All language subtitles for Cross.2024.S01E05.720p.10bit.WEBRip.2CH.x265.HEVC-PSA

Previously on Cross...

All right, Emir Goodspeed

was murdered by a serial killer.

That killer kept a scrapbook
of their work.

Each of those victims was transformed

to resemble a serial killer.

Now our killer needs one more victim.

Aileen Wuornos.

What are we calling this freak?

- The Fanboy.
- Well, this girl's missing.

You make her a blonde,
that's Aileen's sister.

- What do you want?
- 2.2 million.

I want Aileen and the book.

I know this ain't about you.
Who you working for, Bobby?

Do you remember the night
that you asked me to go get

a box full of photos and videos?

You said to me, "Burn it."

I didn't burn it.

Ed Ramsey is the Fanboy?

- Where you going?
- His birthday party.

♪ They're really saying I love you...

You know what I really love
about this project?

Each transformation
has its own unique challenge.

Now, with you, it's the teeth.

Aileen was very self-conscious
about her teeth.

In fact, every photo
you can find of her in her youth,

she's got her lips clamped tight.

Now, in 1986,

she went to an orthodontist's office
and put down a deposit for braces.

$600. That was money that she had stolen

from a man that she'd murdered
just three weeks earlier.

So, the doctors do their exam
and they make a mold of her teeth,

which I picked up online

for just $169.50.

What a steal.

You see the way that the front teeth
are all crowded in?

That's what Aileen wanted to fix.

Only, the police arrested her
just two days

before the braces were supposed to go in.

Poor thing died with crooked teeth.

So, we're gonna need to adjust yours.

I'm gonna need you to open your mouth

so I can make a mold of your teeth
to ensure a perfect fit.

It's not gonna hurt as much as the hammer.

You want to play a game?

Keep going.

She's got some fight in her.

Mm-hmm. Yep.

Open. Open your mouth.

I'm tired of this game. Open your mouth!

That's it, now.

One one-thousand, two one-thousand,

three one-thousand, four one-thousand,

five one-thousand,

six one-thousand,

seven one-thousand,

and...

...ten.

The only thing you get to decide
is how fucking hard to make this.

But it is going to happen, Shannon,

exactly the way that it was meant to.

It's perfect.

All right.

Who's ready to party?

Caitlin, Horace.
How great to see you.

Happy birthday, Ed.
As always, we appreciate the invitation.

Mm, of course.

Well, if a certain young
House representative

hadn't, uh, brought me on board
her reelection campaign,

then none of us would be
where we are today, would we?

Excuse me, Manhattan for the gentleman

and an iced coffee with Baileys
for the young lady.

Ooh, hell of a memory.

The key to being a good host
is knowing everything about your guests.

Excuse me. April, you look fantastic.

I come to this birthday party
every year,

but somehow, you don't get any older.

Please.
Spoken like a true politician.

Maybe mayor?

- Mm. It's a notion.
- It's a good one.

Hey. Now it's a party. There she is.

- Ed, happy birthday.
- Thank you so much. I'm glad you're here.

Right this way.
You see, this is Lawrence Buckley.

I have been prepping him all week
on the Somewhere Foundation.

- You ready for that big pitch?
- Locked and loaded.

And I brought backup.

- Oh.
- You remember Alex?

How could I forget?
Metro PD's golden boy.

I'm so honored you could make the time.

Honor's all mine. Happy birthday.

Thank you. Please.

Enjoy.

- Ed Ramsey, huh?
- Ed Ramsey.

You don't seem surprised.

Rich, powerful fuck
killing people without remorse?

- Yeah?
- Checks out to me.

- You tell anyone else?
- Not yet.

Hey, you can't keep this secret
for long, Sugar.

No, but it'll give me time to get
in his head, find his weaknesses.

We're gonna need all there is to know
about Ramsey, including how he grew up.

What about his family?

Mom, dad, sister: deceased.

I did find a guy from Ramsey's hometown
that says he has a story,

but he only wants to tell it in person.

You're just gonna hop a jet
to Lowell, Indiana?

Not me.

- Oh, hell no.
- What?

It's, like, a day or two, tops.

Look, just stick a shovel in the dirt,
you know, see what you can dig up.

Come on.

