All language subtitles for Backstrom - 01x10 - Love Is a Rose and You Better Not Pick It.WEB-DL.English.orig.Addic7ed.com

Beep, beep.

Move it or lose it, people.

Hey, Almond, how do I look?
Camera ready?

Doesn't matter.

You're not talking to the press.

Ohh, rose garden.

My grandmother used to
bring me here every summer.

To look at dead bodies?

Lieutenant Backstrom,

Assistant District Attorney
Steven Kines. We met at the...

I know who you are, Heinz.
Why are you here?

The homicide... mayor says it
needs to be solved quickly

before an important landmark
is besmirched

by a morbid mystery.

"Besmirched"?

Miss America and her
mother-in-law are in town.

Wanted a tour
of the rose garden.

Supposed to be
a photo op. Now it's...

So, you work
for the tourist board now.

I work for the mayor.

So do you.

So does everybody in your unit
and the D.A.'s office.

So I'll need a briefing
every morning...

suspects, evidence, paperwork.

We don't need a babysitter.

We've already got Gravely.

Why is he here?

To solve a murder

that could Sully the reputation
of an entire city.

- "Sully."
- "Sully."

You don't solve murders.

I solve murders.

Go back down to the courthouse.

Get your shoes shined by
that Asian guy in the big chair.

What is with that kid?

He's an ass,

but I wouldn't mind scoring
a few political brownie points.

What do you think when you see
Moto sniffing a rose?

That the rose
is about to be eaten.

I take time to stop
and smell the roses.

What's wrong with that?

That's why you're still
in uniform.

Get back there
and control the masses.

What do we got, Pete?

Well, we found
her I.D. in her purse.

Her name
is Larissa Moscovitz, age 28.

Russian name, red nail polish...
prostitute.

What? You did not just say that.

What?

Some of my favorite people
in the world are hookers,

ahead of bookies and barkeeps.

If it was up to me,

no one would get away
with killing a hooker.

Cause of death appears to be
blunt-force trauma to the head.

Lividity suggests
that she was killed last night

between 6:00 and midnight.

Six hours? That's a big window.

Were there any witnesses?

Well, the park was open until
9:00, but no one has stepped up.

Who reported the body?

Mr. Norman Gilman there.

Oh.

How about that?

Shifty eyes, raggy beard,
stonewashed jeans... the killer.

Sure, I recognize her.

Pretty button like that.

Came here all the time.

You talk to her?

Not really.
She said hi once or twice.

Blood trail.

Let's just say I admired her
from afar,

her curvaciousness and so forth.

But when I saw her all laid out
in the dirt like that,

I thought, "that's bad,"
so I called the police.

Lieutenant!

We just found our murder weapon.

That your shovel, Norman?

Mostly mine.

- Were you here last night?
- Yeah.

Did you kill that woman
with that shovel?

No!

Turn around.

Look, what if I say
I-it's not my shovel?

No take-backs.

Open up the park!

Here we go, folks,
enjoy the roses.

- Bring on Miss America.
- Wait, hold on a second.

What?

Seriously?
Based on what evidence?

The shovel
that's covered in blood,

plus the guy
practically confessed.

Okay, by "practically,"

I assume you mean
he completely denied it.

Well...

Gravely, the guy is guilty
of something, all right?

Did you see him?

Go with me on this.

The city wants a resolution.

Let's give them what they want.

Don't you want brownies?

- Brownie points.
- Make way. Make way.

Back off.

Detective!

The rose garden killer
has been caught.

Sir.

You were right.

Larissa Moscovitz was arrested
for solicitation

eight years ago in Los Angeles.

- Ah.
- Ever since she moved to Portland,

she's been totally clean.

She's employed as a life coach.

Life coach, hooker...
same difference.

Pre-autopsy analysis

determined she had
recent sexual activity.

But remember, that doesn't mean
she received payment for it.

Do you think that Norman Gilman
really is the killer,

or was that all for show?

What do you think, Niedermayer?

I don't know, or I wouldn't ask.

I don't know, either,
but I'm about to find out.

Are you really
going to stay here?

