14x19 - The Fallen

[bunniefuu]

(indistinct conversations)

Lieutenant Hughes?

You got a suspect for me, I believe.

We are bringing him in now.

Felony auto theft, right?

Your lab sent this file over.

Some kid totaled Councilman Hawk's new BMW?

You got a political one.

Jacob Baker.

Jacob Baker?

Isn't he the guy that CSI Stokes brought in for pointing lasers at airplanes?

I thought Nick had scared him straight, but I guess not.

All right, tell the councilman he can rest easy.

We will get justice for his Beemer.

HUGHES: Thanks for bringing him in, Blake.

No problem.

Headed back out on patrol.

Change of plans.

I cleared it with your sergeant.

I need you to cover Dolan at the reception desk.

Okay...

You know how I love taking orders from you.

Am I going to have to report you for insubordination, Officer Hughes?

Go ahead. I'll claim sexual harassment, Lieutenant Hughes.

RUSSELL: Guys, get a room.

Oh, that's right, you don't have to, you're already married.

(chuckles)

So, tell me about the kid.

Give you any trouble?

No. Seemed like a mama's boy.

You should talk.

See what I have to put up with?

Ooh.

Sir, I am connecting you to Detective Crawford right now.

Cavalry's arrived.

What did you do to your wife to deserve this?

Just taking one for the team.

Well, it's all yours.

I'm going to need you to fill out your name in the top box there, and then your home address goes in the box right below that.

Okay, who's next?

Please step up to the counter.

Hey, kid, what do you think you're doing?!

Son, you got to wait your turn.

Hey! Did you hear me?

(people exclaiming)

Just relax, all right?

Just take it easy.

(g*nsh*t echoes, casing clatters to floor)

(distant screaming, Blake sighs)

(sputters)

MAN: Go, go!

(woman whimpers)

(whimpers)

(g*nsh*t, casing clatters)

(panicked shouting)

(woman sobbing)

(casing clattering)

(officer grunts, distant screaming)

(g*nsh*t, casing clattering)

(panicked shouts)

MAN: He's got another g*n!

(woman sobs)

(woman sobs)

(rapid g*nshots)

MAN: Hold your fire!

Russell's in there!

(panting)

Okay.

Okay, easy.

(groans)

Just take it easy.

(panting)

♪ CSI 14x19 ♪

The Fallen Original Air Date on April 2, 2014

♪ Who... are you?

♪ Who, who, who, who?

♪ Who... are you?

♪ Who, who, who, who?

♪ I really wanna know

♪ Who... are you?

♪ Oh-oh-oh

♪ Who... ♪
♪ Come on, tell me who are you, you, you ♪
♪ Are you!

PAULA FRANCIS (on TV): ...Desert Palm Hospital.

Our understanding is the sh**t has now barricaded himself inside an interrogation room and is holding hostages.

No word yet on whether or not What the hell's going on?

There are any casualties.

It looks really bad.

Guys, I just got off the phone with Brass.

Russell is in the room with the sh**t.

What?!

They haven't been able to make contact with him.

They're still securing the building.

Okay.

Well, the best thing we can do for everyone right now, is our jobs.

So, Greg, you want to head over to PD with me right now, see what's going on?

Yeah. Sure.

I'll go to the hospital, collect evidence.

I'll run things from here.

(man shouts orders)

...the generators are good to go.

All men in position!

Weapons high!

(g*n clicking)

BRASS: Mr. Mayor, all I can tell you now, is I have one officer dead and four others wounded.

It seems like the sh**t was targeting police officers.

We're clearing the building now.

I'll call you back when I know more.

Sir, you wanted to see me?

Lieutenant Hughes, I saw the wounded list.

Your husband's on it.

(whispering): Oh, my God.

He was at the front desk when the sh**t came in.

I know.

(trembling): I'm the one who put him there.

How bad is he?

You should go to the hospital.

But...

No. Go. Go. Debbie, go.

Go. We got this covered. Go.

Where's that camera feed from interrogation?!

It goes directly into the observation room.

I'm trying to reroute it.

I need eyes on that room!

Yes, sir.

