All language subtitles for Backstrom - 01x11 - I Like to Watch.WEB-DL.English.orig.Addic7ed.com

Hi.

I'm just gonna get my belt.

Hey, sunshine,
what are you making?

Not what you were making,

noisily, with no consideration
for others.

What is on your nose?

Magic nose bra.

Stop snoring.

My friend is a light sleeper.

Considering what I heard
last night,

there was not a lot
of sleeping going on.

I ought to arrest you.

Wait a minute.

Are you finally making the kite?

What are you talking about?
This is my back scratcher.

My kite, the kite I gave you
$200 to make for me.

Oh that was what the money was for.

- Ready to go?
- Sorry, duty calls. Moto's here.

Hey. Good morning, Valentine.

You haven't even started
the kite?

Sorry, no time to talk. Homicide.

Body at the Here and Now festival.

It's the art festival downtown.

Performance art.

Yeah, a whole nother category
of idiocy.

Watch this.

- Ow!
- Ho!

"I hate my mother. Ta-da!"

Anyone can do performance art.

Did that leave a mark?

I'll wait in the car.

Hey, if you're not gonna
make my kite,

I demand you to give the money back today.

Make me.

By the way,
I don't use that on my back.

Ah. The victim's name
is Timothy Fitch, age 34.

Three gunshot wounds
to the chest.

Lividity suggests
the time of death

was sometime last night
to 10 p.m. and 2 a.m.

What's with the exploding fruit?

He was an artist, Moto.

Timothy Fitch was
scheduled to perform later today.

He had a permit for bullets
and a gun,

a .357 ruger, as props,
and they're missing.

Oh.

Probably find the bullets lodged
in his chest.

What kind of performer
uses a real gun?

Well, the festival brochure says

that it had something
to do with...

"Creating a charismatic space
where limits are transformed."

Oh, my God. Stop it right now.

No one is allowed to talk
about this crap

as if it makes any sense.

Do you understand, Niedermayer?

- Yes, sir.
- All right. Where's Almond?

He's in the lobby,
talking to the victim's fiancee.

She's the one
who found the body.

Okay.

You know what?

I want a list of all
the so-called "artists"

performing in this "festival."

Those self-indulgent
narcissists.

They think they can get away
with finger painting

in their own poo
and calling it art?

Well, they're not gonna get away
with murder.

So you're assuming the murderer
is another artist?

Artists are, by their nature,
passionate.

And by passionate,
I mean stupid.

Is that true?

- Just a few more minutes...
- Hey.

Lieutenant, this is,
uh, Virginia Anderson,

Timothy Fitch's fiancee.

She looks kind of normal
to be an artist's girlfriend.

That's because
she's an accountant.

Really?
Meaning she pays the rent.

Go ahead, Mrs. Anderson.

You were saying?

Uh, I knew Fitch would be
working late last night,

preparing the gallery,

so I went to bed,
but when I woke up,

he still wasn't home.

And, uh, when
I called him, he didn't answer,

so I came in to check on him,

and I found him on the floor.

So you were at home last night
by yourself?

That's your alibi?

Ms. Anderson had food delivered.

She downloaded
a pay-per-view movie.

We'll verify.

It's just I loved Fitch so much.

My life was just...

Ordinary before him.

I was ordinary.

He made me special.

When's the last time
you saw him alive?

Uh, I stopped by the gallery
on my way home from work.

He and Moss were having
some drinks,

getting things ready.

Moss Brady, Fitch's assistant.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

Uh... Oh!

Did you just make
a murder victim pee himself?

That was one very full bladder.

And yet there's no cups
or bottles anywhere.

Somebody wanted to get rid
of fingerprints.

Gravely, I want you to track
down Fitch's assistant.

Name's Moss Brady.

Find those beverages
or Urine trouble.

Look at this.
I mean, isn't this beautiful?

Yeah, if you like giant
clown lips vomiting confetti.

