01x02 - A Single Life

[bunniefuu]

In the criminal justice system, sexually-based offenses are considered especially heinous. In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as The Special Victims Unit. These are their stories.

Tomatoes, two for 50c... special.

Just one.

Four for a dollar.

I only need one.

Pity.

Tragic.

Excuse me, police.

Step aside, make room here.

Benson, Special Victims Unit.

Jumper?

Jumpers open the windows first.

Cleared the sidewalk, nailed the car.

Oh, Cod...

Excuse me.

Anybody notify SVU?

'Cause she's not wearing panties, you mean?

Just cover her up!

Check that out.

Hey... what are we looking at?

No sign of forced entry, two glasses of half-drunk wine, two clean sets of prints... lovers' quarrel.

Lovers' quarrel... they usually kiss and make up.

Detective... pack of ultra-ribs.

Looks like maybe they did more than kiss.

Yeah, he read her a little Walt Whitman, they made hot, passionate love, then before he rolled over and fell asleep, he heaved her out the window... excuse me... through the window.

I'm not sure what this outburst is leading up to.

r*pe.

Like I said, no forced entry.

I didn't say it was a stranger.

Plus, she wasn't exactly dressed in her "refusal" outfit.

I didn't hear you say that.

Are you with the "political correctness squad,"?

Elliot Stabler, Special Victims Unit.

My partner, Detective Benson, and I were called in on an apparent homicide with obvious sexual overtones.

All right, you want it?

Fine... you take it.

Scootch, Jacoby, let's move it.

Okay, guys, wrap it up.

Law & Order: SVU
1x01

Eight stories up, eight down.

Looks like she was sh*t out of a cannon.

Cuy on steroids?

No, the Yankees are on a road trip.

Yeah, they're down in Baltimore kickin' a little Oriole ass.

How about plain old testosterone-driven rage?

Her boyfriend?

Or girl.

You could toss 100 pounds without breaking a sweat.

Toss you, you skinny-ass geek.

See? The rage?

What about the neighbors?

Nobody knew her beyond the usual nod and wave.

She worked at home... all they knew was she carried a laptop with her.

The whole thing's a pyramid scheme.

What whole thing?

Laptops... we've become a nation of "laptoppers"... writing orders on our laptops, more laptops... whatever happened to pens?

Vic had an appointment with a Dr. Daniels every Tuesday and Thursday at 5:15.

Check her address book.

What did she do, the vic?

She was a writer...

"Street Crazies: Budget Cuts and the Mentally III."

"The Short Life of Alice H."... about a su1c1de.

"Designer Vaginas...

Is This Health Care?"

"New York Ledger."

"Michael, Steven, Sam W."...all men.

Daniels, Mark... clinical psychology at 911 East 72nd Street.

"How to Build a Better Orgasm," in "Cosmopolitan.

" Somebody might k*ll for this.

You two... check the neighborhood again.

Yo!

Cassidy, you're in court on the "Subway Stroker" case.

Is that correct?

Yes, sir.

Okay, you get hung up, you call me.

This is Gretchen.

Leave a message. Bye.

You have no messages.

This is Gretchen.

Leave a message. Bye.

You have no messages.

I heard roughhousing, like someone throwing something.

Then what?

That scream, then "crunch," and the car alarm going off.

Did you see anybody leave her apartment?

What? I was supposed to stick my head out and look?

Right... so he could see my face.

Excuse me, how long does that girl's apartment stay a crime scene?

Why?

We're next on the list for a one-bedroom.

What's your name?

Jason Cargill.

Mr. Cargill, I'm with the real estate board... you're now off the list.

Half of them admitted they couldn't tell their neighbors from the perp.

Could you?

Could I what?

Tell your neighbors apart?

Why, because I live here?

I'm never home.

I'm always with you.

And people say the suburbs are anonymous.

Oh, no. Queens is a suburb?

Since when?

Since we got a little space, some trees, grass to mow.

Yeah, I got a regular 8x10 of you mowing the lawn.

I do... sometimes.

Admit it, Kathy does all the housework 'cause you're never there.

Okay, I admit it, Kathy's the man of the house.

Exactly.

Till Dickie's old enough.

You're lucky... you got nothing to worry about.

Definitely got no lawn to mow.

Yeah, I'm a regular monk.

Monkette.

What?

Nothing.

