( rock music playing )
Hey!
( engine revs )
Get away from my boat, thief!
You're not gonna do this.
This is only the beginning.
( gun fires )
( siren wailing in distance )
Alexx.
Anterior shot to the head.
He was gone before he dropped.
No mystery who the shooter was.
He called it in. Jason Whitley.
Rents a house here.
He said that the victim was trying to steal his yacht.
Did Mr. Whitley mention this tool bag?
SALAS: Yeah, victim had one.
That's why he thought he was a pro.
Why would a pro bring a padlock to a theft?
He's dead, isn't he?
I'm afraid so.
Mr. Whitley, have you had trouble making your yacht payments?
What?
I-I don't see what that has to do with anything.
Your intruder...
is actually a repo man.
And the repo agents have to ID themselves.
So you're saying that they didn't come to your house first?
Yeah, he came.
Busted my window, broke in, took my keys.
Why didn't you call the police?
He was stealing my yacht.
When I told him to get off, he shot at me.
He had a gun?
I'm the victim here.
Eric.
Got something on the ignition key.
It's definitely foreign.
I'll get it to Trace.
Have we located the victim's firearm?
Oh, I don't know.
I searched every inch of this puppy.
Haven't found anything.
Maybe it went in the water.
CAINE: You know what that means.
I already called the Coast Guard and told them to lock up this section of the canal... till I find it.
Alexx.
Does the repo man have an ID?
No.
But take a look at this, Horatio.
Wait a second.
This is a writ of entry.
This man...
is a revenue officer.
You mean IRS?
CAINE: So that makes this a seizure kit and Mr. Whitley a liar.
♪ Yeah! ♪
Captioning sponsored by CBS, C.S.I. PRODUCTIONS Captioning sponsored by CBS, C.S.I. PRODUCTIONS ♪ We don't get fooled again ♪ ♪ Don't get fooled again ♪ ♪ No, no! ♪
( siren wailing ) ( garbled radio transmission )
Oh, man, this hurts.
Never been shot before.
Yeah, that's what I wanted to talk to you about.
Turns out that your repo man is actually an IRS agent.
So?
So...
they're not allowed to carry guns.
What are you trying to say?
Maybe you shot yourself.
( laughs ) Why don't you test my hands for powder, or whatever it is you do?
That washes off.
Look, I got the proof right here.
That makes two of us.
( sighs ) I heard you've got a bullet for me.
Tax refund.
Hey, Alexx, may I see your magnifier?
Sure.
There's a pattern imbedded in the lead.
From what?
Velocity of the bullet makes the lead malleable.
This bullet went through clothing.
I'll do some more digging.
Are those our vic's clothes?
Yeah.
There's something in the wound track.
Some kind of fabric.
Found a bullet hole in the sleeve.
Our vic's hands were in front of his face.
Well, that puts our victim in a defensive position.
Unless he was reaching for his gun.
( gun fires ) Like the suspect said.
Got ourselves a mystery.
( elevator dings )
Lieutenant Caine.
Yes.
Lieutenant Caine.
Yes.
Melissa Boone, IRS.
You called about Kevin Renfro?
Yes, I did.
I understand that he worked for you.
Brought his client list.
Your suspect, Jason Whitley, is in it.
He owes $60,000 in back taxes.
$60,000? That's quiet a big number, isn't it?
Yeah.
He's also a PDT.
A potentially dangerous taxpayer?
He threatened to kill Officer Renfro last month in Saint Augustine.
Hmm, that qualifies, doesn't it?
Thank you.
Any time.
It's a figure of speech.
SALAS: But you did shoot and kill him.
Look, he tried to take my boat down in Augustine.
All right? I told him I'd try work out a payment plan until he had a writ.
Until then, "Go to hell."
Then you brought your boat to Miami?
Is that it?
And you laid in wait.
I didn't recognize him, all right?
He looked like a thug.
He was an unarmed man.
