This is one of those stories I’ve shared frequently to the disbelief of others, so I don’t expect anyone here to believe me, either. My mom’s best friend at the time was married to an FBI agent, and he was undercover in Puerto Rico when he was hit in the face by a bullet that ricocheted off a wall. When his wife was flown down to PR to be with him, my mom looked after their kids, and we all stayed in their house until they returned. Also in and out of their house was a substantial portion of the FBI, including the then director of the FBI. One night my mom told me to go outside and get something from the car, and I was too scared, because the tales of the Night Stalker were all over the news. The FBI director sort of giggled and said I didn’t need to worry about the Night Stalker anymore. “How can you be so sure?” the young me asked. And he replied that in a few days he’d be seen coming out of a 7-11 and a group of citizens will apprehend him until the police arrive. “How do you know?” the young me asked. To which he replied that the found the bastard about a week earlier and were basically torturing him for information as to the whereabouts of his victims, which they had to do secretly, which they’d be unable to do if the media knew he was in custody. The “capture” that was reported eventually occurred exactly as he said, staged to explain any residual bruising he received by the Feds.
You can disbelieve me now; everyone else does.