“We didn't fight.”

“Yes, you did,” Molly York said quiedy. “You must have. You didn't just walk into the room and shoot him … or did you?” Grace shook her head in answer. “You shot him from less than two inches away. What were you thinking when you shot him?”

“I don't know. I wasn't thinking anything. I was just trying to … I … it doesn't matter.”

“Yes, it does.” Molly York leaned toward her seriously from across the table. “Grace, you're being charged with murder. If he did something to you, or hurt you in any way, it's self-defense, or manslaughter, not murder. No matter how great a betrayal you think it is, you have to tell me.”

“Why? Why do I have to tell anyone anything? Why should I?” She sounded like a child as she said it. But she was a child who had killed her father.

“Because if you don't tell someone, Grace, you could end up in prison for a lot of years, and that's wrong if you were trying to defend yourself. What did he do to you, Grace, to make you shoot him?”

“I don't know. Maybe I was just upset about my mother.” She was squirming in her seat, and looked away as she said it.

“Did he rape you?” Grace's eyes opened wide and she looked at her at the question. And her breath seemed short when she answered.

“No. Never.”

“Did he ever have intercourse with you? Have you ever had intercourse with your father?” Grace looked horrified. She was coming too close, much too close. She hated this woman. What was she trying to do? Make everything worse? Make more trouble? Disgrace all of them? It was nobody's business.

“No. Of course not!” she almost shouted, but she looked very nervous.

“Are you sure?” The two women's eyes met for a long time, and Grace finally shook her head.

“No. Never.”

“Were you having intercourse with him last night when you shot him?” She looked at Grace pointedly, and Grace shook her head again, but she looked agitated, and Molly saw it.

“Why are you asking me these questions?” she asked unhappily, and you could hear the wheeze of her asthma as she said it.

“Because I want to know the truth. I want to know if he hurt you, if you had reason to shoot him.” Grace only shook her head again. “Were you and your father lovers, Grace? Did you like sleeping with him?” But this time when she raised her eyes to Molly's again, her answer was totally honest.

“No.” I hated it. But she couldn't say those words to Molly.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Grace shook her head again. “Have you ever had intercourse with a boy?”

Grace sighed, knowing she never would. How could she? “No.”

“You're a virgin?” There was silence. “I asked if you were a virgin.” She was pressing her again, and Grace didn't like it.

“I don't know. I guess so.”

“What does that mean? Have you fooled around, is that what you mean by you ‘guess so’?”

“Maybe.” She looked very young again, and Molly smiled. You couldn't lose your virginity from petting.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend? At seventeen you must have.” She smiled again, but Grace shook her head in answer.

“Is there anything you want to say to me about last night, Grace? Do you remember how you felt before you shot him? What made you shoot him?” Grace shook her head dumbly.

“I don't know.”

Molly York knew that Grace wasn't being honest with her. As shaken as she may have been at the time of the shooting, she wasn't dazed now. She was fully alert, and determined not to tell Molly what had happened. The tall attractive blonde looked at the girl for a long time, and then slowly closed her notebook and uncrossed her legs.

“I wish you'd be honest with me. I can help you, Grace. Honest.” If she felt that Grace had been defending herself, or that there had been extenuating circumstances it would be a lot easier for her. But Grace wasn't giving her anything to go on. And the funny thing was that, in spite of her circumstances and the fact that she wasn't cooperating at all, Molly York liked her. Grace was a beautiful girl, and she had big, honest, open eyes. Molly saw so much sorrow and pain there, and yet she didn't know how to help her. It would come. But for the moment, Grace was too busy hiding from everyone to let anyone near her.

“I've told you everything I remember.”

“No, you haven't,” Molly said quietly. “But maybe you will later.” She handed the girl her card. “If you want to see me, call me. And if you don't, I'll be back to see you again anyway. You and I are going to have to spend some time together so I can write a report.”

“About what?” Grace looked worried. Dr. York scared her. She was too smart, and she asked too many questions.

“About your state of mind. About the circumstances of the shooting, such as I understand them. You're not giving me much to work with for the moment.”

“That's all there is. I found the gun in my hand, and I shot him.”