This is a piece Fitch did
three years ago

entitled "evidence of a life."

He took piles of paperwork...

birth certificates,
school transcripts,

parking tickets,
everything and anything...

and then he cut them
into these thin, wispy strips

throughout the gallery.

Do we have any other background
on the victim

that's not cut into strips
of paper?

Timothy Fitch,
born and raised in Maine.

Parents deceased.

Two siblings,
one brother and one sister,.

Both live in Portland.

Are they coming in?

No, the other Portland...

Maine.

14 empty bottles
from the dumpster

in the back of the gallery.

I took fingerprints.
Found three sets.

One of them's Fitch's.
Working on the others.

Six beers each,

plus two raspberry
blast-flavored malt beverages.

There was a woman with Fitch
and Moss,

unless Moss is
raspberry-flavored malt gay.

Gravely's looking
for the assistant.

She had the landlord
open his loft.

Doesn't look like he went home
last night.

Paquet, this evidence of life...

is that his life he's shredding?

No, an ex-girlfriend,
Lucy Harms.

Ah, Lucy Harms.

Lucy Harms is also
a performance artist.

She and Fitch have an extremely
intense relationship,

and they filmed their breakup,

and they turned it into a piece
of video art.

Hiking from separate ends
of the pacific crest trail,

they met in the middle,

and they filmed
their final goodbyes.

Surprisingly moving.

I'll take your word for it.

You actually like this hooey,
Niedermayer?

I appreciate the attempt
to use live gesture

to animate formal
and conceptual ideas.

Moto, punch Niedermayer for me.

That's an order.
Then mess up his hair.

Lucy Harms is actually also
at the Here and Now festival.

Here is a sample of the piece
she performed yesterday.

What's with the targets?

The woman's actually standing

in front of a wall full
of evidence

proving she's a great shot.

What'd I tell you?

Artist equals passionate
equals stupid.

Come on, Niedermayer.
I'm gonna need a translator.

SO1EO11
I Like to Watch

Let me guess,
you're living in a plastic box

as a brilliant,
pseudo-artistic statement

that we all live
in a plastic box.

I was thinking more about
how natural acts

become transgressive with
the addition of an audience,

but if all you're getting
is hamster-in-a-cage analogy,

that's fine.

Ms. Harms, I'll be running
your fingerprints,

and if it turns out that you
were having drinks

- with Mr. Fitch last night...
- I don't drink.

This is not the work
of a sober person.

I haven't seen Tim Fitch since
we broke up three years ago.

The shooting targets that have
you both atwitter...

those are from a firing range,
Trigger Town on Lamphier Street.

I haven't touched a gun
in my life.

What was your relationship
with Mr. Fitch like

since the breakup?

We haven't spoken.

What's more,
if you watched our video,

you would know that
when we said goodbye,

we vowed to never speak
of our relationship again,

so I am artistically obligated
to remain silent on the subject.

It's kind of hard
to plead the fifth

when your privates are soon
to be publics.

This is my work.

Mock it if you want.

I wasn't with Fitch.

I was in my hotel last night.

So check the key-card memory,
run my prints.

I didn't kill Tim Fitch.

Lieutenant, what are you doing?

Close your eyes, Niedermayer.

It only becomes transgressive
when there's an audience.

I can't help but find her brave.

For what, having bowel movements
without a door?

Challenging social norms.

She did this performance
a few years ago...

I remember reading about it...

where she'd ingest
two tabs of ecstasy

and then ask the audience
to take care of her.

You just described Burning Man.

She framed it as a commentary

on social attitudes regarding
female mental illness.

What, like that's a bad thing?

Yeah?

Any luck with Lucy Harms?

Yeah. She's totally guilty.

Or murder or simply
annoying you?

Did you find
the victim's assistant?

No. There are only five blocks

between the arts center
and his loft.

We pinged his phone.
It's still in the area.

Figure he dumped it.

