Dr. Strode, does the name Bob White
mean anything to you?
Is he a children's clown?
- No. - Adult's-only clown?
No, he's not a clown of any sort.
You performed an autopsy on him two nights ago.
He was hit by a bus?
Oh, of course. I'm sorry, yeah.
I-I often confuse clowns and bus victims.
Yeah, yeah. That was a—
that was a tragic accident.
Or was it?
It's very possible that it was not
and that you made a mistake.
Uh, no, no, chief, I-I don't make mistakes.
Says the guy who left his keys
in an old lady's spleen last month.
Oh, please, detective. Like you've never lost keys?
Do you remember a missing earlobe?
Well, this woman does.
She is the mortician who was in process of embalming Mr. White
when she discovered the inconsistency.
Hello, Woodrow.
Hello, Grace.
You two know each other?
Oh, Dr. Strode and I were in forensics school together.
We were also briefly...
lovers.
Ew.
The earlobe was sliced prior to quietus
and certainly not by a tire.
The incision was clean, precise,
as though made by a box cutter or something.
This was no accident.
The Woody I know would never have missed something like this.
Ah, no. The blood alcohol was.31.
He passes out, falls.
I mean, chief, look, I may have missed this detail,
but I still don't know that this was a murder.
I mean, clowns fall.
I got to tell you, Woody.
If the Woodman says it's an accident, then so do we.
I'm going to need a little bit more than that.
All right, fine. Gus and I will hit the scene.
And don't worry— it's going to be pro bono.
We're going to go all Haley Joel Osment on this—
pay it forward.
Why can't we go all Haley Joel Osment
and get paid, like he did with Country Bears?
H.J.O. was in Country Bears?
He played a bear named Beary Barrington.
My God.
Is there anything this kid can't do?
Well, he's not really a kid anymore.
He's in his 20s,
technically, he's a young man.
So this is the address of the report.
Where do you want to start? You want to walk the scene?
Well, you are standing right where
the bus ran over over Bob White's body.
- Why don't you just lay down? - I will not.
Gus, you're the victim.
Why do I have to be the victim?
Because to cast you as the killer wouldn't be very P.C.
Since when are you P.C., Shawn?
Do you want to be out here all night,
or do you want to go get some food?
Fine.
This says the streetlamp
directly over the bus stop was out.
Gus, you still there?
You see my face on this asphalt, Shawn.
Hurry up.
That's interesting.
So the lamp was vandalized— probably teenagers.
- Still says accident. - I don't know.
They decide to bust one lamp,
and it just happens to be the streetlamp
that prevents the bus driver from seeing
the drunkest guy in the world laying in the street?
Gentlemen...
might I ask why this man in straight-cut denim
is lying in the street
while you are making bus sounds in the moonlight?
If you must know, we are pantomime artists
from New Guinea developing a new routine.
Look, I am trapped in this box on castors.
Luckily, this box also has an elevator.
Good-bye.
- No. - We are detectives.
And we're investigating a possible murder
that happened here two nights ago at 1:00 A.M.
Really? Right here on the street?
Unbelievable.
I mean, the one night that there's a murder,
and I was sleeping.
I never sleep. Damn you, circadian rhythms.
You couldn't just go with the pantomime thing?
Gentlemen, my name is Whip Chatterly.
And I can tell you anything and everything you need to know.
We, with all due respect, Whip...
Cream, was it?
I happen to be the head psychic detective
for the S.B.P.D., and my partner here is black.
So I believe our bases are covered.
What does that have to do with anything?
Oh, my. Oh, you're Shawn Spencer.
Oh, oh, hi.
Oh, you guys are like celebrities to me.
That's very flattering.
Uh, actually we don't have any head shots on us right now,
but, uh... Ah, to heck with it.
Why don't you give Gus a big hug?
- I would love to. - How about you don't?
All right.
Listen, I would like to offer you up my prowess.
You see, I am a— bit of a murder expert.
What? Did you kill someone?
No.
But the next best thing...
This...
is my establishment.
Sync & corrections by honeybunny www.addic7ed.com
So, we have a drunken man run over by a large vehicle
after he was already murdered.
