Original subtitles

Don't try to eat it through the wrapper.

- I'm sorry, what? - The candy bar.

You try to eat it through the wrapper, I owe my friend a hundred bucks.

Uh, why would I try to eat it with the wrapper?

You've been staring at it for ten minutes now.

It's like you're trying to skip the opening it and chewing it part

and just beam it straight to your stomach.

I'm sorry, you've been watching me for ten minutes?

Me and my friend. She thinks you're an unhoused individual.

This is Florida. You can just say "crazy homeless guy," it's okay.

She thinks you're a crazy homeless guy

who's gonna eat that thing through the wrapper.

- But not you. - Mm-mmm. So what's the story?

Why are you eye-sexing a candy bar on the steps of a courthouse?

I'm on trial.

A few months back, I caught this kid stealing camera equipment

out of the trunk of my car.

You're a photographer?

I was.

- Commercial? Fashion? - News.

Anyway, I caught this kid and I...

- Yeah, I sort of... sort of lost it. - You lost it?

- I beat him up. - You beat up a kid?

He wasn't a kid. He was 20 years old.

And, as it turns out, the son of a state senator.

It didn't matter that he had 40 pounds on me

or that he threw the first punch.

He made up some story about me thinking he was a drug dealer

and then attacking him when he wouldn't sell me meth.

Doesn't explain the candy bar.

It's sort of my favorite.

Today could be the last day of my trial,

meaning I could be going home in a few hours, or--

You could be going to prison.

Where I'm told candy bars are in short supply.

Thing is that I keep...

I keep thinking if I eat it, I'll be jinxing everything.

Well, look, I don't know a lot about prison,

but I know a little.

And you're right, candy bars are hard to come by.

But I can think of something in even shorter supply.

♪ Some folk built like this ♪

♪ Some folk built like that ♪

♪ But the way I'm built ♪

♪ You shouldn't call me fat ♪

♪ Because I'm built for comfort ♪

Believe this is yours.

♪ I ain't built for speed ♪

Good luck today.

Thanks.

♪ But I got everything All that a good girl need ♪

Clay Gregory was questioned yet again today by homicide detectives.

The investigation into the murder of his wife is ongoing...

Turn that off, would you? I'm kind of tired of that guy.

Bro, try to cut it closer next time.

You still think it goes to the jury today?

Just one witness left.

The cousin, right? The one who said she was there that day?

- Stepsister, bro. The stepsister. - Stepsister. Stepsister.

- And you're sure she wasn't there? - Yeah, no one was there. Why?

I was going over her statement last night. It's very detailed.

All rise.

Superior Court of the State of Florida,

Broward County, Department 342, is now in session.

Judge Anna Yu presiding.

Mr. Accosta, next witness.

State calls Emi Ochoa, Your Honor.

Raise your right hand.

Do you swear the testimony you're about to give is the truth,

the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?

I do.

Would you please state your name and relationship to the victim?

Yes, I'm Emi Ochoa.

Lucas is my stepbrother.

And that's the man who almost killed him.

♪ I don't want you anymore 'Cause you took my joy ♪

♪ I don't want you anymore You took my joy ♪

♪ You took my joy, I want it back ♪

♪ You took my joy, I want it back ♪

♪ I'm gonna go to West Memphis And look for my joy ♪

♪ Go to West Memphis And look for my joy... ♪

Thank you, Ms. Ochoa. You're excused.

♪ Kick dust ♪

♪ Kick it up ♪

♪ Kick it up, kick it up, kick it up ♪

♪ You gotta kick it up ♪

I told you I needed a 2019.

- Man, don't give me that. - Different parts, Darius.

You want me to go put it back?

I'll go put it back.

I'll give you half.

Half?

Plus I get a slice of that pizza.

Jefe. Problema.

Come on, man.

I checked this thing top to bottom.

Ain't no...

Beautiful dog.

- Thanks. - Beautiful.

I swear she is the spitting image of another dog I know, Friday.

Friday's an emotional support dog.

Her owner, Dylan, he's eight. He has autism.

Friday helps him, makes him happy,

or at least she did until someone stole her out of a yard the other day.

You-You have a nice day, yeah?

Dylan's mom, Amanda, she put these up all over the place.

Next day, someone emailed her, said he had the dog

and for 10,000 bucks, she could have her back.

I know what you're thinking-- ten grand for a dog--

but, see, the house this guy stole her from?

