In the next scene, Nicky and Catherine are talking to the aforementioned Teller 12; he tells us the dead kid was runner 517, someone who made his money placing bets for pros. After a sequence of expository dialogue meant to fill us all in on the role of runners in Vegas's gambling economy -- a conversation, I might add, that one might think would be unnecessary for two people who work with and around cops in Las Vegas, and thus would be moderately familiar with the assorted vocational options in the local economy or, should they not have had the opportunity to make that sort of on-the-job observation, still might know a little something about casino operations, given one person's background as a stripper and the other's predilection for gadding about with call girls -- the two wander off. The only other significant bit of information to filter out of that conversation was Teller #12 sharing the news that he was leaving his job at the end of the week for something better.
Over at the prison, Gil's being let in through assorted padlocked gates. As he passes through one set of doors, an inmate yells angrily, "Yo, Grissom!" He turns to his compadres in the lineup, angrily saying, "He's the reason I'm in here. [There was a] shoeprint. Next time I'll go barefoot!" "Even better!" Gil calls out. "Footprints!" Hee! I'm cracking myself up with the image of hardened thugs cursing the forensics inspectors at their trial. I mean, really, can you see it? Some punk screaming, "Those PCR results are wack!" while a forensics expect glowers on the stand? No, me neither. Anyway, Grissom continues into the prison and meets with Frank Damon in one of those visiting rooms that are all phones and Plexiglas. Damon looks warily from side to side, then sits down and picks up a phone. He says, "So you're the Grissom they wrote about in the newspaper." Who is this "they"? What's the context? I ask because, again, forensics investigators typically don't enjoy the same high profile as prosecutors. We find out that six arson specialists gave Damon Gil's name after turning down his case. Either Gil's really good, or he's annoyed enough people that they're hoping to rattle his cage by tossing impossible cases his way. Damon asks Gil for help; Gil answers, "Fires are complicated." "It wasn't too complicated for the guy who put me in here." Ooh! Somewhere, Conrad Ecklie twitches in his weyr, sweating from the burn directed toward him. Gil doesn't say anything, and Damon asks, "You think if you stare at me long enough, you can tell if I'm innocent." "I don't mean to stare," Gil replies, which is probably true. He's always seemed like someone who simply doesn't process covert social cues.