In the criminal justice system,
sexually-based offenses
are considered especially heinous.
In New York City, the dedicated detectives
who investigate these vicious felonies
are members of an elite squad
known as the Special Victims Unit.
These are their stories.
I think I'm having a heart attack!
It's just a cramp.
Run through it, Bernie.
You gotta let me rest.
Uh-uh, rest is a four-letter word.
Let's think positive.
[baby crying] No, stop!
Bernie...
There's a baby in here.
[crying]
With a note taped to it.
Oh...
Hey.
Someone abandoned him?
Not according to this.
The mom was abducted?
Yeah, no ID in the jogger's stroller.
Drag marks end here.
Well, the perp or perps must have had a car waiting,
forces her inside, peels out.
Find any footprints?
Over here in a patch of dirt.
It's small. I figure it's hers.
Which leads into here.
This is a perfect place for a rape.
It's isolated.
There's no view from any direction.
Yeah, but why abduct her if he's already raped her?
These are not just ripped.
They're shredded.
Ultra-sharp blade, thin. Maybe a box cutter.
Hard to say no to.
Especially if he's threatening the baby.
Is he okay?
A little hungry, but no sign of trauma.
I'm taking him to the ER for a full exam.
Note was stuck to the kid with duct tape.
Which he could have used to bind and gag mom.
This guy came prepared.
Yeah, I'll say.
The note was pre-printed from a computer.
Will you show him?
He signed it Rupert Daniel Kilmore.
I'm not sure if that's his real name
or the author of this poem.
Poem.
"The mean, mean man has a monster in his head.
Find him by tomorrow or my mommy will be dead."
This guy have a vendetta against all mothers
or this one in particular?
Who knows?
We don't even have a bead on our victim yet.
Well, he's given us a day to figure it out.
Does that mean same time tomorrow,
or midnight tonight?
Let's assume worst-case scenario.
That gives us 13 hours.
Figure the prints on the baby's stroller are mom's.
No hits in the system.
Nothing from missing persons.
And if there is a husband,
he might not know till he gets back from work.
All right, that leaves us with the stroller and the baby.
We're checking the gift registries.
This jogger's stroller is a huge seller.
Well, the baby's one of a kind.
Let's get his picture out on the news.
Just say a baby was found. Withhold all details.
Not many to give.
Only prints on the note are from the jogger who found it.
Well, what about the name?
There's no listing in Manhattan for a Rupert Kilmore.
The closest one is Staten island.
Get going.
You got a sec?
Uh, 60 every minute.
Unfortunately, this little guy only has 52.
Hairspring's gummed up.
You're really into time, Rupert.
Fourth generation horologist.
What are you in the market for?
Missing woman.
Who? We're hoping that you can tell us.
Seeing as your name is written on a note
threatening to kill her.
You've got the wrong Rupert Kilmore.
You're the only one in this time zone.
So tell us, Rupert, why would a rapist
use your full name?
Rapist?! I have no idea.
[telephone rings]
Kilmore Time.
Yes, they're standing right here.
Hello? Hello?
Who is that? He didn't say.
Just asked if the cops were here,
and to give them the facts.
I swear, I don't know anything.
Not facts, fax.
Son of a bitch is watching us.
It's another poem.
"Once there were some cops so dumb.
"Took them hours to get to clue number one.
"Mommy's running out of time,
so the answer is written above the rhyme."
The header. "Jiffy's Copy Center."
That's right down the street.
There it is.
Police!
We'd appreciate your cooperation.
Nobody leaves until we say so.
This was faxed from here a few minutes ago.
Who sent it?
Uh, was there a cover sheet?
No.
Black guy, thin.
Really antsy.
Where did he go?
He just paid and left.
He didn't even wait for me to send it.
Could be on any paper in here.
What was he wearing?
A ratty, long overcoat.
He looked like a homeless guy.
Okay, a homeless guy just left here.
Has anyone seen him?
Could have the man I passed coming in.
He was heading toward the alley.
What is this, another game?
Yeah, hide and seek.
