Original subtitles

[heart monitor beeping]

You been to Edgar Allan Poe's house?

- Been to the grave. - Babe Ruth's?

Birthplace or museum?

Isn't it the same thing?

I wouldn't know. I go to real museums.

Well, I don't know, it never crossed my mind.

- Not even the Walters? - No.

- American Visionary? - [Bayliss chuckles]

- Great Blacks In Wax? - Great Blacks In Wax?

- Yeah, I'll take you sometime. - Yeah. I look forward to that.

[Pembleton] Well, how about when you're out of town?

You're in New York, let's say,

and you ever say to yourself, "Hey, I wonder

who's at the Met, the Modern, the Whitney, the [indistinct]"?

-"The [indistinct]"? Who says "The [indistinct]"? - I do.

Now that I live in Baltimore, I can't wait to get back to the Big Apple

with all the other small-town rubes, and stand on line.

Now why do New Yorkers say "stand on line?"

- Instead of what? - In line, stand in line.

Sounds better.

"Online," that's the internet,

"in line" is a subway token booth.

No, "in line" is [indistinct].

[doorbell rings]

Sergeant Burns, what have we got?

- Arthur Robinson. 52. - [Pembleton] Okay.

Listen, I wanted to talk to you guys before I called the ME.

Yeah, now that you mention it, it doesn't look like a murder.

Looks like somebody took sick, and died.

Okay, next time, Sergeant Burns,

in the absence of obvious foul play, get in contact with the ME,

and they'll call Homicide if smell something fishy, okay?

Uh, there was an attending physician.

"Respiratory failure, end stage colon cancer,

Dr. Roxanne Turner."

- Where's Dr. Turner? - She went back to her office.

So why did you rattle our cage?

You have a problem with the diagnosis?

Not me, one of Mr. Robinson's sisters

has some concerns.

[sobbing] I asked the officer to call you.

Um, your name, ma'am?

Alberta Wells.

Ms. Wells, you wanted to speak with a homicide detective because...

Because my brother didn't die of colon cancer.

He was murdered.

- Oh, Alberta! - She killed him, Lucy!

- [Pembleton] She who? - Dr. Turner.

Dr. Turner killed my brother.

[theme song playing]

[*]

[officer] Homicide.

Mm, gardenia.

No, it's hibiscus.

- What do you think? - Oh, it's very you.

- It's not too-- - What?

Masculine?

[laughs] I got news for you. It's not masculine.

It's perfume.

It-- it's not too-- What's the word?

Muscular or overpowering.

Well, you don't slap it on like aftershave, Stuart.

- I know that. - Here, you go like this.

Pretty. Mm, mm, mm.

Smell.

Ah. Whoa.

Yeah, that's probably not a good idea.

Why not?

Well, you know,

perfume is such an individual taste.

It's like lingerie.

Lingerie? [laughs]

- Who's this for? - Nobody. Nobody.

You wanna go have a little funnel cake or something?

- I'm starving. - [Ballard laughs]

My brother died of colon cancer.

He had colon cancer.

He died because she killed him.

You're accusing Dr. Turner of euthanasia?

If that's the medical excuse for murder, then, yes, I am.

Now there are some, I suppose, that consider it

to be mercy killing.

- Your brother was dying. - I don't dispute that.

But he would have lived for another month or two at the very least,

if she hadn't intervened.

Dr. Turner was devoted to Arthur.

She made the end of his life bearable.

From the day he got sick until the moment he passed away.

Did you ever see Dr. Turner treat your brother

in a way that was inappropriate or dangerous?

Oh, my God, from day one of her care he was doped to the gills.

He couldn't recognize his own flesh and blood.

So you're saying that Dr. Turner deliberately

administered an overdose of morphine to your brother?

That is exactly what I'm saying.

Now, the rest of your family doesn't seem to agree with you.

No. They don't believe it.

They're under her spell.

But there's a way to find out the truth.

I want an autopsy.

Absolutely not! I forbid it!

You see, you may not have a choice,

'cause the law requires an autopsy

whenever there are suspicious circumstances.