Did you give Sears a call?

I called Sears.

And...?

And the limited warranty expired.

How the hell did that happen?

How the hell do I know?

You're the one that wanted to buy the garbage disposal and install it yourself.

Wait a minute...

I installed this properly.

If you guys would just stop throwing so much crap down it.

Marie, would you get off the phone, please?

I got to go.

Mommy, have you seen the turtle?

I left him in the sink.

Supreme Court Trial Part 16

Tuesday, September 21

When you asked the defendant what was he thinking at the time of the as*ault, what did he say?

She said she thought she was smiling at him, so he took a seat next to her.

The number 3 train at... what stop was it?

96th Street.

I believe the defendant's a professor at Manhattan University.

So, he took a seat, and then what happened?

He commenced to strike up a conversation with her but then, upon receiving no response, he surmised she was asleep.

And then what did he do?

Hearsay, Your Honor.

Then what did Professor Ormond tell you he did next?

He put his hand inside of her blouse, and then took her hand and placed it on his b... on his... genital region, and then he made her rub him until he... until he reached his intended goal.

No further questions, Your Honor.

Detective, how did this become your case?

Were you on duty in the subway at the time of the alleged as*ault?

No, a passenger alerted a member of the Transit Police, who made the arrest.

The case was then referred to the Special Victims Unit.

Of which you're a member?

Yes, sir.

For how long?

Let's see... eight months.

So you're an expert on sex crimes... is that correct?

We all have something to learn.

I'm sure.

Can you tell us the technical, or "psycho-sexual" term, if you will... for fondling a stranger?

Fromage...?

I believe it's "frottage."

Right, "frottage."

Now, since the passenger turned out not to have been sleeping but was in fact deceased, what would you call that?

You know, I don't know what it's called, but I call it disgusting!

You disapprove on moral grounds, but since the so-called "victim," being dead, couldn't have known she was being f*ndled, or "fromaged" by the defendant, where is the as*ault?

You look about as happy as a postal worker at Christmas.

So, make me feel better.

We brought back a bunch of papers from her apartment.

No threatening letters from ex-boyfriends, not even a message on her answering machine.

This woman makes J.D. Salinger look like a Shriner.

Tell me about it.

Not one person in her life knows she's dead yet. You believe that?

Jeffries struck out with the next of kin?

Yeah.

On her lease application, she left "Notify in case of emergency" blank.

If he k*lled her inside, and left her there, she could have been there for weeks, months.

Cod, could you imagine living like that?

  What?

Still a lot of "Jane Does" on the books, years later.

Not on ours.

Somebody knows her story.

Her shrink.

Okay, her shrink.

Office Of Dr,Mark Daniels 911 East 72nd Street Tuesday, September 21

Oh, hello.

Listen, folks, I don't accept walk-ins or couples.

In fact, I'm expecting a patient.

We're not a couple.

Well, in any event...

Your patient won't be coming in today, Doctor.

What do you mean?

She's dead.

We've been unable to locate next of kin, a boyfriend... any close friends.

We're hoping you could help us with that.

You know I can't do that.

We know...

"doctor-patient blah, blah, blah."

We could get a court order to help you out of your ethical quagmire.

Cretchen's parents are dead.

She has a sister named Ellen Travis out in the Denver area.

Fiance, boyfriend?

Not that she mentioned.

She was a very private person.

Except with you.

That's what I get paid for.

The shrink didn't even ask how she d*ed, did you notice that?

He was trying his best not to answer our questions, probably figured he shouldn't ask any either.

Lacerations from the glass.

Broken neck, ribs, lumbar.

Before or from the fall?

From.

Any sign of a struggle?

The neighbor said that she heard a lot of commotion before the fall.

It must have been consensual commotion then... no contusions, no internal abrasions.

A g*n to the head wouldn't leave an abrasion.

I'm on your side, Detective.

I left messages for everyone the shrink gave up, including the sister in Colorado.

Voice mail, voice mail, voice mail.

Doesn't anybody pick up the phone anymore?

She was hiding from somebody.

A violent ex?

Exes.

I thought the shrink said "no boyfriend."

He seemed uncertain.

He seemed uncooperative.

You're gonna have to make good on your thr*at... get a court order and compel him to stop his pussyfooting.

Jackson.

What?

Elliot.

Stabler.

Yeah.

Good.

