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Crime Scene Investigation 3x01 - Revenge Is Best Served Cold

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To you, sir.
Check.
He doesn't bet, but he keeps a beat.
You check. Someone's on a flush draw.
I'll take a free card. Check.
I'll check.
(squirting)
What do you got, Candyman?
Check.
Thank you.
Stiff... typical.
I can bet.
Make it...
$2,000.
The grinder speaks.
(chips clinking)
We raise $4,000.
Call the bet.
$2,000. Raising $2,000.
It's all about you, Grinder.
I'm going to go get a $2,000 slice of pizza.
Well... might as well make it
a poker game.
I'm all in.
What do you got, Southern Iowa?
A pain in the ass on my right side.
Yeah... you might have a winning hand.
You might be just trying to buy it.
Johnny Chan thought I was too old, too,
back in the '86 series.
You mean, the series
where the ball went through Buckner's legs?
Save the story, kid. Here's what's what.
I got aces. What do you got?
Maybe you got trips, maybe king, queen.
Maybe you got two pair.
Ace hits the board...
I win.
Club hits the board...
I win.
Eight, nine hits the board...
I win.
Here's the math, old man.
13 of every suit in the deck.
I see three clubs.
That means you've got ten coming,
37 cards left in the deck.
You like those odds?
I like 'em a lot better than I like you.
(screams)
(gagging)
(machines beeping and ringing)
(coins clinking)
You lost?
I'm listening.
For what?
E-O-G... O major chord.
All the slots play the same notes...
perfect harmony.
Makes people happy.
Yeah, except when you're losing.
Then you don't hear anything.
What's up, Warrick?
Hey, Hank.
Sara with you?
She's on the way.
Tell her I said hi. Will do.
Thanks, man.
Doyle Pfeiffer.
Best poker player in the world.
18 hours ago, he sits down at the table a healthy man.
A half an hour ago, he drops dead... in his chair.
That's a big pot.
Casino's not satisfied with a heart attack?
We're not satisfied. This is high stakes.
We're treating it like a murder.
Suspicious circs.
Mmm.
You ever played poker, Warrick?
Nah. Poker's not gambling.
It's playing against percentages.
It's a skill.
I like to play for the thrill.
Whose hand was this?
Mine!
That pot's mine. He dropped dead
before he went all in!
Some young, loud-mouthed player
thinks it's his pot.
Excuse me.
Two cowboys...
one in the flop... trips.
Pair of aces.
No river card, though.
Burn one, turn one.
Ace of spades.
The death card.
Who called it in?
Western LVU ornithology student.
Saw turkey vultures. Got curious.
(shrieks)
Birds of prey beat maggots
to a body. Impressive.
Gunshot. Entry just below the cheek.
Not much blood, no blood pools.
Means he wasn't shot here.
Where exactly is "here?"
Frenchman Airfield... it's an old landing strip
hasn't been used since the '60s.
Well, it's flat.
You could still land a plane here.
Yeah, but in the middle of nowhere?
Perfect place to dump a body.
I got chocolate.
What color is it?
Green... you know what they say about the green ones?
Bag it separately.
But you agree with me, right?
It's a forfeit.
Doyle never went all in.
He can wipe his ass with those aces,
river card or no river card.
I beat him. It's a forfeit.
Whoa. Shh!
See this badge?
I'm not with the gaming commission.
You got a problem with gaming, see the guy in the bad suit.
Here's the deal:
Pending an investigation, it's our pot.
Is that what I think it is?
Urine, maybe.
Game like this, leaving the table early
could be perceived as a sign of weakness.
Tell me they Scotchguard these things.
Why don't you tell me when you take it back to the lab
and process it? Yay.
How is it that you know so much about poker?
It's how I financed my first body farm in college.
You're kidding.
Wow. I'm impressed.
I mean, the fact that you sat at a table
with actual living beings.
Well...
poker's not a game of interaction.
It's a game of observation.
I used to study people.
And then I guess I, uh...
got bored.
Now I study evidence.
What I don't get is
it's not like we've never talked about gambling before.
How come you never mentioned it?
Same reason a good player hides his "tells."
He doesn't want to be exposed.
You know why Steve Wynn hired Bobby Baldwin
to run the Nugget, then the Mirage... the Bellagio?
