01x09 - You Do It To Yourself

[bunniefuu]

♪

(booming thunder echoes)

You look worse.

I think we should take your temperature again.

No need. It just dropped one degree since we last checked.

Well, that still puts you at 101.

(phone chimes)

(teakettle whistling)

Dead man found in an abandoned building.

Detective Bell has extended an invitation.

Tea will have to wait.

This might be a good time to remind you that the NYPD doesn't actually pay you to consult.

Watson, you should know by now, boredom is far more dangerous to my health than any fever.

(indistinct radio transmission)

BELL: You look awful.

Well, at least I still have my eyes.

That makes three of us.

(thunder rumbles)

BELL: No wallet, no I.D.

All we know is, male white, mid- to late-40s, and the sh*ts he took to the face, near-contact wounds.

Thought you could take a look before we wrap up the scene, but that was before I knew you were dying.

No shell casings, no skull fragments, no gray matter.

He was k*lled elsewhere, and then dumped here.

Yeah, tell me something I don't know.

A pig's orgasm lasts up to 30 minutes.

Hey, I'm not your mother, I'm not your nurse, but if you die of exposure out here, I'm pretty sure your father's not gonna send me my next check, okay?

(thunder rumbles)

Comfortable shoes, but not tennis shoes.

He was on his feet all day, but he didn't have a job that permitted casual footwear.

You throw in the dry-erase marker stains on his fingers and the laser pointer in his breast pocket, I'd say that he was a professor of East Asian Studies who's been to Thailand in the last few weeks.

Ratty cotton thread on his wrist; it's a sai sin bracelet, attached to one's hand when one enters a Thai Buddhist monastery.

Designed to unravel and fall away over time.

Judging by the wear and tear on that one and assuming he kept a regular shower schedule, I would say that he got it approximately ten days ago.

All right, I'll contact the local universities.

University-- singular.

Garrison.

Why Garrison?

His tie, yellow and blue, the latter is a particular shade, Garrison Blue, school colors.

All right, I'll contact Garrison.

Don't ask for Professor Trent Annunzio.

I'm afraid he's quite dead.

♪ Elementary 1x09 ♪
You Do It To Yourself Original Air Date on December 6, 2012

♪

WOMAN: I met Trent five years ago.

He was teaching in Beijing, and I was his student.

I moved here for him. We married two years ago.

Can you think of anyone who might've wished your husband harm?

He was a professor, a normal person.

(phone ringing)

Excuse me.

Hello.

MAN: Joanie, hey. It's me.

Liam?

I'm sorry. I feel I'm not being very helpful.

It's just, Trent was a good man.

No enemies.

Actually, Mrs. Annunzio, I find that hard to believe.

He was... he was sh*t in one eye, and then the other at extremely close range.

That's visceral, personal.

Not a natural way to k*ll.

Not unless you bore a grudge or were sending a message.

A message?

When was the last time you saw him?

Yesterday morning.

He had several classes, then a department meeting at night.

There have been many of late.

Any idea what they were about?

He never said.

Watson, we feared we'd lost you.

We're off to Garrison to speak with the dead man's colleagues.

Is it okay if I peel off for a little while?

Off to Rikers? My eyes may be red, but I can still read your caller I.D.

What is he, a friend in trouble?

An old client.

Very well. I'll keep you apprised as to our location via text.

Great.

BELL: You were his teaching assistant, correct?

For the last four years.

His wife told us he had to work late last night.

Something about a department meeting.

He left here after his last class got out at 5:30.

If there were a meeting, I would've heard about it.

Think maybe he lied his wife?

Or she lied to us?

Professor Annunzio was chair of the department.

May I assume that he had his pick of the offices on this floor?

Hmm. It's interesting.

I'll be out here if you need anything.

Sort of cramped for a department chair, huh?

Appointment book.

Maybe it'll tell us what he got up to last night.

Unlikely he would notate trips to an underground Chinese gambling parlor.

Excuse me?

That's what he was doing last night.

I know you're just waiting for me to ask you why you think that.

Why do you think that?

I'm glad you asked. It was the thirteens.

His apartment was 13, his cell phone number ends in 1313, and he chose this office, number 13, when he could have had the far brighter and more spacious office across the way, number 14.

Why? Because 14 is an unlucky number in Chinese gambling.

13, quite the opposite.

Annunzio spoke fluent Mandarin.