Gotcha, dirt bag! Up! Up!
Hands up! Hands up!
But they're so heavy.
Shut up. Where is she?
Who?
The woman! Where is she?
Uh, oh, oh, you must be the cops
I was supposed to wait for.
What are you talking about?
The man I sent the fax for.
Right, who was that? Who? Who?
Who? Uh--
The man! Who is it?
He stuck a knife in my back.
He gave me the fax and 20 bucks.
Hey! Hey!
Why were you supposed to wait here for us?
Give you the message.
Message? Where's the message.
In here.
Oh, that's just great.
What is it?
What's what? The clue!
He needs sugar.
Okay, I want you to think now, okay?
He told you to memorize it, right?
Right! Right.
Was it a poem? No, no, it didn't rhyme.
Okay, was it a riddle?
Uh, no, just, just words.
Yo! Half a bar of chocolate.
Eat. Open your mouth.
Eat. Eat.
Hog, pat, mend, top, yarn. It makes no sense.
Well, we've been grilling him for eight hours,
and he swears that that's it.
Yo, Hophead!
No sleep until you get it right.
Hog, pat, mend, top, yarn!
Mend, yarn--maybe the clue has something to do
with a tailor or a seamstress.
You mend with yarn?
No, with thread. You knit with yarn.
Look, so far, every clue has paid off.
(Stabler) Yo, come on, think! What'd you leave out?
Okay, mend and yarn have a clothes theme.
Maybe top is a blouse.
(Cragen) How do hog and pat fit in?
Some kind of petting zoo!
Shut up! Someone outside to see you.
Delivery for you, Captain.
Detective Stabler.
Eric Liebert.
They told me you had some information
about my wife and baby.
Yeah. Do you have a picture?
I got a call.
Somebody saw Timmy's picture on the news.
Yeah, okay, your son is fine.
He's with protective services.
What about Julie?
We're looking for her. Do you have a picture of her?
That'd really help us out.
What happened to her?
She's been abducted.
What?
Let's talk in the squad room, okay?
Do you know anyone who would want to harm her?
No, of course not.
Call CSU over here now.
Just give me one second.
Who is that?
It's her husband, Eric Liebert.
Sir, would you come with me, please?
No. What is that?
What are you hiding? That's my wife's earring.
I gave it to her.
Oh, my God!
Is that her ear?!
Ohh...mmm...
Please.
What did he do to her?
She didn't hurt anybody. You gotta find her!
(Cragen) Take him to my office.
How in the hell did RDK get this in here?
It was dropped off at the front desk,
addressed to the captain.
Look at the return address.
Hog, pat, mend, top, yarn.
Son of a bitch. The crack head got it right.
Yes, he did.
But RDK ran out of patience.
A new poem came with the ear.
"Julie was so sad to hear you were late.
Keep us waiting again, she'll meet a much worse fate."
It still doesn't tell us where to go.
The clue has got to be in the return address.
Crack head repeated the same damn words.
It's an anagram.
I'm rearranging letters
and coming up with two street names.
Mott and Grand.
Okay.
But we still have, what?
Eight letters left.
We got "P," "A," P-A-Y.
The last letters spell phone.
Pay phone at Mott and Grand.
There it is.
Plenty of windows looking down on us, huh?
Way too many to check.
Dial tone. It's working.
All right, we're here, already!
Let's drop a dime!
Nothing...
got some petrified gum.
Hey, hold on. I got something.
Nothing on the outside.
"You're running out of time. MMCXXXII."
Roman numerals.
2,132.
So what is that, a date, time, address?
Time, the clue's gotta be time.
"You're running out of time. How about--"
Military time.
21:32 hours.
Make it 9:32.
That's over an hour ago. Maybe we missed the call.
He made the call from somewhere. Have Terry trace it.
Yeah, this is Detective Benson.
I need a rush dump on the number that I'm calling from.
Incoming, 9:32 p.m.
If midnight is our deadline, we got 90 minutes.
Police!
"Congratulations."
Guys, over here.
There's a note.
