03x04 - Red Carpet Treatment

[bunniefuu]

(Knocking on door)

Jane? You in there?

I'm up. I'm up.

Homicide in San Francisco.

Cho and Rigsby are already on their way.

Did you sleep here?

No, I was working.

It looks like you were sleeping.

(Clears throat)

Well, I programmed my, uh, dreams to work on the Red John case.

Oh, well, then make sure you put in for overtime.

Ah, healthy skepticism. I like it. But it could work.

Mendeleev saw the entire periodic table in his dream.

That's nice for him. Jane?

Shall we?

As a friend...

This doesn't look good.

(Clears throat)

Keeps me going.

(Siren wailing, radio chatter)

There's evidence of a physical confrontation, and this is where he ended up.

He was on his back when the sh*ts were fired.

Eight to ten rounds to the head.

Whew. What head?

Yeah.

Ew.

Two motel guests heard muffled pops around 1:00 A.M., figured it was city traffic.

No defense wounds. You'd think he would've at least put up his hands to shield his face.

Or it depends on how hard he fell.

Forensics recovered the casings.

9 millimeter. Also collected a cigarette butt and some red fibers around the body.

You woke me for this?

This man is a sociopath. He should've been in prison.

He was. Full pardon two days ago. Name's Henry dahl.

Convicted nine years ago in the r*pe and m*rder of one Jennie Winter.

Was a lifer at Del Norte until a new D.N.A. test set him free.

How'd you peg him as an inmate?

Give me a break.

A classic rooster build— massive upper body, skinny legs.

Jaundiced skin, probably hepatitis "C" from the dirty needle tattoo on his elbow.

Spiderweb representing the passage of time.

Wh-where are you going?

I'm tired, and I don't really care who k*lled this creep.

He was innocent.

Meh. He made instruments of death out of toothpicks.

(Radio chatter, crowd speaking indistinctly)

I know you, don't I?

Are you with homicide?

Right now I'm with you, unless, uh, of course, are you with homicide?

Did you know it cost taxpayers $2.4 million to convict Henry Dahl in the m*rder of Jennie Winter?

No kidding. That's a lot of money.

Now they'll have to spend millions more finding and convicting Dahl's k*ller because the state set a hardened criminal free.

How many man hours will you waste chasing Henry Dahl's k*ller?

Not too many.

Anything usable?

Eh...maybe.

Get this.

♪ The Mentalist 3x04 ♪
Red Carpet Treatment
Original Air Date on October 14, 2010

And I'm here to tell you Henry Dahl deserved what he got.

Even the CBI agrees with me— the premiere law enforcement agency of California.

Take a look at one of their agents just two hours after the gruesome body was discovered in a South San Francisco motel room.

Not in too big a rush to catch the k*ller, is he?

We've identified this man as Patrick Jane, the CBI's top criminal consultant.

Sleep tight tonight, Mr. Jane. I know I will.

(Click)

This isn't unfamiliar territory to me.

A paid consultant mistaking state contracts for a country club where he can do as he pleases.

He was tired because he was here all night working on the Red John case. It's completely bogus.

Yeah, I know it's bogus. But that's not how it looks.

It looks like he puked in the fish t*nk.

Kinda does, yeah.

The Attorney General has enough to worry about with the m*rder of a wrongly imprisoned man.

I need Jane awake on this.

To be honest, I'm more concerned about her behavior than I am about his. The police never released Dahl's identity to the press.

So what's a famous cable TV host doing in front of the motel?

Karen Cross' production company footed the bill for Henry Dahl's motel room.

Dahl had driven in from Lodi to appear as a guest on her talk show today.

Explains how she knew he was there.

Wait. Their connection runs deeper than that.

Before Cross joined Trial TV, she was a State Prosecutor with 102 violent felony convictions, no losses.

Guess who one of those convictions was?

Hello, Dahl-y.

Don't do that.

Why would Dahl appear on the national talk show of the lawyer who put him away?

Notoriety. Payback. Women.