All right. So why don't you go?

Because...

...I'm going to Ramsey's birthday bash.

VIPs only.

I'm Elle's plus-one.

Your girl's taking you
to a serial killer's birthday party?

It's lucky timing.

Look, if we haul Ramsey in
before questioning,

he's gonna lawyer up,
we ain't gonna get shit.

This way, I get inside his house,
get inside his head

before he knows we're on to him?

It's like a three-hour interrogation,
no lawyers present.

Come on, man.

Come on, baby.

So you get champagne and caviar.

And I go to Nowhere, Indiana?

Yep.

♪ To the shoe store on the corner,
here your high-tops back...

Continue straight for 73 miles.

You got to be shitting me.

Just you?

Uh, I'm waiting for someone.

First time, huh?

- Huh?
- Seeing a Black man.

Detective Sampson?

Oh, you must be Dex.

Thanks.

So, how do you know Ed?

We grew up next door to each other.

Same age, same street.

Our mothers wanted us
to be best friends, but, uh...

But?

I could tell there was
something wrong with him.

Even when we were kids.

How about that one?
Oh, my goodness.

Oh... Ed, check it out.

Felicia's on the web searching
"female serial killers of yore."

- Exciting.
- Need to make sure

I don't look like them.

You read the article, right?

He's targeting people who resemble
legendary serial killers.

Well, you don't look like
any serial killer I've ever seen, Felicia.

I could. You don't know.

Alex,

I did not know that you
and Ed were friends.

Oh, n-no, I'm Elle's plus-one.

He's a big supporter
of the Somewhere Foundation.

What about you? Rumors must be true, huh?

About you running?

Well, this is not one of those
"stay in one place for 20 years" cities.

You're either going up or down.

I like up better.

Hey.

Now, there's the two we should be asking.

Come on.
All right, strictly cone of silence.

Whatever you say never leaves this room.

What's going on with the serial killer?

I don't play that game, Horace.

Can we just ask as concerned citizens?

You can ask.

But you're not going to answer.

All right, what about a nod, yea or nay?

Isn't it time for dinner?

Now, I say

when it's time to eat, and April, come on.

People are scared.

All we want is some information.
You're the chief of police.

Alex is the lead investigator on the case.
You got to give us something.

Like I said, you can ask.

- How many victims?
- Multiple.

More than five?

- Do you have any suspects?
- Not yet.

But...

...we do have a profile of the killer.

Uh, d-do we want to hear this,

- or is it just gonna make it scarier?
- No, no.

We want to hear every fucking detail,
thank you very much.

Keep in mind,
this is just theory and conjecture...

But you've been doing this a long time.

And you're the best.

Let's hear it.

White male. Forties.

Suave, confident.

More Bundy than Dahmer.

He knows how to use his looks
and his charisma.

On men and women.

Oh, God.

Uh, he's wealthy, well-connected,

but he didn't start that way,
he grew up poor.

It's a far cry from the fancy life
that he lives now.

Let's say Deep South,

uh, Midwest, maybe.

Eddie could lay on the charm
when he wanted to.

But when he didn't think people
were looking, he'd be watching you.

Taking pics with his camera
he always had with him.

It was creepy.

But we're talking more than creepy,
aren't we?

Something specific?

Uh...

When I was 14,
we had this problem in town.

Dead birds popping up all over.

Gutters, churchyards, porches.

All kinds of birds,
but they all had one thing in common.

Their feet had been cut off.

Someone was torturing them.

You think it was Ramsey?

I know it was.

'Cause that same year, Eddie was laid up
after they took out his tonsils.

My mom's known around here
for her chicken soup.

She made me bring some by.

His room's in the attic, I go up.

I should've knocked.

I saw the feet.

Laid out on the bed like baseball cards.

- I never told anybody.
- Why not?

Look, the guy's running around
killing birds...

Some of those pics he was always taking?

They were of my dad.

Not with your mother.

If I said anything,
he would've destroyed my family,

so I kept my mouth shut.

Eventually, the bird thing stopped,

so I thought maybe he'd grown out of it
or got scared straight.

- But he didn't, did he?
- I don't know.

I'm-I'm probably not the person
you should be talking to.

Who-who should I be talking to?

Ramsey wrote me letters after high school.

