NCIS s11e19 Episode Script

Crescent City: Part II

Special Agent Dwayne Pride.
Gibbs.
Think you two know each other.
Hello, my brother.
A living legend has entered the building.
Another member of the original Fed Five.
We're here to back up the New Orleans office.
I have known SSA Pride for 30 years.
I trust him with my life.
I'm Special Agent LaSalle.
I'm Brody.
SAC said he was sending some extra manpower.
You got woman power instead.
McLane being a congressman, FBI's on its way.
Dan taught me everything I know.
Murder of a congressman, Duck.
Yeah, well, this man was a friend.
And a highly decorated federal agent.
Murders all tied to Victor Lorta, the salesman the Fed Five convicted as the Privileged killer.
We were the probies along for the ride.
McLane was the one who put it all together.
He's the one who connected it to Lorta.
There might be a killer on the loose.
Copycat.
The murders seem to be focused in New Orleans.
This is where he decides who to target next? It's like he's shopping.
- He wanted us to come here.
- Yeah, he's watching.
We're his pigeons.
Or his sitting ducks.
Well, my mama told me And my papa told me, too Well, my mama told me Mmm.
I've never even heard of debris.
It's really good.
The food in this city's incredible.
Can you pass the biscuits? Oh.
I'm gonna just one.
You know something, Brody? I think we're having a bonding moment here.
Over breakfast? Over appreciating the little things.
Pride.
Mmm.
Thank you.
You sure? All right.
Thanks.
We got a body in the wetlands.
Looks like there's connectivity to Privileged.
Mmm, can I j just finish these grits real quick, and then we'll Got to move.
What about Gibbs and Bishop? They're hitching a ride with Doc Wade.
It's beautiful.
Reminds me of the country roads back home.
Where's that? Oklahoma.
Ah.
I helped open a clinic for the Chickasaw in Grady County a few years back.
Oh, they're hard-working, good people.
You raised here, local? Mmm.
Santa Fe originally, then I spent some time in Austin, went up to Cambridge, Mass, before I found down here.
Harvard? I traded in the crimson for the purple and gold.
Either one of you know anything about college football? Nah.
Not much.
I got the crawfish in my blood now, so don't be putting down my Tigers.
This town really gets into your DNA.
I flew out here for a visit in '97.
Still got the return ticket.
I know folks die the same here as everywhere else, but in New Orleans most people depart with a good heart and a whole lot of soul.
You Cajun jitterbug, Gibbs? No, ma'am.
Me, neither.
But I'll tell you, we ought to learn.
Life goes by too fast.
Ah, one thing this job teaches you is, you just got to keep on dancing.
Amen to that, Doc.
You good? Never better.
How's that coffee taste? It's terrible.
Made it myself.
Sorry, baby, we're closed.
We reopen in about Whoa.
Give me the money.
Uh Do it.
No problem.
Just relax.
Relax, okay? Okay.
Just here.
Federal agent.
Put down the gun.
You won't shoot me.
I didn't shoot but I should take belt to your punk ass.
What is this? Why do I miss all the fun? Anyone got any handcuffs I could borrow? Got a body in Barataria.
Might be tied to Privileged.
Copy that.
Let's roll.
You always start your mornings in a bar? This is New Orleans.
It might be daylight, but the evening's still young.
Any I.
D.
? Louisiana Wildlife and Fisheries license says he's Henry Waynesgaard from Thibodaux.
If he still had a liver, I'd be able to probe it.
Gators probably ate the damn thing.
Ate some of his toes, too, for an appetizer.
Yeah, maggots are chewing on him-- been dead a while.
Okay, come on, first one to establish time of death gets one of my award-winning Bloody Marys.
By the level of decomp, I'd say, uh, two, maybe three weeks.
I hope you like Bloody Marys spicy, Christopher.
Okay, two puncture wounds in the abdomen.
And by the looks of that bone chip, I'd say his throat was cut pretty good, too.
Same M.
O.
as Privileged.
Who found the body? Old Maurice over there owns a swamp tour business out of Lafitte Park.
