Original subtitles

Oh, that was amazing.

Mmm.

Your husband -- he's -- he's one lucky guy.

Mm.

Your wife...

Ah, she's one lucky girl.

I'm thirsty.

Want anything?

Be right back.

Oh.

Mm.

Hey, hey. W-w-what is it? What's going on?

Yo, dude.

You all right?

Ohh.

I was in my room doing homework.

Homework? Really?

With your mom at work?

Okay. So I was playing "Kinect Sports."

Ah, your secret's safe with me.

So, what, you're doing your homework,

and this guy's just looking in your window?

Yeah, he had, like, long hair

and some kind of neck tat, like a spider or something.

That's kind of specific. You seen this guy before?

No. Hi!

Uh, I'm gonna go with "party I wasn't invited to."

S-sort of.

Uh, Jeff had a little uninvited visitor

peeking at him through the window.

Oh. Why didn't you call me?

'Cause you were at work.

Yeah, but I can leave in an emergency.

Unless this wasn't an emergency.

Mom, no, I'm telling you, I saw the guy!

Okay. Well, now we got the all clear,

you can go on in and finish your homework.

Of course, you don't believe me.

No, I believe that you think you saw something.

But I want you to finish your homework,

and say thank you to Jim...

Ohh. Mm.

Sorry for the false alarm.

Really think he's crying wolf?

Well, he gets like this when he misses his dad.

I was supposed to take him last week,

but between school and the job --

sorry. Sounds tough.

Ah, he'll be fine.

No, I was talking about you.

Mm.

You want to come in and cool off? Is there beer involved?

And chips and salsa, too, if you play your cards right.

Ohh.

Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hang on.

No!

Yeah?

Really?

Well, I'm kind of in the middle of something, so...

Oh, no, no, no.

I'm on it.

Sorry, uh, I got a date with a dead guy.

Blown off for a dead guy.

Rain check on the beer?

We'll see.

If I play my cards right, huh?

Yeah.

Don't you have to go?

Just making sure you get home safe.

I'm like a foot from my door.

Never be too careful.

Right.

Here I go.

Some say I don't play well with others.

I was a damn good Detective in Chicago

until a disagreement with my boss

encouraged me to pack it up and make a change.

So I put the Windy City in my rearview

and headed to the Sunshine State

to kick back, play some golf, work on my tan,

maybe write the occasional speeding ticket.

Yeah, well...

That didn't work out.

The Glades 1x08 Marriage Is Murder Original Air Date on August 29, 2010

-- sync, corrected by elderman -- -- for www.addic7ed.com --

Who's our friend here?

Got a male, 40s.

Somebody swiped his wallet, watch, keys,

and judging from his tan line, his wedding ring.

Huh.

Puncture wounds.

A lot of them.

On his neck and chest.

Probably from a screwdriver or ice pick.

Wow.

Someone was really mad at this guy.

I can't imagine anyone being that mad at me.

Oh, yeah? Try harder.

Nice jacket. Nice?

It's a John Varvatos.

You're looking at about... 5 grand.

Jeans, boots, leather jacket.

All this season.

What?

My wife likes me styled up.

No blood splatter...

Here or on the wall.

No, the blood pooled inside his jacket.

I'm thinking the attack took place somewhere else.

The victim managed to make it this far before he died.

Did you talk to the motel manager?

Yeah. He wasn't a guest.

And, uh, he hadn't seen this guy before.

We'll use his prints to get an I.D.

This the couple that found the body? Yes, sir.

I got this. Yes, sir.

Hi. Detective Longworth.

I understand you guys found the body?

I-I did. Y-yeah.

Did you hear or see anything?

Anyone suspicious?

No. Not at all.

Oh. You staying here?

At the motel?

In one of the rooms?

Look, man.

We're not married.

Okay. I mean, we are...

It's just --

Hey. None of my business. Right? Cool.

So, you think you could leave our names out of the report?

Ah. That I can't do.

But unless your wife...

Or husband, starts to scour police reports,

shouldn't be a problem.

Oh-ho.

That's sweet.

Uh, where were you guys earlier?

Uh, just across the street. At Cancun's.

