All language subtitles for CSI.S12E07.Brain.Doe.720p.WEB-DL.DD5.1.H264-NFHD

It's a simple proposal--
you, me,

a bottle of Cristal.

I gotta take this.

Welcome to Tasty Time.

Like to try
our new chocolate sundae?

Hello?

Come in Houston.

Tasty Time. Over.

Number 17.

Okay.

Uno diecisiete coming up.

Want that monster-sized?

I'll take that as a no.

$6.43. Pull forward.

That was very funny.

Hey, who's gonna
pay for this?

So according to the
Tasty Time kid over here,

this whole thing started

when the convertible
just cruised through

the fast food window.

Got nailed by the truck.

You know what they say,
fast food kills you.

Not usually quite so fast.

So the witnesses
at the burger joint said

that the car seemed to be
on autopilot-- no driver.

So maybe he had a
heart attack or an aneurysm

and slumped over after ordering.

Last supper,
favorite restaurant.

He didn't have a chance
to enjoy it.

The R.O. is Danny Clegg.

He's got a long sheet--
burglary, assault

possession, you know.

What did he order?

Why?

Curious.

He ordered a number 17--
triple cheeseburger deluxe.

Okay.

All right.

So Jeep gets clipped by this
convertible-- Mr. 17.

Red paint transfer
from the convertible.

Knocking him off-course
and into the light pole.

Second DUI this year.

He was working on
this third here.

Yeah, he got more than
a hangover this time.

Well, this boy cracked his egg
wide open.

What about our truck driver?

Okay, so the truck
hits the convertible,

rolls on its side.

Leaving the driver speechless.

Oh! All right, fellas,
we got a math problem here.

Never very good at math.

We got three dead
drivers, right?

Right.

All with their brains
still inside their heads.

Yeah. So?

What's this brain
doing down here?

This is going to be fun.

♪ CSI 12x07 ♪ Brain Doe Original Air Date on November 9, 2011

♪ Who... are you? ♪

♪ Who, who, who, who? ♪

♪ Who... are you? ♪

♪ Who, who, who, who? ♪

♪ I really wanna know ♪

♪ Who... are you? ♪

♪ Oh-oh-oh ♪
♪ Who... ♪

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

♪ Are you! ♪

You must be Charlie.

Sorry. I was just...

No, no, no, no,
it's all good.

I'm Nick Stokes.

- It's nice to meet you.
- Nice to meet you.

You're the same guy that's

the starting point
guard at WLVU, right?

- Yeah.
- Nice work.

Are you, uh, are you here
for a family meeting?

Dad's talked about
our family meetings?

Well, they've been pretty much

dialed into the
curriculum around here.

So is he serious about
raising your hand?

Not anymore. No, we had
a family meeting about that.

Hey, look who's here.

- Hey, buddy.
- Hey.

You met my son.

Pretty cool, huh?

What are you doing here?
I thought the bus

to Tempe was leaving at 2:00.

Yeah, it did.

Oh, you have a game tonight?

Which clearly you're not
going to make.

I tell you what--
Mr. Russell,

if you would call me after
you've read that.

It's the DMV records
on all our vics.

Clegg's the only one
with a rap sheet.

It's good to meet
you, Charlie.

Hey, I really look forward to
seeing you light it up, man.

- Thanks.
- All right.

All right.

Talk to me.

I missed curfew last night
by, like, five minutes.

Coach suspended me for a game.
It's stupid.

What's stupid?
You broke a rule.

Technically, but Coach

is a lot different
now that I'm recruited.

He's a little Mussolini.

Yeah, but the rules
didn't change, did they?

All right.

Stop by the house tonight
and we'll talk it through, okay?

Hey, just for the record,

exactly how long
is "like five minutes"?

Three hours, give or take.

Got a cooler here.

Maybe Clegg was drinking
and driving.

Maybe.

No booze.

I don't know about
drinking and driving.

More like thinking
and driving.

Got some brain matter here.

Hmm.

Looks like Clegg might have been
transporting our mystery brain.

You know, he could be
working for

a medical company
or something like that.

Well, he was definitely
into medicine,

but I wouldn't trust him
to drive my brain around.

Yeah? Why's that?

Oxy.

Oh.

I got a duffle bag.

Guy liked to work out.

Huh.
He was into other lifting, too.

Got a burglary tool.