The only suspicious circumstances in this case

are my sister's irrational accusations.

Well, we still have to take them seriously.

Isn't it obvious?

Arthur was crazy about Dr. Turner.

Alberta's jealous.

She felt replaced.

Replaced.

Yeah, and it didn't faze her for a single second, you know.

She never missed a beat.

Well, to act guilty, first you gotta have a conscience.

It's more or less a prerequisite.

Right, right, well,

this woman has the heart of a crocodile.

- Hey, isn't that... - [Gharty] Holy cow!

[Ballard] ...the guys who shot [indistinct]?

- [Gharty] Douglass and Rodney McCord. - [Ballard] Wait! Wait! Wait!

Oh, God.

[suspenseful instrumental playing]

Where did those city goats go?

[bell chimes]

I made sure he was comfortable.

I eased his suffering as much as I could.

But that's a far cry from smothering him

with a pillow or giving him an overdose.

Why does she think you killed him?

Mrs. Wells, she wanted us to use any means necessary

to prolong her brother's life.

Just put him in the hospital,

hook him up to a ventilator or a feeding tube.

Just all the things that he expressly said not to do.

Those painful, expensive,

futile procedures that are pure torture.

And for what reason?

Arthur was very clear about what he wanted.

He even signed a living will.

No extraordinary measures, so I didn't do any.

Morphine didn't kill Arthur Robinson.

Cancer did.

And let me show you the recreational reading room.

- [Henry] Roxanne? - Oh, Dr. Sutter.

I'd like you to meet Detectives Pembleton and Bayliss

from the Baltimore Police Department.

Welcome, gentlemen.

Dr. Sutter is the director of St. Jude's here.

- He's my boss, man. - [laughs] A technicality.

Dr. Turner is a real force to be reckoned with around here.

The heart and soul of St Jude's.

He flatters me in lieu of a raise!

I'm giving these guys the five-cent tour.

[Henry] Excellent. Carry on.

- [Bayliss] Why do you let them smoke, huh? - [Pembleton] Why not?

I guess, they don't have to worry about their cholesterol either.

Oh, if they do, they shouldn't.

Full house?

Well, we usually have somewhere between 10 and 20 residents.

Probably twice as many of them

are our outpatients like Mr. Robinson.

[Bayliss] Is that a lot or a little?

Depends on how you look at it, you know.

The hospice movement, it's still small, but it's growing.

Given the choice, I think most people really would rather die at home

or at the hospice rather than some anonymous institution

like a hospital or a nursing home.

- You can-- Sit down. - [Pembleton] Oh, thanks.

You know, I think, given the choice,

I'd rather die on the dance floor frugging the night away.

-"Frugging"? - Yeah, New Year's Eve.

Strobe light, big glitter ball, a sexy partner.

- [snaps fingers] - I have an aneurysm right at the stroke of midnight.

And I am dead before I hit the ground.

Well, if you're frugging the night away, you deserve a massive aneurysm.

Now, you and I, we have something in common.

- What? A hospice doctor and a homicide detective? - Mm-hmm.

- You mean death? - Mm.

No, your clients are already dead.

Mine are still very much alive.

You help yours die.

They are going to die.

We treat symptoms if we can.

We prolong life where it's appropriate.

And who makes that decision?

We do, together.

The patient and I, a social worker, their family.

Tough call.

Not if you listen.

People know how much they can bear,

and they deserve the right to decide for themselves.

That's what the whole hospice movement is about.

Giving the patient a say in how they die.

With dignity.

You sound skeptical.

I've seen a lot of death. Haven't seen much dignity.

Then you and I don't have that much in common after all.

I see it every day.

The comatose, the senile, the demented, you decide for them?

I don't do what you're suggesting.

What am I suggesting?

I do not commit euthanasia.

[siren wailing]

Hey, partner, ready to roll?

Actually, I gotta run to the dentist.

- I cracked a filling. - [Munch] Ooh.

- [phone ringing] - Homicide, Stivers.

What do you hate more? The rubber dam they put in your mouth to open it,

- or the sound of the drill? - I think the worst part is when I scream like a little girl.

