Catherine, meanwhile, is holding the blood-spattered implant David removed from the woman's spine. He tells her, "[I] pulled it from the L4-L5 interspace. Cobalt chromium molybdenum alloy with a titanium coating and an ultra-high molecular weight polyethylene component. An artificial spinal disc. If you can recreate a spine, the possibilities are endless." Catherine needs a little clarification, as she thought disc-replacement surgery required fusing bone to bone. David explains, "Eh, typically, but it can limit mobility. Your body doesn't know the difference. Matches range of motion, flexibility, and an axial rotation of a normal spine." As he enumerates the benefits of an artificial disk, we see it in bloody action in a live spine with lots of moving vertebrae. David then reveals why we now know so much about this artificial disc: it's still in clinical trials, and there are fewer than a thousand in the country. Well, this narrows things down much more than the episiotomy scar did. David narrows it down even further based on the plate size and its lordosis (i.e. swayback, or inward curve) angle -- the implant belonged to one Amy Ennis of Austin, Texas.
And now Catherine, Nicky, and Sara are going to find out what Austin Amy was doing in a trash can off Storm Cloud Lane. Nicky's looking at a line of trash cans lined up along a suburban cul-de-sac and confirming that they're all the trashcans on Storm Cloud Lane. Sara asks, "They're on residential property, it's not trash day -- how did you get consent?" Catherine shrugs, "Talked to the president of the homeowner's association." Nicky, who's familiar with how Catherine talks to people, asks, "What'd you threaten her with?" Catherine replies, "A return visit." From the depths of the couch, Mr. Sobell opines, "I would like a return visit from Catherine. How's that supposed to be incentive to cooperate?" Within time-elapsed moments, the three of them have found five trash cans that test positive for blood. They swab the live areas, then test to see if they found human blood -- personally, I'm intrigued about the non-human blood, as I'd be wondering if the neighbors were sacrificing goats to the local slavering hellbeast. Two of the five trashcans test positive for human blood, and the CSIs quickly deduce which one held the body. Hint: it's the one with the big smear of blood down the side from the body's slide into the trash compactor.
Cut to Catherine standing in a front yard with someone who's saying numbly, "You found blood? In my trash can?" Catherine asks if he has any idea how it got there. No, he does not. Catherine then asks if he knows an Amy Ennis from Austin, Texas. No, he does not. So he has absolutely no idea what Catherine's talking about? Just then, a car pulls up, and out pops a clean-cut teenager bearing flowers. She hustles over and asks, "Dad, you all right?" Dad lies like a rug when he tells her he's fine. She asks what's going on, and Catherine says, "I'm just asking your father a few questions." Dad thinks that it's time for the kid to go inside and start dinner, which she does without protest. Then he nags his younger son about homework, and we find out that Dad's a) unemployed and b) a single parent. Cue the Empathy Ray from Catherine.