Have a seat.
How's the arm?
Fractured in two places.
Gil, Conrad again.
Um... message number three.
Call me back please.
It's feeling better?
Yeah. Good.
So, you must know where he is.
Actually, I don't.
Really?
Okay, um...
Look, I don't want to play any games here.
This is as difficult for me as it is for you.
So let's just, uh, get this over with, shall we?
Okay then, uh, this is an administrative inquiry.
You and your supervisor
were in direct violation of lab policy...
"Are."
"Are" in direct violation of Lab policy
which states that members of the same forensic team
may not engage in a romantic relationship.
So when did you and Supervisor Grissom
begin your relationship?
We've always had a relationship.
I mean when did you become intimate?
Two years ago.
I think it was a Sunday.
Sagebrush Valley High School.
The Cobras.
He looks like he could still be in high school.
Boy, football's gotten a lot more brutal
since my playing days.
Yeah, where's the rest of him, still on the field?
There's no high school football fields around here anyway.
What do you think, Grissom?
"Ichabod was horror-struck
on perceiving that he was headless."
Blood pool tells me the helmet must have been here for a while.
Vehicle tire rolled through it.
Helmet has black abrasions on it
consistent with being hit by a tire.
Probably got pinballed down the road.
I checked with Traffic.
No reports of any traffic accidents near here.
Uh, Holstein's getting an absentee list
from the high school.
Head's over there.
Blood trail leads up from here.
We follow the blood.
He say anything about what is happening with Sara?
No.
Hey, did Sara ever say anything to you
about her and Grissom?
Not in so many words.
So you knew about the two of them?
Yeah.
Hey!
Where's the uniform?
If he's not a player, what's with the helmet?
Maybe he's a rabid fan.
There were all kinds of high school games last night.
Where's s hand?
Got to be found here somewhere.
The hand-where did you find it?
20 yards away, two hours later.
David, he doesn't repped.
What's taking so long?
I can't get the helmet off.
I better get this ten-card to Mandy right away.
You hold the helmet.
His face looks like hamburger.
I found the same black powder on his clothes.
Hey, Mandy.
I got a ten-card on our John Doe.
Well, let's see if it matches
the safe-kit that Holstein brought in.
Only have one more kid unaccounted for
at that high school.
Hey, if you had a kid,
would you collect a safe-kit on them?
Why not? It is better to be prepared.
Think of it as a cheap insurance policy.
It's just a print card,a cheek swab and a photo.
Then go to bed every night hoping you don't have to use it.
Mm. well, there's a match.
Your John Doe is Vincent Bartley.
Yeah?
Yeah.
Okay, good. Thanks.
You're welcome.
Well, nothing. I mean, it was dark.
It was really dark.
One minute we're married, and the next...
You know what? Good for you.
Divorces should be like Band-Aids,
one quick yank and done.
You think?
Oh, what do I know?
Eddie and I stayed together way too long.
Every decision was an act of Congress.
It's the end of an era, ladies and gentlemen.
Hampton Huxley, publisher of Hux magazine-
where boys became men,
and men became more manly - has died.
That magazine got me through Vietnam.
Oh, that would explains the lookers out front.
They were Kitties.
Yes, Kitties, indeed.
He was dining with a couple of them when he bought the farm.
Miss Summer and Miss Winter, I believe.
Every male in the Phillips family
gets a lifetime subscription to Hux
for his Bar Mitzvah.
I guess my sons will have to settle for a Cross pen.
I'm sure the magazine will go on without him, Dave.
What are we looking at?
Puncture wound.
Um... no abrasion ring.
But I can reapproximate the skin.
So it's probably not a gunshot. Stabbing?
Maybe. Right through the temple, into the brain.
Be lights out in seconds.
It's a crowded restaurant.
Somebody must have seen something.
Not exactly.
Welcome tithe latest fad.
Dining in the dark.
Waiters are blind.
No one sees anything.
Piece of cake, huh?
Did he just leave?
I think so.
Guys
I'm a dead body here.
Dining should be an experience, like opera or art.
It should feed the soul as well as the belly.
You should smell it, touch it and let it rest on your tongue.
I'm selling sensuality here.
I encourage eating with your hands.
Texture is crucial.
The salty, meaty flesh of lobster
drenched in creamy, clarified French butter.
