Original subtitles

In the criminal justice system,

sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous.

In New York City, the dedicated detectives

who invstigate these vicious felonies

are members of an elite squad

known as the Special Victims Unit.

These are their stories.

Ay, Dios mío.

Victim's Cynthia Yellin, 33, rape-homicide.

What's her pedigree?

Single, lives alone, neighbors say she's quiet

and friendly, kind of a homebody.

Works as a secretary in a Midtown insurance company.

Any forensics?

Not anymore.

Housekeeper scoured the place before she found the body.

We'll process the vacuum cleaner for hairs and fibers,

but there's no way to separate the old debris

from last night's evidence.

How 'bout you, you got anything for us?

Her neck was snapped.

Classic subluxation technique.

Whoa.

That's pretty extreme.

You mind if I demonstrate on you?

Saves me a trip to the chiropractor.

You're not kidding.

You grab here and come under the chin,

and youjust snap in opposite directions.

I learned it in the military.

It's basically a silent way to kill someone

in hand-to-hand combat.

If our perp was in the service,

then his DNA's in the system.

Any fluids?

Found this condom wrapper on the floor,

so I don't think we'll get DNA.

Time of death?

Based on rigor and lividity,

sometime between 9:00 and midnight last night,

taking into account the open window

which accelerated the cooling of the body.

No forced entry through the front door,

so probably our fire escape's point of entry?

Already dusted it for prints, nothing.

Perp wore gloves or wiped it down.

Broken neck, condom, no prints.

Guy's no amateur.

Elliot.

A wedding dress.

So where's the groom?

She got pictures of her friends, her family,

but no guy.

Well, if I was getting married a week from Saturday,

I'd have a picture of my fiancé.

Huh, quiet girl with an ordinary job.

How'd you wind up the target of a professional hit?

That's Cynthia's engagement party.

She was so beautiful.

Everyone said they'd never seen her happier.

She waited so long to find the right man.

I thought she'd never get married.

Is that her fiancé?

No, that's her cousin Bill.

Steven, her fiancé, couldn't make it.

An emergency came up at work.

That must've been some emergency

for him to miss his own engagement party.

Steven works for the government.

And that's why my daughter is dead.

What does he do?

He's a CIA agent.

In an antiterrorist unit.

He told you that.

He said he worked for the Department of Agriculture.

Her mom got the truth out of Cynthia.

She wasn't supposed to tell us.

But I knew something was wrong

when I asked her questions about Steven.

She was so secretive.

That's why there's no pictures of him in her apartment.

He told us he was camera shy.

But we knew it was because of his job.

I snapped this at Christmas.

When he wasn't looking.

Cynthia ever worry about marrying a spy?

Sometimes.

But she loved him.

She ever talk about calling off the wedding?

We asked her to because of the death threats.

From who?

Jemaah Islamiyah.

The Indonesian Islamist group.

They put a fatwa on Steven.

Those terrorist sons of bitches killed my daughter!

And where is Steven now?

In Jakarta on assignment.

He was supposed to meet us in Hawaii.

Before the wedding.

And how can we reach him?

All we have is his cell phone number.

This is Steven Dashiell.

Leave a message.

I did, he hasn't called back.

What about his billing address?

Prepaid cell phone, no way to trace it.

What about DMV or credit bureaus?

The guy's a spook, Olivia.

He needs a driver's license,

company prints one up.

Short on cash, no problem.

There's a black ops slush fund in a bank in Geneva.

So let's go pay the CIA a visit.

They'll have a way to reach Dashiell.

Yeah, ask them what he's been doing

since he was reported missing in action in Afghanistan.

Pentagon records show Steven Dashiell

was a military advisor who disappeared

when his Black Hawk crashed

outside of Kandahar in '03.

So why is he listed as MIA if he's alive and well

in New York City?

'Cause the CIA wants it that way.

I can neither confirm nor deny the employment

of anyone working for Central Intelligence.

