01x16 - Memories of m*rder

[bunniefuu]

[KC and the Sunshine Band's "That's the Way I Like It" Plays]

♪ Oh ♪
♪ That's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh ♪
♪ I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh ♪
♪ That's the way, uh-huh, uh-huh ♪
♪ I like it, uh-huh, uh-huh ♪
♪ When you take me by the hand ♪
♪ Tell me I'm your loving man ♪

[cellphone ringing]

What is your problem?

I-if you don't stop calling me...

[Keys jingle]

I got to go.

I'm so sorry.

[Record scratches] [Siren wailing]

[Camera shutter clicking]

[Police radio chatter]

Mike: Ah, homicide.

What morning's complete without a 100-yard hike through garbage to a dead body?

You picked up.

When I pick up, the crime scene is a fountain or a museum, someplace nice.

You pick up, it's a cr*ck den or a tunnel.

What? I got bad crimescene karma?

[Chuckles] I'm just saying.

No purse, no I.D.

Someone liked to take pictures, though.

What do you think? She a pro?

Well, it wouldn't be the first prost*tute to end up here.

H-hey, possible m*rder w*apon.

What is that thing?

Fondue skewer.

What the hell?

Her hair, her dress...

It's like she's ready for a '70s costume party.

Could be an extra in a movie.

Maybe they're finally remaking "Saturday Night Fever."

Did I ever tell you that was my first R-rated movie?

It's come up. I'm gonna need Henry on this one.

They used to say my hair and Travolta's was identical...

Thick, jet-black, the perfect sheen.

Tell you about this, too?

It has come up.

Sorry.

[Mid-tempo music playing]

[Box thuds]

Oh, goodness gracious, Abraham, what's that?

That, sir, is the aroma of, uh, wet cardboard and mold.

It was so cold last night, one of the pipes burst in the attic.

Fortunately, this is the only box that got soaked.

Not your baseball cards, I hope.

No, those I have in a safety-deposit box.

This is just some old junk.

Baby Abraham's bronzed booties.

Yeah. Stopped fitting a long time ago.

[Chuckles]

It's just sentimental garbage, you know, without any real value.

Well, it's part of your past.

Yeah, well, what I want to keep, I keep up here.

If not, I just forget it, make room for the new.

The other stuff belongs in a landfill.

Oh, uh...

Mom's cookbook.

I, uh, didn't see that.

Um... I'm sorry.

That was not junk.

Perhaps you're right, Abraham.

It's a new day.

There are new memories to be made.

I'm off.

♪ Let me get to know you ♪

Henry: We are told that those who ignore the past are doomed to repeat it, while those who dwell in the past would love nothing more than to repeat it over and over again.

But memories, like photographs, have a way of fading with time.

Well, based on the amount of blood, we figure she bled out from her neck wound, made by this.

Lucas: Oh, I love fondue!

You can go, like, savory with cheese or sweet with chocolate, but the best part... It's social. [Chuckles]

And, therefore, a Petri dish for communicable diseases.

I'll get this tested.

Yum.

Mike: So, doc, bruises on her wrists suggest she might have been held down.

That's amazing.

What's amazing?

Her hair.

It smells of...

Garbage?

Chlorofluorocarbons, used in aerosol products like hair spray in the '70s, before it was banned.

I wonder...

Yeah, we were thinking the vintage outfit she's wearing might point to an actor in costume.

Well, no costume is this exact, no.

Our victim's nail polish contains phthalate ester, a plasticizer, discontinued due to its carcinogenic properties.

The anachronisms don't stop there.

This wrap is a Von Furstenberg original.

Every item is vintage.

What are we talking about here, doc... a time traveler?

Or a victim who was obsessed with the past, and speaking of obsessions, due to the voyeuristic nature of these photographs, I'd wager that our victim was the object of someone's fantasy.

Which turned into a nightmare.

Jo: The victim bled out when her carotid was cut.

And the fondue skewer we recovered matches the wound.

Just when you think you've heard it all.

Have we run her past vice?

Yeah, but we're not sure she's a prost*tute.

Based on her wardrobe, Henry thinks she was part of some weird '70s fantasy.

Well, who knew we had Anna Wintour downstairs doing our autopsies?

Missing Persons came back with reports matching our Jane Doe's description.