(phone ringing)

(Jacob yells)

Hey! Hey! Hey, you!

Back against the wall!

All right. All right. All right.

JACOB: What the hell, man?!

Why'd you sh**t me?!

TEEN: I didn't sh**t you, I don't even know you.

Everyone just shut up!

(groans)

What happened, did you get hit?

Man!

Cops are f*ring rounds in this room, you probably caught one the same time he did.

Probably cracked a rib.

(groans)

(phone continues ringing)

You're gonna have to let me answer the phone.

I told you, no.

Let me, let me tell you how this works.

If I don't answer this pretty soon...

(phone continues ringing)

...cops are gonna think I'm dead.

And they're gonna think that he's dead.

And then it's not gonna just be a couple of rounds.

They're gonna light this place up.

Well, maybe that's what I want.

You think I didn't know I was gonna die today?

(computer trilling)

Hey, did you talk to Russell?

No. He-He's not picking up.

Yeah. Well, radio silence usually means one thing: Guy's not giving up.

If your CSI's still alive, best chance to save him... tactical entry.

That is a negative.

We're not there yet, Dolan.

And when we are, it's gonna be too late.

Yeah, and if we go in too early, everybody gets k*lled, so why don't you just... be cool right now, all right?

God, it's friggin' cold in here, man.

He needs a doctor.

He's all right.

(struggling): Oh, yeah... g-g-great.

I'm gonna take a look at him.

Hey! You don't move!

Hey.

Listen, you know, I don't know what your deal is.

I don't know why you thought you had to do this, but it has nothing to do with Jacob here.

You got the g*n.

You're in charge.

Besides, you know something, I don't, I don't think you want to see him suffer any more than he has.

Do you?

All right. Mm.

(panting)

Jacob, you're not gonna like this.

(groans)

Ready? Here we go.

(screaming)

Okay. All right. All right.

(groaning)

That's good, buddy. There you go.

Was that really necessary?

Lean forward here.

I'm going to...

(short rapid whimpering)

Come on. Okay.

(groaning)

Well, you know what?

You are a very... very lucky boy.

How is getting sh*t being "lucky"?

Well, uh, because... (grunts) (groans) the b*llet went straight through, so all we have to do is stop the bleeding here.

(Jacob groans)

Here we go.

(groans)

All right. All right.

(Jacob groans)

Give me your hand.

Give me your hand.

(groaning, whimpering)

You're doing great.

JACOB: Oh...!

What's your name, son?

What do you care?

(sighs) It makes for an easier conversation, that's all.

You first.

My name's Russell.

D.B. Russell.

Your turn.

No uniform.

No suit.

No g*n.

You're not a cop.

No. I'm a CSI.

Is that why you didn't sh**t me?

You got a beef just with cops?

(panting)

(laughs)

C-CSI, huh?

Mm-hmm.

Like a science guy?

Yeah.

Makes sense.

Looks like you know what you're doing.

If you mean, I know first aid, yeah, but that doesn't take away from the fact that he needs a doctor.

BRASS: How are we doing on that camera feed?

I think I'm only going to be able to get your picture.

No sound.

I'll take anything you can get.

(phone ringing)

(phone beeps)

D.B.?

RUSSELL: Yeah, Jim...

OFFICER: Captain, I got it.

RUSSELL: We got you on speakerphone here, just so you know.

BRASS: What's your status?

Uh, I think we're okay... for the moment.

I do have a young man...

Jacob here, who needs medical attention.

But our, um, our friend with the g*n here, is not comfortable bringing a doctor in.

BRASS: We can get you anything you need.

Food, water... medical supplies.

All right.

Okay, I think we've agreed on that.

So, I guess the young man with the g*n is listening on speaker?

Yeah. I'm here.

What do you want?

BRASS: Well, I was gonna ask you the same thing.

What do I want?

BRASS: Yeah. What do you want?

Nothing.

BRASS: What's your name, son?

Yeah. We-we already tried that, Jim.

(sighs)

What do you want?

Maybe one thing... a laptop.

Any luck recovering any of the b*ll*ts?

I'm working on it.

Any word yet on Russell?

He's okay.

