An envelope – bearing the name "Gidget" over a return address from Las Vegas – arrives at Seattle's FBI headquarters. Inside is a letter from a purported hit man who claims that a woman paid him to kill Wales.

OK, so I was broke and between jobs I got an anonymous call offering [the amount was redacted by the F.B.I.] to shoot the guy, so I drove to Seattle to do the job. I did not even know his name. Just got laid off from a job. Nice talking lady, I didn’t know her name, she called me, talked to me by name, and asked if I needed some money. I agreed to pursue the matter, hell, I was going bankrupt. . . .

I drove to the address, and then parked some distance away, north of downtown. I kind of camped out in the backyard of this house, and waited for the guy to settle in at his computer. Once he was there, I took careful aim. I shot two or possibly more times, and watched him collapse. I absurdly waited a few minutes and then left. I was sure he was dead.

Retracing my steps, I dropped off the gun, found my money, and returned to Vegas. I feel bad about it, but I needed the money, and there were no witnesses.