The pulpy seeded flesh and firm skin of a fresh fig
dipped in honey.
The tongue understands four major taste groups-
salty, sweet, sour, bitter-
and has over 10,000 taste buds,
each with a direct connection
to the pleasure center of the brain,
triggering endorphins.
The anticipation and the release of eating good food
is chemically quite similar
to getting high on drugs.
And apparently just as dangerous.
So tell me what happened.
I don't know.
Each one of the waiters has one of those clickers.
If there's an emergency, the houselights come up
and a red light goes off in the kitchen.
Somebody help!
Help! Help him!
Hux!
Call 9-1-1.
Oh, so you didn't see anything?
I'm in the kitchen.
I have two sittings a night, at 7:00 and 10:00,
average 25 heads, ten courses per.
I have no time to pee.
April was here...
and Huxley was here.
Okay.
Got blood on the chair.
Blood on the tablecloth.
Blood drops on the floor,
leading away from Hux's chair.
Stab him. Extract the weapon.
Drip, drip, drip.
And they end here.
Near Ms. Shasta.
Shasta McCloud-
big "M," little "c,"big "C," plus "loud."
McCloud.
On TV, they never show anyone bleeding from a heart attack.
Is that what you think happened?
Well, yeah. I mean, all that Prevalis and diet soda.
I just figured...
April, shh!
He was an animal until the day he died, sir.
Uh-huh.
Wait a minute. What did happen?
Well-Well, you're the one with blood on you.
Maybe you can tell me.
I thought he just fell asleep
like he always does at the end of meals.
Come on! Wake up, Huxey.
Wake up, Huxey.
Wake up, Huxey-Hux.
Come on, it's time to go.
Meow, meow!
Waiter!
Emergency! April? April, what's wrong?!
Call 9-1-1!Help!April! April!
Michael here.
Code red!
Help! Help us!
Okay. Um, look, I'm going to need to take your sweater.
Yeah, like I haven't heard that one before.
No. No, I don't mean right now.
No, I mean, I... I'll need to take it before I go.
You know, later, when I, when I leave,
I have to take your sweater then.
Mr. Bartley?
Matt. I'm Vincent's brother.
I'm... Nick.
Stokes.
Uh...
You don't need to say it.
I knew when the detective asked me for that safe-kit
that it was going to be Vinnie.
Shouldn't I be talking to your parents?
no parents.
Mom skipped out when we were little,
and Dad died a couple years ago.
It's just the two of us.
Matt...
your brother wasn't on the football team,
but when we found him,
he was wearing football helmet.
Why is that?
It was my old helmet.
Is that how you got injured?
No.
It was the last day of spring break, and...
I was wasted.
Like a dumb-ass,
I dove into the Tangiers was. pool headfirst.
Fractured my T-1 vertebra.
So why the helmet?
Well, I was a pretty good football player.
He was proud of that.
That and my dad's dragon belt.
He got it when he was in the service.
Vinnie wears it every day.
It's just something that he has to hold onto...
...to deal with.
Yeah.
You know, one of these could've been the murder weapon.
It's approximate in size and shape.
And everybody had one.
Well, something dripped over here that is not blood.
Well, could've been whatever food was on the skewers.
ALS will pick up anything that's fatty or dairy-based.
Could you turn off the lights for a second?
I'm sorry, but this is a stupid idea for a restaurant.
I need to see what I'm eating.
I can see just fine.
Where are you?
Right here.
Oh.
Hi.Hello.
Night vision goggles?
Yeah, someone left these behind.
Kind of defeats the purpose of dining in the dark.
Unless you don't come here for the food.
Mr. Nivens.
Are these yours?
I'll take that as a "yes."
Wait, wait... I didn't kill anyone.
Then why would your bring military-grade,
night vision goggles to the restaurant?
A hunch.
Yeah.
Oh, that's so good. Tastes so good
Sweetheart, you want to try some of my steak?
No, thanks.
I'm all good.
Yeah...
Mmm...
Always bail when your wife wants
to dine in the dark with another couple.
You brought night vision goggles to spy on me during dinner?
Damn right.
Millions of tires wear out ever year.
You ever wonder where all that rubber dust goes?
No, I don't.
The black powder trace you found in your victim's clothing
was tire rubber.
It's not surprising.
we found the body on the side of the highway.
Of course you would expect that.