God as my witness, that man tried to kill me.
I'm telling you, he shot me.
He had a gun.
Found a gun.
What caliber?
You tell me.
What kind of gun is this?
It's a key gun.
It's used to make keys on the fly.
WHITLEY: Get away from my boat, thief!
Explains the shavings I found.
Later.
Where you going?
Find Horatio.
You're not going to wait for me?
Well, he wanted our findings ASAP.
Hey, I found those findings.
Nice work, Mr. Wolfe.
Mr. Whitley, I'd like to see your injury again, please?
That, Mr. Whitley, is a close-proximity burn.
What?
What that means is the weapon was held against your leg when it was discharged.
It also means that you did shoot yourself.
You tried to frame a man for doing his job.
This is only the beginning.
I've got this key gun, and I can make a key to everything you own and seize it.
He was taking my life, piece by piece.
( phone rings ) Jason...
you should have just paid your taxes.
Yes, Frank.
Take him in.
TRIPP: Two bullets to the chest.
Our victim is Revenue Officer Simon Bremmer.
That's two in one day, Frank.
IRS agent.
That's correct.
Think there's any connection?
It's tax season.
WOLFE: There's a lot of blood.
Two holes in the chest'll do that to you.
ME said one of 'em was a through-and-through.
WOLFE: Come here and look at this.
DUQUESNE: That's half a blood drop.
Can't physically have half a blood drop.
Defies the laws of gravity.
Something was taken from here.
Whatever it is... might be a motive.
Could be incidental. Crime isn't always predictable.
WOLFE: Good thing blood is.
Did you find a blood trail?
Directionality indicates that the victim was moving toward the car.
So he was shot away from the car.
WOLFE: Someone pulled off the road.
I've got some casings.
What caliber?
DUQUESNE: Nine-mil.
What about the tire tracks?
Do you think we're going to be able to ID 'em?
Well, talk to Delko. He's the tire expert.
Delko.
Right. Sure. I'll do that.
Thanks.
( sighs )
Tire treads from the second IRS shooting?
Yup.
You know that's my specialty, right?
Well, I figured you were busy.
Oh, I've got plenty of time on my hands, Wolfe, especially since you closed the last case without me.
What's the wheelbase?
140 inches.
Wow, that's pretty wide.
Not that many cars wear 21-inch tires.
With that tread, I'd be looking for a Rolls-Royce Phantom, but, uh... that's just me.
DUQUESNE: IRS vic number two.
Bullets: fragmented.
They pinged around in there.
Hit a rib, the clavicle...
Well, that makes things kind of difficult, to say the least.
Not with this.
DUQUESNE: Mees' lines?
Simon says he was being poisoned.
A heavy metal.
Maybe whoever was poisoning got impatient and shot him?
Well, now, honey, you're the investigator.
I'll start at his office.
Thanks, Alexx.
WOMAN: Internal Revenue Service. Please hold.
This is Simon's office.
Thank you.
Can you think of anyone who might've especially hated Simon?
We're tax collectors. Everyone hates us.
Extension 32, if you guys need anything.
WOLFE: This guy was being poisoned.
I'm not putting my mouth anywhere near that phone.
All right, I'll bag, you tag.
Anything that Simon's lips or hands might've touched.
Calleigh, come here and look at this.
Simon's got a wall of fame.
DUQUESNE: He was proud of his hate mail.
"Tax collectors are the barnacles "under the parasites under the snake.
May you live on the street, no shoes for your feet."
That's poetic.
Ouch. Take a look at this one.
DUQUESNE: "There should be a medal for killing you."
WOLFE: "Sincerely, Russell Edge."
Let's see his list of PDTs.
Simon confiscated two houses from this guy.
He was hunting for Mr. Edge's Rolls-Royce.
That's the same car as the crime scene.
I'm going to call Tripp and see if Russell owns a nine-mil.
Why do you want my gun?
