For the last time, give me your leg.
No.
- What is this? - This is a court order, Mr. Riley.
It means we get to take a look at your leg.
Now.
- I don't understand what any of this is. - Sure you do.
During the 16 months you worked as a guard at the Aster Museum,
you've stolen a Fabergé egg, a Cape of Good Hope stamp,
and a scrap of ancient Egyptian papyrus.
That's ridiculous.
We became quite certain that a woman named Adrien Harper
was selling the pilfered items on the Japanese black market.
But the mystery remained, who was her inside man?
We were at the opening of the new Tiffany exhibit tonight.
- We saw her signal you. - Mr. Riley, your prosthesis.
Miss Harper was quite discreet
when signaling which item she expected you to smuggle.
It was only your clumsy nods which gave you away.
Adrien Harper is currently shackled to a table
in an interview room down the hall.
Her testimony will be more than enough to convict you.
So this is all rather superfluous.
But I suppose we are all dressed up with nowhere to go, aren't we?
Most prostheses don't have a hidden compartment, do they, Mr. Riley?
Okay, you made your point.
Time to give me a minute alone with our friend.
I beg your pardon. This is our case. We only included you...
Let's not fight in front of the perp, okay?
I said I can take it from here.
Come on.
Hey, I need that.
We've been going in circles for two weeks
because Nash missed the guy's priors, and now it's "I'll take it from here."
The man is an ingrate and a clod.
We will be lucky if he checks that Riley signs his own confession.
Looks like you two had an interesting night.
The museum business is settled.
No thanks to Detective Nash.
- Oh? There a problem? - Too many to enumerate.
This chair would be a more suitable collaborator.
- He's not wrong. - I don't know what to tell you guys.
If you wanna be consulting detectives, you gotta consult with someone.
You've burned through half the squad
since Bell transferred to Demographics.
Well aware. But I believe I have a solution. You.
You could take on more casework yourself.
I understand the rote administrative elements of your position
demand much of your time,
but you could rely on us to carry the bulk of your investigative load.
I'm sorry, I've got some rote administrative work to do.
Why don't you take him for a walk?
Crash a prom or something.
Hashemi and Mukerji,
I want you listening to the chatter coming out of Bensonhurst.
Sengupta and Theil, you're gonna vet this, uh, Moti Bagul fella.
And last but not least, Bell.
To the young man who picked against the Knicks
in the pool yesterday, a special prize.
You and, uh, Wozniak, you get to visit Nemetz Oil Recycling.
A man of advanced years called the tip line
because he thought he saw a man with dark features up to no good there.
You have fun.
I hear Port Morris is really beautiful this time of year. Heh.
Okay, that's it.
Do some good out there.
What did you do?
Research and analysis. Thought that was the job.
Yeah, not when you're picking NBA games with the boss.
- That's when blind loyalty is expected. - Mm-hm.
Well, what is this?
Guy was seen wheeling a barrel onto the premises
of an oil recycling center after hours.
You make a bomb, got some toxic chemicals left over,
it's a good way to make sure they never turn up.
More like someone didn't wanna pay the drop-off fee.
Hey, it's field work.
It's the first I've seen in a while.
Well, as long as I'm the only one carrying a gun in this relationship,
I go where you go.
So don't sign us up for any more field work until the spring, okay?
I was on duty the night you're talking about and I didn't see a thing.
If I had to guess, this guy who called you
probably just saw Rajiv or Amit working.
Got a few Indian employees here.
One of them was probably just shuffling some inventory
toward the loading dock.
What's up with these green ones?
Uh, semi-toxic stuff.
Comes to us from mechanics, service stations.
They give us their used oil,
we gotta take their transmission fluid and Freon in the bargain.
Those get dumped in a landfill up near Saratoga.
That's why we came. I'm gonna have a look.
I'm gonna check the security tapes, where it's not nine degrees.
Careful. I got it.
I think I'm gonna be sick.
This is Bronx Intel to Central K.
Please advise Captain Gregson,
we need detectives and additional units
at Nemetz Oil Recycling in Port Morris.
We got a homicide here.
That's it. Thanks.
You never call, never write,
yet when somebody jams a body in a barrel...
