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

“So, the killer isn’t The Sparrow in the letters,” I said. “The Sparrow is definitely the killer’s older sister.”

“Looks that way,” Benjamin said.

“What do we have on this Ingram fella?” LT Anderson asked. “Maybe he’s the monster the author is talking about.”

“Well, like we said, he’s long dead,” I said.

“I found another newspaper clipping that came out two days after his death in Paducah,” Benjamin said. “It said something about being survived by a two daughters.”

“The killer is obviously a male, but it’s worth a shot,” I said.

“Detective!” A voice rang out. “Detective Trotter. There’s an officer out here that wants to speak with you.”

I moved through the doorway and walked to the front desk and saw a short, stocky man. He had Italian features, and was nicely dressed for your typical detective.

He scowled as I approached him.

“Detective John Trotter?” He asked. He didn’t appear to be from the FBI. He didn’t have any identification on his attire that signified as much.

“Yes,” I responded. “And you are?”

“My name is Detective Marco Morelli and I’m with the Brimsburg police department,” he answered. His scowl did not match his voice. He sounded upbeat and happy to meet me.

“Oh, great to meet you, Detective.” I showed him back to my desk, but several more feet away so we could have more privacy. “What do I owe this visit?”

He took a seat slowly. His knees were hurting him much like mine were. He let out a sigh.

“The girl…Angela Cooper,” he said. “She was gutted in cold-blood in Brimsburg about a month ago.”

I remembered that The Sparrow had used a name I was very familiar with on the kiosk.

Tommy Roisman.

I knew he was involved with that killing somehow, but I couldn’t cloud up our investigation with this knowledge. The victim didn’t meet any of his qualifications. I was afraid to bring it to light.

I wanted to keep certain secrets hidden.

“I remember parts of it,” I said. “The part I remember most is that it was in broad daylight.”

“Yes…yes it was,” he answered. “It was foggy and cloudy, but many people saw what happened. We even have him on the video camera applying for a job in the place only minutes before he killed her. It was in the news. I’m sure you’ve seen it.”

The grainy footage of the man sitting at the kiosk flooded back into my mind. He was using the name as his own.

“He put Tommy Roisman into the system,” he continued. “Not sure if it’s some sort of anagram or something. Those wacko killer types love playing cat and mouse.”

LT Anderson poked his head out of his door, but he couldn’t save me. He could hear the conversation as it unfolded.

“I’m not sure I can help you with that case, Morelli,” I said. “In fact, I will have the FBI here any moment to take all of my evidence away from me so they can finish our own case. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

He cleared his throat and stared through me.

“That’s precisely why I’m here, John,” he said. “I think they’re connected. Our cities don’t have these sorts of savage crimes happen that often. I think someone escaped from a loony bin and is going around murdering people.”

“If you haven’t noticed,” I started. “Our loon focuses on killing sexual predators. Yours killed someone trying to get her life back together.” I tried my best to keep it together.

Of course Morelli was right. The Sparrow was one slip up from being caught; we couldn’t possibly allow all the information to be leaked.

The name…Tommy Roisman was especially important. I exchanged glances with LT Anderson, who had inched closer.

“There’s this guy,” he said, completely ignoring me. “This guy I just want to pin this thing on. I don’t have the evidence, but I just know he’s good for it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I mean he just has this way about him. He’s creepy. He looks like a loner. Keeps to himself. A type like that. Someone you definitely wouldn’t want your daughter to date because she might end up in a ditch somewhere.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

Morelli situated himself in his seat and continued. “He lives alone here in Lincolnshire. He has…had this cousin…Angela Cooper…the one who was murdered. He visited a few times in prison up at Maine State, but the last time he was booted from the place because they got in some verbal altercation. It wasn’t pleasant. That’s what the guards told me when I went to interview them.”

“That’s interesting,” I responded.

“Then she’s released from prison and ends up in Brimsburg at a rehab place for meth only to be stabbed to death a few days later. They were doing yoga of all things.”

“These are details they left out of the papers,” I said. “That’s cold-blooded.”

Yeah, but this guy,” he continued. “He’s a real creep and I think he had something to do with it. If their cameras were worth a ham sandwich we’d have the guys face. Dead to rights.”

“You really think this is him?” LT Anderson said, standing next to us now.

“Yes, Lieutenant, I do.”

“And, all of this because of odd behavior?” I asked.

“It’s more than that, Detective.” He took out a cigarette and lit it in the precinct. “This guy has a real evilness about him. Real weirdo. Doesn’t think like us.”

“How so?” LT Anderson asked.

“I went to pay him a visit today and found him lying on his floor in his foyer muttering something under his breath. His door was wide open. He kept hinting around that he had something to do with this.”

I took a breath and thought for a second that maybe he could be telling the truth. If this man was truly