All language subtitles for NCIS.S02E12.1080p.BluRay.x265-INFINITY.en

Hi, Mr Poole. My name is Julie,

and I'm calling on behalf
of Thrifty Phone Services.

Hi. This is Alison, and I'd like to tell you
about a special new programme.

Hello?

-Hi, Petty Officer Lambert?
-Yeah.

Hi, my name is Roland Kesta.

I'm calling on behalf
of Thrifty Phone Services.

I've thought it over, and I don't think
I want to change my phone service.

That's what most people say

until they hear how much we can save
them on long distance calls.

Well, I don't make long distance
phone calls, okay?

-Did you hear that?
-What?

It sounded like glass breaking
in the kitchen.

No. Our long distance service is exactly
the same as AT&T,

-Sprint, SBC, except we can save you...
-Hey, who the hell are you?

The man who's going to save you 40%
on your long distance calls, sir.

Get the hell out of my...

There's no contract to sign.

Petty Officer Lambert?

Last time I'm gonna tell you, Tony.

Don't answer my phone,
use my computer,

read my mail, look through my purse,
scan my PDA or touch my cell phone.

Ever!

And an extra side of hash browns.

Just so we're clear, Kate,
I didn't do any of those things.

Zero. Zip. Nada.

Then how did you know
where I went to breakfast?

Logo on the coffee cup
in your wastebasket.

Anyone invite you
into this conversation, probie?

-You looked through my trash!
-Did you say it was off limits? Did you?

-Why do you do these things?
-Sharpening my investigative skills.

-Grab your gear.
-What's up?

-A dead sailor.
-We didn't get any calls.

-It's not on the news, boss?
-Hey, DiNozzo.

For once you're right.
Come on. Let's go!

-Who's in charge here?
-Lieutenant Cheney, sir.

-Finish this in 10.
-Lieutenant Cheney?

Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS.

You must be psychic, Gibbs.
I just put in a call to NCIS.

No, not psychic. Just watch the news.

They monitor our radio calls.

Chief says cooperate
with the news media.

-Budget hearings time?
-You got it.

-What do we have here?
-Not sure yet.

-News said a sailor was murdered.
-Maybe.

Kitchen door is broken in
and judging from the blood

it could be murder.

-No body?
-No body.

-Miller.
-Yeah, boss.

Right away, boss.

We got a 911
from a telemarketer.

Said he was talking
with a Petty Officer Dion Lambert

when he heard a struggle
and the line went dead.

Call was traced here.

Lieutenant, your ex-wife just called.

-Which one?
-The nasty one.

You're gonna have to be more specific.

-This is too weird.
-Definitely.

-Good weird.
-You want me to call her back?

No. Next time one of my exes calls,
get her name.

Lieutenant.

-Unless you object, this is yours.
-No objection.

Let's go, Rachael.

Hi, Rachael. I'm Tony.

If you want to get together
and compare notes?

-What's your shoe size?
-Twelve.

-You wish.
-No, it is. It really is.

You can measure it if you want!

-DiNozzo!
-Yeah, boss?

Trace evidence, bag and tag.
Kate, sketch and shoot.

McGee, laptop and answering machine.

Right.

-That was really odd.
-What?

Well, you know.
I mean, how you and him and...

Never mind.

-Tony, have you seen my sketch pad?
-Yes, it's in the truck under my seat.

Under your seat? How did it...

I like those pants.

Yeah, well, that sounds good.
If you could just take care of that for me.

-Sorry.
-Wow.

You know, your eyes
are the same colour as my Porsche.

-You've got to be kidding, right?
-What do you say we have dinner?

-Why bother with preliminaries?
-Now who's kidding?

-You serious?
-She's not, but I am.

Come on, Monteleone.

Shot gun.

Get in the car, probie.

It's déja vu.

There's no contract to sign, no...

Petty Officer Lambert?

-How many calls a day do you make?
-Somewhere between 300 and 400.

Do you ever feel guilty calling people
uninvited, intruding into their lives?

At first a little,

but when you get cursed at
a couple hundred times, you get over it.

Why did you keep selling when
you knew something was very wrong?

My boss doesn't want us to stop selling
for any reason.

He's got the compassion
of a cluster bomb.