“Just like that.” She didn't believe it for a moment.

“That's right.” She looked like she was trying to convince herself but she had not fooled Molly.

“I don't believe you, Grace.” She looked her right in the eye as she said it.

“Well, that's what happened, whether you believe it or not.”

“And what about now? How do you feel about losing your father?” Within three days she had lost both of her parents and become an orphan, that was a heavy blow for anyone, particularly if she had killed one of her parents.

“… I'm sad about my dad … and my mom. But my mom was so sick and in so much pain, maybe now it's better for her.”

But what about Grace? How much pain had she been in? That was the question that was gnawing at Molly. This was not some bad kid who had just blown away her old man. This was a bright girl, with a sharp mind, who was pretending that she had no idea why she had shot him. It was so aggravating to listen to her say it again that Molly would have liked to kick the table.

“What about your dad? Is it better like this for him?”

“My dad?” Grace looked surprised at the question. “No … he … he wasn't suffering … I guess dais isn't better for him,” Grace said without looking up at Molly. She was hiding something, and Molly knew it.

“What about you? Is it better for you like this? Would you rather be alone?”

“Maybe.” She was honest again for a moment.

“Why? Why would you rather be alone?”

“It's just simpler.” She looked and felt a thousand years old as she said it.

“I don't think so, Grace. It's a complicated world out there. It's not easy for anyone to be alone. Especially not a seventeen-year-old girl. Home must have been a pretty difficult place if you'd rather be alone now. What was ‘home’ like? How was it?”

“It was fine.” She was as closed as an oyster.

“Did your parents get along? Before your mom got sick I mean.”

“They were fine.”

Molly didn't believe her again but she didn't say it. “Were they happy?”

“Sure.” As long as she took care of her father, the way her mother wanted.

“Were you?”

“Sure.” But in spite of herself, tears glistened in her eyes as she said it. The wise psychiatrist was asking far too many painful questions. “I was very happy. I loved my parents.”

“Enough to lie for them? To protect them? Enough not to tell us why you shot your father?”

“There's nothing to tell.”

“Okay.” Molly backed off from her, and stood up at her side of the table. “I'm going to send you to the hospital today, by the way.”

“What for?” Grace looked instantiy terrified, which interested Molly gready. “Why are you doing that?”

“Just part of the routine. Make sure you're healthy. It's no big deal.”

“I don't want to do that.” Grace looked panicked and Molly watched her.

“Why not?”

“Why do I have to?”

“You don't have much choice right now, Grace.

You're in a pretty tight spot. And the authorities are in control. Have you called a lawyer yet?”

Grace looked blank at the question. Someone had told her she could, but she didn't have one to call, unless she called Frank Wills, her father's law partner, but she wasn't even sure she wanted to. What could she say to him? It was easier not to.

“I don't have a lawyer.”

“Did your father have any associates?”

“Yes … but … it's kind of awkward to call them … or him, he had a partner.”

“I think you should, Grace,” she said firmly. “You need an attorney. You can ask for a public defender. But you're better off with someone who knows you.” It was good advice.

“I guess so.” She nodded, looking overwhelmed. There was so much happening. It was all so complicated. Why didn't they just shoot her, or hang her, or do whatever they were going to, without drawing it out, or forcing her to go to the hospital. She was terrified of what they would find there.

“I'll see you later, or tomorrow,” Molly said gently. She liked the girl, and she felt sorry for her. She had been through so much, and what she had done certainly wasn't right, but Molly was convinced that something terrible had caused her to do it. And she intended to do everything she could to find out what had really happened.

She left Grace in the holding cell, and went out to talk to Stan Dooley, the officer in charge of the investigation. He was a veteran detective, and very little surprised him anymore, though this had. He'd met John Adams a number of times over the years, and he couldn't imagine a nicer guy. Hearing he had been shot by his own kid had really stunned him.

“Is she nuts, or a druggie?” Detective Dooley asked Molly as she appeared at his desk at eight o'clock in the morning. She had spent an hour with Grace, and in her mind, had gotten nowhere. Grace was determined not to open up to her. But there were some things that she wanted to know, that they could find out whether or not Grace wanted.