CSI: Crime Scene Investigation

Grissom: He kills Debbie in the shower. Then he washes up in both sinks and in the tub? Why? Catherine: The answer is in the drains.

Doc Robbins: Dismembering an adult male with this much precision and without cutting through the bone. 12 hours minimum. Catherine: Half of a day. That's patience. Doc Robbins: The, uh, patella was cleanly removed. And with one slice, the femur was separated from the tibia and the fibula. There's a perverse elegance to this butchery. Catherine: Well, I'm not so sure I see it that way. A killer with knowledge of anatomy whose tool is a scalpel. I think that the butcher was a doctor.

Greg (while Grissom is looking under a microscope): That's the hair from the spare bedroom. Grissom: There's an oily film on the surface of the hair. Greg: Propylene glycol. Active ingredient in Rogaine, for male pattern baldness. Personally, I don't use the stuff, but my grandfather Papa Olaf - he was Bruce Willis at age sixteen. Lucky for me, baldness comes from the mother's side, so I'm safe... Grissom (interrupting): Greg, please, I'm very tired. Greg: Well, maybe the guy we're looking for is going bald... or trying not to. According to Papa Olaf, a lot of guys who use Rogaine also use Propecia, kind of like a cocktail. I ran the hair through MassSpec. I got four peaks - ethyl alcohol, propylene glycol, minoxidil, and finasteride. Grissom: Finasteride, the chemical name for Propecia. Greg: But wait, there's more, and it's a family secret. Sexual. Happens in less than two percent of users. (whispering) Papa Olaf was one of those people that needed hydraulics.

(Examining the victims bed) Catherine: I don't mean to embarrass you but... (pulls sheet off of the footboard) some guys need leverage. Grissom: They do?

(Grissom's still at the crime scene on his knees looking for evidence) Catherine: Don't tell me you never went home. Grissom: Okay. (pause) I just got started in here. I haven't even gotten to the other rooms yet. Catherine: You know you lose your edge after 16 hours. But you're in your 3rd shift. I mean I'm all for overtime but this is just plain greedy. Grissom: My knees can't take this anymore. Catherine: Have you eaten anything? Grissom: What did you bring? Catherine: I'll see what's in the fridge. (moves to the kitchen) Grissom: We have to replace that, you know.

Catherine: Feel better? Well now that we fed you, we should probably talk about a shower. (Grissom gives her a look) I mean at your place. You need to go home. Grissom: As soon as we find some evidence. I promise. Catherine: With fresh eyes you won't miss it. Grissom: Just talk it through with me, will ya? What do we know? Catherine: Alright. Bathroom is where things got started. Candles, oils, steamed shower. Cleaned up, oiled up, sexed up. (Grissom dips his finger in the peanut butter and sticks it in his mouth) Grissom: Let's go back to the bedroom.

Doc Robbins: Most doctors say it's impossible to prove handedness based on the wounds inflicted on a victim. Grissom: Forget hard science. What's your hypothesis? Doc Robbins: Based on micro-incisions and hesitation marks, the victim was lying face up when he was killed. Take a look at the right knee. The cut on the cartilage of the right distal femur has slight angulations from the, uh ... left distal to the right proximal, which suggests the killer was left-handed. This angulation is consistent with cuts made to the acetabulum and to the wrist, but bear in mind, it's not going to be admissible in court. Grissom: I don't care about court. My mind's on a left-handed, propecia using surgeon, who's probably on staff at Desert Palm.

Sara: Hey, you seen Grissom? Catherine: He's still at the crime scene. Sara: I eliminated both victims from the print you pulled off the bed. Catherine: Well, we know she was fishing off the company pier. (Sara nods) You, uh, seen Debbie? Sara: Yeah. Catherine: And? Sara (avoiding): Yeah, I compared her toe prints. Catherine: If I didn't know any better, I'd think that was you on the table. Sara: I didn't really look at her face. (pause) If you see Grissom, could you tell him?

(After running over the bed with the ALS) Grissom: Nothing on the sheets. Catherine: She changed sheets for her date. (pause) I would.

(Going through grocery bags) Sara: Bananas. Stuffed mushrooms. Warrick: Chocolate syrup, a six-pack of soda, a box of condoms. Sara: No surprises there. Warrick: Fresh bag of groceries in an unlocked car? Sara: Maybe she was interrupted.

Jeff Pike: ...Single girl. Alone in the house. Got my attention. I'm running for captain of the neighborhood watch. I'll probably have to self- appoint myself, but I'm going to put out a flyer, you know, about shutting doors, locking windows, I mean, the thing is ... you just don't think it's going to happen to you. You know what I'm saying? On your block... (Brass puts up a hand to stop the campaign speech) Brass: Mr Pike. Stop talking. I've never seen somebody so excited about their neighbor being killed.

Catherine Ah, the prodigal CSI returns. You get any sleep? Grissom: Not yet. Catherine: Brass had to let Dr. Tripton go. The ol' sex alibi. Too bad he didn't leave a toe print on a scapel blade. Grissom: You got a take on him yet? Catherine: Balloon head, but credible... like most adulterers.

Catherine: One thing I can never get over about this job: anything can happen to anybody. Grissom: That's why we're here.

(the CSI team is collecting prints from doctors) Dr. Lurie: You understand, right? Police aren't the only ones with a code of honor. Some of these men are married, and if this gets out... Brass: Nothing gets out, unless it needs to get out.