"Starting with your assault."
    "I was in Kenmore Square," she began. "About to head back to base. I was attacked from the alley, from behind."
    "I am given to understand that among your other abilities, you have superhumanly enhanced senses, is that correct?"
    "Yes."
    "You did not hear your assailant approach?
    "No."
    "Please, continue."
    "I was," she went on, "strangled with a piece of wire. I managed to turn around and bring my stick up in time to deflect most of the bullets."
    "That would be your weapon? And with it you are able to deflect bullets?"
    "Yes."
    "I see." He made a note.
    "Then I realized that he had put something in my pocket. It turned out to be a napalm grenade. It went off."
    Out in the audience, I suppressed a shiver. Hearing her describe it like that, I could more readily understand why she had reacted as she had afterwards. Whoever the guy was, I hope we've seen the last of him.
    "So," Washington said, hands clasped behind him, "this person managed, despite your enhanced hearing, to sneak up behind you and actually place an object in your pocket?"
    "Yes."
    I frowned to myself, wondering where he could be taking this line. If anything it would generate sympathy for her. What was he going to do, claim that she had set herself up? That wouldn't look likely, especially if we could get a doctor to testify to the extent of her injuries.
    "Very well. And after that, I understand, a bystander brought a fire extinguisher and summoned aid."
    "I don't know. I was unconscious."
    "Ah, yes. What is the next thing you remember, then?"
    "I woke up at the hospital. I left right away and went to Chandler's house."
    "This would be Mr. Prentice, who assisted with arrest of the serial killer several months ago?"
    "Yes."
    "Continue."
    "The rest of the team showed up a while later. We thought it would be better if I went to a hotel, so I got a room."
    There, thinking about her situation, she had made her choice—to cut her last ties. She called Reilly, told him everything she knew of the Don's activities—how she had come by that knowledge was of course not relevant at this time. In the background of her conversation with him, she heard the words "gang war." She went to confront Vincent.
    "What was your intention, going to Mr. Vincent's home?"
    "I didn't really know. I wasn't thinking."
    "What did you do?"
    "I went to his penthouse."
    "Did anyone try to stop you?"
    "No. I went into the room."
    "Was anyone there, besides Mr. Vincent?"
    "One man."
    "Was Mr. Vincent or this other man armed?"
    "He was holding something. I didn't really know what it was. I... hit him."
    "Let the record show that this item Mr. Vincent was holding was in fact a telephone. And after you had attacked him?"
    "I felt... confused. I don't know."
    "You would describe your mental state as irrational?"
    "I wasn't having a very good day," she deadpanned, recovering from her moment of irresolution. "I'd been strangled, shot, and napalmed. I walked around for a while, I don't know how long. Then I went to the station."
    "And you made this statement." He picked up a set of papers from the desk.
    "Yes."
    "And would you say that that statement is accurate?"
    "I haven't read it," she said quietly.
    He approached the stand and handed her a sheet of paper, which she read.

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