Victim's name is Trevor Beck.
Caucasian male, age 17.
Five foot, 11.
154 pounds.
Senior at Sagebrush Valley High.
Appears to be well nourished and in overall good health,
without any abnormal skin coloring or pigmentation.
There are several light abrasions
and contusions on the knuckles of his right hand,
consistent with a recent scuffle.
But there do not appear to be any external
wounds consistent with severe trauma.
Internal organs appear healthy.
No signs of trauma or disease.
Heart muscle...
is free of scarring and necrosis.
And there's no evidence of any cardiac event.
Healthy young men like this don't simply drop dead for no reason.
I concur, which is why I am still looking.
That is one massive cerebral edema.
The meninges don't appear to be
discolored or...
inflamed,
so I think we can safely rule out meningitis.
Did he suffer any blows to the head?
There's no evidence of any injuries to support that.
According to the police report,
he was shoved at school this morning and collapsed.
And even if he sustained a blow during the altercation,
that's not nearly enough time to cause this much swelling.
And what does that leave us with?
Drugs? Toxins?
Or a prior injury we don't know about.
Not yet.
Mrs. Beck,
- please sit down. - Okay.
Okay. Just a few things I have to ask you, all right?
Was Trevor injured recently?
"Injured"? How?
You know, uh... a bang in the head.
Even a little bump? Anything?
No. No, I mean, not that I know of.
No? Was he complaining of, uh, headaches
or blurred vision, nausea... anything like that?
He's been a little grumpy lately.
I mean, this morning, he couldn't find his car keys, and...
he threw a fit.
And then, he realized he'd left them in the car.
I think that's just 'cause he's,
he's not getting enough sleep, you know?
He's... he's a teenager.
Sure. Sure. Sure, we all do that. I understand.
Was he in a fight recently?
Trevor doesn't fight.
He's a, um...
he was a good kid.
Well, even good kids have bad days.
Did somebody do something to Trevor...
- that, that killed him? - We can't say anything definitive.
We're just looking at possibilities.
But it would be helpful to have a diary of Trevor's
comings and goings in the last week. That would be good.
How do you know anything about a kid at his age?
Well, we could ask his friends. You know, maybe they could help.
He didn't have a lot of friends.
You know, when Trevor wasn't doing his schoolwork, he was,
he was working on his car.
You know, he always said that he was going to be an artist.
I mean, I thought that would be like a, you know,
a painter or sculptor or something, you know?
Not a gearhead.
But he said that a car was art
that could move.
He started seeing a girl.
Cindy.
About a week ago. She came home with him last night.
What time was that?
Let's see, they went up to Trevor's room about 9:00.
But, there was no sleeping over, so she left
about, 11:00, I think.
- But I didn't see her go. - Do you have her phone number?
No.
- I don't. - It's okay. It's all right.
We can find that. That's easy for us.
Hey! If you want Cindy,
well, too bad, 'cause you can't have her.
You don't look nearly busy enough.
Well, thank you.
It is my gift to look relaxed while doing many things.
Unlike Hodges, who has the ability to look overwhelmed
while really doing nothing at all.
I'm waiting on an A.G. waiver on a cell phone for...
Cindy Warner. It just came through. Start "relaxing."
You got it. Okay.
You know, I heard the victim's brain kind of exploded in his head.
Kind of.
What does this girl have to do with that?
No one's seen her since the night before Trevor beck died.
She lives with her brother,
a construction worker out of town on a job.
I sent some unis over to their apartment
for a welfare check and she wasn't there.
Her boyfriend drops dead in front of the whole school,
and she's nowhere to be found. That qualifies as suspicious to me.
Okay. Her cell is registered and active at a tower
on Washington Boulevard between Oak and Maple.
Sagebrush Valley High.
Well, it is a school day.
According to the office,
Cindy was not in her homeroom this morning.
According to my daughter, some kids just go to school to hang out.
Never set foot in a classroom.
I have her schedule.
I will beat the bushes and see what turns up.
Bye.
Cindy?
- Sorry? - This is Cindy Warner's locker.
Yeah and mine. We share.
Well, I'm Sara Sidle.
