Hello, Little Sparrow by Jordan Jones (the reading list .TXT) 📕

said he’d never do it again and sped off. The drive to Portland was nearly two hours, and what a long drive it must’ve been.

The creators of the video didn’t look like they were even in their twenties, but they did a marvelous job, albeit dangerous. What I experienced while watching the footage, I couldn’t explain. I wanted to be happy and excited, but something about it looked very familiar to me. I watched the video again, and then a third time.

“Are you all right over there?” Harlow asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “This is fascinating.”

“What is?” Harlow looked over the top of her monitor. “You mean those kids following pedophiles around and exposing them? It’s happening all over the place now.”

I looked through videos of other vigilante groups and they did much of the same. They all seemed professional enough. Explaining to each perpetrator that they were not cops and they wouldn’t get hurt. They informed the creep that they could leave at any given time.

“Who made the one with Philip Maise in it?” I asked. I wasn’t technology illiterate, but I wasn’t well versed in any one aspect of it. Computers were just short of acting as my bane.

“They were called ‘Nightstalkers,’” she said. “They haven’t uploaded a video for over a year, though. So good luck finding them.”

My stomach dropped. I needed to speak with Evan Crist immediately.

“We have cybercrimes,” I reminded her. “I have a friend over there that owes me a favor anyway. I’m sure it wouldn’t take him long to figure out where these videos originated from.”

She rolled her eyes and went back to typing. “You know,” she said. “You don’t have to pour out your coffee just because I brought you some. My feelings wouldn’t have been hurt.”

“Oh, I didn’t do it to spare your feelings,” I responded. “I did it because this coffee is much better than the stale crap I bring from home. Besides, it’s more likely you’ll bring some again for me next time.”

She smiled, but I was too busy looking back at my screen.

I needed to talk to the Nightstalkers as soon as possible.

Chapter Seven

Chaplan in cybercrimes tagged an IP address from the Nightstalker videos, which pulled up a home address in Gardiner, just north of Portland and east of Lincolnshire along interstate 295 in Maine. The Night Stalker channel was defunct early 2024, but it was connected to a newer channel where it’s creator, Evan Crist, travels around the country looking inside abandoned buildings.

He made a lucrative career by the looks of his home.

Chaplan told me that he posts almost daily and it’s likely he wouldn’t be home, though two sedans sat side by side in his driveway as I pulled up.

Fresh snow blanketed his front yard and not a footstep in sight, not even to his mailbox. I felt discouraged as I texted Abraham nearly sixty miles away at his desk at the precinct:

Made it. No signs of life. Going to try my luck anyway.

 

My scarf was secured tightly around my neck, covering up enough of my face to be unrecognizable, though not deceitful.

I made my way up the slippery drive and before I would wrap on the door, it opened.

A tall, skinny man with a freshly cut beard answered in surprise. He looked like he was on his way out, and I wasn’t sure what face I was looking for, as he was always behind the camera in his videos.

“I’m sorry, can I help you?” he asked. His annoyance was obvious and he looked in a hurry.

“Yes, err, sorry. My name is Detective John Trotter. I’m with the Lincolnshire Police Department. I’m investigating a suicide and I’m looking to see if you can help me with it.”

He was taken aback. A pale-skinned, slender woman appeared from behind him. “Who is it?”

Without taking his eyes off me, he said, “It’s a police detective. He wants to talk about a case. Please, come in.”

I followed them inside, unbuttoned my coat, and set my fedora on the couch at my side. My scarf was still securely in place.

“Mr. Crist,” I began. “There was a suicide in Lincolnshire. A twelve year old girl jumped to her death two days ago and we’re trying to wrap up the case.”

“Oh, I heard about that!” Evan’s wife interjected. “That poor family. I don’t know what I would do if our daughter did something like that.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Evan asked. He was slightly more annoyed.

“Your videos you used to post - with the Nightstalkers,” I said. “One of your catches was this girl’s father.”

“That was probably a while back. I stopped filming that stuff about a year ago after someone pulled a gun on me for the third time.” Evan looked at his wife. “It scared her to death and I didn’t want to leave my kids without a father. I had to stop.”

“All that was admirable, truly,” I said. “But, I wanted to know if you had any information on this guy that wasn’t posted. Another video, perhaps? Maybe a transcript?”

He thought for a minute and said, “I think I do, actually. I kept all the chat files on a thumb drive in case anything ever came from the catches. We had a pretty high conviction rate…for the one’s the police sought. A lot of them just got away.”

Evan went to a back room and his wife and I shared an awkward glance for what seemed like an eternity. He returned with a laptop and thumb drive.

“Do you remember his name? I have all the files saved by name.”

“Look for Philip Maise,” I answered. “I think the catch was on April, 7th, 2019.”

He stared intently at the screen and his eyes brightened. “Yep. Here it is.”