All language subtitles for CSI.New.York.S07E13.720p.HDTV.x264

I signaled left!

Like hell you did!

Calling me a liar?!

Son of a bitch!

Whoo!

Come on, give us a hand.

Open it.

Wow.

Oh, my God.

Mac, there must have been
20 people trapped back there

when it hit the water.

That hatch is how they escaped.

It's a miracle
we only have two bodies.

Make that three.

Sync by n17t01
www.addic7ed.com.

What happened here, Don?

This was a truck
party gone bad.

It's the latest craze in
after-hours entertainment.

They convert tractor
trailers into

exclusive nightclubs.

Times and locations are spread
among the social networks.

Well, I'm assuming this one

didn't start at
the bottom of the Hudson.

I thought the truck
was not supposed to move

once the party starts.
It's not.

So who moved it?
Couple cabbies nearly got run over,

but they didn't get a good look
at the driver's face.

They did say that he accelerated
through the fence.

And the absence of skid marks

confirms that
there was no braking.

Then the driver
could have drowned,

or may still be
among the survivors.

Well, we have
divers in the water

looking for more bodies,

and the others
are being transported

to the precinct
for questioning.

My guess:

Driver saw that river coming,
jumped out before splashdown,

then got the hell out of Dodge.

Either way,
looks like crashing this party

wasn't an accident.

Hey. So, it's looking like
whoever padlocked the rear door

also drove the truck.

I found keys to the lock

in the driver's side glove box.

Unfortunately, the water
removed any biological trace.

But I also found this

next to our driver's seat.
Yeah, the label was removed,

so I had Adam run
a sample through

the IR SPEC... came
back as acetylene.

Mixed with oxygen,

acetylene is used
for cutting metal.

Or...
for welding the safety hatch shut.

I found spot welds
all around the frame,

and then I found
tiny metal fragments

embedded in the driver's seat

and in the carpet
under the accelerator pedal.

Multiple people
may have planned this,

but all the evidence
points to only one person

who carried it out.

A single perp.

Premeditated.

He knew people
were going to suffer.

He didn't care.

If the safety
hatch was sealed,

how'd the survivors
break through?

Shoddy workmanship.

Surface impurities

in the under filling
left the seams vulnerable

to high-contraction stresses.

Water pressure and, uh,

freezing temperatures
did the rest.

If this guy had known
what he was doing,

the hatch would have held,
and they might all be dead.

Hey, just spoke with Flack.

The truck was rented
with an alias from

a party outfitter in Queens.

The owner was sent

a big old wad of cash about

two weeks ago.
Someone had to pick it up.

No. The company dropped it off
on the street,

was scheduled to pick it up
the next morning.

They left the keys?

They didn't have to.

It was hot-wired.

This creep thought
of everything.

To identify him,
we still need to know why.

It's all about exclusivity.

Just being invited
means you're a somebody.

I don't think
I'll ever forget that sound.

The screaming.

Abigail, did you see anybody
near the cab of the truck?

Somebody who could have
driven it?

The truck was parked.

I assumed

it was going to stay that way.

Who threw this party?

A girl at work told me about it.

So you just showed up uninvited?

As long as you look hot,
getting in is never a problem.

It was crazy, man.

One minute, I'm chatting up
this really cute blonde.

The next...

Great party, huh?

Did you know the people
at the party?

Somebody you may have
hung out with before?

I don't go out much anymore.

Tonight was supposed
to be a change of pace.

Instead, I almost died.

When was the rear door closed?

I was dancing,

enjoying some cocktails.

I didn't notice.

Any idea who might have
closed it?

Could have been anyone.

We were all having the
time of our lives.

Then all of a sudden,

it felt like the world
was coming to an end.

The water was so cold,

it felt like
my body was on fire.

The clock was ticking.

I knew we had to get
everyone out of there.

We tried the back door,
but it wouldn't budge.

That's because it was locked.

Locked?

Wait a minute,
are you telling me

someone did this to us
on purpose?

Why?

That's exactly
what we're going to find out.

The escape hatch
was our last hope.

Had to get it open.

Listen, Chris,

when you arrived at the party,

was there someone there
to greet you?

Like, was there a host?

Not really, just...

I just followed the music.

That guy over there is a hero.

I don't even know his name.

Chris.

His name is Chris.

I owe him my life.

We all do.

Was there anybody in the water

that you didn't recognize
from the party?

It was too dark.

I closed my eyes

and kicked as hard as I could.

What about on the dock?

