Detective Sammy Klein chats with Homeless Hilda on the street corner where Catherine got flattened. Wallace supplies Brooke with the name of a ritzy socialite so that she can coerce her way upstairs to Zander's studio, then turns his oily charms onto Klein. "I bet you haven't worked a traffic accident since transit in Jersey!" crows Benton. Klein tells Benton to go write a book or something, and turns away. "Skippy Klein: The Moron Who Became a Detective," Benton jokes. "Would you read that?" A deft hand at witty repartee, Klein scathes Benton with this bullet: "I don't think so." Wallace says that he's digging up dirt on the junkie lunatic driving the deadly bus, and Klein retorts that the boy was angelic -- no drugs, no alcohol, no ignored street signs, and no criminal record. The conclusion: the SUV blocked her view and she simply didn't see the massive bus bearing down on her. "End of story," Klein states with the blind confidence of a man convinced the three-hundredth time will, surely, be the charm. Wallace pleads with Klein to throw him a juicy bone. Klein looks down at his crotch with a depressed sigh and instead points Wallace toward the eyewitness.
Brooke's heels clack against hardwood floor as she strolls toward Zander's studio. Harry Hobbs, who co-ran the New Composer Fund with Catherine, doesn't buy Brooke's explanation that she's supposed to interview Zander. He tries to steer her away, alleging Zander is grieving and upset. "Not too upset to practice," Brooke murmurs, cocking an eyebrow. Hobbs isn't impressed, especially when Brooke confesses she's representing the Ledger. "You have my sympathy," Hobbs replies archly. "Tell Si I said hello." Hobbs slams the door in Brooke's face -- and in a surreal reversal, Hobbs's stuffed tiger Calvin comes to life and chases her out of the building.