01x08 - Give 'Til It Hurts

[bunniefuu]

[Knock on door]

At last.

Lieutenant Backstrom is coming?

I, too, would like to go home at night.

Look, I was driving Backstrom here for his appointment, and then he got a very important phone call, all right?

But he insisted I come here and tell you in person, so...

What kind of important call?

A summons from the head of the civilian oversight committee.

[Sighs] Thank you for coming.

I'm not gonna say no to a booty call.

First thing I said on the phone is, "this is not a booty call."

And yet we're headed towards your bedroom.

Because that is where the possum is.

Uh-huh. Okay.

Yeah. You know what? I'm not hearing anything.

Maybe he went away on his own?

You know, if you're lonely, you don't need to make up stories about rabid possums in your bedroom.

Let's discuss our delusions after you get rid of the possum.

Let's do this.

Backstrom: Ah!

[Possum squeaks]

Uh, okay, you weren't kidding!

[Possum chitters]

You've got a, uh...

Wild animal probably pooping ebola on your bed.

Oh, God.

Here's $18. Go stay at a hotel.

Where? In 1952?

[Electronic voice] Text. Text. Text.

Oh, sh**t.

Duty calls.

I need you to get me a ride.

How did you get here?

Valentine. But he took off.

Why?

'Cause he knew this was a booty call.

[Sighs]

[Indistinct conversations]

[Police radio chatter]

Man: One floor upstairs. I'll get him.

Backstrom: There you go.

Evening, lieutenant.

Why'd you take a cab?

'Cause that's what grown people do when they need to get somewhere.

The victim is Vanessa Taymor, age 44.

Blunt-force trauma consistent with being struck and run over by an automobile.

What, that spaceship?

No. That vehicle was registered to the victim.

Oh, right, 'cause that battery-operated vanity toy probably couldn't go fast enough to k*ll someone.

This is Vanessa Taymor.

Vanessa Taymor, the former venture capitalist.

She made a bajillion dollars before she retired?

She's married to Tad Taymor.

Tad Taymor?

[Chuckling] Tad Taymor?

Stop saying "Tad Taymor."

Famous former tennis player.

So, the victim is rich.

That's why we're here.

A rich person gets hit-and-runned, the big g*ns get called in.

Is that it?

Bertolt Brecht says, "corpses sour you.

They are bad for objectivity."

Niedermayer... seriously.

This overlapping pattern of forward and backward, centrifugally formed impressions suggests otherwise.

I...

But the driver struck Vanessa Taymor here.

She hopped up onto the hood, cracked the windshield, and she landed here.

And then the driver then slams on his brakes, causing these skid marks, jams it in reverse, burning rubber here, backing over the victim while she lay prone on the ground, and then slamming on his brakes again here...

Phew!... and then floors it into forward, hitting the victim for a third time before continuing out on the exit.

I mean, at least, that's the way I see it.

I'm officially declaring this "a hit, another hit... another hit... and run."

Thank you.

Thank you.

That's good, right?

[Groans]

Oh, you got to really hate someone to run over 'em that many times.

Obviously, the husband did it, somebody with balls big enough to pretend that tennis is a real sport and rich enough to think that he could drive away with m*rder.

Putting him in jail with the bottom one percent...

Oh, that's gonna be fun.

[Birds chirping]

[Electronic voice] Work. Work. Work. Work. Work.

[Cellphone vibrating]

[Sighs] Work. Work. Work.

Work.

It's about time you called.

You got the husband in custody?

Gravely: Yes.

He's in the hospital, but the doctor says he can't talk to us.

Just pick me up on the way.

The doctor says...

The rich bastard can't hide behind a note from his doctor, okay?

And get me a coffee.

I made it clear that Mr. Taymor is unable to speak right now.

Oh, did he pay you off to say that?

Mr. Taymor is sedated. We'll call you when he wakes.

Oh, what happened?

Did he split open his nose on the steering wheel when he ran over his wife?

Mr. Taymor has stage-4 lung cancer.

As a participant in a blind experimental treatment protocol, he hasn't left the hospital in six weeks.

Excuse me.

Terminal cancer. Wow.

Talk about overdoing it with the alibi.