We don't want classified information,

we just wanna talk to Steven Dashiell.

The whereabouts of field agents are classified.

His fiancée was raped and murdered.

I'm very sorry, but that's a civilian matter

unrelated to the agency.

Her parents said that

Jemaah Islamiyah had made death threats.

I doubt that.

Why's that?

Foreign nationals sneaking into this country

to assassinate an agent's girlfriend

is rather far-fetched.

Steven Dashiell didn't think so.

He said he was under a fatwa

and he was worried about her being targeted.

I suggest you discuss those concerns

with Mr. Dashiell.

Great, why don't you tell us where he is in Jakarta

and we'll do that.

I'm sorry, Detectives, I wish I could.

Well, this is like chasing shadows.

Our guy is a terrorist?

How are we gonna find him?

Have I mentioned my buddy Mel Canner?

Recently assigned to the Joint Terrorist Task Force.

Jemaah Islamiyah was founded back in the '70s,

but kept a low profile till the Bali

nightclub bombings in '02.

I remember that, a couple hundred tourists

were killed.

Since then, they've stayed busy.

Bombed a hotel in '03.

Also the Australian Embassy in '04.

Plus a second wave of attacks in Bali in 2005.

But no attacks on U.S. soil.

So far, they haven't been active outside southeast Asia.

They're mainly in Jakarta and Bali

with a growing presence in the Philippines.

Well, our victim's parents seem certain

that Steven Dashiell was targeted locally.

Any intel on a cell here in the city?

I've never heard any chatter about that.

And they're not a priority as far as domestic targets go.

They're terrorists, but they're not a priority?

We got our hands full with Al-Qaeda

and other splinter groups that are confirmed active

in the States.

You have any sources who might know a little more?

Come on, Elliot.

I can't give you my CIs.

You know you still owe me.

McFadden's, the blonde?

There's a guy who owns

an Indonesian restaurant in Queens.

If anyone knows what's going on in the community,

Wahid does.

Do you know Indonesia's the third-largest democracy

after India and the U.S.?

But a handful of crazy fundamentalists

plant a few bombs in Bali,

now we're public enemy number three,

right after Osama and Kim Jong Il.

Well, you know, we've got our share

of homegrown crazies right here too.

And I wouldn't want you judging all Americans

by what the Unabomber did.

Apology accepted.

Now what can I do for you?

Could there be a Jemaah Islamiyah

sleeper cell here?

That wouldn't make sense.

Why not?

Their mission is to create a fundamentalist Islamic state

in my country.

Attacking America doesn't further that goal.

What about a fatwa against an intelligence officer?

Now I think someone's lying to you, Detectives.

Fatwas have been issued by Middle Eastern Imams.

But they're just not used in southeast Asia.

Captain, there's no evidence that Jemaah Islamiyah

is involved in Cynthia Yellin's death.

But her murder has all the earmarks of a hit.

We don't know where else Steven Dashiell may have worked

or who else he may have pissed off.

And how are we gonna find out?

We can't release his photo to the media.

If we do, we blow his cover.

We go to jail.

Hey, I got something spooky on your spook.

Steven Dashiell's prepaid cell phone

is reloaded with air time first thing

every Monday morning from the same address

in Staten Island.

From fatwas and sleeper cells to suburbia.

Spies gotta live somewhere.

Staten Island's boring.

Makes for good cover.

Modern technology.

Aren't we lucky that Big Brother's watching us

from outer space?

There's no place to hide.

Nothing more anonymous than a mini-mart.

Spy school 101.

Hide in plain sight.

Mr. Coffee Light and Ledger.

That's what this guy always gets.

He comes in every morning with Muffin.

He brings you breakfast?

No, Muffin's his dog.

Big beautiful golden.

I'm not supposed to let pets in here,

but she's so awesome--

Psst.

You know where this guy lives?

No, mm-mm.

Brings his dog around, he's gotta live nearby, huh?

