Thomas Varnum spent four years in Maine State Prison for raping two nine-year-old boys. Released on probation in 1996, he knocked about here and there for a while, settling in Tremont last summer. On Dec. 29, fliers bearing his likeness and his offense appeared around town, posted by the local sheriff. Two days later, on New Years Eve, Varnum bought a shotgun, got drunk and killed himself.

A pathetic life, a trail of devastation, a tragic end. And in the aftermath, fresh concerns about what society can do, if anything, with its sexual predators and about the community notification law that may have pushed Varnum over the edge.

For now, after decades of agonizing over a solution, apparently all society can do with those who prey on its young is hope for the best. Jail sentences range from a few months to many, many years. There is no standard, proven model for treatment; therapies are all over the map, from transcendental meditation, hypnotism and prayer to electro shock and the aversion therapy of inundating offenders with kiddie porn until they might tire of it. Despite the efforts, research and agony, the recidivism rate of sex offenders is the highest among all categories of serious criminals.

If sex offenders are just criminals, no one knows what length of prison sentence teaches a lesson. If they are sick, no one knows a sure-fire cure, or even one with a reasonable expectation of working. And since deviousness is a prerequisite for becoming a successful sexual predator, no one even knows if a cure is real or faked.

The American Psychiatric Association essentially admitted its inability to do what for now is the impossible in its brief to the U.S. Supreme Court last summer opposing Kansas’ law allowing forced hospitalization of sex offenders who have completed their prison terms but who still are considered a threat. If they’re not cured while in prison, the APA said, keep them in prison, not in the hospital.

So the notification law is the equivalent of society crossing its fingers. It’s a deadbolt lock against the monsters without. It turns an entire community into probation officers, charged with keeping an eye on the new ex-con in town, left to wonder whether every kind gesture or pleasant smile is a sign of rehabilitation or an attempt to enlist new victims.

Tremont certainly had reason to wonder about the stranger who moved in. Why had Varnum chosen to live where he had no ties? Why had he rented a garage apartment from a family with a 10-year-old boy? Why had he lived there for four months before they knew who he was and what he’d done?

The Maine community notification law, a version of New Jersey’s Megan’s Law, is perhaps one of the most troubling laws on the books. It certainly raises questions about due process, about invasion of privacy, about vigilantism, about fairness and forgiveness. But if it’s a bad law, it’s better than the present alternative.

Maybe that will change. Six new probation officers are coming on line and will be devoted solely to supervising sex offenders. A long-term corrections plan calls for a dedicated sex-offender facility. Rep. Edward Povitch, chairman of the criminal justice committee, is suggesting that staff be retrained and reassigned long before the bricks and mortar starts.

All of that sounds good. Some of it may even work. For now, though, Maine needs the community notification law. It needs to cross its fingers and lock the door.