- [both laughing] - I'll be back.

Okay, enjoy. Take your time.

[Stivers] All right, we're on our way.

Hey, got a holdup.

Pizza parlor, Federal Hill, two down.

All right, let's rock.

Rookies.

You gotta love their enthusiasm.

One of the most crucial things that we do here is our palliative care.

It's the pain management.

And what does it mean? Does it mean narcotics?

Whatever's legal and effective.

[heart monitor beeping]

There's no need for people to suffer needlessly.

Is suffering needless?

Isn't pain a theological question as much as a medical one?

As in God created pain, so there must be a reason for it?

- Something like that. - If God created pain,

he also created poppy to alleviate that pain.

So why not use it?

Morphine.

I'd give them heroin if I could.

I began my career as an ob-gyn.

So you could say that I've actually come full circle

from bringing babies into the world

to seeing them off into the next.

[dramatic instrumental playing]

[officer] Come on, get him out.

Let me see.

[camera shutter clicks]

"Our lady of Guadalupe School, sixth grade.

Letitia Morrison."

- [Falsone] So who's this guy? - [Stivers] The owner, Edward Khoury.

[*]

Florence Nightingale wasn't a doctor.

Whatever.

You gotta admit, she's impressive.

The bane of modern existence.

[Bayliss] What's that? A non-dairy creamer?

[Pembleton] A euphemism.

If they called it a petroleum by-product,

you think you'd put it in coffee?

Well, I'd think twice about it.

Which is my point. Euphemism lets us off the hook.

"Non-dairy creamer." "He passed away."

"We put the dog to sleep."

We didn't put the damn dog to sleep, we killed the dog.

He didn't pass away from drinking too much non-dairy creamer,

he died a messy, agonizing death

from ingesting a carcinogenic substance unfit for human consumption.

You're in a good mood.

"Living will."

"Living will." You have a living will, right?

- Yeah, I do, do you? - Absolutely.

Not about to let the college money go down the drain

keeping Daddy on the respirator in a semi-vegetative state.

- [Bayliss] Mm. - [Alberta] Excuse me.

You spoke with Dr. Turner?

Yeah, she's very persuasive.

Don't I know it, she persuaded my brother to sign that evil document.

Living will is more like a death warrant.

Have you authorized an autopsy?

See, we haven't found a reason yet,

that's really up to the medical examiners.

I'll go to court tomorrow, and I'll ask the judge for an autopsy myself.

[footsteps departing]

Well, she's got a personal thing with the doctor.

Fixation.

Maybe.

Gharty, Ballard, qu'est-ce que c'est?

[Gharty] Remember Douglass and Rodney McCord?

Those two hillbillies who iced that Jamaican burn artist over some faux cocaine?

Yeah, they are back in Baltimore.

We spotted them down at the Inner Harbor.

You guys, two city goats, smoked some Jake Baker

over a $5 vial of powdered milk,

and you pursued them to the ends of the earth

like Inspector Javert after Jean Valjean?

Victor Hugo, Les Misérables?

Am I the only one around here that can read?

You know, maybe now the heat's died down,

Douglass and Rodney moved back in with Mom.

You know what? Let's go to Scary Street, Go talk to Donna McCord.

Yeah, I'm game.

I hope your tetanus-rabies boosters are current.

[gentle violin instrumental playing]

[Kellerman] Come on.

[muffled chatter]

Judge Gibbons?

Mike Kellerman.

Detective Kellerman.

A face to go with a name.

Perhaps we shouldn't socialize till after the trial.

Probably wise.

Tell me something before I go.

What's that?

How did a piece of floating excrement

like Georgia Rae Mahoney's civil suit

end up in your courtroom?

Simply worked its way through the system,

so to speak.

It's just coincidence you're the same judge

who reduced Georgia Rae's bail on that murder beef?

This conversation is

highly inappropriate, Detective.

You're digging your own grave.

I tend to do that. Character flaw.

I'm obligated to report this encounter to your superiors.

But before you do that, let's just talk theoretically.

