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

“The wound to his abdomen looked lethal.” The stab wound was likely done with a buck knife, six inches long. I’ve used this type of blade many times hunting with my father in northern Maine during the harshest winters. “Why slice the throat?”

“Because he’s crazy,” Abraham said.

“Or, because the killer wanted him dead…like, fully dead,” Benjamin added, making a snide side-eye to Abraham.

“Are we sure this is a male?” I asked.

“Both sets of shoe prints indicate size elevens, so it’s likely a male.” The forensic team scoured the place and took dozens of pictures while we stood and looked around in bewilderment. We didn’t cross many murders in Lincolnshire. Not since Alvin Dugger went on a killing spree. The idea that a killer was on the loose in town only brought those memories back up.

I needed to clear my head and start objectively again.

“His wallet is here next to the keys,” Abraham said. “I took a look before you got here. William Hensen. Birthdate makes him sixty-four years old.”

A uniformed officer came out of the back room holding up a coat. “Found this in his bedroom. It has his name stitched on the breast. Looks like a custodian or mechanic jacket.”

I studied William’s attire from the kitchen. He was dressed modestly for the day. Groceries were still in bags, rotting and adding to the smell.

“Rowland’s Motors is what it says. He has a name badge for them and everything,” the officer said.

“Ah, I took my lawnmower there last spring for a tune-up,” Abraham said. “I don’t recognize this guy from there. He might’ve just started.”

“This place looks too nice for a small engine repair, single income,” I said. “He has degrees up on his walls. He had a masters in human resources from Purdue University.” The honorary degree was hung in a solid oak frame, the types of frame that was far too large for the contents inside, so a mat was placed to maximize the distinguished look. A license to work as a human resource manager hung directly below it. “Why would someone with these licenses and a prestigious degree work at a small engine repair shop?”

“He’s older,” Welker said, standing in the doorway. “Maybe he’s retired. Wanted a change.”

“Hmm…maybe,” Abraham said, unconvinced. “We’ll have to call around and get some more information on him. Can we get these shoe prints copied?”

Benjamin nodded and sent the rest of his team outside.

I stepped outside where the woman was crouched down. I smiled at the officer and they moved to the side, trying their best to stay involved in the investigation. As a uniform, I always tried to involve myself in the bigger cases to increase my chances of promotion. I had to respect the young cop for doing her part.

“Ma’am, I know you might have already talked to some officers about this situation, but I’m the lead detective on this case now. I need to hear directly from you what you saw. If you want to come down to the station where it’s warmer and maybe you can get your head straight. That might be better.”

She nodded, and an officer escorted her to the police car parked in front of mine. “Make her nice and comfortable.”

Abraham stepped out of the house and said, “Was that the witness?”

“Yeah, we’re going to do an interview at the station. I didn’t feel comfortable asking her questions while he was lying twenty feet away. That way, we can also do some research on him to see if she’s telling the truth.”

“That’s good,” he said. “The neighbors are already telling us he kept mostly to himself. They mentioned a legal history, but didn’t know exactly what.”

The entire house was canvassed several times over and many items were secured in baggies and tagged. After several hours looking over every detail, I sat down in my car and placed my head on the steering wheel. Henson’s body was taken out, covered on a stretcher, and placed in the back of the ambulance to be taken to the morgue for an autopsy.

Was this too much to handle?

After twelve years of detective work, I’ve culminated into someone who has fallen out of love with one of the few things he’s cared about in the past several years: his job.

I can’t do this anymore…

I didn’t know if I was asking the right questions. If those questions led somewhere, then what? Another wall. William Henson died an excruciating death, and it was on me to avenge it somehow.

My instructor at the academy before I joined the Lincolnshire police force once told me that, “You don’t investigate murder because you’re avenging their death; that’s for the movies. You do, however, investigate murder because it’s the morally right thing to do.”

Hands shaking, I started up the car. Heart racing in my chest, I pressed the pedal down and sped down the road. The pressure built in my ears as the houses seemed to blend into one another, not caring to mix contrasting colors, allowing them to bleed door to door.

I was losing control and not only of my car. The car crept to a standstill in a convenience store parking lot as the hyperventilating subsided momentarily.

William was a man lying dead on a floor. That’s all he was. He didn’t have to mean more than that. If he meant an ounce more, he would mean something, and I couldn’t have that. Too much pressure was already popping my ears, making me think a concrete block sat on top of my head.

I was missing something at the scene and I needed to find it.

Finding it would give it meaning, you idiot.

The car turned around and drove back towards the residence of the deceased, though he wasn’t there any longer. All that remained were the stains