A whirlwind of  dialogue and energy washed over Cathal, and so he composed himself to handle things in his own flow. Marie's lackluster and depressive existence weighs on him and slows him down, his attention focusing on her. The way she handled the liquor, the way she lurched for it, the way she seemed to need it and didn't give a damn about how it looked...

He'd been there. Hell, he was sure that [i]everyone[/i] had been there. The others all looked at their paperwork first thing, and their ghastly responses to the material didn't exactly hurry Cathal's own desire to look at the news and macabre happenings. He lifted a hand and slid his cap off, holding it to his chest in a dual natured maneuver; a formal greeting, and an obscuration of the newspaper in his other hand from his own eyes.

"Cathal O'Molloy, begging yer pardon. And that sounds like a crock o' shit, to be blunt with ya." he laughs heartily. "But I've seen stranger things than a boy who can guess all that without even hearing a man speak." He pauses, and nods to Abigail, then apologetically offers a smile to the other women present. "Eh, pardon the language, ma'ams. Old habits." He flashes that dazzling smile again as he focuses his attention back on Montag.

"But I'll play yer game. Yer the boss, after all. Cathal O'Molloy; Immigrant, if yer so keen ye can make the guess; Trying to wean off the liquor, though I dare say that's gonna be a slow battle. If I had to take a wild guess, I'm twice your age. Word of advice? Relax, you're only going to wear yourself out with all that bluster."

He eases back into his seat and shifts his physical posture to land his attention fully on Abigail.

"Now here's a miss with some sense in her head." He appraises her quietly for a moment. "Aye, I've seen some strange things. More than my fair share, and it's got me rather miffed to be honest with you." He rolls his shoulders, belying an underlying nervousness. "Trenches will do that to a man." He finally says, before flashing a more tame and reserved grin and continuing; "But to actually answer your question...Yes, New Haven's given me new headaches. I've always had vivid dreams, mind you, but ever since I nearly got my head torn off me shoulders by lass who was all leg and step-danced on me chin I've been seeing dark things indeed. I'm here because my dreams said to be, and because I've got a ghost of my own that I'm chasing."

Finally he looked to Marie, raising his cap back to his head. He studied her quietly. Weighing her words and actions finally. He folded the newspaper in his hands without looking at it.

"Well, sounds to me like you've already got a lot of this sorted out. Unnatural happenstances, vicious murders, hutning down unsavory sorts..." He shudders. "Murder's murder, someone being on the wrong side of the street doesn't change that."

He shuts his eyes for a few moments. Last night's dream flooded his mind; that gushing wound. Montag Detectives, LTD, a bandage. The bandage soaked through. Falling loose. The image expanded, the body was ribbons. The bandage was on an arm- but the arm had no accompanying body. So much blood. A fanged maw gorged itself on the entrails of a man nearby. A man Cathal knew. His eyes snapped open, his hands tight on the newspaper in his steel-grip. His clenched teeth parted and he whetted his lips deliberately.

"Let me guess..." He said with the appropriate dismay in his voice. "Lad by the name of..."

He flips the newspaper open finally, smoothing it out in his lap.

"Aye, Timothy Jones. Bastard." He pauses. "Ach, sorry, just assume I don't mean to do it in the presence of the fairer folk." He offers with his barking laughter as a blanket apology. "But I'd known one of these lads in passing. Mister Jones here used to be a bootlegger. Don't fret over why I knew of a bootlegger, now, but I've got a suspicion he was more than just ripped apart."

He lifts his gaze to Marie, Montag, and Abigail.

"He ran with the mob, organized bunch. Won't let their folk get gutted like that without doing their own legwork. I can start with that angle- one of me haunts was supplied by Mister Jones."