(crowd cheering)
ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen,
here we go with round three
of tonight's Cage Fighting Coalition heavyweight bout
between Derek Petrov
and Ryan Richards!
(bell dings)
Go.
(bell dings)
Go.
(crowd cheering)
(grunting)
(growling)
(crowd jeering)
What are you doing? What?
Come on, why don't you back it up.
No way. Come on.
Don't stop it. Come on.
(crowd cheering)
(bell dinging)
(crowd cheering)
Come on. Are you kidding me?!
ANNOUNCER: And the winner...
Come on.
Don't blow me off.
You cheated! No way!
You can't do this.
...Ryan Richards!
That's right-- I'm getting you back.
Just wait. Just wait.
Hey, Richards.
Petrov.
Tough break tonight.
Could've gone either way.
Either way? The only reason I lost is because you cheated.
Sorry you see it that way.
That's the only way a punk like you could've beat me.
Look, man, you're a good fighter, all right?
Next time, you'll probably beat me.
Right now,
I just want to go home and see my wife. Cool?
You have yourself a good night.
(indistinct radio transmissions)
Hope you skipped breakfast.
That bad?
Worse.
Our vic is Ryan Richards,
25 years old.
How do we know?
That's his melted driver's license right there.
This ring of scorched gravel
suggests the body was burned here.
Any witnesses?
No. Fog was pretty heavy last night.
It could have obscured the smoke,
making it hard to see.
Fire burns up, which would typically keep the underside
of the body relatively unscathed.
Nothing unscathed about this guy.
Which indicates the vic was likely drenched in an accelerant
and allowed to burn
uninterrupted for quite some time.
Someone wanted the fire to do the maximum damage possible.
Somebody wanted to destroy the evidence.
♪ Out here in the fields ♪
♪ I fight for my meals ♪
♪ I get my back into my living ♪
♪ Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. ♪
♪ ♪
Sid.
Yeah?
Smell that.
Gasoline.
So now we know what kind of accelerant
was used to start the fire.
What kept it burning for so long?
I'd offer the wick effect.
Right.
Where clothing acts like the wick of a candle
turned inside-out.
Feeding the flames a continuous supply of fuel
in the form of melting human fat.
It's particularly effective.
And particularly disgusting.
Indeed.
Got it.
FLACK: Turns out, Richards was a rising star
on the cage fighting circuit.
I've seen a few matches.
That's a brutal sport.
It's an excuse for two grown men
to legally beat the bloody pulp out of each other.
So you're not a fan?
I didn't say that.
So you're not a fan?
I didn't say that.
Now, I'm hearing that Richards
absolutely annihilated his toughest competition
at an event last night--
some muscle head named Petrov--
put himself in prime position to win the title next month.
This guy was on the verge of some serious fame.
Success could've put a target on his back.
Kid definitely knew how to defend himself.
Whoever did this risked
a serious ass-whupping if things went south.
With the state of the remains, it could take some time
before Sid determines a COD, if he can at all.
Until then, we won't know if Richards died here
or was only dumped and burned here after the fact.
I'll start whacking the bushes,
see if anyone was itching for a death match
with our fighter outside of the cage.
What's up?
Okay. See ya.
Can I, uh, help you?
As a matter of fact, you can.
But first, let me do something for you.
Large French roast, black, paired with a blueberry scone.
That is how you like your coffee, right?
I gave up coffee a year ago,
and I'm severely allergic to blueberries.
Of course you are.
Seems your buddy Flack is quite the practical joker.
Let me try this again.
My name's Jennifer Walsh.
I'm a freelancer with the Journal.
I'm writing next month's cover story.
Uh, interview requests are made
through the Public Information Office.
Truth is, I'm not a big fan of the rules.
They seem to get in the way
of what I want.
Did Flack tell you to tell me that, too?
'Cause I am a big fan of the rules.
All I'm asking is for five minutes of your time.
You owe me that at least,
considering I did try to poison you with blueberries.
Fair enough.
What's your article about?