I'm the babysitter, remember?

Did you know the victim
was a prostitute?

Ex-prostitute.

That's what they all say.

For all we know, she was turning
tricks in the rose garden.

This is a disaster.

All we know
is that she was a human being

who was brutally murdered
in a public place.

The public part is the problem.

What's the matter?
The mayor doesn't like prostitutes?

Not frequenting respectable
tourist attractions, no.

Screw the mayor.
He got his closure.

Now it's time
to find the killer.

I was hoping we already did.

Gilman is
a registered sex offender.

That sounds good, right?

- Shut up, Heinz.
- Kines.

What's in the bag?

Contents of his pocket
at the time of arrest.

Doesn't appear
to be anything of interest.

Norman Wayne Gilman.

Two arrests
for indecent exposure.

One conviction.

That puts you on the national
sex offender registry.

Why do pervs
always have three names?

I'm not a perv.

Ah.

Want a stick?

No.

'Cause who would want a stick
of wet, sticky perv gum?

That indecency thing
was a long time ago.

Old news.

Once a perv, always a perv.
The Bible says so.

I've read the Bible
cover to cover,

and it does not say that.

Well, I know a pastor, so you're
gonna have to prove it.

You know what a concordance is?

It's like an index of the Bible.

There's an app for that?

"Pervert" is in the Bible
21 times.

How about that?

Let's try "lust."

55 times.

Ah.

Looking up dirty words
in the Bible...

that's very suspicious.

I'm you.

I'm a... horny perv who reads
the Bible to raise his holy rod.

But how do I feel
about killing prostitutes?

Matthew 21.

"Tax collectors
and the prostitutes

are entering the kingdom of God
ahead of you."

Nervous perv sweat.

What's this?

Moths.

Moths, huh?

Look at that.

A peephole pocket.

Proverbs 7:15.

That's all I have to say
on the subject.

Perv.

Proverbs 7:15.

"Therefore came I forth

to meet thee diligently
to seek thy face."

Except it wasn't faces
he was seeking.

It was boobies.
Norman's not our guy.

Go take Moto.
Search Larissa's apartment.

What? "Not our guy"?

How come?

Any perv who's satisfied
with boobie pics

doesn't kill prostitutes
with shovels.

SO1E10
Love Is a Rose and You Better Not Pick It

Okay, all these photos
were taken

by Norman Gilman's phone camera

through a hole
in his shirt pocket.

I surmise
that his particular fetish

is to bump into women and then
take photos of the contact.

Mm, very sophomore juvenile.

Which is why Backstrom no longer
believes that he's capable of murder.

Yeah, but still, these were
taken on the day of the crime.

Oh, perhaps we may find
a photograph of the victim.

You know, that could help us narrow
down the time of the attack.

Do you prefer very large breasts
or smaller ones?

Uh...

I-I, uh...

You do not have to answer that.

You know, this is
a nice place for a prostitute.

Former prostitute.

Oh, look at this... roses.

You know, I have stop
and smell these,

but probably be a waste of time.

Roses in the apartment,
body found in the rose garden.

You think that's a coincidence?

What do you think?

I don't know,
but what I do know is,

if a woman sends you
a single yellow rose,

that means she caught you
cheating on her.

Or she came up with that
conclusion in an unfair manner.

You got a hunch?
Follow it up.

It's the best way
to move up the ladder.

Huh, this looks like
an appointment.

4:00 p.m.
on the day of the murder.

Could be the last person
to see her alive.

Call girls are usually
more discreet than that.

Life coaches!

Life coaches are usually
more discreet than that.

And I keep forgetting
that you're a pastor.

- I'm sorry.
- The name is Dmitri Green.

Detective Almond. Portland P.D.

And you are...?

- This is, uh, my girlfriend.
- Uh, I'm Claire McGrail.

Mm. I'm here on police business.

Perhaps we can talk
without your girlfriend present.

Oh, I-I'm studying
to be a paralegal.

I can serve
as Dmitri's representation.

I need to ask you some questions
about Larissa Moscovitz.

Sure. Yeah, okay.