We got a match... Sarah Clancy, junior at N.Y.U., reported missing by her roommate.

It's hard to believe it's the same girl.

Jo, talk to the roommate.

Hanson, go back to the landfill.

See if you can trace back from the dump site to find out where our victim was m*rder*d.

See what happens when you pick up the phone?

Jennifer: We met our first day.

We were both from small towns, in the city for the first time.

The fact that we ended up as roommates, it was perfect...

[Laughs]

Like Sarah and I had been friends our whole lives.

Jo: Had Sarah been dealing with any personal issues?

New boyfriend, bad breakup maybe?

I don't know.

I thought you were best friends.

We were v-very close, and then we weren't.

Henry: Sarah may have arrived in New York a small-town girl, but she was changing, wasn't she?

Rather a sophisticated wardrobe.

Not exactly contemporary couture, is it?

Jennifer, you can talk to us.

We just want to find the person who did this.

She had changed.

[Thunder rumbling]

And not just the way that she looked.

Do you have any idea who or what would be responsible for this transformation?

She had become so secretive.

Dropped all of her classes, except for one.

It was like she was obsessed with it.

Which class?

Professor: What urge creates these fantasies?

Is it control, power, transformation?

If our fantasies are fed by our deepest desires...

Is it just me, or has college changed?

Then understanding them can teach us who we truly are...

Since Freud, psychology has become obsessed with sexuality.

I've always found it rather... stimulating.

We all have someone or something we fantasize about.

The question is, what could we learn about ourselves if we gave in to that desire?

That's all I have for today. Thank you.

[Indistinct chatter]

Iona.

Oh, that's Professor Dawes in the classroom.

You can call me Molly.

Well, it's a pleasure to see you again, Molly.

You may call me Henry.

You are full of surprises.

Therapist, dominatrix, professor?

Well, I do have a PhD in psychology from Yale, so the head of the department calls me in any time there's subject matter her staff isn't as well-versed in.

Such as sexual fantasy.

Which is exactly what we've come here to discuss.

Professionally, of course.

Molly: I can't believe she's dead.

Jo: Did you know Sarah well?

We had a lot in common.

She and I both had very sheltered childhoods.

She was different from the rest of my students.

She was very mature.

Did she talk a lot about her personal life?

We're trying to find out...

Who took these.

She did come to office hours a few weeks ago...

Not about class.

She told me that she was involved in a role-playing relationship and she knew it wasn't normal, per se.

Did she know about your... secondary occupation?

That I'm a domination therapist?

That's why I felt obliged to ask her if she enjoyed it and if she felt safe, and she said yes.

But...

If she was wrong and then I didn't...

It's not your fault.

Perhaps there's a way I can help.

I mean, if there's anything that you can tell me about the crime scene, then...

Thank you, professor, but we have New York City's finest on it.

Thank you.

Lucas: You sure they only gave us one Hazmat suit?

Mike: What? Oh, uh, cutbacks, I guess.

Wow, great article on Jimmy Caan's walk-in humidor.

I think I found something...

A possible location for the crime scene.

[Sighs] I did a reagent search on all the debris near where the victim's body was found and picked up traces of blood on this junk mail.

All from the same apartment building.

Thinking that's where she was k*lled and then dumped the body here with the rest of the garbage?

We got an address. Blow it up?

You need a shower.

[Chuckles] I'm calling Joe.

I'm gonna need my own badge soon.

Mike: Yeah, aim high, Lucas.

Come on, an honorary badge, something.

Man: Sarah was a real good tenant.

Huh, yeah, always paid on time, quiet.

Was there a boyfriend, an older gentleman perhaps?

No.

Do you have surveillance?

This is an older building.

Well, when it was built, it was state-of-the-art.

You should've seen it.

It was just like...

What the hell?

Uh...

Thank you.

[Closet door opens]

There is not one article of clothing in this closet.

[Closet door closes]

Ah.

A Technics SL-220... 40 years old.

Like it just came out of the box.

We had the exact same one.

In the shop.

Check out these magazines.

They're all from the same year and the same month.

This fondue set is original, too.

Every item in this place has been carefully chosen to create a perfect simulacrum of the late 1970s.

Everything is in accord with that design.

Everything except for this.

The little rug?

It's a macramé wall hanging...

Very popular at the time and never ever placed on the floor.

No, that would be insane.

