Night has fallen, the cue for lovers the world over to slip out of their houses and get their freak on in public. Two lissome young things are playing a game of hide-and-seek around a swing set and giggling like mad before flinging aside all pretense of coyness and falling to the sandy ground in a tangle of limbs. Ah, youth. Ah, unfinicky youth: I hate the texture of sand on my skin, and can only imagine that, had any dates tackled me in a sand pit back in the day, I would have responded with considerably less ardor than the young woman does here. Actually -- she's more or less mimicking my probable reaction: her eyes growing wide with revulsion shortly before she screams in horror. But she's screaming because she sees a dead face submerged in the sand. We get the flashbulb-style transition, and then another shot of the face still buried in the sand, a considerably larger audience -- composed of law-enforcement personnel -- peering down in interest.
Cut to Gil and Brass. Brass notes, "You've been walking in circles for ten minutes." Gil replies, "There's no sign of struggle. Whatever happened, happened somewhere else. This is a secondary scene." "Body dump?" Brass asks. "Textbook case. David, when you dig her up, tag this one special processing," Gil replies. Evidently, the ability to deduce gender from nostrils alone is yet another of his myriad forensic talents. Brass does not think too highly of the perp thus far: "A thousand square miles of desert in Vegas, this perp dumps the body in a sandbox." Gil doesn't disagree, but notes, "He didn't put it here to hide it. He put it here to be found."
And on that note of pronoun confusion -- she? it? she? it? -- we go to the credits.
Once we return from commercial and credits, Catherine and Gil are both kneeling in the sand and staring down at the body. "This sand's a nightmare," Catherine notes, clearly a woman after my own heart. "To get to the evidence, we might destroy the evidence," Gil replies. Yes, master. Catherine -- who is endearing herself to me with every passing minute -- turns her gaze from the body to Gil, asking, "Do you get these haikus out of a book, or do they just come to you?" Gil gives her a look and says, "Every time you have to find a body, you have to choose a path. And when you take that path, grasshopper, you risk destroying evidence." And a gong sounds in the back as the bamboo flute of enlightenment plays. Actually, what happens is that Catherine sighs over the prospect of having to break out the trowels and some fine-mesh screens as they go panning for evidence. What follows is the miracle of time-compressed narration: Gil and Catherine carefully digging the body out, running each trowelful of sand through the sieve and peering at the results. Eventually, they've dug a trench around the body and uncovered it; we get an aerial shot of the corpse on a makeshift bier of sand while Gil and Catherine walk around, studying it.