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on.
    STYLER: It was Socrates, wasn’t it, who said that nobody ever does wrong willingly…by which he meant that if they really knew what they were doing, they would choose not to do it. Well, Easterman finally proves him wrong.
    FARQUHAR: On the face of it…
    STYLER: That’s the point of my book. It’s not a whodunnit. It’s a whydunnit. Why did Easterman do what he did? What turned this golden boy into this…revolting beast?
    FARQUHAR: Now you sound like your own back-cover blurb. How’s the sandwich?
    STYLER: Good.
    STYLER takes another bite.
    FARQUHAR: So do you have any clues? Any answers to your ‘whydunnit’? Any first thoughts?
    STYLER: It’s hard to say, not having met him. But… ( Pause .) Given his looks, given his family background, given thelack of any apparent conflict in his life, I wonder if there wasn’t some sort of sexual problem.
    FARQUHAR: Do you?
    STYLER: Well, it’s just a thought. But he lived with his mother and she was his first victim. His girlfriend, Jane Plimpton, was number two. After that, the great majority of his victims were male. Young men and boys. So — and I know this is a little simplistic but — maybe he was a homosexual. Maybe he was unable to come to terms with his sexuality and that was what started the psychosis, what triggered him off…
    FARQUHAR: So he was a mummy’s boy.
    STYLER: I didn’t say that.
    FARQUHAR: He killed nineteen people because he couldn’t cope with being gay?
    STYLER: Where did you get that figure from?
    FARQUHAR: I think your theory, Mr Styler, is pathetic.
    STYLER: I’ve annoyed you.
    FARQUHAR: ( Annoyed .) No. I’m not annoyed. But quite frankly I wouldn’t say there was much mileage in a book about someone who tortured and mutilated his way through the entire city of York just because he was too scared to ‘come out’.
    STYLER: Let me meet him and maybe I’ll find out for myself.
    FARQUHAR: You really think…? You really think that — what was it you asked for — six one-hour sessions with Easterman and you’ll be able to find out more than we have in the constant, intensive therapy of the past thirty years?
    STYLER: I didn’t say that.
    FARQUHAR: ( Getting up .) No, Mr Styler. I think I’ve had enough of this.
    STYLER: What?
    FARQUHAR: You think you can just walk into my office because you’ve had a best-selling novel optioned by Hollywood as well as two boilers out of your mother’s pot. You think you’re some kind of expert because you’ve got two gaudy paperbacks on the shelves of the True Crime department at your local library.
    STYLER: Dr Farquhar…
    FARQUHAR: You know, Mr Styler, I recognised you for what you were from the moment you walked into my office. You’re Mr Television. When they need an opinion on Newsnight or Panorama, you’re the expert they wheel in at fifty quid an hour plus a G and T with Jeremy Paxman. Fred West hangs himself. Myra Hindley is turned down for parole. Let’s go over to Mark Styler who’s ready with an instant opinion and a quote from Socrates. Nurse Plimpton was right about you. You’re a fake. I don’t know why I’ve wasted so much time with you.
    STYLER: Wait…
    FARQUHAR: Go on. Get out of here. Go back to your hotel.
    STYLER: Easterman killed my mother.
    A pause.
    FARQUHAR: What?
    STYLER: That’s why I want to write a book about him. That’s why I want to understand him. He murdered my mother.
    FARQUHAR: There were never any victims called Styler.
    STYLER: She went back to her maiden name after my father died. Victoria Barlow. She was Easterman’s neighbour. He killed her.
    A long pause.
    I was away when it happened. I was a student. But that day I came home for a visit. The first thing I saw was the smoke. Easterman had set fire to his own house. But first he had gone into hers. I tried to go in. But they stopped me. They held me