He and a boat full of Japanese tourists found him here in the water.
Yeah, they thought it was a fake skeleton, like in a carnival ride.
I've got cloth fibers under the victim's fingernails.
Could be the killer's clothing.
Got a tire track over here in the mud.
Actual boat ramp is located upriver.
This is where our copycat dumped McLane.
Current carried the remains from here down to the marina.
I'll get a cast of these treads.
Talk to the family.
Confirm how long Mr.
Waynesgaard was missing.
That'll help us get closer to time of death.
If he wasn't military or public service, then why kill him? He saw a copycat that night face-to-face.
It's what got him killed.
Brown paper packages are my favorite things.
This is from our blonde probie down in the Big Easy.
It's probably just a souvenir.
"A serial killer's on the loose, and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.
" No, this this feels different.
Maybe it's a tasty Southern treat.
Coffee beans soaked in chicory.
Maybe some beads I can throw at women after they show me their Is that actually legal? I don't know.
Sometimes rules are meant to be broken, Tim.
Just open the box.
It's a voodoo doll that looks just like you.
Right down to the insincere grin.
What does the note say? "Little Tony will bring you good luck and happiness.
" That's not funny.
There's nothing funny about voodoo ever since I saw Live and Let Die when I was a kid.
It's a doll.
It's a stuffed toy.
So is Chucky.
Hey, boss.
When? Yeah, we're on it.
Bad news.
They found another body.
Same M.
O.
as Privileged.
Bad news or bad luck? Thank you again, Warden.
We appreciate your cooperation.
The world knew Victor Lorta as the Privileged killer.
I'm hoping that these letters you saved will offer some insight into the man as well.
Yes.
Thank you.
We'll speak again soon.
Let me guess.
Victor Lorta maintained some significant letter-writing relationships.
Nobody writes letters anymore.
Except maximum-security prisoners who don't have access to Wi-Fi.
When Agent McLane arrested the Privileged killer, he was a two-bit salesman.
Overnight, the case became front-page news.
The Fed Five gained national recognition.
Lorta became a celebrity.
When it comes to public curiosity, murderers are more intriguing than heroes of war.
The more Lorta claimed he was innocent, the more he developed a fan base.
Some people collect photos of movie stars And others prefer to correspond with the devil incarnate.
The warden at the prison where Lorta was housed, he knew he was unique.
Kept every note and every letter after he died.
You think our copycat might be one of these letter-writing nutjobs? Well, it's a long shot, I know, but these these people admired Lorta.
Makes sense that they might mimic him.
Well, Director, you enlisted my psychological expertise, so I am eager and very willing to find out what Lorta's fan club has to say.
And if, indeed, there is a copycat out there Maybe one of his pen pals is continuing his legacy.
We know there's no logical link to connect Waynesgaard to the Privileged murders.
No public service, no military background.
So prove Agent Gibbs's theory.
What's this? Oh.
Sorry.
That's that's one of mine right there.
Your what exactly? One of my brother's LEGO bricks.
You're kidding, right? Oh, we don't kid about LEGO.
You play with toys at work? Oh, it's not toys.
I make sculptures.
Landmarks, buildings.
What is that? What is that? That Is that a serious question? It's the Superdome.
Huh.
He made a really good Preservation Hall, too.
With the musicians.
Out of LEGO bricks? Mm-hmm.
Yeah, I started doing it at the Children's Hospital a few years back after Katrina.
Kids like playing with them.
Brody.
Hello? Hello? Another hang-up? Third today.
Probably has something to do with the business cards I left at Doyle's crime scene.
Maybe a witness.
Let's head over there.
Give them someone to talk to.
I'll take Gibbs - and Bishop.
- Can't.
They're at the Jefferson Parish Lab with Hobbs.
You left them alone with Hobbs? What's so bad about Hobbs? How long do we let him play for? Uh, Pride says it relaxes him.
It helps him think.
Um, Mr.
Hobbs - Call me Wendell.
- Wendell, we need the crime-scene results.
DNA under Henry Waynesgaard's fingernails was compromised.