Dr. Deb: Lieutenant Backstrom.

Oh. Hey.

Gravely, this is my doctor, Deb.

Back in his home country of Tandooristan, he is the sultan of surgery, but here he just works for the police union.

I'm here visiting a patient who needed surgery, just like I'll visit you when you're here for your quadruple bypass.

Okay.

You've missed three appointments.

Do you have a good reason?

Yes, I do.

It's not... terminal cancer, but it... it's a pretty good reason.

Miss one more appointment, and I will have to withdraw your provisional fitness certification.

Nice to meet you, Detective Gravely, and you have my deepest sympathies.

And I feel your pain... Dr. Chaman.

"Dr. Chaman"?

"Deb" is his first name?

Nadia: I was able to access the victim's contact and digital calendar.

Huh. Hotel events manager corroborates that she was there checking out facilities.

She has a curious appointment today.

Niedermayer: At 2:00 p.m., M.J. at M's?

Mm-hmm, and that same appointment recurs every Thursday, so I went online to check for clues on what "M.J." stands for, and guess what?

Almond: Hmm?

Marijuana.

Mm. So, "M's" her dealer?

And there's also Michael Jackson, Moose Jaw, monster jam, mechanical joint, and megajoules.

So, she has weekly energy meetings?

In Moose Jaw? [Chuckles]

You guys are mocking me.

Okay, so, what do you think it stands for, you... you smarty-pants boys?

Mahjong.

Rich ladies play mahjong in the afternoon.

"M" is her friend who hosts.

How do you know about mahjong?

My mom used to make me go to after-school programs when I was kid funded by rich ladies, and every now and then, I had to put on a suit and tie and go by and say "thank you"?

During mahjong?

Oh, yeah. They love it.

Aha. And her favorite contact... Meredith, no last name.

I'll get my hat.

[Indistinct conversations]

Meredith: Vanessa was a force of nature.

She did so much good work.

Vanessa was a part of your group?

Yes. We loved her very much.

Wait a minute.

How come there's eight of you here?

Excuse me?

Mahjong is played in groups of four, but your friend just got k*lled, which would leave you a man down...

Which means you knew...

She was not gonna make it today, which means you knew she was gonna get m*rder*d.

[Gasps, exhales sharply]

Ladies?

No matter wh Vanessa said to anybody, it was her decision to quit mahjong.

And why do you think she'd go and do that, huh?

'Cause she was loved too much?

You're a very rude man.

Almond: Whoa, whoa, whoa.

He's not the one playing dominoes and getting drunk the day after your friend was m*rder*d.

We have nothing more to say.

Backstrom: Really? Why is that?

'Cause the Botox has frozen your face so much?

Or are you really just a pack of cold, soulless frauds who have squeezed out every ounce of human decency in order to fit in those dresses, and who care more about society secrets than the death of your b-f-f?

Get out!

[Women gasping]

[Sighs]

[Slurps]

Arrest them all.

Give them nothing but fatty foods and tap water.

They'll talk.

[Women murmuring]

S01E08
Give 'Til It Hurts

These mahjong women sit together on the boards of non-profits, attend each other's charitable fundraisers, et cetera.

And our victim, Vanessa Taymor's, pet charity is the homeless.

"Literacy, women's issues, cancer, parks beautification."

Backstrom told you to arrest all of them?

On what grounds?

And I quote...

"For being rich b*tches." don't worry. I didn't arrest anyone.

Have we figured out why Vanessa Taymor was ejected from the group?

They refused to talk. And they called their lawyers.

You should try the opposite of Backstrom... to ask politely.

Ladies, here's the tea I promised.

This is the peach-blossom mint infusion that was blessed by a Tibetan monk friend of mine.

[Chuckles]

You were saying about Vanessa Taymor?

The reason she left?

Vanessa quit playing mahjong because of Donald Sampson.

The r*cist-video guy?

Alleged r*cist.

[Scoffs]

Uh, the video shows Donald Sampson repeatedly using barbaric racial slurs in reference to both blacks and hispanics.

Sampson: You want to know how to get rich?

Sell a load of crap... To the scum of the earth.

