Previously on Dexter...
Who is Dexter Morgan?
He's just a jerk who works for Miami Metro homicide.
That's Dexter Morgan.
His face— it looks familiar.
Only one person who ever worked at Miami Metro
ever took blood slides—
Sergeant Doakes, the Bay Harbor butcher.
Same type of weapon used on Mike Anderson.
Are we sure this Alex Dubrozny guy
shot Mike Anderson?
'Cause it smells like a setup.
Hannah McKay—
she spent six years in juvie after pleading guilty
to being Wayne Randall's accomplice.
She always claimed she was just another one of his victims.
Is that what you're doing here,
to help us find the other bodies Wayne buried?
My lawyer said it was for the best.
Do you understand your rights?
Huh?
He didn't say, "yes."
He walked. There is nothing we can do.
Fuck that. Fuck all of this.
But there is something I can do.
That smoke...
It's Speltzer.
How do you feel?
Glad.
What does that make me?
It never ends, does it? The maintenance.
I don't mind it.
It's the one thing that never changes.
The waves keep rolling in,
wearing everything down in their path
a little more every day.
Harrison's coming home soon.
I want to have the boat ready.
So life's back to normal?
A new normal.
Deb's not poring over the past anymore.
We're on course, moving forward.
Life can be less complicated now.
You don't believe that.
Why not? She didn't abandon me.
She didn't accept you either. She doesn't know what to think.
She's adjusting.
I did everything in my power to protect her from you—
what you really are.
A monster?
Your words.
Your thoughts.
You didn't think she could handle it
because you couldn't,
but Deb is stronger than you are.
For now.
But the long-term exposure—
it's going to eat away at her,
like salt water on steel.
Blood. It's not from Viktor.
I never leave a mess behind.
Who's been on my boat?
This is too much blood.
Someone died here...
Someone I didn't kill.
Who are you?
All right, look, if I'm getting shit-canned
and you know something about it,
just give me a heads-up, all right?
We're bros.
First of all,
we are not and never will be bros.
Secondly, I've told you a million times
I don't know anything. Really?
Then why'd your voice just rise?
Look, I-I took a class in paralinguistics.
Changing pitch— dead giveaway for lying.
Get the fuck away from my desk!
Am I getting the ax?
You are if you don't get out of my way.
Look, I just got off the phone with a colleague,
and LaGuerta's processing evidence at another lab,
a private lab.
What evidence? What are you talking about?
A charred blood slide of—
containing the blood of one Travis Marshall.
So I asked myself,
"Vince, if your lady boss is processing evidence
at another lab—"
A blood slide? Are you certain?
Oh, God.
Increase in vocal volume, indicating emotional dissonance.
You know something. I'm fucked.
I am sure that LaGuerta is using an outside lab
because she knows how slammed you are.
I'll look into this, so just fucking relax.
Okay. Thanks, L.T.
You rock.
Got a second?
Sure.
Masuka got wind that you're using
an outside lab to run evidence,
and he thinks he's gonna get fired.
Is there anything I should know?
I needed a second pair of eyes on something.
It's nothing.
Does this have anything to do with the Bay Harbor butcher?
Lundy carried that notebook everywhere he went.
Get the door.
This has to remain between you and me.
Of course.
I had a lab analyze a blood slide
that I found at the abandoned church.
A blood slide, like a Bay Harbor butcher trophy?
Travis Marshall's blood was on it.
But Doakes was the Bay Harbor butcher,
and Doakes is dead.
Well, what if it wasn't Doakes?
What if the Bay Harbor butcher is still alive and at work?
What if he killed Travis Marshall?
Except Travis Marshall wasn't cut up into pieces
and put into bags.
But the fact that the Bay Harbor butcher
kept blood slides was never released to the public.
It's probably not some copycat.
How do you explain this?
I can't.
I know it sounds impossible, but...
I never believed that Doakes was a killer.
And from his notes, Lundy had his doubts too.
Well, you can add me to that list.
Doakes was my partner.
He was a good man.
Is there anything I can do to help?
You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that.
I've been keeping this all to myself.
Your eyes only.
My eyes only.
Fuck.
Motherfucking suck bag!
You cock-munching fucking fuck nugget!
Fuck!
The blood on my boat belongs to...
Louis Greene?
Louis is dead?
Why was he killed on my boat?
Why would he have even been on my boat?
Why...
Is my sister looking at me like that?
Dex...
We are in a storm of fuck.
LaGuerta found a blood slide
with Travis Marshall's blood on it at the fucking church.
