01x08 - Slaughterhouse

[bunniefuu]

Adell, what's going on?

Gardener saw a bloody kid all on her own.
Called in at 2:48 P.M.

You get an ID?

Not yet. We're door-to-door every house
on the block expanding the perimeter.

No missing persons?
No car accidents?

Nothing in the immediate area.

Okay. What do you got?

There's not a scratch on her.

Hi.

Well, the blood had to come
from somewhere, didn't it?

My guess is that someone close
to this child is either dead ...

or dying.

I'm going to take this.

Okay.

Hematrace.

Good job.
You are a good girl.

It's human blood.

Okay, and we know
it's not hers, right?

Okay. You know what ...

let's bag the sleeper and get it to Megan.
We need DNA and trace on the fabric.

You ...

are a good girl.

Too much blood for
a casual injury.

How far could she
have possibly walked?

I don't know.

Your average adult has been clocked
at two-and-a-half to three miles per hour,

but to my knowledge, no toddler
has ever been road-tested.

But I'll tell you what I'm more interested
in is that sunburn on the side of her face.

You have a sunburn on
one side of your face ...

it means you've been walking
in a straight line, doesn't it?

Our gardener said she was headed
towards hibiscus avenue.

Hibiscus ... which means
she was traveling due north.

Hey, guys.

Hey.

Everybody's talking
about the bloody child.

Do we even know where
she came from?

That's the question.

This is the answer.
Want a leg or a foot?

Some type of soil.

From any lawn that she crossed?

Well, her feet were
soaked with blood.

Well, that narrows it down.

I'm going to go look at
this for a little while.

Let me know.

Help!

Help! Somebody help!

All right.

Duquesne.

Calleigh, have we gotten anything
off Profiler Plus yet?

Amelogenin's up.

We've got two different bleeders:
One male, one female.

Make that three.

Another male.

Out of how many samples?

We're three for three
and counting.

Yep, somebody's trading
the old for the new.

The soil on the toddler's feet
was laced with glyphosate.

That's a heavy-duty grass k*ller.

They may be resodding. So let's look for
a location where they're resodding, okay?

Horatio.

Go ahead.

We've got four different bleeders,
and based on the alleles,

they're all related to the girl.

Horatio, we spotted the
house that's being resodded.

It's coming up on your right.
I'll get fire and rescue.

Easy.

This is the place.

Ready?

Yeah.

Detective Sevilla!
Miami-Dade Police!

Miami-Dade
Police Department!

Police department!

Get me rescue in here!
I have a survivor!

Roll fire/rescue!

Who did this to you, sir?

My son ... needs help ...

Listen to me. Think.
Is there anybody else in the house? Sir?

Okay.

All clear.

Horatio ...

Yeah?

We got another one.

Okay.

Have your guys hang out.
They're going to be here awhile.

What's that?

What?

The final blood count is five.

Four dead, three kids.
One adult survived.

Any sign of an intruder?

Not at first glance.

Well, the last guy standing
is the one I want to talk to.

Actually, he's not standing;
he's riding. That was him.

Where's the little girl?

She's with social services till
they place her with the family.

If she has any left.

Let's start in the back, Eric.

Might take a minute to
acclimate yourself.

There's a whole lot of red in there.
Okay?

Occupants are Jason
and Stephanie Caplin.

Dad's an optician at Stonybrook Mall.

Mom's a stay-at-home.

Four kids:
The oldest is Luke, he's 16;

Timothy's 9 and the only other
victim found in a separate room.

Our toddler, Erin, the only surviving
child, is seventeen months.

And Max ...
six weeks.

Not a very long time down with us,
Angel. And back up you go.

Neighbors say nice family nice kids,
never any problems.

Mom was tired because of new baby.

Front and sliding glass
doors were both open.

No signs of forced entry,
though.

Nothing else suspicious on the outside
perimeter of the house, either.

Okay, so everything
we need is right here...

and we have a happy, all-american family
shotgunned to death in their home.

