After the break, we're hanging at SD-6 with Face Doneaway and one of her plush boy toys. She's leaning over him while he looks at a computer, careful not to allow the drool to drip out of her eternally gaping maw. They're watching the footage of Jack walking through the hotel lobby. Boy Toy's all, looks good to me. I mean, sure, it's been doctored but, like, anything looks normal compared to your witch hazel face. Face Doneaway just barks at him to slow it down two hundred percent. He does it, and tells her that it still looks good and that if it's faked, it's the best damn job he's ever seen. Speaking of "jobs," it looks like Face Doneaway could do with another one in order to return her face to an expression other than Permanent Snarl. She asks Boy Toy if this tape is the last of the surveillance feeds. He informs her that it is. Just then, another boy toy approaches and hands Face Doneaway a piece of paper. "I think you should see this," he says, scampering away before the poltergeist in the closet sucks him in. Face Doneaway attempts to make some sort of expression at the piece of paper but, for now, she's just going to have to stick with Permanent Snarl.
Sloane's Office Of Particularly Putrid Plotlines. Uncle Arvin's hanging at his desk, checking in with the Echelon recompiling on his desktop while he chats on the phone. He's telling someone that SD-6 should have full access to Echelon in a matter of hours. Face Doneaway bursts in and shoves the paper at Sloane, informing him that it's a forensic report. Sloane says goodbye to the person on the phone -- who appears to be Alain Christophe, the head of Alliance or something -- as Face Doneaway paces in front of his desk, occasionally touching her face as if she's afraid it's going to slide off. Which, you know, is probably pretty likely at this point. Before Sloane can even glance at the report, Face Doneaway jumps right in and announces that brain matter was found in the barrel of one of Jack's service pistols. "According to the munitions log," she tenses, "he checked out a Glock 19 compact for one day, reported a single accidental discharge and no casualties." Sloane's all, uh, I thought you were here to look into the events surrounding Auntie Em's death. Face Doneaway leans over the desk, and her face DOESN'T GAP OR FALL OR MOVE. Seriously. She looks more like Mrs. Ida Lowry in this scene than in any other. And if you don't know who "Mrs. Ida Lowry" is, go out and rent the special edition DVD of Brazil NOW.
So, like, she leans over and says, "The day Bristow checked out this weapon, killed someone with it, and covered it up, was the day your wife was murdered." Sloane's more than surprised at this announcement, and asks if there are enough cells to do a DNA profile. Face is all, yup. Already on it, chico. Sloane's all, well, then, if it matches with Emily, I want you should notify me immediately. AND BRING ME A CAPPUCCINO. Face is all, you betcha, and then she finally, mercifully takes her motionless mug out of the room. Sloane just looks down at his desk as if it's full of holes and that's where the actual plot of Emily's death might have fallen through.