Greg: Can I help it if I'm hip?
Jim: Paramedics pronounced twenty minutes ago. Megan Treadwell. I ran her plates. Thirty-three tomorrow.
Catherine: One-on-one with a train. Did she think that she could beat it?
(Catherine looks at Brass, then heads toward Grissom, who is checking the train out. She puts her kit down.)
(Grissom is busy looking at something on the front of the train. Catherine leans in for a better look.)
Catherine: Door handle.
Gil: Point of impact: Passenger-side door.
Catherine: Dead center.
(They look on the side as Forensics carry the bagged body away on a gurney.)
Gil: Question is: Why did the SUV cross the tracks?
Catherine: (deadpans) To get to the other side?
Det. Ray O'Riley: "Burglary in progress" call. Once we made entry, we found the victim downstairs. Never knew this place existed.
Gil: The Western States Historical Society. It's not on a lot of tourist maps.
Nick: According to O'Riley this guy's body language says he's guilty.
Gil: I think he's autistic.
Nick: Autistic? You mean like Rain Man?
Gil: Rain Man was a savant. Extremely rare. Aaron Pratt is a high-functioning autistic man with superior right-brain ability.
Nick: Kind of sounds like you.
Jim: So let me get this straight, all you saw was a car trying to beat the signal?
Train Engineer: I'm putting 55 miles an hour. It's dark. I got an oil leak, can't figure out where. I looked up and I saw something.
Jim: The SUV.
Train Engineer: Like I said, it was dark. I thought it was stopping. I turned my head for one second. Next thing I know, it's in the middle of the tracks. With all due respect we've got the right of way out here.
Officer: Excuse me, sir.
Stanley Hunter: It's fine.
Nick: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Sir, you can't come in here.
Stanley Hunter: I told the officer upstairs. I'm Stanley Hunter.
(At Nick's blank look, he continues.)
Stanley Hunter: The curator. Do you have any idea the damage you're causing? With your dust, flashbulbs. You see that?
(Stanley Hunter points to a book behind Nick. He walks forward toward it to emphasize it's importance.)
Stanley Hunter: Right there, behind you. That is a 17th century text by Johannes Van Den Avelen. It's one of two volumes in the world. Now, do you go to the Louvre and put your hands all over the Raft of the Medusa?
Greg: You ever see the attack of the killer tomatoes? 'Cause there's something in the victim's blood that looks like one of those heirlooms.
Nick: Well, it's not pulling a spectra. It's not a chemical.
Greg: No, it's a large, ugly, globular mass. You know, it's probably a protein 'cause it's the largest mass of anything in the body-- except organs, of course.
Nick: But it's foreign. How did it get in there?
Greg: Cart before the horse, Nick. First you identify it then you figure out where it came from.
(Greg walks to the cabinet and removes a thick book. He leaves through the book and finds what he's looking for.)
Nick: I always thought you kept your porn in there.
Greg: I move it around. Okay, now, this is a 66-kilodalton globular protein, composed of two disulfide-linked sub-units, a and B.
Nick: Very impressive.
Greg: And I know what you all think of me -- I'm just another pretty face who got to where I am by sleeping with Catherine.
(Greg starts to draw on the clearboard to illustrate to NICK what he's looking at.)
Greg: But seriously ... Phi Beta Kappa, Stanford. Can I help it if I'm hip?
Nick: Yeah, yeah, which one of your relatives got you in?
Greg: Full ride. Hey, eyes forward. A and B chains link together to form a large three-dimensional structure of these beta sheets and helices.
Nick: Translation ...
Nick: You just drew the molecular structure of a foreign protein. A Plant?
Greg: Correct. But, more specifically, a lectin.
(Greg goes back to the book and looks it up. He gasps.)
Greg: This is nastier than I thought. It's ricin, a biotoxin.
Greg: Yeah. (reading) "B chain binds to glycoside residues which trigger endocytotic uptake of the protein which internalizes the toxin and begins the irreversible effects ... "
Nick: Whoa, whoa, whoa, stop now. Biotoxin, as in anthrax, smallpox? I was at that crime scene for eight hours, man.
Greg: Relax, man. It takes, like, two hours for ricin symptoms to show and, like, 48 more to kill you.
Nick: (worried) What kind of symptoms are we talking about, here?
Greg: Um ... sweats? Cramps?
Greg: Then you're fine.