Well, Cross can't be happy about Dahl's name being cleared.

Ruins her perfect record.

Agreed. Jane and I will go talk to her.

Now did Dahl have a local residence A halfway house in Lodi.

You and Cho, start driving. See what you find there.

I'll grab the keys.

Hey, what's the matter?

Oh. I had a lunch appointment.

Well, I can drive to Lodi with Cho.

Oh, no. I couldn't ask you to do that.

Don't worry about it. I'll clear it with Lisbon.

You know, you go do your lunch thing.

I hope you're hungry.

Hey, Grace.

Hey. Rigsby.

Hey. So you should grab a Jacket.

I hitched us a ride on the TAC team chopper.

We're flying to lunch?

TAC team was heading up North anyhow, so they're gonna drop us off at this great picnic spot I know on the River.

I mean, you said you had a couple hours, right?

Yeah. Thank you so much. I owe you one.

It's okay. We'll stop for Big Gulps.

(Pats back)

Lisbon: How you doing?

You all right?

Eh, it's a little chilly in here, no?

Excuse me. Hi. I'm Agent Lisbon.

I think you know my colleague, Patrick Jane.

Well, he's probably taking a nap.

(Speaks inaudibly)

He gets nervous on TV sets.

I imagine so, considering what happened to his family after his last talk show appearance.

Even I know better than to taunt a serial k*ller on air.

Then you should know better than to taunt the CBI, because—

I'm a person of interest. I get it.

So let me make this easy for you.

Yes, I was outraged that Henry Dahl was set free.

Did I sh**t him?

No. I was in edit bay 4 at the time of his m*rder. The log includes a contact number for the editor who was with me.

Why'd you invite Henry on your show?

The state may have let Henry go, but my show is tougher than any court of law.

I was gonna nail him to the cross.

Karen cross?

You've seen my promos?

Read the trial coverage, too. It was all smoke and mirrors.

You whipped the jury into a frenzy to cover for a lack of physical evidence.

Two witnesses put Dahl at the scene.

That doesn't make him a k*ller.

You caught a break when the D.N.A. test from the r*pe Kit came back as inconclusive.

The new test excludes Dahl as the perpetrator.

You don't trust D.N.A.?

I don't trust anything coming out of the justice system.

That's why I left.

I heard you left because you were gonna be fired for ethical violations.

Nothing stops me from following my instincts, Agent Lisbon.

I won't apologize for that.

I spent six months deposing and questioning Henry.

I'm telling you for a fact, that man was a reptile.

(Clears throat)

Shrink, right?

Excuse me?

The vest.

The tea.

Karen Cross always invites a shrink to comfort the grieving mother. I'm Jodi Dahl.

Oh. I'm sorry for your loss.

Don't you worry about me.

I've been letting go of Henry for years.

Excuse me, hon.

(Door closes)

Tea?

It's a hug in a... cup.

No, no, thank you.

I take it you're family, too.

Max Winter.

Max Winter.

The widower of the victim.

True victim.

My wife's name was Jennie.

There is nothing about you that indicates loss.

No scars of aged pain. Bravo.

Corner seat says you're wary.

Need to control your environment.

In most people, that creates tension.

But your breathing is relaxed.

What's your trick, Max?

It's... inner peace.

The kind of peace you get when you sh**t your wife's k*ller?

Henry was innocent, it seems.

Well, if that's true, the man that r*ped and cut your wife up is still out there.

That doesn't bother you?

Jennifer's life ended abruptly.

Could've been a drunk driver, could've been a meteorite.

Anger is unhelpful and unproductive.

Well, I don't know.

Some people—it's, uh, it's invigorating.

(Chuckles) I'm sorry I don't fit your image of the tragic husband.

You ask where my peace comes from.

It's called... Reconciliation.

I can't undo what happened to my wife, but for the sake of my son Jackson, I can decide how I wanna live thereafter.

So I forgive Henry...

Or... whoever it was who k*lled Jennie.

