Hey, Lois, what have you got?
Unidentified male. Five gunshot wounds.
Looks like a good spot for a mob hit.
There's a million stories in the naked city.
How come all of yours seem to involve me?
Luck.
Got a real live one here, Jordan.
With all due respect to the dearly departed, this guy's a chum bucket.
A what?
Don't feed the animals, Lois.
Chum is a factory-compressed block of, uh,
dead fish with the smell and consistency of rotting meatloaf.
Scavenger fish smell it a mile away and just come running.
Case in point.
The gunshot wounds are all in the abdomen and chest.
Want to help me turn him over, Lois?
Oh, man.
That's odd. Look how preserved he is.
Part of him looks like he died in his sleep
but over here where the fish got a hold of him, he's...
Well...
Chum.
But these bullet holes.
There's five entry wounds,
no exits.
These aren't bullet wounds.
Well, what the hell are they?
Trocar marks.
From the hollow vacuum spear morticians use to remove body fluids.
This guy wasn't shot. He was embalmed.
Embalmed like embalmed?
Yeah, as in embalmed.
So what was he doing floating in the harbor?
That's what I'm gonna find out.
But first we have to figure out who he is.
I'm running his prints right now. Thank you.
But unless someone reports him missing...
If he was embalmed, chances are he had a funeral, right?
Yeah, you're right.
Which means there's a death certificate on file somewhere.
Garret.
What's with the scowl? It's worse than normal.
Yakura's leaving.
As in vacation? As in for good.
She's been asked to chair a panel on medical ethics in Washington.
So as of this Friday she'll no longer be our chief medical examiner.
Sweet. High five me, baby.
No.
So, uh, when's she handing you the keys to the kingdom?
Well, that's the problem.
Keys are going to someone else, someone from outside.
She told me that until her replacement arrives on Friday, she's gonna need me to
handle things for a couple days, sort of as a de facto interim chief.
De facto interim? That is so many shades of wrong.
Well, she's had it in for me since day one.
Going with an outside hire is a deliberate move to rub my face in my failure.
Is she in her office? 'Cause she's not going to get...
Don't, don't, don't.
Come on, Garret! I owe you one.
When you got me my job back I'm sure you had to twist Yakura's arm.
I practically had to fracture her left ulna to get her to take you back.
So, now it's my turn.
Jordan, no.
If you go in there, you'd kiss your job goodbye.
Sometimes a man just has to accept the fact that he's gone as far in life as he can.
Garret. Let's just leave it at that.
Okay?
Good morning, Garret.
Not for me, it isn't.
Is everything okay?
Yeah, yeah. Everything's fine.
I had a real nice time with you the other night.
That's good.
You know, I've been on a lot of really weird first dates,
but this one was really cool.
So I was thinking maybe Friday night if you're in...
You know, Lily...
This really isn't a very good time to talk about this.
Okay?
Yeah, sure.
This is downright slanderous.
"Poor hygiene, smirking attitude?"
All right, spare my feelings, Bug.
Would you describe my attitude as smirking?
Well, maybe a hint of a smirk now and then, but no,
I'd say you project more of a sneering, simpering, leering sort of vibe.
Exactly.
How'd you do?
Oh, exemplary, outstanding, dedicated.
Practically perfect in every way.
That's ridiculous. I'm just as perfect as you are.
This is a disaster. What am I gonna do, Bug?
Don't worry about it. It's just a report.
Yakura's not gonna fire you.
You don't understand.
My immigration visa expires next Tuesday.
You know how hard I've worked to stay in this country?
I've got to turn this in, prove I'm an invaluable member of the workforce.
This is gonna make that a rather tough sell.
I see your point.
I've got exactly five days before big men in dark glasses
grab me by the scruff of my neck
and dropkick me back to Brighton.
The INS only gave you a five-day deportation warning?
Yeah, well, give or take six weeks.
I came here on a six month student visa 13 years ago.
Well, you obviously weren't a student of math.
What's your in, eh, Bug?
How'd you scam the Yanks into staying here?
I happen to have marketable skills which are highly valued in many lands.
But you...
Yeah, I can see why you'd have to resort to trickery.
Jordan.
I got a print match on our floater.
Lealand Jacobs, died two months ago.
His wife doesn't know how he got in the water.
Last she knew, he was resting in peace in National Cemetery.
The military cemetery out in Quincy?
That's the one.
Hey, Trey.
Why would someone go through all the trouble of covering up the grave again?