Is that where you met? Yeah.

Two weeks ago. Yeah.

Okay. Well, thank you.

Oh, and, uh...

Thank you, man.

Did they have anything to offer?

No, they were too busy cheating on their spouses

to hear anything.

They met at the bar across the street.

Cheaters? They met at cheaters?

Cancun Beach Club?

What? That's what they call it.

"They"?

Whatever. It's local knowledge.

Yeah, well, maybe our John Doe knew that, as well.

Whoo!

Yeah, the guy was a pig.

He kept grabbing my ass, so the bouncers tossed his ass.

Most people who come to Cancun's come to enjoy the beach.

Do a little people watching,

check out each other's rides.

Heard it's also a good place

for a little off-the-books hook-up.

Cheaters? Yeah.

So maybe my guy chose the wrong guy's wife.

Your guy hit on everyone.

He pissed off people left and right.

He even ran off his friend.

They got into an argument, and the guy split.

Uh, you get a name, credit card receipt?

Nope. Paid cash.

What were they fighting about?

Don't know.

But after he left, there was this other guy

who got way too drunk,

and he kept saying your victim wouldn't see nightfall.

Did you get a description of that guy?

Kind of scrawny, with, like, a flat-top.

And a scar over...His right eye.

Don't even think about it, because the answer is no.

"No" what?

You don't have a wife,

so I'm saying it for her.

No, you can't have a motorcycle.

Anyone with your attention span

has no business riding anything like this.

Hey, I found out the victim was a world-class ass-wipe.

Well, there's plenty of those around.

And a guy with a flat-top

and a scar over his right eye

was threatening to kill him all afternoon.

Good to know.

Here's my prelim.

In addition to the stab wounds,

I also found needle marks in his hip.

Probably for diabetes,

so I'm gonna fire off a tox report.

Excuse me. I, um, have a wife to go home to.

Mm-hmm.

Listen, the guy's been to a lot of bars around here, so get crackin'.

Oh. Already got it covered.

Got that surveillance video, Detective.

Hey, Dr. Sanchez.

I already hit a few bars, like you said.

I'll compare these to the three bar stamps on the victim's hand.

Then assemble a video timeline.

Have it for you in -- in a few hours.

Okay. Good. Go in there.

Match up these bikes with their owners.

What, just because of the leather jacket?

Our vic's too cleaned up to be a biker.

No, these bikes are too expensive to be owned by real bikers.

But rich, obnoxious ass-wipes that everybody hates?

Now, that shows real promise.

Gone through his entire last few hours.

This tape here gives us the best footage of our victim.

Here he comes.

And he looks pretty wasted.

An old enemy, maybe?

Or just somebody he met on the boardwalk

and pissed off royally?

I haven't seen him with anyone I'd say

looks even remotely close to a friend.

Looks like he was picking fights with everyone.

Uh, anything else on the scrawny guy

with the scar and the flat-top?

Nothing.

But I cross-checked all motorcycles with their owners.

All present and accounted for.

Yeah. There's something about that leather jacket.

A $2,500 leather jacket doesn't mean he rides.

It just means he's rich.

And obnoxious.

Someone a bunch of people clearly hated enough

to want him dead.

A bunch of people. Mm-hmm.

This isn't "Murder on the Orient Express."

He was just a jackass!

Maybe he pissed off a gang of real bikers.

Real bikers stay clear of nice places like Cancun's.

Hey, I put our vic's prints on the wire.

Now, he's not in the system as a criminal,

but I did get something else --

really? Really?

Do you always have to do that?

I got a hit from the D.A. in Palm Beach.

He did an internship there years ago

when he was at the University of Miami Law School.

Was he a prosecutor? Divorce attorney.

Biggest in the state.

Allan Slater, 51,

of Palm Beach, Florida.

A ruthless divorce attorney,

someone who made millions out of tearing families apart

and destroying people's lives.

I'm thinking half the state of Florida wanted this guy dead.

Mrs. Slater?

Yes?

Jim Longworth. With the FDLE.

Let me guess. Something happened to Allan?

How'd you know?

'Cause you're a cop knocking on my front door,

and he's a divorce attorney who has a knack

for destroying people's lives.

