All language subtitles for CSI.Crime.Scene.Investigation.S09E03.Art.Imitates.Life.720p.BluRay.x264-SiNNERS

Hey!

He's got my purse! Hey!

Call the cops, call 911.

My phone was in the purse.

Ma'am, excuse me, I need to use your phone.

Lady...

Lady?

I got here as fast as I could.

My DFO in Anthem took longer

to clear than I expected,
but that's what happens

when you don't have enough
bodies to cover the bodies.

Oh...

Uh...

she forget to fall down?

Lividity's fixed in her ankles and feet.

Suggests she died in this position.

I don't know if you saw the
weather report last night,

but there was dry lighting in this area.

A low voltage strike...

...could have caused

her arm muscles to contract around the pole.

And then what?

Cadaveric spasms

in her shoulder and hand

keeps the body in position

until rigor sets in?

It's just a theory. I'll tell Robbins

to look for signs of electrocution.

Hi, guys.

The callout was a 419.

Where's the body?

Ask her.

Excuse me, ma'am.

Ma'am?

Hey...!

* Who... are you?

*Who, who, who, who?*

* Who... are you?

*Who, who, who, who?*

* I really wanna know

* Who... are you? *

* Oh-oh-oh * Who... *

* Come on, tell me who are you, you, you *

* Are you!

Nick can't help us.

He just got a call out at the Monte Carlo.

In other words,
we're pulling another double.

Why should today be any different?

There's no burn marks on the arm

or hand where she was touching the pole.

Well, there's no scoring

or blackening on the dome, either.

No indication of a lightning strike.

The bulb's burned out.

Maybe there's a short in the wiring.

Liver temp's 98,
but ambient's pushing a hundred.

So the body could have
warmed up after death?

No T.O.D.

Sorry.

Rigor's starting to break.

I'll take her prints.

Her phone looks new.

Hasn't even been personalized yet.

Who was she talking to?

MovieFone.

She carrying I.D.?

She's not carrying anything.

Well, if someone was going

to rob her, why not take the whole purse?

Why waste time emptying the contents?

- So, lucky us
-- the lamppost lady's fingerprints

are in the system.

She has a record?

It's not that system.

It's the health care providers database.

Name's Carla Peretti.

She's an LPN at Desert Palm.

Captain Brass is running background.

Good.

Where is everyone?

They're in the break room waiting.

Waiting for what?

For you.

I know you got the memo;
I put it on your desk.

My name's Patricia Alwick.

I'm a peer counselor

for the Police Employees Assistance Program.

I deal primarily with law enforcement,

which means I know that none
of you wants to listen to me,

so I'll keep it short.

With the death of Warrick Brown,

you've lost a colleague and a friend.

I'm here to help you through it.

Our conversations will be
informal and confidential.

Are the sessions mandatory? No.

No, they're not, but keep this in mind.

Right now, you might feel okay

and that you can handle
things fine on your own,

but sometimes, if you're not looking,

grief can sneak up and bite you.

I've been doing this a long time.

I know what I'm talking about.

Ms. Alwick will be up

in room 4-E.

If you'd like to make an appointment,

call her at extension 2922.

All right, guys, we're done.

Thanks for coming.

What, no gun?

Sorry.

Well, maybe later, then.

Thanks.

Hello.

Hi.

Would you like to make an appointment?

No.

I'm new here.

Hence the new guy manuals.

Excuse me.

You know, joining an established team,

particularly under these circumstances--

it's not going to be easy for you.

Do you think I should quit?

It may not be easy on
your colleagues, either.

Well, there's nothing I can do about that.

Of course there is.

I'm happy to discuss...

Look, I'm-- this is day one.

I don't know

these people, they don't know me.

It's going to work out however it works out.

Uh-huh.

You seem a bit defensive.

Don't do that, okay?

Do what? "You seem a bit defensive."

Both my parents are shrinks.

I don't do the talk.

Both your parents are psychiatrists.

Interesting. Interesting.

Are you Riley Adams?

Yeah, that's me.

I'm Gil Grissom, your supervisor.

We're very busy.

Would you come with me, please?

Yeah.

Good luck.

Another transit patron called it in.

He was pissed the guy was
taking up the whole bench,

so he tried to shove him over,

which didn't work too well,
him being dead at the time.

