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."

The familiar grumblings ensued, but he heard movement from inside both rooms. By the time the first door opened and the Beck appeared, he was standing out in the middle of the family room, hands in his pockets, relaxed and casual. Vincent opened his own door, saw his sister pouting, looked to his dad. Having a hunch what might be coming, he wiped all traces of his own bad attitude from his face. He asked helpfully, "What's up?"

Hardy gave them a full ten seconds of low-grade glare, then finally spoke in the calmest voice he could muster. "I don't know if it's escaped your attention or not, but your mother is upstairs in bed, pretty beat up. And while I realize that the critical schoolwork you're both working on so diligently is far more important than the job I work at to keep us fed and clothed, I don't think it's asking too much for both of you to contribute toward the smooth running of the household when I'm, for example, busy on the telephone. And let me say I'm just a tad disappointed that I have to mention this to people of your ages, to whom it should already be, and I thought was, second nature. But clearly I was wrong."

He paused for a moment, made eye contact with both of them. "So here's the deal. Whenever the doorbell or the telephone rings and either your mother or I, or both of us, ask if one or even both of you could please get up and answer it, I don't want to hear about your homework, and I don't want to be told to wait even for a second. I want you both to jump and even race to see who can get to it the fastest.

"And whoever does get there first, I expect you to extend to whoever it is the kind of hospitality that you would expect to receive in the home of a civilized person. For example, Vincent, you don't leave a guest who asks for someone in this house by name standing out on the porch in the cold. And beyond that, if it's an adult you don't know, you look him in the eye, shake his hand and introduce yourself. Then you invite whoever it is in and even- I know this can be grueling- engage that person in small talk and make him or her feel comfortable until the member of this household that he requested makes an appearance. Does any of this sound remotely familiar to you? Have we ever talked about this before?"

Rebecca tossed her hair. "If this is just Vincent, Dad, I've got homework I need-"

Hardy wheeled on her and cut her off. "As a matter of fact, my dear, it's not just about Vincent. Your homework is not an automatic pass on the normal duties of citizenship around here. Vincent has homework, too. Believe it or not, even your father has homework from time to time, like tonight. Relatively important homework. Your mother never stops having homework. So homework is not an excuse to opt out of your duties as a citizen in this house. Is that clear?"

She drew a pained, audible breath. It hit Hardy very wrong. "And while we're on these special moments of politeness, I'd really prefer not to see your theatrical sighs or, Vin, your looks of obvious displeasure. We all live here together. We've all got things we need to do. So we respect each other, we cooperate, we use nice manners to each other and to our guests." He looked from his son to his daughter and back again. "Is there anything about what I've just said that either of you don't understand? Vincent?"