Previously on iZombie...
Eliza Marquette,
Director of Advertising at Max Rager.
This secret report that Max Rager
had these seriously dangerous side effects.
Eliza said she would take care of it.
The Candyman guy! He broke into my house!
I killed a man.
Show me.
You know, he collapsed right here.
Have you been taking any medications?
You won't assign even one detective to look into
the missing kids from Nine Trolls Skate Park?
Blaine killed those kids and I ate those brains.
Blaine has to die.
I'm gonna kill him.
He was like that when I got there.
You said you arrived just before 10:30.
Neighbors heard a shot
in Mr.Tracey's apartment 10 minutes before.
Where were you then?
Driving.
Great. What streets?
We can check the traffic cameras.
Here you go.
Oh, no.
This is a very serious offense.
She's in there.
What happened?
Lowell Tracey, found dead in his apartment.
Apparent suicide, but neighbors heard
two voices before the shot.
Who do they think did it?
You're joking.
She was at the scene when they got there.
And her alibi's not great.
If you need a break, I can stay.
Actually, you can't.
You need to talk Major off the ledge.
Remember that guy whose car he broke into, Julien Dupont?
The one Major calls "The Candyman." What about him?
Major calls me saying he broke into your house.
Major shot him.
Or at least he thinks he did.
When I got to your place, there was no body.
Not even blood.
Shell casings, so something happened,
but folks who get shot
three times in the chest don't just walk away.
I have to go, but if anything happens...
I got her. Go.
...called 911.
We're done here.
Sir, can we just have a minute to talk...
The GSR on Mr. Tracey's hand is consistent
with a self-inflicted wound.
Textbook suicide.
As long as the ME's office concurs, the case is closed.
You can go. Sorry for your loss.
It was that Candyman guy! All right.
He broke in, he came at me with a sledgehammer,
raving about brains.
If I hadn't had the gun, I'd be dead.
- Where did you get the gun? - I bought it on the street.
Oh, of course. As one does.
Major, you're on probation. An illegal firearm charge could...
You know when it makes sense to buy a gun?
When a dude built like a mountain
breaks into your house trying to kill you.
When I shot the guy, his eyes turned red.
Bright red! What the hell is that?
My gun isn't the problem.
The problem is what the hell I'm gonna do
when a guy who takes three bullets to the chest
and moseys off like it's nothing comes back.
Things just keep happening that don't make any sense,
and it's like I'm the only one who sees it.
You'll be able to see for yourself.
All right? Clive's gonna sweep the hospitals.
He'll call any minute, all right?
He'll say he found Julien,
he saw bullet wounds, and that'll be that.
Actually, Clive's with Liv.
There's something you should know.
Liv.
Why are you here?
You don't need to be here.
I need to, uh...
Come on, come on.
I need to eat.
I'm still on PTSD brain and I...
I tried to sleep. I keep seeing yesterday over and over.
Whatever you need, I'm here.
Absolutely anything.
I don't really know what happened yesterday.
Clive told me all he knows and Suzuki was down here
not an hour ago pushing his version of the story.
The end of which is me declaring Lowell a suicide.
He wasn't interested in the
fact that the evidence doesn't support it.
I know. It's murder.
Lowell stabbed Blaine and Blaine shot him.
- I saw it. - You saw it?
I don't want to talk about it.
God, Suzuki's covering for him.
Blaine somehow has the police department in his pocket.
The missing kids, now Lowell,
he's making people disappear.
I just want to work like it's any day.
Today is just Tuesday or whatever it is.
- Please, Ravi? - Of course.
Who's that?
Well, this is Rebecca Hinton, 31 years old.
Journalist/raging alcoholic.
Her cerebrospinal fluid
practically came out on the rocks with a lemon twist.
Apparently, she interrupted someone robbing her apartment.
She was found at the foot of her stairs with a broken neck.
Hinton. Did she work at The Observer?
How did you know?
She's the reporter Major worked with
when the police wouldn't help him find his shelter kids.
The one that wrote the
expose that got him beaten to a pulp in jail?
That's the one.
Wait, you did hear me say she was an alcoholic?