Starting to get a picture

of this Clegg guy.
- Yeah, me, too.

There's some yellow powder
on the crowbar.

Got some yellow powder
in the bag, too.

I have seen crappy cocaine
that color.

I've never seen a drug addict
waste this much product.

You know, we are down one body.

Trunk's where I'd hide it.

Yeah, pop it for me, will you?

Pigskin?

That's it?

- You know, this is strange.
- Why?

I'm starting to think
Russell's a psychic.

How come?

Well, 'cause he asked

what Clegg ordered
at the drive-thru window.

It was a number 17.

Or it's a coincidence,
maybe.

Mm... he hadn't opened
the trunk yet.

Oh, no.

The police have arrived.
Thank God.

You...

you have fun at work,
don't you?

Some people are visual,
others are audio.

I just happen to be both--
audio-visual.

I like to process
the entire experience.

So the tire truck
smacks into the convertible,

the convertible clips the Jeep,
and hello, light post.

I have a theory
about that.

Okay, so the brain is riding
shotgun in the cooler.

Car gets smashed by the truck.

Cooler gets slammed
up against the door--

doonk-- and out pops our
magical mystery brain.

It's only defense

was to roll under a tire.

Hey, Russ, I found this
football in Clegg's trunk.

It's got a number 17 on it.

Ha! I'll be damned.
Look at that.

How'd you know that?

What color is the horse?

Really? No, it's a famous story.

A traffic accident

near a ranch, right?

Several cars
and a horse are involved.

The horse is severely injured
and the officer at the scene

wants to put him
out of his misery

with his .357.

Unfortunately, the bullet
ricochets off the horse's skull

and hits an officer
standing nearby.

Kills him dead as a doornail.

And when this is all
reported to the chief,

the only question he asks,
"What color's the horse?"

There were seasoned
investigators

all over
that scene for hours,

taking notes,
gathering evidence--

but nobody noted
the color of the horse.

If you miss one small detail,

then who knows
what else you've missed.

'Cause you never know
what's important.

- Cool story, huh?
- That is a good story.

Looks like Mr. Clegg swallowed
a couple oxycodones antemortem.

Sara did find drugs
in is car.

He's got a lot of
track marks.

Clegg here was a junkie.

Looks like
chicken nuggets.

Takes two to four hours for
food to clear the stomach.

This guy binged on fast food
before he ordered more.

Equal opportunity junkie.

Junkie being the operative word.

I don't think Mr. Clegg died
as a result of the accident.

Frothy edematous lungs,
pills, track marks--

looks like an O.D.

So, where are we going
to do about the brain-topsy?

To the scale, Ms. Brody.

Weigh it.

Cool.

3.4 pounds.

That's heavy-ish.

A female brain tips
the scales

at probably 2.8-ish.

Average male brain weighs
just over three pounds.

Average female just under.

So this brain's a boy.

DNA confirmed it.

Didn't help us any
making the I.D.

Hello, Brain Doe.

So what's next?

Check it for freshness,

see if there are
any signs of decomp.

Mm-hmm... blood vessels
still look fairly red.

Go ahead, poke it.

That's it.

Feels like Jell-O.

It's unfixed.

No grossing or
formalin present.

Means it was extracted
within the last 24 hours.

Incision is precise,
brain stem's been cut clean.

Skillfully removed.

Cutter was a pro.

Maybe a research specimen?

No way.

Specimens are immediately
fixed in formaldehyde.

Oh.

That's even more awesome.

We might be talking about
black market brains.

Thanks, Doc.

This has been fun.

Is it just me or are defense
attorneys getting smarter?

Oh! No! Slimier!

Don't worry, we still have
the truth on our side.

I still don't
like that guy.

There was nothing wrong
with my evidence collection.

At least he didn't ask you
if it was "Dr. Willows."

Sanders.

Willows.

Coming or going?

We are just returning
from court, Sheriff.

Sanders, you look like you
could use a cup of coffee.

Nice seeing you, too, Sheriff.

You in the neighborhood?

Not really.

So, um... how are
things going?

- No complaints.
- Really.

I'd complain.

You were a supervisor,
now you're not.

No advancement
on the horizon.

I'd be pissed.

I work with some good people.

It takes the sting off.

Well, maybe I can do a
little better than that.

I've been spending a lot
of time on the Hill.