He was able to contact Brass and now they have a direct line of communication with the gunman.

I found a photo in Officer Matsuda's wallet.

Four kids, all boys.

Has the family been notified yet?

No. I guess they want to keep a lid on what goes out to the public, in case the gunman is watching.

Meanwhile, his poor family has no idea that he's not coming home tonight.

Looks like a nine millimeter.

Consistent... with the w*apon we found on the scene.

(metal clinks)

Hopefully, with this b*llet and that w*apon, we'll be able to I.D. the sh**t.

♪
♪

HUGHES: Blake?!

Blake?

Debra?

Hey.

Sara.

Where is he?

Wh-Where's Blake?

They took him upstairs-- he's in surgery.

So-so he's not...?

No. No. No.

They're working on him right now, uh...

I'm sure the doctors will have some news soon.

Why did this happen?

Why now?

I-I was just starting to think that things were gonna be good again.

Blake and I, we-we've had our struggles...

Both you being on the job...

I know that's not easy.

But that was behind us.

We were ourselves again, making plans for the future.

And now...

Debbie, you can't believe that.

Not right now.

Okay, Blake is gonna pull through this.

He's gonna come through this.

You have to believe that.

Okay?

(groaning, panting)

The pain's getting worse.

RUSSELL: Meds will be here in a second.

You know, you just need one of us.

True... but isn't he more valuable than you?

Being a civilian and all?

BRASS: Okay... All right, well, we've cleared the building.

(sighs)

And now we need to figure out a plan to get Russell and the injured kid out of there.

Yeah, alive.

Yeah, alive.

Sir, you wanted sound, I got it for you.

I put a mic inside this epinephrine injector.

I figure we could get it to Russell with the rest of the medical supplies.

Nice work, Dunn.

Now, we need to figure out a way to let Russell know that there's a microphone implanted in this device.

I can take care of that.

OFFICER: CSI Sanders is approaching for transfer!

OFFICER: He's got a laser on you.

No sudden moves!

TEEN: Put down the bag and the laptop.

Put your hands to the sides and turn around.

Slowly!

I'm not armed.

Just the delivery guy.

What's your plan now?

You can take the delivery.

(panting)

(door closes)

Glad to see you're still in one piece.

(sighs)

How bad is it?

It's pretty bad.

It's all here: Food, water... meds.

Oh, uh, I grabbed your epinephrine from your desk.

I'll keep it close by.

Thank you.

TEEN: Hey, what's the hold up?!

No hold up.

I'm coming back in.

Hey, Russell.

I'll be back in a while.

Coming in.

(footsteps approaching, computer trills, beeps)

Hey. You texted me.

You got something?

So, the b*ll*ts that we recovered from Officer Matsuda didn't provide us anything, but the sh**t dropped a g*n and that's another story.

g*n's been through a lot of hands.

First, seller and then seven other sales after that.

Ending up in Arizona.

Purchased last year by Mr. Holland Walker.

Age 48.

Scottsdale address.

How does Mr. Walker's g*n, in Arizona, end up in the hands of a kid sh**ting up LVPD?

Call Walker.

See if he has an answer.

(keyboard clicking)

What are you doing?

Looking for yourself on the news?

RUSSELL: How you doing here, Jacob?

Feeling good, sir.

Actually, I'm not...

I'm not feeling much of anything.

Well, that's 'cause you're on some pretty good dr*gs there, buddy.

I'm just gonna clean you up here and you'll be good to go.

JACOB: Well, you're the doctor.

Hey. Hey.

Hey. Do me a favor, will you?

Give me a hand here.

I'm-I'm not asking you to put the g*n down.

I just need, I just need a hand.

Give me some water.

Please.

Oh, come on, will you?

You afraid to get your hands bloody, or something?

Hand me the water.

Come on.

All right.

That was a close one.

Russell knows what he's doing.

What is that medal?

Is that Saint Christopher?

Yeah. So?

Well, it just looked like it was important to you, that's all.

I used to have one of those.

Good for you.

Easy. Easy. Easy.

(groans, panting)

My wife gave it to me.

She wanted to protect me at work.

