“David was a special case. I should have seen he needed help. I’m sorry. I should have helped him.”

I knew what he meant, of course. But that was enough to condemn him. The rest of his words were forgotten, as the headlines did their worst.

I’m Sorry! screamed the tabloids. The rest printed watered-down versions. Pervert Teacher Breaks Down in Court. Hiding in Plain Sight! Homosexual English Teacher May Have Abused His Charges for Years! And the most damning headline of all, flanked with a picture of Harry: Did This Man Kill Lee Bagshot?

That, and not my testimony, was what turned the tide that day—not that it needed much turning. Malbry still remembered the sorry death of Emily White, and although the cases weren’t the same, there were enough parallels to give the press some ammunition.

Troubled Boy Speaks Out, they said. Thousand-Pound-a-Term School Was a Hotbed of Vice, they said. And, faced with a chance to get even for generations of social supremacy, the jury voted with their hearts, and Harry was sentenced to twenty years.

Sometimes you need a sacrifice in order to stamp out evil. The Bible is full of reminders of this. Abraham and Isaac; the Gadarene swine; the story of the scapegoat. In this case, it was Lee Bagshot, who went to his death so that others might live purer, better, happier lives. And although Harry Clarke didn’t kill him, as such, I now understood, after seven years, that he’d died in part because of Harry, which made Harry almost as guilty as if he’d done the deed himself.

Under the rule of reasonable doubt, they should have gone for an acquittal. But they didn’t. Is that my fault? Call it the work of Providence.

Chapter 4

4

October 14, 2005