The NYPD's inability to police themselves.
Specifically in matters of officer misconduct.
Ms. Walsh...
(chuckles)
I have no official comment about that.
I'm not looking for official, Detective.
It's your personal perspective I'm after.
I can't help you there, either.
Can't or won't?
Because some people say
that your rigid adherence to department policy
is more pliable than you let on.
That you've been known to look the other way
and be creative with those policies
on more than one occasion.
They're entitled to their opinion.
And so are you.
I came to hear your side of the story.
There is no story.
I do my job to the best of my ability and I expect
the same from all the officers under my command.
Now, if you'll excuse me, your five minutes is up.
Making any headway?
Appropriately enough, yes.
Look at this, Mac.
Fractures across the surface of the cranium.
As you know, extended exposure to intense heat
will cause bone to shrink and distort.
The brittle surface will eventually checker,
breaking into tiny fragments.
What about this fissure?
Something completely different.
The advanced soot buildup
on the edges suggests they were exposed to flames
for a longer duration.
It occurred before the fire.
Exactly.
Richards had just been in a violent cage match.
He could have been injured then.
A trauma this severe
would have sent him straight to the hospital.
Somebody may have blindsided him after the fight,
struck him in the back of the head.
But that may not be what killed him.
I ran the metal nugget Sid found through the GC/MS.
Came back as an alloy of lead and antimony.
Consistent with a bullet.
SID: Fused to the base of his skull.
Looks like our COD
is a GSW.
Ryan Richards was
struck in the head,shot in the back, then lit on fire.
That's what I call overkill.
Why now? It doesn't make any sense.
DANVILLE: I understand that Ryan participated
in an event last night.
Was there anything unusual?
I wasn't there.
I don't watch Ryan fight anymore.
Seeing him get hit is worse than someone hitting me.
Hard to watch someone you love in pain.
He called me after the match, told me he'd won.
He was supposed to pick up some dinner for us and come home.
But he never did.
Was your husband having problems with anyone?
Any arguments, disputes?
Every now and then, a fan would stop him on the street,
challenge him to a fight.
How would Ryan handle that?
He'd give them an autograph instead.
He adored his fans, and they adored Ryan.
Even the most celebrated athletes have their detractors.
Was there anyone particularly aggressive in their criticism
that might have wanted to hurt him?
Oh, my God.
It was him.
Who, Lisa?
The man stalking my husband back in Colorado.
Ryan said it was just a cost
of being in the public eye, but this guy made it personal.
He terrorized us for over two years.
Did the police ever identify him?
They tried, but he was careful.
They said that there was nothing more they could do for us.
Is that why you moved to New York?
It was Ryan's idea.
I didn't think it would make much difference.
It was only a matter of time before he tracked us down.
But it's been almost a year since we heard from him.
I actually let myself believe that nightmare was over.
We'll do whatever we can to find out who's responsible for this.
I'm three months pregnant.
What if he comes after us next?
I used the reference sample Richards' wife provided.
Compared it to the blood drops at the crime scene.
Positive match.
Our vic was Ryan.
For his wife's sake, I wish it wasn't.
Yeah. Also spoke to the Denver PD.
I mean, the Richards were dealing with a whack job, here.
I mean, this stalker, he was relentless.
Were there ever any physical attacks?
No. Everything but. I mean,
he made death threats.
He also broke into their house
and left a cake frosted with dog feces
on the kitchen counter.
Delightful.
Authorities ran every lead, but came up short.
I mean, whoever he was, he knew how to avoid being caught.
The wife said everything stopped once they moved.
Ah, maybe the stalker got a life.
Or maybe he had a hard time tracking them down.
Right, and when he finally did, this psycho decided to
step it up to the next level.
Good theory.
It's more than just a theory. I searched Ryan's laptop.
I found three dozen threatening e-mails from the same person.
All over the last month from an untraceable webmail account...
it's the same account that was used in the Colorado threats.
When was the last e-mail sent?
12 hours ago.
