Lopez wanted to tell the poor kid that Jake Fasken and snakes like him were the reason she had ended up here. Instead she just smiled and said, “How’s your leg?”

Angie pulled her gown up on the left side. In the two days since they had last seen her, the wound had healed dramatically. Now it was just a superficial scab without any surrounding redness. Lopez wondered whether Oraloxin or simple decent wound care deserved the credit. She pointed to Angie’s thigh. “We need to know who gave you those drugs.”

Angie’s shoulders stiffened. “I told you already.” She licked her lips. “One of my friends, Randee or Jenny, maybe.”

Lopez shook her head. “We don’t believe you.”

Angie folded her skinny arms across her chest. “Why would I lie?”

“We know about the dealer who gave you the samples,” Lopez pressed. “He meant to make you sick, did you know that?”

She didn’t reply.

“Listen, Angie, if you can’t help us, he’ll do the same to others,” Kilburn said.

Angie shook her head. “I never met that guy,” she said in just above a whisper.

Kilburn looked at Lopez with frustrated concern. Before either had a chance to say more, Cohen spoke up. “Angie, I’m a cop from Portland. You want to know why I’m here?”

Angie stuck out her lower lip. She shrugged without looking at him.

“I met a woman in Portland,” Cohen said. “A few years older than you, but you remind me of her. Same defiant streak. Her name was Carol Wilson. She was a witness in a murder there.”

“So?” Angie said softly.

“I wound up spending some time with Carol. She told me her life story. I’m sure you’ve heard it before.” Cohen sighed. “A good kid from a loving family who stumbled into the wrong crowd. The wrong guy. Drugs. She was hooked right off the bat. Try as she might, she just couldn’t shake the habit.”

Angie kept her head down, but from the occasional sniffle and the way she tilted her head Lopez knew she was listening to Cohen’s narrative.

“Carol was a wreck when I met her. Couldn’t have weighed more than eighty pounds. And she was already very sick from the infection.” Cohen paused a moment. “But Carol wasn’t just a drug addict or a street girl. She was someone’s daughter. Someone’s big sister. And there was something special about Carol. She had a real spark.”

“Had?” Angie croaked softly.