Over the Edge

by Jonathan Kellerman

  'Okay, Tully,' said the shadow, speaking in Milo's voice. 'Let's go through that again. Who was the first?'

  Antrim picked up a photograph and flexed it.

  'This one.'

  'You've just identified Darrel Gonzales.'

  'Whatever.'

  'You never knew his name?'

  'Nope.'

  'Did you know him by any other name?'

  'Nope.'

  'Little D. Tinkerbell?'

  Antrim dragged on his smoke and shook his head. 'Never heard any of that.'

  'Where did you meet him?'

  'Boystown.'

  'Where in Boystown?'

  Antrim bared his teeth, amused.

  'I think it was near Larabee. Just off Santa Monica. That what I said the first time?'

  'Tell me about the pickup,' said Milo

  Antrim yawned.

  'Again?'

  'Again.'

  'Yo. We cruised Boystown looking for someone to off. A scuzzy one, zoned-out, so there wouldn't be any problem getting him in the van, you know? Found this one, agreed on a price, and he climbed on in.'

  'Then what?'

  'Then we drove around, got him blasted on downers, played with him, and offed him in the van.'

  'You and Skull?'

  Something savage came into Antrim's eyes. He pulled the cigarette from his mouth, ground it out on the tabletop, and leaned forward, hands warped into claws, lower jaw extended prognathically.

  'I told you before,' he said between clenched teeth, 'I did it all, man. All she did was drive. Got it?'

  Milo said, 'Uh-huh,' and looked at his fingernails. He waited until Antrim had relaxed before asking his next question

  'How'd you kill him?'

  Antrim nodded his approval of the question.

  'First I cut him a little,' he said blithely. 'Then I used the silk to choke him out; then I cut him up some more - that was my orders, to make it look like a psycho. Afterward I dumped him.'.

  'Where?'

  'Some alley off Santa Monica. Near Citrus, I think.'

  'Why there?'

  'That was the orders - between this street and this street.'

  'Which streets?'

  'La Brea and Highland.'

  'That was your dumping zone?'

  'Yup..'

  'Was it the same way for each of the killings?'

  'Yup. Except the streets changed for each one.'

  Milo pulled out a map, unfolded it in front of Antrim, and pointed.

  'These dots are where we found the bodies, Tully. The numbers refer to the sequence of the murders, one for the first, two for the second, et cetera. You dumped them from east to west.'

  Antrim nodded.

  'How come?'

  'That was the orders.'

  'Any idea why?'

  A shake of the head.

  'Never asked,' he said, lighting up another cigarette.

  'Ever wonder why?'

  'Nope.'

  Milo put the map away and said:

  'What about the blood?'

  'What about it?'

  'The blood in the van. How'd you handle that?'

  'We had tarps. What wouldn't wash out we burned later. The metal we hosed down. It wasn't no big deal.'

  'Who was the second one?'

  Antrim examined the photos, picked up a pair.

  'One of these, they look kind of the same.'

  'Keep looking. See if you can remember.'

  Antrim lowered his face, chewed his moustache, and stuck out his tongue concentrating. A mop of hair fell across his forehead.

  'Yo,' he said, letting one photo fall to the table and waving the other. 'This one. The bigger one '

  Milo examined the snapshot. 'You've just identified Andrew Terrence Boyle.' 'If you say so, Chief.' 'You didn't know his name either?' 'Nope. Didn't know any of their names, except the nigger.'

  'Rayford Bunker.' 'Not that name. Quarterflash.' 'How come you know that?' Antrim smiled.

  'He was an uppity type, you know? Kept bragging, batting his lashes and singing, "I'm Quarterflash, I'm a hot flash. I'll suck your trash for cash." Some shit like that.' Antrim gave a disapproving look, took a drag on his cigarette. 'Pushy little nigger faggot. I cut him more than the others before I choked him out. To teach him a lesson, know what I mean?'

  There was the sound of scratching, an arm moving. Milo finished writing and asked: 'Who was number three?' Antrim sifted through the pile of photos. 'This one. I remember the freckles. He looked like a kid.'

  'Rolf Piper,' said Milo. 'He was sixteen.' Antrim shrugged. 'Whatever.'

  It went on that way for a while, Milo questioning, Antrim expounding casually on the mechanics of murder. Then the interrogation began delving into greater detail: dates; times; weapons; the victims' clothing. 'Did any of them struggle Tully?' 'Nope.'

  'None of them resisted at all?' 'Too zoned.' 'Zoned on what?' 'Downers, hash, wine. Whatever.' 'Which of them drank wine?' 'Don't remember.' 'Think for a while.' A minute passed. Antrim wiped his nose with his sleeve.

  'Come up with anything?'

  'Nope.'

  'What did you do afterwards, Tully?'

  'Afterwards?'