Whoever took him needed to cover his or her tracks.
Or maybe he or she needed to bury something else.
Who's that?
I don't know. It looks like we're gonna find out.
Can I help you?
Don't know yet. Who are you?
Detective Lois Carver, Boston P.D., Homicide.
You?
Who wants to know?
Ooh, FBI.
Your turn.
Jordan Cavanaugh, Medical Examiner's Office.
Well, ladies, I'll be handling things from here on in.
Handling things?
Yeah. Federal land, federal case. So, you mind?
Doing the honors? Oh, not at all.
There's a dead woman in here.
What the hell is going on here?
There's a walkie-talkie in her hand.
Claw marks on the lid.
This woman was buried alive.
What happened? I beat you back here by 15 minutes.
I had to park three blocks away.
Tell me, what breed of moron takes a parking spot of a medical professional?
The nerve.
Yeah, well, it's the presumption that's involved,
that whatever business he has is more important
than the person whose name is actually on the parking spot.
Plus, it's only guys with size issues that drive cars that big.
Tinted windows, no plates.
Jordan. Yep.
You two met earlier, I understand.
Oh, you have got to be the guy.
What guy would that be?
The moron who took my parking spot.
You do remember this is Special Agent Drew Haley of the FBI?
Or moron, if you prefer.
There's something I want from you two.
You kicked us out of the crime scene. You wouldn't release the girl's body.
You absconded with evidence pertinent to our decomp case.
What else could you possibly want?
Your photographer was taking pictures.
I'm gonna have to ask for that disk from your digital camera.
What? What?
I'm sure you're a model of discretion,
but we wouldn't want those getting out. Nothing personal.
Give him the disk, Jordan. It's not up for discussion.
Now, if you'll excuse me,
I've got to go keep the Chief M.E.'s chair warm until her replacement arrives.
For the record, I'm a medical examiner, not a photographer.
Hey, sorry about the "moron. "
Nothing personal.
I got to say, I'm surprised.
Why is that?
You giving up the goods so easy.
Since when did you cooperate with the Man?
Since never.
Come on, Darmesh. Be a man.
You won't get any if you can't even court the woman.
Why are you grinning at me?
What sign are you?
I'm busy. Go away.
You're a Pisces, aren't you?
You know, we're extremely compatible.
Go away.
Uh...
"Business is questionable, but marriage more than favorable. "
Face it. If Yakura's gonna sack me,
only one option remains for me to gain citizenship.
You're not talking about what I think you're talking about,
are you? Come on.
Yeah, you and me,
a scenic jaunt to Vermont for a quickie same-sex wedding.
But, there's method to my madness.
You see, the INS is bound to ask questions to make sure our love is true,
but you and I, we're co-workers.
So it minimizes the subterfuge.
We can say we fell in love over bacteria slides and splatter patterns.
I like girls.
As do I, but our love can transcend sexuality.
What do you say, Buggles? Help out a friend in need?
Be my wife?
You know, I can't think of a way to be sensitive about this.
No.
No!
All right then, see you at lunch.
Doctor Macy, can we talk?
Lily, this may not be the best time.
I've got a splitting headache and I can't seem to...
I can't seem to open this damn bottle.
Well, it'll only take a second and then you can get back to banging.
Our conversation this morning...
I was... I was just trying to convey my feelings for you,
feelings that I just assumed were mutual.
Look, I'm very sorry.
I've just had a really bad day.
Well, maybe you shouldn't take that out on people that
were
really starting to care about you.
It's just bad karma.
Bad karma.
You're gonna tell me about bad karma?
Try doing a job for 15 years that you despise,
only to be passed over time and time again, stuck forever in the seventh level of hell.
Relegated to being some temporary
interim de facto vice idiot!
Whatever I did in a past life, it must have been a doozy.
I know what's happening here.
You're all the same. You give a girl enough to keep her interested
and then you pull away and treat her like crap.
Which, of course, only makes her like you more.
Lily, it's... Please.
I've been through it enough to know when I'm gonna get my heart broken by a bad boy.
And you, Garret, are a bad boy.
What do we have?
Well, I took the liberty of enlarging the walkie-talkie in her hand.
Thought maybe I could read a model number.
It's worth a shot.
How come this is all you've got to go on?
Can't you read the boot print on my ass that says FBI?
Oh, yeah, there it is.
So, uh, have you got room on your dance card tonight?
Oh, please. No, I'm serious.
