All language subtitles for CSI.New.York.S06E03.720p.HDTV.x264

(sobbing)

(ferry horn bellows)

WOMAN:
Between 1892 and 1954,

more than 12 million immigrants

were processed
through the 30-plus

structures here on Ellis Island.

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

So with the help
of preservationists

like you, hopefully, we
can give buildings like

this former powerhouse
Is that real?

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

(screaming)

This is Dario Gonzales.

He's been the night
shift custodian

for the last
four years.

Only by 9:00

this morning,
he was permanently

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

found his body.

TAYLOR:
This is

a national monument
to immigration.

Maybe he was trying
to make some kind of statement.

(camera shutter snapping)

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

Hmm.

BONASERA:
Looks like he left

a wife behind.
FLACK: And two kids.

I spoke to Mrs. Gonzales
this morning.

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

When he answered,
she could tell he was upset.

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

That doesn't make any sense.

In fact,
it's impossible

that he even talked
to her at all.

It's 10:00 now,

and his core body temperature
is 89 degrees.

That puts time of death at least
seven hours ago.

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

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

Well, I'm not finding
a cell phone.

So maybe he didn't answer
that call.

His killer did.

Sync by steelball
www.addic7ed.com

* Out here in the fields

* I fight for my meals

* I get my back into my living

(garbled radio transmission)

I wonder why our killer
answered the phone.

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

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

And the ferries operate
from sunrise to sundown.

So he had to get
onto the island yesterday,

hid on the grounds
overnight

and then left
this morning.

I mean, why go through
all that, and then

answer the vic's phone
and risk getting caught?

Maybe he doesn't think
he will.

Or he hopes he does.

(camera shutter clicking)

Got definite signs
of a struggle up here.

Scuff patterns
from two

different shoes.

Got directional drag marks
that lead up to the catwalk.

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

No ridge detail.

Killer definitely wore gloves.

So he jumps him on the landing,

drags him up the stairs,

then left him hanging.

27...

28...

29.

30.

Danny.

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

Oh, of course.
What was I thinking?

Flack had the vic's phone pinged.
We found it in a Dumpster.

Waiting on DNA results
from the trace

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

Don't you have
physical therapy today?

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

What?

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

cruising along the walls
of the apartment.

She's gonna walk soon, Lindsay.

Danny, please tell me
you're not competing

with our ten-month-old daughter.

No, I'm not competing
with our daughter.

All right, I'm just
sick and tired

of being in this chair.

I want to run through
Central Park

with my daughter on my
shoulders, okay?

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

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

So if you don't mind...

I don't mind at all.

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

before he was lynched.

See the double set

of ligature furrows?

He was strangled first.
Correct.

Those are the marks
that angle back.

And these marks
that angle up

were caused by the hanging.

COD was asphyxiation,
but his larynx

was crushed, Mac.

And judging by
the extent of the damage,

your killer is strong

and extremely violent.

What is it?

I don't know, Sid.

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

The pointed, yet
fake suicide note,

a broken compass
in the vic's pocket,

the crying his wife

heard on the phone.

The killer was
trying to tell us something.

I need to find out what that is.

I shouldn't have done that.

(groans)

(mutters)

I shouldn't have done...

(muttering)

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

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

(muffled screaming)

I'm sorry.
I can come back.

No, it's all right.

Go ahead and clean up.

Detective Taylor?

Yes?

I don't know if you remember me.

I'm Haylen Becall.

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

You found an undocumented

partial print at a
crime scene, I remember.

What can I do for you,
Miss Becall?

I graduated cum laude
from Chelsea University.

I've got an undergrad
in Biology

and a Masters
in Forensic Science.

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

I already read the first three
resumes you mailed to my office.

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

And then it hit me.

You can't afford me.

I'm sorry?

Well, not you, but the lab.

With the layoffs
and budget cuts...

I'm well aware
of the problems.

Okay, so I want to fix them.

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

Forensics Investigations

Honors Grant.

I applied for it, and I got it.

So now, the state'll pay
a hundred percent of my wages

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

So all you have to do

is sign that form,
and you and your staff

can take full advantage

of all the skill
and enthusiasm I have

to offer for an entire year,

absolutely free.

I appreciate your determination.

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

But even if I did take you on,

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

anything else.

Are you kidding?

You'd be giving me everything.

Detective Taylor, um...

working in a crime lab
like yours

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

and the neighbor
poisoned our cat.

It's a long story.

