You all know that I completely made up that last scene, right? What Brass actually says is that he thinks Kelvin made Mitch look bad, Mitch can't stand a blow to the ol' ego, and so he was compelled to kill. Mitch begs to differ: "Kelvin Russell didn't know what hard work was." It's so refreshing to find an advocate of the Protestant work ethic in Las Vegas. Oh, wait. Mitch is just being a cranky old man, as he finishes, "He was a loud-mouthed major pain in the ass." He then sneers that if Brass thinks Mitch killed Kelvin, Brass can very well try and prove it.
Well, it's just too bad for Mitch that Brass has another eleven minutes in which to do so. Because we're past the magical 48-minute mark, so everything is hurtling to its inevitable conclusion now.
Cut to Sara telling Gil, "Brenda Morgan is claiming she smothered the victim to death with a pillow." Gil points out, "[Maurice] wasn't killed with a pillow." Sara is baffled as to why Brenda is admitting guilt, then -- is she covering for someone else? Gil immediately dangles Regina's name in there, because looking for ways to disqualify would-be girlfriends is a lot less distressing to him than actually facing the dread prospect of connecting with another human being.
Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three is going through the elevator surveillance tapes with Sara, and the two of them figure out that Brenda spent the night with Maurice and his Amazing Rigor Mortis. "That means she slept with as dead guy! She's not only a killer, she's a necrophiliac!" Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three marvels. Please, no. The flashbacks alone would get me.
Anyway, Sara notices that Brenda was, in fact, three sheets to the wind before visiting Maurice, which seems like a sensible policy when dealing with someone as distinctly rodent-looking as Maurice. Grasshopper, Gil's Adopted Son Number Three asks, "How drunk do you have to be to sleep next to a decomposing body? The smell alone's an alarm clock." Sara realizes, "Not next to him. On top of him."
Cut to Warrick schooling Catherine on the fine art of making wagers and giving points. Catherine asks, "What do I get if I win?" "I'll pay for your next Botox injection," Warrick says. Oh, he does not. He promises a fabulous dinner. So Catherine will presumably be licking it off his naked chest? She's all for that. It's a date. Oh, God. Where to begin? With how it's ridiculous for the one manager in that place who has an authority complex to undermine her position by Hitting It with an underling? With how a boss dating a subordinate is not nearly so romantic for the rest of the office? But you know, Warrick and Catherine have shifted back to work topics, and so must I: they want to nail Mitch Urbana, but they'll need more than circumstantial evidence.