Except the dad and the toddler.
Right, but the toddler belonged home.

What was the dad doing here?

Along with two kids who
should've been in school.

Alexx, do we have a time of death?

Between 11:00 A.M. and 1:00 P.M.

Was everyone home for lunch and
they got surprised by someone?

Someone they knew.

What we do know is that mom is the
only one not sh*t in the back, right?

Mom's wound is consistent with
a self-inflicted g*nsh*t.

We have spatter on
that muzzle, Calleigh?

Yeah.

And a number four buck.
That's a hell of a recoil.

So it could've bounced out of someone's
hand and made the three feet, right?

Yeah, it could've come out of dad's
grip or come out of mom's.

All right, let's GSR everybody
and start with mom.

Well, if we're looking at m*rder-su1c1de,
she was the last to die.

Right. So we need a timeline.
Who was sh*t when? Let's work on that.

The blood will give us that,
but it's going to take a while.

Take all the time you need.

Let's alert the neighbors they're
going to have company for awhile.

You bet.

The wound area's wide.

From a pellet pattern, right?

Enough distance from the sh**t
to the victim for the pellets to spread.

No defensive posture.

That's because he was
taken by surprise.

Probably because of these.

"Sometimes I think that
I am better off alone"

Liver temp is 99.

If he d*ed four hours ago with his mother
and brothers, his fever was 103.

So, he was home sick.

When you're ready to snap, one more
tug on your sleeve is all it takes.

Okay.

This is the only unmade
bed in the house.

Yeah, kids are cleaning their rooms.
Mom and dad lived like this.

Mom was, anyway.

Dad's getting his needs met somehow.
Everything in here is washed and pressed.

There's a crib in the room.

Yeah, nobody's
getting any sleep.

It's no excuse.

Baby's first jewelry
was an amulet?

Oh, you can get them at
any corner botanica.

Not exactly the place you'd
shop for a newborn.

They're actually supposed
to ward off evil spirits.

So is this.

Paroxetine HCl.
It's an antidepressant.

Bottle's full.

It was filled
three weeks ago.

Hey.

There you go.

Thanks.

Tell Horatio I'll call as
soon as I get something.

Okay.
I'm sure I'll be seeing you again.

I don't see blood or any
sign of struggle in here.

No, not physical anyway.

This place isn't a mess.
It's downright filthy.

Kids will pick up after themselves,
but they will not clean.

Empty fridge ...

overflowing garbage.
They obviously live on fast food.

Looks like somebody didn't
eat their lunch today.

Got a couple of burgers ...

half-eaten fry.

Wouldn't have lasted
ten minutes in my house.

Well, mom did give up the fight.

Who's been taking
care of the family?

Sick kid, teenager's
out of school early...

dad picks up lunch
for everyone?

I got a point on the timeline,
or at least a place to start.

We isolated specific
bleeders on parts of the sleeper,

but on the feet, it was an extreme
amount of everyone's blood.

Okay, so the toddler was here,
veered away from the mother,

around the father, sharp right
to the brother and the infant.

But here, the blood from the brother
pooled around the toddler's foot.

So that means the toddler
was over Luke when he bled out.

This victim, this room temperature probably
didn't take but a few minutes.

Hmm, so she was inside within
minutes of the k*lling,

but she's the only family member not sh*t.
Why? Why was she spared?

She's the only girl.

She was hiding.

Maybe she was just lucky.

Mom normally drives the wagon,
but it hasn't been used in a while.

Was that door closed?

Yeah, the garage door was down.

So dad goes to work,
like normal.

At 11:45, he gets a call from mom,
and then he leaves upset, right?

So dad's out of surgery?

Not yet. Sevilla spoke to his assistant.

Dad leaves his keys in the ignition ...

but remembers to close
the garage door.

And here's the g*n safe.

What is it?

It's ammonia.

Take a look at the
position of her body.

She's the only victim we found at rest.

Females don't usually su1c1de
by shotgun-- too messy.