- Come on in.
- Thank you. Excuse me.

Your friend from college?

Is... Larissa all right?

What's your relationship?

We understand Ms. Moscovitz
works as a life coach.

Yeah. Yeah. In... in a way.

Has, uh, something happened?

Larissa Moscovitz was murdered.

She's dead?

- What do you know about that?
- Nothing.

It's not...

It's not what it looks like.

I-I-it looks like something?
What does it look like?

Dmitri.

It looks like I paid
to have sex with her.

It does?

And... why would it
look like that?

Larissa is a...
Was a-a sex surrogate.

Ohh. Sex surrogate.

Yeah, it's kind of like
a therapist, only... hands on.

Hands off!

I'd like you to come down
to the station with me,

talk to my lieutenant.
Ms. McGrail.

What?

Would you mind joining us?

Uh, why?

I-in case I killed
my boyfriend's prostitute?

Okay. Yeah.
Why don't we go do that?

I didn't kill Larissa.

She was helping me.

Helping you.

Larissa's not a hooker.

She's a licensed sex surrogate.

Oh, okay.

And what's your sexual problem?

Dmitri only gets aroused
by a princess.

Well, you look like a princess.

Oh, thank you.

But not me. Dmitri.

Oh, he needs to be the princess.

Yeah.

When he dresses like a princess,

it totally takes me
out of the moment.

It, like, makes me laugh.

It's, like...

I guess his hooker didn't laugh.

Huh.

Where were you between 6:00
and midnight last night?

Home.

I was making Claire
chicken piccata for dinner.

It was a special date.

Your second date.

Yes, I saw Larissa yesterday,
and, yes, we had sex,

but it was only to prepare
for my date with Claire.

So I could, you know,
lessen my... performance anxiety.

Oh, your majesty has anxiety?

Please don't make fun of my
very particular sexual issues.

Larissa was a beautiful,
warm, caring person.

Because of her, I was finally
starting to get better.

But you couldn't tell
your girlfriend.

She just wouldn't understand.

What's there to understand?

I mean, really, if, like...
if, like, you're paying for sex,

that's prostitution, is it not?

Although...

What?

Dmitri has... he's...

He has been getting better,
you know?

I'm afraid to ask.

Well, see, he's, um...

he's weaned himself down to,
like, just a tiara.

Oh.

So, it's like... Yeah.

Anyway, this woman
must have been helping.

Maybe I shouldn't be
so judgmental, right?

- A princess?
- A princess.

Hmm. Alibi?

Chicken piccata.

Well, they corroborate
each other's story.

Hmm.

Oh, Moto, you shouldn't have.

I found these purple roses
at the victim's apartment,

so I took them to the botanical
expert at the university

to see if it meant something.

Okay.

"The ebb tide floribunda rose...

"a rare varietal
that has double blooms

of velvety plum petals
with a scent of spicy clove."

Nothing you are saying means
anything at all to the case.

Unless someone sent them
to the victim.

And somebody did.

This is a designer rose hybrid

that's only sold
at specialty shops,

and I'm getting a list
of those places.

- Excellent.
- Thank you.

Yes, Moto. Excellent.

Gravely stole my word.

Thanks, lieutenant.

You know,
he could be on to something.

I'll be holding my breath
in my office.

Larissa was
a licensed sexual surrogate

in the state of Oregon.

She was noticeably
one of the most beautiful

within her
professional association.

Surrogates usually need to work

with a supervising
psychotherapist.

I met one on an adventure cruise
to the Galapagos.

Fascinating woman.

Well, "princess" Dmitri Green
told us

that he was referred to Larissa

by Dr. Morton Fleck
in East Portland.

Dr. Fleck is not
gonna tell us anything.

Doctor privilege?

He might speak
to a prospective client.

Yeah, but where
will we find someone

who seems maladjusted to women,

unable to commit to an intimate
and loving relationship,

and uncomfortable with sex

outside the type that requires
financial remuneration?

Dr. Fleck, I have a problem.

I'm afraid to get undressed.

Before sex?

Before, during.

