(siren wailing, distant dog barking)
(knocking on door)
TAYLOR: Ella!
Ella.
I'm so tired of being alone.
Shh, shh, I have to get you up, Ella.
Get up, come on.
(siren wailing)
TAYLOR: I need help!
Hurry, please. She's bleeding.
WOMAN: What happened here?
She tried to kill herself.
Cut her wrists.
MAN: All right, let's go.
I'm sorry.
MAN: Step aside!
TAYLOR: As I watched them roll her away
all I could think of was how did Ella get to a place
where suicide was her only option?
But Ella's okay, right?
Yeah, she's fine.
Mac, this happened, what, a month ago?
Why didn't you call me or say anything?
It was a crazy night.
Ella recovered quickly.
It all seemed to be fine.
But now there's a problem?
Oh...
yuck!
(speaking Greek)
Oh, my God.
What is it?
It's an eye.
Captioning sponsored by CBS,
CSI NY PRODUCTIONS,
♪ Out here in the fields ♪
♪ I fight for my meals ♪
♪ I get my back into my living ♪
♪ Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. ♪
Did you get a description of the bird?
Yes, Flack.
It was black, had a beak.
Oh, and it flew with a limp.
I'm just trying to do my job.
I mean, what are the odds?
I was just standing there, and out of nowhere... plop!
I am going to get a cup of coffee.
You want one?
No, thank you.
Police business, folks.
Keep moving.
Nothing to see here, folks, keep moving.
Did Stella give you
anything more than a hard time?
Ah.
FLACK: That's appetizing.
I prefer cream, myself.
(chuckles)
That's definitely human.
A few isolated punctures visible in the sclera.
Looks like early stages of decomp.
Question is...
who does it belong to?
HAWKES: John Pollock.
How'd you find him?
Implantable contact lens.
It's a new alternative to radial
kerototomy or LASIK.
Sid found one implanted in our mystery eye.
Each lens registered to its owner.
And the best thing is, the name...
comes with an address.
Is there any chance that this guy's still alive,
just missing an eye? 'Cause I'm not ready for that.
BONASERA: Well, you better get ready, 'cause we're here.
FLACK: NYPD.
(bird squawking)
(squawks)
What the hell kind of bird is that?
The kind that ruined a good cup of coffee
and ate our vic for lunch.
(camera shutter clicking)
And here I thought the only vultures in the city
worked on Wall Street.
According to Flack,
John Pollock was an internet entrepreneur.
His tech start-up is scheduled to go public tomorrow.
TAYLOR: He had a spouse.
Yes, Flack is trying to locate her now.
No forced entry.
Five floors up.
Hubby is buried
in the garden, and the wife's in the wind.
Maybe she's related to one of these.
Most birds of prey prefer fresh carrion.
His body couldn't have been here long.
Explains how his eye wound up getting dropped from above.
Looks like he's missing some hair, too.
I'm seeing recent plugs.
Add that to the corrective eye surgery,
and looks like John Pollock's company
wasn't the only thing getting an upgrade.
♪ ♪
♪ It ticks like a clock ♪
♪ With no sense of time... ♪
Definite signs
of a struggle.
Yep.
I got a broken picture frame here with positive
blood trace and a partial print.
Perp might have handled it.
♪ It will break you down ♪
♪ And eat you alive... ♪
Get a load of this, Mac.
Sildenafil
Prilocaine
topical ointment.
It's medicinal hydraulics.
Looks like our vic was trying to boost more than his stock price.
You know, I'll tell you what.
I'm two months away from fatherhood--
I don't got any use for it. Why don't you take it?
Bag it.
(laughs)
Suit yourself.
But by the looks of that wedding photo,
I don't know why Pollock would have needed any help.
Yeah, from the looks of him now
help is all he needed.
♪ ♪
(siren wailing)
I was a bit confused
on just how the vulture discovered our vic.
Evidence suggests the body was completely buried.
Yeah, the objective
of the killer was to hide it.
Of course.
of the killer was to hide it.
Of course.
