In the interrogation room, Edward James NotOlmos reveals that he wanted to kill Martin's poor dead wife and frame Martin for it because Martin failed to reveal exculpatory evidence that would have set NotOlmos's imprisoned brother free. Instead, NotOlmos's brother is serving a life sentence for possession of $50 worth of crack. It was his third strike, you see. Martin doesn't give a damn; NotOlmos's brother was a dirtbag, and he was just doing his job. "Brady versus Maryland," Edward James NotOlmos spits. Martin looks taken aback. Edward James NotOlmos repeats himself, and exposits that that case established that a prosecutor has a duty to turn over exculpatory evidence. He spits that Martin had the word of three people that the jacket NotOlmos's brother was wearing when he was arrested -- the jacket with the crack in it -- didn't even belong to him. Martin looks bored. NotOlmos accuses Martin of suppressing evidence. He snarls that Martin broke the law, "because it was easy." Martin tells him wearily that if he pleads out to the murder of Martin's poor dead wife, he'll look into reducing his brother's sentence. "You want justice. So do I," Martin pronounces. "My brother is dead." NotOlmos snips. "Hung himself in his jail cell." Well, this is messy, ain't it?
Martin stalks out of the interrogation room and right into the waiting arms of a series of police officers, who promptly arrest him for his poor dead wife's murder. Doggett half-heartedly apologizes. Martin isn't all that upset, mostly, I suspect, because he knows he'll wake up in a hotel room tomorrow. Time moving backwards ain't all bad, you know.
Monday, December 4th. Strand Hotel. Washington D.C. 2:07 AM. Martin wakes up. His wife, we know, is still alive at this point. Martin looks at his room service tray. He looks at the clock. He picks up the phone and calls the wife, but gets the answering machine. He leaves a frantic message for her to pick up the phone. Nothing. He yells for her to get out of the apartment immediately and get the hell over to her parents'.
Doggett's house. Martin pounds on the door. Doggett, sleepy, and looking rather tasty in a tight little tee, is having a hard time wrapping his brain around Martin's rapid-fire exposition. Martin tells Doggett that he can't explain how he knows what he knows, but he knows it, and Doggett has to trust him. Oh, okay, then. He spits that he's being given a second chance, and totally morphs into the exposition fairy, telling Doggett every unethical thing he did to Edward James NotOlmos's brother. Doggett reminds him that everything he tells him, he has to report. Martin knows that; he just wants to save his poor dead wife. Doggett also tells him -- and us -- that suppressing evidence could get him disbarred, and land him in jail. Martin knows this. By the way, I asked my friend Bob the Lawyer about this, and, at least in the state of California, while a DA would be disbarred for doing what Martin did, and his career would probably be ruined, he more than likely would not go to jail, because what he did is not technically against the law. He could be prosecuted under Tort law, for some reason (this is where Bob's explanation lost me), but basically, while what Martin did was bad, bad, bad and wrong, wrong, wrong, it would be hard for him to end up in jail because of it. Ruined, yes. Disbarred, yeah. Fined, probably. Jailed? Much less likely. Anyway, it's not like any of that matters here. After all, this is a world in which a woman who thought she was barren, and who has no ova left, is mysteriously pregnant, possibly by with an alien baby, possibly with the child of a man who has disappeared into thin air, and who doesn't seem to care much about any of that. Doggett agrees to call the Baltimore police on Martin's behalf.