All language subtitles for Episode 08 - Road Kill

Previously on Dexter.

You need to kill it.

No, I-I can't.

What's the real reason
you're stalling on killing Trinity?

I still have things
to learn from him.

Judging from the spray,
we're looking at somebody tall,

over six feet.

He moved the arm...

for a reason.

That smudge you found
at the crime scene?

Cremated human remains.

We got the killer's goddamn DNA?

The killer is related
to the human remains.

Same family. The same DNA.

He keeps his family
with him all the time.

Vera Mitchell.

Sister of Arthur Mitchell.

Found dead in a...

Bathtub.

This is Arthur Mitchell at his core.

Is there something in his DNA
that lets him keep a family,

some magic gene I'm missing?

I just got the official
go-ahead from LaGuerta

to open a Trinity Killer investigation.

What's that mean?

I realized if I pitched
the entire Trinity theory

and I added that he also
shot me and Lundy,

look like a fucking lunatic,

so I boiled it down
to the bludgeonings.

I am no longer seeing
Lieutenant LaGuerta.

We broke up, officially.

If I find out this is bullshit,
there will be consequences -

severe, career-ending
consequences.

Who are you?

I'm the person
who's going to keep you

from killing any more women.

I didn't fucking kill them!

Because of my pictures,
those women will live on forever!

Nothing lasts forever.

- Isn't that...
- Farrow's assistant.

I just arrested him for
the murder of Estrella Carazo.

But, no, I thought...

Yeah, at first it looked like Farrow,
but this is airtight.

We got DNA evidence.
We got everything.

I killed an innocent man.

So I made a mistake.
It could've happened to anyone -

well, any murderer -

not that murderers typically care

whether their victims
are innocent or not.

But why is it eating at me?

Jonathan Farrow - S&M photographer,

abuser of women,

asshole, but not a killer -

not up to Harry's code.

Yet I killed him.

Now I'm...

uncomfortable.

It should've been
Arthur Mitchell on my table.

Trinity, shooter of my sister.

I should've...

No, no "should'ves."
I don't do "should'ves." That's not me.

This isn't me.

Aah, shit.

I just need to stop thinking about it.

Jonathon Farrow...

originally a suspect,
now possibly a victim.

It was a mistake, for fuck's sake.

Farrow disappeared
right before his assistant,

Timothy Brand, confessed
to murdering those models.

Missing persons
has been investigating,

and now they're passing it on to us.

You think Brand killed Farrow?

Maybe he found out what Brand
was up to, it's hard to say.

Soderquist, Yale, stay with Farrow.

Brand probably
turned him into gator bait.

I wish I could take comfort

that my crime
has been pinned on Brand.

But I can't.

What is wrong with you?

I don't know.

OK, moving on. Morgan...
what do we have on your bludgeonings?

Maybe this'll cheer you up.

Not if you're making headway on Trinity.

We've got a serial bludgeoner.

The victims are all men in their 40s.

I've got cases
dating back 30 years,

which most likely puts
our bludgeoner in his 50s or 60s.

The break in the case
came with the discovery

of the human ash
he left behind,

along with his own saliva -

read DNA.

You're welcome.
Just doing my job.

The killer leaves the ash
as his sick-ass signature,

making his vics point at it postmortem.

I can't be sure
all of these are ash marks,

but the finger-pointing indicates
a strong possibility that...

Ahh, how'd that get in there?

No, whoa. Could you go back?

Go back.

This isn't a bludgeoning.

No.

Yet the victim's finger seems
to be pointing towards a smudge.

Ash?

Don't do it, Deb.

Uh...

Yeah, probably.

When you presented this case to me,
you said it was limited to a bludgeoner.

So how about we hear all of it,
Detective Morgan?

It's gonna sound insane...

I hope.

All right.
I found possible smudges

in several old bathtub killings.

Also several jumper suicides.

And that's the pattern -

bathtub, jumper, bludgeon -

all in close succession.

One cycle of three vics
every year or so,

possibly for 30 years.

Different cities, different states.

It's a... a trinity of victims...

which is why Frank Lundy
called him the Trinity Killer.

