“The car came right up behind me,” Bordain went on. “I thought it was going to hit me! You hear all the time about those insurance scams where some uninsured illegal gets you to rear-end them and then bilks the insurance company and sues the law-abiding citizen—”

“But there was only one car,” Dixon said.

“Yes. I was angry that he was right on my tail, so I tapped my brakes to tell him to back off. Then he pulled up alongside me and swerved toward me. My heart was in my throat!”

“Do you know what kind of car it was?” Mendez asked.

“No. I’m sorry but I don’t know anything about cars.”

“What about the driver?”

She closed her eyes, pained and in pain. “I don’t know.”

She would know if it was a Mexican, Mendez thought.

“Was it a car or a truck?” Dixon asked.

“A car.”

“Dark- or light-colored?”

“Dark. Everything was dark. And it was raining so hard I could barely see the road.”

“Did you get a look at the driver at all?”

“Just a glance. I was terrified. I was trying to stay on the road.”

“But it was a man,” Dixon said.

“Yes, I think so. He might have been wearing a watch cap pulled down low, or maybe his hair was black. I didn’t get a good look,” she said. “He swerved at me. I swerved to miss him. The next thing I knew my car was out of control. I thought I was going to be killed!”

“We saw your airbag deployed,” Dixon said.

“I thought it broke my nose! Those things are dangerous!”

“Try putting your face through a windshield,” the nurse muttered—more as a suggestion than a comment, Mendez thought. He cleared his throat and rubbed a hand down over his mustache to hide his smile.

“The car didn’t stop,” Dixon said.

“No. I didn’t see it stop.”

“You didn’t see the license plate?” Mendez asked.

“No. For God’s sake, I was trying to stay alive!”

“Were there any other cars on the road at the time?” Mendez asked. “Anyone who might have seen what happened?”

“You don’t believe me?” Bordain said, incredulous. Tears filled her eyes. “Oh my God. You think I’m making this up?”

“It’s not that, Mrs. Bordain,” Dixon said. “Another driver might have a better description of the other vehicle or of the driver, or may have even gotten a plate number.”

“No,” she said, calming down marginally. “One of my neighbors came along a few minutes later. He’s the one who called nine-one-one.”

“Have you been drinking at all this evening, Mrs. Bordain?” Mendez asked.

“What? Of course not! I had a glass of wine with dinner. That was hours ago!”

“It’s just a routine question, ma’am,” Mendez said. “We have to ask.”