This reminds me of a case from 1983 that I read about.
Wow, that's sounds cool.
Dude, we already hung out
with enough crazy white people this year.
In this case, an Illinois farmer
had seemingly been run over by his own tractor,
but it was later discovered that the gear pedals
had been adjusted for a tiny person.
Turns out he was killed with cyanide
by a dwarf before he ever even got on that tractor.
They never caught that little fellow.
You're saying the dwarf is still at large?
What I'm saying is, is that murder
is always a macabre business.
But one makes it look like an accident—
well, that takes skill,
knowledge, the most intricate planning.
- Please turn around. - What?
Rumps facing me. Let me see your rumps.
What's that for?
I just got it— the "at large" joke.
- Ah. - Hilarious.
Come, come.
Oh, nice. You have surveillance cameras.
Here's the outside camera.
Well, if someone decides to commit a murder
inside of that three-foot radius, we are covered.
Okay, confession...
I just wanted to get you guys in here.
Why—to kill us?
Look, Whip,
you're rambunctious and odd and turtleneck-y.
We always do enjoy meeting a true fan,
but it's time for Gus and I to run off into the night now.
Good night.
No, no, no, w-wait, wait.
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.
Would you at least
bestow upon me the honor of signing my Yang book?
Ah.
Am I the only one who thought
that Mary Lightly was the killer?
Wow. You really read this closely.
Oh, I've read it 100 times.
In fact, I have read every book published on murder since 1850,
to be precise.
Why are you so fascinated with murder?
I don't know.
With one terrible act, someone can become
immortalized forever.
I just find it fascinating.
Precedent tells us that the victim's innards
will tell the story of his death.
Its contents are like a clockwork backwards
from the time of death, but you must hurry.
We know the drill, Whip. Uh, we've—
we've seen The First 48.
And so have I, every episode.
Okay. Well, watching it on TV
and even—even reading about it in books
is a little different than the real thing.
Gentlemen, allow me to be your secret weapon.
What have you got to lose, huh?
I will also cover the cost of all snacks.
What kind of snacks?
Keeping in mind that fruit and dried fruit are not snacks.
Food for thought.
Let's bring it in.
No?
Mr. Spencer has concluded as well
that Bob White may have been murdered.
I'm sorry, Woody.
This miscue has cost us the 40 hours of lead time
in solving this case.
I am willing to do whatever it takes to solve this.
I will stay here until 6:15 P.M. if need be.
Now, if you'll excuse me,
I will recheck for signs of head trauma.
Uh, since time is of the essence,
wouldn't it be wise to start with the stomach?
It would give us an indication of where the victim has eaten
in the last 18 hours.
By the way, I am sensing that, uh...
The stomach is probably the right place to start.
All right, look, chief, I, uh...
I admit, I am—I am thrown by the idea that my mistake
may have set us behind the eight ball here.
But if there is a murder to be solved,
no one is better than me— no one.
Well, maybe Gary Sinise.
- Maybe Sinise. - Ms. Larson...
Are you a licensed examiner in this state?
Well, I keep my credentials up, but—
I'm exercising my discretion in the county
to hire you on to consult on this case.
Well, that is just insanely ridiculous.
Rim shot?
Okay, look, Dr. Strode is—is right.
I didn't know it was his case when I called,
and I don't want to step on anyone's toes here.
I mean, obviously the case is sensitive.
She hasn't even practiced since she left school.
I mean, let's face it.
A mortician's nothing more than a glorified makeup artist.
Well, a makeup artist who knew to start
with the abdominal cavity.
You looked better with long hair.
You look like a great, big gerber baby.
You move your lips when you read.
Is that a bald cap on your head,
because you know what?
It reminds me of one that I saw
in a really bad high-school production
of The King and I, which I've never forgotten.
By the way, I lied.
My father was never King of Sweden.
Ha ha ha!
Okay.
Come on, just fight! Go, go, go, go!
Enough!
Okay, Woody, I'm trying to help you here,
because if this case turns into an unsolved murder—
and it's looking more likely by the minute that it will be—
you may be out of a job.
