The bookstore owner is perturbed that Calleigh is sawing away at the booth door. "If you take the door, I've got to close the booth," he protests. "Then close the booth," snaps Horatio, suddenly appearing in the scene so that he can watch someone else gather evidence per his contractual obligation. The proprietor skulks off muttering something about trampling on the rights of honest pornographers to earn a living, leaving Horatio and Calleigh to talk weaponry. The murder weapon was an eight-inch serrated blade -- the strike is wider at the top than the bottom, suggesting that the killer used some sort of hunting knife. "Well, he was hunting," says Horatio in an effort to spike up the pomposity quotient in this scene. "The question becomes, how did he know where to aim?" As is the case with any questions posed by Horatio, he also supplies the answer -- a small peephole bored into the door of the booth. "That looks recent, doesn't it?" Horatio asks. I don't know, Horatio...does it? You're the crime-fighting genius, aren't you? Maybe you should tell me for a change, shouldn't you? Man, this is annoying, isn't it?
We'll assume that the peephole is recent, since Horatio is now hovering over Delko as he exams the booth's various bodily fluids, blood and otherwise. "A lot of people have been in this booth," Delko observes. "Everybody but a janitor," says Horatio, and he doesn't know how right he is. A while back, a friend of mine -- and yes, I realize that beginning an unsavory story with this kind of narrative conceit usually implies that this "friend" is actually me, but take my word for it, in this case, I'm actually talking about a friend of mine -- went into a peepshow booth, sampled the entertainment therein, and left without leaving a little bit of himself behind, if you get my drift. And as he's leaving, the small, aged Yoda-like guy whose job it was to clean up the place scurried into the booth with a squeegee and a dishrag, only to find the booth in pristine condition. "No mess?" the beaming janitor asked my friend hopefully. "No mess!" My point? No matter how awful your job is, it can't be worse than that guy's. Unless, of course, you happen to muck out peepshow booths for a living. In which case watching CSI Miami is probably the least of your worries. Anyhow, Delko's discovered a hair among all the blood and other humors. "It could be from a million guys," he says. He forgets, however, that Horatio is blessed with super-vision and is able to note the hair's unusual thickness. "I don't think that's human," Horatio says. We could say the same about you, pally.