- This is an FBI case?
- The FBI never bought it.

Yet we're supposed to.

Lundy came to Miami
to hunt this guy.

I think he got too close,
and I think it got him killed and me shot.

So this Trinity Killer
did that to you?

Come on, LaGuerta,
say it's far-fetched.

Go on.

Great, like I need you people
getting in my way.

Well, Trinity is past his due date.
This just confirms it.

Dex. Can you believe it?

- Yeah, you really did it.
- I kept Lundy's legacy alive.

I even got the bosses on board.

Detective Morgan, my office.

Is that a commendation I smell?

Go get 'em, tiger.

Ess.

Tigress.

Dex. Hey, buddy.

Keep walking. Not in the mood.

Halftime?

It's called lunch, buddy.

Off campus, as usual.

I really do need to stab something.

The Trinity Killer.

This is good.

There's no question of his guilt,

and I could use some certainty.

Hey, Jonah,
how those wheels holding up?

Like a dream, Mr. Butler.

Like a real nice dream.

Kyle!

Hey. What brings you here
this fine day?

Ah, just checking in.

You know, after the...

...deer.
Wanted to make sure you're OK.

Oh, that's kind of you,
but I've put it out of my mind,

no need to dwell.

You can just do that?

No, no, no.
Smooth, circular motion, son,

- and the paint job will last for years.
- I got it, Dad.

If you've got it,
I wouldn't have to remind you.

There are two ways to do things.
Why not choose the right way?

Small cracks in the perfect family,

which makes them perfectly normal.

- Kyle, hello.
- Hey.

Honey, your clothes are clean,
folded, and ready to be packed.

Going out of town?

- Yeah, Tampa.
- Oh.

A Four Walls build.

An out-of-town build - is his cycle
starting over again already?

- Rebecca.
- Mm-hm?

The ground needs
to be really soaked.

A good soaking, or all these
flowers are just gonna die.

OK, sorry.

So, Tampa -
the whole family going?

No, not on out-of-towners.

It's too expensive to put 'em all up.

Oh, admit it, Arthur.

You enjoy those vacations from us.

He always comes home
so relaxed.

I'm sure.

- You leaving today?
- No, tomorrow, right from work.

There's the where and the when.

An out-of-town kill -
Trinity's own MO.

How poetic.

Well, happy travels.

Take care, Kyle.

Now I need to come up
with my own where and when

to convince my boss
and my wife to let me leave.

All I need is some convention
that smells a little like blood spatter,

something science-y.

Brake and muffler exhibit - no.

Knitting and needlepoint
convention -

no blood there unless
someone impales themselves.

A trade show convention.

Wow, a convention on conventions.

Remember me?

Debra Morgan, sister.

Debra Morgan,
former detective on the Trinity case.

Former?

Fucking LaGuerta
took me off the case,

'cause officially I'm a victim
of this cocksucker's crimes.

That's too bad.

Too bad?

It fucking sucks.

Well, the bright side
is this frees you up

to help the department
in so many ways.

In the course of one day,

I go from bringing in the biggest case
Miami Metro has ever seen

to being "freed up in so many ways"?

I love you, bro, but sometimes
you're a fucking 'tard.

Yeah, I know.

Tampa. What the hell's in Tampa?

Something science-y.

A crime scene is basically
a micro-climate

subject to so many variables.

In the world of blood spatter,
those variables can mean the difference

between good science
and the guilty going free.

Everything from the anomalous
effects of barometric pressure

on particulate liquids
in a high-humidity environment

- to the ionization of...
- Point, please.

Oh.

Meteorological conference, Tampa.

If I let you go, will you stop talking?

You see, learning even more
about hemoglobin dispersion

and the magnetic effects of lightning
in the case of severe thunderstorms

could prove invaluable,

because it can all be
considered causal

in the determination
of bloodstain analysis.

Oh...

Is that it?

That's all I could come up with.

Well, it sounds like you're very excited
about this conference.

Not to mention how it will look
when my salary review comes up.

We could start paying
for your college.

I love your dedication...

to work, to this family.

It's one of the reasons
why I married you.

- One of the many, right?
- Right.