Thank you.
Okay, Woody, let's be mature about this.
Let's not rehash old times and play power games.
Let's slice open this man's stomach and solve a murder.
What are these— waffle chunks?
Seriously,
do we really have to be here for this?
There's lemongrass and bean paste,
but I also see...
these greens...
Collard, maybe?
And what appears to be potato and sugar content.
Sweet-potato pie?
Where would someone have gone
to have eaten both soul food and Thai?
Afrothai.
Phat Thai Jones.
I can't believe you called Whip.
Well, believe it, Gus, because here he is.
His vast knowledge of murder and true crime
- may just come in handy. - Until he kills us.
This is invigorating.
- I feel tingly. - Mm-hmm.
I mean, it might just be my shampoo.
You know, it's got tea tree oil in it.
Now, how do these psychic inquisitions work?
Will we be touching our subjects?
- May I help you? - Yes.
Did you see this man here two nights ago?
Hey, Singh.
Come on.
Oh, this guy might be more helpful.
I understand you have picture.
Whoa. Whoa! Take it down, man.
Don't you think that accent's a little offensive?
- My accent offensive? - Yes.
Your accent offensive. T-this is how I talk.
I'm his son.
Oh, you're, uh—
Adopted, yes. Okay, Bud from Cosby?
I grew up in Bangkok. We came here three years ago.
Still have a little bit of a twang.
Yes, yes, uh, Bob White.
Yes, of course I know him. He's a regular.
He was here two nights ago. He sit right over there.
Do you know what time he was here?
6:00.
Gentlemen, we are standing in the presence
of where Bob White was
approximately seven hours before his death.
Was he here with someone?
Table for one— he lonely.
He have no honey.
- Was he drinking a lot? - Drinking?
No, no, he allergic to alcohol.
Allergic? Are you sure about that, Singh?
Autopsy report said his blood alcohol level was.31.
No, I offer him plum wine, but he say no.
I give him plum cake instead.
Plum cake is made with alcohol.
Teeny bit, yes, you know.
But he insist, you know, because our plum cake—
it tastes like you have picked a plum straight from a tree,
and you stick it in a cake.
Holy—
- Really? - Hmm.
You thinking what I'm thinking?
- You want plum cake? - You know that's right.
Could you make that happen?
Can we have two pieces of plum cake, please?
- Three. - Three.
He was allergic to alcohol?
Boy, I didn't realized plum cake had that much alcohol in it.
Well, that explains the dilation of the blood vessels.
Well, either way you don't get .31 saturation from plum cake.
Someone with such an allergy
would never be able to ingest that amount of alcohol.
Is it at all possible the alcohol
could have been inserted into the bloodstream somehow?
Two things—
that is the sexiest thing
I have ever heard in this office.
And it is possible, with a syringe.
We would start scanning the body for injection marks,
and it could take a while.
No, he's pretty much same old Bob White.
You know, he left half a warm coke...
Oh, and, uh, also this.
But, uh, I keep for myself.
- Carnival tickets? - The site of grisly murders—
Carn-Evil by Stuart Robson, Middleton Press, 1971.
Gentlemen, these are not carnival tickets.
But it is going to be a hell of a ride.
That's weird. All right, got it.
That was Woody.
Grace found an injection site on Bob's left foot.
So apparently the alcohol was pumped directly
into his bloodstream.
Ooh, was the injection site
between the second and third toe?
Yeah, it was. How did you know that?
Oh, straight out of Lost in the Parade—
Tyne Hannerman, Soji Press, 1931.
The point is, somebody handpicked this guy.
It was controlled, calculated...
Cold-blooded.
Get those tickets out, boys.
We've arrived at Bob's next destination.
Where the...
hell are we?
When the hell are we?
Gentlemen, we are standing in a retro dime-a-dance hall—
one of the last of its kind.
Here, regular fellows can dress up like servicemen
on leave from the 1930s
and offer up a coupon to trip the light fantastic
with one of these alluring and voluptuous women.
And how do you know about this place?
Because I am a lonely individual...
And so was Bob White.
Oh, look at this.
Any one of these creatures could have authored his demise.