Senate Judiciary
Committee is exploring

establishing a Forensic
Science Commission.

They need a full time staffer,
expert in the field.

I recommended you.

I hope you're good with that.

Uh... wow.

I don't know what to say.

Do you really want to be
processing used condoms

and dirty panties the
rest of your career?

Go to D.C.

Pay's good,
the hours are great.

You get to travel.

Sometimes you have to
move out to move up.

If you're interested,
don't take too long.

Thank you, Sheriff.
Thank you.

I appreciate the confidence.

It's not easy for us.

Not in law enforcement.

It's a... man's world.

Ah. Sheriff.

You here on business?

Always.

Hey, Catherine.

Everything all right?

Yeah.

Why wouldn't it be?

No reason.
No reason at all.

Um, just got a call-out.

A 406 at a mortuary. And you're
gonna love this part...

comes with
an NRS 200.033.

I have no idea
what the hell that is.

You ever seen so many
numbers in a sentence before?

Is this an assignment
or an observation?

Uh, yeah. Sorry. Both.

- Okay. Got it.
- Russell.

Only two brains were transported
in the last 24 hours.

One belonged to Nora Babbit,
77, Alzheimer's patient.

Her brain went to WLVU
Center for Gerontology.

And the other one?

Ryan Dempsey, 42, suicide.

His brain went to
St. Sebastian's.

Being studied for
repetitive trauma.

So both the packages arrived?

Safe and unsound.

That's what I
call a dead end.

- Hey.
- Hi, Lou.

You okay?

Why does everybody
keep asking me that?

Okay... Lieutenant
Theodore Seligson, 30.

On leave from Afghanistan.

Cutting trees in his backyard.

He fell and he broke his neck.

- Guy survived the war...
- Yeah.

Family's Jewish.
Now, they had to get him in

the ground by this morning.

Someone is supposed to
remain with the body,

but the mortuary night guy

stayed with his girlfriend
last night instead.

Came in this morning,
and he called it in.

That was Mrs. Seligson,
the widow.

She came by as soon
as she heard.

How bad is it?

You need to see
for yourself.

I didn't think corpses bled.

Embalming is
considered desecration.

Oh, really?

What about cutting a guy's head
open and taking his brain?

This guy was a war hero.

I heard you guys found
a brain outside a Tasty Time.

That's gotta
be his, right?

Well, it better be.

Otherwise, we got
a brain collector

on the loose in Vegas.

Heard you could use
a little help.

Yeah, thanks.

Our mortuary owner

said that when they
close at 10:00,

the last thing they do
is mop the floors.

These impressions have got
to belong to our brain thief.

You haven't heard.
Heard what?

Henry ran the DNA
of our mystery brain

against Lieutenant Seligson's
DNA in the military database.

No match?

Somebody breaks into a
mortuary and steals a brain.

Meanwhile, across town,
another brain flies out of

a convertible during a TC.

I mean, what are the odds?

The two events
have to be related.

This powder here
says that they are.

Nick and I processed
Clegg's car.

We found a crowbar and yellow
powder that looked like this.

So Clegg is the connection.

Maybe.

Hodges.

I'm sending you a photo
of a shoe impression.

I need you to compare it to

our convertible driver
Clegg's shoes.

Coming at you.

Perfect match.

Clegg was definitely
at the mortuary.

And he'd
been there before.

Clegg's employment records.

Guy held down
a half-dozen odd jobs,

including grave-shift
body pickups

for mortuaries across town.

His tox panel--
serious drug cocktail.

Positive for oxycodone,
fentanyl and DMT.

What's DMT?
I don't know that.

Di-Methyl-Triptamine.

It's found in certain herbs.

Creates a super-intense high

that only lasts about two
minutes-- instant painkiller.

Okay, so, Clegg was intensely
high at both scenes--

the brain snatching and
the traffic accident.

But somewhere in between,
Seligson's brain

is magically replaced with
our mystery brain-- how?

Well, we know the timeline.

Clegg stole Seligson's brain

sometime after 10:00 p.m.,
when he hit the mortuary,

and sometime before 3:00 a.m.,
when he hit the drive-thru.

With a new brain.

So... oh, Lord.

Um, all right, so...

who's our mystery
brain belong to,

and where did
Lt. Seligson's go?

Chicken nuggets.

Sorry?

