“He falsified transcripts.” Wascomb sighed. He pushed his plate away, one-third eaten. “No doubt you think I’m a gullible fool. Or slipshod. Without sounding overly defensive, I would like to stress that this was an aberration. The vast majority of our graduates are out in the world doing the Lord’s work in an exemplary manner.”

“Drew must’ve been good to fool you.”

He smiled. “That’s very kind, sir. Yes, he did say the right things, seemed well-grounded in Scripture. As it turns out, his religious experience was limited to serving as a counselor at several Christian summer camps.”

“He learned the jargon,” I said.

“Exactly.”

“When did all this come out?”

“Seven and a half years ago.”

Precise memory. Six months after Kristal Malley’s murder.

I said, “What caused you to look into his background?”

“Someone else looked into his background,” said Wascomb. “A very angry man who claimed that Drew was committing adultery with his wife.” He winced. “A claim that turned out to be true.”

“Tell me about it.”

He shook his head. Pushed his plate away. “There are issues of respect, here. For innocent people involved— ”

“A half year before you found out about Drew, he and Cherish were involved in a murder case as part of their community service work for Fulton. Counseling a boy who’d killed a toddler. I’m sure you recall that, Dr. Wascomb.”

He blinked twice, started to speak, stopped himself.

“Sir?”

“That poor little girl.” His voice had gone hoarse. “There’s more to that? After all this time?”

“One of the boys who murdered Kristal Malley has been murdered himself.”

Wascomb winced. “Oh, my. Then I suppose I need to be forthright.” He clicked his dentures. “Drew committed adultery with one of the lawyers on that case. A defense attorney.”

“Sydney Weider.”

Nod. “It was her husband who barged into my office with medical reports, raving about the school, my incompetence, how could I train a person like that, I was a hypocrite, all ‘Bible freaks’ were nothing but hypocrites.”

He looked away from me. “I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Sorry,” I said. But not sorry enough to drop it. “We’re talking about Martin Boestling. A movie producer.”

“A loud man. At the time I thought him crass. After some consideration— after the shock wore off— I considered what he’d endured and felt compassion for him. I called him, tried to apologize. He was gracious, as far as that went.”

“What he’d endured,” I said. “More than adultery.”

He stared.

“You said Boestling brought medical reports. As in lab tests?”

Slow nod. “His own and his wife’s.”

“He’d been infected with something. AIDS?”

“Not that bad,” said Wascomb, “but bad enough. Gonorrhea. His wife had given it to him and Boestling claimed Drew had given it to her.”