  'After you dumped them.'

  'Cleaned up. Like I said.'

  'Where?'

  'At the cabin.'

  'Which one?'

  'You been there.'

  'Tell me anyway.'

  'In Tujunga. Up past La Tuna.'

  'Who owns the cabin?'

  'Souza.'

  The attorney stirred at the mention of his name but remained detached, knitting his hands in front of him. Dwight turned and stared at him wildly, but Souza ignored him.

  'Horace Souza?' asked Milo. 'The attorney?'

  'That's right.'

  'Did Horace Souza rent it to you?'

  'No. We lived there free.'

  'Why is that?'

  'It was part of the deal. Remember?' Antrim licked his lips and looked around the room. Bored.

  'Thirsty, Tully?'

  'Dry mouth. All this talking.'

  'How about a cup of coffee?'

  'You got soup?'

  'I think there's soup in one of the vending machines.'

  'What kind?'

  'I think it's chicken soup. Want some?'

  Antrim thought about it.

  'No vegetable?' he asked.

  'I can check. What if there's only chicken''

  Antrim contemplated his choices.

  'Then I'll take a regular glass of water.'

  Milo moved off camera. Antrim dealt with the solitude by closing his eyes and dozing in his chair. Several minutes later Milo came back and handed him a paper cup.

  'No soup, Tully. Here's the water.' 'That's cool,' said Antrim, gulping noisily. He put the empty cup down with a satisfied exhalation. 'Want more?' asked Milo. 'Nope.'

  'Okay, let's get back on track. You said after you dumped the bodies, you and Skull cleaned up. How?' 'Hosed the van, burned whatever needed burning.' 'Where'd you do the burning?'

  'That old barbecue pit near the cabin. The one I showed you.'

  'What about after cleanup? What'd you do then?' Antrim looked perplexed. 'Something confusing you, Tully?' 'Nope. Hard to remember.' 'Why's that?'

  'We didn't do any one thing afterward. Sometimes we ate; sometimes we partied. Depending, you know?' 'You ate and partied after you dumped them.' 'Yup. One time - after the nigger - we drove downtown and saw a movie.'

  'Where was the theatre?' 'Off Spring. Near Fifth, I think.' 'Did you take the van?' 'Nope. The Hog.' 'Your Harley?' 'Right.'

  'What movie did you see?'

  'Some fuck flick - The Dirty Talkers, Dirty Talk. Something like that.'

  'Okay,' said Milo. 'Anything else you want to tell me about the killings?'

  Antrim grew thoughtful. 'Just that it wasn't personal,' he said. 'What do you mean?'

  'We didn't know those faggots. We were doing a job, that's all.'

  ' Foll
owing orders?' 'Yeah.'

  The screen turned dark, and another set of numbers came on. When the room came into view, Cash and White-head were in it, standing to the side, taking notes.

  'The date is Thursday, December tenth, 1987. This is the fourth in a series of interviews with suspect William Tull Bonney, also known as William Antrim, concerning his participation in a series of homicides, details of which have been enumerated in a previous tape. The present interview is being conducted at Parker Centre. Mr. Bonney has been informed of his rights and has acknowledged his comprehension of such. He has repeatedly been offered the right to consult an attorney and has refused each time. He has been examined psychiatrically and found mentally competent to participate in decisions concerning his defense. He has consented, in writing, to these interviews and to their video and audiotaping. Any comments, Mr. Bonney?'

  'You said it all, chief.'

  'And you still don't want a lawyer?'

  'No way. A lawyer got me into this, right?'

  'Mr. Antrim, if you change your mind, inform us immediately, and an attorney will be supplied.'

  'I won't. Let's get it over with.'

  Milo continued reciting:

  'Present at the interview are Los Angeles County Sheriff's Deputy Calvin W. Whitehead and Detective Sergeant Richard A. Cash of the Beverly Hills Police Department.' At the mention of his name Cash touched his forehead with his index finger and gave a small salute. I'm Detective Sergeant Milo B. Sturgis of the Los Angeles Police Department, West Los Angeles Division."

  Antrim seemed more animated than in the previous tape, shifting his position. Posing. He lit a cigarette, ran his fingers through his hair, and smiled. Mugging for the camera.

  'Okay, Tully,' said Milo, "in previous interviews you told us how and when you killed Darrel Gonzales, Matthew Alan Higbie, Rolf Piper, John Henry Spinola. Andrew Terrance Boyle, and Rayford Antoine Bunker.'

  'Those are them.'

  'Now let's talk about two other murders. Richard Emmet Ford and Ivar Digby Chancellor.'

  'Sure,' said Antrim. 'What do you want to know?'

  'Everything,' growled Whitehead.

  Antrim looked at him, then back at Milo, as if to say, 'What's his problem?' He pulled out a cigarette and put it in his mouth.

