Sam and Fletcher arrive at the bus terminal just in time to run in to Hunt, who has Doofus and Goofus in tow. "I see we're not the only ones smart enough to recognize the sound of a bus when it farts," Hunt says. Before Sam can come up with an equally classy witticism, he notices someone in a hooded jacket that looks remarkably like the one Angel was wearing when the police temporarily apprehended him earlier this episode. Skelton notices it, too, and after a hiatus for a couple of episodes, we've got ourselves a Life on Mars footchase (patent pending). The detectives catch up to the jacket-wearing suspect just as he's about to get on the bus. Hunt reaches out, pulls back the hood... and the fleeing suspect turns out to be a woman. And a pregnant woman at that. Kudos to Angel for coming up with such an ingenious and elaborate disguise.
OK, so it turns out this little lady is Angel's special someone which Father Sobotka had referred to earlier. And after taking her back to the precinct and plying her with sandwiches and milk ("High in niacin and calcium," Hunt says, eyeing the lady's baby bump), she's still not cooperating with the police investigation, even after Sam emphasizes to her that roving mobs are trying to find Angel and that the police might be his only chance for safety. She just keeps nibbling on her sandwich. "You eating for two or for two hundred?" Carling scoffs. Yeah, make the pregnant lady feel self-conscious about her weight gain -- that'll get her talking. Maybe we should let Fletcher take a stab at using his charms on this witness. Indeed, Fletcher gives her the whole I-never-knew-my-dad-and-is-that-something-you-want-for-your-unborn-kid spiel, and soon Angel's special lady is giving up the intel: Angel's heading to the candlelight vigil for Keisha to pay his respects. Which, while certainly gallant, is not the most strategically savvy move for a fugitive from justice in both its formal and street forms. The detectives disperse, leaving Sam and Annie to stare awkwardly at Angel's girlfriend. "Know what you're having?" Sam asks, pointing at her belly. Uh, a baby? No, no -- Sam means the gender. There you go again, Tyler, with your late 20th Century ideas about prenatal care -- frankly, I'm surprised the mother-to-be isn't knocking back scotches and puffing on a cigarette to take the edge off. ("It picks the baby up, while it calms him down.") But the girlfriend would like to speak metaphorically for a moment, with your permission: "Actually, I do know what I'm having. I'm having an angel." So this is one of those immaculate conception thingies?