Scotland Yard zooms back through the plane, asking the stewardess where he was sitting. Annoying Brit asks the seatmate whether or not he saw the reverend eat or drink anything earlier. Okay, the casting agent must have up and plucked this guy from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan -- he sounds so utterly Canadian. I half-expect him to start talking about Canadian beer and loonies. For some reason, Canada Guy is nervous. Really sweaty-nervous. Nicolas Cage in Adaptation nervous. He stutters, "Um, no. He was telling me about this homeless shelter that he runs." Canada Guy breaks down. Annoying Brit tells him to "get a hold of himself." CG clutches his forehead and then responds, "That's it! We talked, he got tired; he turned out his light and went to sleep. Next thing I know he's this wild man." John asks, "No one came near him before he got up?" Annoying Brit looks around and says, "I want to talk to everyone on this plane." John: "Shouldn't we examine the body first?" Inspector Clueless says, "I beg your pardon?" John replies, "The victim went into immediate convulsions. If he didn't ingest the poison, he must have been injected with it." Inspector Clueless snots, "And we'll find that out when we land when the body's inspected by a professional." John argues that they might be able to discover how he was injected, which would help them narrow down suspects. Inspector Clueless snits, "Are you a homicide detective?" Um, a resounding chorus from the clouds hums, "No!" John tries to explain his connections with the Seacouver police force. Inspector Clueless doesn't buy his professional association and asks John to "step aside" so he can do his job. Of course, John knows some obscure international law that ensures the United States has jurisdiction over a crime scene if one of its citizens is on board the plane. Huh. So, that means that Inspector Clueless, by "doing his job," is actually breaking all kinds of laws. Now there's more irony, the police officer actually breaking the law, how fun -- yawn. Inspector Clueless balls up his fists, looks to the sky, and utters, "Foiled again!" Okay, maybe he doesn't. Rachel breaks up the dogfight by compromising: "Perhaps the inspector should talk to the passengers while we examine the body." Inspector Clueless gives Rachel a look. She smirks and says, "I'm a doctor." Inspector Clueless reluctantly agrees. John turns around and says, "Where are the weight-lifters?"
He needs another chance to show off his Russian, of course. The big, bulky men pick up the dead reverend and put him up on a drink cart. I'll never think about bottled water on a plane the same way again. Ew. Someone peers at the scene from behind a curtain, as if they're watching the effects of their "Evil" handiwork. Or it's just "Evil" floating around on the plane, annoyed that his holiday was interrupted by the good reverend's death. Or it's a ghost. Or it's the Angel of Death on loan from that awful show about angels who come to earth to help people accept the pain in their miserable little lives. Okay. I'm cut off; that's enough cynicism for one recap. As they cart the man off, Rachel turns to Doe: "Airplanes, computers, poisons, international law -- is there anything you don't know?" Blah man of mystery blah. He replies, "I've got a knack for facts." She calls his bluff: "And yet you don't seem to know if you've flown on an airplane before." Aw, he's blushing. Aw, she makes him nervous. Aw, he's mumbling. Aw, he's flirting: "I've got some gaps in my memory. Maybe I'm in need of a good neurologist." I take back the "aw" -- that line's definitely an "ew."