Outside a busy club, Buddy's cellphone rings. "Hello, beautiful," he says, in a slight English accent, and the woman on the other end is all, "Where have you been? Did you get my message?" And the evil murdering foreigner invents some lies about being at a conference, and catching up on his sleep, and turning off his phone. "Hey, come on, now. You're starting to go down that road again. Before you know it, you'll be all upset," he tells her, when she seems unconvinced, and he blames this on having more to do with all the miles between them, and "all that dreary weather you're having in Portland." He says she'll feel better when she gets back tomorrah, and he'll cook for her. She says she'd like that, and he lies about having to go have dinner with "these insufferable suits from Hong Kong" like she can't even hear all the loud club music in the background. "I hope it won't be too awful," she tells her poor boyfriend. "You never can tell," he says, totally scoping out his next victim because HE'S OBVIOUSLY THE KILLER. And he walks inside, passing the club's star logo on an outside wall.
So inside is like the one club left in the world that still plays Bauhaus, which gives way to She Wants Revenge, while our hero scopes out all the pretty people dancing under the flashing lights. One blond beauty standing by herself catches his eye, and she gives him a look, so he makes his way over. "You know what's funny? Before I came in here, I thought I was good-looking," he tells her. Ugh. She gives that the eye-roll it deserves while still seeming to appreciate the compliment. Then he gets all real with her by saying that he can tell she's his type of girl. "How do you know?" she asks. "I know these things," he says, his voice getting all husky. But before he can finish seducing and, you know, KILLING her, her boyfriend shows up, and Buddy gets all deferential, all "Cheers, mate," and slinks off. So he finds someone else. A brunette, dancing by herself, eyes darting all around the club. "I can tell you're my kind of girl," he says, not at all freaked out by the fact that her eyes are Smurf-blue. Look out, next victim and totally not the actual killer!
Next thing you know, they're making out back at his loft. He's doing the "I'm so into you I'm holding your head with both my hands" thing while he rams his tongue down her throat. She sits him down on the edge of the bed and starts caressing his head, but seconds later, she snaps his neck by doing that "arms moving in opposite directions" thing. Is it really that easy? I think you probably need to take a class to learn this. Probably has something to do with her presumably super strength.
Meanwhile, it's midnight in Portland, and the dead guy's poor girlfriend (who we all know is better off) picks her cellphone off the nightstand and dials. Miles away, her boyfriend's phone goes unanswered on his own nightstand, while his one-night stand cleans the blood off her face in her bathroom, and there's an odd crunching sound as she sets her jaw. Over on the bed, the poor bastard lies on his face, bloody spine exposed under ripped flesh. God. Same thing happened to my roommate freshman year.
So while Ella colours at the dining room table with some other kid, her aunt Olivia pops the cork on a bottle of wine and pours a glass for Rachel, who says she has to hear how "Helen and Neil" met. This would be the couple sitting canoodling in the living room. The Neil half of the couple explains that they were both single, in their thirties, and wanted to have kids despite not having met anyone. "Then I heard about this program called Two Singles Together. Two Singles Together was the answer for us." Rachel calls it a matchmaking service, and Neil annoyingly corrects her, calling it a "a way of life." And how it works is ... uh, well, it appears that the two of them had sex but don't actually spend any time together? "I have my own schedule, works for me. I have no interest in controlling Neil's, either," says the Helen part of the equation. So they go on separate vacations, apparently. "Doesn't that kind of defeat the purpose of being in a relationship?" asks Olivia. Neil and Helen look at her like she has two heads, before they point out all the things they agree on, like where to live and which kindergarten their future fucked-up kid goes to. "Incidentally, I want to make sure Ella can attend Graham's birthday party," Helen tells Rachel, who says she already RSVP'd on the class signup, but Helen points out that was for Neil's "rock-climbing party" for Graham. Her party for Graham is the following Saturday at the science centre, don't you know. Olivia gets up, presumably to add some vodka to her wine, and instead of saying, "You are a nutjob," Rachel gets up to answer the doorbell. As the sisters scatter, Helen and Neil look away from each other and we can hear them bickering in the background, with her complaining about him always talking about Two Singles Together. Oh, and also telling him that he's drinking too much.
Meanwhile, Rachel's having her own crisis, having been handed a package by a messenger. "Greg's filing for divorce," she says, tearing up. Olivia's sympathetic, but Rachel doesn't want to break down in front of Helen and Neil: "They'll make me join Two Singles Together," she says. Heh. The sisters go to rejoin the annoying couple, but fortunately for Olivia, her cellphone rings, and she excuses herself, having just been called in to work. "Oh, what kind of work do you do, Olivia?" asks Neil, and Olivia hesitates instead of just saying that she works for the FBI.
I have no idea what's going on at this crime scene. I'm all discombobulated because Broyles isn't the one laying out what happened. It's Charlie, over at the rake's apartment, and he says the victim's name was Bob Dunn, 33. Dunn's girlfriend just got back from a business trip to Portland and found him here. No forced entry. No witnesses, and the corpse matches the victim found by Boston PD a couple of nights ago. "Yeah, they don't know what to make of it. So now they have another one, so it's ours to mix up," says Charlie, and let's hope his shining optimism rubs off on the entire team, hey?
Meanwhile, the Bishops are examining the body, which Walter says reminds him of shrimp cocktail: "You see, the shrimp must be de-veined by putting a shallow cut down the back to expose the vein. Which, in fact, is not a vein at all, but the crustacean's intestinal tract." Since I worked for a few months as a cook in a seafood restaurant, I can confirm this, although it's worth pointing out to a disgusted Peter -- "That's another foodstuff I can cross off the menu for life," he says -- that yes, sometimes the "vein" is dark, and you can guess what that means, and other times the vein is clear. Either way, it gets removed.
Then Peter sidles over to Olivia to ask if she's OK, since she was "awfully quiet" on the car ride over, and she doesn't seem her "normal, chipper self at a bloody, gruesome crime scene," like maybe Olivia should explain herself for not running around cracking inappropriate jokes all the damn