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

He handed the laptop to me and I scrolled through the messages, scouring through each disgusting word transmitted between an adult man and whom he thought was a young child.

“Was this you talking with him?”

“Yeah,” Evan responded. “I made up a new account with a new screen name every few weeks. Once the creeps started catching on to one name, I’d change it to another.”

“Smart.”

The graphic conversation only got worse as I scrolled down the page. I read each line, page after page and word after word of the most perverse language imaginable. He was excited about a possible rendezvous with a young girl.

Thankfully there wasn’t one.

“So, he was caught and convicted for this,” I said, sort of half asking, half talking.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think that was one of the many that I went on the stand for. Was there anything in particular you were looking for?”

“I don’t know,” I said, distracted by the words. “He’s set to be released in a matter of weeks.”

“Really?” Evan asked. “That seems longer than a lot of our other catches.”

“Yeah, I imagine they all get different sentences based off jurisdiction how the judge feels that day,” I said. While reading through the messages, the subtext was always Philip’s needs. As the decoy, Evan informed him many times that she had a tough upbringing, likely strengthening her desire for an older male in her life.

He was on board to play that role.

“Was there some link to him getting released and his daughter’s death?” Evan’s wife blurted out. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping boundaries.”

“Oh, not at all,” I said. “But, it’s an ongoing investigation and I can’t give out any of that information.” The conversation turned almost parental within the chat. Almost like Philip was acting like a father to the decoy.

The decoy played it brilliantly.

Then there it was. As bright as day, shimmering through the rest of the putrid-sewage-filled paragraphs. The shining star of the conversation was as subtle as a hammer smacking a windshield. Philip disclosed subversive information right on the surface for all to see, though the investigators that initially read through Philip’s disgusting words missed it.

My girlfriend won’t mind if we meet. In fact, she might prefer it.

 

Philip was married to Kay at the time of the encounter. Madison was the only other one to live in the house at the time, and my heart sank at the atrocities she experienced.

With Madison dead, no more convictions would be likely and Philip would be free.

“Can you email me this transcript, please?” I asked, handing him my card. “That was horrible to read. How did you talk to those guys like that?”

“I had to stop and take breaks often,” he said. “My wife and I were just dating at the time, and I wouldn’t let her see what these guys were saying to me. I’m just glad it was to me and not some young girl or boy.”

“Me too.”

“Let me get you one of my cards in case you need something more,” Evan said, standing up and walking into a back room. His wife turned back into the kitchen.

I quickly reached for my thumb drive and slammed it into the side of his laptop, searching the files rapidly for a Tommy Roisman.

Bingo.

Click…click…click. The file was also downloaded onto the thumb drive and I disconnected the thumb drive from the port just as Evan walked back in and sat down.

I thanked the both of them and walked out to the unmarked charger. My phone buzzed as soon as the engine turned on.

“Trotter,” I answered.

“Hey, man.” It was Abraham, and he sounded panicked. “Just got a call from CSU, we have a homicide on Pinewood.”

Chapter Eight

Pinewood Avenue was a well-known middle class area of Lincolnshire. It was the type of area that if you didn’t maintain your lawn well enough, your neighbor might call the HOA.

The houses all matched each other in size, and varied little in architecture. Families were out shoveling driveways from the previous night’s dusting. Friendly waves caught my eye as I passed by.

The closer I got to the house, the more concerned the neighborhood residents looked. Up ahead, I saw squad cars with lights, fire trucks, and an ambulance.

It was definitely like us as a department to overdo it with theatrics.

I pulled behind a squad car and Abraham walked to me quickly.

“What the hell took so long?”

“I was a town over,” I said, defending myself. “Working the Maise case. I think I —“

“Just, c’mon,” he said. “Something crazy happened here, John.” He guided me to the back of the house. A woman was hunched over with a blanket wrapped around her, sobbing as a uniformed officer offered support. The sliding glass door was wide open and I peered inside.

The body of a man lay face up on the floor between the kitchen and living room. I stepped in closer and got a whiff of the smell.

He was likely there a few days, but the cold didn’t do a good enough job in warding off the smell.

“What in the world…” I said, covering my mouth with my handkerchief.

“The blood starts at the doorway and skids all the way back to where he is here,” Benjamin said from behind me. “I take it he was stabbed right here in the doorway and fell straight down.”

“Was he moved?” I asked. “The footprints in the blood suggest a struggle.”

“Those weren’t the killer’s prints. Those were his. He wasn’t moved. He was on the ground and tried scooting back away from the killer.”

The throat was slit wide open; nearly taking the man’s head clean off. I pointed to the neck wound. “Postmortem?”

“Not likely,” Benjamin replied. “The blood rushed out like his heart was still