Horatio's now searching the computer databases for other cases in which female rape-and-murder victims were found on the beach, but the real point of this screen is to show him and (Y)Elena making goo-goo eyes at each other as she stands in the corridor and talks to some nameless flunky. First Horatio watches (Y)Elena and smiles while she chatters, and then he actually gets a hit on a similar murder and looks down at God-knows-what while (Y)Elena wanders over to the glass wall and undresses Horatio with her eyes. Believe me, it's as painful for me to watch as it is for you to read. When Horatio looks up again, (Y)Elena has scampered off. He answers his cell phone, and it's Alexx. She tells him of the semen she found: "Oh, I recovered it. Sent it on to CODIS. Findings are postmortem. The vaginal tears at five, six, and seven. No resistance or compliance by our victim." Apparently not comprehending the meaning of the word "postmortem," Horatio asks, "Was she unconscious?" Alexx replies, "I was hoping for that too. So I swabbed her wounds. No blood was circulating at the time of penetration. She was already dead." So now they're looking for a necrophiliac biter. That should eliminate a substantial portion of the greater Miami-Dade metro area. I hope.
We see a few more camera's-eye views of the Babes on the Beach girls -- and it amazes me that these girls simply accept a t-shirt and not, say, a royalty check for what they're doing on-camera. Then again, given the probable mental capacity of a would-be Babe on the Beach, the idea of someone else getting large sums of money for the dissemination of their images is probably too complex for them to comprehend sober, much less as drunk as they undoubtedly are when these guys go trolling with their cameras. We then see the beach, where Speedle is doggedly digging. He hits pay dirt, metaphorically speaking, when he finds a Michigan ID for a Rachel Moon.
Speedle has evidently hied to the lab, where he's handing the ID to a lab tech and explaining, "That's her picture. The birthdate says 1979, but there's no way she's 24 years old." The tech explains, "If it's a fake, it's a good one. There are no glue lines, no bumps. Lamination thickness is dead on." And this is where I show my age and reveal that when I first got my driver's license in Virginia, it was a two-parter in a little plastic envelope; the first part had your photo and signature, and the second part had your license information. This way, when you switched from your learner's permit to your license, all they had to do was swap out a piece of paper. And when you turned 21, you went from getting a profile photo to a full-on frontal photo. Therefore, by the time I got to college, it was not uncommon to walk into my newspaper office around spring break and see people scanning in assorted pictures and license parts to create fakes. Ah, the good old days, when faking license information was easy! Anyway, Speedle asks, "Whatever happened to just stealing your older sister's ID?" The tech replies, "These days, you don't have to. A college kid with a scanner and a high-res printer can rip these things out." He then puts the ID under the sooper-dooper forensic ID debunker thingy and comments on the quality work: inclusion of the state seal, UV ink, a security layer of "invisible" text. However, the forger missed the third layer of the laminate, so they're able to peel off the other layers and discover that the ID belongs to someone else named Rachel Moon.