We're going to need reinforcements.
Ooh...
Who you thinking of going with?
You said you had a priority-one case
that involved my skills?
Yes, your dancing skills.
- Who are you? - I'm Whip Chatterly.
Look, dad, we only have a couple hours
to question all these voluptuous women.
We need your help. Woody's about to get fired.
I don't know, Shawn.
Count me in.
Does the name Bob White mean anything to you?
Can't say that it does.
Can I call you Captain Magic?
Yeah.
Does this man's image incite anything in you?
I'm sorry, honey. I don't do three-ways.
- I was wondering— - Shh.
Don't waste your breath, Brown Sugar,
you just let Sandy hold you tight,
and all the pain will melt away like butter.
Actually, I'm doing great,
but my friend Bob White— so sad.
Did you know him?
What?
Oh, I'm the a-hole?
Shawn! Shawn!
I just can't believe anybody
would want to kill that poor little man.
Really? Why is that so hard to believe?
Because Bobby wouldn't hurt a fly.
He used to come in here and dance with me for hours,
'cause he just lost his mama.
He'd lay his head right here.
I'd just let him fall asleep.
That's sounds real nice.
Uh, Shawn?
Hang in there, buddy.
Sandy, did rob come here to dance
and nap on your bosom two nights ago?
He did.
It was the worst I've ever seen him.
He seemed paranoid.
And he kept going on and on about somebody following him.
Being followed— ooh!
This reminds me of a case
that occurred in Salt Lake City in 1992.
- Oh, it was a stormy winter— - Spit it out, Whip.
I think Gus is losing consciousness.
I think our killer was scouting Bob.
I mean, he's a lonely guy,
you know, kept a regular routine.
Who would miss him?
Sandy, where would Bob go when he was finished
with the pleasure of your company?
The other night he seemed so down,
so I sent him to a friend of mine.
I asked her for a special favor.
- You sent him to a brothel? - What? No.
My girl operates on a more spiritual level.
Gentlemen, we stand four hours from Bob White's last breath.
- Huh. - This is all you, Shawnie boy.
Hey, suck it, Gus.
We'll see. We'll see.
Ms. Ivana, our friend Shawn here is a psychic, too.
Maybe you want to test him out before you answer our questions.
Dude, what are you doing?
Shh. No talk.
You, look at my brain.
- I'd rather not. - Do it.
- Okay. - What do you see?
Um...
Oh, you...
are putting up a wall.
You don't want me to see your naked, innermost thoughts.
True.
I have trust issues. My therapist tells me this.
Your turn.
Have at it. I'm an open book.
You're thinking...
whether Ted Knight and Jim J. Bullock
had anything to talk about on the set of...
Too close for comfort.
Holy crap. She's the real deal.
Wow. Your turn again, Shawn.
This time try to let your guard down.
Gus, we're here to investigate.
I believe you know this man.
Golly, how many potted plants
does it take to spell loser?
Turns out this was a suicide, I can't say I blame the guy.
Oh, don't be ugly, Carlton.
What?
All right, what do you want to check—
the empty answering machine
or the letters addressed to "resident"?
Yes, he came to see me the other night.
He was very sad.
He tells me he's in love with beautiful woman.
Really?
- What's her name? - Penny.
He said she is so beautiful, he can watch her all day long,
pouring the tea or reading the paper.
Even the way she folding the laundry
is a thing of beauty.
So I tell him she cares for him.
Oh, what do you know?
She was into old Bob, huh?
No.
I only told him this because big Sandy asked me to.
I owe her a favor for introducing me
to Chad Lowe at pajama party at the Playboy Mansion.
You lied to him?
I had to.
Chad wasn't going to get with a fortune teller.
Not talking about Chad. I am talking about Bob.
Yes. Him too.
Oh.
But he was so happy.
He rush out of here to go and see her.
This is an outrage.
Shame your face.
Poor Bob.
Who is now very, very sad.
You want to know why? Mostly because he's dead.
Say what?
- Murder! - Nuh-uh.
Hope you're satisfied.
Oh, my God, you guys. Seriously?
This is all my fault.
