Original subtitles

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Between 1892 and 1954,

more than 12 million immigrants

were processed through the 30-plus

structures here on Ellis Island.

But as you can see, most of them are still abandoned.

So with the help of preservationists

like you, hopefully, we can give buildings like

this former powerhouse Is that real?

A brand-new chance at life. Oh, my God!

This is Dario Gonzales.

He's been the night shift custodian

for the last four years.

Only, by 9:00

this morning, he was permanently

off the clock. That's when a private tour group

found his body.

This is

a national monument to immigration.

Maybe he was trying to make some kind of statement.

"I shouldn't have tried to make a fast buck. I'm sorry."

Hmm.

Looks like he left

- a wife behind. - And two kids.

I spoke to Mrs. Gonzales this morning.

She said she called her husband's cell at 8:00.

When he answered, she could tell he was upset.

When she asked him what was wrong, he hung up.

That doesn't make any sense.

In fact, it's impossible

that he even talked to her at all.

It's 10:00 now,

and his core body temperature is 89 degrees.

That puts time of death at least seven hours ago.

So how does a guy hang himself at 3:00 a.m.

and answer a phone call from his wife at 8:00?

Well, I'm not finding a cell phone.

So maybe he didn't answer that call.

His killer did.

? Out here in the fields ?

? I fight for my meals ?

? I get my back into my living ?

? Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. ?

I wonder why our killer answered the phone.

I mean, his whole plan might have worked if he hadn't.

It's obvious he went to a lot of trouble to stage a suicide.

And the ferries operate from sunrise to sundown.

So he had to get onto the island yesterday,

hid on the grounds overnight

and then left this morning.

I mean, why go through all that, and then

answer the vic's phone and risk getting caught?

Maybe he doesn't think he will.

Or he hopes he does.

Got definite signs of a struggle up here.

Scuff patterns from two

different shoes.

Got directional drag marks that lead up to the catwalk.

I got smudge prints up here where the rope was tied.

No ridge detail.

Killer definitely wore gloves.

So he jumps him on the landing,

drags him up the stairs,

then left him hanging.

27...

28...

29...

30.

Danny.

What are you doing? Processing the vic's phone.

Oh, of course. What was I thinking?

Flack had the vic's phone pinged.

We found it in a Dumpster.

Waiting on DNA results from the trace

I found. I figured I'd get a little pump in.

Don't you have physical therapy today?

Yeah, yeah, so I'm getting ready for it.

What?

You see Lucy lately, huh? She's standing up in her crib,

cruising along the walls of the apartment.

She's gonna walk soon, Lindsay.

Danny, please tell me you're not competing

with our ten-month-old daughter.

No, I'm not competing with our daughter.

All right, I'm just sick and tired

of being in this chair.

I want to run through Central Park

with my daughter on my shoulders, okay?

I want to chase down boys who try to hit on her.

I want to dance with you and her at her wedding.

So if you don't mind...

I don't mind at all.

Well, I can tell you this much: Mr. Gonzales was dead

before he was lynched.

See the double set

of ligature furrows?

He was strangled first. Correct.

Those are the marks that angle back.

And these marks that angle up

were caused by the hanging.

C.O.D. was asphyxiation, but his larynx

was crushed, Mac.

And judging by the extent of the damage,

your killer is strong

and extremely violent.

What is it?

I don't know, Sid.

There's something about this one I just can't shake.

The pointed, yet fake suicide note,

a broken compass in the vic's pocket,

the crying his wife

heard on the phone.

The killer was trying to tell us something.

I need to find out what that is.

I shouldn't have done that.

I shouldn't have done...

The letter... I should've written the letter...

I didn't have a chance to... to write...

I'm sorry. I can come back.

No, it's all right.

Go ahead and clean up.

Detective Taylor?

Yes?

I don't know if you remember me.

I'm Haylen Becall.

We met a couple weeks ago when I found...

You found an undocumented

partial print at a crime scene. I remember.

What can I do for you, Miss Becall?

I graduated cum laude from Chelsea University.

I've got an undergrad in biology

and a master's in forensic science.

I've completed a full course of lab safety training.

