T-Bone and the Iceman/Transcript

Transcript

This page is a transcript for the episode "T-Bone and the Iceman" from the third season of Elementary.

Sherlock Holmes: Shouldn't be more than an hour.
Joan Watson: Last time it was 20 minutes. Before then, it was just a moment. We are going backwards here.
Holmes: Your obsession with time speaks as to why this experiment is worthwhile.
Joan: I guarantee you that making a homemade light bulb is not worth the cost of a new electrical panel.
Holmes: You're baiting me. A xenon arc lamp of this size is unheard of. Had my design been successful, every mental health benefit of sunlight would have been ours to enjoy at any hour of the day. Day and night being concepts which would've become devoid of meaning within these walls.
Joan: Well, it didn't work, and I cannot find my new scarf anywhere.
Holmes: The paisley one? I threw that out. It was covered in chewed-up plantain and saliva.
Joan: Not that I recall.
Holmes: The pit viper incident last week. I needed a poultice.
Joan: Oh, and so you used my...my mother gave me that scarf. I was gonna wear it to our lunch.
Holmes: That's curious.
Joan: What is?
Holmes: Well, as well as being an enthusiastic practitioner of maternal judgment, Mary Watson is also a model of consistency. You don't usually dine until the third Monday of each month, so why the change?
Joan: All I know is she sounded unhappy when she called. I thought I'd buy myself some grace by wearing the present she gave me.
Holmes: Oh, well, then I did you a favor. When confronted with the profundity of her sartorial error, she would've no doubt questioned your taste as well as her own, so...
Joan: You know, just go fix the light.

Allie Newmeyer: I swear, he's such a creeper. Like I'm supposed to believe Dennis just happened to go the same random club as me tonight? I'm telling you, one day they're gonna find my skeleton propped up on his futon. Hold on. I hate this song, and I'm like, lost as hell. Hey. Hey, are you okay? Oh, my God.

Detective Bell: You guys got here fast.
Joan: We were already awake when you texted.
Holmes: Early to bed, early to rise. A life without electricity confers certain advantages. So, what have we here?
Bell: Road rage, it looks like. The vic is Allie Newmeyer, college kid from Yonkers. Given the car, the clothes, I'd say she got lost on her way home from partying, ran the stop sign, T-boned the perp, and he caved her skull in.
Joan: Paint transfer give you anything?
Bell: The height and color tell us we're looking for a white van or truck, but that's all that tells us anything about who we're looking for. No traffic cams, no witnesses.
Holmes: Nevertheless, you seem to have the matter well in hand.
Bell: You begging off?
Holmes: From what? The issuance of an APB? A more thorough canvassing of the neighborhood? Respectfully, whether you're scoring on novelty or complexity, this crime scene doesn't really rate, does it?
Bell: Take a look at the body.
Holmes: Detective...
Bell: Would you just take a look at the body?
Holmes: Would it not have been simpler just to tell us?
Joan: What?
Holmes: This woman wasn't just murdered. She was rapidly turning into a mummy.

Dr. Hawes: You're not gonna believe what did this to her.
Joan: Refrigerant?
Holmes: Refrigerant.
Hawes: Lab gave you the mass spec results?
Joan: No, but I've seen it before. Air conditioning repairman came into the E.R. He was draining a condenser and spilled some fluid on his arm.
Holmes: I just knew. Don't sulk. Tell us which variety.
Hawes: R22. Nasty business. Caused that medical defatting you see there. Not a bad way to leech every last drop of moisture out of human flesh.
Joan: Would have been agonizing if she wasn't already dead.
Hawes: So you know the order of events too.
Joan: Well, her facial musculature was slack, which means she wasn't suffering at the moment of death.
Hawes: I can give you my best guess about the murder weapon if you want it. An old tire iron. Little bit of rust in the wound. Judging by the angle, I'd say you're looking for a big right-handed guy, tall, strong.
Holmes: Shouldn't be more than a million people fitting that description in New York.
Hawes: Body and clothes were dusted. No prints. I wish I could give you something else to narrow it down.
Holmes: The formulation of the coolant may suffice. There can't be that many people toting around large quantities of R22. We'll need to compile a list of businesses which house caches of refrigerant. HVAC repair companies, chemical plants and of course any food distribution warehouses in the vicinity of the accident. Shall we?
Joan: Oh, you should. I can't. I have that lunch with my mother, remember?
Holmes: Don't look so glum. I'm the one who has to sort through thousands of Bronx meatpackers. You only have to contend with one small vegetarian.

