All language subtitles for Raines.101.lol.VO

Maybe I read too many
detective books when I was a kid.

Chandler, Hammett, Macdonald,

all the great California guys
of the '40s and '50s.

I even tried writing
a story once.

Couldn't get past pagene,
too many decisions.

Where do you find the body?

au all these stories
start with a body, right?

Do you find it by a pool
under a sunset

the color of a blood orange?

Or is it night,
with the twinkling lights of the city?

And what about the victim?

A movie producer
in a sharkskin suit

who we think probably got
what he deserved...

Some beautiful starlet
who fell in with the wrong crowd

and never saw it coming...

But you know the real reason
that I never wrote one of those stories?

I became a cop.

And I found out the images
that I had in my head

weren't like real life.

Take the case that I got
this morning.

The body wasn't found
by a swimming pool high in the hills.

It turned up in a parking lot
by the 101.

And the victim wasn't
some movie weasel or starlet.

It was a poor young woman
in cargo pants and sneakers

with a bullet hole in her back,
laying facedown the pavement.

We did a close sweep,
the trash cans, bushes.

No purse, no wallet.

I got the registration.

Sandy Boudreau,
121 Bendix Avenue, Apartment 12.

Let's go check it out.

Okay. We're going to Bendix.

This is it, the apartment's
up there somewhere.

That tower's the elevator.

Apartment 12.

Start knocking on doors.

I don't know
if you'd like that.

- Who are you?
- You first.

Raines, LAPD.

Are you her sister
or something?

Do you see one
in the photographs?

I didn't have a sister,
Detective.

You didn't have a sister.

You being?

Sandy.

Boudreau.

I think his name is Marco,
but they broke up,

uh, a few weeks ago.

Detective!

Boudreau had a boyfriend.

Keep knocking.

Keep knocking.

Sandy Boudreau,
that's the victim's name.

That's right.

So it's happening again.

Happening again.

I can't do this, Charlie,
can't handle it.

You handled it before.

If you call that
handling it.

I'm losing my mind.

Are you?

Oh, I don't know,
I just had a conversation

with a girl who wasn't there.
What'd you call it?

I wouldn't exactly call that
a conversation.

The girl says her name
and you run out the door.

Not only is that
bad police work, that's rude.

Okay, I don't know why
I bother talking to you.

Maybe because I carried
your ass for 13 years.

You carried me?

First case on your own,
you already need my help.

No. The only help
I need from you on this case

is figuring out why
this is happening to me.

Why she's haunting me.

Oh, she's a ghost now.
Hallucination.

You know she's not a ghost.
Hallucination.

It's all in your head,
right, exactly, Michael. It's all you.

Look, you have two choices, right?

You could run away,
and get yourself committed

to some institution, and
get shot up with tranquilizers.

Tranquilizers.

- That sounds good, tranquilizers.
- Or you can do your job.

Go back there,
see what she wants.

Just talk to her.

Look, the victim has
always been your thing, right?

"Know the victim,
find the killer.

"Know the victim,
find the killer."

You used to talk to the victim
while we were driving around.

Well, but I didn't see--
I didn't see them!

You know, that was
behind my eyes.

Now, now it's, uh,
you know, out there.

Look, maybe this will make you
a better detective.

Oh, shut up.

What do you want?

It's your imagination,
Detective.

I'm just the figment.

What do you want?

I want you to find out
who killed me.

Then you'll back whatever
dark, twisted,

malfunctioning part of my brain
that you come from?

Yeah.

What are you writing?

Uh, a note

instructing
whoever finds my body

after I blow my brains out
to scatter the ashes

over Disneyland 'cause it's
the happiest place on Earth.

You always this sarcastic?

Who are you calling?

You're calling me.

Hi, y'all, this is Sandy.

I'm not here right now,
leave a message. Bye.

Well, you got a Texas accent.

Well, now isn't that
an interesting development?

Easy on the drawl there, Tex.

You're not riding the back 40
at Crawford.

Sounds like you came here
when you were a kid.

Whatever you say,
Detective.

You're the boss.

Fashion show.

Sweet, vintage-y.

Kind of a sweater girl.

