“Whoever Lesler was, he was a freak.” With a sigh, I laid the documents on the desk and furrowed my brow. Images of severed limbs, screaming children and a grainy image of a swamp were strewn before me, prompting me to take a sip from my whiskey flask. 2012 wasn’t a good year for me, and it would get worse if I didn’t figure this out. “Anything, Mr. Linfeld,” I said. “Anything that could help me find out what really happened. Maybe something you haven’t told anyone, or something that slipped your mind… Please, Abram, help me out.” He took a deep breath.