Had a knack.

He's dead.

Cancun's.

That figures.

Nothing good ever comes out of that place.

Not the cheating kind, huh?

Maybe your husband was.

Not that I know of.

Or at least that you'd ever caught him at.

Or maybe you did.

Nope.

My husband was a divorce attorney, Detective.

Cancun's is a place where people go to cut loose,

escape from their unhappy marriages.

Maybe he was trawling for business.

Oh, without his wife,

I'm sure he was trawling for something.

Empty-headed beach bunnies, maybe?

I wouldn't be caught dead there.

Interesting choice of words.

You know, I normally get more emotion from victims' wives.

Which means you think I had something to do with his death.

Did you? No.

Do you need my alibi?

Yeah. You got one lying around?

I know how this works.

I was a crime reporter for Channel 8 in Miami.

Interviewed a lot of cops.

I know how you think.

Wow. That actually makes me feel a little uncomfortable.

So, you being the hot, on-air reporter on television --

is that how you first got on your husband's radar?

Allan saw something he wanted, he took it.

Look, just because I'm not sad he's gone,

doesn't mean I'm happy about it, either.

We had an arrangement.

Ah. Prenup, I'm guessing.

A generous one.

Allan was very fair to all of his wives.

I knew what I was getting into.

Allan diabetic?

No. Testosterone.

He liked to feel invincible.

Who doesn't, right? Mm.

So, Allan 'roided out. Geez.

Must have been fun to live with.

Not bad if he's on your side.

Probably made a few enemies along the way. Any stand out?

Take your pick.

What's in there?

Dirt.

On judges, clients, lawyers,

anybody he needed to hurt.

Can I take this?

I don't have the password anyway.

Ho!

Allan did own a bike.

A bike.

Try "his baby."

Bought it for $400,000,

spent another $100,000 fixing it up.

500 grand for a bike?

Certainly didn't see it at the crime scene.

Trust me.

Allan would never give up his bike without a fight.

Maybe someone killed him when they stole it.

Wow. You do know how we think.

You ever heard of these?

Uh, chasteberry. Sure.

If I were taking them, what would that say about me?

That you had tender breasts, irritability,

possible bloating.

Uh, is that possible side effects of steroids?

No. Of being a woman.

Oh. So it's like an herbal birth control to keep you chaste?

It's the opposite. It's to help you get pregnant.

Oh, are you thinking about starting a family?

Someday.

No, this is wife trouble. For my dead guy.

Ah. How's that going?

Slowly. He was a divorce attorney.

'Cause no one wants to kill them.

How's Jeff doing?

He's fine.

He's a little spooked about coming home

to an empty house,

but he'll get over it. He always does.

Are you sure he was crying wolf?

Are you trying to scare me, too?

Yeah. A little.

I found a pair of boot prints near one of your windows.

It -- this was on Tuesday?

Yeah. Tuesday. Tuesday.

Tuesday is when the bug guy comes

and sprays the entire perimeter of my house.

And trust me --

I know how bad guys operate.

And I haven't noticed any unusual activity in the neighborhood,

and Jeff does have a history of crying wolf.

He called me three times last week.

All right. You know what?

If Jeff is spooked about going back to an empty house,

why doesn't he come to the station after school?

Hang out.

I don't want him "hanging out" after school.

Oh, yeah, 'cause a kid can get into so much trouble

at a police station.

You know what I mean.

Okay. Fine.

Just make sure he finishes his homework.

Absolutely. No question.

Right.

Daniel. Find our victim's bike?

Sort of. I found Craig Daniels,

Slater's trainer and bike mechanic.

At least according to Florida Law Journal.

Sounds like he's the friend Slater fought with

the night of the murder.

And...Hold it.

Breathe.

Nice.

Craig Daniels? Jim Longworth.

Later, jerk.

Can't you see I'm at work?

Well, no, I can see you're actually

putting this poor Lady through unnecessary rigor

just so you can stare at her ass.

See? I'm working, too.

Take five, babe.

And you hydrate.

What the hell do you want?

Well, for starters, Popeye,

you can take your tone down a notch.

Pretty smart mouth for a guy I could snap in two.

