Galloway: These are my best shoes, Phelps. I'll leave you to it.
Phelps: Very funny.
Galloway: Get a move on, Cole, those boards are sinking. You want to end up like the other fossils? The gangway snakes around, Phelps. Can you see it through the tar? How you doing out there?
Phelps: I'd be doing better if you were the one trying to get across this thing. Steady. Wow.
Galloway: You don't want to fall in now, Phelps.
Phelps: That's at the forefront of my thinking.
One of Theresa Taraldsen's shoes. A sphere, which is as many thousand spheres... Okay, where to now?
Galloway: What is it?
Phelps: An open-toed white shoe and another stanza from the poem.
Galloway: You know, I really though that hobo bum did the Taraldsen broad.
Phelps: Confessions from the insane aren't the most credible evidence, Rusty.
Galloway: Is this thing over?
Phelps: It's all part of his power over us. Making us run round all over the city for the crumbs he's leaving us.
Galloway: So if we keep this up, we can find the guy?
So this guy looks out for women in bars who've had too much to drink.
Phelps: Who are emotionally disturbed.
Galloway: Need a shoulder to cry on. He plies them with booze.
Phelps: Probably offers them a lift home.
Galloway: Then beats their brains out and strangles them. Could be any schmoe hanging out in a bar.
Phelps: No, not anyone. He displays the bodies. Leaves us messages. For all the violence, it's very controlled behavior.