Hello, Little Sparrow

by Jordan Jones

  “Yep,” I said. “He was my partner.”

  “Oh, you’re a detective, too?”

  I nodded.

  “You said was. What happened?”

  As the bartender looked away, I took the final swig of her rum and coke. “He was shot in the neck by a psychopath.”

  Her eyes looked down to the bar under her. “Was that the same one I saw on the news? He was the one I left with that night?”

  I nodded. “He was my partner and he was murdered in the line of duty. That’s why I’m here tonight…to forget him somehow. It sounds stupid that this was one of our spots, but I still chose to come here.”

  She placed her hand on the back of my head and began to massage.

  “I’m so sorry to hear about him.”

  I brushed it off, trying to make less of a deal about it than it was. I couldn’t let it bother me like I wanted to.

  The bartender got on the microphone for last call and someone jumped on afterwards and sang Bon Jovi’s Dead or Alive.

  It was awful and I was ready to leave.

  “Well, here. At least let me give you a ride home.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Walking was a chore, but we somehow both made it to her car. She played it off well…being drunk and all. She was able to stop and chat with three people on the way outside, all without stumbling or slurring her words. Her friends took a look at me and instantly took pity, because they knew I would just be the latest victim of her promiscuity. I wasn’t shaken, but I also wasn’t looking forward to it.

  She cocked her head and told one last joke before the other women laughed and she pulled off; I was lying back in her passenger seat, sprawled out with little to no remorse in my decision.

  We asked each other a few questions on the way to the cabin, but it felt like nothing more than a casual game of ‘know your romp.’ I couldn’t remember any of her answers, and I didn’t care if she remembered any of mine. She had five cats…or three. Her brother was deployed overseas somewhere doing something. Her dad had stage two lung cancer.

  None of it mattered to me. My mind was blank and the most amazing thing could’ve happened, and I would’ve have moved an inch to either side. I was bored.

  “There are police cars here,” she said as we pulled into the driveway to the cabin. “I’m not exactly sober here.”

  “That’s my detail. Don’t worry about it.”

  “They just follow you around?”

  “They make sure I don’t get attacked again.”

  “Wait, what? Again?”

  I opened the door and got out, but she didn’t budge. She rolled down the window slightly and I poked my head through, feeling the heat coming from the vents.

  “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but I’m hunting a serial killer. He killed my partner and nearly killed me. Either you come in and we do this thing or you can have a good night.”

  She gripped the steering wheel and put the car in park. After several long seconds, I pulled my head out and turned to walk towards the cabin.

  She turned off the ignition.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The family Brooks made up in his head wasn’t there when he got home, or even there when he woke up the next morning. He restructured everything at home and turned his fake wife into his sister, and the children weren’t his own, but hers. He had a nephew and two nieces running around the house.

  He found that his sister was more talkative than his wife was. There was a lot that’s changed since the last time he saw her. She had fair blond wavy hair that always cascaded down her face, and a pleasant smile more genuine than Brooks’ desire to kill again.

  He changed his nonexistent dog’s name from Bowser to Reptar. He thought since he was changing everything about his life, he might as well cleanse everything.

  Blood trickled down his neck after nicking himself with the razor. After sitting in his bedroom for several hours thinking of conversation pieces that would be most appropriate for a mid-afternoon lunch date. He looked at the clock and it already read 12:37 p.m.

  The water that pooled in his hands then splashed his face was warm against his skin but wasn’t nearly as scalding hot as he preferred. The blood made a dramatic trail from the edge of the sink, disappearing down the drain. Brooks knew it was symbolic of him turning his life around.

  He didn’t need to kill anymore. The detectives showing up at his house did enough to rattle his cage, and he could still win if he could kill six people and get away with it.

  Besides, four of them were pedophiles and that’s a lot more than the average citizen.

  Brooks felt good about it. It was a new beginning…a fresh start.

  He’d never had one of those before.

  He finished drying off his face and placed a small piece of tissue on his neck to absorb the blood. The blood would spill no more, he thought. He gave himself one last look in the mirror and smiled.

  Though no one else was around, he had a quick conversation with his sister about how he was looking forward to going out with Mae, and how stunning she was last night. He laughed when his sister brought up how the alcohol could’ve played a part in her looks, but he dismissed it.

  She was just jealous that he finally had a date, and she was still single. They had fun sibling banter all the time.

  His red Chevy Malibu came alive and he pulled out of his driveway, waving to his family as he did. A jogger slapped the back of his car in a near miss and yelled a few choice words.

  Brooks grabbed for his buck knife and immediately placed his hand on his door handle, but stopped himself and smiled again, knowing full well he had control.

  “It’s not going to be different, you know,” said the small voice from the back seat.

  Brooks’ eyes widened and he shuddered, but pressed the gas and headed towards the address Mae gave him. He ignored Madison the best he could.

  “You will be right back to where you were,” she said. “There is still a lot of work to do.”

  “No,” Brooks replied to the nothingness in his backseat. “That’s not me. I don’t do that anymore. I did my part. Go pick someone else.”