But those military textile fibers Loretta found-- those turned out to be almost 70 years old.
You saying the copycat is older? No, sir.
I'm saying the jacket was.
I'm saying your killer probably likes to play Navy dress-up.
Clothes could come from a thrift store or old military surplus.
He likes the way they make him feel.
Likes what they turn him into.
Based on these letters, Lorta was a big hit with the ladies.
Some people get a thrill out of communicating with the deranged.
Like taunting the lion at the zoo.
As long as the danger's behind bars, they're safe.
I just found a letter CC'd to then-Agent McLane and someone named Josef Hanlon.
- Hanlon.
- Yeah, he's one of the congressman's sugar daddies.
Big financial sponsor out of North Carolina.
Lives here in DC now.
Go see Hanlon.
Find out why one of Lorta's whack-jobs contacted him directly.
Stand here long enough, the caller might notice.
Second-story windows have the best view.
Folks are afraid to talk.
We could offer a reward or something.
Got a coupon for Waffle House in my wallet.
This your crime scene? Which one of you is Brody? I am.
Found your card.
You're a long way from home, baby.
How old are you? Old enough to make a deal.
These eyes don't lie.
Something the other night woke me up.
Yeah, what time was that, 7:00? Shut up, tool.
I look out the window.
Girl that got in the car never got out.
Somebody in there with her? Yeah.
But I can't recall what he looked like.
Maybe Andrew Jackson could help me remember.
The guy that got out of the car wore a white uniform jacket.
Never saw his face.
Joker took off like a bat out of hell.
What'd you say your name was again? The streets have no name.
But I have your number, remember? Congressman McLane was a visionary for the South.
He understood how we cling to tradition but still welcome change.
Dan had a bright future ahead of him in politics.
But he was a terribly stubborn man.
Especially when it came to issues of personal security.
He had bodyguards, right, Mr.
Hanlon? Occasionally.
He insisted he was better trained than they were.
But there was one fan who made us all take notice.
Emil Titus was his name.
The one who CC'd you on that letter.
Did you report Emil Titus to the police? Of course.
You have to remember, my company has had its share of disgruntled workers over the years.
We employ an entire security force, so I thought we could handle it internally.
Perhaps that was a mistake.
Do you have a mailing address for Titus? There was none on the letter.
I kept files.
They're in, uh, boxes in the closet.
You mind waiting? It's a nice family.
We are the legacy we leave behind, Agent DiNozzo.
Anything, Doctor? Victor Lorta seemed to revel in the spotlight.
He answered every correspondence personally, keeping a copy for his own records.
In each, he insisted without a shadow of a doubt that he was innocent.
Guy's a dirtbag.
Even as a juvie, he had a rap sheet that would have put him away no matter what.
Yes, but what I find so surprising is that in letter after letter, he maintains that one man manipulated the evidence that secured his guilt.
Somebody that the Fed Five didn't know about? No, on the contrary.
The man he says framed him was NIS Special Agent Dan McLane.
Prove it.
Oh, I can't.
But it led me to play devil's advocate.
If murders are still being committed today in the identical style, and Victor Lorta was telling the truth The real Privileged killer could still be out there.
You're basing all this on pen-pal letters? For 20 years, Victor Lorta maintained the position that he was framed.
Suddenly, new victims are surfacing, killed in the identical manner.
Now, you tell me that it isn't possible.
It isn't.
There was a mountain of forensic evidence that connected the murders directly to Victor Lorta.
Evidence that could have been planted.
Sir, you're talking to the guys who were there, on the case, at the time.
Pride, you and Gibbs were probies.
Low men on the totem pole.
We're not suggesting you were involved.
Dan McLane was our boss.
He was my friend.
The best agent NIS ever had.
Why would he do it? To gain what exactly? Gibbs, what do you think? Could McLane have crossed the line? Come on, brother.
Really? Hey, Dwayne, hold up.
Will you stop? What happened back there, huh? You forget everything? I didn't forget anything.
Danny Mac's dead, and they're accusing him of framing an innocent man.
People are still dying.
It's a copycat, Gibbs.
Is it? We were young.
