Galloway: There's the throne up there.
Phelps: Now it's just a matter of getting to it.
Galloway: Jesus, now look what you did! Hang on Cole. I'll get you off of there. You've got to make it to the next platform! Get that thing as close as you can, then jump!
Phelps: Typewriter ring. Evelyn Summers. The place he calls home. End of the line. No. No. No. No. No. Come on. Ahhh! No.
Galloway: I thought the whole thing was going to come crashing down on you.
Phelps: I thought so, too. He murdered Evelyn Summers, Rusty. The last trophy was her ring.
Galloway: Did you find another piece of the poem?
Phelps: Yes. The last piece.
Galloway: You sure, Cole?
Phelps: Let's find out. You might see this as a cry for help.
Galloway: For God's sake, Phelps. You're not trying to justify this.
Phelps: Here me out, Rusty. This guy has been successfully slaughtering women in this town for half a year, maybe longer. He researches who he kills and then plants evidence so that we always have someone to go after. If he hadn't sent the letters and the poem, he could have gone on forever. We would've been none the wiser.