The Mysteries of Laura (2014–2016): Season 2, Episode 13 - Episode #2.13 - full transcript
Oh, come on.
Martha Stewart built
an entire empire on crafting,
I can make these stupid cups.
Freeze.
Hands in the air.
Step away from the valentines.
I got this.
Stupid Valentine's Day.
Nothing says, "I love you" more
than your mother burning her
fingers off with a glue gun.
Speaking of which, if you have
V-Day plans with Tony,
you sure are waiting until the
last minute to ask me to sit.
Nope, no plans.
None of your business.
Tony and I broke up.
Would you stop?
Fine-ass man who can cook
and you just let that...
For all you know, he dumped me.
- I dumped him.
- Mmm-hmm.
Good.
'Cause that means the coast is
clear for me to get his number.
Oh.
I'm okay. Thanks for asking.
Does this break-up mean that you're
giving your baby daddy another look?
I don't know.
Enough with the eyebrow!
It's complicated.
Jake doesn't even know
about the break-up yet.
There's an easy way to fix that.
He may not even care.
I chose Tony over him.
Talk about a bridge-burner.
Oh. Speaking of the burnt bridge...
Hi. What's up?
Hey, there. We have a homicide.
- Soho.
- Okay. I'll meet you there.
- You got a date after all.
- Yep.
With a dead guy.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Oh, you shouldn't have.
Wow. Good taste.
Who's the music fan?
Deceased music fan.
Paul Henshaw. Unmarried, 25 years old.
Oh. Well, this is tragic.
These floors deserve
newborn baby-level care.
You know what else is bad for floors?
Copious amounts of blood.
- Who found him?
- Housekeeper.
She's at the ER. being treated for shock.
I'd be right next to her
if I had to clean all this up.
COD is, quite obviously, multiple
stab wounds to the back.
- Time of death?
- Based on rigor, six to eight hours ago.
He was on a date.
Lipstick, scarf,
but, no woman. So, where is she?
Not sure. But she doesn't live here.
I checked.
No women's clothes. No toiletries.
She could've run either out of
fear or covering her tracks.
In my professional opinion, it
is a little bit late for CPR.
Man stabbed the night
before Valentine's Day,
woman missing. That doesn't ring a bell?
St. Valentine.
A serial killer. He struck
February 13th through '90 and '94.
He always targeted couples.
And always put a groom
for a wedding cake topper
inside the male victim's mouth.
And what about the female victims?
All the women were found dead
by midnight on Valentine's Day.
I was in college.
Trish Kellogg and I spent
every Valentine's Day
just hiding out, eating milk duds.
I'm not sure that had anything
to do with a serial killer.
Didn't the police catch this lunatic?
They did. Guy named Glen Baker.
Died resisting arrest.
So, not him.
Wow. Can't ignore the similarities.
Well, our bad guy can't be
St. Valentine reincarnate.
We need a suspect.
- Woo-hoo.
- Oh.
Way to harsh the joy.
Could this be as simple as, "guy
blows Valentine's, girl flips out?"
Ugh, sure, on planet crazy.
No.
This did not come from this box.
Grab that. Test it for DNA.
Ooh.
This should make it easy
to find Paul's hook-up.
20-somethings post their
entire lives on social media.
Except, this guy kept his
personal life really personal.
No reference to dating in his
emails or on social media.
Even his texts are discreet.
Oh, he was having Booty calls
with someone named "R."
But they used an anonymizer.
And, an anonymizer does what, now?
I'm so glad someone else had to ask that.
Download an app, route all your
online activity through it,
no digital footprint to track.
Oh, great. So, our victim is the
one discreet millennial on earth.
I canvassed Paul's neighborhood.
Found a brief description
of the woman he was seen with.
Brunette, petite.
Oh, that could be R.
Right? But, why'd she kill him?
Uh, some kind of con, catfish maybe.
- He found out, she killed him.
- That's not bad, Soto.
I will have Max rush Paul's financials.
And if our undercover lover
was after his money,
there might be a trail.
You know...
Maybe R had a perfectly legit reason
to keep her relationship with Paul quiet.
I suppose.
You and I have both done it.
Well, now that you and Tony are official,
no more sneaking around for you.
Definitely no more sneaking around.
You guys have plans tonight?
Why is everyone all up in my plans?
I'm sorry I asked.
Not that interested.
So did, um,
Billy do something big for Valentine's Day?
He did nothing.
- Whoa.
- He even skipped my cafe con leche
to downplay the whole thing.
Not for long.
What's that mean?
I've seen Billy Soto go overboard
for a girl he's known 5 minutes.
For you? Oh, he's bringing it.
He knows that I don't like PDA.
- Uh-huh.
- Especially on a greeting card holiday.
- He respects that.
- Mmm-hmm.
Oh, there are so many more hours
left in the day for me to be right.
Jake got Paul's landlord out of bed.
Scored a work address.
Maybe his coworkers know who R is.
Welcome. I'm Becky,
head of office experience.
- How may I help you?
- Sorry. Head of what?
Office experience.
I make sure our visitors
have everything they need.
I guess receptionist doesn't
translate to new media.
We need to talk to somebody
about Paul Henshaw.
Uh, of course. Let me get our
Vice President of narrative.
Okay. If it's make-up-your-own-title day,
I am now...
Badass goddess detective.
You have called yourself that for years.
Now, it's official.
Paul was so vibrant, talented.
He was my top story strategist.
- And you were his?
- Boss.
He just relaunched
a 20-year-old sneaker brand
by telling a new story to their customers
in four words.
"The New Retro Chic."
Genius.
Broke their sales record in a week.
Huh.
Any idea what he does with his off time?
Friends? Girlfriend?
As far as I know, he wasn't
involved with anyone.
Oh.
Check out the initials.
- She a petite brunette?
- That's right.
Could Paul be dating this Rachelle?
If he was, he wouldn't have told me.
- She was...
- Oh, let me guess.
Environmental Support
Technician equals intern?
Has Rachelle been in today?
No, but she should've been.
We're pitching all weekend on
a new corporate origin story.
- We'll need to search her desk.
- Of course.
"Happy V-Day, P."
Heart of glass, you really
got me, eyes without a face.
All of Paul's favorite bands.
Took a lot of effort.
It's more than just sex.
- Tell us about Rachelle.
- Bright, but kind of needy.
I chalked it up to loneliness.
Rachelle had just moved here from France.
No family in the states.
I can pull her personnel file.
Please.
Foreign national. Could be fleeing the country.
Hey, what's up?
On my way.
Reynaldo has something.
Go. I'll have TSA
place an alert for Rachelle.
Put a car on her place.
Any body parts hanging around?
Negative. But, I know
that after this morning
you would wanna see this in person.
Paul's stomach contents.
- If you insist.
- After he was stabbed,
it took several minutes for him to die.
He aspirated and that is
why you did not find this...
In his mouth.
St. Valentine's signature.
- Indeed it is.
- We've got a copycat.
That's why we couldn't find Rachelle.
He's got her.
And if we don't hunt him
down before midnight,
she's dead.
I gotta ask.
Any chance Rachelle, the secret girlfriend,
could be the St. Valentine's copycat.
No. There's nothing to rule that out.
Except, that per Reynaldo's autopsy,
the knife wounds that killed our victim
were made from a high angle.
Hmm. DMV said Rachelle was only 5'2".
Paul was six foot.
Unless she was standing on
a foot stool, not our killer.
That, and there's no activity on
her phone or her credit cards.
We have to assume that Rachelle is the
second victim in a scheduled double-header.
The crime scene's a bust.
No fingerprints anywhere,
no DNA on the candy wrapper.
So, what do we do next?
Well, we start with what we know.
All right, the female victims
were overdosed on heroin,
dumped in central Park by
midnight, each Valentine's Day.
Laura said that the St. Valentine's
task force never figured out
where the female victims were held
or how he targeted his victims.
So, how did they catch him?
Once the cops knew the MO,
they staked out central
Park every Valentine's.