I'm going to hell in a handbasket.
Uh... What happened to your accent?
People are more comfortable when I use it?
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.
- We are leaving. - To find a girl named Penny.
What the—
Damn, girl, what's wrong with you?
I see death in you.
Me? No.
The reaper is coming to collect your soul.
No, no. Wrong again.
Um, oh, see, yes, I get this all the time.
You know, actually, it's because death is my business.
Don't.
Ah, oh, I know what it is.
I've got a dead tooth and, um, a toenail
that's gone completely black.
Leave, now. All of you, get out. Shoo!
- Okay. - Shoo!
Don't got to tell me twice.
Bad juju, bad juju, bad juju.
Well, that was unsavory.
Don't sweat it, Whip, okay?
She was a freak. Trust me.
Full of "bologna."
Yeah, that shorty was wack.
Gentlemen, I appreciate you both working overtime
to put me at ease, but I think maybe it's time
I leave the residue of this deadly cryptogram
to those far more equipped to decode it than I.
What I'm trying to say is that I'm freaked out.
I guess the least we can do is, uh—
we'll give you a ride home.
- Ow. What? - What's wrong with you?
- Well, look at him. - Much appreciated.
Um, would it be out of line to make a quick stop at Arby's
on the way home?
No, it would not. That's happening, for sure.
I'll be damned.
Hey, O'Hara, I got something.
- Penny? - Yeah.
Yeah.
Looks like Mr. Lonely wasn't so lonely after all.
Well, let's pay her a visit
and make this little piggy squeal.
Or we could just ask her some questions.
We could. It's never as much fun.
Hey, Shawn.
Jules, I'm having a very strong feeling
about our guy Bob and the name Penny.
Does that mean anything to you?
Yeah, it does.
I got to tell you, Lassie,
investigating this neighborhood has been pretty bizarre—
Underbelly.
It's kind of like After Hours.
Without the accompanying presence of Griffin Dunne.
Please, Spencer.
If anyone knows the underbelly of Santa Barbara,
it's me, so I'll do the talking, all right?
I know these people,
and I'm a highly trained communicator able to adapt
into any situation like a master chameleon.
You're not a master chameleon.
No? Watch this.
It's open.
Penny Chalmers.
Of course. Who else would I be, silly?
I am not silly. In fact, I'm quite the opposite.
Head detective Carl Lassiter of the S.B.P.D.
I'm here to talk to you about Bob White.
Oh, yeah. Well, come on in.
I'm just about to make some tea.
Oh, yeah.
This girl's got underbelly written all over her.
Detectives, please have a seat.
Make yourselves at home.
Look up, Sebastian.
This could get interesting.
Break a leg, Master C.
What the hell is going on?
He said she's so beautiful that he can watch her all day—
the way she pours the tea or reads the paper.
Oh, she's a performance artist.
- Oh. - Oh.
Guys like Bob White pay money
to watch her live her everyday life.
You serious?
All right, Beatniks, show's over.
Hit the road.
Are you people dense?
This is official police business—get out of here.
Whoo—whoo.
Spencer, you gonna help me out here?
Yes, we are.
The female cop's got a presence,
but detective gangly's a bit stiff, don't you think?
- Hmm. - Hey, officer.
No need to be nervous. It's going to be okay.
This is just life imitating art—no lines, just life.
So go ahead, ask me anything you want.
Uh, look, miss... I, um—
We can't hear you.
Uh—
Do you know Bob White?
Well, yeah. Why?
Well, I don't really know
if you want an audience for this,
but Bob is dead.
My sweet Bobby is dead?
We believe he was murdered.
Oh, Bobby.
Kind of cliche.
Well, someone may have been stalking him for a while,
- if that helps. - Oh, yeah, that does.
Oh, Bobby, no...
All right, that is it.
You either get these people out of here,
or I'm going to haul you downtown.
We're gonna set up all the chairs in a holding cell.
How's that for honesty and truth?
- Does that cost extra? - Get them out of here.
Let's go. Come on.
See you next time. Bye.
Thanks—thanks for coming.
Did you complete the residue test
on those fingernails like a good boy?
