Prologue
A 18-year-old Ianto Jones was seated in a small, dark room. Next to him was the lawyer his father insisted was present, and across the floor were two police officers, a man and woman. The man was hunched over a notepad with a long list of notes from the ongoing conversation. The woman was asking Ianto questions.
"Do you want anything? Water? Soda?" The woman was polite, trying to present herself as non-frightening. Ianto, looking at his feet, simply whispered a "no" and then as an afterthought, "thank you, though."
"Are you sure dear? What about a snack? They have a wicked good lemon curd pie at the coffee stand downstairs." After Ianto proceeded to stare incessantly at his shoes, the woman gave up and asked the questions she was there for. "Okay, why don't you start at the beginning? Can you do that?"