So, how did the bird see it?
That's a good question.
And I found a very fascinating answer.
A vulture can smell the gases produced
by the beginning of the process of decay.
I mean, he knew something dead was under that dirt.
Any clues as to cause of death?
Well, I examined the laceration on the vic's forehead.
Shallow penetration might cause a headache,
but little else. What's left of him
doesn't give us a clear indication of COD.
And most of the evidence
is compromised.
Time of death
is roughly two days ago.
There are traces of sildenafil and prilocaine
on both hands and his genitals.
Consistent with the ointment
that Danny found next
to the vic's nightstand.
Mm-hmm.
So he had sex before he died?
It would appear that way,
but he must have been anxious about it, because
there was also a massive amount of bismuth subsalicylate
in his blood work.
Antacids?
Mmm.
For a guy
who seemed to be doing well
he wasn't doing well.
Give me a hand.
Sure.
"Stop where you are!"
That's Flash saying that.
And right beside him is the Green Lantern.
He's looking all rough and tough and green.
(beeping)
"Surrender or we'll be forced to take action!"
Oh, looks like you just got a match, superhero.
All right...
Kiddo, I'll be back.
(computer beeping)
Hey. So the prints I lifted from the broken picture frame
in Pollock's apartment so far got me nothing in AFIS.
The DNA, however, is a different story.
TAYLOR; Oh, same female DNA on the prints,
and the tube of ointment.
MESSER: And the ointment itself
is the same as the samples we took
from the broken picture frame and the vic's...
(whistles)
I'm thinking the missus is looking
better and better for this.
(phone vibrates)
Flack found her.
Let's see how good she looks.
Look, I don't understand. Why you fingerprint my sister
like she's a common criminal?
It's procedure.
Okay, if you spent a lot of time
in their apartment, we'd like to take your prints as well.
I'm not the guy you're looking for.
I'm never there.
Enrico, please.
I'm never there.
Enrico, please.
Flora, you didn't do anything.
How do I explain this to you? We take elimination...
FLORA: I don't care-- just tell me
what happened to my husband.
We were hoping to speak with you
about that, Mrs. Pollock.
Mr. Palmero, why don't you stay here?
This won't take long.
I understand you were in Atlantic City.
I was with some girlfriends.
Short trip, just for a couple of days.
John wanted me to go.
He said I was lucky.
I came as soon as I heard.
I still can't believe he's gone.
Mrs. Pollock, according to public records,
you two were married a year ago
soon after you came here from Venezuela?
Yes.
Why?
Well, if I may speak plainly,
you're a very attractive woman.
Your husband was just an average guy.
Would it be fair to say that you were more interested
in a green card than a marriage certificate?
It would be offensive to say that.
My brother and I did come to this country
with a dream of staying.
And when I met John,
he was willing to turn that dream into reality.
And now his company's about to go public.
I know what you're insinuating.
Yes, marrying him made me legal.
And now that he's dead, all his wealth
and his company could be mine.
What is it you call it?
Motive?
John was a brilliant, kind, compassionate man,
and I fell in love with him.
Find who did this to my husband, Detective.
Please.
He didn't deserve this.
You can go.
What do you think?
She seems believable.
Still doesn't wash away
Pollock's blood from their wedding picture
or the female prints
she might have left behind.
HAWKES: Trouble is,
they're not Flora Pollock's prints.
And look what the Atlantic City PD
just sent over from the Empress Grand Casino.
They scanned their security tapes
like we asked them to, and they found Flora.
Her alibi is solid.
And since the prints aren't hers,
is it possible our vic had another woman on the side?
NARRATOR: The turkey buzzard's head, like its namesake, is bald and red.
Its baldness serves an important...
What's up?
(pompously): Behold the turkey buzzard.
(chuckling)
Uh, Cathartes aura.
They're, um, protected by Fish and Game.
All right, well, that would explain the red tag
Flack saw on one of their talons.
But they're not just ID bands.
They're GPS trackers
used to monitor the birds' migration back and forth
to their nests in Manhattan.