And by "scum," I mean the... blacks, browns...

Yellow ones. You name it.

It's the oldest trick in the book.

That's terrible.

It's inexcusable.

I am led to understand, though, that the tape may not be real, which is why I felt that we should wait before rejecting his charitable donations.

Vanessa Taymor felt that it would be wrong to take Donald Sampson's money for her homeless charity?

Oh, she felt it would be wrong for all of us.

Caused quite a rift.

Personally, I say suck every guilty dime you can out of the guy.

Detective, we had a spat.

Vanessa quit mahjong...

Not worth m*rder.

[Elevator bell dings]

People are saying that an angry mistress posted the video.

It's got eight million-plus views, and the stock in Sampson's sports company is falling fast.

That's why I prefer prostitutes...

You can trust 'em.

You know, it's an interesting dilemma for charities...

Do you take dirty money or not?

That is an interesting dilemma, except for...

Of course you take the money!

[Groans]

Detectives, Mr. Taymor is awake.

There's no chance it was an accident?

None.

You know anyone that would do something like that to your wife?

No. Vanessa was a wonderful, kind, generous woman.

Everyone loved her.

Your wife was trying to organize various charities to reject donations from Donald Sampson.

It was causing quite a fuss in her social circle.

I've known don since college.

He only cares about the bottom line, not a society lady refusing his money.

[Inhales sharply]

[Coughs]

They're giving me a wonder drug...

[Exhales, sniffs]

Or sugar water.

To tell you the truth, I don't care with Vanessa gone.

Well, listen, do you think your wife maybe was having an affair with Sampson and then released the video when everything went south?

No. No, my wife would never cheat on me.

Well, you have been sick for a long time.

Lieutenant.

Well...

Do you want to look at your dream board while I take some blood?

No. There's too many pictures of Vanessa.

What's this?

Someone force a bunch of kids to make this for you?

Nurse: Mr. Taymor made it.

[Camera shutter clicking]

Focusing mental energy on positive images can create health miracles.

Wow.

More money than God, and all you get is experimental medicine and a crappy art project.

That's got to sting.

Please, just find who k*lled my Vanessa.

Think of it as a deathbed wish.

Hey. Feast your eyes on this yellow purse...

Céline phantom, pebbled leather, divine.

The victim's husband bought it for her on their 15th anniversary.

She never left home without it.

That's his problem.

No, but it wasn't recovered at the scene or in her car or her home.

So, you're saying the k*ller dumped the contents and stole the purse?

I would k*ll for that purse.

Looks like some other crazy woman already b*at you to it.

Get warrants for all of our friends' homes...

The mahjong monsters!

I'm going purse-shopping!

What's this, arts-and-crafts day?

This is a dream board.

Focusing my mental energy on the amazing things I want in my life can create health miracles.

I want Dr. Deb to know how desperate I am to get better.

[Chuckles] Well, all right.

Did you find that ugly purse?

No. Me and Detective Almond... we went through four mansions.

You know, I had no idea people could be so rich.

That's exactly how they like it.

[Chuckling] Yeah.

Uh, I don't know if pictures of cigars and liquor bottles are gonna convey the right message, lieutenant.

What am I supposed to put on my dream board?

"Rich people" stuff... Nice cars, pet giraffes, courtside trail blazers seats, Beyoncé, stuff like that.

Niedermayer: Lieutenant...

It's a dream board. I'm not finished.

"To Vanessa, fifteen years gone, a hundred to go.

Love, Tad."

We found this in the home of Cristin Kelly.

Ah, the "ugly yellow purse" k*ller.

My... wife... has a... problem.

Yeah. k*lling her friends.

[Grunts]

She's been diagnosed with kleptomania, a-a mental disorder for which there is no cure.

Well, the good thing about jail is that will cut down on her stealing considerably.

In addition to a sworn statement from Cristin's psychiatrist, I have receipts from hundreds of stores we've reimbursed for stolen merchandise, establishing a clear pattern of theft.

This stolen purse and the tragic death of our dear friend Vanessa are purely coincidental, and you, sir, have no evidence to prove otherwise.

I rest my case.

I don't know what law school your daddy bought in order to get you a degree, but you need to stop talking right now.