And a wet suit.
Fantastic Voyage.

Cheerleader.
What's the story here?

Maybe they're for Halloween?

I can see the jumping,
the twirling.

That's good.

Hey, that check out there.

Does that mean you were working
for a catering company?

If you say so.

Wanna tell me what this
is all about?

I really wish I could help you,
Detective.

I only know what you know.

- Raines.
- Hey, it's Caroline.

Caroline, what's up?

We got the perp on your 187.

- Are you serious?
- That's what the Captain says.

I'll be right there.

You said if I caught
whoever killed you, you'd go?

- Yeah.
- Then go.

We got your killer.

They found the suspect in one
of the homeless camps in Griffith Park

He had Sandyoudreau's purse
with him,

containing, among other things,
$950 in mixed 20s and 50s.

He also had blood on him.

Matches type with Boudreau.

His name is William Jones,
known to the residents

of the camp where he lives
as Skunk.

And they call him that because he's got
a big white stripe down his back?

No.

Oh, my God.

Mr. Jones.

- I didn't do it.
- I'm glad.

I smell bad, don't I?

Keeps the sickos away.

The sickos?

The ones that come up
into the camps.

Take our stuff,
beat on us.

You got skunk on you?

I find their dens,
poke 'em with a stick,

and get 'em to spray me.

Doesn't it bother you?

I got kicked in the head
back in '86,

Ain't smelled a thing since.

I didn't do it.

You sure about that?

Arresting officer says you couldn't
remember anything about last night.

- I didn't do it.
- You know that you didn't do it?

Or you know that that's not
the kind of thing

that you could ever do?

We've all got a dark side,
Mr. Jones.

I know I do,
stuffed way down deep inside

that I don't even wanna
think about.

'Cause I'm a good guy.

Like you're a good guy.

But I koow what'd happen
if that dark stuff ever got out.

What I'd be capable of.

But I'm not gonna do it
'cause I'm a good guy.

Just like you.

When I'm in control.

And I'm always in control.

Almost always.

You a drinking man, Mr. Jones?

You know I am.

Were you drinking last night?

You know I was.

But I didn't do it.

Didn't do it or can't rember?

I can't remember.

I can't remember.

Process him.

You call that a confession?

They found the victim's wallet on him,
the victim's blood on him.

No gun, no powder residue
on his hands.

Maybe he found her already dead
and robbed her.

Or maybe he shot her, threw away
the gun, and washed his hands.

Well, that would be the first thing
he's washed in a long time.

What about that shoebox full of cash?

What about it, Nancy Drew?

That could be anything.

I suppose to a civilian employee
like you, everything seems mysterious.

- Everything seems important.
- Okay.

The truth is, is most things
in most murder investigations

don't mean damn thing.

That's what we learn
in detective school.

Process him.

Oh, she's gone.

Oh, she wasn't at the station,
she wasn't in my car.

Gone, gone, gone, gone.

Yeah, one question.
Shoot.

Is she gone?

Gone.

Yeah, thank goodness!

Good, well, who killed
Sandy Boudreau?

Some poor old wino.

A wino with a.38?

Yeah.

Not gone?

Not gone.

She's right there
right now?

Yes, roller skates
and everything.

That is so cool.

No, Charlie, it's not cool.
She was supposed to go away.

Sweetie, you were
supposed to go away.

Well, maybe you haven't solved
the case yet.

The guy had her blood on him,
her wallet.

Nah, maybe you haven't solved
it to your satisfaction.

- What's that mean?
- Pretend we're still partners, right?

We're in the car,
we're driving around, right?

You've gone all silent because
something is naggi you.

She had a bank account.

So what was she doing
with $20,000 in a shoebox?

Tips from her catering job?

20,000 in tips,
that's some catering job.

And what about
the cheerleading outfit,

the school uniform,
the wet suit?

She liked to play
dress up.

She cute?

Mm, she's cute.

LAPD, Caroline speaking.

Caroline, this is Raines.

Do not, I repeat, do not
say I told you so,

but hold off
on processing the wino.

I told you so.

Thank you, Caroline.

You're a dear.

