Jonathan Kellerman - Alex 03 - Over the Edge

by Over the Edge

  'Santa Monica to Sunset, west into Beverly Hills to the hotel, then north and up a ways. Big white place behind walls.'

  'Where was Skull?'

  'Side street off Doheny. I picked her up.'

  ' What'd you do when you got there?'

  'Place was locked, electric gate. We had a plan to get in -part of the orders. There was a squawk box. Had to push the botton a bunch of times before Chancellor answered. He sounded out of it, like he'd just woke up. Said, "Who is it?" and Skull answered in a kid's voice - '

  'A kid's voice?'

  'Yeah. Like a sixteen-year-old. An impression, you know? She's got a talent for that kind of thing,' he added proudly, 'does Bugs Bunny, Minnie Pearl, Elvis. You should hear her.'

  'I'll be sure to,' said Milo. 'What did she say to

  Chancellor?'

  'She told him she was a friend of Jamey's, that they'd had an accident and he was there with her, hurt bad. You could hear Chancellor get all uptight, breathing hard over the squawk box. He said he'd be right down. He pulled Cadmus's body out of the van and laid it in front of the gate. Skull backed down the block, cruised slowly; you can't park overnight in Beverly Hills, and we didn't want to attract no attention. I waited off to the side of the gate. After a few minutes I could hear Chancellor coming. The gates opened, and he came out in this faggy dressing gown. When he saw Cadmus, he gave a yell. I jumped him, hit him hard, and put a choke on him - to put him out, just like Ford. Then Skull cruised by with the van, and I loaded Chancellor and Cadmus in it. Tied up Chancellor and drove through the gate. Closed it and hauled all of them up to the house. He was heavy.'

  Antrim stretched, pulled out a cigarette, and lit up; contentedly, as if rewarding himself for a job well done When he showed no intention of saying anything further

  Milo said: 'What'd you do once you got up there?'

  'Dragged them all into the house.'

  Antrim blew smoke rings at the ceiling.

  'Then what?'

  'Dosed up Cadmus, choked Ford and Chancellor with the silk, cut them up, and hung Chancellor from the ceiling.'

  'Why'd you hang him?'

  'That was the orders. Truss him up with the pool rope and hoist him up. Ball-bursting job, man. He was big.'

  'What about the position of his hands?'

  'The what?'

  'The way you positioned his hands after you hung him. Was that part of the orders, too?'

  'Oh, that. Yeah, it was. Tie him up and wrap his hands around what was left of his cock.'

  'Any idea why?'

  'Nope,' said Antrim. 'Maybe it was his idea of a joke.'

  'Whose idea?'

  'Souza's. Though I never did see him joke much.'

  Milo shut the monitor off and looked around the table. Dwight had gone bed sheet white. Heather continued to use the handkerchief as a veil. Souza sat as impassively as a cigar store Indian.

  'Any comments?' Milo asked him.

  'None whatsoever.'

  'Horace,' said Dwight in a shaky voice. 'What he said - '

  'Is utter nonsense,' spat Souza. 'Tully's always been unstable, prone to wild fantasies. I knew that when I hired him, but I felt sorry for him and I was able to keep him in line. Until now.'

  Dwight looked at Milo.

  'He's highly credible,' said the detective calmly. 'He knows details that only a perpetrator or an observer could have known. The physical evidence backs him up one hundred percent. Marthe Surtees verifies it all independently.'

  'Dwight,' said Souza reassuringly, 'this is absurd. A travesty that will be set right. In the meantime, I strongly

  advise you, as your attorney - and friend - not to say another word.'

  'He can't function as an attorney in this case,' said Milo. 'He's a suspect.'

  'He ain't much of a friend either,' drawled Cash.

  Heather dropped her veil and touched her husband's cheek with her fingertips.

  'Darling,' she said, 'listen to Horace.'

  'Darling,' mimicked Cash. 'That's a good one.'

  'Don't talk to my wife that way,' said Dwight.

  Cash looked at him scornfully, turned to Milo, and smiled. 'Rich folk,' he said. 'Put 'em in shit up to their chins, and they think it's a beauty bath.'

  'Horace,' said Dwight, 'what the hell is going on?'

  'I'm going to tell you what's going on,' said Milo. And he got up, picked up his briefcase, and walked with it to the far end of the table.

  'On the surface it's complicated,' he said, 'but when you get down to it, what we have here is just another dirty little family squabble. Soap opera stuff. Dr. Delaware could probably give you the psychological reasons for it, but I'm going to stick to the facts.'

  He opened the briefcase, drew out some papers, and spread them on the table.

  'I never knew your dad,' he said to Dwight, 'but from what I've learned, he sounds like a guy who liked things simple.' He lifted a sheaf of papers. 'Take this will, for example. Estate of this size and you'd figure it might get all complicated. But no, he has two sons; he divided everything right down the middle - almost. Fifty-one percent to your brother, forty-nine to you.' He paused. 'Must have seemed unfair, huh? Especially when you were such an obedient kid and Peter was such a flake.'