I never answered.
He was always talking about

some guy in Philly named White Mike.

Philly? No one in Lowell?

Well, I would say his mother,

- but he hasn't visited her in years.
- Hold up.

You telling me
that Ed Ramsey's mother is alive?

We are not the first

to walk these lands.

Nor are we the first to feast upon them.

Tonight, I want to pay tribute
to the Anacostan tribe,

upon whose ancestral lands we now stand.

To the Natives.

The pig you see before you
was cooked in a traditional pit.

Long hours of slow, subterranean heat

generated by river stones and local brush.

Now, before we dig in,
I hope you will all join me...

Photography and blackmail?

At least the guy's consistent.

Turns out
he's just as consistent with his lies.

You know that dead mother
he's been going on about?

She's alive and kicking.

Now, that's interesting.

Well, don't get your hopes up too high.

Word is they haven't spoken for 25 years.

Of course they haven't.

No, no, the dead mother is a lynchpin
in Ramsey's personal mythology.

He couldn't just leave her behind,
he had to symbolically murder her

in his own mind so he could become
the man he wanted to be.

Which suggests
she still has power over him.

You need to talk to her. Keep digging.

Yeah.

W-What are you digging into right now?

Some shrimp skewers?

I'll catch you later, John.

That's very kind of you.
What about you, Elle?

Did you enjoy the toast?

I mean, if we really wanted to honor
the Indigenous, we'd give back their land.

That's what I love
about you. So pure of heart.

Now, where's your handsome bodyguard?

I want to make sure he gets
a slice of neck. It's the best part.

He went to the powder room.
I'm starting to believe he got lost.

Excuse me.

Do you have
a search warrant, Dr. Cross?

I didn't know
I needed one to go to the bathroom.

Uh-huh. Well, you would have passed three
on your way to this room.

Oh, well, it's easy to get lost
in a house this big.

But I am glad that I stumbled in here,

because, uh...

...it's quite the display.

I should have known
you'd appreciate the art.

Doing what you do for a living,
rooting around in the minds of killers.

Mm.

I guess we're both connoisseurs of death.

And excellent whiskey.

Pappy Van Winkle.

I heard it's your favorite.

- Where'd you hear that?
- I cross paths

with so many people,

I actually can't remember
where that particular tidbit came from.

But it's true, isn't it?

Well, let's have a taste, shall we?

To life's rarest pleasures.

Mmm. Worth every penny, right?

It's quite a generous pour. Thank you.

Oh, it's my pleasure. But it's not free.

I want to know more about this, uh,

killer profile that you've come up with.

What else can you tell me?

I've already said too much.

Come on, Alex.

It's my birthday.

The man we're after
is exceptionally brilliant.

- Hmm.
- Exceptional.

But his intellect

masks a deep insecurity.

What makes you say that?

He worships other,
more impressive serial killers.

Desperately wants to be
a part of their club.

Maybe he respects
what they've accomplished.

The way they've seared their legacy
into America's collective psyche.

- But what do I know?
- Mm.

Do you think you can stop him?

I know I can.

- And why is that?
- Because...

I know him better than he knows himself.

He wants to be a legend,

but all he's doing is making
pale copies of the real ones.

He even made a scrapbook,
like a little groupie.

We gave him a nickname.

"The Fanboy."

- That's clever.
- Mm.

Hey. We should get back to the party.

But let's keep this our little secret,
shall we?

I don't have enough Pappy Van Winkle
for everyone.

My house. My fucking house. Shit.

My house. Fuck him.

I'm okay.

We're okay.

Shit!

Chateau Pravins, a $10,000 bottle of wine
soaking into concrete. Perfect.

You're missing all the fun.

- How many have you had?
- Mmm.

Don't count my drinks, sweetie.

- Hey.
- Hey.

Baby, what happened to you?

I just got stuck on a call with John.

- Everything okay?
- Yeah.

Yeah, yeah, everything is great.

Hey, um, did you tell Ramsey
that I like Pappy Van Winkle?

No. Why?

"Whoso stoppeth his ears
at the cry of the poor,

he also shall cry himself,

- but shall not be heard."
- Hmm.

That was my mother's
favorite Bible verse,

God rest her soul.