Yeah, they cater all right.

It's called Romeo & Juliet.

Romeo & Juliet.

Jackson, over in Vice, says
it's an escort service.

And what's the address?

It's on Sunset, 700 block,
down by Gower.

Thanks, Caroline.

Tell me about
the catering company

that you work for.

Seems to me you already know.

It was a front
for the Romeo & Juliet escort service.

See? I was right.

You already knew.

Why didn't you tell me
you were a prostitute?

Because it never
occurred to you.

May I ask a question?

Did you find any cigarettes?

Why am I smoking?

Maybe for the same reason
I'm drinking,

even though you didn't find
any booze.

Same reason my makeup's headed
for circus clown,

and my boobs have gained
three cup sizes.

You found out I'm a whore.

And this is what a whore
looks like, right?

Thank you.

Don't argue with me, Arlene.

It's in here somewhere.

We gotta check every inch
of this place.

You understand?

That catering job
must've paid well.

The view is nice.

Ah, it's stupid to pay
for a view.

Your eyes are closed
most of the time.

I wondered where
that went to.

What?

That duck with four legs
she made in the third grade.

Hey, would you take your little trip
down memory lane some other time?

We gotta find it before the cops do,
otherwise we'll never see it.

That's my ma.

They can't hear me,
you know that.

Sorry, LAPD.

Uh, Detective Raines.

You're Sandy's parents?

Yeah.
What are you doing here?

My job.

Uh, what are your names?

Vernon and Arlene.

Boudreau.

I think he figured
that much out, Arlene.

What you hoping
to find here, Chester?

Are you deaf?

I just said my name
is Vernon.

There's money here.

Daughter was sending her
little bits

so's I wouldn't know.

She said there was more for her.

Chester, anything we find
in here is evidence.

Evidence, my ass.

Everything in here belongs to me.

And why the hell do you
keep calling me Chester?

Honest mistake.

See, I didn't even know
that your daughter had a father.

Your wife I recognized
from the photos.

Nice to meet you, ma'am.

But see, in the photos,
you're missing, Chester.

Not just missing,
you're cut out.

All that's left of you
is your arm.

Why would Sandy do that?

I wonder.

So I was calling you Chester
'cause it rhymes

with molester.

Should've noticed that
your father's arm in that photo

was a heavily...
heavily-muscled arm.

Why'd you say that
to him?

Very few people get
into your line of work

because having sex
with strangers for money

was their favorite booth
on career day.

Nine times out of ten,
they were molested.

You have no idea.

He'd come into my room
every night--

Sandy.

He didn't molest you.

Well, then why'd
you say he did?

To check the reaction,
not his, your mother's.

Mothers always know
what's going on,

even though they say
they don't.

Your mother looked like
I was talking Martian.

Now, Arlene!

Don't stand there
like a heifer!

You need to calm yourself! Now!

Get in there, come on!

Is this what you want?

Get my lawyer on the phone!

Now, Arlene!
Calm down!

Let's go, go!

Call my lawyer!

Of course, just because
you weren't molested

doesn't mean
you weren't abused.

He knocked you around,
didn't he?

Well, there's gotta be
some reason I'm a hooker.

Is that it?

I know that
he beats your mom.

How in the hell
do you know that?

He's quick with his fists,

and she flinches
when he talks.

You're just doing
everything you can

to make me sympathetic,
aren't you, Detective?

You wanted to solve
the murder

of a sweet,
young college student.

But a white trash hooker?

No, it wouldn't matter to me if you were
the Queen of the Rose Parade.

I just want to solve
your murder and saysayonara.

Nothing personal, Sandy.

Your ex-partner.

Charlie.

How'd he get the cane?

Took a bullet
three months back.

Several bullets...
we both did.

He got the worst
of it.

What happened?

Wrong place,
wrong time.

Uh, we were on Yucca,
looking for a guy,

and this idiot crank dealer
named Laszlo saw us,

thought we were rival
drug dealers,

came out and just opened up.
We fired back.

One of my bullets went in
through Laszlo's eye

and out the back of his head.

- So he's dead.
- Yeah.

That'll pretty much
kill you.