I did.
I found a mixture of pigment fillers in the nail beds.
Is there anything hotter
than a man scaling another man's dead cuticles?
No.
And by the way,
I realize I'm actually acutely turned on by taking orders
from a woman.
If this continues, I might have to change
my Facebook relationship status to "It's complicated."
Are you trying to seduce me?
Maybe. Is it working?
It's not not working.
How's Elaine?
We're separated.
She cheated on me 12 times with 10 men.
- Not a very smart woman. - That's why I married her.
You know, I do not appreciate being made a part
of your little dog and pony show.
Oh, I don't work with animals.
You think I'm kidding around?
I can take you downtown for obstruction of justice.
Easy, okay? I'm a performance artist.
I just thought I'd take the opportunity
to milk the drama when a bunch of detectives showed up.
That is an odd way to make a living.
It's way less creepy than doing webcam feeds.
And sure beats the hell of my last gig.
Doing spots for "Howza Meats."
Wait a second.
You're the Bologna girl? I knew I recognized you.
I just couldn't remember where.
You quite done, Guster?
In the commercial.
Yeah, I do it twice.
I'm done.
What can you tell us about Bob White?
He would come to the show most every day, but we never spoke.
Two nights ago, he came in. It was really late.
I told him the show was over for the night,
and he insisted on coming in,
and then he professed his love for me.
He said that a fortune teller told him I loved him, too.
He had no honey.
That is not offensive.
That's exactly how the white waiter sounded.
Gus was there.
Please tell me you let him down easy.
I'm sensing he was very—very vulnerable.
I threatened to call the cops.
But you're the Bologna girl.
Yeah, but I'm also a single girl in the city.
Who invites an entire audience of strangers
into her apartment?
Any idea where he went
after you ripped his heart out and stepped on it?
I watched him from the window.
He walked down the street,
an then this black Impala pulled up,
and then he was talking to the driver, and then he got in.
Great. It's only the most popular car in America.
What time did all of this go down?
Midnight.
Well, he died around 1:00,
which means whoever picked him up in that car
is probably the last person who saw him alive,
most likely because they're also the person who killed him.
Hello, boys.
I had to go to three stores
to find cream fresh for our strawberries.
Well, I think we squeezed all we can out of these intestines.
Mmm!
Worth the wait. That is fresh fresh.
We are quite the team, Grace and I.
As it turns out,
we also still enjoy both Jerry Garcia and Cherry Garcia.
Guys, uh, here's what we know.
Someone drove him away in what may have been,
uh, an Impala?
- Mm-hmm. - 'Pala.
Okay, and that's where the trail runs cold.
What you're doing is positively disgusting.
Why are you still messing with that?
Because it feels amazing.
Oh, uh, I don't know what this will mean to you,
but I found a mixture of calcium carbonate, titanium oxide
and pigment fillers in the nail beds.
Hmm.
Those are the common elements of acrylic stains.
Paint.
I was—I was just about to say that.
- No, you weren't. - Right, Guster.
In addition, there was a string of muriatic acid.
That's a preserving agent.
We're probably talking about an outdoor location.
You thinking what I'm thinking?
- You want more plum cake? - I do, but, no.
You preserve a mural.
I watched him from the window.
He was walking down the street, and this black Impala pulls up,
and he was talking to the driver,
and then he got in.
Okeydoke.
The killer drove Bob to this alley from Penny's,
made him get out, turns him around,
boom! Bludgeons him over the head.
- So do it, bludgeon me. - What?
- Bludgeon me. - Why me, Shawn?
All you do is complain about being a victim.
Now I am offering you the role of the killer
just like Blair Underwood in Just Cause,
- and you're gonna pass? - I don't want to bludgeon you.
- Just do it. - I don't want to bludgeon you.
Bludgeon me, bludgeon me, bludgeon me, bludgeon me.
I don't want to do it. I don't want to do it.
Holy crap.
Whip's our killer.
- What? - Look...
He absolutely needed us to solve this murder.
He wanted to get caught.
With one terrible act,
someone can be immortalize forever.
I think it's fascinating.
Exactly.