I already read the first three r�sum�s you mailed to my office.

But when you didn't respond, I had to wonder why.

And then it hit me.

You can't afford me.

I'm sorry?

Well, not you, but the lab.

With the layoffs and budget cuts...

I'm well aware of the problems.

Okay, so I want to fix them.

What's this? It's a New York State Police

Forensics Investigations

Honors Grant.

I applied for it, and I got it.

So now, the state will pay 100% of my wages

up to the minimum salary of an entry-level tech.

So all you have to do

is sign that form, and you and your staff

can take full advantage

of all the skill and enthusiasm I have

to offer for an entire year,

absolutely free.

I appreciate your determination.

And you're right, I could probably use some help.

But even if I did take you on,

it's very likely, once the year was up, I couldn't give you

anything else.

Are you kidding?

You'd be giving me everything.

Detective Taylor, um...

working in a crime lab like yours

is all I've wanted to do since I was nine years old

and the neighbor poisoned our cat.

It's a long story.

Look, all you have to do is give me an opportunity.

I promise I'll take care of the rest.

I'll think about it.

Thank you, sir.

? ?

Stella.

We looked over all the surveillance footage

from Battery Park where we found our vic's phone,

but because of all the tourists down there,

all we got were crowd shots.

Oh, that's too bad. That's exactly where our killer

would've boarded the ferry to go back and forth

to Ellis Island. Yep.

I even checked all the ticket receipts, but got nothing.

I was thinking about that suicide note, though. Yeah.

"I shouldn't have tried to make a fast buck."

Does it mean something?

On a janitor's salary? No.

Then I found out what Gonzales liked to do on his off time.

? Do-Do-Do-Don't say nothin' ?

Lose on red, you win on ace. Here we go.

? Hey, Doc... ?

? Check this out ?

I'm going to go with that one.

We got a winner in the house, huh?

Beautiful.

? I'm in my zone, man ?

? Let's get it... ?

All right, where's the ace?

Um...

Right there. This one right here?

All right, let's see.

Better luck next time.

Damn, that's too bad.

Here, let me show you where the real ace is.

Easy!

Got an officer in pursuit of a suspect

headed northbound on Bowery and Grand.

Turn over.

Time to fold.

Three priors in five years for aggravated assault.

Yeah, what the hell are you wasting your time

palming aces for, Curtiss?

Shouldn't you be out there beating up on people?

Look, I did my time.

I was trying to go legit.

Three-card monte doesn't exactly qualify. Look, I had

to hustle up some cash somehow.

So why don't you just write me the ticket? You and I both know

flippin' cards ain't nothing but a misdemeanor.

Yeah. But murder?

Not so much.

Remember him?

Nice necktie.

Is that a little thank-you gift from you?

Wack-ass wannabe.

Look, he said he used to do sleight of hand.

All right? Started stepping on my game,

watching which cards I bent and telling the marks

how to bet and taking a piece.

So I taught him how to get bitch-slapped.

Yeah, that little altercation

cost you an extra eight months at Rikers.

Ooh... that stung.

Not as bad as a rope around the neck.

"shouldn't have tried to make

a fast buck. I'm sorry."

What, is that supposed to mean something to me?

Well, between your rap sheet and the beef you had

with Gonzales, yeah.

It might make an excellent case for pinning you

as the guy who strung him up and posted a bogus

suicide note. Sounds like he definitely made a few extra bucks

at your expense. Then paid for it

with his life. Look, I am tickled

sideways that that bastard is dead,

but if you actually think that I strung up... No, no, no.

What I think is that you're going to give us

a handwriting sample, and if your scrawl matches

the writing that we found on that letter...

Then you are going to be somebody else's mark.

For 25 to life.

? ?

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I know that face.

What face? The "I don't like

what I see" face; kind of like the way

you look at me when I'm trying

to change Lucy's diaper.

Well, I did find a faint watermark on the corner

of the suicide note.

Looks like a letter P design.

Yeah, but I haven't placed it yet.

And I ran three different handwriting samples

from the suicide note, the vic and the suspect in lockup...

None of them match.