I know, I was kidding.

Where we going,
Detective?

To see your pimp,
Sandy.

Detective Raines, LAPD.

You know this girl?
Sandy Boudreau.

Sandy Boo-what?

How long you gonna run
that play?

We both know how it ends.

She in some kind
of trouble?

Not anymore,
she's dead.

I need the names of her clients,
start with her regulars.

She wasn't working much
anymore.

She was going to school.

Trying to get out
of the life.

Give me your customers
this past month.

Well, she only had one.

Came in through
the website on Monday.

I sent her
to the Townhouse Motel

on Sunset.

Look, there's no way

I can tell you
who was here on what day,
and in what room.

Uh, she could've been dressed
like a cheerleader.

A cheerleader.

Yeah, that, uh, that rings
a bell, actually.

A cheerleader.

She'd just twisted her ankle,

uh, so she might've been
using a cane.

A cane, yeah, actually,
you're right.

Now it's all coming
back to me.

Her face was made up
like a mime?

It's funny you say that
'cause rember thinking,

"What's up
with this mime makeup?"

You know, she had this--
oh, okay, aah, all right.

That hurts.
I certainly hope so.

Is that security camera
outside real?

And don't lie.

You lying to me
doesn't work so good.

You picked me to do this
because you don't like me.

No, I picked her to do this
because one day

she's gonna be
a lead detective.

You can go scratch your butt
with a rake for all I care.

Press play.
I'm gonna file a grievance.

Of course you are.
Press play.

We got Sandy Boudreau's
cell phone records.

Caroline pulled these
DMV photos of everybody

that she
talked to recently.

So while I'm out talking
to them,

you see if any of these people
went to the motel.

Yeah, okay.

Michael.

Walk with me.

How you doing?
You okay?

Why, because I accused Boudreau
of being a child molester?

Nah, it was nothing,
everyone does that.

I do that five times
a day.

Yeah, can I have a tall mocha,
you child-molesting bastard?

You shouldn't say that.
You don't say that, do you?

Michael,
what are you thinking,

accusing a grieving father
of being a child molester?

Grieving father--
the only thing on his mind

upon entering his dead daughter's
apartment was "where's the money?"

Where is the money?

I spent it
on lottery tickets.

Did you get me some?

Do I look like an idiot?
Of course I did.

Dan, the money's
in evidence.

Mrs. Boudreau's begging us
to drop charges

against husband Vernon.

No surprise,
classic abused spouse.

I don't think we're gonna get
a conviction for him hitting you.

You know, grieving father,
inflammatory words.

I know.

Good.
And you're okay?

Yeah, Dan. Why?

Boyer says he's seen you
talk to yourself.

I was talking to myself.

Well.

If you ever want someone
more interesting to talk to,

my door is open.

It's good to have you back,
Michael.

Is this where I say,
"It's good to be back?"

Oh, no, no, no,
this is where you say

something clever to remind me
how smart you are.

I'm rusty, give me
a couple days.

Sandy Boudreau...no.

I'm sorry, I...

Honey, do you
recognize her?

No.

Uh, she made a call
to a cell

belonging to your husband
two nights ago.

Must've been
a wrong number.

Call lasted four minutes.

Maybe the housekeeper
borrowed one of the phones?

Oh, is she here now?

No, but she'll
be back tomorrow.

- Have her call me, would you?
- Sure.

Thanks so much.

Okay.
Okey dokey.

You're welcome.

Was he lying?

Could be.

He wouldn't say anything
with his wife standing there.

Where now?

Uh, the neighbor said
that you had a boyfriend

named Marco
up until a few weeks ago.

He called you 12 times
the day you died.

Uh, your roommate said
you'd be here.

I'm here about Sandy Boudreau.
Where were you two nights ago?

I was here from 7:00
till midnight.

You want me to prove it?

Not yet.
You and Sandy, uh, met here?

She used to do leg lifts
on that machine over there.

I used to watch her.

She was just so beautiful.

Until one day she asked me
to spot her on the bench.

What else do you
wanna know, man?

Well, why'd you and Sandy
break up?

Was it because of her job?

Marco, if you're trying to protect her,
I already know what she did.