It was nice. It was real nice.

One of those great big ones up in Coral Ridge.

Guy didn't know that Amanda was just the housekeeper

and that her bosses let her dog play outside while she works.

So you're gonna arrest me now?

No, I'm not going to arrest you. I'm not a cop.

I'm a PI. I'm also an ex-con, like you.

Eighteen months, Apalachee. Assault.

Marion Correctional. Possession.

I didn't want to take her. I wasn't even planning it.

- I was just-- - It's okay. It's okay.

Hey, listen, take this.

After I bring her home, I want you to call him.

He's a friend of mine.

He helps find jobs for guys like me and you.

Tell him R.J. sent you.

Hey, Tebow, how you doing?

Gonna be a hot one today. Stay hydrated.

And... nope.

- Hey, Arj. - Hey, morning, Freddie. How you doing?

Chester! A little help here?

Tom Petty.

Come here, Tom Petty. Good.

Arj, I told you, you got to keep a treat on you.

You give Tom Petty a treat, he'll leave you be.

Or maybe, you know, stop giving him a free run of the entire trailer park.

- Ever thought about that? - Seen Tebow this morning?

His mom was looking for him.

Yeah, he's out by the mailboxes.

He's doing his scary clown thing again.

What is the point?

Well, his mom says it's an experiment

in phenomenology.

Really, I think it's more to do with Tebow being crazy as hell.

Uh, Chester, I almost forgot. I signed for a package for you yesterday.

It's in here by the door.

Uh, do you mind bringing that out?

Uh, I'm not comfortable going in there since the, uh...

you know, the sinkhole.

Yeah, okay, I understand.

So, uh, you talked to management about getting your trailer moved yet?

I did, twice.

I think their hesitation may have something to do

with me being two months behind on rent.

"Florida man tries to chew through handcuffs following arrest."

Now, it is a fascinating read, sir,

but I'm afraid there's nothing in here that identifies you as the subject.

You understand, I can only give you a free drink

if you can prove you're the Florida Man in question.

♪ Captain America, we love you ♪

Another one for the wall.

♪ Captain America, you're grand... ♪

Cellie! Usual?

Uh, it's a little early.

And you get that every time you call me "Cellie,"

you're announcing to your patrons we're both ex-cons?

Well, if it weren't for ex-cons, R.J., I might not have any patrons.

This is true.

You texted. Cut to the chase.

Well, I'm afraid the chase, old buddy, is Clay Gregory.

Police have confirmed that the woman found dead in the trunk of a car

is Rhoda Batista, the high school teacher who was reported missing yesterday.

The car was involved in a brief chase with police last night.

This morning, it was found abandoned, leading to the discovery of the victim.

This, of course, is eerily reminiscent

to the murder of Broward County Herald journalist,

Maya Gregory, several years ago.

Just like Rhoda Batista, she was found in the trunk of her car, strangled.

In both cases, the murder weapon was a wire coat hanger.

Maya Gregory's husband, Clay Gregory, was a person of interest at the time,

but has never been charged.

You know, it's funny.

Year and a half sharing a six-by-eight space with you,

and I still can't read your mind.

I'm thinking it sure would be nice to know where Clay Gregory was last night.

It would, but it's safe to assume

Fort Lauderdale's finest are all over that, yeah?

You know, the reason I wanted you to hear about this from me

is 'cause I know there is a very straight line

between what happened to your reporter friend

and what you did to that kid who broke into your car a few days later.

Wish, he wasn't a kid. He was 20 years old.

And he was bigger than you, and he threw the first punch.

Remind me, which one of you ended up at Apalachee with me?

The truth, Cellie, is you were carrying too much hurt around

and you unloaded on the first best person came along.

Don't go making the same mistake now, you hear?

R.J. freaking Decker, as I live and breathe.

- They let you out already? - No, Bill, I escaped.

- Don't tell anyone, okay? How you doing? - You back at the newspaper?

Uh, matter of fact, Bill, no. I'm, uh...

I'm a PI now.

- You're serious? - As a dead lady in a car trunk.

You heard what happened and thought Clay Gregory.

Well, to be fair, Bill, he did kill my former colleague,

his wife, the exact same way.

You are a dog with a bone, old buddy.

The night Maya died, he didn't have an alibi.

Then it comes out he was having an affair, so--

You're leaving out the part about a cigarette butt

that was found in the car with his wife's body.