Say there's this big-time

lady gangster here in Baltimore,

and say she's got a couple of cops on her payroll,

a prosecutor or two, maybe even a judge.

Pending an autopsy, I ran a tox screen.

Mr. Robinson had a substantial amount of morphine sulfate in the system.

Well, we expected that, he was a terminal cancer patient.

The doctor was managing his pain with morphine?

Yeah, so are we talking mismanagement?

If you consider massive overdose,

which would result in respiratory failure and death,

mismanagement, yes.

Can an autopsy prove that?

Wouldn't prove intent. Might prove malpractice.

Not interested in malpractice.

Well, maybe it was accidental.

He was in a lot of pain. Maybe she just overdid a little.

By a factor of six,

I'm telling you, she wasn't even close.

So this judge,

who's in Georgia Rae's pocket,

gets the case assigned to him and schedules it for trial.

Now the city's scared.

I figure, the fix is in, they're not going to get a fair shake from this sleaze.

They have to settle.

What do you think this guy's cut's going to be? Ten percent? Twenty?

I'll be speaking with your lieutenant this afternoon.

That's a good idea.

Because he'll remind you, in Baltimore,

the Homicide Unit also investigates kidnappings,

extortion and...

yeah, bribery,

you know, which means access to all kinds of records,

legal, financial,

records which might just reveal a pattern

of judicial decisions favorable to this lady gangster's

criminal organization.

Now you put that together with a sudden,

unexplained uptick in the judge's finances--

So what do you have?

A case for the state's attorney's office?

[chuckles] Hardly.

Well, I think it's kind of compelling, myself.

No way to prove a direct link

between the judge and the gangster.

What about the money?

Money can always be explained.

Money is fungible.

You know better than me.

Okay, it might not fly, but publicity would certainly

put a damper on the judge's political aspirations.

It might.

It'd be a shame if false allegations sullied

an otherwise spotless reputation.

The threat of such allegations

might cause the judge to make an error under pressure.

During a high-profile civil suit, say?

Very likely.

Almost inevitable, in fact.

[gentle violin instrumental playing]

The ME is wrong.

Most terminal patients don't get enough pain medication.

Palliative care is stuck in the 19th century.

Doctors are afraid of over-medicating.

They're so terrified they may accidentally

overdose a patient or create an addiction.

Well, shouldn't they be?

Not if they know what they're doing.

And who cares about addicting a dying person anyway?

That's absurd.

You're so hung up on this puritanical notion

of suffering and redemption.

Pain is noble. Pain is necessary.

Isn't that your position, Detective?

I'm still struggling with that one.

God forbid a dying person experience anything

but agony and misery at the end,

much less a little bit of pleasure.

What if the patient actually gets off on it,

hallucinates, or likes the drugs?

Well, what if the patient goes into respiratory arrest from an overdose?

Look, the amount of morphine I gave Mr. Robinson

would kill you or me or Detective Bayliss here.

But Arthur had been so sick for so long,

he built up a tremendous tolerance.

For him, it was not an overdose.

He had a habit.

That's a value judgment.

Morphine didn't kill him.

I don't know how many times I have to tell you that.

Are you sure that you didn't overdo it just a bit,

out of his own best interest?

The drug only made his death

a tiny bit more tolerable.

It's little enough to ask.

Or would you begrudge him that?

Hello, Donna.

Remember us?

Been looking for you all over Pigtown, up and down.

Clarence said that you moved.

Huh.

[Gharty] What's your new address?

Um...

I don't know, it's kind of recent.

You don't know your own address?

I ain't committed it to memory just yet.

How long have Rodney and Douglass been in town?

They ain't, far as I know.

[Gharty] Haven't heard from them?

Uh-uh.

Jeez, we saw them yesterday down at the Inner Harbor.

- Yeah. - Oh. Huh.

- You sure it was them? - Donna.

I don't know, I ain't seen them.

- [Gharty] You ain't seen them? - No, sir.

Maybe they ain't heard that I moved yet.

[Gharty] I've really had it! I am sick of dealing with brain-dead white trash.

You're stupid to know when to stop lying. Come on!

I ain't stupid.

