All language subtitles for The Glades - 1x08 - Marriage is Murder.HDTV.FQM.en

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 --