In '94, pay dirt.
Cops find Glen Baker walking
away from a fresh body.
Pulls the knife, shot and killed.
Okay, and they're sure this was the guy?
Pattern on the knife matched the
wounds in the male victims.
And if our copycat is imitating
St. Valentine's pattern,
then Rachelle has...
Only about 12 hours to live.
Coming through. Special delivery.
Damn. That's all from
the St. Valentine taskforce?
"All?" You wish! This is
just the 1990 killings.
Ugh.
Look, maybe we have a shortcut.
This is dinosaur tech.
Can't you do some cool conversion
upgrade, smart-girl thing?
I can, but, we need time
and we're short on it.
Max, reach out to the lead
detective from the taskforce.
Maybe he can shorthand this for us.
I tried. He died in 2010.
His partner retired to Puerto Rico in '06.
The only phone number personnel
has is out of service.
I think I know someone who can help us.
I'm gonna need to make
a couple of phone calls.
If you make a play, make it.
Meredith, do whatever you can to
get the database up and running.
I'm on it.
Our murder scene
is much bloodier than the original cases.
More spatter.
Maybe St. Valentine
drugged his male victims.
That would explain
the cleaner crime scenes.
Except none of those men
had drugs in their system.
How in the world?
I have no idea. But, maybe this guy does.
I saw Hauser was a white shield
on the original taskforce.
Called a buddy of mine in the DA's office,
got a writ, got him on an NYPD chopper.
- Not a big deal.
- Nice humble brag.
- Santiani was okay with this?
- Well, I twisted her arm.
The more we know about St. Valentine's,
the more chance we have of saving Rachelle.
You can unlock him.
He's an incarcerated prisoner on a writ.
Not on vacation.
He's in a room full of
armed police officers.
He's not going anywhere.
Grab a coffee. You can view
both exits from back there.
I'd say we gotta stop
meeting like this, hotshot,
but I don't wanna.
And you didn't even have to
bust out of prison this time.
- I'm so glad you could pitch in.
- Yeah.
So, can you give us
a rundown on Glen Baker?
Well, yeah. We searched his
house after we caught him.
The place was stacked with books
on serial murders and, uh,
horror movies.
It turns out that Glen
worked at a video store.
Well, we realized later that the
first victims were customers of his,
but no one after that.
Oh, sounds like his psyche profile
was pretty easy to write.
Yeah, you'd think that, right? Well...
One shrink said that St. Valentine
was a rage-a-holic who hated men.
The other said he was
remorseful, idealized women.
It's useless. We threw them both out.
Well.
There were marks, just like these,
at a few of the original crime scenes.
Oh, scuff marks like that
are pretty common.
But you think that they're important?
I had a theory.
I thought the female victims were
moved in a rolling suitcase.
I didn't see anything about
scuff marks in the files.
Lead detective thought I was nuts and
the theory never made the report.
How would our copycat
know about the suitcase?
Best way for our copycat to
find out about the scuff marks?
If the crime scene photos are online.
And viewable by the victims' families?
- Who would do that?
- People suck.
They're not showing any
NYPD case images online
in a general search.
Apparently they were for sale.
"Serialmurderabilia. com"? What is that?
"Oddities and personal items"
"from the most notorious serial killers."
The handle of Jeffrey Dahmer's fridge?
Once again, people suck.
And sometimes chew.
Mmm. Here we go.
Someone bought a complete set
of the St. Valentine
crime scene photos recently.
Let's see if we can track down
the owner of this ick-fest.
Oh, no, Billy. Not here, not here.
I think my line is "told you so."
What?
Oh, my god.
Maximus, spill.
- Who are these from?
- What?
These little things?
- No one.
- No one...
Has a very large checkbook.
I know, they're pretty fabulous.
Hear me.
I will solve this mystery.
And I will solve Hauser's wardrobe sitch
by raiding the lost and found for civvies.
- Okay?
- You are so not off the hook.
But, go.
Are we really going half-Pippi
Longstocking all day?
I need a little Valentine's glam from you.
Got it.
Serialmurderabilia is run out
of a shop in the east village.
Ugh, I wonder what kind of
crazy-pants psycho owns that place.
Thank you.
I wish selling vases and side
tables paid the bills, but,
a woman's got to make ends meet.
Well, selling twisted souvenirs
is one way to do that.
Are these Ted Bundy's undies?
There's a market for these?
Oh, goodness. Yes.
People will pay a small
fortune for the right item.
Who wrote the big checks for the
St. Valentine merchandise?
This is a particular hobby.
My customers count on my discretion.
Ms. Delvecchio, we're trying
to save a young woman's life.
We might only have a few hours to find her.
There was an eager St. Valentine customer.
Kevin Williams.
You remember his name
without having to look him up?
He must've made quite an impression.
He was an expert on the case.
Such fun to talk to.
So, I showed him a piece
from my personal collection.
- Are these...
- Baby teeth.
From Glen Baker himself.
Bought them from his mother's estate.
Each has an appraised value of $5,000.
Later I realized Kevin had stolen one.
Some people have no decency.
Well, you are right about that.
If you were to give me Kevin's
address, we'd be happy to follow up.
See if we can recover your stolen property.
Outstanding.
I'll get that for you.
Hey, there. Sorry to bother you again.
You're burning up your friendship favors.
Good thing I had nothing planned today
except for work.
Uh, I hope you don't think
I'm taking advantage,
it's just this case.
No, no. I get it.
It's fine. Um,
the prisoner showed up in one piece?
Thanks to you, counselor.
Well, I'm a very powerful person.
Okay, spill it. What else do you need?
I need a search warrant
for the home of a guy
who stole a $5,000 baby tooth.
- What?
- Hand to god.
Look, it would just save me a lot of time
and paperwork, if you could expedite it.
Oh, okay. You owe
me the rest of that story.
As soon as I catch our copycat,
and we'll set up a playdate.
My boys can't wait to hang with Liam.
Good. He's been dogging me since laser tag.
Okay, name for that warrant?
Kevin Williams. Apartment 4-C.
14 Avenue A. Might just be our killer.
NYPD, Kevin. Open up.
NYPD, hands up.
Clear.
Me, too.
This guy's the King of weirdos.
That's gotta be Glen Baker's tooth.
Does this freak pray to it?
NYPD! Hands in the air!
What the hell is going on here?
Where's the girl, Williams?
What are you talking about?
Rachelle. Don't mess
with us, St. Valentine.
Oh.
I knew he'd be back!
I haven't committed a crime in my life.
Oh, Mrs. Delvecchio disagrees.
That tooth you stole
from her is worth $5,000,
making you a killer and a thief.
She lent me that tooth.
And as for your other unfounded accusation,
I have an alibi for last night.
I was with a writer, getting
advice on self-publishing.
Self-publishing what?
I am writing the completely true
story of the St. Valentine murders.
And what's your version
of the completely true story?
The police...
Got the wrong guy.
And I assume you have
proof to back that up.
I do. One,
there's a bearded individual in
three of the crime scene photos.
He doesn't match the description of
any officer that worked the case.
Two, chocolate wrappers were found in all
five of the central Park body dumps.
Know who didn't eat chocolate?
I'm guessing, Glen Baker.
He was allergic.
Three, a boot print at another body dump.
Way too small to be Glen's.
And...
- The best part?
- Lay it on me.
No DNA evidence.
Nothing that links Glen to the murder.
Explain that.
He's an ME tech.
Probably forgot his jacket.
I suppose the candy wrapper and boot
print are easy enough to dismiss.
Yeah, 'cause central Park is central Park.
- But creepy Kevin has a point.
- We did not get the wrong guy.
Why didn't you test Glen's DNA
against the crime scene samples?
I'll tell you why not.
Cue the rant. Three, two...
Because we caught Glen Baker
running from the last body drop
with the damn murder weapon.
Also, after he died, the murders stopped.
I'm just saying if it was my case,
I would've wanted DNA confirmation.
And what would we run them against?
CODIS didn't exist.
Tests cost a small fortune.