Joan: Mom, did you not get my text? I told you I was gonna be late.
Mary Watson: I had a hair appointment. I couldn't move it. You're busy too, I see?
Joan: Yes, new case, but I'll catch you up another time. This probably isn't the best place.
Mary: It's just as well. I have to get going and I should just get right to it. You have to talk to your brother.
Joan: Why?
Mary: He's having an affair.
Joan: What?
Mary: Six months after the wedding, and already this. He's going to ruin his marriage.
Joan: Where is this coming from? Did he say something?
Mary: You know I went to see them the other week. He seemed happy. Gabrielle seemed happy. Like newlyweds, but I took a car to Faneuil Hall to shop one day. When I came back, I saw Oren kissing some blonde woman in the driveway.
Joan: Well, what did he have to say for himself?
Mary: I didn't let him know I'd seen.
Joan: You didn't talk to him?
Mary: I couldn't. Oren hardly spoke to me or Dad after your father's affair, and I wasn't to blame. But I understood. It's a hard thing to talk about.
Joan: Yes, it is, but I don't see how me getting in the middle of it is gonna make it any better. Except maybe for you. What do you want me to do here?
Mary: He listens to you, Joan. Maybe he'll listen if you tell him not to ruin his life.

Captain Gregson: You two are leaving? I'm gonna assume you caught a break on the road rage thing?
Bell: Yeah, we've been calling the big R22 vendors and buyers, found out there's a lot fewer companies that trade in this particular chemical than there used to be.
Holmes: In the 1990s, the EPA launched a long-term phase-out of the type of refrigerant carried by our killer, their effort to curb emissions that erode the ozone layer. By 2020, R22's sale and manufacture will be entirely illegal within the U.S., and this year will see a mandatory 56 percent reduction. And as you're no doubt already surmising, that kind of regulatory pressure has led to soaring prices and a massive black market.
Gregson: So, what, the refrigeration business is the Wild West now?
Bell: Well, not quite, but a friend at the FBI says a lot of the manufacturers are exceeding their allocations and selling the surplus off the books.
Holmes: Good news is thefts are on the rise as well.
Gregson: That is good news.
Bell: It gives us a couple leads. Out of a dozen open cases, two of them have witness statements that mention suspicious white vehicles.
Holmes: So while I'm gonna meet Watson at an ice rink, the detective is on his way to a fish market.
Bell: I'm expecting a lot of interesting smells, in case you want to join me.
Gregson: I'm good. Let me know what you find.

Joan: Where is this guy?
Holmes: The report said the complainant has been managing this facility for 12 years. Were this my lot in life, you'd have to stir me to action with a cattle prod. Your impatience is uncharacteristic.
Joan: What, you're not cold?
Holmes: How was your lunch with your mother?
Joan: Well, my brother is having an affair.
Holmes: Oren is having an affair?
Joan: Yeah. She wants me to, I don't know, fix it, I guess.
Holmes: How is it your problem?
Joan: It's not. It's just, you know, I'm the least weird person in my family. My mother, my stepfather, my brother, they all have their issues and, you know, sometimes they need a referee.
Holmes: You're beginning to see the wisdom in keeping an ocean in between one's self and one's relatives.
Joan: Right, because you and your family, you've got it all figured out. Right. Nothing weird about you guys.
Holmes: We do not require referees. Were it not for the evolutionary quirk that a mature human brain cannot pass through a dilated cervix, we might be rid of the pair bond between parent and child entirely.
Joan: Well, I love my family.
Holmes: Hmm. You enjoy the occasional meal with Oren and you exchange Christmas cards, but the reason you're vexed is the notion that the thinnest tendril of shared DNA makes his extramarital gymnastics your responsibility. Family is the tie that binds, but while one end undergirds human civilization, the other is a noose, choking away our individuation. You can cut the cord, Watson.
Gary Weissman: You're the cops?
Joan: We're consultants with the N.Y.P.D. I'm Joan Watson. This is Sherlock Holmes. You're the facilities manager, Mr. Weissman?
Weissman: Yes. Uh, Kimmy said you wanted to talk to me.
Holmes: Ms. Watson and I are investigating a murder.
Weissman: A murder?
Holmes: We have an inkling that the thief who stole your R22 canisters last month may have beaten a young girl to death. Would you be so kind as to show us where the burglary took place?
Weissman: Couple of months ago, I come down here to put our Christmas decorations away, I find the door here wide open. Guy left in a hurry, I guess.
Joan: Who else access to this room?
Weissman: Just me. That's how I knew something was up. Cops said they picked the lock.
Holmes: Well, that's hogwash, isn't it? You perpetrated the crime and then you filed a false report.
Weissman: Excuse me?
Holmes: You stole the refrigerant. These little nicks here, it's what you get when an amateur tries to bump a lock. Teeth on a blank are filed very, very sharply, the bump key is then inserted into the lock, whacked with some force, too much force, in this case, but then, you meant to leave proof of some malfeasance, didn't you?
Weissman: I got the key. Why would I even want to do something...?
Holmes: Of course you've got the key. Because you've got the only key. There needed to be an alternative explanation for the crime. Anyway, this model has a side-locking bar, it's unbumpable. This was a charade to fool investigators.
Joan: So you reported 25 tanks of R22 were stolen. Other black market deals have it hovering about $200 per tank. So, if we pull your bank records, are we gonna find a $4000 cash deposit that you can't account for?
Weissman: I didn't kill anyone.
Holmes: That's not what we're implying. We wish to determine whether your buyer did. Your receptionist, Kimmy, she said she noticed a white van parked illegally the morning of the robbery. Now, if you have something useful to tell us about that?
Weissman: I never got his name. I don't have a telephone number, credit card, anything like that. Our deal was cash, like you said. He was a little older than me, tall white guy. Came in off the street, made me an offer, just like that.
Joan: Was it his van?
Weissman: Yeah. He wanted me to deliver the stuff, but I was worried it was a setup, so I told him he had to pick up the canisters himself. But he'd already given me the address. I've got it written down in the office somewhere.
Joan: Was it in the Bronx?
Weissman: Yeah, matter of fact.

