You'll like this apartment. My wife says it's the best of the lot. Now, the tenants moved out kind of quick, so I don't normally show apartments before I've had a chance to look, so... use your imagination.
WOMAN: Oh, my God. Call 911.
I worked in a slaughterhouse one summer looked a lot like this.
The lease is in the name of Clifford Renteria. He lived here with his girlfriend till they snuck out in the middle of the night.
Gee, I wonder why. For all we know, this is animal blood. BRASS: Yeah, sure.
Deer, sheep, llama.
Deer hunter comes home from the mountains, drunk, decides to play butcher, clean his kill.
Chops his game up into oven-sized pieces for the winter. I mean, what does he care? He's renting.
BRASS: Victim's human.
And a human has only eight pints of blood. So, whoever the victim is... is now dead.
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Who are you?
Who, who, who, who?
Who... are you?
Who, who, who, who?
I really wanna know Who... are you? Oh-oh-oh Who... Come on, tell me who are you, you, you Oh, you!
SIDLE: Any uniformity in the spray?
GRISSOM: Well, by and large, the average diameter is about one millimeter. SIDLE: Blood drops this size are characteristic of high-velocity impact like gunshot trauma, but there's no bullet strikes on the walls... ruling out murder by gun. Just acquaint yourself, Sara. Don't interpret just yet, okay?
All right.
Show time.
This looks like a multiple. More than one vic... acquainting myself. Check out these "voids." That's the real evidence. Couch?
We only got 30 seconds till this Luminol disappears.
Television, maybe?
A magazine? Triangle... Coat rack?
Guys... What do you think that is?
Looks like it could be an electric saw.
High-velocity, small spray.
76-Romeo, over.
This is four-niner-six. Come in for the drop.
76-Romeo, you're right on it.
Pine Ridge Command. Go to white fire three.
Dozer Tender 1441.
Air attack 140.
( garbled radio transmission ) Zero humidity, record highs. 'Tis the season.
Hi.
Hey.
I don't even know where to start with this one.
Take a look at that-- a scuba diver up a tree.
Wow.
How the hell did he get up there?
STOKES: He couldn't have climbed up there with all that crap on.
He got up there somehow.
Well, you know... Lake Mead is just over the hill, and the copters are dropping water. ( helicopter whirring )
You're serious?
That's a total urban legend.
We're scientists, Nickie.
No way that happened.
Okay.
And I suppose you believe in Santa?
After today... oh, yeah.
When I said Cliff Renteria and his girlfriend skipped out in the middle of the night, I didn't have the whole story. I haven't seen Alison in over a month. Any idea where she might be? Renteria said she left town.
So you noticed that she was gone? I manage the complex. I notice everything. Did you notice if Mr. Renteria left a forwarding address? No. He just wrote the letter saying he was moving on. Listen, if you find him, you tell him he is not getting his deposit back, okay? The blood'll never come out. Hopefully not.
That's all the evidence we have.
( helicopter blades whirring )
What do you make of that void?
Green vegetation.
There's a consistent burn over this whole area.
Except for that one spot.
Well, the chief says the original fire was a class "C"-- downed power line.
Winds keep shifting... hot spots breaking out all over.
STOKES: Well, well... Downed power line, huh?
Good eye.
STOKES: Matchbook time-delay device.
Don't touch it. It'll disintegrate.
That's the only reason I carry this stuff.
WILLOWS: Hair spray-- extra hold.
The difference between walking and running.
Guy lights a cigarette, sticks it in a matchbook, takes a stroll.
It buys an arsonist a five-minute head start.
Mm-hmm.
Monaco Receiving.
Clifford Renteria, Platform Manager.
Gee, Brass, all in one shift. I'm impressed. BRASS: Are you Clifford Renteria?
Cliff.
Who are you?
Las Vegas Police.
Crime Lab.
Do you have any knowledge of the whereabouts of Alison Scott?
She's in Canada visiting her parents. Why?
We just came from your old apartment.
We found some disturbing evidence there. Would you care to explain that?
Hey, he had it coming. I'll tell you that right now.
Apartment stank, there were flies everywhere, no water.
So I trashed the place. Who had it coming? The apartment manager-- the lazy bastard.
Serves him right. Mr. Renteria, your apartment walls are covered in human blood.
You aware of that? Yeah. Do you have an explanation?
It's my blood. Your blood? You got a stigmata? No. I get nosebleeds. Nosebleeds? From hepatitis C. I got blood to spare. My nose is like Old Faithful.
Finally came in handy. You expirated blood from your nose all over your apartment walls to get back at your manager? Yeah. I hope I made his cleanup job hell. That's not supposed to go anywhere.
