Somewhere on the waterfront, Carlo Parisi is photographing a bunch of bare-chested guys in sailor hats and mopey girls wearing long white shirts. Darling, it's all Tom of Finland and slumber parties this year. Carlo has some kind of AustraloCockney accent going: "Comb ahn!" he says to the models. "Look aloive!" Stabler and Benson call him until finally he has to break the intense, serious concentration required to press a camera shutter button a bunch of times. The detectives flash their badges and tell Carlo they need to account for Tazmin's comings and goings on Monday night. "Good lowck!" he snorts. Eventually Carlo says he thinks Tazmin showed up at around six, the shoot started around midnight and they got finished at around three or four AM. But Carlo doesn't remember when Tazmin left -- he says he finished with her early but he loses track of time when he's shooting: "I go oll, ya know, right-brain." Actually, Carlo, I think you need the left side of your brain to control your right finger on the shutter button. And then need your right brain to help you scratch your head with your other hand while you try to comprehend all this. Anyway. Carlo can't give the detectives any more details about Monday night. "On the set, there's so much energy, you're woired. It's all a bluh after awhile," he says. But Carlo insists he runs a clean set and is drug-free. "What about the girls?" asks Stabler. Carlo rolls his eyes. "This is Giuliani New York. I thought you guys won the drug war, eh?" Finally Benson asks him what kind of car he drives. "Porsche Boxter," he says, a choice obviously inspired by his accent, because he pronounces it "Poursh Bawxtah." The detectives let him get back to the extremely high-energy atmosphere, models slouching against each other, et cetera.
Benson turns to a woman in sunglasses, who appears to be Carlo's assistant. "Pardon me -- you look familiar to me," she says, which seems like a pretty long shot since the woman is, remember, wearing dark sunglasses, and has her hair pulled tightly back and is wearing a nondescript little black dress and heavy lipstick -- and, uh, she's wearing sunglasses, and unless she was one of those dancing models pretending to play the guitar in Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love" video, there's no way in the universe that anyone would recognize her from anything. And she's wearing sunglasses. Ms. Sunglasses nods and tells Benson that she used to model when she was younger, but Benson apparently has some kind of New York Department of Justice database chip in her brain: "The Ricky Blaine case," she says to Sunglasses. "You testified against Ricky Blaine, didn't you?" Sunglasses is impressed and not at all freaked out by Benson's memory. "A lot of girls testified against the Measuring Man." "Who's that?" asks Stabler. "Used to pose as a modeling scout and told little girls he needed to take their measurements," says Sunglasses. The story is that Measuring Man was assaulting girls for years, but everyone was too scared to speak up. Sunglasses explains that Measuring Man wasn't much different than the creeps they deal with every day. "Finally they made a case against him," Benson tells Stabler. "He's doing time at Creedmore." "Not anymore," says Sunglasses, who says she got a postcard notifying her that he was just released. "Twenty cents for victims' rights," she says bitterly. At least, I think she's bitter. I can't tell with the sunglasses.