Back then, dead suspect, no trial?
There's no way the city of
New York spends the money.
Okay, enough Captain-versus-Captain.
Hey, Hauser, you know what,
why don't you check on the watchdog?
I think he's getting a little nervous.
Oh, hi.
- Wow.
- Come on in.
Uh...
You and Hauser butting heads, I expected.
But, um, you, a balloon person?
They're from my son.
Um, the year I got divorced
he spent his lunch money to buy
me a balloon on Valentine's Day.
So, it's our thing.
- Nice thing.
- Mmm, yeah.
As for Hauser, I understand.
He is worried that they made a mistake.
'Cause if they did, St. Valentine is still
out there and he's killing again...
We're running out of time.
- Right, yeah.
- Floppy disk.
It's endless. There are so many.
- I'm just making sure...
- It just looks like...
Anything?
I found the right discs,
ported them to our system,
the data is all restored, but there
are tens of thousands of entries.
That's every tip and interview
we got over five years.
It took a computer expert
months to set it up.
And it'll take months to check
it without a focus point.
Okay.
So we start with the one concrete
piece of evidence we have.
- The tooth.
- Oh, don't tell me you think I was wrong.
St. Valentine is alive?
I don't know.
You couldn't run the DNA in '94.
We can now. We might as well
get a definitive confirmation.
Which we could cross-check against samples
from the original cases at the morgue.
- Exactly.
- And the physical evidence would tell us
what else the copycat knows.
And, presumably, we can
confirm once and for all
that Glen Baker was St. Valentine.
Guys, he was.
Well, confirmation will be easy enough.
Hate to say it, but the DNA from the tooth
does not match any of the samples
from the original St. Valentine cases.
That's impossible.
Are you sure the tooth is really his?
The antiques dealer has a signed
affidavit from Baker's family.
Then we have a problem.
Is there any way that the DNA from the
old crime scenes had been compromised?
The samples were in pristine condition
despite 20 years in storage.
Maybe Glen Baker wasn't the guy.
Except for Hauser swears that he was.
All right. We need to
get back to square one.
New scuff marks, old scuff marks.
Definitely similar.
Except the blood evidence isn't.
In the old crime scenes
the blood was pooled.
Too much spatter here.
St. Valentine was surgical.
New killer is no expert with the knife.
There's something missing.
Bruising around the neck.
Right? Your guy doesn't have any.
All our male victims did.
Right. The bruising indicated
a large hand performing
manual strangulation.
Our theory was the killer choked his
victims first, then stabbed them.
You can't fight if you're unconscious.
Or restrained.
On my signal, stab.
Okay, you can let go now.
Our killer knew things
that the public didn't know
but couldn't pull off the methodology.
Flawed copycat.
Add in to that, the mismatched DNA.
You're going somewhere with this, kid?
Hillside strangler.
LAPD was looking for one killer.
Then Bianchi started killing on his own.
Got sloppy, got caught.
That's when the cops realized
they were after two killers.
And so are we. Our guy is not a copycat.
Our guy is Glen's partner.
The second St. Valentine killer.
And he's got Rachelle.
Let me get this straight.
St. Valentine wasn't one killer, but two?
Yes, and only Glen Baker was caught,
leaving his partner in crime free
to pick up where they left off.
If you just tell me what you're
looking for, I could totally help.
I don't know. I just have that,
"I left my straightening iron
plugged in this morning," feeling.
We could go by the house.
- It's a metaphor.
- Roger that.
Yeah, it's better.
Serial killers don't just stop.
And why start again now after 22 years?
Well, he could've been locked up for
another crime or in a psych ward.
Maybe he didn't stop the killing, maybe
he took his act on the road somewhere.
To another state. Hell, another country.
All right, well, I will have one PP run.
St. Valentine's MO past the FBI.
If he has been active elsewhere,
VICAP will have a match.
You should also check corrections.
Pull all inmates locked up in 1994
and released in the last year.
Which will bury us in paperwork.
We're flying blind. The clock
is not gonna stop ticking.
We do have the psych profiles.
I just told you guys,
it's completely unreliable.
Neither of the shrinks
agreed with anything.
Because they're profiling
two different killers.
Shrink number one said that the
killer was pathologically angry.
Citing a brutal, powerful
stabbing of male victims.
And the other suggested that he
idealized the female victims,
killing them gently with
an overdose of heroin.
Then delicately staging the
bodies in a wedding dress.
Okay, so which one is our mystery man?
My money is on profile number two.
Paul's murder wasn't as savage
as the five original guys.
I think our guy only cares about the women.
So, the male victims
were just a means to an end.
Wish we'd known this back in the day.
Hey, there was no indication
there were two killers.
Well, my detectives figured it out
in seven hours.
Hey.
Ignore Santiani. This isn't your fault.
You did the best you could
with the evidence you had.
You know what, if we'd just done our jobs
and not patted ourselves on the back
your victim would still be alive
and his girlfriend wouldn't be
spending the last hours
of her life in the hands of a madman.
Oh, my god.
The candy wrappers.
Valpuffs!
Cute chocolate-related memory?
Brad Smith gave me Valpuffs
for my very first Valentine's
Day in eighth grade.
Whoop, there it is.
They were only available in February.
28 days were never enough.
Ugh! I should have seen it sooner.
Seen what? Clue Maxie in.
Okay. Those wrappers
are the outer-red cellophane.
But, Valpuffs also have
an inner-foil wrapper.
Like the one you found at Paul's loft.
Okay.
Still not getting it.
Crazy Kevin was off the wall, but
he was right about one thing.
OMG. Glen really was allergic to chocolate.
The medical reports confirmed it.
Meaning
all the wrappers came
from killer number two.
So, the second serial killer
is a giant litterbug.
Well, more likely a
chocoholic snacking all day.
Or stress-eating like a certain someone.
I doubt that he meant to
leave a trail. I mean, see?
Raised by wolves.
One problem.
They stopped selling Valpuffs
- a decade ago.
- News flash.
The retro-nostalgia craze seems
to have spilled over into candy.
Thank god for hipsters.
I did not just say that.
"Valpuffs are back just in time for V-Day."
"Rediscover the sweet taste of first love."
- Where can you buy those?
- Not to noodge, but diet.
Not for me.
Oh, yes, for me. But, but also the case.
Our killer had to have
bought them somewhere.
They're only available online.
Okay, get a customer list.
One of those chocolate
fiends could be our guy.
637 Valpuff buyers.
And that's just the tri-state area.
There's no way we can knock on
that many doors by midnight.
That file came to us electronically.
It might just be my needle in a haystack.
You got some magic to work?
The original Valentine's database.
Over 10,000 names of witnesses, suspects.
If I cross-reference the list of recent
Valpuff buyers against all that data...
Maybe someone pops up.
Yep. I'll just create a quick macro.
Run the databases against each other.
Damn. Look at that.
What a sap that guy is.
Yeah.
Totally sappy.
Got something.
What you got me?
Back in 1994, the hotline got
an anonymous tip on a guy
living in a house at 115 Conyer Street.
So did they follow it up?
No, because two hours later
they caught Glen Baker.
And the case was closed.
Or so they thought. What're you getting at?
Tax rolls show a Wayne Lewis
owned the house back in 1994.
Still does. And two weeks ago,
he ordered six boxes of Valpuffs.
Freeze!
Don't shoot me.
- Where's Wayne?
- He doesn't live here anymore.
- Who are you?
- I'm Mindy Lewis, his... Wayne's ex-wife.
- Place is clear.
- Clear of what?
- Where's your ex-husband?
- I don't know.
Please, just tell me what is going on here.
Do you see what I see?
Spitting image.
He found his ex-wife's doppelganger.
And now he's gonna kill her.
Mindy, do you know where Wayne is living?
He still gets his mail at our house.
He wouldn't take his stuff, he
kept coming up with excuses.
I just threw it all in our storage locker.
- And for work?
- He's a freelance fiber-optics installer.
He works for op-install systems.