Holmes: Well, this is plainly not the vehicle that Allie Newmeyer crashed into. Yet there are reasons to believe that its owner is our killer.
Joan: I don't see anything.
Holmes: That's my point. Seven years old, but it's pristine. There's no plates, no lint, no smudges. Just adhesive on the windshield to suggest a recently-removed "for sale" sticker. It is parked at the address given to us by Mr. Weissman. These are all indicators that this is a hasty replacement for the van which Miss Newmeyer crashed into last night.
Joan: But what is this place? There's no signage, there's no business. You think our guy squatted here?
Holmes: Difficult to say. But answers are at our fingertips.
Joan: Hold on. Let me call it in, see if the Captain thinks we've got enough for a warrant.
Holmes: It's 12 degrees. How long would you wait here listening to the unattended infant crying inside?
Joan: There's no baby in there.
Holmes: Now I hear two infants.
Joan: There's no rush. Nobody's here. There's no reason not to do this right.
Holmes: You would blithely dismiss the risk of acute hypothermia?
Joan (phone): Captain, can you hear me?
Joan: Hold on. I want to try to get a better signal.

Joan: Sherlock?
Holmes: I'm not easily surprised, but I do confess to not expecting this.

Bell: So we've got Folsom, Jenkins, Diener, Choi and the Narducci family. Is that all of them, or are there others?
Abraham Misraki: Actually, there are ten more here in Flushing. It's been busy lately.
Holmes: Tell us, Mr. Misraki, when your life extension firm signs a new client, do your reps explain that their frozen remains will one day be laid out in a meat locker?
Bell: Supposed to be keeping them in these things, aren't you?
Misraki: As soon as a cryoNYC member dies, their body in injected with a glycol-based solution and lowered to 77 degrees Kelvin. We do that in one of the cryostats pictured here. The goal is to make cellular deterioration impossible. That's our pledge, that all members will be preserved in stasis until nanotechnology is developed to restore them to life.
Holmes: It was cold in your freezer, but it was not minus 196 degrees Centigrade.
Misraki: I will admit to instituting some policies that might offend decorum. The truth is, we've oversold our current facilities, but we're raising capital to grow and catch up to demand.
Bell: Right.
Holmes: So, in other words, when a new client dies, you throw an old one in the meat locker.
Misraki: We rotate them. But all clients' core temperatures are kept below the threshold that industry leaders have theorized to be sufficient.
Joan: "Industry leaders" meaning you, right? So, you're just keeping them on ice and hoping for the best?
Misraki: CryoNYC has to keep costs down. We invest every dollar we can, a forward-looking strategy to insure financial solvency for as long as it takes. Millennia if necessary.
Bell: Oh, is that what you call buying stolen coolant from ice rinks? Investing?
Joan: I wouldn't bother denying it. Gary Weissman at Skate Pelham already identified you.
Misraki: I offered him a price for some refrigerant. I had no way of knowing that he wouldn't clear the deal with his employer. I'm a bargain hunter, not a criminal.
Holmes: We're not here about R22, or the improper storage of dead nutters. Allie Newmeyer was murdered two nights ago after she struck one of your vans. Now, perhaps she got a look at the ghastly shell game that you're playing, and you decided to kill the witness.
Misraki: Wait. You think someone here...no, we would never You said two nights ago, right? Two nights ago, we were robbed. The person you're looking for took that van.
Bell: Then I'm sure we'll find that you filed a report with the police?
Misraki: No. It was complicated. But please, talk to my people. You'll see, I'm telling the truth.

