CSI: NY s07e13 Episode Script

** Whoo! * My body rocks a rhythm * * You beat my drum hard * * I might just kick it, kick it * * You wanna lick it, lick it * * I love to stick it, stick it * * From London to LA * * Yeah, that's the ticket, ticket * * Come on and kiss it, kiss it * * I like the Gucci, Gucci * * I love the dollar bill * * I love your pocket rocket * * We live to shock it, shock it * * I like the way you smile * * I might just bite your lip * * I see you talkin', talkin' * * Your hands are talkin', talkin' * * I like that * - I signaled left! - Like hell you did! Calling me a liar? * Oh, let me shake it, shake it * * Oh, Polaroid it shake it * * I'm a graffiti girl * * I wanna spray it, spray it * * I like to throw the paint * * You wanna throw the paint? * * I'm locking not hip hopping * * You lace me up right * * It's getting tricky, tricky * * You're getting sticky, sticky * * I like that eight-track * * It takes me way back * * My body rocks the rhythm * * You beat my drum hard * * I like that, I like that, I like that, I like that * * I like that * * I love the money, money * * I'm dripping, dripping gold * * I like to disco baby * * You wanna kiss now, baby? * * Oh funk, oh funky you * * You're dressed to kill me, kill me * * So if I die tonight * * At least you thrill me, thrill me * * You beat my drum hard * * My body rocks the rhythm * * Rocks the rhythm, rocks the rhythm * * My body rocks the rhythm * Come on, give us a hand.
Open it.
Wow.
Oh, my God.
Mac, there must have been when it hit the water.
That hatch is how they escaped.
It's a miracle we only have two bodies.
Make that three.
* Out here in the fields * * I fight for my meals * * I get my back into my living * * Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.
* What happened here, Don? This was a truck party gone bad.
** It's the latest craze in after-hours entertainment.
They convert tractor trailers into exclusive nightclubs.
Times and locations are spread among the social networks.
Well, I'm assuming this one didn't start at the bottom of the Hudson.
I thought the truck was not supposed to move once the party starts.
- It's not.
- So who moved it? Couple cabbies nearly got run over, but they didn't get a good look at the driver's face.
They did say that he accelerated through the fence.
And the absence of skid marks confirms that there was no braking.
Then the driver could have drowned, or may still be among the survivors.
Well, we have divers in the water looking for more bodies, and the others are being transported to the precinct for questioning.
My guess-- driver saw that river coming, jumped out before splashdown, then got the hell out of Dodge.
Either way, looks like crashing this party wasn't an accident.
Hey.
So, it's looking like whoever padlocked the rear door also drove the truck.
I found keys to the lock in the driver's side glove box.
Unfortunately, the water removed any biological trace.
But I also found this next to our driver's seat.
Yeah, the label was removed, so I had Adam run a sample through the IR SPEC came back as acetylene.
Mixed with oxygen, acetylene is used for cutting metal.
Or for welding the safety hatch shut.
I found spot welds all around the frame, and then I found tiny metal fragments embedded in the driver's seat and in the carpet under the accelerator pedal.
Multiple people may have planned this, but all the evidence points to only one person who carried it out.
- A single perp.
- Premeditated.
He knew people were going to suffer.
He didn't care.
If the safety hatch was sealed, how'd the survivors break through? Shoddy workmanship.
Surface impurities in the under filling left the seams vulnerable to high-contraction stresses.
Water pressure and, uh, freezing temperatures did the rest.
If this guy had known what he was doing, this hatch would have held, and they might all be dead.
Hey, just spoke with Flack.
The truck was rented with an alias from a party outfitter in Queens.
The owner was sent a big old wad of cash about two weeks ago.
Someone had to pick it up.
No.
The company dropped it off on the street, was scheduled to pick it up the next morning.
They left the keys? They didn't have to.
It was hot-wired.
This creep thought of everything.
To identify him, we still need to know why.
** It's all about exclusivity.
Just being invited means you're a somebody.
I don't think I'll ever forget that sound.
The screaming.
Abigail, did you see anybody near the cab of the truck, somebody who could have driven it? The truck was parked.
I assumed it was gonna stay that way.
- Who threw this party? - A girl at work told me about it.
So you just showed up uninvited? As long as you look hot, getting in is never a problem.
* You're dressed to kill me, kill me * * So if I die tonight * * At least you thrill me * It was crazy, man.
One minute, I'm chatting up this really cute blonde.