Hey, everybody.

Oh, hi, I'm David.

Riley.

He's all yours.

No wallet.

No cash or keys either.

Body's in full rigor.

Roll him.

I saw that...

and I'm not ever going to forget it.

What does lividity tell you?

That he was lying here when he died.

How do you know that?
'Cause I'm a CSI level two.

And this is part of your
proficiency evaluation.

Yeah, but it's pass-fail.

Lividity's fixed along the posterior aspect.

Pressure marks are consistent
with the bench slats.

Do we know how long he's been here?

Bus driver's certain the guy wasn't here

an hour and a half ago when he made

his previous stop.

You see any problem with that?

Yeah, full rigor takes
12 to 24 hours to set.

And if he's been here less than 90 minutes,

how does he end up in full rigor?

Well, he looks like he was on a run.

Maybe he had a heart attack and
went into spontaneous rigor.

Intense physical activity

rapidly depletes muscle fibers of ATP,

which gives them the energy
they need to contract.

If there's not enough ATP
at the time of death,

the muscles can lock up and
immediately go into rigor.

What's bugging you?

This is the second case of
rapid-onset rigor mortis

we've had in the last 24 hours.

That's pretty weird.

Even for Vegas.

Brass checked Carla Peretti's apartment.

No forced entry or any signs of disturbance.

She was last seen alive
leaving Desert Palm Hospital

at the end of her shift.

Anybody know where she was going?

Well, apparently, it could
have been a lot of places.

She was working a bunch
of jobs on the side--

model, club dancer, convention booth babe.

You know, typical Vegas pretty girl stuff.

Mm-hmm.

Autopsy report.

cardiac arrest.

That's coroner speak

for "I can't explain what killed her." Yeah.

No signs of conductivity burns,

no evidence of nuclear
streaming in the tissue.

There's no indications of
electrocution whatsoever.

There's other ways for
the muscles to seize up.

You know, maybe she was epileptic.

Mm, sorry, no epilepsy drugs in her system.

People go off their meds all the time.

That's how they get seizures.

Uh, she had no medical history of epilepsy.

But the disease doesn't leave
any physical record in the body.

The tox panel ruled out poisons and O.D.'s.

She had a small amount of zolpidem

in her system, but that stuff's in most

over-the-counter sleep aids these days.

It's nothing that would kill her.

No organ damage.

No disease, no trauma.

This was a perfectly healthy young woman.

Yeah, till she dropped dead...
without dropping.

Well, I always thought it was
cool that teeth fluoresced,

but veneers didn't.

How'd you get them?

Somebody bet me that I
couldn't jump into a lake

with a rope swing in my mouth.

And that pulled the teeth out?

No.

But it sure did hurt my neck.

On the way home, I hit a fire hydrant.

And you bumped the steering
wheel with your mouth.

No, I was on my bike at the time.

I flew over the hydrant

and smashed into the crossbar
of a chain link fence.

With your mouth.

My shoulder.

Broke my clavicle.

Okay, then how'd you lose the teeth?

This one was a root canal.

This one, a post and a crown.

And this one-- I, uh...

I was in college.

I woke up one morning, and it was gone.

I don't know what happened to it.

Al Robbins.

Riley Adams.

Pardon the latex.

Okay.

What do we got?

Uh, somebody who liked to party.

Prelim tox showed traces

of meth, E and heroin in his system.

Doesn't sound like someone who
would go for a run at midnight.

I doubt this guy could've run a hundred feet

without stopping to rest.

He had pulmonary edema.

Fluid's backed up in the lungs.

Sometimes suggests drug abuse.

Is that C.O.D.?

I doubt it. The edema wasn't acute.

Far as I can tell, C.O.D. is cardiac arrest.

Same as the lady in the park.

Yeah, which brings us to
something interesting.

The victim's liver.

Note the slight

reddish and pinkish coloration.

Very similar to Carla Peretti.

Assuming the cases are connected,

the condition of the victims' livers

might suggest an alternate C.O.D.

Gaseous asphyxiation.

I'll have Hodges do a blood gas assay.

DETECTIVE We walked the photo of the jogger

around the local methadone
clinic and got lucky.