You know, and, actually,

Elliot's taking the kids fishing,

so they'll be busy
at least one of those days.

He's a good neighbor, that Elliot.

But I do need some space too,

so I'll trade you.

I'll cover the kids this weekend,

and you cover them Tuesday nights
when I go to yoga?

Yoga?

It's the new me.

Well, I like the new you.

Though scheduling my activities

around her downward-facing dog
could prove challenging.

I'll dwell on that later.

What does one pack
for an out-of-town kill?

Got to travel light.
Can't raise suspicion.

I just need a reliable tool,

something I can count on.

Hey!

Oh, you startled me.

Sorry.

- I was hoping to catch a ride to Tampa.
- Kyle...

I need to get away,
even just for the weekend.

Um, I'm sorry.

There'll be other opportunities,
but not this one.

I can't wait.
Arthur, I need to do this.

Give something back to the world.
Make things right.

I can't do that without your help.

I have to get out of here.

Out of here.

Away from this...

feeling, whatever it is.

And with you, I feel focused,

like I have a sense
of purpose and certainty.

I need you.

I...

I have nothing to give you.

Generosity of spirit, Arthur?

I know those are more than just words
to you. Tell me they're not just...

words.

You need my help?

More than you know.

There's nobody else?

You're the one, Arthur.

The only one.

- Well, come on.
- I knew I could count on you.

According to Dexter's spatter work,
our suspect is at least six feet tall.

Closer to 6'4".

More like 6'4".

The DNA profile
says we're looking

for a Caucasian male
of Northern European descent,

blue eyes...

50 to 70 years old.

So we're looking for
a potentially retired, old, white guy.

In Miami?

Great.

And this is the snowbird season.

Which quadruples
our old-white-guy quotient.

There's got to be something else we can do,
some other angle...

Uh, DNA sweep.

We could do
a targeted DNA sweep

of white males, 60-ish,
in the Miami Metro area.

You know how much work that is?

I've got a big weekend planned.
As in twins.

- You got twins lined up?
- Not yet, but that's the plan.

Besides, the ACLU will shut this down
the minute word gets out.

And they always do.

You can't do a roadblock
without drawing some attention.

Uh, it's the weekend.

Um...

Next week's Thanksgiving,

so, uh, the courts will be closed.

Sweeps have worked
in Miami before.

Right, the South Beach rapist,

the robbery-homicide case in '06.

- '07.
- '07.

Wait, wait, who's gonna...
who's gonna pay for all this?

The department's so strapped,
we can't even afford coffee filters.

I used toilet paper to make
the coffee this morning.

If DNA is our only lead,
then DNA is what we'll look for.

Let me worry about the budget.

Masuka, write up a protocol for random
field swabbing that Patrol can follow.

Everything goes through you.

There go my plans.

Happy?

How are we gonna pay for this?

I have no idea.

But I'm about to spend a lot of hours
looking for loose change in the budget.

That's a lot of work.

Want some help?

- Absolutely. Come on in.
- OK.

You know...

the briefing room might be better.

Out in the open?

- Mm-hm.
- Yeah?

Better?

I already feel
the cloud of Farrow lifting

in anticipation of tonight.

So what time do we get started
in the morning?

Six o'clock.

It'll be mostly local guys?

Yeah, women too.

The first kill in his cycle
of three is always a woman,

but he won't get the chance.

- Do we all stay at the same hotel?
- I don't know.

Is it close to the build?

It's walking distance.

- Does everybody hang out together or...
- Good Lord, you have a lot of questions.

Sorry.

You told me you were troubled.
About what?

I did something.

Well, let's hear it.

I made a mistake.

- We all make mistakes.
- It was a big one.

You're being purposely vague, Kyle,

like one of my tenth-graders

who's trying to explain
why he didn't do his homework.

I have a feeling I'm gonna
make some tenth-graders very happy.

Pit stop.

- You're a brave man, Kyle.
- How so?

Eating from a vending machine.

Years of training - iron stomach.

Maybe you could show
some of that same bravery

by sharing what's bothering you.

How am I supposed to help you
when I don't know what the problem is?

