All language subtitles for NCIS.S16E07.HDTV.x264-SVA

♪ Love it
when you call me big poppa ♪

♪ Throw your hands in the air
if you's a true player ♪

♪ I love it
when you call me big poppa ♪

♪ To the honeys getting money,
playing fellas like dummies ♪

♪ I love it
when you call me big poppa ♪

♪ You got a gun
up in your waist ♪

♪ Please don't shoot up the place ♪
♪ Why? ♪

♪ 'Cause I see
some ladies tonight ♪

♪ That should be
having my baby ♪

♪ Baby ♪

♪ Love it
when you call me big poppa ♪

♪ Throw your hands in the air
if you's a true player ♪

♪ I love it
when you call me big poppa ♪

♪ To the honeys getting money,
playing fellas like dummies ♪

♪ I love it
when you call me big poppa ♪

♪ You got a gun up... ♪

Oh, boy.

Got a possible 211

at the National Armed Forces
Credit Union.

Requesting backup.

Copy that. We'll notify.

Any units in the vicinity of

the National Armed Forces
Credit Union, please respond.

♪ NCIS 16x07 ♪
A Thousand Words
Original Air Date on November 13, 2018

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man

What happened to you?

- Jessica happened to me.
- Jessica?

Look, I was up for letting off

a little steam,
but she was relentless.

She was...
she was jumping me all night.

What? It's supposed
to feel good, Nick.

Yeah, tell that to
my chiropractor.

Your beloved Jessica just
has my back out of whack.

Well, what positions
were you doing?

Uh, you guys, I'm not sure

this is appropriate
office conversation. NSFW.

Get your mind out of
the gutter, buddy.

You're better than that.

Yeah, no, McGee, um...

Jessica isn't-isn't a girl.
She's a goat.

Okay, I'm gonna need you
to say more words.

My friend teaches goat yoga.

- Goat yoga?
- Now, it's just like yoga,

but you have these, um...

you have these, like,
little goats

walking on your back,
and their hooves

feel like little massages.

Yeah, they're more like demonic,
bone-crushing beasts.

Especially Jessica.

Ignore him, McGee.
The goats are very sweet,

and you should try it.

Oh, this comes from the girl
that didn't even show--

You didn't even show up.

You just left me in the trenches
taking grenades.

No, I called you.
You didn't answer.

Yeah, that's because
Jessica had her hooves

impaled in the back of my neck
while her brother

was spread-eagle
three inches from my face.

- Okay.
- Sounds like a rough night, Torres.

Gear up.

Got a robbery at a Navy bank.

Maybe.

Hey, Gibbs, just
to clarify it, um,

Jessica and her
brother are, um...

They're not people.
They're, um...

They're goats.

This elevator's slow, huh?

Reciprocating saw.

Masonry blade,
18 inches at least.

There are much quieter ways
to break into a bank.

Or smaller holes to cut.

Three feet by four feet.

That's almost big enough
for a motorcycle to drive in.

I'm more concerned about
what they took out.

The bank manager's
calculating that right now.

Miss Sullivan? NCIS.

47, 62, 25, 17.

Pen!

I need a pen. Hurry.

Okay, chill out.

We have some questions
about the robbery.

Oh.

Uh, wasn't a robbery.

Shh! Zach.

Please. 47...

Damn it.

Uh, what was the number
I just said?

- 47, 62, 25, 17.
- How'd you do that?

It's just how my brain works.
Hmm.

That can't possibly be right.

- Why? How much is missing?
- Nothing.

That's what I've
been telling you.

Zach, I fired you.

- So leave.
- We actually asked him to stay

to answer a few questions.

Fired for foiling
a bank robbery? Yeesh.

You let them cut a giant hole
in the wall.

And then I scared them off
with quality police work.

Yeah, I highly
doubt that, bro.

So, are you sure
nothing's missing?

Vaults are time-locked.

The tellers' drawers zero out.
It's a miracle.

You are welcome.

Can he go away now?

I'm waiting for my Uber, Annie.

All right,
here you go, buddy.

I have enough lollipops.

We're gonna need to take a look
at your security cameras.

I wish.

They're on a 72-hour upgrade.

That's why we had to hire
Zach the Super Trooper.

So, then we should
probably get your name...

Hey, Gibbs. The bank's manager
confirmed the guard's story.

