NCIS

on Mischief Night, which is the night before Halloween.

And then, of course, Halloween itself.

Tony, you hate Halloween.

Anyway, it's a lot of money, and I like money.

That is why someone kept ringing my doorbell and running off.

When I was a kid on base at Alameda,

we called it "Devil's Night."

I remember one year we put the

base commander's bedroom furniture on a tarmac.

You know it takes less than a tenth of a second

for the engine of an F-18 to move a BarcaLounger 300 feet.

Good memories.

Ring-N-Runs, Dine-N-Ditch...

Lock-N-Load.

Got a dead Marine.

Agent David, you're driving.

McGEE: Victim is Marine Lance Corporal James Korby.

He just got back from his third tour

of Afghanistan three days ago.

Family?

Lives here with his wife and stepdaughter.

Local LEOs are trying to track them down.

No obvious signs of struggle inside the car.

No blood. Looks like a suicide.

Looks can be deceiving, Agent David.

There's no way that man killed himself in that car, Jethro.

Jacking that one up from beyond the yard, Duck.

I can barely see that far.

Carboxyhemoglobin does not require closer inspection.

If carbon monoxide had been the cause of that man's death,

his skin would be cherry red,

which it isn't, ergo...

Body was staged.

To look like a suicide.

Yeah.

Korby lived for Mischief Night.

He was the king of practical jokes.

I guess that makes you the Princes of Pranks.

Are we in trouble?

Not unless you killed him.

I'll handle the questions

here, probie. Thank you.

We were talking about Korby.

Guy was awesome.

Came up with new practical jokes every Halloween.

Nothing dangerous.

I mean, no razor blades.

He'd freeze all kinds of stuff, blow things up.

It was funny.

And illegal.

And you are?

Ted Rodgers. Live across the street.

First he drove us crazy with his pranks.

Now he dies in the driveway.

Well, it sounds like you got

a problem in your neighborhood, Mr. Rodgers.

That's a nice sweater, by the way.

Boys, we are going to need that videotape.

Yes, you can use it to document what these punks did last night.

We're only interested

in what happened to Lance Corporal Korby.

Thank you.

You got a time of death, Duck?

This can't be true.

I mean, the heat from the exhaust fumes should

raise his body temperature, but he's curiously cold.

Frigid, in fact.

It's a mystery to be solved

by examination later.

Whoa-oa-oa-oa!

It must be Korby's Joke Lab.

And possibly our crime scene.

Signs of a struggle.

How can you tell?

This place is a mess.

Pranksters don't break their own stuff.

Well, he's certainly in rigor.

Guess we should lay him down.

Unless he's going to drive.

Zombie.

Halloween.

Come on! I'm sorry.

What was that?

Sounded like it came from inside the body.

Push him down flat, Mr. Palmer.

Duck?

No idea.

Even if he was in full rigor,

he wouldn't be brittle.

Forceps, Mr. Palmer.

Oh!

It's odd indeed.

Thank you.

Let's see now.

Is that glass?

No, it's part of his throat.

Look, it-it's

frozen solid.

What could get something that cold? Dry ice?

Or liquid nitrogen.

Either way, I think you found your cause of death.

Either way, I think you found your cause of death.

Oh, yeah.

67 on the tally of disturbances.

Tony, how about we focus

on a crime in our jurisdiction?

Thrill me, McGoblin.

Lance Corporal James Korby.

A joker with no criminal record

and one big blemish

on his service record.

Bumped back in rank for dereliction of duty.

Explains why he's a 37-year-old lance corporal.

This is his wife Sara Korby.

Oh-ho...

He didn't kill himself.

How do you know?

Because nobody married to her

kills themselves.

She's way too attractive for him.

The wife did it.

Should we even bother investigating

or just go ahead and arrest her?

Oh, I like where you're going with that, McGee.

Do you have any idea where the wife was last night, Tony?

No. Do you?

Yes. I just got off the phone with the Seabright Hotel and Spa

in Virginia Beach where Korby's wife was checked in.

And? And she and

Korby's stepdaughter are on their way in to I.D. the body.

And?

And what?

She spent the night alone in a hotel

three days after her husband gets back from the Middle East?

Probies. The wife did it.

You always say that.

Well, it's almost always true.

Excuse me.

I'm Sara Korby.

Yes, you are.

Now, Mrs. Korby,

your husband was alone last night, is that right?

Uh, yes.

Halloween was his favorite time of year.

Practical jokes were his passion.

Um...

I was in Virginia Beach.

I spent the night at a friend's.

Until the police broke it up.

Party was over anyway.

Right.

I noticed you have quite the setup in your garage.

James would spend days in there this time of year.

A couple years back, we made a deal;

he would spend Halloween

working on his projects and I would spend the night at a spa.

I didn't want to go this year,

'cause he'd just gotten back, but...

Uh, James didn't mention any problems, did he?

Fights, disagreements, that kind of thing?

No, everything seemed fine.

He had a car pick me up,

drive me to Virginia Beach.

Rachel,

he was your stepfather?

James and Sara are both my stepparents.

My mom died when I was little.

I married

Rachel's father five years ago.

He was killed in Iraq.

Wow. I'm sorry.

Everyone liked James

even if they didn't get his sense of humor.

Speaking of no sense of humor,

what about your neighbor Ted Rodgers?

A few days ago,

when he realized that James was back from Afghanistan,

they had some words about my husband's idea of fun.

Ted complained about everything.

Yeah, I picked up on that.

Interesting date for such a ghoulish demise.

It's a cool way to go.

Cool as in "cold."

I'm sorry.

You're not taking pleasure

out of the method of our victim's death,

are you, Mr. Palmer?

No, of course not. It's just like what you said.

Very Halloween-y.

Just reminds me of a few pranks I'm not too proud of.

Then perhaps you should refrain

from discussing them.

Then what can we discuss, Duck?

Confirmation of my earlier hypothesis,

to wit-- courtesy of Abby--

manner of death was indeed the ingestion of liquid nitrogen;

a colorless, odorless substance

which is so cold that when it comes

into contact with warm organic material,

it literally boils.