If you eat her brain, chances are...
I'll end up at the bottom of a bottle.
Sold.
Julien Dupont?
Yeah, who's asking?
Clive Babineaux. Seattle PD.
What can I do for you?
I have a man named Major Lilywhite claiming
you broke into his home and assaulted him last night.
Says he shot you three times in the chest and you fled the scene.
Major.
Blonde, pretty boy,
looks like he fell out of a Nicholas Sparks movie?
Yeah.
Yeah. Yeah, that guy's pretty much my stalker.
Couple weeks ago he attacked me for my shoes.
And then the other day he broke into my friggin' car.
He was arrested, it should be on record.
The guy's got a screw loose.
Do I look like somebody who took three to the chest last night?
Liv, you got a second?
That's the second time Major's called.
Can you just tell him I'm fine?
Or not. Didn't think that would be a stumper.
No, um, I'll tell him.
Look, I know avoidance is probably easier for you right now,
but there's something we have to deal with.
The Release of Body form...
I think we should say Lowell killed himself.
The real killer is a zombie.
Anyone on Blaine's trail will be in danger
and we can't warn them.
And if they do manage to catch him,
then there's the whole zombie-in-a-prison problem.
And then there's the body. It's a biohazard,
and we don't know if it's contagious.
I'm sorry, I have to ask you.
Truly.
But if we say suicide, then the body can be...
Well, we can destroy it.
I won't sign this without your blessing.
I need a drink.
Vodka. Anything.
I'll take a glass of formaldehyde, just...
Please...
What's this, shrimp?
It smells fantastic.
I'm on the dead reporter case.
You're welcome to help if you're feeling up to it.
The robbery was a cover-up.
The killer was after something stored on her phone.
I saw him use Rebecca's fingerprint to unlock it.
Yeah, I'm up to it.
I've been Rebecca's eds or ever since she was an intern.
Mind if we ask what she was working on?
In-depth piece on Jason Frye,
that DeGaulle College kid who snapped.
The library killer. Cracked a kid's skull open,
chucked a girl through a display case.
The one-year anniversary is coming up...
Can we get a look at the story?
Well, it was due a month ago, so, of course not.
Rebecca always liked to
miss her deadlines by at least five weeks.
I know she had a source, but she never told me.
I did manage to find a notebook on her desk.
I'm not sure if it'll be any use.
It's in Rebecca's shorthand, for code.
She was secretive. Very territorial about her stories.
Could any of these men be her source?
Mr. Richmond, Mr. Jackson, Mr. LW...
Mr... Berserk?
Sorry, no idea. Oh, that bit there, though...
Yeah. "Ryan Fisher. Sketchy D-bag."
If I remember right,
Fisher was a classmate of Jason Frye's.
We could just go door to door
asking where the "Sketchy D-bag" Is.
Half of them are law students, we'd be here all day.
Can I help you?
- Ryan Fisher? - Yeah.
Detective Babineaux, Seattle PD.
We're looking into the murder of Rebecca Hinton.
That's awful news. What happened?
That's what we're trying to find out.
Can you tell us...
Can you tell us what you and Rebecca spoke about?
I barely met her.
She wanted to know the real Jason Frye.
Why would you know that?
I'm President of the Debate Society.
Jason was on my team,
and I made it my business to know all the vassals in my fiefdom.
Sorry. Continue about your "Fiefdom."
Jason was highly recruited. A hotshot, candidly.
But competition here is fierce,
really the ne plus ultra of the collegiate debating world.
Look, my point is, for the first time
in Jason's life, he was losing.
He spiraled. It's a boring story, really.
One more over-stressed, over-achiever who snapped.
Debate prodigy cracks, bashes brains of classmates. What a yawn.
Try not burying the lead next time.
Bloodshed always goes in the first graph.
Can you tell us about a Mr. Jackson?
- Who? - Hey, you.
I'll be in in a minute.
What about Mr. Richmond?
I told you I'm not gonna talk about it.
Get out of here!
Sorry, no Richmond, no Jackson.
Will that be all, detectives?
You go on. I'm gonna walk home, get some air.
Sure, do your thing.
