“I know,” Tess said. “I thought that word was exclusive to one of our local hate-mongers.”
Cecilia, thrown off balance, tried to keep her composure. “Yes-I mean no. I mean-Yes, Shawn Hayes was gay. Is gay. He’s still alive. He’s also a rich prominent citizen who appears to have been attacked by a violent sociopath who had no agenda other than the desire to inflict pain. I have to think if another rich Baltimorean was beaten under similar circumstances-but with the protective coloring of a different sexual orientation- police might have taken the crime more seriously from the beginning.”
“Interesting.” Yeager’s expression indicated he found it anything but; he was simply waiting to pounce, to make his next point. “But you overstepped, didn’t you, in trying to push your agenda?”
This brought a quick reaction shot of Cecilia’s puzzled face, then Yeager was back, filling the camera and looking smug.
“You went too far, you and the sexuality police. You heard there was a connection and because Shawn Hayes was a gay man and the next victim”- Yeager made rabbit ears in the air, to indicate the words gay and victim should be placed in quotation marks-“and because the next victim was ”gay‘ as well, you added one plus one and got three. But there are at least two other cases involved, are there not?“
“You’d have to ask the police about their investigation,” Cecilia demurred, her face still, her eyes wary.
“I have, and I haven’t gotten many answers. But I have my sources too. My sources tell me they’re looking at some routine burglaries, and at least one of the victims-a real victim here, not some cruising carnality-seeker who got what he deserved-isn’t gay. I hope your group has a defense fund, because you might wind up facing a slander suit.”
“I don’t consider it slanderous to say someone is gay.”
“Well, you-I suppose if we had to depend on people like you to set community standards, we’d all be running around in dog collars and mesh stockings.”
“What you do in your leisure time, Mr. Yeager, is between you and your partners. Assuming they’re consenting adults.”
Tess and Crow exchanged a quick high-five. Point for Cecilia. Really Face Time was better than Maryland basketball in some ways.
But this game was rigged in the home team’s favor.
“You were wrong about the link. Are you ready to admit that?”
Cecilia shook her head. “I can’t explain the police’s work to you. But nothing you’ve said, or they’ve said, would refute our point: Shawn Hayes was attacked because of his sexuality. Bobby Hilliard may have been killed for the same reason, I don’t know. I do know we should not wait until we have three, four, five victims. I think one is bad enough.”
“Maybe it was just kinky sex play that got out of hand. Did you ever think of that? It wouldn’t be the first time a wealthy decadent man has gone looking for rough trade and found he couldn’t handle it.”
The intake of Cecilia’s breath was sharp enough to be audible, even though she was off camera at the moment. When the camera found her, her brows were drawn down tightly, her expression clearly furious. Miata also appeared to be frowning, as if she didn’t like hearing her master discussed in such unflattering terms.
“If you read the police report-”
“I have, and that’s not all I’ve read.”
“If you read the police report, you know there was no evidence of sexual activity. Mr. Hayes was beaten brutally by someone who appeared to be frenzied.”
“Well, I guess if you’re a straight guy, and a gay man comes on to you, you’d get a little frenzied.”
“Mr. Hayes was in his own home. Whoever came there did so voluntarily.”
Yeager nodded eagerly. “Finally we’re on the same page. Yes, the man who killed Shawn Hayes did come to his home voluntarily-premeditatedly you might even say. And I would like to take a moment here to reveal the exclusive details of my investigation into this case.”
Exclusive. Tess would like a dollar for every time she had heard that word misused by television journalists.
Yeager turned to the camera, and any pretense that this had been a dialogue vanished. “Because you see, contrary to what Ms. Cesnik and her sexuality police would have you believe, the attack wasn’t the testosterone-fueled rage of some hulking heterosexual. Hayes’s attacker, in all probability, was Bobby Hilliard himself, who visited the Hayes home the night of the attack.”
He paused, as if expecting to hear the gasps of his audience, only there was no studio audience for this show. “Yes, Shawn Hayes was the victim of a hate crime-a hate crime perpetrated by a self-loathing gay man who preyed on gay and straight men alike, insinuating himself into their lives, then burglarizing their homes. As a waiter in the city’s best restaurants, Bobby Hilliard had endless opportunities to meet such men, befriend them, and then rip them off. It’s my supposition that Hilliard was enraged by the quiet dignity of a man like Shawn Hayes, who at least didn’t flaunt his deviancy So let’s talk about hate crimes now, Ms. Cesnik. When it’s a gay man who’s doing the beating, is it still a hate crime? Or do you have to be a white heterosexual”-he gave the last word so much spin it came out with at least eight syllables-“to perpetrate hate?”
“You have no proof of what you’re saying,” Cecilia said through gritted teeth, “no proof at all. This is all conjecture, and irresponsible conjecture at that.”
“I have as much proof as you did when you stood up at Sunday’s press conference and declared Bobby Hilliard was killed because he was gay. Why does my agenda require a higher standard of proof than your agenda?”
Tess had tried to tell Cecilia the same thing yesterday morning, in a slightly more diplomatic fashion.
“Besides, I do have proof.” Yeager brought out a small black datebook, the kind available in any stationer’s shop. “Bobby Hilliard kept a datebook. It was this book that may tell us of his visit to Shawn Hayes’s home. It could also establish his social comings and goings with the men who were burglarized over the past year. So I maintain Bobby Hilliard was conducting economic hate crimes, preying on men who patronized the restaurants where he worked, driven mad by his inability to own the things they took for granted. But that’s not-excuse the term-sexy enough for you, is it, Ms. Cesnik? You distort public discourse by dragging everything through your prism of sexual politics, until all meaning has been wrung out of it.”
Cecilia was so angry-and perhaps so humiliated- that she was shaking visibly. The dog’s fur ruffled a bit, as if she sensed some menace at hand, and Tess thought she heard a low growl, but that might be the poor sound quality of the bar’s old Sanyo.
“Whatever you think about the choices people make-”
“Aha, so it is a choice, isn’t it, not some biological destiny? An unhealthy choice that motivated people can overcome? Finally, something we can agree on, Ms. Cesnik.”
“Whatever you think,” Cecilia continued, as if Yeager had not spoken, “Bobby Hilliard is, unequivocally, a victim. He’s dead, remember. Someone shot him.”
“Maybe he deserved to die.” Yeager flapped the datebook in Cecilia’s face. “He had progressed from petty burglary to an outrageous act of violence. It was only a matter of time before he killed someone and the state had to kill him. I think the police should close the investigation into Bobby Hilliard’s death, unless they’re trying to track down his shooter and give him a reward. We’re all better off that he’s dead.”
The datebook was only inches from Cecilia’s nose, but she didn’t flinch, although she clutched the arms of her chair as if trying to hold herself there. Miata, new to television talk shows, showed less restraint. Her growls now unmistakable, the dog leaped toward Yeager, toppling him backward in his chair and grabbing the black book from his hand.