Honestly, all I could
think about

was seeing my family again.

Once I was out of the truck,

I swam towards the light.

That first breath of air
was like I was being reborn.

That must sound crazy.

You're one of the lucky ones.

Not everybody got out alive?

No,

not everybody.

Cameron Marshall, age 27.

Copious quantities
of river water

in his lungs
and stomach confirms

- COD as drowning.
- Okay.

Oh! Looks like
vic number two's throat

- was crushed.
- Mm-hmm.

Brett Hollister, age 25.

Suffered blunt force
laryngeal trauma

resulting in complete
cricotracheal separation.

Water in the lungs?

Uh, trace amounts.

He stopped breathing
before the truck sank.

I imagine he floated up

through the open hatch.

Sadly, victim
number three wasn't

quite as fortunate.

- Doctor?
- Thank you.

Uh...

An elevated
blood alcohol content

caused vasodilation
of her blood vessels,

thereby exacerbating

- the onset of hypothermia.
- She would have

experienced numbness,
debilitating drowsiness.

She knew she was drowning
but was powerless to stop it.

Her last moments on earth
were spent in excruciating pain.

Have we I.D.'d her yet?

Just got fingerprint results.

Unlike her male counterparts,
she wasn't carrying a wallet

in her back pocket.

AFIS match courtesy of

an old DUI arrest.

Hmm.

Jane Doe is actually
Ms. Victoria Enzo of Queens.

Our female vic

is the daughter of Carmen Enzo,

head of Local 225...
Sanitation Workers' Union.

Type of goons you cross
the street to avoid.

So the party
and random guests could've

just been a cover.
The murderer might have been

Enzo's daughter.

Two sanitation workers
were killed last year

by faulty equipment.

Enzo negotiated

a sweetheart deal
favoring their employers,

betraying a boat load
of union members in the process.

His daughter's murder
could have been retribution.

That's a lot of collateral
damage to send a message.

Not if you want it received
loud and clear.

You don't have any idea
who did this to my girl, do you?

Not yet.

When Vicky was little, she used
to love to play dress up.

Her favorite...
was to dress up in this...

white satin wedding dress

her mother made for her.

My job was walking her down
the make-believe aisle.

I'm sorry for your loss.

I have no use for your sympathy.

Well, then know that
every effort is being made

to bring your daughter's killer
to justice.

"Justice."

Justice means different things
to different people, Detective.

Mr. Enzo...

there are serious consequences

for interfering with
a police investigation.

Then stop wasting time...

so I won't have to.

We have reason to believe

that Victoria may
have been targeted

because of you
and the nature of your work.

Her murder may have
been a warning.

You and the other members
of your family

may still be in danger.

I've made my fair share
of enemies

over the years.

Occupational hazard.

But my wife...

and my children...

they're supposed to be
off limits.

Not everybody cares
about the rules.

I'm going to need
the names of your

most vocal opponents,
personal and professional.

That's a long list.

Sit down.

There's someone you gotta meet.

Vicky wasn't supposed
to be at that party.

How do you know that, Jessica?

Because I was the one invited...

not her.

I asked her to go in my place.

It's my fault that she's dead.

It should have been me!

I got the invitation
in the mail

a couple months ago.

Said I was a VIP.

Was there any
indication who sent it?

Return address? RSVP number?

No, I-I...

I remember thinking
how weird that was, but...

I mean, look at it.

It's a work
of art. It...

If someone put that much effort

into the invite,
the party itself

was going to be insane.

When did you

tell Victoria about the party?

Couple hours before
it was supposed to start.

I was stuck at the bar
where I work,

and... and if I wasn't
going to enjoy it, I...

at least wanted her to.

You could have gone late.

The directions...
they were very clear.

They said that no one
was getting in after midnight.

Or getting out.

We need to know

who else our mystery host

personally invited.

All right, so, I got nine guests
who heard about the party

word of mouth...
some received texts,

some got it through tweets,

but none actually
received an invite.

And none of them know
anything about the driver.

I interviewed
two who described

handmade invitations
like Jessica Thompson's:

Chris Boyle and Abigail West.

Add Neal Cooper to that list.

He said he got his invite
in the mail, as well.

Hawkes checked with the families
of the two male DOAs.

They said both
had plans for the evening

but changed them to go
check out some truck party.

If they heard about it

last minute,
let's eliminate them for now.

All right,

so that leaves us
with four VIPs.

The killer used
formal invitations

to ensure his targets
would be in attendance.

If we can find a connection
between them...