He was a great poker player... great thinker.
I did not know that.
Stop the world.
No violaceous lividity prominent
above the level of the shoulders.
So no heart attack?
Not ruling out stroke,
but check out the Mees lines in his fingernails.
Milky, vomit-like fluid
in the corners of his mouth...
Single blue line
running across his gums...
all the earmarks of lead poisoning.
I haven't seen a case of lead poisoning in years.
What's that look like to you?
It looks like he's got a bullet in his thigh.
It's probably been there quite a while,
leeching lead into his system.
Enough to kill him?
I'll know better
when I get the tox screen back, and examine the brain.
Everyone has a tell, don't they, Lita?
A whiskey sour, huh?
Yeah, I'm a "Thug Passion" man, myself.
(mispronounces) It's a Tupack thing.
Tupac?
So, what does your paramedic like to drink?
I bet, with a name like Hank,
he's probably got some ho's sipping on 'yac.
"Yac"? Cognac? No.
"Ho's"? I'm not going there.
And, um... that's none of your business.
It's nobody's business, as a matter of fact.
All right, well, I won't tell Warrick and Nick about Hank
on one condition...
You tell me what he's got that I don't got?
There was tetrahydrozoline in the victim's drink.
I never got my answer.
I got mine.
You don't even like Tupac, Greg.
She killed him
with eyedrops?
Well, it's not that far-fetched.
Tetrahydrozoline is the active ingredient in eyedrops.
It's a vasoconstrictor.
Obviously, it's great for bloodshot eyes.
I can buy that: You ingest eyedrops,
it constricts the blood vessels throughout your body,
maybe even spike your blood pressure,
perhaps even cause a stroke.
It's a perfect poison.
It's odorless, colorless, tasteless.
Doyle would have never known it was in his drink.
Only one thing.
What's that?
Lita Gibbons was the last one to sit down at the table,
and she never left her chair.
So...
how'd the eyedrops get into his drink?
Hey, Catherine. Nice timing.
I just finished my prelim
on your John Doe.
No longer a John Doe.
Got a name and a rap sheet.
Jace Felder, busted for selling meth in '98.
His prints are in AFIS.
Your turn.
Cause of death:
Perforating gunshot wound through and through.
Wound penetrated the zygomatic arch,
exited the right temple.
Check out his right eardrum.
His eardrum's gone.
Presence of blood indicates the tympanic membrane
was blown out shortly before death.
We found him on an airstrip.
Maybe he was too close to a jet engine.
Jet engine? Well, that would explain his clothing...
a gasoline smell. Sent if off to Trace.
Here's something you don't see every day, though:
Perimortem bruising on his torso.
Two symmetrical lines.
Looks like it could be from a harness or a seat belt.
Maybe.
What was this guy...
a top gun?
Well, this was no plane.
Marks are too narrow. No center wheel, and...
when was the last time a plane lost a rearview mirror?
Actually, we're looking at two.
Two?
Yeah, I've got fresh marks at the head of the runway...
two sets, both parallel, so...
My guess is one car spun out here...
Man, you are way ahead of me.
Yeah, well, I been here awhile.
Over there, another set of treads
going straight ahead, so...
Right.
And you only lay down treads
when your wheels aren't rolling smoothly.
Panic braking?
Sudden boost of acceleration?
Race?
I think so, yeah.
Drag racing?
Or street racing.
Ah... There's a reason it's illegal.
Yeah.
Kids end up dead.
Midnight drags.
My brother was a gearhead.
Rebuilt a '65 GTO with three carbs.
Ran the thing flat out.
Zero to a buck-13 in a quarter mile.
So your brother's cooler than you.
(laughs)
No.
No, not really.
Welcome to pregame.
Every gear-banger in Clark County,
all with the same question...
"What are you runnin' under there?"
Foreplay is foreplay.
So, when do they race?
It's not so much when:
It's where. Racing locations are always in play.
Once the call comes in,
the street will empty out in seconds.
They go all the way
out to Frenchman Airfield from here?
Only when it rains.
It rained last night.
Rain brings up the oil from the streets.
They got to go somewhere to get some traction.
The desert.
Centrifugal supercharger.
Nice.
