Hello, Little Sparrow Read online

  Hello, Little Sparrow

  A Novel

  by

  Jordan Jones

  Copyright © 2021 by Jordan E. Jones

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ISBN: 9798680596791

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2021

  Dedication:

  To my amazing and supportive wife.

  It is not difficult to avoid death. It is much more difficult to avoid wickedness, for it runs faster than death…

  - Socrates

  Chapter One

  Madison Maise jumped off Covey Bridge to her death on January twentieth, though she lost her life many years before.

  I pulled up next to Covey Bridge in my unmarked Dodge Charger and adjusted my rearview mirror, focusing in on a distraught couple talking to a uniformed officer behind the police tape. The sleet was light, tapping against my windshield, making intermittent splashes my wipers tried violently to wipe away.

  I turned the car off and buttoned up my wool trench coat, grabbed my fedora, and swung the door open reluctantly.

  The man and woman were still excited in their tone, and the uniformed officer was quickly scribbling at his pad. Another vehicle was stopped halfway across the bridge, the door still open with the key in the ignition. My partner, Deangelo Abraham, was already at the scene, poking his head over the railing of the bridge.

  L.T Anderson was also present, fingering at his own notepad. “It’s about time you showed up; take a look at this,” LT Anderson said, motioning to the ground near the ledge.

  “It looks like blood. Nearly frozen to the ground.”

  “Very good, John,” he said sarcastically. “There is a girl at the bottom of this ravine. She must’ve walked on glass we spotted a few blocks back. The gentleman and the woman pulled up as this girl was climbing over the railing.”

  “Why didn’t they stop her?” Abraham asked.

  “There wasn’t enough time. All they remember was that she said, ‘My demons will die with me’ and then she jumped.”

  “That’s horrible,” Abraham said. His greying beard pronounced in the white frozen snow that surrounded us.

  “Yes, but I need to tell you two: be prepared before you go down that ravine. What you’re about to see, you won’t soon forget.”

  The ravine itself wasn’t the worst part, but the slick, newly fallen snow and sleet was. None of us were properly dressed for the part. Although the bridge wasn’t very long, it was a long way down to the creek.

  Lincolnshire, Maine, didn’t have a river, only a creek. It was shallow, but deep enough to fish from time to time when the season was right. When Madison took her plunge, the banks were completely frozen, though the stream was moving rapidly.

  Abraham and I slipped and skidded our way down to the bottom, spouting a few choice words in the process.

  Once at the bottom, the stream appeared faster close up than it did at the top. The forensics specialist at the Lincolnshire P.D was already down there taking pictures. Torrey Benjamin was a middle-aged man with no personality. We’ve never butted heads, but never really saw eye-to-eye. His part of the job often confused me and he offered us little insight…especially on the more egregious cases requiring an “all hands on deck” approach.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Benjamin stated as we finished slipping down the steep slope.

  “Morning,” I answered as cheerfully as I could. “What do we have?”

  “Looks like the wind shifted her during the one-hundred foot drop. It was much windier earlier this morning. It shifted her in this direction and she landed right there, in the middle of the creek bed.” He pointed to a rock jutting slightly out of the water; human remains were obvious from where we stood.

  “That was only the impact point,” he continued. “The current took the rest of her body downstream a few hundred feet until it rested on the bank, over there.” He pointed to a lifeless body that was difficult for us to make out where we stood. “Follow me.”

  Her body was mangled and unrecognizable. The closer we got to her, the uneasier I felt. The suicide rate in Lincolnshire grew tenfold in the winter months, as cloudy days and isolation take over the lives of people in Maine.

  This winter has grown especially arduous for the teens.

  “I mean, it’s pretty obvious the cause of death was a result of the impact, and the people up top saw her jump.” He adjusted his beady-eyed glasses at the end of his nose. He tried to appear older and wiser than he was. “Just a sad and young girl taking her personal atomic clock in her own hands.”