"Sorry, you are too late.
"Consolation prize inside.
Unwrap and enjoy."
It's not her fault.
We were late.
45 minutes late.
(Munch) He wrote his initials on her.
"RDK: Rupert Daniel Kilmore."
We're back to this again now?
We've had someone on the clockmaker all day.
He hasn't budged.
(Munch) "RDK is..."
Maybe the arrow points to the answer.
No, there's nothing on her back.
Back. That's the riddle.
"RDK is back."
Well, then, who the hell is RDK?
Is Julie missing any fingers?
No, why?
I just found three on the pillow in the bedroom,
and this card.
"Fun, fun, fun, let's play again.
"For the next feather in my cap,
"Check in the policeman's helmet."
(Cragen) RDK was a serial killer who terrorized Manhattan
in the late '70s early '80s.
I had just made detective.
All but one of his six victims
were raped, dismembered, and killed,
earning him the moniker RDK.
What happened to number six?
Jeanette Henley.
She fought back and managed to escape.
She get a look at him?
No, he was wearing a ski mask.
Says here that she was the last one he attacked.
Serial killers don't just stop.
They either die or get popped for another crime.
Pull records for men who were arrested
after Jeanette was attacked,
and paroled in the last six months.
How do we know it's not a copycat?
RDK taunted police with letters,
poems, and riddles.
He left a distinct mark
that was never released to the public.
This is a copy of his first letter
dated June 9, 1979.
This is today's.
(Benson) Same symbol.
First victim in '79 lost an ear
and was hanged.
Just like Julie Liebert.
I'm assuming the owner of the loft
where Julie was found is our newest victim?
Gloria Durham, age 35,
single mother.
Luckily her ex had custody of their son this week.
She's a freelance photographer.
Had a session yesterday at 6:00, never showed.
(Cragen) Any appointments earlier?
Eddie Willis at 5:00. No contact info.
He was down in her book a week ago for a consultation.
Could be our guy. Let's track him down.
How was the first number two killed?
(Cragen) Bled to death.
Stabbed more than 100 times over four days.
By now, he's already torturing Gloria.
(Stabler) And the only thing we've got to go on
is "policeman's helmet."
NYPD's got 40,000 cops on the job.
Police don't wear helmets, they wear hats.
Yes, you wear helmets. It's not about us.
It's a flower.
What are you babbling about?
Impatiens glandulifera.
It's the Latin name for an English garden flower
known as Policeman's Helmet.
Think it's another anagram?
I think he wants us to find the flower.
Well, all florists get their stock from the flower mart.
They'd know anybody in town that carries them.
It's 4:00 a.m. They should be opening now.
Excuse me, sir.
You sell any Policemen's Helmets today?
Can't talk, wedding at 3:00, and I'm way behind. Go!
Raoul, where the hell's my baby's breath?
Stop! Listen to me.
Did you get an order in today.
Of what?! Policeman's Helmets.
This morning.
The phone was ringing when I came in.
How was it paid for?
Credit card. Good, pull it.
Pull it now. Oh...
Raoul, please don't crush my peonies.
We need his name and address, let's go.
I heard you.
Hers.
Gloria Durham.
Son of a bitch.
He used the victim's own credit card.
Where was it delivered? Hasn't been.
I told you, we're insanely behind.
My truck's loading up now.
We'll save you the trouble.
There is no 2923.
He gave us a vacant lot.
He gave us a community garden.
And a broken lock.
He's pulled up every last flower.
A lot of upturned dirt. Maybe he buried her.
It's not one of his M.O.s.
Check out the shed.
Think we found our missing flowers.
And our missing girl.
It's Gloria.
We were supposed to have four days, you prick!
There's multiple stab wounds.
This is right by the book.
And another clue.
Where?
Soles of her feet. Looks like doodling.
Some kind of animal and a...
stick man with a striped shirt.
What's that supposed to be?
A road map to another dead body.
Hold on.
There's something else here.
Today's newspaper.
With a note on the back.
He didn't screw either one of them.
