She and Richard Haverson had lived together for two years, and talked from time to time about getting married, but somehow they never did. But they got on well, and were familiar with each other's work. For both of them, it was the perfect arrangement. And he was as tall and lanky and blond and good-looking as she was.
“Sounds like the kid is screwed, if you ask me, there's no one to take her part in this, and it sounds like the father's partner wants her out of the way anyway, so he can get whatever money is left. Not a great situation from the sound of it. And if she won't admit that the old man was raping her, then what more can you say?” he said, looking tired, and she sipped coffee and stared at him in frustration.
“I'm not sure yet. But I'm trying to think of something. I wish I could get her to tell me what really happened. I mean, hell, she didn't just wake up in the middle of the night, find a gun in her hand and decide to shoot him. They found her nightgown torn in half on the floor, but she wouldn't explain that either. All the evidence is there, for God's sake. She just won't help us use it.”
“You'll get to her eventually,” he said confidently, but this time Molly looked worried. She had never had such a hard time reaching anyone. The girl was completely fossilized into a state of self-destruction. Her parents had all but destroyed her, and she still wouldn't give them up. It was amazing. “I've never seen you lose one yet.” He smiled at her and touched the long blond hair as he went out to the kitchen for a beer. They both worked like demons, but it was a good relationship for both of them, and they were happy with each other.
And at six o'clock the next morning when they got up, Grace was already on her mind again. On her way to work, Molly glanced at her watch and thought about going back to see her. But there was something else she wanted to do first. She went to her office and made some notes for the file, and then she went to the public defenders’ office at eight-thirty.
“Is David Glass in yet?” she asked the receptionist. He was the junior attorney on the team, but Molly had worked on two cases with him recently, and she thought he was terrific. He was unorthodox and tough and smart. He was a street kid from New York who had clawed his way out of the ghettos of the South Bronx, and he wasn't going to give in to anyone. But at the same time, he had a heart of gold, and he fought like a lion for his clients. He was exactly what Grace Adams needed.
“I think he's in the back somewhere,” the receptionist said. She recognized Molly from other cases she'd been on and she waved her back into the inner sanctum.
Molly wandered the hallways looking for him for a few minutes, and then she found him in the office library, sitting next to a stack of books, sipping a cup of coffee. He looked up as she walked next to him, and smiled when he saw her.
“Hi, Doc. How's biz?”
“The usual. How's by you?”
“I'm still working on getting the latest ax murderers off. You know, same ol same ol’.”
“Want a case?”
“Are you assigning them now?” He looked amused. He was shorter than she was, and he had dark brown eyes and curly black hair, and in his own way, he was nice-looking. What he had most of all was personality, which overcame any shortcomings he might have had in terms of looking like Clark Gable. He had sex appeal too. And from the way his eyes danced when he talked to her, it was obvious that he liked Molly. “When did they let you start dishing out cases?”
“Okay, okay. I just wanted to know if you were up for one. I'm working on it, and they're going to assign a P.D. today. I'd really like to work on it with you.”
“I'm flattered. How bad is it?”
“Bad enough. Possibly murder one. Could even be the death penalty. A seventeen-year-old girl shot her father.”
“Nice. I always love cases like that. What did she do? Take his head off with a shotgun, or have her boyfriend do it for her?” He had seen plenty of ugliness in New York, out here, though, things were a lot tamer.
“Nothing quite so picturesque.” She looked at him with a worried frown, thinking of Grace. “It's complicated. Can we go talk somewhere?”
“Sure.” He looked intrigued. “If you're willing to stand on my shoulders, we can go talk in my office.” His cubicle was barely bigger than his desk, but at least it had a door and some privacy, and she followed him there, as he juggled his books and his coffee. “So what's the story?” he asked as she sat in the room's only extra chair and sighed. She really wanted him to take it. And for the moment, Grace was doing absolutely nothing to help herself. She really needed someone as good as David.
“She shot him at slightly less than two-inch range with a handgun that she says she ‘found in her hand,’ and then it went off, and she shot him. According to her, for no reason in the world. They were just one happy family, except for the fact that they'd buried her mother that day. Other than that, no problems.”
“Is she sane?” He looked interested, but only mildly. Most of all, he loved a challenge. And he liked kids in particular. All of which was why Molly wanted him to take the case. He was the only chance Grace had. Without him, she was lost, if she even cared. But Molly cared, a lot, she wasn't sure why, but she did. Maybe because Grace seemed so beaten and so helpless. She had already given up everything, all hope, even her own life seemed unimportant to her. And Molly wanted to change that.
“She's sane,” Molly confirmed to him, “deeply depressed and not without neurosis, but I think for good reason. I think he was abusing her, sexually and otherwise.” She described the kind of internal damage and bruises they had found, and her state of mind when Molly saw her. “She swears he never touched her. I don't believe her. I think he raped her that night, and I think he'd done it before, maybe even for a long time, and maybe without her mother there, she'd lost her only protection and she panicked. He did it again, and this time she lost it and shot him. He had to be right on top of her for her to shoot him at that range. Think of it, if he'd been lying on top of her, raping her, and she had the gun, it would have been just that kind of range when she shot him.”
“Has anyone else thought of that?” He was intrigued now. “What do the cops think?”
“That's the problem. They don't want to hear it. Her father was Mr. Perfect Community Loved by Everyone Attorney. No one wants to believe that the guy might have been sleeping with his own daughter, or worse, forcing her. Maybe he held the gun on her, for all we know, and she got it away from him. But something has gone on in that girl's life, and she just won't tell me. She has no friends, no life outside of school. No one seems to know much of anything about her. She went to school, and she went home, and took care of her dying mother. The mother died a few days ago, and now the father's gone, and that's it. No relatives, no friends, just an entire town who swears the guy is the most decent man they ever knew and couldn't possibly have hurt his daughter.”
“And you don't believe them? Why not?” After working two cases with her, he had learned to trust her instincts.
“Because she won't tell me anything, and I know she's lying. She's terrified. And she's still defending him, as though he's going to come back from the dead and get her.”
“She won't say anything?”
“Not really. She is frozen in pain, it's written all over her. Something terrible has happened to that girl, and she won't give it up.”