He wants to go down in history just like all the killers
that he studies, and if this goes unsolved,
then no one is going to write about it.
Ah, I bet he severed the earlobe
just to launch the investigation.
That's why he wanted to tag along—
to make sure we figured out all the clues.
Of course.
This thing is so twisted, it can only come from a book.
I'm calling Lassie.
We'll have him meet us at Whip's.
The black Impala.
Chatterly, get out of the car!
We've got a body.
We got something else, too.
"Thank you, Shawn and Gus, for being the sleuths
"I always knew you were...
"And for helping me find my rightful place
"in the annals of murder history.
File this under 'C' for Chatterly."
Jeez, Whip.
I knew it.
- You did not. - I kind of did.
Damn you, Whip Chatterly— you ensnared us in a web
with turtleneck lies, and now because of you,
we don't have any snacks.
You just can't tell what a person is capable of
until you've seen them naked.
Hmm.
I'm almost positive that's how the saying goes.
- Mm... - Cakesters?
You betcha.
Yep, I have learned my lesson.
If it wasn't for you guys, I'd be out of a job.
- Well... - From now on...
I'm not half-assing any autopsies
unless the corpse has half an ass.
You got to keep it light, guys.
Sure do.
I think wee gonna roll, Woodster.
We got back-to-back episodes of Hot in Cleveland on TiVo,
- and we're pretty spent. - Yeah.
Whoa, Gus. I have a missed call from Whip.
What?
Yeah, like, an hour before we found his body.
He left a message.
Creepiest butt-dial ever.
Wait a minute. I got to hear that again.
What is wrong with you, Shawn? The man is committing suicide.
Shh. Listen.
All right, what does that sound like to you?
- I don't know. - Yes, you do.
There's a car door slamming after the gunshot.
We got to go back to Whip's bookstore.
What are we doing here, Shawn?
Looking for signs of a struggle.
Oh, gosh.
I don't want to be here for one more second than we have to be.
This doesn't add up, Gus, and you know it.
And we're going to figure out why.
What?
Come one, son.
You're gonna drink a dead man's yoo-hoo?
You had to put that image in my head, didn't you?
The man may be dead,
but that yoo-hoo is very much alive, Shawn.
- I'm going inside. - Yeah, suck it.
You're not going to die for letting a yoo-hoo go to waste.
Whip did.
This investigation is not over, and you know it.
Shawn, I don't want to be here.
I feel like I'm in one of those movies
where a little Japanese kid in death makeup
is going to be up on the ceiling like a frog
- if I look up. - So don't look up.
Besides, why would you possibly feel that way?
I don't know.
What are you doing up there? You're closer to the ceiling.
I don't know, Shawn.
Maybe because I'm starving to death.
I gave you my cakester.
That was almost half an hour ago.
Come on, son.
Wait for it.
Dude.
What do we have here?
Why is Whip watching old surveillance footage?
So we have five tapes.
And on each one of them,
the same weirdo's reading one of these five books.
In this case, an Illinois farmer
had seemingly been run over by his own tractor,
but later, it was discovered he was killed with cyanide
by a dwarf before he ever even got on that tractor.
They never caught that little fellow.
Dude, what are you doing?
Aah.
Oh, you scared me.
- Are those homemade biscotti? - Is there any other kind?
- You look happy. - Well, I guess I am.
Do you still take sugar with your Joe?
Mm.
- Hey, what is all that? - You don't want to know.
Let's pretend we're doing an episode of Red Shoe Diaries.
Well, not if there's work to be done.
Fine.
The contents of Whip Chatterly's esophagus.
Oh, I thought the case was closed.
It is. It was.
Or... that's what I thought.
Now I'm not so sure.
These were folded up into tiny bits
and put inside this metal capsule.
This is new evidence, and it could be a game changer.
I think we may have to pull another all-nighter.
God, I love this job.
You know, I do, too.
Okay, clearly there's a reason whey these pages are torn.
Dude, I think Whip was framed.
Why?
Because he was the perfect mark—
a weirdo obsessed with death and strange murders
throughout history.
I mean, we didn't question it for a second
when we heard his suicide confession.