I've got alerts out at airports
and bus stations...

you know, the usual.

Is there a park nearby?

We're checking now, every bench,
every bush.

No, wait.
It was about to rain last night.

I'm Moss. I'm tanked.
I'm trying to stumble home.

It must be really difficult for
you to imagine that scenario.

Don't judge my depravity.
Use it. Trust me.

The only thing worse
than passing out

is passing out knowing
you're about to get rained on.

So, Moss found somewhere dry.

Try a playground if there is one.

I've slept in tunnels

and giant, concrete tubes, pirate
ships, you name it.

- You know what?
- I got him!

You might be onto something.

Up you go.

If you drink alcohol
like you drink coffee,

no surprise
we found you facedown,

passed out in a tunnel.

I had an empty stomach,

but I can usually hold
my beer better.

No raspberry malt beverage?

Just beer.

Mr. Brady, you do understand

that your boss
was murdered, right?

I am upset.

It is a terrible loss
to the art world.

He was a visionary.

I'm sorry.
Maybe it's still sinking in.

Where's the gun?

Gun?

The gun from Fitch's
installation.

Oh, yeah.

He was commenting on boundaries,

creating a demilitarized zone
for radical behavior.

Mr. Brady, "demilitarized"
means "without guns."

Fitch is a scholar
of the human condition

in all of its contradictions.

Fitch is a genius.

Was a genius.

That's what I mean.

Such a bummer.

We have reason to believe
that there was a third person

with you and the victim last night.

No. Just me and Fitch.

Is that a confession?

No. Of course not.

Mr. Brady, did anything
suspicious happen yesterday?

Mm, no, but weird.

You know, earlier,
I did see this woman

looking into the front window
of the gallery.

When she saw me watching her,
she took off.

Can you provide a description?

Yeah.

She looked just like Fitch.

Moss Brady has identified
Arianna Fitch,

Timothy Fitch's younger sister,

as the mysterious woman

who appeared in
the window yesterday.

She an artist, too?

No. She is learning to care
for large animals.

Like at a circus?

Veterinary school.

But she's been studying

for eight years
with no graduation.

So she's kind of stupid?

I have a different theory.

Arianna Fitch is the caretaker

for her youngest brother,
Oliver,

who was paralyzed in this
accident nine years ago.

Wait. The murder victim
was driving the car?

Yes. He and his sister escaped
with no injury.

Ah.

So she's stuck
carrying for the brother

- the other brother paralyzed.
- Mm-hmm.

And perhaps she blames Timothy

for the burdens
of her stalled ambitions.

Ah.

So, I swing by the gallery

to demand that he take his share
of the responsibility,

and he says no.

So I cap him with his own gun.

Have Gravely keep
that assistant on ice,

but find that sister.

I can't believe
this finally happened.

Yeah.

So quickly, too.

We caught you
after only two days.

I didn't kill my brother.

I loved him.

But you didn't like him
very much.

That's the way it works
in families.

You have to love them.
You don't have to like them.

And what about
your paralyzed brother?

You like him?

Yes.

I'm you.

My big brother
turns my little brother

into a living tree stump,

then he goes off
to follow his bliss,

and I'm left
to pick up the pieces.

100% correct.

Uh-huh.
So I swing by the gallery.

I ask him for help.

He blathers on and on
about art and destiny.

I get mad, and I shoot him
with his art gun.

No. I went to his gallery,
and I asked him for help.

He nodded and said
he owed it to me.

So you admit you were
at the gallery.

Of course.

I even stayed
and had a few drinks.

And that explains
the raspberry malt.

What's that?

A life-insurance policy
for a million dollars on Tim.

Haven't you read
any crime novels?

A big, fat insurance policy
right before he dies.

Really?

I didn't just take it out
on Tim.

I have insurance on myself,

I mean, on my cousin Beth,
on my Uncle Mark,

on everyone who contributes
in any way

to helping out with Oliver.