It said, "Savor the victory now,
cause you'll be dead by morning,"
and it came with this image attached.
Okay, well, this photo was taken last night,
right after Ryan won his fight.
Yeah, looks like that shot was taken from the bleachers.
So we might not be able to trace the e-mail account,
but maybe we can figure out who took this picture.
♪ ♪
Hey, boss.
You're just in time for the main event.
I gathered all the pictures from the fight last night
through Internet and sports press.
Using the images, I was able to create a 3-D rendering of
the exact moment our stalker took a picture of Ryan Richards.
Okay, well, based on the angle,
we know that he was sitting in the bleachers
almost eye-level with the cage.
So I would say our perp's probably sitting in
the second or third row.
(typing)
Okay.
Whoa. Stop.
Go back just a bit.
Oh, that's our guy.
Can you rotate it just a bit,
so we can see his face better?
Blocked in every angle.
Nope, that's the best I can do.
That might be good enough,
because, look, he's got something
around his neck.
ROSS: VIP credentials.
And that's a code number that'll tell us
exactly who it was issued to.
PETROV: Yeah, the VIP pass was mine.
But I was too busy last night in the cage to be using it.
Then who'd you give that pass to?
I don't remember.
Then who'd you give that pass to?
I don't remember.
All right. Fine. I sold it to some guy in the parking lot.
What did he look like?
Looked like he was eager enough to give me 300 bucks for it.
Petrov was humiliated last night in front of 2,000 people.
He also lost his shot at the title.
Plenty of reason to want Ryan dead.
Gives us another suspect.
But not the person who took that photograph.
(grunting)
♪ ♪
(talking indistinctly)
Need some help, buddy?
Is that gasoline?
Do not move!
What the hell happened?
I think I killed somebody last night.
You're telling me you woke up doused in gasoline,
covered in blood,
and you don't know how it happened?
I was drunk.
Yeah, Marty,
I've had my fair share of rough nights, yet I think I'd remember
taking a bath in somebody else's blood.
I mean, I was really drunk.
Yesterday was my 21st birthday.
Some friends, they-they took me to
Dutton's Tavern to celebrate.
Let me guess--
part of this celebration included you doing 21 shots?
I made it through the first ten without a problem.
After that, things get a little sketchy.
Try me.
I was really sloppy.
Everything was spinning.
I'd never been so wasted.
Well, I-I decided to walk home.
Next thing I remember, I woke up in my dorm.
Is that when you saw the blood?
Yeah, I was so scared, I...
I thought it was mine, you know?
When I realized it wasn't, I came straight to the station.
You recognize that guy?
Yeah, it's, uh... Ryan Richards.
I've seen him fight.
Why?
There were three murders in the city last night.
Two of them have been solved.
MARTY: And the third?
Ryan Richards.
He was killed, then set on fire
using gasoline.
Just like the stuff you were drenched in.
You think maybe I did it?
I don't know, Marty.
But we are going to find out.
Surprise.
How did you get up here?
I took your advice and called the Public Information Office.
They were surprisingly accommodating
when I dropped your name.
The flowers are beautiful, but I can't accept them.
Well, I'm sure whoever sent them will be devastated.
You didn't send these?
(chuckles)
Flowers aren't my style.
If I was gonna bribe you, I'd offer a tub of popcorn
and courtside Knicks tickets.
That's not why I'm here.
I come bearing a new proposition.
Just read a draft of the article.
You just want me to read it?
Yeah. And let me know if I'm in the ballpark.
Unless, of course,
it magically inspires you to offer an additional perspective.
Ms. Walsh...
Uh... Jennifer.
And don't feel obligated to commit right away.
I don't.
And in case you're wondering,
I am free for dinner later tonight.
I wasn't.
Help me get the facts right.
You of all people should understand
how important that is.
My number's on the back.
See you around, Detective Taylor.
Mac.
(elevator bell dings)
Ms. Walsh, wait.
It's nice to see you again...
Jennifer.
(laughs)
Who was that?
Nobody.