I actually forgave them long ago.

Let's get you wired for sound, Mr. Winter.

Excuse me.

Where's Miss Dahl?

Okay. Bring her to the stage.

This was the scene nine years ago, when Henry Dahl was att*cked before a pretrial hearing by the husband of the woman whose throat he was accused of cutting.

(Audience murmuring)

(Audience) Oh!

(Murmuring continues)

Three deputies were guarding Henry Dahl that day.

Now that was the Max I knew.

He would be dancing a jig after hearing Henry Dahl was dead.

But am I to understand you actually forgave Dahl before this so-called new D.N.A. evidence came to light?

It's called reconciliation, Karen. Meh.

Reconciliation?

Yeah, reconciliation. In my case— oh, I'm familiar with what reconciliation means.

Reconciliation is basically when family members of victims—they waltz over to the prison, they decide they're gonna forgive this person who m*rder*d their wife or children. I just don't buy it, Max.

Man: He was only here for two nights. I hardly saw him.

When I did, he was just so happy to be free. Who wouldn't be?

Cho: Did Mr. Dahl have any visitors?

Yeah, the first night out.

Some woman—she dropped by for a few hours.

Not bad-looking either. The guy didn't waste much time.

You catch her name?

No. Sorry. Here we go.

Cho: Thank you.

Rigsby: Thanks a lot.

(Sighs)

Oh, we can take it from here. Thank you.

You're welcome.

Well, someone was looking for something.

Thank you, Captain obvious.

Three hours of brooding silence, then sarcasm.

It's like we're married.

Sorry, Cho. It's just special Agent Craig O'Laughlin and his... chopper.

What's she see in that guy anyway?

Ivy league degree in criminology, 6 years in the 101st Airborne, and a black belt in Wushu from a real Shaolin Temple.

Yeah, thanks, buddy. Whatever.

(Door closes)

Aah! Cho, under the bed!

(Grunts)

(Panting)

What are you doing? ! Just go! Go!

(Grunts)

(Grunts)

Bet they don't teach that at a Shaolin Temple.

(Handcuffs click)

(Closes car door)

(Boy)

Hey, dad! In the garage!

Wow. Hi.

I thought you were my dad.

No.

What...

An amazing phenomenon— flying machines frozen...

In mid-air.

I kinda feel sorry for 'em.

Did—did you do all this?

Um, no, my—my dad does.

I just help out.

You're Max's son. I-I saw you at the talk show.

Jackson, right?

I-I-I'm—I'm looking for your dad.

Who are you?

You—you a cop or something?

No. Too many laws to uphold.

But I-I do work with the police.

Don't touch that, please. It's—it's not cured yet.

It feels okay to me. It needs two more hours.

Can—can you go now?

Uh, look, my—my dad's not at the house.

I don't know where he is.

Sure, you do. You just don't want me to know.

Is he hiding something?

No, he's not hiding anything.

Are you?

No. Of course not.

Your dad doesn't seem like the kind of man who would ask you to lie.

Artie Mock.

"Multiple arrests for as*ault, battery, battery with injury..""

And today, aggravated as*ault against a police officer.

I'm sorry.

Did I hurt you?

It was just a mattress.

Now what's your relationship with Henry Dahl?

Friends.

We met in junior college.

We were art majors.

Why'd you break into his room?

I was looking for my money.

He owes me 22 large, plus nine years' interest.

Where were you last night?

Last night?

I was working graveyard at the plant.

And, no, I didn't k*ll him.

I mean, now I ain't ever gonna see what's mine.

What did Dahl owe you for?

Statute of limitations on drug dealing is what, six years?

Six years.

In that case, Henry and I ran a small business in college.

(Chuckles)

We—we weren't very good at art, so we started distributing cocaine.

That's a natural transition. That's what we said.

No, H-Henry was storing a shipment, and—and he gets popped for m*rder.

2 kilos.

I visited him in prison, and he tells me that the—the stash gets confiscated, so I let it go.

