"Boy don't I ever know how that one goes," she said with a wry smile and no small amount of sympathy. She could still see the National Tattler's headline, all that Railroad Gothic: CLARICE STARLING: THE FBI'S DEATH MACHINE, over the picture of her washing off Evelda Drumgo's baby after the fish market firefight that had been the herald of the end of her career. Never mind that she'd saved the baby. Never mind that more good men had died in that fight than the gangbangers who'd started it.

"I was in law enforcement for a good chunk of my life. Not having any control over how folks saw me was practically in my job description. I learned how to live with it, though, if you want any pointers."