However, I did find some very interesting type of rubber.
Okay, Hodges, dazzle me.
Truck tires have 27% isoprene and 14% neoprene.
That's what makes them so hard.
Passenger tires have a lower isoprene-to-neoprene ratio,
but they also have silica
for fuel economy and wet traction.
Go-cart tires, or "slicks,"
to those in the know, have much higher levels
of carbon black and oil,
resulting in extremely high traction.
Guess I better get my go-cart on.
You know, just so you know,
I'm a bit of go-cart enthusiast myself.
Oh, uh...that's awesome.
Have you seen this guy before?
Day before yesterday.
Day before that, and the day before that.
Oh, man... did he get in trouble?
Are these the race stats?
I.Uh-huh.
u keep record of them?
Yeah, all in here.
People ask for them every day
like they're some sort of trophy.
Could you print out Vincent Bartley's trophy
from the last time he was here?
Yeah. But I'm not getting him in trouble, am I?
No. No, not really.
You know, when I was a kid, we used to make these things
out of lunch trays and old lawn mower engines.
When I was kid, I used to make bombs,
and origami.
Oh.
"Vinnie Vroom."Won all three of his races.
Beat out a guy named "Hot Rod."
Vinnie ran circles around him.
Yes.
Yes. Yes, is that all you got?
Is that all you got?
Is that all you got? Is that all you got?
Rodney went from being A-Rod to being No-Rod.
Hey, there he is, right there.
Aw, come on. Hey, if you guys want to race,
then you guys have to wear dresses, huh?
Get your skill up, all right.
I need some competition here. Hot Rod!
Get out of the truck!
Get out of the truck now!
like running from the cops, dumb-ass.
Give me his wallet.
Rodney Banks.
We're with the Vegas Crime Lab,Mr. Banks.
Hey, I didn't do nothing.
You got quite a mess here, Rod.
Mind if I take a look?
Where'd you get that belt?
I don't know.
Where? I don't know.
Blood.
Looks like things just got a lot hotter for you, Rod.
All skewers accounted for, none of them bloody.
We've got a high-profile dead guy
in a locked-room situation,
with 16 diners and three blind waiters.
Give me something.
How about a Band-Aid with petals?
It's not a Band-Aid.
It's a nipple flower.
What's it doing at a table with four guys?
Can I go to the bathroom?
Please, please, please?!
Again? Yes, sir.
Yeah, okay.
Okay.
What's so funny?
We slipped a laxative
in his beer in the dark.
It's his sixth trip to the can.
It's freakin' hilarious.
What are you guys, like 12 years old?
Oh, hey, hey, Curly.
How come you're so pretty in pink?
Huh?
Breast exam.
You know, doctors without boundaries, if you know what I mean.
You guys, come here.
It's total darkness.
There's two Kitties.
That's four...
They're all up for grabs!
I'm going on a mission of mercy.
Who is that?
Hux?
Stop it.
Save it for later.
What are you talking about?
That's not you, Hux?
Somebody's touching me!
Sweet mother.
Guys, they're real-both of them!
Waiter?
Waiter, we have a problem over here.
Yeah, I lead Mr. Manducci back to his seat.
He and his brothers had had quite a bit to drink.
So it was the blind leading the drunk, huh?
I could do it with my eyes closed.
Well, did you, did you hear anything unusual?
No. Everyone seemed to be having a good time.
Until the woman in the fuzzy dress shrieked.
I found Mr. Huxley slumped forward.
Checked for a pulse, and he didn't have one,
so I turned on the emergency lights.
Then she really screamed.
Is she pretty?
She had a pretty girl scream.
Oh, man.
She's a Huxley Kitty.
She's gorgeous.
Hey, uh...
Let me ask you something.
Did you wash your hands?
Force of habit; I'm sorry.
Waiter.
Okay, we're going to have to take your prints, okay?
Sure.
We're going to walk, straight ahead.
Looks like there was some kind of struggle.
Sticky.
What do you think it is?
Honey?
The detective needs to ask us some questions.
Hi, Nanci Katz.
Soon to be Ellis.
I'm Jim Brass.
Yes. So, what happened, Nanci?
Oh, um... ask him.
Oh, uh, well, I-I thought it would be romantic...
Mmm.
I have not ever tasted a fig this juicy.