- It's not that important.
- It's important to me.

Why?

Because helping someone is a good deed,
and God rewards good deeds,

but in order to help, I need to know
the problem. That's how these things work.

I really don't want to talk about it.

You asked me, remember?
That's why I brought you.

- Why don't we just...
- Tell me, Kyle!

I'm gonna get into my van and just
leave you here to fend for yourself.

I killed a man.

You killed someone?

You, of all people, act appalled.

- By mistake.
- How? What happened?

I thought he was the right...

I thought he was an animal.

You... You were hunting?

Yes, it was a hunting accident.

I was so sure.
I'm always so careful.

Then it truly was an accident.

Still, it's left me with this...

feeling.

There are few things
harder to bear than remorse.

Remorse?

Guilt. Remorse.

It's what separates us
from the animals.

Your conscience
is eating away at you.

But you're gonna feel better.

Confession is good for the soul.

All the more proof I have no soul.

Doing good deeds,
scoring points with God.

You and I are way beyond
the point system, Arthur.

The best deed I can do
is rid the world of you.

A fitting kill room.

Small, but I'll be
cutting him down to size.

I just need to pick up a few supplies.

- Hey, Deb.
- How's the weather?

Funny.

You talking climate
with a bunch of dorks and nerds,

you really lead the life.

Is there a reason for this call?
It's getting late.

That jumper out at the warehouse,
you took a bunch of crime-scene photos.

Did you put them all in the file?

I take a lot of photos.
I don't use 'em all.

- But you save them?
- I do.

I want to look through 'em,
see if I can find any ash smudges.

Well, they're all
on the lab computer.

Masuka can access 'em for you.

- I can't ask Masuka.
- Why?

Because I'm not working this case.

- Could've fooled me.
- I know, right?

At least I got Quinn to start
DNA sweeps tomorrow.

That's something anyway, right?

DNA sweeps?

Yeah, we're gonna do
random cheek swabs

on tall white men over 50,
preferably with blue eyes.

Good luck with that.

Thanks.

Hey, you run into
that weather guy, Sonny Skyes,

you tell him he's got a stupid name.

Will do.

But first a little shopping.

Oh.

Are you headed out?

- Yeah, for ice.
- Change of plan for tomorrow.

We're not going to the build.
I got a surprise for you instead.

Uh... I don't like surprises.

You'll like this one.
It'll make you feel better.

How will it make me feel better?

Could he have some kind of formula
for remorse or something?

If anyone does, it'd be him.

It's not like I can't kill him tomorrow night.

Good. So far we've saved...

$24,000.

- Not bad.
- Mm, it's not enough.

We need at least 12 more.

What?

Your hair.

- My heart skips a beat.
- Stop it.

And thank you.

What time is it? Dios mio.

It's late.

We're the last ones here.

Yo!

You're still here.

Me and a bunch of guys were at the bar.
I came back with some good news.

They want to donate
a vacation day to help pay

for this DNA-sweep thing.

That's amazing, bro.

Fucker shot one of our own.

Look at this. All those days.

It's enough. It fills the gap.

Fuck it.

Papi...

Si.

Who the fuck is it?

It's me.

I called, but you didn't pick up.

I know it's late,
but I've had the worst day.

I'm sorry, babe, but I...

I could lose my job.

Not like I'm the only one.
Being a journalist these days

is a straight ticket
to the unemployment line.

- You're not gonna lose your job.
- My editor laid it out.

He said either I get
"a lead that bleeds,"

or basically I'm done.

So you're here.

What?

Look, Christy, I'm half-asleep
and half in the bag.

I can't give you anything.

How about a little support?

You know, like a hug?

Or an "everything's
gonna be all right"?

Everything's gonna be all right.

- That's bullshit.
- Hey, come here.

It is gonna be all right,

'cause you're a kick-ass reporter,

and I'm gonna help you
dig something up,

just not in Homicide.

Maybe you should stay.

Not if you're on the fence.

I'll see you tomorrow.

Quick cab to
the meteorological conference.

Check in, establish an alibi.

- I'll be back in time to...
- Kyle!

Hey.

