I went into the park. It’s one o’clock in the morning by now. A guy was passing in the street on a bicycle. He sees me. He just kept going back and forth in front of the park I think, I’m going to have a problem with this guy. I call my dog and put her on the leash. We’re walking out the only entrance to the park.

Now we’re on the city street, he on one side of a car, me on the other, right under a light. His back is to me, he’s still motoring on his bike. He sticks his hand in his pants. I think, he’s got a gun. When he turns around, he didn’t have a gun. He had his penis in his hand and he was masturbating. I got so mad. I wasn’t frightened. What if it was my niece walking the dog, or it was someone’s daughter? A housewife? Someone’s who’d be frightened. I remember when I was a young girl and that happened to me I was terribly frightened.

Now I knew what he had in his hand. I pulled out my gun. And he knew what I had in my hand. I stuck it straight out, and said to him, “I’ll put a bullet in your eff’ing head.”

In one case a suspect had killed six people. His defense attorney asked me if when his confession was given, had I taken notes. I told him, no, that I had just been babysitting while the other detectives took a break.

He asked, ‘Do you mean to tell me that you’re relying on your memory of what my client said?”

Boom! I sucked him right in. “Well, in my twenty-five years as a detective I have never interviewed a mass murderer before.”

“Your honor, I object!” snapped the lawyer.