(chuckles)

Who gave you yours?

I told you this whole, "Let's have a conversation thing" isn't going to work.

It's gonna make for a hell of a long evening.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

JACOB: Come on, dude.

Don't be such a tool.

I'm ju... I'm just saying.

If this was supposed to be a su1c1de mission, then why aren't you dead?

You know something?

I think you're wondering the same thing.

I think there's someone out there you don't want to hurt.

You know, someone who's worried about you.

Maybe the same person who gave you that medal.

I'm thinking you should shut up.

Oh, hell. Uh...

Hold onto this, just for a second.

Easy, easy.

You all right?

Thank you.

DUNN: Why's he looking at us like that?

The water bottle.

What about it?

Get me a screen grab.

Isolate that bottle.

Yes, sir.

(computer whirring, beeping)

STOKES: Son of a bitch, he just got us the guy's prints.

I told you he knew what he was doing.

FINLAY: Are they good enough to run?

In the right hands... yes.

This should do it.

We'll see what we got.

(computer whirring)

FINLAY: Mark Powell. 16 years old.

16-year-old walks into PD and starts k*lling cops.

How does that happen?

Well, his juvie record's sealed.

Maybe there'll be some answers in there.

Well, maybe there's some answers here.

(computer beeps)

Got a home address.

STOKES: That's the kid's mom right there, Cynthia Powell.

Does she have any idea why her son might do something like this?

No.

She talked to Brass.

She's still in shock.

Said she doesn't even own a g*n.

Has no clue how her son would be able to get his hands on an arsenal like this.

Who's processing their house?

Morgan.

And she also told Brass that the kid used the family van.

Patrol found it a couple of blocks from here.

Impound's bringing it in right now if you want to get on that.

Yeah. I will.

STOKES: All right, good luck.

I'm so sorry.

So are we.

(sighs)

Okay, Mrs. Powell, come on, I want you to have a seat...

(trembling): Oh, my God! Mark.

BRASS: Mrs. Powell, come have a seat please.

Okay.

(crying)

I'm gonna ask you to phone Mark.

Now, I know this is tough, I do, but I need you to try to reach out to him.

I don't know what to say to him.

Just remind him that he's your son, you know, tell him that you love him.

And that he has a future if he will just... let these people go and come home with you.

(whispering): Okay.

Can you do that?

(voice breaking): I'll try.

(phone ringing)

(sighs)

Yeah... yeah, go ahead, answer it.

Yeah, Jim.

BRASS: Well, I assume that the young man is listening over the speaker?

Yes, he is.

I have someone who wants to speak with him.

(crying): Mark, sweetheart, it's me.

M-M-M-Mom?

W-W-What are you doing here?!

The police found me.

What? How?!

It doesn't matter, sweetheart.

You need to let those people go.

You've got to stop this.

Mark.

You son of a bitch.

You played me. You think I'm an idiot...

No. I don't, Mark.

I just think you need help, that's all.

"Mark"?!

All right.

You-you got my name, you found my mother, but you don't know who I am!

But the world's gonna know, 'cause you know why?!

'Cause it's over.

(g*nsh*t)

OFFICER: sh*ts fired.

Mark!

I need you to leave. - No!

It's for your own safety.

Promise me you won't hurt my son.

Officer Wincroft, escort Mrs. Powell to an outer office.

What the hell's going on?

I heard a sh*t.

DUNN: Still got ears in there, Captain.

What's going on in there?!

RUSSELL: Mark...

Hey, come on.

Don't do anything that we're all gonna regret.

I think we're way past that!

Actually, no, we're not, but we will be.

In about five seconds, they're gonna come busting through that room and then we're all dead.

Unless you let me call them off.

What's it gonna be?

Mark?

Jim, we're okay.

Do you copy me?

What the hell's going on in there?

We just had a little family disagreement, that's all.

Mark and I are working it out here.

I'm gonna need a few minutes.

I will call you back.

You and I have nothing to say.

Now sit down.

Sit down, man!

DOLAN: This kid's a time b*mb.

Thermal imaging can give us a heat signature on anybody in that room.

We could put a .30 cal round right through the wall.