Well, did you see the house?

I think there was a bigger
concern than mess.

Okay, Speed, how long do you
think you're going to be here?

All night.
All night.

Okay, keep me posted.

Alexx?

Luke, 16 years old.

sh*t twice: Once in the shoulder,
once at the base of the skull.

Two wounds.
Maybe he was on the move.

Running only gave the buckshot
pattern room to expand.

Enough to hit the baby.

Newborn --
a few pellets was all it took.

People really don't chew,
especially hungry teens.

And the infamous half-eaten
bag of french fries.

So ... Luke brings home lunch but doesn't
get to eat because the k*lling has started.

Something else.
He had an acute gastric ulcer.

He bit his nails, and the
enamel on the dentition...

was worn down to the
second layer.

A 16-year-old stress case.


What about the mother's reach?

Twenty-seven inches.

Shotgun muzzle is 24.5. She could
have absolutely reached that trigger.

No g*nsh*t residue on her hands.
Not unusual with a long barrel.

Dad and Luke?

There's too much blood
on both of them to tell.

What about the mother's wound?

One sh*t, close contact, pellets
were a compact mass...

... pushed by a pressurized gas cloud
into the brain, turning the medulla to pulp.

So she d*ed instantly.

And the nine-year-old's wound
was immediately fatal, as well.

One sh*t, dead center,
severed his spinal cord.

Horatio.

Okay.

Jason Caplin just got out of surgery.

Buckshot penetrated his kidney.
We removed it.

Packed and ligated the renal artery.

Sutured his multiple splenic lacerations.
He's got some will to live.

Did he say anything
about his family?

Just that he thought he
heard the baby screaming.

Okay if I talk to him?

He's slightly altered because
of the inhaled anesthetic, but ...

you can try.

Mr. Caplin?

I'm Detective Sevilla.
I was at your house yesterday.

Do you have any idea
who did this to you?

I don't know. I ...

I saw my son.
He was ...

he was hurt.

Did you see anyone else?
An intruder, maybe?

I felt this ...

this heat on my back.

I heard the baby cry ...

I don't know.

That's okay. Tell me, Mr. Caplin, what
were you doing home from work?

My wife had called.
She was upset ...

You're never here!
I can't do this alone!

We're both tired.

You don't know what tired is!

Make him stop! You've got to do
something to make him stop, or I ...

Or what?

Mr. Caplin? Did your wife thr*aten
to hurt herself or the children?

No.

She ... she loved them.

Hey.
Hey.

Dad's clothes...

blood's starting to smell.

All right. Come on in here.
Is he talking?

He's not winning any spelling bees,
but he was lucid.

Okay, now, he claims his wife called
him at the office and he came home.

Did he say why?

She was upset,
baby wouldn't stop crying.

Now, it sounded like U-turns from
office to home were not unusual.

Okay, did he say he
saw who sh*t him?

No. Now, he remembers coming in...

seeing his son covered in blood,
and then the next thing you know,

he felt a hot pain in his back.

Okay, in all your years,

did you ever hear of a self-inflicted
g*nsh*t wound to the back?

Most people can't
pull off sh*ts to the front...

without a fifth of scotch
and a very nimble big toe.

Okay, so hormonal depression and
long arms could get us there.

Okay.

What do you got?

Some hairs from the master
bedroom. Long, dark.

Mom's a blonde.

Well, in, uh, in
your spare time, maybe.

Now, how are the crime scene
sketches coming?

Marking evidence as it rolls in.

Megan ran the hairs
from the master bed.

Not the mom,
but a female relative.

The sister was so broken up.

Or maybe mom had more than hormones
and kids to worry about, huh?

Did you know your sister
was seeing a psychiatrist?

Yeah. Yeah, she was
having a rough time.

Not sleeping, and,

th-the baby ...

the ... the baby cried a lot;
colic. And she, uh ...

Here you go.

Thank you. She ... she was
having a hard time.

Can you be more specific?

