"Right," Murphy said. She produced cuffs from her jacket pocket, and slapped them on Molly's pinned wrist. "You have the right to remain silent."

Molly's eyes widened and she stared up at me. "What? Harry…"

"If you choose to give up that right," Murphy continued, chanting it with the steady pace of ritual, "anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

I shrugged. "Sorry, kid. This is real life. Look, your juvenile record is sealed, and you'll be tried as an adult. First offense, I doubt you'll do much more than… Murph?"

Murphy took a break from the Miranda chant. "Thirty to sixty days, maybe." Then she resumed.

"There, see? No big deal. See you in a month or three."

Molly's face got pale. "But… but…"

"Oh," I added, "beat someone up on the first day. Supposed to save you a lot of trouble."

Murphy dragged Molly to her feet, her hands now cuffed. "Do you understand your rights as I have conveyed them to you?"

Molly's mouth fell open. She looked from Murphy to me, her expression shocked.

"Or," I said, "you might apologize."

"I-I'm sorry, Harry," she said.

I sighed. "Not to me, kid. It isn't my crime scene."

"But…" Molly swallowed and looked at Murphy. "I was just's-standing there."

"You wearing gloves?" Murphy asked.

"No."

"Shoes?"

"Yes."

"Touch anything?"

"Um." Molly swallowed. "The door. Just pushed it a little. And that Chinese vase she's planted her spearmint in. The one with a crack in it."

"Which means," Murphy said, "that if I can show that this is a murder, a full forensic sweep could pick up your fingerprints, the imprint of your shoes, and, as brittle as your hairdo is, possibly genetic traces if any of it broke off. Since you aren't one of the investigating officers or police consultants, that evidence would place you at the scene of the crime and could implicate you in a murder investigation."