None of this makes sense.
The killings are the reason that we met.
And how is that?
In '94, I graduated from
college, moved to the city.
February came around, and I was
terrified of St. Valentine.
Just like every girl in the city.
My parents offered
to pay for a burglar alarm.
A guy showed up to install it.
I thought he would laugh at me
because I was so afraid,
but he was gentle, sympathetic.
The installer was Wayne Lewis?
He asked me out, we went to the movies.
I felt safe.
He was old-fashioned, romantic.
On our fifth date,
he asked me to marry him.
- When was that?
- April of '94.
Right after Glen was caught.
How was the marriage?
It worked for a while.
Wayne put me on a pedestal. I
couldn't live like that anymore.
- And how did Wayne take the split?
- Not well.
He kept coming around all the time,
trying to convince me to change my mind.
But around new year's, he just stopped.
I'm guessing that's when
he decided to kill again.
And we thought our
marriages were complicated.
Explains why he went dormant for 22 years.
But if he's so angry at his
wife, why not just kill her?
Well, probably because he
didn't want Mindy dead.
He wanted her back.
And killing another couple helps that how?
Mindy's fear of St. Valentine
is what brought them together.
Maybe he thought if the killer returned...
Mindy would get scared
again and take him back.
Oh, damn it! We gotta find her.
Hell if I know where to search.
Wayne's got no home address,
he works freelance.
Mindy mentioned a storage unit.
Easy way to stay of the grid.
Oh, damn it.
Guess it would have been too easy.
I found us a consolation prize.
Cake topper brides. Six of
them, one for each murder.
Crazy Wayne likes his souvenirs.
Yeah, looks like he's living here.
Instant ramen, chemical toilet. Nasty.
Night manager. We opened up his
security cam feed. Check it.
Oh, there's Wayne coming out of his unit.
Case he's carrying could
easily hold a woman.
He's lifting it one-handed with no effort.
Unless he's bionic, there
can't be a body in it. Yet.
This footage is from last night,
few hours before Paul's murder.
It's the last time Wayne was seen here.
He's wearing his work uniform.
You know, I checked with the company.
They said that Wayne was uptown working
a job at a place called DDY Data.
Only thing is that they're
off for the holiday weekend.
So, then why is he wearing his uniform?
So that he could waltz
in and out of DDY Data.
And even bring in a big-ass equipment case.
With a woman inside.
Okay, DDY Data is on 101st and Park,
that's right near central Park.
And his preferred body dump site.
We are running out of time.
DDY Data is a freaking fortress.
Yep. Front door's the only way in,
so we can't make a forced
entry without detection.
We even know they're in there?
Aviation did a fly-over
in a flare-equipped helo.
We've identified two
individuals on the top floor.
North-west corner of the building.
Check out the heat signatures.
The orange one is moving around,
he's pacing. That's gotta be Wayne.
The other one's not moving.
The color's fading. It's Rachelle.
She's losing body heat.
Dying. Tell me that you've got a plan.
Oh, we're still gathering Intel.
Fiber-optics coming online.
Tactical team on the roof drilled
in, managed to place a camera.
Rachelle's barely breathing.
It's worse than we thought.
They're in the server room.
It's basically a vault.
Climate-controlled,
only one door. No windows...
Not to state the painfully obvious,
but we gotta get in there now.
One option, we use knock-out gas, and make
an entry once the assailant is unconscious.
We can't risk it. In Rachelle's
state, she might not wake up.
The only other option's a tactical breach.
No offense, sergeant, but no
matter how fast your guys are,
Wayne still has plenty of time to kill Rachelle
before we even step one foot in there.
We have to negotiate.
Hostage negotiations take time,
which to state the even
more painfully obvious,
Rachelle does not have.
- You got a better idea?
- Actually I just might.
If we can't get in,
we'll just have to get Wayne to come out.
Wayne!
Who's there?
It's me, Mindy.
Mindy?
Didn't expect that, did ya?
What, what are you doing here?
Don't be mad.
I know you don't want me
visiting you at work,
but I have to tell you...
I made a mistake.
What're you saying?
I don't want a divorce.
Um, Mindy, this isn't a good time, okay.
I'm, uh...
I'm busy.
It's Valentine's Day,
I don't want us to be apart. Not tonight.
Please, Wayne. Let me in.
No, no, no! Don't come in! Uh...
I'll come out.
- He's going for it.
- Yeah.
Mindy?
Mindy, where are you? I can't see ya.
I'm right here, honey.
Mindy!
Thanks, Mindy.
It's over, Wayne.
What'd you give her?
I just wanted her to love me.
Did you give her heroin like last time?
Tell me!
Yes.
Naloxone! Naloxone!
Naloxone!
Hurry, I don't have a pulse. Come on!
- Full dose.
- Give me some room.
Okay, come on, Rachelle. Come on. Come on.
Rachelle, I need you to fight, okay?
Come on.
Fight, okay?
That's it, yes. Yes,
it's good. You're okay.
You're safe now. You're safe. You're safe.
You're safe.
I'm proud of you, hot shot.
You caught him in 24 hours.
Well, technically, it was only 13 hours
since the maid found Paul's body.
Just take the compliment.
That's my cue.
Doesn't seem right.
You help us catch St. Valentine, and
then just go back to your cell.
Mmm, that's fine.
It's good to be a cop again.
Even for a day.
So, Valentine's.
What've you got on tap for tonight?
I'm guessing not much
more than you have on tap.
Come on! I'm a jailbird. You, you...
You got your whole life in front of you.
Don't squander it. You deserve happiness.
You been talking to my Dad?
Great minds...
Let's go.
Take care. See you, kid.
Ha!
First, the flowers. Now, chocolate.
You sent them to yourself.
Guilty as charged.
Boom!
There's no shame in being
alone on Valentine's Day.
What planet do you live on?
Okay, there's a little bit of shame.
Come hang with me.
We'll crush this box of candy
and watch John Hughes movies.
You broke up with Tony?
Come on. You're not the only one
around here with mad skills.
No chocolate, no phone calls. No date.
Yes, we broke up.
My idea.
Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. But now...
You can Carpe the Diem... with Jake.
- You think?
- Hello.
The stars couldn't be more aligned.
Hey.
You all right?
All day, and not the slightest,
secret mention of Valentine's Day?
Why... I thought that's what you wanted.
I thought so too, but...
You are my man,
and I am your woman.
Mmm-hmm.
And this is a...
Relationship.
And that means that we
celebrate Valentine's Day.
What?
I knew you'd get here.
Follow me.
I knew you couldn't resist.
Damn straight.
He's six years old?
"Yes, with cream and sugar," he said.
Which... where does he get cream and sugar?
Laura, hey, uh...
Come say thank you.
Uh, for?
This is Jennifer Lambert.
My pal from the DA's office.
- The one who helped us bring Hauser.
- Oh!
And also got you a warrant in record time.
- Mmm.
- Just saying.
Big thanks, for everything.
Uh, I thought you looked...
Familiar. Have we worked
on a case together?
Uh, not a criminal one.
Although with our boys you never know.
I'm Liam's mom from school.
He just had the laser tag birthday.
It was a huge mistake.
My ears are still recovering.
The boys mentioned that they have
a laser tag party this weekend.
- Yeah.
- I'm happy to take them if you want.
I know how much you hate those things.
Oh, right. Of course.
I thought after all the help, the least
I could do is take her to dinner.
It turns out this guy and I are
both dateless and starving.
On the worst of all days.
- So, we figured why not.
- Right, why not?
What're you and Tony doing?
I'm sure Mr. top chef
whipped up something special.
Uh, the guy she's seeing, an amazing cook.
Actually, he got the boys
to eat brussel sprouts.
Wow! Impressive.
Well, the way to a mom's heart is definitely
through her kid's vegetable consumption.
Exactly.
Tony?
Right. I have no idea what he has planned.
But I'm sure whatever it is,
it'll be delicious.
Go eat, you two!
It's really great seeing you
again, Jen. And, thank you.