Surely he could talk his way into the mahjong or Pai Gow parlors in Chinatown.

Maybe he's a gambler.

Doesn't mean he was gambling last night.

Did you not notice his underwear earlier?

Bright red boxers, hmm?

Customary for Chinese gamblers to wear red for good luck.

His clothes reeked of cigarettes, but his teeth were bright white, not smoker-yellow.

He was gambling, and he was gambling in a smoky room.

Starting to think you're right.

Mahjong tiles.

Those are different sizes, they're different colors.

They're clearly from different sets.

Now, mahjong tiles come in pairs.

Why would he hold onto one of each?

Because these tiles aren't for playing.

They're membership cards to underground casinos.

Aren't you gonna ask me how I knew that?

Fine. Whatever.

When I worked Vice, poker clubs would give out personalized chips to repeat customers to reward loyalty and weed out cops.

Show these, skip the line.

Chinatown Vice can tell us which parlors use which tiles.

Wow, you, you look incredible.

Yeah, well, you look terrible.

You're using again.

What's the old saying, "Rehab is for quitters"?

What do you want, Liam?

I need your help.

If by "help" you mean bail...

I don't.

You want to tell me what you did?

According to the cops?

Hit-and-run. Oh...

I don't think that I did it, okay?

What do you mean, you don't think that you did it?

I partied a couple nights ago, I passed out.

I wake up in the morning, there's these two cops banging on my door, saying that I ran a red light at 2:00 in the morning, I clipped some lady's car and sent her to the hospital.

(sighs)

Why'd they think it was you? Because somebody got a picture of my car speeding away and got the license plate and everything.

It wasn't me, okay? Joanie, you know how bad I've always been with my keys.

I probably left them in the car.

Somebody saw it, took it for a joyride...

Liam! Look, I think I would've remembered clipping someone else's car.

Not if you were blacked out, you wouldn't.

Listen, all I'm asking is if you could just put in a good word with your friend, you know, the one at the D.A.'s office.

You know what?

I know this isn't what you want to hear, but I can't do it. I can't help you anymore.

I can't.

You treat all the guys you slept with this nice, or is it just me?

Just you.

(phone chimes)

Oh, good, you're here.

You can deal with him.

Everything okay?

Spent the entire car ride yammering into a digital recorder.

Something about the effect on tides on crime rates in New York.

I'm considering writing a monograph.

You should check his fever.

I think he's hallucinating.

How was your visit to the penal colony?

You sort your old client out?

Well, private information.

Huh. Well, Detective Bell has managed to acquire the addresses of three different gambling parlors.

We determined Trent Annunzio was not in the first two last night, so I'd say you're just in time.

NYPD.

Can we come in?

Can I help... with your old client?

It's obvious his predicament is distracting you.

He isn't your problem.

No. But he and I are members of a very exclusive club, the sober clients of Joan Watson.

Brothers, in a sense.

Is there any chance he's innocent?

He's not.

(door sliding open)

BELL: You in charge here?

(man speaks Mandarin)

(man replies in Mandarin)

Guys, who here speaks English?

Did he tell you he was not innocent?

He sh*t up a few nights ago, hit a woman with his car.

He doesn't remember because he blacked out.

But not remembering something doesn't mean you didn't do it.

Nor does it mean you did do it.

This client crossed some boundaries.

Abused my good faith on more than one occasion.

If this is how he bottoms out, I have to let it happen.

No one here speaks English.

No, Detective, I don't believe that's true.

You. Uh, you recently applied bleach to this section of the floor, did you not?

We both know that you understand me, just like we both know that you're not the janitor.

You may have put that apron on, but you're still wearing Bespoke Italian shoes.

I think you own this place, and if you do, you need to communicate with suppliers, vendors.

You speak English.

So... (clears throat) you recently applied bleach to this section of the floor and this section of the floor only.

I would like to know why.

We had a drunk in the club.

He threw up there.

On an area this large?

And with such force you had to spackle the wall?

I suggest you either stop serving that particular cocktail or you just admit that you had a sh**ting in here, and you dug two slugs out of the wall.

Fine, let's let the video decide.

What video?

The one you recorded on that.

BELL: Um, Holmes, that's a smoke detector.

Positioned directly over a hibachi grill?

I don't think so.

That is a security camera designed to look like a smoke detector.

