Lundy's listening to So What by Miles Davis in the task force meeting room, and Deb comes in and asks why he isn't at the Tribune. "What for? The guy's not going to leave DNA evidence on a document." "Ah, but the thrill of the hunt!" "I've had that particular thrill. I'll leave it to younger men. Besides, it's easier to do my part from here." Deb wonders aloud what part he's referring to, and he says, "Operating on favors, political leanings, posturing. And trying to find the right music." "Right," says Deb, not getting what he means. She drops the marina reports on his desk, and, not paying attention, he stands up and looks closer at the board carrying a bunch of pictures of dismembered body parts. "These kills are precise, but there's also a fluidity, even some improvisation. If I could just find the music..." "Wanna borrow my iPod?" asks Deb, still not sure what he's talking about. "Got any Chopin?" he asks. Clearly she doesn't: "Fresh out of Chopin." "Shit. Chopin's perfect." "Did you just swear?" "What can I say? You're rubbing off on me, Morgan." Deb wonders aloud if this is how Lundy operates, and looks at him admiringly. "The truth speaks to me from a peaceful place. Gotta set the stage to hear it, you know what I mean?" "No. I thrive on chaos." Lundy turns up the jazz, and Deb says, "But this is good, too." Aw, they like each other. I know a few people who don't like their burgeoning relationship, but I do. I think it's sweet.
Back at the crime scene, Dexter's taking pictures of Mr. Wilson, whose arms are covered in blood. "I didn't kill her," he says pleadingly. "I was just trying to stop the blood." "No forceful impact spatter," VOs Dex. "He's telling the truth, I can tell." Dexter asks him to put his palms up, which he does. Wilson says Betsy was still breathing when he found her. "I wanted to help her. You believe me, right?" "I'm just a lab guy, Mr. Wilson. Sorry." Wilson looks sad and scared. Dex takes a couple more pictures of the guy's shirt, which has some more blood spatter on it. "Blood misting. Huh," Dex VOs. "I need to collect his shirt for evidence," he tells another forensics guy. Doakes walks up to talk to Dex. "The girl's mother was at work, and she isn't really defending her husband. Wilson and the stepdaughter fought all the time. Neighbors heard him yelling at her this morning, then he comes home for lunch...motive and opportunity. What'd the blood say?" "Well, the blood on his hands could've come from trying to help her, like he claims." A light goes on in Dexter's mind. "But, I did detect a blood mist on his shirt." "A blood mist?" asks Doakes, interested. "The kind that comes from beatin' on a teenage girl?" "No," he VOs. "Yes," he says. "You sure?" asks Doakes, acting more professional than I think I've ever seen. "It's too fine for a bludgeoning," Dex VOs. "The mist is from a bludgeoning," he says. I see what he's up to. Excellent. Or not. He could be making a huge mistake, fucking with Doakes like this. Doakes just wants a blood report as soon as possible. Dexter watches him make his way over to Wilson and get in his face, and VOs, "This is my chance to make Doakes go away without spilling a single drop of his blood. Of course, I have to sell an innocent man down the river. Sorry, Mr. Wilson, but I won't let you float too far." Two uniforms cuff Wilson and take him away, Doakes in tow.