All of his victims are raped.
RDK: rape, dismember, kill.
That was 25 years ago.
A guy can develop a lot of sexual dysfunctions
in a quarter of a century.
Were there semen on the original murders?
Every one.
Unfortunately, we didn't have the technology back then
to do anything with it.
Original second victim--
exsanguinated from 132 stab wounds.
That detail was never released.
Gloria was stabbed the same number of times,
but that's not what killed her.
He throat was slit.
These stab wounds were all inflicted post-mortem.
Changing up his M.O. to screw with us?
What can you tell us about the weapon?
Thin, sharp, very short blade.
CSU thought that he used a box cutter
to shred the panties in the park.
Skin is a little more telling.
I'd say something even smaller, like a scalpel.
He leave anything on her hair...fibers?
Just the ink on her feet.
Well, I am through playing his games.
I say we pull the old case file
and re-interview the surviving victim.
He stuck a knife to my throat
and dragged me in an alley.
He kept the knife at my throat
the entire time he was raping me.
He started whispering in my ear
how I was going to die when he was done.
I can--I can still smell the gasoline.
It was in a...
soda bottle.
He started to pour it on me.
I grabbed the bottle
and splashed some in his eyes.
I took off running,
trying to scream, but I couldn't.
He cut my throat.
When did you find out it was RDK?
When I got the poem.
It came in the mail three days later
with my compact.
When I got home from the hospital,
it was waiting for me.
The police told me what the symbol meant.
"Ode to the one who got away."
RDK's mark.
So he got your purse during the attack.
Everything was in it.
My driver's license, the house key.
I moved out that day.
But I'm still terrified that he'll find me.
You need to know that he's resurfaced.
Oh, God.
What do I do?
You found me.
The reporter found me.
What reporter?
The one who did the article last month
about the 25th anniversary of the murders.
I didn't see that story.
Neither did I.
I still think I have his card.
He was very polite.
He told me I reminded him of his mother.
Blane Lawson, the New York Examiner.
Miss Henley,
is there someplace else that you can stay?
I have a sister in Queens.
Why don't you give her a call?
The reporter-- did you show him that poem?
Yes.
Okay.
Lawson saw that mark.
Three weeks before RDK's big comeback.
Yeah, we got a Blane Lawson on staff.
Works Metro.
What can you tell us about him?
Real scrapper, always brings home the story.
This is crap. Rewrite it.
We understand he was working a piece on RDK.
Serial killer from the late '70s.
He never mentioned it.
Lawson! Yeah.
That's Blane?
Yeah. Never mind.
No, the reporter we're looking for
is a white guy, mid-40s,
short, pasty.
That describes most of my reporters.
Well, the victim that he interviewed
said that he had thick, black-rimmed glasses.
That sounds like one of our researchers.
Humphrey Becker.
Works in the morgue.
Look at this.
It's what they use to cut out articles.
Exacto knife?
It's like a scalpel.
Matches the weapon used
to slice up the park victim's panties.
And victim number two.
(Woman) May I help you?
Yeah, hi.
We're looking for, uh, Humphrey.
He's on vacation this week.
What's he like to work with?
Oh, a real inspiration.
He's a constant reminder not to get stuck down here
for 20 years, like him.
(Stabler) You ever get a bad vibe off him?
He's a miserable human being.
Never says a word, just stares.
Creeps me out.
Have any idea what he's doing on vacation this week?
Probably sitting alone in his apartment.
Finishing off one of those puzzle books
he's always working on.
Our perp has a penchant for puzzles.
Puzzles give him a smug sense of victory,
possibly to bolster a low self-esteem.
Maybe from failing art class.
These are the symbols he drew on the victim's feet.
It's a rebus.
These pictures should string together
to spell out our clue.
He's made murder into a game.
By giving us clues,
he's absolving himself of responsibility.
If they die, it's not his fault, it's ours.
I got something!
These lines from the skunk could be scent.
Scent, oar. Center!
Next clue's at the center or something.
Or some kind of center.
These waves could be
ocean or sea next to a cross.
