He then wanders off to do God knows what. It isn't helping Speedle with the timeline; nor is it going over the master bedroom for evidence with Calleigh and Delko. Calleigh notes that this is the only bed that's not made, and Delko snorts, "Kids are cleaning their rooms -- Mom and Dad are the only ones living like this." Calleigh observes as she checks the drawers, "Mom is, anyway. Dad's getting his needs met somehow -- everything in here is washed and pressed." The "everything" in question is underwear, and this is where I reveal my shocking slovenliness by asking why on earth anyone would bother to press his or her underwear. Calleigh notes the crib at the foot of the bed, and Delko comments sympathetically, "Yeah, nobody's getting any sleep." We see a shot of Stephanie and her three older children in a frame on the dresser, and the camera pans up to show a plethora of family photos on the dresser. Calleigh comments, "That's no excuse." I hope she's talking about sleeplessness as a poor excuse for killing your family, as opposed to sleeplessness as a poor excuse for failing to make the bed. Delko's looking at the mobile, and he notices a long pendant. He lifts it up and says, "Baby's first jewelry was an amulet?" Calleigh blithely replies, "Oh, you can get them at any corner botanica." You'd think that Delko, living in Little Havana, would not have needed to be clued in to that. We find out that the amulet in question is supposed to ward off evil spirits, and then we move on to Delko's discovery of a full bottle of antidepressants, the prescription indicating that it was filled three weeks ago.

Speaking of depressing, it's Megan, evidently chained to a lab bench for the duration of the episode. A deputy drops off a bag of evidence, and Megan sighs, "Tell Horatio [beat] I'll call if I see anything." The guy leaves, and Megan mutters, "I'm sure I'll be seeing you again." Only if he's around during the next two episodes, Megan.

Delko's in the kitchen now, telling Horatio, "I don't see any sign of blood or struggle here." "Not physical, anyway," Horatio opines. He looks around the kitchen, dirty plates in the sink and crowding the counter, and continues, "This place isn't a mess -- it's downright filthy. Kids will pick up after themselves, but they will not clean." Has Horatio ever actually been in a house with more than one person in it? Dishes pile up at an alarming rate. Heck, you should see our kitchen after the husband cooks dinner on an average night; it looks as though a grocery store mated with a Crate and Barrel, and all parties involved promptly blew themselves up afterward. And there are just two of us. I can only imagine what it's like in a household with six people. Delko opens a fridge with an "I love Daddy" picture on it -- rather advanced for a two-year-old, or shockingly backward for a nine-year-old, you make the call -- and we see that the fridge is practically empty. These people apparently didn't even believe in condiments. Horatio continues his litany: "Empty fridge, overflowing garbage. They obviously live on fast food." Well, Horatio, you spend all day tending to a few kids and see how many home-cooked meals you manage to whip up.