Get outta here.

Any priors?

Thanks a lot.

I got to tell ya, I love computers.

The print on the wine glass?

Matched one they got on record on Albany.

State prison?

New York State Department of Psychiatry... a Dr. Mark Daniels.

Her own shrink?

Well, I guess the pussyfootin's over.

I'm sorry, my brother wants to be helpful, but legally, his hands are tied.

His hands were in her apartment.

We lifted some very "well-educated prints from a glass of wine.

Dr. Daniels, can you explain when and why you were visiting your patient?

Wait... he was in Ms. Quinn's apartment briefly at lunchtime, at her request, to attend to a crisis.

Or an erection?

That's insulting.

Really?

I thought it was the absence of one that was insulting.

What's your point?

The point is, what was your brother doing in her apartment?

A brief professional consultation.

He returned to the office at 2:30 to attend to patients for the rest of the day.

Doctor, where were you that evening... around 8:00?

I don't think...

I was at a fellow therapist's... a lady fellow therapist's... having dinner at her apartment.

I got there around 6:30 and I left there around 9:00.

You got a name and number on your "lady fellow therapist" friend?

Dr. Mark Daniels was at my apartment last evening from about 6:30 till a little after 9:00.

Do you have a doorman, or was anyone else home?

No, can you tell me what this is about?

Maybe you should ask the doctor about that.

Dr. Daniels is extremely busy.

Yeah, I'll bet. You know any other women he's gettin' "busy" with?

We have a professional relationship.

I have absolutely no interest in his personal life.

Excuse me.

Think she's lying for him?

Who can tell?

It's me.

Stabler.

Hey... Woody, thanks for getting back to me so quickly.

No, no, no... this is about a woman.

She wrote for ya...

Perfect.

See you then.

The New York Ledger 705 West 44th Street Tuesday, September 21

How you been, Elliot?

Everything is good.

This is my partner, Olivia Benson.

Hey, how you doin'?

You're better-looking than Alfonse.

Thanks.

What happened to "Big Fatso"? Coronary?

Retired and moved to Florida.

Same diff.

You know this woman?

I don't think so, no.

What about her?

Oh, yeah, the girl who was defenestrated on 82nd Street.

I saw the photo in the competition.

We don't go much for death scenes.

Her name was Cretchen Quinn.

No... you sure?

We found your name in her Rolodex... thought you could help us out.

Man...

I talked to her on the phone once or twice... when she called to say she liked a certain column, but I never met her.

You ran some of her articles.

I'm a columnist, honey, not an editor.

She was just another by-line to me.

Wow, she was kind of a...

A what?

A "stone-cold fox"?

A "babe"?

No, you're a babe...

And a stone-cold fox.

No, this girl... this is some deep, deep well you'd fall into.

What a waste.

Maybe Munch is right... people should get off their computers.

Relish.

Relish.

Cet out, rub elbows... what do you think?

Right.

A little more relish.

Thank you.

Her credit card shows a regular series of expensive dinners for the last year.

The last one at "ll Posto Vecchio" for $372.

Not cheap.

Nope.

Grazie.

Il Posto Vecchio 99 Weat 54th Street Tuesday, September 21

So many beautiful faces to remember.

Oh, dumb me... will this help jog your memory?

She was with one of the anchors... not local either. National.

But then, they all look the same.

I remember her.

She was with Dallas Warner.

Got a serious tip.

You did, huh?

Those anchors make a lot of money.

Not from him... her.

Guess she was his boss. I love that.

We got a lead with repercussions to the Senate run.

She was in incredibly riveting interview.

I'm sure she was, but we're here about Gretchen Quinn.

She related to Sally?

My wife and I are having dinner with her in Ceorgetown next week...

Ben, too, if he gets back from Europe.

Not Sally, Cretchen... she was also a writer.

I believe that you knew her.

Is there anything you can do with this?

Mr. Warner...?

Excuse us.

Yes or no?

Knew her?

Does anybody ever really know anybody?

Don't get philosophical with us... you're just a teleprompter jockey, we're just cops.

I haven't seen her in over a month.

Were you on the air last night?

No, I'm off Saturday through Monday.

I was having dinner with my wife last night... there's a maitre d' and a room full of waiters who know that I was there.

I assume you can confirm this without contacting her.

If you'd like a picture of her, I'd be happy to provide one.