We didn't ask questions.
Why the hell would he do it? And what about Franks? Was he in on it, too? Dwayne, people make mistakes.
We should go talk to Felix Betts.
Agent Betts isn't the same.
He was there, he saw it, he saw things we didn't.
Oh! Aah! Ow! Wow! No living creature should endure this much pain.
Migraine, Tony? It just started happening.
It was just like It's just right there.
Why is he back? I've got a stabbing pain in my skull, and and he's back.
He's got a needle in his head.
I never took him out of the trash.
I was fine, and then this doll with a needle in its head came back.
It hurts.
Special Agent DiNozzo, we need some information.
Moments from being pain-free, sir.
It's possible we may be looking for the real Privileged killer.
I'm sorry? The man we arrested 20 years ago wasn't the real killer? Questions later.
McVoodoo, let's show them what we have.
Emil Titus, the grandson of deceased Admiral Jonas Titus, was born and raised in Mississippi.
He eventually made his money in commuter aviation.
Fascinated by the Privileged case, he followed Lorta and McLane for years.
Reached out to McLane in letters, insisting that Lorta was innocent.
Maybe he knew Lorta was innocent.
Well, once McLane became a congressman, Titus started making sizable donations to his campaign.
That's when his obsession really flagged for Josef Hanlon.
But no one ever questioned Titus's curiosity.
- Until now.
- Intel says he's been laying low at a house that he owns in New Orleans' swanky Garden District.
How old is Titus? Old enough to have started all is a long time ago.
Thank you, ma'am.
We're good from here.
Felix Betts.
There's the ornery old bastard.
Look at him, Gibbs.
Living the good life in the Florida sunshine.
Hey.
What time do the strippers get here? After my nap.
Otherwise, the lap dance is wasted.
Yeah, I'm glad some things don't change.
Let me look at you.
You look like crap.
Yeah, well, I been working too hard.
You need more zing on the springs.
So, which wife are you up to these days? Oh, no, I'm-I'm on my own now, Felix.
It's better.
Better for everybody.
Hey, Betts, look at this picture we found.
Remember this? Long time ago.
Hey, where's Dan? How come the son of a bitch didn't come? Sorry to tell you this, brother.
He's not with us anymore.
Felix, play a game with me.
All right? Okay, I need you to try real hard.
Years ago, did you ever hear of somebody framing Lorta as the Privileged killer? Mike Franks.
Man, did he love you.
Crazy bastard living down in Mexico.
All that booze and the broads.
Felix did Dan take a bribe and frame Lorta for the murders? We did some good, didn't we? We got sandwiches inside.
You guys hungry? Sandwiches sound real good Felix.
Real real good.
Hobbs.
Turn the godforsaken music off so we can have a conversation.
That music, my beloved, is anything but godforsaken.
Better? Your beloved thanks you.
I matched the nick in the victim's vertebrae to a steel blade.
Probably an antique.
Also, there are trace elements of fuel found in the tire tracks in the wetlands-- something called ASTMD910.
That's aviation jet fuel.
Can I turn my music back on now? Not if you want to see tomorrow.
There were traces of jet fuel in Doyle's car, too.
This is all pointing to Emil Titus.
We'll need a warrant.
Thanks.
- I'll wake up Judge Mavis.
- I'll call Pride.
Thanks, Doc.
Been practicing, Bishop? Brody.
I need a minute before we go.
Yes, sir? Why didn't you say something? Say what, exactly? I saw the bomber on board the U.
S.
S.
Moultrie and I froze? Well, maybe.
Sure.
Hi.
I'm Special Agent Brody from the Great Lakes Office.
You might want to watch your back.
My reaction time can be unpredictable.
Now, see, that's not what I I drew my gun, sir.
He hit the button first.
Like Jeopardy? What? The game show.
Believe what you want, but some folks say the buzzers don't work right away.
Alex Trebek gives the answer; we see them pushing their buttons crazy fast-- nothing.
Doesn't mean they didn't have the right question.
Some folks just have better buttons.
I don't care about what was, Brody; I care about what is.