Spiders and bacteria,
microscopic vermin... they...

they get inside.

So far, so good.

Inside you?

Yeah, in my body.

And how do they get there?

Through... orifices
and membranes, you know?

They conspire with one another.

And that is why I need
to smear my body with peroxide

before sex.

I think you would benefit

from the expertise
of a therapist I know.

Her name is Sandy Hale-Cooper.

She's an intimacy specialist.

Ah, how about that?

I was hoping
to draw Larissa Moscovitz.

Uh-oh.

He's diverging
from Niedermayer's script.

Ms. Moscovitz
is no longer taking clients.

Because she was murdered.

I'm here five minutes, and you
toss me one of your girls

like she's
a piece of chewing gum.

Now, if you don't want
to get charged as a pimp,

you better cooperate.

I want a list of all the people

you've referred
to Larissa Moscovitz.

I'm an assistant
district attorney

hearing blackmail threats.

So get out of here.

Detective, I was shocked and
saddened to hear about Larissa.

She was a good person.
And I hope you find her killer,

but doctor-patient
confidentiality

is the bedrock of my practice.

Oh, come on.

The nonsense you told me
about membranes...

I'm sure you think you simply
pulled it out of the ether,

but that lie tells me

you suffer
from a specific range of issues.

That lie tells you nothing
'cause it was a lie.

You've gone through life
unloved,

and thus unable to love.

You boast of your prowess
as a lover.

Well, that is true.

Boasting of sexual prowess
is a statement of pure ego

based on competition
with other males...

nothing to do with women.

- Wait, no.
- Sexual stimulation and other

- physical outlets...
- I... okay.

Eating, drinking, drugs...

are your coping mechanisms to
disconnect from your emotions.

Pleasure without vulnerability,

fun without feeling.

For you,
sex is not a form of connection.

Rather, it's a shield,

perhaps because you were
abandoned by your mother

- or bullied by your father...
- Okay.

Or rejected
by the rest of your family.

Wow.

Believe me.
Your issues are real.

Ms. Hale-Cooper can help you.

I never heard such a load
of crap in all my life.

Yeah, I couldn't hear anything.

There was static
on the microphone.

I just wish
that Fleck had offered up

a list of Larissa's clients.

- Well, he didn't.
- Get some good advice, though?

None of your business, Gravely.

All I know is he's sitting
on a mountain of evidence.

Go take your buddy Kines...

No, not my buddy. He is a jerk.

Go take your jerk Kines
down to the courthouse.

Get me a warrant... now.

Ah, lieutenant.

The pathologist says
that Larissa Moscovitz

had consensual sex
shortly before she died.

How do they know
it's consensual?

Well, actually,
forced sexual intercourse

results in micro tears
in their...

Oh, okay, okay, oh, oh.

Anyway, there was DNA...
sperm...

I know what DNA is.

Indicating
that she had unprotected sex,

which suggests
that it was personal,

not in the line of duty.

She had a boyfriend.

We've been unable to uncover any
kind of personal life at all.

What about her cellphone?

Well, she hasn't called anyone
with enough regularity

to indicate
a romantic relationship,

and there are
several sporadic phone calls

to men who may
or may not be clients.

Have Almond check their alibis.

Yeah, of course.
Hey, how did it go with Fleck?

Did you get any information?

Not much,

but I did get the number
of one of Larissa's colleagues.

Hookers love sharing information
about dodgy Johns.

Not a hooker, not Johns.

Close enough.

What is happening?

- I'm expecting a visitor.
- God, my mother?

No, not your mother.

She's not a hooker anymore.

You know, maybe you shouldn't
have hookers come to your home

- when you're a cop.
- It's not exactly a hooker.

It's, like, a...
Prosti-therapist.

Work. Work. Work. Work.

Could you get that?

Yeah, yeah. Ahh.

Work. Work.

What? I can't talk right now.

We traced Moto's roses
to a flower shop downtown.

Yeah? Who sent them?

Uh, no name, but a phone number.

Don't keep me in suspense.

Okay, griepal, Newman, & Keane,

a high-powered law firm
also downtown.

