Were you a good mother?
I... I did the best I could. Please...
How does a good mother let her boy get taken by a maniac?
Let us see James.
Not until you answer my questions.
The scar on the back of James' head, how did he get that?
I know this is excruciating, but the longer we keep
the kidnapper talking, the better chance we have
to find some kind of leverage.
Uh, we were playing baseball.
He took a pitch, turned his head.
It was an accident.
Then why were Child Services called?
He was mad at me, so he called them.
Mad? Anything to do with you banging the former housekeeper?
You son of a bitch.
That's enough. Give me back my boy.
Hello.
My name's Eric Beaumont.
- I said no police. - I'm not.
I'm a negotiator.
In exchange for James's life,
I'm willing to get you whatever you want.
First, I need to know that James is alive.
Alive? Okay.
I'll show you alive.
They're rich.
Why not just ask for the money and be done with it?
Well, the guy's an emotional sadist.
Takes pleasure in their suffering.
Seems to be going around.
Everywhere I look these days, there's another maniac.
Hey. What's going on? Talk to me.
It's my mom's birthday.
Low tolerance for sociopaths
today, I guess.
I should've remembered. I'm sorry.
It's okay.
- You know what I think? - What?
I think your mom would've liked me.
Me, too. Come here.
You were right, Eric.
This behavior is way too specific to be random.
The kidnapper's M.O.
fits a one Vincent Keough.
Wait. The Blue Blood Killer?
You know him? I studied him in school.
Matter of fact, he's from here, Connecticut.
This side, or the other side?
The other. He grew up poor, then became rich
and began targeting one percenters.
Killing... abducting...
their firstborn sons.
- Like our James. - Hey, Zara,
isn't Keough...
Serving five consecutive life sentences
at Osborn Correctional? Yeah.
So this is what?
Some kind of copycat?
What, some random person?
Wh-What the hell do they want with us?
Ben, whoever's behind this isn't looking
to just punish you and your wife.
He's hoping to wear you down.
There's a big demand coming, I can feel it.
You need to be clear-headed, okay?
Let's talk to Keough.
Might give us some kind of insight
into who we're dealing with.
Yeah, we're wasting time.
Keough's a master manipulator.
This guy loves the attention.
Zara, who put Keough in jail?
Mmm...
A Detective Colton Meyers.
Maybe we should talk to him first,
get a better understanding of who Vincent Keough was
when he was active.
I'll have him meet you outside the prison.
Synced & corrected by -robtor- www.addic7ed.com
Vincent Keough was a financial advisor.
Made some real money for his clients
before he started killing their sons.
How'd you catch him?
Got sloppy, abducted a kid in broad daylight.
His own girlfriend called it in.
Keough was patient, methodical.
Why'd he suddenly switch up his M.O.?
He thought we were getting close. Panicked.
Where was James Smith abducted?
Opening of a new wing of a hospital
donated by his parents.
Yeah, your copycat has done his homework.
That's Keough's kind of party.
Any last words?
Keough will see any attempt to manipulate a mile away,
so try active listening. Let his ego come to you.
Thank you for your help, Detective.
One last thing...
as I was taking Keough into custody,
he jammed a pen into that kid's femoral artery.
He was caught, he still did it.
Kid died in my arms. Whatever you need.
Hmm. Eric,
image and sound are up.
Mr. Keough?
My name's Eric Beaumont. I'm a negotiator.
You mind if we talk?
A negotiator.
How fun.
Usually, they send psychologists to pick my brain.
Green thumb?
Mm, more like a penchant for the misunderstood.
Solanum nigrum.
Black nightshade.
But for the likeness of its cousin, deadly nightshade,
which in large doses can cause temporary paralysis
and even death,
it's completely harmless.
I think you may have a copycat as well.
A boy has been taken and the kidnapper
borrowed your M.O. Any thoughts?
Tell him to get his own schtick.
Anyone contact you recently?
- Ask you about your crimes? - Well, as you can guess,
a man of my notoriety gets a lot of mail.
Oh, I understand that, of course.
How exactly can I help you, Mr. Beaumont?
I want you to help us stop him.
Whoever this copycat is, he's not you.
He doesn't have your education, your, uh,
refinement.
My guess is you'll make short work of this imposter.
