02x10 - Ockham's Razor

[bunniefuu]

Self-aggrandizing gasbag.

Uh, vainglorious bastard.

Camera whore.

Lemme guess.

This is Macy's response to our well-intentioned
yet markedly inappropriate Hawaiian Shirt Day?

Oh, dear Jordan.

Garret's speech.

The Coroner's Convention.

Euw.

He's been obsessing about it
for a week.

Do I smells me an office pool?

We just got word Doctor Macy is
no longer the keynote speaker.

Not Hawthorne.

- Hawthorne.
- Hawthorne.

- Sucks for Garret.
- He is our nemesis.

And Macy's still losing sleep
over that Sullivan thing.

Care to pony up twenty bucks
on how Doctor M will refer

to our forensic representative when
he learns he has to introduce the toff?

Anyone take vainglorious bastard?

This guy.

Damn, he loves that one.


What?

You've been bumped as the keynote.


Hawthorne?

- Hawthorne.
- Hawthorne.

Makes perfect sense.

Just because he only lends his expertise
to the defense of the obscenely rich

and clearly guilty doesn't make him
any less an expert.

Shall we go?


Vainglorious bastard.

Yes!

For the last decade, he has brought
our profession into the spotlight.

His ability to make complicated science
accessible to the layman in the jury box

has earned him renown worldwide.

I, for one, am honored that he took the time
out of his busy caseload to address us,

his humble colleagues.

Ladies and gentlemen,


Doctor Benjamin Hawthorne.


Thank you, Garret.
I almost believe you meant that.

No hard feelings about
the Sullivan thing, I hope.


Good.


Nice intro, boss.

Of course, it might have been more convincing
if you weren't grinding your teeth the whole...

- Shut up, Nigel.
- ...necessitatem.

William of Ockham wrote these words
seven centuries ago.

His meaning was...


don't overcomplicate things.

Ockham's Razor...

the simplest answer
is often the right one.


Unfortunately, we know too much.

With today's technology,
we're capable of

detecting blood at a crime scene
that was actually left decades earlier.


As such,


everything becomes evidence.

Technology has become our savior,


but it's also become our downfall.


Speaking of which, it seems our Boston
hosts haven't upgraded to vibrate.


Well, I guess he wasn't over
the Sullivan thing after all, huh?


[font color=FFFFCC]Casandra Morgan's Penthouse


Hey, Doc.

You didn't have to get all dressed up.

What have we got?


Cassandra Morgan.

Her manicurist called us when she
didn't show up for an appointment.

Apparently, a very big deal.

Now, I know that
you are the expert here,

but I'm gonna take a wild guess
at cause of death.


Did pretty well for herself.


Defense attorney.


Did you know her?


Not her.


Her husband.

Yeah, I got it.

Where are your gloves, Officer?


In my pocket.

You know what
a fine toothed comb is?

'Cause it's about to rake all over you
like you wouldn't believe.

Easy, Doc.

Just 'cause you know
this Hawthorne guy, doesn't mean...

That I know him
has nothing to do with it.

That he's the country's foremost authority
on forensics and the victim's husband does.

Every piece of evidence in this place is
gonna be second guessed if he becomes a suspect.

Suspect?
We haven't even talked to him yet.

This wasn't a burglary.

It's a crime of passion,

and ninety percent of the time,
the k*ller is the husband or the boyfriend.


You're not gonna go
all Jordan on me here, are you?


What does that even mean?

You're gonna keep
an open mind, right?

Of course I'm gonna
keep an open mind.


Garret,

did you come to apologize
for walking out on my speech.

Can we have a moment,
Doctor Hawthorne?

Let me guess.

I took your parking space,
so you called the cops.

If we could talk in private.

Would you excuse us?


What's up?


Your wife is dead, Ben.


Thanks for telling me
so sensitively.


Sir, I'm Detective Woody Hoyt.

Would you mind coming down
to the station?

Of course I mind.

What do you think, I'm an idiot?


She's not just dead, is she?
Cassie was m*rder*d.


I assume you already know we were
recently separated, acrimoniously.

Where were you last night?


You really love this,
don't you, Garret?


The irony's just poetic.

I'm gonna ask you again.
Where were you last night?