Rebecca's lone-wolf policy has its benefits.
When I focus hard enough on the task at hand,
I don't have to think about anything else.
And if my problems are too big to forget,
if the task at hand isn't consuming enough,
I just consume something else.
Did you find Julien? Is he dead?
Yeah, I found him at the gym.
He was benching 350.
Less than 10 hours after
you say you put three bullets in his chest.
Look, I'm telling you, I shot him.
That him? It's from this morning.
No...
You need to listen right now.
I've been in a lot of rooms where guns went off,
and that room doesn't look like any of 'em.
No bullets, no blood,
and the man you say you shot didn't get shot.
What you're saying happened didn't happen.
And if you believe it did, you got a problem.
You heard of a 220?
Involuntary commitment to a psych facility.
We use them when behavior is erratic, dangerous,
and escalating and you're three for three.
Hear this.
Get help.
Now.
Before someone gets it for you.
You need me to call someone?
Thanks for being straight with me.
Take care of yourself, man.
He's not the cuddling type.
Shocker.
Look, I know you probably
want to grab some shut-eye before you gotta
wipe down menus and marry ketchups, but I gotta talk to you.
Screw you.
If a guy lets you walk home at 3:00 A.M.
with your panties in your purse,
you're not his girlfriend.
The guy you thought was your meal ticket
is really just a bang buddy.
But cute townies always get screwed. Literally.
Wait, I was gonna ask you something.
Oh! There's a reporter at
The Observer you talked to, Rebecca Hinton.
No, I didn't. And I'm not talking to you either.
I am a medical examiner from the Seattle PD.
Like I frickin' care.
And you can tell that bitch Rebecca
to kiss my ass for talking to my parents.
She's not really kissing much ass right now, she's dead.
- Can I interest you in a coffee? - I'm good.
You're leaving me?
What's his name?
It's not important.
Just know that what we had was real.
Actually, I talked to my supervisor at Helton Shelter.
She referred me to a guy who specializes in psychotic disorders.
He thinks I'm a good candidate for Blooming Grove.
You're not checking yourself
into a mental hospital, you're not crazy.
You've been under enormous stress.
You just need to get away, go on vacation.
Ravi, I'm seeing things.
I'd swear on a stack of Bibles
that guy Julien was here.
I'd swear his eyes turned red, that I shot him.
If someone at my psych internship told me that,
and there was a picture of that guy
at the gym the next day,
there's no question.
It's delusional disorder with paranoid features.
You can't fix that with a vacation.
I don't have a choice.
Hey, pre-hab.
I'll tell you everything you need to know,
but I need immunity.
Sounds like your boyfriend Ryan
had issues with Jason before he snapped.
Jason was showing Ryan up on the debate team.
So, Ryan and the guys took Jason
to this cabin for a weekend.
They fed him Jager till he passed out,
then they put makeup on me to
make it look like I was all bruised and bloody.
I got in bed next to the kid,
and, like, pretended to be dead, I guess.
You guess or you know?
I know.
Then Ryan shook him awake
and the guys played it like Jason blacked out and killed me.
Jason was freaking, but Ryan told him
they were his brothers and they'd handle it.
So they rolled me up in a sheet and put me in Ryan's trunk.
Jason was, like, sobbing.
Then a couple of days later, he went psycho.
Ryan said if anyone snitched we'd all go to jail.
So we kept our mouths shut, until that Rebecca chick
got all up in Ryan's business and he freaked.
Do I think he'd murder someone
to protect his big law career?
Hell yes.
Wait, go back. Does Jason still think he killed you?
I'm Detective Babineaux. I'd like to talk to you. Okay?
Son, I need your undivided attention for a minute.
- It's about Connie Roy. - Yeah. Connie Roy.
The girl you killed on the guys' weekend with the debate boys?
She's alive.
She's alive?
Alive and well.
I don't understand.
You were the victim of a prank planned by Ryan Fisher.
He thought you were too big for your britches,
so they got you drunk
and made you think you killed the girl.
They wouldn't do that.
They would, and they did.
Connie's a hook-up of Ryan's. She confessed.