- I'll see you again soon, I hope.
- Yup.
Martha Stewart built
an entire empire on crafting,
I can make these stupid cups.
Freeze.
Hands in the air.
Step away from the valentines.
I got this.
Stupid Valentine's Day.
Nothing says, "I love you" more
than your mother burning her
fingers off with a glue gun.
Speaking of which, if you have
V-Day plans with Tony,
you sure are waiting until the
last minute to ask me to sit.
Nope, no plans.
None of your business.
Tony and I broke up.
Would you stop?
Fine-ass man who can cook
and you just let that...
For all you know, he dumped me.
- I dumped him.
- Mmm-hmm.
Good.
'Cause that means the coast is
clear for me to get his number.
Oh.
I'm okay. Thanks for asking.
Does this break-up mean that you're
giving your baby daddy another look?
I don't know.
Enough with the eyebrow!
It's complicated.
Jake doesn't even know
about the break-up yet.
There's an easy way to fix that.
He may not even care.
I chose Tony over him.
Talk about a bridge-burner.
Oh. Speaking of the burnt bridge...
Hi. What's up?
Hey, there. We have a homicide.
- Soho.
- Okay. I'll meet you there.
- You got a date after all.
- Yep.
With a dead guy.
Happy Valentine's Day.
Oh, you shouldn't have.
Wow. Good taste.
Who's the music fan?
Deceased music fan.
Paul Henshaw. Unmarried, 25 years old.
Oh. Well, this is tragic.
These floors deserve
newborn baby-level care.
You know what else is bad for floors?
Copious amounts of blood.
- Who found him?
- Housekeeper.
She's at the ER. being treated for shock.
I'd be right next to her
if I had to clean all this up.
COD is, quite obviously, multiple
stab wounds to the back.
- Time of death?
- Based on rigor, six to eight hours ago.
He was on a date.
Lipstick, scarf,
but, no woman. So, where is she?
Not sure. But she doesn't live here.
I checked.
No women's clothes. No toiletries.
She could've run either out of
fear or covering her tracks.
In my professional opinion, it
is a little bit late for CPR.
Man stabbed the night
before Valentine's Day,
woman missing. That doesn't ring a bell?
St. Valentine.
A serial killer. He struck
February 13th through '90 and '94.
He always targeted couples.
And always put a groom
for a wedding cake topper
inside the male victim's mouth.
And what about the female victims?
All the women were found dead
by midnight on Valentine's Day.
I was in college.
Trish Kellogg and I spent
every Valentine's Day
just hiding out, eating milk duds.
I'm not sure that had anything
to do with a serial killer.
Didn't the police catch this lunatic?
They did. Guy named Glen Baker.
Died resisting arrest.
So, not him.
Wow. Can't ignore the similarities.
Well, our bad guy can't be
St. Valentine reincarnate.
We need a suspect.
- Woo-hoo.
- Oh.
Way to harsh the joy.
Could this be as simple as, "guy
blows Valentine's, girl flips out?"
Ugh, sure, on planet crazy.
No.
This did not come from this box.
Grab that. Test it for DNA.
Ooh.
This should make it easy
to find Paul's hook-up.
20-somethings post their
entire lives on social media.
Except, this guy kept his
personal life really personal.
No reference to dating in his
emails or on social media.
Even his texts are discreet.
Oh, he was having Booty calls
with someone named "R."
But they used an anonymizer.
And, an anonymizer does what, now?
I'm so glad someone else had to ask that.
Download an app, route all your
online activity through it,
no digital footprint to track.
Oh, great. So, our victim is the
one discreet millennial on earth.
I canvassed Paul's neighborhood.
Found a brief description
of the woman he was seen with.
Brunette, petite.
Oh, that could be R.
Right? But, why'd she kill him?
Uh, some kind of con, catfish maybe.
- He found out, she killed him.
- That's not bad, Soto.
I will have Max rush Paul's financials.
And if our undercover lover
was after his money,
there might be a trail.
You know...
Maybe R had a perfectly legit reason
to keep her relationship with Paul quiet.
I suppose.
You and I have both done it.
Well, now that you and Tony are official,
no more sneaking around for you.
Definitely no more sneaking around.
You guys have plans tonight?
Why is everyone all up in my plans?
I'm sorry I asked.
Not that interested.
So did, um,
Billy do something big for Valentine's Day?
He did nothing.
- Whoa.
- He even skipped my cafe con leche
to downplay the whole thing.
Not for long.
What's that mean?
I've seen Billy Soto go overboard
for a girl he's known 5 minutes.
For you? Oh, he's bringing it.
He knows that I don't like PDA.
- Uh-huh.
- Especially on a greeting card holiday.
- He respects that.
- Mmm-hmm.
Oh, there are so many more hours
left in the day for me to be right.
Jake got Paul's landlord out of bed.
Scored a work address.
Maybe his coworkers know who R is.
Welcome. I'm Becky,
head of office experience.
- How may I help you?
- Sorry. Head of what?
Office experience.
I make sure our visitors
have everything they need.
I guess receptionist doesn't
translate to new media.
We need to talk to somebody
about Paul Henshaw.
Uh, of course. Let me get our
Vice President of narrative.
Okay. If it's make-up-your-own-title day,
I am now...
Badass goddess detective.
You have called yourself that for years.
Now, it's official.
Paul was so vibrant, talented.
He was my top story strategist.
- And you were his?
- Boss.
He just relaunched
a 20-year-old sneaker brand
by telling a new story to their customers
in four words.
"The New Retro Chic."
Genius.
Broke their sales record in a week.
Huh.
Any idea what he does with his off time?
Friends? Girlfriend?
As far as I know, he wasn't
involved with anyone.
Oh.
Check out the initials.
- She a petite brunette?
- That's right.
Could Paul be dating this Rachelle?
If he was, he wouldn't have told me.
- She was...
- Oh, let me guess.
Environmental Support
Technician equals intern?
Has Rachelle been in today?
No, but she should've been.
We're pitching all weekend on
a new corporate origin story.
- We'll need to search her desk.
- Of course.
"Happy V-Day, P."
Heart of glass, you really
got me, eyes without a face.
All of Paul's favorite bands.
Took a lot of effort.
It's more than just sex.
- Tell us about Rachelle.
- Bright, but kind of needy.
I chalked it up to loneliness.
Rachelle had just moved here from France.
No family in the states.
I can pull her personnel file.
Please.
Foreign national. Could be fleeing the country.
Hey, what's up?
On my way.
Reynaldo has something.
Go. I'll have TSA
place an alert for Rachelle.
Put a car on her place.
Any body parts hanging around?
Negative. But, I know
that after this morning
you would wanna see this in person.
Paul's stomach contents.
- If you insist.
- After he was stabbed,
it took several minutes for him to die.
He aspirated and that is
why you did not find this...
In his mouth.
St. Valentine's signature.
- Indeed it is.
- We've got a copycat.
That's why we couldn't find Rachelle.
He's got her.
And if we don't hunt him
down before midnight,
she's dead.
I gotta ask.
Any chance Rachelle, the secret girlfriend,
could be the St. Valentine's copycat.
No. There's nothing to rule that out.
Except, that per Reynaldo's autopsy,
the knife wounds that killed our victim
were made from a high angle.
Hmm. DMV said Rachelle was only 5'2".
Paul was six foot.
Unless she was standing on
a foot stool, not our killer.
That, and there's no activity on
her phone or her credit cards.
We have to assume that Rachelle is the
second victim in a scheduled double-header.
The crime scene's a bust.
No fingerprints anywhere,
no DNA on the candy wrapper.
So, what do we do next?
Well, we start with what we know.
All right, the female victims
were overdosed on heroin,
dumped in central Park by
midnight, each Valentine's Day.
Laura said that the St. Valentine's
task force never figured out
where the female victims were held
or how he targeted his victims.
So, how did they catch him?
Once the cops knew the MO,
they staked out central
Park every Valentine's.
In '94, pay dirt.
Cops find Glen Baker walking
away from a fresh body.