That's not a cross. That's a small "T"--seat!
Seat! This little stick figure in stripes.
This is a con. We figure he's done time.
Maybe that's him.
Interconnected circles. Could that be a chain?
But the arrow points to an individual link.
Link con? Lincoln Center!
Lincoln Center.
Our next clue is under one of the seats at Lincoln Center.
There are more than a dozen concert halls at Lincoln Center.
You're talking thousands of seats.
Take all available manpower.
Got it, Captain!
Where's Benson and Sabler?
They're executing a search warrant
on the puzzle master.
Go! Go! Go! Go!
Police!
(ESU) Clear!
He's got quite a book collection.
(Benson) They're all mysteries.
(Benson) And he takes care of 'em: humidifiers.
(Benson) He steals from libraries.
And collects night lights.
A serial killing kleptomaniac
who's afraid of the dark.
Interesting choice of wallpaper.
They're all from publishers.
"As we explained in our previous letter,
we do not accept unsolicited manuscripts."
This is weird.
He's taken the doors off all the closets.
These are all rejection letters.
Why would he put them up on his walls?
He's insane?
Check this out.
This is dated two months ago
regarding a book proposal on serial killer RDK.
Nice timing.
It wasn't then. Turned him down flat.
"At this time, we are only in the market
for recent, high-profile cases."
Like the return of RDK.
So this Humphrey is just some crackpot
pretending to be RDK?
It's looking that way.
He never made it home.
I think he made us.
Or he's out stalking his next victim.
Guy never sleeps. I know we haven't in two days.
Gotta suck down some coffee, do some push-ups.
Our only hope is to get ahead of him.
Captain.
What did you find at Lincoln Center?
18,900 seats.
Not counting the toilets.
Which is where he hid the next clue
in his demented little scavenger hunt.
And where'd that take you?
Fun House at Coney Island,
which was anything but.
Which took us to an obscure book
on the Dead Sea Scrolls
at the city library.
(Fin) We found a note inside the dust jacket.
"If you found this, you deserve a reward.
"I won't grab another girl till Thursday,
so relax and take in a show."
Which means he hasn't taken victim number three yet.
It's 20 to nine.
Thursday's here in less than four hours.
That one is easy.
The clue is "take in a show."
The original third victim was a chorus girl.
Do you know how many musicals
are on Broadway right now?
The curtains went up 40 minutes ago.
This may be a long shot,
but, unlike the original RDK,
all of Humphrey's victims are mothers.
(Benson) Of little boys.
To know that, he would have had to screen 'em.
Hit the theater district.
Talk to dancers with sons.
John?
The original story on RDK
was broken by a reporter at the Examiner.
That's Humphrey's paper.
(Cragen) Could explain how he got to Jeanette Henley.
Track down this reporter, this Morty Graf.
All right.
So, how'd you get all those RDK scoops back then?
By working long, hard hours.
Drinking with the detectives.
They ever release the number of stab wounds
in the second victim?
No, that I charmed out of little cutie
in the M.E.'s office.
You mind lighting me up, sweetheart?
You ever print that detail?
Tried--damn editor came down with a case of ethics.
So your notebooks at the paper--
you left them there when you retired?
Hell, no. Those get buried with me.
But your research assistant, Humphrey Becker,
he would have had access to them, right?
No, but funny you should bring him up.
Unfortunately, the guy's a member here.
I thought you only let in published authors.
He lied through his ass.
Claimed to be a member
of the Mystery Writers of America.
Plus, they were desperate.
They just lost a bunch of long-time members.
Cancer?
Hey, the only thing killing off members here
is being pestered by Humphrey.
He's always pumping me for old cases.
Like RDK?
Don't get me started.
Damn thing's stale.
I got a fresh stash in my locker.
Locker? Does Humphrey have one?
Yeah. Everybody's got one.
I just set a new world record getting these warrants,
not to mention risking my life
interrupting Judge Terhune's poker game again.
Open it.
Poor baby. I've been up 40 hours.
See what we got here.
