“Nothing specific. Just that I think Jason is becoming a bad influence. I know the boy has had problems at home. His sister . . . Terrible business. And that has really affected his exam prospects. There’s another slightly worrying aspect to his development, too. You know we have a school magazine? No? Well, we do. Not so long ago Jason Bartlett submitted an article for publication. It was rejected, and I was urged to read a copy by the editor. To put it in a nutshell, it was a scurrilous, racist diatribe. Against foreigners in general, but mostly against the more visible groups. Claiming they’re no better than animals and are all sexual predators. Giving examples like Rochdale and Rotherham. You may or may not know it, but we have a rather large percentage of foreign students here at St. Botolph’s, and such an article would have been most offensive or upsetting had they seen it.”

“I see,” said Banks. “Have there been any incidents involving Bartlett and his views? Has he been involved in any propagation of hate literature, for example?”

“Not that I know of,” said Bowen. “And I think I would know.”

“Any specific targets? Names?”

“No. The article was the first I knew of it, and it was general in scope. You could see the influence of certain far-right views. English Defence League, UKIP, Yaxley-Lennon, that sort of thing. Second-hand ideas. Not something we encourage around here, as you might imagine. It was also unexpected. According to his form master and other teachers, he’s very quiet in class.”

“Has Myers ever echoed any of these ideas?”

“No. Not as far as I know. Not in public, at any rate.”

“Can I see a copy of the article?”

“You can take it with you,” said Bowen, going over to his filing cabinet and rummaging around until he found what he was looking for. He handed it to Banks.

Banks nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Bowen. You’ve been most helpful. We’ll let you get to your class now.”

On the way back to the car, Gerry said, “You didn’t have to tell him that, guv. About me going to a private school. And Cambridge.”

“You shouldn’t be afraid to blow your own trumpet, Gerry. After all, it’ll be your main occupation should you ever rise to the heady rank of chief constable. Besides, I think you made an impression there. Much longer and I guarantee the good headmaster would have asked for your telephone number.”

Gerry didn’t do or say anything, but Banks could tell she wanted to nudge him hard with her elbow.