I believe we've found our crime scene.

But if the victim bled out slowly, why would the blood be concentrated here?

Why didn't she get up, go for help?

You think she was knocked out?

Perhaps the k*ller held her down and watched her die.

Hey.

Look at this.

Another polaroid.

This one looks different.

Polaroids fade.

And judging by the deterioration of this image, I'd say this one was actually taken in the '70s.

This isn't the same girl, but they're both wearing the same dress.

So, who is this woman?

The woman Sarah was supposed to be.

The apartment was a perfect replica of a 1970s home, exact in every detail.

What do you mean, like, disco, uh, polyester, Nixon?

Not the 20th century's finest hour, but...

[Sighs]

Iona... Molly... believes that it was part of some sort of role-playing fantasy.

Iona.

As in your dominatrix gal pal?

Eh, professor.

She teaches a psychology class at N.Y.U.

Oh, now I get it.

New scarf.

You're dressed to impress, Henry.

Look, I'll grant you that, uh, Molly is a fascinating woman, but my interest in her is strictly professional.

I hear she's very strict.

[Chuckles]

No, I know. I know. I get it. I get it.

You're scared. Okay, so, it's been a long time and you're out of practice.

I'm not a monk.

I've had relations.

No, no, I know.

You've had sex, yeah, with countless beautiful women.

Oh, you've got that immortal charm going for you, I know, but none of them have ever gone anywhere, Henry.

I mean, do you even remember going out on a date with someone you actually cared for?

[Jazz music playing]

Abigail dear, you ready?

Reservations at La Camilia are not easy to come by.

Dino will give our table away.

Abigail: Are you sure we shouldn't stay in?

[Sighs]

It's our anniversary.

Oh, darling Henry, I don't know.

Really, what will people think?

An older woman with her young escort.

[Sighs] We're a distinguished couple out for a sophisticated dinner and a spot of unsophisticated dancing, courtesy of my two left feet.

[Chuckles] But you're a marvelous dancer.

Everyone will stare at us.

We've braved a w*r together, raised a child together.

I'm sure we can survive a night out in New York together. [Chuckles]

Come on. It'll be fun.

You're right.

Let's have fun.

[Siren wailing in distance]

I had a thought.

New scarf?

Yes.

Now, I don't usually have a say in how we manage an investigation, but I had a thought.

You mentioned this thought.

What if we were to involve Professor Dawes as a psychological profiler with an eye toward sexual fantasies?

Thank you, Henry, but I think we have it covered without Molly.

Jo! We got something.

Forensics pulled video from Sarah's laptop.

[Keyboard clacks]

You must be exhausted, dear. Take off your jacket.

Subway construction was just awful today at 59th and Lex.

I had to walk two blocks to get home.

Poor baby.

You look tense.

I know just the thing to calm you down.

[Door opens] [Gasps]

Sorry. [Sighs] [Door closes]

My roommate's home.

I'm not much of an actress, but I'm interested in your offer.

I hope we can play together.

Almost like she's auditioning.

What kind of k*ller puts out a casting call?

Perhaps the insights of an expert would be helpful.

Okay, Henry, let's go talk to your girlfriend.

Oh, please, doctor, do go on.

Well, most fantasies are flights of fancy.

They're scenarios that the participants can't live out in their normal lives.

But this one couldn't be more ordinary.

Exactly, so...

The man who concocted it, his fantasy is about control.

[Sighs] He dresses her, puts her in this apartment...

And tells her what to say.

Some men seek that out, to dominate a woman.

Others look to be dominated.

At its simplest, it's really just about who wants to be on top.

New scarf?

New fragrance?

Professor Dawes?

Hmm?

You see anything else in the video?

This fantasy isn't about domination, it's about re-creation.

A memory.

A moment from his past.

The last time he was happy, in love, something, but you're looking for a man in his mid 60s, maybe, um, a doctor, a scientist, but somebody who employs exacting control in their work and their life.

[Rewinding]

Subway construction was just awful today at 59th and Lex.

I had to walk two blocks to get home.

If this fantasy is about a moment from our k*ller's past, then all of these details are meaningful.

Wait.

There was a massive subway construction at 59th and Lexington in 1979, blocks away from the crime scene, which begs the question...

Who rented that apartment in 1979?

