Dexter arrives at the trailer, and when he crosses the police tape, he says, "Not what I expected" to a cop. When Dex enters the domicile, he takes some time to explore the taxidermic wonderland that it is. As he meanders around to some more sizzling salsa tunes, he seems generally amused. I can't blame him. The place is ridiculous. It seems that he isn't really taking any of it seriously, as though he already knows that his "playmate" could never be such a silly dude. Finally, he works his way outside, where a huge hole has been dug under the cement patio, to be greeted by Deb. "Hey, Dex. I thought you'd want to be here. Something's buried down there. Masuka's been digging all night." Dexter: "I hate to break this to you, Deb, but you know you've got the wrong guy, here, right?" He goes on to explain that the "psychological signature" of the ITK is that he's very calculated and precise. "Neil Perry, on the other hand, stuffs roadkill." "Yeah, and turns it into fucked-up fantasy shit!" "But the fantasies are all wrong! The guy we're looking for wouldn't turn dead, dirty things into living cartoons. He'd find that pathetic." "How do you know?" "Because it is pathetic." True, indeed. It is certainly that. Of course, as a forensics guy comes out of the hole behind Dexter carrying a skeleton, Dex says, "Deb, trust me. Neil Perry is not a killer. He's a dabbler, he's a waste of time." All fucking proud of herself and acting it, Deb tells him to turn around. "You were saying?" Shut your face, Deb.
"Looks like an adult female," says Masuka. "Any idea how long she's been down there?" asks Angel. Masuka estimates between two and three years. "What happened to the limbs, did they rot off?" asks Dex. "Nope, they're clean cuts," says Masuka. "He didn't chop up the whole body," observes Angel. "This could be Perry's first kill, like he was experimenting." "You're the expert, Dex," says Deb twattily. "What do you think?" Dexter: "Sure, sounds good." "Actually, it's sounds perfectly awful," he VOs. "For weeks, I've felt like a student at a master class. Is it really possible that the master's on the run? And even more tragic: Does he live in a double-wide?" Oh, I see. It's not enough for him to be a masterful killer. He needs to live in a condo with Travertine countertops, now, too? So superficial, Dexter. I expected more from you.