Two hours after the mysterious call, a man walks up to the door of a small, urban house. He is dressed in a sharp, grey suit, with a matching fedora. The man is also tall, his head almost level with the top of the doorway, and rather good looking, with clean-cut brown hair and a trim five o'clock shadow cast across his chin and jawline. The man checks his watch, frowning at the time, and knocks again, this time a bit harder. Still no reply. Frustrated, the man lets out an exasperated sigh and turns to leave, but halfway down the porch steps he stops. He stands there for a moment, hesitating, then sighs again and marches back up to the door. This time, instead of knocking, he grabs the doorknob and turns it. He is surprised when the door swings open quite easily and stands in the doorway for a second or two, then steps inside the house.

The room the man steps into appears to be the kitchen. He closes the door behind him, wrinkling his nose as he surveys the scene. Dirty dishes fill the sink, crumbs are strewn across the counter, and grit and other...