Nowhere.


It's nice meeting you, Detective.
What was it?

- Hoyt.
- Hoyt.

When you're ready to press charges,
I'm in the Presidential Suite.


Nice guy.


Doctor C, Doctor C,
there's a call for you.

Or at least I think it's for you.

You think?

Uh, they got your first name wrong,
asked for Emily Cavanaugh.

I'm sorry?

Said they got the number here
from your home machine.

They've been calling Cavanaughs
for the past couple of months, I guess.

I told 'em we had a Jordan Cavanaugh
and they asked to speak to you.


Oh, did I do something wrong?

No.

No, that's alright.
Uh, I'll take the call.


It's Seventh and Commonwealth.

Got it.

Thank you.


So, who was it?

Uh, it was a photo shop
that's going out of business.

They were cleaning out
their inventory

and came across some film from
so long ago they don't even have the date.

My mom's name was on it.

So why didn't they call her?

Oh, my mom's been dead
for about twenty-three years.

Oh.


Wow.

That's kind of cool, though,
you know.

It's like a time capsule or something.


Yeah.


Yeah, it's like a time capsule.


I ain't dead yet.

Geez, you scared the hell out of me.

Well, that's what you get
for sneakin' up on people.

Who are you?

Uh, my name's Jordan Cavanaugh.

A woman called earlier
about some film you'd found.

Oh, it must have been Jena.

She left already.


Cavanaugh, huh?

Yeah, it was under Emily Cavanaugh.

Oh, that one.

Found it in a box in the old vault.

August eighteen,
nineteen hundred and sixty-three.

Looked like the film was
sixteen millimeter.


Uh, was?

Somebody picked it up.
It's not here anymore.

What do you mean?


What does it sound like I mean?

Uh, well, who was it?

How should I know?

You're gonna have to come in tomorrow
when Jena's here.


[font color=FFFFCC]Cassandra Morgan's Penthouse


'Evening, Doctor M.

Boys.

What are you doin' in there?

- Thinking.
- About what?

About the k*ller.

- You mean Hawthorne.
- I mean the k*ller.

- Who you surmise is Hawthorne.
- It's not my job to surmise.

But it sure would be nice to jam him
after what he pulled on that Sullivan thing.


The man blasted me in front of
a hundred people a few hours ago,

and it's well-known
I'm not his biggest fan.

But I don't want anyone saying my objectivity
was compromised by a desire for revenge.

We do this by the book.


Why is it so dark in here?

It's easier to focus
on the specifics.

Take one piece of the room
at a time.

Yeah. You're trying to get
inside his head, aren't you?

Like um,
"Silence Of The Lambs."


Okay, here's what we do.


Each item a man might touch
in this apartment gets printed.

Now, Hawthorne said
he and his wife were estranged.

He never lived here, so
there shouldn't be a trace of him.

Think outside the box.


Look maybe they made a mistake.

It's not like we're the only
Cavanaughs in Boston, you know.

It wasn't a mistake, Dad.

They tracked me down.

Well, I don't know
what to tell you, Jordan.

Well, the guy said the film was
from nineteen sixty-three.


Well, your mother and I had a house
on Broad Street in 'sixty-three.

Probably home movies.

Yeah, that's right,
it was sixteen millimeter film.

We used to have that projector,
remember, in the upstairs closet.


I think I got rid of it.


I don't understand why someone
would pick this film up.

What do they want with it?

Oh, I'm sure there's
a simple explanation.


You don't find this
the least bit strange?

I mean, just uh, a touch bizarre
that this is happening?

Yeah, I think it's strange,

but I'm not gonna lose any sleep over it,
and neither should you.

We both know what happens
when you get lost in this stuff.


- This stuff?
- You know what I mean.

- No, I do not.
- Aw, come on, Jordan.

Just...


let it go.


It's home movies.
I'm sure it's no big thing.


Okay, maybe you're right.

I am?

Yeah.

I'm obsessing.

It's not good for me.


I will just forget about it.


Good.


Well?

You're not gonna like this.
[font color=FFFFCC]Trace Evidence

Nothing?

You couldn't find anything
to put him at the crime scene?

That's not exactly the problem.


"Soup spoon, videotape,
newspaper, bedroom doorknob."