Terrence Resnick: When I got in yesterday, I saw the van wasn't here. It's a little out of the ordinary, but every once in a while, we'll park it at, at an off-site facility that we maintain.
Misraki: It's okay, Scott. They know about Hunts Point.
Bell: Yeah, by all means, Mr. Resnick, speak freely. You might just avoid a hindering prosecution charge.
Resnick: I said we should call you guys as soon as we realized everything that happened.
Holmes: What constitutes "everything"?
Resnick: There was a break-in. I came in early to take some readings. I'm the chief engineer, so normally, I'm one of the first people here. I noticed that somebody had kicked in the door to the main office. Probably to get the keys to the van. And that's when I realized that Mr. Sullivan was missing.
Joan: And who's Mr. Sullivan?
Misraki: Jim Sullivan, he was interred in tank six two months ago.
Joan: Wait a second. A body was stolen, and you didn't report it?
Misraki: This was only yesterday, and given our new protocols with respect to Hunts Point, there was a chance Mr. Sullivan had simply been misplaced. I felt it was prudent to conduct a search of all of our facilities...
Bell: You felt it was prudent to avoid a police probe of your shady business practices.
Misraki: I am trying to do the right thing here.
Joan: Better late than never.
Holmes: If you like, Watson and I can look into the alleged break-in here while you take Mr. Misraki to the station. I would ask that Mr. Resnick's interview be delayed until we are finished, because we might require his technical expertise.
Misraki: I told you everything I know.
Bell: Yeah, and it's great stuff. Our fraud people are gonna want to hear it too.
Holmes: So if you could show us the almost final resting place of Jim Sullivan.

Holmes: Well?
Joan: Well, what? You said you were going for coffee an hour ago.
Holmes: I did go for coffee. It wasn't very good. How have you fared?
Joan: Well, as crazy as he is, everything Misraki said checks out.
Holmes: Hmm. That's hardly surprising. He seemed to think that full candor at the 11th hour would save his company from exposure. Theft of the van seems a little conveniently exculpatory though, don't you think?
Joan: Well, cryoNYC kept pretty detailed logs about when the bodies were swapped between the tanks and Hunts Point. They didn't have anything scheduled within three days of the crash.
Holmes: According to his files. A snake oil salesman needn't be disbelieved in all things, but his claims do warrant extra scrutiny.
Joan: It's all consistent with the temperature readings we took from the tanks, the bodies. I don't think that van was there on company business.
Holmes: Let's say that you're right. Allie Newmeyer's attacker was driving a stolen vehicle. Beyond putting out a more specific APB for the van, that suggests that our resources are best applied to the unsolved strangulation of Jim Sullivan.
Joan: Wait. Our missing dead guy is a murder victim?
Holmes: Choked to death several months ago. I've been reviewing the specifics with Detective Bell. Corpsicles having so little resale value, it seems an unlikely coincidence that the only homicide victim in cryoNYC's cold storage was the target of our thief.
Joan: So somebody got away with murder, but then couldn't resist going back for a trophy?
Holmes: Perhaps the killer felt some incriminating evidence had been preserved by the irregular method of his victim's burial. Perhaps he wanted to desecrate the corpse. No matter the motive of the heist, I submit that solving Jim Sullivan's murder gives us our best chance at solving Allie Newmeyer's.

Joan: Strangulation is usually a crime of passion, right?
Holmes: Man was a psychiatrist attacked in his home office. Spent his days plumbing uncomfortable truths about his patient's most closely-held secrets, so motives abound. Yet all of his patients appear to have solid alibis.
Bell: Well, the best evidence was physical. The killer tracked muddy size-11 boot prints into the foyer before he killed Sullivan. The ME thought it looked like the work of a strong right-handed man.
Joan: Well, they're out in force lately.
Holmes: The lead investigator initially fixated on the man who discovered the body, Vance Ford.
Bell: He said he was a first-time patient of Sullivan's. There was nothing in Sullivan's files to confirm he had an appointment.
Holmes: In Ford's telling, he happened upon the murder as it was being completed, but was unable to catch up to the culprit who fled on foot.
Joan: Oh. Maybe because Wyatt Earp got back into his time machine and vanished.
Holmes: Needless to say, the fact that no other witnesses recalled such a striking figure bolting down the street did raise a few eyebrows. Mr. Ford was interviewed three times, and he was steadfast in his account. And it has to be said, he had no motive.
Bell: What is it?
Joan: It's crazy, but I feel like I know him from somewhere.
Holmes: Former lover? Wouldn't be the strangest.
Joan: It's like I went to high school with him or something. Maybe he's connected to some case we were working.
Holmes: After years spent staring at suspects, the average detective has catalogued almost every combination of facial features. A cloud of déjà vu can be a natural byproduct.
Bell: Um, I gotta tag back in on the Misraki interview. Feel free to go hunting through mug shots if you can't shake the feeling.
Holmes: I think our time would be better spent chatting with Mr. Ford. Seems a better bet to recall something interesting about our mystery man, don't you think?