Doc found partially
digested chicken nuggets

in Clegg's stomach-- that means
he got some junk food

at least two to three
hours before he O.D'd.

Okay, so, Clegg nuggeted up
around midnight.

- Maybe he switched brains then.
- Well, if he did get the urge,

then the best place to
go would be Tasty Time.

Maybe that's where
he nuggeted up.

So somebody needs to find
out how many Tasty Times

there are in Vegas.
Twenty-two.

- Really?
- I know it seems like a lot.

At times, it feels
like it's not enough.

Let's pull surveillance
from all of them.

Let's just take Clegg's
car for a spin, shall we?

Wow... this guy always
ordered chicken nuggets.

Not true.

He ordered a number 17
triple cheeseburger deluxe

right before he died.

Yeah? Well, see what happens
when you break pattern?

Oh, wait. Got it.

Tasty Time on Altos Boulevard.

11:53 p.m. last night.

Oh, and guess what he ordered?

Nuggets.

Clegg's car.

He's meeting somebody.

Think he's going
to share his nuggets?

I think he's swapping brains.

Explains how Clegg ended up
with our mystery brain.

Volvo driver
gets Seligson's.

Punch in on the plate.

Volvo's registered to
a Dr. Hanson Eller.

Seneca address.

Eller is
a private pathologist.

Man would know how
to remove a brain.

Maybe he took out
our mystery brain.

Wait a second-- Seneca.

Two brains were
transported for research.

One of them was
a suicide from Seneca.

Here it is-- the brain
belonged to Ryan Dempsey.

Vegas local... he also
had a cabin in Seneca.

The death certificate was signed

by our pathologist,
Dr. Hanson Eller.

Guy's a licensed doctor.

What's he doing swapping
brains at midnight

in a Tasty Time parking lot?

I'll call Brass, have him
put a broadcast out on Eller.

Somebody should break
the news to the Dempsey family.

You're wrong.

My husband's instructions
were very specific.

And I got a call from
St. Sebastian's this morning.

His brain arrived.

Yeah. A brain arrived.

We don't believe that
it was your husband's.

Well, how could that be?

Well, that's what we're
trying to figure out.

Did your husband donate all
of his organs to research?

No, just his brain.

Ryan...

thought he had C.T.E.

Chronic Traumatic Encephalitis.

My husband was a mixed
marital arts fighter.

If you've ever seen
an S.F.F. match,

you know the beatings
those guys take.

Ryan took a lot of hits
over the years.

Concussions.

But he always
fought through it.

Said he was doing it for us.

A year ago, he started having
problems with his memory.

You know, he'd get confused...

upset...

And when he got upset, he...

Things could get bad.

Right.

It's okay.

Hey, kid.

You're Declan, right?

Ryan Dempsey's boy.

I'm Jim Brass.

I heard about your dad.

And you're sorry for my loss?

Yeah, I am.

The thing about CTE is

they don't know
if you have it

until after you're dead.

You know, they-they
study your brain.

Even killing himself,

all he could think about was

making sure his brain
could be studied.

How crazy is that?

I'm sorry to ask you this,
Mrs. Dempsey,

but can you walk me through
what happened

right after the suicide?

It was the worst night
of my life.

My son and I
had been out hiking.

Ryan wasn't feeling well.

And when we got back
to the cabin...

...we found him.

I didn't know what to do,
so I called

um... a family friend.

Who was that?

It was Ryan's trainer,
Bill Pernin.

He made the arrangements?

He called the pathologist,
Dr. Eller?

I... I suppose so.

Did you talk with Dr. Eller?

The man who was going to remove
my husband's brain?

I didn't care to meet him.

No, of course not.

Did you get along
with your Dad?

You get along
with yours?

No.

Took a belt to me.

Tough.

He was a cop, too.

He was not a happy guy.

I was, like, 15 before
I had the balls

to belt him back.

I popped him in the jaw.

I could tell it hurt, too.

Never felt better,

I never felt worse.

How 'bout your Mom?

She get along
with your Dad?

Let's go, Deck.

Wife had bruising.

Mm.

Yeah, the kid's
awfully quiet.

I'll do some checking.

See if there were any
domestic violence calls.

Call Seneca P.D.

They had a family cabin
up there.

Vacations can be stressful.

I wouldn't know.

Aw...

Hold on.

Brass.

Where?

Okay, lock it down
till we get there.