Name's Harley Soon.

He has a sheet.

Drug abuse, solicitation,
some other petty stuff.

Juvie record, too, but that's sealed.

Thank you, Detective.

No problem.

You doing a headspace assay?

Yes, which is, I believe, your job.

Where have you been?

I was just, uh... nowhere.

You want me to finish up?

I'm almost done.

Um...

hold on a second.

What?

You added the liberating agent.

Yes.

You added the sulfuric.

You skipped over

the sodium dithionite?

Yes, I think I did.

I think I must have done
it with all of these.

It's probably better to
redo the whole assay.

Um, listen, I can get it.

Should have been doing it to begin with.

Don't worry about it.

I know it's been a long day.

Every day's a long day.

I have to go.

Thank you.

5:30 a.m. I don't pick up "those people,"

if you know what I'm saying.

I don't care how nicely dressed they are.

Hey, hey, hey, that's illegal.

Yeah, which is why I stopped
and told him to hop in,

but he just stood there like that,
stock still.

Creeped me out, I don't mind telling you.

You're gonna love this.

Uh...

I've heard of dying with
your boots on, but, uh,

this is ridiculous.

Businessman with an empty briefcase.

No wallet or I.D.

Consistent with the other vics.

We got a serial killer, Greg,

and he's working at a
pace of one body per day.

Great. Something to look
forward to tomorrow.

Damn! This thing is heavy.

He's got lead in the sole of his shoe.

Must be what was keeping him on his feet.

There's a coating of dust on here.

His fingernails have been recently trimmed,

but they're filthy at the beds.

And he's got dirt in his ears.

His feet and ankles are
all scabbed and crusty

and his toenails are
growing back into his toes.

This guy's been cleaned up,

but I'll bet you he lived on the street.

Yep. Head lice.

They're all dead.

Good. I hate those little bastards.

So we've got three victims,

all stripped of their identities.

A homeless guy dressed like a businessman,

a hustler druggie dressed like a runner,

and a nurse...

dressed like herself.

What do they have in common?

Tox found traces of zolpidem in all three.

Other than that,

we're comparing all the trace evidence

from the victims' clothing
and personal effects,

but so far, nothing probative.

PD is circulating photos
of the businessman around

shelters and soup kitchens in the area,

but there's no I.D. yet.

This girl's an LPN.

Maybe her hospital's the connection.

According to Harley Soon's medical records,

he was never treated at Desert Palm.

Well, Carla Peretti is the one victim

who had a mainstream life.

That means e-mails, phone calls, documents.

If there's anything that
connects these people,

the way to find it is through her.

Looks like she was an art student.

Ah...

The naughty drawer.

What?

Hydroponic, medical grade,

put-you-on-your-ass,
send-you-to-dreamyland weed.

Nurses always get the good stuff.

Uh...

take it you're aware

of the lab's random drug testing policy?

Oh, yeah.

I've got a bottle of
clean urine in my locker,

just in case.

I'm kidding.

Good one.

Here, I'll bag it.

Check this out.

An original of Carla.

Bizarre. She looks kind of...

Dead?

Yeah, a little.

What's that say?

J... Skaggs?

Never heard of him. Me, neither.

I bet somebody has.

What do you know.

He's a local.

Hey!

Jerzey Skaggs?

Jerzey? Skaggs?

Hey! Jerzey Skaggs?

Who are you?

Homicide.

This might look good in my living room.

You can't afford it.

Your arm down, and wake up.

Wake up!

What do you want?

Do you know Carla Peretti?

Who?

Carla Peretti.

Oh, yeah... yeah, she was one

of my models.

She's a lovely girl.

It's a cheap imitation of my work.

Well, you'll have to take
it up with the coroner,

because she's dead for real.

I'm sorry to hear that.

You paint these guys?

No. Never saw those guys

before in my life.

You know, Harley Soon

used to crash at a buddy's
apartment in the neighborhood.

Relax.

And he seems to be kind of your type.

Huh? So maybe you,
uh... maybe you bumped into him

at the grocery store or something.

I don't go out.

I don't shop.

I don't bump.

But you do paint dead people.

I paint people who look dead,

and you would weep

if you knew how much I make doing that.

If you haven't noticed,

our culture seems to be
obsessed with sex and death.