No, of course you're not stupid.

[Gharty] You're stupid if you don't tell us where we can find your boys.

They ain't hurt nobody.

[dramatic instrumental playing]

They killed a Jamaican drug dealer.

They shot him 26 times.

- Drug dealer? - They're dope fiends, Donna.

[Donna] I don't believe that.

I don't believe they killed nobody, neither.

There's a warrant out for their arrest, we have a murder weapon.

The bullets match,

their fingerprints are all over the gun.

Well, maybe somebody borrowed it to kill that Jamaican fella.

We found the gun in Doug's truck out at your brother's house.

Oh, Lord. Oh, Lord, what am I gonna do?

I had no idea, I swear.

[Donna sighs]

It's gonna be a lot better for your sons if you tell us where they are.

We'll pick them up, and we'll listen to their story.

This is what comes of living in the city.

Mixing with colors.

[upbeat rock music playing]

[music ends]

Letitia Morrison was struck by a stray, large-caliber bullet

fired from inside the pizza parlor.

Letitia lived around the corner, she was on her way to school.

What about the other victim, the store owner?

Forty-seven-year-old Lebanese immigrant Edward Khoury.

He was getting the previous night's receipts together to go to the bank.

They got him to open the door, shot him half a dozen times,

cleaned out the register.

Witnesses or leads?

Two Black men were observed fleeing the scene.

Late teens, early twenties, now, that's all we got so far,

but we're gonna go back, and canvass the area again.

[Stivers] Interview Khoury's widow, see if she has any ideas

on neighborhood kids, ex-employees.

[Giardello sighs]

You're both relatively new to Homicide.

There's two kind of murders

that bother even the most cynical homicide detective.

That's the murder of a fellow officer, and the murder of a child.

This is a 12-year-old girl.

This is your first murdered child.

Lieutenant, I am not a kid right out of the academy.

I've seen a lot of ugliness on the street.

I've worked sex crimes, narcotics.

This is your murdered child.

This stays with you forever.

I promise you, you'll never be able to forget her.

She's gonna come, and sit on the edge of your pillow late at night,

and whisper her name in your ear.

Not if we put it to rest, not if we find the shooter.

Don't try and pretend this case isn't different.

It is.

[ominous instrumental playing]

the defense would have to file a motion to dismiss,

and he'd have to throw the case out.

[Kellerman] Then the detective would have no reason to go on

investigating the judge, would he?

[Gibbons] No, of course, he'd lose all that lucrative overtime.

Maybe he could make it up somewhere else.

[Kellerman] I don't think he'd have to.

[Gibbons] If I were he,

I wouldn't lose any sleep over that.

- [recorder clicks] - Mikey, you taped a judge.

A crooked judge.

When's it gonna stop, huh? When's it all gonna end?

Didn't you hear that?

He's gonna throw Georgia Rae's lawsuit in the trash

right after the trial starts.

Are you sure about that?

He'll go through the motions, he'll make it look good, and then he'll scuttle the ship.

Are you sure about that?

[sighs] Meldrick, you offered me a bribe.

Not so you could prove it, Mikey.

It sounds to me like you solicited a bribe.

It sounds to me like you threatened the judge, that's extortion.

No, this is the beginning of the end.

Georgia Rae's going down,

and she's dragging her little pet judge with her.

You know what I think you ought to do with that tape?

I think you ought to take it, and throw it in a river.

We're gonna prevail.

Get this behind us, we'll be back on the job.

We'll Put this monster down once and for all, you'll see.

Dr. Turner's home care patients from the past year.

Three of the four deceased, of course.

Priscilla Owens is currently under Dr. Turner's care.

You can speak to her directly.

We'd also like to talk to the families, too.

All the numbers are there.

I'm sorry, I can't help you with the last name on the list.

Randy Edelstein?

He had no family.

He died alone?

[Henry] He had Dr. Turner.

Yes, he did.

- Good night. - [Henry] Good night.

- [door clicks closed] - Well, you know what they're gonna say.

She is a terrific doctor, she did a terrific job.

Hope she's my doctor when I'm dying.

