The woman on the heavy bag looked at him, then looked again. It had been a week since he was the lead item on the news, since he was on every front page, since he wore his brother’s bloodstained camouflage jacket on the rolling news. Satisfied it was really him, the woman looked away and went back to her work on the heavy bag.

He was dressed for a run.

‘I wasn’t party to anything that happened at Potter’s Field,’ he said to me. A beat. ‘But I know who was.’

I eased myself out of the stretch and sat on the bench.

‘You’re coming forward with new information?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you come forward before now?’

King turned his head as a buzzer sounded in the ring.

‘Time!’ shouted Fred.

Ben King looked back at me. ‘Because I loved my brother.’

‘Do you know the identity of the man who killed Hugo Buck?’

‘No.’

‘Adam Jones? Guy Philips?’

‘No.’

‘Salman Khan?’

‘That was an accident, wasn’t it? A fire.’

‘What happened to Anya Bauer?’

‘Who’s Anya Bauer?’

I stood up and took a fistful of his T-shirt near the neck. He didn’t flinch.

‘Are you wasting my time?’ I said.

He shook his head. ‘No.’

‘Who was Anya Bauer?’ I said. ‘What happened to her?’

‘I don’t know that name. I never knew any name. I never even saw the girl you’re talking about. But I know that . . . questionable acts were done at that school. I know – to my eternal regret – that my brother Ned was a party to them. And, yes, my friends, too. And I know the name of the adult who instigated those questionable acts. Because he was the same man who sexually abused us for years.’

I still had his T-shirt in my fist. I twisted it until our faces were almost touching.

‘Don’t lie to me,’ I said.

‘I’m past lying,’ he said. ‘People get lost. My brother Ned got lost. When we were boys, I threw a glass at his face across the breakfast table. Why do you think I threw that glass at his face? Because I loved him. Because of the unspeakable things he was doing. Because of what was happening to him. Because of that man.’

‘The Head Master,’ I said. ‘Peregrine Waugh.’

‘Oy!’ Fred called. He was talking to me. I still had a fistful of Ben King’s T-shirt in my hand. ‘Take it in the ring or take it outside.’

I let go of King’s T-shirt. He was smiling.

‘I haven’t boxed since school,’ he said.

‘You boxed at school?’ I said.

‘Of course! All good schools teach their boys to box. May I borrow these?’

He was pointing at a pair of yellow fourteen-ounce Cleto Reyes gloves.

I shook my head. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ I said.