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

I promise I'll take care
of the rest.

I'll think about it.

Thank you, sir.

*

Stella.

We looked over all
the surveillance footage

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

but because of all the tourists down
there all we got were crowd shots.

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

would've boarded the ferry
to go back and forth

to Ellis Island.
Yep.

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

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

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

Does it mean something?

On a janitor's salary? No.

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

* Do-Do-Do-Don't say nothin' *

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

* Hey, Doc...

* Check this out

I'm going to go
with that one.

We got a winner
in the house, huh?

Beautiful.

* I'm in my zone, man *

* Let's get it... *

All right, where's the ace?

Um...

Right there.
This one right here?

All right, let's see.

(onlookers groan)

Better luck next time.

Damn, that's too bad.

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

(clamoring)

FLACK:
Easy!

BONASERA: Got an officer
in pursuit of a suspect

headed northbound
on Bowery and Grand.

(groans)

Turn over.

Three priors in five years
for aggravated assault.

Yeah, what the hell are you
wasting your time

palming aces
for, Curtiss?

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

Look, I did my time.
I was trying to go legit.

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

to hustle up some cash somehow.
(snaps fingers)

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

flippin' cards ain't
nothing but a misdemeanor.

Yeah. But murder?

Not so much.

Remember him?

Nice necktie.

Is that a little
thank you gift from you?

Whack-ass wannabe.

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

All right? Started
stepping on my game,

watching which cards I bent
and telling the marks

how to bet and taking a piece.

So I taught him how
to get bitch-slapped.

Yeah, that little
altercation

cost you an extra
eight months at Rikers.

Ooh... that stung.

Not as bad as a rope
around the neck.

"...shouldn't have
tried to make

a fast buck. I'm sorry."

What, is that supposed
to mean something to me?

Well, between your rap sheet
and the beef you had

with Gonzales, yeah.

It might make an excellent case
for pinning you

as the guy who strung him up
and posted a bogus

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

at your expense.
Then paid for it

with his life.
Look, I am tickled

sideways that
that bastard is dead,

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

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

a handwriting sample,
and if your scrawl matches

the writing that we found
on that letter...

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

For 25 to life.

*

(beeping)

(whirring)

*

(beeping)

I know that face.

What face?
The "I don't like

what I see" face;
kind of like the way

you look at me
when I'm trying

to change Lucy's diaper.

(chuckles)

Well, I did find a faint
watermark on the corner

of the suicide note.

Looks like a letter P design.

Yeah, but I haven't
placed it yet.

And I ran three
different handwriting samples

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

none of them match.

Well, if it makes you
feel any better,

I got DNA from
biologicals on the phone

that doesn't belong
to our vic,

but no hit in CODIS.

Saliva trace?

Nope.

Actually, it came back
ALS-positive

and amylase-negative.

So it was tears?

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

Saw the image of the family
come up

and he realized what he'd done?

WOMAN:
Hello?

Dario?
(man sobbing)

Hello?

What kind of coldhearted killer
feels guilty

over murder?

I understand.
MAN: Cliff Angell!

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

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

Trust me, we're doing
everything we can

to find
a suspect.

Thank you. You, too. Bye.

Hey, stranger.

Cliff, what are you
doing here?

I had to come in
and get a picture,

you know,
for my I.D. card.

Apparently, I'm not
the strapping young cadet

I was 28 years ago.

(chuckles)
You been good?

Yeah, yeah. How about you?

Eh, you know.

Day at a time.

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

I was just telling
the boys I don't think

I've seen you
since the funeral.

Called you
a couple times...

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

I got the messages. I, uh...

I just been... I been
jammed up.

Don, believe me, I get it.
Took me mandatory retirement

and a hacksaw to get out
of this place.

Anyway, it was good
to see you, Don.

You, too.
All right.

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

Unless you want
to do that yourself.

How's that?
Well, you know,

Sunday would have
been Jess's birthday.

I know.

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

It's nothing fancy, just family.

No pressure,
but if you feel

like a nice pot roast...

You cooking?

Kidding me?

Then count me in.

(chuckles)

Sherry will be tickled.
Set a place

for your ugly mug.
So, see you about 7:00.

Sounds good.

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

All right.

MAN: I don't know if I can...
I can... I can bring it.

Just tell me one thing.

No, no. I don't know.

(mutters) I mean...

(muttering)

Okay, okay, okay, okay,
all right.

(mutters)

No.