I am terrified of us
not being able

to take care of him his whole life.

There was another little guy
there, on the floor.

Like a... like a little elf?

He could vouch for me,

except I think he might have
been passed out.

So, what, you think this little
guy woke up and killed Tim?

Not unless he was
totally faking it.

But hey, that's the art world...
a big con job.

If the victim's sister
is telling the truth,

then someone shot Fitch
after she left the gallery.

Unless somebody confronted him
before that.

Moto, you think the victim
was killed

before he had drinks
with his sister?

Please don't transfer me
out of special crimes.

Arianna Fitch said her brother
made a lot of enemies.

Let's prioritize on that, okay?

Well, it's a long list.

Nothing was sacred to him...

religious iconography,
cross-racial sensitivities,

accepted common decency.

He challenged everything.

Two years ago, Fitch designed
this performance piece

called "destruction, creation."

Huh.

That's a nice painting.

If he can make real art
like that,

why waste his time
on all the pretend crap?

Okay.

Okay. What...

Oh, that's disgusting.

Who's that guy hitting him
like a pinata?

Unidentified male.

Nobody ever laid any charges,

so there was no record
of the assault.

That's too bad.
The guy deserves an award.

Look at that composition...

smooth brushwork,
his use of light and shadow.

Excuse me?

I, uh... I minored
in studio art,

watched a lot of documentaries.

You know that nun.

Fitch didn't have
any formal training.

That guy is the real artist.

The victim was destroying
his painting in public,

so he attacked him.

The victim was gonna revive
the installation this week.

It's in the brochure.

We've been trying to locate
witnesses of the attack,

but I-I'm...

Forget trying to I.D. the assailant.

I.D. the painting.

"Lolo Pass."

The name of the painting
that the victim destroyed

in your video is "Lolo Pass."

And the artist?

Julian Gaynor.

Same general body type
as the guy who attacked Fitch.

Mm-hmm. He's a local artist
and... take that...

according to Fitch's
phone records,

they spoke just last week.

I'll go, but if Backstrom

can bring along Niedermayer
as a translator, so can I.

Bonjour.

- Ca va?
- Bien.

He's not here.

He's grabbing a sandwich.

Well, that can wait.

He owes me 200 bucks,

and I'm not leaving without it.

Something wrong?

No. Um...

He's, uh...
he's just a lot hotter

than the usual weirdos
that you have up there.

He's a witness or what?

A suspect.

Okay. I'm gonna wait.

Yeah, that's...
that's me all right,

and that was my painting,
"Lolo Pass."

You must work extremely
carefully.

There's not a drop of paint
in here.

It's a brand-new space.
I'm still moving in.

I'm sorry to hear
what happened to Fitch.

Even though he trashed
your painting?

He bought it.

It was his to do with
what he liked.

Is destroying it any worse

than hanging it
over a matching sofa?

- You attacked him.
- I was shocked.

I had no idea what he was gonna
do with it,

and then I thought
he invited me down

to the performance to mock me.

What do you think now?

That I was part
of his performance.

He hoped I'd react that way.

Are you aware that Fitch
publicly announced his intention

to revive "destruction,
creation" this week?

He announced it to me privately.

Whoa. He bought another painting
from you?

That crazy performance
two years ago...

that got me a lot of attention.

And just last week,
Fitch called me up.

He wanted to buy another canvas
of mine.

And you refused?

No. I charged him $30,000
for a painting

that was perhaps worth $3,000.

Because you knew he didn't have
that kind of money?

No, he paid in cash.

How does a broke
performance artist

come up with $30,000 in cash?

Hey! You, my office, now.

It's my office!

All right, what's got
your panties in a twist?

Is it the kite?

I'll give you
your 200 bucks back.

- I need a favor from you.
- Another one?

I need you to release
Mark Bradley.

Got it. Wait.

Who's Mark Bradley?

I don't know what name
he's maybe using,

but he's your murdered
artist's assistant.

