( orchestral music playing )
♪ Listen, all you New Yorkers... ♪
( high-pitched record scratching )
( hip-hop song playing )
( hip-hop song continuing )
( record scratching rhythmically )
♪ You make it happen ♪
♪ You make it happen. ♪
( song ends )
( applause and cheering )
( rhythmic scratching )
( hip-hop song playing )
( French accent ): That's my baby!
Tear it up, Francais!
( song ends, wild applause and cheers )
( phone ringing )
WOMAN ( French accent): Hello? Who is this?
Baby, this is Deejay Banner. You feeling me?
Oui.
You want some of this?
Oui...
( music begins )
( "Oui" rhythmically echoing)
♪ Ooh-ooh, ooh, ooh ♪
♪ Ooh-ooh-ooh ♪
Want some of this?
( "Oui" rhythmically echoing)
♪ Ooh-ooh ♪
♪ Banner. ♪
Who's your daddy now?
( applause and cheering )
Okay, okay.
( chanting ): Banner! Banner! Banner!
All right, all right, all right, all right, all right.
A lot of big things is happening inside here today.
We got a half hour before we announce the champion,
so why don't you blaze one before we crown one, all right?
Single ladies, come see me in the back. Word up.
( crowd cheering )
( hip-hop song playing )
All right, all right, y'all, it's about that time, y'all.
Winner of the 2004 Deejay Master Championship--
not to mention bragging rights as the illest deejay
in all five boroughs--
say it with me, y'all: Deejay Banner! Yeah, yeah!
Yeah! Yeah!
CROWD: Banner! Banner!
Banner.
Hey, yo, Banner.
Banner, you out there, baby, come up to the stage.
I used to climb over the velvet rope
at this place.
Now I'm ducking under crime scene tape.
Christopher Marcus, 17 years old.
Lives out in Far Rockaway.
Witnesses?
Typical club death.
200 people inside.
Nobody saw nothing.
Deejay championship.
It's sort of like the Super Bowl for spinners,
or as they call them nowadays, turntablists.
Looks like someone turned the tables on this guy.
Ends up the winner and ends up dead.
What do you get for second place?
♪ Out here in the fields ♪
♪ I fought for my meals ♪
♪ I get my back into my living ♪
♪ I don't need to fight ♪
♪ To prove I'm right ♪
♪ I don't need to be forgiven, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah ♪
♪ Yeah. ♪
What do you got there?
A shred.
Shred of evidence
or a shred of trash?
We're gonna find out.
So you're familiar with these deejay contests.
Yeah, I'm from Brooklyn.
All the kids I grew up with wanted to be a Grand Master.
Grand Master?
Yeah, like a deejay legend:
Grand Master Flash or a Jam Master Jay.
They paved the way for guys like Dre' and Cube,
Eminem and Jermaine Dupri.
You like music like that?
I prefer crunk myself.
( chuckles ): Well, Dumpster's a bust.
Nothing.
No weapons, no clothes.
Linear cast off.
Consistent with the killer standing here.
He delivered the final stab.
( hip-hop song playing )
Didn't quite finish the job, though.
Victim made it to the door.
( hip-hop song playing )
Partial tread pattern.
More distinct prints facing away from the door,
then do a 180.
He went back inside.
MESSER: So who called it in?
Personal assistant.
Claims she was already dead
when she found her.
Deborah Gayle.
Isn't she that big-time designer?
Yeah. The next Donna Karan.
Clothes, purses, shoes.
You name it, she makes them.
And the entire world buys it.
Can you imagine dropping $45 million
for an apartment?
She's got an abrasion on her forehead.
See if you can find the point of impact.
There may be some blood.
No obvious signs of struggle.
Broken fingernail.
We've got something here.
Yep.
Yeah, it's a cell phone.
Seconds as a PDA.
She probably scheduled her whole life on this thing.
Something tells me this wasn't on her agenda.
I came to pick up my last paycheck.
Your last paycheck?
I quit two weeks ago.
Why?
Because the life of a personal assistant
isn't all it's cracked up to be.
Miss Gayle was the queen of freak requests.
3:00 in the morning, she'd send me out
to buy condoms with French ticklers.
