“I’ve told you Mimsy was a bit of a tearaway, uncontrollable, something of a wild child. She was probably trying to assert her freedom, show she was a grown-up. And she could be manipulative when she wanted.”

“It sounds as if she could be manipulated, too,” said Gerry. “Are you trying to exonerate this counselor? Are you saying she led him on?”

“No. No. Not at all. But so many girls her age think they’re so sophisticated, when deep down they’re actually not. I’m just saying I don’t think he threw her over the desk and had his way with her.”

Gerry couldn’t think of an appropriate response to that. She moved on. “I’ll need his name.”

“John Lewton. He was disciplined, naturally. Terminated. Struck off. He can’t practice anymore. I believe there were even steps towards criminal prosecution but bargains were made. As I understand it, he left the country not long after.”

“For where?”

“Spain. Apparently he owns some property there.”

Gerry would check the story out, of course, and make sure this John Lewton hadn’t suddenly reappeared in Mimsy’s life.

“I know you can’t talk about these things,” said O’Byrne, “but have you any idea who did this or why?”

“We don’t. Not at the moment. You said you didn’t know who Mimosa’s friends were in the neighborhood, but we’d like to talk to someone her own age she might have confided in. Is there no one you can think of?”

“No. I’m sorry. But I’m sure she wasn’t in a gang. We monitor gang activity closely.”

“What about the young girls hanging out on the Strip with older Pakistani men?”

O’Byrne’s eyes turned toward the grille and he sighed. “That thing never works,” he said. “Aren’t you too hot in here? I am.”

“Very.”

“Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

They left by the back door, beside which was a narrow footpath leading to the canal. From there, you could follow the towpath for some distance.

“I often come out here when I just want a little break or to cool down,” he said as they walked. “It’s not especially pretty, but at least it’s outside.”

It certainly wasn’t pretty, Gerry thought, with a factory belching smoke beyond the towpath, white suds floating on the filthy brown water and the all-pervading smell of rotting garbage. There were also small piles of black bin bags spilling rubbish here and there, along with broken prams and wheel-less bicycles. Gerry thought she saw a rat scuttle from one bag to another. She didn’t even think it was much cooler by the canal, but it was certainly nice to be out of that oven of an office.