The next Great party, huh? Hey! Did you know the people at the party, somebody you may have hung out with before? I don't go out much anymore.
Tonight was supposed to be a change of pace.
Instead, I almost died.
- When was the rear door closed? - I was dancing, enjoying some cocktails.
I didn't notice.
- Any idea who might have closed it? - Could have been anyone.
We were all having the time of our lives.
Then all of a sudden, it felt like the world was coming to an end.
The water was so cold, it felt like my body was on fire.
The clock was ticking.
I knew we had to get everyone out of there.
We tried the back door, but it wouldn't budge.
- That's because it was locked.
- Locked? Wait a minute, are you telling me someone did this to us on purpose? Why? That's exactly what we're going to find out.
The escape hatch was our last hope.
Had to get it open.
Listen, Chris, when you arrived at the party, was there someone there to greet you? Like, was there a host? Not really, just I just followed the music.
That guy over there is a hero.
I don't even know his name.
Chris.
His name is Chris.
I owe him my life.
We all do.
Was there anybody in the water that you didn't recognize from the party? It was too dark.
I closed my eyes and kicked as hard as I could.
What about on the dock? Honestly, all I could think about was seeing my family again.
Once I was out of the truck, I swam towards the light.
That first breath of air was like I was being reborn.
- That must sound crazy.
- You're one of the lucky ones.
Not everybody got out alive? No, not everybody.
Cameron Marshall, age 27.
Copious quantities of river water in his lungs and stomach confirms COD as drowning.
Okay.
Oh.
Looks like vic number two's throat was crushed.
Mm-hmm.
Brett Hollister, age 25.
Suffered blunt force laryngeal trauma resulting in complete cricotracheal separation.
Water in the lungs? Uh, trace amounts.
He stopped breathing before the truck sank.
I imagine he floated up through the open hatch.
Sadly, victim number three wasn't quite as fortunate.
- Doctor? - Thank you.
Uh An elevated blood alcohol content caused vasodilation of her blood vessels, thereby exacerbating the onset of hypothermia.
She would have experienced numbness, debilitating drowsiness.
She knew she was drowning but was powerless to stop it.
Her last moments on earth were spent in excruciating pain.
Have we I.
D.
'd her yet? Just got fingerprint results.
Unlike her male counterparts, she wasn't carrying a wallet in her back pocket.
AFIS match courtesy of an old DUI arrest.
Hmm.
Jane Doe is actually Ms.
Victoria Enzo of Queens.
Our female vic is the daughter of Carmen Enzo, head of Local 225 Sanitation Workers' Union, type of goons you cross the street to avoid.
So the party and random guests could've just been a cover.
The murderer might have been targeting only one person-- Enzo's daughter.
Two sanitation workers were killed last year by faulty equipment.
Enzo negotiated a sweetheart deal favoring their employers, betraying a boat load of union members in the process.
His daughter's murder could have been retribution.
That's a lot of collateral damage to send a message.
Not if you want it received loud and clear.
You don't have any idea who did this to my girl, do you? Not yet.
When Vicky was little, she used to love to play dress up.
Her favorite was to dress up in this white satin wedding dress her mother made for her.
My job was walking her down the make-believe aisle.
I'm sorry for your loss.
I have no use for your sympathy.
Well, then know that every effort is being made to bring your daughter's killer to justice.
"Justice.
" Justice means different things to different people, Detective.
Mr.
Enzo there are serious consequences for interfering with a police investigation.
Then stop wasting time so I won't have to.
We have reason to believe that Victoria may have been targeted because of you and the nature of your work.
Her murder may have been a warning.
You and the other members of your family may still be in danger.
I've made my fair share of enemies over the years.
Occupational hazard.
But my wife and my children they're supposed to be off limits.
Not everybody cares about the rules.
I'm going to need the names of your most vocal opponents, personal and professional.
That's a long list.
Sit down.
There's someone you gotta meet.
Vicky wasn't supposed to be at that party.
How do you know that, Jessica? Because I was the one invited not her.
I asked her to go in my place.
It's my fault that she's dead.
It should have been me.
I got the invitation in the mail a couple months ago.
Said I was a VIP.
Was there any indication who sent it? Return address? RSVP number? No, I-- I remember thinking how weird that was, but, I mean, look at it.
It's a work of art.
It-- If someone put that much effort into the invite, the party itself was going to be insane.
When did you tell Victoria about the party? Couple hours before it was supposed to start.
