Lundy says he's in town on a case, but since he's now retired from the Bureau, he needs Miami PD's help tracking down "the one twisted son of a bitch who got away." Sit back while Lundy tells you a story, won't you? "I call him the Trinity Killer," he begins, while Dexter slowly exhales, no doubt relieved Lundy's not after him this time. Trinity kills in threes, Lundy says, and has been doing so all over the country for years. But the cross-country nature of the crimes (too many police departments, none of them talking to each other) mean Lundy can't even prove he exists. Lisa Bell's murder profile fits the previous victims. "Trinity's in Miami, Dexter," Lundy says. "Starting his cycle all over again." Dexter asks how far back Lundy's case files go on this. "Fifteen years." Well as it happens, Dex and Masuka just found an old murder with the same M.O. from thirty years ago. Lundy digs into the case file, now more certain than ever that Trinity's beginning his cycle over again, back where he started. "You know what this means, don't you?" Lundy asks. That the writers allowed themselves one of screenwriting's most venerable clichés for exposition? No, Dexter offers, with a serious tone of admiration, "Trinity's the most successful serial killer to ever...get away with it." Man, once everybody figures out Dexter's a serial killer, they are really gonna kick themselves for never getting suspicious whenever he talked creepy like that.
Interspersed within that last scene were ominous shots of what appeared to be an abandoned gym (you know, between this and the abandoned boxing ring, you have to figure the economy hit Miami's fitness community hardest of all). As anguished moans fill up the empty rows of lockers, we wind into the shower stalls, where John Lithgow, our Trinity, is wailing in his altogether. That's two, show. Don't think I won't be sending y'all a bill when this season's finished. Trinity turns up the hot water and basically scalds himself as he cries. Man, see what happens to children who are denied iPods?
Back at the station, Deb totally bails on a phone call with Anton when she sees Lundy. Sigh. She is going to fuck this one up in every imaginable way, isn't she? That she greets her old boyfriend with a "Motherfucking fuck" only slightly lessens my dread. He opts not to tell her he's in town on a case, interestingly enough; rather, he just says he's retired and that his "natural forward momentum" brings him to Miami. He passive-aggressively motions to the photo of Deb and Anton on the desk, but verbally merely congratulates her for making detective. This whole awkward interaction ends as Lundy takes his leave, and Deb's like, "Maybe I'll see you and maybe I won't, you don't know." The little "really??" head-tilt Jennifer Carpenter gives before Deb walks offscreen is kind of a gem. I promised Jeff if I took this gig I'd continue singing her praises, so here's my weekly "Jennifer Carpenter is awesome" moment. Because she is.
Angel and LaGuerta wait for the elevator and feign professional niceties, practically counting down the seconds until they can talk for real. But of course, the elevator doors can't quite shut before Masuka barges on in. "Drinks?" he asks. LaGuerta doesn't have to scream in frustration, her bright-pink jacket does it for her.
In the lab, Dexter's voice-over grouses that after his cop altercation, he can no longer nab Gomez outside the bar. He's gonna have to snatch him where he lives, in that crowded trailer park. "A higher degree of difficulty," Dex allows, but he'll have to do it, if only for his son's sake. "I'm killing for two now." It's a cute sentiment, but I'm hoping Dexter elaborates on that as the season goes on, because I'm not sure I follow. He's not killing to support his son, of course. You could say he's not getting caught for the sake of his son -- it's not just his life that'd be over now. That makes a kind of twisted sense, I suppose.
Cut to the trailer park that night. No special precautions or elaborate diversions to keep the riff-raff occupied. Just a knock on Gomez's door and a swift syringe to the neck when he answers it. In the plastic boxing tent, Dexter's got everything laid out for the ritual, including Gomez. Photos of Gomez's victims along his eye-line. Tools at the ready. Sleepy Dexter envies his passed-out prey for a moment, before slapping his face and cracking open some poppers (!) to keep himself awake. My stars. Where in Miami did Dexter ever get his hands on poppers? I don't know if they'll make him any more effective a killer tonight, but his asshole's gonna feel amazing!
Anyway, so Dexter looks like a total zombie by the time Gomez comes to. He recognizes Dex from the courtroom, not like that matters. Dexter collects his blood sample, stuffs a rag in his mouth, and then sits down for a Final Thought. "Can I do it?" he asks himself. "Can I have it all?" Can bring home a victim's severed forearm and fry it up in a pan? Before he can actually get the killing finished and have a good night's sleep, at long last, the phone rings. It's Rita. Harrison has an ear infection, and she needs him to go to a 24/7 pharmacy right away. Dexter's kind of in the middle of something, but of course he can't elaborate. "Whatever you're doing can wait," she says, not exactly bitchily, just short and without room for discussion. "Gotta go," Dex tells Gomez. "No time to savor this."
And so Dexter commences in perhaps his quickest killing ever. It is not at all the tidy, meticulous method he generally prefers. Knife to the heart, saw to the limbs, slipping around on the bloody plastic wrap, fumbling with body parts as he tries to bag them. This is undignified. Yet another casualty of our go-go-go culture. Dex hastily wraps everything up, which, not to be that guy, but even rushing through the job it had to have taken some time. Certainly long enough that Rita would wonder what's taking him so long at the pharmacy, right? In that respect, the events of the next five minutes offer Dex one hell of an excuse for tardiness.