Yeah, it's like the compressor side of a turbo
but, instead of spinning on the exhaust,
it goes through a gearset to the crank.
More power, no extra weight.
Every girl's dream.
I like that.
(laughs)
Yeah, check the nitrous speed.
NOS.
Nitrous Oxide System.
Nitrous Oxide as in speed?
Well, speed is ultimately limited
by how fast you can mix oxygen with fuel and ignite it.
Regular air is about 20% oxygen.
Nitrous is 40.
Double the burn, double the power.
(hissing)
(exploding)
(engine rewing)
(tires peeling)
So the sudden boost of acceleration
could account for the treads back at the airstrip.
Check out that racing harness.
Same as
the bruises found on the victim.
(stereo blasting hip-hop music):
Hey! You deaf?
Thanks a lot.
What's up?
Thumpy G.
A jackhammer is about 50 decibels quieter.
You know the only way to beat a jackhammer
is to bust 15,000 watts of Run-DMO's "Dumb Girl"
or... or LL Cool J's
"Goin' Back to Cali."
You know?
Hey, G, what's up?
Yo, dawg.
So, Thumpy,
you blow out a lot of eardrums?
I try to.
You know this cat?
Jace Felder.
Negative.
What's up, baby?
Hi. Hey!
Hey, Thumper!
How about we impound
your car, seize your stereo system,
and charge you with disturbing the peace?
Oh, she is hot, but now it's real hot.
All right. Yo, do.
It's coming back to me.
We're all ears.
(whirring)
Wow. Is this new?
Yup. Turbo.
I like it.
You need any help?
Nope.
Ah.
(groans)
Cool.
(saw whirring)
(saw stops)
Want to step back a little?
How many pots is that?
Too many.
Yeah.
Lita Gibbons?
Why don't you sit this one out?
Come with me.
Yeah.
I live here.
Tangiers is a damn smokehouse.
Bothers my eyes.
You use eyedrops?
Bottles and bottles.
Can we see them?
Pick a pocket.
Miss Gibbons,
what color are your eyes?
Brown.
Why are you wearing just one contact lens?
I have 10/30 vision in my right eye.
Why is it tinted?
We're going to need to take that contact lens.
And your eyedrops.
You ever held a legend's brain?
Brain cried uncle.
Correct spelling: U-N-O-A-L.
Uncal herniation...
swelling at the
base of the temporal lobe,
which compresses the posterior cerebral artery,
resulting in a stroke.
Let's back up here.
Victim had chronic lead poisoning
from a bullet that was left in his leg.
Tox is pending.
But what you're thinking is
the lead from the bullet made his brain swell up
with... uncal herniation?
Wild card was blood pressure.
If he kept that under control,
he might have had another 20 years.
Except that someone put tetrahydrozoline in his drink,
which made his blood pressure spike,
and now we got his brain in a bowl.
Yup.
Nasty.
Michelangelo?
Yup.
It's an odd name for a mechanic.
Well, Thumpy G said he was an artist.
Michael... Angelo.
Nick Stokes, Catherine Willows.
Vegas Crime Lab.
Later.
Wow.
Yeah.
So how long you been racing cars?
I don't race 'em. I soup 'em.
And, at $650 an hour, you're costing me money.
And you're costing us time.
We're investigating a murder.
Jace Felder, right?
That's right.
How do you know?
Small world.
Shame about what happened.
He was the Steve McQueen of Southern Nevada.
We're looking for the kid he raced
the night he was shot.
Why come to me?
Thumpy G dropped your name, man.
Said he was driving a "Michelangelo."
I have many works of art.
Which one?
A blue Honda, blue rims, tinted windows.
Works of art.
Billie...
Holiday.
Built this baby for myself.
Sold it to some punk kid.
Never should have done that.
Sold out.
Kid walks in one day,
$100,000 price tag in his head.
Wants a racer off the showroom floor.
No custom, no waiting, right now.
Paid by check.
Silver spoon kid.
You got a copy of the check?
Tossed it.
Tossed it?
Never should have done that, either.
No.
All I know was, it was an insurance company check.
Third party.
Sat on it till it cleared.
(phone ringing)
Yeah?
Found Jace Felder's car.
Where?
We were lucky.
It was right under our noses.
Uniform found it out on Gibson Road.