DNA wasn't a match.

Okay, Bill, you and I both know he could've picked up any butt

from any gutter and put it in the car to throw off forensics.

Detective Ragsdale.

Are you aware you're associating with a known felon right now?

- Detective Abreu. Hello, how are you? - Let me guess.

He wants us to put cuffs on Clay Gregory for this.

I mean, it'd be nice if you put cuffs on him for something.

Mm-hmm. Just a reminder-- my case, not yours.

And sharing information with a civilian, let alone an ex-con, would be bad.

How is everything at the trailer park? You making new friends?

Only every single day.

Clay Gregory didn't kill anyone last night.

What do you mean?

He was visiting family in Topeka, flew in this morning.

We have footage of him at both airports.

So if you were hoping this was the murder we would get him on,

think again.

When asked about the still-unsolved Maya Gregory case,

police did acknowledge the similarities to the murder of Rhoda Batista.

By all accounts, Clay Gregory

is apparently not a person of interest at this--

Decker Investigations.

- Hi, is this R.J. Decker? - Yep, it is.

Great, I'm looking for a private investigator.

I was wondering if you might have some time this week to meet in person...

Ma'am, I'm sorry, bad reception.

Would you mind repeating what you just said?

Ma'am?

- Are you there, Mr. Decker? - Yeah, I'm here.

- I'm very interested in meeting. - Hello?

- Decker? - Yeah, I'm here. I can hear you.

Can you hear me? Ma'am? Ma'am?

What can I say, except it's pretty obvious

there's a serial killer loose in Fort Lauderdale.

And maybe if the police hadn't wasted so many resources on me

after he killed Maya, they would have caught him back then.

♪ This ain't the first time My life has come to this ♪

♪ Oh, oh, oh ♪

A sinkhole opened up outside your window three weeks ago

- and you didn't come to stay with us then? - Hi, Catherine.

You know, you're the dumbest ex-husband I ever had.

Palmetto Pastures? R.J., seriously? That's the best you could do?

Well, the price is right, Cath. What can I say?

If it's a money thing, you know I don't mind helping.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. It's temporary. Just like me staying here.

I'll be out of your hair in no time.

You'll see.

Great. It's great.

Roomy.

How'd your better half take the news?

- Said she wanted to talk to you. - Mmm.

She's in the garage.

You wanted to see me?

One week.

Beg pardon?

You can stay here one week,

and then you go.

Mel, if you think I want to stay

- longer than one week-- - One week, felon. Say it with me.

One week.

No, I won't talk to you about Clay Gregory.

No, no, no, no, no, no, I was gonna ask about Sofia.

Oh, yeah. She's still draining threes like Steph Curry?

Like Sabrina Ionescu.

And asking me about my kid isn't gonna score you anything.

Just the person who called the police about the red BMW the other day.

They interacted with the guy who abandoned it.

Said something, did something, am I right?

I just wanna know what they saw.

Maya Gregory was your friend.

I get it, but this case, it's about Rhoda Batista,

and it's got enough eyes on it already.

I don't also need some pretend PI looking over my shoulder,

let alone one flopping in my pool house.

You know, I've started to wonder if you don't like me

because you're under the impression I might be the closed-minded type

who'd be embarrassed, maybe even angry,

that his ex-wife ended up marrying another woman.

Hand to heart, Mel...

...it doesn't bother me.

I knew Cath was bi from day one.

I mean, hell, we even entertained the occasional third party back then.

Okay. I got work to do.

Try not to get sent back to prison today.

My Spanish is a little rusty.

You didn't just happen to confess to murdering two women, did you?

Decker. What's it been? Two years?

Eighteen months with good behavior?

You go to prison one time, and suddenly it's all the jokes.

I saw your ex's piece in the Herald this morning.

- Oh, yeah? - It's good stuff.

It reminded me of the way Maya used to write.

All gas, no brakes.

Yeah, Maya was something, wasn't she?

- Before she died-- - Before you killed her.

Before she died, you met me, what?

Once? Maybe twice.

You hardly know me.

So how can you be so sure I killed Maya?

You were cheating on her.

I was getting away with it. So why kill my wife?

This new murder, the one from a couple days ago--

Rhoda Batista was her name. She was a teacher. She had a mom, three sisters.

I'm sure you've heard by now, I was on an airplane when it happened.