I would love nothing more than to make amends for my past sins.
Training never leaves you, does it?
- Beg pardon? - Checking your corners. FBI?
And now he's a negotiator.
But why? Why did he leave?
I'm only here about the copycat.
Eric, the kidnapper
called back. He's on the line with the Smiths.
How would you like to make amends right now?
Very well. I only have one question.
- Sure, what's that? - Who'd you lose?
Thank you.
Detective Meyers, this is Mr. and Mrs. Smith.
- Hi. - Hi.
- How do you do? - Hey.
The warden let the call go through?
I think our clients may have something to do with it.
The governor and I go way back.
Yeah, she spoke to the warden on our behalf.
I have Vincent Keough on the line.
And a good day to you, my friend.
Are you still there?
How do I know it's really you?
Oh, well, from what I hear,
you're the expert on all things Vincent Keough.
Tell me about your first victim.
Ah, yes, the Radcliffe boy.
No, after your father.
The deer, the French River.
There was mention of it in the court documents,
but you never finished the story.
There's not much to tell, I'm afraid.
Isn't there something else?
He's agitated, Eric.
He doesn't want us to hear this.
I thought you wanted to make amends.
When I was ten, I came upon a fawn
and its mother trapped in the ice.
Freezing to death.
Drowning. I saved them.
But while they were still too cold to run away,
I took out my hunting knife
and slit the fawn's throat.
Pushed it back in the ice.
Watched it sink,
watched his mother drown trying to save her child.
Look, whoever you are,
I beg that you stop this madness now.
They're making you say that.
I assure you they're not.
You need to free that boy.
But your great opus...
Opus?
What opus?
Maybe Keough isn't finished killing.
Maybe there was a sequence,
could be why he got sloppy with his last victim.
I haven't a clue what you're on about,
but I beg that you listen to reason now.
You must free that boy.
Okay, if that's what you really want.
It is.
I would do anything for you.
James will call as soon as he's free.
There.
I guess happy endings do exist.
The deer.
Your first kill?
Oh, I did what you asked.
My regrettable encounter with Mother Nature
has nothing to do with your copycat.
I just have one question.
What's that?
Who'd you lose?
- Well, that was too easy. - Agreed.
It felt a lot like a performance.
I think Keough knows the copycat.
Serial killers need to be in control.
The copycat is likely a subordinate.
If he-he went off script
asking to hear that story about the deer,
it would explain why Keough got so upset.
That event is rooted in some significant trauma for Keough.
That's why the kidnapper put James in ice.
It's all connected.
And they mentioned Keough's father.
What do we know?
He was an alcoholic. Abandoned the family.
- What's this? - It's a holdback from the press.
It's a letter from Keough.
When he killed those boys,
he wrote that he "freed" them from the cycle of greed.
He told the copycat to "free" James.
Eric, it's James... he's on the phone.
Okay.
- James, just hold on. - We're gonna find you, sweetie.
- What's going on? - It's James.
James?
Where are you?
I'm in a coffin. He buried me.
He buried me alive.
- I've got the flashlight app on. - That's good,
that's good, sweetie.
You keep that on. We're gonna find you real soon.
I need to speak with your son.
I love you, sweetie.
We're gonna find you, I promise.
James...
there is only so much air in there.
What?
Oh, my God.
I want you to close your eyes. Can you do that for me?
- Yes. - Okay.
Now slow down your breathing.
All right, that's it, James, that's good.
Now, I want you to switch off the flashlight app,
and when you're ready...
hang up the phone.
We need to make sure
that the phone still has battery.
Y-You promise you'll find me?
I am gonna do
everything I can to find you.
I love you guys.
Kid get an ID?
No, kidnapper was masked. Gloved, even.
James couldn't give us anything. What about you?
No. Something's bouncing the cell signal around.
It's impossible to trace.
The coffin could be anywhere.
Keough knows this kidnapper.
Who's he had contact with?
No one.
Well, there's Lydia March.
- Who's that? - Local botanist.
Volunteers with the inmates.
A while back, she and Keough started writing letters.
Any chance there were secret messages? A code, maybe?
No, they were vetted by the guards.
Mostly talk about flowers, plants.
Keough's, uh, obsession with big banks.
Might be worth sending it back to Cri/Res for analysis.
