Dale Cooper
Who shot me, Albert?
Albert Rosenfield
My men are interrogating the hotel guests, the usual bumper crop of rural know-nothings and drunken fly-fishermen. Nothing so far. Oh, the world's most decrepit room service waiter remembers nothing out of the ordinary about the night in question, no surprise there. Señor Droolcup has, shall we say, a mind that wanders?
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