Well, perhaps the roses
were sent to the victim

by a fancy esquire?

Uh, dump it off on Almond.
I got to go.

Well, I'm gonna head out.

Have fun with your, uh,
kindergarten-teacher fantasy.

Hi, I'm Sandy Hale-Cooper.

This is a new one on me.

And on me.

Oh, let me guess.

I'm a little different
than you imagined.

Yeah, just a little.

You know, I'm not here
to indulge your fantasies.

Yeah?
Why would I pay you 200 bucks?

Well, am I here
as a Dr. Fleck referral

or a source of information
on Larissa's murder?

Information
for Larissa's murder.

- You knew her well?
- A little.

You know of anyone
who wanted to harm her?

Her Johns?

We don't call them "Johns."

Okay, Johns, clients,
horny guys.

Sex therapy is different
than prostitution in its intent.

Ah.

A hooker's like a retail store
who hopes that you come back.

Surrogates, on the other hand...

we enable a person
to move on with their life,

to function in a healthy manner.

We're healers.

Dr. Fleck mentioned

that you might have
some profound mother issues.

Do you agree?

Does your mother know
what you do for a living?

Okay, you're avoiding
answering my question

by asking one of your own.

I don't want
to talk about my mother.

Well, that is a good,
honest beginning.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

Are you familiar with
the object-relations approach

to psychotherapy?

Doo-dongs and handcuffs?

No.

A mother's breast
is the first object

that an infant encounters.

This experience is entrenched
in the subconscious

as the good breast
or the bad breast.

Okay.

And that is where
we're gonna start.

Where's Miss Kindergarten?

Oh, you look traumatized.

Well, I think I know what
the killer's motivation is now.

If Larissa Moscovitz's idea
of a $200 visit

is a lot of talking
and breast-feeding,

that would drive any man
to murder.

She breast-fed you?

Oh, um,
it was a kind of role-playing.

Come on.

Tell me you've never dressed up

like some kind of naughty
little sailor boy before.

I once had a trick ask me
to call him "mommy."

Sandy would have said

that he was in mourning
for the loss of the breast.

Well, that can't be
the case with you.

Didn't your mother die
giving birth to you?

How could you miss something
that you never had?

She also advised me
to find an object

that symbolizes my mother

and put it in a place of honor
to remember her by.

Like a shrine?

Exactly.

Do you have anything
that symbolizes your mother?

Yeah.

This.

She made it for me
before I was born.

She made a bowl for a baby?

She was a ceramics artist.

All right, I'm sorry.
It's very nice. Let me see it.

No. It's mine.

- You want me to do the talking?
- No, this is my hunch.

You told me to follow it.

I already got an appointment set
up with the big man in charge

to see who bought those roses
for the victim.

- Very good.
- Thank you, sir.

Detective John Almond
and Officer Frank Moto here

to see Mr. Keane.

Oh.

Hello again, Ms. McGrail.

- Hi.
- Small world.

Yeah, it's really small.

Some people say
follow the money.

I say follow the roses.

When asked about
his knowledge of the crime

Dmitri green replied that
it wasn't what it looked like.

McGrail then replied,
"it looks like something?"

Well, it did.

I'm you...
filled with shock and outrage

that my boyfriend is paying
another woman for sex.

But I have a relationship
with her, as well.

I sent her flowers. Why?

Am I a lesbian?

Did you want a lawyer?

- Want us to call one of your bosses?
- No!

No, no, no. I don't...
I don't need my bosses.

I-I knew about Larissa
and Dmitri the whole time,

and I really liked her.

You were faking the shock
and outrage.

Not for us.

For your boyfriend. Ah.

You were checking up on him.

Yes.

And Larissa asked me not to tell
Dmitri about my snooping.

She said it could impede his...
his progress.

Why change things, huh?

I mean,
he was getting better in bed.

Oh, so much better. Oh, my God.

Yeah, bet he was, the dog.

How did you see Larissa without
a reference from Dr. Fleck?

I said I was an actress

researching a role
about a sex surrogate.

Yeah.

And the roses were my apology
when she figured out the truth.