Well, if it makes you feel any better,

I got DNA from biologicals on the phone

that doesn't belong to our vic,

but no hit in CODIS.

Saliva trace? Nope.

Actually, it came back ALS-positive

and amylase-negative.

So it was tears?

Maybe when the vic's wife called, it upset the killer.

Saw the image of the family come up

and he realized what he'd done?

Hello?

Dario?

Hello?

What kind of coldhearted killer feels guilty

over murder?

- I understand. - Cliff Angell!

How you doin'? It's good to see you. Doing all right.

It's good to see you, too. All right.

Trust me, we're doing everything we can

to find a suspect.

Thank you. You, too. Bye.

Hey, stranger.

Cliff, what are you doing here?

I had to come in and get a picture,

you know, for my I.D. card.

Apparently, I'm not the, uh, strapping young cadet

I was 28 years ago.

You been good?

Uh, yeah, yeah.

How about you?

Eh, you know.

Day at a time.

Jess was my only daughter, so it's tough.

I was just telling the boys, I don't think

I've seen you since the funeral.

Called you a couple times...

Yeah, yeah. No, I know, thank you.

I got the messages. I, uh...

I just been... I been jammed up.

Don, believe me, I get it.

Took me mandatory retirement and a hacksaw

to get out of this place.

Anyway, it was good to see you, Don.

You, too. All right.

Say hello to everybody. Yeah. Uh, will do.

Unless you want to do that yourself.

How's that? Well, you know,

Sunday would have been Jess's birthday.

I know.

Well, we're having a little supper over the house.

It's nothing fancy, just family.

No pressure, but if you feel

like a nice pot roast...

You cooking?

Kidding me?

Then count me in.

Sherry will be tickled. Set a place

for your ugly mug.

So, see you about 7:00. Sounds good.

It was good to see you, Don. You, too. Thanks, Cliff.

All right.

- I don't know if I can... - I can... I can bring it.

Just tell me one thing.

No... no.

I don't know.

I mean...

Okay, okay, okay, okay, all right.

No.

Tell me something, Doc.

How does a man put

a compass in his pocket without

leaving any prints on it?

No partials? No nothing?

I fumed every inch of this thing.

Didn't find a single one.

Our victim, Dario Gonzales, never touched it.

You said the killer wore gloves? Yeah.

Which would explain how it got into the vic's pocket.

The killer must've put it there.

It's his message.

He wanted us to find it.

Looks like he didn't want us to find everything.

No. But I wouldn't let that stop you.

Hey, Stella, did you ever have a pen pal?

I did. Uh, Ellen Thornberry

from Columbus, Ohio.

Think my third-grade teacher gave me her name.

I had one, too. Suzanne Wacker.

She was from Jenks, Oklahoma.

Hmm. Okay, well, now that we've firmly established

our letter-writing skills, you want to tell me why?

Here's why.

There's a faint watermark on the suicide note.

Comes from the Preston Pen Company,

only they haven't used this logo in over 40 years.

Now, it turns out

they invented the whole pen pal concept for the 1964

New York World's Fair.

They had this space-age computer that they used

to match you up with somebody else in the world,

and then they gave you a pen and paper to write to them with.

Now, I'm thinking

that one of those same pens

was used to write the suicide note on a vintage piece

of that paper.

Okay. What about the handwriting?

Well, it's not a match to Dario Gonzales or Kimball Curtiss.

So our handwriting has got to be our killer's.

If we can find out who has access

to that kind of paper stock...

We could really give our killer something to write home about.

Any luck with the compass?

Well, it's American made,

early 19th century and fairly valuable.

Yeah, but broken.

More like fixed.

Somebody superglued the needle.

Yeah, so that it only points south.

Probably the same person

who scratched out this engraving on the back.

"Happy B-day. Yours forever, C.E."

You think it's an engraving by the original owner?

Ah, looks too recent.

And those are contemporary abbreviations.

So, C.E. may be the initials of our killer

or someone who meant something to him.

And by leaving it behind,

he wants it to mean something to us, too.

Hey. What's up, Doc?

Just on my way to search arrest records through the OLBS.