Cigars, more cheap cigars.
Bingo!
We got journals.
This one's a proposal for a Ripper book.
This one's just full of story ideas, bad ones.
This one's a how-to book on taking over RDK's identity.
It's a diagram of Central Park running path.
Yeah, complete with descriptions of women with babies,
all boys.
This one sounds like Julie Liebert.
This guy does his research.
Skip to the third victim.
Got a long list of musicals here.
Here's one starred. Prairie Days.
This is it!
"Leggy redhead. Two-year-old named Jake.
Stage name, Red Watts."
She's number three!
Red! Yeah?
(Stabler) Boy, are we glad to see you.
You need to come with us.
What, are you crazy? I'm in the finale.
Is this your son Jake?
How'd you know his name?
We'll swing by, pick him up,
but we need to get you someplace safe now.
What are you talking about?
Have you ever seen this man before?
Yeah, last week.
He was waiting outside the stage door for an autograph.
Did he ask you about your son?
Oh, my God. He did.
Benson! Did he hurt Jake?!
No, no, no. Jake's not the one in danger.
You just get changed. We'll explain in the car.
Where you going?
Jeanette Henley never made it to her sister's.
Possible abduction at 38 West 84th Street.
Request backup, apartment 9G.
Jeanette?
Congratulations.
You caught me.
What are you doing here?
I needed a place to sleep.
You people were all over my apartment.
I figured this spot was as good as any.
Now that it's, um, vacant.
Where's Jeanette?
Sorry, she's a little buried at the moment.
We need you in there now.
What's he said?
He buried her alive.
Doesn't make sense. RDK never did that.
He'll only talk to the lead detective.
What about Liv? Wants it man to man.
This popped on his credit card.
He bought an oxygen tank yesterday.
He's letting her breathe?
Not for long. 15-hour capacity.
She's possibly gone though half of it.
Found his car inside of Jeanette's.
Anything in it? No, but maybe we can tell
where he took her from the tires.
Can't wait for lab results.
Victims four and five are safe.
Wait, we need a game plan.
No time.
Where is she?
Huh?
Oh.
Sorry. I must have dozed off.
[grunts]
Tell me...
is it true only the guilty sleep?
Yeah, it is.
Well, then, I guess you got me.
But in my own defense, I must say I am just pooped.
Oh, my, oh, my, look at the time.
You must be, too.
Well, I haven't slept in two days.
I know, but wasn't it fun?
No. No, actually, it wasn't.
And in case you haven't heard, you lost.
And yet, and yet, and yet,
where in the world is Jeanette?
I guarantee you're gonna tell me.
Oh, I get it.
Bad cop.
Okay, fine.
But remember the rules:
you don't get a good cop to play off of.
No help from the peanut gallery.
I don't need any help.
Who are you kidding?
I'm a big fish.
I'm sure the entire department's right behind that mirror.
Hello.
If I'm stuck in here,
so is he.
Anyone walks in or out that door,
game's over.
I'll play.
Good.
I'm the final clue.
Think you're smart enough to get it out of me?
One way or another.
Oh.
I must warn you,
I am going to be quite the challenge.
I know every trick in the book.
I've written 27 of them.
I know, I saw your rejection letters.
Maybe I'll take another nap now.
[cell phone rings]
Uh, yeah, baby, I'm kind of working right here.
What's up?
Belittling him is only gonna shut him down.
He obviously wanted to get caught.
He craves attention and recognition.
Play to his vanity.
He's been a loser all his life.
Give him his 15 minutes.
I'll try, but I'm a little pressed for time.
Love you, too. Bye-bye.
Who was that?
My wife.
I'm sorry.
No, I'm sorry that you find me so boring.
Boring? No.
I don't find you boring at all.
Then turn off the damn phone!
Sorry.
You know, I think you misunderstood
what I said back there.
About what? Your books.
You wrote 27 of them.
That takes a lot of time and effort.
I'd be flattered if you'd actually read one.
I'd like to.
This whole plot that you cooked up here.
Very clever.