I'm you.

I'm a moronic lawyer's aging trophy wife, and the only way I get self-esteem is by being the charity cancer queen of Portland.

Then Vanessa comes along.

She's prettier, she's richer, and luckily for her, her husband is actually dying of cancer.

She's gonna take my place as the queen of cancer.

So I run her over and over...

No. No... and over and over.

No, that is not what happened.

You k*lled her, and you ripped this out of her cold, dead hands and took it home as a trophy.

[Sighs] Yes. I was there.

Being somewhere is not a crime.

Vanessa and I were reviewing the hotel facilities for an upcoming cancer event.

[Sighs]

Vanessa self-parks. It's her thing.

I went out front, but my driver was not there.

Your driver?

I heard... I heard screeches, and I saw a car, a-a white luxury coupe, drive away.

When I found Vanessa, she was already dead, and... it was very upsetting!

And stress is what makes me steal, so I took the bag.

But I left everything that was important...

The phone and the wallet and everything.

Your crap lawyer should have advised us that you didn't have access to a car, considering your being accused of committing a hit-and-run.

Gah!

[Door slams]

I'm a tax lawyer.

[Siren wailing]

Niedermayer: Lieutenant?

Ah.

Oh, no. Here we go. What?

I have a rendering of the white luxury hit-and-run vehicle as described by Cristin to the bureau's sketch artist.

Yeah, very lifelike.

Is this what you're bothering me about?

No. I'm bothering you on doctor's orders.

Oh, come on!

No one asked you to make a fire-escape call.

I came to give you this.

What is it?

That's a pedometer, sir.

It measures how many steps you take in a day.

Helpful not only for physical fitness, but to help you sleep, as I will not be replenishing your prescription.

You know what?

I could arrest you for talking about my problems outside of your office.

But you won't come to my office.

Well, maybe if you let me smoke there, I would.

My struggle is to keep you alive.

Luckily, this pedometer will send me updates without your help.

If you take less than 10,000 steps, I yank your fitness certificate.

None of this matters because I am making a dream board, which can cause miracles.

That's wonderful.

Yeah.

But visualization techniques work best with an un-addled soul.

Bring it to my office, and we'll discuss it.

Okay, Niedermayer...

What?

I need you to make me a dream board.

It's this collage of all...

I'm aware of the concept, sir, but you can't build somebody else's dream board.

Why not?

Because dreams are an expression of subconscious desires, and if I build your board, it'll be expressing my subconscious and I guarantee you that Dr. Deb would know the difference.

I knew it was a scam.

Almond: Hey.

Oh, what now?

For days ago, before she was m*rder*d, our victim had a very loud, very public argument with the director of the downtown mission.

Yeah, but I guarantee our homeless-lover doesn't drive any fancy, white car.

Maybe not, but he's a former junkie, a former armed robber, and a former car thief.

The mission is close.

You could walk and get a jump on those 10,000 steps.

You could jump off this fire escape.

But I guess we'll both have to live disappointed.

[Grunts]

Come on. Coming through. Stand back.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

Sloppy Joes.

Now?

You wouldn't stop for pizza.

Backstrom: Hold on. [Sighs]

Excuse me.

Man: What's going on?!

Man 2: Hey! Hey, come on!

[Muffled] Not bad.

Hey! One per person.

One per homeless person.

The rules are for everyone.

Put it back!

It's half-eaten...

But I guess you're used to that.

You cut in line.

Easy. You're pushing it.

Oh, I'm gonna push it.

Are you?

Yeah.

[Chuckles]

Yes. Vanessa and I argued.

And I'm bummed that was our last interaction.

She was a great human being.

What did you argue about?

[Sighs] Donald Sampson.

The r*cist.

Sampson... is to be presented with our "mission angel of the year" award...

In return for a $50,000 donation.

Vanessa Taymor wanted to pull that award.

Yep. But I'm a practical man.

The trophy cost 10 bucks.

In return, we get $50,000.

Backstrom: That's all right!

[Clattering]

[Indistinct shouting]

Jim: Go ahead. Stand up.

I dare you.

All right, back up!

Jim, calm down! Calm down!

