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There's an odor of elephants on the breeze.
Ray doesn't have a satisfactory explanation of how Chris had gone from running after a suspect, to being affectionately groomed by the inhabitants of the chimpanzee enclosure. The suspect is currently curled up in the backseat of the Cortina in nothing but his pants, blubbering into the tea Annie provided. Gene, uncertain how to handle the current crisis, has cornered a zookeeper and is doing a passable impression of an enraged silverback.
Perhaps his comatose imagination is attempting satire. Sam resolves never again to suggest that CID is populated by talking apes.