Clever. [chuckles]
It was brilliant.
Okay, brilliant.
It's a shame about the Son of Sam law, though.
What do you mean?
The book is obviously gonna be a bestseller,
but unfortunately you can't profit off your own crimes.
No, no, no. It's...
It's not about the money.
What's it about?
Proving them all wrong.
Becoming famous.
You're on your way there.
You think? I do.
Serial killers are very popular.
Yeah, yeah.
I'm going to be a legend.
That'll show her.
Her?
Them.
Those small-minded publishers.
You said "her."
Well, I'm done talking now.
Come on, Humphrey!
Come on, don't do that.
Let's talk about you now.
I guess you're just gonna have to buy my book.
Okay, just tell me this.
Your next victim was supposed to be the chorus girl.
Why skip to Jeanette?
[sighs]
Because you figured out who I was.
I was forced to jump ahead to my piece de resistance.
RDK's original sixth victim.
Yes.
The one that got away.
She eluded him, but not me.
Well, she's 65 years old.
Not looking good for 66.
[buzzing sound]
Why, detective, is that your phone vibrating,
or do you just find me terribly exciting?
911 from the wife.
I talked to Novak.
He gives us her location,
she'll take the death penalty off the table.
Oh, I don't know.
You know how I hate letting the kids get away
with that kind of thing.
Okay, bye-bye.
Oh, no "I love you" this time?
It rings one more time, and we're done!
As is Jeanette!
Okay, look, you win! You win everything.
And what exactly do I win, detective?
How about your life?
Tell us where Jeanette is,
and we take the death penalty off the table.
You don't have the authority to do that.
I'll give it to you in writing.
Okay, well, just to clarify,
what if I do tell you where she is
but she's sucked up all the oxygen
and died on us?
How much air is left in the tank?
Technically, four hours, 28 minutes,
and 30, 28, 27, 26 seconds.
Assuming she's breathing normally.
Of course, people do tend to breathe harder
when they're panicked.
There's no reason to do this to her.
She must be so frightened
in that small, cramped space.
I wonder if her eyes have adjusted to the dark.
If so, she can see the needle on the tank approaching empty.
Ohh!
You want to talk to me man to man?
You're no man--you just attack helpless women.
Now, you're gonna tell me where Jeanette is,
or I'm gonna choke the life out of you.
Do it!
[grunting]
Come here.
How does that feel?
No air in your lungs. How does that feel now?
Now, you're gonna tell me where Jeanette is, you freak.
Elliot, stop it! Come on, stop it!
Let go. Let go.
Five minutes with him.
Let's go! Let's go!
Just when we were starting to have fun.
Game's over, detective! You lose.
You broke the rules. You brought in help.
He didn't. I'm a doctor.
I'm here to help you.
[panting]
Can you breathe all right?
Yeah. I'm fine.
What about Jeanette?
She was dead when you buried her, wasn't she?
[chuckles]
Quite the contrary. She was alive and kicking.
I believe you.
What is that, huh?
Poor man's lie detector test?
Taking my pulse while you interrogate me, detective?
I'm not a detective.
And I'm not stupid.
I really am a doctor.
And I'm also with the F.B.I.
They brought you in here to profile me.
We've got a whole team on you.
Really?
And what are they saying about me?
That you're impotent.
I told them that they were wrong.
Now, why would they say that?
Because you mimicked RDK in every detail,
except that RDK's victims were all raped,
and yours weren't.
They have no idea what I did to those women.
Well, you didn't rape them.
And I know why.
Do tell.
Because it would have been like
having sex with your mother.
What are you talking about?
You targeted women with children.
You told Jeanette she reminded you of your mother.
You let those little boys go unharmed
because they were innocents.
Do we know if the mother is still alive?
I'll find out.
(Humphrey) How disappointing.
And you look so smart.
You have a deep-seated rage against women,
and yet you identify with their sons.
What did your mother do to you?
Please.
With you people, it's always the mother.
There must be some mistake. This isn't my Humphrey.
Captain, this is Mrs. Becker.
