Down on the morgue, Sara strolls in and David the Flesh-Colored Coroner shrugs that he's looking at two healthy pink people who were in perfect health. Sara groans, "I am so hoping that you have more in your report than that." David says, "Well, there are two toxins which can turn a body pink post-mortem." Sara says they've already ruled out carbon monoxide. David plows on over her: "Which leaves one -- cyanide ingestion. Interesting fact about cyanide: not everybody can smell it...unfortunately, I don't have that ability." On cue, Hodges flings open the morgue doors and announces, "The Nose has arrived." ¡O, SEÑOR HODGES! ¡TE AMO! In a tone pregnant with dread, Sara asks, "Hodges has the genetic quirk?" "It's a blessing and a curse," Hodges answers modestly. He strolls on over and sniffs the stomach contents of both decedents. After some considered inhalation, Hodges decrees, "Hints of stale beer and Cheez Whiz. But I don't smell any cyanide." After Hodges floats off, Sara says, "All due respect to 'The Nose,' I'd still like to send a sample of blood to Tox." David sweetly tells her it's already done.

Cut to Ecklie getting out of his car and walking over to the body. Mark Vann does a great job with this scene, because the way he comports himself, you can easily imagine that Ecklie a) has a dread-induced stomachache, and b) hates that he does because c) it betrays the tiny voice in the depths of his soul pointing out that he's never been very good at being a CSI. So, good job by Vann. As he walks over, Vartann snots, "Crime scene's getting cold." Ecklie retreats behind what he knows best -- regulations -- and says stiffly, "I had to refill my powders." I half expect Warrick to pop up and begin babbling the whole "I keep my case tight, like my game. But not my pants" monologue again. As Ecklie looks over and thinks, "Yup, that's a dead body all right," Vartann tells him he found a rental car agreement in the glove box, and the dead guy's also known as James Billmeyer of New Jersey. He's not registered at the hotel, making it the rare dead body on the Tangiers premises that isn't also a hotel guest. One imagines this is important for whatever "Now [XX] Days Without Stumbling Over A Corpse" signs the Tangiers security keeps around the office. Ecklie snaps pictures of a nearby bloodstain and asks irritably if the coroner stepped in blood. Vartann replies, "No. We're still waiting on him. That shoeprint belongs to Mrs. Vivoldi. She called it in. We're waiting on you to take the statement." Ecklie says, "Let's do it," and Vartann snots, "Yes. Let's do it." You know, I can see where Vartann's pissed and all, but it seems like Ecklie is the type of person you don't want to cross because he holds a grudge and has a near-savant like ability to manipulate the machinery of bureaucracy; for a cop, that could easily translate into "night shift for ten years" or "lost all the pension paperwork a week before retirement."