- And my thank you.
- For saving your relationship.

Yes.

And not just
his princess fixation.

Larissa told me
some hard facts about myself

that have made me
a better person.

She helped me recognize
my own issues

with dominance and submission.

Save it.

Not all of us are gullible
and weak-minded enough

to buy all that therapy crap.

Oh, it's not for everyone.
I know.

Once, I was in her apartment,

and this red-haired woman
showed up

calling Larissa a fraud
and threatening to kill her.

I was like...

Oh, m-maybe I should have
mentioned that sooner.

Red hair, red hair.

None of Larissa's clients
could be described

as a woman with red hair.

Maybe it was somebody
in her personal life.

Larissa seemed to have
no private life.

Every single one
of her phone calls

was to either Fleck or a client.

Well,
the boy in the wheelchair...

I mean, he was a client,
and he has red hair.

But Claire McGrail
said it was a woman,

and she didn't say anything
about a wheelchair.

Well, the kid got red hair
from somewhere.

Right.

I admit I found it creepy...

a 22-year-old boy
paying a Russian woman for sex.

So you found out
and confronted her?

Yes.

But Larissa asked to meet
for coffee and changed my mind.

That must've been
a good cup of coffee.

She pointed out that my son
isn't a 22-year-old boy.

He's a 22-year-old man.

Nice.

So, what can you tell me
about Larissa?

Hey, how old were you
when you first got laid?

The regular age.

I-I was 13 when I broke my back.

Do you remember trying to just,
like, talk to girls?

I got a gift, so that
was never really a problem.

I-I had a pretty huge problem.

Mostly the wheels
and my shrunken legs.

Yeah, but your man bits
still work, right?

Oh, yeah. Fully functioning.

It's like Larissa said...
I'm really lucky.

I just waited so long that
by the time I started, I...

I went on
a bunch of mercy dates,

but the mercy dates
never led to mercy.

Yeah, I get it.

So, the sex surrogate
put you over the hump.

Yeah, not the first one.

But Larissa... she just
gave me the confidence

to inspire confidence.

- Wow. That's deep.
- Yeah.

- Well, what about now she's gone?
- We're done.

I don't need Larissa anymore
'cause I've got Tanya.

- Whoa.
- I got her the regular way.

Okay. All right.

Fist bump.

So, wait... Larissa was
your second surrogate?

Yeah, the first one...
she was older.

Her name was, uh, Sandy,
and she got really mad

when Dr. Fleck
had me transferred to Larissa.

Hmm.

Good to see you again, Ms. Hale.

Or do you prefer "Ms. Cooper"?

Uh, Hale-hyphen-Cooper.

Isn't this
a conflict of interest?

Why is it
a conflict of interest?

It's not.

Well, listen, a lot of times out
on the street, an old hooker...

Okay, I'm not a prostitute.

You need to stop with that.

A thousand apologies.

A, uh, sexual-healer woman

will get jealous of a young girl
and cut her.

What are you suggesting?

Well, that red-headed kid
in the wheelchair...

he said you got awfully mad

when he asked for a younger,
hotter surrogate.

Yes, but my anger
was aimed at Dr. Fleck,

not Larissa or Joshua Larimer.

Surrogates are not
objects of desire.

You wouldn't ask
for a prettier therapist.

I wouldn't go to a therapist.

You came to me,
and I'm a therapist.

- Oh, my God.
- What?

You mean Backstrom
and a suspect?

No. Nobody said that.

All we know
is that the lieutenant

met with a suspect
in a professional manner.

There's plenty of work
to go around.

Different clients
have different needs.

- Take you.
- I am not a client.

Write that down.

The lieutenant did not have sex
with the suspect.

- Your porn habit...
- Oh, here we go.

Has diminished the full range
of your sexual response.

Now, a few more sessions
with me...

Did she say "more sessions"?

And your response
could be deeper,

more meaningful,
more erotic, more human.

You'd stop saying
that you like hookers

and say that you like women.

Oh. He likes hookers.

Can we talk about Larissa?

Frankly,
Larissa would never have been

a truly successful surrogate
because she used her beauty.

