Scrambled Hard-Boiled

by E.R. White, Jr.

  * * * * *

  As soon as I hung up the phone with Crump, I picked it up again and called Maisy back in Charlotte. Frantically, I told her what had happened, where I was going, and that she was to find Ernie and let him know. I also told her to call our lawyer and to tell him that I needed him to get his ass down to Warhill or else find me a local lawyer to keep me out of trouble. I then grabbed my coat and headed for the Sheriff’s office.

  There was already a crowd gathering outside the office building by the time I got there. The press had gotten hold of the story, and as I pulled into the parking lot, there was a camera crew from one of the TV stations milling about in the front of the building. Two more TV station trucks arrived before I even made it to the front door.

  The deputy at the reception desk had been told I was coming and said I was to wait in the nearby conference room for Sheriff Crump. He made me check-in my gun, and after that was done, I was quickly escorted into the same room where Sgt. Bradshaw had assaulted me after the Bowman murder.

  It seemed like that occurred a million years ago.

  I cooled my heels there for a while. I was still in a daze over the turn of events of the past hour, so I used the time to gather up my wits and speculate on what went so terribly wrong.

  My first guess was that Swinson and Slatterson had gone back to the Slatterson home and had confronted Sonny with the facts. His one true love in life had been available to any man with twenty bucks in his pocket, and they obviously had hoped to shatter any romantic notions he might have still had about the broad.

  I could see it in my mind’s eye what happened. Slatterson went to see the boy armed with the information I’d found out. Sadly, he told Sonny that it was all a lie. The use of the fake name by an admitted prostitute, the mailing of the drugs, the obvious inference that someone was out to get his father through him, all laid out to him in embarrassing detail, with the trusted family lawyer and friend there to back up the story.

  He’d been played for a sap, and it was time for him to accept this fact, quit mourning over this slut and get on with life. At least, that’s the reaction Eric Slatterson was probably hoping to get.

  What he got instead was a son gone berserk. The kid must have just snapped. The ugly truth was probably too much to bear and Sonny took his anger, frustration and withdrawal symptoms out on the domineering man in his life, his father. Poor Harry Swinson just got caught in the crossfire.

  Most importantly, I was out of a trip to Las Vegas. If I ever met the little bastard Sonny again, I vowed to kick his ass.

  And then it dawned on me. The Sheriff never mentioned what happened to Sonny. Was he arrested? Was he dead? Or was he, God forbid, out free, looking for the jerk who dug up the dirt on his paramour?

  Damn it, now I was getting nervous. What if that little shit was out free, roaming the countryside with murder on his mind, out there gunning for yours truly?

  I immediately changed my mind about wanting to meet the little punk, and soon I was jumping at every noise that happened to make its way into the conference room and wishing I had my gun. If that kid was out running free, I was going on a long vacation until he was found.

  By the time Crump walked into the room, I was pacing the room and had worked myself into a fine state of paranoia—which is actually a pretty good state of mind to be in if you want to stay alive.

  “Where’s Sonny Slatterson?” I bawled out as soon as I saw Crump.

  He looked at me kind of funny a second and then the light of awareness came to his eyes. He softly laughed at me with contempt.

  “Don’t worry, tough guy, he’s dead too. You’re safe.”

  I was too relieved to be embarrassed by my agitated state.

  He sat down at the table and motioned for me to sit.

  “Harry Swinson’s secretary tells us you met with Harry and Eric Slatterson this morning. What was the meeting about? And please, no bullshit, I’m really not in the mood, okay?”

  Now that I knew Sonny was out of the picture, I had calmed down a bit. There wasn’t much use of hiding the facts of what I’d found out. I decided to tell all and head home to Charlotte to regroup. There might be a way to make money off of this, but right now I didn’t see it. Maybe Ernie would have some ideas.

  I told Crump everything I’d found out about Susan Bowman. I told him how we suspected someone was behind her and how we were making plans to find out whom that person was and to get a better picture of Bowman/Baylor and her past.

  “I guess the kid cracked when he was told the truth,” I said.

  Crump nodded his head.

  “Yeah, makes sense. We found the bodies in Slatterson’s study. Slatterson kept a handgun in his desk. The kid must have known that. It looks like he shot his Dad first. One shot to the chest. Harry must have tried to run, because he was hit twice in the back. Coroner says both men died almost instantly.”