This guy blows ten quarts of blood from his nose onto his wall?
You want to ask for a demonstration? He's lying.
Expirating from your nose would leave oval-shaped blood patterns.
The ones we found in his apartment were V-shaped.
Mr. Renteria.
We're going to need a sample of your blood-- from your arm, not your nose-- and a visit to your new apartment.
That's home to me now.
Been staying there about a week.
Well, may we see your furniture?
Sure.
GRISSOM: Electric saw.
Used to do some landscaping.
GRISSOM: That's an interesting lamp.
Mr. Renteria, with your permission, I'd like to move some of your property to my lab for a closer inspection.
Hey, save me $250 a week truck rental. Keep it as long as you want.
I'll sleep in the break room.
That's after you come down and give us that blood sample.
You check nosebleed's tools yet?
No observable blood. Not even with Pheno.
That's because he probably ditched them after using them on the victim. Now we just got to figure out which one.
How long did Firearms give us these for?
24 hours, then we got to get them back-- clean.
Let's do it.
( loud music playing )
GRISSOM: So?
DNA results. Um... 16 samples from the apartment walls, and the one we just took from the guy's arm.
This cannot be right.
Hey, I always double-check your stuff. But all the results are pointing one way.
What about the blood on the lamp?
That is my next run. Just a little backlogged.
Well, get through it.
I thought you said the blood on those walls couldn't be his. I also thought the metric system would catch on.
Look, everything that starts with a faulty premise is bound to fail. I saw "V" patterns, and I foolishly ruled out the nose. I told you I had a condition-- hepatitis C. I was diagnosed when I was 18. And this relates to your magic nose how? Hepatitis C destroys the liver and a whole host of clotting functions.
Cliff, indeed, has blood to spare. Thanks for coming around to my side.
Which way is out?
Nobody released you.
Mr. Renteria, I can't sign off on a case until I fully understand it. So, let me get this straight. You had a beef with your landlord, and you decided to pay him back by blowing blood out of your nose all over the apartment walls.
Is that about right? Yeah.
A day? A week? A couple of months? How long did this take? I don't know. About a month. So, you get up in the morning, make yourself a cup of coffee, and go, "I think I'll blow some blood on the kitchen wall today."
Get out of the shower, grab your towel, go, "Hey, this looks like a nice spot to expirate a couple of pints." It wasn't like that.
Something would set me off. The disposal was backed up, no hot water, the toilet was broken... I knew the landlord wasn't going to fix it.
So you made your statement through your nose? I wasn't getting anywhere with words.
Look, if it'll get me out of here any quicker, I'll show you.
Um... It's really not that big a deal.
You might want to back up.
SIDLE: Same high-velocity spray.
Same short "V" pattern, too.
Didn't you say expirating through the nose made oval patterns? Yeah, well, as it turns out, our guy stands very close to the wall and blows almost sideways.
This is on the real. You actually saw him do this? Right through his Jimmy Durante.
Ambidextrous, both nostrils. Great. Our big murder's a nosebleed. Oh, not necessarily.
Sample from the nosebleed's lamp.
It's not his blood.
And I don't know whose blood it is, but the Amelogenin came back with something pretty interesting: "XX."
Female blood. Mm-hmm. Our guy's girlfriend is still missing. Two things which may have nothing to do with each other. Or everything.
So you got an I.D. on the scuba guy?
Jacques Cousteau.
Kidding. Coroner humor.
But I'll tell you what I do know. He didn't die in that fire. No carboxyhemoglobin in his blood.
Means he didn't inhale any carbon monoxide.
Tells us he stopped breathing before the fire started. Guy was probably killed someplace else and dumped.
Oh, he was dumped all right... out of a chopper.
Right, Doctor?
Victim's injuries are inconsistent with a fall of that magnitude. No fracture of the pelvis. no compression of the lumbar vertebrae, no shortening of the body.
There goes your theory, Nick. Good try though.
So what was the cause of death? His heart stopped beating. Heart attack... consistent with being scooped out of Lake Mead. The human heart beats in a four-beat rhythm like a fox-trot. The two atria contract, then the two ventricles. Ba-boom, ba-boom.
So what happened to this guy?
Commotio cordis-- cardiac concussion.
The guy short-circuited. It's rare, but I've seen it. Couple of years ago, a minor-leaguer took a line drive to the chest.
Interrupted the impulse to the heart, turning it into a bag of worms-- fibrillation.
So, our scuba diver took one to the chest. Definitely.
He could've been clipped by the chopper's Bambi Bucket.