I was thinking maybe we could find what's missing of Mr. Pollock.
MESSER: And that just might lead us to his killer.
According to avian research, this species
of vulture is known for gorging itself.
They just eat till they can't eat anymore.
And check this-- when they want to feed their kids,
they regurgitate it.
They're like... (squawking, gagging)
All right, you done with your reenactment?
Yeah.
Because it looks like we got a problem here.
To find any evidence, we got to get inside the nest.
How are we going to distract these guys?
Guess we're going to have to wing it.
(chuckles)
(horns honking)
Are you having as much fun as I am there, buddy?
Welcome to my world, Messer.
The low man on the totem pole
gets all the exciting stuff.
Yeah, well, what does that make me?
(monotone): Low man on totem pole's friend.
(chuckling)
(squawks)
Uh...
(squawks)
Uh...
I think we're starting to look like lunch.
Oh!
I think I just found
the appetizer.
Piece of our vic?
Well, not any piece-- an organ.
His stomach.
DNA confirms it came from our vic.
Anything smaller, that bird might
have eaten it right there on the rooftop,
and we'd have nothing.
Tissue looks lacerated.
It's not from the bird.
Pollock had an ulcer which ruptured,
more than likely fatally.
The ulcer explains the high levels
of antacid in his blood.
But why bury someone in a rooftop garden
if he died of natural causes?
It doesn't make any sense.
It does if the natural causes weren't caused
so naturally.
To the Batcave, Robin.
SID: I couldn't do it myself, but with the magic
of virtual autopsy, I was able to put much of Mr. Pollock
back together again, based on the size
of several of the bits and pieces
Danny and Adam pulled from the nests.
Clearly, before our vultures feasted.
Yes, and...
this is after, with organs intact.
I found a very informative piece of abdominal tissue.
See? There was bruising.
Had to happen prior to death.
Exactly.
Now... look at the bruise.
It's a fist. Our vic must
have been on the wrong side of a punch to the gut.
SID: And it didn't take significant force
to rupture the tissue, because the stomach wall
was already weakened by the ulcer.
The victim bled out internally
within minutes.
(groans)
Our killer must have panicked. Didn't know what to do with
the body, so he buried it in the garden.
Hey, no surprise.
The blood on the wedding photo belongs to our vic.
Problem is, I'm not having any luck
with the prints from the mirror or the cream.
Nada!
Let me try something.
Yeah, knock yourself out, please.
(sighs) Come on.
Dr. Charlotte Rydell.
Well, what the hell
did you just do?
The sildenafil lidocaine ointment
may have been dispensed by a doctor.
The size of the tube is consistent with samples
physicians hand out to their patients.
Right, right.
Not what you'd get from a pharmacy.
Right, and this
is the DEA Physicians Database:
prints from every licensed doctor.
I do love you, Doc, but I often want to smack you.
Let's go talk to the good doctor.
All right.
MESSER: Hey, Hawkes, by the looks of this bedroom decor,
I'm guessing this doctor treats
a little more than a fever and a cough.
How can I help you, detectives?
Uh, it sounds like you want to get
right to the point, Doctor, so why don't you tell us
what your schedule was like two days ago?
I was probably here working in the office all day.
What kind of medicine do you practice, exactly?
I mean, I don't want to assume anything.
This all could just be in bad taste.
The sexual arts play a major role in our happiness,
but who teaches us?
I supply hands-on instructions.
I'm a happiness surrogate and licensed psychiatrist.
And John Pollock was getting a little surrogate sex?
I'm sorry, I don't discuss my clients.
What about former clients?
He's dead.
Wh-What are you talking about? When?
MESSER: Did you know Mr. Pollock
was married?
Most of my clients are.
was married?
Most of my clients are.
And their wives are my biggest beneficiaries.
And from what John Pollock told me, his wife
Flora was responding to his increased level of skill.
So, you ever make any house calls?
This is a legitimate practice, Detective.
I work out of this office.
Well, that's odd, because we found
your fingerprints in Mr. Pollock's bedroom.
