“Has the department done its own investigation?”

“Probably.”

“You haven't heard anything?”

“Those kinds of things are kept quiet and I'm not exactly in the loop. Only thing I've heard is the kid was different. Quiet, stuck to himself, read books.”

“Books,” I said. “Well, there's a motive for you.”

He laughed. “Guns don't kill, introspection does?”

I laughed back. But I thought about that.

Helena Dahl called me that evening and I arranged to see her in my home office the following morning. She arrived precisely on time, a tall, handsome woman of thirty, with very short straight blond hair and sinewy arms exposed by a navy blue tank top. The tank was tucked into jeans and she wore tennies without socks. Her face was a lean oval, well-sunned, her eyes light blue, her mouth exceptionally wide. No jewelry. No wedding ring. She gave my hand a firm shake, tried to smile, thanked me for seeing her, then followed me.

The new house is set up for therapy. I take patients in through a side door, crossing the Japanese garden and passing the fish pond. People usually stop to look at the koi or at least comment but she didn't.

Inside she sat very straight with her hands on her knees. Most of my work involves children caught up in the court system and a portion of the office is set aside for play therapy. She didn't look at the toys.

“This is the first time I've done this.” Her voice was soft and low but it carried some authority. An E.R. nurse would make good use of that.

“Even after my divorce, I never talked to anyone,” she added. “I really don't know what I expect.”

“Maybe to make some sense of it?” I said gently.

“You think that's possible?”

“You may be able to learn more, but some questions can never be answered.”

“Well, at least you're honest. Shall we get right into it?”