Thieves took nothing, so, uh,
I'm gonna go get the sedan.

- Wait, Torres.
- Yeah?

Actually, I think they got
just what they came for.

They took the wall.

Why would anyone steal a wall?

That's a good question.

The east wall of the
National Armed Forces Credit Union.

Not load-bearing.

Yep, figured that when the
building didn't fall down.

Hmm. You got
the electrical drawings?

Got 'em. Can't read 'em.

Oh, wow. That's a whole lot
of symbols to decipher.

We better hop to it, guys,
because otherwise

our glorious wall could be
missing forever.

We get it, Torres, it's a wall.

But it's a wall that
someone went through

a lot of trouble to steal.
- I don't care.

I do.
Gibbs, isn't there, like,

a B-team that can be
assigned to this?

You know, the wall is
not even load-bearing.

Torres, it's a crime against
the United States Navy,

and we're investigating.

Should I notify next of kin?

Here's what we think.
We think that there could be

an alarm panel inside the wall.

That is an A/C transformer.

It's not about the wiring.

It's about the wall.

Find the wall.

Bet he's never
said that before.

Kasie, what do you got?

A desperate need
for a shower.

But that's not
why I called you.

Obviously, I didn't call to say

I need to go shower;
that would be weird.

It's not like you care about
my personal hygiene--

I can't think of a good segue,

so I'm just gonna start
talking case now.

Yeah, I'd like that.

As I suspected,
the markings

on the chunk of stolen wall
is paint.

More specifically,
spray paint.

You had to test all these
to figure that out?

No, I had to test all these to
figure out which brand was used.

I had a hunch that
it might be important.

- Yeah? And?
- It was important.

After testing
dozens of brands,

and copping a decent
buzz in the process,

I figured out our winner.

"Kobra"?
Never heard of that.

That's because Kobra
isn't sold in stores.

It's only sold online,

and marketed exclusively
to street artists.

- You mean graffiti?
- Some punk kid tagging his name

on the side of a
building is graffiti.

Street art is art,
and it's big business.

Yeah? How big?

Well, murals by the
top-selling street artists

can sell for
seven figures.

But obviously
these jacked pieces

aren't getting posted on eBay.

Dark web.

Which brings me to the
hunchiest part of my hunch.

A top street art dealer
posted a new piece for sale

early this morning.

"Authenticated
three-by-four-foot mural

"painted by a top
street artist.

"A hundred grand. Bitcoin only.

Materials..."
- "Stucco and drywall."

Hey, Kase...

that's a hell of a hunch.

I can't believe
we're still looking for a wall.

Well, it's not just a
wall, it's street art.

It's a slab of stucco
and drywall.

I feel like
it's Saturday night,

and I'm being dragged
to Home Depot.

- What up, brah?
- Private party.

Uh, we're collectors.
We're here for the wall.

Got a point of contact?

We got a bag
full of cash.

Got two for the wall.

Send them right in.

Oh, hipster overload.

Yeah, millennials love
urban art.

Must cost their parents
a fortune.

Okay, now, that is
just weird.

I mean, why buy a porta-potty
when you can take home

a perfectly nice wall?

Found them.

Thank you so much.
Hey, guys.

- Hi.
- Manny Barnes. Welcome.

Hey.

I hear you're interested
in the Ritz.

The wall is a Ritz?

- His most recent piece.
- Wow.

- Come take a look.
- Ritz?

Yeah, he's like the
Picasso of street art.

You think he's here?

Wouldn't know if he was;
he keeps his identity secret.

It's part of
his mystique.

He's like Batman.

Yeah, but Batman doesn't
deface government property.

I didn't say
he is Batman.

- Watch your step.
- Thanks.

We're calling her
"Whale Street."

Whale Street.

- That's the bank's wall.
- Yep.

Feel free to look
the piece over.

But you should know, I do have
other interested parties.

Excuse me real quick.

Hey, are you guys here
for the feminist urinal?

What are you doing?

Well, Ritz is
known for hiding

secret messages
in his art.

Looking for Ritz's message?

You have to take a picture
with your phone.

What?

What the hell was that?

Ritz embeds QR codes
into all of his art.

It's like a
high-tech barcode

that automatically
links to a website.

Today he's saving
the whales.

Last month it was
the spotted owl.

So he's, like,
an animal rights activist?

Some say activist,
others say extremist.