We'll know who wanted them dead.

How do you want

to play this?

Divide and conquer.

Individually, each holds

an important piece
of the puzzle.

They just don't know it yet.

Here you go.

Well, they all look familiar.

But then again, I'm a bartender.

I see hundreds of faces
every day.

Right.

Her.

Yeah, I saw this one
at the party.

What about before last night?

No.

You sure about that?

Oh, yeah. I'd remember
a face like that.

I don't want to be wrong.

It's not a test.

Close your eyes.

It might help to visualize

meeting them.

I'm sorry.

I can't remember.

Were all of these people
at the party last night?

Not all of them.

I'm not very good at this.

My parents taught me to

look past physical appearances.

They sound like smart people.

They were.
Neal,

can you think of anybody
who'd want to hurt you?

Someone from your past?

Person you might have

accidentally rubbed
the wrong way?

Was there anybody that might
have held a grudge against you?

I'm a housewife

from Jersey.

I have two little kids.

This party was

the first time I had been out
in a long time.

The only thing that
I can think of

are the phone calls.

Phone calls?

Prank calls,
in the middle of the night,

over and over,
from what sounded like

the same man. I...

He didn't tell me his name,
but he told me to watch my back.

Did you report him
to the police?

I was going to,
but then they stopped.

I just figured

that he had moved on
to somebody else.

Prank calls? Actually...

Yeah. Now that you mention it,
someone did call me

a bunch of times.

They didn't say anything.

They just laughed.

Anything else
out of the ordinary?

The garbage cans.

What about them?

They had been rifled through,
tipped over,

every day for a week.

Could have been an animal.

That's what I thought.

But my husband,
he tied down the covers,

and it kept happening.

We finally had to put them
in the garage.

Someone was rummaging
through my life.

Through my family's life.

I mean, this was years ago.

Someone has been watching me

this whole time?

Uh, Jessica Thompson's
car was broken into

seven times
over a six-month period,

and nothing was ever stolen.
All four of them

experienced incidents
of aggravated harassment

- over a similar time period.
- Sounds like

they all had a stalker.

But not necessarily
the same one.

You think this may be
a coincidence?

Stalking is about obsession.

Typically with a single object
of intense hate

or affection.

In rare cases of
multiple victims,

there is almost always a
consistent pattern or modality.

Our targets include
both men and women,

across a wide social spectrum.

But if they were all being
stalked by the same individual,

then we're gonna have
to dig a whole lot deeper

to find the common trigger.

Until we do, the only
confirmed link between them

is the invitation.

What the...?

Find something?

Yeah, check this out.

I started with
the paper, vellum...

that comes from
the French for "calfskin."

It's vegetable-based
and still mondo bucks.

It was negative for prints and available
in over a dozen stores in the area.

What about the ink?
Japanese.

Made only in the fall
with pine and camphor.

Also ridiculously expensive.

But there was something else

in the batch.
Hmm?

Human blood. I-I'm thinking
it's from the artist

who made the invitation.

Or anyone else who handled it.

No chance. The blood saturation
is consistent throughout.

It was mixed in the ink
before it was dried.

Excuse us.

Akiko Haruka?

Who are you?

The art police.

We have some thoughts
and concerns.

How you doing?

Did you make this invitation?

I make art, not stationery.

We matched the DNA in the ink

to an ex-con named
Wanda Cole.

Now, Wanda certainly
isn't as exotic as Akiko,

but neither is
writing bad checks

and running scams
on the elderly.

That was a misunderstanding.

Of course it was.

So in order to avoid
any more misunderstandings,

let's try this again.

Is this your work, Wanda?

I put blood in my ink

to verify authenticity.

Did one of your regulars
commission these invitations?

Like I said, I don't
typically do stationery,

but this guy paid up front,
$20,000 cash,

five grand apiece.

What was his name?

John something.

Smith, maybe.

How about a description?

Wasn't much to describe.

He barely made eye contact.

I guess I make men nervous.

What do you remember?

He had, uh, dark hair,

light skin.

Bit of a stutter.

Dark hair, light
skin, a bit of a stutter.

That is very helpful.

Maybe there's a better way

to jog an artist's memory.

There you go.

The likeness is vague,

but it may help spark a memory.

I didn't... I didn't
want to say anything before,

'cause I thought
I was just being paranoid.

Well, tell me what happened.

Well, I was
coming out of a movie,

and I stopped for a bite to eat,

and that's when I saw him.

He was staring at me.