- I didn't do it. - I know you didn't.

Then why are you here?

Would I be right in assuming that the insurance policy

you had on Maya never paid out?

Of course it didn't.

Because the insurance company,

like pretty much everyone else in the state of Florida,

knew you killed her.

This new murder, though, I don't...

Maybe it changes things.

Like you said, you were on a plane when it happened.

You think I hired someone?

Told them to commit a murder just like Maya's when I was at 40,000 feet?

Yeah, police started thinking, "Hey, maybe he didn't kill his wife."

Then the insurance company. Suddenly, you're, what?

Six figures richer? Seven?

This has been fun, but I've got work to do.

Me too, Clay. Me too.

Decker Investigations.

Hi, I called last night. We got cut off.

Hi, yes, sorry about that.

I would have called you back, but your number was blocked.

- You're still up for meeting? - Absolutely.

Then how about we do it over a drink? You name the place.

Oof. Uh, yeah. Do you know F.M. Station?

I'll find it. See you at 7:00.

7:00 works, but, um, can I--

Didn't get your name, again.

Yes?

Hi, ma'am. My name is R.J. Decker, I'm a private investigator.

I-I'd like to ask you a few questions about what happened yesterday.

Me? Why me?

You're the one that called the police, aren't you?

You saw the person who dumped the car.

If I was, I don't think the police would tell you.

I knew it was you from the flowerpot.

- Cómo? - The one you threw at the suspect?

I saw little pieces of it on the ground.

See, most of your neighbors,

they like to use their balconies for storage.

You like to grow things.

Yeah, you must have, what, a couple dozen plants out there?

So you saw the guy park,

and when he popped the trunk, you saw what he'd done.

That's why you threw the pot at him.

All I'm looking for is a description.

I even brought you a few pots to replace the ones you broke.

The man was short, maybe 5'2", Black.

His back was turned, so I didn't see his face, just his terrible hat.

What was so terrible about his hat?

There was a penis on it.

Penis? Did you say a penis?

Worse, an angry penis.

What made you think the penis was angry?

The face and the two little arms flexed like this, like it wanted to fight.

- Like this? - Mm-hmm.

Huh.

- Is this what you saw? - Ay, Dios mío.

- Yes. - It's not what you think it is.

It's a jumbo shrimp.

Specifically, it's the logo for the Jacksonville Jumbo Shrimp,

Triple-A affiliate to the Miami Marlins.

Does that help?

Like your hat.

Thanks.

What?

No, it's just, I wish I could have seen your face

when you found that dead lady in the trunk of that car.

Darius.

Hey, kid, deep breaths.

Deep breaths. No need to pull Mom into this. Come here.

I didn't hurt that woman, okay?

I'm not a killer.

Well, given she had about six inches and 20 pounds on you, I'd tend to agree.

The thing is, Darius, you are a car thief, and you did steal that Beamer.

You just didn't know the first person who drove it left a body behind.

Who are you, man?

What is this?

Me? I'm a PI. Yeah.

As such, I do the occasional job for an insurance company.

That company insures cars,

and so they keep pretty meticulous records when it comes to car thieves.

So I'm on a list?

Yeah, you're on a list. That's how I found you.

Someone saw the logo on your hat, so I checked the list for car thieves

originally from Jacksonville, and bam.

There you were.

Pinched last year for joyriding in someone else's Lambo.

I'm a minor. All that stuff is supposed to be sealed.

Yeah, well, hey. Insurance companies, what can I say?

I tried to do the right thing, okay?

I left the car trunk open so somebody would see the lady

and the police would arrest the person who owns the car.

Well, the person who owns the car has an alibi

described by Channel 7 as "ironclad,"

not to mention zero connection to the victim.

That's why I think the car was actually stolen twice the other night,

first by the killer and then by you.

What I don't know, what nobody knows except for you and him,

is where the car was abandoned first.

Where did he leave it before you stole it?

Hey, hey.

Uncle R.J. We're making ropa vieja. Wanna help?

Uh, actually, kiddo, I need a quick word with your mom,

and then I have to go meet a client.

- Do you need to bring a gun? - No, sweetie, I don't even own a gun.

- It's because you can't own a gun. - Can we just, uh, please...

So this guy stole the car first, dumped it in the lot,

and then the kid you found stole it a second time.

