Courthouse. Doggett and Scully are chewing the fat with the Jackoff ADA, who tells them that the State of New York isn't just letting Meat Loaf out of jail; they're also giving him a pile of cash. Scully's shirt is unbuttoned to her navel. Well, just about. After much boring yelling back and forth, the ADA finally agrees to let the Feds look through the evidence files. Scully convinces him by mentioning that maybe they'll find the real murderer if they take another look at all the facts. Maybe O.J. can give them a hand with that.
Cut to a table covered with boxes and boxes of files. Scully sighs and wonders where to start. Doggett hands her the original arrest report, and she gives it a quick scan. "Arresting Officer John Doggett," she reads. "Must have been a career-maker." Doggett shrugs that it certainly didn't hurt when he put in for detective. He stares sadly at the paper. Scully grimaces and reminds him that "even good cops make mistakes." Doggett admits that he's made more than he can count, but "this isn't one of them." He's not there to "cover his ass." Scully shuffles her feet and says that she's worried this is "about [him] feeling guilty." She stares into his eyes. Then looks at his mouth. Then his eyes. Then his lips. Someone's missing her FDA required allotment of Special Agent Lovin'. "Like, what? Subconsciously?" Doggett asks. Scully makes a pained face. Doggett makes a more pained one. He tells her that a cop he once knew -- a man he "respected deeply" -- once told him that a good cop doesn't "clock out at the end of his shift." And that's all he's doing. Not clocking out. Scully thinks about this, than finally nods and turns to the piles of paper in front of them.
Lawyer Jane's mansion in Great Neck. She leads Meat Loaf into the foyer, introducing him to "Mrs. Dowdy," her housekeeper. Mrs. Dowdy says that she's got Meat Loaf's room all made up. Because Jane thinks it would be a good idea for her client, the accused serial killer, to sleep right next to her all comfy and cozy. "You're rich," Meat Loaf says. He must have skipped his etiquette classes in prison. Jane shrugs that her parents were giant moneybags, but that she tries to use her "resources" to help people when she can. Jane, maybe you should use some of those resources to buy a suit that fits you properly and a nice blowout, because your hair looks god-awful. Just a suggestion. Meat Loaf stands at the bottom of the stairs and looks shifty (per usual) and then tells her that she's "a good person" who "does good things." Also, crazy ones, like letting Meat Loaf live in her house. Whatever happened to giving the guy some money for a studio apartment and maybe a pie? Instead, Jane takes Meat Loaf to his room, telling him that she's got some people who are "sympathetic" to his sitch, and when he's ready, she's going to set up some job interviews for him. Meat Loaf sits on his bed and looks at her. Jane sniffles that she's so very sorry for the hell he went through, what with getting thrown in the pokey and all, and she's so very, very happy for him now. He says nothing. She leaves the room, and he promptly begins praying. After a moment, he looks down to see that his hands are all bloody. The words "Kill Her" are written on the wall in blood. That's no way to act as a guest in someone's house, dude.
Kings County Courthouse. Traffic? People walking? I don't know that's going on here. Oh, it's Duke, pulling into the parking lot in his big old gas guzzling American car. And here's Doggett! "You steal that car?" he asks. "Well, if it ain't the FBI," Duke drawls. They embrace. After some very basic banter about which of them is the prettiest, Doggett mentions Meat Loaf. He wonders if they missed something there, that night. Duke shrugs. "Yeah, John. We arrested the wrong man," Duke says. Doggett is all, "But, duuuude! But! Dude! But!" Duke shakes his head and advises Doggett to "drop this thing." Doggett stamps his feet and reminds Duke that he taught him never to clock out. Duke glares at him. "Keep after this thing, it's going to bite you IN YER ASS!" he shouts. I'm going to start using the phrase "IN YER ASS" as often as possible, from now on out. "When I'm done with this proofreading, I'll leave the copy IN YER ASS!" Or, "The large conference room is booked. Let's have our staff meeting IN YER ASS!"