Every Sunday dinner would begin
with us reciting it.

And when she was taken from us,
I made a pledge

to honor that sentiment
for the rest of my life.

Good evening.
I'm Detective John Sampson, DC police.

- I'm here to see Mrs. Ramsey.
- I'll see if she's taking visitors.

Thank you.

This is really
a milestone birthday for me.

Always had it in my head
that middle age starts at 45,

but now that it's here,
I'm thinking maybe I should've picked 50.

You're doing great, Ed.

You don't look a day over 35.

Is that good genes, I wonder,

or Dr. Daine's handiwork?

I'll never tell.

In my field, you don't take credit,
only the referrals.

Well, for all you newcomers,
let me give you some ground rules.

I don't want any birthday presents.

All I'd ask is that you donate
to a charity of your choice.

And then, of course,
I'd ask to who and how much,

because, yes, I'm tacky like that.

But first,

I want to share with you all a story

about why charity means so much to me.

See, the first time
that I really dedicated myself

to making a difference in this world

was shortly after my mother was killed.

Something like that
really puts the world in perspective.

I didn't always have this money,

but I did have time, energy,
and a lot of love.

So I gave it all
to a young boy named Isaiah.

You see, Isaiah's father Jason
was a drug dealer

who abandoned his family.

And shortly after that,
his mother, Joanne, died.

She was a drug addict.
Probably worked a corner or two.

And so the burden of raising him
fell to his grandmother Regina.

She was a strong, proud woman.

She did the best she could.

But Isaiah was so stubborn,
self-destructive.

You see, the image of his mother

selling herself to strangers for drugs

was something that left him
angry at the world.

Alex, what is going on?

Why is he talking about you?

It was hard for me
to watch him struggle

to prove that he was more
than just the son

of a drug dealer and a whore.

I do hope this story
has a happy ending, Ed.

More of a "to be continued."

You see, I can't say that

it hasn't always been difficult
for Isaiah.

Life just keeps throwing him curveballs.

He met the love of his life,
had two beautiful kids,

and then, tragically,
his wife was gunned down.

Now he's struggling,
threatening to revert

to the self-destructive ways of his past.

I honestly don't know if he'll make it,

but I do know this.

He wouldn't have a chance in this world

if it weren't for me.

And that is why I'll never give up on him.

No matter how low he falls.

But enough of that.

Felicia, why don't you kick us off
with a donation?

Elle. Elle!

What the hell is going on
between you and Ed Ramsey?

I-I don't know.

Bullshit. He was poking at you in there.

Do not lie to me right now.

Ramsey is the Fanboy.

What?

That can't be true.

If I wasn't sure before, I am now.

Elle, did you tell him
any of those things about me?

No. I don't understand.

Wait. If Ramsey's the Fanboy, then...
how long have you known?

Alex, when did you start suspecting him?

A few days ago.

That's why you changed your mind

about coming to the party.

Why didn't you tell me?

If I told you,
then you wouldn't act normal.

Act normal?

- I wouldn't fucking be here!
- Shh.

Please.

Oh, but that would have been
a problem for you, right?

If I don't go, you don't go.

That's why you lied.

I did not lie.

You hid the truth from me.

In my book, that's a lie.

Pretending it's not...

is even worse.

Wait. No, wait, Elle.
Hear me out. Hear me out. Just... just...

Don't.

Hey, tell me you got something.

Mama Ramsey's got dementia.

Lights are on, but nobody's home.

Shit.

- I need a pressure point.
- How's it going over there?

Does he know you're looking at him?

Oh, yeah. It's game on.

Um, okay, look, look.

I-I want you to try something
called paradoxical lucidity.

It's flashes of clarity
that people with dementia can have

if you hit the right trigger.

Now, I know it's a long shot,

but if you shine the right light
through that fog...

You have any idea
what this trigger might be?

Actually, yeah.

I think Ramsey just told me.

What's wrong, Elle?

Everything okay?

Yes. Great.

You're lying, Elle.
I can tell you've been crying.

What's wrong?

You know you can talk to me, right?

About anything.

After all the time we've spent together,

I consider you a true friend.

I hope you feel the same about me.

Yes, of course.

I just wasn't feeling well.

I was gonna head home early.