New Year's Eve night,
she sent me to buy three high-speed vibrators.
And this is why I was born?
Do you know if she had any plans tonight?
Did she go out with friends?
Miss Gayle didn't have friends.
She only had acquaintances she could control.
What happened when you got here?
She didn't come to the door, so I just went in.
She was already dead.
That's when I called 911.
How'd you get in?
I still had a set of her keys.
You don't seem very remorseful.
I'm not.
Look, were there times
that I felt like killing her?
Yeah.
Give me a break.
I tried to save her life.
I hope so, for your sake.
What was your relationship to Deejay Banner?
Banner was my boy, man.
He was coming up doing his deejay thing
and I had my club thing jumping up.
We were supposed to come up in this game together, man.
I mean, I knew he was gonna win.
But somebody killed my twin, dawg.
Detective.
Whatever, man.
You a detective, right?
Then detect.
We're working as fast as we can.
Mr. Prince,
you want to start striking the stage?
No. Hold off for a while.
We're gonna want to process it.
♪ ♪
He was standing right here.
Mr. Francais?
Deejay Francais.
Mr. Francais, when you were done with your set, where did you go?
I went to the alley to smoke a cigarette.
I was pissed... I lost.
I went out to clear my head.
Must not have been too happy
about Banner putting your girl on wax.
Oui, I wasn't.
After he pulled that stunt,
believe me, somebody beat me to him.
We don't believe you went to the alley just to smoke.
Let me see the bottom of your shoes, please.
My shoe?
Yeah, your shoe.
What, am I under arrest?
Oui.
Deejay Banner.
Not often I get a celebrity on my slab.
He's like the Michael Jordan of vinyl.
( scoffing ): You should hear Aiden talk about this deejay world.
You close your eyes, she sounds like Queen Latifa.
What do you know about Queen Latifa?
It's my job to know
a little something about everything.
Two stab wounds to the left side of the chest,
about an inch apart.
One striking the 11th rib.
Proximity of the wounds
suggests quick, successive stabs.
Entrance wounds are small and puncture-like.
You got thin hilt marks on the side of each.
The stab in the neck the fatal wound?
Mm-hmm.
Yeah.
Punctured the carotid artery
and sternocleidomastoid muscle.
Our primary suspect
didn't have a drop of blood on his clothes.
Where's all the blood?
It'd be virtually impossible to inflict this type of wound
without some blood transferring to the stabber.
Bruising around the ankles.
Foul play?
Could be several things.
Could be from the dragging.
Hanging.
Being held down, maybe.
How old are these contusions?
Antemortem.
Probably two or three days judging by the color.
All right, keep me posted.
What do you have, Aiden?
A lot of blood.
Banner's shirt.
See that?
Isolated blood drop.
Side of deposit is on the exterior.
Didn't soak through from the inside or the front.
Let me see.
Stain is circular.
It's approximately 11 millimeters in diameter.
Consistent with a gravitational drop
striking the shirt at a 90-degree angle.
This fell from above.
Our crime scene just expanded.
I got a cell phone.
Where do these windows lead?
VIP lounge, restroom.
Dust the outside on the ledge, would you?
The lack of blood is what's puzzling me.
The stab wounds to the chest
wouldn't have produced much blood,
but the one to the neck...
Would have been arterial spray.
Unless the weapon wasn't extracted right away.
Yeah, it's almost as if the weapon acted as a plug.
If that's true, the stabbing started here...
...and ended up down there.
The cause of death:
asphyxiation by drowning.
You're sure she was alive at the time of submersion?
Mm-hmm, she had blood-stained foam around her mouth,
which means air in her lungs.
No bruising or fingernail impressions on the neck.
Doesn't look like she was held underwater.
This woman was in tip-top shape.
What about the abrasion on her head. Blunt force?
Maybe enough to knock her out?
Fairly minor. Didn't do much damage.
I noticed this, though.
Looks like paint.
I'll get this to Trace.
Manner of death?
Until the blood sample comes back from Tox,
it looks like you got an old-fashioned drowning.
That Angelina Jolie's?
Deborah Gayle's.
She couldn't swim.
She couldn't swim?
She had a pool in her living room.
She ingested tetrodotoxin.