I'm with the crime lab. What's your name?
Renata Clarke.
I'm going to need to get in there, Renata.
Like the teachers say "no expectation of privacy."
So did Cindy do something wrong?
- Have you seen her today? - No.
I mean, not since the other night.
Actually, before what happened with Trevor.
And I've been texting her like crazy and Cindy's my biff.
- We always talk before bed. - She text you back?
And you're not worried about her at all?
Of course I'm worried about her. Her boyfriend, like, died.
But I mean, half the school went home after that
and I figured Cindy did, too.
She just wasn't ready to talk.
And I can't even imagine how she was feeling.
You think Cindy ran away or something?
We don't know.
Well, I'm going to be late for class.
No problem. Go ahead. But...
could you do me a favor?
If Cindy does get in touch with you, could you
- call me please? - Sure.
Thanks.
- Hey! - Hi.
What are you doing here? I called impound for this.
They're still sorting out a multi-car pileup on the 15.
Thought I'd save them some trouble. Take care of this one in the field.
Nobody mentioned it was electric.
- So? - So this is a 1958 Porsche speedster.
So?
So, it's a classic. James Dean had one of these.
Putting an electric motor in this is sacrilegious.
Not to polar bears.
- Did you process the interior? - No, no, not yet.
Looks like we've got some more blasphemy here.
Yeah. I saw that fresh yellow paint scrape passenger's side door.
Already collected for trace.
You know, these EVs have diagnostic
modules up the wazoo.
They log range, speed, acceleration,
state of charge... all that stuff.
I guess the electric motor's good for us, too.
Phenelzine.
Antidepressant.
Sadly, very popular with the high school set.
Got a pink cell here.
Cindy Warner's phone.
They say the only way to get a teenage girl away from her cell phone
is to pry it from her cold, dead hand.
Well, whoever "they" are, let's hope they're wrong.
Let go!
What are you doing?!
What's the matter with you? Stop it!
Stop! Come on, man.
Miyamoto Takahashi?
Nah, man. It's after 3:00.
I'm not a truant.
Wouldn't that be your lucky day?
I'm a homicide detective, man.
How'd you get that shiner? This'll help.
- Let go! - What are you doing?!
What's the matter with you? Stop it!
- Stop! - Come on, man!
Looks pretty self-explanatory.
I don't know what's going on today, but everybody's giving me attitude.
You know what? I'm the victim, man.
You're not the victim when the guy who did that,
17 hours later, ended up dead.
The gentleman in question died at school.
Probably bored to death.
- So what was your beef with Trevor? - No beef, man.
Amateur got in my face. I let him slide.
A tough guy like you didn't hit back? Come on.
Let who's ever up decide.
You know, for such a man of peace, you have a funny way of showing it.
You know what I think happened? I think it
all had to do with Cindy Warner.
I'm perplexed.
An educated guy like you?
Come on.
Cindy used to be my lady.
Then she started keeping his passenger seat warm.
But you never know when history's going to repeat itself that's the way I saw it.
The way I see it is, you get in a fight with Trevor
to win Cindy back, and then Trevor kicked your ass.
17 hours later, he ends up dead and Cindy goes missing.
She's missing?
Yeah.
Where is she?
If we knew where she was, she wouldn't be missing.
Now, where did you go after Trevor decked you?
Back here.
I swear. Ask my boss. I was helping with inventory.
- When was the last you saw Cindy? - You're looking at it.
It looks like his brain stem has been jammed into his spine.
Essentially it has.
It's a rare condition known as Chiari malformation.
It's a deformity of the skull that displaces the cerebellum
and the brain stem into the spinal canal.
Most people don't even realize they have it
until they've experienced some kind of trauma or vigorous neck flexion.
- Like a blow to the head? - Exactly.
If that happens, the condition creates swelling,
edema, resulting in massive intracranial pressure.
The headaches can be excruciating.
According to the mother, Trevor had been irritable.
- And wasn't sleeping very well. - It's got to be hard to sleep when
your brain's blowing up in your skull like that?
Trevor was also taking antidepressants, MAO inhibitors.