You good now? Very.
All right, then.
Let's do this.
Chris.
Yeah, King? I need you to unlock Charmaine.
You got it.
Thought you two broke up.
Been my mistress 25 years-- can't split up now.
Who's Charmaine? Sweet, sweet Charmaine.
Come here, baby.
Good thing you can't talk.
Stories you'd tell.
Yeah, Abbs, what do you got? Bonjour, Gibbs.
The jet fuel that was on FBI Agent Doyle's floor mats is identical to what you found in the mud.
Emil Titus has got to be your guy, Gibbs.
All right.
Thanks, Abbs.
NCIS! Federal agents! It's clear, King.
Clear.
In here.
Call the morgue.
Anything, Doc? Small-caliber wound.
Close range.
Meant to look self-inflicted.
Meant to? Yeah.
I think somebody staged this.
Titus must have been holding a gun.
As far as I can tell, there's no gunpowder residue on his hands.
Adios.
If that's true, it had to be someone he knew, someone he let get close.
Someone he trusted.
Gibbs, there were no witnesses; neighbors didn't hear or see anything.
It's a dead end.
He's playing us again.
Just like he played us standing outside the market.
First that hooker, then the lobbyist.
Now this.
It's a game to him, Gibbs.
Only problem is, I don't like to lose.
McGee, it's all a scam.
Titus, the fibers under the fingernails.
I'm telling you, this guy's good.
The real killer knew Emil Titus wore his grandfather's old Navy jacket, so the killer wore the jacket to Doyle's crime scene.
It's all bait.
Chum to send us into a clue-feeding frenzy.
Oh, God, please not another Jaws metaphor.
Don't start speaking like Quint again.
"We'll put three barrels on him.
"He can't stay down with three barrels on him!" Navy jacket was a ruse.
More planted evidence to make Emil Titus look guilty.
For all we know, the killer's probably targeting McLane's fund-raising buddy, Hanlon, too.
You better get over there, fill him in.
Well, why do I have to go? I'm incapacitated.
All right, listen up.
You're looking for major deposits in new accounts established by McLane in the early '90s.
Hang on.
I've got a problem here.
Oh.
Sorry.
LEGO bricks.
Got something.
Put it on the plasma.
McLane deposited $500,000 to a bank in the Caymans.
He also deposited another $250,000 spread between multiple banks in multiple states.
Not exactly a government pension.
You want to tell Gibbs and Pride, or should I? Pretty, huh? I had no idea.
There are things you trust when you live in Louisiana.
Trust the river will rise; people will rise to the occasion no matter what the challenge.
Trust the rain will never stop pouring, the drinks will never stop flowing, and music will never stop playing.
And after all the hell you go through living here, you trust in God Almighty, and you trust in friends and family.
All those years a man I called my brother was living a lie, and I I took it hook, line and sinker.
You know the truth now.
The man was nothing but a fraud.
Mac was still a good agent, King.
Just made a mistake, and he suffered for it.
I know that the bond we had back then was real.
It's real now, too.
If Privileged is still out there we have a job to do.
NIS Agent McLane took a bribe.
Probably from the real Privileged killer to frame a man for a crime he didn't commit.
Why? Well, according to McLane's wife, his mother's health was failing, and his daughter had been diagnosed with Hodgkin's lymphoma.
McLane must have been desperate, and on a government agent's salary.
Mac's wife, Amy, put blinders on, never questioned any of it.
But with reelection on the horizon, your friend couldn't live the lie anymore and wanted to come clean.
McLane finally said enough is enough.
Scared the killer into keeping him quiet.
So clearly some of Mac's campaign donations were hush money.
Cash to turn a blind eye.
DiNozzo, over the years, McLane's largest contributor? Josef Hanlon.
But Hanlon's been in DC the whole time.
Hanlon has a son, Spencer, runs everything now.
They got factories up and down the East Coast, including New Orleans.
Yeah, and I bet he's got a company jet.
Explains the fuel.
Agent DiNozzo, where's Agent McGee? Whoever's doing this had been following McLane for years.
