Sara, meanwhile, continues wandering alone throughout this hospital filled with free-roaming inmates whose eggshell psyches can't handle a bulletproof vest. You don't suppose we're supposed to feel concern about this, do you? Sara rolls on up to Dr. Dino's office. Dino's taking advantage of the inmates' diversion elsewhere to catch up on paperwork. Sara asks, "Question about the victim. I have heard that in some cases of deviant sexual disposition, you slow the sex drive --" "If you're talking about chemical castration, the answer is yes, Robbie was," Dr. Dino interrupts. Sara asks, "So he didn't masturbate?" Dr. Dino clarifies, "Masturbate, yes. Ejaculate, no." Sara says slowly, "So the semen I found in his bed is someone else's?" "Likely," Dr. Dino says. I would say I like her, but I can't figure out if I find this character so appealing because of the way she's been drawn for us (no-nonsense, blunt, amiable) or because I dig the actress's work on Deadwood. Sara scampers off to tell Brass and Gil, "I found semen in the victim's room, and it's probably not his, because he's chemically castrated." "So you're thinking the donor could be the killer?" Brass asks. Gil still looks like he's struggling to reconcile Charles's speech with the theories of cognitive linguistics. He recovers enough to say, "Sex is the foreplay. Violence is the climax." Unfortunately, Sara's face is hidden by her hair, so we can't see if she's got a look like, Whew, I dodged a bullet on the dating scene there.
Gil and Sara then proceed to try to get DNA samples from their limited pool of suspects; Brass bows out after cheerily wishing them "Happy swabbing!" Leon's busy doping everyone up. Gil divides the work by telling Sara, "You take that side, I'll take Jiminy Cricket." Somehow, I feel like Liam should be attached to a case with imaginary grasshoppers. The swabbing goes about as well as can be expected until Sara has to swab Roman; he's evidently eschewed our spoken language for a series of lunging bites. It's moderately startling, but on the bright side, Iceman from Top Gun now has someone who actually gets that tooth-chomping thing he does. The two of them can happily shatter their molars in dental communion. Meanwhile, Sara deals by calling out, "Grissom you take this one." Heh.
It's still raining. Robbie's still dead, only now he's across town and on David the Dry Coroner's slab. Gil has made the time to zip across town and hang out during the autopsy too. He's still got all his digits, so I'm guessing his attempt to get Roman's DNA was more successful. David says of Robbie's stomach contents: "They're fascinating. It reminded me of that scene in Jaws where Dreyfuss cuts open the shark's belly and all kinds of weird things come out." Gil looks confused: "You found a license plate?" No, that tends to show up in regular prison; the inmates take their work home with them. Sadly, no. David did find "band-aids, wood chips, human hair and half a snapshot." Gil muses, "Pica?" "Boo?" David replies. Ha! Gil looks contemptuous at the attempted joke, then huffs, "Pica's a compulsion to eat non-nutritive food items. It's from the Latin word for magpie." Does it cover non-nutritive food items like Cheetos, or merely things in wood pulp family? Then again, maybe Cheetos are in the wood pulp family anyway, Gil explains that pica's symptomatic of a large and indiscriminate appetite, which certainly does nothing to sever the pica/Cheeto association. Anyway, it turns out that despite the fat and juicy head wounds, Robbie died of asphyxiation; his head was bounced off a hard surface post-mortem. "Evidently dead wasn't dead enough," Gil sniffs. David helpfully points out that Robbie was likely restrained immediately before his death, if the ligature marks on his wrists and ankles are any indication. Gil says peevishly, "Nobody mentioned restraints."