Pulls the knife, shot and killed.
Okay, and they're sure this was the guy?
Pattern on the knife matched the
wounds in the male victims.
And if our copycat is imitating
St. Valentine's pattern,
then Rachelle has...
Only about 12 hours to live.
Coming through. Special delivery.
Damn. That's all from
the St. Valentine taskforce?
"All?" You wish! This is
just the 1990 killings.
Ugh.
Look, maybe we have a shortcut.
This is dinosaur tech.
Can't you do some cool conversion
upgrade, smart-girl thing?
I can, but, we need time
and we're short on it.
Max, reach out to the lead
detective from the taskforce.
Maybe he can shorthand this for us.
I tried. He died in 2010.
His partner retired to Puerto Rico in '06.
The only phone number personnel
has is out of service.
I think I know someone who can help us.
I'm gonna need to make
a couple of phone calls.
If you make a play, make it.
Meredith, do whatever you can to
get the database up and running.
I'm on it.
Our murder scene
is much bloodier than the original cases.
More spatter.
Maybe St. Valentine
drugged his male victims.
That would explain
the cleaner crime scenes.
Except none of those men
had drugs in their system.
How in the world?
I have no idea. But, maybe this guy does.
I saw Hauser was a white shield
on the original taskforce.
Called a buddy of mine in the DA's office,
got a writ, got him on an NYPD chopper.
- Not a big deal.
- Nice humble brag.
- Santiani was okay with this?
- Well, I twisted her arm.
The more we know about St. Valentine's,
the more chance we have of saving Rachelle.
You can unlock him.
He's an incarcerated prisoner on a writ.
Not on vacation.
He's in a room full of
armed police officers.
He's not going anywhere.
Grab a coffee. You can view
both exits from back there.
I'd say we gotta stop
meeting like this, hotshot,
but I don't wanna.
And you didn't even have to
bust out of prison this time.
- I'm so glad you could pitch in.
- Yeah.
So, can you give us
a rundown on Glen Baker?
Well, yeah. We searched his
house after we caught him.
The place was stacked with books
on serial murders and, uh,
horror movies.
It turns out that Glen
worked at a video store.
Well, we realized later that the
first victims were customers of his,
but no one after that.
Oh, sounds like his psyche profile
was pretty easy to write.
Yeah, you'd think that, right? Well...
One shrink said that St. Valentine
was a rage-a-holic who hated men.
The other said he was
remorseful, idealized women.
It's useless. We threw them both out.
Well.
There were marks, just like these,
at a few of the original crime scenes.
Oh, scuff marks like that
are pretty common.
But you think that they're important?
I had a theory.
I thought the female victims were
moved in a rolling suitcase.
I didn't see anything about
scuff marks in the files.
Lead detective thought I was nuts and
the theory never made the report.
How would our copycat
know about the suitcase?
Best way for our copycat to
find out about the scuff marks?
If the crime scene photos are online.
And viewable by the victims' families?
- Who would do that?
- People suck.
They're not showing any
NYPD case images online
in a general search.
Apparently they were for sale.
"Serialmurderabilia. com"? What is that?
"Oddities and personal items"
"from the most notorious serial killers."
The handle of Jeffrey Dahmer's fridge?
Once again, people suck.
And sometimes chew.
Mmm. Here we go.
Someone bought a complete set
of the St. Valentine
crime scene photos recently.
Let's see if we can track down
the owner of this ick-fest.
Oh, no, Billy. Not here, not here.
I think my line is "told you so."
What?
Oh, my god.
Maximus, spill.
- Who are these from?
- What?
These little things?
- No one.
- No one...
Has a very large checkbook.
I know, they're pretty fabulous.
Hear me.
I will solve this mystery.
And I will solve Hauser's wardrobe sitch
by raiding the lost and found for civvies.
- Okay?
- You are so not off the hook.
But, go.
Are we really going half-Pippi
Longstocking all day?
I need a little Valentine's glam from you.
Got it.
Serialmurderabilia is run out
of a shop in the east village.
Ugh, I wonder what kind of
crazy-pants psycho owns that place.
Thank you.
I wish selling vases and side
tables paid the bills, but,
a woman's got to make ends meet.
Well, selling twisted souvenirs
is one way to do that.
Are these Ted Bundy's undies?
There's a market for these?
Oh, goodness. Yes.
People will pay a small
fortune for the right item.
Who wrote the big checks for the
St. Valentine merchandise?
This is a particular hobby.
My customers count on my discretion.
Ms. Delvecchio, we're trying
to save a young woman's life.
We might only have a few hours to find her.
There was an eager St. Valentine customer.
Kevin Williams.
You remember his name
without having to look him up?
He must've made quite an impression.
He was an expert on the case.
Such fun to talk to.
So, I showed him a piece
from my personal collection.
- Are these...
- Baby teeth.
From Glen Baker himself.
Bought them from his mother's estate.
Each has an appraised value of $5,000.
Later I realized Kevin had stolen one.
Some people have no decency.
Well, you are right about that.
If you were to give me Kevin's
address, we'd be happy to follow up.
See if we can recover your stolen property.
Outstanding.
I'll get that for you.
Hey, there. Sorry to bother you again.
You're burning up your friendship favors.
Good thing I had nothing planned today
except for work.
Uh, I hope you don't think
I'm taking advantage,
it's just this case.
No, no. I get it.
It's fine. Um,
the prisoner showed up in one piece?
Thanks to you, counselor.
Well, I'm a very powerful person.
Okay, spill it. What else do you need?
I need a search warrant
for the home of a guy
who stole a $5,000 baby tooth.
- What?
- Hand to god.
Look, it would just save me a lot of time
and paperwork, if you could expedite it.
Oh, okay. You owe
me the rest of that story.
As soon as I catch our copycat,
and we'll set up a playdate.
My boys can't wait to hang with Liam.
Good. He's been dogging me since laser tag.
Okay, name for that warrant?
Kevin Williams. Apartment 4-C.
14 Avenue A. Might just be our killer.
NYPD, Kevin. Open up.
NYPD, hands up.
Clear.
Me, too.
This guy's the King of weirdos.
That's gotta be Glen Baker's tooth.
Does this freak pray to it?
NYPD! Hands in the air!
What the hell is going on here?
Where's the girl, Williams?
What are you talking about?
Rachelle. Don't mess
with us, St. Valentine.
Oh.
I knew he'd be back!
I haven't committed a crime in my life.
Oh, Mrs. Delvecchio disagrees.
That tooth you stole
from her is worth $5,000,
making you a killer and a thief.
She lent me that tooth.
And as for your other unfounded accusation,
I have an alibi for last night.
I was with a writer, getting
advice on self-publishing.
Self-publishing what?
I am writing the completely true
story of the St. Valentine murders.
And what's your version
of the completely true story?
The police...
Got the wrong guy.
And I assume you have
proof to back that up.
I do. One,
there's a bearded individual in
three of the crime scene photos.
He doesn't match the description of
any officer that worked the case.
Two, chocolate wrappers were found in all
five of the central Park body dumps.
Know who didn't eat chocolate?
I'm guessing, Glen Baker.
He was allergic.
Three, a boot print at another body dump.
Way too small to be Glen's.
And...
- The best part?
- Lay it on me.
No DNA evidence.
Nothing that links Glen to the murder.
Explain that.
He's an ME tech.
Probably forgot his jacket.
I suppose the candy wrapper and boot
print are easy enough to dismiss.
Yeah, 'cause central Park is central Park.
- But creepy Kevin has a point.
- We did not get the wrong guy.
Why didn't you test Glen's DNA
against the crime scene samples?
I'll tell you why not.
Cue the rant. Three, two...
Because we caught Glen Baker
running from the last body drop
with the damn murder weapon.
Also, after he died, the murders stopped.
I'm just saying if it was my case,
I would've wanted DNA confirmation.
And what would we run them against?
CODIS didn't exist.
Tests cost a small fortune.
Back then, dead suspect, no trial?
