My heart jolted with the sound of the phone in my otherwise peaceful office environment. My mind had been preoccupied with thoughts of last night.

"Hello?"

"Ivo, it's Martin."

I wasn't exactly sure what to say to that. Hearing from Martin was now a very rare occurrence, he usually only talked with Tim.

"What can I do for you," I asked politely as I could.

"Have you seen the newspapers," he questioned in a rush.

"No, why?"

I could feel my heart beating in my throat.

"They've printed the story about Charles Harvey," he began.

"Did they mention Tim," I demanded.

"I'm not sure, I haven't read all of them," he sighed. "I don't see how they could mention him by name. They could be sued for a breach of privacy!"

Despite my overwhelming panic the thought still came into my mind as to how Martin knew about all of this if it hadn't mentioned Tim. Had he been told everything? Perhaps Tim had confided in Martin more than I first thought.

"I have to go, Martin," I said briefly before putting the phone down and storming out of my office. Students shuffled out of the way with looks of surprise and curiosity and I didn't bother to wait for the lift, taking the stairs almost two at a time. The campus had a little convenience shop and the young girl behind the counter gave me a reproachful look when I bought a copy of every paper from the rack, throwing the money at her and leaving again.

For the next half an hour I sat at my desk and poured over the contents of each one. Somehow one of them had gotten hold of a school photo in which Harvey was in the back row, highlighted by a red circle with the caption, 'Given the role of prefect which allowed him a lot of alone time with younger students'.

Further into the article there was a photo of Gilman leaving court surrounded by solicitors and other photographers.

'James Gilman, another ghoul from the school of hell, leaves the courts where he works as a lawyer in other child abuse cases'.

Reluctantly I read the article which was brief but poignant.

Before Charles Harvey took his own life in March of this year, he was overcome with guilt because of what took place in Leythe school for boys and wrote a letter requesting that his apologies be passed on to those he abused in the hope that he can be forgiven. Our inside source tells us how harrowing the letter is to read, the final words of a desperate man.

"He was saying how sorry he was for everything and how he wished he could go back and change it but I suppose it's too late for that, isn't it? You hear stuff like this all the time, when it comes out years later but it's usually the victims who crack first. They've got the most to gain from it really, with all the press and the money they can get from it. Some of them like the attention it can bring because they feel they were ignored for so long, but anyway. He talks about some of the other people it involves but he only really mentions one by name. Some poor kid called Tim. God knows where he is now. Probably offed himself because of all of this but who could blame him."

The Tim mentioned is believed to be English writer Tim Cornish who has recently become well-known as his latest book climbs the ranks for best-seller. His publisher was unavailable for comment however other sources have confirmed that Mr Cornish did indeed attend Leythe school for boys during the years that the accused also attended. No doubt now his books will sell out faster than ever. Perhaps this is a very clever marketing ploy to get his book to number one!

I stared down at the mention of his name and I could feel the warmth of horror and anger spreading through me. Reluctantly I dialed the number for Martin's office in the English department.

"Martin, he's in the paper," I said sadly. Martin didn't give his usual dramatic sigh but instead remained silent for a while.

"I'm sorry, Ivo," he said and I could imagine him shaking his head with sorrow.

"So am I," I replied, trying to remain calm.

"Ivo, it won't be long before your name joins his. Perhaps you should approach the faculty to warn them."

"Mm," I gave a non committal sound and then made my excuses to hang up. Oh how I hated the glass door of my office at times like this when I simply wanted to curl into my chair and cry.