Now, little by little, the story emerged. By no means a complete account—for a start, Charlie Nutter never revealed where he had been for those twenty-four hours before arriving at Harry’s house—but enough to ensure Harry’s silence. The boy was ill and feverish from sleeping rough the previous night, and not all he said made very much sense. But one thing was certain: he was afraid. He spoke of committing suicide; begged Harry not to tell anyone where he was; described himself as unclean and scrubbed his hands until they bled; but was so incoherent when it came to explanations that Harry was left with nothing but fragments of a story; all of which led to the Church of the Omega Rose as the source of his misery.

The Church of the Omega Rose. Till then, I’d never given the place much thought—in fact, as I discovered later, I’d been walking past it for years without even knowing it was there. A nice Edwardian house on the street that Malbry folk call Millionaires’ Row, with nothing but a small brass plaque to indicate its purpose. Mr. Speight spoke of sing-alongs, visiting preachers, friends’ meetings, fund-raisers, and families’ support groups. But according to Charlie Nutter, it was a place of darkness and dread, where public confessions, “cleansings,” speaking in tongues, and ecstatic laying-on of hands were a weekly occurrence, and where a boy in doubt about his sexual identity was told that his soul was in danger.

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “These people are educators, for gods’ sakes.”

Harry gave a weary smile. “A lot of people believe it, Roy. The Church of the Omega Rose takes a very literal view on Scripture. Leviticus, chapter eighteen, verse twenty-two: Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination. That’s what that poor kid was taught to believe, and worse: that his perfectly normal feelings were caused by demons of sexual impurity that could enter him through his own self-doubt. On the other hand,” he went on, “there are some sharp words in the Gospels about teachers whose version of pastoral care leads to damaging their charges. Better for them that a millstone be tied around their necks and they be cast into the depths of the sea. But I’m guessing Dr. Harrington, Mr. Speight, and the rest of them aren’t quite as interested in those verses.”

“I had no idea you knew so much about the Bible,” I said.