Dr. Eller's car
just showed up.

I'll send Nick.

What do we know?

Security heard shots fired
less than 30 minutes ago.

No surveillance.

Yeah, and no witnesses.

Found the vehicle
just like this,

backed into the space
with the windows down.

Hm, looks
like a meet.

Yeah, and it wasn't
his first.

We got him on tape
at Tasty Time

trading brains with Clegg.

It's a single GSW to the left
temple through and through.

Bullet's in the headliner.

Slight upward angle.

Now... unless the shooter's
four feet tall...

the car pulled up right
alongside of him, right here.

Dips out
of the driver's-side window

and bam!

Nine millimeter.

We know Eller and Clegg had some
kind of business arrangement.

Well, maybe some third party
wanted a share

of their brain game.

Yeah, a silent partner.

Who silenced Eller.

Dr. Eller
delivered this brain

to the hospital under
the name Ryan Dempsey.

But DNA has confirmed that
the brain is not Dempsey's.

In fact, it's
Lieutenant Seligson's.

Couldn't pick him out
in a crowd.

I beg to differ.

Care to elaborate?

Take a look at that
butchered brain stem.

This brain's a hack job.

But Dempsey's brain, the one
they found at the accident,

was surgically removed
by a qualified surgeon.

Hack job on Lieutenant
Seligson's brain

suggests that the cuts
were made in a hurry,

maybe even improvised.

Which can only mean one thing...

So you're saying

that somebody wanted
a brain in a hurry,

so they broke into the mortuary

and hacked out
Lieutenant Seligson's?

Ryan Dempsey
commits suicide.

He's convinced he's got
a degenerative brain disorder,

so he donates
his brain to science.

But Clegg swaps it out
so it can't be studied.

Giving him a brain
upgrade in the process.

Upgrade?

That's why Clegg chose
Seligson's brain.

Lieutenant Seligson was Jewish.

And Jewish tradition says
a body can't be embalmed.

Preferably it goes in
the ground within 24 hours.

So, the Lieutenant's
brain was fresh.

Just what St. Sebastian's
was expecting.

A perfect specimen.

No chemicals, no decomp.

No brain disease.

Okay, so Ryan Dempsey wanted
to have his brain studied

'cause he was afraid
he had CTE

and he wanted
the truth to come out.

And clearly someone else didn't.

Someone who was willing
to grave rob, brain swap

and pop a pathologist

to cover it all up.

The silent partner.

Hodges, what are you doing?

Um, it's a break room.

I'm on a break.

You know chickens' nuggets

don't really look
like that, right?

Please don't ruin my lunch..

Fine. Uh, yellow powder trace?
Give.

Receive.

You know,
I've been trying

to text you
for over an hour.

Talcum powder.

In Clegg's duffel bag,
on the crowbar,

at the mortuary.

In my report, powder's made
with a special formulation

with five essential oils,
used in high-end gyms,

including my own.

- You go to the gym?
- Mm-hmm.

Under this shirt...

ripped.

Oh, I-I believe you.

Page four--
it's a list of gyms.

Not even
real chicken in there.

Ryan Dempsey.

"The Man Without Fear."

Pretty good record:
52 and nine.

Ooh, that looks
like one of the nine.

Yeah, and that...
looks like Danny Clegg.

The guy that had Dempsey's brain
in his convertible?

They knew each other.

They were in the
S.F.F. together.

They trained together
until Clegg got

kicked out of the
league for drugs.

Well, that powder
in Clegg's gym bag was

a specific type of talc
used at certain gyms.

"Bill Pernin's Power Center."

It's on the list.

Dempsey's widow said
Bill Pernin was his trainer.

And he's the family friend
who made arrangements

for Dempsey's brain.

Yeah, that connects him

to Dempsey, Clegg and Dr. Eller.

Pernin just signed
a multi-million-dollar

deal with Real Fuel?

One of his fighters
turning up with CTE

cannot be good for advertising.

♪ ♪

Bill Pernin?

Yeah. Can I help you?

You got a minute?

Yeah.

Do a couple rounds of
shadow boxing.

Good work.

Let me guess, you two are here

about the Real Fuel Couple's
Boot Camp, huh?

Ah, it's gonna be
a terrific weekend.

Sara Sidle.
Greg Sanders.

We're with the Crime Lab.

Can we talk
somewhere out of the way?