The IRS agent in charge of your case was shot this morning, Mr. Edge, with a nine-mil.
Well, I don't know where it is.
Probably disappeared with your Rolls-Royce, along with the rest of your stuff.
Three 50-inch flat-screens, a Schnabel, a purebred Arabian racehorse...
My ex-wife is a little bloodthirsty, so I...
I pared down before the divorce.
"Pared down"?
Says here no record of items sold.
I'm not much for keeping receipts.
The IRS can't seize assets they can't find.
Is that it, Mr. Edge?
I'm sorry.
Mr. Edge?
I'm sorry.
I'm afraid I can't help you.
We find out you killed a federal officer, you won't be able to hide from us.
Again... I'm sorry I can't help.
I'll bet your ex-wife will.
Been there, done that.
"Hell hath no fury," huh, Russell?
She's a liar.
Yeah, well, they all are after we divorce 'em.
( door shuts )
Thanks for coming, Mrs. Edge.
Um, Molly. So, what did Russell do now?
Well, your ex-husband owns a nine-millimeter gun that we can't seem to locate.
You haven't seen it by any chance, have you?
No. This isn't about taxes, isn't it?
No. His case officer was shot and killed this morning.
Any, uh... any thoughts on his missing assets would be a big help to us.
I-I went to pick up my stuff after the divorce was final, but the place was empty.
Yeah, he pared down, didn't he?
Detective... Russell is not a nice man...
but he's smart.
And if he knew that I had copies of his old business files...
We've got forensic accountants here.
Why don't you bring those files in?
Maybe we'll both benefit from them.
Okay.
Thank you, Mrs. Edge.
Simon's tox report came back.
Our heavy metal's thallium.
I know. Alexx told me.
You were going to call me, right?
About the tox report?
Of course. We always include each other.
Delko told you.
Yes. The lab is like high school.
Word spreads fast.
WOLFE: So, this is everything we collected from Simon's office?
Yeah, I got some gold metallo-cryptand, and it should bind with thallium and glow under UV light.
You want to spray?
Should I apologize?
Only if you think you have something to apologize for.
Do you see what I see?
WOLFE: His stapler...
his shredder...
his coffee cup.
His entire cubicle was poisoned.
They didn't dose one thing. They dosed everything.
They'd have to count on hand-to-mouth contact.
That's not the most efficient way to poison somebody.
But it would prolong the agony.
DUQUESNE: Poison gets in, binds with proteins in the blood and deposits itself in the organs, hair, nails.
We got one determined killer.
Who had a lot of access to Simon's office.
Is this garbage duty?
IRS guys write everything down.
I figured you could go through Simon's shredder.
You could, uh, find a lead in there.
'Cause you said you had time.
So, you include me now?
You know what, Delko? You were still in the water.
Should've given me a hand.
Horatio needed what we had right away.
Look, do you want in or not?
Beat it.
I got work to do.
♪ ♪
( mist hissing )
Somebody shredded a check for five grand dated two days ago.
Not even endorsed yet.
It's definitely not our IRS guy.
Collecting money's the whole point.
Well, I got a print from the check.
I'm running it now.
Here we go.
Take a look at our suspect.
It's gender-consistent.
Poisonings usually are done by women.
You destroyed a check Simon collected from another taxpayer.
I'm competitive.
I admit it.
I don't know the ins and outs of the IRS, but I would imagine that it's against some federal regulation to, uh, shred another agent's collection.
I trained Simon, and he was already outpacing me on 53s.
That's cases closed.
Yeah.
So, you poisoned him, and figured he'd be out a few sick days, and you'd catch up on collection?
I didn't poison him.
I snooped his office, tore up a few checks.
He'd get them reissued-- no big deal.
Let me see your hands.
What are those lines?
Exposure to thallium.
Oh, my God.
You spent a lot of time snooping around Simon's office.
Am I going to die?
No. The damage is reversible.