I know they spike blood pressure, but wouldn't they have worsened the swelling?
Definitely. The existing chiari, the antidepressants,
and whatever struck his head,
all combined to create an acute hypertensive crisis...
a perfect storm.
So whoever gave him the drugs was also contributing to his death.
- Yes. - We still don't know what hit him
or who or where it happened.
Well, the diagnostic modules in Trevor's Franken-Porsche
did give us a little something there.
On the night before his last drive
from home to school, Trevor drove
about 14 miles in the course of an hour and a half
without turning his engine off.
That's seven miles out, seven miles back...
seven mile search radius.
And just before he made that trip
is the last time that Cindy Warner was seen.
I've got a bad feeling about this.
Guys, she's pretty messed up.
And it's not just from the tree.
Compound fractures of both shins.
A lot of internal injuries.
And her uniform is missing the skirt, which could suggest sexual assault.
Possible body dump.
You know, I haven't seen any blood in the vicinity
or footprints, other than ours.
Or any sign of a struggle.
No, if this is a body dump,
and Trevor's death was some sort of twisted
karmic retribution,
then why didn't he try to hide the body any better than this?
There's no tire treads coming off the road,
no signs of another vehicle even being out here,
much less another person.
It's like she just... fell from the sky.
What do you think?
Kids head out to the desert for a little sneaky-touchy.
Things start getting hot and heavy, clothing is removed...
then things go terribly, terribly wrong.
Definitely wrong.
That is not what happened.
Do you see how the tibia is snapped clean?
The x-ray shows the posterior
is beveled.
This is a pedestrian fracture.
She was hit by a car.
David said that there was no evidence of that at the scene.
Maybe not in the immediate vicinity of the body,
but if you take a car traveling at highway speed
and hit someone just right...
a girl this size and this weight...
she could fly the length of a football field.
We need to widen our search.
There were yaw marks up and down the road,
but no clear tread marks, so I obliquely photographed
areas where I thought tread marks might be
by using a light source at different angles,
different contrast...
Each angle revealed portions of otherwise invisible treads.
By layering the shots, I was able
to come up with a complete set of tread mark impressions.
Very impressive, smarty-pants.
Two distinct sets.
Both originating in the same general vicinity...
here.
The yellow scrapes and blood on the road
appear to be from Cindy's point of impact, which was
roughly 1,300 feet from the starting point.
We found her body 300 feet
from where she was hit.
Two cars, dead of night,
a girl on a lonely stretch of quarter-mile straightaway.
This was a drag race.
With Cindy at the finish line...
in every sense of the word.
The treads on the left are
a thin five-bar tire that's consistent with the ones on Trevor's car.
The treads on the right are from his mystery opponent.
They're 17-inch, Goodyear Eagles
with a wheel width of approximately 70 inches.
A lot of cars on the road today that fit that description.
Hodges was able to I.D. the yellow flakes in Cindy's wounds
and the point of impact.
It's Flatz Uranium number two.
And it is the same paint as the yellow scrape that we found
- on Trevor's door. - Okay, so...
the two cars race, one swipes the other.
The yellow car loses control and takes out Cindy.
That would explain why there was no damage
- to the front-end of Trevor's car. - So we're looking for
a yellow street racer in Las Vegas? Great.
That should narrow it down to just a few hundred suspects.
Maybe Trevor's drug dealer can help us out with that.
I tracked the lot number on the Phenelzine pack you found.
It's from a local pharmacy. I called the owner.
His son works as a stock boy
and he goes to Trevor's school.
A drug dealer?
Me?
Do I look like Tony Montoya to you?
Damn it, Rishi, stop messing around.
That's good advice.
We know that you're dealing.
I never took any cash from Trevor.
We were in auto shop together.
He was like a genius, and I have this mental blockage
when it comes to things mechanical,
so I exchanged my goods for his services.
Tutoring.
All this and you're failing auto shop, too?
That's right, dad!
I'm never going to be an engineer. Strip me of my indian.
The night before he died...
who was Trevor racing?
- No one. - Come on.
I'm telling you, Trevor wasn't a racer.
Tell the police the truth!
He wasn't a racer!
Not as far I know.
