Meanwhile, Calleigh's busy trying to fire Speedle's gun. She can't because it's filthy; we see this via TMICam. It figures that Speedle's gun would be as unkempt as he. When Calleigh breaks it down, she confirms as much.
Since it's been two whole minutes, we're back with Horatio and Detective Bald Guy. Horatio digs a bullet casing out of the car's dashboard and says, "That's a death talon." Yeah, and they're not in circulation anymore, we've already covered this ground, and maybe Horatio should actually read the recap if he wants to find out what we already know. Horatio's all, "So Lynn Martell had a wound to the left shoulder, didn't she?" Yes, but she's right-handed, so you'll still get that cake, you greedy bastard. There's some talk about how she came to get shot -- the trajectory is through the driver's seat, which means that the origin of the bullet was from behind the car. This will be important at some point. Detective Baldy comments, "Man, they're lucky they didn't hit the baby." Yes, because then Horatio would have never tended to Speedle in his zeal to get the baby-killers. Horatio asks, "You have kids, don't you, Frank?" Detective Frank Baldy replies, "Yes, I do." "Well, can I come over and glower at them? Maybe watch them while they play and be their protector?" Horatio presses. In an alternate episode. Detective Frank has three kids. Horatio digests this information and asks, "And what is the state of your family vehicle?" Frank replies, "It's a war zone -- freedom fries, broken toys, candy wrappers. I'm always on the wife about that. But the wife, she ignores me. Spends all of her time threatening to sell the children and run off with the 'Raoul' guy she says I hired to take care of the pool. I figure it's some coping thing she got off The View." Horatio, noticing that the part of the car housing a toddler is not also doubling as a cereal farm, gets all gnomic: "In this case, the lack of evidence is the evidence." Frank and he slip into a Mamet-style moment: "Too clean?" "Too clean." Then he says, Rosebud-style, "The baby." We flash back to the woman screaming, "The baby! The baby!" Horatio says, "She kept screaming, 'the baby, the baby,' not 'my baby.'" I'm not too surprised: as kids, my brother or I would occasionally goad Pabell into such a state of agitation that he forgot our names and our genders; Mabell would come in to see what the racket was and Pabell would inevitably sputter, "That one -- with the hair! And the one missing the teeth! Them! Them! Ask them!" Frank -- who is intimately familiar with the domestically-induced amnesia of which I speak -- replies, "In the heat of the moment, people say all kinds of things." Horatio gleefully says, "Let's go see what she has to say now."