The Rookie

No, but seriously, what is it like dating a celebrity?

Awesome.

Yeah, he can always get a reservation,

and the parties are sick.

Reservations.

Well, we're happy that you're happy.

Liar.

No!

No! No. I am.

It's just -- Aah!

Men suck!

Ouch. Okay, no.

The -- The single men in LA suck.

Every time I go out on a date

and they find out that I'm a cop,

they just get scared off.

Uh, except for the freak who begged you

to pepper spray his junk.

Oh! Peter Pepper-balls.

Wow!

I told you that in confidence.

Look, those aren't men. Those are boys, okay?

Real men are not afraid of strong women.

Also, I hate to be the bearer of bad news --

dating a civilian, bad idea.

I was told dating cops was a mistake.

What, am I supposed to join a nunnery?

Sister Officer Lucy Chen?

Look, no, I'm saying that --

right now, end of shift means

leaving the job behind when you go home.

But in success, each one of you is gonna catch cases

that kick your ass,

that consume your every waking thought.

And non-cops won't be able to identify.

Worse.

They're gonna resent you

for caring more about the dead than the living.

Was your wife on the job?

No. No. She was an elementary school teacher.

Yeah, kept me sane. Totally sane.

I don't know what I did for her.

Made her laugh, I guess -- on a good day.

Anyway, time for another round.

Hey, no, no, no. Uh, I got it. I got it.

Sorry.

Excuse me.

Sorry!

Excuse me?

Yeah, okay.

Pace yourself. It's a marathon, not a sprint.

Have you been waiting here long?

What month is it?

Ohh.

Maybe we should just hop the counter.

Yeah, I'm not much of a hopper,

but I am a rock star at creating diversion.

How do you feel about small fires?

Mm. Define "small."

Caleb.

Lucy.

Nice to meet you.

What brings you out on a Wednesday night?

Uh, I'm just...hanging out with some friends from work.

Oh, looks like a fun group.

What do you do?

I, uh...

I-I work for the city.

Mm.

Let me guess -- garbage man.

Sorry. Garbage person.

Yeah. Uh, actually, I prefer "sanitation goddess."

Seriously?

What?

Uh, nothing. I --

Sorry.

Is everything okay?

Sorry. I-It was really nice to meet you.

Hey. Stop. You're under arrest.

Don't move.

Surprise. I'm a cop.

Hey.

Are you going to work?

Ah, figured it was time to get off the couch.

The doctor said to take it easy. You sure you're ready?

Yeah.

Yeah, the pills are working.

I haven't had a panic attack since the first one.

I'm all good.

Okay. I just worry, you know?

I know.

But today is gonna be a great day.

Mm.

There's coffee in the kitchen.

Let me take a quick shower, and I'll walk out with you.

Okay.

At 0500 this morning,

guards at Central California Women's Facility

prepared prisoner 081316 for transport.

Rosalind Dyer, the most rare of unicorns --

a female serial killer.

For the last five years, she's been on death row,

confined to an 11-by-8 cell.

Today, she's coming to us.

Now, before I get to assignment details,

I want to defer to Assistant District Attorney Del Monte

for background on Ms. Dyer.

Sean?

Thank you, Sergeant.

Good morning, everyone. Good morning.

My name is Sean Del Monte.

For those of you who are not familiar with this case,

in 2015, Rosalind Dyer was convicted

in the torture and mutilation killings of seven individuals.

But there's evidence that the body count is much higher.

In three of those seven murders, the bodies were never recovered,

so now Dyer has agreed to show us the location

of those three victims.

Excuse me, sir. In exchange for what?

Well, her sentence will be commuted

from death to life without parole.

Why the hell are we cutting her that break?

Well, it's not for her.

It's for the families of those victims.

They've been waiting a long time for closure.

Yeah, what about the other families?

The ones that we promised the death penalty?

What do we tell them? 'Cause they're calling me.

Just tell them it's above your pay grade, Detective.

Why does she have to come here?

Can't she just tell you where the bodies are?

She claims not to know their precise locations.

Griffith Park is over 4,000 acres.

Dyer says the only way she'll be able to identify the dig sites

is by retracing her original footsteps.

Sounds like an excuse

to get out in the sun, relive her kills.

Maybe, but she knows if she doesn't lead us

to all three bodies that the deal is off, so...

Okay, let's get down to it.

First, the station needs to be locked down for her arrival.

Processing is officially closed for business.

All suspects in our holding cells

will be shipped to the Twin Towers.

This is so surreal. An honest-to-God serial killer?

The psychology is pretty fascinating --

well, biology, really.

Brain-scan research shows clear differences in the amygdala

and the supramarginal gyrus of a signature killer.

English?

They lack the ability to feel empathy.

There's also data that suggests

some psychopaths could have a decreased sense of smell.

Making it easier for them to deal with dead bodies?

Man, the universe has a sick sense of humor.

Yeah, it's like a whole kind of different species

than the normal riffraff we handle.

The meat and potato criminals.

What did we arrest you for?

I stole my neighbor's sex doll.

Said with no shame at all.

A man has needs. Right.

And they're usually transactional in nature.

You're horny, you steal a sex toy from your neighbor,

and then you get caught because no thought or planning

goes into the act.

Right. Only, with Rosalind,

the act that fulfilled the need was torture.

Man, woman, black, white --

each one scratched a different itch.

Damn. That girl is messed up.

I was in college when they found the first victims.

It was all anyone talked about --

that and "How could a woman be so barbaric?"

I worked one of the scenes.

Fourth victim -- Lisa Cruz.

Homicide detectives warned me not to look at the body.

Should've listened. Oh, my God.

Lucy.

Uh...hey.

Caleb, from the bar last night.

Yeah. Uh...

I hope this isn't weird, but you left with your perp

before I had a chance to ask your number.

We don't call them "perps."

Right. Sorry.

Anyway, this is my info.

If you ever feel like waiting in vain for a drink,

give me a call.

You got a last name, there, Caleb?

Uh, yes, sir. Wright, with a "W."

What do you do?

If you say "screenwriter," you're going in a cell.

I manage a medical supply company downtown.

I'm sorry about him. Things are a little crazy right now.

No problem. It was nice meeting you.

Officer.

What?

Hey.

You okay?