I subscribe to several personal security catalogs and I recognize the make and the model, so... (clears throat)

Would you like to take it from here, Detective?

Show us the footage or you'll never deal another hand in this place.

Go get my computer.

BELL: There's our man.

And there's the man who sh*t our man.

BELL: Perp pulls a g*n on the bouncer, pushes in.

"Give me all your wallets or I'll sh**t your head off""

No surprise, most do.

Save Professor Annunzio.

Mm, he's frozen up.

You might not want to watch this part.

(Watson gasps)

I take it we have you or your people to thank for dumping him under the Manhattan Bridge?

Hey, we were victims, too.

I'd like to see the other video-- the one where you see the gunman's face.

What other video?

Well, the hallway we came down was a good 80 feet.

If the gunman had come in wearing a mask, the bouncer would've had more than enough time to subdue him, or sound an alarm.

But the commotion didn't start until the gunman entered the club.

He must've come down the hallway, barefaced, and then pulled the g*n.

Yes, I know, you prefer to keep his face to yourself.

You probably have your colleagues searching for him as we speak.

You find him first, you get your money back, and you get to exact whatever punishment you see fit.

Blah, blah, blah-- the video, please.

Detective Bell, I give you Trent Annunzio's m*rder*r.

Uh, maybe it's me, but to look at mug sh*ts, don't you have to take time to actually look at them?

I am taking time.

In each case, I'm taking exactly the right amount to confirm that none of these men k*lled Trent Annunzio.

Ugh, what-what is that? I asked for coffee.

Well, you asked for coffee, but you got tea.

No, I'm British-- this is not tea.

There's some traditional Chinese herbs in there.

I poked around the stalls in Chinatown while I was waiting for you.

I found the ingredients for the same tea my mom used to make me when I was sick.

Well, all due respect to your mother, I would prefer something proven by a scientific method.

The herbs in that tea have been proven scientifically to inhibit the movement of neutrophils, improve the function of protective cilia, and contribute to longer-lasting, more vasodilated erections.

By your mother?

Just shut up and drink it.

What is that?

That's the arrest report from your former client, Liam Danow.

I didn't tell you his name.

You told me his crime, date of arrest, sex of his victim.

Consciously or not, you knew I could put that together.

I said I didn't want your help.

Well, I haven't given it to you yet.

I haven't even cracked the spine.

I just thought you might want all the facts at your disposal.

What for?

Well, it's rather difficult to give up on someone completely.

Harder if you are a professional addiction counselor I would imagine.

I just thought you'd want to be sure.

Hey.

I finally found something in the photo system.

Raul Ramirez.

Served stretches in Sing Sing for r*pe and armed robbery.

ESU and a couple of our guys are heading over to his place in Bushwick right now.

This picture...

...doesn't look good for you, Raul.

These are the wallets you stole from the mahjong parlor.

We found them in your garbage.

Oh, and of course, there's this-- Trent Annunzio's wallet, covered in his dried blood.

Hook, line, sinker.

What if I give somebody up to you guys?

Get some sort of a special consideration or something?

Well, I guess that depends.

Who you talking about?

Guy who hired me.

You were hired to do what you did?

Look, I get home one night last week, okay?

There's an envelope pushed under my door.

I look inside.

It's a thousand dollars in cash.

All of a sudden, my phone rings.

Guy on the other end says he knows me from the neighborhood.

Says he knows about my rap sheet, everything.

Says he's got another nine grand for me...

If you k*ll Trent Annunzio.

Not just k*ll him.

sh**t him once in each eye.

Did he say why he wanted him sh*t in the eyes?

Supposed to sh**t him tomorrow night when he walked to his car from his office.

Thing is-- been trailing him the past few days.

Followed him into that gambling parlor.

Saw it was fat with cash.

Figured if I saw him go in there again... two birds with one stone.

Did you ever meet with this guy?

He always just called or texted.

His voice was real scrambled up on the phone, too.

Check my cell phone... you'll see the pictures he sent me.

Ramirez's story checks out so far.

Someone texted him that two days ago.

Told him where Annunzio parked, too.

I'm guessing the guy who hired him used a disposable cell?

Yeah, prepaid burner.

Only calls incoming or outgoing were to Ramirez.

Okay, if this isn't random, who had it in for this guy Annunzio?

If it was the person who took this picture, then it was a friend.

Or a family member, maybe?

Hmm. What?