But if it was Dr. Fleck
referring clients

and he preferred Larissa to you,

oh, that would
cut into your income.

Dr. Fleck did not prefer Larissa
as a surrogate.

That was a statement
of pure ego,

based in a competition
with another woman.

You heard that from Dr. Fleck.

How did you...

You were sleeping with Fleck.

No, I'm not.

Fleck makes moves
on all his surrogates.

The good ones rebuff him.

I'm a good one.

Larissa had unprotected sex
with someone

right before she was killed.

Well, then,
it must have been personal,

not a client, 'cause we always
use condoms with clients.

Fleck.

That's...
that's what I'm thinking.

And if it ever got out

that Fleck was... flecking
one of his surrogates...

It would ruin his career.

That's not a bad motive
for murder.

In light
of the recent revelation

that Dr. Fleck
had sexual relations

with the victim
shortly before her death,

the state asks
that you reconsider a motion

to compel him to release
the relevant patient files.

By denying access to
Larissa Moscovitz's client list,

Dr. Fleck has prevented us
from narrowing down

the number of suspects.

Particularly suspicious now that
he is one of those suspects.

Then why aren't you asking
for his DNA?

We are. Will Dr. Fleck submit
to a DNA test?

He will if you have evidence

of a sexual relationship
with the victim.

How many clients
are we talking about?

We won't know until we see them.

Oh, your honor, please. This is
too broad for consideration.

No, no, no, I see the relevance.

Dr. Fleck will submit DNA
and fork over the files.

If there's any hint
of tampering,

I'll have him arrested
for obstruction.

Of course, your honor.

Three erectile dysfunctions,

an old man who is
in love with a covered bridge,

um, kid in a wheelchair,

guy who can't have sex

unless he's lying
on a bed of broken glass.

People are messed up, man.

"Melanie suffers
from hybristophilia."

What's that?

"Bristophil..."
love of criminals?

It says, "she enjoys sex

"only with men who have
committed acts of outrage,

cheating, lying, theft,
and assault."

Mm. In France, we'd say
she likes men from Marseille.

Oui, oui.

- Hey.
- Hey.

Backstrom here?

Sorry to interrupt you
giving yourself cancer.

I need to talk to you.

What about?

Look, we're half brothers, yeah?

So that makes us
practically brothers.

Glad you got that
all figured out.

After the therapy lady
came over the other day...

Oh, God.

- Here we go. Really? Okay.
- I saw...

I saw how affected you were by
the stuff regarding your mother,

and I wanted to help.

Listen.

My mother died
in childbirth, okay?

She didn't abandon me.

It wasn't her fault.

If anything, it was my fault.

I mean, I'm not saying
that it's my fault.

I was just an infant.

You babble... you babble when
you're rattled, so just stop it.

I came here to tell you

that your mother didn't die
in childbirth.

How?

What are you talking about?

My mom's mom worked
at the hospital at the time,

and she has
a very different story.

Wait a minute.

You talked to your mom
about this?

- Yes.
- When?

Today.

She talked to her mom.

So you're single-handedly
connecting families

all over Oregon.

Marie Backstrom killed herself

a few months
after you were born,

and she used
your father's service revolver.

I'm sorry.

I just thought you should know.

Your surrogate was right.

You were abandoned.

Are you mad at me for meddling?

No.

It's... we're family.

That's what family does.
They meddle.

I said it's fine.

You should make that shrine.

Fleck isn't our guy.

- DNA?
- Doesn't matter.

He has an air-tight alibi.

At the time of Larissa's death,
he was watching a movie,

and the security cameras at
the cineplex... they confirm it.

Okay.

But our man Moto
found something interesting

in Joshua Larimer's file.

Larissa informed Fleck
that she was worried

about Joshua's
increasing dependence upon her,

but Joshua told Moto
that he found a new girl

and was happy that his time
with Larissa was over.

Mm.

So, Larissa was saying

the wheelchair kid
was in love with her.

Sex surrogates allot
a certain number of visits.

It's usually around 12
is the limit.

That gives both parties
a definitive end date.