I'm sorry, but I need to ask you some questions.
A reporter, Rebecca Hinton, was murdered.
We think Ryan may have done
it to keep her from writing a story about this.
Did Rebecca ask you about this?
- About Ryan? - No.
She said he seemed sketchy.
I vouched for him.
Did she ever mention Mr. Jackson or a Mr. Richmond?
That's from my dorm's Halloween party.
What's with the Max Rager guy?
He was going as me for Halloween.
I was kind of a Max Rager addict.
Or I used to be.
Mr. Richmond, Mr. Jackson,
Mr. LW, Mr. Berserk...
What if it's not "Mister"?
What if MR stands for Max Rager?
Oh. It's possible.
We'll look into it after we get Ryan Fisher's alibi.
Remember the memo Carson McComb told us about?
Max Rager knew their drink
could cause violent psychotic breaks in people.
"MR. Berserk"!
This could be why Jason snapped!
If they knew Rebecca was looking into it,
goodbye, Rebecca.
- It's a good theory. - It's more than a theory.
It's not. It's a hunch you
have that may or may not be right, AKA a theory.
Ryan Fisher is a theory too, but one with a witness.
So we'll go through our list in an organized way
and don't run off half-cocked.
Especially when we've got heavy things going on in our lives.
Good, you're here.
We have to talk.
I can't deal with the form yet, I need another...
We have to tell Major.
Tell Major what?
About zombies, about Blaine,
the meal plan, you, everything!
I can't have this conversation right now.
I'm sorry, we have to.
Okay. Absolutely not. There, done.
The Candyman tried to kill him.
He didn't get scratched,
but he could've died. We have to tell him.
And how does that go?
Hey, Major, wacky news,
zombies exist and they're trying to kill you.
Not me, though, I'm a nice zombie.
He's checking himself into Blooming Grove.
The mental hospital?
He's being chased by homicidal zombies
and when he's asked for our help, we've told him he's nuts.
Of course he thinks he's mental.
This is on us.
I mean, at what point is it not worse telling him
than just being honest?
He's lost his job.
He's breaking into cars, he's shooting people.
He's doing all this when he thinks the Candyman is killing kids.
What's his move when he finds out he's eating them?
When's he checking himself in?
Tomorrow morning for a few weeks,
he said. It's all he can afford.
Well then, for a few weeks, he's safe.
- Can I buy you... - Yes.
- So what's your... - No.
Miss, you're donezo. Who am I calling to come get you?
You ready to go home?
Good night.
I'm so sorry about...
Don't.
Please, I'm trying so hard to stay afloat,
and if you say his name...
Okay. It's okay.
Wait.
Can you rub my back like you used to?
Ravi told me about...
that you're checking yourself into...
We can not talk about this, too.
But you're okay?
It's no big deal.
My PR guy's telling the tabloids it's exhaustion.
I'll be doing The View when I get back.
I'll be fine. It's not for long.
I'm just sorry that when you need me the most,
I lose my mind.
I screwed everything up.
I wanna explain, I wanna tell you...
No, Liv. It's okay.
Major?
How's zombie rat?
He's living it up while I deliberate.
I've only one dose of tainted Utopium left,
so this is my last shot at cracking zombiism.
I taught him a trick.
See, when I raise my hand like so and say, prance, zombie?
he sort of rears up on his little hind legs and prances about.
Really?
Yeah. I also taught him to declaim Hamlet soliloquies.
He holds a tiny skull, it's quite something.
- We're doing Fallon tomorrow. - Shut up.
So, I talked to Sketchy D-bag and his lawyer.
Turns out he was at the debate tournament
at the time of Rebecca's murder.
But I've got something on the Max Rager front.
I've been digging in Rebecca's phone records.
Jackson and Richmond aren't people. They're cities.
Richmond was a woman
whose daughter was doing a double at a burger joint,
when she threw fry oil all over some loudmouth customers.
No history of violence. She just lost it.
Like Jason.
Rebecca asked mom if Fry Girl drank Max Rager.
She did. Tons of it.
So, I checked out who was in Jackson
for a violent, out-of-character rage out,
and found a mild-mannered trucker
who mowed down half a charity bike race
with his 18-wheeler.
