The moment of truth. Wells seemed to deflate and shrink in his chair. His plump lower lip pushed up and all but obscured the upper, his chin disappeared into his neck and his arms seemed to wrap more tightly around his lower chest. “What do you want from me?” he whispered.

“The truth.”

“I had a nervous breakdown.”

“What caused it?”

“The pressures of the job. You’ve no idea what teaching’s like.”

“I don’t imagine I have,” Banks admitted, thinking that the last thing he’d want to do was stand up in front of thirty or forty scruffy, hormonally challenged teenagers and try to get them interested in Shakespeare or the War of Jenkins’s Ear. Anyone with that skill deserved his admiration. And a medal, too, for that matter. “What particular pressures led you to decide to leave?”

“It was nothing specific. Just a general sort of breakdown.”

“Stop beating about the bush, Norman,” Annie cut in. “Does the name Steven Farrow mean anything to you?”

Wells paled. “Nothing happened. I never touched him. False accusations.”

“According to the headmaster, Norman, you were infatuated with this thirteen-year-old boy. So much so that you neglected your duties, became an embarrassment to the school, and on one occasion—”

“Enough!” Wells slammed his fist down on the metal table. “You’re just like everyone else. You poison the truth with your lies. You can’t stare beauty in the eye, so you have to destroy it, poison it for everyone else.”

“Steven Farrow, Norman,” Annie repeated. “Thirteen years old.”

“It was pure. A pure love.” Wells rubbed his teary eyes with his forearm. “But you wouldn’t understand that, would you? To people like you, anything other than a man and a woman is dirty, abnormal, perverted.”

“Try us, Norman,” said Banks. “Give us a chance. You loved him?”

“Steven was beautiful. An angel. All I wanted was to be close to him, to be with him. What could be wrong with that?”

“But you touched him, Norman,” said Annie. “He told—”

“I never touched him! He was lying. He turned on me. He wanted money. Can you believe it? My little angel wanted money. I would have done anything for him, made any sacrifice. But something so vulgar as money… I blame them, of course, not Steven. They poisoned him against me. They made him turn on me.” Wells wiped his eyes again.

“Who did, Norman?”

“The others. The other boys.”

“What happened?” Banks asked.

“I refused, of course. Steven went to the headmaster and…I was asked to leave, no questions asked, no scandal. All for the good of the school, you see. But word got around. On the scrap heap at thirty-eight. One foolish mistake.” He shook his head. “That boy broke my heart.”

“Surely you couldn’t expect them to keep you on?” Banks said. “In fact, you’re bloody lucky they didn’t bring in the police. And you know how we feel about pedophiles.”

“I am not a child molester! I would have been content just…just to be with him. Have you ever been in love?”