There are eighty items here.

And Hawthorne's prints
are on all of them.

He touched everything.

Uh, including the m*rder w*apon.


What about blood?


The sample I took
from the kitchen sink...

I assumed you were being literal...
doesn't match Cassie Morgan's,

but we can't be sure it's Hawthorne's
unless he gives us a sample to match it to.

I mean, for somebody who knows how to
commit the perfect m*rder, he was a tad sloppy.


'Evening, Doctor Macy.


I think I might be
in some trouble, Garret.

I think you might be, Ben.


I want to apologize
for my behavior earlier.

I had no business
mentioning Sullivan.

I'm over the Sullivan thing.


So I guess I should explain.

Listen,


obviously, I'm not a police officer,

but you should probably know that anything
you tell me can be used against you.

Please, you're giving me Miranda?

Don't forget who you're talking to!

Don't forget who you're talking to.

And who's that?!

The guy who just found your prints on the
Kn*fe sticking out of your dead wife's chest.


You want to tell me
how they got there?


Because I used that Kn*fe.


I was at Cassie's Saturday night.

She invited me
over for dinner, to reconcile.


Didn't exactly turn out that way,
we had a fight,

but I didn't touch her.

Saturday?

Yes.

Rigor puts her TOD at eleven p.m.
last night, Sunday.

And I left a forensic treasure
trove there Saturday.

But so what, right?

I mean, the cops can't tell the difference
between a print left yesterday

and a print left today.


I know, I know, it looks bad.

Mm-hm.

I know.


But I didn't do this, Garret.


And you're the only one
who can prove it.


Hi.


May I help you?

Yeah, I believe we spoke
on the phone earlier

about some film you found
under the name of Emily Cavanaugh.

That's been picked up already.

Yeah, I know, uh, but I was just wondering
if you could tell me who picked it up?

Uh, I don't remember.


Actually, uh, I think you do.


Look, the guy gave me twenty bucks
not to say anything.

I'll give you forty.


I feel really uncomfortable
keeping secrets, you know?


So what'd he look like?


He was a big guy.

Oh, eh, big big?

Yeah, like six-five
or six-six, maybe.

About sixty, blondish gray hair?

Yeah, that's right.
You know him?

Yeah, I know him.


Bye.

You want to tell me what
I'm about to walk into, Doc?
[font color=FFFFCC]Boston P.D.

'Cause I'm smellin' the curry
on this one.

- Smelling the curry?
- It's a Wisconsin thing.

- You wouldn't understand.
- Try me.

It's how you trap a badger.

You lay out flower and curry
like bait.

Ah.

I told you you wouldn't understand.

Smelling the curry.

Yesterday, Hawthorne tells us
to take a flying leap in the harbor.

Today, he comes in willingly
for questioning without an attorney.

Why?


Because I need to
build up some good will.

And why is that, Doctor Hawthorne?

You serious?

I'm serious.

I'm not exactly
a fan of law enforcement.

And why is that, Doctor Hawthorne?

Because my testimony generally
illuminates the incompetence of the police.

You think we're out to get you.

I do.

Alright, so...

you say you were there Saturday night,
but you were not there Sunday night.

That's right.

Where were you Sunday night?


In my hotel suite,
preparing my speech.


Can anyone verify that?


No.


Ooh, you have a cut on your hand.


Yeah, I broke a vase.

A vase?


A vase.


How about those scratches
on your arm?

How'd you get those?


I don't remember.


Alright, let me get this straight.

Your wife recently left you,

neighbors said the two of you
had a huge fight

the night before
she was stabbed to death,

your fingerprints are
all over the m*rder w*apon,

and we're out to get you.


I was framed.

Okay, by who?

Cassie.

Of course.

Framed by your dead wife.

How could I have missed that?

I know where she got the idea.


Cassie defended a man accused of
stabbing his wife to death.

Her defense was
the wife was despondent, suicidal.

She stabbed herself,
framing him as her final act.


Wow.


That is one crazy story.

Did the jury buy that?


Of course.


That's too bad.

Why is that?

Juries need reasonable doubt.


I don't.


Take a blood sample for yourself
and one for my boys.

And check the scratches on his arms,
see if they match the wife's nails.