Guess what he'd been drinking to stay awake on his long haul?
MR. Jackson and MR. Richmond
both went MR. Berserk.
You know, if this got out, it could sink Max Rager.
And if Rebecca got her hands on that memo...
The one piece I don't get is MR.LW.
I know.
Lake Washington.
The boat party was sponsored by Max Rager.
I thought that was a drunken brawl that got out of control.
Most of the victims died in the fire.
No, I was there.
People were tearing each other to pieces.
They knew this could happen and they did nothing.
Liv, I had no idea.
They killed Rebecca. They killed Holly.
We gotta get these bastards.
We do, but this is a billion-dollar company
and we have to be smart.
We have no evidence. We need to build a case.
Preferably before they murder us.
I'll take this upstairs.
You hang tight.
We clear?
I'm Liv Moore with Seattle PD.
I need to speak with you.
Have a seat, Ms. Moore.
I'm just fine right here.
I'm so sorry. She wouldn't listen to me.
I stood in front of the door and she just came at me.
I'm so embarrassed. Next time,
I won't move. I'll just take the hit.
It's okay, it's okay. You did beautifully, you really did.
Now just relax. Close your eyes, breathe.
Breathe, that's right.
Say it with me. I did everything I could.
I did everything I could.
And set yourself free.
Better?
Unusual entrance for a police officer.
We've been investigating the murder of Rebecca Hinton,
a journalist at The Observer
who was working on a story you might be interested in.
She had evidence that the energy drink Max Rager
was causing temporary psychosis in a small number of consumers.
And that small number of consumers
has now racked up quite the body count.
I was at Lake Washington.
I saw firsthand what that looks like.
But the incidents you've described
can be linked to many variables, I'm sure.
Was there booze? Could that have been a common denominator?
Could the moon have been full, perhaps?
We know about the memo.
Your R&D team warned you,
and you deemed the side effect statistically insignificant.
You buried it.
The memo does exist, yes. But it's a phony.
It was created by my competitors.
I checked with Seattle PD.
She's an assistant medical examiner.
She shouldn't be asking you questions.
Ms. Moore, you are a delight.
I hope our conversation, brief though it was,
mitigated at least some of your fears.
Your product kills people and you know it.
Live to the Max, Ms. Moore!
Just do it somewhere else.
I specifically told you not to go.
All I did was ask questions.
- You're drunk. - You're drunk.
You know, I smelled it on you before,
and that's on me for not saying anything,
but you came back too soon.
You know, I feel for you, but this isn't helping.
If I were drunk could I do this?
Probably, but not as well.
Liv, you're off the case.
I'm never off the case. The case is in here.
I'm the freakin' murder victim whisperer.
Go home.
You're literally not the boss of me.
But I am, and I think you probably should.
Mr. Vodka.
Sorry, did I forget ordering a glass of poison?
It's from that guy.
Sebastian Meyer. I'm Rebecca's source.
You gotta help or they'll kill me.
I hadn't heard from Rebecca in a week,
I knew they smoked her.
I got a hold of her editor, he confirmed.
He's the one that put me on to you.
Said you were looking into the story,
so I thought I'd give it a shot.
How are you connected to Vaughn?
I was on the payroll.
For a while, it was all rides in the G5,
steak dinner, steak dinner. We were family,
knew all each other's dirty little secrets.
I was even his body guard for a few minutes.
What happened?
I stopped being his bitch.
When you work for a freak like Vaughn,
you're asked to do things that turn your stomach.
But you don't say no, the scratch is too good.
The life... the women.
There was this girl I had my eye on, Eliza Marquette.
I was this close to nailing her.
Frosty, but I loved it.
She was taking heat for a bad leak,
and then poof... disappeared.
I know all about Eliza Marquette.
She was protecting the memo.
You need to get your hands on it.
It'll bring Max Rager to its knees.
But Vaughn admits it's out there. He says that it's a fake.
He's a lying sack.
Rebecca's other source says that it's real.
There's another source?
Still on the inside. Someone close.
We have to get to him and that document, fast.