- Think about it. - So it was creepy Sherlock.
Well, it makes sense.
I mean, he obviously did all of his research
right here in Whip's store.
He probably even had a conversation with him.
That's sick.
The one night that there's a murder, and I was sleeping.
Unbelievable— I never sleep.
Oh.
He must have drugged Whip's coffee.
That's why he fell asleep the night Bob White was murdered.
He took Whip's car. He took Whip's stamp.
And he put it all back before he ever knew what hit him.
Oh, man, now I feel bad.
Poor Whip. You know, he was a funny guy.
I've thought about rocking the turtleneck,
but, you know, I think about what you would say,
and then what people at work would say.
Whip never worried about stuff like that—he was fearless.
- Gus? - What?
This is really, really not good.
Well, we can send these to the lab in the morning
and dust them for prints.
Oh, that's odd.
I thought they were going home to watch Hot in Cleveland.
He must have come up with something as well.
- I should fill him in. - Um...
I'm afraid that's not going to be possible.
Well, it's such an easy task, even I can't screw it up.
Have some faith, banana.
Grace, what are you doing? That's evidence.
You just had to go and ruin everything,
didn't you, Woody?
I mean, the case was closed.
All the evidence pointed to this dummy doing it.
I mean, he even confessed.
All you had to do was cover him up,
eat some cookies, and then take me to bed.
Hey, we can still go two for three.
Let's go.
Grace, it's—it's Woody.
Don't you owe me an explanation?
- You want an explanation? - Yes.
Okay. Whip Chatterly set me up
by swallowing that little capsule.
He was smarter than I gave him credit for—
crafty, like a little fox.
I mean, whose fingerprints do you think
the lab is going to find
on those stupid little pieces of paper, huh?
For 25 years, I have been putting makeup on corpses,
dreaming of the day
that I would get the call when somebody would tell me
that I was as good as Woody Strode—
teacher's pet, brilliant, but misunderstood.
A dream worth killing for? Come on.
I have applied for every opening
in Crime Pathology
this side of the Gulf of Mexico, with no success.
And then I met Bob White.
And I realized that he was the perfect mark.
I mean, you know, it was really kind of a mercy killing.
But when I got the idea of pinning the murder
on Whip Chatterly, it was epic.
I broke open the case, and I solved it.
I beat you, Woody. I owned you.
You sliced the earlobe after my autopsy, didn't you?
Yes, Muttonhead, I did.
And you know what?
You and the police had ruled it an accident,
but I needed it to be an investigation.
You know, you may not realize this, Grace,
but you're insane.
Well, I'm a woman, and I can mask it.
Let's go.
You're totally going to pull this off, aren't you?
No, I'm not ready to die yet.
I haven't even gotten to see Gloria Estefan in concert yet.
Please. Please, Grace.
I will get down on my knees,
and I will beg like a Saint Bernard.
No.
That won't be necessary.
- Put it down, Grace. - Oh, thank God.
Well, that was quite the all-nighter, Woodrow.
You're very lucky that O'Hara was still here doing paperwork
when Shawn called.
Chief, uh, I just wanted you to know that, uh...
Hey, I only cried because I was tired.
That's reassuring.
Your status as chief coroner has been fully restored.
Yes!
That said, I expect your work
to be nothing short of exemplary moving forward.
Is that clear?
It is, and I can't thank you enough for believing in me.
I didn't.
I believed in your colleague
who turned out to be a homicidal maniac.
None of us is perfect, chief.
Thanks for looking out for me.
I love you, guys. I mean that.
It's just as easy for me to love a man as it is a woman.
We're all just meltable flesh and breakable bones.
Wow, this feels good!
Chief, are you currently seeing anyone?
- Excuse me? - Woody.
Don't be coy with me.
I don't need to play first fiddle in this bluegrass band.
Teach me the notes.
I am married with a child,
and this is wildly inappropriate.
- Stop it. - Of course.
Of course. I apologize.
I am just so overjoyed at getting my mojo back.
I guess it will just be in my dreams
that you are the chief of doing me.
- Good talk, chief. - Always a pleasure.