CSI: NY s07e16 Episode Script

I told you not to Taser the neck! He's still breathing.
He better be.
On your knees.
On your knees, you son of a bitch, now! This path you're on leads here.
Only next time, the trigger gets pulled.
* Out here in the fields * * I fight for my meals * * I get my back into my living * * Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
* 911.
What is your emergency? This is Detective Mac Taylor.
I need to be connected to the New York Crime Lab and Jo Danville.
Froth around the nose and mouth are consistent with an overdose.
No cash, no ID, a dime bag, traces of heroin, and a ton of candy wrappers.
Can you say "sugar cravings"? Cravings usually don't come for a couple of months after you quit, post withdrawal.
Maybe she fell off the wagon, her tolerance was low.
These syringes are clean of prints.
I mean, not that you always find any.
But she's not wearing gloves, and I'm not even getting any smudges or partials.
Are you thinking they might've been wiped down? I'm thinking there was definitely someone else in this alley.
Junkies, thieves, transients.
This place is covered with biologicals from a whole collection of creatures that were in this alley.
A couple uniforms responding to a disturbance call found the body.
Hey, Mac, Jane Doe's an addict.
Looks like a straight-up OD.
She's no Jane Doe.
Her name is Tessa James.
All right.
Enough of this quiet-man crap.
Are you okay? I didn't expect to find Tessa that way.
You've been looking for her? On and off.
More waiting than looking.
She'd usually find me.
That's a bit cryptic.
Listen, if I'm sticking my nose where I shouldn't-- No, no.
I met Tessa almost a year ago.
I guess you'd call it a series of really strange encounters.
- Detective Taylor? - Yeah.
They're following me.
Who's following you? Can I trust you? I can trust you.
I can trust you, 'cause I saw you in the paper, and you tell the truth.
Tell me your name.
What's your name? The woman with the purple feathers-- I saw her with the blood all over her face.
Is she hurt? Did it just happen? Where is she? I delivered papers for work, and I went to wash my hands, and I And he was crying.
Okay.
Slow down.
Who's "he"? I saw In the room, there was-- there was a beautiful light and, um, an angel.
They carried her down the hall, and the white-haired man just kept crying.
And, um, now she's out there, and it's so-- it's so cold.
All right.
Where did this happen? I-- I want to help you.
Just tell me your name.
All right.
My name's Tessa James.
Uh, uh, wait-- wait a minute.
Who's hurt, Tessa? Oh, she's not hurt, she's dead.
I tried to find her, but she had no driver's license, no fixed address.
I only had her name.
She'd been an assistant at a law firm but was fired the year before for erratic attendance and behavior.
Well, the hand rubbing, fast speech, fractured sentences, at the very least, sound like extreme OCD, which can involve fantasy.
Yeah, I know.
I couldn't find any proof of her story.
Despite that, there was something about her, Jo.
I believed her.
Based on? My gut.
Mac, you're always telling the guys to use their heads, not their hearts.
I didn't say, "My heart.
" I said, "My gut.
" Tox screen came back positive for diacetylmorphine.
Heroin.
Enough to kill her.
Junkie, addict, drug user None of those words describe the woman I knew, Sid.
She was a little different, but Tessa was certainly no substance abuser.
Well, that might explain why there are no other drugs in her system.
With most users, you'd find at least THC or alcohol.
There are no scars from former track marks.
Nothing suggesting she was a recovering addict who suddenly fell off the wagon.
Just one injection site.
What about histology? All of her internal organs appeared healthy.
No signs of chronic drug use.
Everything I'm seeing is consistent with what you believe, Mac.
She's not an addict.
So what does that leave us with? She woke up today and decided, "Hey, I'm going to try some heroin"? I'd believe that, except for one observation.
The injection site is in her left arm, and given calluses and muscle formations in her hands, I have every reason to believe she was left-handed.
She would've injected her right arm, not her left.
Someone else injected her, dumped her body in the alley, and left the candy wrappers and the needles.
Set up to look like an accidental overdose.
Or to disguise a murder.
Well, this is possibly grease.
Yeah.
You better hope it's that, given where we found her.
You're gross.
Well, you wanted the coat.
The paint fragments samples off Tessa's jeans-- I separated out the layers and ran them through DART.
Spectral results for the first layer indicated the presence of lead.
- Lead paint was banned after 1956.
- Mm-hmm.
The more recent layers were lead-free, newer.
I made some calls, and they were all catalogued.
Red Granite, Woodland Green, and Hudson Taupe, which was discontinued in '83.