You're an early bird too, huh?

Yeah, how else
would I catch the worm?

Yeah, I'm so excited about today's surprise,
I practically sprang out of bed.

- You ready for this?
- So ready.

That's the spirit. Mmm!

Come on.

Yesterday he's jumping down my throat,

today he's the happy dancing man.

Is that mask of his crumbling?

Oh, Frank.

So I was thinking, it might not be
a bad idea to ask Masuka...

Oh, fuck me. Don't you have other cases
you should be working on?

I'm trying to help you.

Maybe you should ask Masuka
if you could get Dexter's old discard photos

from the Tarla Grant crime scene.

You know, Tarla Grant,
the supposed jumper?

Yeah, I know who Tarla Grant is.

Why do I care
about your brother's snaps?

Well, because if she's one of Trinity's
victims, you might find an ash smudge.

So basically I'm your tool. That it?

Yeah. That's it.

I'm using you to make you look good,
but I wouldn't want you to feel like a tool.

Make sure each kit
gets a chain-of-custody sticker.

These swab things gonna take
a long time to turn around?

Well, in the real world, yes,
but since I'm organizing it,

we've got mad mojo,
top-of-the-pile action going on.

Come on, people, the faster
we get 'em out in the field,

the faster we get 'em
back here digesting.

You got access to Dexter's
discard crime-scene photos?

We share everything.

- Not in a gay way.
- Yeah, that jumper, Tarla Grant,

maybe he accidentally
snapped a smudge or something.

Good idea, especially from you.

And one more thing I have to handle
while he's at his conference.

You guys and your
fucking geek fests.

I'll have you know,

I've almost banged so much tail
at those "geek fests".

Sure. You.

But Poindexter?

Dexter is pure jungle cat.

You should've seen
the hot English muffin

he was "bow-chicka-wowing" a couple
years ago... while he was dating Rita.

- Huh.
- Lila was insane.

Literally.

I could tell you stories.

Really?

Mom! Look, I caught one!

Wow! That's a monster.

Yeah, and Astor caught
the biggest fish of the day.

Come on, show your mom.

Impressive.

- No biggie, just lucky.
- Can we eat him?

Absolutely, but we have to wait
till Dexter comes home.

He's the fish gutter around here.

I clean a pretty decent fish.

Oh, no, it's all right. You don't have to.

No, please, my pleasure.

How about I clean 'em, you cook 'em,
and we all eat 'em together?

- Yeah!
- Yeah?

All right. I do make
a mean mango salsa.

All right. Kids, fishies, to the sink.

What are we doing here?

Trying to help you.

Hello, my name is Arthur Mitchell.
This is my friend Kyle Butler.

- No, thank you.
- I'm not trying to sell anything.

You see, I grew up in this house
many years ago.

I was hoping to take a look.

We'll just take a minute.
We'll be out before you know it.

Upstairs!

You have a lovely home.

A bathroom?

This is where it all started.

What started here?

I was standing here...

watching my sister take a shower.

You were watching your sister?

I was ten. It was innocent.

But Vera saw me...

in the mirror.

I startled her,
and she slipped...

shattered the shower doors.

The glass...

sliced her leg.

She was dead by the time
the ambulance came.

So much blood.

Born in blood, both of us.

My parents blamed me.

My mother became a shell, a ghost.

She eventually killed herself.

Jumped to her death.

Left me all alone...

with him.

He was always a drinker...

but without Mother,
it became worse.

So did the beatings.

"Little fucking pervert,

"fucking cunt, you killed them."

What happened to him?

He died.

No, you killed your father.

I'm betting hammer.

I never told anyone...

any of this.

Why did you tell me?

So you'd know you're not alone.
You're just like me.

We're both responsible
for the death of an innocent.

We share that.

You feel better?

You have to go now! Leave!

- I call the police!
- Don't be absurd.

Uh... Why don't we grab some lunch?

I heard about a great place
back in Tampa.

Yeah. Lunch does sound good.

Sorry.

Little coffee with that sugar?

Can't beat the combo -
caffeine and sugar rush.

Quinn's out on a warrant check.

Actually, I'm here to see you.