Ida. Everyone calls me Ida.
Even Humphrey, since he was five.
Thank you for coming, ma'am.
Sorry to drag you out in the rain.
Oh, it stopped on the way over.
Right this way, ma'am.
It doesn't make sense, you know.
He was destined for such great things.
I named him after a legend.
Bogart.
Wasn't he wonderful?
Mrs. Becker was just telling me
that she hasn't seen her son in over 25 years.
You had a falling out?
Over the scandal. Ugh!
I worked 2 jobs to put him through journalism school.
He was gonna be a reporter, just like Bogie
in his final film, The Harder They Fall.
You mentioned a scandal?
Ohh, he plagiarized his honors thesis.
All my hard work, out the window.
He was thrown out.
You know, just disgraced.
We really, really need to get you in there.
Oh, yeah, sure.
Anything I can do to help.
Humphrey?
What's happened to you?
Ida?
(Stabler) You two must have a lot of catching up to do.
Here, have a seat, Mrs. Becker.
Your hair!
What did you do to it?
Y-you haven't changed a bit.
You should have seen him when he was little.
Head full of curls.
Um, they're not interested in my childhood.
Oh...but we are.
Nice play.
You mind giving us a few minutes alone?
Sorry. Against my rules.
Humphrey...
tell them where you put the lady.
Um, stay out of this, Ida.
Why, when she's such a big part of it?
Okay...
You want to know where she is, Ida?
She's In A Lonely Place.
Ready for The Big Sleep.
Those are Bogie films.
You're a disgrace to his name.
You like that? You're gonna love this.
One of the aliases I used was Eddie Willis.
Bogie's last role.
I knew you'd be pleased.
Why don't you tell your mother
what you've been up to lately?
Why don't you shut your damn pie hole?
Language.
You know how I feel about curse words.
Even when Bogie played a bad guy,
he never worked blue.
Sorry, Ida.
Didn't mean to disappoint you...
yet again.
I should be used to it.
I had such high hopes for him.
Well, it was nice visiting.
You were supposed to grow up
to be somebody.
I'm sitting right here.
In a police station.
Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me?
I did this for you, Ida.
I'm finally going to be famous,
just like you always wanted.
Happy now?
You were never anything but trouble.
He was a difficult child?
You can't imagine.
Shut up, Ida.
I couldn't take him anywhere!
Not even my movies.
Shut up.
Soon as the lights went down,
he'd throw a tantrum! Stop it.
He's afraid of the dark?
He was a crybaby! Stop it!
He'd cry like a baby till they'd ask us to leave.
Oh, you sure in hell figured out a way to see 'em.
How did you manage that, Ida.
Never mind! I'd like to know.
What else could I do? I had to leave him at home.
Alone? I made sure that he couldn't get in trouble.
Shut up, Ida! That's why you took the doors off.
She locked you in the closet.
Well, you know, he might have hurt himself
running around the house. That's enough!
It was only for two hours.
But he'd get so worked up,
he'd soil himself.
Shut up! Please!
Shut up!
Don't you ever shut up?!
I'll kill you, you bitch!
You bitch!
You see how he treats his mother.
Claustrophobic.
Wait!
No, let me go.
No! Where are you taking me?
My game room!
No! No! No!
Please! Don't!
You need another clue?
Wouldn't want to leave you in the dark.
No, please! Please, you can't do this!
Relax, Humphrey. It's just a game!
Let me out!
Tell us where Jeanette is!
Let me out, and I'll tell you!
You tell me, I'll let you out!
Thought you could use this.
(Humphrey) Please, I can't breathe.
Where is she?
Where is she?!
In a dump in Staten Island.
In a refrigerator with a chain around it.
Now please let me out!
Jeanette first!
I'll call ESU.
Open it!
(Benson) She alive?
Barely breathing.
Needle's on the red. She's almost out.
[groans]
[panting]
He found me.
I told you he'd find me.
You're safe now.
He'll get out.
I just know it.
He'll never stop
till he gets me.
Believe me, he'll never get out, never.
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