That's not good.
How the fuck do you lose a blood slide?
Deb, you know that night wasn't my usual scenario.
Are you saying that it's my fault
that LaGuerta now thinks
that the Bay Harbor butcher is alive and well?
No, that's not what I meant,
but that night at the church wasn't exactly
by the playbook.
I talked LaGuerta into letting me help
with the investigation,
so I can keep tabs on what's happening.
You what?
No.
I'll deal with this.
I don't want you involved.
Well, it's a little fucking late for that.
She wants to talk to the friends and family
of everyone on this list
who's gone missing since Doakes died.
They all the fit the victim profile
of the Bay Harbor butcher.
Anyone here that you recognize?
These three...
are mine.
This is never gonna end, is it?
They were bad people, Deb,
who would've continued to do bad things.
This is the only one with family in Miami—
Phillip Barnes.
So, when LaGuerta and I split up the list,
I'll make sure I get his family.
No, I don't like you doing this.
I don't give a fuck what you like, Dexter.
It's beyond that. This is my ass too.
Tell me what I need to know about Barnes.
He was a wedding photographer.
He would find a guest from out of town—
young, female, by herself.
He would charm her, invite her back to his hotel.
She'd never come home.
He took pictures of what he did.
So what'd you do?
He was going out of town for another job,
so I nabbed him after a reception.
A reception?
A fucking wedding reception?
Dexter, what if Barnes got a picture of you?
- Deb— - What if someone remembers you?
It was a wedding.
Everyone was concentrating on the bride and groom.
I slipped in and out. It's fine.
What if you're wrong?
I'm not.
LaGuerta will not tie me to this.
There's no body, no proof.
Stay away from it, okay?
First thing I have to do is find out
why Louis was killed on my boat.
My curtains are open.
With Harrison gone, Jamie's not around.
Someone has been in my apartment...
Maybe still is.
Hey, Dex. It's Sam.
Just want to confirm we're still on
for 1:00 at Schooner or later
at Twelfth and Bayshore Drive.
See you there.
I've met him before at the bar at the Fox Hole—
owned by the Koshka brotherhood.
The man who killed Mike Anderson,
Viktor Baskov, was one of the Koshkas.
Could they have figured out I killed Viktor
and sent a hit man after me?
- Excuse me. - Yes.
I think I have a phone call for you.
A small coffee, please.
Hello?
Why were you in my apartment?
Well, aren't you Mr. smarty-pants?
Answer the question.
What were you doing in my place?
I was looking to have a discussion
about a friend of mine who's gone missing—Viktor.
I'm sure you remember him.
I have no idea who you're talking about.
I don't care for lies.
I told you, I don't know who that is.
You're wasting both our time.
Louis Greene— who I found on your boat,
the boat that was used to dump Viktor in the ocean—
gave me your name.
So you killed Louis.
We had a conversation that ended rather abruptly, yes.
What else did Louis say?
I believe he may have referred to you
as a douche bag.
You think you're very clever.
I do, actually, yes.
Your bosses at the Koshka brotherhood—
they sent you? - Ah...
You've done your homework.
There are no bosses telling me what to do.
Viktor was a friend of mine. This is personal.
So an eye for an eye, huh?
Your friend Viktor kills an innocent woman and a cop,
and killing me somehow settles the score?
Oh, you misunderstand me.
I'm not stopping with you.
I also want any of your police officer friends
involved in this little vendetta...
Wait.
Including your lieutenant sister.
I've done my homework too.
It was just me. She had nothing to do with this.
Hello, handsome.
I work alone.
I killed Viktor—only me.
I'll see you around.
That's the plan.
Why in fuck-ville are you telling me
to meet you in the parking garage?
Because of him.
Do you want to be a little more specific?
His name is Isaak Sirko.
He's part of the Koshka brotherhood.
He's after me.
But don't worry. I'm gonna take care of it.
What did you do?
But you could be in danger too.
That's why you need to know.
That's why we're meeting here and why—
- Dex. - But I'm gonna handle this.
Why is he after you?
Viktor Baskov.
Viktor Baskov disappeared.
You killed him.
He killed Mike Anderson.
What about the guy that said he killed Mike—
the—the bartender that blew his fucking brains out?
Someone put him up to it— Isaak probably—
so that you would close the case and move on.
This is un-fucking real.
Viktor Baskov was on his way back to Kiev.
I had to kill him.
I didn't have any more time.