What sign are you?
Well, I've got several. Uh, "Danger,"
"Do Not Enter," "Beware of Men Who Are Dogs. "
Fair enough.
So what are the chances that you'd be free to marry me, say, uh, next Tuesday?
I'd say, uh, the chances of that could be expressed mathematically
as diddly over squat. But thanks.
Well, you can't blame a bloke for trying.
Yeah.
Now, if we can just make out the model number here.
Series 7-2000. It's a two-watt output.
Geek-free version, please?
It's a short range two-way radio.
Whoever was listening in on your girl's last rites
was within 200 yards of her.
Looks like my dance card just opened up.
Got any plans?
Wherever he was hiding out, I guarantee you he left a trace.
Hold it right there, sugar. You, too, twinkle.
Whatever necrophilic skinhead Goth hippie freak show
you're thinking of putting on, it ain't gonna happen.
Not on my watch.
Your watch?
And, what watch would that be?
Do you realize my colleague Agent Bollocks and I
penetrated the perimeter an hour and 27 minutes ago?
What? Yeah, we could have dug up
half the east lot and reenacted the Battle of Bunker Hill in that time.
You know, it's employees like you, Milo,
who give all graveyard security personnel a really bad name.
Look, I thought you guys were done.
Wait, are you guys with the Feds?
Do we look like we're with the Feds, Milo?
Well, then who are you with?
I wouldn't ask too many questions if I were you.
All you need to know is we're here to file a report on lax security measures
and your name is gonna be above the title, Milo.
Especially after last night's desecration.
It takes me an hour and 43 minutes to walk the perimeter.
I can't be everywhere at once, Agent.
An hour and 43 minutes. Make a note of that.
I'd start right now if I was you.
Try and get that down to an hour 38.
Thank you, Agent Bollocks.
But I can't do that.
I am timing you.
Yes, ma'am.
Okay, where did he hide?
This entire door's been dusted for prints.
Ah, you smell that? Industrial bleach.
I smell something else. Government cleanup job.
God, look at this place.
The Feds have been over it with a fine tooth comb and then hosed it down
so no one would be the wiser.
Not quite.
I ask myself,
why do I do these favors for you when I get so little in return?
I just gave you a story about a top secret FBI investigation.
Oh, yeah. Some headline.
"Vandals Strike Boston Boneyard. "
Vandals? What are you talking about?
I ran your LexisNexis search for "FBl" and "Cemetery" over the last six weeks.
Kept it New England, like you said.
Only hits were vandalism investigations in military graveyards.
Pretty boring.
But there is one thing that's kinda hinky.
You want to tell me why the FBI's ace behaviorist is digging up graveyards?
Behaviorist?
Profiler. Serial killers.
This is the guy who closed the Klineman case in Montana last year.
You're welcome.
Come on, Vicki. What better way to get to know someone than matrimony, eh?
I'll do it.
I'll marry you.
Oh, ha-ha.
Rub it in, Lilliput. Kick the Brit while he's down.
Hey, I'm serious.
Lily, while I appreciate the gesture,
perhaps you'd better think this through.
Already have.
I've been waiting for you to ask me since Bug turned you down.
I never thought I'd hear myself say this,
but why would you want to marry me?
Let's just say it has something to do with my karma and leave it at that.
It's just something I have to do.
Oh, so this is all about you then?
Focused self-interest.
One of the first things we have in common.
How's next Tuesday for you?
Perfect.
Oh, thanks, kid.
If you're looking for me, I didn't know we had any unfinished business.
Want to try again?
And this time, tell me why this was coated in fingerprint powder?
Hmm.
This wasn't on the curiously blank photo disk you gave me.
The girl we found, what number was she?
I don't know what you're talking about.
That's funny, 'cause as a profiler specializing in serial killers
I'd have thought you would have been filled in.
Her name was Valerie Wenner.
She was the fifth.
Two in Portland, two in New Hampshire.
So he still has one left here in Boston, huh?
I'm gonna appeal to your professional nature, assuming you have one
and ask you to keep this to yourself.
Good night, Doctor.
Tell me, how many fingers did you have to break
to pry that radio out of the girl's hand?
This guy taunting her, terrifying her,
that was the last thing she heard in this life.
Look, I just want to help you get him.
Good night, Doctor.
Okay, since my appeal to your sense of decency isn't working,
here it is in language you do understand.
Unless you want to hear my own personal account on this tragedy
accompanied by a photo spread in tomorrow's paper, you better start talking.