- Has he had contact with anyone else? - I've just checked
the visitor log... there's nothing.
Except several requests
- for a Dale, uh... - McNamara.
Yes, uh, to visit, but the warden rejected them all.
Who's Dale McNamara?
The son of Keough's ex-girlfriend.
The woman who turned him in.
Why would he want to see her son?
- Keough's his father. - Mm-hmm.
Does Dale know that his father's
a killer?
His mother married a rich dentist.
He raised Dale as his own,
but we live in a small town, Mr. Beaumont.
What kind of kid is Dale?
Eric, you're not seriously considering...
- You just said yourself he's a kid. - I know.
But we have nothing to bargain with.
Right now Dale is the only thing that we know Keough wants.
Putting Dale in a room with Keough
could cause a great deal of trauma for him.
It may also rattle Keough enough
for us to poke a hole in that armor of his.
- But shouldn't we... - Coffins are airtight, Maxine.
James could have less than six hours left.
Look, I will talk to Dale first.
I won't send him in unprepared, okay?
Would you mind visiting the botanist?
Yeah. I'll join you.
Thank you.
Vincent and I are friendly,
but I would hardly call us associates.
I just... volunteer once a week.
I use plants
to teach them about how fragile life is.
The inmates seem to enjoy it.
But you've only written to Keough.
Vincent really took to the plant program.
- He's a changed man. - Men like Vincent Keough
don't change. You know this
from personal experience?
Vincent's not like other men.
He's refined.
His words bring a great deal of happiness to me.
- He's a serial killer. - Having been bankrupted
and hounded by the IRS
while Wall Street runs amok,
I am naturally sympathetic to his political message.
Men like Keough use those ideas to prey on the weak.
Because the weak refuse to see the world
as the corrupt swamp that it actually is.
One more thing.
Does he look familiar to you?
Vincent is in prison! How the hell
do you expect him to do something like that?
I would like you to leave.
Well, thank you for your time.
Well?
Did he release the boy?
Don't you mean "free"?
Did he "free" the boy?
I have the letter, Vincent.
The one that was never released to the public
but somehow the copycat has intimate knowledge on.
"Free" means "kill," doesn't it?
- You're grasping. - Come on, Keough.
You know the copycat.
He knew about the opus, the deer.
End this now.
Is that all you have?
Am I to falter
under your pathetic plea to save James Smith?
No. Not mine.
His.
Vincent Keough...
this is Dale McNamara.
This son I know who he is.
I wanted to be the one to tell the truth about me.
Like your heartless mother build me to it.
My mother didn't tell me anything.
It's a small town... the other kids couldn't wait
to torment me about my dad
the serial killer.
Before we go any further...
- I am not a killer. - Dale,
is there something you'd like to ask your father?
- I am a prophet. - Dale...
- A revolutionary. - Dale...
A divining rod pointing to where the truth
- is buried. - Dale, please.
- Yes, Dale, please! Please! - Where is he?!
Where is James Smith?
Haven't you ruined enough lives?
Haven't you caused enough pain?
Does your stepdad treat you differently than your siblings,
his real children?
- Okay, that's enough. - Oh, they think that
you're going to turn out to be like me: a monster.
But deep down, your stepdad knows
your mother is trash.
Tell me, Dale,
who has caused you
the most pain? Hmm?
Stop it.
I am nothing like you.
You should be so lucky.
Your mother was a parasite when I found her.
Barfly.
A mattress back.
Breeding and feeding off of anybody that would have her.
Hey, you think you're so great, huh?!
Whoa.
You are nothing
- Hey. - but a fraud...
...a phony.
Pull him off!
Get him off me!
Okay, okay, okay.
Aren't family reunions delightful?
Tell me where James is.
I am disappointed in you, Mr. Beaumont.
Do most of the people you usually come up against
- just hand over information? - The warden refused
every request you made to see your son.
I made that happen.
Mr. Beaumont, please.
I can get you visitations,
make contact with his mother on your behalf...
Don't lowball me!
You want James Smith.
I can show you where he is,
but I will only do it in person.
I want out of this hellhole.
And there's the big demand.
What?
What are you smiling about?
We're finally negotiating.
Think the botanist is the copycat?
I think she's deluded.