Hey, wait, I know where Muffin lives.

Does that help?

Yeah. Where does Muffin live?

Hey, Muffin, how you doing?

Come here, girl.

Yeah.

Huh.

Help! Drew's chasing me!

I'm gonna get you! Come here!

Mommy!

Come back inside!

Can I help you?

Yeah, we're, uh, looking for Steven Dashiell.

I'm sorry, there's nobody here by that name.

You sure?

Yeah, pretty sure, we're the Royces.

Your husband home?

Uh, honey, can you come here a minute?

Sure, sweetheart!

They're detectives.

Hi, I'm Malcolm Royce.

Really? Huh.

You're a dead ringer for Steven Dashiell.

Malcolm Royce, 38,

works for Ciliento-Sherman as a convention planner.

Doesn't sound like an agency cover.

A wife and three kids?

It's not exactly standard issue for a spy's phony identity.

I don't think the CIA could fake up

a background this good.

I got Royce's financials, his credit history,

even his employee file.

Got a lot of travel here, but nothing to southeast Asia.

The most exotic place he's been

is... Decatur, Illinois?

Everything he said to Cynthia Yellin was a lie.

Including his name.

What is this about?

Your alter ego.

Steven Dashiell.

Do you work for the CIA full time,

or is it just a weekend gig?

I can explain.

Look, you don't have to.

Claiming to be a secret agent's a hell of a good way

to hide the fact that you're married.

What do you tell Cynthia?

"Can't spend the night, honey,

gotta go make the world safe for democracy?"

Well, except the wedding was getting close.

So you had to get rid of her.

What are you talking about?

Cynthia's dead, Malcolm.

Dead?

Mm.

Oh, God. No.

Mm-hmm.

How?

Where were you Wednesday night?

Do you think I did it?

Where were you Wednesday night?

Well, that's crazy!

I couldn't hurt Cynthia, I loved her!

You got a strange way of showing it.

Since you lied to her about everything.

What you do, your name.

Yes, but only so I could be with her.

How 'bout your wife?

I love them both.

I couldn't give either of them up.

Is that so hard to believe?

A man loving two women?

I wouldn't call it love, I'd call it betrayal.

You proposed to one woman while you're married to another?

I know it was wrong.

Cynthia wanted a wedding so badly.

I kept putting her off.

With phony stories of fatwas.

She said she didn't care.

She was willing to risk everything

to be with me.

Come on, Malcolm, what were you gonna do?

Go through with the sham ceremony,

become a bigamist?

If that's what it took to make her happy.

Okay, Csanova, again, last time.

Where were you Wednesday night?

Hmm?

I was with my kids.

All night?

Yes.

That night is my wife's book club.

I take the kids to Pizza Please.

It's their favorite place.

Check with the restaurant.

They'll remember us.

You'll see I couldn't have done this.

Yeah, I recognize him.

He's in here every Wednesday with his kids.

We get a lot of them.

Them?

You know, dads bribing their kids to love them

with all-you-can-eat pizza and soda.

You know what time they left here Wednesday night?

We close at 11:00, so sometime before that.

Okay, well why don't you rack your brain?

It could use the exercise.

Hey, man. This place is a zoo.

Non-stop mayhem until we pry their grubby little paws

off the soda machines at closing.

So I got no idea what time some schmuck paid his bill.

Did he use a credit card?

Probably.

No one pays cash anymore.

Good. Find the receipt for us.

Malcolm Royce's credit card receipt

from the pizza joint.

9:27 PM.

What's the drive time from the restaurant

back to their house?

15, 20 minutes tops.

Okay, so he's back by 10:00.

That leaves time for him to sneak out

after the wife and kids go to sleep,

head into Manhattan, and kill Cynthia.

You ever try to put three kids to bed

hopped up on pizza and soda?

Well, maybe Malcolm's got the magic touch.

Cannot be done. Trust me.

All right, Superdad, if Malcolm Royce

didn't kill Cynthia Yellin, who did?