He's street art's bad boy.

Made a lot of enemies.

Bishop, this wall is incredible.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.
Don't go past the rope, sir.

Sir?

I'm-I'm sorry.

I'm just trying
to protect my wall.

Yeah, no.

My wall.

NCIS.

Hey. Ran a search on Ritz.

Got a hit on the Fed's
criminal watch list.

FBI's looking for this guy?

No. Not those Feds.

Then who?

The U.S. Fish
and Wildlife Service?

This is why I canceled my lunch
with the assistant secretary?

This street artist targeted
a Navy bank for a reason.

I want to know
why, Leon.

Up.

Director Webb.

Hello. Thank you
for your time.

Anything I can do
to help put Ritz behind bars.

- - He put our agency through hell.
How?

A few months back, he
spray-painted a bloody giraffe

on the front of our building.

And encrypted
in the painting was a...

QR code.

What was the message?

Ritz demanded we cut ties

with the Berry Brothers
Company, or else.

The Berry Brothers?

For a fee,
they let us use their property

to relocate black bears
found near our cities.

Why is that a bad thing?

The money we gave the Berries

helped fund their real business,

escorting the wealthy
to South Africa

to hunt big game.

Like giraffes?

Ritz demanded we cut our ties
with the company.

And when we didn't,

he leaked private
e-mails and texts

sent by agency personnel.
- Well, how did he get 'em?

Wish I knew.

He had us all scared
for our lives.

Did you ever ask the FBI
to figure out who Ritz is?

Didn't have to.

We found a digital trail
leading us

right to Ritz, aka Jared Clarke.

And did you have him arrested?

No. Ritz has a platform

to reach millions,
and he's ruthless.

We didn't want
to throw gasoline on the fire.

And if I were you, I'd really
think hard before you do.

We're gonna be okay.

Give us what you
got on Clarke.

We're bringing him in.

You know, I really don't
get the appeal of a rave

on a Tuesday afternoon.

I don't get the appeal
of a rave ever.

Really? You must be going
to the wrong raves.

Federal agents!

Jared Clarke!

Pretty sure this is
the right place.

NCIS.

Jared, show me
your hands.

Jared Clarke, A.K.A. Ritz.

He made an enemy
with every piece he tagged.

No wonder he wanted to keep
his identity a secret.

Someone must have
found out who he was.

Who? I want a name.

Well, uh, there's been 28 pieces

of street art
attributed to Ritz.

All targeting
multinational corporations,

elected officials,
even some charities.

That is a very long list
of suspects.

Narrow it down.

What about the curator?

His story checks out.

He had just
hired two punks

to steal Ritz's art
so he could sell it.

They've all been charged
with vandalism.

But why kill Ritz?

He was his golden goose.

I think I got something.

Former Maryland State Senator
Brady Spencer.

I remember that guy.

He got caught taking payoffs
from gas companies

who wanted offshore drilling.

Ritz is the one who exposed him.

And the QR code
in this painting

is linked
to secret bank transfers.

Pretty much ended
his political career.

Where is he now?

Cemetery.

Killed himself last year,
after the scandal broke open.

Find a suspect.

A live one.

As a fan of fine art,

I can say that his landscape
work is, uh, it's untouchable.

Picasso, Warhol, those guys,
Th-they get all the love.

But if you ask me, Bob Ross
is in a league of his own.

I'll second that.

There is no such thing
as mistakes.

Only happy accidents.

Dr. Mallard,
it has been too long.

Far too long.

How's the book tour going?

Oh, it's gone.
Over. Finished.

And I can't say I'm sorry.

Really? I thought you'd be having a blast
out there on the road.

Well, the meeting people, book
signing, that part I enjoyed.

It was the speaking
engagements I found tedious.

Yes, yes, I know there are some
people that crave the stage,

but I've never been one to enjoy
the sound of my own voice.

Of course not, Doctor.
So...

this is the fellow
you called me about.

Well, his demise was certainly
not void of flair.

Yeah, and neither was his life.

This is the famous street artist
known as Ritz.

Or at least he was before he
took five rounds to the chest.

Well, that's overkill.

Yeah, just like the copious
amounts of spray paint.

All applied postmortem.

And you summoned me because
you're wondering why.

No, no. Uh, my working theory

is that this was
a crime of passion.