Um, no, it's just that the bottom left of this photo, there's discoloration, there's a rectangle where it's lighter.

I must be sicker than I thought.

I don't know how I missed that.

Um, this is a reflection of a window judging by the shape of it, which means this is a photograph of a photograph.

The original was under glass.

The frame cropped out.

Well, there are a lot of framed photos at the house.

This wasn't taken at the house.

See this shape?

Circle with a square inside it?

That's a Chinese good luck charm that Annunzio kept

in the window of his office.

So... if Ramirez is telling the truth, all we got to do is find someone that access to Annunzio's office and lives in Raul Ramirez's neighborhood.

I know someone who fits that particular bill.

This is ridiculous.

I-I've never heard of Raul Ramirez.

He lives two blocks away.

Same block as your gym actually.

How do you know where I go to the gym?

Your key chain.

Noticed it earlier when you let us into Annunzio's office.

Might not have remembered it were it not for that hideous aquamarine hue.

Do you know how many people live here?

Not that many who blamed Trent Annunzio for destroying their career.

We know that you applied for a full-time job at Berkeley.

Three week back, we know that Annunzio sent a letter to the head of the department.

"While Mr. O'Brien does exhibit a kind of Horatio Alger

"can-do spirit, the sad truth is his work is simply

"never developed.

I can not in good conscience recommend him."

How many years did you work as Annunzio's T.A.?

Four, and...

I wasn't happy he sandbagged me, obviously, but...

I didn't k*ll him.

We found a draft on his computer, a letter of complaint he started writing a few days ago to campus security.

You threatened to "make him pay" when you heard about the letter.

This is Kafka-esque.

We're academics.

We write nasty letters to the Paris Review when we get mad at each other.

We don't hire hit men.

OFFICER: Detective? You got a sec?

There's pink in your cheeks.

You don't look clammy anymore.

I haven't taken your temperature or anything, but to the naked eye, you look better.

Well, I feel better.

Must've been a weaker flu than I thought.

Or the tea is working.

BELL: Got a burner phone.

Mr. O'Brien, how do you think Kafka would explain this?

I've never seen that before.

Really? Because we found it under your bed.

And it's only ever dialed one phone number, Raul Ramirez.

This ties you to Raul.

Excuse me, Captain?

This doesn't look good.

Whatever it is, can it wait?

The guy's about to confess.

I-I seriously doubt that.

I'm starting to think if he had anything at all to do with Annunzio's death.

We just found the phone that he used to contact Ramirez.

Yes, but isn't the whole point of a burner phone to "burn" it after you've used it?

Why's he gonna hold on to it?

Because he still needed to reach Ramirez.

Because he's an idiot-- you're overthinking this.

Not everyone's a criminal mastermind.

Yes, true, but even so, he exhibited absolutely no signs of distress when your men went to search his bedroom, hmm?

Now, even if he were stupid enough to hold onto the phone, would he be stupid enough to forget that he'd done so?

I don't know what you two are talking about, but you just missed the show.

O'Brien just confessed to everything.

Thank God for stupid people.

DETECTIVE: This would be on the 12th.

O'BRIEN: Yes, that's right, I contacted him on the 12th.

DETECTIVE: And you told him where he could find Trent Annunzio?

O'BRIEN: Yeah, I told him where he could find Trent...

You're still watching this?

It isn't right.

He's giving no corroborative detail.

He's just rephrasing the questions he's asked in the form of statements.

Mr. O'Brien, did you first attempt to construct a massive robot to k*ll Trent Annunzio?

Yes, I first attempted to construct a massive robot to k*ll Trent Annunzio.

You still don't think he did it?

Not sure.

What's all this?

These are Mr. O'Brien's bank statements, some mail.

Anything and everything that Captain Gregson would give me access to before I left the station this evening.

I was hoping that it would give me more insight into the man, but so far...

Well, he certainly downloaded a lot of music.

Over a hundred songs last month alone.

Almost exclusively bad.

"My Heart Will Go On""

I have a good mind to let him rot.

(grunts)

Hey, I wanted to talk to you about Liam.

My brother in track-marked arms?

Yeah. I took the file that you dug up, the one with the details of his arrest.

That's Liam's.

The damage would suggest a pretty major collision, but when I saw him, he didn't have a scratch on him.

Now, if he'd been wearing a seat belt, I would have seen belt burn on his neck and chest.