Oh, you can't leave now.

It's showtime.

You mean Buckley. Hmm.

I'm just not sure
I'm able to pitch to him.

Elle...

you have been waiting
for this shot for months.

The kids are counting on you.

- Right?
- Yeah.

- Come on.
- Right.

"Whoso stoppeth his ears
at the cry of the poor,

he also shall cry himself,
but shall not be heard."

Whoso stoppeth his ears
at the cry of the poor...

He also shall cry out,

but shall not be heard.

Who are you?

My name is John.

I'm with the police.

I need to talk to you
about your son Eddie.

Oh, Jesus wept.

Ma'am?

"Let me not see the death of the child.

Precious...

in the sight of the Lord..."

"...is the death of His saints."

She was a saint.

Eddie's sister?

Did Eddie...

Did he do something else bad?

Elle Monteiro,

this is my dear friend Lawrence Buckley.

Buck and I go way back.

What's that saying?
Friends help you move...

Oh, and real friends help you
move the body.

So Ed's been hounding me about

this little organization of yours
for weeks.

So, off you go. Let's hear the big pitch.

It's your big moment, Elle. Do or die.

The Somewhere Foundation program
hinges on mentorship.

The children we serve...

Speak up, sweetheart.
I'm a little deaf in both ears.

The name's Elle.
I was just saying that we try to...

We do give the kids
a well-rounded perspective.

It's not just about receiving,
it's also about giving.

All right. And what's
the administrative overhead?

That's in flux. We've been growing...

I was looking for a percentage,
sweetheart,

not a five-paragraph essay.

The name is Elle Monteiro.

My overhead is 22%.

- Could be lower.
- Compared to most nonprofits
in the area...

Have you ever attended
a protest against law enforcement?

I don't see how that's relevant.

Sixty percent of my annual giving goes

to "back the blue" funds.

Trust me, it's relevant.

Yes, I've attended police protests.

More than I can count.

That doesn't
make her anti-police.

Matter of fact, Larry,
she's dating Detective Cross.

You and Cross are a thing?

- Does that matter?
- Well, I don't know.

How does a quarter million sound?

Elle.

Elle.

What's going on here?

Oh, uh, Mr. Buckley was just pledging

a quarter of a million dollars
to the Somewhere Foundation.

You two, huh?

You know, I might just
make this an annual gift.

You see, Lawrence and I are the same.

When we find a project
that we're very passionate about...

- Mm-hmm.
- we like to see it through to the finish.

If you all would excuse me.

Elle, what happened back there?

You mean when I took a donation
brokered by a serial killer?

Look, he was just messing with you
to get to me.

- It's the same thing with the speech.
- I don't care

about his motivation.

I care about the man I love

putting me in that position.

Not a lovers quarrel, I hope.

You want me to talk to her?

Actually, I think it's time

I did something for you.

Now, I know you said
no birthday gifts, right?

But since my friend
went all the way to Indiana

for this one, I do hope

that you'll make an exception.

Mm.

That's my jam.

You are digging...

a deeper hole.

Why'd you lie about her being dead?

What should I do-- parade her around town?

The poor woman has no grip on reality.

Really? My partner found her to be

surprisingly lucid.

Read her favorite Bible verse.

The same one that you shared.

And she just snapped right to.

Shared all kinds of things.

- She's a fragile old woman.
- But she got fragile

before she got old, though, right?

Hey, I hope you know
that it probably wasn't personal

when she turned her back on you.

It's called pathological bereavement.

Parent loses one child,

they cut emotional ties
with the surviving child.

It's a self-defense mechanism
for the parent,

but it is fucking devastating

for the child left behind.

You want to bill my insurance
for that diagnosis?

The way she acted, you might as well
have died with your sister.

But no, no, no,
you still craved Mommy's approval,

and then, when you didn't get it,
you just...

You started striving for her attention,

started doing things
that she just could not ignore.

Like the birds.

You don't know what you're talking about.

And when that didn't work,

when you finally had to realize

that she would never love you again...

...you had to make her dead.

You had to murder her in your mind

so you wouldn't have to live with the idea

that your own mother was alive,

and she didn't give a shit

about you.

Close, but not really.

I never told my mother about the birds.

I did, however,
tell her that I would do anything

to be an only child.