The killer doused him in paint
because of some vendetta he had

with Ritz about his art.

Well, that's reasonable.

But there is one thing
that has me totally baffled.

Burnt ash?

Possibly from the victim's
fireplace, but why?

I haven't a clue.

Yet.

Hey, what do
you got this time?

Ugh, disappointment.

What? I thought you
said you had something.

Oh, I do. I've been,
uh, scrubbing through

Jared Clarke's laptop,

and I found a ton
that will help our case.

But I'm bummed because it turns
out the world-famous Ritz

is a world-class jerk.

Rule 73: never
meet your heroes.

Or at least never scroll through
their browser history.

Unless it's your job.

The great and powerful Ritz

has been taking advantage
of his loyal fans.

He sets up crowdfunding pages
to fund his art projects.

But then uses the money
to finance

his hipster-trendy lifestyle.

Condo, the clothes,
the beard.

- Beggar with a laptop.
- His fans donate in droves

expecting the money to
go towards the causes

and the charities
that Ritz champions in his art.

But it doesn't.

Beggar and a cheat.

Imagine if a fan found out.

Well, I'm doing more
than imagining.

Good. Because a fan found out.

A user named mk187
has been sending Ritz

a ton of private messages.

And not the nice kind.

"You better stop, or else."

"You're gonna pay for this."

That sounds
like a motive.

This is the last message
that was sent:

"I know exactly
who you are, Jared."

- Jared?
- Oh, mk187 wasn't joking

when she said she knew
exactly who he was.

"She"?

Oh, sorry. Spoiler alert.

I traced the I.P. address to
the home of Melanie Keller.

The M.K. in mk187.

Send the address
to Bishop.

I'm pretty sure the 1-8-7
is in reference

to the police code for...

...murder.

Wow, it's been a minute
since I've seen

those plastic flamingo thingies
outside anyone's home.

Got a problem
with flamingos?

Eh, no, there's
just a lot of them.

Can't ever have
too many flamingos.

Go.

Hi, Melanie.

NCIS.

Got any jumper cables?

- I didn't do it.
- You didn't do what?

Whatever you think I did.

That why you ran?

You know, I heard that they were
having a sale at Walmart,

and I had to pick up a few things.
- Really?

More plastic flamingos?

You can never have
too many flamingos.

I like to leave the windows open

so I can hear if I have
uninvited guests.

Gives me a head start.

To a Jeep with a dead battery?

Does he look familiar?

- Okay.

How about now?

No.

Who is he, and what
does he have to do with me?

Jared Clarke.

A.K.A. Ritz.

The artist that you were sending
online threats to

the day before he was killed.

You think I killed Ritz?

That's impossible.

I am Ritz.

Anyone can claim to be
the Dread Pirate Roberts.

- I mean, that's the whole point, right?
- What?

Come on, Gibbs.
The Princess Bride?

Yeah. Yeah, I know.
It's just been a while.

No one knows who the famous
artist Ritz actually is,

so anyone could claim
to be him, or her.

Look, these pictures
of Melanie standing next

to Ritz's artwork
could easily be faked.

- Yes.
- Are they?

- No.
- Oh, you had Kasie run them.

Yes.

So you're already convinced
that Melanie is the real Ritz.

No.

Okay, so how
about we drop

the one-word answers
and talk about

how the hell we're
gonna prove a negative.

- Yes.
- Good talk.

Vapor.

Uh... sorry.
What color?

Vapor.

Okay, and that would be...?

Ugly-ass blue.

Wow. Is that...?

Yes, me and Gibbs.
It's so cool, huh?

Thanks.

So what
about you, boss man?

You believe me yet?

She's the real deal, Gibbs.

I mean, this-this is Ritz.
I'd bet my life on it.

That would
look great in my office.

Or in a courtroom,
as evidence in a murder trial.

I didn't kill Jared Clarke.

- You said you were going to.
- It was just a threat. Online.

I found out he was posing
as me for over year,

bilking money from fans--
my fans.

I was pissed, man.

I never actually considered
killing the dude.

And I have a rock-solid alibi
anyway. Ask Bish.

- Bish?
- Bish, yeah.

That's what she's been
calling me. Um...

GPS on her phone confirms
that she was out of town, so...

Didn't kill anyone.

But you guys should relax.

I already told Bish who did.

Treble Integrated
Defense Systems.