Yes, he's the one who ended up in a car chase with police,

but this guy, Popeye Calves, he's the one that killed Rhoda Batista.

On orders from Clay Gregory, in order to clear his name,

make a play for Maya's life insurance money, or both.

All I could get tonight was video from a hardware store,

but you canvass the area,

maybe you find video from a different business,

gives us Popeye's face.

We find him, he gives us Clay.

Hey.

Were you sleeping with Maya Gregory?

I'm asking as a wife, not a cop.

If it's something that's gonna come out, I'd rather know now.

No, I wasn't sleeping with Maya Gregory.

Truth is, I didn't even know her that well.

She died, this person you didn't know very well.

And it was, what, one week later

you lose it on some kid who breaks into your car?

Few years back, I'm still working at the Herald.

City desk sends me out

on what they figured was a routine drug homicide.

Someone smelled something awful coming from the trunk of a car, called the cops.

I show up just as they're drilling the locks...

...trunk pops open.

I'm expecting the usual.

Gangbanger, no ID, multiple gunshot wounds.

Not a woman with a hanger wrapped around her neck,

and not someone I knew.

Can you guess what I did?

Took her picture.

I'm thinking, "Hey, it's Maya, it's Maya from work."

But I just keep bracketing the shots,

changing the angles to get more of her hair, but not the face, not the face.

No, the papers won't print faces of the dead.

That's policy.

You were doing your job.

"Shoot everything." That's what they expect.

Nine times out of ten, they'll only use your most vanilla pic,

the one that tells the story, but won't upset.

Thing is, the photographer...

Yeah, he remembers all of them.

The next day I quit. I'd had enough.

But then it comes out that Clay's having an affair,

and I don't know, I started following him, I started taking his picture.

I didn't catch him in the act of anything,

but when I looked at him through my lens,

I swear I could see him.

I could see who he really was.

And my cameras, all of a sudden, they were my eyes again,

and they were gonna help me do something good.

And then stupid Lucas Ochoa broke into your car

and tried to take them from you.

This new career you picked,

it's hard not to notice you're still taking pictures.

It's cheating spouses.

Guys faking injury to collect on disability.

For now.

But you stick with it,

and you and I both know you're gonna start seeing the ugly stuff again.

Mel, I stick with it, maybe some of the ugly stuff doesn't happen.

- She here? - Seated at our finest table.

Okay.

Let me guess.

You're still mad about the candy bar?

Did you not hear me say I'm sorry?

Did you not hear me say what you could do with your apology?

I did. I assume it's an expression you learned in prison?

Do you think this is funny?

You think lying about what happened between me and your stepbrother,

getting me shipped off to Apalachee for a year and a half is some kind of a joke?

No, but you mess with one Ochoa, you mess with every Ochoa.

Oh, right, the Ochoas.

Fort Lauderdale's answer to the freaking Borgias. How's your dad, by the way?

Gonna run for governor? Or would that put too many eyes on him?

Make it too hard for him to accept all those bribes?

- State Senator Ochoa is very well, thanks. - After that day in court, I looked you up.

I saw you were one of his special consultants.

I'm curious, did you tell him how you consulted me right before you testified?

Because, wow, "special" would be putting it mildly.

I thought you were gonna consult my damn legs off.

Can we please talk about why I called?

If you think I want a job from you, you're out of your mind.

There is no job. There is just me wanting to say I'm sorry.

I thought I should do it face-to-face,

but I knew if I didn't pretend to have work for you, you wouldn't come.

Are you saying you lied so you can apologize for lying?

Tell me I pulled you away from something.

You heard about the teacher they found in the trunk of the car?

I am this close to proving it was a murder for hire,

with the bill footed by Clay Gregory.

- What? - Clay Gregory is like

a Teflon Scott Peterson.

He's this town's whitest white whale, and you're gonna...

You.

Tell your dad I said hi.

- Hey, what's up? - Hey, where are you?

- The trailer. - The one in the crater?

Yeah. The other day, I told Mel about all the surveillance pics

I took of Clay Gregory after Maya died.

Figured I'd go through 'em again, see if I missed anything.

And?

Pretty sure his hairline's starting to recede.

Well, I'm heading to a press conference.

It's supposed to be an update on Rhoda Batista,

but since I'm sleeping with the lead detective, I already got the scoop.

The footage that you found led to more footage

from a different business that showed the guy in the hoodie.

- Popeye Calves. - What?