You don't believe him?

No, I don't.


Dad?


[font color=FF ]Jordan, I've gone to finish this.


It's burnt.

No, really?


Now, it's celluloid, Jordan.

It's emulsion, chemicals.

It's completely ruined.
Look...

I can't do anything with this.

All I need is a few frames
just to see what's on it.

A few frames would be generous.

I will take whatever I can get.


Alright, but I'm not
making any promises.

Ah, thanks, Nige.


This for a case
you're working on?


Yeah, sort of.


You'd tell me if this was
something I should be...

concerned about, right?

No.


Well, at least I know where I stand.


Doctor Macy,


I, uh, ran those tests
you asked for on Hawthorne.

And?

Good news or bad news first?

You pick.

Mmm.
I guess it depends.

If you want Hawthorne to be guilty...
and who doesn't, the conceited prig...

then uh, good news for him is,
in fact, bad news for you, so...

Bug, does Hawthorne's blood match
the blood we found in the wife's sink?

Yeah.


Son of a bitch almost had me
believing it.

Uh, not so fast.

I tested the swabs you took
from the scratches on his forearm.

Yeah?

I found fingernail fragments,
but they don't match his wife.


But the scabbing on the wound tells us
it happened the night of the m*rder.

Seems our dog was scratched
by another kitty cat.


The Heckman/Lauer Orifice Probe
has been...
[font color=FFFFCC]Annual Coroner's Convention
Heckman/Lauer Seminar

the industry standard for evaluating
decedent temperature... consequently,

time of death...
for the last thirty years.

My niece knows that.

However, times...
slide... they are a-changin'.

Let's take a look.


What was your blood
doing in Cassie's sink?

Surprised to see you
back down here.

Thought you were trying to
nail me to the cross.

I asked you a question.


The blood came from my hand.

I cut it on a vase that
Cassie threw at me.

This fight the neighbors overheard,
it was physical then?

I'd consider having a vase
thrown at your head physical.


So it was Cassie
who scratched your arm?

Yup.

Screw you.


You ask for my help
and I give it to you.

I don't like you and I give it to you anyway,
and you have the stones to lie to me?


Hope you fry.


The Sullivan thing was your fault.


What?

You nailed him on the bite marks, but you
never considered he might be wearing dentures.


I get paid to point out
forensic mistakes.

You don't like it, don't make 'em.

I think you're second rate,
bush league.

The fact that I have to put my fate
in your hands is some kind of karmic joke.

Is this supposed to
get me to stay?

You wanted the truth,
that's the truth.


Who scratched you?


Her name's Paula.

If she was with you the night of the m*rder,
why doesn't she come forward?

There was an airtight pre-nup.

Cassie drew it up herself.

I cheat, she gets everything.

Paula vouches for me,
my money goes to Cassie's estate.

So you'd rather sit on your alibi
than lose all your money?

I didn't do this.


The evidence will prove it.

That's your problem.

You always try to understand
the story, the why.

Don't listen to the story,
listen to the evidence.


Sometimes a bite mark is
just a bite mark.


[font color=FFFFCC]Trace Evidence


Hey, what do you have for me?

Well, I salvaged
sixty-four frames of film.

Mmm, it's about three seconds worth,
but I put it on a continuous loop.

Appears to be of a woman
standing in a kitchen.

I ran it through this film scanner,
bleached it all out, now

I'm putting the colors back
using a basic three-strip technique.

It's like the old Technicolor process.


That's my mother.


Your mother?


That must be in their kitchen
on Broad Street.


Where?


Broad Street.
We lived there 'til I was two.

The whole block's abandoned now.

When they routed the "T" under the street,
the city closed the street down.


It's like a ghost town now.


God, she looks so young.


Let me just add some cyan
to the image.


Wait a minute.
What's that?


What?

In her arms there.


There.


Give me twenty times
magnification on her.


Oh, you were a cute
little thing, weren'tcha?


You said this was
nineteen sixty-three.


That's six years
before you were born.


So if that's your mum...


Then who's the baby?


- Woody.
- Agh!


I think it's time to
cut back on the java.

I think it's time to stop
sneaking up on people like that.

So I heard you got a warrant
to search Hawthorne's penthouse.

