the Chancellor murder - have made me wonder about the influence of early memories upon adult behaviour. All the victims were strangled before being cut, and Dig Chancellor was found suspended from a crossbeam. I'm not a strong believer in coincidence.'
'So you're suggesting the murders were symbolic acts of patricide?'
'You're the psychologist, Doctor. I defer to your interpretation.'
'Wouldn't it hurt your case to supply motivation for the murders? Make the crimes look more purposeful?'
'Not if the motivation's shown to be illogical and psychotic. Jurors' minds abhor a vacuum. Given no motive, they'll supply their own. If I can show that the boy is a prisoner of long-buried morbid impulses, it will help steer them my way. In general, the more psychology I can inject into the trial, the better our chances of success.'
Always thinking strategically.
I put aside the invitation to play Freud and asked him who reared Jamey after his father's suicide.
'Dwight did. He'd received his M.B.A. by then and was working at Cadmus Construction as an executive trainee. Of course, the physical caretaking continued to be carried out by governesses and babysitters, but Dwight extended himself- took the boy on outings, taught him to play catch. Certainly gave him more attention than Peter ever had.'
'You said 'governesses', plural. How many were there?'
'Quite a few. They came and went in a stream. None stayed longer than several months. He was a difficult child, cranky and moody, and his intelligence actually made matters worse because he knew how to use his tongue as a weapon of intimidation. Several of the women left in tears.'
'Where did they live during this period?'
'In the house on Muirfield. Dwight had moved back home after graduation - shortly before Peter's death. When he and Heather married, they sold it and bought a more manageable place nearby.'
'How did Jamey adjust to the marriage?'
For the first time in the conversation Souza hesitated, if only for a second.
'I suppose there were difficulties - logic dictates there would be - but outward appearances were calm.'
'How did Jamey and Heather get along?'
Another pause.
'Just fine, as far as I could see. Heather's a lovely girl.'
During most of the interview he'd narrated with authority. Now he seemed tentative. I commented on it.
'That's correct,' he said. 'I felt confidence in Dwight, and once he took over, my involvement in personal matters lessened. He and Heather are in a better position than I to answer questions about recent events.'
'All right.'
He rang for the black-garbed waitress and ordered tea. She left and reappeared with a cart that held the china service from his office. This time I accepted a cup.
'You seem,' I said, between sips, 'to have been much more than a family attorney.'
He put down his cup and licked his lips with a brief, saurine movement of his tongue. In the dimness his complexion glowed rosy, and I watched it deepen angrily as he spoke.
'Blackjack Cadmus was the best friend I ever had. We came up together the hard way. When he began purchasing land, he offered me a fifty percent buy-in. I was cautious, had trouble believing all that scrub would turn into city, and turned him down. Had I accepted, I'd be one of the richest men in California. When the money started pouring in, Jack insisted I receive a substantial sum anyway, claiming I'd helped him with the legal end of it - title searches, drawing up deeds. That was true as far as it went, but he paid me much more than my services were worth.
That money financed the establishment of this firm, the purchase of this building, everything I own, which I'm not ashamed to say is substantial.'
He leaned forward and a pinpoint of light from the chandelier reflected off his naked cranium.
'Jack Cadmus is responsible for who I am today, Doctor. You don't forget something like that.'
'Of course not.'
It took several seconds for the broad features to settle back into professional repose. My comment had been innocent - curiosity about the degree of his involvement with a client. Yet answering it had evoked a strong reaction. Maybe he didn't believe that a comment from a psychologist could ever be innocent. Or perhaps he was peeved at having his privacy invaded. An overreaction, it seemed, but people who earn their livings rooting in the psychic refuse of others often develop an obsession with personal secrecy.
'Anything else?' he asked, pleasant again, and I stopped surmising.
'Yes. I want to know more about Ivar Digby Chancellor. The papers have been describing him as a prominent banker and gay activist, but that doesn't tell me much. In your office Dwight Cadmus called him a damned deviate. Were he and Jamey lovers?'
'Once again we're in an area where Dwight and Heather could be more helpful, but I'll do my best to describe things in general terms. Yes, there was some kind of intimate relationship, but I don't know that I'd call it love.'
His mouth puckered as if he'd eaten something spoiled. 'Pederasty maybe.'
'Because Jamey was a minor?'
'Because the whole thing smacked of exploitation,' he said angrily. 'Dig Chancellor had other fish to fry. He didn't need to seduce an impressionable, disturbed boy. For God's sake, Doctor, the man was old enough to be his father. In fact, Chancellor and Peter had been classmates in military school.'
'So the families have known each other for a long time.'
'They were neighbours, lived a block apart, ran in the same social circles. The Chancellors are prominent in accounting and banking. Big, strapping people - even the women are large. Dig was the largest - six-five, shoulders like a mountain, loved football, squash, polo. Married an heiress from the Philadelphia Main Line. A man's man -or so everyone thought. No one suspected he was queer until after the divorce. Then the rumours started spreading - the nasty kind of thing passed behind hands at cocktail parties. They might have faded, but Dig turned them into fact by going public. Showed up at one of those marches for gay rights holding hands with two hairdresser types. It made the front page of the papers and was picked up by the wire services.'
Suddenly I remembered the photo. It jogged my memory and created a mental image of a dead man: a towering, square-jawed, executive type in grey suit and rimless glasses marching down the middle of Santa Monica Boulevard, dwarfing the svelte moustached men on either side. Banners in the background. Under the picture a caption commenting on the melding of old money and the new morality.
'Once out of the closet, he flaunted it,' said Souza disgustedly. 'The family was scandalised, so he broke away and started his own bank - Beverly Hills Trust. Built it up soliciting accounts from homosexual businesses; there's a lot of money there, you know. Used his fortune and influence to buy sympathetic political candidates. Purchased an estate from a movie mogul, one of those dinosaurs north of Sunset, and let it be used for fundraisers - ACLU, the arty crowd, male go-go-dancers, that kind of thing.'
'You didn't like him.'
Souza sighed.
'For years I've had a box at the Hollywood Bowl. Dig had one in the same section. Inevitably we'd bump into each other at concerts, chat, trade hors d'oeuvres, compare wines. In those days he sported the finest tailored evening wear and always had a young lady on his arm. Very
gallant. Then one year he showed up with his hair peroxided and curled, wearing mascara and a loose robe, like some bloody Roman emperor. Instead of a woman, he had with him a gaggle of boys straight out of a Maxfield Parrish print. He greeted me heartily, held out his hand, as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Perverse.'
He stirred his tea and frowned.
'Mind you, I have nothing against homosexuals, though I'll never be convinced they're normal. Let them keep a low profile and go about their business. But Chancellor didn't show that type of discretion. He advertised his deviance, exploited the innocent. A damned predator.'
He'd grown flushed again and seemed to have worked himself into a passion; this time I thought I understood why.
'That should fit perfectly into your stragegy,' I said.