Vance Ford: I was heading out when you called, but always happy to help the police. Have a seat.
Holmes: You seem very eager to get off your feet. I must ask you, have you been in a car accident recently?
Ford: I'm a subway guy, born and raised. The limp is just I woke up a little sore.
Joan: That should happen less often once you're through with the radiation. I saw your medication, Vorinostat. I hope it's working.
Ford: Relapsing acute myeloid leukemia. Kicking my ass. Supposedly I've only got a month, but I'm gonna stick until Tribeca at least. I'm in film finance. Finally got one in the festival.
Holmes: Well, we don't wish to waste your time or ours, so I will be direct. You don't appear physically capable of the crime that we're investigating, but I imagine you were in better form when Jim Sullivan was killed.
Ford: Finally, someone comes out and asks. I knew they suspected me, the way they kept coming back and asking why I went there. Suppose I should've come clean, but back then nobody knew. My oncologist said I should talk to someone about, you know, death. Ironic, right? Anyway, I found him online. We had an appointment. The guy just didn't keep his calendar up-to-date.
Joan: So you two never met.
Ford: Why the hell would I kill him, right? I didn't. I would tell you if I did. Not exactly afraid of a life sentence here.
Holmes: The man that you saw fleeing the scene...
Ford: They worked up a sketch.
Holmes: Well, you would be doing us a great service if you could just set the stage one more time. And, please, leave out no details. You never know what grain might be useful.
Ford: I came up the street just as he was walking out of Dr. Sullivan's front door. When he saw me, he took off. He had a beard, sort of auburn colored, and a cowboy kind of hat. Pretty sure there was a scar over his eye. That's it.
Holmes: You wouldn't add or change a thing?
Ford: I asked the guy who drew that if he did portraits. He nailed it.

Oren Watson (phone): Are you high?
Joan (phone): Oren, calm down.
Oren (phone): Calm down? You just accused me of cheating on my wife.
Joan (phone): I didn't accuse you of anything. I'm telling you what Mom thought she saw.
Oren (phone): Well, then she's going blind. Or she's high.
Joan (phone): No. She seemed pretty sure.
Oren (phone): She didn't see anything. There was nothing to see. I'll tell you what this is. It's payback. I've never gotten out of the doghouse since Dad cheated on her. I didn't yell about what a heel he is, so she thought I was taking his side.
Joan (phone): I really don't think that's what it is.
Oren (phone): You weren't up here last week. She could be doing this because I forgot to change the guest towels. The woman is nuts.
Joan (phone): Okay, let's just work from a place of "this is what she thought she saw."
Oren (phone): No. I gotta go. Gabrielle's calling. Who never needs to hear about this garbage. Got it?
Joan (phone): Got it.