(anguished grunt)

Tell me something, Doc.

How does a man put

a compass in his pocket without

leaving any prints on it?

No partials? No nothing?

I fumed every inch of this
thing, didn't find a single one.

(misting)

Our victim, Dario Gonzales,
never touched it.

You said the killer wore gloves?

Yeah.

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

The killer must've put it there.

It's his message.

He wanted us to find it.

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

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

(computer trills)

(crackling buzz)

(sizzling)

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

I did. Uh, Ellen Thornberry

from Columbus, Ohio.

Think my third-grade
teacher gave me her name.

I had one, too. Suzanne Wacker.

She was from Jenks,
Oklahoma.

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

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

Here's why.

There's a faint watermark
on the suicide note.

Comes from
the Preston Pen Company,

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

Now, it turns out

they invented the whole
pen pal concept for the 1964

New York World's Fair.

They had this space age
computer that they used

to match you up with
somebody else in the world,

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

Now, I'm thinking

that one of those same pens

was used to write the suicide
note on a vintage piece

of that paper.

Okay. What about
the handwriting?

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

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

If we can find out
who has access

to that kind of paper stock...

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

Any luck with the compass?

Well, it's American made,

early 19th century
and fairly valuable.

Yeah, but broken.

More like fixed.

Somebody superglued the needle.

Yeah, so that
it only points south.

Probably the same person

who scratched out
this engraving on the back.

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

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

Ah, looks too recent.

And those are
contemporary abbreviations.

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

or someone who meant
something to him.

And by leaving it behind,

he wants it to mean
something to us, too.

Hey. What's up, Doc?

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

Hoping I can find
some kind of match

to the initials I
pulled off our compass.

What about you?

I got to go calibrate
the genetic analyzer.

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

New tech?

You didn't hear?

Hear what?

Mac hired that hottie

from the Crime Scene
Cleanup Crew.

Part time. Twice a month.

You know the one.
Haylen...

Becall?

Exactly.

Oh, God.
Come on.

You're fine.

This is going to be good.

Thanks.

(soft clatter)

*

(indistinct whispering)

Can you see me?

(siren wailing)

BONASERA:
A second compass.

And this needle
is pinned north.

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

Our first vic was found
on Ellis Island

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

at the scene was pointing
the same direction. South.

Now our killer sends us
a second compass directly.

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

So we turn our
attention north.

Along with the new compass,

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

According to the postal stamp,

our killer mailed the envelope
from the Bronx.

Well, that is the
northern edge of the city.

All right. So, if we
take into account

the avenues of Manhattan

deviate from true
North by 29 degrees

then run that through
tactical crime analysis...

this seems to be the
optimal area to search--

in the northernmost
regions of the city

between Broadway and
the Bronx River Parkway.

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

Which is why Flack and
his men are focused

on high profile locations

and cross-referencing all
Missing Person reports

for the vicinity.

Mac, is this a hunt for the
second victim or for a killer?

Could be both.

But while they
pound the pavement,

we stick with the science.

Hawkes, what'd you
get on that trace

from the Ellis Island rope?

It's artificial turf.

Strictly old school.

It was an exact match
to vintage manufacture samples

from the mid 1960's.

That's exactly like
the ink and the paper

used for the suicide note.

Find a source yet on
either one of those?

Unfortunately, it could
have come from anywhere.

That paper was distributed to
literally millions of people.

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

Well, this guy
seems seriously retro.

Well, I'm going
to take a look

at the second
compass he sent us.

Maybe it'll tell
us how to find

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

DEEJAY: From 1964,
here's Gerry and the Pacemakers

on New York's Big Apple Oldies.

* Don't let the sun... *

(groans)

(woman whispering indistinctly)

WOMAN:
It's me. Remember...

That's the way it was...

Hello, sleepyhead.

Did you get some rest?

You must have needed it.

Hmm?

I'm just...

I'm glad you're here.

There's nowhere else
I'd rather be.

Hey. It's a beautiful
day outside.

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

No, no, no.
Oh, all right.

No, I like them like that.

Okay. We'll leave it
just like that.

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

I don't mean to snap.

No. Don't worry.

I understand.

It's a tough time,

and you've got
a lot on your mind.

Remember...

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

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

I know.

I love you.

Oh...

I love you so much.

I love you, too, baby.

Everything's fine.

I'm right here.

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

job-stealing blonde,
have you?

Huh? What? No, no.
Let me ask you this.