I've noticed.

Let me save you some time,

'cause I know what's on your mind.

I don't kill my models.

I don't even bang them much anymore.

Occasionally, of course, but...

oh, I find not with the same gusto and verve

as in days gone by.

You bang Carla Peretti?

I'm not doing women.

Mind if I look around?

I'd like to paint you nude.

I don't do nude.

Where would I pin the badge?

Exactly.

Ms. Alwick.

Dr. Grissom.

Were you looking for me?

No, just getting some more tea.

I was hoping we might get a chance to chat.

I'm right in the middle of a case.

I know, I understand

that you're dealing with a lot, but, um,

if you do find the time...

Thank you, I appreciate that.

This, uh, may be outside your field

of expertise, but...

lately, I've been having
some problems with Hank.

Grissom.

Oh, hi, Patricia.

Nice to see you again, David.

The headspace assay came
back and showed levels

of carbon monoxide in all the vics,

as well as the dead lice
on the businessman's head.

Excuse me.

Mostly simple hydrocarbons
and sulfur dioxide,

along with the carbon monoxide.

That's consistent with
gasoline engine exhaust.

Yeah, and since the lice

on the homeless guy died,
it suggests that he

was completely surrounded by exhaust fumes,

not suffocated with a mask or a tube.

Or locked in a sealed car,

for that matter-- there wouldn't have been

enough room to pose them.

Lividity says the victims died

in the positions in which
they were discovered.

So, what does that mean, that the killer

is using some sort of gas chamber?

I think so.

He lures someone back to his place,

slips them a sedative,

then redresses and positions the bodies

inside a sealed container.

Waits for the carbon monoxide to go to work.

Once the bodies are in full rigor,

he's got about ten hours

to place them and have them discovered.

Now that we know the recipe,
let's find the cook.

Hey...

I believe I just sighted
Aeronautes saxatalis.

Aeronautes saxatalis,

the white-throated swift.

They hardly ever range this
far south this time of year.

The elderly couple was
suffering from Alzheimer's.

They were on a little field trip

from their assisted care facility

day before yesterday.

Staff didn't even realize they were missing

till bed check.

What, no surveillance cameras
on the bird-watching path?

No, but the unis did turn up a crackhead

who said he saw an average-height

white male in a white panel van

near the trail, about an hour before dawn.

MAN Caught in their quotidian routines,

these haunting figures,
frozen in time, seem to mock

the mundane blandness that screams silently

beneath the sizzle of Sin City.

What is this?

Local art blog.

Our psycho is the hot topic.

They call him the "Mannekiller."

...perhaps, finally, by using the flesh

of human beings to replicate the flesh

of human beings...

this madman who moves silently among us

has crossed art's final frontier.

This is Langston Weller,

signing off from mindscanvas.com.

This site's been getting hammered.

Check out the comments.

"You're a one-man argument

against free speech."

"This is murder, pure and simple,

and you're a moron."

"Hitler was right-- kill the artists first."

At least nobody's buying this crap.

"Vibrant images

"of life culled from the raw stuff of death.

These are works of art."

Apparently, there are some
who share this aesthetic.

The dust found inside
the businessman's shoes

was actually undyed jute fibers.

The same fibers were
also found on tape lifts

from the other vic's clothes.

Killer's probably covering his vics

in woven jute-- i.e., burlap--

at some point during the process.

Thanks, Greg.

You bet.

Dr. Grissom, may I have a word with you?

Yes, of course.

Come in.

I wonder why it is that you hold what I do

in such obvious contempt.

Excuse me?

The last time we spoke, you mentioned

that you were having problems with Hank.

Now, out of concern for you

and because I take my job very seriously,

I started asking around.

Oh... And was met by a mixture

of bafflement and smirks by most

of your staff, until David
Hodges took pity on me

and informed me that Hank was your dog.

I apologize.

It was a serious question.

Oh, really?

For the last few weeks,
my dog's been listless.

Barely eats.

And I just, uh, wondered if
you thought it was possible

that pets could take on the
emotions of their owners.

Well...

companion animals were bred
to respond to human beings.

At some level, I do
believe that they resonate

with what their owners are feeling.

So, what are you feeling?

