"? Whatever.

Dallas Warner? Him. She
didn't look happy, though.

Why is that? Women? Who knows?

I should have such problems.

Professional
unhappiness, or personal?

She was stroking
his arm, crying,

he was sitting up
straight, looking around.

I see this a hundred
times a week, baby,

and the body language?
It was personal,

as in... the man
was already gone.

Is that all?

Please.

Yes, I was with
her Monday night.

When you told me she
was dead, I was shocked.

Funny, you didn't look shocked...
you seemed rather... cool, in fact.

I was being discreet,
Detective. Ah.

Being discreet and lying to the
police are two different animals.

I was good for her.

Before me, she'd been with
a bunch of lying psychos.

You know any of the
other liars' names? No.

I was safe... Exactly
what she needed.

I called her often and
returned her calls promptly.

What happened the
last time you saw her?

She called me up crying.

I asked her if she wanted to meet for a
drink... I had some time before dinner.

As soon as I sat down
at the table she told me

she had been sleeping
with her psychiatrist...

It had been going on
intensely for a couple of weeks.

Why would she confide in you?

- I'm a good listener.
- When you want to get
into somebody's pants.

If you want to get snotty, I'll call my lawyer
and you can forget about mutual cooperation.

Then I'll call your lawyer and
ask him if you killed Gretchen.

And why would I have done that?

- To keep her from
blabbing to your wife?
- That's enough.

Excuse us, one second.
Detective Benson...

why don't you go down, talk to
Carmichael at the D.A.'s office,

and let's see if we can get
that O.B.B. started, okay?

You want me to bust
him in the grill? Hmm.

We're not getting
anywhere in there.

It's not we... it's me.
What's that mean?

That pompous jerk will never condescend
to deal with a woman... you go in there.

We good? We're good.

Everything all right, Detective?

Yeah. She's... you know.

Up here, you get a whole
different perspective on people.

Like ants?

Yeah, a bit.

So, we were with
Gretchen's shrink.

Yeah, she said that at first,
it had been exhilarating...

Yeah?

Him knowing all of her darkest
shadows and falling for her anyway...

All of that. I said I thought
she should sue him.

A little late for that.

If you repeat what you told me about
the therapist for say, a grand jury...

No, no, no... this
was off the record.

No, no, no... it's not a "60
Minutes" interview here.

This is a homicide
investigation.

Still, it's your
word against mine,

and mine is trusted
around the world.

Oh.

How about in your own home?

How good is your
word there, Dallas?

Warner seems to
have a solid alibi.

I don't think he'd offer
up dinner with his wife

in a public place
if he were lying.

Cragen: We got the shrink's
fingerprints at the scene...

I'll get the DNA order
on that if I have to.

Listen, I got a call
about the body.

They need to make
room in the morgue.

There's still no one to release
her to? Hey, you tell me.

We got a sister in
Denver, but as of now

she remains as much
a mystery as Gretchen.

No memorabilia
in her belongings?

We haven't had a chance
to sift through her stuff.

You know when a good
time to do that might be?

From the Greek, Cassidy.
"Necro"... "death," "philia,"... "love of."

You try it. Necrophilia.

Again. Necrophilia.

Or "Egyptian love,"
according to Henry Miller.

Necrophilia.

Necrophilia. Good man.

She must have had fun
naming her computer files.

This is "Penis dot Quotes."

You want to read it or should I?

Knock yourself out.

No, that's yours.

Anything? No.

Okay, "Biology of the
Amazons," by Gretchen Quinn.

"There's a tiny catfish
feared more than the piranha.

It's called a..." "Candiru."

Cragen: Say what?
This is beautiful. Tell him.

"It will swim right
into a man's penis

and lodge itself there by
erecting sharp spines... "ow.

"Erecting sharp spines..." that's a fish
with a sense of irony. How'd you know that?

In the jungle they
always taught us,

"Don't hold your nose,
hold your stones."

Bingo.

Yearbook?

Book of poetry by Sylvia Plath.

- Of course.
- Overdue 20 years
from Patterson High School.

We're on our way back. The victim's
real name was "Susan Sidarsky."

About 20 minutes. Right.

Blood tests aren't in. Shrink
and his mouthpiece are.

Let me pull the hair
out for the match, may I?

Gretchen presented classic
signs of childhood sexual abuse.

She was overly promiscuous,
she was very seductive,

she was constantly asking me
whether or not I found her attractive.