Who is he?
We call him The Digger.
What's his thing? Why does he do it?
I don't know
yet.
Well, five bodies in three states, that's a lot of ground to cover.
Which is why I'm having all the bodies exhumed and sent here to the field office
so an expert can get a look at them side by side.
Well, look no further.
Why do I get the feeling you're not gonna take no for an answer?
'Cause I'm not.
Be here tomorrow morning, 9:00 a. m. Sharp.
These numbers he etched in the wall, what do they mean?
We think they're biblical references.
This is the second one we've found.
We're bringing the bodies in now.
Valerie Wenner.
Well, what do you see?
Is this a test?
I'm just curious.
Well, I'll know a lot more once I get her on a table.
These puncture wounds in her neck,
he injected her with something to get her into the coffin.
Phenobarbital and diazepam.
So much for the blood work.
Other than that, there's no distinguishing marks
except for the mole on her left cheek.
Drawn on with an eyebrow pencil.
Why don't you save us both a lot of time and just tell me everything you know?
Victor, bring them all in, would you?
Victor's on loan to me from Spatter Analysis.
Give this guy a bloody sheet and he can triangulate
the height, the weight and the posture of the shooter, all using computer imagery.
Cool as that may be, I'm really a low-tech girl at heart.
I figured that.
Oh, that's right. You profilers like to get inside people's heads,
figure out why they do what they do.
They say you're pretty good at it.
They? They don't know a damn thing about me.
So, dazzle me.
Tell me about how my dad spanked me when I was eight
or how I kissed my first boy at the age of 12.
Hey, what color underwear do I have on?
I take my work pretty seriously, Doctor.
And so does Digger.
Now the nature of his crime leaves us five steps behind every time.
He places each of these girls in a freshly dug up grave.
It's always men's graves and they're mostly in their 50s.
Then he transports their bodies in some kind of a truck,
like a flatbed.
Then he dumps them in a remote area.
He's clever, but he's driven by the two things that are gonna bring him down.
And the first is hatred. Someone hurt this guy real bad.
The second is need.
The bigger the monster, the bigger the need.
Well, you already know Valerie Wenner.
Meet Susan Messenger, victim number four.
Jane Doe, number 626, victim number three.
Ann Ridley, victim number two.
And Jaclyn Mercer, patient zero.
As of now, you and I are the only ones who have seen all the bodies.
Besides him.
Doctor Macy.
Oh, hey, Lily. Um...
Listen, about our last conversation...
I just wanted to ask if I could have Tuesday off.
What? This Tuesday, why?
Well, it's short notice, I know, but, uh...
A friend of mine is in a bit of a jam, so...
Well, I don't see why not, but
you're leaving me a little shorthanded.
Nigel asked for Tuesday off, too.
Yeah, I know.
We need to get the license signed before we meet with the justice of the peace.
I'm sorry, am I missing something?
It's no biggie. Nigel's having some green card problems, so I'm gonna help him out.
You're helping him out? You're... You're marrying Nigel?
Yeah. It's just so he can stay in the country.
Do you have any idea of the world of legal hurt you can get into?
I'll be fine. It's the right thing to do.
I'm pretty sure the INS would disagree.
If I were you, I would forget all about this.
Well, you're not me.
When I see a situation that's unfair, I don't just sit around for 15 years,
I do something about it.
Can I have Tuesday off, Dr. Macy?
No, I need you here at the office.
Fine. We'll just have the wedding here then after work.
She fought hard.
An adult confined to a small space
quickly regresses into an infantile state.
Her last words were probably "Mommy. "
That's a pleasant thought. It's inhuman what he did to them.
I disagree. Cruelty and violence are very human.
Look, we only have four biological imperatives.
Feed, fight, flee and fornicate.
And they all are linked to pain and pleasure.
Man came down from the trees a couple million years ago.
Meaning? Meaning we evolved.
We've got this little thing called impulse control.
Look who's talking about impulse control.
Face it, we're a species of bloodletters.
That's a bleak view. Is that the world Digger lives in?
Digger? Oh, no.
Whatever impulse control Digger had is long gone.
No, a killer this bold wants attention,
all the attention he can get.
How do we know that?
Lesson number one in criminal profiling,
analyzing the killer's first victim is crucial
in determining his psyche.
Now, you take Miss Mercer here.
Digger grabbed her in broad daylight in a crowded parking lot of a supermarket.
Blind rage, untempered by fear.