Can you confirm that you leased an apartment at, um, 112 East 61st Street in 1979?

I don't remember.

The lease has you listed as tenant from 1978 to 1982.

That's a long time ago, but it sounds right.

Um...

That is not for sightseeing.

So, what is this about?

A woman was m*rder*d in your old apartment.

Her name was Sarah Clancy.

Maybe you remember seeing her somewhere?

Mnh-mnh.

How about this woman?

Thank you for your time, Mr. Neville.

Hey, wait. No, don't.

Stop.

You're gonna destroy that.

It's very delicate.

Please.

Give me the picture.

Who was she?

My wife... Catelyn.

When did she die?

1981, breast cancer.

The picture you just destroyed I took a few weeks before she was diagnosed.

[Sighs]

Where were you two nights ago, Mr. Neville?

I was there.

With Sarah in the apartment?

[Sighs]

What happened to Sarah, Mr. Neville?

I think I k*lled her.

Jo: Can you tell us how a man like you came to meet a 20-year-old undergraduate student...

Sarah Clancy?

I was downtown for a building inspection, and I saw her.

At first, I could've sworn it was... your wife?

So much alike, the pieces fell into place as soon as I saw her.

I could rent the apartment, remodel.

I wanted it to be as real as possible.

Okay, what'd you make Sarah do, other than impersonate your dead wife?

I didn't make her do anything.

I hired her, and she was compensated.

Oh, I'm sure it was all very romantic till she ended up dead.

Okay, night of the m*rder... Tell us what happened.

The same thing as always... I came home to the apartment.

It wasn't some random night he was re-creating.

She asked about work,

It was the night.

The best moment in his life.

And what did Sarah do?

She tells me she's just found out she's pregnant...

I'm pregnant.

Just the way my late wife told me.

And in my excitement, I take her picture because I want to remember that moment for the rest of my life.

[Camera shutter clicks]

But each time...

The moment seemed to slip farther and farther into the past.

It felt fainter somehow.

Is that why you k*lled her?

The fantasy wasn't realistic enough?

She had her cellphone, and...

I forbade any items from Sarah's regular life, and that threw me off.

Made you angry.

She ruined your fantasy.

So, you stabbed her, didn't you?

I think so. Yes.

With what?

The skewer from the fondue set.

Show us how you did it.

In the neck once...

Like that.

[Telephone ringing] Nice work, detective.

You can't b*at a m*rder confession.

If only it were true.

Henry, he said he did it.

The m*rder w*apon entered Sarah's neck from beneath, yet based on Neville's pantomime, the angle of entry was downward.

We have the man who owned the apartment in '79, who created some whacka-doodle fantasy and then dumped a young co-ed down a garbage chute.

Listen, if...

If you're looking for an excuse to spend more time with Molly, all you got to do is ask her out.

How long has it been since you and Abigail split up?

It's been a while.

Well, maybe it's time you get yourself back out there.

We have a closed case, and you have a new scarf.

What's the worst that can happen, huh?

[Crying] Oh, I told you this was a terrible idea!

The hostess thought you were so sweet to take your mother out to dinner.

And did you see the way everyone looked at us when you took my hand?

No one was looking.

Henry, you really are blind, aren't you?

Yes.

Since the moment I first saw you.

Henry, look at us.

We're ridiculous.

A ridiculous love story.

That what makes us so special.

Look, I want to believe you, but every time I look at you...

Then don't.

Close your eyes.

[Sighs]

And where do you imagine us?

[Sighs]

["Moonlight Serenade" plays] The Queensbury All-service Club in London.

You're dressed in your smart tuxedo.

Glenn Miller is playing.

Then that's where we are tonight.

Molly: You're thinking about the case, aren't you?

The case, yes. Sorry.

No, no, it's okay.

I can't stop thinking about Sarah, either.

Detective Martinez, my partner, made me promise that I wouldn't talk about any murders on our date.

Oh, is that what this is?

Yes.

Uh-huh.

I'm not up on all of the latest rituals...

[Chuckles] But be aware, you're currently being courted.

Duly noted.

Here's to fate bringing us back together and justice served.

I'm not quite sure that's the case.

What do you mean? I thought you had a confession.

We do, but...

Henry, stop.

[Chuckling] You can talk m*rder on our date.

It's fine. [Chuckles]

There's something off about his recollection of events.