Oh, they're so good. Mmm.
It's like they're, it's like, it's better than the newtons.
Mmm. It's so much better.
Oh, God!
Baby, are you okay?
Yeah, um...What happened?
Yeah. Uh... a thing...
I'm, uh, okay. It's Michael here.
Is... is everyone all right?
Oh, uh, yeah.
Michael, I'm just...
I'm trying to get something going here.
Oh, no problem, sir.
I'll leave you two alone. Okay.
Uh, baby, where's your...
Yeah? Where's your hand?
Ever since I met you, I've known
I wanted to ask you this question. Yeah.
One, two, three.
Would you be my wife?
Will you marry me?
Yes. Yes.
Oh, my gosh.
I can't even see it, but it feels big.
The ring, I mean. Sure, yeah.
Yes! Yes!
Oh.
Congratulations.
thanks
So how'd you bump your noggin?
It was dark; nobody, could see.
I wanted to say yes.
Loud and clear.
There's a lot of metal under those tables.
There really is, yeah.
Way too much. It's not safe.
I bet.
Losing the race
was just the beginning.
Then, you killed him,
cut his body up.
and dumped it on the side of the road.
Whoa, man.
I swear I didn't kill anybody.
Or I didn't cut anybody up or dump 'em.
All I did was ask him for a rematch...
off the track, where it really counts.
Yeah!
So your statement is he just spontaneously lost his head?
Yeah.
You know, one minute, he's staring at me.
The next, I look back, and the Headless Horseman
is driving his cart.
And then what happened?
So why you just didn't ditch the carts?
Christin, that...that girl at the track,
she let us sneak out with them.
You know, my life was turning
into a horror movie - I didn't want to bring he
in on it.
You've been dodging me; it's time to talk.
Gil, nobody wants to hear about your love life less than I do,
but since you didn't handle this right, I have to take
a formal statement.
Should've been a conversation between friends.
I mean, we could've found some way around this.
Catherine could have done Sara's evaluations.
Why didn't you just tell me?
We didn't want you to know.
Don't most women like the world to know they're dating someone?
Where do you get your information about women, Conrad?
Okay, so, when did you two, you know?
Nine years ago.
You know what?
You two need to get your stories straight.
There's road gravel embedded in all these tires.
Yeah, but no visible blood on that one.
Got a worn area on this front bumper.
Some brown trace.
Same goes for the rear of that one.
Well, if it turns out to be leather,
it would confirm
Hot Rod's story that he towed the second cart back
using Vinnie's belt. Got what looks like...
blood on this wheel well.
This is the victim's cart.
Must have been movin' when his head popped off.
Well, another one for the scrapbook.
Boy, he looks different without hair.
Never knew he wore a toupee.
Oh, uh, it had something sticky on it,
so I bagged it for Trace.
But if you want, we could put it back on for the photo op.
No, that's okay; let's get to cutting.
Embedded horizontally in the parenchyma
of the right temporal lobe
is a linear, silver-toned,
metal tube that tapers to a point.
And in this case, David,
the pen may be mightier than the sword.
Okay.
Okay, that pen's not mine.
Yeah. Nice try, sweetheart.
Excuse me.
Can I be Lucy Logic for a bit?
First of all, that purse is designer.
There's no way I'm ruining it with ink.
Second of all, I know where my bread is buttered.
Hux was my meal ticket-kill him, go hungry.
Unless you're in the will.
Kitties don't get in the will.
Besides, if I had touched that thing,
wouldn't I have ink on my hands?
Hmm.
Whoever did it ditched the pen in my bag.
It was on the back of my chair the whole time.
It could have been anyone.
What about the guy who assaulted me?
Look, if you really want a suspect,
you need to check out little miss chef lady.
Little miss chef lady?
Why is that? Hello.
Duh, she's...Winter Issue?
1995.
You certainly weren't hiding anything back then.
Hmm?
Ms. Sanchez, according to your fellow Kitties,
you and Huxley had a falling out.
It's curious that you didn't mention that.
I didn't mention it, because it's ancient history.
12 years ago, a misogynist told me I should eat less.
And today, I now have a hot restaurant on the Strip
and two contracts for spots in L.A. and Chicago.
"Food Seduction" is a best-seller.
I think I won that battle already.
So, did you and Huxley speak to each other last night?