Uh, nothing. Continue.

It showed him getting into a silver sedan and driving away.

Bad news is, the camera is too far away

to give a good look at his face or his license plate.

Progress is progress.

Go home, okay? I didn't think that trailer was safe before the sinkhole.

Hey, Tebow, how you doing, man?

Moving on from the clown thing. Good for you. Sort of five years ago.

Tebow?

Tom Petty just saved my life.

Park's clear. No sign of the guy who shot at you.

- Yeah, it was Popeye Calves. - You saw his legs?

No, I didn't need to. I paid Clay a visit. I told him I knew he hired someone

to commit a murder that looked just like Maya's.

Obviously, he called Popeye, told him I had to go, but this is good.

Clay's getting sloppy. Not only did Popeye fail to kill me--

No, he left blood evidence, his gun, and God knows what else behind.

Any of it gives us a name, Clay's as good as done.

I told R.J. he was welcome to still stay with us, but he wouldn't hear it.

Someone tried to kill him tonight,

and your doorstep is the last place he'd wanna bring that much danger.

And your doorstep's okay?

You know me and R.J.'s story, don't you?

You were cellmates at Apalachee.

Ah.

Right. That all he told you?

Well...

when your ex and I met,

I was doing a stretch for holding up a convenience store in Coral.

But the thing is, I was innocent.

A common refrain around Apalachee, mind you.

"I'm innocent."

And yet, in my case,

it was the God's honest truth.

R.J. was the only one who believed me.

And he wasn't a PI yet, but he got himself a contraband phone,

and started looking into it.

Made some calls, sent some emails,

chipped away at the State's case, and finally,

he was able to prove the robbery was the work of someone else,

and the perpetrator just happened to leave the scene

in a vehicle that looked remarkably like mine.

They only arrested you 'cause you had the same kind of car?

Well, that, and I'd also robbed other convenience stores in the past.

Point is, I was exonerated.

But, because the gears of justice grind slowly,

it amounted to me being released just one day earlier than I would've.

So R.J. didn't really change much after all?

He changed everything.

'Cause the very first thing I did was I bought a scratcher.

And that scratcher paid out a million bucks.

And that million bucks

bought me this bar.

I'm not released this day instead of the next,

who knows what becomes of me?

- Uncle R.J. - Mm-hmm.

Do you have any pencils in here? I have to do my homework.

I was picking her up from school when you called. What do you got?

Remember how I told you I spent some time following Clay after Maya was killed?

Last night, before Popeye Calves showed up,

I was going over some of my old photos and I remembered this guy.

Why do I recognize him?

Probably because you've driven behind a city bus sometime in the last 15 years.

That's where he does most of his advertising.

Ah, sleazy plastic surgeon guy. Yeah, with a name that sounds made-up.

Yep, Dr. Adrian Noble. That's his practice over there.

Turns out, Adrian Noble was not his real name.

It's actually Cecil Gregory, as in Clay Gregory.

- They're related? - Cousins. Get this.

Back in 2020, old Cecil tried opening a second office in Miami.

Did not go well.

He was losing money hand over fist, or at least he was,

until an electrical fire broke out and the whole place burned down.

He walked away with a seven-figure insurance payout.

Electrical fire. And Clay is a commercial electrician.

If you were a total sleaze

and your cousin helped you bilk an insurance company out of a million bucks,

what wouldn't you do for him?

Okay, so you think Adrian Noble isn't just Cecil Gregory, he's Popeye Calves too.

Yeah, all we have to do is look for Tom Petty's bite marks on his legs.

The guy who sings "Free Fallin'" bit someone?

No, sweetie, Tom Petty's a dog now.

That's him? There's a hole in your plan.

He's wearing long pants.

Right.

Hey, show's over there.

Hey, brother, you got the time?

Yeah, it's, uh-- it's 3:30, buddy.

Hey, what are you--

Oh, my God.

No bite marks.

No underwear either.

Yeah, he's not our guy.

No, 'cause odds are our guy's already in custody.

My captain said there was a break-in at a veterinary clinic this morning.

Silent alarm got tripped.

A couple of patrolmen responded,

caught the perp trying to sew up some wounds on his leg.

He claimed they were from trying to climb over a barbed wire fence.

When they took him to the hospital, doctor who treated him

- said they were... - Bites from a dog.

There's a team searching his residence, 2018 East Bishop.

