started the night before. Financial status and credit rating: solid. Employment record: likewise, twelve years with Coastal Banking Systems. The only blot was an arrest fourteen years ago for soliciting-evidently one of those police stings in which he’d propositioned an undercover cop-and the charges had been dropped for insufficient evidence. Honest, law-abiding citizen, from all indications. So why had Zalesky lied last night? What had scared him enough to suddenly withhold information?
Larry Exeter was in his late twenties, slight, sandy-haired. Soft white skin, washed-out blue eyes. Colorless manner to go with his timid voice and monochrome appearance. If you had to sum him up in one word, it would be meek. One of the biblical inheritors.
Runyon was waiting when Exeter walked slow and stiff into the Starbucks, a plastic grocery sack dangling from each hand. The walk and a long, nearly healed cut along his jawline were the only outward signs of the beating he’d taken. He picked Runyon out of the dozen or so patrons as easily as Runyon had recognized him, came straight to his table.
“Sorry I’m late,” Exeter said when he sat down. It was 4:31 by a clock on one of the walls. One minute late. An apologizer, too-the type of person who would always be sorry for something, eight or ten times a day, every day of his life. “The lines at Safeway at this hour
…”
“No problem. Buy you a cup of coffee?”
“Thanks, but I don’t want anything. I can’t stay long.”
“I won’t keep you.”
“I have to start dinner.” He made it sound like another apology. “David doesn’t like it if I don’t have food on the table when he gets home.”
Runyon nodded. That kind of relationship. The dominant and the submissive, each of them getting exactly what they wanted out of it.
“Just a few questions. What can you tell me about the two men who attacked you?”
“Not very much.” Exeter closed his eyes, popped them open again. “In their twenties, I think. One of them heavyset, the other… I don’t remember anything about him except that he was wearing some kind of hooded jacket. It all happened so fast. I was just walking, minding my own business, and all of a sudden there they were. Grabbing me, saying things, dragging me into that alley…” The memory was vivid enough to produce a visible shiver.
“What exactly did they say?”
“The usual slurs. Faggot. Queer. Boyfucker.”
“Nothing else?”
“I don’t remember. My God, I’ve never been so frightened in my life. I thought… I really thought they were going to kill me. And for what? Just because I was born different from them. Men like that..”
Runyon said, “Everybody needs someone to look down on.”
“I’m sorry… what?”
Line from a song by Kris Kristofferson, one of Colleen’s favorites. But he said instead, “They’re blind haters. Different scares them, threatens them. They can’t understand or accept it, so they look down on it, hate it, try to destroy it.”
“Neanderthal behavior.”
“Neanderthals and assholes-the world’s full of them.” Exeter laughed a little, ruefully. “Amen to that.”
“So you were out for a walk when it happened, is that right?”
Hesitation. Eye shift.
“That’s what you told the police. Not so?”
“I… well…”
“I’m on your side, Mr. Exeter. Better be honest with me.”
Another hesitation, longer this time. Then, “I was afraid David would find out where I’d been. He was out of town on business, he has a sales job with IBM and he travels a good deal. Usually, I stay home, but sometimes… I get so lonely I just have to go out for an evening…” Another apology.
“Where’d you go that night?”
“Castro Street. One of the bars.”
“Which one?”
“A place called The Dark Spot.”
The Dark Spot again.
“David doesn’t like it much,” Exeter said, “I suppose it’s too tame for him. He’s into… other things. So I only go there when he’s out of town.”
“Do you know Gene Zalesky?”
“Gene? Yes. Those animals beat him up too.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Not very. Just casually.”
“The Dark Spot one of his regular hangouts?”
“Well, I’ve seen him there a few times.”
“Kenneth Hitchcock? Must know him too.”
“Yes, I know Kenneth. He… well, never mind.”
“What were you going to say?”
Eye shift. “It’s not important.”
“Suppose you let me be the judge of that.”
“It’s just that… well, you said he’s your son’s partner.. ”
“Whatever you tell me goes no farther than this table.”
Exeter said uncomfortably, apologetically, “He’s a flirt.”
“Meaning what, exactly?”
“With the customers. Some more than others. He…”
“Comes on to them? Makes dates with them?”
“I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t.”
“Gossip or rumors to that effect?”
Exeter avoided eye contact again. His pale face wore little beads of sweat now. “There are always rumors,” he said.
“About Kenneth and Gene Zalesky?”
“No. No. Gene likes… well, younger guys.”
“How young?”
“I didn’t mean that’s he a pedophile, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I’m not thinking anything, just asking questions.”
“I’m sorry, I…” Exeter shifted position, winced, and made a pained sound in his throat that evolved into a series of short panting breaths. It was several seconds before he spoke again. “My ribs… they’re not healed yet. I still have trouble breathing sometimes.”
Runyon nodded. “We were talking about Gene Zalesky’s preferences.”
“Young men. Late teens, early twenties. Kenneth Hitchcock must be almost thirty.”
“Any young men in particular?”
“No. He’s not into long-term relationships.”
“Ever see him with a young blond guy with an angelic face?”
“… Angelic?”
“Zalesky’s description.”
“Oh my God.”
“What is it?”
All of a sudden Exeter was scared. “I have to go,” he said, “David will be home, I can’t… his dinner…” He started to get up.
Runyon caught his arm, held him. “Who is he, this young blond guy?”
“Please, I…”
“What’s his name?”
