Hello, Little Sparrow by Jordan Jones (ebook audio reader txt) 📗

The police detective that intervened shook Brooks to the core. He was up all night trying to rationalize everything. The detective was there doing his job, but he was also trying to stop Brooks. Trying to stop Brooks was equivalent to inviting a vile person into your home…and that definitely didn’t make sense.

The only thing that made sense was Brooks’ reaction to the man as he barged in the door. That, coupled with Brooks indiscriminately firing in his direction, only strengthened Brooks’ argument that the detective deserved what he got.

His mind went in circles with this justification, and as he pressed the ‘off’ button on his coffee maker, he finally felt at ease about everything.

This will all work out.

He imagined his three children arguing while chasing each other around the kitchen table, though Brooks knew his kitchen was much too small to make the dream seem as realistic as he wanted it to be. His imaginary wife bashfully smiled and shook her head at the munchkins.

“They know better than that,” Brooks said to her. She nodded in return and continued with the dishes. Brooks bent over the clean up the spilt coffee before Bowser got to it. He’d always imagined having a playful lab puppy that could match the kids’ excitement and energy.

Bowser just felt right.

The feeling of anguish flooding his brain and tension straddled his arms. The reality was far different than the desired life he painted for himself, and he could feel it. He could feel the walls crumbling down around him.

He’d ended the life of two men the night prior, but felt another chink of armor fall. Madison was angry, of course, but she understood…to a degree. She didn’t want the officer to die. It couldn’t be undone and Brooks was nervous she’d make him turn around and pick another unfortunate name off his list.

She was still silent, watching from her corner, as Brooks played house with an invisible family.

The Shrine!

Brooks lost track of hours and needed to gather the objects and papers strewn about his office and bring them home, but if his proxy-card pinged the doors on the weekend that will surely raise suspicion.

He’d have to wait until Monday and just play it cool until then.

The doorbell rang and Brooks stood at the kitchen table wondering if it was reality or imaginary. He willed it to be imaginary, but knew in his heart that the bell rang in his ears. He turned down the scanner and opened the door. Waiting too long would only cause suspicion.

Brooks quickly opened the door.

“Hello, Mr. Ingram. I’m Detective Draper and this is my partner, Detective Morelli. We’re with Brimsburg Police Department in Somerset County. May we come in?”

Brooks’ face grew pale white, though his demeanor did not change. His palms were covered in sweat as he fished for the door handle.

“After you,” he said, stepping out of the doorway. “Second door on the left is my living room. Would you like coffee, or?”

“No…no thank you,” said the taller man wearing glasses. His face was covered in scars, and Brooks thought it was probably attributed to a war in a faraway land. The other man was a shorter, Italian man with olive skin. Neither looked like they wanted to make the two-hour drive from Brimsburg and go back home empty handed.

Draper had a seat, but Morelli stood firm against the fireplace, leaning his elbow up against the mantel. It was obviously an intimidation tactic.

“Mr. Ingram, when was the last time you saw your cousin, Angela Thomas?”

Brooks narrowed his brows as if to act slightly surprised by the question. “I visited her in prison about a couple weeks ago…up in southern Somerset County. Forgot the name of the place.”

“Maine State Penitentiary,” Draper said. “Easy enough to forget, I guess. Anyway, four days ago, she was found stabbed to death outside of a rehabilitation facility in Brimsburg only a few days after her release. Do you know anything about that?”

Brooks grabbed his own face in shock and terror. He’d acted before and was trying not to overact in front of the detectives, who were trained to sniff out lies. “My God…stabbed?”

“Yes, sir,” Draper said. “Witnesses said a mystery person pulled her outside during an exercise class and she was found with at least five stab wounds to her chest and neck area.”

“Who do you think did it?” Brooks asked. “Do you have any leads?”

Morelli wasn’t buying it and said, “We were hoping you could tell us.” Draper gave him a disapproving glare and returned to meet Brooks’ eyes.

“We went to the prison to ask some questions and they said you two were screaming at each other and you were kicked out. The visit ended early.”

“That’s true,” Brooks answered. “She told me she didn’t want anything to do with me when she got out even though I put money on her books the entire time she was in. I told her I was cutting her off and she started yelling, so I yelled back. I admit, it was disruptive, but I wanted her out of my life, believe me. I didn’t want her dead, though.”

The two detectives exchanged looks, and Draper asked: “Do you know a Tommy Roisman?”

“I’m afraid not,” Brooks answered. It kept everything in him not to smile.

“We think it’s an alias, but we can’t be sure. Someone going by that name was seen there that day and seemed to be a shady character. The guy at the front desk didn’t have much of a description and half the damn cameras weren’t working either. We got a partial of him walking in, but the pictures are grainy.”

Draper handed the picture to Brooks and he looked it over. The picture was from far down the hall and Brooks made up about four