Law & Order Toronto: Criminal Intent

In Toronto's war on crime,

the worst offenders are pursued by the detectives

of the Specialized Criminal Investigations Unit.

These are their stories.

Barbara, you should've brought flowers

for her birthday.

I don't need flowers.

I need news, Detective Michaels.

I can't go on like this.

We've run out of leads.

Find new ones.

Let's go.

Looking good, Ainsley.

Alright.

Love that pose.

Alright, I think we're done.

Stay for a drink?

Thanks, Riley, but I think I'm just gonna go.

Everything okay?

Sure.

Never gonna be hotter than I am now, right?

Stunning.

The clothes or the ladies, Craig?

Wendy, there's only one lady in this room for me.

No open drinks near the samples!

Hey, Ainsley, is that your name?

The girls have to get ready for the finale. Help them.

Be helpful.

Hold this.

Are you even in the right look?!

It's the last flavor.

Tanya, this is not what I expected!

Hey, ladies? Eyes on me, please.

Remember what we talked about. Powerful and fluid.

Let's have some fun.

Mr. Sharpe.

Excuse me.

You wish you were out there?

No, I appreciate this job.

But, yeah.

Well, we'll have lunch on Monday

and we'll talk about your future.

You can still get me into the after-party, right?

Oh, my God.

I'm leaving and you should too.

It's about to become hunting hour.

The plus one remains.

Oh, uh, sorry.

It's okay. Let me get you another.

- Are you a designer? - Cosmetic surgeon.

Mm.

I'm the reason why everyone here looks so good.

My friend found this online.

I don't know what you're talking about.

You lied to me. You said it was for your portfolio...

- Get ahold of yourself. - Take this down!

Hey, I am working right now, okay? Hey! What are you...

Don't touch her!

Whoa, whoa, Riley.

Let's get back to work. Right now.

Hey.

I think it's time to call it a night, okay?

Frank, take care of this?

Come on. Let's get you out of here.

Help! Help! Help!

Stop, stop!

Wait, wait, wait, stop! Stop!

This is the new east end hectare.

We started emptying the trucks into this section

a couple weeks ago after the old one got full up.

I mean, if she'd been dumped into the old site,

we never would have seen her.

- Lucky. - Yeah.

Was thinking I would buy a lotto ticket on my way home.

Yeah, you guys got a system in place

for tracking what part of the city she comes from?

Give me a sec. I can narrow it down

to within about four blocks.

Thanks.

What is she, 19, 20 years old tops?

Bruising on the throat.

Petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes.

She was strangled.

New polish, but the nails have been clipped and cleaned.

Maybe she fought back

and the killer rewarded her with postmortem manicure.

No trace evidence.

These marks on her body, they're not bruises.

Stains maybe?

These scrapes, they didn't bleed,

they were made postmortem.

Maybe the killer dragged her after she was killed.

A person adjusts their grip and repositions.

These are deep and continuous.

I'm not sure she was dumped from that truck.

I think she was dragged here by a vehicle.

Graff.

Rear axle, another tarp.

That loader could have dragged her.

Ainsley Scott, Elmira, Ontario.

She was to turn 19 next week.

So if that isn't exactly where she was dumped,

does that mean we're looking at more than just the east end?

If she was dragged from a different hectare.

She could have been thrown into any dumpster in the GTA.

Mr. Scott, why did Ainsley move to Toronto?

Ainsley came to the city to be famous.

That's all she ever wanted.

Uh, her mother passed five years ago,

a drunk driver.

She had Ainsley in dance and acting classes

before her first holy communion.

Lot of good that did her.

"A lot of good that did her,"

referring to the sacrament or the vocation?

Take your pick.

It's hard to shake that Catholic guilt.

No, I'm lapsed.

Well, obviously, something's bothering you, sir.

You're evading eye contact,

rubbing your neck with one hand, nodding.

That's the Holy Trinity of non-verbal guilt right there.

Are you insinuating that I have something to do with

my daughter's death? - No, sir.

I'm insinuating that you think you did.

Ainsley called last week...

excited.

"Daddy, I think I got my big break."

Said she needed $700 for headshots.

I told her I didn't have it.

"Maybe your birthday, sweetheart?"

So she said she'd find another way.

Is this why this happened to her,

because she found another way?

Um, did she tell you what that, uh, big break was?

I didn't wanna jinx it.

Here.

I'll give you a moment.

If Ainsley's body was dumped here,

she was picked up on Friday.

- Oh. - Thank you.

I got it. Here. - Thank you.

Sorry, detectives. She wasn't dumped at her building.

She's only been dead three days tops.

Well, there's no collection on Sundays,

so wherever she was dumped, she was picked up on Monday.

Judging by the way her larynx was fractured,

the killer most likely used his elbow or forearm

and put his entire body weight on top of her

to close her airway.

Vaginal injuries, tearing,

all consistent with sexual assault,

but an absence of seminal fluid.

The killer wore a condom. There's residue.

But no DNA.

Now we know that sexual murders are committed

by one of two kinds of people with pathological disorders.

Those who kill to hide the sexual assault

and those who find gratification in the act of killing itself.

The latter are planners. Harder to catch.

Explains the condom

and the clipping and cleaning of the fingernails.

What about those, uh, those blue marks on her skin?

Results aren't back yet. Most likely some sort of dye.

Is this the trash from ident?

Yeah.

They appear to be mostly fabric swatches.

See the light pass through?

There's pilling. It's cheap.

Disperse blue.

A derivative dye often used in outdoor textiles.

Exactly. Outdoor blankets, tablecloths.

When, uh, clothing manufacturers use it to cut costs,

given the right moisture conditions, it can stain skin.

Huh. Okay, so these swatches

were caught up in the tarp she was wrapped in,

so what are we thinking? Dumpster from a fabric store?

Clothing manufacturer, textile mill,

somewhere that has its trash collected on Mondays

and no doubt a, uh, CCTV dead zone.

The killer,

he keeps telling us that he's smart.

Let's believe him.

Four down, two to go.

There's no security cameras. This could be it.

Remote, not much traffic.

Call in the ident team?

Before we waste their time, let's see if we're wasting ours.

Bateman.

Call them in.

We found our dumpster.

The owner of Walsh's Textile Mill is in France.

He's been there for the last five months.

Must be nice. What about an employee?

No, they didn't recognize Ainsley from the photographs.

They're mostly older women, new Canadians.

Probably don't wanna get on the wrong side of the law,

and it doesn't really fit the profile, does it?

No, our killer took his time. He's entitled.

Plus, the land isn't fenced in.