Are we going to a crime scene now?

You're going home,

but if your uncle R.J. promises no one else will lose their pants today,

maybe he can meet me.

- See you, kiddo. - Bye, Uncle R.J.

Ah. So what's this, Bring Your Ex-Con to Work Day?

Captain said our guy's name is Wade Ennis.

Two N's. That's him over there.

Come on. There's something you should see.

What's with the wheelchair?

What's with any of this stuff?

This is what I want to show you.

Cigarettes?

Same weird brand as the cigarette butt found in Maya Gregory's car

a few years ago,

the one with the DNA that was not a match for Clay.

So you think Clay never actually laid hands on Maya?

He hired this guy for her murder and the one from the other night.

Okay, that's one possibility.

Detective Ragsdale.

Sorry, what?

Look, I know what you think you saw

when you were following Clay a few years back,

and yet there's evidence here to support what he's been saying the last few days,

which is that his wife and Rhoda Batista were both killed by a serial killer.

Talk to this Ennis guy. Talk to him.

Tell him there's a deal if he serves up Clay,

watch how fast he flips.

- Never seen him before in my life. - Wade.

How many times I gotta tell you? I don't know no Clay Gregory.

I'm a serial killer.

I'm a slave to my deviant passions.

You realize you're looking at the death penalty, yes?

You seen them, like, true crime documentaries about guys like me?

We get, like, special treatment in prison.

Hell, I-I think there might be visits of the conjugal stripe.

If you're just a serial killer,

why'd you go after Mr. Decker last night?

How'd you even know about him if it wasn't for Clay Gregory?

I'm a riddle wrapped in a mystery.

You're a moron wrapped in stupid.

You should take it from someone that's actually been to prison.

Guys like the one you're pretending to be, they don't do so well.

You think the State's gonna be the one to put you down?

Nah, it'll be some guy named Red or Leon or Bubba,

and they're gonna be twice your size and half as smart,

and when they do it, Wade, it'll be ugly.

It'll hurt.

So do yourself a favor, and give us the guy that put you up to all this.

Give us Clay Gregory.

I do not know Clay Gregory.

I do not know him here or there.

I do not know him anywhere.

Whoever he is, Slim,

whatever it is you think he did...

sorry,

but I'm afraid he's gonna get away with it.

I heard on the news someone confessed to killing those two women.

Congrats?

Oh, you still think Clay Gregory hired him to do it.

His name is Wade Ennis,

and I think because he knows he's going to prison no matter what,

he might as well take all the credit

and go in as Florida's answer to Hannibal Lecter.

You here to offer me another pretend job?

I have this acquaintance.

Someone I may or may not know through my father,

someone who may or may not be his specialist in,

oh, let's just call it cybersecurity.

The most crooked politician in the state of Florida has his own hacker?

Let me show you how not surprised I am.

The point is, I may have asked him to dox Wade Ennis,

and so this may be a hard drive

filled with everything Wade's done online over the last couple of years.

Emails, credit card statements, eBay transactions,

stuff the police won't be able to get their hands on for days.

Figured we dive in together,

maybe we find something that connects him to Clay Gregory.

♪ Call me a fool... ♪

The other night, when I tried to apologize for what I said at your trial,

you didn't want to hear it.

I was hoping you might let me try one more time.

If you think I don't know it was under orders from your father--

It was.

But if I hadn't lied to protect Lucas, there would have been consequences.

But it was still wrong,

and...

I'm sorry.

What about everything that happened before you testified?

It's hard to imagine that was on Dad's orders.

I knew where you were heading in a few hours.

- You didn't. - So, guilty conscience?

- Guilty conscience. - Nothing more?

Zip.

If you ever decide to follow in your dad's footsteps,

you're gonna make one hell of a politician.

Oh, what-what makes you say that?

Because I can tell when you're lying.

I just don't mind it.

♪ But this new love is so strong that... ♪

- Huh. - What?

When I was at Wade's house today,

I noticed he was using a wheelchair like a piece of furniture.

I figured it was something he stole off someone's curb,

but according to this, he bought it brand-new.

So?

So it was the same week Maya was killed.

Okay, so, maybe she fought back, stabbed him in the leg or something,

and he needed the wheelchair to get around.

No, he bought the wheelchair a few days before,

a few days after he started Grubhub-ing every meal.

Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. That went on for two weeks straight.