Sure did.


Well, why didn't you
tell me about it?

Our search of the suspect's premises
had nothing to do with your office.

Now, if we had found a body,
you'd be the first guy I call.

You got that warrant because my people
matched the blood samples.

Which is your job.


Look, Doctor Macy,


you know this guy.

That's a conflict of interest.

This is a big case for me, okay?

Now, my superiors have put
a lot of trust in...

Your superi...?

Will you listen to yourself?

Why do you think
you caught this case?

High profile defense attorney
is brutally m*rder*d.

Who do they call in?

You?

Think about it.

You're young, inexperienced
and willing to follow orders,

but the minute this thing goes south,
you better watch your back, Detective.

They're leading you
down the wrong road.

You are so focused on Hawthorne,
you can't see the forest for the trees.

You can't see
the forest for the forest.

Excuse me?

You think this guy is innocent.

You're actually buying his rap.

I'm weighing the evidence,
that's what I'm doing.


Alright.


Alright.


We found this crumpled up
in the back of Hawthorne's closet.


It's a sock.
It had dried blood on it.

It matched his wife's.

Who ran that test?

You can't be sure of anything
in this case.

We ran it and we can be sure.


Now, his story is that his blood got
in her place 'cause he cut his hand.

Fine.

But how did her blood
get on his sock?


Alright, looks like Max made
three phone calls last night.

First one was to the Pogue.

Probably to tell 'em
he wasn't coming in for work.

Right, and this next one here is to
directory assistance, four-one-one.

Okay, and the last one?

Uh, forty seconds later.

A local number,
prefix eight-seven-seven.


That is out in Framingham.


Alright, it's registered to
a Samuel and Doris Horton.

Three sixteen Millbury Avenue.

Ring a bell?

Horton?
No, no.

Well, whoever they are, he spent
forty-one minutes on the phone with them,

starting at nine forty-three last night.

Okay. Run the names through Lexis/Nexis,
see what you come up with.

Okay.


"January sixteenth, nineteen sixty-two.

The body of eight-month-old James Horton
was found dead this morning

in a rural area
six miles north of Marblehead."

"The child was kidnapped from his parents'
Beacon Hill apartment three months ago.

Samuel Horton and his wife Doris
could not be reached for comment."
[font color=FFFFCC]Tragic End In Horton Kidnapping


Jordan,


take a look at this.


"After an anonymous tip
as to the boy's whereabouts,

the body was discovered by
rookie officer Max...


Cavanaugh."


Where is it, Doc?


Hello, Woody.

Where is it?


You talking about this?

Do you know how b*rned
I'm gonna get

if anyone finds out
I broke the chain of custody.

Chain of custody?


You have no idea how much
I'd love to see Hawthorne go down,

but there's no way I could do it.

Do what?

I tested the sock, Woody.

I found EDTA.

Now, EDTA is not found
in the human body.

It's a blood preservative
used by labs, forensic labs.

That came out of a vial.


You should know something.


I was at Hawthorne's suite
when we found this sock.

I was the one who put it
in the bag.


I was the one
who walked it to the lab,

and I was the one who watched

when they matched it to his wife.


It never left my sight.

Someone planted it.

Forget someone.
There is no... someone.


Now, I want you...
to look me in the eye


and tell me...
I planted evidence.


Ockham's Razor.

Wh... what?


Son of a bitch played me.


He did it in Boston
because he knew I'd get the call.

He chose me
because he knew I hated him,

that I'd go out of my way to believe him
because I hated him.


That I couldn't accept an expert
would be so sloppy

and that I'd get lost
in all the evidence.

All the damn evidence!


Ockham's Razor.


The right answer
is the simplest answer.

Wife gets k*lled, husband has
motive, means and opportunity.

Husband k*lled wife.


She didn't frame him.


He framed himself.


Yes?


My name's Jordan Cavanaugh.


Do I know you?


No, but you know my father.

You spoke to him last night.


Is everything alright, dear?

I think this woman has mistaken me
for someone else.

I know about your son,


James.


We need to talk.


You're gonna have to leave
right now.

I'm not leaving until
I find out where my father is.


He called you.

Why?


Your son James was kidnapped in
when he was eight months old.