She dumped me.

I didn't care.

You didn't care that
your girlfriend was a hooker?

All right, I did, but...

I thought she could stop.

And she said she couldn't
because she need money

for her mother.

For her mother?

And I told her that I could give her
whatever money she needed, and she said,

"How is that any different
than what I'm doing now?"

And she didn't want
to see me anymore.

So I was thinking,
maybe if I was different...

You know,
like it wamy fault.

But now I'm thinking maybe
I had nothing to do with it.

Maybe something else was going
on that I didn't know about.

Maybe she wasn't
into guys.

You thought she was gay?

Yeah, sounds pathetic,
doesn't it?

Some girl doesn't want
to see you anymore,

and she must be gay,
right?

Yeah.

You think he did it?

The boyfriend?

You know how I work, Charlie.

I think everybody did it,
then I slowly whittle

away the ones who couldn't.

It feels like,
um, I'm...passing?

I'm talking to these people.
I'm asking my questions.

Yet, all the while,
I'm thinking,

"They have no idea how
utterly whacked out I am."

You're going through
something extremely weird.

Well, you're still
working the case.

Getting the job done.

There's nothing wrong
with that.

Raines.

Caroline.

I'll be right there.

Give her my regards.

There we go.

"To the detective
on the Sandy Boudreau case,

Vista Heights
Investigations."

Laird McSweeney?

That private eye creep
down on Hollywood Boulevard?

The same.

What you got
for me, Laird?

My, my...

The victim and Harry Tucker,
the guy with the cell phone.

Why'd you lie?

Because Wendy
was right there.

Mm-hmm, you helped
a nice young woman

clean up spilled coffee.

Why would you have to keep
that from your wife?

She's been very suspicious
of me.

She have reason to be?

I did something stupid
on a business trip

two years ago, and Wendy says
that she's forgiven me,

but sometimes
I don't know.

I think Wendy is afraid
that I'm going to leave her

for a younger model,
and I'm not.

How did Sandy Boudreau
get your cell phone number?

I don't know.

Maybe you left it
on the table

at the motel after you made
sweet monkey love to her?

No, we never...
I spoke to her.

What's his motive?

Maybe she, uh, threatened
to tell his wife.

Maybe she saw him naked
and laughed.

It always comes down
to penis size, doesn't it?

Pretty much.

We got a match
from the motel security video.

Him?

No

Okay, go in tighter
and freeze it.

Marco Rossi.

The ex-boyfriend.

Don't shoot!

Freeze!

Get down! Get down!

Down to the floor!
Get down to the floor!

Marco.

Do not move!

He's going out the back!

All units,
suspect heading west down the alley.

A garbage truck.

Yes, sir.

You know, given
the amount of steroids

and amphetamines you found,
your boy Marco's

probably peddled his way
to Mexico by now.

I got through to McSweeney.
He's line three.

McSweeney the private eye?

That guy's an asswipe.

Uh, Laird?

Who wants to know?

Oh, this is Detective Raines.

I'm trying to reach
Laird McSweeney.

Mike, you're talking
to Detective Smith, Central.

Bobby.

I'm afraid you talking
to Laird McSweeney's

gonna be a bit
of a problem.

Tell the M. E. he can send
his people up.

How long has he been dead?

Couple hours,
give or take.

You know him?

Uh...yeah,
our paths crossed.

He was a private eye.

Mostly peeper work,
divorce cases, custody battles,

suspicious spouse...

But he also liked
to cross the line.

Take some pictures,
then ask for money.

Blackmail.

That's what they call it.

Camera's gone.

Seem so.
Computer too.

Maybe somebody didn't like
the kind of pictures

that he was taking.

Huh, it seems that somebody
didn't know that Laird

had a backup hard drive.

So I guess there's
the coffee spilling thing

he mentioned.

Then I guess, uh, they're
gonna sit down together.

Just them having coffee.

Nothing of them making
the beast with two backs?

No, but there
is this last group.

He's taken off.

She's just leaving.

She's just walking
across the street.

Leaving by herself.

She knew the pictures
were being taken.

Say, can I have some privacy, guys?
I'm making a...