Ford (recording): His beard, it was auburn colored. And he had this cowboy hat with a wide brim. I'm pretty sure there was a scar over his eye.
Holmes: There's an 81 percent chance Vance Ford is lying about his role in Jim Sullivan's murder.
Joan: You taped our meeting?
Holmes: No. What you've just heard is a recording of the second of three interviews that the police conducted with Mr. Ford. It only sounds like our meeting today because he hewed so closely to his original description. There's virtually no variance in each of his accounts. The story never changes. Ergo, lying.
Joan: Well, if he was telling the truth, then why would you expect it to change?
Holmes: Our meeting today brought to mind this recent study by a group of psychologists. They found that counting the number of unique words used by witnesses was an exceptional lie detection technique. Liars stick to streamlined stories. They don't deviate from the linguistic avenues they've already mapped out in their original telling. They use fewer words and particularly ones that evoke sense memory.
Joan: Because they're not drawing from memory.
Holmes: Law enforcement agencies pour considerable resources into the study of microexpressions and into polygraph technology, but no matter how finely they measure facial tics and heart rates, they rarely do better than a coin flip. Tallying singular words may be the best way to root out liars such as Mr. Ford. And it's absolutely free. A significant development in our case and a revolutionary breakthrough in our field, and you could not be more bored.
Joan: I'm distracted. I just got off the phone with Oren. Denied having the affair. And he used plenty of words, in case you're wondering. And I think he was ready to use a lot more to describe my mother.
Holmes: You believe him?
Joan: Well, like you said, he's not really the affair-having type.
Holmes: So these other words he would use to describe your mother, would "forgetful" be one of them?
Joan: What do you mean?
Holmes: When I was in London last summer, I received two phone calls from her. The first one, she was trying to track you down, and she was unaware that I was no longer stateside. Second one was one week later. Before the question was out of her mouth, she admitted that my move had slipped her mind. I assumed you just hadn't mentioned it, thought she'd only forgotten once.
Joan: No, I told her you went to London the day after you left.
Holmes: Your mother's in her late 60s, correct?
Joan: Yeah, 68. Still pretty early for Alzheimer's or dementia, if that's what you're thinking.
Holmes: General cognitive decline is usually underway at that point. Bits of memory loss. I mean, it might not be so dire as a chronic case, but could explain why she's mistaken about Oren.
Joan: No, she was sure. And you know how she is. She's...
Holmes: She's razor sharp. She's your mother. I'm not suggesting she's gripped by fantasies. But she might have transposed Oren into the memory of someone else kissing a blonde woman.
Holmes (phone): Detective.
Bell (phone): Hey, you guys talked to Vance Ford this afternoon, right? Did you see anything that set off your antennae?
Holmes (phone): No, but we heard plenty of things that were very suspicious. He spun a too-familiar yarn about a bearded cowboy killer.
Bell (phone): Well, I hope you got a good description. There's a chance that the same perp struck again. Vance Ford was strangled tonight. It looks just like the Jim Sullivan murder.

Bell: Jim Sullivan. Vance Ford. I'm thinking about putting stickers on these photos to keep them straight.
Holmes: Sullivan's home has French Colonial flourishes. Ford's is a juvenile paean to pop culture obsession.
Bell: My point is there are a lot of similarities between the crimes. You don't see men strangled to death by bare hands too often.
Gregson: No forced entry, not enough evidence to suggest a long fight at either scene. Looks like both guys were surprised by someone they knew.
Holmes: One notable dissimilarity is that the scene of Ford's murder is pristine. Sullivan's killer, meanwhile, tracked his size 11 prints everywhere.
Bell: Maybe he's learned from his mistakes.
Holmes: My point is that we should remain open to the possibility this is the work of two different killers.
Gregson: If it wasn't, Ford just got proven innocent of the Sullivan murder, in the worst possible way. No Joan today?
Holmes: She has a familial obligation. She'll join us shortly.
Bell: You should tell her we may not be here at station. We got guys rolling on a 10-24 at cryoNYC. Somebody there called 911. An intruder in the crypt knocked one of their engineers unconscious.

Holmes: So it might be time for some uh, surveillance cameras and some new locks, Mr. Resnick.
Bell: We saw the ambulance leaving. The guy who got hit, he gonna be okay?
Resnick: Ryan Lee. Yeah. My partner's riding with him. He's coming around. I thought we'd get a full statement.
Holmes: So when we left yesterday, this place was a sealed crime scene. Today you're hosting an open house?
Resnick: The lawyers cleared it. Somebody has to come in and maintain the cryostats. Ryan and I came in early to check gauges, make sure nothing had been disturbed by the police who'd been poking around. All of a sudden, we heard something from behind this tank.
Holmes: Someone was tampering with the tank that used to house Jim Sullivan?
Resnick: When we went to check it out, this guy came out of nowhere and whacked Ryan in the head. He hit him with a wrench. I thought he might kill him.
Bell: Then what happened?
Resnick: Uh, I shoved the guy, and he swung at me, but he missed. He hit the side of the tank. Yeah. And then he took off. Ran out the fire exit.
Bell: He leave any scratches, any other marks on you? No, but you got a good look at him?
Resnick: Both of us. He's a white guy. Late 30s, if I had to guess. Sort of a wispy brown beard. And I couldn't be sure, because he was wearing this weird hat, but I think he had a scar over his eye. Right here.
Uniform Cop: His friend was groggy, but he gave the same description before we sent him to the hospital.
Resnick: That's him. You know who he is?
Bell: We're familiar with his work.