I don't know, but I do think that we, uh, jumped

on this international terrorism angle so fast,

we forgot about any other suspects.

Don't waste your time.

You've got your man right there.

EZ Pass records show Royce's car

made a round trip to Manhattan

late Wednesday night.

They remembered me, right? At Pizza Please?

Uh, yeah, they sure did.

All right, so I can go now?

No, you can't. Sit down, please.

I don't understand.

Well, you went into Manhattan Wednesday night.

No, I didn't.

I came home, I put the kids to bed...

watched some TV and then I went to sleep.

Well, the EZ Pass records show your car

crossing the Verrazano Bridge from Staten Island

into Brooklyn at 10:32.

The Brooklyn Battery Tunnel into Manhattan

at 10:50.

And returning 90 minutes later.

I didn't leave the house. Someone is framing me.

Indonesian terrorists?

I'm telling you, it's not possible.

I didn't go into the city.

Read 'em and weep.

You've got the wrong car.

That's not your Honda's license plate number?

It is, but I wasn't driving it.

I had the kids, so I needed the minivan.

My wife had the Honda.

Doesn't make sense.

Lindsay's book club meets in Staten Island

a couple miles from our house.

Why would she be in Manhattan?

So what time did your wife come home Wednesday night?

I don't know.

Must have been late.

I went to bed at midnight, she wasn't back yet.

She know about your affair?

No.

You're sure.

She's been so moody these last couple weeks.

Oh, God.

Maybe she found out.

What do you say, Captain, cut him loose?

Well, if you do, he'll just go home

and confront his wife.

Well, we gotta interview her first.

I'll keep Malcolm on ice for an hour

then cut him loose so he can't warn his wife

you're comin'.

Thanks for telling me my husband's

an unfaithful bastard!

You mind explaining why it's any of your business?

After you tell us where you were Wednesday night.

Book club.

Yeah, now Malcolm says that it meets nearby.

That's right.

Then why did you go into the city

at 10:30 that night?

Is that a crime?

No, it's a question. Answer it.

I have three kids...

a husband who's never around,

and just one night a week that's all my own.

Book club ended.

I wasn't ready to come home

and do a week's worth of laundry.

So I went out for a drink.

I do that sometimes.

Alone?

None of the other girls wanted to come along

this week.

So you drove 45 minutes for a nightcap.

I'm sick of Staten Island!

I am sick of carpools and juice boxes

and soccer games.

I wanted a little glamour.

I bet you're married.

Did it ever cross your mind

that your wife might wanna do a little bit more

than just make beds and cook dinner?

That's the school bus. I need to get my kids.

I'll do it. Let me.

Hey.

Why are you here again?

I'm just visiting with your mom.

She said you're a policeman.

That's right.

You shoot bad guys.

Well, I also help people.

Are you gonna help my mom?

Why, does your mom need any help?

She's really mad and sad.

Oh, do you know why?

'Cause my dad's sick.

What's wrong with him?

Mom says he got a dirty whore.

Oh.

She tell you that?

I heard her say that to Ms. Lefkowitz.

Who's Mrs. Lefkowitz?

She's her best friend.

Oh.

You know where she lives?

By my school, in the house with all the gnomes.

Tyler, come inside right now.

You're gonna have to leave.

I'm not having this conversation in front of my children.

That's fine, Mrs. Royce.

Thanks for your time. We're all done here.

Still a lot of questions to answer.

Yeah, but first we're gonna pay

a little visit to Mrs. Lefkowitz.

Lindsay was crushed when she found out

Malcolm was cheating on her.

After all she's been through.

What has she been through?

Three kids in four years.

Then breast cancer.

She beat it, but she went through hell

after the mastectomy.

She cracked up, spent some time in a nuthouse.

And now her no-good husband is cheating.

How long has she known?

Couple weeks.

And what tipped her off?

She found a hotel confirmation.

Hawaii.