There wasn't— time? You didn't-
you didn't have time to make a phone call
so that I could—I don't know— fucking arrest him
or something? His flight was leaving.
His
how do you know he killed Mike?
I found his fingerprint at the scene.
And you didn't tell me?
You kept it from the police department?
Dex, so what happened to you only taking care
of people that slip through the cracks
of the justice system?
You can't rip a case wide open
so that it conveniently falls into your fucking lap!
I know.
Obviously you don't know, Dexter,
because this is normal for you.
But trust me, this is not fucking normal for me,
not at all.
How am I supposed to do my fucking job?
Which at this point is the be-all, end-all of hypocrisy,
because I am the lieutenant of fucking homicide,
and I have already helped you cover up two murders.
Three— this makes three.
And the fucking bartender— oh, my fucking God.
Oh, my God.
How did this become my life?
- Deb, where are you going? - I'm gonna arrest Isaak!
I'm gonna take him to fucking jail.
- On what charge? - I'll find something!
No! We can't—
I can't afford to risk him talking.
Look, I will handle this, but until I do,
we need to take extra precautions.
Isaak is convinced that there's some police conspiracy.
He thinks we all killed Viktor, so you're at risk too.
What?
But I can keep you safe.
We're gonna go to a hotel...
A place where no one knows who we are,
where no one asks any questions,
a place where we'll both be safe.
This is fucking fantastic.
He might be watching the precinct, your home.
I need you to take a car from the motor pool,
make sure you never leave the same way twice.
Make sure no one follows you. I'll do the same.
I need you to promise me something.
What?
That you will never take a case
from the police department again, from me, ever.
Okay.
Are you lying to me?
I don't think so.
You don't think so? You don't fucking think so?
I'm not lying.
I have no way of knowing, do I?
When you begin a stalk, you start with what you know.
And with Isaak, that isn't much.
Isaak isn't just some hit man.
He's a boss.
Damn.
Yes?
Dexter, Hannah McKay is on her way in.
I'm kind of tied up with something right now.
Dexter, Hannah is gonna talk us
through her road trip with Wayne Randall
and help us find the rest of the bodies.
This is important. Get here now.
Right. I'm on my way.
In that first week,
Wayne shot a gas station attendant
in Ashford, Alabama.
That's where these are from.
And Wayne shot another attendant
in Lake City, Florida.
And then he shot a guy outside of Sarasota
who stopped to help you fix a flat.
You then get picked up in Miami
trying to sneak on board a cruise ship.
That week you guys were in Miami—
that's the story we don't know...
The people Wayne killed,
the bodies we'd like to find.
It looks like it starts here.
Uh...
Uh, we got to Miami,
and we were the only thing on the news.
We were desperate— no money,
cops everywhere.
Wayne decided that we would hide out in the motels
until we could make it to that cruise ship.
He killed people so we could take their rooms.
We buried the bodies close to the motels.
Where were the motels?
One was by a Frosty Swirl—
uh, Wayne's favorite.
That's where Miss Dubois was found.
What about these?
Those two go together.
Together?
They were a couple—
husband and wife, I guess.
- Where are they buried? - Close to one of the ports.
I remember big ships unloading.
And the motel?
Small...
Um, one-story—
I think I would recognize it,
but so much of that time is just a blur, you know?
Everything changed in Miami— Wayne, most of all.
I was so scared.
I thought that he was gonna kill me.
He forced me to help him dig those holes,
and every time that I dug one of them,
I-I wasn't sure if I was digging my own grave or not.
I understand how difficult this is for you,
but if you'll excuse me,
I'm gonna get the ball rolling on the next dig—
tomorrow if possible.
Sure. I'd like to get this over with.
That toy isn't bringing back memories of being scared.
She's nostalgic.
No touching.
Can I have your giraffe back, please?
It's Wayne's...
Wayne's giraffe.
It was wrapped in your shirt.
What, are you a detective now too?
Sergeant Batista will give you the details for tomorrow.
Will you be there?
I hope so.
Killing Isaak would make a lot of Koshkas very angry...
but a lot of Colombians very happy.
The goddamn shower has two settings—
scalding and freezing.
It's a cheap motel. That's the point.
I'm not doing this another night.
Hopefully we won't have to.
Does that mean you're working on a solution?
I have a plan, yes.
Does it involve you killing someone?
I'm not killing anybody.
That's my bed...
closest to the door.
Tell me your plan.
No.
Dexter, I'm hiding out in this fucking motel room.
I'm a part of this.
Not any more than you need to be.