Yeah, I wish it was a happier occasion.
We got a call. Tipster thought they saw a guy wheeling a drum
onto the premises last Friday.
I found the lucky winner.
How?
With my eyes.
UPC tag was low, but the barrel had a fresh coat of paint.
It was older and dented.
Did they get the guy on tape?
System must have been set up by chimps.
There's blind spots all over.
So nothing in the other barrels?
Whoever took this guy's head and hands knew better
than to dump them in the same spot as the body.
And he's got no clothes, no ID.
This thing is ice-cold.
How's the new gig?
It's nice people. Big job.
But the threat briefings we get...
I used to sleep better.
I've read about your detail.
A municipality, even as one as large as New York,
launching its own counterterrorism unit.
Fascinating experiment.
Well, we should get to this. Um, it's good to see you, Marcus.
- You too. Mm-hm. - Hey.
You know, Bell's not gonna hold onto that anger forever.
Time heals all wounds, sometimes it just takes a larger dose.
Well, if that were true,
it would be a tremendous comfort to this gentleman.
Without a face, dental records, or hands,
even the chance of getting sediment from underneath his fingernails,
identification may prove beyond our grasp.
Well, we could get lucky.
DNA might match somebody in the N.Y.P.D. CODIS system.
That is a job for a computer.
Ours is to inspect this man's rusty tomb.
Now...
Well, it's the same cast as the others, but it's older.
Brought in from elsewhere.
Recently painted to match the Nemetz inventory.
Barrel was previously sky blue,
which could limit our scope of inquiry to Navy shipyards and...
Handsome Bobby.
Beg your pardon?
I think I might know who this is.
That's him. That's Handsome Bobby Pardillo.
I take it "Tiny Bobby Pardillo" was already taken.
This was the last time he was seen. Twenty-one years ago,
walking out of court, after his father was acquitted of racketeering.
The body that Detective Bell found was fresh.
It was less than 72 hours old.
Bobby was missing, but he was never presumed dead.
Federal undercovers heard that he was on the lam
for a beef that he had with the Ferrara family.
At the risk of stating the obvious,
our body in the barrel, it's gotta be a couple hundred pounds lighter.
These scars, they're from laparoscopic gastric surgery. He had a lap band.
Dropped so much weight, he had to have the excess skin removed.
But the knees are another piece of the puzzle.
I can't even guess how many surgeries this guy's had.
If you feel the patella, you can tell it's artificial.
Handsome Bobby was on those crutches
because Big Teddy Ferrara had him kneecapped over gambling debts.
That's how the whole feud started.
And severing heads and hands was SOP for the Ferrara button men, right?
What?
"Big Teddy," "kneecapped," "button men."
From where does this expertise come?
Grade school. I grew up in Queens.
There were always kids around who said their dads were in the Mob.
I was curious, and it was fun to follow it all in the papers.
The Mob was like a soap opera back then.
Handsome Bobby was a pretty big story.
I'm surprised you never heard his name.
Well, it's likely I did, but ejected it from my memory.
Mafia law interests me about as much as the criminal derring-do
of the Freemasons or the Druids.
After decades of police scrutiny and the relentless tide of modernity,
La Cosa Nostra poses a less potent threat to New Yorkers
than 20-ounce sodas.
Give or take a body in a barrel.
For now, let's assume you're right.
While we're waiting for the DNA to come back,
we should hit up as many Ferrara soldiers as we can find.
You think any of them will talk?
I doubt that their cherished omertá has held up any better
than their stranglehold on the bootleg liquor trade.
But it might be advantageous to talk to Handsome Bobby's father.
He may be able to identify the remains, and if he does,
he might be able to tip us to which of his rivals decapitated his son.
That's him.
- Our sympathies. - Mr. Pardillo, I'm sure you understand
there's a few questions we'd like to ask you.
When was the last time you saw your son?
Couple of months ago.
We had to keep it quiet, as you know.
He was suspected of killing a made guy
in the Ferrara family in 1992.
He was a good boy.
Made it big up in Albany.
Fresh start, no old ties.
How did you manage to stay in touch?
It would appear that one of your son's old enemies managed to find him.