So, after Maya dies, he's hurt and he's housebound,

but he had to know he'd be hurt or why else buy the wheelchair?

Little while ago, you said you were looking at receipts from Wade's pharmacy.

Can you pull them up again, please?

Yeah.

Yeah, around the time we're talking about,

someone prescribed him antibiotics.

It just doesn't say who.

- Is there a name you're looking for? - It's more like one I'm expecting to see.

About a year and a half ago, I sprained my ankle.

A year before that was the first time I had COVID.

Okay.

Both times, I was prescribed medication.

Both times, I kept what I didn't use in case I needed it again.

The point is my doctor's name is right there on the bottles.

Locked. Of course it is.

Okay, look, just because I kept my old prescription bottles...

A psycho killer wouldn't?

Great. Just great.

They biting today, Clay?

'Fraid not, Deck.

This time of year, the best fishing's off a boat.

Now that Maya's life insurance is paying out, I think I may get one.

Or didn't you hear they finally got the guy who killed her?

Yeah, I think you mean the guy you paid to kill her.

Detective.

Seriously.

Back then, how many times did you people go through my finances?

Did you ever find a penny out of place?

We didn't.

But it turns out that's only because Wade Ennis wasn't paid with money.

I don't think you could have gotten into bed with a dumber killer for hire.

Wade was supposed to kill Maya on a Wednesday,

but he went ahead and did it on a Tuesday, which wouldn't have been a problem,

except Wednesday was the night you were planning on having an alibi.

But then again, Wade's stupidity cut both ways.

He left a cigarette butt in Maya's car,

and that led to DNA which was undeniably not yours.

Before we knew Wade's name, I was calling him Popeye Calves.

His swole lower legs, after all, were his most identifying feature.

It turns out they were not the result of hard work in the gym.

They were implants.

More specifically, they were payment for choking the life out of poor Maya.

You wanted to hire someone to kill her.

You asked for references from not just the sleaziest person you knew,

but a sleazy person who owed you.

Your cousin, Cecil.

Didn't take him long to think of a guy named Wade

who wanted calf implants, but couldn't pay for them.

Wade took the job because what's one life

against shapelier and more contoured calves?

Bought himself a wheelchair for after the surgery,

then he went and did the deed.

I don't know, Deck.

It's hard to imagine there's any record of my cousin performing that surgery.

No, there isn't.

But there is a record of him prescribing antibiotics to him.

Seems the surgery wasn't done under the best conditions,

and Wade got a bad infection.

How do I know all this?

Because old Cecil already copped to all of it.

He's under arrest, Mr. Gregory.

And now, so are you.

Hey, you end up at Apalachee,

you count on me asking some old friends to say hello.

Let's go.

♪ Girls on the beaches commit a sin ♪

♪ If they don't show Yards and yards of skin... ♪

Mmm. I still don't get why you won't let me write about what happened.

Cath, in case you hadn't noticed, everyone is writing about what happened.

No, they're writing about Clay Gregory getting arrested.

They don't know that you were the driving force. No offense, sweetie.

Well, my story, as you know, is, uh-- is complicated.

So you went to prison. So what? This is Florida.

Going to prison is like a rite of passage.

Plus, you're trying to get a business off the ground.

You think people aren't gonna want to hire the PI who brought down Clay Gregory?

I'll think about it. In the meantime,

since Mel here has decided I can stay in your pool house indefinitely--

Uh, mmm. I said...

...you don't have to rush to find a place.

I suggest you give her all the glory.

Hey.

I just wanted to say congrats on getting your guy.

Huh.

This is the part where you say,

"Hey, thanks for doxing that maniac he hired.

- Now we're even." - Even?

You think helping me out one time makes up for 18 months in prison?

- I mean, it was, like, a pretty big help. - It was a start.

I'll let you know when we're even.

- What's up, Arj? - Dewey.

Ugh. You and this place, you were made for each other.

- What do you mean, the bar? - Florida.

Weirdest state in the union.

None of it ever phases you, huh?

You treat everyone exactly the same.

Is there some other way?

♪ That's the law in Fort Lauderdale ♪

Oh, hey, I almost forgot.

♪ Pretty girls 18 to 23 ♪

♪ If their technique Ain't what it should be ♪

♪ Get love instruction for free from me ♪

♪ Through the courtesy of ♪

♪ The Fort Lauderdale Chamber of Commerce ♪