They're the Navy's sole supplier

of LFA components.

Low Frequency Active Sonar.

Ever since the Navy got in bed
with Treble,

bad things have been
happening to ocean life.

- Cool pics.
- I know.

The Treble LFA systems
have been installed

on hundreds
of submarines and ships.

Thousands of marine mammals
have been screwed up ever since.

We're talking
altered migration patterns,

low-level birth rates.
Many have died.

How do you feel about that,
Director?

Hey, uh, we're trying
to help you here.

I don't need help. I didn't
kill anybody. Treble did.

Would you care to explain that,
Miss Keller?

My work. I've exposed
and taken down dozens

of corrupt companies.

I started looking into Treble,
and they panicked.

They tried to off me.

But killed
an imposter instead.

- End of story.
- No. It's not.

And you do need help.

How do you figure?

If we could find the real Ritz,
so could the killer.

Your life is still in danger.

Thank you, Miss Keller.

Here, come on.

I don't trust her, but
she's not wrong, Gibbs.

Which part?

Marine mammals are dying,
but we don't know why.

Treble Systems.

Yeah, Navy did its testing.
Everything checked out.

So, marine life shouldn't be
affected, but for some reason,

dolphins and whales are dying.

Are we missing something?

Like a cover-up?

That would be
motive for murder.

We need to check
Treble's sonar ourselves.

The USS Laurent is in
dry dock in Norfolk.

I'll call the admiral this
afternoon for clearance

to pull its LFA.
He'll be happy to help.

Might want to make
that call now, Director.

You sent agents there already.

Of course you did.

I think your pen's broken.

"To Bish.

"Thanks for not
putting one in my head.

Your pal, Ritz."

U.V. ink.

Oh, black light, huh?

Yeah, I don't... I don't sign my
paintings with anything else.

I don't want to distract
from the power of the work.

It's about my art,
it's not about me.

I think they call that
a humble-brag.

Man, you made me look
like a total badass.

This is pretty awesome. Thanks.

Yeah, it's been a long time
since I've painted anything

without fins or fur.

So, what came first, Ritz the
artist or Ritz the activist?

Well, my mom basically raised me
on an anti-whaling ship.

So, thanks to her,
I was born an activist.

I think Uncle Sam has
a different word to describe me.

Extremist.

I think art's in the eye
of the beholder.

To my government, I'm an
aerosol-packing terrorist,

and Icelandic polar bears have
a slightly more favorable view.

They get me.

On behalf of Feds everywhere,
let me just say

I have a lot of respect
for what you do.

That's 'cause
you're an artist.

I watched your eyes tracking the
painting when you first saw it,

studying the color.

Come on, only an artist
would do that.

Mm, no, I am not much
of an artist anymore.

I mean, I haven't picked up
a brush in months, so...

Why's that?

Uh, I don't know.

Um, this job, I guess.

Life's been pretty
crappy recently.

Um, I had a-a really good friend
who died last year,

and... I haven't painted since.

Sorry to hear that.

I have a theory
for most artists.

When life is good, paint.

When life goes to hell,
paint more.

- No better outlet than art.
- Even for you?

Eh, for me,
art's a means to an end.

Spraying paint is
my humble effort to try

and make this place a little bit
better than I found it.

I don't really see myself
tagging walls

to make a difference
anytime soon.

That's your tool for that.

Your art...

that's just for you.

You're right. I should
start up again sometime soon.

Uh...

Carpe Diem, Bish.

Wha-- Seriously?
Like, in front of you?

I don't even know how to tag.

Point. Spray.

Uh... another time.

I appreciate
what you're trying to do,

but I have a case
to solve, so...

Okay, ready when you are, McGee.

Yeah, I'm ready.
So, according to Treble,

this sonar system only
operates up to the restricted

decibel level of 235.

Anything above that has the
potential to harm marine life.

Right, McGee?

Okay.
Here goes nothing.

Is it working?

Yeah, it's working.

The meter on the machine says
that it's operating

right at the approved
235 decibels.

- No, mine-mine says 311.
- What?

311?!

Uh, what's 311?

Bishop, you should be
wearing ear protection!

Whoa, whoa.

Not if you two
stop yelling. Geez.

What's 311 mean?

Well, the sonar machine is set
to deliver a maximum output

of 235 decibels;
that's standard regulation.