How did you get
Petty Officer Lambert's number?

-From a list broker.
-How did it get on the list?

I don't know. A magazine subscription,
a warranty card,

-supermarket charge.
-Supermarket charge?

Why do you think they give you
those little key tags

-they scan when you check out?
-For discounts.

It's to collect information
they sell to telemarketers.

What brands you buy. How much.
How often.

-Isn't that against the law?
-Anytime you write your name down,

it's going in somebody's database
and then being sold to somebody else.

Wow.

Okay, well, I'm gonna need
your work, cell, and home numbers.

All right, but please don't call
between 6:00 and 8:00,

because that's usually...

You said 6:00 and 8:00, right?

Tell Abby
I want a full acoustical analysis.

Boss, you know that she's working
Petty Officer Lambert's hard drive,

answering machine,
and all the crime scene evidence.

Then help her, McGee.

Yes, boss.

Do you really think it's a good idea
for probie to be alone with...

-I was going through Lambert's papers.
-Something you're very good at.

There's a second name on the lease.
George Mansur.

There's no sign of a roommate
in that house, Tony.

Well, roommate's move out, Kate.

Sixteen months ago
you had a roommate...

-Tony!
-Kate, you're with me.

-Gladly.
-Tony, find Mansur.

On it, boss.

The only blood type at the scene
was O positive.

Petty Officer Lambert's O positive.

It's the most common blood type
there is.

I shipped a DNA sample
to the Armed Forces Registry.

Fingerprints we lifted, his?

Your missing corpse
is Petty Officer Lambert.

Unidentified prints?

I have not had time to run all the prints
that you lifted yet.

Blood-splatter analysis?

Okay, Gibbs, I know you think
I'm Supergirl...

Actually, my hair's probably
Wonder Woman

or Isis or the Powerpuff girl.

-I've always been partial to Xena.
-I don't know about her.

No self-respecting superhero
should wear open-toed shoes.

-Oh, I agree.
-He erased his hard drive.

No problem.

He used a DOD certified
wipe programme.

-Uh-oh.
-"Uh-oh" doesn't sound good.

It's not. A DOD wipe not only deletes,
but it overrides seven times.

There's no way to recapture
the information, boss.

Why would he use something like that
on his home computer?

Well, he's an information systems tech

and it could just be a matter of course
or he could be...

Hiding something.

-He wipe his answering machine?
-No. There were two calls.

One yesterday from Blockbuster Video,
late returning Happy Gilmore.

And one two days ago
from Thrifty Phone Services.

All right, let's hear it.
You, blood splatters.

Yo ho, heave ho

Petty Officer Lambert,
my name is Dennis Brough.

I'm calling on behalf
of Thrifty Phone Services.

How would you like to cut...

-That's it?
-He must have picked up.

They called him two days ago.
Why call him back?

-Dennis Brough, Kate.
-Got it.

-Acoustics analysis?
-Yes. On that next, boss.

Who was that that said,
"Always expect the unexpected"?

-Me.
-Well, you're right again.

Boss, you sure are.

McGee, you're about to interrupt
unbelievable news.

Abby, trust me.
My news is much more unbelievable.

Gibbs, you're never gonna believe
what I found.

-Kate, hold on one second.
-No, I...

No, no, no.
Guys, this is really, really important.

Abby, hold on, okay?
This is really important.

-Hey, hey, hey.
-This is very...

I've got seniority here. I think I...

Hey!

-Abby.
-Okay.

This is the blood trail found on
Petty Officer Lambert's kitchen floor.

-Notice anything hinky?
-Yeah, they're passive drops.

Exactly. Created by the force of gravity
acting alone.

In blood trails the shape of drops
are affected by gravity and movement.

The tail always points
in the direction of travel.

There was no movement
when the blood dropped.

Nope. Somebody stood there,
dropped some blood,

took a step, dropped some blood,
took a step, dropped some blood...

McGee!

The acoustical analysis
of the phone call indicates

that the fight sounds
were unidirectional.

I overlaid Kate's sketch
of the crime scene

and found the source to be
Petty Officer Lambert's computer.

-They were sound effects, boss.
-Okay.

-Kate.
-I spoke to Dennis Brough

from the Thrifty Phone Service.
He's home with the flu.