I was stuck at the bar where I work, and-- and if I wasn't going to enjoy it, I-- at least wanted her to.
You could have gone late.
The directions-- they were very clear.
They said that no one was getting in after midnight.
Or getting out.
We need to know who else our mystery host personally invited.
All right, so, I got nine guests who heard about the party word of mouth.
Some received texts, some got it through tweets, but none actually received an invite.
And none of them know anything about the driver.
I interviewed two who described handmade invitations like Jessica Thompson's-- Chris Boyle and Abigail West.
Add Neal Cooper to that list.
He said he got his invite in the mail, as well.
Hawkes checked with the families of the two male DOAs.
They said both had plans for the evening but changed them to go check out some truck party.
If they heard about it last minute, let's eliminate them for now.
All right, so that leaves us with four VIPs.
The killer used formal invitations to ensure his targets would be in attendance.
If we can find a connection between them We'll know who wanted them dead.
- How do you want to play this? - Divide and conquer.
Individually, each holds an important piece of the puzzle.
They just don't know it yet.
Here you go.
Well, they all look familiar.
But then again, I'm a bartender.
I see hundreds of faces every day.
Right.
Her.
Yeah, I saw this one at the party.
What about before last night? No.
You sure about that? Oh, yeah.
I'd remember a face like that.
I don't want to be wrong.
It's not a test.
Close your eyes.
It might help to visualize meeting them.
I'm sorry.
I can't remember.
Were all of these people at the party last night? Not all of them.
I'm not very good at this.
My parents taught me to look past physical appearances.
- They sound like smart people.
- They were.
Neal, can you think of anybody who'd want to hurt you? Someone from your past? Person you might have accidentally rubbed the wrong way? Was there anybody that might have held a grudge against you? I'm a housewife from Jersey.
I have two little kids.
This party was the first time I had been out in a long time.
The only thing that I can think of are the phone calls.
Phone calls? Prank calls, in the middle of the night, over and over, from what sounded like the same man.
He didn't tell me his name, but he told me to watch my back.
Did you report him to the police? I was going to, but then they stopped.
I just figured that he had moved on to somebody else.
Prank calls? Actually Yeah.
Now that you mention it, someone did call me a bunch of times.
They didn't say anything.
They just laughed.
Anything else out of the ordinary? The garbage cans.
What about them? They had been rifled through, tipped over, every day for a week.
Could have been an animal.
That's what I thought.
But my husband, he tied down the covers, and it kept happening.
We finally had to put them in the garage.
Someone was rummaging through my life.
Through my family's life.
I mean, this was years ago.
Someone has been watching me this whole time? Uh, Jessica Thompson's car was broken into seven times over a six-month period, and nothing was ever stolen.
All four of them experienced incidents of aggravated harassment over a similar time period.
Sounds like they all had a stalker.
But not necessarily the same one.
- You think this may be a coincidence? - Stalking is about obsession.
Typically with a single object of intense hate or affection.
In rare cases of multiple victims, there is almost always a consistent pattern or modality.
Our targets include both men and women, across a wide social spectrum.
But if they were all being stalked by the same individual, then we're gonna have to dig a whole lot deeper to find the common trigger.
Until we do, the only confirmed link between them is the invitation.
- What the-- - Find something? Yeah, check this out.
I started with the paper-- vellum.
That comes from the French for "calfskin.
" It's vegetable-based and still mondo bucks.
It was negative for prints and available in over a dozen stores in the area.
- What about the ink? - Japanese.
Made only in the fall with pine and camphor.
Also ridiculously expensive.
But there was something else in the batch.
- Hmm? - Human blood.
I'm thinking it's from the artist who made the invitation.
Or anyone else who handled it.
No chance.
The blood saturation is consistent throughout.
It was mixed in the ink before it was dried.
Excuse us.
Akiko Haruka? - Who are you? - The art police.
We have some thoughts and concerns.
How you doing? Did you make this invitation? I make art, not stationery.
We matched the DNA in the ink to an ex-con named Wanda Cole.
Wanda certainly isn't as exotic as Akiko, but neither is writing bad checks and running scams on the elderly.
That was a misunderstanding.
Of course it was.
So in order to avoid any more misunderstandings, let's try this again.
Is this your work, Wanda? I put blood in my ink to verify authenticity.
Did one of your regulars commission these invitations? Like I said, I don't typically do stationery, but this guy paid up front, $20,000 cash, five grand apiece.
- What was his name? - John something.
Smith, maybe.
How about a description? Wasn't much to describe.
