Cut to McNulty, whom utter despondency has rendered almost unrecognizable. He's sitting alone, staring at the ground, his shoulders folded in on themselves. Rawls comes up to him, leans over to look him in the eye, and gently asks, "You hurt?" "No," says McNulty quietly. He notices Rawls looking at his fidgeting fingers, both of his hands and the lap of his jeans covered in blood, and explains to Rawls, "It's hers." Rawls straightens, and briskly orders McNulty to get up and come with him. They walk a few paces, and then McNulty says, "Couldn't talk. Couldn't breathe. Nothing. She went into the ambo that way." He stops, and in the light we can see that he has a big streak of blood on his cheek. "Is she...?" he asks, and holds himself still waiting for the answer. When Rawls doesn't reply, McNulty asks, "What the fuck did I do?" Normally when he asks that, we know the answer, so this...is especially unsettling. "Come on, walk," says Rawls kindly.
Jay, Bunk, et al have followed the footprints to some train tracks. They shine their flashlights around as we see how big and grassy the field is, and how much they're going to have their work cut out for them.
Rawls leaves the scene in his car, McNulty glumly sitting shotgun. On his way out, he stops to ask Cole, "What's our plan?" He reports that Jay and Bunk are staying on the scene, and "Keeley and Crutchfield" are back at the office, preparing warrants for Savino. Cole himself is on the autopsy, and is headed for the morgue. Norris and Holley are staying at the hospital in case Kima wakes up and can talk. Worden is supervising as they laser-print the car. But Rawls can't leave; a different DEA guy stops him and asks if Rawls is in charge for the city. Rawls curtly introduces himself, and the guy tells him, "Anything you need from my office -- men, money, whatever -- you just ask." Aw, thanks, DEA! But Rawls reverts to default dick mode: "Right."
And now Lester pulls up, looking grave, just in time for a bagged body to get wheeled past him on a gurney. Lester freezes, but Cole, walking past, says, "Co-operator. Your girl's down in shock trauma." Lester breathes again, and calls out to his assembled fellow detailees, "Let's get to work." "Fuck you," spits Carver. "Fuck me?" snaps Lester, getting loud. "We got a wire up." "So?" bleats Herc. "So we got a wire up on some motherfucker that just shot a cop," yells Lester. "If somebody talks, if someone gets on the wrong phone, and says the wrong fucking thing about what happened here tonight, where the fuck do you wanna be?" Herc thinks about what answer might get him closer to his precious fucking STRIPES, and offers, "Church roof?" Carver nods, and says he and Herc can both go; Sydnor can take the McCullough Street phone. Lester's like, "Fucking right." As the three young turks roll out, Lester asks if anybody's gotten in touch with "Kima's people." Carver stops dead, and hisses, "Shit." He says he'll do that first, and meet Herc at the church. Left at the scene, Lester rubs his head, and thinks how much easier this would be if he didn't have to worry about finding Kima's shooter while also teaching Remedial Policing to a bunch of balky students.