But I'd think twice the next time you want to camp out in someone's office.
Have you got anything?
IRS lady's not our black widow.
Well, I might have something.
I looked closer at the poison.
It's thallium phosphate.
An insecticide?
Nasty stuff.
Only the pros use it.
I'd bet one of Simon's PDTs owns a pest control company.
Actually, a nursery.
Carl Dawson.
It's on Windmere Avenue, and he's into the IRS for almost a million dollars.
Murder's one way to get out of paying.
I'll find Horatio, make a surprise visit.
TRIPP: Nobody answered when I phoned.
CAINE: IRS may have been responsible for that.
This place was seized yesterday.
"Contents will be sold at..."
( metallic rattling ) You hear that?
I did hear that.
Officer, please-- the bolt cutters.
Sir? Sir, hold it right there.
It's okay. It's my place.
Not anymore.
TRIPP: It's the property of the IRS.
Step forward, sir, please.
And you, son, come here.
CAINE: Son, you, come here, right here.
Right over here, right next to me.
Sir, put that down, please.
Okay, Frank.
Hey. Hey, let him go.
Son...
Hey. Hey, let him go.
Son...
Seth, stay back.
Dad, this is our place.
Listen to me: stay back.
Dad, this is our place.
Listen to me: stay back.
Please, not in front of my sons.
Frank...
no bracelets.
Dad, what's going on?
Ready, gentlemen?
( softly ): Let's go.
Come on.
If you're expecting to see remorse over Simon Bremmer, you got the wrong guy.
In my opinion, Mr. Dawson, that makes you the right guy.
And so does this insecticide.
TRIPP: It was found all over Mr. Bremmer's office.
Any commercial user can get a hold of that.
But not "anyone" can be on his PDT list, though, can they?
This whole thing is a mistake.
TRIPP: You mean killing Mr. Bremmer, or not paying taxes on $3 million?
Try $30,000.
A two-decimal-point error.
The IRS listed my wife's life insurance wrong.
Did you show him your policy?
"The IRS doesn't make mistakes."
I threw him out of my house.
Tax court would've been easier.
Yeah, I tried that, but every day I waited meant more interest.
I finally gave up.
They took my house away.
As long as I delivered my payments on time, I could keep the business.
Obviously, you didn't pay up.
No, see, that's just the thing.
I was never late.
I just delivered a payment.
He took my business anyway.
Now, that sounds like motive.
Look, you just said I was on the PDT list.
I wasn't allowed to go anywhere near Simon's office.
Mr. Dawson, is that your payment?
Yeah, looks like it.
What happened to it?
How did you send the checks?
Checks went by mail.
See, here's the problem.
I don't see a postmark or a stamp on there, Mr. Dawson.
Excuse me. Frank.
You guys all right?
Okay, gentlemen, I'm going to ask you a question, and I want the truth.
Did your dad send you to Simon's with the poison?
No.
Seth, I cannot help you if you won't let me.
( scoffs softly ) Yeah, that's what the IRS guy said.
We ended up living in a car.
Don't tell him.
He doesn't know.
Seth, he's figured it out, and he's trying to protect you.
I was just trying to help, you know?
Fix things.
My dad-- he's not doing too good.
Not since my mom died.
Okay, and you believed that his problem would go away if the IRS agent did, right?
SETH: I knew the bug juice was harsh.
And when we went to deliver the checks, Simon made it so easy.
Get you a soda, something to eat?
Sure.
SETH: I guess he felt sorry for me.
So, I let him.
So, it wasn't going fast enough.
What? What do you mean?
You shot him, didn't you?
No.
But you know where your dad keeps his gun, don't you?
Hey, Ian, are you the accountant on the IRS shooting ?
Uh, yeah.
I went through Russell Edge's business records the ex-wife handed over.
I was, uh, just going to burn you a disc.
I tracked down all his real estate.
Oh, good. So, you found out where he's hidden all his assets.