On in five, Mr. Warner.

Good evening, I'm Dallas Warner.

White House sources today...

He's either a sociopath or he really believes his line of B.S.

Sociopath.

What does he think, he's the second coming of Walter Cronkite?

Well, he was kind enough to grant us an interview.

Yeah, like he was doing Cretchen a favor by having her on the side.

Hubris.

Tell me about it.

He's already figured that her death is less important than his life, his career... oh, man.

What?

I just know, a guy like that... his alibi's gonna check.

Bastard.

The Black Pearl 727 East 86th Street Wednesday, September 22

A couple of days ago.

How could I forget?

She was having drinks with that gorgeous anchorman.

What's his name?

"Warner"? "Warren"? Whatever.

Dallas Warner?

Him.

She didn't look happy, though.

Why is that?

Women? Who knows?

I should have such problems.

Professional unhappiness, or personal?

She was stroking his arm, crying, he was sitting up straight, looking around.

I see this a hundred times a week, baby, and the body language?

It was personal, as in... the man was already gone.

Is that all?

Please.

Yes, I was with her Monday night.

When you told me she was dead, I was shocked.

Funny, you didn't look shocked... you seemed rather... cool, in fact.

I was being discreet, Detective.

Being discreet and lying to the police are two different animals.

I was good for her.

Before me, she'd been with a bunch of lying psychos.

You know any of the other liars' names?

No.

I was safe... exactly what she needed.

I called her often and returned her calls promptly.

What happened the last time you saw her?

She called me up crying.

I asked her if she wanted to meet for a drink... I had some time before dinner.

As soon as I sat down at the table she told me she had been sleeping with her psychiatrist... it had been going on intensely for a couple of weeks.

Why would she confide in you?

I'm a good listener.

When you want to get into somebody's pants.

If you want to get snotty, I'll call my lawyer and you can forget about mutual cooperation.

Then I'll call your lawyer and ask him if you k*lled Cretchen.

And why would I have done that?

To keep her from blabbing to your wife?

That's enough.

Excuse us, one second.

Detective Benson... why don't you go down, talk to Carmichael at the D.A.'s office, and let's see if we can get that O.B.B. Started, okay?

You want me to bust him in the grill?

We're not getting anywhere in there.

It's not we... it's me.

What's that mean?

That pompous jerk will never condescend to deal with a woman... you go in there.

We good?

We're good.

Everything all right, Detective?

Yeah. She's... you know.

Up here, you get a whole different perspective on people.

Like ants?

Yeah, a bit.

So, we were with Cretchen's shrink.

Yeah, she said that at first, it had been exhilarating...

Yeah?

...him knowing all of her darkest shadows and falling for her anyway... all of that. I said I thought she should sue him.

A little late for that.

If you repeat what you told me about the therapist for say, a grand jury...

No, no, no... this was off the record.

No, no, no... it's not a "60 Minutes" interview here.

This is a homicide investigation.

Still, it's your word against mine, and mine is trusted around the world.

How about in your own home?

How good is your word there, Dallas?

Warner seems to have a solid alibi.

I don't think he'd offer up dinner with his wife in a public place if he were lying.

We got the shrink's fingerprints at the scene...

I'll get the DNA order on that if I have to.

Listen, I got a call about the body.

They need to make room in the morgue.

There's still no one to release her to?

Hey, you tell me.

We got a sister in Denver, but as of now she remains as much a mystery as Cretchen.

No memorabilia in her belongings?

We haven't had a chance to sift through her stuff.

You know when a good time to do that might be?

From the Creek, Cassidy.

"Necro"..."death," "philia,"..."love of."

You try it.

Necrophilia.

Again.

Necrophilia.

Or "Egyptian love," according to Henry Miller.

Necrophilia.

Necrophilia.

Good man.

She must have had fun naming her computer files.

This is "Penis dot Quotes."

You want to read it or should I?

Knock yourself out.

No, that's yours.

Anything?

No.

Okay, "Biology of the Amazons," by Cretchen Quinn.

"There's a tiny catfish feared more than the piranha.

It's called a..." "Candiru."

Say what?

This is beautiful. Tell him.

"It will swim right into a man's penis and lodge itself there by erecting sharp spines..."

"Erecting sharp spines..." that's a fish with a sense of irony.

How'd you know that?