What, did you bring backup?

No. Just me.

What the hell do you want?

I understand you and your boss were involved in a fight

at Cancun's Beach Club.

Wasn't a fight.

You do know he was murdered...

Right?

I didn't hear from him, so...

I figured something was wrong.

But he's not my boss.

I train him.

Yeah. You also take care of his bike.

"Take care of"?

I rebut that thing from scratch.

That bike is a museum piece thanks to me.

Phew! Then you must be pretty pissed off

when he gets the covers and all the accolades.

Your name? Barely mentioned once.

His money, his bike.

Yeah. Your talent, your hard work.

Everyone i talked to about him says he's a real dick.

Well, they didn't know him like I did.

See, we grew up two houses apart in Astatula.

We were like brothers.

Well, what did you two "brothers" fight over the night he was murdered?

He was drinking too much.

I told him to stop, and he wouldn't.

So you weren't exactly "brothers."

Were you?

I mean, you cleaned up his messes,

polished his bike.

He was your meal ticket.

He was my partner.

I train a lot of rich trophy wives.

If I found one that was a little unhappy

in her marriage,

I'd churn her a little bit.

I fed the business to Allan.

Messing around with people's marriages

your idea of sport, sport?

You know what they say -- all's fair.

Why shouldn't my buddy make some cash?

Oh, I don't know, 'cause sometimes maybe innocent children are involved?

And I want to open my own gym.

And Allan was gonna co-sign on a loan.

So you tell me, smart guy,

why would I kill him?

I don't know.

Oh, hey.

Maybe the half million dollars you'd get if you sold his bike,

an Eddie Trotta that's missing.

"Baby"?

You think I killed my friend over Baby?

Baby?

Yeah. That's what he called his bike.

Excuse me for a second.

Daniel. You know that password we were looking for?

Try b-a-b-y.

We were able to crack his notebook, and we found...

Wade Conners.

He owned four Harley dealerships in Florida before the divorce.

That the guy who threatened to kill your divorce attorney?

Thanks to Allan Slater,

he lost his business, his home, his family,

ended up bankrupt and in rehab,

all thanks to our dead divorce attorney.

Mm.

He also has a history of violence.

His ex-wife filed a restraining order on him.

So where's Wade now?

Fixing Sea-Doos in Orlando.

So I call the dealership --

he hasn't turned up for a couple of days. Nice.

I got a couple of plainclothes FDLE guys down at Cancun's,

making sure that no one there is protecting the guy,

or that Wade's not stupid enough to return.

Oh, where are you going?

To warn Wade Conners' ex-wife.

Killer Bronco.

Jim Longworth. FDLE.

I'm guessing you're not Wade Conners.

Uh, Shane. Wade's my dad.

I'm looking for your dad. Is he here?

No, he's not allowed to come here.

Why not?

Came by last week when I was at school,

drunk off his ass.

Got in a fight with my mom.

Broke the window. Oh.

Makes sense.

If I'd have lost this place to a divorce,

I'd be pretty pissed off, too.

Uh, you have any idea where I can find him?

Don't know.

Don't care.

Is your mom around?

She's with her boyfriend.

Where that is, is anybody's guess, huh?

You know, I used to have one of these in college.

Mine was a straight-six. What's this?

302. Ho.

V8.

This baby yours?

Yeah. I got it for being good.

What, like a bribe? What for?

For allowing my soon-to-be stepdad to move us to L.A.

As soon as the school year's over.

And you're not happy about that.

Well, it is L.A.

Look, I'm sorry, but my dad's not here.

You know, I-I got to go clean up

you know, do my homework.

Sure. Hey, I-I need to get ahold of your mom.

Do you have her number?

Yeah.

Uh, 561... Ah, I got no bars.

I hate my carrier. Uh, can I use your phone?

Yeah, my mom's number's in there.

Cool. Thanks. Won't be a second.

Yeah?

Hey, where are you? I got your 20 bucks.

Who's this?

Uh, it's Jim. You loaned me 20 bucks.

I want to pay you back.

All right. All right.

Yeah, you at Cancun's?

Yeah!

Our guy's at Cancun's.