Any idea how that happened?
All right, yes.
Um, now that I think about it,
one of my clients canceled, and I took the opportunity
to go to his apartment.
To talk.
About what?
His last three checks bounced.
He wasn't returning my calls.
I went over there to tell him I was going
to proceed with legal action if he didn't pay me.
I tried to take back a tube of sample cream I gave him.
He said he'd pay me as soon as some big deal came through.
Dr. Rydell, your fingerprints were on
a framed photograph of Mr. Pollock
and his wife that was thrown across his bedroom
and actually nicked him in the head.
All right, I might have thrown something in frustration.
Something?
It was their wedding photo.
You sure there was nothing personal going on
between you and Mr. Pollock?
Like I said, Detective, it was strictly business.
Doctor, I really would like to believe you,
but it sounds more like funny business to me.
The first impression Sid found on our vic's abdomen
is a partial, so it doesn't
give us much for a match.
And it didn't take a lot of force
to cause the tissue to rupture,
so... a woman, or a man...
basically, anybody could have done this.
It's more than likely someone who had access
to the apartment or at least someone Pollock knew
or didn't feel threatened by.
He let them in.
Despite her alibi,
do we want to rethink the wife?
No, I believe her.
I... I don't think she killed him.
I think she really did just fall in love with this guy.
He came to her rescue,
and sometimes that's enough to see the beauty behind the beast.
You never finished your story.
My story?
Ella.
Before the evil eye dropped into my latte,
I had this feeling that you were fishing for some advice.
You've known me too long.
Hmm, don't you forget it.
Ella's living in a halfway house.
She's been there since she got out of the hospital.
I'm glad she's getting some help.
She called, and she wants to see me.
And, uh, I'm not sure whether
paying her a visit will help or hurt.
I've always said, "Case closed," but I just can't shake this one.
With her father murdered and her mother in jail,
I just feel like I should do something.
Well, it sounds like this is about more
than just a visit.
Ever since I met this young woman,
she has been crying out for help, but no one's listened.
Even when she was living with both her parents, she was
looking for companionship on the Internet.
She slit her wrists to get my attention.
And damn if she didn't get it.
I feel responsible, Stella.
BONASERA: She fabricated evidence, Mac...
This was sent to me.
...jeopardized our case,
and very cleverly insinuated her way into your life.
Detective Taylor?
You, uh,
you want to have breakfast?
Doesn't mean I shouldn't help her.
She's not
Doesn't mean I shouldn't help her.
She's not
your responsibility.
You sound like me.
This conversation is always reversed.
I'm the one who's driven by my emotions,
and you're the guy who goes by the book.
I'm a little confused here, Mac.
You really care about her.
We focus day in and day out on finding
the criminal, and then we tell ourselves
that it'll bring closure to the victims and their families.
And it does.
You know that.
Yeah.
(sighs)
I also know that the emotional trauma
of a young woman should not be
the occasional assignment of a couple of social workers
fresh out of college.
I just want her to get better.
I see a bright...
intelligent young woman in Ella.
I understand that.
But we've done our job.
Move on.
If you open that door, what next?
You can't save them all.
I know, I know.
I've said that
and more too many times to count.
I guess I just needed
to hear it from you.
(beeping)
(tapping)
(speaks indistinctly)
(beeping)
Oh, uh...
(beeping)
You want to tell me what that was all about?
The vic's clock radio made
a little noise every time you walked by,
and it sounded
like a, a digital mechanism.
It's a camera lens.
Nanny cam.
Must be operated by a hidden motion sensor.
Here's the camera.
And a power source.
Battery pack.
And it might have recorded the murder.
That's Danny at the crime scene.
Go back a little further, Adam.
John Pollock had been dead at least a day and a half
by the time we arrived.
Danny found the clock on its side.
Whoa.
TAYLOR: Zoom in. Let's see who it is, Adam.
That's definitely not our vic.
TAYLOR: Odd.
I'm not sure it's even human.
I see a digital clock there.