  “But, you aren’t just supposed to do your part,” she said, popping her neck to the side. She moved up closer to the mirror where Brooks could only see her face. “You are to do everyone’s part.”

  “No…no, no, no.” Brooks gripped the steering wheel tighter and pressed down on the gas. The GPS rang out directions to turn and he took them without checking blind spots.

  “There won’t be any way out of this, Brooks,” she said. It was the first time she used his name, and it sounded different than he’d imagined. “You remember why I chose you, don’t you?”

  He could feel sweat form under his shirt as he pressed the gas down farther.

  “Well?”

  “Because I am…was the only one that could do it.”

  “You are the only one that can do it,” she said, repositioning herself in her seat. “But, you’re starting to fade back to your old ways of forgiveness, and we don’t forgive.”

  “I’m not forgiving them!” Brooks narrowed his brows as he screamed at the child behind him. “I’m forgetting them!”

  “That’s just as bad,” she said, calmly. “You start forgetting them and the next thing you know, they’ll be out doing the same thing all over again. No one to punish them like they deserve.”

  “I almost got caught because of you!” Brooks turned down the road Mae lived on. Finally.

  “You almost got caught because you were sloppy…not because of me. You stabbed your own cousin whom you visited in prison just before. Of course you’re going to be a suspect. I’ve made it all better now. They don’t know it’s you and closed the case. Unsolved homicide.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Brooks responded. “Those cops were in my house talking to me, not you!”

  Madison kept quiet as Brooks crept closer to Mae’s apartment complex. Brooks could feel the tension in th
e car, but had to keep moving forward.

  After parking, Brooks sent Mae a text.

  “It’s not going to last,” Madison finally said. “But know this: I’ll be here when you’re ready. We can finish this thing…together.”

  Brooks turned up his radio and pretended he enjoyed the loud rock music as people walked in front of his car. He was a mess, sweating from head to toe. Killing had ceased and he felt better, though he found it a hard feeling to shake.

  The feeling when Geoff Burnley was shot in the back of the head.

  Satisfaction and comfort in every syllable of the word. But, he couldn’t go down that road any longer.

  “I want you gone,” he said, angling his rearview mirror to her again, but she had already left.

  He grinned again, thinking it was over.

  A knock at his window startled him back to reality and Mae gleamed a smile at him and they exchanged pleasantries.

  “Are you ready to go?” she asked.

  “I’m ready for anything,” he replied.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I didn’t sleep well that night or morning, so I decided to go into the office the next afternoon. I couldn’t remember her name, but she dropped me back off at the parking garage of my apartment complex. Without saying a word, she drove off, leaving nothing but a forgettable memory in her wake.

  I wasn’t quite sure how everyone would respond after Abraham’s death, but going to work for me should be no different than going to work for anyone else.

  DeAngelo Abraham was close to all of us.

  Harlow had her coffee at her desk and didn’t look up as I sat down. A thick air of tension filled the room, as if everyone had been talking about me right before I entered.

  It was a Sunday and most of the desks were cleared off, but we were given strict orders by the Commissioner to work around the clock until we found the identity of The Sparrow. Overtime pay was included.

  LT Anderson wanted me to take a few days off to gather my thoughts, but all I found myself doing was waiting.

  “Hey, Trotter,” Harlow said. I couldn’t bear to look behind me at Abraham’s empty desk. They’d already taken everything off and gave it to his family. They put the work related items in the evidence room.

  They didn’t want the distractions of a reminder that a great detective once worked there.

  “Hey,” I replied, booting up my computer.

  “Want me to make you a coffee?” She asked.

  “Nah, I’m good.”

  I could tell she meant to say something else, but nothing came back up. Abraham’s funeral was tomorrow. None of us wanted to talk about it.

  The air was thick.

  “Has anyone looked into this Brimsburg incident?” I asked, not allowing for any more silence to intrude.

  “What was that?” Welker asked.

  “This report came from the Brimsburg police precinct. It says that a thirty-eight year old woman was stabbed to death outside of a rehab facility there.”

  Welker looked it up in the system and was following along. He read the report along with me.

  “It says a mysterious man was on the premises on that foggy morning. This happened like a week ago, how are we just now getting this?”

  Brimsburg is a safe place,” Harlow interjected. “My cousin lives there and she said they don’t even deal with car break-ins or vandalism. She didn’t tell me about this, though.”

  I read on: “It says here that the man went inside and sat down at their hiring kiosk and filled out an application with the name…”

  I stopped and looked at the name. My heart jumped out of my chest before I could read on.

  It was him.

  And, he knew more about me than I could’ve dreamed.

  “What was the name?” Harlow asked, impatiently.

  “Tommy Roisman,” Welker blurted out as I tried to digest what was happening.

  “Does that name ring a bell to anyone?” Harlow asked.

  “Not me,” Welker replied. “Maybe it’s some sort of anagram or something. There’s no way he’s just going to put his own information in there like that.”