"Nobody" is pretty cute.
Did you process the clothing that Flack sent over?
Uh, yes, I did.
It was covered with human blood,
but it was not Ryan Richards'.
The DNA didn't match the secondary sample from his wife,
or the other blood at the scene.
And, uh, no hit in CODIS.
What about the gasoline?
The kind used to burn up our vic had winter additives,
and the gasoline on Marty Bosch's clothing did not.
So they were two different varieties.
That's an almost unbelievable coincidence.
Yeah, but the science doesn't lie.
Marty Bosch did not burn up our vic.
All that human blood suggests
that he did try to hurt somebody else.
But without a body, how do we prove it?
By figuring out where that kid went after he left the bar.
I did find asbestos fibers on his shirt.
There are thousands of buildings in Manhattan
that still contain asbestos.
Yeah, but if Marty was as drunk as he says he was,
how far could he possibly have wandered?
Start checking zoning records for the area.
Any building constructed before 1979 is a possibility.
Okay, I'm on it.
Oh, just curious-- Mac,
are those flowers on your desk also from "nobody"?
(chuckles)
Lindsay, go.
♪ ♪
Mac, how do you eat your peanuts?
Peanuts?
Uh... like everybody else, I suppose.
Well, down south, we like to eat ours boiled,
'cause it makes the shell soft,
and we can open them with our teeth.
The obscured photo of Ryan's stalker?
He had a can of boiled peanuts on his lap.
He must have Southern roots.
Anyway, I crawled underneath the bleachers
and I found peanut shells that have saliva on them.
From opening peanuts with his teeth.
So I'm waiting on a CODIS search.
Okay, Aaron Collins.
Felony robbery conviction in Colorado.
Got three years.
Paroled after one.
Got three years.
Paroled after one.
That explains why the death threats
against Ryan stopped after they moved.
And why they started up again.
Look where Collins lives now.
A halfway house
in Spanish Harlem.
That's right around the corner from the Richards' apartment.
(door bell jangling)
Oh. Excuse me.
Hey, how you doin'?
Looking for Aaron Collins.
His PO says he works here.
Yo, Aaron Collins, how you doin'?
Need to talk to you for a sec.
(grunting)
Why do they always run?
I don't know. Must be brain damage.
What do you got there?
Threats...
intimidation, harassment--
you're nothing but a coward.
You don't know anything about me.
I know you terrorized Ryan Richards and his wife for years.
I also know you weren't man enough
to take credit for it.
It was supposed to be me.
I was supposed to be the star athlete.
Best friends in high school.
Made the wrestling team together.
Except I was a standout on the squad.
I was the one that couldn't be pinned.
But Ryan couldn't handle that.
We were practicing for nationals,
he took a shot at me-- a cheap shot.
Shattered my knee, blew out my ACL,
ruined any chance of me ever becoming a pro cage fighter.
Sounds like a tragic accident to me.
Yeah, you weren't there.
You didn't see the look in his eyes.
He did it on purpose.
He... he stole my dream.
And in turn, you stole his life.
What?
You waited for him after the fight.
Hit him from behind, then shot him in the back.
Dumped his body under the bridge,
then set him on fire to cover your tracks.
You're wrong! I didn't do that!
Did you send this?
It was just a picture.
"Savor the victory now 'cause you'll be dead by morning."
That's more than a picture, that's a death threat.
I just wanted him to lie awake at night, dreading the sunrise,
the same way I have, every day, since I was 17 years old.
It was just a threat. I never would've acted on it.
Where'd you go after the fight?
To the halfway house, to make curfew.
You don't believe me?
You can ask the gestapo pigs who run the place.
(phone buzzing)
(phone beeps)
Yeah.
On my way.
Sid, what's wrong?
Everything.
Based on the X-rays I took, that is.
Surgical screws?
Internal fixation of a severe ankle trauma.
The tibia and talus were fused using titanium hardware.
Have you seen cage fighting?
Broken bones would have been
an occupational hazard for Ryan Richards.