End it right now.

And what assurance do we have that you're gonna target the right signature?

I agree.

We're not gonna wait this kid out.

He k*lled cops! He knows he's not walking out of here alive!

That sounds like you've already made the decision that nobody's walking out of there alive. You!

You're the one...

You better watch who you're poking!

Calm down! Calm down!

The two of you calm down!

That's an order!

Calm down.

Dolan, my heart is with you...

...but my head is with Nick.

Now, Russell's in there, and I'm gonna give him a chance to talk this kid out of there.

But we also need to give CSI a chance to work this case.

The better we know Powell, the better the chances are to get Russell and Baker out of there alive.

You got it?

SANDERS: Powell's mother said she hadn't seen much of him the past couple weeks.

Now we know why.

He's been living in here.

The usual smell of teen spirit.

Yeah, and teen angst.

Self-hatred, depression.

Looking at his journal, I'd say that he'd be more likely to commit su1c1de than homicide.

(camera shutter clicking)

Looks like he found another outlet for his feelings.

Did his homework, too.

Even downloaded blueprints of the PD from county archives.

He's been planning this for a while.

BRODY: But not planning it alone.

Take a look at this.

There are hundreds of e-mails and IM's going back and forth between Powell and this user-name LookingGlass419.

This e-mail exchange is from six months ago.

"Saw another po-po sh**ting on the news.

"Homeless guy sh*t 16 times.

Since when is sleeping on a bench a crime?"

Powell responds: "5-0 got no respect."

LookingGlass: "Maybe someone needs to teach 'em some."

BRODY: More e-mails like that.

LookingGlass talks about how much he hates the cops, Powell agrees.

Then LookingGlass suggests a plan to att*ck police stations.

Some kind of su1c1de pact.

Powell is suicidal, but he wouldn't be able to do this on his own.

He needs an alpha; someone to give him a sense of purpose and meaning in his life that he's missing.

I think you're right.

This last e-mail exchange is from ten days ago.

LookingGlass: "It's on.

I selected targets. You in?"

Powell: "Bring the pain.

Let them never forget."

LookingGlass: "I got g*ns, burner phones.

From now on, total radio silence."

All right, so we know Powell's part of the plan.

Now what about LookingGlass, what's his target?

Which police station?

And when's he gonna strike?

Listen to me now, Mrs. Powell.

I think that Mark had help planning this att*ck from somebody, somebody who got in his head, and encouraged him to do the things that he's done.

I don't understand.

A partner.

There's somebody else out there planning an att*ck.

Maybe an att*ck on a police station.

If we can find him, stop him, then maybe he can help us stop your son.

We found some e-mails.

This partner goes by the screen name "LookingGlass419."

Does that sound familiar to you?

No. I'm sorry, it doesn't.

Not somebody he hangs out with?

A friend of his from high school?

Anything like that?

A friend?

Mark doesn't have any friends.

Not since Elliot was k*lled.

Who's Elliot?

The neighbor's boy.

But he was more like a brother to Mark.

He spent a lot of time at our house... before he got into dr*gs.

About a year ago, Elliot robbed a liquor store.

(voice breaks): The police cornered him, they thought he had a g*n, so they sh*t him.

After Elliot was k*lled, Mark was inconsolable.

You know, that would explain his e-mails expressing his hatred for the police.

Mark said a lot of stupid things.

He's a teenager!

He's done a lot of stupid things now, too, hasn't he? I'm familiar with that juvie record.

He's been arrested multiple times for vandalism, as*ault...

I know!

You know, and you didn't do anything about it?

You didn't see the warning signs that he was capable of something like this?

I did. I got him into therapy and into after-school programs.

I mean, even one of your own Police Youth Sports Camp.

(voice breaks): Mark started going to church with me.

We prayed to Saint Christopher.

I gave him a medal.

And I told him that every time he got upset about Elliot, sad or angry, that he should pray until the anger left him.

I love my son!

I swear, I tried.

Mitch, hi.

Sara.

How you doing?

I've been better.

I just want to get out of here.

Well, it's gonna be a little while.

You were sh*t in the stomach.

