The day wears on... and on. As he starts to make his next call, Trey walks into the diner. Frank apologizes for taking so long to get back to him. As he hands Trey his keys, he gives him a bit of advice about the drugs in his car. "It's the wrong path," he says. Trey scoffs. "I appreciate what you've done for me, Mr. Agnew, but you ain't my daddy." Frank could point out that, as a cop, he's seen the future by seeing the past, but he seems to be taking a break from his usual self-righteousness. Maybe he saw that was the wrong, path, too.
Frank hits the road and checks his messages. Dawson: "If you don't come in, I will bring you in." He also explains that his wife's father is rich and that's why he's got a nice house. Maybe he should have tried that when Frank was still standing in front of him, because it's too late now. Also, he somehow managed to get his Ford Explorer back without the spy noticing.
His next stop is the Hobson house, to tell Billy's mother the truth. "I have some new information about your son I think you're gonna want to hear," he says. She doesn't want anything to do with him, though, and tells him to get the hell out of her yard. "What, are you gonna tell me he raped a girl? Did he rob a bank now? Can't close a case so you wanna finger him for it?" Frank seems a little bewildered at the ferocity of her ire, like, who would guess a mother would be so mad at her son being accused of killing three people? "My son ain't killed nobody!" Frank notices that the neighbors have started to assemble on their front porches. "I got this whole damn block behind me, and we will beat yo ass out here, cop!" Frank forges ahead, giving her a copy of Damon's mugshot and explaining who he is. "This is the man who killed your son," Frank says. "Now, you can say I gave you this, but my name's not gonna mean shit soon." Billy's mother is too moved to speak. "Your son didn't kill anyone, and don't let anybody tell you any different," Frank says, sounding more human than he has since... ever.
He gets back in his car and drives. He drives and drives, and rubs his tired eyes. He parks somewhere near the water and starts to doze off, wakened only when he hears an alert on his police radio. "Be on the lookout for Detective Frank Agnew," the voice on the radio says. "DPD badge number 6907. Use caution. Disposition to be determined." Frank has a good laugh over that. Disposition: insane.
He gets back out of his car and wanders over to an abandoned swimming pool. The water is murky green, thick as soup. Happy green weeds have grown up through cracks in the surrounding concrete. It clearly isn't winter, nor is the sun particularly low, except in the despairing pit that is Frank's soul. It's all symbolic and crap. Anyway, he stares at the water for a long while, then trudges along the circumference of the pool. Is he going to drown himself? It would be fitting, all things considered. He stares and stares, remembering... things. Then he explodes in a rage and kicks at a building that sits crumbling next to the pool. He kicks and screams and punches at a boarded-up door until he exhausts himself. Then he takes out his phone and dials. "Hello, and welcome to Cloud North airlines," says the chipper voice on the other end. Frank says he wants to make a reservation.