I'm wondering if your communiqués
could've been used to trace back to him.
We did e-mail.
Made it look like insurance spam.
Bobby was smart, very smart.
He got surgery, stayed out of sight.
He only came into town for the doctors.
We couldn't find a good gastro guy upstate.
Somebody must have spotted him on the street.
Do you have any idea who in the Ferrara family might have done this?
Some malandrine.
Look, I understand Bobby rubbed some people the wrong way.
I get that.
But to deny a man a proper burial?
I'm a law-abiding citizen.
But if I wasn't,
the mutt that done this would be in the ground tomorrow.
You got any more questions, you call my lawyer.
Come on, I'll walk you out.
Obviously, he's intent on retaliation.
If we're gonna find the killer before he does,
I suggest you dig into all police files
pertaining to the Ferrara family current infrastructure.
The suspect may present himself.
While I'm doing that, you're going to?
Pay a visit to the Demographics Unit.
If we can identify the man that called in the tip regarding the barrel,
he might be able to pick the killer out of a Ferrara family photo array.
You can just call and find out if it's possible to locate the tipster.
I could, if I was content
to trust another person's judgment about what is possible.
I'm sorry to disappoint you, but according to our tech people,
the man who saw your perp didn't give his name.
- Odd. - Actually, it isn't.
At least not for the Demographics Unit.
People wanna call in tips about people from certain backgrounds.
But in case they're wrong, they don't wanna come off racist.
We don't pressure because, uh,
we don't want the information to stop coming in.
Do we end up on the occasional goose chase? Yeah.
But it's worth it for the Intel we get that is good.
And the number used to place the call?
Our tech people traced it to a pay phone
down the street from the recycling place.
Vocal analysis tells us he's old, from the area.
That narrows it down to about a million folks.
Anyway, I'm sorry.
Not what you wanted to hear.
Well, I suppose we should be grateful that the man thought to call it in at all.
You know, try this number.
Our tech people should be able to work some other angle for you.
Feel free to drop my name. I'm at your service.
Actually, deputy commissioner,
my reasons for coming to see you were twofold.
I wanted you to know that I'm at your service as well.
Holmes.
What was that?
As I mentioned before, I think the work down here is very worthy.
Preventing terror attacks and the like.
And since pattern recognition is something of a hobby of mine...
Wait, you volunteered to work here?
The deputy commissioner thought you might object at first, given our past,
but I assured him we're both professionals
willing to put our personal differences aside in the interest of the greater good.
Watson and I will now be splitting our time
between this unit and Captain Gregson's squad.
Did I mischaracterize your professionalism?
You mischaracterized our relationship.
Perhaps what you and I require is an airing of grievances.
You have a problem with me?
You seem incapable of accepting my sincere apology.
A bit petty, don't you think?
What do you call latching onto my new unit
when you know I don't want you around?
For this unit? A profound stroke of luck.
I think Watson and I could do great things here.
With the help of analysts like yourself, of course.
Or do you prefer the term "number cruncher"?
- This isn't over. - My point.
Sherlock.
Should I be afraid?
Let's say you wish to cut a person's head off.
To avoid a posthumous spray from your would-be victim's jugular,
you lay them facedown, loom over them like so.
I've been attacking a ham hock from this position for 15 minutes,
trying to replicate the wounds we saw.
I've come to the conclusion that our killer is left-handed, probably quite tall.
His name is Dante Scalice, and he's a capo in the Ferrara family.
Did you collect these people's trading cards as a child?
Before tonight, I'd never even heard of him.
But he's in all the Ferrara files,
and he is a fit for something that Robert Pardillo said.
Didn't it strike you as odd
that he was so outraged that his son didn't get a proper burial,
and in the next breath, he's hinting that "the mutt who done this"
was gonna be in the ground tomorrow?
I thought it was a simple quid pro quo.
I don't think "mutt" was a generic slur. I think it was a slip of the tongue.
Pardillo's way of referencing the killer's mixed ancestry.
Dante Scalice's father is from Sicily.
His mother is from Israel. In the Jewish faith,
the dead are supposed to be buried as quickly as possible.