Tent sale.
The, uh... VIN number was scratched off,
but I ran the firewall.
Came back Jace Felder.
Who's the seller?
Some guy named
Steven Masters.
Well, make him an offer.
We'll take the car.
So, we meet again.
Lita Gibbons wasn't putting this on her nipples, was she?
You have been drinking too many Thug Passions.
The woman is twice your age.
She may be three times
your age, Greg.
Old case. Sorry.
(printer whirring)
Well?
Well, uh... you'll get your answer when I get mine.
Hey, Grissom.
Hooked you up.
Is this the same color as the contact lens?
Only bigger.
Glass is my life.
All right, stick around.
I need your eyes.
As long as they stay in my head.
Find the aces.
How many are there?
Four.
First row, third card.
Second row, fourth card.
Third row, eighth card.
And, fourth row, third card.
Anaglyphics.
Color contrast to see hidden marks.
Lita Gibbons was playing the daub.
She was cheating.
She marked the cards with lip balm.
And that's all she was doing.
The vic's drink contained
.05% tetrahydrozoline hydrocholoride
and .25% zinc sulfate.
There was no zinc sulfate
in any of Lita Gibbons' eyedrops.
It's a different formulation.
So she didn't kill Doyle Pfeiffer.
No. But someone's eyedrops did.
You're costing me money here.
I've got a second shift at the Monaco.
Well, you didn't seem too worried about money the other night.
We watched the surveillance tape.
Doyle Pfeiffer didn't even pass you a nickel,
yet you were all over him.
I can tell you've never served drinks.
Catch him in the right mood,
with the right pot,
he can make your month.
Is that why you were giving eyes to the California kid?
I wasn't making eyes with him.
You tipped some waitress $1,500 the other night?
You in business, or you in love?
I was running a hot streak... three kill pots in a row...
60 grand in 40 minutes. I threw her a bone.
That all you threw her?
Put a shot in her?
Anything else I should know?
I mean, we're just talking here.
All I can say is, for 1,500 bucks
you get great service.
I'm a waitress, not a call girl.
I was playing one guy against the other.
You want to make money?
You bait.
Besides...
I thought Doyle had a heart attack.
He did, but he had help.
Someone put something in his drink.
What can I get you?
I'd like some information.
Do you know what happens when you beat a legend?
People see you different.
They... they play you different.
I wanted that edge.
All right, let's go with that... an edge.
It does not play into my hand to have the guy dead.
The days of comping drinks, sticking the hotel
with the bill... those are done.
Everything's computerized now,
down to the last drop.
Standard protocol.
Down to the way the girls order their drinks:
Sodas first, mixers second, beers last. No exceptions.
Where's your alcohol?
I don't see any bottles.
Back of the house.
Really?
May I order a double bourbon on the rocks?
Coming up.
Eight dollars.
You keep the drink and the change. Thank you.
You mind if I take a look in your purse?
Yes, I do mind.
(sighs)
I'll tell you this.
You bust me...
you better bust all of us.
No glass, no paint flecks,
no personal effects.
It's been cleaned.
Hold the phone.
I've got what looks like...
Ah.
...a nine-millimeter round.
No visible body fluid.
What do you think?
Maybe a miss?
If he was shot in this car,
there's got to be some blood.
Spray it up.
Well, the only void is in the driver's seat.
Means it was occupied by our victim, Jace Felder.
So he was shot in the head, left to right.
Spatter on the passenger door is from the exit wound.
Well, what about the rest of this blood?
It's everywhere.
He was shot while the car was in motion?
Bled out while the car was rolling?
I want to meet the seller.
Opportunity knocked.
I answered.
Okay.
Let's back up and start over,
shall we, Mr. Masters?
You and your brother were off-roading.
Yes, sir.
And you stumbled upon a wrecked racer out near Mercury.
Yes, sir.
Why didn't you just...?
Wait a minute.
Let me, uh... let me get in on this.
Please.
What were you thinking?
You... you took the car?
Damn right.
Engine alone's worth 15 grand.
The keys are still in the ignition. See if it runs.
What about him?
Leave him here.
And what does a person's life go for?
Ma'am, he was already dead.
I drove the car home, washed it out.
And you didn't think to call 911 or anything like that?