Benson: Did you?

And then she told me

her father started abusing
her after her 13th birthday.

Abusing her how?

Must I be clinical? Come on.

Yes, you must. Emotional
abuse? Fondling? What?

Intercourse. In less clinical
words, you mean "rape."

And the minute she graduated
from high school, she ran.

She moved almost every year.

She stopped running when
she got to New York? Mm-hmm.

- How often did you see her?
- Er... as a patient?

- Yes, as a patient.
- Twice a week.

That must get expensive, no?

She had a trust fund, although
she told me she refused to touch it.

It didn't matter... I
billed her insurance.

About her sexual experiences...?

It was anonymous
and joyless with her.

She would take any
man on the block,

as long as she picked him
before he decided on her.

She had a history
of deranged lovers...

Any one of whom
could have killed her.

Thank you... thank you
for being so open with us...

although you left out the part where
you were her last deranged lover.

That's unfair.

So is sleeping with a vulnerable
patient who trusted you.

Listen, I never...

Stabler: What?

I never meant to betray her.

Yeah, but you did.

I think the psychiatry board is
gonna take a dim view of your betrayal.

Yeah, yeah, yeah... you got signs all
over school about "stranger danger."

How do you warn them about
people they're supposed to trust?

Their priests?

Scoutleaders? Future
therapists? You tell me...

How do you tell children about this
without having them be completely paranoid?

We've had this
conversation before.

I know, I know. It's just...

Maureen got a "B" in algebra,
which is a minor miracle

and Kathleen's orthodontist said we
might not have to have a whole retainer...

That's good. so
that should help.

Her therapist wasn't
the only one doing her.

Her father.

Her father? Yeah.

Elizabeth made you
a Play-Doh ashtray.

I don't smoke. Course not.

Oh... that's nice. Where is it?

Well, Dickie flushed
it down the toilet.

Ha, little prince.

How could anyone...?

(softly) Her father.

Olivia. Good morning, Munch.

The vic's sister from Denver
is here. Here in the unit?

New York... Two-bedroom
suite, Midtown.

She's not exactly
warm and bubbly.

Grief does strange things to
people. I don't think it's grief.

Two sisters growing up in
the same abusive household...

What are the chances it
only happened to one of 'em?

Probably very slim. Damn it.

The vic went to impressive
lengths to escape her family.

To escape her father... changing
her name from "Susan" to "Gretchen."

Gretchen is someone who
never met Daddy Sidarsky.

She ran to a different city, she ran
from man to man trying to find comfort.

Did you know necrophilia
is not only with dead people?

Do you see what you
started? No, I got it off the Net.

Supposedly some famous
actor out in Hollywood,

hires hookers to
lie in an ice bath...

Waits until they turn blue
with the cold before diving in.

Let's move on.
"Compulsive onanism."

"Onanism." (chuckles)

Hey... the Quinn girl's
sister? She's here.

Got the release forms? Um-hmm.

Mrs. Travis? Olivia Benson.
My partner, Elliot Stabler.

We're the detectives
on your sister's case.

Oh. Why don't you have a seat?

These are the keys to
your sister's apartment

if you'd like to drop by,
maybe take some family items.

Not that there'll be any.
Benson: Why do you say that?

I haven't talked to my
sister in over 20 years.

About two months ago, she
started calling me out of the blue

saying that she
wanted a relationship.

And?

It was superficial,
to say the least,

and then it stopped.

Still, you've been the only
relative we've been able to locate.

Your sister was
somewhat of a... mystery.

She was a drama
queen, Detective.

No one could
ever figure her out.

I thought she was nine years
old when you left for Colorado.

Well, nine-year-old
girls are complicated.

Tell me about it.

If you'd like to use the phone to
call your relatives about the funeral...

My father's dead.
And what funeral?

I'm in New York to sign
the papers, go to Saks,

and take the next plane home.

Then we won't keep you any
longer. Thank you for your time.

She was molested, you know that.

That cold facade of hers?

Maybe it's just
living in Colorado.

She dresses more "Fifth
Avenue" than "Rocky Mountain."

I'm having a "fashion
police" blackout.

That outfit...

Gretchen's shrink said that
she never touched her trust fund.

But this one... It's...

Who's paying?

Who's paying?

Don't you people have
computer files of your own?