  Her body was so badly contorted, it was hard to decipher the top from the bottom.

  She wanted to die. She was backed into a corner and took it upon herself to end it.

  But, why?

  “I found this in her pockets,” Benjamin stated, holding out a necklace. “One of the uniforms helped me search her pants right before you arrived.”

  I took the necklace in my hand and studied it.

  It had a gold-colored chain, though it was clearly a knock-off. Not unlike something a young preteen girl would wear. The butterfly at its center had different colored jewels in it, the chain connected to each of the wings. The piece was fairly heavy given its cheap nature.

  “What do you think the significance of this is?” I asked. “If there is any.”

  “I doubt there is any,” Abraham said. “By the looks of it, she was hastily dressed. I don’t even see a coat anywhere. She didn’t wear any shoes. The blood up top corroborates that theory.”

  I readjusted my belt around my waist. “So, she wakes up, throws on the first thing she has, walks down to the bridge from God knows where with no shoes in twenty five degree, sleeting rain, jumps off a bridge, and no one sees her until she gets here?”

  “It’s not that busy of a road,” Abraham suggested. “She might not live that far.”

  “Even so, she wanted to do this for quite some time,” I said. “We need to get an identification on her ASAP. Radio to the uniforms to start scouring the area. Knock on doors, ask questions, and try to get an ID.”

  Benjamin looked up at the bridge. The structure towered over us from a great distance up. The imposing structure had a steel frame and concrete pavement on the top. You wouldn’t even recognize you’re driving on a bridge unless you looked out the window.

  “We’ve had a rash of these, Trotter,” Benjamin said. “It’s a teen suicide. We’ve seen this before. It was a rough winter. It’s a routine I.D., bag, tag, and bury circumstance.”

  My eyes followed the bridge supports down to the creek. “There’s nothing routine about this one.”

  Abraham crouched down next to the body, where disgust reigned on his face. We stood in silence for what seemed like forever, each of us contemplating what type of investigation this should be.

  “Detective Trotter,” rung my radio on my shoulder. L.T. Anderson making his presence known from on top of the bridge.

  “Go for Trotter.”

  “We need you and Abraham back topside when you’re done down there. Possible relative to the vic. Sounds like the mother.”

  I looked down at my feet.

  “Here we go,” Abraham said. His voice fluctuated with reluctance and contempt.

  “Saves us from having to find her.” I began the trek back up the ravine. The intense sleet stopped, and now just drizzled, aiding my trek. Abraham, however, had a few choice words on his way back up.

  “Gentlemen,” LT Anderson introduced us from the top. “This is Kay Maise. She lives a few
blocks west. She reports that her daughter is missing.”

  The distraught woman was roughly five foot eight, barely one hundred pounds. She wore an oversized sweatshirt, though it was barely enough to shelter her from the cold. Her hair was thrown together and her face was caked with last night’s makeup.

  “Ma’am, I’m Detective John Trotter of Lincolnshire PD. This here is my partner Detective Deangelo Abraham.”

  “Is it her?” she squealed, not letting me finish my sentence. “Is it Madison?”

  “We’re unsure who it is at this time, ma’am. I think it’s best if -“

  “Let me have a look at her; I’ll be able to tell,” she interrupted, filled with hopefulness. She spotted the blood near the railing. “Oh, God!”

  “Ma’am, it wouldn’t be a good idea for anyone to go down there right now,” Abraham said.

  “Why? Is she dead?” The woman was clearly holding out any type of hope her daughter was still alive.

  “It’s a steep ravine,” I interjected. “It’s dangerous. We want to make sure we have a positive ID before we start scaring family members. All we know is that she is likely a young teen and it was on purpose.”

  The woman held her hands up to her mouth, fighting back screams pursed behind her lips.

  LT Anderson placed his arm around the woman and motioned to a squad car. “I think it’s best if you have a seat and we’ll get you warmed up.” She obliged, although it was clear she wanted answers.