- What about Randy Edelstein? - What about him?

He had no one to negotiate with Dr. Turner.

- Negotiate what? - The terms of his death.

You should go talk with his social worker.

Frank, what are you saying?

That the families colluded with Dr. Turner to euthanize their loved ones?

I'm saying we speak for the dead, remember?

Now, if Dr. Turner decided all by her lonesome

to ease Randy Edelstein into the next life,

then she did commit a murder.

You were Randy Edelstein's social worker?

Yes.

You worked with Dr. Turner before?

I'm on staff at St. Jude's.

[Pembleton] You're also Priscilla Owen's social worker.

I am.

Have you ever had any qualms about the way Dr. Turner

treated her patients?

No, Dr. Turner's a first-rate physician.

[Pembleton] Medical and pharmaceutical records.

Dr. Turner's deceased home care patients

were all given substantially higher doses of morphine

than conventional guidelines recommend,

with a big fat spike in the dosage, so to speak, in the end.

I don't have anything to do with the medication.

But you're part of the team, yes?

You consult with a doctor? Give advice?

Surely.

Did you advise Dr. Turner to give Randy

high doses of morphine in order to relieve his pain?

No, I left those decisions entirely to Dr. Turner.

Randy Edelstein had no family?

You were his family, in effect.

- You and Dr. Turner. - I suppose.

- [Pembleton] You were his advocate. - You could put it that way.

Did you advocate ending Randy Edelstein's pain and suffering?

I'm sorry?

Did you and Dr. Turner come to an understanding at some point

to put Randy out of his misery

just to end things gracefully?

No. No, sir, absolutely not.

I believe you.

That still doesn't mean you wouldn't have known what Dr. Turner was doing.

All he had to do was leave the room at the right moment.

Bite your tongue.

Turn a blind eye.

I got a bad feeling about this.

We'll turn up somebody.

8:30 in the frigging morning,

two banditos shoot up a pizza parlor,

kill a couple people,

dozens of bystanders see it all go down,

and nobody knows where these jamokes are.

It'll come together.

It should, but what if it doesn't?

Hey, be positive, okay? We just started.

Somebody's gonna know where we can find these guys.

[suspenseful instrumental playing]

- Yes? - Is Priscilla Owens at home?

Where else would she be?

You're investigating the hospice?

Your physician is Dr. Roxanne Turner?

Dr. Turner's patients seem to hold her in high regard.

Do they?

I don't know any of her other patients.

Well, they seem to feel, what, lucky to have her.

Are you asking me

if I feel lucky to be Dr. Turner's patient?

Yeah, I guess I am.

MS is a degenerative,

progressive, neurological disease.

I've had it for eight years.

Three months ago, I lost the last little use

of my legs, bladder function, et cetera.

I'll spare you the gory details.

I'm 34 years old.

Most days, I don't feel all that lucky.

It's a nice view.

[sighs] Want it?

Should be available this time next year.

Ms. Owens,

have you and Dr. Turner discussed ending your life?

Dr. Turner and I have an understanding, okay?

I trust her to do what's best for me when the time comes,

when I'm helpless, and lying here in my own caca.

Please don't screw that up for me.

[Roxanne] Detectives.

You checking up on me?

They want to know, are you gonna snuff me if I ask you to?

What did you tell them?

She said you had an understanding.

Excuse me, gentlemen. I have a patient to treat.

[vocal pop music playing]

[*]

[music fades]

[Pembleton] The families are protecting Dr. Turner.

- They're in cahoots? - [Pembleton] In a word.

Mm, Bayliss, you disagree?

- Gee, there's no evidence. - Well, that's the point.

There are no autopsies done in any of these cases.

[Bayliss] There's none necessary.

- [Pembleton] Their bodies were cremated. - [Bayliss] Family's prerogative.

Yeah, but Randy Edelstein didn't have a family.

Dr. Turner decided for him to prevent an exhumation and an autopsy.

What about his social worker?

Well, he knows, and he doesn't know.

- His ass is covered, that's it. - [Bayliss] You know something?

You're making an argument that's based on a total lack of evidence.