Why do you think the tear that I
swabbed off our Ellis Island

vic's phone would spike so
high for calcitriol?

Uh, vitamin D?

Those levels? Probably
taking supplements

for some kind of deficiency.

All right. What would
be the possible causes?

Cystic fibrosis...

Crohn's disease...
colitis...

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

Hi, guys.

What's going on?

Haylen's new to our team.

I invited her to observe
the process on this compass.

Oh. Right.

That's-That's great.

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

How should we take
a closer look?

BECALL AND ROSS:
Scanning Electron Microscope.

(both chuckle)

Go ahead.

Cypripedium fasciculatum.

Also known as, um,
Clustered Lady's Slippers.

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

How does this
information help us?

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

or suppliers of that
particular species in the city.

Great minds think alike.

They're actually
on display right now

at the Triborough Gardens.

Isn't that in the Bronx?

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

is under temporary
renovations.

Which makes it a perfect
place to plant a body.

(siren wailing)

*

*

(sighs)

"I should've written the letter
when I had the chance. I'm sorry."

What letter?

No clue.

But her name was
Carole Hillcroft.

She was a 40-year-old
widow.

According to the
management here,

she was a regular patron

and member
of the Bronx Garden Guild.

The last time she used
her membership card

to gain admission
at the front entrance

was yesterday evening.

Looks consistent with
lividity and rigor.

Wasn't this exhibit closed
for renovation?

Back entry deadbolt
lock was bumped.

Though I seriously
doubt she was responsible.

TAYLOR:
No?

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

Got unis canvassing
her contacts right now.

They're looking to see if she
told anybody at all

why she was here.

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

a bunch of fives to type back
at the precinct.

Go ahead, Don.
We got it.

Thank you.

You know, he used
to shave every day.

He'll get through this.

Just takes time.

(camera shutter clicking)

Hey, I've got some
partial shoe prints

from whoever else
was here with our vic.

The same ligature patterns
as the last one.

(gasps)

Hmm...

BONASERA:
Find something?

Might have been stuck
to his glove,

while he tried
to keep her quiet.

What do you think it is?

Asbestos.

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

when they were making
kitchen countertops

and floor tiles out of it.

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

They discontinued this type
of material years ago.

So we'll be lucky
to find a match.

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

We get anywhere with
the partial footprints?

Yeah, I ran it through
the SOLE print database.

I found a corresponding
tread pattern

for a men's size 11 tennis shoe,

with wear patterns matching the
scuff marks at Ellis Island.

Okay, let's break him down.

Our perp is a muscular
male, size 11 shoes,

approximately 6'2".

And judging by the extent
of the damage

your killer is strong.

Potentially pale skin.

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

Each of his victims are
accompanied by a compass.

Which means he wants
us to find them.

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

Then he hangs them
to simulate suicide.

Leaving handwritten confessions
of guilt pinned to each.

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

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

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

"I'm sorry."

So maybe the killer thinks
that each of these people

should feel guilty enough

over something
to kill themselves.

That could be
the connection.

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

Carole Hillcroft
to Dario Gonzales.

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

They're worlds apart.
TAYLOR: Well, whatever it is,

something brought them
together in the morgue.

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

exactly why this killer
chose his victims,

and were going to use that
connection to catch him,

before the press
gets wind of it

and panics the
whole damn city

over some kind
of compass killer.

Or worse--

before he adds another
victim to the map.

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

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

Just be careful.

Yeah, okay.

(lively conversations)

To Jess.
GROUP: To Jess.

Hear, hear.

(raucous laughter)

Did your old man dust you for prints
when you got home from a date?

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

until I was 21.

I'm sure the boys
knew you existed.

Is that a line, Flack?

Did you just bust out
your game on me?

Well...

It was, wasn't it?

Look at you,

you're blushing.

My game.

Game? I have no game.

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

I think it's pretty good.

(raucous laughter)

(engine starts)

(shuddering)

(beep)

Uh, Mac, it's Sid.

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

but I just wanted
to give you a call.

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

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

to view the body, and kind of

threw me a little off schedule.

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

Her name was Carole Hillcroft.

She was a 40-year-old widow.

(voice echoing)
...40-year-old widow.

SID (voice echoing): Her husband
came in to view the body.

(door opening)

(door closing)

Sid.

Hey.

Is he still here?

Who?
The husband.

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

He left.

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

Where exactly was he standing?

That table right over there.

Here.

SID:
Oh, no.

The killer was here.

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

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