Free Hate Crime by William Bernhardt Page B

go up on the stand behaving like this, he won’t even have to try hard.”
    Johnny thrust his hand against his forehead, staring at the ceiling. “Man. This whole mess sucks so bad.”
    “Yeah.” She thumbed through her papers. “So would it be safe to say you were the one who instigated the attack?”
    “No way, man. It was Brett—Brett all the way. He was a firecracker.”
    Christina didn’t know if that was supposed to be good or bad. “He was the one who started it?”
    “Absolutely. I think he went a little nuts, to tell you the truth. Lost it. I mean, I just thought we’d rough the kid up a little, you know? Teach him a lesson. But that wasn’t enough for Brett. He wanted the kid to hurt. He brought the Taser. He insisted on breaking his legs.”
    “And you just stood there and watched?”
    “Kinda. I mean, I’m not saying I did nothing, okay? But it was mostly Brett.”
    Christina didn’t know whether to believe him or to assume this was the usual game of blame-the-dead-guy. Putting the blame on a codefendant was a standard defense maneuver. But would the jury buy it here, when the codefendant has been executed on national television? It might seem too convenient.
    “Brett would’ve never stopped. He wanted to keep at it, even after he did both legs. I was the one who pulled him off, finally got him out of there.”
    “Now that’s something I wanted to ask you about,” Christina said. “You say you left Tony in that vacant lot?”
    “Right.”
    “And when you left him, he was still alive?”
    “Abso-fuckin’-lutely. He was hurtin’, to be sure. But alive.”
    “Then how did his very dead body end up in your fraternity house?”
    “Don’t you think if I knew that I would’ve said something before now?” He thumped his hands against the acrylic. “Somebody else must’ve come along.”
    “A third man? Who also had a psychopathic hatred of gay men?”
    “Something. Someone who could get the kid back to Beta house.”
    “But you have no idea who it was?”
    “No.”
    “Or why anyone would do such a thing?”
    “No.”
    Christina puffed out her cheeks. She wished to God Ben were here. He was good at handling the impossible ones. She was considering switching to a wills-and-estates practice. “I’ve read the M.E.’s report, Johnny. She says what you’re describing is impossible. She says Tony was killed in the fraternity house shortly before the body was found.”
    “I don’t care. She’s a liar.”
    “The coroner? Hard to imagine.”
    “Are you sayin’ I’m lying?”
    “I’m saying the physical evidence doesn’t support the testimony you’re presenting. If you appear before the jury with that, you’ll go down in flames.”
    “It’s what happened.”
    “You’re going into that courtroom with multiple strikes against you, Johnny. The city is up in arms. The gay alliance groups are demanding action. The national news agencies are outraged. Basically, everyone wants to see you convicted, and the jury knows it. If they even get a hint that you’re lying to them—”
    Johnny sprang out of his seat. “Why does everyone care so much about a goddamned fag! It isn’t fair!”
    “Johnny, calm down.”
    “Explain it to me, would you? Why some fuckin’ queer has more rights than I do?”
    Christina eyed the door. If the guard outside heard this, their interview would be terminated but quick. “Johnny, please sit down.”
    “If we’d beat up some white Christian guy, no one would care. A woman, even. Big deal. But because we took out a pervert, suddenly I’m public enemy number one.”
    “Johnny, you can’t talk like that.”
    “Why not?” he bellowed. “Don’t we have the First Amendment anymore?”
    “You’re right, Johnny. We do.” She banged against the window to get his attention. “So I guess you’re going to have to make a choice. Do you want to express your constitutionally protected opinion, or do you want to live?”
    Johnny lowered himself back