Back at the marina, the nice Dock Cop opines that the water is about 67 degrees, and that if Kimble is in the water, he's going to be hypothermic. The sheriff takes a call telling him that three sightings place Dr. Fugitive in the northeast section of town. The marina search is ordered abandoned. The sheriff calls out on a megaphone, "Don't bother y'all, the slippery bastard's [hey, isn't this family TV?] on land. Dry as a bone." I don't have any idea why his announcement made me giggle, but it did. At what we can only presume to be The Hungry Pelican, the whole fleet of cops ambush some poor schlemiel wearing the Exact Same Clothes as Kimble, much to his surprise.
It's now morning as Dr. Fugitive crawls, choking and sputtering, out of the water. He hears a familiar voice saying, "Come on, Richard, you can do it." Dr. Fugitive looks up and runs/falls to his dead wife's feet. When he looks up again, it's the Brian Krakow guy, and man, does he look scary as they play eerie music. Dr. Fugitive face-plants himself into the sand.
Inside a little house tucked back behind a bigger house, the camera pans police sketches on the walls: Sam Sheppard (I buzz up the UPS man, who asks me to sign for my anvil consignment), Rubin "Hurricane" Carter (cue Bob Dylan's whine), and Richard Jewell (falsely accused of the Atlanta Olympic Park bombing). Are we supposed to see a theme here? A bunch of CB radios, transmitters, and scanners report the goings-on in Myrtle Beach as someone sits in front of a computer loading up "DrRichardKimblecom." Dr. Fugitive shifts his position on the bed, and Brian Krakow decides to tell him how money he is. "I was just adding up the cost of the local yokel manhunt. They spent $28,000 looking for you last night, if you can believe that. It only cost me $1.05, a.k.a. [I think you mean "i.e.," dork] three phone calls." Krakow reconsiders his calculations once it dawns on him that 911 is a free call. He starts to calculate his gas money instead and pats himself on the back for diverting fifty cops, scuba divers, and a helicopter. Dr. Fugitive blearily surveys his surroundings and fixates on the wall décor, wondering what sort of nuthouse he's landed himself in this week. Krakow asks him what he's looking at. Dr. Fugitive reaches out to touch Krakow's face, wondering if all this is real. Krakow snaps his face out of reach and grabs Kimble's wrist, telling him that it's real and that he's Chuck Brixius.
Back in Wisconsin, someone stupidly and illegally pulls a water-skier through what should be a low-throttle channel. The police family breakfasts on a deck, and Alex says she wants to take water-skiing lessons. Lt. Dad protests that he thought they were going sailing again. Joss-Saraa condescendingly comments that the ski instructor is reportedly hot. Alex says that that's not her reason, and it's no one's business anyway. Lt. Dad wonders if the boat would have enough horsepower to get him up on a slalom ski. Joss-Sara and Alex unite in their disbelief that he can slalom, but a headline catches Lt. Dad's eye as the bill arrives. He makes an excuse that he forgot his wallet upstairs. "Again?" both girls say, giggling. Lt. Obsessive tells them he'll meet them at the water-ski place. Alex turns to Sara and says, "Two words: gingko biloba." Hilarity ensues, and I decide to look in the fridge for leftovers. Lt. "Doesn't Know When To Quit" Gerard calls up the Myrtle Beach sheriff's department and tries to get answers out of them.