I've just been...
a little distracted lately.

Uh, having a hard time
focusing on the details.

That's normal.

Not for me.

I wondered, uh, if you knew,
typically, how long this lasts.

There's no typical.

Days, weeks, sometimes years.

The important thing is to acknowledge it.

But you do have to talk about it.

And if not with me, then with somebody else.

And soon.

Jim, got something?

Yeah, Harley Soon's juvie record.

I got the court administrator to unseal it.

He was arrested five
years ago in a drug raid

on a party at the art
studio of Jerzy Skaggs.

So, how do you like my studio?

This is ridiculous.

No, what's ridiculous

is you denying that you knew Harley Soon.

What?

Party was five years ago.

The kid was 16 at the time.

You should have been busted for that, too.

Listen to me--

everybody who was anybody
came to my parties.

And many like yourself,
who are nobody at all.

You know, I just...

I can't remember everybody
who came to my parties.

All right, so you reconnected

with Harley Soon...

and you're connected with Carla Peretti.

A lot of people you know
are turning up dead.

You're telling me these
are actual dead people?

Come on, it's been all over the news.

I don't... I don't watch TV.

And I only use the Internet to make money.

Man, that is wild.

Death just mocking life.

Are you done?

You know, these look familiar.

Yeah, I bet they do.

No, no, no, no, not the...

not the people, the poses.

Somebody... somebody showed me drawings

like these, months ago.

These people remind me of
those wretched sketches.

Excuse me, Mr. Skaggs.

If I could have a moment,

would you mind taking a quick look at these?

Uh-uh... uh-uh.

I can't stand looking at inferior art.

It just...

it sears into my consciousness
like bad Mexican food.

Who was he?

No, I don't remember, but he was, you know,

babbling about some insipid

municipal sculpture...

competition he was hoping to win.

Open... to the public.

Oh, okay, so he was an artist.

No, he was some kind of contractor,

subcontractor, sub-subcontractor,

sub-sub-subcontractor.

I think my... my studio was, uh,

being renovated, and it was...

you know, it was a big job.

There was lots of... lots of manual...

labor involved.

I need a name.

He was a laborer--
why would I know his name?

Because you hired him.

I didn't hire him.

One of those contractors hired him.

And no, I don't remember his name.

I... I barely remember your name.

What is your name?

Eight months ago,
the city sponsored a competition

to create a series of
bronze lifelike statues

for its parks and public spaces.

"Las Vegas: for the rest of your life".

Yeah, and all the applications
were submitted digitally.

This is what the Parks Department sent over.

Hey, take a look at this one.

It's a submission from an Arthur Blisterman.

Look at this.

Jackpot, huh?

The rules stated that...

the sculpture should recreate the ethnic

and socioeconomic diversity
that make the city

so vibrant and alive.

This guy was following them to the letter.

Yeah, except that he was substituting bronze

with human flesh.

Guys, there's a, uh,
sculpture number six here.

We only found five bodies.

Oh, God.

He's not done.

So, we got Blisterman's house staked out.

The neighbors haven't seen him for weeks.

Now, the guy's unmarried,
got no criminal record.

He's an independent plumbing contractor,

so he makes his own schedule,

and he's not answering his phone.

No, he has a white panel van.

We got a broadcast out.

He's got to have some kind of work space

or studio, somewhere he
can come and go unnoticed.

Look, there's nothing on record.

We've released a picture,
we've notified the schools

and Child Services to be on alert.

Right now, that's all we can do.

Why do you think people make art?

Self-expression.

Yeah, but I think also to...

provoke or elicit a reaction.

Maybe the killer's into
the controversy of it.

I think one of these blog
posters might be our guy.

Maybe.

Click on that photo link.

What?

There's no yellow tape.

No bystanders. No crime scene.

Let me the check the metadata.

This photo was taken at 5:49 a.m.

The body wasn't reported till after 7:00.

I guess our "artist" couldn't resist

a snapshot of his first installation.

"Anonymous" is Blisterman.

How much trouble am I in?

Well, that remains to be seen.

But the way I see it,
you encouraged a serial killer

to kill on your blog.

I did no such thing.

Did I?

We'll leave that up to a jury of your peers.

I swear to God,
I didn't want to hurt anybody.