No. You guys would have impounded the car.
Okay, Mr. Masters.
You've just confessed to grand larceny.
Tampering with a crime scene.
Detective Lockwood will get back to you
on the murder charge.
Make yourself at home, boss.
Jackass.
Dumbass.
"Opportunity knocked."
Hey, guys.
I got a name on that third-party check
signed over to Michelangelo.
Tony Del Nagro. 8824 Sandy Creek Road.
Yeah. I race.
You race Jace Felder the other night?
I race a lot of people.
If you're looking
to bust my son for street-racing,
you can get your partner out of my backyard. I...
Sir, we're investigating a murder.
Jace Felder was shot and killed.
He doesn't know anything about that.
Tony...
tell me about the race.
We went head up.
Put my pink slip up against his five grand.
Guess you could say I won.
New glass. Less tint.
From what I hear, Jace Felder was...
Mario Andretti.
Why would you...?
(door opens)
Why would you risk
your "Michelangelo" against the best?
The best?
Yeah, right.
Jace was nothing but a lip-flapper.
Told me I was all flash and no dash.
He wanted to nut up a title. I took it.
Everybody scattered.
No one wants to be there
when the cops show up.
Did you replace one of your car windows recently?
Yeah.
Last week.
Some tweeker blew it out
doing doughnuts.
Before or after he fired
the gun in your car?
All right, look.
What is this all about?
I mean, look, my son doesn't have
to answer any more of your questions.
Dad, it's okay.
It's fine.
Yeah, I popped off a few rounds through the sunroof.
The sunroof?
Yeah, everybody does it.
Music's pumpin', and everybody's
showing off their wheels.
You get hyped.
Everybody does it.
Where's the gun, Tony?
It's not his.
It's mine.
It doesn't belong to him.
It's registered to me.
Well, sir, we have reason to believe this gun
was used in a homicide.
Well, sir...
my wife was murdered two years ago,
and I couldn't even get a cop to return my phone calls,
and now here you are
in my home
harassing my son.
Get out.
Now. Take a walk.
We'll be back with a warrant.
What do cowboys drink?
Whiskey.
And when I chew on a lemon wedge,
boy, is it...
Sour.
And vacuums are great because they... suck.
Reverse suction.
His drink in her eyedrops; her eyedrops in his drink.
Dr. Edmund Locard would be proud.
Well, we got a bonded bartender,
eye in the sky, other waitresses.
How the hell did she get that into his drink
without anyone seeing?
Aye. There's the rub.
(Mozart opera playing)
What do you got?
Suspicious waitress.
Standard protocol for ordering drinks...
the sodas, then mixed drinks, then beers.
First five rounds, she ordered correctly.
The last round, however,
she ordered Doyle's whiskey sour first.
You can't pin this on me.
Sure, we can.
You put your eyedrops in Doyle Pfeiffer's drink.
That's what killed him.
(chuckling) My eyedrops?
Look, you saw the way it works.
I didn't have time.
You made the time.
Whiskey sour, decaf, bottled water, beer.
Come on, Nadine. Order your drinks in the right order, okay?
I'm swamped. Just give them to me. I am, too.
You changed the order of your drinks,
and the switch-up gave you...
opportunity.
So let's talk motive.
You want motive?
Yes.
He was a stiff.
I gave him a standard eyedrop shooter.
I was trying to give the guy diarrhea, not kill him.
Doyle sat at my table night after night,
and never even so much as tossed
one of those piddly-ass candies of his my way.
In my line of work, there are two kinds of tippers:
The "Georges" and the "stiffs."
Matt was a George; Doyle was a stiff.
Now, if you want to charge me
with conspiracy of trying to make a guy crap his pants,
then fine, go ahead.
I'm guilty.
But I didn't kill him.
So the kid gets the pot,
but he doesn't get the reputation.
Server's revenge.
Yeah, that's what she said.
A pissed-off waitress
and a rounder with a bullet in him...
it could be a lethal combination.
Got that tox report back.
Basophillic stippling?
Well, that can't be.
Coarse basophillic stippling only occurs
from massive infusions of lead.
Yeah. And, according to the tox report,
the bullet in his leg wasn't degraded enough
to account for the amount of lead in his body.
So where did the rest of the lead come from?