But then the day that Henry gets out of prison, he starts flossing about taking his girlfriend to Jamaica, so I'm thinking he's still got those dr*gs hidden.

His girl?

Mm-hmm.

Henry'd been out for two days. When did he find a girlfriend?

She found him, in prison.

They were pen pals.

According to Del Norte, Henry Dahl had just one name on his approved e-mail list— a woman named Betsy Meyers from Lodi, his hometown.

Lodi—yeah, I was just there today. Long drive. Hot.

She and Dahl had a thing going in high school.

She reached out to him two months ago, rekindled their romance. But there's just one problem.

Betsy's married?

Yes, to a Sean Meyers. He's a factory worker.

They've been together for seven years.

Somebody should question him.

Agreed.

Someone who hasn't been to Lodi yet.

I want to see how willingly they come to us.

Let's call them in in the morning. In the meantime, there's no shortage of suspects who hated Henry Dahl.

23 people threatened his life during his m*rder trial, most of which were friends or family of the alleged victim. Here's a list of those names, courtesy of our cable television friend, Miss Cross.

We got a lot of eyes on us on this one.

I want you to stay late and run down these names.

Bravo.

(Whirring)

Oh.

I had a feeling I'd see you again.

Takes a confident man to visit a sh**ting range when he's still a m*rder suspect.

Or an innocent one. I never got your name.

I'm sorry?

Never got your name.

Uh, Patrick Jane. What kind of g*n do you use, Patrick?

Oh, no. I don't—I don't use.

No? That's, uh, a little strange for a policeman, isn't it?

Me, I-I like a well-balanced .45— best combination of power, accuracy, and kick.

Whoa. Hey, hey. Careful. Whoa.

Whoa, watch the muzzle sweep.

Man: You never point at anything you don't want to sh**t.

(Paper rustles)

(Jane clears throat)

(Whirring)

(Sighs) So...

How can I help you, Patrick?

Well, um, I'm just curious to hear how you did it.

How I did what?

Forgave your wife's k*ller.

Ah. So you believe me now.

Well, I wouldn't get carried away, but I-I did find out that you've become quite the, uh, evangelist for reconciliation, corporate talks and all.

(Paper rustles)

You know why I came here in the first place?

I manage real estate funds.

I never touched a w*apon in my life.

But then Jennie was butchered, and I needed a release.

At first, I pretended the targets were Henry Dahl, and now, they're just targets.

It's a discipline. Very Zen.

You found the gift of forgiveness through firearms.

Yeah, sh**ting helped me cope.

My son led me to forgiveness.

All this rage inside me, that lust for vengeance—

I could see I was scaring Jackson.

I didn't want to lose him, too.

Lo and behold, Henry Dahl was exonerated, like a sign from above.

Yes. Exactly. I just wish I had forgiven him sooner.

Do you have children, Patrick?

No.

Try it.

No better pain relief.

I'm not in pain.

No?

I sense pain.

Ah, it's nothing a g*n will fix.

By the way, I don't own a g*n.

I just rent them while I'm here.

And I was with my son, at home, at the time of the m*rder.

Just, uh...

In case you're interested.

It's gonna get loud. Yeah. Oh.

I'll just step back here.

Henry had a beautiful spirit.

That whole bad boy thing— that was always just an act.

He even wanted to try acting when he got out of prison.

How did you know that?

He told me... In his e-mails.

Did you know that your wife was exchanging e-mails with a convicted felon?

Yeah, I was taking dictation for her. What do you think? No.

Betsy, according to the prison, you'd been writing Henry for two months.

Why'd you reach out to him?

Yeah, why did you?

You've had a first love, right?

You know that feeling?

It never really goes away, not totally.

I never thought that Henry k*lled anyone, and when I read that there was new D.N.A. evidence, I just wanted to say "woot, woot, " you know, as a friend.

Does this sound like friends?

"Dear Henry, wild thoughts in my head. I know I shouldn't wonder what your body feels like now, but it's all I"—

Okay, stop. All right?

