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 clear 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.