His supervisor gave Dennis' lead
to Roland Kesta.

Petty Officer Lambert asked
that telemarketer to call him back.

Between 8:00 and 12:00 last night.

Our Petty Officer faked his own murder.

We have one advantage
over Petty Officer Lambert.

He doesn't know
we know he's still alive.

I'll flag his accounts,
bank credit, ATM, e-mail.

Kate, this mojo faked his own death,
left his laptop, wallet,

cellphone, and car behind.
Do you really think

he's gonna swipe the old charge card
at the local Jugs-Are-Us?

-Tony's right.
-Thanks, boss!

You check it anyway, Kate.
You never know.

If Tony does find his ex-roomie,
check his accounts, too.

-I'm zoning in on him.
-Yeah? You locate him?

Not yet, but I got his driver's licence.

Federal tax return, too.
He's a freelance computer geek.

Made six figures last year.

Wishing you were
a computer geek, Tony?

I'd rather be homeless
than be you, probie.

It's an old address.
Same as Petty Officer Lambert's.

Depreciating a '93 Hyundai
on his return.

-How can you depreciate a car that old?
-More important question.

Why would a guy pulling down
six figures a year drive a car that old?

-Only one way to find out.
-Find him and ask him.

Which I am trying... Going to do.

McGee, you're with me.

Where are we going, boss?

To talk to
Petty Officer Lambert's shipmates.

But he's not on a ship, boss.

Sir, you were using
a military euphemism.

You think?

So you mean
Bethesda Hospital Computer Centre.

-You speak their language.
-You mean I'm gonna interview them?

I interview, you translate. Come on!

Lambert's UA for one day,
NCIS is investigating?

Do you have a problem with that,
Petty Officer Wilson?

No, sir.

What was Petty Officer Lambert's job?

He was developing a new code base
for enterprise resource and planning.

New application will be able
to support medical multi-processing

and scalable architecture,
up to eight terabytes of data.

Wow!

He was writing
a new computer program

as part of an overhaul and update
to the Naval medical computer system.

Anything sensitive?

A person's health information
is very sensitive, sir.

National security sensitive,
Petty Officer.

We have a circuit-based gateway, sir,
which applies a security mechanism

anytime there's a USD-TCP
connection established.

Once that connection's made,

packets can travel between hosts
without further checking.

No.

Petty Officer Lambert's FITREPs
were above standard, sir.

He's just a regular guy.

Our definition of regular
might be different.

One man's Linux is another's OS II.

-I hear that.
-Right.

Sorry.

Any recent changes
in his behaviour or attitude?

No, sir. Well, take that back.

A few days ago he seemed jumpy.

I tapped him on the shoulder to talk
about the performance degradation

in the application gateway,
and he about came out of his chair.

-He was nervous.
-Yeah, I got that, McGee.

Okay.

I'm gonna need...
I'm gonna need copies of all this stuff.

Access to the source codes,
flow charts,

and the logical processes
involved in the application.

Not a problem, sir.

Special Agent Gibbs? Karen Wilkerson.

Petty Officer Wilson's supervisor.

You're late.

We're making a software changeover.
It's been crazy.

Get copies of what we need here,
McGee.

Right, boss.

Tell me about Petty Officer Lambert.

Not a lot to tell. Good guy. Hard worker.

First one in in the mornings,
usually the last to leave.

-Volunteered to work weekends.
-Yeah?

-You work weekends?
-Not if I can help it.

Why is NCIS investigating a sailor
who's missed one day of work?

-He's UA, Miss Wilkerson.
-It's not as if he's missed a deployment.

Petty Officer Wilson says
he seemed jumpy lately.

Well, he'd be in a better position
to know that than me.

Petty Officer Lambert and I
didn't have much day-to-day contact.

You work weekends,
Special Agent Gibbs?

If I need to.

Why do I feel you need to a lot?

Anything else?
I have to get back to work.

Not at the moment.

Well, if there is,
I'll make myself available.

Even on the weekend.

Oh, might even be on time.

Wow.

-Enough, Tony. I have nothing to hide.
-Really?

For someone with nothing to hide,

you seem awfully concerned about
what other people know about you.

Why? Because I get upset when you
go through my personal belongings?