This is not how I ever imagined spending tonight.
We've stayed in hotel rooms before.
Yeah, when we went to Myrtle Beach
to visit mom's sister.
There were sea shells embedded in the plaster on the walls...
No air-conditioning, just ceiling fans.
There was sand from the beach everywhere,
even in the beds.
You kept your eyes on me all day.
I didn't want you to drown.
You were my hero.
Good boy. Good.
Hot as hell out here...
even with the ocean breeze.
- Think we'll find anything?
The motel Hannah and Wayne stayed at is still here.
Nothing's changed much...
since their spree.
Pretty good odds. Hmm.
Can I ask you something?
This bartender who shot himself—
Alex Dubrozny...
Do you think it's a suicide?
Masuka matched his handwriting to the note he left.
His fingerprints were on the gun, GSR on the hand.
He definitely pulled the trigger.
Ow. Fucking bugs.
I'm gonna go get some spray from the car.
This part of the job...
stand around and stare?
I'm not needed unless there's a body or blood.
I don't know how you do it.
First time Wayne killed somebody,
he shot him right in the chest, and I...
Couldn't move.
I've never seen that much blood in my life.
First crime scene I ever worked,
a woman stabbed her husband after fixing him a sandwich.
By the time I got there, he looked like he was asleep,
just floating on a sea of red
and the sandwich next to his head.
Seemed so sad that no one was gonna eat it.
Look at us talking blood and Gore
like we're on a date,
sharing our first sexual experience.
I've got work to do.
There you are.
Aren't you supposed to be talking to the Connors?
They were less than cooperative.
This was on my way back to the station,
so I thought I'd sit in.
Great.
Hi.
I'm Captain Maria LaGuerta, Miami Metro,
and this is Lieutenant Debra Morgan.
I talked to your mom, Patricia. Is she home?
No, uh, sorry. She got called into work.
Oh, that— we'll come back.
Is this about my dad?
She said you guys had called.
I could try to answer any questions, if you want.
That would be very helpful.
Yeah.
When was the last time you saw your father?
May 19, 2007—
the best fucking day of my life.
How so?
'Cause he never came back.
So wasn't it hard growing up without a father?
It was a hell of a lot better
than growing up with a father who beat me and my mom
every chance he got.
I'm sorry.
Then one night, he didn't come home.
I swear, everything got better.
My mom wasn't crying all the time,
and I wasn't constantly looking over my shoulder.
Ty, you mentioned the last time
you saw your father— he was working a wedding?
Yeah, uh, my mom printed out
some pictures for you from that night.
She—she thought you might want them.
Great.
What are you hoping to find in these pictures?
Special Agent Lundy had this theory
that the Bay Harbor butcher was in law enforcement.
If Barnes was killed by the butcher...
then his face might be in one of the pictures.
We might even know him... or her.
You mind? Yeah. No.
Okay.
What are you looking for exactly?
We think your father
may have been abducted and murdered
the night he disappeared,
and the person responsible could be in these pictures.
Mom would finally know he's not coming home.
This is a big wedding— a lot of pictures.
You know, maybe I should take these back to the station
and spend the day going over them.
You're right.
We shouldn't rush this.
Thank you, Ty. Thanks.
Right here— put it down.
Go ahead, Detective.
"Till death do us part"
didn't quite work out for these guys.
Get it?
'Cause they're dead, but they're still together?
Okay, moving on.
The shower curtain helped preserve
the bodies and the clothes.
Our lucky day.
It's a safe assumption that Wayne started
with the male.
It would've been important to immobilize him first,
'cause he presented the biggest threat.
There are defensive wounds on the arms and the hands.
He put up a fight.
Judging from the cuts in the fabric,
we're looking at perhaps a six-inch knife.
Numerous shallow wounds
until Wayne was able to inflict this—
the fatal wound.
Once he was done with him,
he moved on to the female victim.
Stabbed numerous times.
The spatter pattern
suggests the victim fell on her back.
And these voids here likely indicate
that she was straddled by her assailant...
Who was much smaller than Wayne.
If Wayne didn't kill this person...
Dexter...
What does it mean?
I'm not sure. It could mean a lot of things.
I won't know until I get back to the lab and run some tests.
I guess we're done here.
Why'd you stop?
Stop what?
You started to describe how Wayne killed that girl.
And you got halfway through, and then you stopped.
I did.
And then you looked right at me.
I did.
Why?
The spatter told me a story
that conflicts what you say happened.
Really?
How so?
How'd you get this?