Why are you doing this to me?

My husband is sitting right here.

I'm sorry.

I'm so sorry.

She is so full of it.

What? She wrote some stuff to a guy. There's worse crimes.

(Lisbon) Betsy, tell me the truth.

You heard. She's in love with him.

No, that's not true.

I really just started writing him as a friend.

We were arguing so much.

And he knew me so well.

He started saying all the things to me that you stopped saying years ago.

(Sniffles)

Did you have any contact with him after he was released?

No. Only in e-mails.

Betsy, we showed a photo of you to the manager of the halfway house Henry was living in.

He identified you as the woman who visited Henry the day after his release.

You slept with him?

Oh, hush.

I didn't say anything.

What is this, marriage counsel?

Rigsby: They're suspects in the sh**ting.

These two?

Really? Hmm.

Um...

Can I see your g*n?

Hmm?

Where were the 2 of you at 1:00 A.M.?

Drinking beers at the Lamplighter.

(Door opens)

Hi. Patrick Jane. Very nice to meet you. Hold that, please.

(Door closes)

Lisbon: Whoa. Okay. What?

Sorry. Here.

Lisbon: What the hell are you doing? !

It's okay. Rigsby took the b*ll*ts out.

Muzzle sweeps. They have no idea how to handle a g*n. Give me a break.

Van Pelt, run down Betsy and Sean's alibis.

You, outside!

Excuse me. Now.

So you're a g*n expert now?

No, not me. Max Winter. You should see him sh**t.

Did he sh**t Dahl?

What caliber was the m*rder w*apon?

9 millimeter. Yeah, Max prefers a .45.

Oh, shucks. I guess he's innocent.

Here's a revised suspect list. Max is still on it.

And I hope you got some sleep last night, because we're going to Lodi to run interviews I just got back from Lodi.

Van leaves in 20 minutes. Be outside.

(Telephone rings in distance)

(Karen) Patrick Jane.

I didn't recognize you yesterday at the crime scene.

You were quite the psychic once.

Oh, there's no such thing as psychics.

So you say now.

Your cold reading of a serial k*ller on live television led to the brutal m*rder of your wife and daughter.

Oh. Really?

Thanks for reminding me.

Mr. Jane, I am on your side.

You were a victim of violent crime, and now you help others. That's wonderful.

Don't tell me you don't have the psychic stuff.

What are you doing for the CBI if you're not psychic?

Are you scamming them, Mr. Jane?

No, Karen, I am not.

Well, prove it. Identify Dahl's k*ller.

Well, if I had carte blanche to do things my way, I would do just that, but they don't give me carte blanche.

The CBI won't, but I will. Deputy?

You've been served.

You are hereby commanded to testify before a studio audience of your peers.

What do you need to solve this crime?

Name it.

Well, I suppose, uh...

I need the help of those that are affected by Dahl's m*rder.

Those two you had on your show yesterday would do.

I'll bring them back.

And, uh, I guess, uh, I need suspects.

Yeah. Make sure these people are in the audience.

Give 'em an appearance fee, whatever it takes.

Beats driving back to Lodi.

You saw him here first— the sleeping CBI Agent.

Well, get ready to meet him.

Patrick Jane—psychic Detective?

Tragic victim?

You be the judge today at 3:00, when Mr. Jane taps his mind's eye to reveal who k*lled Henry Dahl.

(Speaks indistinctly)

Well, where is he?

We're five minutes to air.

Without him, it's just a rehash of yesterday's show.

I've left messages everywhere.

Oh.

Oh. Sorry I'm late. I had to stop by a Bed and Bath Boutique.

Mr. Jane, there is a reason that I asked you to arrive two hours early. I need to walk you through the lineup.

Are all my suspects here?

Yeah, they're in the first two rows. Stellar.

Now the lineup—I'll start with my state of the union, and then we're just gonna roll a clip to introduce you.

A clip?

Uh, y—well, just some old footage.

My Red John talk show appearance.