-Exactly.
-Well, Tony,

some people enjoy having a private life.

Unlike you, we don't go around
informing everyone

-about the frequency of our hooking up.
-In a slump?

Gibbs, Mansur withdrew $6,000
from his bank account

the week before he moved out.

He's also moved three times
in the last six years.

This last time, well, he didn't file
a change of address at the post office.

-Thank you.
-Whatever the hell this is,

-they're in it together.
-Yeah, well, what is

-whatever the hell this is?
-Find Mansur.

Yes, and we'll find out.

-I know, boss. I'm trying.
-Try harder.

-Right.
-You know, Gibbs,

maybe Lambert faked his own death
to get out of the Navy.

You know, wanted to make a few bucks
like his roomie.

Not likely.
His enlistment was up in five months.

-McGee!
-Yeah, boss.

Check with Abby.
Find out how she's doing

-with that stuff you brought in.
-Right.

-That should help keep you awake.
-Thanks.

I must have looked
at 100,000 lines of code.

-Is it possible to die of boredom?
-No.

How can you be sure?

Well, because I had
Professor Birnbaum for Economics.

Believe me, his class makes staring
at a monitor seem like Mardi Gras.

-I don't know. This really sucks.
-I'll tell you what sucks.

Working after school
as a burnt potato chip picker.

You're making that up.

Have you ever seen a burnt potato chip
in a bag of potato chips?

-Now that you mention it.
-Sat next to a conveyer belt,

air choked with oil,
watching cooked potato chips fly by.

I would pick out the burnt ones
while trying not to get motion sickness.

Incinerator operator.

Burning medical waste
at 2,000 degrees.

Body parts, body waste.

Summer between
freshman and sophomore year,

I was a porta-potty cleaner.
It was the hottest summer on record.

Ski lift operator, Alberta.
Negative 44 degrees Fahrenheit.

-Cleaned asbestos.
-Collected road Kill.

Tie? No?

Okay, before I joined NCIS...

Is that what I think it is?

Depends. What do you think it is?

The reason Petty Officer Lambert
faked his own murder.

Petty Officer Lambert
was part of the team

that was updating
the Navy's medical computer system.

He'd been working on it
almost two years.

-Did you tell him?
-No.

-Saved the best for you.
-Oh, thanks, McGee.

-You know how I relish the moments...
-Stop relishing and start explaining, Ab.

Okay. Jeez, Gibbs.

Five months ago, Petty Officer Lambert

buried a simple command
in the program to send him drugs.

-Lots of drugs.
-McGee!

Sorry.

For every 337 prescriptions,
one was written for him.

-It's ingenious in its simplicity.
-What kind of drugs?

Painkillers. Percocet,
Vicodin, Oxycontin.

Oxycontin is twice as addictive
as heroin.

It's more addictive than pistachios.

Well, have you ever just eaten
one pistachio?

Actually, I have.
Potato chips, on the other hand...

The Navy writes a lot of prescriptions.

So the amount that he was getting,
there's no way it was for personal use.

In the last five months,
18,000 Oxycontin,

12,000 Percocet, 9,000 Vicodin.

Legal price for an 80 milligram
Oxycontin, $6.

Street price is $65 to $80.

On the Oxycontin alone,
he made a million bucks.

-Cash.
-Petty Officer Lambert is long gone.

I would be.

Three lines of computer code
buried among millions.

-I'm amazed you found it.
-I didn't really. It was Abby Sciuto.

She's a whiz at codes.

You never suspected
Petty Officer Lambert

of abusing his access
to the Navy drug system?

Not until you showed up.

When NCIS investigates a sailor
who's been UA one day,

there's something wrong. After you left,

I had Petty Officer Wilson run a check
on Lambert's computer.

I never caught this. Sciuto must be hot.

What made you suspicious,
Agent Gibbs?

A murder that didn't happen.
Your Petty Officer faked his own death.

He wanted us looking for his body
instead of him.

We'd have done it, too, if Abby
hadn't found the hinky blood trail.

I gotta meet this woman.

You know what, she's...
She's probably not your type.

Tats, piercings, dark makeup.

-Goth?
-Yeah.

I love Goth.

Thieves are just like gamblers.
They never quit when they're ahead.

Why would Petty Officer Lambert?