I don't know nothing about nothing.

Not even about the DNA roadblocks
popping up all over the city?

Quinn's been fucking with you.

And not in that
heavy-breathing kind of way.

Yeah, if I got it from him,
would I be asking you?

Are the sweeps connected
to the shootings of Agent Lundy and...

We're just dragging for drunk drivers.

We toss up roadblocks all the time
around the holidays.

Yeah, Patrol.

Not Homicide.

Why the DNA testing?

Uh, Lieutenant's idea.
Got a lot of open cases.

She's trying to up her solve rate.

Really no story here.

Yeah, well, it's all I got.

My editor's breathing down
my neck, so...

Well, you'll embarrass yourself.

Look, I know it's really tough
for reporters right now.

And as girls we've got to
double-prove ourselves.

So maybe instead of this one,

I can give you that interview
you've been wanting from me.

Are you serious?

As long as you
make me look good.

Call me. We'll set up a time.

Yeah.

Uh, two.

This is the great place
you heard about,

a hotel coffee shop?

Well, it says their tuna melts
are "taste-tastic".

I'm gonna go to the men's room.
Would you order me a...

- A tuna melt?
- Yeah.

Uh, Dexter Morgan.
Sorry I'm late.

Thank you.

Hey, Sonny Skyes.
Love you, man.

Hey, Sonny Skyes?

That would be me. Hi.

Do you mind?
My wife is a huge fan.

Sure.

Oops. Here we go.

- Fantastic. Thanks.
- Great. Thank you.

Alibi - check.

Arthur next.

- No, no, no!
- Come on, he wants a smooch.

Come here! Come kiss Mr. Fish head now.
Kiss Mr. Fish lips.

That's disgusting!

Don't leave Mr. Fish...

Kyle! Over here!

- Hey, where you been?
- Sorry, there was a line.

No, no, gave me a chance
to say hello to the neighbors.

Kyle Butler, this is, uh,
Bob and Sally Moore of Sarasota,

Their beautiful daughter Hanna,
and their son, uh...

Spencer!

- Hi.
- Sit, sit.

- There's plenty of room, right, Bob?
- I guess.

I've been telling them
about our... our morning.

What about our morning?

You know, how we visited
my childhood home.

I showed you the bathroom
where my sister died.

Kids don't need to hear
any more about that.

Bob, they should learn
to speak the truth.

I think they know
how to speak the truth.

We all need to confess our mistakes,

so we can go into the light unburdened.

That's what Kyle
taught me yesterday.

Not on purpose.

It was such a revelation to me

when he told me what he did.

Huh?

- We're leaving.
- What about your tuna melt?

These folks want to enjoy
their family time alone.

Let's go.

That was rather rude.

Yeah, sorry.
I'm just not as open as you are.

It's the remorse.
You need to shed it.

Believe me, I'm trying,
but there's only one thing that'll do it.

- What's that?
- Giving.

Is it OK if we stop by
a hardware store?

I want to pick up some things to donate
to the Four Walls build tomorrow.

That's an excellent idea.

Morgan.

Lieutenant.

What are you doing?

Nothing.

Why were you singing?

I wasn't singing. I was humming.
People have been known to hum.

Not without reason.

You happy about something?

Are you hiding something?

Are you?

Oh...

Dissolving stitches my ass.

Fuck me.

Mother shit fuck.

How tall was my shooter?

These wounds have a trajectory
that's totally fucking straight.

Jesus, Masuka, they're just tits.

But they're yours - perky, perfect.

Grow the fuck up and tell me
how tall my shooter is.

Uh, if it was the Trinity Killer,

then he's about 6'4".

Up.

That puts you
at about his height.

So if you're Trinity, how exactly do you
shoot me and get wounds like this?

Casings and GSR
from your shirt put you about...

about five feet away.

So I'm 6'4",

and the vast majority of shooters
hold their guns like this.

Unless he's trying
not to attract attention.

Then like this.

Either way, to hit you on the side
from up here,

I got to shoot you
with a downward trajectory.

There's nothing downward about this.
It's completely level.

Unless I'm kneeling.