Did you find anything between his toes? Like sand from... Lake Mead. Sorry, Nick. But I did find something between him and his wet suit-- soap residue. Like he started to shower-- soaped up, never soaped off.
Something on your mind, Greg?
Oh, I heard about your case.
Sounds interesting. Yeah.
Hey, you want to make yourself useful?
Drop this off at Trace.
Must be some kind of soap. Robbins got me halfway there. Bet it's liquid dishwashing soap.
Yeah? State your source.
Well, you know, I used to do a little diving myself, actually-- Belize, Maui, Great Barrier Reef.
Okay, maybe I took that one a little too far.
But the point is that these rubber suits aren't very easy to put on.
Neoprene and skin need a little romance to get together, and a capful of liquid soap works like a charm.
So you want to check this safety valve?
Sealed closed. And what about the pressure gauge?
Hose melted.
Catherine found it at the base of the tree. It's 3,000 psi-- that tank was full.
Guess it's like anything pressurized.
These things blow for one of two reasons: too much air or too much heat.
You just made yourself useful, my friend.
Yeah? Oh, yeah.
How?
What are we looking for exactly?
Same thing we're always looking for-- evidence of a crime. Failing that, we're going to have to release this apartment. Wait a minute. What about Nosebleed's missing girlfriend? You heard Brass. He got ahold of Alison Scott's parents in Canada. They said she never arrived. They had no idea she was even going to see them.
What if Nose Man blew blood all over these walls to cover up Alison Scott's blood?
I don't see any evidence of that. You're not finding another layer of blood under there? No.
You don't think maybe he offed his girlfriend?
( fly buzzing ) How many flies do you count in this room?
15, give or take.
I counted four on my first walk-through.
Fly spots. Regurgitations.
They're fresh.
Problem is, flies don't feast on dry blood.
Place is sealed, and they don't spontaneously generate.
So they're feeding on fresh blood.
Could be a rodent, though, or bad garbage.
Or it could be something higher up the food chain like Alison Scott.
The preponderance of flies is in this room.
They can egress a space less than .001 centimeters.
Behind you.
Vent.
Hey, coffee boy... where's my DNA?
Cigarette butt? Matchbook time-delay device? Hair spray? Any of this sound familiar? Bags under the eyes, coffee cups, stress face. Any of this look familiar?
I'm working on it.
Did Grissom put his stuff in front of mine? No.
I'm working on your case-- with Nick.
I just talked with your partner.
Working this case without me, huh? Hmm?
Greg Sanders?
Let go my Grego.
He's a CSI wannabe.
Please.
Check out the bottom of this tank.
Fissure.
We had a little explosion here.
That explains a lot.
Acid etching. Not bad. Figure if I can get the serial number off the tank, get on the horn to some surf shops, track the renter through a credit card.
Pretty smart thinking there, partner.
Well, we still haven't ID'd the vic, but... it's worth a shot.
Okay, N-4-0-0-2, let's see what kind of lead you are.
( doorbell rings ) Hi. Uh, whatever you're selling, I have no interest, okay?
Maybe you should find out what we're selling first.
I'm Catherine Willows, Las Vegas Crime Lab. Detective O'Riley.
Is there a Jerry Walden lives here?
You're looking at him.
What?
Are you missing a scuba tank?
Come in.
So let me get this straight, Mr. Walden. You lent Bruce Skeller a spare tank.
( sighs ) Yeah.
I just... I can't believe what you're telling me here. I mean, Bruce was an experienced diver.
Well, he didn't exactly die in the water.
Bruce and I were about to break ground on this project.
Really meant a lot to him. You guys were in business together?
No. We been best friends since we were kids.
We used to... We used to build these forts together-- like our imaginary casino, you know?
Now we were going to build the real thing.
We partnered up with this big development company-- Adventures. Excuse me. I mean, we were ready to go.
You said that Mr. Skeller was an experienced diver. Why would he be borrowing a tank? Well, you know, just because somebody's experienced doesn't make them any less of a freeloader.
He was just down on his luck, you know? But, as I say, we were like brothers. I mean, we shared everything, you know? I mean, what was mine was his, what was his was mine. But you just said he didn't have anything.
Yeah, but he would've, you know. And I kept telling him that. I mean, that's... that's what kept him going. And then this happened.
There used to be something here.
Oh, yeah, it's my coffee table.
Interesting furniture. What is that? Ash wood? Yeah.
Is that what the coffee table was made out of?
Made them out of the same piece of wood. Where is the coffee table?
Oh, I sent it out to get it refinished.
The guy said it would be back in a week.
I, uh... ...think it needed a little more than that.
Fly egg casings.