In five days,
the new software system goes online.

He must have been afraid
it would pick up his scam.

Got it.

He had this prescription sent to box
781, Mail Boxes Etc., 14th Street.

McGee, you two keep pulling
Lambert's scripts.

-See if any are in the pipeline.
-Happy to, boss.

Lieutenant Cheney.
Special Agent Gibbs.

One moment, sir.

So tell me more about this Abby.

You know what,
I can't work and talk, okay?

-Think you'll find him?
-Usually do.

-Hello.
-Hey, Cheney. It's Gibbs.

-What you got?
-Our missing Petty Officer siphoned

thousands of opiates
from the Navy drug programme.

Ring any bells?

-My office. One hour.
-You got it.

-Do you like boats?
-Sail or power?

-Sail.
-I love to sail.

This weekend?

I'm still building her.

-Which marina?
-My basement.

Oh, of course.

-Saturday?
-If I can find Lambert by then.

Well, what are you doing
standing here, Agent Gibbs?

-Jethro.
-Jethro?

Two black coffees,

and two grande,
triple-pump half-caf vanilla lattes.

-Cheers.
-Right.

No, mine's the one with the extra foam.

Sorry.

So, Gibbs, I've had my eye
on this one guy. He's a lobbyist.

Went from dealing to a few friends

to supplying the Beltway
with illegal painkillers.

Well, syncs up.

-Miller.
-Yeah, boss.

Just a second.

You know what, here, let me help...

-My fault.
-No, it was mine.

-No, I should have been more careful.
-No, not a problem. Not a problem.

-McGee!
-Miller!

-Sorry, boss.
-Sorry, boss.

Aaron Alan Wright.

-Ever busted?
-Once.

Dealing to his frat brothers at Syracuse.
Got probation.

-Why haven't you busted him?
-I want the other end of his pipeline.

I bust him,
his supplier just finds another dealer.

He's soft.
Want to bring him in here for a chat?

Have Monteleone and Rand
pick up Wright. Deliver him here.

Sure, boss.

-Is that the 72207
-It's the 7230.

-Sweet.
-Yeah.

-Petty Officer Dion Lambert.
-Sorry, never heard of him.

A Navy computer geek,

steals painkillers from the government.

What does a swabbie stealing
painkillers have to do with me?

He sells them to you.
You sell them to your Beltway clients.

This really is a waste of time.

I've advised my client not to answer
your questions, and he won't.

-That is beautiful.
-Franck Muller Conquistador.

-$7,800 retail.
-Yeah.

You know that guy paid retail.
Look at him.

We've known you've been dealing
for months.

Really? Then why did it take you
this long to call me in?

The Lieutenant wanted your source,
and I just gave it to him.

And that's the Petty Officer?
What was his name again?

Dion Lambert.

I'm scanning. No hits.

-This isn't a frat bust for grass, Aaron.
-This is hard time.

Every night.

Hard time.

Tell us where
Petty Officer Lambert's hiding.

We'll cut you a deal.

Minimum time in a federal facility,
without nightly cavity searches.

Aaron, if they had evidence of you
doing something illegal,

which I know you didn't,
they wouldn't be talking deals.

Yeah, I have to listen to my lawyer.
He's very expensive.

-When I find Petty Officer Lambert...
-And he will.

-He'll roll on you for a deal.
-Really?

Yeah. You want to know why?

-'Cause he is soft just like you.
-Hey, come on.

What is this, bad cop, bad cop?

-Gibbs, we miscalculated.
-You think?

Our friend here is looking forward
to playing strip poker in Marion

-without cards.
-Yeah? Is that true,

Aaron?

Charge my client or we're walking out.

Now.

Bastards.

Aaron, you won't last 48 hours
at Marion.

Oh, I figure 24.

-Five bucks.
-It's a bet.

-What are you laughing at, DiNozzo?
-And you, Monteleone?

We didn't break him!

-Made him piss his pants, though.
-Oh, hell, yes.

I'd wait until we get outside.

Aaron.

Rachael.

Hey, how would you like to discuss
that interrogation over some...

Chinese food? I don't think so.

-Yeah, how did you know I was...
-Kate said you would.

-Well, you see, Kate's just a...
-Jealous?