There's just one small problem.
I think the Portland M.E. Made a very common mistake.
Now, both bodies were found at approximately the same time
and Jaclyn was far more decomposed than Ann.
Correct. That's how we determined that Jaclyn was the first victim.
Except Jaclyn suffered from hypothermia.
She fought so hard to escape from that coffin that her body temperature soared,
virtually melting her internal organs.
Now, Ann, on the other hand, died from suffocation.
So?
So victims of hypothermia decompose twice as fast as victims of suffocation.
Are you telling me...
Are you telling me that Ann was killed first?
The bodies never lie.
Well...
That means my profile was all wrong.
Don't be so hard on yourself.
People die when I make mistakes.
It wasn't your fault. It was shoddy forensics.
You want to hear what else I found or no?
I don't know, do I?
Ann Ridley was a natural chestnut-haired brunette.
The other four all got dye jobs right before they died, which would suggest...
That they were all made up to look like her.
I thought you were gonna tell me something I didn't know.
Well, if you'd let me in on some of your little secrets,
I wouldn't be going over the same damn clue trail.
And if I thought I could trust you a little more, maybe I would.
Then you're not as good at reading people as you think,
because you don't know the first thing about me.
You're an only child.
A daddy's girl.
Something happened when you were young, something awful.
It's a wound that's never healed.
But you use it. It fuels you, drives you.
I bet you have nightmares about it.
And they're powder blue.
Your underwear.
Wrong.
I'm not wearing any.
Well, it's not an exact science.
And I'm not the one you should be picking apart.
You're right.
Let's go. Where are we going?
Inside Digger's head.
My favorite color? Chartreuse.
Tell me about my tattoo.
Betty Boop, left butt cheek.
We're all set then.
Wait, aren't you gonna ask me something about myself?
You're an open book, angel.
What's my last name?
Point taken. Mmm-hmm.
Oh, I forgot to ask you the most important thing.
What's your size?
I usually take a twelve and a half.
I don't mean your shoe size.
Oh, my size.
I'm gonna need to see it. What?
What if they ask me to describe it?
Well, um, do I get to see yours?
No, of course not.
Well, I'm not dropping trou. Come on. Hey, look...
Here's an instant camera.
I'll wait.
You're a twisted bird.
And I love that about you.
Tell me about Ann Ridley.
She has no family, no friends.
She lives alone in a trailer park outside of Portland.
The evidence shows that he grabbed her at night.
So Digger's first kill wasn't public and impulsive, but secretive.
He probably had time to plan.
But why Ann Ridley?
Why was she his first kill?
We gotta go deep enough inside him
to know what he craves, to know what he fears.
I'm familiar with the mechanics.
Daddy's girl, remember?
Well, uh, Daddy was a cop and I've been doing this since I was 12 years old.
So, you be Digger.
And I'll be Ann.
There's something about you.
I remind you of someone.
Yeah, someone I hate.
Someone I've been fantasizing about getting revenge against for years.
How do you know me?
Maybe I deliver your mail.
Maybe I live next door. But I watch you.
Every day, coming and going, standing at the door, until finally I snap.
But you don't kill me yet.
Because whoever I remind you of,
you've never been able to kill her either.
Does it excite you?
Yes. Oh, yes, enough to do it again and again and again.
But why did you choose me?
You're the only one I didn't have to put makeup on.
You were perfect.
You remind me of someone.
Who? Your wife? Your mother?
Whoever it is,
it takes time to make the other girls look like you.
You use hotel rooms, assumed names?
No, this is an act of intimacy. I'm recreating someone.
I need a place of my own. A home.
Then how did you kill so many women in so many places?
Unless...
You live in a trailer.
He took his home on the road.
That's why Ann was the first.
You live right there in the trailer park.
Right next door.
Watching her.
Wanting her.
Then taking her.
Gotta go.
Is that about Digger?
Gotta go, that's all.
So, Jordan Cavanaugh asks for help again.
Didn't Nostradamus predict this?
You find anything out?
Let's get something straight.
I don't jump when you snap just to get nothing in return.
I've kept you in the loop.
You...
All right, come with me. Where are we going?
Practically had to sign a blood oath with the devil
to get this information out of my contact at the Bureau.
Please, just spill it.
Your boyfriend Haley applied for a federal search warrant.
Residence outside Boston.
She slipped me the address. Get this. It's...
A trailer park.
I'm not even gonna ask.