It's a little something I got for talking back to Wayne.
He got angry and slashed at me.
Bullshit.
Do you know something that I don't?
Wayne didn't kill that woman.
He was too busy with the male. It was someone smaller—
someone with a different knife
who was...
inexperienced...
Got carried away with the frenzy of the moment,
stabbed the woman over and over
until the knife got so bloody,
her hand slipped along the edge of the sharp blade,
cutting her palm very deeply, exactly like yours,
leaving a passive spatter stain on the victim's dress.
Everything you said is a lie.
That's my story...
and I'm sticking to it.
And you don't even care.
You have immunity, don't you?
The D.A. gave you immunity for cooperating with us.
From any crime committed with Wayne, yeah.
Yeah.
A girl's got to protect herself.
I'll see you around, Dexter Morgan.
Isaak... I knew you'd show up eventually.
Don't worry. I'm not gonna lose you.
Welcome to the wrong side of town, Isaak.
Not used to strangers here.
Koshkas.
And certainly not used to their sworn enemies
walking in.
But Isaak, being from out of town,
won't know any of this.
Definitely not as much fun
as putting Isaak on my table...
but it does mask his death as the resulting war
between rival heroin dealers.
Who's saving whose ass now?
- What's up? - I know you're busy.
And also want you to know
that I'm not trying to stir up any shit.
Of course not.
It's about this Alex Dubrozny suicide.
There's something about this guy
being Anderson's killer that's just not right.
Sorry. It's dispatch.
Sergeant Batista.
Okay. Got it.
Gonna have to rain-check this.
Homicide at a Colombian hangout.
Got blood, Dexter.
Where we going?
Mateo's bar. Know it?
Nope.
I'll meet you there.
Holy shit.
It's like somebody turned on the hose
and sprayed blood everywhere.
Great.
I left Isaak here outnumbered
and expected to find only his body.
So where is he now?
Do we know these guys?
This is Andres Rodriguez.
He's a member of the Rojas cartel.
We ran into each other a few times
when I worked narcotics.
Is it possible Isaak did all of this?
Why do drug hits have to be so messy?
You got to make a big show.
Who do think good's for this—the Eighty-Sevens?
Or the Koshka brotherhood.
Koshkas?
What happened here, Dex?
Considering this one was closest to the door,
he was probably first to see the attacker,
first to respond.
He drew his gun as the attacker fired.
The misting on the juke box and the wall
indicates multiple bullet hits,
all through-and-through.
Victim number two—
Looks like he got a shot off.
But that didn't stop the assault.
The attacker returned fire...
Twice in the chest, once in the stomach.
Judging from the lack of pooling around the body,
suggests that the victim was dead
before the third shot.
Wait, wait, wait, wait.
How many people were here shooting?
There's only evidence of one killer—
one brutally efficient killer.
Jesus fuck.
Looks like our attacker ran out of bullets
right around here.
It's from a defensive wound.
Looks like it was a deep cut—
forearm maybe,
obviously not fatal.
The attacker grabbed the nearest weapon...
hit his victim over the head,
inflicted a massive skull fracture...
And walked right out the door.
So we're looking for the fucking Terminator.
Let's get the blood running through the system
as quickly as possible.
Maybe we can match it to a name.
Okay, everybody outside.
Let's let Dexter and Masuka do their thing.
Sarge...
mind if I run an errand real quick?
Was this part of your fantastic plan?
I never said my plan was fantastic,
but, no, this is not how I thought it would go.
Do we have an even bigger problem on our hands now?
Not if we can find a match for this blood.
You'll be able to make an arrest.
The sooner the better.
I couldn't agree more.
- Right here, baby.
You know, your car's fixed now.
You're gonna have to start using it.
But I like having a chauffeur. Come on.
Let me show you how much I like it.
I wish I could, but I got work to do.
Oh, just forget about work.
We're gonna have to fucking pay them back.
I'll get some guys and do it myself, if you want.
No.
Well, they're sure as shit gonna come after us.
And we can't sit around and do nothing.
Shit.
We don't need a cop here now.
Who is he?
Joey Quinn—
he came up from narcotics, and now he's homicide.
We used to have an understanding with him.
What kind of understanding?
Leave a bag of cash in his car,
and he'd do whatever we asked—
mostly just look the other way.
Fuck.
Well?
Lieutenant, are the cuffs necessary?
Probably not.
Would your client like to have a little chat with us?
My client has nothing to say.
He's exercising his American right to silence.