A logical assumption, so I had the victim's medical records
sent over and cross-referenced them to verify the injury.
In the course of his career, Mr. Richards had suffered, uh,
at least 20 distinct bone fractures, but none of them
in this region.
Are you sure?
I called his physician to confirm.
There's absolutely no history
of a broken ankle.
That means this burned body is not Ryan Richards.
Someone wanted us to think that Ryan Richards was dead.
But how did they get his driver's license and blood
to leave at the scene?
The drops were gravitational with no directionality.
So either Ryan's blood was drawn without his knowledge...
Or Ryan planted it himself.
Wouldn't be the first time
a person faked their own premature demise.
What about Marty Bosch?
He could have been helping him.
Or, as unlikely as it may seem,
these two cases may be completely unrelated.
Either way, if it's not Ryan's body, we have a new victim.
And a new murder suspect.
Ryan needed a fresh body to pull this off.
So, if he was desperate enough,
he may have been willing to kill someone.
He cut himself
to leave the blood, then planted his I.D. on the body,
set it ablaze to conceal who the victim really was.
Without viable remains, he knew that we'd be forced
to make a circumstantial I.D.
Sid issues the death certificate,
so Ryan Richards officially ceases to exist.
Now we have to figure out who's really lying down in Autopsy
and where Ryan is hiding.
♪ ♪
DANVILLE: Lisa Richards has already made funeral arrangements
for Ryan.
Friends and family have all been notified.
Either she doesn't know he's still alive, or she's in on it.
A funeral would make the illusion more convincing.
Richards did apply for an insurance policy,
$5 million, three months ago,
and his sole beneficiary would be his wife.
That application was denied. The underwriter said
Ryan's choice of career was uninsurable.
Besides, they have enough money in the bank
to live comfortably for years.
Any other skeletons in the closet?
From what I can tell,
Richards was a great guy. I mean, when he wasn't
volunteering in soup kitchens, he was giving out
clothes and meals to the homeless.
DANVILLE: What's our motive here, Mac,
if it wasn't for insurance money?
And if he's really such a great guy,
why would he walk away from all that fame and adoration?
When we find him, remind me to ask.
(elevator bell dings)
I'll call Navy Medical
and see if we can get any other information.
Hey, Mac, we got something.
As you know, the FDA requires fastidious documentation
of any surgically-implanted
medical devices.
HAWKES: Every detail is recorded--
type and size,
placement and location,
lot and serial number.
Tell me you were able to extract
the screws from our vic's ankle.
Just one, but that's all we needed to find this.
Manufacturer's serial number.
Should be able to tell us which hospital performed the surgery.
Already did.
The National Naval Medical Center
in Bethesda, Maryland.
Our victim's a veteran?
Yeah.
PFC Charlie Hunt, U.S. Marine Corps.
Wounded while deployed in Afghanistan.
His Humvee was hit by an RPG.
Killed everyone on board except Charlie.
His only injury was a crushed ankle.
And it wasn't the private's first close call
on the battlefield, either.
He was shot nine months earlier.
Bullet entered through his shoulder, lodged near his spine.
Surgeons thought it would be
safer to leave it there than to remove it.
That's the bullet you found.
Means Ryan didn't shoot Hunt.
Could've bashed his head in though.
Causing the blunt force trauma to his skull.
But why him?
What's the connection between
an up-and-coming cage fighter and a twice-wounded Marine?
V.A. confirmed that Charlie Hunt was diagnosed with severe PTSD
after being discharged from the military.
I spoke to his sister.
She said he was self- medicating with alcohol.
You know, the horrors that these young people endure
while fighting for their country.
Is it any wonder they're unable to cope with daily life?
We have an epidemic of homeless veterans
on our nation's streets.
Over 100,000 brave men and women just lost in the shuffle.
It's shameful.
Charlie Hunt was no exception.
Sister last saw him a few months back-- filthy,
malnourished, losing a battle with the demons in his own head.
She lost contact with him after that.