Because, you know,
baby blues are one thing,

but postpartum psychosis,
that's quite another.

My sister was depressed.
She wasn't crazy.

She had medication
that she wasn't taking.

She was worried about what
it would do to the baby.

She was nursing.

Have you seen that before?

Yeah.
I gave that to her.

It's a charm to make her feel better.
How about your brother-in-law?

Did you help him feel better?

We have evidence that you
were in their bed recently.

All I wanted was my
sister's happiness.

Well, that goal can get you into trouble.
Where were you yesterday morning?

In Buffalo, on business.

If you don't believe me,
call the airline.

Still doesn't explain your little
trick between the sheets.

I held my sister when
she couldn't stop crying.

When she couldn't get out of bed,
much less the house.

And that's a hell of a lot
more than he did.

And that's your brother-in-law
you're talking about?

Yeah, Jason.

He hid at work day and night,
leaving her alone with four kids.

Well, sounds like it was
too much for her.

It was too much
for anyone.

My sister loved those kids.

Yeah, they drove her nuts.
Okay, yeah, she was a wreck,

but there is no way in hell
that she k*lled them.

Excuse me.

I fumed the shotgun,
but there were no usable prints on it.

Okay.

So who do we think
was feeding the infant?

Timmy's prints were on the bottle.

Right, so the nine-year-old is parenting
the baby while the mother is doing what?

I don't know, maybe she
was opening the g*n safe.

Hers were the only prints on it.

So then why didn't
she k*ll the toddler?

Couldn't find her?

I mean, she's a woman
who can't function.

If you can't function, you can't
keep track of your children.

That's true.

You know, plenty of times my
parents wanted me gone,

but at least they fell
short of taking me out.

Yeah, how short?
Just short, or miles away?

What does "Delko"
stand for, anyways?

"Delektorsky." My dad's Russian,
my mom's Cuban.

Yeah?
Yeah.

You got any brothers or sisters?

Three sisters. Why?

They're all older, right?
I mean, you're the baby.

Maybe.

So you think the little girl was the
favorite, and that's why she made it?

Who knows? That's what
we're here to find out.

Yeah.
Let's find out.

They don't have a dog.

Well, if they did,
it didn't last.

But I guess we know
how the toddler did.

I removed the pellets
from the shotgun shells,

but I left all the powder in,
so it should give us a good kick.

Okay.

And usually suicides ...

lean forward to get a better sh*t.

Right, which would create
spatter directly above, right?

But in this case,
the blood is back here.

So she needs to be back.
That's good.

Be about here.

Yeah.
Are you clear?

All right, here we go.

There you have it.

You used boiled noodles, huh?

For brain spatter it was
either that or oysters.

So she's either the most
relaxed su1c1de on record ...

Or she was taking a nap.

The blood on the blanket from
the doghouse proves...

that the toddler was there
after someone was injured.

Right, but her feet were drenched with
the blood from all five victims, though.

Not until after she was
hiding in the backyard.

The transfer from the blanket
came from one bleeder: The mom.

And there's no chance she
walked outside by herself?

No. I scraped every
inch of that blanket.

It was loaded with her
saliva and epithelials.

But no trace chemicals or
soil from the backyard.

Eleven feet, four inches from the
doghouse to the closest doorway.

Someone had to have carried her.

So who had glyphosate
and soil on their shoes?

That's what we need to find out,
gentlemen. Let's do that.

Okay, here we go. Luke has traces of
glyphosate and soil on his shoes.

So does dad.
No one else.

Either one of them could've been
out back doing yard work.

Which means whoever
carried the toddler...

into the yard did so
with mom's blood, right?

Right. So, her wound was instantly fatal.

Which means someone
was still standing ...

... after she d*ed.

And that means that this
is not a m*rder-su1c1de.

It's a m*rder, isn't it?

Now, there are only two family
members left capable of doing this.

And that's Luke and dad.

You think the kid
could've done this?

I don't know. He's a 16-year-old
kid with an ulcer.