  “I take it the kid then realized what he did and turned the gun on himself.”

  “That’s the official verdict,” Crump said in a flat tone.

  That last statement struck me as odd, so I decided to poke around a bit.

  “Mrs. Slatterson might want to know that what the real story is behind the death of her husband and son,” I said. “I mean, despite what Sonny did today, there’s a damn good possibility he was framed for the earlier murder. And I bet that you don’t like the idea of someone getting away with murder in your town?”

  After I made that last statement, Crump looked at his hands for a minute and then looked at me. Suddenly, he looked a lot older. His face drained of color.

  “I’m going to tell you something, and then you’re going to leave this building, leave this town, leave this county and never, ever come back, at least while I’m alive. Understand?”

  I just stared at him, confused.

  “Sonny Slatterson didn’t kill himself,” stated Crump. “After he shot Harry and Eric, his Mother ran down from upstairs to see what was going on. She ran into the study and saw her son standing over the dead bodies of her husband and Harry, the gun still smoking in her son’s hand. Sonny was in shock. She approached him, tried to coax the gun from him, and he struggled with her. It went off and Cheryl Slatterson was left holding the gun and her son lay dying at her feet.”

  Crump stared back at his hands and kept talking.

  “I met Eric Slatterson over thirty years ago and while I thought he was a bastard of a man, he has been good to me and this town. Sonny, God rest his tortured soul, was once a fine boy. I remember when he was born. As for Harry Swinson—well, he and I grew up together, fought a war together and grew old together. He was my friend.”

  He looked up back at me and now there was fire in his eyes.

  “I tell you this because I want you to understand that I’m serious. These people meant something to me, but I say—let it go.”

  “What the hell?” I snapped.

  Crump held up his hand to silence me.

  “Oh, you’re right about what probably happened. I think someone from Eric’s past, someone he took advantage of, or something like that, is behind all this. This person no doubt hired the Bowman woman and most likely had her killed. But I just left a hysterical wife and mother in the room down the hall, undergoing the tortures of the damned. I got a town in shock, wondering if their jobs are going to be there tomorrow or is it all going to disappear with Eric Slatterson’s death. I got a press that has already tried and convicted Sonny and a D.A. who has now lost all interest in the case, because it isn’t going to help him get elected to Congress anymore. So, you see, Mr. Dafoe, it ain’t just worth it.”

  I stared at him, at a loss for words.

  Crump stood up and glowered down at me.

  “So here is what you’re going to do, Dafoe. You’re going to go back from whence you came and get on with your life. Go dig up your dirt in someone else’s backyard. If I see you back here, or if I hear of you bothering Cheryl Slatterson or anyone in this town—well—I’m still
sheriff here, and I can shut down another investigation to a murder as easily as I’m shutting this one down. Go home. It’s over.”

  With that last threat lingering in the air, he spun around on his heel and left the room.

  I sat there a few minutes and let it all sink in. I knew Crump meant what he said. If I tried to pull a fast one like I did in the Whippy case, there was a good chance I’d wind up in deep trouble or even dead.

  It was time to cut and run.

  I stood up, stretched and walked out of the room. If there was a trip to Las Vegas in my immediate future, I was going to have to pay for it.

  I was walking down the hall towards the main exit, when I saw her. She was respectfully being escorted out of the building.

  She was older now, but she had aged well. The hair was brunette going elegantly gray. The figure, while fuller, still was attractive, no doubt due to lots of tennis and golf. The face was older and lines were etched here and there, but with proper makeup, and after a decent interval of mourning, there was no doubt she’d be a stunningly attractive mature woman, looking a decade younger than her fifty or so years.

  She saw me and after the man next to her whispered in her ear, she stared at me with cold, flat black eyes. It took a few seconds for me to associate the face with the name, but as soon as I did, I knew I was in mortal peril.

  I knew now what had happened to the madam who had employed Myrtle Baylor as a hooker twenty years ago, only to abandon the job in order to marry a man.

  Sherry Cogburn, brothel madam had become Cheryl Slatterson, respected wife of rich industrialist.

  I also knew what had become of the son she had abandoned those many years ago.

  As Sgt. Stan Bradshaw stood beside the Widow Slatterson, staring at me with cold dark hate, it was obvious.

  He had his mother’s eyes, you see.

  Chapter 19