She called the travel agent,

found out he booked the honeymoon suite

under a phony name.

Steven Dashiell.

That's right.

Lindsay was a mess.

She didn't know what to do.

Did she confront Malcolm?

I told her not to bother.

Just file for divorce.

Gave him the name of the lawyer that did mine,

but she said it was out of the question.

They're Catholic.

So what's she gonna do?

Lindsay said she'd make him pay.

Ha.

House is dark.

Maybe they went out?

They gotta be in.

Both cars are in the driveway.

Something's not right.

It's open.

Mrs. Royce?

Hello?

Mr. Royce?

You smell that?

Cordite.

Jennifer?

She's dead.

She killed them all.

Help me.

He's still alive. Call the bus.

Malcolm!

Malcolm, you gotta hang in there.

Hang in there.

I'd say a straightforward murder-suicide.

Looks like Lindsay shot each child in the head

then killed herself.

I didn't see this coming.

Hospital called,

said Malcolm's coming out of surgery.

It looks like he's gonna make it.

His whole family's gone.

He may be wishing he hadn't.

Mr. Royce was very lucky.

There was no brain damage.

Is he conscious?

Yes, but I don't want to overtire him.

You can talk to him for a few minutes.

Does he know about his children?

I thought that news would be better

coming from you.

I woke up.

Lindsay was... standing over me.

She had a gun.

She put it... she put it to my forehead.

And I grabbed it, but she...

she pulled the trigger and...

I... I thought I was dying.

I heard more shots, but...

I couldn't--I couldn't move.

My kids?

They're gone.

I'm sorry, Malcolm.

No, please. No.

My--

And Lindsay?

She took her own life.

No.

That's enough for now.

No.

I gotta get out of here.

Yeah, probably get back and brief Cragen?

Can you handle it? Sure.

Thanks for letting me come by.

Did it help?

Yeah.

Stay.

Dad, what are you doing here?

I came by to see you guys.

At 2:00 in the morning?

I had a long day.

It isn't fair to Mom.

Look, I called. She said it was okay.

That's not what I mean.

We're your family, not some booty call.

Come home or don't.

But there's nothing in between.

Bye, Dad.

Yeah.

Where are you?

Okay, I'll be right there.

Something's not right.

According to Malcolm's statement,

Lindsay Royce walked up to her sleeping husband,

put the gun to his forehead, and pulled the trigger.

Basically, yeah.

The slug from that shot entered the wall here.

But check out the trajectory.

Laser gun.

Now, say Lindsay Royce was standing here.

She points the gun at Malcolm's head like that.

Okay--

The angle of the gun doesn't match

the bullet's trajectory.

Right.

But Malcolm said that he struggled for the gun.

Doesn't matter, it's all about angles.

Lie down.

Try it 100 ways,

but you're gonna have to break my wrist

to make the trajectory line up.

Try to shoot yourself in the head.

Just enough to graze the scalp.

Perfect match.

He killed them all.

Where's Malcolm Royce?

He went for a smoke.

A smoke where?

I told him the staff go up to the roof.

Malcolm.

Leave me alone, Detective.

I should have died tonight.

But you didn't.

You're alive for a reason.

I don't care.

I don't want to live without my family.

I can't let you do this.

Why do you care?!

Because you're a good man, Malcolm...

who's been through an unimaginable ordeal.

I've lost everyone I love.

Look, you dying is not gonna bring 'em back.

But it'll stop the pain.

God, it hurts.

My kids.

My kids!

Malcolm, they wouldn't want this.

They'd want you to go on.

Think of them.

Drew, Tyler, Jennifer-- they love you.

They'd want you to be happy.

What--what are you doing?

I'm not sure.

I should have thrown you off the roof.

Malcolm Royce,

you're under arrest for murder.

Look at him.

Bastard kills his family, and then cries for his loss.

How sick can you get?

Family annihilators are the ultimate narcissists.

They're usually men who lead average lives, who lie

to make themselves sound more important.