We think that they paid him off, and in exchange, he framed Lorta for crimes he didn't commit.
Extraordinary.
And difficult for me to comprehend.
For your protection, we're gonna need to search through all of McLane's fund-raising records, uh, guests at receptions, all of it.
I may have some old names packed away from years ago.
Great, that would be very helpful.
See what I can find.
Please, Agent McGee, uh, make yourself comfortable.
Thanks.
Mr.
Hanlon, you still do a lot of traveling for work? None.
My son, Spencer, handles most of the factory supervision now.
Where are they located? Oh, Georgia.
Florida.
And, uh, Louisiana.
Mr.
Hanlon? Boss, we're on our way to Hanlon's.
The old man's been making campaign contributions to McLane all these years as payola to protect his son.
Son is textbook, Gibbs.
Trouble in school when he was a kid.
He wanted to be a Marine, but he got declined.
Divorced, travels all the time, keeps to himself.
Are you sure this is Privileged? Privileged is the Hanlon family secret.
Your friend, Dan, just wanted to come clean.
Telling the truth got him killed.
DiNozzo, Josef's son, Spencer, where is he right now? We think New Orleans, but we can't find an address.
Get to McGee.
Come on.
Spencer Hanlon, find him.
Let's go.
Well, he's not in any hotels.
No apartments, houses or boat rentals.
Trying corporate accounts, Hanlon Digital, business credit card statements.
Got one.
Hanlon's been using a car service from New Orleans Lakefront Airport to a building off the French Market.
The Hanlon jet is in town, fueled and waiting to depart.
Ground it.
Put Homeland in front of the wheels if you have to.
Get the hell out of here.
Let's go.
Federal agents! McGee.
McGee.
Ow, that's a big bump.
DiNozzo, bathroom.
He called his son.
Spencer knows.
NCIS! Place is empty, King.
He's gone.
Split up.
Get a BOLO out.
Call FBI and NOPD for backup.
Manager says his car's parked in the garage.
Check the tires; match them to the wetlands.
He's on foot.
Displays his victims like family.
He knows we're close.
If he spoke to his father, he's scared.
Chances are he'll kill again.
Case every military bar in the city.
Yeah, you're a mighty, mighty fool Trying to keep up your cool You're living on the ledge, you're afraid of the edge Never think ahead, you don't get involved Excuse me, bartender.
I'm sorry.
Uh, this place is crowded, huh? Very.
You Navy? No.
No.
I have tremendous admiration for what you guys do, though.
It's a privilege, really.
Um, I know we just met, but this place is packed.
Do you want to go somewhere else? On the road to Charlie Parker On the road to Charlie Parker You cold? A little bit, yeah.
Here, here, take my jacket.
Aw.
Somebody raised you right.
Thank you.
You bet.
Talk to me.
Bartender said Hanlon was just here.
He's with a girl, probably on foot.
What's near the bar? A kid's park, a few nightclubs and an old cemetery they're rebuilding.
Abby's floor mats.
There was marble dust.
Hanlon! NCIS.
Let her go.
Where you headed, Brody? Sure was nice having things a little more presentable around here.
You know, I hope you don't mind.
I just asked the director to skip protocol and extend your visit to New Orleans indefinitely.
You good with that? Mmm Yes, but I have one request.
Okay.
Go for it.
I need my own LEGO sculpture.
I don't know, King.
Come on, now, son.
Give it up.
Fleur-de-lis.
Symbol of the city.
Laissez les bon temps rouler.
Oh, we gonna have some fun.
That was a hell of a lunch.
Yeah, well, you'll be tasting it for days.
Company wasn't too bad, either.
Where the hell is Bishop? Our plane is about to leave.
Good times.
But today's not too shabby, either.
More to come.
Heads up, Pride.
Dead Marine in Algiers.
Duty calls, fellas.
See you around, my brother.
Oh, I'll see you around, King.
After the crime scene, why don't we stop at Chubbie's for some chicken? I think I need a green salad.
Oh, here goes the northern girl, eating like a rabbit.
Fine.
Two wings, two legs.
Did I say I was sharing?