So at some point, Tessa was in a building that was painted the first shade before 1956, and then repainted anytime up to 1983.
- Right.
- There's a lot of possibilities out there.
True.
But the most recent paints contained alkyd binders, indicating they're industrial.
Maybe I can help there.
I analyzed the smudge embedded in the fibers on Tessa's coat.
Found high concentrations of sulfur dioxide, a compound commonly found in killer smog.
That's what happened in 1953 and 1966.
A temperature inversion created a kind of a ceiling over the city, trapping chemicals from exhaust.
Sulfur dioxide, to be exact.
Now, the stains on Tessa's coat-- they would indicate that she somehow came in contact with these killer concentrations.
So we're looking for a location that trapped enough killer smog to leave behind a residue after all these years.
- Yeah.
- Hey.
So this sweater that Tessa was wearing was cashmere, right? It still had the price tag on it.
Only 5.
99.
Vintage, or she scored a major deal on 7th Avenue.
I don't think so.
I found the manufacturer who designed the tag.
It was made in the '70s.
It was sold to hundreds of different department stores around the country, but only half of them still exist.
Sulfur dioxide concentrations have been preserved in some kind of enclosure.
Probably above the ground so that it could trap the rising exhaust.
An old space that was painted before '56 and not after '83, and clothing at an absurdly low price.
Maybe she was squatting at an old clothing warehouse.
Or maybe some kind of an overpass close to heavy traffic.
Or an abandoned high-rise.
My name is Tessa James.
Wait-- Wait a minute.
Who's hurt, Tessa? Oh, she's not hurt, she's dead.
Or all of the above.
How did she get in here without getting caught? Buildings on either side are abandoned.
No one's been up here for years.
What the hell was she doing in here? Looks like Tessa was living here.
Whoa.
I don't think the elevator goes to the top floor, if you know what I mean.
It's amazing.
Whew.
And somewhere in here is the answer to what Tessa was trying to tell me.
Must've taken her a long time to compile all this.
Yeah.
Who are all these guys? Mac, between everything Tessa told you and your own investigation, was there ever any hard evidence that Tessa witnessed a murder? No.
But there was nothing to disprove it, either.
Tessa wasn't delusional, Lindsay.
She didn't think people were listening in on her thoughts or that she was receiving messages from television or aliens.
Tessa was on to something, and she may have been murdered for it.
It's an L.
The L stands for "loyalty," the T for "trust.
" I did an icon database search.
It's the motto of the Vonner Club.
The Vonner Club.
Where you need to be a billionaire boy and know that funny handshake to get through the door.
A Southern girl like you has a problem with gentlemen's clubs? Hell, no.
What I have a problem with is a gentleman who may have committed murder.
The white-haired man just kept crying.
And now she's out there, and it's so-- it's so cold.
It was cold.
Lindsay, on the wall where she compiled newspaper sections and magazine pages, any particular time of year? Here it is.
Yeah.
Seems like she was obsessed with February 17.
Crime sections, articles on female homicides, missing persons, suicides Obituaries, also February 17.
You think maybe she was looking for a report of the woman she saw? Hang on.
Mardi Gras.
It could've been around February 17th last year, right? We need to find out how the Vonner Club was celebrating Fat Tuesday.
Yeah.
I'm sorry.
The event was for Mardi Gras.
Everyone comes in masks, so it'd be really hard to recognize someone's face.
We'll need to see a guest list from that night, and a seating plan, if you have a record of it.
Sure.
I'll get that for you right now.
- You'll keep that confidential, right? - Absolutely.
- Mind if we take a look around? - Sure.
Help yourself.
Uh, this may sound strange, but do you happen to have a room with bright lights and angels in it? As a matter of fact, we do.
This is our VIP room.
A lot of sex going on in this room.
Apparently "VIP room" means something else.
Well, sex isn't a crime, murder is.
We need to find blood.
Bingo.
Spatter suggests a gunshot wound.
Tessa was right.
The woman with the purple feathers-- I saw her with the blood all over her face.
The woman carried out of this room could've been murdered.
Hey, is she all right? This is Detective Mac Taylor.
I need to be connected with the New York Crime Lab and Jo Danville.
I saw a black SUV, xenon headlights.
Inside, I felt a pass-through rear seat.
The cargo space was about six feet.
What about the woman who jumped in front of the car? Did you get a good look at her? Caucasian, black jacket with a hood.
I'd remember her voice.
When I reached for her, she turned her head away.
I heard the car door open, then I got Tasered in the neck.
Was it a police-issued Taser or some runt gun that anyone can buy? I-- I got zapped from behind.