I think she traded her identity
for the kind words of a lunatic.
You okay?
Yeah. Sorry.
She hit a nerve, I guess.
Your mother's birthday is hard for me, too.
Keough isn't Delaine, you know?
We can't lose focus, okay?
Lydia is antisocial, a loner.
She's completely enamored with Keough.
She fits the profile.
You show her the photo of James?
She acted like she was horrified.
- I didn't buy it. - Well, if it is her,
she had to be conspiring with Keough somehow.
We've already sent her letters to Cri/Res for analysis,
so we should have something soon. Go ahead.
How did it go with Dale?
Well, you may have been right
about putting him in a room with Keough.
He's pretty upset.
Detective Meyers is finding him a ride home.
Why don't I do it?
You sure?
Yeah.
We can commiserate about what a bad person you are.
We can't just rush to conclusions.
Please, you need to take a deep breath...
No. Look, if Vincent Keough needs
to be let out temporarily in order to find James, then...
Whoa, whoa, what's going on?
You're not getting anywhere.
Why do you think Keough chose James?
- How should I know? - He chose James
because he knew, pushed hard enough,
you would use your influence to get him out of prison.
Everything we've done was to find out
what the big demand would be, and now we know it.
Don't... don't give away our leverage.
- You don't understand. - Early this year,
my daughter Evie was abducted by a madman.
So what would you have us do?
What I did.
Trust my team.
Tactic?
Keough can be rattled.
Dale proved that.
And he's completing an opus,
so the location where James is buried
should be significant.
Now, we pick the right scab,
and he may reveal where that is.
Distributive negotiation.
Call it what you want.
I'm just gonna piss him off.
Ah.
Good tidings, I hope.
Did you really think that pathetic routine
was gonna get you out of here, hmm?
You really that stupid?
I strongly advise you to watch your tone,
Mr. Beaumont.
Those things you said about, um, Dale's mother...
the feeding, the breeding...
you're actually talking about yourself.
You're part of the same hypocrisy.
I'm nothing like her.
Trading in slums for a Bentley and a house
in the Gold Coast?
Yeah, you're, uh... you're worlds apart.
That was a way in.
Access to the people I needed to punish.
Oh, so you followed rich people around
like a sad little puppy so you could get your revenge.
I was building up a tolerance.
Ingesting tiny bits of their lives
until I could stomach to be around them.
Except they wouldn't have you, would they?
They couldn't have me.
Because you will always be that poor kid from the slums
with a drunk for a dad.
And what about you, Mr. White Knight?
You trying to save James or yourself?
That's not it, is it?
Who did you lose? Was it a wife or a mother
or a lover or a combination?
- It's not that they didn'twant you... - See, the thing you'll learn, Eric,
- is that when you align yourself... - ...you were just never comfortable.
- With the rich... - Because deep down
- you knew who you were. - ...they will always let you down.
- You hate yourself. - You have no idea what I lost
at the hands of the establishment.
You think you should be immune to a run of bad luck?
What happened to my father
was much more than a run of bad luck!
Your father was a drunk, a deadbeat.
Shut your mouth!
Whatever happened to him was his fault.
They ruined him!
- Really? Really? - Yes!
What'd you see that day, huh? Before the deer.
Before you became a killer.
You think that your privilege
- can handle the truth of my life? - Hell yeah.
What happened?
- You want to know? - Oh, yeah.
Do you really want to know?
Oh, sure. Why not?
Ah.
Right on time.
I don't like this any more than you do,
but Keough's coming with me.
We just want our son back.
James is the final movement in Keough's opus.
That's why he wants out.
You're not saving your son.
You're serving him up on an altar.
I'm sorry. We'll send you a check.
Stay on Keough.
Eric, they fired us.
I know. I don't care.
We're missing something and I'm gonna find it.
That, uh, must've been a lot to process.
You know, my mother was involved with a man like your father.
He got into her head.
Turned her into a weapon.
Convinced her she was willing to kill.
What happened?
Someone... intervened.
It's not easy growing up knowing that's where you came from.
I've always just felt like an intruder
in my own life, you know?
Yeah.
Thank you.
We checked the perimeter.
So far no signs of ambush or a fresh grave.
Lydia March?
She packed a bag and the safe is empty.