Mary Watson: I promise I'm not trying to get back at you for being late on Monday. The cable was out, and dealing with those people is a nightmare. I had to wait. I'm sorry. You should've ordered.
Joan: It's no problem.
Mary: Is everything all right? Did you talk to Oren?
Joan: I did. He denied it. He said it never happened.
Mary: Well, I guess that's to be expected. This is so frustrating. I really don't know what to do.
Joan: I have to ask, are you sure it was Oren you saw?
Mary: What do you mean? Of course.
Joan: Uh, you know what, we just need another minute. Thanks.
Mary: If you think you've done what you can do, then you've done what you can do. Thank you for trying.
Joan: So, what was it you ordered last time, that looked good?
Mary: You're testing me.
Joan: What?
Mary: I used to do the same thing with my mother. You don't believe me about Oren. You think I'm confused. You're wrong. You're not a doctor anymore, and I'm not your patient.
Joan: No, I'm not a doctor anymore, but I do think you should see one. There's some easy tests they can run.
Mary: We're not discussing this.
Joan: I spoke to Dad. He said that you don't like to talk about it, but you've been forgetting where you put things.
Mary: My keys, once.
Joan: He said it was more than that.
Mary: This is ridiculous. He has more senior moments than I do. You're gonna have them too, someday. It happens to everyone. It doesn't mean that I can't be trusted to remember my own son disgracing his marriage.
Joan: Mom...
Mary: Forget it. I'm not gonna sit here and be ambushed.
Joan: Mom, please, I...

Holmes: I wonder what a psychiatrist would make of the temptation to use this software to turn a violent criminal's face into one's own.
Joan: I could take a guess. So the cryoNYC guys were not able to improve on Ford's sketch?
Holmes: Given how prolific this man's been over the last two days, let alone two months, I assumed he would have priors. But if he does have a record, I've been unable to find it. Even with the modifications to his various features, I've been unable to generate a facial recognition match to anyone in the N.Y.P.D. Database.
Joan: Well, yesterday you thought Vance Ford was lying about this guy.
Holmes: Today Vance Ford is dead. If memory serves, I said there was an 81 percent chance he was lying, which means there's a 19 percent chance he was telling the truth.
Joan: Something about this guy's face.
Holmes: If the witnesses at cryoNYC hadn't been so certain, I'd say that your mind was playing tricks on you.
Joan: Well, maybe it is. There's a happy thought.
Holmes: Didn't go well with your mother.
Joan: Well, I shouldn't be surprised. I've seen it before with patients. Mental health care is tricky. You know, you see these families battling with one another, you know? Trying to convince their loved ones to accept help. I don't want that battle.
Holmes: Surely your stepfather could persuade her to see a specialist.
Joan: He convinced my mother to order breadsticks once with our pizza. I think we were watching a new episode of M*A*S*H. So there's him and then there's my brother, who's furious with her and 500 miles away. I think I'm on my own here.
Holmes: Sorry. Uh, we're cordially invited to review the autopsy results of Vance Ford. If you're still in the mind to find solace in work.

Dr. Hawes: Already used the cyanoacrylate fuming wand you like. Didn't turn up any prints around his neck. I can, however, answer the question you called about. No way this guy killed Allie Newmeyer.
Joan: Yeah, we were pretty sure about that the moment we saw him.
Hawes: Well, now it's official. Leukemia would have taken him soon if he hadn't been strangled. You don't see blood labs like this very often outside of academic medicine. His white blood cell count was 312.
Joan: Yeah. That'll thin your skin and weaken your blood vessels. Explains why the bruising is so bad too.
Holmes: It explains some of the bruising.
Hawes: You noticed the feet too, huh? I was thinking maybe it was some kind of uh, weird double lividity, but coroner's assistant swears they kept him level in the van.
Holmes: Actually, the explanation is much simpler. This man was a liar and a killer after all.

Gregson: So you're saying Vance Ford didn't just kill Jim Sullivan two months ago, he also stole his shoes?
Holmes: All it took to get away with murder. You'll recall the killer had tracked size-11 boot prints all over Sullivan's foyer.
Joan: Now, maybe Ford was in a hurry because the neighbors heard the struggle, or maybe he was worried he was gonna miss a spot if he cleaned the scene. Either way, he saw an opportunity. He put on this pair of Sullivan's smaller shoes and then made a show of discovering the body.
Holmes: We found these size 11 shoes at Ford's home, his closet was full of them. When we met him, he was wearing these size-nine loafers. It registered when I noticed his limp. It's a mature choice for a man of such juvenile aesthetics. It's difficult to match your look when you shop in a dead man's wardrobe.
Joan: So we think that Ford squeezed into these loafers whenever he met with police. These bruises are the price he paid for sticking to his story.
Gregson: Maybe. Maybe not. It's not like we can ask him.
Holmes: No need. We believe we may have uncovered his motive. What would possess a man dying of leukemia to kill a complete stranger?
Joan: We had a hunch, so we asked the lab to test their DNA. Sullivan was a bone marrow match for Ford.
Holmes: Underneath not one but two name changes at the county clerk's office, we uncovered an explanation. They are estranged cousins.
Bell: So one side of the family doesn't like the other. Sullivan doesn't want to go through a painful procedure to give up his marrow, but Ford won't take no for an answer.
Holmes: It's a crime of passion, as Watson said. Now, Ford continued to deteriorate. All seemed lost until he discovered that his victim was interred at cryoNYC.
Joan: Now, bone marrow and stem cells are cryogenically frozen all the time.
Gregson: So you think Ford was behind the theft at cryoNYC too?
Holmes: Behind, but not capable. He would need help to pull a corpse out of a cryotank and he'd need an expert to harvest the marrow.
Bell: Our friend with the cowboy hat.
Holmes: I'm now quite certain he doesn't exist. Ford made him up.
Gregson: Then who?
Holmes: The two techs at cryoNYC. The ones who claimed they were attacked by this man. Ford paid them to help harvest the bone marrow. One or both of them ran into trouble the other night when Allie Newmeyer struck their van. She had to die.
Joan: We think they were worried about Ford clearing his conscience before he died, so they cut his time even shorter.
Bell: And then they piggybacked onto the bogeyman he described two months ago, kept us chasing our tails.
Gregson: It's interesting. But I don't see us getting a warrant off of it. Not unless one of the techs you like just hands us something.
Joan: Oh, my God, I know who he is now, cowboy hat.
Gregson: Am I crazy, or did your partner not just say that Ford made him up?
Joan: No, you were wrong. He's real. Sort of. And I think he can help us.