5:04 p.m.
The clock puts this guy in the vic's apartment
very close to the time of death,
but the murder was out of view of the camera.
Adam, get me some more details on the face.
Definitely.
We could be looking at John Pollock's killer.
(beeping)
TAYLOR: This is what we pulled off the nanny cam
in Pollock's apartment.
ROSS: I cleaned up the image.
The face is still a little fuzzy, but I'm shooting it
through the mug shot database,
see if I can get anything.
You ever seen anything like that?
It appears to be straight out of some
disturbing fairy tale.
Extreme body piercing-- uh, it's a, it's a new trend.
Should I even ask?
Pain, art, individuality.
Some people get their belly buttons done, nose rings.
I had this girlfriend once--
she used to pierce her tongue a lot.
Yeah.
(beeps)
Ah, no match.
What about break- ins in the building
or witnesses who might have seen a guy
that fits this description?
I'll call Flack to see if he has any reports
of a horny perp in the area.
(laughing)
I'm sorry, boss, I...
I want an answer, and soon.
Totally, yeah.
(typing)
(laughs, sighs)
Hey, guys, I processed this letter
I found in the victim's clothes.
TAYLOR: "Dear Mr. Pollock, please be advised
"that an unlawful detainer action has been filed
"against you for the delinquent payments
"relating to the above-referenced premises.
"Pursuant to the provision...
fees are due."
And on and on and on.
Could be a disgruntled business associate
or an investor we're looking for.
Could be, except the letter is a fake.
The firm of Cundieff, Cochran, & Byars--
that doesn't even exist,
except for a pool-cleaning service out in L.A.
So whoever sent the letter was trying to extort the vic
using a bunch of big words.
Maybe Pollock caught on
and was going to go to the authorities.
Before he could, he was killed.
The question is: by who?
Well, I think
I might have an answer to that question.
There's a government anti-counterfeiting program.
And this has something to do with our case?
Stella.
Be patient.
Right, sorry.
Thank you.
Every color laser printer in the past 20 years
is required to have
what I would call a hidden fingerprint.
So I scanned this letter.
I eliminated the colors one by one...
and I was able to enhance...
TAYLOR: A printer fingerprint,
so to speak.
Right.
The unique identification of a single printer
is beneath the ink.
Could help us locate the creator of the fake law firm.
Exactly. Now, the printer company had
the owner on file and warranty information.
Turns out it's the landlord of Pollock's apartment building.
Guy named Quentin Oswego.
Boom.
(chuckles)
Are you ready...
for some T and A TKO?
(crowd cheering)
On my right,
weighing in at 109
and 1/2 pounds,
from Jamaica, Queens, Miss Sally Burnside!
(booing and cheering)
And on my left,
weighing in at 111 3/4 pounds,
from Far Rockaway, New York,
the one and only boxing booty--
Señorita Paula Rodriguez!
(crowd cheering)
Okay, ladies...
Keep your claws in your paws.
No biting.
One, two.
(crowd cheering)
♪ ♪
REFEREE: Fight!
(grunting and groaning)
Quentin Oswego.
NYPD.
Here to ask you a few questions.
What's this about?
Why don't we start
with public ugly, then we'll move on to murder?
No way you can prove this is me.
Can't even tell what color this guy's eyes are.
Unfortunately for you,
there aren't many landlords in this city
that have horns on the top of their heads.
Obviously you're not familiar
with the Manhattan real estate market.
Well, what we do know, Mr. Trump, is that
you were in Mr. Pollock's apartment.
How does a low-grade scumbag like you come
to own a place like that anyway?
Inherited from my low-grade scumbag parents.
They also teach you
how to extort your tenants?
See, this is the phony letter that you sent Pollock,
telling him that he owed you money.
You spelled "delinquent" wrong.
So?
So extortion is a class "B" felony
in the state of New York.
Now, we can leave it at that.
At least we got you on something.
All right, yeah, I was in the apartment,
but just to mess with the wiring.
I blew a fuse.
Just like last week, I plugged up the toilet.