Did she tell you
I was going to say that, too?

I'll give you one thing.

You're almost as good looking
as you think you are.

Gibbs! George Mansur,
Lambert's ex-roommate, he's online.

-Where?
-I backtraced his IP address

to the Key Bridge Cybercafe
in Georgetown.

Tony. McGee. You're with me.

Kate, phones.
Abby, keep tabs on Mansur's computer.

But... Boy's night out.

Which means girls night in.
Transfer your phones to my lab.

This is illegal!
Your guy is on my computer.

It's not your computer.
It's the cybercafe's.

Yeah, well I'm logged in on it.
He can see all of my trades.

That's an invasion of my privacy.

Actually, he's right, boss.

-Then you'll let me go?
-No.

-Help!
-Don't shout.

Federal agents. All's well.
Go about your business.

-Where is your roomie?
-I don't have one.

-Ex-roomie.
-Dion?

I don't know. I haven't seen him
since I moved out two weeks ago.

-Why did you move?
-He bought the place.

Didn't want a roommate anymore.

-You didn't file a change of address.
-I mailed it in yesterday.

-You and Dion partners?
-No. Oh, no. He works his own trades.

A Petty Officer Second
day trades in the market?

Dion's sharp. Is that what this is about?

-His inside trading?
-Inside trading?

Had to be. He makes a lot more money
than I do on the market.

-Drug market?
-Dion wasn't dealing drugs.

I'd have known.

Well, if he was, I didn't know. I swear.

-Where is Dion now?
-I don't know. He's a workaholic.

If he's not home, he's at his job.

Yeah. Gibbs.

This is your car, right?

Okay, you make a couple hundred grand
a year and you drive this?

-I'm not a car guy.
-Don't you dig chicks?

All right. Got it.

Get McGee and Abby to do what they do
when they hook up.

-He meant their computers.
-Then you take him in.

-Well, I haven't done...
-Shut up.

So what's up?

Lieutenant Cheney found
Petty Officer Lambert.

Where?

In a ravine in Rock Creek Park.

This the Petty Officer
who faked his murder, Jethro?

Unless DNA says otherwise.

Yeah, well, he's not faking now.

The shooter put one round
into the back of his head.

And his hair is burned.

I'd say the muzzle was within two inches
of his skull.

Aaron Wright doesn't have the guts
to pull a trigger looking you in the eyes.

Well, neither does George Mansur.

No, my gut's telling me that

Ducky's about to eliminate him
as a suspect.

-What time did our boy die, Duck?
-Patience, Jethro.

Mr Palmer is at home with the flu,
so I'm my own assistant tonight.

Judging by the ambient temperature,

I'd say he expired between
1800 and 2100 hours.

How does that jive with your gut?

Well, let us see.

Oh, wow.

Mansur bought Argente Cosmetics
two days before it jumped 28 points.

Must have been when the FDA
approved androgen lipstick.

It increases a woman's libido.

-You mean, Viagra for women?
-Why is that funny, McGee?

It's not that it's funny.
It's, you know, women...

Women don't need to be turned on
before they perform?

No, no, that's not what I mean, Abby.

-What!
-Oh, yikes, Abby.

What did McGee do this time?

He put his size 10 shoe
in his size 12 mouth.

When did Mansur log on
at the cybercafe?

16:56. Four minutes
before the Tokyo market opened.

The longest trading gap
was eight minutes

until Neander-boy took over.

When you're done with Neander-boy,
tell him to release Mansur.

That might be a while, Gibbs.

Oh, no, wait a minute. Wait a minute.
No, no, no, no.

I've never paid for it in my life.

I was 15 and my cousin Ansel
paid Maggie O'Brien for the both of us.

-So that doesn't count.
-Yes, it does, Tony.

-I'm Primo.
-Sorry. I can't tell you apart.

Look at this.

Someone's been chain-smoking here.

-Do you smoke, Aaron?
-All right, you got me. All right?

I lit up in the elevator. What's the big...

Oh, jeez!

-How's it going, Ducky?
-Slow with no assistant.

-This the killer?
-I didn't kill anybody.

I don't even own a gun.

You want to see what your bullet did?

No.

Did Aaron just acknowledge
he shot him?

