The Mentalist

We've got Claire Wolcott... female, Caucasian, 32 years old.

She was found shot to death in her room.

Her husband's got friends at the Governor's office,

so he called in some favors.

He wants the investigation to be kept discreet and low-key.

His wife gets murdered and his priority is discretion?

Oh. Okay.

Yep, Mrs. Wolcott was cheating on Mr. Wolcott...

Which makes Mr. Wolcott suspect number one.

Number two. Number one would be Mrs. Wolcott's mystery lover.

The room was registered

in Claire Wolcott's name, so no help there.

At 2:24 a.m., hotel staff and guests heard three gunshots,

but they didn't know where they were coming from.

15, 20 minutes later, they come here and call 911.

Whoa. Found a shell.

Looks like a 9-millimeter. - And another.

Mark 'em for forensics.

So the lover didn't do it. - Because?

The, uh, shell casing things

indicate the shooter was across the room here.

He or she stepped in from outside

and started blasting away.

If the lover had done it, he'd have been closer to the victim,

and he wouldn't have had to shoot as many times.

And look. Circular,

which means a vertical drip

from someone standing right here, bleeding. Right?

Not spatter from the victim.

You're a forensics expert now?

So Claire and mystery lover are asleep.

Someone comes in through the open door,

shoots them, leaves. Poor lover is woken by a bullet,

Claire dead next to him. "Aah!" Freaks out.

But nobody comes right away.

Mystery lover, who is only slightly wounded,

gets to thinking maybe the best thing to do is just...

slip away, out here.

You two finish up here.

Yes, boss.

Here.

There you go.

Clean one.

Anything else?

No.

"Doc lady."

The silver caddy arrived last night at 2:31.

Ah. That's about seven and a half minutes

after the shooting took place. - Name and room number?

Open it.

Psst.

Hey. Wake up. - Oh, my god. Who are you?

It's all right, ma'am. We're CBI.

We need to talk to you, sir. - What's this about?

Take a wild guess. - Put your hands in the air.

Okay. I'm, uh, I'm not under arrest, am I?

'Cause I've done nothing wrong.

Pants on. We'll talk after.

This is Kevin Haightly, resort manager.

Hi. Um, I know we can't expect to get the room back,

but when might the walkway be open for use, do you think?

That depends on when forensics is done. We'll let you know.

Okay. Thanks.

It was a cold night, so we lit a fire and made love.

We went to sleep afterwards, and suddenly there was,

like, a sharp pain and bang! I wake up,

and there's blood everywhere and I'm shot in the arm

and Claire's dead. You know, I freaked.

You didn't see who did it? - No.

Why'd you leave?

Claire was dead. I couldn't help her,

and I couldn't help you guys. I didn't see anything, so...

You know, what could I contribute?

She's a married woman.

Yeah, we know that. And Jill Rubenstein...

what's your connection with her? - The doctor lady?

I met her in the parking lot and asked her for help.

A complete stranger takes you to her room,

treats your wound and then has sexual intercourse with you?

What can I say? The hippocratic oath is a beautiful thing.

How well did you know Claire Wolcott?

Uh, I don't really know her that well.

I met her just a few weeks ago.

She was at a bar, and I picked her up.

Since then, I've seen her occasionally for sex. - Is that what happened last night?

Yeah. I called and asked her to meet me for a drink.

We came here.

Did anybody else know you were here? - Nobody. Just me and Claire.

And how long had you been in the room?

Um, a few hours.

I'd agreed to, uh, you know, stay the night.

I was fond of Claire,

and it's a long drive home, so I stayed.

I don't normally do that. - No? What... what's your normal procedure?

After lovemaking? Depends on the type of woman.

So you've got it down to a science. - I'm good at what I do.

Okay, Mr. Fricke, and what is it that you do?

I'm a pickup artist.

Mm.

A, uh, woman whisperer, if you will.