I thought so.
He, uh, bought a slew of warehouses in Overtown, but they were already seized by the IRS.
( computer beeping ) What about that one?
Oh, that doesn't belong to Russell.
Are you sure?
to Russell.
Are you sure?
It's owned by a "Goldie Chariot."
Only a PO box listed.
I don't think that sounds like a real name.
That's what I thought.
So, I checked out all of Russell's relatives, known associates.
Nothing.
What about pets?
You know how sneaky people are when they're hiding from the IRS.
Yeah, but I don't have a list.
Uh...
He did own a racehorse.
( beeping ) "Golden Chariot."
SUTTER: Looks like Goldie is dead.
He's got it listed as a loss.
His loss is our gain.
Thanks, Ian.
Thank you.
Think the IRS gives finder fees?
I wish.
There's no Rolls, but it sure looks like there was one parked here.
Tire treads.
WOLFE: Probably got rid of it.
Could be covered in blood.
All we need is the gun.
Got it.
Nine-mil.
I won't be able to tell if it's been fired until I get back to the lab, but it's...
two shy in the magazine.
EDGE: So? It's my nine-mil.
It's been locked in that warehouse for months.
It was cleaned recently.
I took it out for target practice.
I'm hygienic. So what?
All we have to do is match it to the bullet we found in the victim's body.
Why don't you make it easier on yourself?
Tell the truth.
I am.
I didn't kill that IRS guy.
I hope you have a good lawyer.
Hey, Ryan?
Who you think a jury's going to side with, hmm?
Me or some tax guy?
Just watch.
Ryan, why don't we talk outside for a second?
We can't do a bullet comparison.
We can't?
No.
The bullet in Simon fragmented on impact.
Great.
So, I was just threatening him with nonexistent evidence.
Hi, guys.
Not now, okay?
You aware Al Capone was brought down by an accountant?
Are you bragging, or do you have something?
I might have found that Rolls-Royce.
A rented parking space.
How did we miss that?
It was listed as feed storage.
Still looking for the rental contract.
This gave us a nice start.
Thank you.
Sure.
Mmm.
I spoke to Security.
It should be open.
I'll look for high- velocity spatter.
Any blood?
Not yet. Doesn't always end up where you think.
Exactly. Look at that.
Are those heel marks?
From a woman's shoe.
Too bad we don't have a heel database.
I don't think we're going to need one.
We're looking for the wrong biological.
WOLFE: Okay, I got semen in the backseat.
Well, with the heel tread on the ceiling, it stands to reason.
( woman groaning and panting)
Russell probably got lucky a million times in the back of this thing.
This car was at the crime scene.
I'll take those odds.
Biologicals from the backseat.
Simon Bremmer, the IRS guy?
Russell was with Simon?
No, his ex-wife was.
How'd you know that?
Our accountant found the parking space agent.
Russell didn't rent the space; she did.
I'm not admitting to anything.
WOLFE: You don't have to.
We already know what happened.
You found your ex's hiding place, and you stole the Rolls-Royce.
Okay, look, the divorce settlement was unfair.
I mean, what was I supposed to live on?
So you rented your own space and hid the Rolls in there.
Yeah, two can play the game.
But Simon Bremmer was better than both of you.
He caught you with the Rolls-Royce, didn't he?
Yeah. I didn't have it more than five minutes.
( alarm beeps ) ( phone rings ) Hello.
That Rolls suits you.
Simon?
He wanted me to give up the car.
"Seize it," they call it.
DNA evidence tells us that you...
bargained your way out of it.
The only thing men want more than toys...
( Molly moans )
MOLLY: Yeah.
Well, from where I sit, the problem is if you had access to Russell's Rolls, then you also had access to his gun.
Did you kill the tax man?
Why would I kill Simon?
To plant the gun, frame your ex, get rid of two birds with one stone.
I didn't kill Simon.
We both got what we wanted.