-Sounded that way to me.
-No. I don't want to see this.

I can assure you
it will be very instructional.

Yes, your slug penetrated
the occipital lobe,

instantly blinding the poor boy.

Death, of course, was so sudden
I doubt that he'd notice it.

-It then entered the corpus callosum.
-Oh, God, just stop. I've gotta barf.

In the 18th century,

the corpus callosum was believed
to house the soul.

It wasn't till the mid-20th century

that scientists determined
that it's a thick bundle of nerve fibres

to transfer information between

the right and left hemispheres
of the brain.

Fascinating.

-I didn't kill Dion.
-Dion?

Definitely someone
he was on a first name basis with.

Is that deal you offered
still on the table?

Hell no.

I know who killed him.

-Do I get the deal?
-Not if it was you.

I can live with that.

I picked up the drugs
from a blind mailbox.

I sent the cash by return mail.

The last shipment
came in two days ago,

and I dropped 50 grand
in the mail that night.

He'd made a million
and got whacked waiting for 50 grand?

You cops always inflate.
They never made anywhere near a mil.

-They?
-Dion and his partner.

-What partner?
-I don't know his name.

I only worked with Dion. Hey, wait! Wait!

Just hear me out, please!

All right, his partner is a computer geek
where Dion works.

He picked up on the scam,

and he threatened to report it
unless Dion cut him in on half.

Find the partner, you find his killer.

I don't believe him.

If two of my people
were ripping off the system,

-I should be fired for incompetence.
-They weren't both doing it.

Petty Officer Wilson
caught on to the scam.

-Well, if he caught on, I should have.
-They sat next to each other.

You're not very computer literate,
are you, Jethro?

Boss!

Boss! He's got a Trojan horse
on Petty Officer Lambert's computer.

-You could access his programs.
-I didn't insert that.

Just once, boss,
I wish one of these guys would say,

"You got me. I did it."

-McGee.
-Sorry, man.

Ma'am, you know me. I love the Navy.
I wouldn't steal from it.

I believe you, Niles.

How could I have
missed this yesterday?

Nobody gets everything right
the first time, McGee.

-Except Gibbs.
-I just can't believe that Niles did it.

-McGee, you're so trusting.
-What's wrong with that?

Well, it's great in a relationship.
Kind of sucks for an investigation.

Oh, poor baby.

Familiar with this new advance
in technology called power tools?

Close your eyes.

You feel the wood?

You don't get a sensation like that
from a power tool.

Something is hinky here, McGee.

These are the butts that Kate found
at the crime scene.

-Looks like identical twins.
-All from the same pack.

Now these are Aaron Wright
and Petty Officer Wilson's Triboros.

Twins, but not identical because
they came from different packs?

Correct, but not my point.

The killer didn't smoke Triboros.

The butts that Kate found were Llamas.

Okay, I gotta call Gibbs.

You just proved that
Petty Officer Wilson isn't the Killer.

-Or Aaron Wright.
-You ruled out both suspects.

No, I didn't.
Either one could still be the murderer.

All I proved is that someone
smoked Llamas at Rock Creek Park.

Yeah. Gibbs.

Boss, I don't know
if this is important or not.

McGee, this had better be the most
important phone call you ever made.

Yeah.

-Everything all right?
-Yeah.

Come on. What's wrong?

Your Petty Officer won't admit
to any involvement.

Well, I don't believe he was.

You got a smoke?

Well, that surprises me.

Thank you.

-Ever been to Sicily?
-Interesting segue.

No.

Capaci's a town outside Palermo.

In '91,

there was a Mafia don sitting
in a hillside orchard chain-smoking,

watching the road below.

Two cars in a tight formation
came around the corner.

The don hit a switch.

The road exploded.

It killed the chief magistrate
prosecuting the Sicilian Mafia,

his wife, and three bodyguards.

The Italian carabinieri, they found
the cigarette butts in the orchard,

sent them to our FBI crime lab.
They matched the DNA

from the saliva on the filters to the don.

It's the first time that DNA was ever
used successfully to prosecute a killer.

You are a very strange man.

Yeah. Yeah. It's about to get stranger.

Karen, I hope that the DNA
on this cigarette

doesn't match the butts
found where Dion was executed.

Oh, I really do.