Meanwhile, Carson the corpse-fucking pervert is in the interrogation room, explaining to Tripp that he's got places to go and non-protesting women to do. Horatio comes in as Carson is explaining how his videos will be a national brand by the time he's 30, and brings the odontologist with him. What follows is a sequence that nearly matches The Marathon Man in terms of dental creepiness: Horatio strong-arming Carson -- who, so far as we know, has not been read his rights not allowed counsel -- into taking dental molds. Yeah, the guy's a waste of protoplasm, but he does have legal rights.
And then we see the Grief Whisperer at work, comforting the dazed sister. I suppose Horatio's empathy with bereaved people is a good thing, but it just comes across as self-serving: "Let Me heal your pain. Tell Me your troubles, and I will assume your burdens." The sister gives this weepy monologue on Tiffany the stall-mucking, trip-taking spitfire, then asks, "Who would do this?" Horatio tells her, "We're working on it. But here's what I want you to do: this is My cell phone number. If you need to talk, you call Me, day or night." O, Horatio Caine, selfless balm to the grieving! How much longer will you be with us before flights of angels descend to escort you to Heaven? Or is that sister-in-law thing keeping you here? We learn that the sister's around until she can take the body home.
There's a brief scene where the odontologist is snapping pictures of Tiffany's assorted bite marks while Horatio waits in the skybox. The odontologist then takes molds of the bites, the better to match them against Carson's dental molds.
Cut to Horatio getting the bad news from Otho the Odontologist (what? It's not like the writer gave us a better name): the tooth molds don't match. Oh, wait -- we do have a name once Horatio argues, "John, this guy stinks." So? Are you asking John to frame the guy? Are you suggesting that everyone cram the evidence into a neat conclusion? Anyway, Horatio takes out his bad mood on Carson, since they will be charging him with necrophilia, and Tripp adds that they're going to share that information with law enforcement agencies up and down the Florida peninsula. Unless there's some necrophilia notification law in place -- kind of Megan's Law, except for necrophiliacs -- I can't see how Horatio and Tripp haven't just opened themselves up to a huge harassment lawsuit. Tripp adds, "Every time you roll into town, every time you set up shop, the law's going to be looking over your shoulder and making jokes like 'Why are you interested in her? She's still breathing!'" Oh, he does not -- he starts off with the set-up-shop thing, then finishes by pointing out that scantily-clad, underage-drinking young women tend not to hang out with cops. Horatio adds, "So why don't you put that in your video?" Somehow, "Why don't you cram that up your ass?" seems like it would have been more effective.