10 AUG 1995

Agent Karl lifts a hand to gesture toward the others waiting in the car. He nods to indicate everything's good and tilts his head toward the apartment to call them over.

Agent Kirby turns off the vehicle and steps out. Readjusting his gig line and approaches.

Getting the all clear, King stepped out with the others and headed for the entrance, giving the tall man a nod and acknowledging smile as they passed.

Kylie follows King, trying to look nonchalant and not all career G-men like these guys.

The man introduces himself to the group as Detective Graham Giuradanda, lead detective on the NYPD's investigation into Wright's disappearance, as he follows the agents to the front door of the Macallistar building. To the left of the main door is a smaller door down a few steps, presumably to a basement of some sort. There's a buzzer outside the front doors that looks like it was installed in the 60s.

Through the front door is a foyer - a small marble-floored room with the tenants’ mailboxes, numbered to correspond to the relevant apartment. The area is messy with old newspapers, sale circulars, and pizza coupons strewn about and stuffed into mailboxes. Beyond the foyer, a single hallway runs the length of the building, carpeted in plush burgundy, with two apartments on each side. A staircase runs up and down at the midpoint of the hall.

"Abigail's apartment is the first on your left, number 1A," Giuradanda pipes up from behind the agents.

"Thanks Detective." King nodded again, but hung back half a step as they entered the hallway to look into the mailbox numbered 1A, flicking past the junk mail to see if there was anything noteworthy.

Agent Kylie steps to the side of the door. She looks at the others and then reaches for the handle, waiting until they're in position. She mouths the words, "One, Two, ...." and tries the knob.

Karl nods to the Detective, offering a grateful half-smile. He's been on that side of this situation before. Coming up beside the door, he gestures to Kylie to go ahead and open it.

The apartment door is locked, but the key from the dossier fits right in and opens it with an easy "click". The door swings open into a linoleum floored kitchenette. In the kitchen, a few feet from the door, sits a claw-foot bathtub. Immediately to your right, just before the bathtub, is a door that opens up into a tiny bathroom with an old-fashioned hammered-tin ceiling, barely large enough to fit the small sink and toilet within. On the floor in the middle of the room sits a cardboard box marked "EVIDENCE, FBI WHITE PLAINS, WRIGHT-A, 10-AUG-95." The apartment seems quite large, at least by New York standards - the kitchen opens up into an airy main living area. There's a small bedroom separated from the living room, and two spacious closets, one off of the kitchen and one off of the living room.

The details of the architecture are overshadowed, however, by the scene you open up the door to find.

The floor is bare. The rug in the living and bed rooms has been ripped up and taken away, exposing a battered and stained linoleum surface. There is no furniture to be found. The walls and ceiling are covered in layers of materials: papers, small items, and larger things epoxied in a bizarre and seemingly meaningful pattern of strata. It appears mostly untouched by police, save for three radios — a transistor radio, a small tape player, and a CD walkman — which have apparently been wrenched from the wall, one leaving behind a chunk of plastic from its casing.

The whole apartment appears to be a testament to methodical madness. The Agents will certainly have their work cut out for them.

Giuradanda hangs back by the door, following you a few feet into the kitchen and lingering around the entrance. He observes you taking everything in.

"Pretty freaky, huh?" he asks with his eyebrows raised. "I mean, I been with the force for almost 20 years now, never seen anything like this shit."

Kirby will scope the outside of the building, eventually checking out front & back. Checking entry points and exit points, fire escapes, garbage bins etc..

Kylie maintains her dignity, but inward her mind is already trying to mind map and catalog the material. "This looks my apartment when I was writing my dissertation. Well, except I was organized. This is a lot to digest."