You know, it's pretty crowded in here.

Raise your hand so I can see you.

All right.

He's the guy with his hand in the air.

We got him.

Ow! What are you --

What are you guys doing?!

Hey. Thanks. I left a message.

Yeah. Hey, be good.

Oh, my gosh.

There really are 3,000 guys with neck tats.

Yeah, and that's just in the state of Florida.

Are you gonna be all right here?

I-I need to go see a guy.

It's a police station. What could happen?

Hey, uh, keep looking.

Let me know if you find your guy, all right?

Okay.

Hey, Wade!

Feel like I got an ax stuck in my head.

That how you got your scar?

I don't recall.

Or maybe when you busted a window

on that really nice house you used to have.

You know, the one that Slater hijacked,

along with your Harley franchises,

your home, your family...

I didn't kill him, okay?!

I got a witness saying that they heard you planned to.

Come on. Admit it.

You went to Cancun's to get him back, didn't you?

I went there to get my life back,

to get my son's respect back.

You know what it's like to fail your kid?

Not really. You want to tell me?

I went away to rehab.

Anger management.

When I got back,

I had to work three jobs just to pay back the lawyers.

Barely even saw Shane.

He thought I didn't care anymore.

What was your plan?

Shane and I always talked

about this invention I had in my head.

We called it the super muffler.

Cuts emissions, improves mileage.

So I sold my truck.

Made a prototype.

Came down here to see if I could get some investors.

But I never got the chance.

Stopped off for lunch...

And saw that bald, shiny head in the crowd.

I always said,

if I ever saw that bastard outside a courtroom,

I would...

So you followed him.

I had a drink...

To steady my nerves, which I hadn't done in months.

And I ran my mouth, trying to work myself up to it.

Then I got too drunk.

Passed out in my van.

Great alibi, Wade.

Way to win your son's respect back.

You talk to Shane? Is he okay?

Yeah, I did. He's a great kid.

No thanks to you.

Are you crazy? Ray, he's 7!

Come on. He'll be fine.

We're just going to the end of the block and back.

Right? Yeah.

All right. You ready?

Yeah!

All right. Ray. Ray!

Honey. He can do this. All right? I got it.

All right. Come on.

Be so careful.

So you watching that again, huh?

You know this Sorento has

literally, like, hundreds of stations

and a satellite radio?

Or the mp3 jack, you can listen to whatever you want.

Or we could talk.

Jeff, you don't need to start that again.

We're almost home. You lied to me.

What are you talking about? You lied to me.

You said that dad was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That he made a stupid mistake.

He made a lot of stupid mistakes, didn't he?

Look, I saw dad's arrest report at the police station, okay?

Jim showed you?

Don't blame Jim!

Mom, don't blame anybody!

Just blame yourself!

You're the one who's been lying to me!

Honey, I was trying to protect you.

You don't need to know about all of that.

All of what?

That dad's done so many stupid things in his life

that he may never get out?

He's going to get out.

Why should I believe you?

You're just a liar.

Jeff, come back here.

You still don't have the time of death?

What the hell's taking so long?

It's tricky.

I can't use liver temp or digestion

because he hadn't eaten.

Which leaves me with livor mortis

and a potassium eye test.

So we're waiting on lab results.

What difference does it make? I heard you caught the guy.

Yeah. The ex-husband.

I mean, he's got motive out the Ying Yang,

but I'm light on facts.

I got him on public intox,

but, uh, that's only 'cause he's too broke to make bail.

I've been running profiles on potential murder weapons

based on the depth and angle of the victim's stab wounds.

The wounds are cleaved but very shallow.

So it could be a small pocket knife

or a specialty kitchen tool.

So the main form of death is still stabbing?

I can't tell conclusively till I nail a time of death,

and I can't confirm that until --

until you get the lab results. All right.

Thanks.

So, what do we do now?

What we should have done hours ago --

get a beer.

Sorry I'm late.

Line for the men's room is murder.

So to speak. Right. Good one.

Which is why, if I had to go, I'd come back here.

Me too.

Bring your blood kit?

Yeah.

Oh. You mean --

yeah. Yeah.

Hey! Hey, guys!