And... there was
something in his eyes.

You think this
could be the guy?

Yes. Yeah.

But his, uh, well, his...
his eyes were

further apart, um...

and they were...
they were deeper set.

And, uh, yeah, I think his hair
was longer on the sides.

And, uh, he had a scar.

I'm sure of it.

Ladies' room is around the
corner, three doors down.

Okay.
I'll wait right here.

Thanks.

Jessica, what is it?

That's Johnny.

You know that man?

We were engaged.

I met John
senior year of college.

We went out one time,

and then... lost track
of each other after that.

- When did you reconnect?
- About...

three years ago.

A mutual friend set us up
on a blind date.

We started dating
on and off after that.

Then last year, he surprised me
with an engagement ring.

And you accepted his proposal?

At first, yes.

But then I saw a side of him
that made me uncomfortable.

Uncomfortable how?

He became possessive and needy.

If I didn't check in
with him regularly,

he would accuse me of cheating.

I even caught him following me.

Things got...

they got really bad between us.

I know what you're thinking,
but you're wrong.

I didn't dump Johnny.

He called it off with me.

That type of behavior's
consistent with stalking.

Could have been John's
misguided attempt

at repairing the relationship.

Why didn't Jessica
mention this before?

She could've missed
the connection.

Or she's covering for him.

Ran John Everett
through the system.

Apart from a few
unpaid parking tickets,

he's a regular choir boy.

Giant leap from double-parking
to mass murder.

Not with the proper motivation.

All right, so far,
we've linked him to Neal Cooper,

Jessica Thompson...
What about the other two?

I showed his picture

to Abigail West, and she said
he could be the perv job

who's been hanging around
her kids' park.

But she wasn't 100% sure.

Similar thing
with Chris Boyle.

He interrupted a guy

breaking into his gym locker
a while back.

Chased the guy, but never got
a good look at his face.

Why go after them?

Their lives must have
intersected somewhere else.

John Everett! NYPD!

John Everett!

Bedroom's clear.

This place is empty.
He could be on the run already.

Issue an alert.

Put his picture out to
every roll call and precinct

in the city. Got it.

- This is Detective Flack...
- Hey, Mac. It's, uh...

Bit of overkill
on the deadbolts

for such a decent
neighborhood, no?

This guy must've been
afraid of something.

Or the world in general.

Social isolation.

An indication of
paranoid schizophrenia.

I'll be right back.

All right.

What do you got there?

Looks like we
got some dried blood.

Could be from another vic.

Detective.

Thought I made myself clear.

Any interference with
this investigation

will not be tolerated.

Everett hasn't been back here

or to his mother's house
in Brooklyn.

How do you know his name?

I got eyes and ears
on the street,

just like you, Detective.

Just go home.

I'll call you when we have
the suspect in custody.

If I find him first,
maybe I'll give you a call.

Hey, Jo.
So I examined the bloodstains

we found in Everett's
apartment, and I got this.

Two unique profiles.

Blood came from different
people, both male.

And I took the liberty of

borrowing Everett's toothbrush

for a secondary
reference sample.

I got a match
to one of the profiles.

What about the other?

Struck out with CODIS,
but whoever it was

made that head-sized
crater in the wall.

Dark hairs I found
in the drywall

are a match to
blood donor number two.

So Everett fought with someone
in his apartment.

Yeah, and by the looks
of that hole,

he kicked some ass.

Maybe one of his stalking
victims came to confront him.

Danville.

Are you absolutely sure?

I'll be right there.

Something turn up?

John Everett.

Coast Guard
found Everett's body

trapped in submerged
pylons way downriver.

Current is especially strong
this time of year.

How long was he in the water?

Mm, skin slippage suggests
immersion of at least 24 hours.

Hello.

I'll posit penetrating
cranial trauma as COD.

Looks like there's
something inside.

Look at his clothing.

He's dressed to impress.

But the driver did
everything he could

not to be seen.

This guy wanted to be noticed.

I think John Everett was
a guest at the party.

Could he have also
been the host?

Mm...

Not unless he invited himself.

This was in his back pocket.

A fifth invitation.

The artist said
she only made four.

That means one of our victims
has been lying to us.

According to Everett's
phone records,

he's got hundreds
of inbound calls

coming in, all lasting
under five seconds.

He was also being harassed.

Explains the deadbolts
and covered windows.

Landlord also said John
came home a few months ago

to, uh, surprise a guy
searching through his stuff.

I pulled the complaint report.

