Apparently if you are the witness to one crime, and the victim of another crime in the same twenty-four hour period, the police take a special interest in your mundane little life. I know, right? I mean—I am the victim here. Wrong place, wrong time, all of that. No, I have no idea how all that glass shattered at the museum. I’m really sorry for the Tiffany stained glass windows, and all those cases, but don’t look at me. And I have no idea how my house caught on fire. You can’t think I—look, ok. It’s possible. Maybe.