That's negative proof.

What about Robinson?

Well, the judge ruled in favor of Mrs. Wells, there will be an autopsy.

You see, I don't know what that'll prove,

because she never concealed the use of the morphine.

All she's gonna get is a reprimand

from the State Medical Association.

It'll be a slap on the wrist.

Invite Dr. Turner in for a casual conversation.

Treat her with kid gloves.

And if she declines?

A woman decline an invitation from you, Frank?

- Celebrating? - I guess.

Yeah, not much to celebrate.

A couple of bottom feeders who whacked a third.

It's not your fault that modern criminals lack panache.

Oh, it's not their lack of style that bothers me.

It's ours, we lied.

We told them that we had the murder weapon.

- We do. - Inadmissible.

We also told them that we would jam up their uncle and that we had a warrant.

We could've gotten a warrant.

I don't see the problem.

It was too easy. They don't know anything.

It's like they're from another planet.

- Parallel universe. - Exactly.

That one that doesn't have a constitution and a Bill of Rights.

We tell a joke on ourselves back home?

We're from the kind of place people think the moonwalk was fake,

and pro wrestling is real.

[all laughing]

What a benighted country we live in where more people

believe in angels and UFOs and past life regressions

than evolution.

I believe in angels.

I believe in UFOs and alien abductions.

I've always been a little iffy on evolution myself.

How can you say that when 99% of your DNA is the same as a chimpanzee?

Well, vive la différence.

[Munch] Ballard, come here. Let me show you my new tattoo.

[upbeat pop music playing over speakers]

For me?

Stuart.

It's not a big deal. It's nothing.

What's the occasion?

No, no, no. There's no occasion.

It's just--

Don't-- don't open it here, okay?

I'm intrigued.

Can't wait.

Thanks.

You're welcome.

[chuckles]

[*]

- [knocking on door] - [Giardello] Come in.

Hey, we caught a break in the Letitia Morrison shooting.

Yeah, they picked up Tiny Adamson on a traffic stop.

He had Edward Khoury's ATM card in his pocket,

semi-automatic in the glove compartment, and blood on his shoes.

- Good work. - [Falsone] We got lucky.

If Letitia Morrison's name comes up on The Board in black, come back, and see me.

I'll take you both out for a drink.

[Giardello taps on shoulder]

[Bayliss] Oh, really?

Frank, I--

- Where you going? - Home. Home.

I'm not in this.

- [Roxanne] Good night, Bayliss. - Vaya con Dios, Doctor.

- [door bangs closed] - Do I need a lawyer?

I don't know, did Randy Edelstein need a lawyer?

Sonia Moore? Ellie McGreevey?

Priscilla Owens?

- No, they didn't. - Right.

Because they had you.

Doc, are you familiar with the concept of the seamless garment?

It's a pacifist Catholic doctrine.

I work at St. Jude's, remember,

life is a seamless garment, sacred from conception to death.

No abortion, no murder, no suicide, no euthanasia.

No nuclear war. No capital punishment.

Do you believe in the seamless garment of life?

I'd like to.

It's logical, consistent.

No moral, metaphysical contradictions.

What are you, a homicide detective

that doesn't believe in capital punishment?

Well, feelings are one thing, reality is another.

I'm a cop, I have to embrace contradictions.

Capital punishment is wrong.

And necessary.

See, I don't let doctrine stand between me and my patients, either.

But I don't murder any of my patients.

Fine.

I accept that.

- You do? - Mm-hmm.

I know how slippery definition can be.

Semantics.

The more sophisticated the mind, the slicker the pavement.

I think you really believe

what you do is not murder.

No, that ain't nearly good enough, and please do not patronize me.

Okay, fine, fine. Forget about the word "murder."

I no longer suspect you of murder, I absolve you of that.

I don't need absolution.

Oh, come on, Doc. We all need absolution.

You speak for yourself.

I hope you realize you're free to go at any time.

You're not under arrest. You're not a suspect.

Not for anything I could charge you with

under the laws of the great state of Maryland.

What would you charge me with if you could?

I don't know.

How about...

playing God?