A pickup artist... that's your profession?

You sound like my mom.

Um, it's more of a total lifestyle kind of thing.

You know? I-I practice my art, of course. That's my passion.

But I teach and I blog also,

um, conduct seminars, workshops, that sort of thing.

Is that good money? - Not bad.

And do you take money from the women you pick up? - Sometimes, when I need to.

Did you take money from Claire Wolcott?

No. No. Like I say, I was fond of Claire.

Um, I planned to see her again.

You really only want to monetize as an exit strategy.

Paul, is your mother still alive?

I know where you're going with this, Dr. Freud,

And, uh, you're wrong.

My mom's dead, as it goes,

but, uh, I loved her dearly, and she loved me.

Who said anything about your mother?

You just did. - No, I didn't.

Yes, you did. - Didn't.

What are you talking about? - I'm just kidding. Just playing with you, Paul.

Just kidding, mucking around.

Yeah. Are we done here?

Do you know who killed Claire?

No.

Interesting.

He's either a habitual liar telling the truth

or he's an honest man lying.

Do you keep a list of your pickups?

Yeah, of course. I, uh, I have 'em here.

Names, numbers and a 1 to 10 grading system.

Nice. Something to show your grandkids.

We're gonna need you to forward a copy of that list to us.

Oh. Yeah, sure.

What, you think maybe this was a jealous ex-lover?

Could be.

Wow.

I say we bring him in anyway, for creepiness.

Which should be a criminal offense, but isn't.

He could have shot her, then shot himself to cover it up.

He simply could have shot her and left. - He didn't have the gun on him,

local P.D. has searched every inch of this place and found nothing. He's clean. - Maybe someone's trying to kill him, not her.

Not likely. The room was registered

in Claire Wolcott's name. No one else knew he was there. - What was she thinking?

She was so beautiful, and he's so... creepy.

Yeah, that Dr. Rubenstein was hot, too. How does he do it?

All you need is a basic understanding

of the evolutionary psychology of women,

rigorously and fearlessly applied.

You gotta know what buttons to press.

Like we're toasters? - Like men don't have buttons, too?

Men are like toasters.

Women... a little more like, uh, accordions.

I thought that was a compliment.

Mr. Wolcott?

Thank you for coming. I'm so sorry for your loss.

The effects you requested...

photos, video of Claire.

We'll return this to you as soon as possible.

I was just upstairs

speaking with my friend the Attorney General,

And I told him that I will not rest

Until the man who did this is brought to justice.

I will not rest.

I know I can expect the same from you and your people. - I assure you

This unit does the best we can with every case we run. Cho?

If it's convenient,

Agent Cho would like to ask you a few questions.

Hi.

When did you speak to your wife last?

I was in San Francisco on a business dinner.

I called Claire around midday,

Told her I'll probably be staying in town that night.

Did you? Stay the night in town? - I did.

Did she say where she was going or who she was meeting?

No, but I didn't ask. - So you didn't know she was at the spa?

I wouldn't expect to know.

She often went up there on a whim. - Can you think of anyone who want to hurt her?

No. No, she was, um... Harmless.

Any friends or family that might be in any trouble? - She's from back east.

She doesn't have any family or friends out here.

She shopped and she played tennis and she went to the spas.

No one would have any motives...

Yes?

I recall she fired an assistant last month.

Caught her stealing jewelry.

I believe she was pressing charges. - Name?

Natalie... Something. My people will have her details.

Are you aware that on the night of her murder,

Your wife was meeting a lover?

Yes.

The local authorities told me they suspected as much.

Did you know she had a lover? Prior to her death, I mean?

No. Do you have a name? is he a suspect? - We have a name. He is not the suspect.

Who is he? - I'm not at liberty to say.

I want his name. - You can't have it.

Are you sure, Agent Cho?

Because I can make one phone call,

And your career is toast. - That's impressive.

The best I can get with one call is a pizza.