Blowfish poisoning?
1,200 times more deadly than cyanide.
One fish has enough poison to kill 30 people.
Paraesthesia can start in a matter of hours,
eventually leading
to increasing paralysis.
( gasping for air )
You're right. She couldn't swim.
Dr. Hawkes was right, too; she drowned.
This was left on the victim's voicemail
three days before the murder.
Three days. The approximate time
Banner received those bruises on his ankles. Play it again.
Yeah.
( keys tapping )
( phone static )
Primary sound is phone static.
Look at the Spectrographic Sonogram.
See all this early activity?
Cell phone reception.
It's erratic.
Look at these waveforms at the end of the graph.
They're identical.
Lose the cell phone noise.
( switch flipping )
( record scratching rhythmically )
There's no mistaking that sound.
Vinyl.
Mmm, something smells good.
The red substance we found behind Deborah Gayle's teeth?
Nail polish.
She was a nail biter?
Possibly. But get this.
The polish had traces of blowfish poison on it.
We need to find that blowfish.
( toaster beeps )
That ought to do it.
Not too burnt.
( spray hissing )
( beeping )
"Dinner, 8:00 p.m., Fuqua Sushi."
You hungry?
♪ ♪
BONASERA: Oh, that can't be sanitary.
Who cares if it's sanitary?
I want to see the menu.
I heard about these naked sushi parties.
But a restaurant?
Are you gonna be able to focus?
I'm all over it.
No way my sushi killed a customer.
Mr. Katsui, with all due respect,
Deborah Gayle died of blowfish poisoning
two hours after...
Fugu!
Excuse me?
In Japan, it's called fugu.
For very special clients only.
Miss Gayle is a very special client.
She paid $500 for one piece.
Fugu. Got it.
She ate it and she died.
She cannot die from fugu.
I always taste it first.
Custom.
♪ ♪
You got blowfish-- sorry-- fugu,
left over from last night?
Of course. Very expensive.
We'll be taking that with us.
( hip-hop song playing )
Brings me back, my lord.
Two turntables and a microphone.
Mac, Disco Placid.
Farmed in from Las Vegas. Living in New York now.
Disco, Detective Mac Taylor.
Big Mac, my man.
Welcome.
I asked Disco here
to listen to the message on Banner's voicemail.
Yeah, they chart this stuff like music.
They call it "TTM."
Turntablist Transcription Methodology.
The graph represents sounds, right?
Usually, yeah.
But this is more than just sound.
This cat right here was trying to say something.
What do you mean?
Well, in order to appreciate the message,
you have to appreciate the audio.
Learn the terminology.
There are a number of different scratches.
You got the "laser."
( zapping scratch )
Then you got the "scribble."
( vibrating scratch )
The "crab."
( oscillating scratching )
What they call the "chirp."
( chirping scratch )
Laser, scribble, chirp, what does it mean?
Let's play the message.
( high-pitched scratching )
Laser, laser, chirp, scribble.
What were those last three sounds?
That's what they call a stab.
( three high-pitches scratches)
Banner was stabbed three times.
Play it again.
Stab, stab, stab.
( three scratches )
I think this was more than a message.
It was a threat.
Disco.
( car horns honking )
What, is this about Banner?
( rhythmic scratching )
Catchy tune, huh?
I recognize the flavor.
TAYLOR: So do we.
That was left
on Banner's voicemail. Three stabs.
We traced the call to your studio.
Damn, you fine.
You ever want to ditch that blue for this black,
I'll lay you down anytime.
Oh, you want to talk dirty?
Believe me, I will cuff you.
All right.
Were you at the deejay contest
last night, Mr. Vick?
Nah.
I was laying down some tunes with my stable.
Okay.
Well, maybe one of your horses who had a beef with banner
tried to eliminate some of the up-and- coming competition.
There ain't no competition.
Banner on my team.
You have him on contract?
I signed Banner to a two-year deal
three days before the competition.
I bet on the future.
So you and Banner hang out?
Yeah, we hang.
Yeah, we know how you like to hang.
Yeah, we hang.
Yeah, we know how you like to hang.
So, you gonna sign the contract or what?
You think this is a game? You gonna play with me, huh?