Yeah.

Nice facility.

Oh, thanks, man.
It's my dream.

You know, 20 years of
blood, sweat and tears.

So, uh, what's up?

You guys aren't here
to hit the heavy bag.

What's going on?

We're here about
Dr. Hanson Eller.

The, uh, pathologist.

Yeah, he used to train
at my old gym.

You hired him
to remove

your friend
Ryan Dempsey's brain?

Yeah, yeah, that's right.

His wife asked me to help with
the funeral arrangements.

I don't think

those were the arrangements
that she had in mind.

What are you talking about?

We're talking about how your
friend Ryan Dempsey's brain

ended up in your other friend
Danny Clegg's cooler.

Okay... look, I'm still
not following you.

Eller, Dempsey, Clegg,

the only thing these three guys
had in common,

other than your training,
is that they're all dead.

Wow.

Look, if something happened
to Danny Clegg

and Dr. Eller,
that's news to me.

When's the last time
you saw them?

I haven't seen Danny in months.

Poor guy was a junkie.
I had to toss him out of here.

And Dr. Eller, the last
time we saw each other,

I was crying
over my friend's body.

If you'll excuse me,
I got about

three different meetings
that I'm late for.

So if you need me,
my number's on the wall.

Other than that,
great meeting you.

Would you buy a membership
off that guy?

Not a lifetime one.

Well, I don't think
I am overreacting.

Yeah, he lied to his coach,
then he lied to me.

It's not just about basketball.

It's about life.

Yeah, you say that whenever

you're trying to get
off the phone,

so I'm gonna get
off the phone first.

I love you, too.

You rang?

Yeah. I ran my theory on

the domestic troubles
with the Dempseys.

Came up empty.

You didn't call me over here
just to tell me that...

did you?

No. Look at these.

These are photos
of Ryan Dempsey's suicide.

Gun on the floor.

Half a bottle of
bourbon in front of him.

It took the investigator

just 20 minutes
to call it.

Do you see what I don't see?

Yeah, I do.

No gunshot residue
on the guy's T-shirt.

Gun had to be at least
three feet away.

That's pretty tricky
for a suicide.

Even a 36-inch sleeve
couldn't pull that off.

Ryan Dempsey was murdered.

All right, let's start by
getting our own brains straight.

Now that the smoke and tires
have cleared, what do we know--

really know-- for sure.

Well, we've got Ryan Dempsey,
an S.F.F. fighter murdered,

staged to look like a suicide.

Cops found a .38 special
near the body

with Dempsey's
prints on it.

Per his will, Dempsey's
brain was on its way

to being studied for CTE.

Except somebody
intercepted it

and substituted another
healthy brain.

Enlisting Danny Clegg,
who O.D.'d.

And Doc Eller,
who was shot to death.

Why?

I mean,
let's say that the brain did get

to where it's supposed to go.

It was studied and Dempsey
had CTE.

So what?
Wouldn't that be on him?

Pernin would still not want to
have been associated with that.

Yeah, but enough
to kill for?

Maybe Dempsey's brain's
hiding another secret?

Keep going.

Well, according
to Clegg's tox panel,

he O.D.'d on
quite the drug cocktail,

including DMT, right?

The instant painkiller.

Yeah, maybe the perfect lift to
get him through a tough fight.

Pernin could be doping
his fighters.

Now, that might be worth
covering up.

And also worth killing for.

You know something?

I bet that Dempsey's brain

might corroborate all of this,

if we could just get it
to pee in a cup.

♪ ♪

Am I supposed to know
what this is?

Well, you have
a medical background.

- Yeah, in sports medicine.
- You know what DMT is?

Schedule One drug-- they don't
test for that in the S.F.F.

This report tells us
that Ryan Dempsey

was taking DMT,
as was Danny Clegg.

Although I suspect that Clegg
was suing it recreationally.

A little bump
from his old trainer

for doing him a solid.

Why, why am I here, exactly?

Well, you made a
phone call to Danny Clegg

the night that
Dempsey died.

Yeah, Clegg is an
old friend of mine.

I got his number in my phone.
Pocket dial.

- What do you want?
- Oh, you pocket dialing

the Dempsey home for
the last four months, too?

I was his trainer.

Exactly. So why were you calling
when Ryan was at the gym?

His wife was not
hard on the eyes.

Were you tuning
her up, too?