Hoping I can find some kind of match

to the initials I pulled off our compass.

What about you?

I got to go calibrate the genetic analyzer.

Why don't you just let the new tech do that?

New tech?

You didn't hear?

Hear what?

Mac hired that hottie

from the Crime Scene Cleanup Crew.

Part time. Twice a month.

You know the one. Haylen...

Becall?

Exactly.

Oh, God. Come on.

You're fine.

This is going to be good.

Thanks.

? ?

Can you see me?

Do you even know which way to look?

A second compass.

And this needle is pinned north.

So, you think we have another body on our hands?

Our first vic was found on Ellis Island

off the southern tip of Manhattan. Right, and the compass

at the scene was pointing in the same direction... south.

Now our killer sends us a second compass directly.

Which says he wants us to look for a second body.

So we turn our attention north.

Along with the new compass,

that's the direction he seems to be pointing us in next.

According to the postal stamp,

our killer mailed the envelope from the Bronx.

Well, that is the northern edge of the city.

All right. So, if we take into account

the avenues of Manhattan

deviate from true North by 29 degrees,

then run that through tactical crime analysis...

this seems to be the optimal area to search...

In the northernmost regions of the city

between Broadway and the Bronx River Parkway.

That's a hell of a lot of ground to cover.

Which is why Flack and his men are focused

on high-profile locations

and cross-referencing all Missing Person reports

for the vicinity.

Mac, is this a hunt for the second victim

or for a killer?

Could be both.

But while they pound the pavement,

we stick with the science.

Hawkes, what'd you get on that trace

from the Ellis Island rope?

It's artificial turf.

Strictly old-school.

It was an exact match to vintage manufacture samples

from the mid-1960s.

That's exactly like the ink and the paper

used for the suicide note.

Find a source yet on either one of those?

Unfortunately, it could have come from anywhere.

That paper was distributed to literally millions of people.

But we're checking with collectors, all the same.

Well, this guy seems seriously retro.

Well, I'm going to take a look

at the second compass he sent us.

Maybe it'll tell us how to find

a killer who's pointing us in every direction but his own.

From 1964, here's Gerry and the Pacemakers

on New York's Big Apple Oldies.

? Don't let the sun... ?

It's me. Remember...

That's the way it was...

Hello, sleepyhead.

Did you get some rest?

You must have needed it.

Hmm?

I'm just...

I'm glad you're here.

There's nowhere else I'd rather be.

Hey. It's a beautiful day outside.

What do you say we open up these ugly old drapes...

No, no, no. Oh, all right.

No, I like them like that.

Okay. We'll leave it just like that.

I'm sorry. I don't...

I don't mean to snap.

No. Don't worry.

I understand.

It's a tough time,

and you've got a lot on your mind.

Remember...

as long as we're side by side...

We're going in the right direction. I know.

I know.

I love you.

Oh...

I love you so much.

I love you, too, baby.

Everything's fine.

I'm right here.

Danny? You haven't seen a cute-but-evil

job-stealing blonde,

have you? Huh? What? No, no.

Let me ask you this: why do you think

the tear that I swabbed off our Ellis Island

vic's phone would spike so high for calcitriol?

Uh, vitamin D?

Those levels? Probably taking supplements

for some kind of deficiency.

All right. What would be the possible causes?

Cystic fibrosis...

Crohn's disease... colitis...

Or maybe he just doesn't get a lot of sun.

Hi, guys.

What's going on?

Haylen's new to our team.

I invited her to observe the process on this compass.

Oh. Right.

That's-That's great.

There's a fine layer of some kind of trace on the crystal.

How should we take a closer look?

BECALL and ROSS: Scanning Electron Microscope.

Go ahead.

Cypripedium fasciculatum.

Also known as, um, clustered lady's slippers.

They're a rare orchid indigenous to the Pacific Northwest.

How does this information help us?

We could run a search, see if there are any growers

or suppliers of that particular species in the city.

Great minds think alike.

They're actually on display right now

at the Triborough Gardens.

Isn't that in the Bronx?

Yeah, but it says here right now the conservatory housing them

is under temporary renovations.

Which makes it a perfect place to plant a body.