That car was like his baby.
Well, racing is what a car like that is built for.
We know that Trevor was out in the desert drag racing
a yellow car, which killed Cindy Warner.
Do you know somebody with a yellow car?
I don't think you're aware of what's going on here.
The pills that you gave Trevor helped kill him.
No-no-no, he... he asked me for the painkillers.
But that stuff's addictive, so I gave him the uppers.
Which are controlled substances.
Trafficking them is a felony.
- Hey, I'm still a minor. - But your father isn't.
He's responsible for those medications.
And if he's found criminally liable,
he could lose his store.
Oh, my god.
Rishi, what have you done?
The yellow car...
it's got to be a Demon.
They're a gang. Their color's yellow. That's all I know. I swear.
I'm sorry, dad.
I'm sorry.
The Demons have been around for awhile.
They're a legitimate car club, but they've diversified
into distribution of narcotics, chop shops,
protection rackets... things like that.
We can't exactly round up every Demon in town
who's driving a yellow car, can we?
Well, maybe we don't have to.
I know where a lot of Demons are going to hang out tonight.
- "Street Rumble"? - That's catchy.
Brass says the department sets this thing up
to keep racers off the streets.
Ten dollars buys anyone into a race,
and it's all legal.
Well, it looks like it's working.
Yeah, it does, actually.
Well, at least one day a week anyway.
Here we go. Check it out.
Pretty nice ride you got here.
17-inch rims?
Look at that.
The lady can appreciate the finer things in life.
Nissan 350z. This is a race car.
You can't keep it caged up. You got to let a canary sing.
Ask Sergeant Jenkins.
This is the ride that beat his ass here last week.
Bumper looks a little beat up, though.
This baby's Pristine.
You know Officer O'Malley?
Got smoked two weeks ago on Las Vegas...
on the track.
Your old crown vic's just no matchup.
No disrespect, but any scratches get on that shine,
there's going to be problems, man.
No, there's not.
Besides, I was just admiring the color. Weren't you, Sara?
The color is nice. What is it?
Flatz uranium number two?
Don't know.
Is this your car?
I'm watching it for a friend.
- What's this about? - What's your friend's name?
- Don't know. - You don't know the guy's name,
but he lets you baby-sit his car? Why is that?
What can I say? I got a trustworthy face.
No, you don't.
We're looking for a yellow car in connection with a murder.
Mitch!
Johnnie! We got a runner!
- Stop, LVPD! - Stop now!
Step aside! Please!
Get off me!
LVPD! Stop!
Get out of the way!
- Back it up! - Get down on the ground!
Now! Get down. Get your arm back.
Get down!
Back it up!
Maybe in your car you would've had a chance.
You're under arrest. Get him up.
Let's go.
What is it, Greg?
I was just thinking about the time I went joyriding.
You? Really?
I was 12.
My Papa Olaf bought a red 280-ZX.
Man, it was love at first sight.
And I have no idea what made me think I could get away with it.
But when Papa O went down for his afternoon nap,
I swiped the keys and took it for a spin.
Where'd you go?
Around the block... twice.
And when I was rolling it back into the driveway,
I almost ran over my foot.
Papa Olaf woke up, had no idea.
He never found out.
You're a little car thief.
Yeah, guess I am.
So, listen, Miyamoto lawyered up.
But according to the guys in the gang unit,
he's been involved in stuff like this before.
He got busted in a chop shop raid last summer,
but since he was a juvee,
and not principally involved, they turned him loose.
I'm pretty sure he's involved in this, too.
Well, unfortunately, his car isn't.
Well, his wheel width matches,
so do the tires.
And Hodges confirmed the paint flatz uranium number two.
That may be so, but while at the crime scene,
I collected broken glass associated with the impact.
It turned out to be headlight glass.
These headlights are plastic.
There is no way that this glass
came from that car.
Is that Trevor?
Looks like he was more of a racer than people thought.
Where did you get to this?
Well, that photo was on Cindy's phone.
It was taken at the winner's circle
of street rumble, so I searched their site
and this came up. It's from nine days ago.
Check out that paint job on the other car.
Yellow flames.
