Grissom: Am I, uh, interrupting your laundry?
Syd: I'm just doing some gym towels. (Grissom doesn't say anything. He stares at the hair on Syd's head. Syd notices it and calmly, boldly takes off his wig)
Grissom: You were so meticulous about so many things. Shaving. The gloves. Planted evidence. That's why I don't understand why you'd bring towels that eventually could be tracked.
Syd: I don't know what you're talking about.
Grissom: Strong's gym. That's where the women told you to you to get lost, right? Stuffing club towels down their throat make your point?
Syd: You know, the thing with women ... is they work out because they want us to look at them. And then they ... parade around. And you just want to ... say hello. Everybody knows white cotton fibers aren't like fingerprints. They
can't be traced. You don't get a ... match on a towel.
Grissom: In theory. But the truth is every object is changed by its owner. By his habits. His ... washing machine, for instance. His detergent.
Syd (smiles): The totality of microscopic elements. It's Locard's Theory.
Grissom (hearing the washing machine start thumping): Your towel is caught in the agitator. Now, see, that's going to leave distinctive marks on the fabric, Syd. And that's just the beginning. I've had a look at your garbage.
Syd: You were in my apartment. Now, nothing from there's admissible in court.
Grissom: Your garbage is in a public area ... plain sight. It's enough for me
to get a warrant. (Syd knows that he's caught. Grissom looks towards the noisy washing machine, Syd grabs a wrench off of the table, he swings. Grissom raises a hand to block the blow to his head and gets caught in the side of his arm. He does down. Syd drops the wrench and picks up a shovel. He raises it high above his head to swing. Grissom puts up a hand to block the blow when a gun is fired, Grissom looks up and sees Catherine killed him)
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