Oh, no, just save—save your reaction for on-air.

I really want you to relive the moment—

Excuse me, Karen. I gotta hand out candles.

Candles? Wait. What—what candles?

Hey, folks.

I hope Lodi is treating you well.

A little treat from Karen Cross.

Hand them out. One each.

Here you go. Pass that back to him, please. Thank you.

Ah, Jackson.

(Bag rustles)

Here to see the old man again, are you? Here.

A candle.

We need you onstage now.

Oh, I have to hand these out. They're for my act.

Unless, uh, what are you doing?

Everybody must have one.

Okay?

I need these. Thank you.

(Clears throat)

Max.

(Cheers and applause)

♪

(cheering stops)

You've probably read stories about psychics who help the police solve m*rder cases.

Well, today, we're gonna take a peek behind the mystic's veil to see how that's done.

To introduce our featured guest, we have a dramatic video clip of his last talk show.

Uh, Karen, sorry to interrupt.

Uh, Mr. Jane, I'll get to you in a minute.

Could you please sit down?

Youyou wanted to tell me something about the lineup.

I forget. The lineup— did you tell me?

The lineup, I forget. Forget the lineup.

What is the lineup?

Uh... I'm—

Let me remind you. Ladies and gentlemen, it is time to unmask the sh**t.

(Audience murmurs)

What you have all just witnessed is a remarkable piece of mental tomfoolery from our psychic guest star, Patrick Jane.

However, this is not Mr. Jane's show, so I'm gonna ask Mr. Jane again to please sit down.

I'm sorry. I forget. Whose show is it? Whose show? I forget.

I forget whose show. Forget whose—

Wwill you stop doing that?

You are a guest here.

Well, actually, no. I was, uh, summoned.

Are you sure this is how you want to play it?

You really wanna make yourself a sorrier spectacle?

Oh, is there anyone more sorry than you, Karen, with your morbid interest in all things shocking or repulsive?

You pretend to be a victim's advocate, but you're a vulture, preying on the carrion of human suffering.

Are you gonna give me that carte blanche you promised me or not?

Yeah, buddy, go.

Yeah.

(Cheering)

You gonna give me that carte blanche? Hmm?

I feel like getting me some carte blanche.

Okay, Mr. Jane, let the psychic wonders unfurl.

There's no such thing as psychics, Karen, only entertainers skilled in the art of deception.

But I'm happy to, uh, perform a psychic "demonstration."

Usually begins with a fantastic claim such as Henry Dahl's k*ller is sitting in this room right now.

(Audience murmurs)

And then, uh, any good psychic would make sure that the front row is full of actual police suspects, which I believe that we have done for you today.

Then he might go on and explain how, uh, a-a spirit that has crossed over still has the power to manipulate energy in our world— creating noises, moving objects, and sometimes even starting fires— and that is what Henry Dahl is gonna do for us right now.

Henry Dahl will light a candle to reveal his sh**t.

(Audience murmurs)

Dim the lights, please.

Oh, I can't wait for this.

That's the spirit. That's your candle.

Oh. There is one other thing.

A truly world-class psychic would invite police officials up on the stage to make an arrest once the k*ller has been unmasked.

And today, we are very fortunate to have some, uh, conveniently telegenic CBI officers— uh, Agent Wayne Rigsby, and the pocket rocket, the dynamite, heavily armed, cute as a button Agent Teresa Lisbon.

(Mouths word)

Ladies and gentlemen, a round of applause.

(Cheering)

Ladies and gentlemen, please, raise your candles high above your heads while we wait for Henry Dahl to reveal his sh**t.

Speak to us, Henry.

Speak to us from beyond the great beyond.

This is ridiculous— ah.

(Audience murmuring)

Wait.

Jackson Winter, of course.

Uh, you think it was me?

Henry Dahl was convicted of k*lling your mother, but you didn't buy the D.N.A. test that set him free, did you?

What are you doing?

Of course he didn't believe the D.N.A.