I didn't do anything.
Except shooting your mouth off.

Sometimes that's all it takes.
Look, right now,

you're going to do exactly
what I tell you to.

Of course.

What do you want me to do?

The killer's been posting to your blog

from different IP addresses around town.

So, you're gonna go on this computer,

get on your blog, and post

another reply to Mr. Anonymous.

You're going to get him to
respond and when he does,

you're going to keep him talking

until our people can run an IP trace route

and find out where he is now--
you understand?

No.

Just start typing.

Right.

What do you want me to say?

Just tell him he's a genius, all right?

Tell him that, uh,

Michelangelo's got nothing on him.

Whatever, just think of something.

Come on.

Come on! Right.

I'll be right back. Keep typing.

Ma'am?

My boy, my Charlie. Okay...

He's only nine years old.

He didn't come home from school today.

We had a fight this morning
and I thought that he was

at his dad's house-- we're divorced--

and then the school told me about

some kind of alert that was happening.

Right. Do you have any idea
where he might be going?

No, no. Okay...

Detective Vartann, I got him.

I got him talking.

LVPD! Please remain calm.

I'd like everybody to
stay right where they are.

Where's the kid? What kid?

Get up! Get up. No...

Get him out of here. What-what kid?

Hey, hey! Hey!

I didn't do anything. Come on!

There was tan dust on the guy's hands

like the other vics. Burlap fibers.

Does it help?

I don't know.

Blisterman didn't put
himself in a burlap sack.

You know, maybe these
fibers are environmental.

Like they're present in whatever space

he's keeping his victims in.

You know, there's a lot
of converted warehouses

and industrial properties near this library.

If Blisterman already has the kid,

he'd probably stay close to home.

We've got city plans for the
area around the library.

Maps, building usage permits...

Okay, check every structure,
every single one.

He's willing to talk,
but only to someone who

"understands his work."

I'm ready to slap him around.

I figured you could show some restraint.

I'll try. Okay.

Mr. Blisterman.

Can you please turn the
monitor so I can see it?

Could you tighten up the frame up a little?

The composition is...

It's a bit weak.

Yeah. Thank you.

Look...

I'm here to talk about the child.

I'm happy to talk.

I like to talk, but I want my words

to be heard the way I speak them.

I want the world to see the words

coming from my lips,

so there can be no misinterpretation.

Nobody's going to
misinterpret anything you say.

But if you don't start cooperating...

Don't, don't... rush me.

I want to talk about what
I want to talk about,

and I don't want... to be rushed, please.

That's the trouble with modern life,

it's too much urgency.

It's too much speed.

Now I'm sweaty.

Do you have a handkerchief?

Thank you.

Aesthetics have always
been very important to me.

Life wouldn't

be worth living without beauty.

It's what makes us human.

What about the people you've murdered?

They were human.

Yeah, but...

they were nothing until I
made them extraordinary.

How about the child?

Has he become "extraordinary"?

I have been alone my entire life.

I have tried and tried

to achieve some recognition for my work,

and I have been repeatedly
and cruelly ignored.

And this has made me feel very... bad...

about myself.

Arthur.

You're going to be

put to death if you don't help us.

I'm not scared of dying.

I just don't want to be forgotten.

I think I found it.

"487 Franklyn Street."

It's a warehouse, formerly deeded

to a company that manufactured

natural fiber bags and
shipping materials-- go.

I'll call it in.

I want something of who I was left behind

so people will speak my name,

and know who I was, after I'm gone.

Believe me.

No one will ever forget you.

You've made it.

You're a legend.

If I tell you where the boy is,

you're going to turn the camera off,

and then...

I'll be sad.

I won't turn the camera off.

I'm sorry.

Without the boy, the piece is incomplete.

487...

Franklyn Street.

You're far too late to save him.

Anyway...

I got what I wanted.

You'll remember me.

Won't you?

What the hell is that?

Sounds like a motor.

Take that hall.

All right, yeah, I got him.

Patrol, this is CSI Sanders.

We need paramedics.

Come on.

Come on.

Damn it, breathe! Breathe!

Come on.

Come on.

Breathe.

Come on.

Hey, it's okay.

Shh. It's okay.

You're all right now.

It's okay. It's okay.