In the jungle they always taught us, "Don't hold your nose, hold your stones."

Bingo.

Yearbook?

Book of poetry by Sylvia Plath.

Of course.

Overdue 20 years from Patterson High School.

Patterson High School East Bergen New Jersey Wednesday, September 22

We're on our way back.

The victim's real name was "Susan Sidarsky."

About 20 minutes. Right.

Blood tests aren't in.

Shrink and his mouthpiece are.

Let me pull the hair out for the match, may I?

Cretchen presented classic signs of childhood sexual abuse.

She was overly promiscuous, she was very seductive, she was constantly asking me whether or not I found her attractive.

Did you?

And then she told me her father started abusing her after her 13th birthday.

Abusing her how?

Must I be clinical? Come on.

Yes, you must.

Emotional abuse? Fondling? What?

Intercourse.

In less clinical words, you mean "r*pe."

And the minute she graduated from high school, she ran.

She moved almost every year.

She stopped running when she got to New York?

How often did you see her? as a patient?

Yes, as a patient.

Twice a week.

That must get expensive, no?

She had a trust fund, although she told me she refused to touch it.

It didn't matter...

I billed her insurance.

About her sexual experiences...?

It was anonymous and joyless with her.

She would take any man on the block, as long as she picked him before he decided on her.

She had a history of deranged lovers...

Any one of whom could have k*lled her.

Thank you... thank you for being so open with us... although you left out the part where you were her last deranged lover.

That's unfair.

So is sleeping with a vulnerable patient who trusted you.

Listen, I never...

What?

I never meant to betray her.

Yeah, but you did.

I think the psychiatry board is gonna take a dim view of your betrayal.

Yeah, yeah, yeah... you got signs all over school about "stranger danger."

How do you warn them about people they're supposed to trust?

Their priests?

Scoutleaders?

Future therapists? You tell me... how do you tell children about this without having them be completely paranoid?

We've had this conversation before.

I know, I know. It's just...

Maureen got a "B" in algebra, which is a minor miracle and Kathleen's orthodontist said we might not have to have a whole retainer...

That's good.... so that should help.

That's good....

Her therapist wasn't the only one doing her.

Her father.

Her father?

Yeah.

Elizabeth made you a Play-Doh ashtray.

I don't smoke.

Course not.

That's nice. Where is it?

Well, Dickie flushed it down the toilet.

Ha, little prince.

How could anyone...?

Her father.

Olivia.

Good morning, Munch.

The vic's sister from Denver is here.

Here in the unit?

New York... two-bedroom suite, Midtown.

She's not exactly warm and bubbly.

Grief does strange things to people.

I don't think it's grief.

Two sisters growing up in the same abusive household... what are the chances it only happened to one of 'em?

Probably very slim.

Damn it.

The vic went to impressive lengths to escape her family.

To escape her father... changing her name from "Susan" to "Cretchen."

Cretchen is someone who never met Daddy Sidarsky.

She ran to a different city, she ran from man to man trying to find comfort.

Did you know necrophilia is not only with dead people?

Do you see what you started?

No, I got it off the Net.

Supposedly some famous actor out in Hollywood, hires hookers to lie in an ice bath... waits until they turn blue with the cold before diving in.

Let's move on.

"Compulsive onanism."

"Onanism."

Hey... the Quinn girl's sister?

She's here.

Cot the release forms?

Mrs. Travis?

Olivia Benson.

My partner, Elliot Stabler.

We're the detectives on your sister's case.

Why don't you have a seat?

These are the keys to your sister's apartment if you'd like to drop by, maybe take some family items.

Not that there'll be any.

Why do you say that?

I haven't talked to my sister in over 20 years.

About two months ago, she started calling me out of the blue saying that she wanted a relationship.

And?

It was superficial, to say the least, and then it stopped.

Still, you've been the only relative we've been able to locate.

Your sister was somewhat of a... mystery.

She was a drama queen, Detective.

No one could ever figure her out.

I thought she was nine years old when you left for Colorado.

Well, nine-year-old girls are complicated.

Tell me about it.

If you'd like to use the phone to call your relatives about the funeral...

My father's dead.

And what funeral?

I'm in New York to sign the papers, go to Saks, and take the next plane home.

Then we won't keep you any longer.

Thank you for your time.

She was molested, you know that.

That cold facade of hers?

Maybe it's just living in Colorado.