Anything.

We all have secrets, Alex.

The difference is,
I'm ready to bring mine into the light.

Happy birthday, Ed.

♪ My eyes on me...

Give me it. Give me it!

Ow!

Help me.

Help me open this. Please.

Please help me!

No! No! No!

No!

No! No!

There's nowhere to go, Shannon.

I have to be perfect, right?

Just like Aileen?

No. No!

Don't say anything.

Don't remember anything.

It's almost time for cake.

Ah!

Aah!

Mr. Ramsey, sir?

Give me a minute.

You asked me to notify you when the cake--

Just give me a fucking minute!

Ah!

Oh, wh-where were you?

Gin and tonic. No, just gin.

Are you okay?

- You look like you've seen a ghost.
- Oh, my God.

Oh, it's so gorgeous.-

- Have at it.
- Make a wish.

Now, I, of course, baked this cake myself,

so everybody has to try some.

Thank you so much.

I see you showered
and you put on a fresh shirt.

Those are some nice buttons there.

Should I add OCD to your profile?

I'm surprised you're still here.

Something happened
when you went to get the wine.

Jesus.

Are you seriously arrogant enough

to be holding her here?

I have no idea what you're talking about,

but I am glad that you stayed.

Because I wasn't sure
I'd get to watch it happen.

What's that?

The moment you turn into a pumpkin.

Are you good?

You might want to check that.

Pumpkin time.

What did you do?

I don't know what you're talking about.

This is you, isn't it?

This is the incident
that Sampson reported.

- Did you kill her?!
- Please don't shoot!

Elle, let me explain.

- Don't touch me.
- Elle, Elle, Elle, Elle, Elle!

He did this.

- Who?
- Ramsey.

What? Why?

Because he's the killer.

- Alex.
- Hear me out.

Ed Ramsey is the Fanboy killer.

Okay, it's time to go.

Okay, Detective,
we'd all love to believe you.

We really would. But it's Ed.

You remember I told you
we had a profile, yeah?

Humble childhood, Ted Bundy charm.

It all describes him, Ed Ramsey.

J-Just a minute ago, he all but admitted

to killing his own sister.

My sister died
of carbon monoxide poisoning.

This, this man is kidnapping people.

Mutilating them. Executing them.

He's a fucking monster.

The only monster that I see

in this room is you.

Ok... ok... yes, th-this is bad.
It's fucking horrible.

But don't-don't let that cloud
your judgment.

Your... This...

Wait, just ask yourself, why now?

Why now, hmm?

This video just happens to drop

right after he finds out
he's my lead suspect?

- Alex--
- No, no, hold it, wait, wait.

You... y'all like videos?

V-Videos. I got a video
for you right here.

Didn't he say his mother was dead?

She was murdered right after college?

Then what is this?

- ♪ Happy birthday to you...
- Hmm?

Hmm? Ramsey, who is this?

This is his mother, recorded tonight

at her home in Indiana.

The whole dead mother thing is a lie.

It's a lie. Everything about
this man is a lie.

You need to leave.

- You don't believe me, Chief?
- Now is not the time

or the place.

Go home and call your union rep.

Okay, everything's fine.

Everything's okay.

Let's just chalk this up
to Detective Cross

having a little too much to drink.

Right? And being under too much pressure.

What happens at Ramsey's

stays at Ramsey's. Right, Alex?

- You know, fuck you. Fuck you.
- Oh, my God.

- Oh, my God.
- Get off. I will fucking arrest you.

- Out now!
- Hey.

Shannon Witmer's alive.

She's probably here
in this house right now.

Out.

Well, happy fucking birthday, Ed.

♪ So pretty in the sky...

Get the fuck off.

Gonna make an official request
for your badge and gun.

It is not optional.
You are required to hand them over.

Next time on Cross...

How do you blame this shit on me?

You started all this when you reported me.

Be careful where you take this.

Shannon is Ramsey's last victim.

The man is a perfectionist.

He's obsessed with winning.

You talking about the Fanboy or you?

I made a mistake, all right?

You can't let that get in the way
of saving Shannon's life.

Was that so hard?!

- Who's your friend?
- She's the one that found

the witness we're gonna use
to burn you down.

Are you sure?