Well, fucking God bless America.
Get this guy to booking.
Your client's going to jail for the rest of his life.
Nice to meet you, Lieutenant Morgan.
Maybe now that Isaak's behind bars,
we can have that face-to-face he's been so desperate for.
So you got Isaak Sirko.
We got Isaak Sirko.
Congratulations. It's a big deal.
May I?
Our earlier conversation... Right.
I don't think Alex Dubrozny shot Mike Anderson.
It doesn't make any sense.
Alex has been in this country for two years,
and according to every stripper I interviewed,
all he talked about was his wife and his kids.
He didn't show any interest towards Kaja.
I think someone put Alex up to this,
someone connected to Isaak Sirko.
Deb...
I still think Viktor Baskov killed Mike Anderson.
And Viktor just disappeared into thin air.
- But if we can find— - Sergeant...
Your dedication is admirable.
Deb, it's me. You don't have to talk like that.
And a year ago, I might have been right beside you,
fighting for what I thought was right.
But the hardest lesson that I've learned as lieutenant
is knowing when to back the fuck down.
You don't believe me.
You don't have concrete evidence to support your theory.
And I can't afford to reopen a murder investigation.
This isn't just any murder investigation.
- This is Mike Anderson— - Mike's killer is dead.
Mike got justice.
Let it go.
That's an order.
Okay, Lieutenant.
You got it.
My God.
Hello, Isaak.
Hello, Dexter.
I underestimated you.
Have you come here to taunt me?
No, I just thought maybe you could help me.
Why is it so important that you kill me?
Well, it's quite simple, really.
You killed Viktor. I liked Viktor.
Like or not, he killed Mike Anderson.
Is that why you killed him—revenge?
Yes.
There was the briefest flicker
of hesitation there.
But if you're telling the truth,
then you don't require any explanation.
You understand the need for vengeance.
So you got arrested. There'll be a trial.
You'll go to prison for a long time.
Does that mean this is over?
Over? Yes.
I had a great uncle...
My grandfather's brother.
He was a hero—
fought with the Red army during the Second World War.
When he returned to Kiev afterwards,
some fat, little party official
resented the fact that everyone admired him,
so he decided to make an example of him
by taking away his house.
When my great uncle protested,
he was hung in front of the council chambers.
My grandfather was just a teenager.
When that party official saw the hatred in his eyes,
he had him arrested and sent to Siberia.
And the years rolled by.
And my grandfather got on with his life as best he could.
He was a patient man.
Finally, when the Soviet Union fell,
he returned to Kiev
and celebrated in front of city hall
with all the others.
And that's when he found
that fat, little party official.
And he got to enjoy the pleasure that belonged to him
and him alone
by sticking a six-inch knife
into that fat, little man's kidney.
So you ask me...
if this is over.
No.
I'm afraid not.
There's only one problem.
And that is?
I'm not some fat, little man.
That's true.
I don't know who you are.
If you ever find out, you'll regret it.
Hey. Come on in.
See this?
What is it?
It's me life-guarding your ass for a change.
I took it from LaGuerta.
I told you to stay clear of this.
Well, you're lucky I didn't.
- Deb— - She would've seen you, Dexter.
So you saved me.
Yeah.
Thanks.
It's yours. It's not mine.
I don't want to be involved in that part of your life.
I don't want you to be.
I know you're not gonna stop.
But I don't want to know about it.
Okay.
I had to lie to Batista...
Batista for you.
And that was the moment that I realized
that I don't want to be a part of this.
I can't do it.
It took me forever to wrap my brain
around the idea that...
You're not who I thought you were.
But it doesn't mean I have to change.
All of your stealing and your lying
and your covering up...
That's not me.
So you think LaGuerta's investigation is...
closed?
No.
Lundy couldn't figure me out.
No reason to think LaGuerta will.
Oh, if Lundy could see me now...
And you.
I've been thinking about our vacation
to Myrtle Beach a lot...
How we spent our days.
On the beach.
Running up and down the shore...
And at low tide, running in and out of the water.
I was always chasing you. I could never catch you.
You wouldn't take off your flippers.
Even if I did, you were always...
just out of reach.
Maybe we're learning it's better that way.
Did you get the blood report back
on the bodies from the dig?
Yeah.
And?
Anything I should know?
Nope.
As kids, Deb and I would try to outrun the waves,
but I would always end up diving under them.
I'd swim deep
because I could withstand the pull of the tide.
But Deb was always safest at shore.
From here on out, I'll face the depths by myself.