Her black hair was tied back into a ponytail and she wore an ankle-length, navy crepe dress above matte brown boots. The dress had a scoop neck that dipped just below her collarbone. The same meticulously applied makeup. Same diamond accents at wrist and neck and ears, but tension played around the big blue eyes. The first time I’d met her, she’d maintained steady eye contact. Now she was focused somewhere over my left shoulder.

“Sorry for bringing you all the way here,” she said, “but I didn’t want to talk over the phone.”

“I don’t mind being here.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Well, then, come in.”

Her inner office was more of the same maritime hues and compassionate lighting. The room was large enough for group therapy, but set up for individual work, with a desk in the corner, a sofa and a pair of facing easy chairs. She took one of the chairs, and I sat down opposite her. The navy dress covered most of her but clung to her body and as she positioned herself, I saw muscle and curve, the sweep of thigh, the tug of bosom.

Remembering her history with Michael Larner, I switched mental gears.

She said, “This may turn out to be nothing, but given the seriousness of what you’re doing, I thought it best that I tell you.”

She shifted in the chair, showed me another aspect of her figure. Not seductively; her mouth was set tight.

I said, “I appreciate any help you can give me.”

The edge of her lower lip insinuated itself between her teeth, and she chewed. Her hands flexed. She shook her head.

Neither of us spoke. Two therapists measuring the silence.

She said, “I recalled something right after we talked. I’d forgotten about it—or maybe it never really registered because at the time . . . I’m sure it’s nothing, but a short while after Willie Burns left Achievement House—maybe a week later—I was with him. Larner. And he was angry about Willie. Worked up. I know because he called me into his office and his anger was obvious. I never really thought about it in terms of Willie because I had my own issues . . .” She chewed her lip, again. “Let me back up . . .”

Undoing her ponytail, she shook her hair loose in a sable billow, tied it up again. Tucking her legs under her, she hugged herself and studied the carpet.