He barely made eye contact.
I guess I make men nervous.
What do you remember? He had, uh, dark hair, light skin.
Bit of a stutter.
Dark hair, light skin, a bit of a stutter.
That is very helpful.
Maybe there's a better way to jog an artist's memory.
There you go.
The likeness is vague, but it may help spark a memory.
I didn't-- I didn't want to say anything before because I thought I was just being paranoid.
Well, tell me what happened.
Well, I was coming out of a movie, and I stopped for a bite to eat, and that's when I saw him.
He was staring at me.
And there was something in his eyes.
You think this could be the guy? Yes.
Yeah.
But his, uh, well, his-- his eyes were further apart, um and they were-- they were deeper set.
And, uh, yeah, I think his hair was longer on the sides.
And, uh, he had a scar.
I'm sure of it.
Ladies' room is around the corner, three doors down.
- Okay.
- I'll wait right here.
Thanks.
Jessica, what is it? That's Johnny.
- You know that man? - We were engaged.
I met John senior year of college.
We went out one time, and then lost track of each other after that.
When did you reconnect? About three years ago.
A mutual friend set us up on a blind date.
We started dating on and off after that.
Then last year, he surprised me with an engagement ring.
And you accepted his proposal? At first, yes.
But then I saw a side of him that made me uncomfortable.
Uncomfortable how? He became possessive and needy.
If I didn't check in with him regularly, he would accuse me of cheating.
I even caught him following me.
Things got they got really bad between us.
I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong.
I didn't dump Johnny.
He called it off with me.
That type of behavior's consistent with stalking.
Could have been John's misguided attempt at repairing the relationship.
Why didn't Jessica mention this before? She could've missed the connection.
Or she's covering for him.
Ran John Everett through the system.
Apart from a few unpaid parking tickets, he's a regular choir boy.
Giant leap from double-parking to mass murder.
Not with the proper motivation.
All right, so far, we've linked him to Neal Cooper, Jessica Thompson.
What about the other two? I showed his picture to Abigail West, and she said he could be the perv job who's been hanging around her kids' park.
- But she wasn't 100% sure.
- Similar thing with Chris Boyle.
He interrupted a guy breaking into his gym locker a while back.
Chased the guy, but never got a good look at his face.
Why go after them? Their lives must have intersected somewhere else.
John Everett! NYPD! John Everett? Bedroom's clear.
This place is empty.
He could be on the run already.
Issue an alert.
Put his picture out to every roll call and precinct in the city.
Got it.
- This is Detective Flack - Hey, Mac.
It's, uh bit of overkill on the deadbolts for such a decent neighborhood, no? This guy must've been afraid of something.
Or the world in general.
Social isolation-- an indication of paranoid schizophrenia.
- I'll be right back.
- All right.
What do you got there? Looks like we got some dried blood.
Could be from another vic.
Detective.
Thought I made myself clear.
Any interference with this investigation will not be tolerated.
Everett hasn't been back here or to his mother's house in Brooklyn.
How do you know his name? I got eyes and ears on the street, just like you, Detective.
Just go home.
I'll call you when we have the suspect in custody.
If I find him first, maybe I'll give you a call.
Hey, Jo.
So I examined the bloodstains we found in Everett's apartment, and I got this.
Two unique profiles.
Blood came from different people, both male.
And I took the liberty of borrowing Everett's toothbrush for a secondary reference sample.
I got a match to one of the profiles.
What about the other? Struck out with CODIS, but whoever it was made that head-sized crater in the wall.
Dark hairs I found in the drywall are a match to blood donor number two.
So Everett fought with someone in his apartment.
Yeah, and by the looks of that hole, he kicked some ass.
Maybe one of his stalking victims came to confront him.
Danville.
Are you absolutely sure? I'll be right there.
Something turn up? John Everett.
Coast Guard found Everett's body trapped in submerged pylons way downriver.
Current is especially strong this time of year.
How long was he in the water? Mm, skin slippage suggests immersion of at least 24 hours.
Hello.
I'll posit penetrating cranial trauma as COD.
Looks like there's something inside.
Look at his clothing.
He's dressed to impress.
But the driver did everything he could not to be seen.
This guy wanted to be noticed.
I think John Everett was a guest at the party.
- Could he have also been the host? - Mmm Not unless he invited himself.
This was in his back pocket.
A fifth invitation.
The artist said she only made four.
That means one of our victims has been lying to us.
