Read Online Over the Edge by Jonathan Kellerman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Kellerman
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doors and ringed by a balcony. On the balcony were pots brimming with azaleas and camellias. The walls were carved architectural panelling brightened by still more frontier art - these paintings looked like original Remingtons - and topped by ornate white moulding and a domed white ceiling. The floor was bleached oak, over which a Navaho rug had been laid. In one corner sat a Chippendale table holding a china tea set. The rest was standard high-price law office: oversized desk; leather chairs; ten square feet of diplomas, testimonials, photographs, and gavels on plaques; a glass case filled with antiquarian legal tomes.
A man about my age sat stiffly in one of the chairs, staring at his shoes. He turned at the sound of our approach, rose unsteadily, and adjusted his tie.
Souza went to his side and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder.
'Doctor, this is Mr. Dwight Cadmus, the boy's uncle and guardian. Dwight, Dr. Alexander Delaware.'
Showing no sign of recognising my name, Cadmus held out a hand that was soft and moist. He was tall and stooped, with thinning brown hair and soft, defeated eyes blurred by thick glasses and rouged by grief. His features were regular but vague, like a sculpture that had been abraded. He wore a brown suit, white shirt, and brown tie. The clothes were expensive, but they looked as if they'd been slept in.
'Doctor,' he said, barely looking at me. Then, inexplicably, he smiled, and I saw, in the humourless upturning of petulant lips, the resemblance to Jamey.
'Mr. Cadmus.'
'Sit down, Dwight,' said Souza, exerting pressure with his hand. 'Rest yourself.'
Cadmus sank like a stone.
Souza gestured to a chair. 'Make yourself comfortable, Doctor.'
He seated himself behind the desk and rested his elbows on its tooled leather top.
'First let me lay out the facts, Doctor. If I cover familiar ground, please bear with me. Yesterday, in the early hours of the morning, James escaped from his hospital room. Shortly after, he phoned you from a vacant conference room. Do you remember the time of the call?'
'Around three-fifteen.'
He nodded.
'That jibes with the reports of the hospital staff. Unfortunately it doesn't help our case from a time frame perspective. In any event, subsequent efforts to locate him on the grounds were unsuccessful. A call was dispatched to Dwight in Mexico, and he and his family flew back up immediately. Upon landing, they contacted me. We held
an emergency conference with Dr. Mainwaring, during which a list was compiled of any locations Jamey'd been known to frequent. Attempts were made to contact each by phone.'
'What kinds of locations?'
'Homes of acquaintances mostly.'
'It was a short list,' said Cadmus in a near whisper. 'He hasn't liked people for a long time.'
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. The attorney glanced at Cadmus, who kept his gaze on his wing tips.
'We've wrestled with the boy's emotional problems for a long time,' explained Souza. 'It's been a strain.'
I nodded sympathetically.
'One of the parties we tried to reach was an Ivar Digby Chancellor of Beverly Hills. Jamey had developed a -friendship with him, though to our knowledge it had ended some time ago.'
'Damned deviate,' muttered Cadmus.
Souza looked at him sharply and went on:
'Despite the fact that the relationship had been put to rest, it seemed possible he'd return to Chancellor's house. However, no one answered there. None of the other calls was fruitful either. Finally we called in the police. They took our list and visited each address. Sometime later -around eight in the morning - the boy was located at the Chancellor residence.'
Souza stopped and looked at the uncle, as if expecting another interruption. Cadmus kept quiet, seemingly oblivious of both of us.
'The police walked into a bloody scene, Doctor. Chancellor was dead, strangled and stabbed repeatedly, as was a second party, a sixteen-year-old male prostitute known as Rusty Nails - given name, Richard Ford. According to
A man about my age sat stiffly in one of the chairs, staring at his shoes. He turned at the sound of our approach, rose unsteadily, and adjusted his tie.
Souza went to his side and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder.
'Doctor, this is Mr. Dwight Cadmus, the boy's uncle and guardian. Dwight, Dr. Alexander Delaware.'
Showing no sign of recognising my name, Cadmus held out a hand that was soft and moist. He was tall and stooped, with thinning brown hair and soft, defeated eyes blurred by thick glasses and rouged by grief. His features were regular but vague, like a sculpture that had been abraded. He wore a brown suit, white shirt, and brown tie. The clothes were expensive, but they looked as if they'd been slept in.
'Doctor,' he said, barely looking at me. Then, inexplicably, he smiled, and I saw, in the humourless upturning of petulant lips, the resemblance to Jamey.
'Mr. Cadmus.'
'Sit down, Dwight,' said Souza, exerting pressure with his hand. 'Rest yourself.'
Cadmus sank like a stone.
Souza gestured to a chair. 'Make yourself comfortable, Doctor.'
He seated himself behind the desk and rested his elbows on its tooled leather top.
'First let me lay out the facts, Doctor. If I cover familiar ground, please bear with me. Yesterday, in the early hours of the morning, James escaped from his hospital room. Shortly after, he phoned you from a vacant conference room. Do you remember the time of the call?'
'Around three-fifteen.'
He nodded.
'That jibes with the reports of the hospital staff. Unfortunately it doesn't help our case from a time frame perspective. In any event, subsequent efforts to locate him on the grounds were unsuccessful. A call was dispatched to Dwight in Mexico, and he and his family flew back up immediately. Upon landing, they contacted me. We held
an emergency conference with Dr. Mainwaring, during which a list was compiled of any locations Jamey'd been known to frequent. Attempts were made to contact each by phone.'
'What kinds of locations?'
'Homes of acquaintances mostly.'
'It was a short list,' said Cadmus in a near whisper. 'He hasn't liked people for a long time.'
There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. The attorney glanced at Cadmus, who kept his gaze on his wing tips.
'We've wrestled with the boy's emotional problems for a long time,' explained Souza. 'It's been a strain.'
I nodded sympathetically.
'One of the parties we tried to reach was an Ivar Digby Chancellor of Beverly Hills. Jamey had developed a -friendship with him, though to our knowledge it had ended some time ago.'
'Damned deviate,' muttered Cadmus.
Souza looked at him sharply and went on:
'Despite the fact that the relationship had been put to rest, it seemed possible he'd return to Chancellor's house. However, no one answered there. None of the other calls was fruitful either. Finally we called in the police. They took our list and visited each address. Sometime later -around eight in the morning - the boy was located at the Chancellor residence.'
Souza stopped and looked at the uncle, as if expecting another interruption. Cadmus kept quiet, seemingly oblivious of both of us.
'The police walked into a bloody scene, Doctor. Chancellor was dead, strangled and stabbed repeatedly, as was a second party, a sixteen-year-old male prostitute known as Rusty Nails - given name, Richard Ford. According to
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