CIA operative fits the bill.

Steven Dashiell is everything that Malcolm Royce is not.

Exactly.

And once they're threatened with exposure,

they cannot bear the shame.

How do you live with a woman and three kids

for all those years--

take care of them, protect them,

and then one night blow their brains out?

The narcissist believes he's the only one that counts.

"Nobody matters but me."

Take him to trial.

Make him see what matters-- those three little kids.

You good to go?

Oh, yeah.

How could you think I killed them--

my own children?

I don't think, Malcolm, I know.

But I couldn't.

Look at this!

I've done more damage to myself shaving.

I am going to admit that you had me fooled at first.

But, uh, forensics proves that wound of yours

is self-inflicted.

I wanted to die...

after what Lindsay did to my kids.

Okay, now I need you to tell me

everything that happened.

It's so hard to talk about this.

I understand. Try.

I was asleep.

Gunshots woke me up.

I ran to check on my children

and I saw what--

what she had done to them.

God, it was horrible.

I was, uh...

I was in shock.

Then I heard another shot.

I came into our bedroom,

and Lindsay was on the floor.

Why didn't you call 911?

They were all dead.

I couldn't go on without them,

so I laid back down,

and I put the gun to my head,

and I pulled the trigger.

Then what? Nothing.

I must've blacked out.

Next thing I knew you were there.

Well, it all makes sense, except for one thing.

The gun wasn't in your hand.

It was on the floor by your wife.

I'm Catholic.

Suicide's a sin.

I wanted to be buried with my children,

so I threw the gun over by Lindsay.

This guy's got an answer for everything.

All we have on Malcolm is a failed suicide attempt.

The minute he wises up and asks for a lawyer,

we're gonna have to let him walk.

He's not gonna want an attorney.

He needs to be in control.

This is just a game to him.

Well, so far he's winning.

Trust me, he'll talk.

We need to hedge our bets.

I'll light a fire under O'Halloran,

see if he can get us more forensics.

Well, look, science is not gonna break this guy.

It's gonna happen in there.

Tell me about the gun, Malcolm.

It's mine.

I bought it a couple years ago,

after there'd been a bunch of break-ins

in our neighborhood.

Where do you keep it?

In my study in a lock box.

I didn't want the kids to find it.

You ever fire it?

I took lessons at the gun club.

So you know what it sounds like. Yeah.

So after the first shot, you knew exactly what it was.

I was asleep.

I wasn't sure what woke me.

A .44-caliber handgun, when it's fired indoors,

it makes a hell of a noise.

You were awake after that first shot?

I guess so.

Uh-huh, so--

All right, so what did you do

after the second shot?

I got up. Where'd you go?

Into the boys' room.

I saw them--

Was Lindsay there?

I don't know.

Uh, she must have been in Jennifer's room.

Third shot, where were you?

Third shot, where were you, Malcolm?

I was still with the boys.

You didn't move--you didn't try and save your daughter's life?

It was too late.

I went out in the hallway,

and Lindsay was there with the gun in her hand.

You saw her-- what did you do?

I don't remember.

Your children are dead.

You're standing there watching your wife

holding a gun!

You had to do something-- what did you do?!

I yelled at her.

She went back into our bedroom, and I followed her.

You didn't just stand there and watch her kill herself.

I tried to get the gun.

You acted, you grabbed the gun.

You wrestled it away-- you shot her.

And you shot her.

Malcolm, I know.

Jennifer dead, Tyler dead, Drew dead.

That bitch took everything from you!

You had every right to shoot her.

Yes--yes, I killed her.

I'd have done the same thing.

Feels good to tell the truth, huh?

Yeah.

Can I get a glass of water?

Yeah, of course.

He's good.

At least Royce isn't going home tonight.

Well done.

It's not enough, is it?

It's a crapshoot at trial.

Malcolm can say he killed Lindsay

in a fit of rage

after she killed the kids.

Why don't you take a breather?

