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.'
' Following 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 defence. 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?'
