And soon, their car screeches to a halt outside of the apartment building that houses the suddenly inaudible Willy Kramer. Gun drawn, Hunt is about to enter the door when Sam asks him if they've obtained a warrant; Hunt responds by kicking in the door. In fairness, perhaps a judge once signed his shoe.
Totally legal search or not, Hunt has kicked in the right door -- the place is covered in acoustical padding, and they find a sobbing, ungagged, still alive Dora stashed in the closet. Only one complaint about this otherwise stellar display of their policework: both Sam and Hunt have their back turned on the entrance to the apartment. And that allows Willy to wander in, notice that there are two too many people in his lair, and whap Hunt upside the head with some sort of blunt object. And so Sam gets to engage in his second footchase with a suspected serial killer this hour. This one does not go as well as the last one. Oh, Sam manages to corner him in some sort of ramshackle storage room all right. But that just allows Willy to push over a bunch of empty canisters onto Sam, knocking him down and his gun free. Do I have to tell you that Willy winds up with the gun in the ensuing scrum? I don't think I do. "You got it right, pig," Willy sneers, as he enjoys his tactical advantage over Sam. "There's no place else to go." Well, to commercial break, I guess.
When we return, Willy's still got the drop on Sam, whose been unsuccessful at trying to talk Willy into pointing that thing elsewhere. "It's the only way back," Willy keeps repeating. And suddenly, Sam gets the feeling that this isn't a simple matter of him being held at gunpoint by a perp anymore. "The way back where?" Sam asks. "The way back home," Willy says. Sam is intrigued by Willy's ideas, and wishes to subscribe to his newsletter. "I get it now," Sam says. "Send me back. Shoot me so I can save Maya. Shake me out of this insanity. The crack of the gun, the bullet -- it's the jolt I need." It does not speak well of Sam's state of mind that he might be the craziest person in the room at this particular moment. Anyhow, there's a lot more of this "Don't make me shoot you"-"But I want you to shoot me" back-and-forth and the tension mounts and we're not sure what's going to happen when all of sudden Gene Hunt appears -- like a beautiful, sweaty, slicked-haired angel -- and grabs the gun with one hand while slugging Willy with the other. Kramer, you just got yourself Keitel'd. "You really are some kind of lunatic, Tyler," observes Carling, who has also arrived on the scene. "You even managed to out-lunatic this daffy goofus, and he's crazier than a fruit bat at a cranberry convention." There is no way to improve upon that line, ladies and gentlemen, so I will not. Anyhow, Willy is cuffed and in prime pummeling position, when Sam asks Carling if unleashing his fist o' justice on Willy's fat face is really that necessary. "Not at all," Hunt says. Carling punches Willy anyhow. Needs and wants are not always the same thing, Sam.