There's no way the city of
New York spends the money.
Okay, enough Captain-versus-Captain.
Hey, Hauser, you know what,
why don't you check on the watchdog?
I think he's getting a little nervous.
Oh, hi.
- Wow.
- Come on in.
Uh...
You and Hauser butting heads, I expected.
But, um, you, a balloon person?
They're from my son.
Um, the year I got divorced
he spent his lunch money to buy
me a balloon on Valentine's Day.
So, it's our thing.
- Nice thing.
- Mmm, yeah.
As for Hauser, I understand.
He is worried that they made a mistake.
'Cause if they did, St. Valentine is still
out there and he's killing again...
We're running out of time.
- Right, yeah.
- Floppy disk.
It's endless. There are so many.
- I'm just making sure...
- It just looks like...
Anything?
I found the right discs,
ported them to our system,
the data is all restored, but there
are tens of thousands of entries.
That's every tip and interview
we got over five years.
It took a computer expert
months to set it up.
And it'll take months to check
it without a focus point.
Okay.
So we start with the one concrete
piece of evidence we have.
- The tooth.
- Oh, don't tell me you think I was wrong.
St. Valentine is alive?
I don't know.
You couldn't run the DNA in '94.
We can now. We might as well
get a definitive confirmation.
Which we could cross-check against samples
from the original cases at the morgue.
- Exactly.
- And the physical evidence would tell us
what else the copycat knows.
And, presumably, we can
confirm once and for all
that Glen Baker was St. Valentine.
Guys, he was.
Well, confirmation will be easy enough.
Hate to say it, but the DNA from the tooth
does not match any of the samples
from the original St. Valentine cases.
That's impossible.
Are you sure the tooth is really his?
The antiques dealer has a signed
affidavit from Baker's family.
Then we have a problem.
Is there any way that the DNA from the
old crime scenes had been compromised?
The samples were in pristine condition
despite 20 years in storage.
Maybe Glen Baker wasn't the guy.
Except for Hauser swears that he was.
All right. We need to
get back to square one.
New scuff marks, old scuff marks.
Definitely similar.
Except the blood evidence isn't.
In the old crime scenes
the blood was pooled.
Too much spatter here.
St. Valentine was surgical.
New killer is no expert with the knife.
There's something missing.
Bruising around the neck.
Right? Your guy doesn't have any.
All our male victims did.
Right. The bruising indicated
a large hand performing
manual strangulation.
Our theory was the killer choked his
victims first, then stabbed them.
You can't fight if you're unconscious.
Or restrained.
On my signal, stab.
Okay, you can let go now.
Our killer knew things
that the public didn't know
but couldn't pull off the methodology.
Flawed copycat.
Add in to that, the mismatched DNA.
You're going somewhere with this, kid?
Hillside strangler.
LAPD was looking for one killer.
Then Bianchi started killing on his own.
Got sloppy, got caught.
That's when the cops realized
they were after two killers.
And so are we. Our guy is not a copycat.
Our guy is Glen's partner.
The second St. Valentine killer.
And he's got Rachelle.
Let me get this straight.
St. Valentine wasn't one killer, but two?
Yes, and only Glen Baker was caught,
leaving his partner in crime free
to pick up where they left off.
If you just tell me what you're
looking for, I could totally help.
I don't know. I just have that,
"I left my straightening iron
plugged in this morning," feeling.
We could go by the house.
- It's a metaphor.
- Roger that.
Yeah, it's better.
Serial killers don't just stop.
And why start again now after 22 years?
Well, he could've been locked up for
another crime or in a psych ward.
Maybe he didn't stop the killing, maybe
he took his act on the road somewhere.
To another state. Hell, another country.
All right, well, I will have one PP run.
St. Valentine's MO past the FBI.
If he has been active elsewhere,
VICAP will have a match.
You should also check corrections.
Pull all inmates locked up in 1994
and released in the last year.
Which will bury us in paperwork.
We're flying blind. The clock
is not gonna stop ticking.
We do have the psych profiles.
I just told you guys,
it's completely unreliable.
Neither of the shrinks
agreed with anything.
Because they're profiling
two different killers.
Shrink number one said that the
killer was pathologically angry.
Citing a brutal, powerful
stabbing of male victims.
And the other suggested that he
idealized the female victims,
killing them gently with
an overdose of heroin.
Then delicately staging the
bodies in a wedding dress.
Okay, so which one is our mystery man?
My money is on profile number two.
Paul's murder wasn't as savage
as the five original guys.
I think our guy only cares about the women.
So, the male victims
were just a means to an end.
Wish we'd known this back in the day.
Hey, there was no indication
there were two killers.
Well, my detectives figured it out
in seven hours.
Hey.
Ignore Santiani. This isn't your fault.
You did the best you could
with the evidence you had.
You know what, if we'd just done our jobs
and not patted ourselves on the back
your victim would still be alive
and his girlfriend wouldn't be
spending the last hours
of her life in the hands of a madman.
Oh, my god.
The candy wrappers.
Valpuffs!
Cute chocolate-related memory?
Brad Smith gave me Valpuffs
for my very first Valentine's
Day in eighth grade.
Whoop, there it is.
They were only available in February.
28 days were never enough.
Ugh! I should have seen it sooner.
Seen what? Clue Maxie in.
Okay. Those wrappers
are the outer-red cellophane.
But, Valpuffs also have
an inner-foil wrapper.
Like the one you found at Paul's loft.
Okay.
Still not getting it.
Crazy Kevin was off the wall, but
he was right about one thing.
OMG. Glen really was allergic to chocolate.
The medical reports confirmed it.
Meaning
all the wrappers came
from killer number two.
So, the second serial killer
is a giant litterbug.
Well, more likely a
chocoholic snacking all day.
Or stress-eating like a certain someone.
I doubt that he meant to
leave a trail. I mean, see?
Raised by wolves.
One problem.
They stopped selling Valpuffs
- a decade ago.
- News flash.
The retro-nostalgia craze seems
to have spilled over into candy.
Thank god for hipsters.
I did not just say that.
"Valpuffs are back just in time for V-Day."
"Rediscover the sweet taste of first love."
- Where can you buy those?
- Not to noodge, but diet.
Not for me.
Oh, yes, for me. But, but also the case.
Our killer had to have
bought them somewhere.
They're only available online.
Okay, get a customer list.
One of those chocolate
fiends could be our guy.
637 Valpuff buyers.
And that's just the tri-state area.
There's no way we can knock on
that many doors by midnight.
That file came to us electronically.
It might just be my needle in a haystack.
You got some magic to work?
The original Valentine's database.
Over 10,000 names of witnesses, suspects.
If I cross-reference the list of recent
Valpuff buyers against all that data...
Maybe someone pops up.
Yep. I'll just create a quick macro.
Run the databases against each other.
Damn. Look at that.
What a sap that guy is.
Yeah.
Totally sappy.
Got something.
What you got me?
Back in 1994, the hotline got
an anonymous tip on a guy
living in a house at 115 Conyer Street.
So did they follow it up?
No, because two hours later
they caught Glen Baker.
And the case was closed.
Or so they thought. What're you getting at?
Tax rolls show a Wayne Lewis
owned the house back in 1994.
Still does. And two weeks ago,
he ordered six boxes of Valpuffs.
Freeze!
Don't shoot me.
- Where's Wayne?
- He doesn't live here anymore.
- Who are you?
- I'm Mindy Lewis, his... Wayne's ex-wife.
- Place is clear.
- Clear of what?
- Where's your ex-husband?
- I don't know.
Please, just tell me what is going on here.
Do you see what I see?
Spitting image.
He found his ex-wife's doppelganger.
And now he's gonna kill her.
Mindy, do you know where Wayne is living?
He still gets his mail at our house.
He wouldn't take his stuff, he
kept coming up with excuses.
I just threw it all in our storage locker.
- And for work?
- He's a freelance fiber-optics installer.
He works for op-install systems.
None of this makes sense.
The killings are the reason that we met.
