Angel's eyes lower and her free hand makes a small fist on the table. During my years as a police officer, I learned the best way to get an answer is silence after the question. I wait, making each second seem like a minute.
She replies abruptly without looking at me. "I was married to an older man when I was young and-"
I break the golden rule of interview and interrogation and interrupt. "How young?"
Her delicate gulp before answering tells me a lot. "Sixteen."
"Go on," I say and pick up my glass again. I suddenly realize I need the fog the alcohol brings as much as Angel does. She was f*****g sixteen when she went to some dirty old man. I need to have a grip on the sudden burst of anger that's spreading through me.
Angel glances up and I'm suddenly caught in her web of what's made