See if we get the forensics.

No, I want to hear it from him.

Why'd your wife kill your children?

To punish me.

For what?

Cheating on her.

But you said Lindsay didn't know about you and Cynthia.

But she did. About the affair?

The trip to Hawaii?

She must've been pretty pissed off

about that honeymoon suite.

I never wanted to hurt her.

I know.

Look, I've been married over 20 years.

I know how good it was in the beginning.

And then the kids came...

and the sex dried up.

And you wind up talking about...

bills and braces and college tuition.

And all you want is the damn romance back.

And then you meet another woman

who makes you feel so alive.

She doesn't nag you, it's just easy.

Cynthia was that way, huh?

Being with her made me feel young.

Like anything was possible.

I got caught up in the adventure.

And then she changed.

She started making demands, right?

She wanted to get married.

She wants a big wedding on the beach

with the white dress.

I mean, man, you must've felt trapped.

I didn't know what to do.

I knew I should end it.

I didn't want to hurt her.

You didn't.

I mean, the last time you went over there,

you made love, you held her close.

You put her to sleep.

Malcolm, you're so close.

Tell me the truth-- you can tell me.

No, I didn't kill her!

Malcolm.

Cynthia loved me so much.

And I loved her.

But Lindsay wanted to break us up.

She couldn't accept that I had enough love

for both of them.

If Lindsay hadn't been jealous,

none of this would've happened!

Nothing like blaming the victim.

I got something.

Tom Clancy, Robert Ludlum.

Looks like every spy novel ever written.

Required reading for Malcolm's

secret agent act.

But some of these don't come from Barnes & Noble.

The Assassin's Manual.

Chock full of untraceable poisons,

sniper rifles,

and a chapter with very detailed instructions

on how to break a person's neck.

Malcolm Royce's prints were all over that part.

Well, we got him for his girlfiend's murder.

What about the EZ Pass records?

Now, there's nothing that shows that Malcolm drove the minivan

into the city that night.

He must've paid cash-- no records that way.

Circumstantial, but I can make it work.

Juries love this stuff.

Well, you're gonna love this.

Guess where else I found Malcolm's prints.

On the key to the lock box the gun was kept in.

That's no surprise, it's his gun. Right.

But his wife's prints weren't on the key,

or the lock box.

If Lindsay didn't open the gun safe,

she didn't kill the kids.

That's enough to charge Malcolm with the murders

of Cynthia Yellin and the three children.

We got him.

I'll pull Elliot out.

Elliot.

Can you give me a minute?

Coming.

Shouldn't you go see what he wants?

I know what he wants.

What are you doing?

You see, the only reason my boss would come in here

is to shut me down.

But you and me, we're not done yet.

I've told you everything.

But you will, or I'm gonna beat the balls off you.

Malcolm, you're a coward.

You pretend to be a spy.

You're a spy?

You take down terrorists?

But what you really do is just go after women and children.

What'd your children ever do to you?

Come on, killer, huh-- are you a killer?

What'd your children do to you?

Just tell me that.

You wanna kill someone, kill me.

Kill me.

Come on, kill me.

Kill me, huh?

Come on, kill me... kill me.

Open this damn door!

That's a direct order.

Do you know how easy it would be to mess this up

and leave you paralyzed,

sitting in your own piss and crap

for the rest of your life?

Oh, please, my neck!

He's trying to kill me!

I want you to suffer the way your children suffered.

They didn't.

They didn't.

I put sleeping pills in their juice.

What about Cynthia?

Yes. What?!

Yes.

I didn't want them to wake up.

Maybe because you couldn't look in their eyes

while you killed them.

I had to do it.

It was all falling apart.

If I went to jail, who would take care of my family?

I had to do it.

You have to understand, I had no choice.

I had to do it.

I had to save them.

I had no choice.

I had to do it. I had to do it!

Morning, Elliot.

You look like hell-- you stay here all night?

Hey, El.

You okay?