According to Everett's phone records, he's got hundreds of inbound calls coming in, all lasting under five seconds.
He was also being harassed.
Explains the deadbolts and covered windows.
Landlord also said John came home a few months ago to, uh, surprise a guy searching through his stuff.
I pulled the complaint report.
Everett described the guy as skinny, mid-to-late 20s, with dark hair.
Says they fought, but the guy got away.
John Everett wasn't doing the stalking.
He was a victim of it himself.
Makes him the real fourth target.
Hey, guys, we processed the clothing Everett was wearing when he died, including some handmade biker boots.
The toe plate was riveted in a crescent fashion.
It's the same pattern I found dented into the driver's side door.
All right, so he kicked the side of the truck? Or used it for leverage.
What if the driver never made it out of the cab before it went into the river? What if he was also trapped? John saw a man about to drown and went back to save him.
If Everett recognized him as the man in his apartment, he would have outed him to the cops.
And that's why he killed him first.
So he risks his life to save this sick bastard.
Instead of getting a well-deserved thanks, gets a body bag? The company that rented the truck is called Demon Dog Deliveries.
And that's the hood emblem they use on all their vehicles-- a demon dog.
Except, the one on our truck is missing its left horn.
John's body washed away, while his murderer swam to the surface and played helpless victim.
So one of our victims is really our driver.
There's a killer among us.
Jessica Thompson wasn't at the party.
I mean, she could've done this.
Why? Sour grapes over her fiancé giving her the heave-ho? Nah, that's no good.
Her boss confirmed that she was behind the bar all night.
Plus, the dragon lady was pretty damn sure that she sold the invites to a stuttering man.
That's that.
That also eliminates Abigail West.
And then there were two.
We're gonna need the invitation you received for evidence.
I'm sure I've got it somewhere.
I brought the invitation with me to the party.
Where is it now? Probably at the bottom of the river.
Okay.
You told Detective Messer you felt a responsibility to rescue everyone from the truck.
It was the right thing to do.
It was quite heroic.
I'm-- I'm no hero.
Well, you will be.
When the world hears about all the lives you saved? Magazines, talk shows This tragedy's going to make you the center of attention.
That's the last thing I want.
Why? I was a high school All-American, starting quarterback in college.
Sports was easy, but Being in the spotlight all the time, that's what I couldn't handle.
Ruined my chances at going pro.
Your parents are deceased.
They died in an accident last year.
Must've been difficult for you.
Did you get help? Talk to a therapist? There's nothing wrong with me.
Never said there was.
Wait.
Would you put that on the table? Hold on.
Pour Mr.
Cooper a glass.
Neal? You have a girlfriend, Neal? Why does that matter? There were a lot of women at that party.
Beautiful, sexy women, way out of your league.
I didn't really notice.
Tell me, Neal, why do you think a guy like you got invited to hang out with all those pretty people? I don't want to talk to her.
I want to go home.
Answer the question.
I-- I don't know.
Must've been a mistake, right? I mean, come on, let's face it.
You're just an average, ordinary nobody.
A loser.
The kind that women like me don't know exist.
Bitch! Ah! You think that you're b-better than me, don't you? Not better than you, Neal.
Just not a murderer.
We searched your apartment, found your parents' life insurance policy.
You've been plotting revenge for years, haven't you? The sudden influx of cash finally made it possible.
You d-d-don't know anything.
We know you tutored Chris Boyle, first few months freshman year.
Chris spent the rest of his time partying with the in-crowd, while you spent all your time by yourself.
- He never invited me out, n-n-not once! - And Abigail West.
She grew up across the street from your family.
She was your best friend, until middle school.
When Abigail found a new set of friends and left you behind.
She abandoned me! Jessica Thompson never even knew your name.
But you certainly knew hers, didn't you? We found the poems you wrote, the sketches.
The photos you took of her and John Everett.
J-Jessica was in love with him, and he threw her away.
He d-deserved to die! And when you couldn't have her, so did Jessica.
N-N-N-Nobody wanted me.
I was tired of being alone.
That's why I'm gonna do everything in my power to make sure that you spend the rest of your life in solitary confinement, all alone.
Neal Cooper lived his entire life convinced the world had wronged him.
Decided to kill the people he held most responsible.
If he'd spent less time blaming them, he'd have realized the real enemy was himself.
Perception can be a dangerous thing.
Hey, here he comes! Here he comes! Mr.
Cooper, can you give us a statement? Neal Cooper, ask you a few questions? He killed my daughter!