The Weird Insights of a Scobberlotcher

Thirty-three Sounds Mahogany

Tall? The guy was huge. In all three dimensions. Barely fit through Dino's doors. He approached at a brisk pace and the wings of that black trench coat, unbuttoned, flared out in his wake. Looked like a stealth bomber with a buzz cut coming in to land with a decisive thump at the table right across from me and my coffee.

"So, Jerry."

I was startled by his abruptness.

"How did you know it was me?"

"You had your eyes locked on me from the minute I walked in the door."

"Oh, right, guess I was a bit obvious there."

"Ya. So, Jerry, what's this all about."

He looked severe. Puffing himself up. Leaning in. Going for my throat with his eyes. The fog had lifted and crystal shards were tumbling menacingly through his words. He'd obviously spent the intervening day deciding to start with the hard cop approach. Confront me. Put me on the defensive. Fuck that!

"Look, Inspector, I'm just the messenger here. It's your father who killed the mayor in the hospice."

"What? My father did what?"

Bingo! Just five words but I knew we'd jettisoned the pretense. Tone suddenly turned swirling, muddled gray brown. Like the bottom of a puddle when you stir it with your toe. With a look to match. I felt a teeny tiny sensation of satisfaction. Well, a little more than teeny.

"Your father, Doug, he was in the hospice the same time as the former mayor, Morrison. You knew that, right?"

"Well ya, sure, so what?"

Staggering monosyllabism. Sure sign of surprise and confusion. Good. We were making progress.

"So did your father."

"What? How could he? I never told him. I warned everyone not to tell him."

"Inspector, please, remind me what your dad did for a living."

"Oh, Christ!"

He tilted his head back and gave the ceiling a good long stare. Boy, how many times have people fished that upside down lake in vain? When he finally looked back his voice had softened to a velvety plea.

"O.k., look, please just tell me what happened."

"O.k., long story short, Doug, your father, found out that Morrison was there. Room 17 I think he said it was. He never told me how but my guess is that he must've discreetly checked out the register at the front desk every day. I think your old man was always checking everything out right to the end. Old habits die hard, I guess."

Almost said "no pun intended" but thought better of it.

"When he discovered Morrison was there he slipped into his room late one night and suffocated him. With his own pillow. Said he thought it was justice served. Everyone just assumed it was the cancer so they just carted him away and, far as I know, that was that."

"Jesus, no. I can't believe it."

Progressive waves of revelation had washed the cop clean away. Now there was just a stunned human being.

"But why you? Why did he tell you? How did he tell you? Why didn't he tell me?"

"Because, Inspector. Alan. Can I call you Alan?"

He said nothing. I took that as consent.

"Because, Alan, I was one of the volunteers there at the time. You know, sort of a companion for the dying. We started talking one night and let's just say we found we had something in common. Sort of. And he didn't want you to know till after he was gone. So he asked me to do it for him because he decided I was his confessor. And the reason he didn't tell you himself is 'cause, well, he thought you'd ratted on him to the mayor."

He had huge hands. Good thing. He needed them to completely bury his broad face. I waited quietly and took a couple of sips.