Whoa.

Backstrom, you all right?

I'm okay.

I'm a cop. I have a g*n.

I pay taxes. I have a job.

I have a job.

Collecting cans is not a job.

I work for Mr. Donald Sampson.

What?

What do you do for him?

Mr. Sampson pays me 50 bucks to feed quarters into his parking meter.

Outside the shelter?

No. Near the hotel Vivienne.

When was the last time you did that?

Yesterday.

That doesn't make sense.

Why spend 50 bucks to avoid a $15 ticket?

So there's no record of him ever being there.

He's having an affair with our victim.

I knew it. To the bat cave, Robin.

Wait a minute. Robin rides shotgun like you do.

If anyone's Batman here, it's me.

And shouldn't you be walking?

Good point.

Hey, sloppy Joe, here's five bucks.

[Grunts]

Walk to the police station for me.

To the bat cave, Alfred.

Nadia: Donald Sampson checked in twice a week under a fake name and paid cash.

And you found that out how?

The lieutenant had a fistfight with a homeless man over sloppy Joes.

I don't think Backstrom got in a punch.

He was like a turtle lying on its back.

Hey, the room at the Vivienne matches the room in Sampson's disgraceful video.

Vanessa leaks it, Sampson kills her.

A fundraising crusader and a r*cist corporate pig make a really weird couple.

Actually, they've known each other for a very long time 'cause in the early '90s, Vanessa's husband, Tad, b*at Sampson to win something called the... the NCAA Championship.

Is that a big deal?

[Chuckling] Pretty big deal, yeah.

Gravely: So, Sampson never forgets and sees an opportunity for revenge by sleeping with Taymor's wife.

Well, women have needs, and her husband is sick and unable to fill her.

That is exactly what the lieutenant said to the sick husband.

Oh, how thoughtful of him.

So then she finds out what a monster he is and leaks this video.

Almond: And to stop her from leaking any other secrets, runs her over in a fancy, white coupe.

Is this enough for us to get a warrant to search the cars for damage?

It's not even enough evidence to call him on the telephone.

We really need an excuse to look at those vehicles.

"Jingle for jungle gyms."

It's a fundraiser that gets playground equipment for inner-city kids.

It's happening at the Sampson house tonight.

Nadia: Of course.

If you're gonna have a public event on your property, then there's no reasonable expectation for privacy.

Good job, Moto. We can search for evidence and take photos and samples, and it's all admissible.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. $10,000 a table?

I'm gonna call the chief.

The city's bound to have tickets.

Yeah, and I'm gonna call the lieutenant and tell him to pull out his formal poncho.

[Almond laughs]

Valentine: What's up?

[Bottle cap clatters]

It's a charity fundraiser?

Yes.

Tonight?

Four hours from now.

I'm supposed to look like a rich bastard.

Mm.

And it's black-tie?

Yes.

[Sighs]

And you actually care about the dress code because why?

It's a municipal who's-who.

I might run into somebody important.

Oh...

Amy?

Huh? [Sighs]

[Gasps]

You are really gonna need my help.

[Sighs]

Will you or won't you?

I will if I can be your rich-bastard date.

Sure.

[Crickets chirping]

[Indistinct conversations]

Gravely: Oh, wow!

Up until now, the fanciest thing I'd ever been to was a Hungarian wedding.

I don't think we should drink.

Mmm.

We're undercover.

And this is not the cheap stuff.

There we go.

For you, madam.

[Glasses clink]

It looks like the footprint of the house matches what we were able to access from public records.

Mm-hmm, Sampson keeps his car collection in a 20-car garage on the southern side of the property.

My God. You... you are beautiful.

Damn, Paquet.

You fit in good.

[Chuckles]

Hey.

Okay. Good to see you.

[Both chuckle]

Niedermayer: Looking sharp. Looking good.

[Chuckling] You clean up. You are stunning.

Has anybody seen the lieutenant?

♪ Turn down for what? ♪

Gravely: Is that Backstrom?

♪ Turn down for what? ♪

Can't be.

♪ Hey, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh hey, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh ♪
♪ turn down for what? ♪
♪ Hey, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh ♪

Oh, God.

