George: It looks like the suspect entered into the shower with the victim and then stabbed her in there.
Seinfeld: Hm. It must have been a slippery stabbing.
George: Oh, it was a slippery stabbing all right.
Seinfeld: Slippery stabbing!
KRAMER explodes through the door of the morgue with gusto and crouches by the cold body on the slab.
Kramer: So, what do we have here?
Coroner: Gunshots. Three in the chest. Probably 14–15 years old. Still no ID.
Kramer: Disgusting. Reminds me of my friend Bob Sakamano in the 52nd Precinct. He just had three homicides this month. All little girls just like this.
Coroner: These bodies keep piling up.
Kramer: (Takes a puff of his cigar, shakes comically.) You got that right.
D.A.: If your honor would just listen —
Elaine: You are bordering on contempt of court Mr. Davola. You watch yourself.
D.A.: With all due respect your honor, I want you to tell me who he is. I want his name. Tell me his name.
Elaine: Get. OUT.
Seinfeld: I need you to tell me what you know about this drug-addled psychopath.
And why is it always drug-addled? You don’t hear about anything else being “addled.”
“Did you hear about Jim? He is positively juice-addled. He’s absolutely jonesing for some fresh-squeezed. Heard he almost lost his job because he can’t get enough OJ in the morning. He’s addicted.”
Anyway, you’re not going anywhere until you start answering some questions.
Cop 1: It appears the victim suffered a blow to the head when he turned his back to the assailant.
Cop 2: What’s that under his arm?
Cop 1: It looks like… wait a minute, are those bite marks?
Cop 2: Newman!
J. Peterman: Sometimes you don’t know what you’re looking for until it hits you. And sometimes it hits you like the stench of rotting flesh in an abandoned airplane hanger. There was our suspect; I was transfixed by his smart ecru trench and wide-brimmed chapeau cocked at just the right angle. I took a step toward him and into a puddle of dark blood—nearly ruining my Andalusian mukluks.