How much do you want to bet it's flatz uranium number two?
He got whiplashed in that spinout.
That's probably what set off his chiari.
Which means that his death was probably an accident.
Yeah.
Wait a minute.
That is Renata Clarke.
Cindy Warner's best friend.
So, Trevor smokes Renata in an organized race.
Maybe the desert was a rematch.
All right, you hear that light ticking sound?
That's the hot solid lifter cam.
The valves need adjusting.
Shut it down. See, if you listen,
your car will tell you everything.
There's no guesswork.
Unlike your girlfriend, she'll tell you exactly
what she means, but you have to listen,
because...
if you don't, your car's just a noisy heap of metal.
- So take care of those valves. - Okay, Gus.
Hi. Can I help you?
- Hi there. M. Davis? - Yes.
We're with the crime lab.
I understand that you're Renata's legal guardian.
I am. I'm her uncle and her shop teacher.
We're going to need to take a look at her car.
Sure. Yeah, it's right over here,
only it's not for sale.
Renata? Come on out.
These people want to take a look at the car.
What's this all about, Gus?
I don't know.
No signs of blood spatter or body damage.
Even the tires look clean.
But the headlights are glass.
Well, the wheel width is right.
There's no way we're off base on this.
Maybe we're not.
Check it out.
Yellow paint overspray.
This area's been recently repaired and repainted.
What are you looking for?
Renata...
where were you the night that Cindy went missing?
I went to Giant Burger to meet up with some friends for dinner.
When the fries got cold, I came home.
Studied calc and fell asleep on my textbook.
True story.
What were you calling Cindy about at 1:00 in the morning?
Around midnight, I woke up, ink on my face and everything.
I watched the Gossip Girl I dvr'd
and called Cindy to go over the pertinent details.
Did you made plans to meet up?
"Meet up"?
There's no meeting up.
Cindy and I talk every night.
This is nothing out of the ordinary.
Wait.
You couldn't possibly think I was there when Cindy...
- When Cindy what? - You think I killed her?
Cindy was my best friend! I would never hurt her!
- Never! - Renata. What's this all about?
Evidence consistent with this car
was collected at a crime scene, M. Davis.
This vehicle will now be impounded.
Impound? What? Because of some stupid measuring tape?
You can't take it! You can't let them take my car!
You don't actually have a choice in the matter.
Okay. Fine. Look.
She was at home.
I was with her.
And we're done talking.
Okay, you guys are looking for fibers, blood, hair
any transfer that would confirm
this is the vehicle that struck and killed Cindy Warner, okay?
Okay !
The suspect hides the murder weapon in plain sight,
in her auto shop class.
That's pretty sophisticated for a high school girl.
She's definitely more sophisticated than the ones
you chat with on the twilight message boards.
Wait, wait.
So, I'm guessing that about a million grubby teenagers probably
pawed their way all around this thing.
So how exactly do we put
Renata behind the wheel when Cindy was killed?
By going over it with a fine-tooth comb.
If we can rule out other drivers,
then we can build a pretty good case.
Right. What if the other driver was wearing gloves?
Helping or hindering, Wendy, which one's it going to be?
I am helping.
- Attagirl. - Thanks.
What do you got there?
- Kids. - Gross.
There are only two ways to get to the drag where Cindy was killed.
One is an exit off the 95.
And the other's a turn off Blue Diamond road,
which is the way to get there from Henderson.
And where both Trevor and Renata live.
Is there a traffic camera or video surveillance
- at the Blue Diamond intersection? - I am just going to check that out.
Good. PDS doing their part.
Somebody's bound to get lucky.
This is a 1933 Ford Roadster.
It was involved in a street race that resulted
in the death of a teenage girl.
Now, we have reason to believe that the street gang known
as the Demons aided the driver by chopping the parts of this car
immediately after the incident.
The gang unit has supplied you with a list of the known
Demon chop shops,
several of which are fronted by legitimate businesses.
Now, the job is to locate and recover
any and all parts from this vehicle.
And when you do so, give CSI a call.
Cindy Warner's sweater made quite the impression
on the hood of Renata's car.