Lisa Richards said Ryan spent time
volunteering with the homeless.
It must have been where he met Charlie.
He staged his own death
using the perfect victim.
Someone nobody would ever notice went missing.
Hey, guys.
There are 61 buildings within walking distance
of Dutton's that are known to contain asbestos.
That would take weeks to check out.
We may not have to.
Marty Bosch told Flack that he was
going home after leaving the bar.
Now, his dorm room is at 2409 Lenox Avenue.
There's a condemned building
filled with asbestos around the corner from Dutton's,
and the address is 2409 Madison Avenue.
So Marty, in his drunken state,
may have gotten the number of his dorm building right,
but not the street.
2409 Madison is not far from
where Charlie Hunt's sister last saw him alive.
Looks like these two cases may actually be connected.
(clattering)
This place is filled with asbestos--
insulation, ceiling tiles.
That explains the fibers on his shirt.
What did you do here, Marty?
I'm not sure.
You guys, check this out.
It's an automotive heater.
Gasoline-fueled heater.
I recognize that thing.
I tripped over it.
That's how I got the gas
all over me.
What about the blood?
I don't know.
Marty, come over here with me for a moment.
This may sound a little crazy,
but sometimes it helps to remember
if you just take a moment, clear your head.
Now look around
and tell me what you remember.
I heard a noise.
It was like a growl.
(quiet groaning)
It was too dark to see.
(quiet groaning)
Hello?
(quiet groaning)
Hello?
Is anybody there?
TAYLOR: There's blood and hair on this beam.
That's what struck him in the head,
caused the cranial fracture.
I can hear him moaning in pain.
He was hurt really bad.
He was bleeding from his head.
I-I couldn't move him by myself.
Instead of calling 911,
you left him here to die?
No, it...
no, it was... it was an accident. I...
I didn't mean to kill anybody. It...
I didn't... I don't know...
Hey, Marty?
Let's take a walk.
(sobbing)
I'm not sure Marty did kill anyone.
Bloody handprints.
Smeared across the wall with directionality.
They continue toward that hole.
The way out.
If it is
Charlie Hunt's blood, he walked out
of this building alive.
The question is, what happened to him after he left?
(elevator bell dings)
Mac.
Look, I know I've called you a genius before,
but this time, I really mean it.
Why is that?
Ryan Richards tried to contact his wife.
Why is that?
Ryan Richards tried to contact his wife.
How?
As you expected, he's smart enough to know
that we'd be monitoring phone calls and e-mails,
so he tried a more antiquated form of communication.
The U.S. Postal Service.
Uh-huh.
And because you told me to issue
a mail cover,
we intercepted this.
A postcard.
Mm-hmm. Dropped in a mailbox
A postcard.
Mm-hmm. Dropped in a mailbox
this morning in Midtown,
addressed to a Lisa Richards.
It's blank.
Well, that's why I swabbed
the stamp adhesive for DNA.
I know.
Why am I here?
TAYLOR: Because you knew
that Ryan's stalker was making threats again.
DANVILLE: That's why you really skipped the fight last night.
Ryan wanted to keep you out of harm's way.
That's not true.
He would have done anything
to protect you and your unborn child.
TAYLOR: Faking his own death
was the ultimate way to accomplish that.
Nobody stalks a dead man.
All he needed
was a body nobody would miss, so a homeless man
was a perfect candidate.
TAYLOR: It was pure luck
that Charlie Hunt was already injured.
All Ryan had to do was finish him off.
That's not how it happened.
DANVILLE: Your husband called
and told you what he was going to do, didn't he?
He said it was the only way
our family was ever going to be safe.
He was supposed to contact me
after he found a place to hide--
let me know where to meet him
so we could all disappear together.
But he never did.
I swear to you on my life,
I have no idea where my husband is.
We do.
Have you been to that motel before?
(sniffles)
It, uh... (chuckles) doesn't look like that anymore.
We stayed in room 102.
It smelled bad, TV didn't work.
But it didn't matter.