I didn't see.
Are you sure you don't want to see a doctor, Mac? No.
I'm good, Jo.
I pulled some fibers from the carpet.
Yeah.
I'll say.
It's enough to weave a new one.
Who the hell has the balls to try to warn off the head of the New York City Crime Lab is what I wanna know.
Either someone really stupid or someone really powerful.
In the back of the vehicle, I felt metal under my shoulder, and it had a sharp edge.
There's a possibility that trace transferred from the object to your shirt.
- Which shoulder? - Left.
- Ah.
- License plate.
They must've put on fake plates and tossed the real ones in the back.
See? It's all the little details that criminals never pay attention to.
Just one little something they forget, and we nail them.
Oh, I love this job.
- Hey.
- Oh, how you feeling? - All right? - Fine.
Yeah, fine.
So where are we? Well, as far as we can tell, Tessa photographed half the men in Manhattan.
Adam ID'd them through the DMV.
None of them were on the guest list.
But if these are pictures of guys who look like our perpetrators-- The VIP room.
So the guys upstairs never attended the Mardi Gras party.
They were having a smaller party of their own.
Which would explain why our mystery female vic also wasn't officially signed in.
The woman with the purple feathers.
You said there were three men carrying the girl? Yes.
Three men.
Three men.
And there was the-- the-- the crying man with the white hair.
Crying man with the white hair.
A muscled guy with a tiger.
A muscled guy with a tiger.
- And someone else.
- I couldn't find him.
Ton of candy wrappers.
Can you say "sugar cravings"? Stratford chocolate.
Danny, the candy wrappers in the alley-- all like this? Some were like that.
They belonged to Tessa.
She brought them there.
Yeah.
Which is why they didn't make sense at the scene.
Oh.
"Comiskey.
" - Comiskey? - Yeah.
You know him? It's a baseball stadium.
Charles Comiskey.
Chicago Black Sox, 1919 You're so obsessed with baseball.
Okay.
So why pick that name and put it on a wrapper? You said Tessa mentioned other names.
Yeah.
Code names she'd worked out.
There was George Weaver and Billy Gleason.
Is the white-haired man Weaver or Gleason? No.
I don't know.
I don't-- I don't know him.
But I ran them all, and they didn't make sense.
Well, look, she was a bit confused, right? - What were the other names? - There was George Weaver.
George "Buck" Weaver, third baseman for the Chicago Black Sox.
Okay.
So why pick these names-- Comiskey, Weaver-- for guys she saw at the Vonner Club? I mean, the Black Sox threw the World Series in 1919.
- They were the bad guys.
- What did Comiskey have to do with the team? - He owned it.
- Oh.
Well, who owns Stratford Confection Company? I'll tell you right now.
The owner of Stratford Confection Company is Matthew Stratford.
Take a look.
The white-haired man.
He just kept saying, um, "I didn't mean to.
"I-I-I just wanted to shut her up.
I didn't mean to.
" She hasn't mentioned George Weaver on this wall.
Wait a minute.
Wait.
All these articles-- they all had to do with death or missing persons, except one.
Derek Perry.
I think we found our Weaver.
Derek Perry's a Major League All-Star third baseman.
He admitted himself into rehab for cocaine addiction.
He was suspended from the team for a year.
Owner of a company, pro ball player.
Sounds like VIPs to me.
Um, there was George Weaver and Billy Gleason, and Gleason saw me.
Billy Gleason.
Billy "The Kid" Gleason.
He was the manager of the Black Sox.
The manager of the Vonner Club, Keith De Young.
When I was leaving the club, we had a very interesting conversation.
- Detective, do you have a minute? - Of course.
Uh, the club and its members I mean, there are some powerful people in here.
Yes? Uh, if they found out that I gave you lists, let you into that room without-- I don't know-- talking to the board of directors or something, I could lose my job.
They take this loyalty and trust thing pretty seriously.
Look, why don't you give me your card? I'll give you mine.
You have any questions or concerns, give me a call.
I'll do the same, if your board of directors have something to worry about.
Keith De Young saw Tessa.
Thank you, Detective.
Bring him in.
Yeah? Hey, Mac, you feel like renting a couple limos tonight? I found the luxury car service that has your license plate.
- It's over on West 57th.
- I'll meet you there.
Let's go.
Can I help you guys? On your knees, you son of a bitch, now! Drop it.
On your knees, you son of a bitch.
Peter Grant, driver to some of the Vonner Club's finest members, and cop kidnapper.
That's an A-1 felony.
Same as murder.