His reservation was booked under a pseudonym.
I didn't even know he was there.
Mr. Brass,
do you know why I started my restaurant?
No. Tell me.
Because I fell in love with a blind man.
He would turn off the lights and feed me.
When you deprive one sense, other senses are heightened.
My only focus was on my tongue.
It was brilliant.
And then he died.
And this restaurant is an homage to him.
To our love affair.
How nice for you.
I don't mean to be crude, but a murder is,
is quite frankly bad for business.
Hey.Hey.
So, Huxley had
honey on his hairpiece,
ink in his brain and blood all over.
There were three people who had honey on their hands:
the frisky couple and Michael.
Two people who had blood on their clothing:
April and Michael.
And there was a total of five people moving around the room:
two Manducci brothers and all three waiters.
Now, that's a lot of lists for Michael to turn up on.
He does work there, so there's reason for it, but...
Well, there's no reason for this.
Michael's print in ink, on a napkin.
What would he have against Huxley?
His prints hit back to an old work card.
The guy used to be a chef.
A blind chef?
He lost his sight a few years back.
But before that, guess who was his so-chef?
"The man knew his way around a kitchen,
"and his way into my heart.
"Michael would spend hours teaching me,
feed me... loving me."
So, you're the dead guy?
She seduces me,
steals my recipes, my ideas, my investors.
And then she hires me as a freaking waiter.
Night after night, I listen to her
tell stories of the tragic love affair,
of the poor, dead blind guy.
Last night, I finally confronted her.
I deserve a piece of the action.
At $200 a head,
you're clearing at least$1,000 in tips at night.
That's a lot of action for a blind man.
I made you.
You're fired.
We're done.
But why kill Huxley?
Why not just her?
I'm blind. She's not.
But in that dining room, everybody else is blind, too.
And when Huxley walked in with his Kitties,
it was like a sign from the gods.
I knew I could destroy her and the restaurant.
I waited till the oyster course.
The shells clanging, and slurping,
the "oohing," the "aahing,"
I knew it would cover any noise I was going to make.
I wanted her rotting in jail, eating bologna sandwiches.
If you wanted to frame Pippa,
why did you plant the pen in Shasta's purse?
I tell everyone to put their purses and jackets
on the back of the chairs,
so I knew exactly where her purse was.
Old cat frames young Kitty.
Kind of perfect.
We found high velocity blood spatter
inside the rear wheel well of the victim's cart,
which means he lost his head at high speed.
So how did Hot Rod decapitate Vinnie
while racing down a highway at 60 miles an hour?
Maybe he didn't.
Well, people's heads just don't fly off for no reason.
Maybe we should check the scene for some wires or branches,
or something he could've run into.
If it would've happened that way,
we would've found trace from whatever did it.
The only trace in the neck and arm wounds
was rubber from truck tires.
Which was present on both sides of his wounds
but not on his clothing.
There were blown out tire fragments all over the road.
But we found his body off the road.
There shouldn't be any transfer from truck tires.
Unless...
What's going on here?
We're trying to determine
whether a steel-belted truck tire
can decapitate a kid driving a go-cart.
I thought that was an urban myth.
Myths, legends, tall tales-
they all come from something real.
If that go-cart was going60 miles an hour
drafting a truck going the same speed,
and that truck blows a tire
sending a two-pound projectile into the driver's neck...
The combined speed of impact would be 120 miles an hour.
Which is about...962 foot-pounds of energy.
All right, let's go, fellas.
Come on, Conrad. There's always room for Jell-O.
It's expensive Jell-o.
I love this.
Well, it worked.
See if we can't reuse some of that.
When did you tell Ecklie we got involved?
Two years ago.
Why? What did you tell him?
Nine years ago.
The Forensic Academy Conference?
Yeah.
You, uh, had too many questions
about anthropology for some reason.
Well, I was stalling.
I was trying to get the nerve to ask you to dinner.
You had a ponytail.
I'm going to move to Swing.
We talked about this.
I know that you said that you would do it,
but I don't want to do that to the team.
Besides...
I am sure that I could use more daylight in my life.
We should go.
Yeah.
Whoo!
You, uh, you want a ride?
Wish I could.
What about you, Ricky Bobby?
No, thanks, I like to watch.
Okay.
You should go.
Yeah? Yeah, you should go.
Okay.