Yep. That's Backstrom, all right. [Chuckles]

♪ Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey ♪

[Mid-tempo jazz music playing]

[Laughter]

They're about to start the speeches, and that's when we need to snoop the hit-and-run car.

Lieutenant Backstrom?

Backstrom: Oh, God.

This is unexpected. [Chuckles nervously]

Chief Cervantes gave the special crimes unit her table.

Oh, the chief didn't want to be seen hobnobbing with Sampson, huh?

You'll notice the mayor isn't here, either.

In fact, nobody good is here.

Punch her in her Botox.

I hate her.

[Music and conversations continue]

What do you got?

The garage has two doors.

One's down the hall, past the kitchen.

That's the one that most likely will be unlocked.

Yeah, and there are security guards, but they're mostly concerned with steering people towards the potta-porties...

Very gauche.

Porta-potties. [Groans]

Backstrom: Hey, Niedermayer.

Hey. Hey. What's going on?

Nothing. We're just dancing.

Niedermayer, will you stop fiddling with Valentine?

Get Moto, go to the garage, and find that car.

[Music continues]

No. This is the garage door, but it's locked.

Maybe it's just stuck.

[Chuckles]

No. People this rich don't have sticky doors.

All right, I'm gonna kick it in.

No.

What? The m*rder vehicle might be behind this door.

If you kick this door in, everything behind it is inadmissible.

That's what the lieutenant would do.

[Scoffs] Well, exactly.

[Sighs]

[Doorknob rattles]

May I?

All right, so, the doors are locked.

Okay, and what about the outside entrance?

It's too well-lit.

We can get a warrant if we can see in the windows.

There are no windows.

Hi.

[Clears throat]

Uh, no, not a chance, twinky-boy.

It's "twink," frenchy.

Looking for me?

[Chuckles]

This is literally the last place I would expect to find you.

I'm working on a case. You?

Well, someone from the city had to be here, and I like the cause.

Plus, I have experience with insufferable blowhards.

Ha ha.

Do you want to dance?

I have to take 10,000 steps, or my Dr. Deb will ground me.

[Laughs]

Long story.

Yes. Please.

[Tango music playing]

Admit it. I look amazing.

Ah, traditionally, you tell me how good I look before fishing for compliments.

Oh, that's how it works.

[Snaps fingers]

[Snaps fingers]

[Laughs]

I'm a better dancer than you remember.

Isn't that true?

I remember you being pretty good.

Oh!

So, why are you really here?

Are you following me?

Pbht.

You flatter yourself. I'm actually undercover.

Yeah...

Go ahead and say it...

Very James Bond.

A chain-smoking, Martini-swigging, promiscuous sociopath?

Yeah, I've outgrown that type.

[Chuckles]

You look amazing.

And...

I should have said that first.

Thank you.

[Sighs]

Everett...

Amy!

I smell champagne and scotch, so I'm guessing there's probably vodka going on there, as well.

I'm working undercover.

My dad was an alcoholic.

I know.

He wrestled with it his whole life.

Before he d*ed... he gave me this.

Oh.

He quit drinking and started gambling?

It's a 30-day chip from alcoholics anonymous.

My inheritance.

You carry it around with you?

Everywhere... always...

Until now.

I want you to have it...

Until you earn your own.

So, that's the deal?

I quit drinking, join A.A...

And we give this another try?

I'm not making any kind of a deal here, Everett.

If I did something to give you the impression I wanted to try again, I apologize, because I don't.

We both know that's not true.

I just wanted to be friends...

But I guess that isn't gonna happen.

Almond: Uh-oh. He's walked to the bar.

Double vodka on the rocks...

Hold the rocks, double the vodka.

Gravely: There's Donald Sampson!

Heavenly father, we beseech you.

Please don't let Backstrom speak to Sampson.

Women. Am I right?

You're not gay?

Why? 'Cause I shaved?

[Chuckles]

I just saw you come in with that stunning creature.

Him? Ah, he's just my gay tenant.

The woman that I love... she...

[Sighs]

Never mind.

You a rich guy?

You got rich-guy hair.

I'm Donald Sampson.

[Laughs]

Talk about woman problems.