Over here!

Hi.

Come on up.

We're doing shooters.

Oh. Sorry. We're on a bit of a tear here.

Ohh.

That's no fun.

Oh, you have no idea.

That's a good bird's-eye view from up there.

Did you get the surveillance tape on the patrons

from the bar up there?

Da-- Daniel?

Hey. What?

Oh. Uh, no. No. Not -- not -- not here at the Iguana Café.

Not up there? Not -- not there.

Um, I-I focused on places the victim had been

based on the bar stamps on his hand.

But I will get them for you as soon as I am done...Here.

Yeah. Thank you.

Tox screens and lab results.

About time. Cause of death.

Uh, maybe not.

The tox screens found crystallized tubules in his kidneys.

Meaning what?

Meaning he was poisoned with antifreeze.

Stabbed and poisoned? That's weird.

You know what else is weird?

Slater had a vasectomy.

So?

So, he was taking steroid shots

to prove to the world how big his cajones are.

I mean, even for an attorney,

that's a pretty big conflict of interest, right?

Don't get me started on them.

Thanks to a "Dateline" clip on Youtube,

everyone knows if you're gonna poison someone,

antifreeze is the way to go.

How would you mask the taste?

It's actually pretty easy

because it's so sweet.

Its active ingredient is ethylene glycol.

It's a toxic form of alcohol.

What about the color?

Yeah, you can mix it with Mountain Dew or Red Bull.

Or Revitalade.

Oh. Regarding the surveillance video?

Um, I've run through the entire day of the murder,

and no sign of Slater or his buddy Craig Daniels.

Whoa. Freeze it. Enlarge it.

Go back. Go back.

Back, back, back, back.

There.

Well, if it isn't Mrs. Allan Slater...

Who said she'd never be caught dead on the boardwalk.

What happened to the butterfly tattoo?

Excuse me?

Is there something I can do for you, Detective?

We got a break in your husband's case.

Turns out, he was poisoned.

Poisoned. You sure? Positive.

Good choice. Ripe.

Good news is, is that a poisoner fits a very narrow profile --

someone who's close to him,

someone who couldn't confront him

but was very intimate with his habits --

you know, what he liked to eat or...Drink.

Sound like anyone you know?

Okay, so I like Revitalade.

Oh, forgot the best part.

A picture of you looking very unlike you.

That kind of inspired us to look at surveillance

on the day that your husband was murdered.

Looks like you could be caught dead at Cancun's, after all.

Hmm?

You thought that just by putting on a hootchy skirt

and a $10 Henna tattoo that you could undo

eight years of neglect and 'roided-out abuse?

I wanted him to see

that i have a carefree, beach-bunny side, too.

Probably hard to feel all beach bunny-ish

with that biological clock ticking in your ears.

Found it on your kitchen counter...

Alongside the folic acid, selenium.

Herbal fertility supplements.

I take them for PMS.

Or to get pregnant, which is what it's starting to sound like to me.

You're the fourth Mrs. Allan Slater.

You saw the prenuptial writing on the wall,

so you came up with a plan "B" --

as in "baby."

That way Allan would have to pay child support,

not to mention the house, the Land Rover.

If I wanted to have his baby, why would I kill him?

Because you found out he got snipped --

as in the vasectomy.

And that really pissed you off.

Okay, I went there to confront him.

But that's all.

For all of our fighting, we had great makeup sex.

I saw him drinking, having a good time.

He never drinks.

A high-powered lawyer that doesn't drink?

His body was his temple, or so he thought.

He never put anything into his body

that his trainer, Craig, didn't provide.

We're not open yet.

So, you got the loan, after all.

That's weird, 'cause I found your application

in the trash folder of Allan's computer.

How the hell did you find this place?

I'm good.

Well, that, and the office intern made some calls.

Found out that despite you being turned down for a loan,

you recently signed a lease on this place.

You come into some cash?

I got nothing more to say to you.

Ah, I bet you do, actually.

Well, your bro Allan was just murdered,

so we know the money didn't come from him.

Do I smell something? Like gas, maybe.

Hey, stay away from that.

Yeah, yeah, definitely gas. Hey. Hey.