What do you got, Bobby?
Yo, got your bullet.
You pulled this out of a ORX, huh?
Yeah.
Well, it's a lead core of a bullet. Looks like a...
medium caliber, just mangled upon impact.
Can't get any stria,
so test firing the suspect's weapon's a waste of time.
Great. So it's useless.
Well, I don't know.
Take a look at the tip there.
Bullet's got splinters.
Light glass, tinted glass.
Thanks, Bobby.
Yeah. Sure thing.
Okay, the last hand.
I'm Doyle. I've been sitting
in the same chair for 13 hours.
Here comes the cocktail waitress.
She serves me my drink,
flashes me,
then she looks at Matt.
Question is, why?
Let's not forget the eyedrops are already
in the drink; maybe she's giving him a signal.
Yeah, maybe they're working together.
It's irrelevant. We've been chasing eyedrops to death.
We're looking for lead.
Well, maybe the lead came from the glasses.
Lead crystal.
Yeah, in a casino? Picture that.
Already tested them. Negative.
So, I looked into
Rita Del Nagro's death.
The accident report says hit-and-run.
It was a two-car collision. It's still open.
An arrest was made, but the suspect was released
due to insufficient evidence.
Now, guess his name.
Jace Felder?
Gives Tony Del Nagro
plenty of motive.
He lost his mother.
Wanted revenge.
Maybe. But why try to gun down Felder
in the middle of a street race?
Well, if it looks like an accident,
the investigation would be abbreviated.
All right, stand back, y'all.
No full-on autopsy.
The bullet could go undetected.
Firing!
(gunshot)
Bullet's nose picked up trace of both windows.
Just like the one recovered from Jace Felder's car.
You guys rock.
(laughing)
So, we know the bullet
can make the shot.
Let's go see if the driver can.
You're all set.
Okay. Thanks. We'll take care of them for you.
Hey, wait, hang on.
Cath, give me a test fire, will you?
Love to.
(alarm sounds)
I wired the target to the car's alarm system.
Gotta make sure we hear it.
Always thinking, there, Nicky, aren't ya?
Yeah.
Okay, remember...
full out till fifth,
then hit the nitrous and hang on.
You just try to keep up.
(engines roaring)
(tires squealing)
(alarm sounding)
(tires screeching)
(tires screeching)
Thank you! Good night!
Jace killed my mom.
Everybody knew it.
Everybody knew it, and nobody came forward.
It was a street race.
Jace's car just slammed right into us.
(tires screeching)
Killed my mom instantly.
He just plowed right into us.
Kept going.
You were in the car.
Why didn't you just tell the police?
Because I didn't know it was Jace.
I found out later on that it was a street racer.
And you weren't?
Not at the time, no.
So I went to a couple of events
and hooked into the world.
I found out within one hour who killed her.
So, let me get this straight.
You decide to become one of them.
You buy a car with your mother's death benefit,
toss your hat in the ring, and wait for your shot.
Revenge is best served cold.
(three gunshots)
(glass shattering)
(engine accelerating)
I never stopped.
I just kept going.
Never looked back.
Took his title, and then took him down.
He took my mother's life
so I took his.
What's up, Gris?
Did you guys know that 70% of the world's chocolate
is produced in West Africa?
Really? Yeah.
The Ivory Coast,
Ghana, Nigeria and Cameroon.
No, I didn't know that.
Doyle Pfeiffer didn't know either.
Chocolate comes from cocoa plants.
But, in West Africa, the cars still use leaded gas.
So, when the exhaust fumes disperse into the atmosphere...
and it rains... it pours lead.
Like acid rain.
Whatever's in the atmosphere
gets into the soil,
gets into the cocoa plants.
Capillary action.
Then the cocoa's harvested, processed, refined,
sold into bulk and, eventually...
Choco-bees.
Doyle Pfeiffer's nickname was the "Candyman."
He got that name
the night he won the world championship in '86.
Well, if he had those chocolates with him in '86,
he's had them every night since. His lucky charm.
By my calculations, he might have consumed
up to a pound of chocolate a night for 16 years.
Wow. That would explain all the lead in him.
Ultimately,
the tetrahydrosoline in the eyedrops
triggered it but, essentially, it was...
death by chocolate.
CQ
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