And from there we go to the graves of Eveline Hughes and "Baby Boy Hughes," who according to their respective tombstones died in November 1991, ten months before the date on that press clipping Agent Jessup found. Way to put the "news" in "newspaper," Lansdale's primary print media organ. The coffins are being noisily craned to the surface, in what is apparently the middle of the night. Meanwhile, Andre Hughes is alone in that holding room back in Boston, and nobody appears to have noticed that he's taken down one of the wire frames that suspend the fluorescent light fixture, which is now flickering and swinging from one end and generally making the tiny room look haunted by a poltergeist. What's Hughes doing with the wire? Eating it, apparently. Who knows how long it's been since anyone brought him any food? "Hughes is hiding something, we're going to find out what it is," Peter boasts to Sherriff Golightly. Hughes continues getting some iron in his diet, now grunting and bleeding from his gums. Mrs. Hughes's coffin is opened, and she looks about like you'd expect a woman who's been dead almost two decades to look, only sadder. Hughes is now twisting his wire into a loop. Maybe he's just flossing? Baby Boy's coffin is opened. Try to look surprised when I tell you that it's empty. "There's no body," Sheriff Golightly murmurs no astonishment, displaying exactly the kind of investigatory acumen that make his case files such a scintillating read. Looking at the hole chewed through the bottom of the box, he adds, "Looks like something dug its way in." "Or dug its way out," Olivia corrects. Indeed, when they go back to look inside the now-empty grave, there's a narrow but clear tunnel leading straight down into the earth. And to think the kid never even got a name. Well, I'm giving him one right now: I'm calling him Billy, which is short for, what else, William S. Burrows. "I think we have some questions for Mr. Hughes," Olivia says. Mr. Hughes, however, is still hanging in his supernaturally-lit holding room. Literally.
At the Federal Building in Boston the next morning, Olivia stumps off the elevator with another agent, who leads her down the hall to Hughes's holding room. Apparently nobody has bothered to check on him overnight or even all morning, because he's still hanging by the neck from the wire sculpture he made for himself. Well, at least the Hughes family plot at the cemetery is all nice and fresh for him now.