You want me to release
the prime suspect

in a homicide investigation?

Yes. Please.

Who is he, an ex-boyfriend?

You know I can't
release everyone

you've ever rambled with
in Mount Tabor Park.

We were in juvie together,
and I owe him very big.

So, please?

No.

The best I can do is...

eliminate him as a suspect.

Yes, please.

- But...
- Ow.

You let me keep the 200 bucks,

and you shut up
about your stupid kite.

Fine.

I accept your terms.

Get out.

It's my office.

Did you step on my...

you stepped on my sandwich
on purpose!

Ms. Anderson, hi.

Hi.

Thank you so much
for coming down.

We appreciate you
meeting us here.

We just had a few more questions
for you.

We just met with a local artist
named Julian Gaynor,

and he said that he sold Timothy

a painting called
"Clackamas Dawn."

I know.

He said he sold it for $30,000.

In cash.

I know.

Where did Tim Fitch
get that kind of cash?

From me.

You gave Timothy Fitch $30,000

for a painting you knew
he meant to destroy?

It wasn't a big deal.

My family has money.

Besides,
supporting Fitch's vision

in whatever way I could,
it was an honor.

We've searched
this entire space,

and we can't find it.

Do you think
it might be at your home?

If it's not here,

it must be in, uh,
Fitch's storage unit.

We don't have a record
of a storage unit.

It's in my name.

Here are the
spare keys.

I imagine Moss has Fitch's...

Oh, God. Why didn't I stay here
with him?

I know this won't
bring Fitch back.

But we will catch
whoever killed him.

Yes, my real name
is Mark Bradley.

Moss Brady
is my art-world moniker.

Mm, see, now, I wish I'd gone
a bit more French.

You're a con artist.

You've done time.
You've got a record.

Yes, and now I've gone straight.

Not sexually.

I mean, I no longer utilize
my substantial talents

for misdirection
to break the law.

How do you know
Gregory Valentine?

How do you know
Gregory Valentine?

I know Gregory Valentine
well enough

that when he tells me that you
probably killed Timothy Fitch,

- I listen.
- Wait. Val said I killed Fitch?

Yes.

Well, you know what?

Some people say
that Val's a sociopath,

and maybe they're right.

Okay, I think we've gotten off
the road and into the weeds.

What I want to know about is...

Juvie hall.
Mm-hmm.

You know, honestly,

I thought that what Val and I
had was something special,

not just jailhouse bonding,
but the real thing.

I heard that Val
was gonna get shanked,

and at great personal peril,
I warn him.

And you know what happened?

He got the guy first.

And he let me take the blame
for it.

Well, that's very sad,

but I'm still gonna charge you
with murder.

Okay, this has gone on
for way too long.

What?

Fitch is not dead.

He's totally dead.

No. Fitch hired me

because I'm a con man
and I have an expertise,

and for a year now,
we've been trying to pull off

this long-form
Andy Kaufman-type thing

in which Fitch stages
his own death.

I've got a little treat
in store for you.

Moto!

It's not gonna be Fitch.

Well dead bodies
don't look like real people

on account of their spirit
has left the building.

You ready?

Yeah.

Okay.

I'm gonna go ahead and conclude

that you now believe
Fitch is dead.

You see Fitch?

You saw he's dead.

Uh-huh.

You want to help us figure out
how that happened?

I-I seriously don't remember
drinking that much,

so why was I unconscious
12 hours later?

Oh, come on.
Do I look like a lightweight?

Yes.

Did Valentine really say
I was a killer?

Hmm.

You know, you love someone,

which means you trust him,

but the bad part isn't that
he doesn't love you back,

but that he exploits that love.

Yeah.

Love is a treacherous item.

Oh, if I find out that Val sold
me out for less than $10,000,

I'll kill him myself.

I didn't really mean that.

You can just set all that stuff
over here.

Try not to stack it,
if possible.

What's all this?