So he just let you leave with a quarter-million-dollar Rolls-Royce?
Yeah, and he was alive and very happy.
Look, I got out of there.
The place gave me the creeps.
Why the creeps?
Well, while we were... in the backseat, uh, I felt like someone was watching us from outside the car.
Wait, wait, wait.
Did you hear anything?
Yeah, you.
Come on.
Look, unless either one of you can prove that I pulled the trigger, I'm leaving.
We'll be in touch.
You think the husband was watching...
and he shot the IRS guy out of jealousy?
I don't know.
Is the Rolls still in our garage?
Hey, I got something.
( camera clicking )
Saliva?
DUQUESNE: No, it's textured.
It's all starting to come together.
You're not going to tell me?
And let you run to Horatio with it?
Forget about it.
See anything that looks like a gun, Frank?
I'm still looking.
Ma'am.
Did you get my message?
I did.
You got something off the Rolls.
Some mucus. I think someone sneezed.
I ran it through CODIS.
You get any hits on it?
No.
The only thing I can tell you is the DNA is male.
I'm working on a warrant to get a sample from the jealous husband.
Okay, keep me posted.
All right.
TRIPP: Horatio.
Yes, sir.
I'm rolling snake eyes on the gun, but I found this.
Take a look at this.
That is blood, Frank.
Can't wash blood out of the stitching.
No, you can't. Skip the gun.
We don't need it anymore.
Mr. Dawson, would you please take a look at that.
Briefcase is mine. I run a business.
Is that a fact?
Well, that makes your initials...
SLB.
What are you getting at, Lieutenant?
The briefcase belongs to Simon Bremmer.
It was taken from his car after he was killed.
You can't prove I was anywhere near there.
No, I can't, but I can prove Timothy was.
Expectorant found on the exterior of the Rolls-Royce matches Timothy's DNA.
( Molly moaning )
( sneezes ) Hey, wait, wait.
I don't, I don't know, uh, why or how that was there, but you should be talking Dad.
to the guy who owns the Rolls, not harass... ! I was there, too.
Seth, said don't say anything.
Dad, he took away your company yesterday, after he promised he wouldn't.
What are you doing here?
I have a driver's permit.
We followed you.
Seth, please don't talk.
Doesn't matter.
We're busted.
You had your dad's gun?
It was an accident.
So you shot him.
Yeah.
Got rid of the files, so the IRS wouldn't know about our dad.
Wait a minute.
He's covering for me.
I shot him. I killed him.
I did. I was there.
Seth's lying.
Timothy, shut up.
I had the gun.
If you don't give my dad's business back, I'm gonna tell what you did to her.
You little monster.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Timothy, where'd you get Dad's gun?
He hurt that lady.
He was gonna hurt me and Seth.
It was self-defense.
You heard him.
Simon was coming at them.
Mr. Dawson, they killed a man.
Please, they're just kids.
The court will take that into account.
The key to Russell's Rolls-Royce.
I understand that your new job is to seize his assets.
I'm on probation since my little shredder incident.
So I hear.
What do you want, Lieutenant?
Dawson's typo.
Dawson?
Typo or not, he kept accruing interest he never paid.
A clerical error that you committed sent his family to hell.
I want you to get out your Wite-Out and correct it.
Take a walk, Lieutenant.
Miss Boone, does your supervisor know that the check you shredded caused a young man to kill somebody?
No.
Surprising.
I have your supervisor on speed-dial.
Do you want to call him?
Or should I?
Lieutenant.
Mr. Dawson.
You did this?
The City of Miami did this, Mr. Dawson.
Yeah.
Yeah, but what about my boys?
I think your boys are going to be fine.
We're gonna get them through this, aren't we?
I don't have much faith in the system anymore.
"By the people, for the people."
You think they even care about "the people" anymore?
Some of us do.
Captioning sponsored by CBS, C.S.I. PRODUCTIONS Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org