[ He knows the answer, because he's known the answer since day one: they want him to talk about Annabelle. They've dangled visions of her corpse, left shackles on his bed, twisted his bones like silly putty until he resembles her worst echo. They named his Omen Lenore. They dumped his First Saint on the beach: the only man still living who really understands the shape of things, unless Gideon the First got lucky.

He's held out long enough they're making him do Groundhog Day, now. ]

The usual, I figure... Someone here [ get it, they're not looking at the eyeball in the room ] is using us as entertainment for the evening.

But, I'll be honest, and try not to take it personally: I don't know why she thinks you should play the sleuth.