And how is that?
In '94, I graduated from
college, moved to the city.
February came around, and I was
terrified of St. Valentine.
Just like every girl in the city.
My parents offered
to pay for a burglar alarm.
A guy showed up to install it.
I thought he would laugh at me
because I was so afraid,
but he was gentle, sympathetic.
The installer was Wayne Lewis?
He asked me out, we went to the movies.
I felt safe.
He was old-fashioned, romantic.
On our fifth date,
he asked me to marry him.
- When was that?
- April of '94.
Right after Glen was caught.
How was the marriage?
It worked for a while.
Wayne put me on a pedestal. I
couldn't live like that anymore.
- And how did Wayne take the split?
- Not well.
He kept coming around all the time,
trying to convince me to change my mind.
But around new year's, he just stopped.
I'm guessing that's when
he decided to kill again.
And we thought our
marriages were complicated.
Explains why he went dormant for 22 years.
But if he's so angry at his
wife, why not just kill her?
Well, probably because he
didn't want Mindy dead.
He wanted her back.
And killing another couple helps that how?
Mindy's fear of St. Valentine
is what brought them together.
Maybe he thought if the killer returned...
Mindy would get scared
again and take him back.
Oh, damn it! We gotta find her.
Hell if I know where to search.
Wayne's got no home address,
he works freelance.
Mindy mentioned a storage unit.
Easy way to stay of the grid.
Oh, damn it.
Guess it would have been too easy.
I found us a consolation prize.
Cake topper brides. Six of
them, one for each murder.
Crazy Wayne likes his souvenirs.
Yeah, looks like he's living here.
Instant ramen, chemical toilet. Nasty.
Night manager. We opened up his
security cam feed. Check it.
Oh, there's Wayne coming out of his unit.
Case he's carrying could
easily hold a woman.
He's lifting it one-handed with no effort.
Unless he's bionic, there
can't be a body in it. Yet.
This footage is from last night,
few hours before Paul's murder.
It's the last time Wayne was seen here.
He's wearing his work uniform.
You know, I checked with the company.
They said that Wayne was uptown working
a job at a place called DDY Data.
Only thing is that they're
off for the holiday weekend.
So, then why is he wearing his uniform?
So that he could waltz
in and out of DDY Data.
And even bring in a big-ass equipment case.
With a woman inside.
Okay, DDY Data is on 101st and Park,
that's right near central Park.
And his preferred body dump site.
We are running out of time.
DDY Data is a freaking fortress.
Yep. Front door's the only way in,
so we can't make a forced
entry without detection.
We even know they're in there?
Aviation did a fly-over
in a flare-equipped helo.
We've identified two
individuals on the top floor.
North-west corner of the building.
Check out the heat signatures.
The orange one is moving around,
he's pacing. That's gotta be Wayne.
The other one's not moving.
The color's fading. It's Rachelle.
She's losing body heat.
Dying. Tell me that you've got a plan.
Oh, we're still gathering Intel.
Fiber-optics coming online.
Tactical team on the roof drilled
in, managed to place a camera.
Rachelle's barely breathing.
It's worse than we thought.
They're in the server room.
It's basically a vault.
Climate-controlled,
only one door. No windows...
Not to state the painfully obvious,
but we gotta get in there now.
One option, we use knock-out gas, and make
an entry once the assailant is unconscious.
We can't risk it. In Rachelle's
state, she might not wake up.
The only other option's a tactical breach.
No offense, sergeant, but no
matter how fast your guys are,
Wayne still has plenty of time to kill Rachelle
before we even step one foot in there.
We have to negotiate.
Hostage negotiations take time,
which to state the even
more painfully obvious,
Rachelle does not have.
- You got a better idea?
- Actually I just might.
If we can't get in,
we'll just have to get Wayne to come out.
Wayne!
Who's there?
It's me, Mindy.
Mindy?
Didn't expect that, did ya?
What, what are you doing here?
Don't be mad.
I know you don't want me
visiting you at work,
but I have to tell you...
I made a mistake.
What're you saying?
I don't want a divorce.
Um, Mindy, this isn't a good time, okay.
I'm, uh...
I'm busy.
It's Valentine's Day,
I don't want us to be apart. Not tonight.
Please, Wayne. Let me in.
No, no, no! Don't come in! Uh...
I'll come out.
- He's going for it.
- Yeah.
Mindy?
Mindy, where are you? I can't see ya.
I'm right here, honey.
Mindy!
Thanks, Mindy.
It's over, Wayne.
What'd you give her?
I just wanted her to love me.
Did you give her heroin like last time?
Tell me!
Yes.
Naloxone! Naloxone!
Naloxone!
Hurry, I don't have a pulse. Come on!
- Full dose.
- Give me some room.
Okay, come on, Rachelle. Come on. Come on.
Rachelle, I need you to fight, okay?
Come on.
Fight, okay?
That's it, yes. Yes,
it's good. You're okay.
You're safe now. You're safe. You're safe.
You're safe.
I'm proud of you, hot shot.
You caught him in 24 hours.
Well, technically, it was only 13 hours
since the maid found Paul's body.
Just take the compliment.
That's my cue.
Doesn't seem right.
You help us catch St. Valentine, and
then just go back to your cell.
Mmm, that's fine.
It's good to be a cop again.
Even for a day.
So, Valentine's.
What've you got on tap for tonight?
I'm guessing not much
more than you have on tap.
Come on! I'm a jailbird. You, you...
You got your whole life in front of you.
Don't squander it. You deserve happiness.
You been talking to my Dad?
Great minds...
Let's go.
Take care. See you, kid.
Ha!
First, the flowers. Now, chocolate.
You sent them to yourself.
Guilty as charged.
Boom!
There's no shame in being
alone on Valentine's Day.
What planet do you live on?
Okay, there's a little bit of shame.
Come hang with me.
We'll crush this box of candy
and watch John Hughes movies.
You broke up with Tony?
Come on. You're not the only one
around here with mad skills.
No chocolate, no phone calls. No date.
Yes, we broke up.
My idea.
Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. But now...
You can Carpe the Diem... with Jake.
- You think?
- Hello.
The stars couldn't be more aligned.
Hey.
You all right?
All day, and not the slightest,
secret mention of Valentine's Day?
Why... I thought that's what you wanted.
I thought so too, but...
You are my man,
and I am your woman.
Mmm-hmm.
And this is a...
Relationship.
And that means that we
celebrate Valentine's Day.
What?
I knew you'd get here.
Follow me.
I knew you couldn't resist.
Damn straight.
He's six years old?
"Yes, with cream and sugar," he said.
Which... where does he get cream and sugar?
Laura, hey, uh...
Come say thank you.
Uh, for?
This is Jennifer Lambert.
My pal from the DA's office.
- The one who helped us bring Hauser.
- Oh!
And also got you a warrant in record time.
- Mmm.
- Just saying.
Big thanks, for everything.
Uh, I thought you looked...
Familiar. Have we worked
on a case together?
Uh, not a criminal one.
Although with our boys you never know.
I'm Liam's mom from school.
He just had the laser tag birthday.
It was a huge mistake.
My ears are still recovering.
The boys mentioned that they have
a laser tag party this weekend.
- Yeah.
- I'm happy to take them if you want.
I know how much you hate those things.
Oh, right. Of course.
I thought after all the help, the least
I could do is take her to dinner.
It turns out this guy and I are
both dateless and starving.
On the worst of all days.
- So, we figured why not.
- Right, why not?
What're you and Tony doing?
I'm sure Mr. top chef
whipped up something special.
Uh, the guy she's seeing, an amazing cook.
Actually, he got the boys
to eat brussel sprouts.
Wow! Impressive.
Well, the way to a mom's heart is definitely
through her kid's vegetable consumption.
Exactly.
Tony?
Right. I have no idea what he has planned.
But I'm sure whatever it is,
it'll be delicious.
Go eat, you two!
It's really great seeing you
again, Jen. And, thank you.
- I'll see you again soon, I hope.
- Yup.