Think she left town.
So she was the copycat?
All right, people.
I want an APB on Lydia March, aged 49.
He's running out of air, Colton.
You have less than an hour left.
One false move, you get a bullet in the back of the head.
Now where is he?
Let's go.
Eric, they're at the greenhouse.
Stay with them.
Got it.
Crisis Resolutions.
Zara, you really shouldn't be working.
Eric, I'm five centimeters dilated
and somebody's kid is trapped in a coffin.
Do you really want to debate me?
Okay. F-Fine.
Listen, I'm gonna send you a picture.
Get the Natural Language Processor
to apply Alberti's disk to Keough's letters.
Okay. What's Alberti's disk?
It's like a-a purposely rearranged alphabet in a circle.
You, uh, you put the regular alphabet over it
and presto, you have a code.
- On it. - Okay, great.
Aren't they exquisite?
Quit stalling, Keough.
Where the hell is he?
Yeah?
Eric, NLP found the code. It applied the Alberti's disk
to the letters between Lydia March and Keough
and found detailed instructions on how and when
to kidnap James Smith.
It's all here.
So it was Lydia?
Well, NLP found
a discrepancy in the gender category.
How so? In the earlier letters,
the author used the feminine pronouns "I, she, we,"
but then about three years ago, it changed.
The pronouns were replaced with the articles "the, a, mine, it"
and numbers.
So, the author of the most recent letters was masculine?
Exactly. Not Lydia.
Really? This job was your dream?
Well, the Spice Girls already had a redhead.
No. Uh... after my mom died, the path led me here,
helping people like her.
Yeah.
Yeah, that's pretty cool.
I don't feel that strongly about...
anything.
I mean, my stepdad's a dentist.
My mom...
I don't know.
I don't want to be like either of them.
Well, as long as you don't end up like Vincent Keough,
I think you'll be fine.
Uh, sorry. What do you mean by that?
Oh.
Eric, hi.
Is Dale with you? Yeah, I'm just dropping him off.
Don't react.
Dale is the copycat.
Lydia was writing letters between father and son.
Just a conduit. Don't provoke him.
Just leave.
Yeah. See you soon.
You're good.
You disarmed me.
You got me talking.
You son of bitch.
It's a liquid form of deadly nightshade.
Huh? Why am I not affected?
Well, that's a good question, Meyers.
That's because the plant in my cell
is actually deadly nightshade.
And I've been microdosing
for five years.
Building up an immunity.
Thank you for asking.
Eric.
Oliver, it's a trap.
You've got to warn Meyers.
- Inside. - Oliver, can you hear me?
Oliver?
Guard!
Hello.
So, who are you?
It's so good to see you on the outside.
It's good to see you, too, son.
Can you put Mr...
Yates in the van with the coffin?
Let's go.
You haven't buried him yet.
It's airtight.
He's dying as we speak.
Let's go.
James.
Yeah.
James, my name is Oliver Yates. Can you hear me?
Yeah, I can hear you.
- Oh, thank God, okay. - You gotta get me out of here.
Stay with me, man.
All right? Stay with me.
We're really gonna do this. We're gonna finish your opus.
"We" is right, but it's just Dale and I now.
What?
Uh... you said that we were gonna do this together.
Yes. Then you opened up your stupid little mouth
about my grand opus.
You risked everything.
And, Lydia, what the hell was that about the French River?
You kept using our letters to talk to your son,
but you said you loved me. I need you.
I have all these questions,
and you keep ignoring me.
I just want to know everything about you.
Well, you screwed up.
This better be someone other than Zara Hallam.
Eric,
seven centimeters dilated, so I'll make this quick.
I requested satellite imaging of all of the burial sites
of Keough's previous victims.
Does the shape match any of the zodiac signs?
Nope. Not even close.
That doesn't make any sense.
Alberti's disk was on the ceiling, right by the zodiac.
I would've bet a million bucks...
Wait.
Keough hates greed, people who worship money.
Zara, send me the satellite image of the burial sites.
Okay.
Sent.
Oh, my God, I don't believe it.
What is it?
It's EURion.
What's that?
The EURion constellation.
It's-it's not a real constellation,
it's a symbol on all paper currencies.
It's an anti-counterfeiting measure.