Unless you got a warrant, you're about to lose your arm.

Actually, don't need a warrant, sport.

Not for a public health violation. Ugh!

Ohh, baby!

Ah. Hmm.

Oh, yeah!

I'm sure he had his reasons for not co-signing on the loan.

Yeah, he was an ass-wipe.

All you were to him was a lackey from Astatula

who reminded him of how far he'd come.

And, hey, why be rich if you can't rub it in someone's face?

That what you guys were fighting about that night?

I told you. He was drinking.

Which he'd only do with your permission.

Our lab found high levels of alcohol in his blood.

Not the kind that you get from a bar,

but ethyl glycol, the kind you get at pep boys.

Which give you the same woozy effects

as if you've been drinking.

So you guys, uh, had one last workout.

You got pumped for a sun-and-surf day at Cancun's,

and you poisoned him with antifreeze,

which pairs really well with Revitalade.

If we test this for trace ethylene glycol,

with your prints all over it,

we got you for murder.

Yeah.

Forget poisoning. That's not the cause of death.

Ah, man. Sorry. Not murder.

Thanks.

But attempted murder.

And this time, I did bring backup.

All right, let's go.

A tension pneumothorax?

Yeah, one of the stab wounds nicked his lung cavity,

causing a small leak.

It took me a while to find it. He basically suffocated.

Yeah, before the antifreeze killed him?

Yep. We also swept the alley, found both Slater and Wade Conners' blood.

He must've stabbed him there. You run the DNA?

Uh, not yet. Wade's ab negative.

It's a rare type, only 1% of the population.

Yeah, I don't know. Yeah, no, it's rare. I'm telling you.

No, no, no, I mean, I don'--

I don't totally buy Wade's guilt.

What's not to buy? You said he had motive, right?

I believe your legal term was "out the Ying Yang."

Yeah. Then I found this.

"Super muffler"?

Yeah. He invented it.

He was bringing it down here to find investors.

I mean, this guy had a plan.

He was -- he was trying to make a fresh start.

Just because it was an old wound doesn't mean it's healed.

Hey. Can I talk to you?

Sure.

Mugshots?

That's what you thought would ease Jeff's mind?

I just thought if Jeff felt more in control of his situation --

Jim, he saw his dad's arrest and conviction report.

What? No, no, no. That's impossible.

I specifically blocked him from that.

Oh, my God. He's 13!

He's found more ways around parental control than I can come up with.

And, no, you know what?

Before you apologize, I want you to hear me.

My son's heart is broken,

and he's pissed off at me for lying to him

for all these years, and I don't blame him!

All right, I'm sorry. I-I mean, you're right.

You're absolutely right. I...

Look, that's not what I meant to happen.

Please. I know you're only trying to help.

But, please, stop fanning Jeff's insecurities

by looking for some phantom peeping Tom.

Sorry.

Oh, no, I meant, "sorry, you're still not off the hook."

I didn't poison him. That was Craig.

And I heard you have the killer in custody.

A suspect, yeah.

Who threatened my husband all day.

Well, that's because your husband was a divorce attorney

who made his fortune out of destroying people's lives --

you know, like the guy we got in custody.

A fortune that's now entirely yours. Huh.

I told you, we have a prenup.

Death trumps a prenup. You know that.

Unless ol' Allan was planning on giving it all to charity.

Yeah, I really didn't think so.

I gave up my career to be Mrs. Allan Slater.

Yeah, and then when you realized that you couldn't,

that all you had left was the bluster and emotional abuse

of a man that was never gonna change, you thought,

"man, why won't the prick just die?

"Then it could all be mine -- the money, the firm,

the 'baby,'" so to speak.

Fine.

But you needn't bother telling me not to leave town.

I know -- you know how we think. Yeah, got it.

Why is Daniel looking at a Federal database for violent crimes?

'Cause Callie made me promise that i wouldn't.

You know, I've never been married,

but from what I've seen, divorce can be pure hell.

You got scumbag lawyers that are keeping the meter running,

pushing dates, filing motions,

keeping those wounds nice and fresh.

In the end, gets to the point where that person you loved,

you hate so much, you'll give anything and everything

just to get away from them --

your business, your house, your money.