I thought I heard some banging around. You, uh... you find my tenant?
You can contact Captain Brass for that information, sir.
What do you got?
Either Paul or John. A very important beetle. The most important.
The Silphid Beetle typically feeds on decomposing human flesh. There's a dead body in here somewhere.
Mr. Evans... ...could you get permission from the owner to let us break into these walls? Our original warrant didn't cover that.
Depends... how many walls and what for?
We can't divulge that but it may be... all the walls.
In every room?
Yeah. You CSI's going to pay for the replastering?
We don't do that. But you can submit a form to the city for reimbursement. Yeah, I'm still waiting for my tax rebate.
I don't even have to bother the owner with this. He's not going to let you bust out these walls.
Now what?
DNA lab. I don't want to hear any rumors that Paul is dead. He may be the only chance we have of getting in these walls.
We already know this beetle feeds only off of human blood, so why are we extracting its stomach contents? Ah. Not so. According to Grissom-- Mr. Bug Guy-- the Silphid beetle will actually feed on any decomposing mammal, so we need to show human DNA or we are not going to get a warrant to break down those walls. Well, I hope he got his grub on before you guys grabbed him up. Where's Greg? We need to get this processed. You know, I swear that guy has a second job somewhere else.
I'm, uh... all for being alone, but... Did you bring the file? Well, there goes the foreplay. It's in the car.
I hope you appreciate that, even as District Engineer, it wasn't easy getting you the original land deed. Well, I know how you love a challenge. So, what did the property sell for? Half a million bucks an acre.
Is there anything else that you need to use me for?
Excuse me? It's obvious that you're not here for me. You're here for yourself. So let's not waste each other's time, all right? The property was owned jointly by two men-- Jerry Walden and Bruce Skeller. At the time that they bought it, it was a steal-- 50 grand an acre. Two years later, Adventures Development comes in, they start buying up the surrounding parcels. Your guys hold out until last week and, let me tell you, they got top dollar.
Capitalist's wet dream-- buy low, sell high.
So they played it smart. Well, one of them did. From all I can tell, Jerry Walden was for selling to Adventures from the get-go, but his partner, well, he was a different deal altogether. He was a diehard environmentalist. A real tree-hugger.
You can say that again. He saw the writing on the wall-- the urbanization of Lake Mead-- and he spent every cent he had trying to fight it.
When it comes down to money versus the environment, it's no big surprise who's going to win.
So is there anything else that I can do for you?
I'll see you.
This really frosts my lizard. I go out to the lake to get away from the casinos.
Well, there goes jet-skiing. What about the land deed, Ronnie?
Oh, what I can tell you about that is I'm impressed. If it is a forgery, it's a great forgery. Van Gogh.
Nothing I can testify to.
What can you testify to?
Have you seen my VSC-4 machine?
No.
The original copy of the land sale agreement, okay?
Inks luminesce at different wavelengths.
At one wavelength the signature on the left disappears. At another wavelength the one on the right disappears.
Where did it go?
What does it mean, Ronnie?
Whatever you make of it. You've got a legal document.
Two signatures-- notarized-- the whole nine yards. The only thing I can tell you is your two guys used separate pens.
Excuse me.
Yeah?
Silphid beetle-- test for presence of human DNA.
Is this definitive?
Yes, sir.
Did we get our warrant? The beetle was full of human DNA. Brass got us a judge.
Let's knock down some walls.
( coughing ) One wall down... 15 to go.
Sorry to interrupt your fun, but I have someone here you might like to meet.
Jimmy Durante's girlfriend.
You're Alison Scott?
I see Cliff's been showing off again.
It's one of the reasons I left him. You left him?
I went back to my old boyfriend in Chicago.
Miss Scott, we found some blood on one of Cliff's lamps. Stubbed my toe on that lamp, like, once a week. I begged Cliff not to buy that thing, but he never listens.
GRISSOM: Would you be amenable to providing us with a sample of your blood for comparison purposes? Sure. But, I'm telling you, that's my blood. Look, Cliff's... well, he's a lot of things, but he's not a murderer.
Yeah. I still want a sample.
Warrick, would you?
Uh... yeah.
You never get a second chance to make a first impression. A square of nine dots on paper, and you can only draw four lines to connect them without the pen ever leaving the paper.
Right.
Think outside the box.
( doorbell ringing )
Yeah? What do you want now?
We need to take a look at your wall.
Hey, yo, Cat... I'm going to forget that you called me that.
Sorry. Um... I've got a full profile on our... "your" torch. I pulled his DNA off of a cigarette butt. Lucky for us, he's a wet-lipped smoker.