A sequence of five rings.
Four of the victims are buried already.
So we can use the fifth ring
to figure out where James is buried.
It's an old sawmill.
Sending you geo coordinates right now.
Ooh!
- Zara, you okay? - Yup, yup!
Just... having a baby. Good luck.
Nurse!
Uh...
Oh, God. Okay.
Fill it in, please.
No.
I said no.
Dale, when he has to choose
between your life and his freedom,
which way do you think he's gonna go, huh?
He said fill it in.
The next one's in his chest!
- Okay, okay. - Dig! Dig!
Let me tell you
about my father.
Spent years trying to find work,
but those rich bastards in town,
well, they couldn't look down their nose far enough at him.
This place... Eric was right.
It all started here. Your father didn't just
run off, did he?
I saw it in his eyes.
He'd had enough.
They'd finally broken him.
That's why I followed him up here to this very spot.
His shotgun in his hand, and I begged him to stop.
But he just looked right through me.
He turned the barrel around...
Blew his brains out.
Then you walked out here,
and you saw the fawn at the French River.
Everything I've done,
my grand opus, it's a love letter
from son to father. And now, from father to son.
James just ran out of air.
Brain damage in seven minutes.
Dead in ten. No saving him now.
You know what, Keough?
You're full of crap.
What about Lydia?
- I'm sorry, who? - She worshipped you,
- and you threw her away. - You can't throw trash away,
Mr. Yates.
It's trash!
Was your father trash?
I wonder, could he not find work
or could he just not hold down a job?
- I beg your pardon? - There's no message here.
You're not a prophet. Your son is right. You're a fraud.
Good-bye, Mr. Yates.
- Okay! Okay! - Put it down!
Put it down!
Dale, you don't have to do this.
Your father's not worth it.
What do you know?!
Huh?! Orphan girl,
- you even know your father?! - You don't have to be
an intruder in your own life. There are other ways.
- I promise you. - I tried and they didn't work!
You move that knife one more inch, I swear to God...
- Yeah? - You'll what?
Look at your hands.
You won't do anything.
Yes, I will.
- Slit his throat. - Maxine...
- Oli... - Oh, my goodness.
You're sweethearts.
Maxine, I love you.
Dale...
Do it! Now!
Not another move, Keough!
Oliver? Are you okay?
- Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. - James? James, James.
- James! - James!
James!
- James! Please wake up! - Get in here!
Honey.
Oh... oh.
The past has a strong hold on us, doesn't it?
Informs our future more than it has any right to.
I can't feel my fingertips.
You're in shock.
I thought if I...
shared your commitment to preserving life,
if I worked the job just like you did,
- it would bring me peace. - Maxine...
All it brought me was more death.
He was just a stupid kid.
Look, I'm not gonna tell you
that you did the right thing, because it didn't help
when everyone said that to me.
Just remember...
you saved a good man's life tonight.
You're okay.
How is it that I just had a baby and you look worse than I do?
- Botox. - Oh, don't make me hurt you, Yates.
Hey, buddy.
So you're the reason I had to drive myself to work today.
You did some job, Zara. He's perfect.
- Mm. - You think of a name yet?
Guys, can you give us a second?
- Sure. - Yeah.
Hey.
Good day?
Yeah. Great day.
Oh.
- Come on. Do you want to hold him? - Oh, Zara,
- I-I don't know. - Please.
I would like him to meet his namesake.
- Really? - Yeah.
Max, meet Max.
Hi, Max.
Hello, Max.
Yes, hello.
Mike is really upset.
He wanted me to name him Wilf.
- Oh. - Oh. I know.
- Yeah, you wouldn't like that. - No.
- You wouldn't like that. No. - Mm.
Yes. All the faces. Yes.
You're good at this.
Dear Eric,
I'm writing a letter because if I did this in person,
you'd probably cry.
Joking. We probably both would.
I'm not sure what I expected joining Cri/Res,
but I know it didn't include taking a life.
When my mother died, I was alone.
And I felt that way
until I learned you two had been in love.
Delaine turned her into an object...
a device.
But knowing she was capable of love made her human again.
I want to feel that way again, too.
It just seems so far away right now.
You hired me to bug you, Eric,
and I hope I did my job well.
But not too well.
With love, Maxine.