Is it possible that he had a psychological break that would have prevented him from remembering the manner in which he stabbed her and then held her down while she bled to death?

I'm sorry. Stop, stop.

You're saying that Neville held her down and watched her die?

Yes. I suppose that was part of his perverse fantasy.

No, that doesn't make any sense, not based on his profile.

I mean, his fantasy was all about preservation.

He was immortalizing his late wife through Sarah.

Would you like my expert opinion?

Please, doctor.

The only way you can really understand someone's fantasy... is to inhabit it.

Now, that sounds like a date.

Well, I'm no stranger to obsessive personalities, but this seems...

Just like stepping into the past.

All right, you go outside and come back in again.

Remember, this time, you are Neville.

Hi, honey. I'm home.

Did you come home from a long day at the office?

You hang up your coat, you tell me how wonderful my cooking smells.

Is that the smell of molten cheese bubbling over a chemical flame?

Mmm!

Fondue... my favorite!

Mm-hmm.

What? No kiss?

Sorry.

You, sir, go enjoy your cocktail and let your little lady slip into something more comfortable.

It's at this point I think that she would disrobe, although I am not wearing any lingerie.

Well, I have a very vivid imagination.

I'm sure you do, doctor.

He sat here. Notice the indentation.

All right, well, then where do I sit?

There's only one indentation.

Well, I believe I'm your seat.

Well, we must be precise.

Mm-hmm.

My glass.

Forget it.

A stain.

Perhaps Neville spilled his drink the night of the m*rder.

Okay, so he's clumsy.

[Sighs]

No, no, no. He's precise. [Sighs]

Exacting.

He's meticulous about cleaning.

Why on earth would he have left this stain?

Well, perhaps he didn't remember spilling it.

[Sighs]

Or perhaps there was another ingredient in his evening cocktail.

Drinks and a trip to the morgue?

This is the best date I've had in years.

I knew I recognized the odor... Ketamine.

It smells like dish detergent.

Neville said he was drinking from a soapy glass, when, in fact, he was drugged.

Well, by whom?

Oh, someone who wanted to destroy his fantasy, not only frame him for m*rder, but make him believe he was responsible.

You had me with the new scarf, but I must admit...

I am genuinely impressed.

Well, I... do have my moments.

Mm-hmm. And right now's one of 'em.

Whoo-hoo. My day to sleep in, and I get a call with him raving about Neville.

You know, I don't get it. Didn't he confess?

However, in re-enacting Neville's fantasy in the apartment, we discovered a clue that will shed new light on his confession.

We? As in...

Professor Dawes accompanied me. She was very helpful.

You took Molly to the crime scene?

Well, you're the one who suggested I ask her on a date.

Most people start with dinner and a movie, doc.

Lucas: Nope, not me... Too predictable.

No, fear is an underrated aphrodisiac.

So, did the strategy pay... Dividends?

Afterwards...

I brought her back to the lab, and we ran a tox report which proves that Neville was poisoned.

Smooth! I bet that buttered her muffin.

Can someone please tell me why I got called in from my tennis match to work a closed case?

Uh, we... have made some new discoveries.

Yeah.

Doc thinks someone slipped our m*rder*r a Mickey.

Henry: Ketamine, to be precise, in the neighborhood of 250 milligrams, and when Neville came to with Sarah's body before him and a fondue skewer in his hand, his mind leapt to the grim, logical conclusion.

Lucas: That he k*lled her?

While someone else snuck in while Neville was knocked out.

And k*lled his fake wife.

Yeah, right, and left the m*rder w*apon in his hand.

I don't know. This sounds...

I agree. It sounds farfetched.

Well, it couldn't hurt to talk to Neville again.

[Sighs] There goes my afternoon match.

Mr. Neville, do you take any medications...

Sleeping pills, tranquilizers?

Any... recreational dr*gs?

Did you have anything to drink the night of the m*rder?

[Sighs] My usual Manhattan.

Why?

We recovered spilt bourbon at the scene.

It was laced with a sedative.

What sedative?

Ketamine. It's an anesthetic, but it can also be used...

Recreationally.

I know what ketamine is.

Did you catch that? He...

Of course you did.

Would you be willing to subject yourself to a blood test?

Jo: We may be able to prove that someone slipped ketamine into your drink.

But I already told you... I did it.

