Hello, Little Sparrow Jordan Jones (book series for 10 year olds TXT) 📖

Victim C indicated perpetrator attempted life-saving methods unknown to this detective at this time. After failed resuscitation, perpetrator stood up and took a few steps as indicated by the bloody footprints. It was a short time after, likely seconds, that he fired what looks like at least eight rounds at Victim B who was lying adjacent to everyone else in the room, striking him at least five times.”

I walked over to the lifeless Philip Maise. His first day free would be his last. Blood came from his mouth and his eyes were shut tight. He likely shut them soon before death because he didn’t want to see what was coming.

“Two rounds struck his chest…one in his abdomen, and two near the groin. I count at least three other rounds surrounding the body; one in the wall behind and two in the floor in front. Victim C was unharmed by perpetrator, but extensive psychological testing would likely be needed if we are to gain any semblance of evidence.”

I stood up and looked over the violent scene once again. He had stumbled and I knew it. The Sparrow was finally afraid of himself and what he was capable of. Kay’s witness testimony would only solidify that.

His shooting of an officer would only bring down more hell on his head.

The room started its normal investigative hustle and bustle once I pushed stop on the recorder. I knelt down next to Abraham’s body. His face was still clear. He didn’t look afraid now, but I wondered what he thought when he walked through the door and a bullet struck his neck.

His neck had compression marks over it, so deep I could make them out through the blood.

The Sparrow was really trying to save him. He really was losing it. He showed remorse for what he did, and this opened new doors.

The botched scene before me, as horrifying as it was, displayed the madness of a man who had no aim.

Someone completely clueless.

His armor now had chinks in it.

He was in trouble.

The mistakes would only begin to start piling up for The Sparrow and I would find him.

Benjamin and his team began their work on the house, collecting DNA and samples from the victims’ bodies, especially Abraham’s, who had handprints all over him. The smoldering cigarette butt Kay said Philip had puffed still sat in the ashtray.

Abraham’s head was slightly cocked to the side and I thought I could see the sides of his mouth curl upwards. He was happy wherever he was.

I wanted to speak to him, but I couldn’t find the words. People around stopped conversing and looked down at me again, knowing full well me being there could jeopardize the case.

My emotions would veil important aspects of the investigation…or so they thought. I knew full well I wanted to be on the case more than anything. There was no doubt in my mind I needed to catch this guy. We were right where he was only hours earlier.

I walked out of the trailer and went down the steps back out into the night. LT Anderson told me to go home and get some rest, that Welker and Harlow would spearhead the investigation for a few days so I could get my head right.

My steps seemed sluggish and paralyzed, but I pressed on. The rain seemed to calm, but the storm continued to rage within the clouds above. Crashes of thunder only added to the solemn occasion, drowning out the sound of wailing sirens of officers who’ve arrived too late, much like myself.

The Charger hummed down the side streets of Lincolnshire and I looked through the window into the darkness outside. I wasn’t sure what I thought I would find, but that didn’t deter me. I knew The Sparrow was still awake and was probably washing my partner’s blood off him as I drove.

The thought killed me and smashed me to bits, like a thousand pieces of shattered glass.

I hoped he would sleep well, because I wouldn’t.

I would be hunting him, and this time I wouldn’t stop.

Chapter Thirty

Saturday mornings were the best part of Brooks’ week. The coffee was overflowing from his Keurig into his favorite mug and the rest splattered onto the floor, causing him to jump as he came downstairs dressed in a short-sleeve button-up tucked into nice pressed slacks.

Brooks had no plans for today. He wanted to be like everyone else.

“Darling, did you hear about the Red Sox? They started spring training this week.” Brooks faced the sink where he pictured a wife would be, washing dishes after the children finished their breakfast. The sink was littered with actual dishes and no one was at the sink, of course.

He had to pull it off. The scanner next to the door sang out a choir early in the morning about last night. The police communicating did so in code, but Brooks had it pulled up on his computer to help him decipher what they were saying.

He shaved, forming a goatee out of his beard, which he wore proudly around his house. No more disheveled appearances. Brooks would be a commoner.

It would be the only way he kept his innocence in a city that thinks what he did was more heinous than what all the city’s two hundred and forty-seven sex offenders have done.

No sense could be made from that. There were four more not long ago, though Brooks made quick work of them. A serial killer is what they called him.

Six victims and counting.

Two were quite inadvertent, though he did drive several miles just to end his cousin’s life; he had no choice in the matter. She sided with the vile. She had seen what they were capable of and stood by their side, offering them penance for virtually nothing in return.

Brooks offered