Hoo-hoo!

Excuse me?

Well, that post-coital video that got leaked.

[Chuckles]

[Inhales sharply]

Enjoy the rest of your evening.

You know what I'd do?

I'd k*ll the bitch that leaked the video, then run her over with my car... Maybe a couple of times.

Bartender, another drink for my clever friend.

Bartender: Yes, sir.

Another one, please.

Uh-oh. [Sighs]

Double vodka, no ice, double the vodka?

What's wrong? You okay?

Yeah.

I'm fine.

Highlight of my evening was Donald Sampson thinking that we were a couple.

He called you a "stunning creature."

Yeah, well, now, that sounds like an invitation.

No, not in the way that would lead him to buy you fancy things.

Why don't you let me be the judge of that?

Okay, yeah. Good luck with that.

All right.

[Eleni Mandell's "Anyone like you" plays]

♪ There won't be anyone like you in my life again ♪
♪ someone who always tells the truth ♪
♪ lies would suffice instead ♪
♪ and who am I supposed to call ♪
♪ to tell me what to do? ♪
♪ You say I shouldn't care at all ♪
♪ when I'm feeling blue ♪

[Clears throat]

That was fast.

You were right.

He's rendezvousing with a woman.

I think his wife?

I doubt that.

Let's go.

I-I wanted to hurt you for threatening to go back to your wife, not ruin you.

I hate myself for leaking that video.

I swear.

You are the most expensive fling I have ever had.

Well, I judged him too harshly.

He's certainly not sleeping with his wife.

Or the m*rder victim.

Sampson didn't k*ll her.

Are you sure? [Grunts]

She didn't leak the video...

Which means maybe a rich person didn't do the m*rder, which means maybe we've been looking for the wrong car.

Niedermayer, is it possible the sketch could have been of a poor person's white car?

It's very possible.

In fact, as the science of aerodynamics has gotten more and more refined, there's less and less differentiation...

Oh, no!

I'm not drunk enough for your garbage.

I'm going home.

Everything about this event disgusts me.

You all right, lieutenant?

Let Moto give you a ride.

No! Got to walk 10,000 steps.

Hup, hup, hup.

[Door opens]

[Exhales sharply]

What...

[Groans]

Mm, mm, mm, mm.

[Groans]

Hey. You can cheer up.

You got quite the workout last night.

[Chuckles]

Ohh. That's disgusting.

[Electronic voice] Work. Work. Work.

Work. Work.

What?

You were right.

That's the least stupid thing I've ever heard you say.

We found three white cars that match the police sketches, but only one of them has traces of blood on the tires.

So, who's the car belong to?

Well, that's the thing. It's a... flashcar, which is a drop-off/pickup rental service.

So, trace the account. The renter's the k*ller.

Okay, Almond is running the V.I.N., and alas...

Whoa, ho. don't say "alas" to the lieutenant first thing in the morning if you want to make it to the afternoon.

Almond: Hey. [Grunts]

The rental account belongs to the victim.

Wait. So, she was run over by her own... rental car?

Paquet thinks that the flashcar is not a dead end.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

Come on. Quiet.

Some of us are trying to have a hangover.

All that's needed to create an account is a credit-card number and its billing address.

So, here's a list of people Vanessa gave this credit card to...

Mostly from her charities, people making purchases on her behalf.

The k*ller is on the list.

It's someone who had access to her information.

Okay, here's what we need to do...

Go back to basics.

What did Vanessa Taymor do to deserve getting run over?

Excuse me?

Oh, Amy rejected him, so now he hates all women.

Ohh.

We're assuming that the victim was this kind, lovable, wonderful person.

Well, most women really aren't.

Oh, good God.

Her life had only two aspects...

Her charity work and her husband.

We've already gone over the charity work.

You think the husband did it?

He's dying. And he loves her.

Love is a myth invented by teenagers and the diamond industry.

Is anyone on that credit-card list linked to the husband?

Okay, well, his nutritionist used it for vitamins, his private chef...

Oh, yes... And his driver for gasoline.

Oh.

"Oh"? What, "oh"?

Well, there were five separate donations for $20,000 each to cancer solutions, but...