Maybe he got sick of taking care
of everyone. What do you think?

Why are you looking at the
pants and not the shirts?

Shirts are a mess. Any spatter from a vic's
going to be lost among the primary.

But it's hard to get spatter with a shotgun
-- the barrel's too long.

Unless we're not looking
for spatter.

That's transfer.

That's tread ...

from the toddler's footies.

The question is:
Whose blood is it?

Speed.

What have we got?

Results from the transfer stain
on Luke's pants. Mom's blood.

Instinctively, he picked up the toddler,
thinking the k*ller might still be in the house.

And he did it after mom
was mortally wounded.

Okay, so mom and dad
aren't doing their jobs.

The oldest son
steps up to the plate.

Luke tries to bring his
siblings lunch ...

and walks into a m*ssacre.

Once Luke's in the living room,
why not save the infant?

The swing and the bassinet
were in the room.

I don't know. Judgment call. Who could
imagine sh**ting something so small?

While Luke is busy
saving the toddler,

the k*ller goes after his
next thr*at: Timmy.

Nine-year-old boy;
some thr*at.

Okay, so Luke comes back in,
tries to save the infant.

But he dies trying to get the
infant out the front door.

And why does that happen?

Dad was blocking his path.

But dad's been sh*t in the back,
and his wound is not self-inflicted.

Maybe it was the
result of a struggle.

But over the only other
family member, the infant.

Wait a minute.

Speed ... whose blood did we
find on the infant's clothes?

Let's take a look at that.

Show me.

The infant's own ...
Of course ...

Luke's ...
mom's spatter.

Where's dad's blood?

Those are gravitational droplets.

Good morning.

Oh, finally. You the insurance adjusters?
Oh, hold on. You're, uh ...

I'm a criminalist. Mr. Caplin, I'm with
the MDPD. This is Detective Sevilla.

Right, right.
From the hospital.

You're feeling better.

Well, I spent four days in
the hospital flat on my back.

I have staples holding my chest together, and
they're pulling up the flooring in my house,

because it's rotted with blood.

Yes, blood.
Blood is why we came today.

We want to talk to you about
your blood on your baby.

I ... I bled on my baby?

I got sh*t. I guess my blood
must have been everywhere.

Spatter normally travels,
but in this case,

we found gravitational droplets
of blood on your baby's clothes.

And just to be clear,
that's a problem.

Right. Because that proves that you wer
standing over him while you were bleeding.

Luke's body was covering that baby.
He d*ed protecting that child.

And you had, shall we say,
other instincts.

You thought he wouldn't risk the
sh*t if you had the infant in your arms.

Reverse the situation,
and you didn't hesitate.

I never slept.

I-I couldn't think.

I mean, even at work, I could hear
them screaming for more.

One morning I woke up,
and I just knew ...

I couldn't face them again.

So you sh*t them in the back.

I tried, I-I ...

I-I just couldn't.

Did he just confess?

He's laying the groundwork
for his defense.

Insanity?

Two-pronged:
"I didn't know what I was doing,

and I certainly didn't
know it was wrong."

Just might work.

What is it?

It's ammonia.

Nh-3.

Ammonia.

Which was on dad's shirt,

which he used to keep his prints
off the g*n safe, didn't he?

And then he called his
wife from the car.

Phone records confirm he
made a call from his cell.

Honey, can you check the g*n safe?
I think I might have left it open.

Dad comes back home
at 11:45 a.m.

Opens the g*n safe
without leaving his prints,

and takes out
the shotgun.

We can't prove that he told
his wife to close the safe.

Yes, but any plan proves
premeditation,

and that means he knew
exactly what he was doing.

That's what it means.

What do you have?

Guess what
Jason Caplin's claiming?

Postpartum psychosis.
By proxy.

First, he frames his wife for m*rder,
and then he co-opts her illness.

What a stellar human being.

Yeah, I guess we just have to hope
that the jury doesn't buy his story.

Well, the important thing now ...

is that she really knows
what happened.