You little bitch.
I ain't into violence, Smokey.
I'm a businessman.
Sure you are. You mind if I hang on to this?
That's your bird cage, baby.
We'll, catch you later.
( quietly ): Your fine ass.
Doesn't this make you wish you would've gone to law school?
♪ ♪
( blipping )
No corresponding peak?
( keys tapping )
( beep )
I don't get it.
Not a trace of tetrodotoxin.
MESSER: That's impossible, isn't it?
All blowfish produce the poison.
Yeah.
Normally they do.
These fish have had stitches.
The signature on the left, from the contract,
is consistent with the known sample on the right,
which we got from the DMV.
So the contract could be legit?
Yeah. There are indicators of forgery,
but not enough to conclude it's a fake.
See here?
And here.
Hesitation marks.
The line thins out-- usually because
the person slows down or stops to take stock of his position.
What if he was forced to sign, physically?
You'd have tremors, increased and erratic pressure,
pen lift, and hesitation.
It's not present here.
You can rule that out.
And what would your signature look like
if you were hung over a balcony by your ankles?
So a guided-hand situation.
Pretty much like this.
"The History of the Blowfish"
by Stella Bonasera.
What's the deal with the holes in their mouth?
Um, "Blowfish are aggressive and have sharp teeth.
"In captivity, their mouths are sewn shut
to avoid the fish injuring each other."
He removed the stitches and conned his customers
into believing that
they were eating wild blowfish.
And so he's getting 500 bucks for a $25 piece of blowfish.
God bless this city.
So where does that leave us?
Back to the science.
Someone killed Deborah Gayle.
Let's go back to the apartment.
♪ ♪
What do you got?
I just opened up
Deborah Gayle's spring line.
And?
And the last time it had activity
was two hours after her death.
Great find, Danny.
All right, bag it and the water, and let's get out of here.
What are you making?
Ribs.
( microwave oven beeps )
Banner's 11th rib.
This should help narrow down the weapon.
Well, it's not much, but...
it's a start.
♪ ♪
Who are these guys you've hired to break down the stage?
What are you trying to say,
they had something to do with this?
Come on, man, no.
They-they're good people with families and jobs.
I've never had a problem with any of them before.
Well, there's always a first time.
♪ ♪
Whose toolbox is this?
FLACK: George Thomas.
Assault in the first degree.
Aggravated assault in the second degree.
Criminal possession of a weapon.
I can go on,
but I already read War and Peace.
Look, I paid for my mistakes and then some.
Mr. Prince was nice enough
to overlook my past and give me a job.
Well, forgive me if I allow your status
as a multiple felon to color my opinion of you.
Where were you
towards the end of the contest?
Backstage with the rest of the crew.
How many guys in your crew?
There was six of us.
So if you needed to slip away--
let's say, for a smoke-- to do some murder,
you had other guys around
to cover for you.
Yeah.
We covered for each other..
but I don't slip away.
What about your tools?
What'd I tell you, man?
They were backstage with everyone else's.
Last time I checked, the murder weapon we confiscated
didn't have cute little legs,
walking around from toolbox to toolbox.
( knock at door )
Detective Flack.
Mind if I take a photo of this guy's lifeline?
Okay.
Mr. Thomas, hands on the table.
Palms up.
BURN: Do me a favor, sir?
Don't move.
There's some bruising along the edge of the palm.
Inconsistent with our murder weapon, though.
The construction file is flat.
It wouldn't have rested neatly in his hand.
You see...
see how the edges dig into my palm when I grip it?
Yeah.
The picture would show bruising here... and here.
What if he was wearing gloves?
It's possible.
But, uh, if he thought that far in advance,
he probably wouldn't have killed him with this.
Besides, I'm not seeing motive.
Something isn't right.
So now what?
I mean, is, uh, George Thomas off the hook?
Nobody's off the hook.
What else do we have left?
Paperwork.
Pointed.
It's a match.
Why would Banner
have a copy of his contract with Kevin Vick on him?
It was shredded at the scene.
Must be a reason.
Back to Kevin Vick?
Back to the crime scene.
BONASERA: Plenty of people would like
to get their hands on these sketches.
