She breathed an inward sigh of relief. Did she smoke? Were the cigarettes hers? She couldn't answer honestly without saying "I don't know"—and that would lead to whether she knew her own name, which would lead to psychiatric questions... Thankfully, she could say she liked the taste and demonstrate by smoking that it wasn't beyond credibility that the cigarettes were hers. She wondered why Lecter thought it was so important to place in her back pocket? Why did he pick this particular clothing ensemble? Most of her heroine characters smoked cloves, so it didn't give her any clue as to identity...

One thing she noticed about the cloves was they made her more introspective. Helped her calm down and be more thoughtful, philosophical even. She continued to smoke as she chewed on these questions. She often liked to smoke when she wrote, as it helped her to think more holistically. Maybe that's why He gave them to her...what could He want her to write?

"So, shall we go?" Goren asked.

"Go where?" she seemed confused.

"To my friend's place."

"The offer's serious?" She arched her brows in surprise.

"Why not?"

She frowned. "I don't think I have any more to tell you…why would you go to the trouble…?"

"That's OK. You've given us some leads. And, as you said, it's a... 'distinct possibility' that you need protection."

"Against these people? I haven't given you my name, so it's pretty unlikely that people who so obviously staged a murder scene would be capable of finding me."

So obviously? Having been the only investigator to have noticed the subtle inconsistencies, Goren was surprised at her assessment, but shrugged, "Perhaps…" before pulling out his last persuasive argument, "You do need a place to stay, don't you?"

She didn't deny it, but considered for a moment before shrugging back, "I guess it beats a cardboard box with newspaper blankets."

As they walked, the woman smoked thoughtfully. "Why the kids?" she choked out, her eyes staring off into the distance with knitted brows.

"As you said," Eames replied with bitter conviction, "they are morally sick."

The woman shook her head sorrowfully. "Erasing a man and his progeny? Like the Princes in the Tower."

Goren wracked his brains for the reference, remembering Thomas More's account of Richard III's nephews being smothered in their beds in the Tower of London, to keep Richard on the throne, albeit for only a couple of years. It was near the end of the War of the Roses, with the Lancasters and the Yorks each trying to wipe out each other's lines of succession and seize the throne of England for themselves. Richard III was the last of the feuding Plantagenets, replaced in the end by the Tudor dynasty.

After a few more contemplative puffs on her cigarette, her subdued voice rang through the chill air, "That takes a profound hate. Hatred for everything he was and what he stood for: a goody-two-shoes accountant who didn't need corruption to be financially successful." The astute conclusion nevertheless didn't sit well with her.

She finished her cigarette in silence, field-dressing it to put it out before finding a garbage can. She said, "Y'know, I realize it's obvious."

"What's obvious?" Goren asked, guessing internally anyway.

"That there's something else...unsettling me, which is why I need a place to stay. Although, given the circumstances, it's quite possibly a good thing." she shrugged. "But it's not like I've...done anything...illegal. It has absolutely nothing to do with your investigation. It's...um...a personal thing I need to work out. Not your purview."

"Perhaps we can help…" Eames offered, hoping to get a more complete picture of this odd witness. She had opened up during dinner, so Eames tried to continue the dialogue.

She shook her head. "Thanks, but that can of worms would only distract you from your investigation, as you said. And it's important you stop these corrupt cops ASAP—before they do it again. What they are driven to do is monstrous."