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

“What is it?” LT Anderson asked.

“This receiver has fingerprints all over it,” Benjamin said. “I can’t tell if they’re his until I do testing, but this guy really doesn’t care if he’s caught. And here…this is some sort of interruption in the fingerprints. The fingerprints were very deliberate; people don’t hold phones like that. But, this…this is something else.”

The fingerprints were very noticeable on the phone, but there was a slash taken out of all of them and down the length of the phone.

“Was he trying to wipe it away or something?” I asked. “Like, to destroy the evidence?”

“Not likely,” Benjamin said. “Because this wasn’t done with a rag or a shirt. This looks like he licked from the speaker to the receiver. There’s saliva here. Or, someone did. It was definitely a tongue, though.”

“What in the world is going through this guy’s head?” LT Anderson asked.

“You probably don’t want to know, sir,” Harlow answered.

The rest of the items were bagged including the phone, and Benjamin wrapped up his forensic suitcase.

“John,” he said out of earshot of everyone else. “We have to catch this guy. What happened here today is a huge red flag for me. I haven’t dealt with it too much myself, but my schooling taught me that when a serial killer becomes purposefully reckless…much like this one, they become even more dangerous. He knows his days are numbered and he’s about to do something big.”

The last of the forensic team walked out the door, and she placed investigation tape on the doorway.

“But, this is also a good thing, John,” he continued. “He knows you’re getting closer to finding him.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

The door swung open and Brooks fell to the floor of the foyer.

He laughed and grimaced as he thought about what he’d done. He wanted Detective Trotter to know his power and what he was capable of. From the bottom of his feet, a tingling sensation grew stronger and stronger as it went up his ankles and penetrated his calves.

The control he once had was long gone.

“I am the ember fading,” he said aloud from the floor. The hardwood beneath him offered a place of warmth and belonging, that of which he’d never known in his childhood home.

“I am a phoenix,” he whispered to himself. “I am the hero of the story.”

He balled his fists and slammed the floor at his sides. How dare Detective Trotter try and stop him. Brooks was doing his work for him. He was ridding the streets of the mangy filth within, and didn’t even ask for a paycheck.

Just a little recognition…that’s all he asked. The tightness of his fists ran incongruent with his peace of mind, knowing full well he was the hero.

“I am the hero.”

He let out a long and tiresome sigh.

The ceiling started to chip away and fell around him. He could feel bits of plaster and wood stabbing through his torso, on their way to meet the floor. Even further down into the basement they went, without so much as a hello or goodbye.

As the music played from the radio in the kitchen, he enjoyed himself on the floor. He opened his eyes and the ceiling was still intact.

He’d imagined it.

He’d imagined it all.

How much of the past few months had he imagined?

Were the vile actually extinguished? Were they actually dead?

A moment of clarity overcame him as his ember grew bright, but it was soon dull and grey, much like an ashy rock, forgotten in a riverbank…wishing one day to be skipped across to make it to the other side.

There were footsteps walking up the steps to his front door, but he didn’t move.

It could just be his imagination.

“Mr. Ingram,” the voice boomed. It was familiar. “Mr. Ingram, is everything all right?”

Brooks looked down and met the man’s gaze…it was Detective Morelli. This time he was alone.

“I’m as ripe as a cucumber Detective,” he replied from the floor. “Is there something I can help you with? Perhaps, you didn’t do enough damage when you stared through me with your beady eyes the last time you were here.”

“Mr. Ingram, may I come in?” A sense of urgency entered into Morelli’s voice.

“It’s a funny thing,” Brooks said as he used an end table for balance. “The only two beings needing verbal consent to enter a home are police and vampires; one will suck the life right out of you, and the other is a vampire.”

“Mr. Ingram…”

Brooks opened the door and waved the officer in, quickly glancing to the basement door where he stashed his bloodied clothes at the bottom of the steps.

“Your partner not well?”

Morelli took a drink of the coffee he had with him. “Draper is attending to another case in Brimsburg.” He took a seat on the couch, and was much less intimidating than the first time he was there.

“For what do I owe this pleasure, Detective?” Brooks asked.

“Your cousin…Angela. She was buried and I noticed you weren’t at the funeral. There weren’t many family members there at all. I think some were distant cousins…maybe a sibling. It just struck my curiosity.”

Brooks leaned against the mantel in the same fashion Morelli did, openly mocking him…though Brooks wasn’t quite sure if he’d get the hint.

“We weren’t close,” Brooks responded.

“But, you were close enough to visit in prison on at least three occasions.”

“She was in prison for over three years, Detective,” Brooks quipped. “Three visits in three years doesn’t constitute a close relationship.”

Morelli checked his notes and looked up. “You were taken out of there forcefully. This was three weeks before she was found gutted.”

“I’m still waiting for a question, Detective Morelli.”

Morelli threw his notebook on the floor and stood up, matching Brooks’ intensity.