There was so much kinetic energy transferred
in the collision that when the fabric came into contact
with the hood, it actually
deformed the clear coat and the paint.
After that, she takes the car to the Demons
who replace the parts and paint everything to match.
And she pretends the whole thing didn't happen.
Were there any other prints besides hers on the steering wheel?
No, we got her as good as we can.
There's one thing that I still don't get.
So, Renata loses to Trevor in a legal, organized race,
and then a week later, they have a rematch
at an illegal drag in the desert.
Why not just wait until the next rumble?
Racer mentality runs in her family.
Her guardian was on the stock car circuit in the '70s.
Made a bit of a name for himself.
Back then, guys used to build their own cars
and race them for pink slips.
He obviously passed the bug on to Renata.
Guys, we got a problem.
These were taken by a traffic camera
on Blue Diamond road the night of Cindy's death.
That's Trevor's Porsche
- with Renata behind the wheel. - That doesn't make any sense.
It blows up our whole theory. Trevor wasn't in the desert.
It wasn't a rematch.
so then what he let Renata borrow his car
to... what?
Race who?
Her car was already there.
We're missing something.
Okay, but what?
I think I know.
Want a piece of gum?
Piece of gum, Gus?
We know you didn't race Trevor in the desert, Renata.
Finally. It was starting to feel like harassment.
You were racing each other.
We found a wad of chewing gum stuck
on the back of the steering wheel of Renata's car.
I know you're a fan of Chuck Yeager's. So am I.
Chuck used to snag a stick of beeman
from his mechanic before he did a test flight.
And then he'd take the gum, right?
And he'd place it...
right on the cockpit.
So it'd be there on his safe return home.
And I guess that in your racing days, you'd leave
a wad of gum on the steering wheel?
Just like Chuck.
Well, once we match your DNA to that chewing gum,
it's like the checkered flag for us.
So, I chew gum.
Renata and I work together on that car all the time.
- That doesn't prove anything. - The morning that Trevor died,
he couldn't find his car keys,
but he said found them later inside his car.
So I think that you got your BFF Cindy
to steal the car and bring it out the desert so you could race it.
And after Cindy got killed,
you drove the car back into Trevor's house
and left the keys inside the car.
He...
- we didn't mean to... - We didn't do anything.
And we're leaving.
- No, you're not leaving. - Well, wait a minute. Actually,
you can leave.
But you're going to stay.
You're under arrest.
Cuff her. Read her her rights.
Charge is felony murder. She were there.
You want to give her a hug, now's a good time.
- No, wait. Now stop! - It's okay, Gus.
- I'm going to be okay. - No.
Don't.
- It's my fault. - Don't!
It was my fault.
What the hell happened out there?
That guy's never raced a day in his life and he beats you?!
His car runs like it's on jet fuel.
- There's no beating that. - You were slow on your gear changes.
If you had the guts of a real racer
- you would've beat him! - His car is better than ours, Gus.
Get over it!
I saw Trevor's little toaster all the time in class.
It's not about what's under the hood.
And I had to
show Renata that what matters most is the heart behind the wheel.
Cindy was dating Trevor.
I got Renata to convince Cindy to steal Trevor's car.
So I could prove my point.
I don't know what came over me.
I just never liked to lose to anyone.
Cindy!
- Cindy! - Get in the car! Get in the car!
No! We have to find her!
All right, I will, but I want you out of here.
Take Trevor's car back and go home.
I tried.
I tried to find her, but I couldn't.
But I felt that hit.
There was nothing I could do for her.
I gave that Miyamoto kid 500 bucks
to make the car like new overnight.
This is on me.
No.
It was my fault.
If I hadn't had Cindy steal Trevor's car,
she never would have been out there in the first place.
You did.
She was.
Who won?
Brass said the D.A.'s going to charge them both.
There you go... two lives ruined,
two dead kids and for what?
So some old-time race car driver could show off?
It's a shame.
When you're young, you think you're immortal.
And when you get older, you just want to remember how that felt.
Driving crazy fast on an open road.
We're not getting that old, are we?
Good night, Nicky.
Good night, Catherine. I'll see you tomorrow.