So Pardillo is a respectful angel of vengeance
looking to honor the customs of his would-be victim.
I know it doesn't sound like much, but take a look at this.
These were taken from a raid last year, in New Jersey, at a club.
Dante Scalice owns the place.
Check out the barrel they use for collecting grease.
Sky blue.
Just like the one Handsome Bobby was stuffed into
before someone painted it green.
I don't think it's enough evidence for an arrest,
but perhaps we can find some more.
You really think he did it here?
You know what? All this stuff's over a week old.
I'm starting to think Mr. Scalice hasn't cleaned house since the crime.
Well, we can't go inside. His car's right there.
He's obviously home.
That's our cue.
Hey.
What the hell did you do to my garbage?
Mr. Scalice, we're consultants for the N.Y.P.D.
There's no point in denying it, we're investigating you
- for the murder of Robert Pardillo, Jr. - I don't know what you're talking about,
or what you're doing here, but unless you have a warrant you need to go.
I just told you Handsome Bobby was dead.
You don't find that surprising?
Where were you last Friday night?
I have an alibi. I have an alibi for any time you want.
But I got nothing to say to you unless you have a warrant.
Well, in that case, we'll just come back later.
Calling Captain Gregson?
He'll need to send men to Scalice's nightclub in New Jersey.
There might still be evidence there. But after that cock-up,
the chances of him spending a day in prison just plummeted.
I was right. Not one day in prison.
N-Y-1-Charlie-4...
Bomb squad thinks the explosive used was Tovex.
Real popular in building demolition.
Half the Pardillo family's revenue
comes from construction and concrete.
They sell union books, work no-show jobs, but...
Yeah, the problem is they all use the same stuff.
That's why Tovex is damn near impossible to trace.
If we don't get the evidence to charge Pardillo quick,
this might just be the first shot fired.
There hasn't been anything like a Mob war since I was a kid.
Yeah? Well, this is how they start.
Captain, Holmes is asking for you inside.
All right.
This sliver of supraorbital ridge
is all that remains of Handsome Bobby's head.
If the man didn't have such a Neanderthal brow,
it would've dissolved with the rest of him.
Scalice left that on the stove?
No, I found it in the cupboard beneath the sink.
I suppose if one must witness a fireball consume a human life,
let it be a man who dissolves heads in battery acid.
Well, odds are, that's closure on the Handsome Bobby case,
but it also means that the goalposts just moved.
Pardillo, Sr.
We gotta hang this car bombing on him quick.
The last thing we need is for this thing to escalate.
I'll get back into the files, see which one of Pardillo's soldiers
might've planted the bomb in Scalice's car.
That is one course of action, yes.
But this bucket is not the only thing of interest I found here.
- They're e-mails. - They're correspondence
exchanged between the recently decapitated Handsome Bobby
and his father, Robert.
How did Scalice get his hands on these?
Probably the same way he got hold of Bobby's phone records.
A care package from your National Security Agency.
I don't have a clue what you want me to do with this.
An acknowledgment that the American government
is in bed with the American Mafia would be a lovely place to start.
Said government's reasons
for wanting Handsome Bobby Pardillo dead would be even lovelier.
For the last time, I don't work for the government.
I do web development, that's what we do here.
Mr. McNally, if that is indeed your real name,
please be advised that this is not Miss Watson and I's first time
engaging with the American Intelligence community.
I would be remiss if I delved into our previous dealings,
but suffice it to say that yours is one of several NSA fronts
that I have identified in the last 18 months.
Lantera Digital Solutions does not exist.
It is a cheap facade with an expensive view.
And it would calm my nerves considerably
if we could all just be adult and admit as much.
We found those printouts
at the home of a high-ranking member of the Ferrara crime family.
They're copies of e-mail correspondence
between Robert Pardillo and his son, Bobby,
disguised as spam, but apparently not well enough.
Bobby's dead now.
There are also phone records.
Impossible to explain, as they're only days old.
They were generated by someone or something
with access to a cell-phone carrier's computer system.
You are holding the means by which a killer
triangulated his victim's location and hunted him down.
These unassuming alphanumeric sequences
are stamped on every document
which is generated by the PRISM system.