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? ?

We're too late.

"I should've written the letter

when I had the chance. I'm sorry."

What letter?

No clue.

But her name was Carole Hillcroft.

She was a 40-year-old widow.

According to the management here,

she was a regular patron

and member of the Bronx Garden Guild.

The last time she used her membership card

to gain admission at the front entrance

was yesterday evening.

Looks consistent with lividity and rigor.

Wasn't this exhibit closed for renovation?

Back entry deadbolt lock was bumped.

Though I seriously doubt she was responsible.

No?

She could have been lured in here by someone who was.

Got unis canvassing

her contacts right now.

They're looking to see if she told anybody

at all why she was here.

Hey, listen, if you two don't need me to stick around, I got

a bunch of fives to type back at the precinct.

Go ahead, Don. We got it.

Thank you.

You know, he used to shave every day.

He'll get through this.

Just takes time.

Hey, I've got some partial shoe prints

from whoever else was here with our vic.

The same ligature patterns as the last one.

Hmm...

Find something?

Might have been stuck to his glove,

while he tried to keep her quiet.

What do you think it is?

Asbestos.

Of course, they didn't call it that in the mid-'60s

when they were making kitchen countertops

and floor tiles out of it.

But that's what this sliver in her mouth was made of.

They discontinued this type of material years ago.

So we'll be lucky to find a match.

But I need somebody to run with it. I'll do it.

We get anywhere with the partial footprints?

Yeah, I ran it through the SOLE print database.

I found a corresponding tread pattern

for a men's size 11 tennis shoe,

with wear patterns matching

the scuff marks at Ellis Island.

Okay, let's break him down.

Our perp is a muscular male, size 11 shoes,

approximately six-foot-two.

And judging by the extent of the damage,

your killer is strong.

Potentially pale skin.

Well, maybe he just doesn't get a lot of sun.

Each of his victims are accompanied by a compass.

Which means he wants us to find them.

And he chokes his victims with a rope first...

Then he hangs them to simulate suicide.

Leaving handwritten confessions of guilt pinned to each.

And apparently he feels some level of remorse in the process.

"I shouldn't have tried to make a fast buck."

"I should have written the letter when I had the chance."

"I'm sorry."

So maybe the killer thinks that each of these people

should feel guilty enough

over something to kill themselves.

That could be the connection.

It has to be, because we haven't found anything else that links

Carole Hillcroft to Dario Gonzales.

We've got a working-class janitor and a wealthy widow.

- They're worlds apart. - Well, whatever it is,

something brought them together in the morgue.

So we're going to work night and day to figure out

exactly why this killer chose his victims,

and we're going to use that connection to catch him,

before the press gets wind of it

and panics the whole damn city

over some kind of compass killer.

Or worse...

Before he adds another victim to the map.

Oh, can't you stay in tonight? No, no, no, no.

Do you have to go out again? I'm not done yet. I still have work to do.

All right.

Just be careful.

Yeah, okay.

- To Jess. - To Jess.

Hear, hear.

Your old man dust you for prints

when you got home from a date?

If it was up to them, I wouldn't have known boys existed

until I was 21.

I'm sure the boys knew you existed.

Is that a line, Flack?

Did you just bust out your game on me?

Well...

It was, wasn't it?

Look at you.

You're blushing.

My game.

Game? I have no game.

If I did, that's probably as good as it gets.

I think it's pretty good.

? ?

Uh, Mac, it's Sid.

Uh, listen, I know you've been at it pretty hard,

but I just wanted to give you a call.

I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to post

the second victim's report yet, but her husband came in

to view the body, and kind of

threw me a little off schedule.

So, uh, anyway, I'll get it done first thing tomorrow.

Her name was Carole Hillcroft.

She was a 40-year-old widow.

40-year-old widow.

Her husband came in to view the body.

Sid.

Hey.

Is he still here?

Who? The husband.

The man who I.D.'d her body.

Oh, he left.

He was so upset. I hope he went home...

Where exactly was he standing?

That table right over there.

Here.

Oh, no.

The killer was here.

And I don't know where the hell he's going next.

? ?