Wait... cancer solutions isn't a charity.

It's an llc.

And Dr. Bai is the sole proprietor.

You see how right it feels when everything pulls together?

[Elevator bell dings]

Vanessa Taymor was bribing you to make sure her husband got the dr*gs instead of the placebo.

You got nervous someone would find out, so you ran her over with a car.

That money wasn't a bribe.

No?

I'm a researcher.

Grants are extremely hard to get.

Vanessa wanted to help.

I hope you're a better doctor than you are a liar.

Mr. Taymor isn't receiving the experimental drug.

He's in the control group.

Interesting.

Wait. Where are you going?

Lieutenant!

Mr. Taymor, where's your nurse clicker thing?

Nurse!

[Beeping] What's going on?

I'm gonna get you some jello.

Nurse!

You need something?

Yeah.

I'll have a drink of whatever he's having.

Go ahead.

Do it.

Your world is very dark.

You call it dark. I call it woefully predictable.

So, if this is the placebo, I should be fine, right?

What if it isn't?

He'll have a seizure, perhaps go blind.

Maybe you should think about this for a second.

[Gasps]

Oh! [Gasps]

[Laughs]

Ahhhhh. Mm!

I knew I was getting the placebo.

[Coughs]

We're gonna need a bigger dream board.

Ah.

Dream board.

New and improved.

Much less wife.

Those images were too painful.

It defeats the purpose.

Interesting fact about dream boards...

They reflect the subconscious desires of the people that make them.

But rich people don't have subconscious desires to live in mansions, 'cause they actually do.

And they actually drive fancy cars, and they actually go on exotic vacations.

You didn't make this.

She did.

Brittany helped. So what?

This is her dream board, not yours.

The subconscious never lies.

Is nursie on Paquet's list of those who had access to the credit card?

Yes.

She did it.

She rented the car.

Check her computer.

Do I have your permission to search this computer?

No, you do not.

Now you have administrative privileges.

Thank you.

A lot of people can get at this computer.

It's in a very public place.

I'm you.

A b*rned-out nurse, tired of 12-hour shifts, changing bedpans.

"And then I meet a filthy-rich guy...

"Or, at least, he will be once his wife is out of the way.

And he's gonna need someone to lean on."

[Monitor beeping]

"And that someone could be me.

"I could comfort him, get him to depend on me, "fall in love with me, marry me.

"And the best thing is, he's got a shelf life of, what, a year?"

"Then it's all mine."

[Car alarm chirps, gearshift clicks]

[Tires squeal]

[Glass breaks] Aah!

Gravely: I got it.

A flashcar account was created on this computer the day before the m*rder.

Brittany Gottman logged in at 2:05 a.m.

At 2:15, a confirmation e-mail was sent from flashcar, and at 2:20, she logged out.

You are a very naughty nurse.

You're done. You can get dressed now.

Your liver tells me you haven't quit drinking, your pallor tells me you aren't sleeping, and I have seen with my very own eyes that you haven't stopped smoking.

When you finally fall of a heart att*ck or stroke or whatever inevitable malady takes you, they will turn to me and say, "how could you find him fit to work?"

Oh. So it's about you.

The worst part about your world view is that it's contagious.

Those of us around you begin to see ourselves as you see us.

You think I'm a terrible doctor, I become a terrible doctor.

No, not so terrible. I got 10,000 steps, right?

My feet are k*lling me.

It's merely a machine that counts what the machine part of you is achieving.

There's a machine part of me?

It measures activity.

You like activity because it allows you to avoid reflection.

It is reflection which leads us to our true best selves, not activity.

So, the pedometer is stopping me from reaching my true best self.

Perhaps another doctor would have better luck.

I don't want another doctor.

You joined a program?

I didn't want to come see you until I could prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that you had, in fact, helped me become my true best self.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Good for you.

Thank you, Dr. Chaman.

Good for you.

Okay.

Good for both of us.

You must wear the pedometer.

I will check on it daily to see how many steps you have taken.

Fantastic.

'Cause you know what they say in the program...

"One step at a time."

"One day at a time."

That's what I said.

[Scoffs]

Learn to speak english sometime, you freak.

[Door slams]