I'm on a classified call
here, sorry.

Penthouse is nice.

What a nut,
he's gonna do it.

You knew the pictures
were being taken.

First time
you tried blackmail?

You tell me.

No, I wanna hear it
from you.

McSweeney and I decided
to target

a wealthy, middle-aged,
married fella.

One who had never dreamed
that a fox in socks

like yours truly would want
to jump his bones.

All I had to do
was get him in bed.

Sweeney would snap
some candids,

and we'd threaten to show 'em
to the wife...

Forget it.

It's not right.

It's like all of a sudden you turned
into Kathleen Turner fromBody Heat.

And what's
with the cigarette?

You weren't blackmailing anybody, Sandy.
You're not that kind of person.

What kind of person
am I?

The kind who saves money
to send to her mother

to escape
her horrible husband.

Whore with a heart
of gold?

Yeah, something like that.

Then why was I killed?

I don't know, I got a couple
of suspects, no motive.

Why do people usually
kill people?

Uh, greed, ambition,
anger, fear.

What about love?

Detective!

Detective!

Raines!

They located Marco.

We're waiting on you.

Primary move.

Last call

for the San Francisco Express.

Last boarding call for
the San Francisco Express.

Everybody move, take him down.

All units respond, yeah, yeah.

We need an R. E. unit
to the bus station.

I was hoping you'd put him
in handcuffs,

not in traction.

I was responding,
he comes out of nowhere!

Does he have a pulse?

Yeah.

What the hell's wrong
with you?

He came out of nowhere.

All right, get those people back.

Keep 'em back.

Come on, people, listen up,
move it back!

Move it back.

You're lucky
he's still breathing.

Police emergency, out!

- What?
- Now!

Come on-- no washing,
no washing!

Go, go, go, go, go,
scoot! Scoot!

You said that the motive
might be love,

but Marco didn't kill you, did he?

If he didn't, then why
was he running away?

We found steroids
and speed in his apartment.

Did he kill you?

Why would he?

He already knew
I was a hooker.

Maybe he wanted
that shoebox money.

Then why didn't he
take it?

Huh. Maybe he found out
something else about you.

I like to bite the heads
off chickens?

He followed you
to the motel.

What did he say?

She says she couldn't

because she need money
for her mother.

And I told her that I could give her
whatever money she needed, and she said,

"How ithat any different
than what I'm already doing?"

She didn't want
to see me anymore.

So, I thought what can
I do different?

Thought it was my fault.

Then again, maybe it didn't
have anything to do with me.

Like, maybe she wasn't
into guys.

Why would he think
you didn't like guys?

You liked guys,
didn't you?

As far as I know.

What would make him
think I didn't?

Where you going?

To talk to Marco and look at
the motel security video again.

Why?

I think I know
who killed you.

I never found any evidence
of Harry going

to the Townhouse Motel
and hiring Sandy.

Because I didn't go there.

I know that you didn't,
Harry.

Believe me, I kept hoping
that you'd show up,

but you didn't.

But somebody else did,

somebody that we weren't
looking for at first.

I don't...
I don't understand.

That doesn't mean
anything.

What motive could Wendy
possibly have?

Love.

Or at least the kind of love
that's been deformed

by a fear of abandonment.

Wendy was terrified
of being your ex-wife.

I just want you to follow
my husband around for a few days.

So she hired
a private investigator

to have you followed.

And when he didn't find
anything,

she couldn't let it go.

She set a honey trap.

She paid Sandy Boudreau
to seduce you.

And Mrs. Tucker, before
you say that you didn't,

I've got a witness,
her ex-boyfriend,

who, when he gets out
of the hospital,

will testify that
he saw you at a motel,

handing Sandy money.

And we've got

your thumbprint
from a $50 bill

that we found
under Sandy's body.

So...

You all right?
Hold on.

Harry meets Sandy.

You okay?

Peeper's taking pictures.

- I'm Harry, by the way.
- Sandy. Delighted.

...I do.
Did you grow up here?

I did not.

Look at that!
Oh, look at that.

Take good care,
all right?

Everything's going great.