Before we end up shot and buried in a hole somewhere.
Sebastian says there's a second source,
but who is Rebecca's second source?
Why can't I figure this out?
You'd think with all the drinking you'd be incredibly sharp.
Maybe she keeps all the top-secret stuff in her head.
Max Rager's a dangerous bunch,
best not to leave clues lying around.
I don't buy it.
She was obsessive about her notes.
Her calendar has everything from when
she'd drink to when she'd hit Pilates.
Did Rebecca's liver seem like the Pilates type?
If you get late-stage cirrhosis from Pilates.
She has her whole Pilates class schedule scribbled in here.
All pre-dawn.
I haven't been an alcoholic that long,
but I can tell you that the only day I woke up before 10:00 am
was when Peyton needed to use the toilet I was passed out on.
Thank you for the mental image.
I totally have to go, don't I?
Blarg!
How will you know who you're looking for?
Maybe one of them will be working out
in her "I'm a disgruntled Max Rager employee" T-shirt.
I don't know. I need to get lucky.
I'll save you the time. No.
They know Rebecca had a source who has the memo.
It took me less than a week to find you.
How long do you think it'll take them?
If I go public, exactly zero minutes.
I can protect you.
You? You barged into American Psycho's office
posing as a police officer.
Thanks, but no.
Rebecca found three separate cases
of Max Rager-induced violence.
A dozen dead, more injured.
This isn't my problem.
Oh, if you believed that
you wouldn't have been brave enough to swipe that memo.
We can go to the police right now.
Once the story's out, you're safe.
- You'll be able to protect me? - Yes.
Okay. I'm game.
Just let me go and change.
Adele?
Are you okay?
You look a little pale.
Well, look who takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin'.
Thanks for smoking out our whistleblower for us.
I swear you had no pulse.
But I'm glad you're up.
I never get to chat while I'm on the job.
For obvious reasons.
Bingo!
I work with some pretty murderous cats.
Boss would want me to destroy this flash drive,
but it's got the memo.
And the memo's leverage.
So, I gotta keep it, right?
Yeah. Yeah, I gotta keep it.
See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya.
There you are.
Hi.
Man.
I cracked you good.
So sorry, sweetheart.
Adele really screwed you here, big time.
That selfish bitch was blackmailing the company.
She was never gonna give you the flash drive.
And now, here you are.
Off to bed in the deep blue.
Don't be afraid, the water's quick.
Ow, mother of dragons! God, that hurt.
Okay, we had a nice moment, but...
Come on!
So, Sebastian,
this Max Rager enforcer, he's dead?
I assume so.
Poetic, actually. He's down there with Adele.
And I wouldn't be surprised
if the police divers find Eliza Marquette, too.
How are you feeling?
Hungover.
What am I doing with these?
Getting those away from me.
Sign it. You're right. It's for the best.
You're sure?
There's something else.
I didn't tell you the whole story.
Lowell and Blaine were together because
we set them up.
Lowell lured him onto the balcony,
and I was waiting across the street with a sniper rifle.
But I choked.
I couldn't do it.
And because I couldn't, Lowell stepped up,
and it got him killed.
It's my fault he's dead.
Oh, Liv...
It was like a nightmare.
The guy, he just kept coming.
And when I shot him, his eyes, they turned...
It doesn't matter.
It wasn't real. And that's why I'm here.
Thank you for sharing your experience with us.
Does anyone have feedback
or anything they'd like to say to Major?
Okay, guys. Fold the chairs,
put 'em up against the wall,
and we meet again Monday, eight o'clock.
PM.
Hey, man.
I know what you're dealing with.
I've seen guys like your Candyman.
Oh, thanks, man.
Scotty, is it?
I'm Scott E. It's not E, like as in Y,
but it's E, like as in E.
Separate.
Right.
I almost didn't make it out alive that night.
You know, they were crazy-ass strong
and I still have nightmares about those eyes.
They're red, glowing.
You know what they are, right?
What are they?
Zombies, dude.
Friggin' zombies.
This city has a zombie problem.
I'm gonna find Blaine.
And next time, I'll be able to pull the trigger.