PRISM being a proprietary program
which was created for the sole use of the National Security Agency.
I'm not a deranged lunatic, Mr. McNally,
but, by all means, keep pushing me.
I'm not saying anything because I don't know anything.
This is a web-development shop.
Well, I suppose all we can do is thank you for your time.
Yeah. Sorry I can't offer you anything else.
Even so, please expect a small token of our gratitude.
Did you know there are several subscription-based websites
for plushy enthusiasts?
And it would be my great pleasure
to treat you to a membership with each and every one of them.
If I'm wrong about what you do here,
then you will not have to explain to your federal overlords
why you find stuffed animals so arousing.
Hey.
I heard you lost a suspect this morning. I'm glad you're okay.
Yeah. I'm picking up the bomb-squad's report right now.
What brings you back?
Um, I'm actually here to talk to the captain
about this time-sharing plan your partner's got.
You two helping out in Demographics?
Sorry, but I don't think it can work.
Wait. What?
Yeah, we deal with sensitive material over there. Our CI's are skittish.
A little friction could lead to big problems.
I just don't think his bull-in-a-china-shop routine is a good fit.
When Sherlock dropped by your unit yesterday...
He volunteered his services.
He didn't tell you?
I'm sorry. I doubt I get a real vote in this anyway,
but you gotta get why I don't wanna see him around.
For what it's worth, he's really...
I know, I know. But can you do me a favor?
Because he listens to you, can you tell him to back off?
So cadmium?
Well, according to the bomb squad, there wasn't any...
What are you doing?
I'm detonating a series of controlled explosions using Tovex,
the main ingredient used in the bomb which killed Dante Scalice.
If we can tie the bomb to a particular Pardillo construction site,
then we can shift our focus to the NSA strand of the investigation.
It's not the first time your government was thought to have ties to the Mob.
It was theorized that the CIA teamed up with the Mafia in 1963
to assassinate JFK.
Not true, of course. The truth is much stranger.
Inconclusive, again.
You know, I have an idea.
Why don't we call our new boss, Deputy Commissioner DA Silva?
I'm sure he can put you in touch with an explosives expert.
- I was gonna tell you. - You should have.
I would have explained how little interest I have
in working for Demographics.
The unit is swimming with data.
It's a fascinating vantage point from which to view the city.
I can understand why sifting through the world's biggest haystack
would appeal to you, but we both know that is not what this is about.
Detective Nash and the museum thief.
Detective Petersen and the Somalian chef.
Since Bell left, we've had one bad date after another.
You're trying to force some sort reunion,
because you don't like consulting for anyone else.
I'm hardly that naive.
Even if I did think the relationship was reparable, I...
Interesting. It appears...
- Yes? - Actually, I'm not at liberty to say.
I'll be back by morning.
You won't wanna touch any of this while I'm gone.
Mr. Holmes.
Coded text messages, frequency jammer,
meeting in an unfinished sewage-treatment plant,
you must be the most security-conscious
web developer at Lantera.
My superiors insisted we not be seen together.
You're meant to understand that this is, by no means,
an invitation for you to visit our office again.
We saw the records you found.
We had to make sure we didn't have a breach,
a backdoor into our system. We don't. PRISM is secure.
So you're saying the NSA has a mole?
No, I'm not.
Someone at the agency found Bobby Pardillo
via his e-mails and his phone records.
So unless you're telling me that Dante Scalice
was moonlighting as a government cryptologist, you have a leak.
This came through channels.
It was requested by a cop.
So you would have me believe that the NSA makes a habit
of conducting electronic surveillance of questionable legality
for any local authority who requests it?
No. N.Y.P.D. Has a unit, Demographics, it's called.
They work to prevent terrorist attacks.
Yes, I am familiar with that group.
What Deputy Commissioner DA Silva wants, he gets.
He wanted Robert Pardillo Jr. Found.
That said, the events of the last few days
aren't sitting right with some of my bosses.
We thought you should know.
Did the deputy commissioner say why he wanted him found?
No. He protects 8 million lives, Mr. Holmes.
He doesn't need to say why.
He told you Deputy Commissioner DA Silva is dirty,
as in Bell's new boss DA Silva?