One small problem,
Harry doesn't take the bait.

And that's where the story
could've, shouldhave ended.

But it didn't, did it?

When she called you,
you met in that parking lot,

she said she wanted to give
back the money.

- I'm not gonna take the money back.
- He wants you, just accept that!

I want you to go back
and try again!

You wouldn't take it.

You wanted her to keep trying.

You couldn't accept
that your husband

could be faithful.

She said something to you,
and then she headed

back for her car.

And whatever she said to you
got you so angry

or so scared,

that you snapped.

What, honey?
What did she say?

She said...

You know what?
I'm gonna try it again.

I'm gonna give him the money
back next time I see him.

I'm gonna tell him
everytng!

I didn't mean to kill her,
Detective.

I just wanted to stop her.

I know.

I bet your legal team
will argue, successfully,

that it was a crime of passion,
or that the gun

just went off.

And you might only get
manslaughter

for killing Sandy Boudreau.

But McSweeney,
the private eye...

That was premeditated.

You might just get
the needle for that.

You're still here.

You know, I'm startin'
to think you don't like me.

I like you fine,
Sandy Boudreau.

I wish I'd known you.

But, uh, you said you'd go
if I caught your killer.

Yet here you are.

Is there something else
I can do for you, Sandy?

There is one thing.

Tell me.

I don't need this crap
in the house.

All right, Vernon.

I'm not keepin'-- oh, God.

So sorry to startle you,
Mrs. Boudreau.

Um, I need to talk
to you alone.

What about?

I've got some bad news.

There was a screw up
at the evidence locker,

and Sandy's money
has gone missing.

What?

Vernon will
not be pleased.

What's this?

I'm sorry that the money's
missing, Mrs. Boudreau,

because I know that Sandy
wantedyouto have it.

She wanted
a better life for you.

She woulda done just
about anything to help you.

Of course, even if somehow
the money were

to magically reappear,
you still might

just hand it over to Vernon,
or, you might not.

Either way,
it'd be up to you.

See that CD?

May I have that?

Uh, it's in the trash.

Detective!

Was Sandy mixed up
in something?

No.

She was just in the wrong place
at the wrong time.

Thanks.

For not telling my mama
I was a prostitute.

No point in that,
dear.

No point in that.

Arlene.

Now, come on, Arlene,

would you kick it
into gear?

I wanna get the hell out
of L. A. and back to Texas.

Okay.

Looks like your mother
finally...

All right, all right.

It's probably rap.

Is she gone?

So far.

I keep looking.

Hey, what if this happens
with every case I get?

That would be cool.

No, Charlie,
it would not be cool.

I don't like being crazy.

You're not crazy.

You just have
an active imagination.

I mean, you're always going on
about how you wanna be a writer.

That's what writers do,
right?

They create characters.

Yeah, but do they
actually see 'em?

No. And if they do, they're...
cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.

Well, maybe it's just because
you need someone to talk to.

Without me in your car,
you've got no one

to bounce your ideas off of.

Yeah.

Maybe I should get
a new partner?

Please. Who is gonna
partner with you?

Why? 'Cause I'm crazy?

Because you're a jerk.

I'm rubber, you're glue.

Whatever you say,
bounces off me, sticks to you.

It's not so bad,
is it?

You solved her murder,
she went away.

Yeah.

But if more of them
come along, you positive

that they'll
disappear every time?

Yep.

It didn't happen
the first time, now did it?

And I caught that killer.
In fact, I put a bullet in his eye.

And you're still here.

Maybe because I'm here for
a different reason, Michael.

Like what?

I don't know.

Guess you're gonna have
to figure that out.

One thing that's been bugging me.

Why do you have me
walking around with this cane?

'Cause you got shot,
it seemed right.

Yeah, if I got shot
in the leg.

I got capped
in the noggin.

Yeah, well, I'm sorry,
but I didn't feel

like looking at you
with a, you know,

hole in your head.

Lose the cane.
Wanna lose the cane?

Thank you.

Yeah, lose the cane.

Hey.

Who were you talking to?

The dead.

They hunger for human brains.

The feasting
will begin at sundown.

Jerk.

I know.