SixteenThe next morning, just relieved, barely home and still in his wrinkled uniform, Ben answered his apartment door to a weary Erin. Her eyes were red, her voice hollow, and her first comment came like a detached police report. “Angelina lost the baby.”
“I know. We got a call at the station. What's happening now?”
“I've turned the case over to Ron Musselwhite.”
“Musselwhite?”
“The chief of police.”
“I know who he is,” Ben growled. “I work for the same city you do. That wasn't a 'Musselwhite, who', it was a 'Musselwhite, why'. Why aren't you handling it?”
“How can you ask? Angelina is one of my best friends. It's possible she was assaulted—”
“What do you mean 'It's possible'? She was assaulted. Nestor said so.”
“You didn't let me finish. It's possible she was assaulted by Nestor.