If he hadn't been wearing one, he would had a contusion where his head hit the windshield or steering wheel.

He lives in Astoria.

There have been a series of joyrides there.

The thief abandons the car afterwards, but strips and pawns anything of value.

The problem is, all of the cars the joyrider stole were hotwired, Liam's was not.

It says here the keys were found in the ignition.

He said he sometimes left them in the car.

Another discrepancy; nothing was stripped or stolen.

You know what?

I gave Liam a Christmas present one year.

It was a silver key chain pendant with a watch built in.

You think something was stolen after all?

It looked expensive, but it wasn't.

Maybe the guy who stole the car couldn't tell the difference.

I would be remiss if I didn't point out that Liam may have pawned it himself.

We addicts are, as you know, not a sentimental lot.

Can I ask you something?

How long were you working with Liam before you started sleeping with him?

Your disappointment in him the other day seemed a little... extreme.

Especially for an addiction specialist who has no doubt seen clients fall off the wagon before.

And now to note the absence of a trifle that you gave him years ago...

No judgment.

Just curiosity.

I'm heading to Rikers first thing tomorrow.

You okay without me for a few hours?

(departing footsteps)

I'm sorry, but I am confused.

You think that Mr. O'Brien and I were having an affair?

These mix CDs, the ones with your name on them--

I realized last night that they were made entirely from songs purchased by Mr. O'Brien over the last few months.

Almost entirely from love songs.

Not the grandest of romantic gestures, but still, it's not like he could afford expensive jewelry for you, not on a T.A.'s salary.

You should have seen his face when the police found the phone that connected him to Trent's m*rder.

He was stunned.

Probably because he had no idea that the phone was in his home. Hmm?

You put it there, didn't you?

I don't know anything about a phone.

There's one thing that still puzzles me, is why he confessed.

I've been racking my brain.

I can only come up with two possible answers.

One, he thought you left it there by mistake after a tryst, and you were planning to go back, retrieve it, dispose of it, having no idea that the police would recover it first.

Two, he's the ultimate sap.

He realized that you set him up, but he loves you so much, he thought he'd just take the fall anyway.

Either way, he comes off looking a bit dim.

Please, I'd like you to leave now.

If you have something to tell us, the sooner, the better.

Not just for Brendan O'Brien, but for you.

This is an old manual given to Chinese political police.

It teaches how to b*at a suspect, but leave no marks.

He used these techniques to hurt me.

And he also made me do things.

Sex things, horrible things while he taped them.

BELL: Let's say we believe you, Mrs. Annunzio.

That doesn't justify m*rder.

I had nothing to do with Trent's death.

I don't believe Brendan did either.

I... I can't explain how the phone that was used to contact Trent's k*ller got into Brendan's apartment, but I do know he would never take a life.

Respectfully, Mrs. Annunzio, you've just told us that your husband was a sadist and a pervert.

Assuming that's true, why would we trust your judgment?

Trent was not my husband.

He promised to marry me when he asked me to come to America with him several years ago.

But then when we arrived here, he went back on that promise.

He knew I could not go to the police without revealing my status.

I could be deported.

And when did Brendan come into the picture?

He came to the house one day to leave something for Trent.

And he found me crying... and he held me.

And when the time was right, I was going to leave Trent, and Brendan and I were going to marry.

You told us that, um, you lied to us the other day, so why should we believe you now?

The... the videos he made of me.

He kept them all on this computer.

There's even one in which he b*at me.

They were, they were all here!

Mrs. Annunzio, I think it's time we took this back to the station.

LIAM: I don't really get it.

What exactly am I supposed to be looking for?

Anything out of the ordinary.

I'm sorry about what I said to you the other day.

About you not treating me right.

It's fine. No, it's not fine.

When I think about some of the things that I did, I just...

It makes you crazy.

There are nights you wake up crying.

You wish you had it all to do over again, you'd do it differently.

We've had this conversation before.

You've apologized to me before.

I know you feel sorry, because if you didn't, why say it?

What I've never understood is why you don't put yourself in a position to stop apologizing to people.

The key chain pendant, the one you gave me that year for Christmas, it's not here.

You're sure?

Yeah, I'm sure.

(door closes)

Watson... how was your day?

Whose computer is that?

It's Trent Annunzio's.

Borrowing it.

Why?

Because...