Including assault and the threats I distinctly remember, you're going down for 25-to-life.
The severity of your sentence is determined by how much you cooperate.
Hey, there's your accomplice.
She works at the garage, too.
So what is this? You guys, uh, work together, play together, kidnap cops together? The first one to talk gets the deal.
Tell us who hired you.
Save your breath.
If I tell you, I'm a dead man.
Throw me whatever you got.
Your little talk with Detective Taylor was really a threat, wasn't it? No.
No, no.
Look, I just wanted him to know how-- How much of a pompous ass you and your club pals are? Do you think money can get you out of murder? No.
Look, I don't know anything, okay? I just do what I'm told.
Oh, so you're a pompous lackey ass.
Keith, you don't want to get into any more trouble than you're already in.
You were there the night that girl died.
No.
You saw her.
No.
I allowed some girl into the Mardi Gras party to deliver papers to her boss, but-- Tessa James delivered papers that night.
You said you didn't remember her.
I'm bad with faces.
Really.
I think I'm going to be sick.
Oh, doesn't bother me.
I've got two kids.
-I've spent half my life covered in throw up.
-I hear that.
The pail's right there.
Keith, give us the names of the men in the VIP room.
I hosted the Mardi Gras party.
That's all I can tell you.
The Jane Doe Mac asked me to trace-- the strangulation from February 16-- Any Jane Does come in with gunshot wounds around February 17 of last year? Uh, yeah.
We did have a Jane Doe, but she died of strangulation.
Sid, check the blood trace we found at the Vonner Club against that Jane Doe's DNA records.
He was right.
Her DNA is a match to the blood found in the Vonner Club.
It appears she suffered asphyxiation.
There was evidence of recent sexual activity-- two DNA donors, and no hits in CODIS.
Also, she had high levels of cocaine in her system, and the ME detected blood in her nasal cavity.
Which can cause the victim to sneeze or cough.
So our gunshot spatter pattern was a symptom of an overdose.
Overdose, then strangled.
- Not the night she signed up for, I'm sure.
- Yeah.
What's that right there? Yeah.
Right wrist.
Uh Oh, she had a tattoo.
Ah.
The tattoo.
It's the symbol that Tessa drew repeatedly.
This is definitely our woman with the purple feathers.
The ME's office retains clothing in Jane Doe cases for a year, right? - Yes.
- I need to see this victim's clothing.
- Clothes give us anything? - A whole lot of nothing.
I got a foreign print.
Just one.
Top button of her winter coat.
You get anything in AFIS? No.
It seems like for every lead, just-- it's another dead end, boss.
I know she's out there.
It's so cold.
Maybe not.
It's your compassion that nailed you.
I beg your pardon, Detective? It was cold outside.
You did up the top button.
The other buttons were large.
You could keep your gloves on.
But the top button-- small.
I don't know what you mean.
I found your print on Jane Doe's winter coat.
I don't understand.
How-- How could you get my fingerprints? You provided it when we had our little confidential chat.
I-I-I handle so many coats every day greeting members of the Vonner Club.
Yeah, but how many are high-class prostitutes who snort so much coke they freak out right before they get strangled? I don't think you were in the room, Keith.
No.
I wasn't.
I was hosting.
I wasn't in that room.
** But upstairs, all hell was breaking loose.
A girl OD's in front of your VIPs.
One of them panics-- - Shut up! - tries to shut her up, and strangles her.
And then they call you, the loyal and trustworthy club manager.
No.
I was busy with other guests.
You helped them carry her out.
I didn't mean to.
I just wanted her to shut up.
- I didn't mean to-- to-- - Shut the hell up.
I didn't mean to.
Just zip up your fly and make sure you got all her stuff.
We should call an ambulance.
What part of "murder during Vonner Club orgy" don't you get? On your way down the hall, Tessa saw you, Matthew Stratford and Derek Perry.
They left you to clean up their mess-- drive to an abandoned part of town and dump her.
Only you couldn't stand to see her there all alone in the cold and so you did up her coat-- a final act of compassion.
I almost feel sorry for you.
- I didn't kill her.
- Not the girl in the room.
But you saw Tessa, and you described her, and you made it possible for them to hire thugs to find her.
You might as well have shoved the needle in her arm yourself.
Anyone come forward to claim her yet? No, unfortunately.
It's always a little more difficult knowing a body's destined for a pine box in potter's field.
She's not a Jane Doe, Sid.
Without a family member or a friend's official identification, I have to make this determination.
I found you.
I found you.
I'm her friend.
Her name is Tessa James.