She dresses more "Fifth Avenue" than "Rocky Mountain."

I'm having a "fashion police" blackout.

That outfit...

Cretchen's shrink said that she never touched her trust fund.

But this one... It's...

Who's paying?

Who's paying?

Don't you people have computer files of your own?

Yeah, 20,000 known sex offenders, all cross-referenced by proclivity and physical characteristics.

Is that true?

We can give you every pederast in Manhattan with a four-inch unit, but 401K's... that's out of our area of expertise.

Trent Peterson?

Benson, Stabler.

Benson, Stabler, Smith, and Fenwick.

How can I help you?

I was telling them about the Business section's new system and how you can get financial data on anybody or any corporation in the free world. Am I right?

Yes, but... did the M.E. Clear this?

Peterson, I'm on a deadline.

The Sidarsky trust.

The sister is dipping into the vic's trust fund.

Is that what we got here?

No, she had her own separate account.

Cretchen's just sat there and grew.

Grew how?

31/2 million and still climbing.

Oh, really? That's a lot of money and a lot of motive.

What's this?

The inheritance?

Not an inheritance... it's a trust.

A living trust, managed by her father.

Whoa, whoa, wait a minute...

I thought you said the father was dead.

Right, but we were misinformed.

Robert Sidarsky lives and works in New Jersey.

You want to know his shoe size?

I'll tell you what I want to know...

I want to know the truth about these people.

Laurel Athletic Shoes, Inc.

East Bergen, New Jersey Thursday, September 23

All the creative people... our R&D, marketing, in-house ad staff... that's all done here in Jersey.

But the sneaks are made where? China? Malaysia?

For the most part, yeah.

Don't worry, Mr. Sidarsky, we're not here on child labor violations.

We don't have any secrets here.

Oh, we all have secrets.

Could you please enlighten me?

Your daughter's dead, Mr. Sidarsky.

What...?

No. No.

Does my wife know?

I have to call my wife.

Somebody threw her out of a window on East 82nd Street.

What?

That's impossible... my family is at the shore.

They're vacationing.

I was supposed to meet them on Friday.

We have a positive identification, sir.

Your second child... born May 10th, 1967?

Susan...

Susie was lost to me a long time ago.

Such a sad child.

Such a sad ending.

Well...

What do you think?

What do I think?

I'd like to slap the crap out of him.

Even if you get Cretchen's sister to come forward, the statute of limitations is long gone.

Maybe not.

Meaning?

"Megan's Law."

If we can pump the sister's memory, it'd start the clock all over again on the emotional abuse.

I don't know. Recovered memory is such a rat hole.

It's worth a sh*t.

It's not even gonna help our case.

Elliot, Maybe he's not her k*ller.

We slap a molestation case on him.

I'm worried about that little girl That little girl by the seashore waiting for Daddy to come home.

Who's got a mother... who's still alive, and we can only hope is paying attention.

Hope?

Hope isn't good enough, Elliot.

I thought you didn't drink.

I don't. Doesn't mean you can't.

I'm fine.

Elliot's home with Kathy and the kids and Munch is out somewhere.

Jeffries and Cassidy... we live here... we just disappear into the night.

Back in Homicide, we used to go out every night and get smashed.

We'd tell w*r stories, maybe fool around a little bit and feel like crap the next morning.

This is better.

Much.

So why are you alone tonight?

My wife was on an Orlando turnaround as a flight attendant, and I was home, scrubbing algae off the tiles around the swimming pool we never used... the one that got me into hot water with lnternal Affairs because "what's a cop doing with an in-ground pool," right?

And then the phone rang... the call she always expected, always dreaded.

So, Marge is... scattered in bits over some swamp... and I'm home in Bensonhurst trying to make sense of the test pattern on our giant TV... wanting so bad to drink again, hoping for a surrender... oblivion.

Kinda like our girl, the vic.

She slept with every guy on the block just to get to that same place... oblivion.

You get inside her head, Olivia, and you will get to the perp.

What's his face, Warner... the "Peter Jennings" look-alike?

He's got a solid alibi.

Half the people on the Upper East Side knew he was stepping out on his wife.

You tell me... what's the motive?

Then it's the shrink, yes?

No.

Again, what's the motive?

He did some damage, I'll admit, but...

Psychic damage.