- It has the ring of truth. - It has the ring of something.
You yanked his chain, now he's yanking yours.
The Demographics Unit is in touch
with half the country's intelligence-gathering agencies.
Now, if DA Silva was to give even the flimsiest counterterrorism context
for wanting Pardillo Jr. Found,
then no good spook is gonna blink at that request.
Why would he do something like that?
Historically, money is the most effective corruptor of lawmen.
There's always the possibility
that the Ferrara family made him an offer he couldn't refuse.
Either way, DA Silva gave the command,
and a man who had eluded the Mafia for more than two decades
was found in a few keystrokes.
- So, what now? - If we're gonna make an allegation
against the fourth-highest-ranking police official in New York,
we're gonna need more than the shadowy utterances
of some third-rate deep throat.
Investigating DA Silva without alerting him
is going to be a challenge.
We're gonna need some help.
You guys are really something.
I can only imagine what it must sound like.
I'm sorry.
For which part?
Lying and telling me you needed me to come here to answer questions
about the morning I found the corpse, or plotting against my boss?
We couldn't very well plot against him at your office.
Given the commissioner's electronic omniscience,
I thought it wise to provide a credible pretext for our meeting, just in case.
He's not corrupt.
You don't have a shred of proof against him.
These accusations are not my own. They come from the NSA.
But you are correct. We have no proof.
That's why you're here.
Well, forget it.
He assigned you to investigate an anonymous tip,
which led directly to the discovery of Handsome Bobby's remains.
Now, I cannot currently explain why he may have wanted them found,
but it's a startling coincidence
that his was the name the NSA decided to drop.
Maybe you're just not as smart as you think you are.
Maybe the biggest spy agency on the planet
managed to sell you a line.
It's possible.
But we wanna make sure.
Bear in mind, if your boss did decide to out Bobby,
it's possible he did so for a very good reason.
The man may have been a pederast or a homegrown terrorist or both.
I can conceive of any number of scenarios
where this all gets swept under the rug,
but we should know the truth before we decide, don't you agree?
You know, I expect this kind of garbage from him.
Excuse me.
- Detective? - You said your piece.
I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you smear a good cop.
- It's not about smearing, this is about... - What is it with you, huh?
What, I won't forgive you,
so you wanna send me on a witch hunt, wreck my career?
Oh, your career? Is that what you're calling it?
Sitting behind a desk, analyzing data?
Oh, I'm sorry, wasn't it you who, just two days ago,
told my boss you wanted a piece of the action?
I was attempting to get a rise out of you,
to remind you that no matter where you go
or how tedious the work you undertake,
it will not change what you are, a detective.
I am a detective.
Well, you still carry the title, yeah.
But it's more than that, isn't it?
It's a calling. It's your calling.
You are not an analyst. You are not an assessor of data.
You transferred from Major Crimes either because your pride
would not allow you to occupy the same space as me
or because you were feeling sorry for yourself.
In either case, a pathetic excuse.
I have a tremor in my hand.
I can't shoot, can't get out on the street and work cases because of you.
You could've stayed in Major Crimes until you completed your rehab.
You're assuming my rehab can be completed.
Because I have faith in you. I have faith in your perseverance.
Be my friend, don't be my friend, whatever.
But don't be so foolish as to confuse punishing me with punishing yourself.
You know what I thought the first time I met you?
Man, it comes easy for that guy.
- Hmm. - Well, I'm sorry.
It doesn't come that easy to the rest of us.
I am a drug addict, Marcus. A drug addict.
That might seem like an abstraction to you
because I have been sober since I made your acquaintance.
But two years ago, I was as pitiable a soul as you will ever meet.
With help, I fought back, and I got a little bit better.
I know what I'm supposed to do with my life.
Do you?
This doesn't feel right.
Well, forget your fantasies of stone-walled Mafia compounds.
It's actually quite a good place to go to the mattresses.
It's incongruous.
I'm not saying that we've got the wrong place.
I don't think Big Teddy's mistress lied to us.
Neither would you with the threat of deportation hanging over your head.
Rather fiendish of you.
What I'm trying to say is I don't like the idea
of accusing a violent crime boss of having a cop on the take
without backup.