I presented an ironclad case.

And the owner of a certain f*ring range I visited tells me that Jackson, in fact, does like to sh**t g*ns.

Prefers a 9 millimeter, same caliber as the m*rder w*apon.

Look... (Blows) I didn't sh**t anyone, okay? Dad—

What's more, forensics matched red fibers from the m*rder scene with carpet fibers from the f*ring range.

Stop it. You stop this.

(Lowered voice) My son didn't do anything.

Casting blame on him like this—it'll ruin his life.

I know.

Then don't do it.

Don't let me.

All right. You leave him alone.

(Normal voice) It was me.

I sh*t Henry Dahl.

(Audience murmurs)

Or he is just lying to protect his son.

Agents, arrest him. I'm not lying.

He's not lying. His son told me.

What are you talking about?

No, I didn't.

Epoxy takes 12 hours to cure.

Yesterday you told me that that model only needed two more hours.

That puts you working in the garage in the middle of the night. Your son wasn't asleep.

He heard you leaving. That's why he wanted to protect you, right?

All right, let him be.

(Voice breaking)

I pulled the trigger, and I can prove it.

Man: You'll find his prints on the g*n.

Ballistics will match the casings.

How did you obtain it?

g*n trafficker eight years ago.

You purchased an illegal w*apon eight years ago. Why?

Dahl was a lifer in a state pen.

You had no way of knowing he'd get out.

Oh, you wanna stop talking now?

That's fine.

All bets are off.

We're gonna take you and your son into custody.

No, j-just...

Just wait.

I knew Henry was gonna get out because I'm the one who set him free.

How'd you know?

Well, he's a man of infinite patience and suppressed rage.

His wife's k*ller had to die by his own hand.

He had no choice.

(Cho) Okay, you're gonna have to help me out a little bit.

How did you set Dahl free?

I'm a fund manager at a real estate investment firm.

I used one fund to buy up old warehouses— safe investment, convert 'em into condos— and that's how my firm came to own a certain Bay area warehouse used for evidence storage.

Including D.N.A. it took since months to pull the condo permits.

I used that time to gain access to the property and I swapped out Dahl's D.N.A. sample.

Dahl passes retest. You k*ll Dahl.

You should sell the book rights.

Hold on. My client never said he k*lled Henry Dahl.

Your client confessed on basic cable.

To sh**ting Dahl.

Hello.

I sh*t that piece of filth.

I sh*t him right in the face.

But I didn't k*ll Henry Dahl.

He was already dead.

That's a development.

How do you know Dahl was dead?

Back of his head was busted open.

He was lying in a pool of blood.

Maybe he was still breathing.

No. I checked for a pulse.

I don't buy it.

If you knew Dahl was dead, why'd you sh**t him nine times?

Because he m*rder*d my wife.

Uh-oh.

What?

He's telling the truth.

With no head left to speak of, the coroner can't make a definitely call, but he did say there was less blood loss than expected, which supports postmortem g*nshots. Oh, in that case...

Let's go pick out the actual k*ller, shall we?

It's kind of obvious now, isn't it?

I mean, sh**ting is a crime of planning. That's Max.

He built an entire fleet of planes with his hands.

But a blow to the head?

Crime of passion.

A lot of emotions were flying around that interrogation room yesterday.

The jilted husband, Sean Meyers—I felt his pain.

Meyers said he didn't know his wife was having an affair with the victim. Maybe he was lying.

What about his alibi?

He alibi'ed out for the 1:00 A.M. sh**ting, but a blow to the head would have occurred earlier.

It's like watching a symphony orchestra come together.

(Birds chirping)

Dead River bridge.

Sean Meyers' cell phone server got a fix on his signal somewhere around here.

Why would he come out here?

Van Pelt talked to the apartment manager.

He heard a couple fighting. Betsy got in her car.

Sean took off after her. She could be his next victim.

Well, that's one theory.

(Betsy) Get back!

(Sean) Betsy! Stay away from me!

Okay.