  'Father would have changed the will eventually,' said Dwight reflexively. As if it were a well-rehearsed line ' If he'd lived long enough.'

  'Hush,' said Souza.

  Milo smiled. 'I guess you can keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better '

  Heather let her veil drop. The face behind the silk was tight with anger. Gripping her husband's sleeve, she said:

  'Don't respond to him, darling. Don't let yourself be demeaned.'

  'He's already been demeaned plenty,' said Milo. 'And not by me.'

  She let go of the sleeve and didn't answer. Her silence made Dwight dip his head and look at her.

  'I need to know what's going on,' he said weakly.

  She avoided his stare and turned away. The evening purse was in front of her, and she plunged her fingers into its sequined folds and began kneading, furiously.

  'Anyway,' said Milo to Dwight, 'no use speculating what might have happened. Point is, your dad didn't live long enough to change anything, and Peter ended up with the lion's share. Which could have been a real disaster, even with all your hard work and the help of Faithful Friend Horace, here. Because at some point, if he wanted to, Peter could have taken over the company, sold it to an outsider, run it into the ground, whatever. Lucky for you, he had the courtesy to die prematurely.'

  Dwight lifted a finger and pointed it at Milo. 'If you're suggesting that I viewed my brother's death as good luck, you're damned - '

  'Take it easy,' said the detective. 'I'm not suggesting anything - only you know how you felt about it. Let's stick with the evidence.' He put down the papers he was holding and retrieved some others. 'Like Peter's will. As straightforward as Daddy's - everything passes on to Peter's sole heir, James. One funny thing about it, though. Every other Cadmus family document I could find was drawn up by Souza and Associates. But this was handled by a San Francisco lawyer named Seymour Chereskin.'

  'One of Peter's hippie pals,' said Dwight. 'Long hair and beard, dressed in buckskins and beads.'

  'He's a professor of law now,' said Milo. 'At UC Berkeley. And he has clear memories of drawing up the will. Especially all the pressure he got from Souza not to do

  it. Even to the point of being offered five thousand dollars as an incentive.'

  Dwight looked at Souza.

  'It made sense for our firm to handle it,' said the attorney. 'Peter's holdings were enmeshed with those of the corporation and yours, Dwight. I wanted to keep things consistent. To avoid a disaster. Chereskin looked like Charles Manson. Who knew what he'd do?'

  'He's a Harvard grad,' said Milo.

  'That didn't mean much in those days, Sergeant. I was concerned he'd pull some hippie stunt.'

  'He tells it differently. That he was cle
ar about what he was going to do and laid it out for you. Even sent you a copy. But you kept the pressure up. Flew up in person to lean on him. He got the distinct feeling you were heavily into control.'

  'That's ridiculous. Peter had a history of being duped by unsavoury types, and I was simply attempting to protect him from himself.'

  'Noble of you,' said Milo, examining the document again. 'My legal adviser tells me Chereskin did a bang-up job, very straightforward and sensible.'

  'It was a competent effort,' said Souza.

  'Straightforward,' repeated Milo. 'The inheritance was set up as an irrevocable trust fund for Jamey, with his uncle as the guardian. Payouts were to start at the age of eighteen and continue through thirty-five. At thirty-five, full transfer of ownership. Standard spendthrift and ill health clauses. Chereskin even recommended that you be the trustee because of the linkage with corporate affairs. So I guess your fears were unfounded, huh? Unless, of course, you had something else in mind.'

  'Such as?'

  'You tell me.'

  'Sergeant,' said Souza, 'you burst in here and ruined our evening under the guise of revealing hard facts. But all we've heard so far are tedious rehashes and rude implications.'

  'Gee,' said Milo. 'Sorry about that.'

  'We're both sorry,' said Cash.

  Souza sat back, fought to appear casual, and succeeded. He reclined further, and the light cast shiny white tiger stripes across the pink surface of his head.

  'Onward,' said Milo. 'After Peter died, his will was probated, making a small child the majority owner of Cadmus Construction. How'd you feel about that, Mr. Cadmus?'

  'Damned fine!' said Dwight stuffily. 'It's a family business. It should support the family.'

  'I understand that,' said Milo. 'But didn't it bother you that after all your work, here you were again in the number two position? That one day Jamey would be able to waltz in and take it over from you?'

  Dwight shrugged.

  'I thought about it when he was young, figured we'd cross that bridge when we came to it.'

  'Nice of him to go crazy and cross it for you.'

  'What are you saying?'

  'The ill health clause,' said Milo. 'In the event of mental incompetence, control reverts back to the guardian - you. A month ago you had Souza put it into effect. Gave yourself one hundred percent control over the family fortune.'

  'I did nothing of the damned sort!'

  'Sure about that?'

  'Of course, I'm sure.'

  Milo went back to the briefcase and took out another piece of paper.