This is the contents

of the murder victim's
storage unit.

It's amazing how much junk
it takes to make more junk.

Autopsy report
for Timothy Fitch.

You get a postmortem
on his blood alcohol level?

Yes. The coroner test
gives us .21.

Wow. Fitch was wasted.

Mm.

A big guy like that,
must have been 9 or 10 beers.

Moss was right
about how much he drank.

12 hours later, he's still
asleep in the playground?

Hmm. I know blackouts.

You either get them
or you don't.

But when you do,
it's not from two beers.

You believe he was drugged?

Someone wanted to keep him
out of the way.

Meaning he didn't commit
the murder.

Go get him to pee in a cup.

See if you can find anything
besides fear and affectation.

Okay.

- Hmm.
- What is it?

36 cans of sweet potatoes.

Don't think I want to know.

These look like copies of papers

from that shredding piece
that he did.

The one with the ex-girlfriend?

Yeah. Parking tickets,
grocery receipts.

What?

These are copies
of medical records.

Lets see them.

E.R. visits...
cuts, contusions, burns.

Here's one for a broken wrist.

These are all dated from the time
that he and Lucy were together.

He was abusing her.

If we're right about our theory
of Lucy Harms

as a battered woman,

and then here she is
at the festival,

confronted, once again,
with her abuser...

Only this time,
he was kind enough

to allow her access
to his own gun.

It's the perfect opportunity
for revenge.

Gravely, I know you're not a fan

of jumping to
sensible conclusions,

but it's a pretty safe bet

that whoever drugged Moss Brady
killed Timothy Fitch.

I can get with that.

That's a thing that people say.

- No.
- It is.

Lucy Harms once used ecstasy
in one of her performances.

Ecstasy plus alcohol
equals blackout.

Can I ask why you're so anxious

to eliminate Moss Brady
as a suspect?

It's a byproduct
of my rigorous analysis

of the clues and the facts,
Gravely.

Yeah, I totally get it.

It's like the fish tank
in my dentist's office.

You just want to watch.

Wait right here.

No audience members allowed.

I'm not your audience.
I'm your confessor.

Meaning you think I have
something to confess.

All right, blondie, let's go.

Are you kidding?

I've started my performance.

Then I'll arrest you.

Well, if you arrest me,
then I will hire an attorney,

and he will advise me
not to talk,

and I will take that advice.

You actually have
a much better chance

of getting me to talk in here.

Fine. I can do performance art.

Fitch used to beat you.

What?! No, he didn't.

We have your medical records.

From what,
Fitch's shredding piece?

Most of those injuries
were self-inflicted.

A few, yes,

Fitch was involved,

but only at my request.

Witnessing injury
provokes a reaction.

All questions asked
by the artist

are answered by the audience.

Yeah, especially if they're
throwing rotten tomatoes.

You tend to see ugliness
in beauty.

No wonder you hate what I do.

I hate what you do because
it's stupid and meaningless.

The meaning lies
in the shared experience.

My body isn't only my body.

My body is also my medium.

Do you understand that?

Ecstasy is also your medium.

Speaking of which,

you have any of those pills
around in here,

at your house, huh?

Ecstasy? No, I haven't done
that piece in years.

I told you, my performances

no longer involve interaction
with the audience.

Yes, they can see me
but I can't see them.

I don't even know how many
of them are out there.

There's no one out there.

Liar.

You're a liar.

You drugged Fitch's assistant

so that he couldn't watch you
murder his boss.

He drank two beers,

and he was totally unconscious.

Well, the idiot probably drank
Fitch's by mistake.

He used to like to spike it
with benzos.

He had worked up
quite the tolerance.

You got an answer
for everything.

If it's about Fitch, yes, I do,

but I don't know who killed him.

I'm you.

I can still scarcely
scrape together cab fare

while trying to prove
to the world

that my ridiculous hobby
actually means something.

Meanwhile, my narcissistic
ex-boyfriend...

oh, he's hit the jackpot.