Well, I suppose we could always announce our arrival.
All right, make it quick.
Couple of police errand boys, or whatever you are.
Well, actually, Mr. Ferrara,
we suspect you of having a police errand boy of your own,
and that's why we're here.
- That right? - You fancy yourself a businessman,
so which of these deals sounds better.
You tell us how Dante Scalice managed to locate Handsome Bobby Pardillo,
and in exchange, we will not divulge your assistance,
or don't tell us what you know,
and you can add two new enemies to a long and growing list?
Ha, ha. You threatening me?
We think it's only a matter of time before police prove that
Scalice was working under your orders when he killed Bobby Pardillo.
Give us the name of the officer you have on your payroll,
and we will talk to our captain, see if a deal can't be struck.
We don't have a cop. Dante didn't have a cop.
And if one of yours sent him that packet,
that's news to me, and it's your problem.
Packet?
Dante got it in the mail ten days ago, out of nowhere.
"A bolt from the blue," he said.
Telling me that there's all this crap about our old friend.
I said to him, "You know what?
Who cares about Bobby Pardillo anymore?"
You think I like being out here in the sticks
with a gun under my pillow?
See, I didn't tell him to do what he did.
And you can take that back to your, uh, pigpen.
Sir, uh, Casey said I might be able to get a minute.
Of course.
I just wanted to talk to you about something.
When Holmes came over here the other day,
he asked you about the tip we got about the barrels?
Yeah.
It's just, he reached out to me this morning.
He thought the tip might have been fake.
Heh. Fake?
He thinks maybe someone wanted us to find that body.
To what end?
Not a clue.
But that's sort of what I wanted to talk to you about.
You know my history with the guy, and now you see that
some of the theories he comes up with can be pretty out there,
and I just don't think he'll be a good fit around here.
Consider him gone.
I trust your judgment.
Just not about the Knicks.
We officially need a new pizza place. This one is taking forever.
We visit a mobster in hiding, and you order Italian.
Can a Godfather marathon be far behind?
It certainly seemed like Big Teddy was telling the truth, right?
But if DA Silva wasn't working for the Ferraras, I don't get it.
There's no trace of any grudge against Handsome Bobby in the old case files.
Well, perhaps the motive is not from the past, but from the present.
We must ask ourselves:
"What might compel a decorated officer to risk his career
in order to facilitate the demise of a washed-up gangster?"
Finally.
You know what?
Maybe after dinner, we can... Marcus.
- Come in. - Thanks.
So I, uh...
I had a talk with the deputy commissioner.
You shared our suspicions.
I asked him about the tipster, same as you, and he didn't blink.
He was comfortable, open.
But there was something in his voice. It bothered me. Couldn't tell you why.
You have instincts.
My point is I wanted to know. I had to.
So I walked him out and I doubled back.
Found this in his office.
- What is it? - Proof that you were right.
He's dirty.
It's a career case.
It's three career cases.
The deputy commissioner has enough there
to put Robert Pardillo behind bars for about a thousand years.
Well, if you lined up the sentences back to back, you might be right.
Accessory to murder, racketeering, tampering with union elections.
I still can't believe how old some of this stuff is.
DA Silva must have been working on this since the '70s.
It makes no sense.
He had the goods on a Mob boss for over 30 years, never told a soul.
Then he flips the guy's son to his enemies?
- This was in the file. - Yeah, I noticed.
The handwriting is Robert Pardillo's.
I just compared it to a sample the police had on file.
The article was written 12 days ago,
a mere 48 hours before Dante Scalice received the packet
which helped him locate Handsome Bobby.
Everything else in the dossier predates the Internet.
This could be the straw that broke the camel's back.
But it's just an article on a union election.
It could also be the Rosetta stone which unlocks the meaning of the file,
and gives us DA Silva's true motive.
Which was?
He sacrificed Pardillo Jr.
In an effort to wriggle out from under Pardillo Senior's thumb.
That doesn't make any sense.
Doesn't it? Think it through.
The oldest evidence here dates back to DA Silva's first year
as a beat cop in Murray Hill.