You paid a , dollar ransom

and three months later
his body was found.

The next year, you quit your job
and you moved here.

And then somehow
you had another child.


A boy.


You called that child James.


I think this is him.


You have made some kind of mistake.


I am not leaving until you tell me
what you know.

Now, how did my father
get that baby?

Whose was it?

Please.

We don't know anything.

He had no birth certificate,
no record of being yours.

I want to know how the hell
that could happen.


Tell me!


Tell me.


She deserves to know.


But we're all gonna
need a drink first.


Your father was a young b*at cop
assigned to the case.


We spent a lot of time with him
those three months.


And then he stayed in contact with us
after James was...


He called every few days
to see how we were doing.


It was January...


almost a year after the kidnapping.

Your father came to
see us one night.


He had the baby with him,

a precious little boy.

Like a miracle.

He told us he didn't know
what to do,

that he didn't know how he could...
care for him without his wife.

He said she wasn't well,

she wasn't capable of
being the child's mother.

It was just for a few days, he said.


Just until everything was alright.


But he never came back.


And we didn't go
looking for him, either.


I had a brother.


My dad called you last night.

Why now?


He wanted to know
where James was.

What'd you tell him?


We haven't seen James
for twenty-three years.

He ran away from home
when he was sixteen.


James had problems.


What kind of problems?

He was disturbed.


He was violent, cruel.

One night, he found my diary
and he discovered we weren't his parents.


He also found your father's name.


He was very angry.

The night he left,
he threatened to k*ll us both.


Twenty-three years ago.


September seventeenth,
nineteen seventy-nine.


The last time we saw him.

September seventeenth?


That was the day before
my mother was m*rder*d.


That's quite the dramatic entrance.


Can you pull
a twenty-three-year-old print off this?


Depends.


On what?

On how many people have touched it
since then.

Two, including me,
except I was wearing gloves.


Well, then theoretically, yes.

Why?


Fine.

What is it?

What's it look like?


Some kind of trophy.

Baseball, to be exact.

Where'd you get it?

I stole it from
a sixteen-year-old's bedroom.

I hear that's actually frowned
upon in some countries.

Spare me the commentary, Nige,
and just do it.


Yes, ma'am.


Alright, that's everything
we took out.

Now it's just like we found it.

[font color=FFFFCC]Cassandra Morgan's Penthouse

I feel a little strange
not doing this with Jordan,
[font color=FFFFCC]Cassandra Morgan's Penthouse

almost like I'm cheating on her.

I'm sure she'd be honored.
Let's talk through it.

Okay, Saturday night.
Cassie invites Hawthorne over.

She says she knows
everything about the other woman,

that she's gonna sue him
for everything he's worth.

They argue.
She throws a vase.

He cuts his hand.

Neighbors hear everything.

He wants to k*ll her,
but he doesn't.

Instead, he figures that
if he comes back the next night,

there's an explanation
for all the evidence.

He can touch whatever
he wants on Sunday.

We'd never know the difference.

So...

the only way we could nail him is to
prove that he came back on Sunday.


You still have the list of everything
we lifted his prints from?


You think something was here on Sunday
that was not here on Saturday?

I don't know.
Read it off.

In the bathroom,
he touched the faucet, hot.

Hand soap, medicine chest.

You check the prescription meds?


Newest one is three weeks old.

Moving on.


"Spoon,


wine glass,

steak Kn*fe,

Chinese food carton."

Stop.

When did she order the food?


Swing and a miss.

- Friday.
- Alright, go on.


"Placemat, rented videotape."

I already checked.
She took it out last Tuesday.


"Chair, tabletop, newspaper,
corkscrew, fruit basket."

Newspaper.


Sunday edition.

Boo-yah.


[font color=FFFFCC]Boston PD Interrogation


So what?

Excuse me?


You have my prints
on Sunday's paper.

So what?


You k*lled her, Ben.

You k*lled her and
you made me a part of it.

Is this where I'm supposed to
confess to everything?

Applaud you on a job well done?

You can make this easy on yourself.

The D.A.'ll cut you a deal.

A deal.

Because you have
one piece of evidence?


I think I'll roll the dice
and let the jury decide.

And we all know
how juries feel about me.