They were
three past their limit.

She was in love with him.

You think so?

Think about it.

I'm a friendless sex surrogate

giving love
and receiving none in return.

I have no life.

Then I meet this happy kid.

Sure, he's got bum legs,
but he's not ugly.

And I've completely cured him.

All of a sudden,
I'm the one who needs therapy.

Joshua Larimer kills Larissa
to get free from his therapist?

What's the number-one cause
of homicide, Niedermayer?

Hate?

- Love.
- Love.

It's love.

Worst thing
that can happen to a guy.

Well, he certainly
has the upper-body strength

to swing a shovel, except...

Yeah.

How would he stash
the murder weapon?

Exactly.

What?

Who takes care of a kid
when they're in trouble?

His mother.

His mother.

Mothers. Mothers are confusing.

You would never
abandon your son.

No, I'd die first.

I'm you, a mom.

I'd do whatever it takes.

So, your son's
clinical case file

says that he was begging Larissa
to see him again.

Well, she did see him,
but he wasn't begging.

He was confident.

She says he was depressed
and despondent.

Well, that's not true.

She wrote that case file,
not him.

They had 12 sessions,
and she helped him.

She really did.

He was grateful, but

She got too attached.

He outgrew her.

She was the one
asking for more sessions.

Why do you care
who was asking for more?

Because it's the truth.

She wouldn't let him go.

She was threatening his chance
at a normal, happy life.

I'm Joshua.

I'm over it.

I've moved on.

I'm confident now,
but I'm still horny.

Like any boy for any girl,

only worse 'cause
I've waited such a long time.

I'll take whatever I can get.

So I see Larissa again.

But what do I tell
my non-hooker girlfriend?

Am I bad person?

It wasn't his fault.

I'm you.

I follow Larissa
to the Wildwood rose garden.

I've never been
to the Wildwood rose garden.

I tell her, "move on.

"Let my son be happy.

"He's suffered enough already.

Set him free."

I'm Larissa.

I'm a lonely woman...

And I decide to tell the truth.

Ah.

I'm in love with your son.

I see Larissa for what she is...

a prostitute
who's no longer helpful,

an obstruction
to my son's happiness.

So I whack her in the head
with a shovel.

Ms. Larimer.

You did what you did
to set your son free.

But you can't kill people.

Do you have any proof
of this theory, detective?

Because if you don't,

I would like to get home
and make Josh his dinner.

Where are
the pocket-pervert pics?

Paquet, why can't you make this
in a way that people can read?

I make this in a way
that everything is here.

Okay, like reality,
it's a little bit confusing,

but you cannot have it
both ways.

- What are we looking for here?
- Janet Larimer.

Wait, Nadia, not all of these
pictures have been printed.

Wait, I'll pull them up.

Next. Go. Keep going.

Boobies. More.
Go. Go. Wait. Go back.

There.

How do you know?

She's wearing that.

Mm.

Close to the time Larissa
got bludgeoned.

Placed at the scene.

So we got her, right?

Yeah. We do.

Hey, lieutenant, don't you want
to make the arrest?

Have Moto do it.

Mm.

And that is Backstrom's way

of telling you
you did a good job, Moto.

Hey, yeah, we got her.

So, you gonna make your shrine?

Yeah. Right now.

Hey!

What are you doing?
Don't do that.

Hey, stop it.
Leave my shrine alone.

You want me to have closure,
don't you?

Leave it to you
to blur the lines

between a memorial shrine
and a funeral pyre.

What's done is done.

Hello?

- It's open.
- Oh, God.

Is Miss Kindergarten back?

Wrong again.

You are a cop.

You cannot have hookers
at the house!

This is not a house.

And how dare you
call sexy Sventlana a hooker?

She's a sex therapist.

Now go to your room. Stay there.

I wasn't planning to watch.

Well, you would if I let you.

Perv.

- Hey, there.
- Hi.

Sventlana. I'm Everett.

Mm.

Are you really Russian?

I can be
whatever you want me to be.

Dobriy vecher, baby.

- Ooh.
- You like that?

Mm.