Prodigal Son

I'm 1.5 centimeters from the LAD.

Entering aneurysm now.

Extracting intracavitary

thrombus.

Got it.

Well done.

Beautiful work, Doctor.

And now a purse-string suture?

And endocardial patch.

And then, a celebratory drink.

I think...

Scotch.

You know, there are only one or two

doctors in the world capable

of what you're doing right now.

Stop buttering me up.

I'm lucky to have a partner like you.

No, I deserve no credit.

This is all you, Vivian.

You are brilliant.

And anyone who can't see that is a fool.

Really?

- Brilliant. - I'm brilliant?

And you know it, too.

This is your destiny, Doctor.

You... finding me here.

This was supposed to happen.

This was supposed to happen.

This was supposed to happen.

What the hell is the matter with me?

Morning, Mother.

Malcolm!

What are you doing here?

In my loft?

Where I live?

I thought you were sleeping.

I didn't hear you scream.

I don't always wake up screaming.

Don't you?

What are you doing here

and what is all this?

Oh, I was just...

fetching some things from the Never Ever Room.

Help me.

I thought the whole point

of the Never Ever Room was

to shut away Dad's belongings so you never had to see them again.

Well, it was.

But once I committed to do that book,

I'm gonna do it right.

Even if that means some PTSD memory orgy.

Well, it's funny.

You are dredging up the past

while I'm ignoring The Surgeon altogether.

Hallelujah.

No wonder you look so rested.

Well, I can't say going cold turkey has been

a pleasant experience.

He's been calling... nonstop.

Darling, you need a reframe.

Your father is not an addiction.

You are not cutting out nicotine or, God forbid, benzos.

You are cutting out

a malignant tumor.

- Got it. - Aw!

This is a good thing.

You are freeing yourself to move on

with your life, finally give up

all this murder nonsense.

Ah, okay.

A mother can dream.

But maybe you will have time

for some lucky girl out there.

I know you and...

Detective Powell have been...

close?

Less so these days.

That whole "covering up a murder" thing

has been a bit of a roadblock.

Oh.

Mother? You have that look on your face.

What is it?

It's a bank key.

But your father never handled any of our accounts.

Well, why did he have it then?

I intend to find out.

Oh, great. Detective Mom.

Oh, I'm gonna be free.

I have a Bible study

for the faithful who are interested

in Exodus.

Exodus.

Oh, not again.

Mr. David, I am guaranteed time

with a working phone... Now this one is clearly broken.

I've called my son countless times.

- None of them have gone through. - Phone's working

just fine, Martin. He's not picking up on you.

Well, then let's, uh, send him a text.

That might be more amenable to his generation anyhow.

I'll-I'll dictate and you type and...

Come now, Mr. David. I need, I need

to reach my son today. It's urgent.

No, it's urgent you get to the rec room.

Phone time is over and you have a busy day.

You don't even know the half.

Better get a move on.

And in the meantime, you'll, uh, you'll text my son?

I guess not.

Darryl getting out complicates Exodus.

We need to go today.

I told Martin.

He said no.

Has to be tomorrow.

Why?

Malcolm.

He's got to talk to him.

Give him some...

message before we escape.

Guy's passionate about family.

Brother Martin has many passions.

Fine.

We go tomorrow.

With or without him.

You just gonna ignore Willie?

Huh? Oh, nice to see you, too, Willie.

Must've been good to have company in solitary, right?

Yeah.

But I'm out now?

Soon as I clear you to return.

Hey, relax.

You'll be back with your friends in no time.

They're not my friends.

No?

Why not?

They cut me out.

Put me in the hole.

Why would they do that?

You can trust me, Darryl.

They don't matter.

It's all about the good doctor.

I want the key cards, Darryl. Friar Pete!

This heathen has brought a weapon into the room!

Yo, he's a Judas! Don't trust him!

He's the true head of the snake.

Wow.

The Coronet's looking good.

Oh, no, you stay away.

I've had to rebuild her twice... First because of you,

then because of your mother. No more Whitlys around my car.

How about Tarmels?

Come on.

Boys and toys,

I swear.

Thought we were here to solve a murder?

We are. The victim

is Rosalie Howard.

- Edrisa, what do you got? - Well, I'll tell you what I got.

Some major Japandi vibes, that's what.

I mean, look at this place.

Clean lines, soft minimalism, just a...

hint of rustic texture.

I wonder where she got that crystal...

This one isn't for sale.

It's our murder weapon.

Yes, yes. Right, murder.

Uh, cause of death... blunt force trauma to the back of the skull.

Rosalie likely died after one blow.

But the killer kept bashing her head in,

over and over and over and over.

Overkill speaks to an impulse control disorder.

Inability to integrate emotional reactions with consequences.

Our killer snapped.

Yeah, but the struggle didn't start

till they were in here.

I'm guessing Rosalie knew her killer?

She wasn't yet fully dressed, but she still let him in.

They didn't just know each other.

- They were intimate. - A crime of passion.

Exactly.

And the killer didn't have time to clean up.

Why?

Maybe he heard sirens?

Or someone else came in, interrupted him.

Report mentions an anonymous witness

called the station from a landline.

Who still has a landline?

- I have a... Oh! - Old people.

Nobody shoot.

I'll run a trace, find the witness.

You don't have to.

There he is.

Let's go.

NYPD. Open up!

Sir, what's going on in there?

Go away, please!

He's under duress.

On three, two...

Hello?

Sir?