  They both looked at me for only a second before LT Anderson poked his head out of his door and motioned for me to come to his office. I turned off my monitor and my legs started to shake.

  “Take a seat,” LT Anderson said as I walked in. He shut the door behind me. “This isn’t good, John.”

  “He knows about Tommy Roisman.”

  He took a puff from his pipe and sat back in his chair, reading the same report we were. “There could be a lot coming down from this, you know that, right?”

  I nodded. “I took the file from that Night Stalker guy…Crist. Evan Crist. I downloaded it in my thumb drive and took it home and deleted it.”

  “Well, he knows about it somehow.” LT Anderson took another puff. “What do we do here, John? Do I take you off this case?”

  “No you don’t!” I stood up. “I’m going to find this guy. He’s taken everything from me!”

  “I have to think of logistics here, John,” he said. “He knows about things that only a few of us do. He is messing with us…you in particular.”

  “I saw a picture; let me see that picture from their security camera…of him sitting at the kiosk.” I pulled the picture closer to me. “It’s grainy, but maybe we have a better IT department than Brimsburg.”

  “We can try,” LT Anderson said. “But remember, we’re trying to catch this guy because he’s killing people. Not because he could expose a secret or two. That’s what I need you to remember. If I get the slightest hint you’re taking a vendetta out against The Sparrow, I’m reassigning you to some vice cases. No questions asked.”

  I agreed, but it was difficult to keep my emotions in check. He knew about me. I wanted him stopped before he hurt anyone else, but it was extra motivating knowing he had knowledge of me and my past…not a past I was proud of or wanted to get involved with again.

  “I’m going to take this guy down,” I said. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “It’s all of us if you don’t, John. He knows too much.”

  He was right. I was no longer safe.

  I went back out to my desk to start digging more.

  “I’m not finding anything on this Roisman guy,” Harlow said. “There are some out there with that name and spelling, but no one really that close. Maybe it is an anagram.”

  “You can stop worrying about that name,” I said. “It basically means that he knows me and knows I’m investigating his case. He was mocking us…namely me with that name.”

  “What does it mean?” Welker asked. “A little context here would help us, Trotter.”

  “Whether you know the context won’t help the case,” I said. “The only thing you need to know is that he knows me and now I’m a target.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The bright yellow sun faded behind the ever-existent stratus clouds that forced the Northeast spring to be delayed another few weeks. The chill was more than Brooks wanted, because he wanted to show off his new button-up shirt to Mae as quickly as possible, but she’d have to wait until they were seated.

  Shafer’s was as fancy of a seafood restaurant as Lincolnshire offered. Brooks looked their menu up online and couldn’t find a single entrée priced at less than twenty-five dollars, which was exactly what he was looking for.

  He didn’t care if Mae was impressed, but he wanted to show himself, and Madison, that he was serious about the change. Dropping serious money on a date inspired change within him. It meant he was no longer the Phoenix he’d grown to be. He surely wasn’t The Sparrow Lincolnshire press and residence knew him as.

  He was Brooks Ingram: an upper middle class man living in a middle class neighborhood in a middle class city. He worked as a horticulturalist and enjoyed playing computer games, taking care of his lawn, and handing out candy on trick - or - treat night.

  And, now he was on a date.

  It’s wha
t people did.

  Detectives Draper and Morelli would see him as a normal guy; no way he could’ve committed that murder in Brimsburg. Detective Trotter would see him as an upstanding citizen who pays his taxes and enjoys local football games.

  They would never suspect him. They couldn’t. He was reformed.

  “Shafer’s Seafood, huh?” Mae said, grabbing her purse and stepping out of the car. “They have incredible biscuits here.”

  Brooks agreed with her, but had nothing to substantiate. He hadn’t been out to eat in several years, and had to look up videos on etiquette before picking her up.

  The restaurant was nearly dead for a Sunday late afternoon and they got to pick their own seating, so Brooks picked a booth close to the door before Mae could offer a suggestion. The videos told him that a woman liked when a man showed assertiveness, and he was sick of taking orders from Madison who was staring at them from the hostess booth, her eyes blackened with rage.

  He ignored her.

  “So,” Mae said after several long seconds. “Do you know what you want?”

  “I’m thinking about getting the garlic butter lobster,” he responded. He said it with some authority, like he knew an everyday man would’ve said it.

  A man who hadn’t killed before or had something to hide.

  “Oh, and I’m paying by the way,” he told her. “You can have anything and everything you want. It’s all on me.”

  “You don’t have to do that!” She exclaimed, but the videos also told him she would say that. She scoured the menu, ordering a modest surf and turf sirloin and shrimp plate that ran just north of twenty dollars.

  Brooks was disappointed, but ordered a side of hush puppies to even it out.

  The waiter came and left and Mae looked comfortable, opening up to Brooks about her life at the factory. She talked about how she smells like fish every time she got off work and had to immediately go home and shower. She talked about water pressure and dropping in the food and tablets that somehow kept the fish alive.

  Brooks found it all interesting, and he also found himself to be a great listener once he gave people a chance.