CSI: NY

Bingo.

The game is punto banco.

Baccarat.

We do not say "bingo" here.

Oh, we don't. Uh...

All right.

Slide me one of those.

Your luck is finally running out.

Six at the bank.

And...

nine.

Pot goes to the winner.

Can you believe that!

Do you know who I am?

Do you know what I do?

Sure.

Yeah, yeah. You, uh...

play baccarat.

Why don't I...

just cash out.

I'm sure you'll get better hands when we play next time.

How about...

this hand.

I'm not...

really in favor of that hand.

Well, I want a chance to win my money back.

Tell you what...

why don't I buy you a drink?

In fact, drinks for everybody.

Come on, we've got to go.

Come on. Okay, let's get out of here.

All right.

Go!

Oh! What a rush.

Oh, hey, did you get what you need?

Almost.

Hey.

Relentless, aren't they?

Hey, got your gun?

Mm-hmm.

All right.

Our vic is a Caucasian female,

looks to be mid to late 20's.

Single gunshot wound to the abdomen.

No jewelry.

Empty purse.

Looks like a robbery.

Also, there's no driver's license,

but I found this.

It's an FBI badge.

Natasha Fatale.

Yeah. I checked

with the Rocky and Bullwinkle agent database.

No hits.

And then there's this.

A .38 not so special.

It's a starter's pistol.

Fake I.D., fake gun...

real murder.

Perps don't seem to be masters at throwing away evidence.

Boris Badenov.

Another fake I.D. badge.

What were our vics involved in?

And why did the robbers

kill Natasha but take Boris?

- Hey, Sid. - Hey.

Looking over our vic,

I can't help but consider

the irony of her chosen name:

Natasha Fatale.

I ran her prints. No hits.

Our victim remains a Jane Doe for now.

Our C.O.D.

is massive internal hemorrhaging

caused by a single gunshot wound

from what appears to be

a nine-millimeter round.

So our Jane Doe bled out in that alley.

Definitely not a gentle way to go into that good night.

I also found this...

on her dress.

Took a look under the microscope.

Morphological properties are consistent with it being

a tooth fragment, partially covered in soil.

Not sure if it's animal or human,

but it definitely doesn't belong to our vic.

Okay.

Finally...

regarding our female victim,

are you a T man or an A man?

Toes or ankles?

Okay, I gotta say toes.

As am I.

Which is why,

for a woman who, from all appearances,

took excellent care of herself

I found this to be odd.

I've heard of green thumbs

- but orange toes? - Our victim

has micro-abrasions

on her feet, consistent with running barefoot.

But also has

what appear to be a series

of chemical burns on her toes.

I swabbed a sample of her skin.

Might help us

literally retrace her steps.

Maybe figure out where she came from.

And who she is.

I tested the blood

on the men's dress shoe.

It is Natasha's.

The shoe must have came off Boris

when the thieves carried him out.

Who's that guy?

I don't know, but every picture

in Natasha's lipstick camera features him.

So what's our double for Minnesota Fats

got to do with this?

Looks like he's playing baccarat.

That's a high-stakes money game.

If our two vics were gambling,

it could be the reason they were robbed.

Yeah, and by the looks of that nine millimeter,

they were gambling with the wrong guy.

Yeah, that's why I'm doing an image search.

I'm hoping he has a mug shot somewhere.

All right, while you're doing that, Doc and I are making progress.

- Mm-hmm. - All right, Cagney and Lacey,

what do you got?

According to the GC/MS, the chemicals

on Natasha's feet show peaks for dyhydroxyacetone,

which is a skin-coloring agent,

that's used in sunless tanning.

That explains the orange toes.

But how many tanning salons are there in New York?

I got it, I got it.

In the bottom of Boris's shoe, we found brown trace.

Now, it’s a combination of shredded beef,

curry and tomato sauce,

which is also known as...

- Oxtail soup. - We figure that Boris

and Natasha were on foot

before they ran into the thieves, right?

So we searched a five-block radius

from the crime scene, and you know what? Three blocks away,

there is a tanning salon.

Right next door to a Jamaican restaurant.

That sells oxtail soup?

Boom.

Friend of mine jogs in her bare feet.

She keeps asking me to join her.

I don't think so.

Well, analysis of our trace suggests our vics walked

through this alley before they met the robbers.

Don?

Red sequin here.

Same as the shawl Natasha was wearing.

There's even more over there.

Must have got caught on the door on the way out.

The game is punto banco.

Baccarat.

We do not say, "go fish," here.

You know who I am.

You know what I do.

No.

But I'd like to hear all about it.

You police are all the same.