I k*lled Sarah.

Mr. Neville, I'm not sure you understand what I'm saying.

He knows what he's doing.

He's covering for someone.

Someone who framed him for m*rder, destroyed his fantasy?

Who could he possibly be covering for?

Another person whose life was ruined when his wife d*ed.

Remember Neville's fantasy?

The night when his wife told him that she was pregnant.

Cecily Neville, born November 20, 1979.

Nine months after the night Neville wanted to immortalize.

No wonder he wanted to go back in time. Check it out.

Daughter ran away from home at 15, petty larceny charge.

Two years ago, she was arrested for possession.

Ketamine.

No wonder Neville took the blame.

He was protecting his daughter.

Where is she now?

Paroled last month.

P.O.'s got her working at a coffeehouse on 10th.

Jo: Three days ago, a woman was m*rder*d in an apartment you used to live in.

Okay.

Sorry, that's terrible.

The same night, your father was drugged in the same apartment.

This is getting weird.

Cecily, we'd like you to tell us about your relationship with your father.

There is none.

Why? Did something happen?

My father wasn't a bad person.

It was like...

He wasn't ever there, not after my mom d*ed.

I knew he didn't want me.

I just reminded him of her... mom... so I left.

You must have hated him.

Too bad I was here from noon to midnight, so check with my boss if you think I k*lled his girlfriend.

Detective Martinez said "woman," but yet you knew he was sleeping with her.

The only photo I have of my mom.

Doesn't even seem like she was real until...

One day, a woman walks past the window looking exactly like her...

Same jacket.

It was eerie.

So I followed her, and she walked into the building we used to live in.

Of course, it wasn't her, just some girl my dad had dressed up to look like my mom so he could bang her.

Jo: Is this the woman you saw?

No.

Sorry.

A healthy fantasy returns us to reality.

We can also lose ourselves in fantasy and behave in ways that our rational selves could never imagine.

I'll see you all next time.

Jennifer: Professor Dawes?

I've been thinking about switching majors, and I was wondering if I could pick your brain?

Sure. Why don't we talk in my office?

Neville said no one knew about their secret '70s love nest.

Yeah, yet Cecily followed a woman dressed as her dead mother there.

But if Sarah wasn't our mystery woman, who was she...

Our k*ller?

I've got it.

What if someone was impersonating the impersonator?

Okay, that just hurts my head.

Sarah was dressed as Neville's dead wife.

Because he was obsessed with her, so who was obsessed with Sarah?

Who dressed up as her?

Who else had access to her clothes?

Her roommate.

Molly: So, you want to be a psych major?

Maybe.

I don't know.

I'm trying different things out.

Isn't that what college is all about... experience?

Well, education is what it's about.

Right.

Of course.

I just thought maybe I could get outside myself.

You made such a huge impact in my friend's life, someone I really looked up to.

Your friend?

Sarah Clancy?

You're wearing her coat.

It makes me feel closer to her when I wear it.

[Chuckles]

Like she's still here.

Jennifer, I am so sorry, honey, but I'm late for my next appointment, so let's talk later, okay?

Oh. Sure.

Well, thanks for chatting.

Mm-hmm.

[Exhales sharply]

[Door closes]

Woman: N.Y.P.D.

N.Y.P.D., uh, I need to speak with Dr. Henry Morgan, please.

It's an emergency.

One moment.

[Telephone rings]

M.E.'s Office. This is Lucas.

[Grunts]

Hello?

Yello?

Hello?

Jennifer?

[Door closes]

We've been thinking about the case wrong.

[Cellphone ringing] It's always been about obsession but the wrong person's.

Hey.

Lucas.

Okay, I will tell him.

That was Lucas.

He said you got a crank call.

Uh, caller I.D. said it was coming from the N.Y.U. Psych department.

What's wrong?

Jennifer printed Sarah's class schedule for today.

Sarah had dropped out of all her classes except one.

Molly's.

[Molly whimpers] What did I do?

Why did you try and call the police?

I really messed up.

I just wanted to rescue her, to get her away from that disgusting old man!

[Whimpers] You k*lled Sarah?

I didn't mean to!

I was trying to save her so that things could go back to the way they were, but she got so mad, and now...

What do I do?!

We tell the truth. I mean, we'll... we'll do it together.

I know the police.