And the readout on the machine
says that it's topped off

right at 235.

But according to
our decibel meter,

the output is much higher.

- High enough to affect ocean life?
- Oh, yeah.

311 decibels-- everything Ritz
said could likely be true.

Vance said the machine
was tested by the Navy

and was running to spec.

The Navy thought it was,
but what they didn't know

is that Treble encrypted
a software defeat program

into their operating system.

Do you remember the scandal
that Volkswagen had

with their diesel engines?

Yeah, they rigged the cars so
they could pass the smog test.

Well, Treble did the same thing
with their sonar machines.

But instead of smog,
the pollution is decibels.

And the whales
paid the price.

- Hey.
- Hey.

Who do we have here?

Carrie Lewis, CEO of Treble.

Huh. Head held high,

shoulders back,
tailored pantsuit.

Gibbs will have
his hands full with this one.

You think?

Trust me, it's gonna be a grind.

Can you please tell me
what's going on?

LFA sonar.

We know what you did.

Treble was in the red
for the last three quarters.

We had to win the Navy's bid
or we'd go under, so...

I did a really terrible thing.

Quite a grind.

Pantsuit threw me off.

Guess my job here's finished.

We didn't think that fudging
the decibel output a little bit

would actually harm
any ocean life.

It did.

Are you sure
it's our sonar machines

that are killing those whales?

I am.

Wasn't just whales.

Oh, God.

I killed a bunch of baby seals,
didn't I?

And a person.

That artist, Ritz?

No, that guy's just
posing as Ritz.

But you thought he was the real
deal, and you had him killed.

Why would I do that?

You knew that Ritz was looking
into your company's sonar,

and you were worried that
your secrets would be revealed.

Which is why we hired
a private investigator

to find out
who this Ritz person is.

All roads led to Jared Clarke.

So we told our P.I.
to keep an eye on him.

Which is how we learned that
Clarke had his own problems.

Someone else was following him,

so we did
the right thing.

We contacted Clarke
and gave him a heads up.

Why would we try to help him
if we wanted him dead?

How did you contact him?

We sent a direct message to
Ritz's verified Twitter account.

Except that Clarke
didn't control that account.

So he never got the message.

So, who did?

Bishop, your pal Ritz...
she lied to us.

- We don't know that for sure.
- No, she knew

Treble was trying
to help Clarke,

not kill him.

- Where is she?
- She just left.

I don't-- she can't be far.
Here, I'll call her.

I'm sure she can explain.

Or not.

Lying to federal officers,

fleeing authorities,
property damage.

Property damage?

Yeah. Spraying graffiti.

It's art.

No, it's a felony.

Since when
did you become 85 years old?

Look, all I'm saying is your
friend Ritz here is a criminal.

And a murder target
who needs our help.

Can't help her if we can't
find her. Where is she?

I don't know.

Well, wherever she is,

she's a happy girl.

She took down Treble.

No, we took down Treble.

Thanks to
her information.

Meanwhile, a killer
is still on the loose.

We found a killer.

Of dolphins and whales,
and, in Ritz's mind,

a thousand
marine animals' lives

are just as important
as one person.

No, more important.

McGee is right.

She bailed out without giving us
any real information.

If Ritz had any information
about the killer,

she would tell us.

She wouldn't just
leave us in the lurch.

But she did, Bishop.

She took off without even
bothering to leave a note.

Or maybe we just
haven't found it.

Where's she going?

Where's he going?

This painting was
Ritz's idea.

What if this wasn't
just a test?

I mean, what if she used it
to leave us a message?

QR code.

All right,
who wants to do the honors?

Oh, Gibbs. Um...

Yeah, so, like, um...

Boss, QR codes
require an app.

And, uh, well,
you're-you're just not equipped.

I mean, your phone
is amazing.

It's-it's practical
and it's very you.

But, um...

But what
he's trying to say is

that, uh, it belongs in a
museum next to this painting.

Well, somebody take
the damn picture already.

I got it, boss.
Here we go.

Not equipped, McGee?

No, I-I'm equipped.

Just doesn't seem
to be a code on here.

Ritz uses a pre-made stamp

to apply the QR codes.

If she had it on her,
I didn't see it.

There's got to be
something here.

Something, like,
in the image itself.

Well, art is subjective.

All I see is your long locks
and Gibbs' inky black stare.

That's it. Ink.