Yeah, 20,000
known sex offenders,

all cross-referenced by proclivity
and physical characteristics.

Is that true?

We can give you every pederast
in Manhattan with a four-inch unit,

but 401K's... that's out
of our area of expertise.

Trent Peterson? Benson, Stabler.

Benson, Stabler, Smith, and
Fenwick. How can I help you?

I was telling them about the Business
section's new system and how you can

get financial data on anybody or any
corporation in the free world. Am I right?

Yes, but... did the
M.E. clear this?

Peterson, I'm on a
deadline. The Sidarsky trust.

The sister is dipping into the vic's
trust fund. Is that what we got here?

No, she had her
own separate account.

Gretchen's just
sat there and grew.

Grew how? 3½ million
and still climbing.

Oh, really? That's a lot of
money and a lot of motive.

What's this? The inheritance?

Not an inheritance...
It's a trust.

A living trust,
managed by her father.

Whoa, whoa, wait a minute...

I thought you said
the father was dead.

Right, but we were misinformed.

Robert Sidarsky lives and works in New
Jersey. You want to know his shoe size?

I'll tell you what
I want to know...

I want to know the
truth about these people.

All the creative people...
Our R&D, marketing,

in-house ad staff... That's
all done here in Jersey.

But the sneaks are made where?
China? Malaysia? For the most part, yeah.

Don't worry, Mr. Sidarsky, we're
not here on child labor violations.

We don't have any secrets here.

Oh, we all have secrets.

Could you please enlighten me?

Your daughter's
dead, Mr. Sidarsky.

What...?

No. No.

Does my wife know?
I have to call my wife.

Somebody threw her out of a
window on East 82nd Street.

What?

That's impossible...
My family is at the shore.

They're vacationing. I was
supposed to meet them on Friday.

We have a positive
identification, sir.

Your second child...
Born May 10th, 1967?

(sighs) Susan...

Susie was lost to
me a long time ago.

Such a sad child.

Such a sad ending.

Well...

- Stabler: What do you think?
- Benson: What do I think?

I'd like to slap the
crap out of him.

Even if you get Gretchen's
sister to come forward,

the statute of
limitations is long gone.

- Maybe not.
- Meaning?

"Megan's Law." if we can
pump the sister's memory,

it'd start the clock all over
again on the emotional abuse.

I don't know. Recovered
memory is such a rat hole.

It's worth a shot. It's not
even gonna help our case.

Maybe he's not her killer. We
slap a molestation case on him.

I'm worried
about that little girl

by the seashore waiting
for Daddy to come home.

Who's got a mother...

who's still alive, and we can
only hope is paying attention.

Hope? Hope isn't
good enough, Elliot.

I thought you didn't drink.

I don't. Doesn't mean you can't.

Oh, I'm fine.

Elliot's home with Kathy and the
kids and Munch is out somewhere.

Jeffries and Cassidy...
we live here...

We just disappear
into the night.

Back in Homicide, we used to go
out every night and get smashed.

We'd tell war stories,
maybe fool around a little bit

and feel like crap
the next morning.

- This is better.
- Oh, much.

So why are you alone tonight?

My wife was on an
Orlando turnaround

as a flight attendant,

and I was home,
scrubbing algae off the tiles

around the swimming
pool we never used...

The one that got me into
hot water with Internal Affairs

because "what's a cop doing
with an in-ground pool," right?

And then the phone rang...

The call she always
expected, always dreaded.

So, Marge is...

scattered in bits
over some swamp...

and I'm home in Bensonhurst

trying to make sense of the
test pattern on our giant TV...

wanting so bad to drink again,

hoping for a surrender...

Oblivion.

Kinda like our girl, the vic.

She slept with every guy on the
block just to get to that same place...

Oblivion.

You get inside her head, Olivia,

and you will get to the perp.

What's his face, Warner... the "Peter
Jennings" look-alike? He's got a solid alibi.

Half the people on the Upper East Side
knew he was stepping out on his wife.

You tell me...
what's the motive?

Then it's the shrink, yes? No.

Again, what's the motive?

He did some damage, I'll
admit, but... Psychic damage.

Are you "Mr. Insight" now? Where
did you get that, "The Psychic Hotline"?

He raped her
emotionally, but killed her?

- No way.
- Okay, then who?

I say you got to take
a look at the father.

The father, who hasn't
seen her in 20 years? Why?

Because she was in hiding
from "Daddy Dearest"?