I strongly suspect that it may once have contained evidence that would prove Annunzio abused his wife.

I thought the hard drive may have been swapped out, but that doesn't appear to be the case.

You said this morning that she was the one who hired Raul Ramirez to k*ll him.

I did.

Then why are you looking for evidence to help her?

Because, upon further examination of the facts, I now have reason to believe that I was wrong, and that in accusing her, I may have inadvertently positioned the United Stated Immigration and Customs Enforcement Agency to separate an innocent woman from her infant daughter on a very permanent basis.

That tea that you made the other day, could you make some more of it?

I keep asking myself, why would she tell us about her husband's brutality if she wasn't absolutely certain that she could show us some proof?

You think someone wiped his computer for him?

It's hard to say.

I haven't exactly been at my best lately.

Well, you were right about Liam-- that pendant I gave him, it was stolen. He told me this morning.

I spent the rest of the day visiting pawnshops in Queens until I found it.

The owner knew the kid who brought it in, so once the police find him, they're gonna let Liam go.

Mm. Well done, Watson.

Perhaps you should take the reins on the Annunzio case.

I didn't tell you the whole story.

Liam's not an ex-client.

He's just... an ex.

You were romantically involved; you just weren't his companion.

I met him on an ER rotation back when I was still a resident.

Some lady got her purse snatched in front of him.

He tackled the guy, the guy smashed his skull with a bottle and ran off.

I gave him 39 stitches.

Was he already using?

No.

No, that came later.

I hosted an intervention, I drove him to rehab.

He was better when he came out, but only for a little while.

Everything that followed is typically what follows.

A lot of lies, heartbreak.

Anyway, the upside was that I learned a lot about how to deal with people like him.

So when I left medicine, companionship seemed like a pretty natural fit.

(phone chimes)

Hmm.

It's the autopsy report on Trent Annunzio.

The ME found dried chrysanthemum and mulberry leaf in his stomach contents.

Oh, those are both...

Medicinal Chinese herbs. Yes, well aware.

This particular combination is used to treat eye pain.

How did you know that?

I may have done some research into the efficacy of Chinese medicine after the herbs that you gave me had a positive correlation with my recovery.

Anyway, point is, this could hardly be a coincidence.

He was sh*t in both eyes while self-medicating for eye pain.

I noticed something back at his apartment.

There was a photograph of him and his students.

Everyone in it had, um, red eye from the camera flash except for him.

I didn't give it much thought, but it's possible that something was blocking his tapetum lucidum.

The reflective part of the retina.

Such as?

Best guess would be a melanoma.

We need to get to the coroner's office.

I think I know who arranged Trent Annunzio's m*rder.

GREGSON: You want to tell me what I'm looking at?

Melanoma cells.

The medical examiner found them a short while ago in what was left of Trent Annunzio's eye sockets.

He had cancer?

Not just any cancer.

Uveal melanoma.

It's as painful as it is untreatable.

It's likely he only had a few months to live.

I'm confused.

I thought you said on the phone you knew who k*lled Annunzio.

I do.

Annunzio.

Imagine for a moment that, um... he was exactly the man his wife said he was.

He tortured her, physically, psychologically.

Forced her to perform sexual acts in front of a camera.

Now imagine he discovers that his favorite plaything slash punching bag is having an affair

with his teaching assistant, Mr. O'Brien.

A man like Annunzio, prone to deviousness and v*olence, no doubt started plotting his revenge.

Problem was, he began to experience this-this terrible eye pain.

He consults a doctor.

He learned his fate.

Rotten luck, or instant karma... doesn't matter.

Annunzio was... was reeling.

All he had left was his intellect and his anger.

So he devised a plan that would not only exact revenge upon his wife and her lover, but also deliver him from a slow and agonizing death.

He found Raul Ramirez, and he hired him to be his very own executioner.

After that, it was just a matter of gaining access to O'Brien's apartment.

Probably with a stolen key. Mm.

He planted evidence that would implicate O'Brien-- the phone used to contact Ramirez-- and then he writes a recommendation that he knows would demonstrate that O'Brien has motive for m*rder.

Now all that's left to do is to destroy any evidence that might

unravel his plans: Firstly, the incriminating videos he keeps on his computer.

Secondly, his eyes.

They're proof that he faced a long, horrible illness.

And he can't risk anyone discovering his condition.

There may be immediate questions asked as to whether he arranged his own m*rder.