But there is one thing that you'll fight to the death for --

your son.

No way a guy like you

lets your ex-wife take your son interstate...

Unless a ruthless divorce attorney

makes it so you don't have a choice.

So you used your whole life savings fighting for Shane,

and just like that, Slater just steals your son.

So...

You killed him.

I can't confess to something I didn't do.

You spent the whole day threatening to kill him.

Then at 6:00, someone finds his body,

and no one can vouch for where you were after 5:00?

And we also got your blood type in the alley where he got stabbed,

and we got your blood type on his clothes.

My blood type? As in DNA?

Well, kind of, but enough to get a court order

so we can test and determine a DNA profile.

When we get that, we can prove with 99% accuracy

who followed him into that alley

and who killed Allan Slater.

You don't have to do the test.

I can't take this anymore.

Hey. Nice work on the confession.

Uh, hello? I said nice job?

You know, everyone's always so down on television.

But it's really helped educate the public

on how forensics work.

What the hell are you talking about? Excuse me.

Uh, uh...

You're welcome.

Got a hot date?

Pimping your ride.

Look, I told you, all right? My dad's not here.

Oh, yeah, I know. He confessed to killing Allan Slater.

He's going away for good this time.

Th-that's too bad... For him.

I know you're not half as pissed at your dad as you pretend to be.

That's why you specifically asked for the old truck.

'Cause when you were little... He had one.

Hoo. How'd you get that bump on your head?

What, you get in a fight?

Just being stupid.

Behind Cancun's, maybe?

See, we found blood there that we matched to your dad's type.

But when I explained to him that we could test it,

find out who really killed Allan Slater,

he confessed before we could test for DNA.

'Cause it was your blood, wasn't it, Shane?

So, you want to tell me what really happened?

Or are you good with your dad going away forever?

That son of a bitch.

It wasn't enough he had to ruin my dad's life.

No, no, he had to keep us apart, too.

My dad saw that bastard go into Cancun's, and...

He called me up, and he said that, uh --

that he was gonna fix that sorry ass for good.

He'd been drinking, so I called him all day,

over and over, but he wouldn't answer.

And I thought he might do something stupid.

So you drove over there.

I saw that bastard go into the alley to take a leak.

Then I warned him about my dad, but h-h-he wouldn't listen.

He just kept laughing at me and --

and saying that talking to him broke the custody agreement,

that he was gonna have my dad arrested.

I got mad.

You know, I-I-I shoved that son of a bitch.

And his face got all red,

and he pinned me up against the wall,

said he was gonna kick my skinny ass.

You were scared for your life.

I couldn't breathe.

I-I just wanted him to let go of me.

Look, this is all my fault.

All right? My -- my -- my dad can't go to jail for this.

No, it's not entirely your fault.

I mean, Slater attacked you. He threatened your life.

You did what anyone would do. You defended yourself.

Look, no promises, son.

But you help us out on this,

you'll go a long way to making the prosecution and a judge

see things in a favorable light.

That way, maybe you and your dad can have that second chance.

Starting with this.

The super muffler?

He built it?

Yeah, he did. It's a hell of an idea, too.

He actually built it.

Daniel, go home.

Not paying you enough to stay this late.

Actually, I don't get paid at all.

Really?

Hmm. I think you should see this, though.

Vicap got a hit on your tattoo guy -- William Cobb.

He's on parole after serving four years

for armed robbery and sexual assault.

His last known address is a trailer park just a few miles up the road.

Daniel, whatever they're not paying you,

it's still not enough.

Don't move, or you're dead.

Drop it.

You got this all wrong, pal. She's my girlfriend. Shut up, asshole.

Dude, chill, I was just gonna --

you were just gonna shut up!

Ugh! Aah!

Suspect in custody.

Thanks for setting up surveillance on the place.

Hey, uh, do me a favor? Read him his rights.

I'll check on the occupants, make sure they're safe.

You have the right to remain silent.

Anything you say can and will be use against you in a court of law.

You have the right to an attorney.

If you can't afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you.

-- Sync, corrected by elderman -- -- for www.Addic7ed.Com --

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