A wealthy fiancee who indulges
his every whim.

It's not right.

It's not fair.

No, I was happy for him.

I wanted him to be happy.

I would never hurt Fitch...

Never!

Why aren't you guys back yet?
Did something go wrong?

Whoa. The lieutenant's still
with the victim's ex-girlfriend.

What do you mean?
Where are they?

They're in the box.

The what?

They're in the box. He's okay,

but she's crying a lot.

Oh, my God.

Nadia... Nadia, I need a live
feed to the Here Now festival.

Which exhibit?

Uh, Lucy Harms'
weird box nonsense.

Mm, sure.
I already made the connection.

Okay, so...

Look at Lieutenant Backstrom.

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

What's going on?

He's in the box!

What?

He's in the box.

You know how sex
isn't really about the urge

to get inside
or take something in,

but it's more about the desire
to exist

right on the threshold of what's
inside and what's outside?

Sorry, I heard the words "sex"
and "inside,"

and the rest just sounded like,

"blah, blah, blah, blah,
blah, blah, blah, blah."

Me and Fitch,

our entire relationship
was like that.

There were no lines

where he stopped and I started.

It was... it was blurry.

Probably because of the ecstasy.

It's not sustainable, though.

I know I'll never have that kind
of passion in my life again,

and it makes me sad.

Do you have any idea
what I'm saying?

It's like standing in the ruins
of a palace

and you can't leave.

Instead of oxygen...

You inhale dust.

Oh, my God.

What?

You know exactly
what I'm talking about.

What kind of artist are you?

I'm not an artist. I'm a cop.

I'm you.

I walk around naked.
I got a toilet without a door.

I'm totally un-self-conscious.

Why do I want my audience
to stay out of sight?

I told you,

my audience is forced
into the role of voyeur.

Everything I do
is to impress Timothy Fitch.

I can't handle the thought
of him not seeing my work.

So I refuse to see
my real audience...

because I'm afraid
he won't be there.

Yeah. I have that affect
on a lot of people.

Easy on the pants.
You know what?

You didn't kill him,

because without him,
you'd lose your muse.

Hey...

You're totally innocent.

Okay.

What...

This is feeling a little...

All right.

Yeah!

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, no, no.

We've gone through
all his stuff.

Unless Fitch got himself killed

over a box of colored feathers,
we're...

is this still happening?

Hey, I just got Moss Brady's
tox results back.

He tested negative
for the standard five.

I ordered... Is this live?

Oh, why, why, why?

- Oh, dear lord.
- Oh.

Okay, lieutenant,
I see... oh, yeah!

Officer Frank Moto,
Portland Police bureau.

Get in there and stop him.

No, he told me to stay out here.

That's before he decided
to put on a peepshow

that's gonna get us all fired.

- Now get in there!
- All right, okay.

Sorry, sorry, excuse me,
sorry, excuse me, excuse me.

Lieutenant, lieutenant!

Not now, Moto.

Hey, hey, I don't think
you understand

that this is streaming live
on the Internet.

I don't care!

See how that happens?

Oh, my God.
Oh, my God, oh, my God.

Paquet is watching.
Detective Almond is watching.

Niedermayer is watching.

- Oh!
- Lieutenant!

Detective Gravely is watching.

Aw, man! Come on!

I'll be here
for the next 36 hours.

Lieutenant, now!

Hey, hey, okay, all right.
That's enough art for one day.

You guys need to go home now
and watch some porn

or something else American.

Yeah, back up!

- Are you crazy?!
- Gravely, don't be a ginger imbecile.

It's the same principle
as the interrogation room.

People know
they're being recorded,

but they soon forget.

You should still know better

than to make out with a suspect
in a homicide investigation!

She started it.

- Oh, come on.
- She came on to me because,

I don't know, I saw deeper
into her artistic soul

than any other man ever had.

That does not possibly seem like
it could be true.

