Jake: So, one day I'm working late when my boss, Robert, surprises me. He found out I was stealing meds. Again, junkie scum. Also again, not your fault. There's a major genetic component to addiction. He says he's gonna file a police report. I could lose my license. We fight, and something in me just snaps, so I grab the first thing I can find, and I hit him with it.
Lawyer: You still have no murder weapon.
Jake: I do now. Here's a pic I found on Yelp of the surgical suite six months ago, and here is a shot that our crime scene photographer took of the same room two weeks after the murder. Notice any differences?
Lawyer: We're not answering that.
Jake: That's all right, I can just tell you myself. The Yelp shot has six of these heavy-looking glass awards from the Brooklyn Periodontics Society in the background, whereas this shot only has five. What happened to number six? Murdered Robert with it!
Philip Davidson: I didn't.
Jake: You lost all control and you bludgeoned him to death. There must have been blood everywhere, but you got lucky. You were in the surgical suite; it can be sterilized. You never would have gotten away with it in your carpeted office.
Philip Davidson: That's not what happened.
Lawyer: Don't say anything more, Philip.
Jake: And your office manager would have heard all of the screaming but she was at her grandson's play. Lucky again.
Philip Davidson: You're wrong.
Jake: You put Robert's body into a wheelchair and shoved it in the elevator. It's a miracle there wasn't blood everywhere.
Philip Davidson: That's not true.
Jake: Now you're in the garage with a corpse. You panicked and left your phone in your office, and you don't have your car keys, but Robert's are in his pocket so you put him in his car and you take off.
Philip Davidson: No.
Jake: You can't believe what you've done.
Philip Davidson: No.
Lawyer: Philip.
Jake: You're flustered. You have no GPS, so you just start driving.
Philip Davidson: No!
Lawyer: Philip!
Jake: Next thing you know, you're in the Pine Barrens, and it hits you: your uncle's cabin. He has a place there. You're the luckiest son of a bitch.
Philip Davidson: It wasn't luck!
Jake: Yes, it was. You got lucky at every turn!
Philip Davidson: No. I knew exactly where I was driving, I left my phone in the office on purpose, I was in the surgical suite by design, and I didn't use some glass award that any idiot would clearly see was missing. I made a rod out of a special dental polymer, killed him with it, then melted it back down. It's already in a patient's mouth, son!
Captain Holt: Oh, damn. Oh, damn. Oh, damn!
Jake: And that is three oh-damns. Oh, damn!