Hardy narrowed his eyes, cocked his head. "Do you know who killed Mooney and Laura?"
"No. But I know something. I just don't know what it might mean, if anything. I almost told you at the end of our talk today. And maybe I should have, but then Wagner would have known, too, and he might have felt like he had to go to my parents. Anyway, then tonight I couldn't get it out of my mind, that I should have told you. I'm not even sure it matters, but there are things about it that definitely matter a lot to other people. And to me. Personal things. Do you know what I'm saying?"
"I don't mean to be dense, Steven. But you have my word that whatever it is, I'll keep it between us. How's that?"
Another sigh. "It just seemed like you really might believe that Andrew didn't do any of this."
Hardy finessed that admission, which was still just slightly too strong. "I believe that somebody else might have come to Mooney's while Andrew was on his walk. If that's true, I'm trying to find out who, or why, or both."
"Okay. What if I told you… and this is the thing I was talking about, the secret. What if I told you that Mr. Mooney was gay?"
The perverse obviousness of it brought a lightness to Hardy's head. He'd been standing by the fireplace, and now he crossed the room and sat down on the ottoman by his reading chair. "Then I'd say he did a good job of keeping it hidden."
"Yes, he did. That was on purpose. Do you know his father?"
"I've met him. Yes."
"Well, Mike loved him more… more than almost anything, I think. He couldn't let him find out, his dad. It would have broken his heart. He couldn't have dealt with it."
"The dad, the Christian minister, couldn't have dealt with it?"
"The Southern Baptist minister. Right."
"How is that possible? I mean, this is San Francisco in the two thousands. Mooney's dad must have seen hundreds of people come out."
"Yeah, but not his own son. Not Michael. And he isn't a San Francisco minister, putting together an AIDS quilt. He's a nice enough man, I guess, but his church is down on the Peninsula, and his brand of preaching is, uh, more conservative. The sons and daughters of Gomorrah being turned into salt, and rightfully so. I've heard him." Steve pitched his voice differently. " 'Homosexuality is always sin, and always a choice. It's not a matter of genetics, as some would have us believe, but a degenerate lifestyle for those unfortunate people who can muster neither the strength nor the grace to reject it.' Straight out of the fifties, huh? And that's Michael's dad. Still."
But Michael's dad or no, Hardy immediately saw the incalculable strategic value of this information for Andrew. If he could bring it out at the hearing- or the trial if it got to that point- then all he and Wu would have to do would be to keep their defendant from testifying, which was always the defense's option. Meanwhile, the jury would naturally assume, especially in San Francisco, that Andrew and everyone else at Sutro knew that Mooney was gay. This would, in turn, eliminate the prosecution's primary motive of jealousy.
It would also not only open up an alternative theory of the crime- the "soddit," or "some other dude did it" defense- but also allow Hardy and Wu to question the original police investigation that had resulted in Andrew's arrest. They certainly should have interviewed people from this aspect of Mooney's life; a failure to even identify Mooney as gay must surely argue for a shoddily handled case from the outset. If Hardy could then get Salarco's no gunshot testimony and even a hint of a hedge on the eyewitness identification, his client stood at least a chance of a hung jury, then maybe a plea on a lesser charge. This was very, very big news.
If it were in fact true.
If he could get it in front of a judge or a jury.
And, most importantly, if it wasn't merely hearsay. "Steven," Hardy said, "I've got to ask you this question, and I think I already know the answer, but in the eyes of the law there's a big difference between someone hearing about a fact and someone experiencing that fact with their own senses. Did you and Mr. Mooney have a relationship?"
Steven needed to take a while with his answer and Hardy was content to let him. "Yes," he finally said.
With that one word, Hardy's entire view of Mike Mooney underwent a complete transformation. If he was in fact having sex with one of his students- male or female, Hardy didn't care- then he was not the caring and sensitive soul most people took him for. He was a predator. "Would you be willing to testify to that in court?" he asked.
But Hardy couldn't let his reaction slow him down. This was critical information, and though the bare fact of it filled him with outrage toward Mooney, he had no choice but to find a way to use it.
Hardy couldn't imagine why, but the question actually seemed to both surprise and frighten him. He thought another moment, then shook his head. "No."
"Why not?"
"I mean, not unless it's your very last chance to save Andrew by itself, and I don't see how it could get to be that. That's why I asked you to promise before I told you."
"Okay, but I've still got the same question. Why not?"
Randell met his gaze with a steady one of his own. "Are you bullshitting me?"
"No. What would I be bullshitting you about?"
"Why I won't testify." He choked off a bitter laugh. "Because I'm not out, Mr. Hardy, I'm not out."
"Okay."
"And I'm not going to be out while I'm still at Sutro. There's no way."
Hardy was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. "Would it be that bad? I always thought if you were gay, this was the town to be in."
"Maybe for older guys, but don't be a gay teenager. You'll get slaughtered. You want to hear a story?"
"Sure."
"I had this friend, Tony Hollis, you can look him up. He came out last year and got beaten up by cruisers in Noe Valley four times in six months, whenever any prowling group of teenage straights got bored. Then I guess Tony got bored with that and took a bottle of pills." He took a minute collecting himself. "So, no, I'm not saying anything in public. And you promised you wouldn't, either. If you do, I'll deny it. And that goes for Mooney, too."
"What do you mean, it goes for Mooney, too?"
"You promised you wouldn't tell about him."
"Yes, but that was…" Hardy paused. "I'm not sure I understand why that is so important now, after he's dead."
"For the same reason it was while he was alive. He didn't want his father to know. It was, like, the most important thing to him. He lived this whole secret life to keep the truth from his old man. If he didn't want to cause him that pain, how am I supposed to let it happen? I can't do it. When you were talking to me today, you said if I knew anything, I should come forward and do the right thing. Well, I've come forward, but letting you tell his father about Mike wouldn't be right at all."
"So then maybe you can tell me how am I supposed to use this information? If I can't let it come out."
"I don't know. That's not my problem." He stood up, a good kid awkward with playing the heavy, and now suddenly anxious to get away from what he'd already done. "Look, I'm sorry, I really am, but I just thought it was important that I tell you, so you'd know what you were really dealing with."
"Don't get me wrong, Steven. I really do appreciate that, but…"
The young man cut him off. "But what you do with it is up to you."
Hardy sat in his reading chair for a couple of minutes, pondering. Then he rose and walked back up through the dining room into the kitchen. In the dark and empty family room, he stopped to gaze at his tropical fish for a moment of centering and peaceful reflection. He turned on the room's lights, then knocked on his children's bedroom doors at the same time- perpendicular to each other.
"Just a second!"
"I'm doing homework!"
He knocked again. "I need to see both of you right this minute please."