You see, his wife died on September 11th in the World Trace Center. He has an underlying story, but if you missed the last few minutes of Episode 2, you'd have no idea what drives him to do what he does. ("Want to see a show? Go see Rent," he says to officers amused by a decapitated corpse.) However, over the first six episodes, we were given very little for which identify him as a well-rounded character. And I swear, every time he talks there's edge to the delivery.
You don't doubt he's not the best forensics detective.
He holds down the fort, and he's darn good. For this incarnation of the original CSI, Gary Sinise, as detective Mac Taylor, is the man in the middle. If the process is what you dig, CSI:NY is a 17-hour payoff. Everything matters, nothing is insignificant. If they could bottle the air around a victim, they'd take it back to the lab for analysis. Specs of dust, split toenails, skin rashes, hair, paint chips, and whatever's left in the refrigerator.
More specifically, how things work at the crime scene and in the lab. All of this, with the forensics team hovering about the body (or bodies), noting detail after gruesome detail with blood-splattered intensity is what CSI: NY is all about. CSI: NY sets a new standard for grotesqueness on network TV: it doesn't offer the typical spate of just-off-camera-style gore, but prolonged shots of lingering explorations of mutilated, dead people - on a lab table, excavated from a mine, unfolded from a box, unwrapped from plastic, or fished from a river (to name but a few atrocities).
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