And Dempsey found out
about it, right?

Why'd you do this to me?
See the doctor...

You didn't think I'd find out?!
Stop it...!

The guy has CTE.

There's only one way
that's going to end.

A gun is a great equalizer.

Joyce Dempsey called
you right after.

According to the phone records,
you were still in Vegas.

Two hours after that, you made
a call to Dr. Eller

and then 911 from Seneca.

You cleaned up the mess
your girlfriend made,

got your stories straight,
and made arrangements.

Now I get to make another call.

Hey.

You remember this one, Dad?

As a matter of fact, I do.

Trying to soften me up, are you?

Is it working?

No.

Your coach called me
this afternoon.

- He's worried about you.
- He's worried about winning.

Well, he's supposed to, Charlie.
He's the coach.

So why did you miss curfew?

I was bouldering
up at Mt. Charleston.

Lost track of time.
It was stupid.

I don't care
what you were doing.

I want to know why, Charlie.

It's just...

the other players don't
really get me.

It's different here, Dad.

Hey, you're the new kid
on the team.

Everybody thinks
you're a little weird.

Right?

Well, join the club.

We are weird.

Are you still having fun
with basketball?

- I love it.
- Good.

Apologize to your coach...

take your suspension
with a smile.

and, next game, you bring it.

Can you do that?

Yeah, I can do that.

Good.

Whew...

Hey, come here

for a second, will you?

I promise, I promise,

no more stories.

Okay, what's up?

This is driving
me crazy.

Now why did Clegg
order a number 17?

Right?
He was a nugget man.

He's high on drugs-- he should
have been thirsty, if anything.

Well, you know what's
driving me nuts?

What?

That football.

Why?

'Cause I played
a little football.

I even got a game ball once.

They put my jersey number
on it and everything.

And I still have that football;
it's very important to me.

Maybe this is
Clegg's game ball, right?

And he hung on to it, and his
life is passing before his eyes.

He starts thinking
about the good times.

I don't know, man.
I read Clegg's bio.

He didn't even
play football.

Yeah, but Dempsey did.

Maybe Dempsey gave Clegg
his ball.

- Why?
- I don't-- I don't know, man.

Because they were
good friends, I guess.

Wait, wait, go back.

All right, so Clegg is
supposed to be getting rid

of his friend's brain
for Pernin, right?

But three hours
after the swap,

he's still driving
around with it.

Maybe he's driving around
with his friend's game ball

for the same reason that he's
driving around with his brain.

Maybe he's not trying
to help Pernin.

Maybe he's trying
to help his old friend.

You know what?

There's a police
station about--

about two blocks
from the Tasty Time.

I'll bet you anything
that he was going

to bust Pernin for drugs,
and he died first.

Right? Wait-- whoa,
what are you doing?

I think it's about time to
figure out how this football

plays into all this,
don't you?

Yeah, what the hell.
Go for it.

Hold on.

I guess you never really know
what's important.

Hey.

Print on the syringe got us
a warrant to Pernin's house.

Found this in his sock drawer.

Let's see if his bullet matches
the one that killed Eller.

Fire one.

Nice.

So we've got him dead to rights
on the Eller murder.

But he won't flip
on Joyce Dempsey.

Well, I guess he has a
large capacity for love.

Joyce Dempsey's
one lucky woman.

Want me to take
a pass with the kid?

I got this one.

Everybody, I'd like
a little privacy.

Thank you very much.

So remember when I told you
I took a swing at my dad

and I never felt better
and never felt worse?

Well, the better lasted,
like, 15 seconds.

The worse...

40 years, and counting.

No one in this life
is all good or all bad.

Even my dad had
a lot of good in him.

And I know you had
a lot of good times

with your dad, too.

Now you got to try
and help that dad.

The one who loved you.

Did your dad and mom
have a fight at the cabin

about Mr. Pernin?

They were always fighting.

Yeah, but this time your mom
fought with a gun, right?

Come on, Deck...

remember the good.

There were no good times.

All I can remember
is being scared.

Well, I'm sure your mom
was scared, too.

He threw me down the stairs.

- You didn't think I'd find out?

Everyone knows!

He was choking my mom and
screaming and calling her names.

But I couldn't stop him.

And I know you think
my mom did it...

Look, don't say another word.

I killed him.

Declan, no!

And, really,
I've never felt better.