Kavinsky was silent for a moment. His brain worked, a miserable machine that knew he could do this, but wasn't sure if he wanted to. Was this what he was, in whispered corners of this city? A quiet creator of miserable pastime because he would never get that monkey off his back, more and more so as time went on.

"It would take a while," he said. Tried not to sound put out that this social call was because he was maybe more reputable than Ronan Lynch. "You'd have to tell me everything you know and remember about it. But it would take me time."