But then again, I'm, like, 60,
and I got to be mobile.

Plus Lundy would've reacted
to some old guy kneeling behind me.

I remember his face exactly.

- So I'm not kneeling.
- Then how tall is he?

My height, approximately.

Oh, fucking fuck.

Then it wasn't Trinity.

Nope.

Then who the fuck shot me?

Nothing like the spirit of charity
to make the heart right.

About time I gave back.

It's a good call with
the plastic sheeting, by the way.

This is Florida. You never know
when it's gonna rain.

Ah, compadre, I don't know
about you, but I'm bushed.

We're kindred spirits, you and I.

Keep doing good work.

Oh, I will.

Just go to sleep.

No more surprises.

Good enough.

You know what's great?

Your mango salsa?

Wine.

Nine months without it sucked.

- You want to polish this off?
- No, I'm...

I'm already pretty buzzed.

Oh, lightweight.

Yeah. If you'd said that 15 years ago,
nobody would've believed you.

Oh, so you weren't
always a soccer mom?

Mm, are you kidding?

I was a dress-over-the-head party girl.

Oh, God, did I just say that?

You must think I'm...

Totally charming.

I, um...
I better start cleaning up.

- Yeah, let me... let me help you.
- No, no. It's getting late.

I'm sure you want to get home.

Right. I'll, uh, get the kids.

Where the fuck did you go?

He's on foot.

With his tools.

The Four Walls build.

A little early, but walking distance.

Empty, no security.

Just me, Arthur, and a little M-99.

No more confessions,
no more good deeds,

and no more fucking remorse.

What are you doing?

No, you're mine.

This isn't how you die.

Let go!

Why keep him alive
just to kill him?

But as long as it's by my hand...

Gotcha! Gotcha!

Hold on.

Give me your hand.

This is his solution
to remorse - suicide.

That's why he could unburden himself.

He knew this was next.

Will it be my only solution someday?

I thought God sent you
so that I could save you.

But God had another plan.

So did I.

He sent you to save me.

- Not exactly.
- You're a hero.

Thank you.

So much for anonymity.

Arthur Mitchell,
you just got a reprieve.

So the Trinity Killer
didn't shoot you and Lundy.

Nope.

Someone Masuka's size shot you.

Yep.

- That's all we got to go on Lundy's case?
- That's it.

Well, the upside is there's no longer a
conflict of interest for you in the Trinity case.

You mean I can work it again?

Thank Christ,
no more backseat driving.

Nobody knows this case
better than you. You're taking lead.

Motherfucker, really?

- Well, what about Lundy's case?
- That's my case now.

Don't worry, I'm gonna find
the shithead that shot you.

Oh, oh, whoa...

- Oh, are you OK?
- I'm f... I'm fine.

You OK?

- Well, we're done here.
- We're done.

Morgan, update the squad
at three o'clock, please.

Glad that didn't happen last night.

Any regrets?

That we didn't have breakfast together.

At least I'll get Trinity.

Promise.

I've killed an innocent man,
and I've saved a guilty one.

I won't make that mistake again.

Is that the purpose of remorse,

to keep you from repeating mistakes?

You're watching me.

I'm just concerned.

No need. I was confused before.

But you're not anymore.

No. Embarrassed, perhaps.

In fact, I'd appreciate it

if you'd think of
this weekend's events as a...

a little accident.

You stepped off a roof.

It was a mistake.

We all make them.

Don't worry.

Your accident
will never be spoken of by me.

To err is human.

Little early for a drunk-driving checkpoint.

Looks like one of Debra's DNA sweeps.

Stand over here, sir, please.

You, sir, pull over here.

Step on out of the car, sir, please.

Yeah, I heard about this on the radio.

The police are looking
for some huge serial killer.

They have his DNA.
They're looking for a match.

Sounds scary.

Exactly how much
do you want to live, Arthur?

I think this gentleman in the red car
has the right idea. This line is endless.

What say we take the scenic route?

Yeah, sure, Arthur.

A changed man at peace with himself.

Maybe only monsters feel no regret.

If erring is human,
then remorse must be too.

Wait, does that make me human?

Huh.