Everett described the guy as

skinny, mid-to-late 20s,
with dark hair.

Says they fought,
but the guy got away.

John Everett wasn't
doing the stalking,

he was a victim of it himself.

Makes him
the real fourth target.

Hey, guys, we processed

the clothing
Everett was wearing

when he died, including some
handmade biker boots.

The toe plate was riveted

in a crescent fashion.

It's the same pattern I found

dented into the
driver's side door.

All right, so he
kicked the side of the truck?

Or used it for leverage.

What if the driver
never made it

out of the cab before
it went into the river?

What if he was also trapped?

John saw a man about to drown
and went back to save him.

If Everett recognized him
as the man in his apartment,

he would have outed
him to the cops.

And that's why
he killed him first.

So he risks his life
to save this sick bastard,

and instead of getting
a well-deserved thanks,

gets a body bag?

The company that
rented the truck

is called Demon Dog Deliveries.

And that's the hood emblem
they use on all their vehicles,

a demon dog.

Except, the one on our truck

is missing its left horn.

John's body washed
away, while his murderer

swam to the surface and
played helpless victim.

So one of our victims
is really our driver.

There's a killer among us.

Jessica Thompson
wasn't at the party.

I mean, she could've done this.

Why?

Sour grapes over her fiancé
giving her the heave-ho?

Nah, that's no good.

Her boss confirmed that she was
behind the bar all night.

Plus, the dragon lady
was pretty damn sure

that she sold the invites
to a stuttering man.

That's that.

That also eliminates
Abigail West.

And then there were two.

We're gonna need
the invitation you received

for evidence.

I'm sure I've got it somewhere.

I brought the invitation
with me to the party.

Where is it now?

Probably at the bottom
of the river.

Okay. You told Detective Messer
you felt a responsibility

to rescue everyone
from the truck.

It was the right thing to do.

It was quite heroic.

I'm-I'm no hero.

Well, you will be.

When the world hears about
all the lives you saved?

Magazines, talk shows...

This tragedy's going to make you
the center of attention.

That's the last thing I want.

Why?

I was a...

high school All-American.

Starting quarterback in college.

Sports was easy, but...

Being in the spotlight

all the time,
that's what I couldn't handle.

Ruined my chances at going pro.

Your parents are deceased.

They died in
an accident last year.

Must've been difficult for you.

Did you get help?
Talk to a therapist?

There's nothing wrong with me.

Never said there was.

Wait.

Would you... put
that on the table?

Hold on.

Pour Mr. Cooper a glass.

Neal?

You have a girlfriend, Neal?

Why does that matter?

There were a lot of women
at that party.

Beautiful, sexy women,
way out of your league.

I didn't really notice.

Tell me, Neal...

why do you think a guy like you
got invited to hang out

with all those pretty people?

I don't want to talk to her;
I want to go home.

Answer the question.

I... I don't know.

Must've been a mistake, right?

I mean, come on, let's face it,

you're just an average,
ordinary nobody.

A loser.

The kind that women
like me don't know exist.

Bitch!

Ah!

You think that you're
b-better than me, don't you?

Not better than you, Neal.

Just not a murderer.

We searched your apartment,

found your parent"
life insurance policy.

You've been plotting revenge
for years, haven't you?

The sudden influx of cash
finally made it possible.

You d-d-don't know anything.

We know you tutored Chris Boyle,
first few months freshman year.

Chris spent the rest of his time
partying with the in-crowd,

while you spent all your time
by yourself.

He never invited me out,
n-n-not once!

And Abigail West.

She grew up across the street

from your family.

She was your best friend,
until middle school.

When Abigail found

a new set of friends
and left you behind.

She abandoned me!

Jessica Thompson never even
knew your name.

But you certainly knew hers,

didn't you?

We found the poems you wrote,

the sketches.

The photos you took of
her and John Everett.

J-Jessica was in love with him,
and he threw her away.

He d-deserved to die!

And when you couldn't have her,

so did Jessica.

N-N-N-Nobody wanted me.

I was tired of being alone.

That's why I'm gonna do
everything in my power

to make sure that you spend
the rest of your life

in solitary confinement.

All alone.

Neal Cooper lived
his entire life

convinced the world
had wronged him.

Decided to kill the people
he held most responsible.

If he'd spent less
time blaming them,

he'd have realized the
real enemy was himself.

Perception can be
a dangerous thing.

Hey, here he comes!
Here he comes!

Neal Cooper, ask
you a few questions?

He killed my daughter!

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www.addic7ed.com