  Milo lit it for him and said:

  'Why don't you start from the beginning.'

  'There was a bunch of beginnings.'

  'Such as?'

  'The beginning of the job was when we took the kid out of the hospital, the beginning of the cuttings - '

  'Which kid are you referring to?'

  'The Cadmus kid. The one who was locked up.'

  'James Cadmus.'

  'Right.'

  'Let's start with him,' said Milo.

  'Yo. I drove out to the hospital - '

  'When?' asked Whitehead.

  'I don't know, when was it - about four, five weeks ago?'

  'What day of the week was it?' asked Cash.

  'Thursday.'

  'How do you know that?' demanded Whitehead.

  'All of them happened on Thursdays.'

  'Why's that?'

  'That was the orders. Go out on a Thursday and off a faggot.'

  'You didn't ask why?' asked Whitehead sceptically.

  Antrim shook his head.

  'Why not?' pressed the sheriffs investigator.

  Antrim narrowed his eyes and grinned.

  'Just doing my job, chief.'

  Whitehead looked as if he'd just swallowed sour milk. Folding his arms across his chest, he stared down at Antrim and snorted derisively.

  'What's the matter?' said Antrim, looking injured. 'I

  been giving you what you want, and you still keep getting on my case.'

  Whitehead leaned over him.

  'You're shit, Tully. I may have to hang around you, but I don't have to like the smell.'

  Antrim's lower jaw shot out. One hand balled into a fist. He clamped the other over it, as if subduing a rabid animal. His face went rigid, eyes flashing poisonously.

  'C'mon,' urged Whitehead, bobbing his head. 'Make my day.'

  Cash and Milo stared at him.

  'Scum,' said Whitehead.

  Antrim spat on the ground and turned his back on all three detectives.

  'Take me back,' he said.

  No one answered.

  'Come on, Tully,' said Milo after a while.

  'Take me the fuck back, man. I don't wanna talk no more.'

  'Was it something I said?' mocked Whitehead.

  The screen went black for a second. When it came back on again, Milo was alone with Antrim, who sat hunched over the table, spooning something out of a bowl. He slurped, wiped his mouth, and put the spoon down. The ashtray overflowed with butts. Next to it stood a can of Pepsi.

  Milo reiterated his speech, had Antrim repeat his refusal to consult an attorney, then asked: .

  'Ready, Tully?'

  'Yo. Just keep that stupid fuck out of here, man. He comes in, I dummy up.'

  'Okay, Tully. It'll just be you and me, okay?'

  'Stupid fuck's got an attitude. Someone's gonna clean his fucking clock one day.'

  'More soup?' asked Milo.

  'No, thanks. Go ahead.'

  'We were talking about the murders of Richard Emmet Ford and Ivar Digby Chancellor. You were telling me how you drove to the hospital to get James Cadmus out of the hospital. Which hospital was that?'

  'The nut farm where he was. Out in Agoura.'

  'Remember the name?'

  'Canyon Oaks.'

  'Go on.'

  'I drove out there around two.'

  'A.M. or P.M.?'

  'A.M. I got there late. The freeway was jammed up, some kind of crash. I got a scanner in the van, so I heard about it, got off in Canoga Park, and took surface streets. Took a while to find a safe place to park, but I found one. Then I waited. The plan was for Skull to dose the kid up with something that would zone out his head but still let him walk. That way she could lead him out and bring him straight to the van. When she went in the room, he looked like he was sleeping, so she took the straps off' before giving him the needle. But as soon as she stuck him, he freaked out and yanked it out. Hit her upside the head and knocked her cold. Just for a minute, but by the time she woke up he was gone. She went looking for him and found him, in one of the conference rooms, talking on the phone to the shrink.'

  'Which shrink?'

  'Delaware.'

  'How do you know it was Dr. Delaware?'

  'She heard him call him by name. Sounded like he was trying to get help. So she got up behind him, got an arm around his neck, and gave him the needle again. Hard, but there must have been too much stuff in it or something 'cause he went out completely, and she had to drag him out of there. I seen her coming, jumped out, and threw him over my back. He was dead weight - skinny but heavy, know what I mean? Took a while to get him in the van and all gagged and tied, but I finally did it. Got the hell out of there.'

  'You and Skull?'

  'No. Just me. She met me later. Near Chancellor's house.'

  'When was this?'

  'When she met me?'

  'When you left Canyon Oaks.'

  'Maybe around three-thirty.'

  'And when did she meet you?'

  'Maybe around four-thirty.'

  'How did Skull manage to drag him out without someone noticing?'

  'No one was around. The bitch in charge had been paid off to make that happen. Ten grand - five and five. I know, 'cause I brought the bread to her place.'

  'Which bitch is that?'