Destroying your own property? That makes sense from a guy
who screws horns into the top of his head.
Rent stabilization's a bitch.
That Pollock guy is paying me
$2,500 a month for a place
that's worth 15 grand.
That sound right to you guys?
So you didn't like the fact
that he was paying you below market value for your place.
And when he wouldn't leave, you decided
to get a little more forceful with him.
POLLOCK: I have a legal right to be here.
Stop harassing me.
You want to see some harassment?
(grunts)
I never touched the guy.
I never even saw him.
So either read me my rights or get the hell out of my face.
Before we go, why don't you take your right fist
and put it in this box for me, all right, big guy?
Whoa, I answered your questions, told the truth.
Well, yeah, that remains to be seen.
Come on.
Good.
You got any weapons on you,
other than what's in your head?
Turn around.
Oh, you got to be kidding me.
Now, you didn't think we were going
to let you get off on that extortion charge, did you?
You guys are messed up.
You got horns in your head, buddy, and we're messed up?
You good?
Yep.
You good?
Yep.
(crowd cheering)
Whoo!
(horns honking)
(indistinct conversations)
Let's see if Danny gets a match with that fist print.
You want my opinion? I say
back to those buzzard vultures.
You seen those things?
I'm telling you, Mac.
Well, find me one
who can throw a punch and bury a body.
Case closed.
OPERATOR: 911. What's your emergency?
ENRICO: My sister...
somebody tried to kill my sister.
Ayúdame, por favor.
(sobbing)
(sirens blaring)
Flack?
Who found her?
Her brother.
Said he went over to her apartment
to check on her and found her like this.
Called 911, and here we are.
Was she raped?
Not sure.
The doctor said there's evidence of sexual activity,
but we don't know if it was rape.
Tell them to send the samples directly to the lab.
Is she...
She's hanging in there.
(sighing)
Ella era tan bella.
She was so beautiful, and now she...
I know this is difficult.
But I need you to tell me what happened.
I don't know what happened.
I just found her.
She was bleeding, she could barely breathe.
The door was opened.
Someone attacked her husband
and you people couldn't think
to give her a little protection?
Mr. Palmero,
our highest priority is to find the person
who did this to your sister and her husband.
Now, we've got a crime team over to her apartment
and they'll be talking to the neighbors to see
if anyone saw anything.
I also need your help.
What is that?
I'd like to take a swab of the inside of your mouth.
This will help us distinguish
your DNA from that of your sister's attacker.
Whatever it takes to find him.
Great.
(camera shutter clicking)
(phone ringing)
Hey, Stella.
Yeah.
Danny, you find anything here?
Nah, nothing we could use.
All the blood is localized
where the paramedics found Flora's body.
Phone is off the hook, but that's consistent with Enrico's 911 call.
Same as the last time, there's no signs of forced entry.
HAWKES: Flora Pollock is still
unconscious, and her brother didn't see anything.
So, we don't have a description of her attacker.
Stella did find trace on Flora's body
and she photographed some bruising
that she hopes to match to the subdermal bruise that Sid found
on John Pollock's abdomen, but she's not optimistic.
Now, the semen that she collected
indicates recent sexual activity
and she's waiting on DNA.
So, Flora's attacker is a man.
Her beating has to be connected
to her husband's death
and if the same person committed both crimes,
we're looking for someone
with access to the apartment.
I'm thinking that's Quentin.
He was already out on bail,
and he has a key.
You know who else would have a key?
Enrico.
Flora's brother.
I recovered this at the beginning
of the nanny-cam footage.
It could've happened a month ago or more.
It's Enrico and Flora.
That's not how I treat my sister.
Whatever's going on, she's definitely not into it.
Hey.
Sorry, I gotta pull rank, Adam.
I recovered Enrico's 911.
ENRICO: M-my sister!
She's covered in blood!
I think she was beaten!
I need help!
OPERATOR: Sir, where are you calling from?
MAN: I know you[re in there!
2955 Franklin, please!
I need help!