He's been cleaning up the Pardillo family's messiest missteps
since he joined the force,
which strongly suggests why he was put on the force in the first place.
DA Silva is deputy commissioner. You think he's a Mob plant?
At first. But as you say, he rose.
You can't achieve his rank via subterfuge alone.
He was, by all accounts, an excellent police officer.
I believe he was converted to his new cause.
The guy's closing in on a gold watch.
It's a little late in the day to grow a conscience, don't you think?
Louis Martinez.
He's a candidate for treasurer of the local 127,
a construction union which has provided health benefits
and a steady income to the Pardillo family for the last 50 years.
Martinez is a reformist, churchgoing citizen.
His election would be a crippling blow to a decaying crime family.
- That clipping... - Is a death sentence, yes.
I suspect so.
You're not suggesting DA Silva's been ordered to kill this Martinez guy?
His role will most likely be to cover up the murder
as it has been so often in the past.
All right, back up a second.
Why have Handsome Bobby killed?
Having him killed was not the point. Having him found dead was.
And with due respect to your contribution,
DA Silva orchestrated both the death and the discovery.
I imagine that he tracked Scalice's progress
with an assist from Big Brother.
He wanted a Mob war.
A chain reaction of violent reprisals
which would at least, weaken the Pardillo family,
at best, it would result in the death of the one man who knew his origins.
The only way DA Silva sails off into retirement is if the boss dies.
That file is unusable as a nuclear arsenal.
He kept it solely to remind Pardillo of their mutually assured destruction.
Well, it won't be much use to a DA, either. I stole it from his office.
It would be inadmissible in any case against DA Silva.
He might not go to jail, but he certainly won't keep his job.
Neither would the detective.
Fortunately, I don't think that level of self-sacrifice will be necessary.
All right, thanks.
Uh, commissioner? Thought you'd wanna hear this.
The lab was able to link the car bomb that killed Dante Scalice
to explosives from one of Robert Pardillo's construction offices.
Apparently, they went and pulled the security tapes.
They got the old man giving the nod himself.
- Is that right? - Captain Gregson said
he's gonna hold off on the warrant till they know Pardillo's whereabouts,
but with a little luck, should be wrapped up by end of day.
Well, that's a damn fine collar for Tommy Gregson.
- You tell him I said so. - All right.
- Robert? - You're late.
I'm on my way.
What the hell is the matter with you?
I shouldn't even be showing my face here.
There's a nice Barolo down in the galley. Go help yourself.
I'll be there in 15.
I don't think you understand the spot that I'm in.
Yeah, I know.
You got problems. You got problems.
But we gotta get on the same page, how we're handling Martinez.
Bobby, I wouldn't have asked you here if it wasn't serious, huh?
Something you gotta see. Won't take five minutes.
Commissioner DA Silva, put down your weapon. You're surrounded.
Police. Don't move.
Stay right there. Do not move.
Let me see your hands.
Clear the boat.
Robert Pardillo, come out with your hands behind your head.
It's safe. We're not gonna let the deputy commissioner hurt you.
All right, lock it down. Let's go.
Move. Come on.
A silencer.
You were gonna take me on a boat ride?
You son of a bitch.
Come over here, you rat bastard.
"We're not gonna let him hurt you" was a nice touch.
No kidding.
I bet he did.
And thank you, sir.
All right. Bye.
You're allowed a television in your room at Beacon Correctional, correct?
- You could hear all that? - I couldn't.
The deposed deputy commissioner
is going to a minimum-security facility upstate
for the remainder of his natural-born life.
He struck a deal.
You testify against Robert Pardillo and his entire family,
you get basic cable.
I would've thought bread and water would suffice.
He's never gonna have a good night's sleep again, that's for sure.
Department's gonna take a black eye on this one.
Small price to pay for cutting out a cancer, no?
While you're here, I wanted to thank you
for straightening everything out with Marcus.
- It's good to have him back. - What?
They're good-looking kids, man.
Yeah, they're gonna love you.
The crazy guy at Dad's office who bankrolled their new bikes for a desk.
Well, you sold low. I would've went twice as high.
You're an odd one, Bell.
Don't know what to tell you, man. It's my desk.