I can just tell them you had a psychotic break.

Look, I'm not some sort of psycho!

No, I'm not saying that you are.

I'm not, honey. That's an excuse.

That's... that's, um [Sniffles] it's a defense, okay?

We all make mistakes.

We... we get caught up in our fantasies.

But what's important is that we have to come back down to reality, okay?

No matter what the consequences, we have to.

[Door opens]

Henry: Molly!

Molly, are you there?

[Muffled scream]

Professor? Detective Martinez.

[Pounding on door]

[Muffled scream]

Molly?

[Muffled screaming]

Be quiet.

Shh!

[Muffled screaming] Be quiet!

Drop it! Put it down now! Put it down!

[g*n cocks]

[Screams]

Call an ambulance.

Molly!

Back against the wall!

Oh, God. [Breathing heavily]

Turn around! Hands behind your back!

This is Detective Jo Martinez. We need an ambulance.

[Police radio chatter]

[Breathing shallowly]

[Weakly] M-my h... my hero.

[Sighs]

I forgot what this feels like.

What's that?

[Sighs] Being scared...

Vulnerable.

Well, that's what happens when you open yourself up.

Yeah, I suppose.

It's a good thing, Henry.

I'm sure Molly's gonna be just...

Doctor: Dr. Morgan?

Patient's out of surgery.

She lost a lot of blood, but she's gonna be okay.

[Sighs]

Can I see her?

Uh, it's best that she rests.

[Elevator bell dings] Um, N.Y.P.D.

Mm, let him in.

[Monitor beeping]

[Weakly] Hello, Henry.

You want to know a secret?

I've always harbored a "damsel in distress" fantasy.

Being saved by a dashing doctor was...

It was kind of hot.

[Sighs] I won't tell anyone.

Mm-hmm.

Wouldn't want to ruin your credibility with the dominatrix community.

Thank you.

But I'm the one that got my throat slashed, but, honey, you look [Chuckles] terrible.

Well, thank you.

It's been a harrowing evening, sitting out there, worried about you.

Mm.

I don't know how to say this...

But I've started to... develop real feelings for you, Molly Dawes.

Isn't that a good thing?

Yes, usually.

You're not a usual man, though, huh?

And you avoid real feelings at all costs.

Yes.

Whoever she is, she hurt you pretty bad, huh?

Let's just say the... wounds haven't healed yet.

I understand.

But do me a favor, Henry...

You ever decide you don't like me so much, you call me, okay?

[Sighs]

Reece: So, it was the roommate, huh?

Jo: She developed an unhealthy obsession with our victim, Sarah Clancy, and when she lost her to someone else's fantasy, she snapped.

Girl's a complete whack job.

That's the technical term, boss.

Don't joke. She's probably gonna try to get off on a psych plea. [Chuckles]

So, how's Professor Dawes doing?

Molly's recovering well.

That's good. I'd like see her and Henry get together.

[Elevator bell dings]

I know everything that goes on in my precinct.

["Nothing Will Ever Change This Love of Mine" Plays]

Henry: Abraham?

Is that...

Mom's lasagna!

With secret sauce.

[Sighs] ♪ I got the message, baby ♪

I'm shocked.

So am I.

It turns out that despite my ever-youthful, forward-thinking...

21st-century ways, when it came down to throwing away mom's old recipes, I just couldn't do it!

I held this old cookbook in my hands, and all of a sudden...

I remembered coming home from school and that smell.

[Chuckles]

Abigail's cooking. [Chuckles]

My mouth started watering right away.

You know, it turns out that, uh, a pinch of nostalgia might not be such a bad thing.

♪ This love of mine ♪

Mm, for a moment, it felt like she was still here.

I know just how you feel, pops.

Henry: Some memories are so powerful that they never fade...

[Sniffs]

[Sighs] Smells great, mom.

Thank you.

It's positively Pavlovian.

Every time I smell it, I experience this overwhelming desire to dance with a beautiful woman. [Chuckles]

No.

Yes.

No, Henry.

Yes.

I'm a mess.

["Moonlight Serenade" plays]

You're perfect. [Sighs]

Everything is perfect.

Memories which become more powerful every time we remember them...

[Voice breaking] This can't last forever.

Shh.

Let's not think about that.

Thus making our present lives seem a little more faded.

But let's not think about that now.