I thought Ritz uses spray paint.

Well, she does,
but she signs her paintings

in black light pen,
which means you can only see it

under ultraviolet light.

Wait, wait, wait. What is that?

That's no QR code.

That is a license plate number.

2-B-4-5.

This can't be right.

Why? Who owns the car?

It's registered to
Brady Spencer.

That's the legislator
who killed himself.

Dead men
don't kill people, Torres.

He must have sold it,
or his estate did.

Or the new owner never updated
the registration.

Pardon the interruption,
but this was

too important to call.

So, Kasie tested the ashes
that were stuffed

in the victim's mouth; they
were not from the fireplace.

They were from an urn.
Human ashes?

It's safe to say
this most certainly was

a crime of passion.
- You get an I.D.?

Uh, no.
The process of cremation

destroys DNA,
but there is a way to

radiocarbon date
human remains

through tooth enamel,
even after pulverization.

We asked Kasie to analyze
the few shavings

that didn't burn entirely.

She was able to extract
enough carbonate

to approximate the year
the person was born.

And it was 19...
71?

You really stole my thunder.

The senator was born in 1971.

Who is Spencer's
next of kin?

Uh, unmarried, no kids;
he has a father who lives

- in a nursing home in Florida.
- What else?

Well, boss,
we already know about

the scandal that
led to the suicide.

Job meant everything to Spencer.

Killed himself when he lost it.

State senator has a staff.

All who lost their jobs
because of Ritz.

Wait, Torres. Look.

Let's see.
That is Luke Green.

Senator's former
chief of staff.

That's the guy
who was at the gallery.

He knew everything
about Ritz and the QR codes.

Bring him in. Find him.

Just did.

And our low price
of just $99.99 includes

high-speed Internet access
and Wi-Fi.

And you can bundle it
with the landline

for just $6 more-- Hello?

Wow. From a, uh, state
senator's chief of staff

to a telemarketing gig.

Well, talk about
a fall from grace.

All right, split up, find him.

Found him.

Hey.

Stop! Federal agents!

Come on, dude.

Come on, just... just drop it.

Where's the fire, Luke?

Senator Spencer was a good man.

He was like a father to me.

Ritz ruined his life and mine.

Well, your beloved senator
was caught

taking payoffs
from oil companies.

It's politics;
sometimes you get dirty.

And sometimes
you, uh, get caught.

Ritz got what he deserved.

No, she didn't.

No, you didn't kill
the real Ritz.

You killed an imposter.

What?

Then who's the real Ritz?

Better question is:
where's the real Ritz?

Can't ever have too many.

Thulian.

Which is?

Ugly-ass pink.

Nice choice.

Nice play.

You guys were working
a murder case.

I had to make you think
Treble was behind the hit.

And you wanted us
to investigate

so we'd figure out
why their sonar

was harming sea life.

And you did.

Our job was to find a killer.

And you did.

I think it needs another layer
of ugly-ass pink.

Feathers are always
a little tricky.

So... how'd you know
the license plate number

of the killer's car?

When I sent those
threatening messages

to Clarke, he responded.

Said he saw me
in my car

following him; sent me
the license plate number

to prove it.

And instead of giving us
the number,

you took off
because all you care about

is saving the whales.

Don't forget the seals
and the dolphins.

I'm sorry I lied to you,
but, look,

I mean, we did
a good thing here.

- You should be proud.
- I am.

So, are we good?

Good enough.

It's kind of cool to be
one of the few people

who know the real identity
of the infamous Ritz.

It's rad. I dig it.

Good. Because I
want you to have it.

Well, I have
just the spot for it.

Thanks, Bish.

Take care, Ritz.

It's open.

You ready?

Goat yoga.

You're actually going back?

Your boy Torres
doesn't take an "L"

without getting off
the mat, baby.

What about Jessica?

I'm looking at Jessica
in the eyes,

and if she gets
rambunctious again,

there will be hell to pay.

I don't think
that's gonna work.

Yeah, me neither.

That's why I brought the helmet

and the Teflon vest;
it's in my car.

Okay. I'll get my bag.

Um...
What's up?

Just got a news alert
about Ritz.

- In Australia?
- That's impossible.

Ritz couldn't have
tagged a piece

in Sydney last night;
she was with us.

Wasn't she?

== sync, corrected by elderman ==
@elder_man