Scrambled Hard-Boiled

by E.R. White, Jr.

  * * * * *

  We drove back to the crime scene to get my car. We then went back to the motel. There, with Ernie watching, I called Slatterson’s office to see if he was in. He wasn’t, so I explained to the secretary who I was, and that it was urgent I talked with Slatterson or his lawyers concerning the situation Sonny was in. She took down my number and hung up. There wasn’t much else we could do but wait.

  In a few minutes, the phone rang. I answered it and found myself talking to Slatterson’s personal lawyer, Harold Swinson. I quickly told him who I was and began to tell him about my being hired by Slatterson to follow his son. The lawyer interrupted me.

  “Listen—I just got off the phone with Mr. Slatterson. He told me about you and what you’re doing for him. He and Mrs. Slatterson were with Sonny all day in the hospital. They’d just gotten home for some rest when I called them about you. Sonny is awake, but doesn’t remember anything about what happened last night. I want to talk to you, but not over the phone. Come to my office and we can meet there. Mr. Slatterson is on his way from his home and will join us.”

  I got his office address. It was in town, about a ten-minute drive from the motel I was staying at. Ernie and I drove to his office and within seconds of arriving there we were escorted into Swinson’s office.

  Harold Swinson was in his late fifties, rotund, had thinning gray hair, and bespectacled. Like most people, he did a quick double take when he first saw Ernie, but he smoothly recovered and asked us to make ourselves comfortable.

  “First of all, let me convey Mr. Slatterson’s personal thanks for your actions last night. He realizes that if it wasn’t for your timely assistance, Sonny would have died in that house.”

  I gave a nonchalant, yet manly shrug of my shoulders, as if to say, All in day’s work, my good fellow.

  Swinson continued, “We haven’t heard much from the authorities on this matter. The Sheriff, who Mr. Slatterson has generously supported in the past, hasn’t returned my calls. I’ll be honest, this concerns me. His family finds it hard to believe that Sonny could have committed such a heinous act, and we’re hoping to get some details concerning the situation from you.”

  I was just about to open my mouth and recount what seemed like the hundredth time what happened when Eric Slatterson came into the office.

  He looked drained. His face, which had been a blustery red when I’d first met him, was pale and haggard. His eyes were bloodshot and he needed a shave. He’d obviously been up all night.

  Just to show you how exhausted he was, he didn’t even bat an eye when introduced to Ernie.

  He turned to me, looked me in the eye and shook my hand.

  “Thank you, I owe you my son’s life,” he said. “His mother and I are in your debt.”

  I glanced at Ernie and saw the dollar signs light up in his eyes.

  We all sat back down, and soon I was recounting the events surrounding the death of Susan Bowman. Swinson was taking notes as I spoke, and Slatterson just sat there like a zombie and listened.

  It wasn’t until I recounted the circumstances of the argument before the apparent murder, followed by what appeared to be someone running away from the house that Slatterson began to show signs of coming back to life.

  “I knew my boy couldn’t have done it! See Harry, I was right. I knew Sonny didn’t kill that whore! I knew it! I gotta tell Cheryl this, I gotta tell his mother.”

  Slatterson got up and went for the phone.

  “Eric, sit down, please!” ordered Swinson. “Hear the rest of what Mr. Dafoe has to say before we start calling people up on the phone. Cheryl needs to get some rest, and I need to get all the facts if you want me to help you. So just sit down and let Mr. Dafoe finish, okay?”

  Reluctantly, Slatterson sat down and listened to the rest of my story. He cringed when he listened to the part about my finding Sonny passed out in the bedroom corner and looked at me with dog-like appreciation when I described my heroic attempts to keep Sonny from dying until the ambulance arrived.

  I told them about my being placed under arrest and taken to the county jail. I assured them that I made it abundantly clear to the arresting officer, Sheriff Crump and the D.A. that I’d heard someone leave the house right after the murder. Swinson just nodded and took notes.

  After I’d finished, Swinson looked at Slatterson.

  “What does Sonny remember?”

  Slatterson shook his head.

  “Sonny says the last thing he remembers is leaving work and going to that whore’s house. It’s all blank after that.”

  “How long had he been seeing this Bowman woman? Did he tell you that?”

  “He met her last February. Sonny says that at first he just went there to screw and have few beers, but she soon had him smoking pot with her. One thing led to another, and he started doing—stronger stuff.”

  Slatterson looked stricken for a second then gulped a few times and went on.

  “Sonny says he's been doing cocaine a lot lately, and something called PCP. He claims that only recently had he started using a needle to inject himself with cocaine. That’s what he said he used last night, at least he thinks that’s what he did. He doesn’t really remember.”

  Swinson looked at Slatterson with sympathy. He knew it was difficult for Slatterson to talk about his son like this.

  “Where did he get the drugs? Did he tell you, Eric?”

  “That bitch got it for him. He just gave her money, and she got him the stuff. That’s all I know, at least for now.”

  He slumped back into his chair and looked at us.

  That struck me as odd, a middle age woman scoring drugs for a kid just out of college. I filed it away for later use.

  “Has the Sheriff contacted you yet?” Swinson asked.

  “No, they got a deputy standing outside of Sonny’s room at the hospital, but he doesn’t know anything. He says he just has orders to keep Sonny safe and under supervision. I tried to call John Crump up, but I’m getting the run around from his receptionist. That pisses me off. I gave that asshole thousands of dollars to run for Sheriff. The least he can do is answer my calls. I’ll remember this, Harry, let me tell you, I’ll remember this.”

  Swinson held up his hand.

  “I don’t want you making any more calls to the Sheriff. Let me handle it. You and Cheryl have got enough problems and both of you are on edge. I don’t want you going off on a tangent and letting that temper of yours screw this up.”

  Slatterson slowly nodded his head then said he wanted to call up the hospital and check on his son.

  “Fine,” said Swinson. “You can call them from the office next door. You'll have a little privacy there.”

  Slatterson got up and left to make the call.

  Swinson turned to us.

  “Of course, your firm will remain on retention with us. I don’t know what's going to happen in the next few days, but we may need to call on your services.”

  Swinson looked directly at me.

  “Of course, we will be depending on you to recount your experiences to the court—if it becomes necessary. I’m hoping that I’ll be able to reason with Sheriff Crump and the District Attorney on this matter.”

  In other words, bring Slatterson’s considerable fortune and political power to bear, get the Sheriff to look elsewhere and leave the Slatterson family to deal with their demons in private. It was a good strategy and ninety-nine times out of a hundred it works.

  When it comes to justice and the law, money does matter and don’t let anyone tell you different. Like anything else in this life you get what you pay for and the law, despite protestations to the contrary, is the same way. Reasonable doubt is the name of the game and usually, the more money you throw at a problem, the more doubt you can raise. Some will say this makes it unfair to the poor, and they’re probably right. Then again, it has been my experience that people are almost always guilty of what they’re accused of doing. So I guess it all works out in the end.

  We talked a
few more minutes with Swinson, worked out the details of our charges and payments and waited for Slatterson to complete his call.

  We didn’t wait long.

  Slatterson slowly opened the door, walked back in. He was despondent. Swinson knew immediately something was wrong.

  “Eric—what happened?”

  “I just got off the phone with the hospital,” muttered Slatterson. “The nurse who answered the phone says that the Sheriff is there and has arrested Sonny for murder.”

  I glanced over at Ernie. He’d hung his head, as if in despair, but I saw the wisp of a smile on his face. He was probably figuring out where to spend the money we were going to make on this case.

  Chapter 12