I watched her facial expressions as I talked. I was going to approach this delicate subject as simply as possible. I didn’t want her to feel as if she was betraying a confidence. At least not right away. I just wanted basic information that was a matter of public record.
I was trying to lull her into a false sense of security.
“The police finally received confirmation of the names of the people that used to live at the old empty lot,” I explained. “They think they might be connected to the murder. I would like to know if James and Beverly Martin were members of this church?”
“Yes,” she said simply. Her voice was curt, her eyes hard.
“Could you let me know which dates they came here?”
My heart beat heavily and I was breathing shallowly; this Angela was someone I had never seen before.