The shrink said the old man
was cunning and still patient.

So he finds out she's
living in Manhattan,

says to the new wife and
kid, "Get some fried clams,

I got an errand in the
city, " he goes, " Ding-dong,

hi, it's Daddy," and
throws her out the window?

Dr. Mark Daniels, the
psychotherapist, was at the crime scene.

We've got his
fingerprints on a wine glass

and a pack of "ribbed
ultra-thins," as I recall.

So, would somebody please tell
me why he is not in interrogation,

even as we speak, being sweated
by two of my best detectives?

It wasn't him. It
was the father.

What if she did cash one
of her trust fund checks?

That's how he found her.

He goes to her
apartment, he walks in,

she's banging the
shrink, or the anchorman...

He's possessive,
jealous... All the usual crap.

I don't know. The new daughter, the young
one... that's where his focus would be.

Maybe Gretchen
was writing a novel

about how pathetic her childhood
was. Why not? Everybody else is.

You got to get
that sister to talk.

Be my guest.

Mrs. Travis, what time
does your flight leave?

Soon... not soon
enough, but soon.

You want to get back
to your children, I know.

I'm sure they're anxious
to see their mommy again.

They are, so, if
you wouldn't mind...

I wanted to say I'm sorry we
were so rough on you the other day.

You're probably wondering why I
didn't stay and protect my little sister.

Is that it?

I'm sorry.

Wait, please don't
go. I... please.

Did you know that you
have a little half-sister?

She's 10.

You know what's going
to happen to her? No.

The same thing that
happened to you, Mrs. Travis.

It was her drama, not mine.

Please, Mrs. Travis,
just listen to me.

It's your drama, too.
Now please, we can help.

I have to go.

Just one more
day... in a lifetime.

Can you imagine being
a little girl in his house?

Don't even think of touching me.

I-I-I only... Only what?

Only want to
make it feel better?

Can we use this? Let's
just see where it goes.

You bastard.

You cowardly,
disgusting, sick bastard.

Ellie, honey,
sweetie-pie... Shut up.

Is that what you
call your new one?

Your little "sweetie-pie"?

"Give Daddy a taste
of that sweet pie"?

Is that what you
think you'll do?

I don't know what
you're talking about.

No?

You killed Susie, how's that?

You killed her.

Listen, I talked to the police,

and I wasn't anywhere
near the city on that night.

Travis: Not that night.

Not the other night.

Ellie, I think you're making
a rather costly mistake.

(dry laugh)

The trust fund...

Is that what you're
threatening me with?

Daddy...

stick it up your ass.

You know what Susie called it?

"Blood money"...

From the first time she bled
when you held her down...

Okay... just like
you held me down.

All right, that's enough. It's
ancient history. Just let it rest.

I got news for you, Daddy.

It's not ancient history.

That woman detective
you met? I met her, too.

She convinced me to
stay, and guess what?

She says that if I
remember things now,

a judge in New Jersey will
tell my story to a grand jury.

Okay, listen, honey,
please... I've got a new family.

I know. That's why
it's all come back up,

just as if it happened
yesterday...

which is how it feels to me

every day of my life.

- What is that?
- My sister wrote this. She mailed it to Denver,

and my husband,
whom you'll never meet,

faxed it to me here. Would
you like me to read it?

- No, what good would it do?
- Do me some good!

And Susie.

"Gretchen Quinn...

born Susan Sidarsky...

a frequent contributor to the "New York
Ledger," committed suicide Monday night.

She hopes her death will
point an accusing finger

at the men responsible.

In the end, nothing
appealed to Ms. Quinn...

No food, book or person.

She couldn't stand the sound of her
thoughts or the touch of her own skin."

- What is this?
- Susie's obituary. She wrote it herself.

"She is survived...
(sad chuckle)

by her ex-boyfriend,
Dallas Warner,

who was perfect...

Except for the
wife and four kids;

by Dr. Mark
Daniels, the therapist,

who knew her inside and
out, literally and biblically;

and last but not least,

Robert Sidarsky...

her father."

Look, come on!

"Her father..."

That's enough. Please!

"who took away her
childhood, her virginity..."

Please, don't! "her sense of
safety and fairness in the world..."

Ellie...! "Cause of
death was from a fall...

Self-inflicted.

(sobbing) She was 32."

She was... 32.

She was 32, Daddy!

(theme music plays)