The only thing he cannot account for is the unpredictable nature of his would-be assassin.

Ramirez was supposed to k*ll him when he was on his way to his car.

Instead, he kills him ahead of schedule, and makes it look like a robbery gone wrong.

Now, that's the last thing that he wanted.

Annunzio wanted all fingers pointed squarely at O'Brien.

It's not a perfect theory, Captain, but it fits.

I think that Annunzio's wife and Mr. O'Brien may well be innocent.

Well, let's pretend for a second that you're right.

We can't just cut O'Brien loose based on a theory.

Not with the phone in evidence, and a signed confession.

What about Jun?

We didn't have enough to hold her.

We cut her loose to I.C.E.

They already started deportation proceedings.

Now, I'm sorry, if you think this is all part of a master plan concocted by the victim, then it's a damn good one.

(traffic sounds, horn honks)

(sighs)

This is new.

Old data, new location.

Thought it might jar something loose.

Did you get any sleep last night?

Hard to sleep knowing a psychopath may have managed to ruin two lives from beyond the grave.

Well, for some us, I suppose.

Well, I am gonna have to take a shower before I go to Rikers.

Carry on.

Oh, you weren't kidding when you said O'Brien and Ramirez live close to each other.

All part of the frame-up.

I know, it's just... if I wanted to hire someone from my neighborhood to k*ll you, how would I do it, go door-to-door?

I'm just saying, people who k*ll for money aren't exactly easy to find.

Especially when you're limited by geography.

So, if I wanted you dead, how would I find my Raul Ramirez?

You'd use a menu.

Sex Offender Registry.

You can't look up K*llers by locale, but you can look up rapists.

They're a subset of violent offenders.

It's not a leap to imagine that they would consider m*rder for hire if the price was right.

You type in O'Brien's address, find the nearest deviant.

Only he wasn't the nearest one.

There's another guy whose name came up first.

Go back a screen.

Dennis Kaminski.

Multiple r*pe convictions, set up hidden cameras in women's restrooms.

And his name came up first because he lives in O'Brien's building.

I don't get it.

If Annunzio wanted to use proximity to make O'Brien look guiltier, why didn't he go to this guy first?

Who says he didn't?

LIAM: I don't know... I don't know what to say.

You don't have to say anything.

You didn't do what the police said you did.

Anyway, someone's going to be here to release you soon.

Take care of yourself.

That's it?

I'm sorry, I guess I just, I don't know, I expected a little more, uh... disappointment.

I let that go a long time ago.

I want to get clean, Joanie.

Liam... I mean it.

I figure after everything you did for me, I gotta at least try, right?

You're not supposed to do it for me, you're supposed to do it for yourself. I know.

Thought maybe, I don't know, you could find me a place to go.

My friend runs the 59th Street Clinic.

If I call her now, I'm sure she'll make room for you.

Like I said, you have to do this for yourself.

I'm not gonna be there waiting for you.

Y... you mean to say Trent was behind everything that happened?

Before your husband contracted Raul Ramirez to sh**t him, he tried another man, one Dennis Kaminski.

Mr. Kaminski was more suspicious of your husband's overtures than Mr. Ramirez, he also had more experience with surveillance equipment.

Fearing that the police were attempting to entrap him, he installed a small camera in the corridor outside of his apartment.

Next time he was contacted by his mystery benefactor, he said it would require a further $1,000 before he would even consider the offer.

The next day, the camera recorded this.

Jun?

What are you doing here?

Well, thanks to this video, Mr. O'Brien was just released, which is bully for him but, uh... doesn't make you any more of a citizen.

I'm still going to be deported?

Depends.

Were you serious the other day when you said that you two had discussed the possibility of... tying the knot?

Because if you were...

Captain Gregson has already reached out to a friend of his in the City Clerk's Office.

I can't make any promises, but my understanding is if you were to get married today that I.C.E. will have to back off.

It's not how I thought we would do it, but... sure.

♪

Good show, Mr. O'Brien.

(door opens)

I texted you. You didn't have to come.

As I explained the other day, there's nothing more hazardous to my health than boredom.

Besides, I thought it might be nice to meet the ex.

(sighs)

I'm pretty sure he's not gonna show.

Yet here you sit.

I'll give him ten more minutes.

If there's someplace else you have to be...

Not tonight, Watson.

Not tonight.