All right, so she's working on sketches,
she takes a swim, dies,
then goes back to work on her computer?
I'm gonna access the e-mail history,
see if anything was downloaded or sent.
( computer blipping )
BONASERA: Bingo.
Where was it sent?
To her personal assistant.
I don't know what you're talking about.
You sent yourself an e-mail two hours after she died.
What'd you do? Call 9-1-1
and surf the Net until the ambulance came?
She was dead.
I took a shot.
I figured I'd have access
to her latest designs.
It was innocent.
Doesn't sound innocent.
Where'd you put the poison, Madison?
What poison?
You know what poison.
It wasn't in the fish she ate.
We're running tests on her protein drinks,
her bottled water,
her mouthwash.
Poison?
You're serious.
Look, I took her sketches, that's all.
It was my way of getting back at her.
The next thing you'll tell me
you went over there in the dead of night
to collect your paycheck, right?
You know what?
I'm not saying another word.
That's just fine, sweetheart.
This tox'll do the talking for you.
Negative.
You're kidding, right?
Uh-uh.
Mouthwash, too?
Mouthwash, water, protein drinks,
anything, everything the assistant had access to.
Not a trace of poison.
I can't believe this.
Well, believe this.
Remember the nail polish we found
on Deborah Gayle's teeth?
It doesn't match her polish.
So where'd it come from?
I mean, Mr. Fugu and the PDA confirmed
she was eating dinner with two businessmen.
And there was not another woman at the sushi table.
Yes, there was.
( clears throat )
Got a minute?
I'd pass on the blowfish if I were you.
Is this about that Bergdorf's bill? I paid it off.
It's about Deborah Gayle.
You know her?
Yeah. She's one of my regulars.
According to the hostess,
you were at her table the night she died.
I really don't remember.
I get a lot of high-end customers.
I just lay still and shut off.
May I look at your nails, ma'am?
Can we do this somewhere else?
What is this about?
Your feet.
Since when do you wear socks at the table?
My feet got cold.
Well, they're about to get colder. Take 'em off.
What, you got a foot fetish, too?
Just take off your socks.
The other foot.
What do we got here?
So, what, did you put blowfish poison on your toes?
You know you could have killed yourself
in the process?
I used to work as an assistant to Deborah Gayle.
I hated that bitch.
What did you in, the ticklers or the toys?
Neither. She fired me--
get this-- for not sleeping with her.
She's sick.
And the minute I left and I got the job here,
she started coming in and requesting me.
Party of three: Gayle.
I'll take Michiko as my VIP table.
She gives me great pleasure.
Put your shoes on.
Put your hands behind your back.
Here we are looking for the murderer at the table...
And here the murderer is the table. Let's go.
Thank you, sir.
"Jayden Prince."
Bag that strand, would you?
Reading my mind.
Paper shredder.
No paper shreds.
I think it all went out the window.
Paper alone won't convict him of murder.
I'm sure he cleaned up
after himself.
Quick change of clothes.
Aiden?
I'm on the toilet.
Can you come here?
Pink water.
We confirmed that you had
Deejay Banner under contract.
Is that correct?
Yeah, man. So what?
According to the verbiage, you were his manager.
The contract the two of you signed expired
the day after the contest.
You recognize this?
Banner was my man.
He would have re-upped with me in a minute.
Not if he already signed with Kevin Vick.
Banner wouldn't do that.
He did.
Yeah! Yes!
Yeah, man. Did you hear that?!
It's finally coming together just like we always dreamed.
What you didn't know was that
Banner signed with Vick three days before the contest.
Shut up! Don't talk to me no more!
It's not like that!
Don't say nothing to me!
Thing is,
Banner never really got a chance to explain, did he?
You made sure of that.
You don't mean nothing, man!
Just listen to me!
You ain't going nowhere! It's over!
Hold up, man. Where you going, huh?
You ain't going nowhere!
Come on, Jay.
You ain't leaving me.
Banner was my heart, man.
He betrayed me.
You betrayed him.
He was loyal to you.
And it took being hung over a balcony by his ankles
to sign with Vick.
All I ever wanted to do was protect him
from the Kevin Vicks of the world.
In doing that...
you became one of them yourself.