  'Here. Take a look at this.'

  He passed it to Dwight, who read it, mouth agape.

  'I've never seen this before,' he said.

  'It's got your signature on it. Notarisation and all.'

  ' I tell you I never signed this.'

  Now it was Milo's turn to sit back.

  Dwight kept staring at the document, as if hoping it would explain itself. Finally he put it down, shaking his head, looking around the room.

  'I signed your name,' said Heather softly

  'What!'

  'To save you the trouble, darling. It was just a matter of time before it had to be done.'

  'You did it without asking me?'

  'I knew it would be hard for you. I was trying to spare you the pain.'

  Dwight shook his head in disbelief.

  'How'd you get it notarised?'

  She bit her lip.

  'Faithful Friend Horace leaned on one of his associates to do it,' said Milo. 'For your own good, of course.'

  Dwight glared at Souza, then looked at his wife as if seeing her for the first time.

  'What's going on, Headier?'

  'Nothing, darling,' she replied tensely. 'Please stop responding to him. Can't you see what he's trying to do?'

  'Nothing like a surprise, huh?' said Milo. 'Don't go away. I've got more.'

  'Then spit it the hell out,' said Dwight.

  'Hey,' said Milo, 'I don't blame you for being angry. If I were in your situation, I'd be angry, too. You bust your butt to keep the company going and fifty-one percent of the profits go to a playboy brother who never lifted a finger to earn his keep. Then he dies, and all of that money passes to his kid - who you get stuck raising.'

  'I wasn't stuck with anything,' said Dwight. 'He was family.'

  'Sounds good,' said Milo. 'How did your wife feel about it?'

  Heather glared hatefully at Milo.

  'After all,' continued the detective, 'raising this kid couldn't have been a picnic - too smart for his own good, a nasty mouth, antisocial. And to top it all, gay. When he started hanging around with Chancellor, it must have been where-did-I-go-wrong time, huh?'

  'You'd know about that kind of thing, Sergeant,' said Souza dryly.

  'Still.' continued Milo, 'all that could have been tolerated. But not his threatening to blow you out of the water financially '

  Comprehension spread across Dwight's face like a malignant rash.

  'I don't know what you're talking about,' he said shakily.

  'Sure you do. The same old story - playing it straight and getting tripped up by bad luck. You went into the Bitter Canyon project thinking it was the deal of a lifetime. Daddy'd left a giant parcel of land ripe for development. A sweetheart situation if mere ever was one. You could sell the land to the state cheaply enough to put in a winning bid on the construction and still make a massive profit. Like playing blackjack with yourself - you couldn't lose. Digby Chancellor thought it was sweet, too. Bought a major chunk of the bonds at par and got ready to rake in the profits. Imagine how he felt when he found out he'd invested in poison gas.'

  'According to the reports I had, that land was clean," said Dwight. 'There was no way to know.'

  'Stop chattering,' said Souza furiously. 'There's no need to defend yourself.'

  'No, there wasn't any way to know,' commiserated Milo. 'Like I said, bad luck. And if Jamey hadn't found an old diary of your dad's, no one would have known. But he did, and he told Chancellor. Who put the squeeze on.'

  Dwight gave an embittered laugh.

  'So that's what it was,' he said. 'A diary. I never knew Father kept one.'

  'Where did Chancellor say he got the information?'

  'He-'

  'Oh, for God's sake,' said Souza disgustedly.

  Dwight regarded the attorney with a jaundiced eye. Played with his glasses and said:

  'He said he'd got hold of some old business records Wouldn't say how, but I suspected Jamey, because he was a rag picker - always poking around where he shouldn't have. When I asked Dig for proof, he handed me a Xerox of Father's description of the gas storage. Then he demanded I buy back his bonds at a premium. I told him he was crazy. He threatened to go public if I refused,

  promised me he'd bring down the company. I tried to bluff him, said he'd never do that because it would break him, too, but he said he'd sue for fraud and win. That he'd enlist Jamey as a co-complainant and the court would dissolve the corporation and award them the assets. Them, as if they were married. He was a ruthless, perverted bastard.'

  'Who else knew about the squeeze?' asked Milo.

  Dwight looked sharply at Souza.

  'Horace did. I went to him for advice on how to handle it. Told him we hadn't started digging yet and there was time to pull out.'

  'What did he advise you?'

  'That pulling out would damage the company permanently. He said to go ahead as if nothing had happened. That he'd find a way out, but I should start paying in the meantime.'

  'Did you?'

  'Yes.'

  'For how long?'

  'About a year.'

  'How frequent were the payoffs?'

  'Nothing regular. Dig called and we traded.'

  'Cash for bonds?'

  'That's right.'

  'How'd the transactions take place?'

  'I kept several accounts at his bank. We met in his office, I signed a withdrawal slip, and he took it
from there.'

  ' What about the bonds?'

  'They found their way into my safe-deposit box.'

  'Must have hurt,' said Milo.

  Dwight winced.