- Oh, my God.
- What?

There was a connection
between you two.

You like her.

No. don't... relax, okay?
This isn't junior high, okay?

I'm not gonna ask the girl

in the plastic bubble
to the dance.

Got the extended
tox screens back.

Moss Brady tested positive
for benzodiazepine.

Trace amounts also found
in Timothy Fitch.

Ah. They were drugged.

Lucy was right.
She's not a suspect.

Lieutenant, I'm going to ask you
a question,

and I need you to think long
and hard before you respond.

Did you tell Lucy Harms
that she was not a suspect

before you stuck your tongue
down her throat?

I probably did.

Definitely...
I definitely did that.

Well, in that case, technically,

he did not make out with
a suspect in a homicide case.

- That's right.
- No, he just made out

with a woman in front
of a huge crowd of people

while they all watched.

Can you blame them?

Lucy Harms is
utterly mesmerizing.

How can you not watch her?

- Really?
- How can you not watch her?

Ahh.

Paquet!

Ew. I'd appreciate it
if we didn't repeat that.

Get me all documents relating
to Lucy's performance

the day Fitch died.

- I thought you said she wasn't a suspect.
- She's not.

We need to look
at the audience...

uh, security cameras, photos,
ticket receipts...

anything that tells me who was
there the day of that show.

You got it, hobbit.

All questions
asked by the artist

are answered by the audience.

Suddenly, you're an artist.

No. I'm a master.

Thanks for coming down again,
Ms. Anderson.

This will take about a minute.

Can I have your coat?
I'll just hang it outside.

- Sure. Thank you.
- Lieutenant?

We've got some new evidence
I'd love to discuss with you.

Please, have a seat.

Mm.

It involves
Fitch's ex-girlfriend.

Lucy Harms?

She was performing at a gallery
the afternoon before the murder.

I try not to pay
muention to her.

Fitch said it was past...
it was past.

This is footage
from the bank security camera

across the street
from the gallery.

That's you, in your car,

during her performance, waiting,

and that is Timothy Fitch coming
out of the gallery afterwards.

He went to go see her perform.

I'm you.

My fiancee goes to see
his ex-girlfriend,

and I go to see him.

And I realize

He will always be in love
with her.

She's everything that I'm not...

passionate, sensual

daring, complicated.

And I'm just a meal ticket.

He's been using me.

And the bad thing isn't that
he doesn't love me back.

It's that he exploits that love.

I...rented a movie.

I ordered food.

I have an alibi.

You can easily order food
and rent a movie

and still have time to shoot
a guy three times.

I mean, how long does it take?

Bang, bang, bang!

Like a second.

Coat sleeves tested positive

for gunshot residue.

Wow.

And Fitch always said
you weren't passionate.

Congratulations, Virginia.

You showed him.

Hey.

Tell Moss I said
the exact opposite

- of what you said I said.
- It won't do any good.

Well, could you maybe
at least try?

I'm a liar. You're a thief.
He's a con man.

Not a chance any of us trust
what anyone else says.

Um, what are you making?

It's a kite for me.

Despite how he looks,
he's very artistic.

That said, tell him the truth.

He said you're not the killer
and that I should let you go.

Backstrom lied to you
in an effort to eliminate you

as a suspect
as quickly as possible.

Okay, still...

"Still" what?

How do I know you didn't pay him
to say that

just so you could get me in bed?

Told you.

Liar, thief, con man.

Doesn't matter
what any of us say...

only what we do.

Oh! It's a rocket!

Yeah, it's a rocket.

Well...

I love it.

I bet I could sell it for like
800 bucks, you know?

That is a work of art.

You did hear the part about
getting me into bed, right?

Okay, all right.

And it's not art.

You don't hang it on a wall.

There's no relationship between
the artist and the audience.

It's just a thing that flies.

That's what it does.

The wind catches it, and...

And it flies.

And that's what
makes it beautiful...

not talking about it.