Back at home, Dexter is scraping half of the blood from the slide, continuing, "I was wrong the whole time. My playmate saw an opportunity to paint me into a corner to see if I'd find my way out, if I'd fight to survive." Having scraped sufficiently, Dexter reaches for the scotch tape, grabs a piece, and puts it on the slide. "If you have a well-preserved sample, transferring a dried drop of blood is relatively easy." He takes the bloody tape and applies it to a knife that's sitting next to his paperwork. "Almost as easy as it was lifting Jorge Castillo's fingerprints from his boat and putting them on this knife."
Now at the lab, Dexter's continuing to produce fraudulent evidence. He scrapes more dried blood off of Valerie's slide onto a sock he just pulled from an evidence bag, being very careful to not get seen. He sees Deb walk into the office, announcing she just off the phone with the FBI. "Now for the hard part," he VOs. Deb brags to Doakes about how she cross-referenced her profile with the Ice Truck list and got "eleven new hits." Doakes wants to hold off until they get a sketch, and then take it from there. Deb wants to just get a head start. Doakes ignores yet another phone call, prompting Deb to say, "Thank your mom for dinner the other night. I can't remember the last time I met a guy's family and they actually liked me." Oh, please do shut your face-hole, Deb. Dex comes up in a manufactured hurry, and says, "I found something."
Dexter explains to Dungeons 'n' Dragons that he only just found this blood evidence on the sock because of the sheer volume of clothes they had to work on. "That doesn't prove anything," Deb says defensively. "Not by itself, but I've been re-examining the video footage I took from that morning." He presses play. "Notice the cuts along the Carotid arteries are long and deep. Valerie Castillo bled to death in minutes." "No shit," says Doakes, interested. Dex goes on: "The person who did this wasn't trying to emulate the Ice Truck Killer. He was...in a hurry. He was probably afraid of getting caught." Again on the defensive, Deb says, "Most killers are." "Except, if this was a copycat, he wouldn't be in a rush. He would savor his first kill. He would control the precise moment Valerie Castillo died, instead of just letting her bleed out. This is all too...passive." He rests his case. "Have you completely ruled out the husband?" Deb, unable to take it anymore, says, "Why are you doing this? The boy said he didn't recognize Jorge Castillo in any of the photos." "Well, he was a dehydrated and traumatized seven-year-old left to fend for himself for days in a salvage yard." Doakes asks if he really thinks it's the husband. "Deep sea fisherman, knows how to use a knife. Plus, he's still missing. Have you finished your search of the salvage yard?" Doakes says he'll send the cadets again, and leaves Deb standing there looking like she just got slapped or smelled an egg fart. "I'm sorry," Dex tells her. "I know how hard you worked on that profile." "No, Dex, I really don't think you." Deb, you know, I like you. But when you act like this...I mean, look. I know you worked hard on that profile, but you only spent one night on it. It's not like you've been preparing it for years. Plus, and I don't expect you to know this, if you followed through on it, you'd just be opening yourself up to a world of emotional anguish, so just let sleeping dogs lie, would you?