It was the greatest night of my life.
The night Ryan proposed to me.
He's there now, Lisa, waiting for you to join him.
Ryan, it's me.
Sweetie, what's wrong?
I love you.
(siren wailing)
What... what the hell is going on?
What is this?
(indistinct radio transmission)
It's over, Ryan.
I'm sorry.
Why, Lis?
To make sure you didn't get hurt.
It was my turn to protect you.
When Lisa found out she was pregnant,
I felt like the luckiest man in the world.
That's when the death threats started again?
I was horrified.
Not for me;
for my family.
Police could have protected you.
They couldn't in Colorado.
I had to fix this on my own.
By staging your own murder.
At first, I didn't know what I was going to do.
And that's when Charlie Hunt came along.
I met Charlie at the soup kitchen.
He'd come in a couple times a week.
I'd try to break the ice, but he, uh...
he wasn't interested in talking.
After a while, he stopped coming in altogether.
I finally tracked him
to a corner where he was panhandling.
Started bringing him food every couple days.
Took a while, but he, uh,
he finally started to trust me.
He told me about the war,
about the nightmares that haunted him.
(sighs)
Tell me what happened last night after the fight.
I stopped by the bodega
to get some sandwiches to bring home.
Got an extra one for Charlie.
Figured I'd bring it by on the way.
Charlie?
Charlie, where you at?
(gasping)
Charlie!
(gasping)
Hey. Oh, my God.
Sit down.
I found him in an alley,
covered in blood and fading fast.
Stay with me.
An ambulance would have taken forever,
so I just, uh...
picked him up and carried him to my car.
Drove as fast as I could to the hospital, but...
we didn't make it.
Charlie died in my passenger seat.
I pulled over.
Sat there...
for what seemed like hours.
Deciding if I was capable
of going through with the unthinkable.
Burning his body to make it look like your own.
Charlie was gone.
Nothing more I could do for him.
I called Lisa and told her what I was planning.
Bought gas at a local station, switched our clothes,
left some of my blood
and my license near the body.
Took his dog tags.
Thought maybe I'd get them to his sister one day.
I said a prayer.
Then I lit the fire.
I know what I did to his body is wrong,
and I should be punished for that, but...
I didn't kill Charlie.
Well, unfortunately, the science can't confirm that.
The damage to the body was so severe
that determining a definitive time
and cause of death is impossible.
What... what does that mean?
Well, the D.A. will consider what we can prove,
and then decide whether or not to charge you with murder.
Charlie was dead when I lit that fire.
You have to believe me.
For what it's worth...
I do believe you.
But it's not up to me.
Yes.
I appreciate that, Colonel.
Thank you.
How'd it go?
Full military honors
for Private Hunt's funeral.
He and his family
will get the dignified closure they deserve.
While I don't condone
Ryan Richards' choices,
I do understand why he made them.
Love just makes you
do crazy things.
Well, sometimes I think that's just an excuse for bad behavior.
Oh, I don't know, Mac.
When it comes to matters of the heart,
I've had my share of temporary insanity.
Maybe I have, too.
I guess it's just... part of the human condition.
Which reminds me-- I hear you have
a new friend.
Lindsay has an overactive imagination.
Are the rumors true?
Jennifer Walsh is a reporter.
She was just doing her job.
She also happens to be a beautiful woman.
You did notice that, right?
What I noticed
was how relentlessly she was chasing a story.
She wanted someone to confirm hearsay,
and that's not my style.
Are you sure that's all she was chasing?
Jo.
Flack said she was looking at you
like she wanted something else.
Flack is dead. He's dead.
Get over it, Mac Taylor. Look at me.
You're a charming,
sexy single man.
There's no hiding from the ladies.
I'm not hiding.
I think the word "sexy" makes you nervous.
Speaking of crazy love,
I got to go meet my kids for pizza.
I'll see you in the morning.
Good night, Jo.
Good night, Mac.
Captioning sponsored by CBS
CSI NY PRODUCTIONS
Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org