MAN: Pal, I want you out!
Did you hear that in the background?
OPERATOR: Sir, where are you calling from?
Mac, listen to this. It's Enrico's 911.
MAN: ...not on the lease, pal! I want you out!
The voice is talking about the lease.
That's gotta be Quentin, the landlord.
Quentin was knocking on the door
while Enrico was making the 911 call.
So, Quentin couldn't have beaten up Flora.
He never even made it into the apartment.
So, Enrico beat up Flora?
And called 911 as a cover-up.
Hey, DNA from the semen that was collected
in Flora's rape kit came back
as a match to Enrico.
Wait a minute, her brother was her lover?
No, I compared Enrico's DNA to Flora's.
There's no match. So, barring adoption those two
are not brother and sister.
They've been lying to us the whole time.
And possibly also lying to John Pollock.
TAYLOR: This was a scam.
They were working as a couple.
Taking him for a ride,
for a green card or maybe later for money.
MONROE: So, then Enrico attacks Flora? I mean, I don't get it.
Why would he beat her up?
Maybe Flora fell in love with John Pollock.
Had a change of heart.
(sirens wailing)
FLACK: Enrico Palmero, NYPD!
Open up!
Hey, stop! Hey! Hey!
(yelling)
Go!
(grunting)
(yelling)
(grunting, groaning)
Sorry, folks.
Just had some cleaning up to do.
(siren wailing)
It was all a scam, Enrico.
I don't know what you're talking about.
Yeah, you do.
Pollock had you
on tape trying to kiss Flora.
ENRICO: You-You're crazy.
Flora is my sister.
Come on, she's no more your sister than I am.
BONASERA: He captured you and Flora in the act.
The computer monitor in the apartment was still on.
It was on DVD mode.
The poor guy, he just wanted to catch
the landlord on tape, and he got
that and much more.
Once you found out he was onto you,
you decided to take matters into your own hands.
BONASERA: The company goes public,
Pollock's widow gets lots of money.
She doesn't even have to divorce him.
She simply inherits everything he has and marries you.
You get the money and the girl, and you live happily ever after.
A very impressive plan.
There wasn't a plan.
Oh, sure there was.
But what you didn't count on was
her falling in love with John and leaving you high and dry.
She wasn't in love with him. She was playing along.
Being beaten within an inch
of her life, was that just playing along?
Pollock wasn't half the man I am. He was nothing.
He was gonna be rich, and that's why she fell for him.
If that was true,
you never would've killed him.
(door closes)
♪ ♪
I didn't think you'd come.
I had the time.
Somehow I don't believe that.
So, thank you.
I get out in a few days.
You know where you're gonna go?
I've been trying to get in touch with a few friends,
see if I can crash with them
for a while, get a job, an apartment.
Start over.
You don't think I'm ready.
No, no, no, it's...
I was just thinking of a friend of mine, Mitchell Davis.
When we were kids
his brother died in a skating accident.
And the last thing that Mitchell said to him was,
"You're gonna be okay."
And then he left him...
wobbling on the blades of his skates.
He knew he could do it.
He wanted him to stand on his own two feet.
And then the ice broke, and Randy went down and drowned.
Mitchell stayed away from school
for a long time after that
and when he finally came back
nobody really knew what to say to him.
"I'm sorry" just didn't seem to be enough,
and I don't know why I said this or where these words came from,
but I looked at him and I said...
"You're gonna be okay, Mitchell."
Then he smiled.
And he started crying, and then we both were crying, and...
I found out a few weeks later that...
those were the first tears he shed.
You're gonna be okay, Ella.
And if you ever need anything,
if you ever have any doubts...
If I should ever get a little bit wobbly?
Yeah.
You call me.
Okay?
Okay.
(sighs)
Where are we going?
I know a place that makes a great espresso.
Hey, have you heard the latest urban legend?
A woman goes to take a sip of her coffee,
and an eyeball falls right in the cup.
That's impossible.
Captioning sponsored by CBS,
CSI NY PRODUCTIONS,
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org