"Hello again."

He slides a binder across the table.

He opens it.

It's full of newspaper clippings, photographs, and a few printouts of webpages.

The mysterious appearances of these people in Gallup, New Mexico: aliens, or drugs?

Invoices for construction at a particular prison.

The revival of gang violence in this relatively peaceful city.

—the prison, let's look at that.

Blueprints and the final floorplan, with a suspicious discrepancy between the two circled in red.

"I believe the prison was connected to the first cabal."

"Connected how?"

"Headquarters, storage space, torture chamber? I haven't found a single member still alive, so I'm relying on a lot of guesswork when it comes to their motives, but it looks like this man," he indicates a clipping of an obituary, "worked here, before it shut down."

Yep, at least all sources seem to agree. He sighs. "Bunch of dead ends."

"Not quite. There's a man I talked to, who worked here. He's still alive, but won't tell me anything. My fault, but you might get something. There's also a woman, Barbara Strizke, who had a nephew that might still have her things; I've never been able to get close, though, he has the Comb."

"I've met her nephew. He's... something. Who's the man?"

"Mr. Conroy, the former janitor."

He rifles through the binder and finds a picture of him with several other people, standing in front of the motel on what seems to be its opening night, according to the large banner a blond woman and Mr. Conroy are hanging up.

"Do you know where we can find him?"

"I can give you the address."

"Thank you."

He gives him the address.

"I was wondering if you could do something for me."

"Probably."

"I'd like to get a message to my wife. I can give you her address, too. I need you to tell her to reconsider her course of action."

"Okay. Should I just tell her that, with those words?"

"You can add extra flourishes, as long as you repeat that much. If there's anything you think could convince someone you've never met to think clearly, go ahead."

"Sure, I can do that for you."

So he provides this address.

It might be familiar.

"—that's, uh, Ms. Kreutzfeld's adress."

"...You've met my wife?"