Okay, so we do it
the hard way.

But let me make you a promise.


This isn't gonna be a Sullivan thing.

You can pull out
all the smoke and mirrors you want,

but at the end of the day,
I got you.

And you know I got you.


I listened to the evidence,
and guess what?

Sometimes a fingerprint is
just a fingerprint.


I'll see you in court,
Doctor Hawthorne.


What is that?


A phantom print.


As in the phantom print?


As in the only print found
at your mother's crime scene?

As in the print
that belongs to no one?

Every print belongs to someone.


Now, please just pull it up
and run a comparison.


[font color=FFFFCC]MATCH


What is going on?

He k*lled her.

What?

I've been looking for this
for twenty-three years.

The print doesn't exist because
my father buried the birth certificate.

Wait a minute.
What are you talking about?

Dad figured out where he is.

Who?

Dad's probably in trouble.

Now, Jordan, where are you going?

To pick up his trail.


Hello.


Hello, who is this?


Well, hello...


Sis.


James.


Max said you would figure it out.

Where is he?


Here, with me.


We're catching up.


Here at home,
at the old house on Broad Street.



Nothing much has changed, really.


Is he alright?


Well, why don't you come down
and see for yourself?


I think it's time
we had a little... family reunion.


[font color=FFFFCC] Broad Street


- Dad!
- Don't move, Jordan.

Stay where you are.


And turn off the flashlight.


I said turn off the flashlight.


Are you alright?


I've felt better.

I didn't ask for this.

And what do you want from us?

What do I want?

I was happy where I was.

I moved on, but
he couldn't leave it alone.

This is his fault!

No, you k*lled her.


Fine, if that's
what you need to believe.


But she was my mother, too.


You stole my life, Jordan.


You got everything I didn't.


I got a mother who was m*rder*d
when I was ten years old!

And I got two people who wanted me
to be their dead son!

Leave her alone, James.

She didn't know anything about you.


Don't you think it's time
you told her?

Hmm?


I think she would find it
very educational.


Go ahead, tell her.


Tell her how you gave me away.

I did what I had to do.

Doesn't exactly instill confidence
in a young lad, now does it?

I thought I was doing
the right thing.

By abandoning me.


She wouldn't have been
a good mother to you.

She couldn't cope.

Well, I guess we'll never know
that now, will we?


What do you want to hear, James?


That we'll take you back into the fold,
no questions asked?

We can be one big happy family.

Just forget about the past,
put it behind us.

Is that what you want from us?

Seems to me, you're avoiding
the big question here.

What question is that?


Oh, I think you know.

I think it's floatin' around
in that pretty little head of yours.

Why couldn't Mom cope with him?

Why did Dad give him away


and not me?


I think Max asked himself
the same question.

I was trying to protect you.

You don't know how sick she was.

Protect me? You think that
lying to every person in my...

She had you in the bathtub
under the water.

I pulled you
out of her hands myself.


No, that's not why.

You told 'em he would
come back for me,

but you didn't.

I did!


I did.


You know how many times
I stood outside that house,

watched you with them
in the park?


But it was too late...


to take you back.


It would have been a bigger mistake
than giving you up.


That is not why.

What the hell do you...

Shut up, Jordan!


That is not why, and you know it.


Mom told me things
the night I came to visit her.

Told me everything.


She was in a mood
to get things off her chest.


So go ahead, tell us.


Tell us why!

Hey!


Okay,


if you're too much of a coward
to tell her,


I'll tell her myself.


I'll tell you
why he gave me away.


Because he...


isn't my father.


Oh, you knew.


You just weren't
man enough to face it.

But you felt it.


You knew that morning when they
brought me home from the hospital

and you looked in my eyes.

You knew when you held me,

didn't you?


And you knew the night
you gave me away.


You're pathetic, the two of you.


Searching for an answer...


that isn't there.


Turn around, Jordan.


Do what he says.


So what do you do now, James?


k*ll us both?


Jordan!

Jordan, let him go!


Please,


let him go.


We stop this... now.

- What?
- All of it.

You understand?


It ends here.

Now.

We never speak of it again.


Promise me.


Jordan.

Okay.

Promise me.

Okay.


Okay, it's okay, Dad.

It's okay.