(Police radio chatter)

We're with the CBI. What's going on here?

Oh, they were up there when we arrived.

We don't know what's going on yet, but it looks like an attempted as*ault.

He's gonna reach her soon.

We may have to sh**t to stop him.

Get back!

Stay away from me!

(Pants)

Betsy! If you sh**t him, you'll have two victims.

She just went up there to see about jumping.

He's trying to save her. Can I use that?

Sure.

Thank you.

(Loud beep)

Sorry.

(Voice amplified) Uh, Betsy?

If you're gonna jump, make sure to dive, headfirst.

Hey. Jane.

From that height, you'll just shatter bones and suffer massive internal injuries.

Make sure you dive, headfirst.

(Groaning)

I just want this all to end now!

I know.

What do I have to live for?

Um, nothing.

Your husband k*lled Henry Dahl. He's going to prison.

You k*lled Henry?

He was gonna hurt you.

You did that for me, baby?

(Pants) No.

Oh!

Ohh. (Sniffles)

Ah, ain't love grand?

Thank you.

Yeah, she was never gonna jump anyway.

She just wanted the attention.

I found the e-mails on her laptop two weeks ago.

My entire world fell apart.

(Betsy sniffles)

I couldn't lose Betsy. I just couldn't.

When Henry got out of prison, I went to the motel, but I went to talk with him.

(Henry) I'm a free man now.

Means free to love, too.

She's married.

I'll share her with you. I don't mind.

You learn to share...

In lockdown.

Where are my damn cigarettes?

I'll pay you.

I'll give you money to stay away from Betsy. How much?

I have $3, 200 saved.

(Laughs)

(Claps hands)

I've got millions coming my way once the state reimburses me for all that time in jail.

Sorry.

I plan on having a little fun with your wife.

Maybe I'll...

Slash her throat...

Like I did the last one.

Damn, where are those cigarettes?

(Grunts)

I just wanted to protect her.

This is all my fault. I'm so sorry.

All right, time to go.

I'll write you every day.

I suppose, from your perspective, it's a shame that neither man will serve any real time.

Oh, will they not?

Well, who knows who really k*lled Henry Dahl?

Well, prosecution will say Sean Meyers.

He struck him in the head.

Ah, but did he k*ll him?

Max may well have lied to protect himself.

Maybe Dahl was still alive.

Max's attorneys point the finger at Sean, and Sean's attorneys point at Max, and in the end, they both walk. Yep, that could happen.

Ah, maybe we could save everyone a lot of time and money and let 'em both walk now.

After all, the k*ller did get what he deserved.

That's common sense.

(Elevator bell dings)

But, uh, common sense carries very little weight in the D.A.'s office.

Pity.

What you doing there, Rigsby?

Nothing.

He's trying to light the candle with the power of his mind.

No, I wasn't.

Is that one of those candles Jane used on the talk show?

Look, I know how he did that.

Oh, yeah?

A Candlewick dipped in liquid phosphorous will spontaneously burst into flame when it dries. The oxygen hits the phosphorous.

Jane must've dipped the kid's candle in the stuff before he gave it to him. Now the real trick, though, is in the timing, which Jane nailed.

Hey. Where are we going for lunch today?

Napa.

Nice.

Bye, guys.

(Elevator bell dings)

Uh, excuse me, Patrick. I was looking for you.

It seems they're gonna drop the attempted m*rder charge.

The, uh, evidence tampering is another matter, but my attorney's gonna work out a deal for probation.

Well, that's— that's very good for Jackson.

Yeah. I'm told that somebody high up in your office was very influential with the D.A.

Mm. Wasn't me. Good to see you.

Yeah. But I brought you a gift anyway.

Oh, listen, thank you, but I-I can't— please? Please.

Okay.

Should I open it now?

No.

Was it worth it?

Was what worth it?

The man that k*lled your wife no longer exists.

The time you took pursuing him, the pain, the sacrifice— was it worth it?

Yes, it was.

Thank you.