The Feds, they're not here yet.
It takes time to wake a judge and get a warrant signed.
We're looking for slot K.
Hope you brought a change of underwear.
That's it.
What the hell are you doing?
Knocking.
Excuse me.
You're gonna get us killed.
But we're having fun. And isn't that what's really important?
What the... Dead lilies.
There are dates at the top.
They correspond to the dates those girls disappeared, right?
Yeah, but these numbers here, they're not Bible references.
They're times.
He recorded how long they stayed alive underground.
Get behind me.
Help me.
Hello, hello.
Help me. I can't see anything.
I'm a doctor. I'm gonna try to help you, okay? What's your name?
Chloe. My name's Chloe. Oh, my God, please help.
We're gonna find you, Chloe, I promise.
But I need you to conserve your air.
From here on out, just take slow, deep breaths, okay?
Oh, please, you've gotta get me out of here.
I don't know where I am.
We're on our way.
Call the morgue, ask for Dr. Macy.
Tell him we're on our way in. We need everyone there. Help me.
And we need to get that dead body in the trunk of your car.
What for? He's gonna tell us where she is.
Got it.
Okay, people, listen up. We've got 90 minutes
until that girl goes into carbon dioxide-induced coma and dies.
Let's work some miracles.
Nigel, this is a different walkie.
Any idea on the range?
No, he's jerry-rigged the antenna.
It's a CB frequency. She could be anywhere.
Lily, I need you to keep her calm.
Her name's Chloe. Just talk to her.
Okay, get Haley. Bring him down here.
What do we know? White male in his 60s, no viable prints.
I think we interrupted the killer before he could dump him.
Wherever he was buried is where we're gonna find the girl.
Skull is completely fractured.
It'll be tough to do a dental match.
Looks like he's been in the ground less than two months.
Looks like a tattoo. Trey, Bug, raise it and track it.
Nigel, you get the torso.
Garret, I think we can work the head, maybe pull out a facial reconstruction,
but we're gonna have to separate it and put it on another table.
All right, let's do it. Come on, go, go!
This isn't gonna work. We're gonna have to take the face off.
Nige. Thanks. Let's see.
Okay, we got all the trace we're gonna get. Ready to hose.
Funky looking Y-incision.
More like an I-incision. Eastern European technique?
Most of his teeth are still here.
At least 15 fillings.
Definitely had a lot of work done.
Yeah, but not in this country.
We stopped using platinum in the '50s.
The only place I know that still do are parts of Eastern Europe.
So where do we start?
This one must've hurt. Amateur job, looks like.
Trusting fellow, wasn't he?
Letting somebody poke him 50,000 times with a dirty needle.
What does this look like to you?
I don't know, I can't make it out.
It could be anything from Greek to Russian.
Okay, that's good enough.
Let's upload these in the computer,
see if we can clean it up and get a match with VICAP.
Bingo. Armenia. It's the insignia for the Armenian National Guard.
If he died overseas and was shipped here for burial,
there's gotta be a trail of paperwork somewhere.
I'm on it. We gotta find that cemetery, Nigel.
Everyone out!
Can't get a hold of Haley, but I left a message. Hello?
Keep trying. Chloe?
How's she doing? I don't know.
I just keep talking. I think I can still hear her breathing.
Chloe? Can you hear me?
Chloe, we're on our way, sweetheart. Chloe?
Mama.
Marcon Napetian.
Died and autopsied overseas, but shipped stateside to be buried next to his wife.
Where? A small cemetery plot
right behind the Armenian-American church.
It's just 10 minutes away.
I'll drive.
Lily, call Boston P.D.
Doctor Macy?
Grace. I received your call on my service.
Looks like I've missed all the action.
It's all right. We've got it under control.
Anything I need to get involved in?
No. We're okay.
Very well then. Good night.
Grace?
Listen, I know you're bringing in some heavy hitter from the outside,
but whoever he or she is, I want you to fire 'em.
Excuse me?
You're not gonna find anyone who's already gone through all the stages of grief and hatred
before arriving at acceptance,
even love, for this place, these people and this work.
I want your job, Grace.
It was yours all along, Garret.
I was just waiting for you to ask.
Any minute now. They're on their way.
I think we got a live one.
Chloe, I'm here. Come on, breathe.
Chloe. Come on, come on, breathe.
We'll take it from here.
Where have you been? Getting a warrant.
It's a little thing called the law.
What the hell happened?
I was trying to save her.
She's gone.