So you've done your job. I got to go do mine. Just give me something we can compare it to.
These ash wood splinters are from scuba guy's back? Mm-hmm. Embedded in his aconeus muscle. After you paged me, I had Robbins comb his body.
They only get us something if they match Walden's ninja coffee table.
It's your theory.
WILLOWS: Radial chains align.
Pores match. Two pieces of ash wood, one source. So, Walden and Skeller get into an argument, probably over their land. Buy yourself a hundred acres of rain forest, man! Cash in your end! I'm not going to sell!
Walden pushes Skeller, he falls back onto the ash wood table. But that's not what killed Skeller. Robbins said he took a line drive to the chest. Push escalates to a punch.
I'll call O'Riley.
Scented candles, huh? EVANS: Food went rotten. Wanted to cover the smell.
You've replastered this wall recently? I had rain damage. Funneled down, wrecked a five-foot area.
Huh.
You wouldn't mind if I, uh... examined your vent, would you?
( door opens ) BRASS: You don't have to ask his permission.
I got a new warrant that covers his apartment.
Your wife being missing put it over.
Funny you didn't mention that before.
Did you know that your apartment shares heating ducts with the apartment next door? Yeah, me and Cliff were always fighting about the temperature. So what?
Sara? Yeah.
Hold up. Hold up. Hold up.
Alklyd.
There's blood on the blanket.
And Dermestidae Masculatus.
SARA: That's Latin for you're hiding a dead body. BRASS: What's the matter? You didn't realize how bad a corpse can smell, so you just decided to move it around the place? GRISSOM: You can tell us where the body is or we can, uh... tear your place apart piece by piece.
Whichever.
Look, you got squat. Jerry and Bruce signed with different pens, you found a cigarette butt at Lake Mead and wood chips on a tree-hugger.
Bottom line, you got a dead guy up a tree, and you don't know how he got there. Hey, I'm just here to make the arrest. For what? What have you got? Plenty. Why don't we just start from the beginning?
Bruce Skeller didn't die in any fire.
He was killed at your house.
He didn't pick up any ash splinters from that forest. It's all telarosa and oak out there. STOKES: You had a dead body, so you decided to get creative.
Fire season, wet suit, liquid soap.
You drove out to the lake, dumped the body... ...and lit up.
Not 'cause you wanted a cigarette.
You lit up with a purpose.
This gave you a head start.
My guess is around, what, five-minute mark.
You figured the fire department would label it a hot spot-- relate it to the original fire-- and the body would just burn up.
Still doesn't explain how Bruce's body wound up in that tree. I didn't put him there.
Actually... you did.
See, the thing you forgot about a scuba tank is it contains compressed air.
Too much heat... and kaboom.
( sighs ) Rocket man. Yeah.
Got to love this job.
I got a hollow section.
Let's open it up.
Damn!
Are we in the wrong apartment again?
I don't know.
I don't mind being wrong. I just don't think I am this time.
Okay... start on the floorboards.
I'm going outside.
You okay?
95.
Excuse me?
Normally my pulse is 70. When it gets to 95, I realize how mad I am. I have ten people working around the clock on this thing. You're too hard on yourself. No, no, I'm not mad at me. There's a body in there, and that guy knows where it is!
What's your pulse at now?
( sighs ) You want to take a walk around the block? Get some air?
No.
Clear your head.
I'm fine.
Okay.
Chalk, from plaster.
Oh.
Better go wash up.
Hey, Brass.
When did the Schnozz say he lost his hot water?
He wasn't exact.
You, uh... have no pressure for your hot water. I got a plumber coming on Saturday.
Well, you know, my Uncle Herb was a plumber. I might be able to help. Where's your installation?
In the basement. But, really, I got a plumber coming.
You got an electrician coming, too?
A filtration system.
It softens the water. Yeah. Listen, you know, I got a guy on retainer.
You don't have to do this. Yeah, well, I'm non-union.
There's no disruption to the cold water line. Hot water line... water runs through the filtration tanks first, and the water heater second, right? Yeah.
Why is it bypassed?
You've cut off the water to the filtration tanks.
Something's wrong with that. I had no choice.
( knocks ) Brine tanks are usually hollow. Only got about eight inches of water at the bottom for the salt mixture.
( knocks on tank again ) Does that sound hollow to you?
Oh... Not enough candles in the world.
She nagged me.
She nagged you?
Hey, you want to grab some breakfast?
No, thanks.
STOKES: Come on... we always get better service when you're there. I'm having breakfast with a friend of mine.
STOKES: You're keeping him alive?
Sara said you guys already solved the case.
He did.
All right.
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