Albert stared at her, then picked up his pint. The new customer started playing one of the machines near the door. Sirens and bells filled the air. “There’s something else,” Albert went on. “Not specifically to do with Mimsy, but a Paki mate of mine—he’s OK, by the way, none of that religious mumbo jumbo, and he’s a loyal Boro fan—he says he heard that some of the older blokes had been messing with white girls. You know, like that Rotherham thing.”

“Did he say anything more?”

“No. Just that.”

“When was this?”

“A few weeks before I saw Mimsy getting in the taxi.”

“Did you make any connection between what he told you and what you saw?”

“Connection?”

“Never mind. What’s his name?”

“Ali.”

“Do you know where he lives?”

“Somewhere south of the Strip. But we have a drink in the Wytherton Arms now and then. You could probably find him in there most nights. Like I said, none of that religious nondrinking mumbo jumbo for Ali.”

“If you happen to bump into him before we have time to find him, would you give him this and ask him to call me?” Annie said, handing Albert her card.

“I don’t want him to think I’ve been talking to the polis.”

“Albert. It’s for Mimosa.”

Albert took the card reluctantly. “I’ll think about it.”

“How did it end, this last talk with Mimosa? Did you stay friends?”

“I suppose so. It’s her life. I just told her if she needed anything, like, all she had to do was ask. She gave me one of her friendly pecks on the cheek, said something about her knight in shining armor and that was that.”

“That was you? Her knight in shining armor.”

Albert managed a thin smile. “Yeah. That’s what she called me sometimes.” He looked at Gerry. “I saved her from bullies too, once or twice, when she was about ten. It sort of stuck.”

“Mimsy was bullied?” Annie asked.

“For a while, yeah, at school.”

“Why?”

“Who knows. She was just different, that’s all. And, like I said, she was mouthy.”

“But it stopped?”

“Far as I know.”

Annie paused, as much to let Gerry catch up with her notes as anything else. Albert drank some more lager and Annie sipped the tart bitter lemon. A pint would have been so much better. “Do you remember that incident with the psychological counselor?” she asked.

“Do I ever. Mum really laid into Mimsy that time. Him, too. I think she knew she’d fucked up a lot in her own life, and she saw Mimsy making the same mistakes, same bad choices. It just set her off.”

“Was Mimsy doing drugs then?”

“Some, maybe. Pills and dope and stuff.”

“Ketamine?”