Did we at least get the damn sh**t?

He's on lockdown.

Russell's on it.

You hang tough, okay?

(indistinct conversations, phones ringing)

He's gone.

Blake, he's-he's... he's dead. (sniffles)

I'm so sorry.

You know, it's crazy, but I can't stop playing it over and over in my head.

All the "if only's", all the dominoes that line up and fall over, and we have no idea where they're gonna take us.

You know, Miller's kid's sick, so she leaves early, so I shift Dolan to patrol, which means I put Blake at the reception desk.

You couldn't have known this was gonna happen.

It's not your fault.

That's my point.

All the little pieces...

...if it hadn't all gone the way that it did, then...

...Blake would-would still be here.

Alive.

(Jacob groaning)

(groans)

(groans)

This sucks!

I think the pills are starting to wear off.

I'm sorry. I wish I could help, but I think you've topped out on the dosage there.

You're not looking for yourself on the news, are you?

You keep checking your phone.

You're waiting for a text or a news report or something.

Is there someone else is out there, Mark?

Someone who's gonna do the same thing you just did?

Just shut up, man.

You don't know a damn thing.

You've changed.

Just shut up.

You said you wanted to die today, but something's different.

I know a little something about the will to survive, and I think I'm seeing that it in you right now.

You want to survive, don't you?

(Jacob coughing)

You all right, Jacob?

You having trouble breathing?

My chest feels kinda heavy.

(gasping)

Okay, all right, we're gonna take care of you.

I think the b*llet nicked his lung.

It's starting to fill up with blood.

So? Look... do-do something.

Listen to me. I can't.

He needs a doctor.

He needs a hospital, Mark.

(Jacob coughs)

I can't do that, man!

Jacob is not a cop, man!

He's not one of those people you declared w*r on!

You-You know this b*llet in here?

That's a police b*llet.

You let him die now, it's not gonna be on them.

It's gonna be on you.

Is that what you want?

Call ahead.

Let 'em know our ETA.

Watch your back.

Russell was able to talk Mark Powell into letting the wounded kid go.

Maybe he's finally getting through to him.

If not, where are we on the partner?

Greg's got the warrant.

He's tracing the e-mails from LookingGlass419 as we speak.

We should know something soon.

RUSSELL: You're going be okay, Jacob.

Thanks.

I hope you get out of here.

Both of you.

All right, let's move out.

Hold your fire.

He's coming out.

(door closes)

Hang in there.

We got you.

Make way for him.

(phone rings)

Yo, what do you got for me, Finlay?

Greg's been running a trace on LookingGlass.

Nick, what he's found does not make any sense.

What do you mean? Tell me.

All of the the e-mails came from one server.

Whoever is Powell's partner, whoever he has been communicating with... is someone inside the police department.

Officer Dunn, give me a minute.

Take a break.

(door closes)

Are you sure about this?

Greg verified the server's IP.

At least half the e-mails the sh**t received have been sent from a computer inside PD.

What the hell is going on here?

Look, all this time we thought LookingGlass419 was just some other screwed-up kid looking to sh**t up some other police station.

Like this was some kind of su1c1de pact.

But I'm telling you, Jim, LookingGlass is one of us, it's a cop.

And there was never some other target.

This has always been the target, LVPD.

Yeah, but-but why?

Why would a cop do this?

STOKES: Whatever the motive, man, this is crazy.

Yeah.

Yeah, this is crazy.

I want this guy.

STOKES: Whoever it is, they knew Mark Powell very well.

They know he hates cops, and they know he's a ticking time b*mb.

So you say that all the messages came from our server?

Which computer?

I don't know.

Greg's running it right now.

(exhales)

Not happening, is it?

Whatever it is you're waiting for.

Or... whoever it is you're waiting for.

No, i-it will, okay?

We had... we had a plan.

He won't let me down.

(sniffs)

I think he already has.

And I think you know that.

Mark...

I know it seems like there's no way out for you right now.

But there is...

There isn't.

Yeah, I blew away a bunch of cops!

They're just gonna k*ll me!

Not if you walk out... with me.

And then what?

(sniffles)

Do you think I'm crazy?