Resnick: Oh, my God. Yeah.
Bell: You can see why we think we're onto something. Our colleagues are at the hospital checking with Mr. Lee, but we hope you'll be able to make the I.D. His testimony will be worth less at trial because of his concussion.
Resnick: I know you could probably put a lot of people in that hat, give them a beard, but it's the eyes. I'll never forget the way he looked when he came at Ryan with that wrench in his hand. That's him.
Bell: You're absolutely positive?
Resnick: Hundred percent. What?
Joan: You just ID'd a man named John Reynolds, an actor. This isn't really a mug shot, it's a still from a movie. Manos, Hands of Fate. He played a character named Torgo.
Resnick: What?
Joan: Manos might be the worst movie of all time, so of course it has a cult following. My brother always got a kick out of it. He was a movie nerd. Now, it's been bothering me since I saw it at your friend's house. He liked B movies too.
Resnick: What the hell are you talking about? What friend?
Bell: Vance Ford. Now, this man, the one you just pinned your crime on, died in 1966.
Joan: When Ford was asked to describe Jim Sullivan's killer, he picked a face he knew well. It's a good strategy for a liar. Helped him keep his story consistent.
Bell: You were kind enough to allow us to tape this meeting. We're sure it's going to be enough to get us a warrant to search your home and Mr. Lee's. Maybe we'll find the money Ford paid you. Hell, maybe we'll even find Dr. Sullivan's remains. They still haven't turned up.
Resnick: This is nuts.
Bell: The two of you staged that second break-in at cryoNYC after you killed Ford. Not sure how you figured out which one of you was gonna hit the other, but since he's the one in the hospital, I'm guessing he's not quite as sharp as you.
Joan: We're curious, when our colleagues tell him the truth about the man in the sketch, when they explain that the first person to testify against the other will be able to cut a deal with the DA's office, do you think he'll stick to the script, or do you think he'll save himself?
Bell: Chew on it, Mr. Resnick. We'll be back in a while.
Resnick: Leave it on. There's more I want to tell you.

Joan: You texted?
Holmes: Been shopping?
Joan: Yeah, it's a make-up present for my mother. If I can get her to pick up the phone, I'm gonna talk to her. I thought a spoonful of sugar.
Holmes: I've always found a crowbar more effective. But do as you wish. She should be here momentarily.
Joan: What?
Holmes: You were wrong, Watson. You needn't take care of your mother's care on your own. You have a larger family than you imagined. Anyway, I don't want you shirking off our work.
Joan: That's a pretty selfish way to phrase a generous offer. What happened to cutting the cord?
Holmes: I like Mary.
Joan: No, I appreciate that, but you don't know her like I do. I mean, she's not gonna just, you know...
Holmes: Mary! Act naturally. We're taking her to see an acquaintance at St. Bedes.
Joan: What acquaintance?
Holmes: Neurologist.
Joan: Okay, does she know that?
Holmes: Of course she does.
Joan: How did you get her to, uh...?
Holmes: I called her up earlier and I convinced her that she'd forgotten your birthday.
Joan: But she didn't. She got me that scarf you ruined.
Holmes: I convinced her that she did not. Took some doing, mind you. In the end, and for her own good, I prevailed.
Joan: That's pretty cruel, actually.
Holmes: Crowbar, Watson. That's how we do it in my family.
Joan: Hey, Mom.