God doesn't make house calls.

- We do. You and me. - I don't play God.

That's exactly what you do every day.

You decide who's innocent and who's guilty.

You say, "Okay, I'm gonna let you go,

but you, I'm gonna get you."

"I'm gonna get you."

[over speaker] "I'm gonna get you."

I avenge the dead.

Is that why I'm here?

Because you think you need to speak for my patients?

Somebody's got to.

Who the hell are you?

You didn't hold their hands when they were screaming and hollering all night long.

You didn't mop up any mucus or diarrhea or their vomit.

You didn't clean the pus out of anybody's sores

or throw your body across theirs to keep them in the bed

when they were thrashing around in their death throes

with bile and blood gushing from every orifice!

You didn't comfort their families

who will never, ever get over their loss.

Detective, how dare you presume to speak for my patients?

They didn't have you then, and they sure as hell don't need you now.

I am a doctor. That means that I help people.

I don't just keep them alive for no good reason.

Everybody says you're a great doctor.

You care for your patients. You love them, even.

But you can't bear it, can you?

It all takes too damn long.

God or nature, whatever you want to call it.

Can't just let them die. So you deliver them, right?

Just like you used to deliver babies.

There are no dead people on my conscience, can you understand that?

Can you say the same thing?

[sighs] I used to have a friend.

I have a friend.

She started having these headaches.

Migraines.

So I had lunch with her on the day she was scheduled to go in for her MRI.

She was terrified.

You know, thought it was

MS, cerebral palsy.

- What was it? - Brain tumor.

They operated.

They got most of it, but not all.

Surgeons left just a little. Got a little lax.

Did she die?

Still alive.

But she's not the same.

Not the same person.

She used to be a singer.

Carla can't sing no more.

[sighs] She knows you when she sees you.

But once you walk out her room, forget you were even there.

She's living now with her daddy. He's widowed and retired.

What do you suppose is going to happen to Carla when her daddy dies?

I ain't seen her since we had that lunch together.

No, no, no, that's not true, it's not true.

I saw her once at the hospital after the operation.

When everybody was hopeful that she would be who she was again.

The same person.

It's funny.

It's funny. I forget about that visit.

[laughs wryly]

I had a stroke last year.

My-- my memories are a little

perforated around the edges.

You had a stroke, and you're still drinking coffee?

Mm-hmm, I used to listen to the doctors.

I used to take their advice, but I don't anymore.

Because what do they know?

I mean, what do they really know?

That's what this is about.

You had a stroke, and you're pissed.

You resent your doctors, because you think

they have the power of life and death over you.

So you're going to prove them wrong,

even if it means killing yourself.

Then you blame some arrogant neurosurgeon

for ruining your friend's life,

because you feel guilty for abandoning her,

and I'm paying for all of this?

Ah, don't absolve me, Detective. Absolve yourself.

Arthur Robinson's going to be autopsied,

and Priscilla Owens is going to be autopsied when she dies.

And the one after that, and the one after that,

and every one of your patients who dies are going to be all over you.

I'm putting you out of the God business.

I am not going to stop doing what I do,

because you hate God and doctors and yourself.

You won't stop,

I'm going to make you stop.

Okay, say I stop, say you stop me.

Say I quit treating my patients the way I see fit.

Let me tell you something.

All of their pain and misery and humiliation

will be on your head.

I can take the weight.

Can you?

Sleep well, Doc.

I always do.

[inhales in frustration]

You know, I expected something a little more formal.

Well, this is a temporary place.

They're raising money for a new building.

Who's eligible for this thing?

Baltimore children, 18 and under, who've died from violence.

They're going to need to build a stadium.

[ominous instrumental playing]

[rain pattering]

[doorbell rings]

[lock clicks]

Yes, sir.

- Mr. Kaufman? - Yeah.

- I'm Frank Pembleton. - Hi.

I'm a friend of your daughter's.

Is she home or is that--

Sweet pea!

Somebody here to see you.

Hey, Carla.

[sentimental instrumental playing]

Frank.

- Yeah. Hey! - Oh, hi.

[*]

[theme song playing]