No, I don't.

That's too bad.

(sniffles)

It's looking like that's all I got left, you know?

Some kind of insanity plea.

I just don't want to spend the rest of my life in a cage.

It's not about what you want.

You gave that up when you walked in here.

I'm-I'm not gonna lie to you.

There are gonna be consequences, obviously, but if you choose to live, man, there's... you can make something out of that life.

What if I don't?

Don't you do that.

(sniffles)

(grunts)

(panting)

Okay, I won't.

Okay, then, you're going to do it.

k*ll me... or I will k*ll you.

No one else is gonna die here today.

(gasping)

(sobbing)

BRODY: How's the trace going?

Figure out which computer at PD sent e-mails to Powell?

It's a bit more complicated than I thought.

I'm comparing each terminal's user history with the server history.

It's a process of elimination, until I find a match...

How many terminals are there?

Seventy-two.

How many have you done?

Eleven.

I'll help.

I just heard.

Is it true?

Is the kid gonna give himself up?

Yeah, it's seems like Russell talked him out.

You think he's on the level?

Well, we'll know in a second.

RUSSELL: Jim, we're coming out!

Wait for my call.

BRASS: That's far enough.

D.B., I need you to step aside.

Sir.

No, no, you're fine.

You're fine. Just do everything they say.

I'm right here.

BRASS: All right, Mark.

I want you to do exactly as I tell you, and only what I tell you.

Put your hands above your head and interlock your fingers.

Get down on your knees.

Mark, do what they say.

I got him.

BRASS: Now lay flat on your stomach.

BRODY: Let's get this info to Brass.

You heard him!

Get down! Now!

g*n!

RUSSELL: Mark, no. Mark, no!

(g*nf*re)

(shell casings clattering)

Oh...

He was reaching for a g*n.

He was reaching for this.

Officer Dolan.

Give me your w*apon.

It was a good sh**t, Captain.

Put him into custody.

Captain, it was a good sh**t.

What's going on?

This doesn't make any sense.

WOMAN (over P.A.): Lab tech to Radiology.

Lab tech to Radiology.

We got the sh**t.

I heard.

We also, uh, tracked down the computer in PD that Powell was communicating with.

Who was it?

Dolan.

Oh, my God.

The marital troubles that you talked about, Dolan was the other man?

He said that after you went back to Blake, he couldn't handle it.

He said he couldn't stop calling, he wouldn't leave you alone.

So-so Dolan was behind all this?

I don't believe it.

Yeah, neither do I.

The e-mails came from Dolan's computer, but we checked the duty roster.

He wasn't there when they were sent.

So... he had nothing to do with this.

S-So it was someone else?

Somebody who had a connection to Powell.

Somebody that he crossed paths with when he was trying to straighten his life out.

We found this photo from, uh... last year's Police Youth Sports Camp.

I don't believe this, Sara.

That kid k*lled my husband.

He k*lled Blake.

Yeah.

He did, Debra.

Because you set the dominoes in motion.

Like you said, "All those little pieces..".

We searched your house, we found your laptop.

You created LookingGlass419.

We searched your locker and we found the burner phone that you used to text Powell.

You gave him the "go", two minutes after you put your husband on the reception desk.

You took advantage of a mentally unstable 16-year-old boy, you used him to k*ll your husband and you designed it to look like some random expl*si*n of v*olence.

You betrayed your badge.

You didn't care who else you wounded, you didn't care who else you k*lled.

Why did you do this?

Because Blake was never going to let me go?

He b*at me?

I-I did it for the insurance?

I don't know, Sara, come on.

Do you... do you really think that there's anything that I could say to you to make you understand?

Y...

Before I... I say anything else, I really think that I sh...

I should speak to my police reps.

You do that.

(handcuffs clicking)

♪

In the news, they're going to make him into a monster.

(crying): But he wasn't.

You were with him at the end.

Yes, ma'am.

What did you see?

Well, I saw...

(sniffles)

I saw a young man who was confused and in a lot of pain.

I saw what you saw.

And whatever you hear in the days to come... only God can judge.

And God can forgive, too.

(sobbing)