Are you "Mr. Insight" now? Where did you get that, "The Psychic Hotline"?

He r*ped her emotionally, but k*lled her?

No way.

Okay, then who?

I say you got to take a look at the father.

The father, who hasn't seen her in 20 years? Why?

Because she was in hiding from "Daddy Dearest"?

The shrink said the old man was cunning and still patient.

So he finds out she's living in Manhattan, says to the new wife and kid, "Get some fried clams, I got an errand in the city," he goes, "Ding-dong, hi, it's Daddy," and throws her out the window?

Dr. Mark Daniels, the psychotherapist, was at the crime scene.

We've got his fingerprints on a wine glass and a pack of "ribbed ultra-thins," as I recall.

So, would somebody please tell me why he is not in interrogation, even as we speak, being sweated by two of my best detectives?

It wasn't him.

It was the father.

What if she did cash one of her trust fund checks?

That's how he found her.

He goes to her apartment, he walks in, she's banging the shrink, or the anchorman... he's possessive, jealous... all the usual crap.

I don't know.

The new daughter, the young one... that's where his focus would be.

Maybe Cretchen was writing a novel about how pathetic her childhood was.

Why not?

Everybody else is.

You got to get that sister to talk.

Be my guest.

Mrs. Travis, what time does your flight leave?

Soon... not soon enough, but soon.

You want to get back to your children, I know.

I'm sure they're anxious to see their mommy again.

They are, so, if you wouldn't mind...

I wanted to say I'm sorry we were so rough on you the other day.

You're probably wondering why I didn't stay and protect my little sister.

Is that it?

I'm sorry.

Wait, please don't go. L... please.

Did you know that you have a little half-sister?

She's 10.

You know what's going to happen to her?

No.

The same thing that happened to you, Mrs. Travis.

It was her drama, not mine.

Please, Mrs. Travis, just listen to me.

It's your drama, too.

Now please, we can help.

I have to go.

Just one more day... in a lifetime.

Can you imagine being a little girl in his house?

Don't even think of touching me.

- I only...

Only what?

Only want to make it feel better?

Can we use this?

Let's just see where it goes.

You bastard.

You cowardly, disgusting, sick bastard.

Ellie, honey, sweetie-pie...

Shut up.

Is that what you call your new one?

Your little "sweetie-pie"?

"Give Daddy a taste of that sweet pie"?

Is that what you think you'll do?

I don't know what you're talking about.

No?

You k*lled Susie, how's that?

You k*lled her.

Listen, I talked to the police, and I wasn't anywhere near the city on that night.

Not that night.

Not the other night.

Ellie, I think you're making a rather costly mistake.

The trust fund... is that what you're threatening me with?

Daddy... stick it up your ass.

You know what Susie called it?

"Blood money"... from the first time she bled when you held her down...

Okay... just like you held me down.

All right, that's enough.

It's ancient history.

Just let it rest.

I got news for you, Daddy.

It's not ancient history.

That woman detective you met? I met her, too.

She convinced me to stay, and guess what?

She says that if I remember things now, a judge in New Jersey will tell my story to a grand jury.

Okay, listen, honey, please...

I've got a new family.

I know.

That's why it's all come back up, just as if it happened yesterday... which is how it feels to me every day of my life.

What is that?

My sister wrote this.

She mailed it to Denver, and my husband, whom you'll never meet, faxed it to me here.

Would you like me to read it?

No, what good would it do?

Do me some good!

And Susie.

"Cretchen Quinn... born Susan Sidarsky... a frequent contributor to the "New York Ledger," committed su1c1de Monday night.

She hopes her death will point an accusing finger at the men responsible.

In the end, nothing appealed to Ms. Quinn... no food, book or person.

She couldn't stand the sound of her thoughts or the touch of her own skin."

What is this?

Susie's obituary.

She wrote it herself.

"She is survived...

By her ex-boyfriend, Dallas Warner, who was perfect... except for the wife and four kids; by Dr. Mark Daniels, the therapist, who knew her inside and out, literally and biblically; and last but not least, Robert Sidarsky... her father."

Look, come on!

"Her father..."

That's enough.

Please!

"Who took away her childhood, her virginity..."

Please, don't! her sense of safety and fairness in the world..."

Ellie...!

"Cause of death was from a fall... self-inflicted.

She was 32.

She was... 32.

She was 32, Daddy!