  I turned to the railing and peeked my head over. The spot where she made impact couldn’t be seen from this angle, as the wind must have quickly forced her body under the bridge. The rest of the forensics team arrived and started down the hill with the black zip-up bag and a makeshift stretcher, one that fit in hard-to-reach areas. Luckily the woman wasn’t watching from where she was sitting.

  The commotion started a crowd in the area, and the uniforms did their best keeping people behind the police barrier. A few people asked them if they knew what happened. The uniforms answered as vaguely as they could.

  “What are we going to do, Trotter?” Abraham asked. His stocking cap was forced down over his eyes during the climb back up the hill.

  “We can show her the necklace,” I suggested. “That would keep her from ever having to see what we saw down there.”

  He nodded, though he certainly wasn’t a fan. We have been to several suicide calls in the past year and it never got easier. Many times a family member found the body. It was the times they didn’t that made our jobs much harder.

  I put my hand on his shoulder and gave him a pat. “Let’s do this.”

  The woman looked towards us as we approached. “Maybe if I go home she’ll be there. Maybe she just went out for a walk or something. I need to go check.”

  She attempted to stand up, but I reached out my hand to stop her. “Miss, we have something you might be able to identify.” I grabbed the necklace from my pocket and as soon as her eyes reached it, she let out an otherworldly scream.

  My eyes shut and I let out a sigh as she buried her head into my chest.

  “My baby…” she cried over and over again. The rowdiness of the gathered crowd died down as they looked on in horror as the woman wept uncontrollably. LT Anderson gave me an approving nod from where he stood by the ambulance.

  “Miss,” Abraham started. “Can we take you anywhere? Is there something we can do to help you?”

  “No,” she responded. “That…that necklace. Her father gave her that necklace.” She then collapsed back inside the squad car, fainting as she did.

  “Can I get an EMT over here?” I yelled from across the bridge. Without giving the crowd what they wanted, I motioned for the medical team to come over and check on the poor woman. LT Anderson came over to investigate. “She passed out, sir.”

  “My, my. Imagine what she just experienced right here.” He sighed and placed the cap back on his head. He waved off the crowd, now nearly thirty people present. “Please, ladies and gentlemen. This is an ongoing investigation here. One hundred meters from all sides of this spot is an active scene. We need you all to scoot back.”

  Abraham looked at me with lips clamped together. “This is a rough one, Trotter.”

  “I know it is, buddy.” I took a step back to let the medical staff tend to Miss Maise. “Something about this girl taking her own life rings different than the others.”

  Abraham gave a subtle smirk. “Probably the fact there was barely a body to see.”

  “No,” I said. “Not that. This one just feels different.”

  Chapter Two

  The stench of cigarette smoke seeped into the hall from the apartment across from mine. I shook my head as I unlocked the door and pushed my way in.

  I threw my keys on the kitchen counter. The small two-bedroom apartment was spacious enough for one person to live comfortably, but small enough to make that one person go crazy from the constant isolation. I looked through the living room from where I stood in the kitchen and peered out the sliding glass doors onto the balcony.

  Not a day went by that I didn’t think about stepping off the balcony and letting gravity pull me towards the sidewalk fifteen floors below. Although the desire was there, something always held me back, and it definitely wasn’t gravity.

  My phone buzzed from my pocket, so naturally, I ignored it. My work phone buzzing typically elicited some sort of response from me, but my personal phone was fair game. I checked the clock on the oven and it read 7:37 p.m. I was at the bridge and then at my desk scouring through notes and pictures for over twelve hours.

  I saw that poor girl’s body from so many angles it was enough for any investigator to understand the full extent of her injuries. I was done looking at her.

  But, I wasn’t done seeing her.

  I wouldn’t ever be done seeing her. What I had seen would last lifetimes.

  The plan was to visit her mother tomorrow and check out her living situation to better understand the jump, though not much ever came from visiting grieving mothers the day after scraping their kids off of embankments.

  Kids have been dropping like flies for the past year in Lincolnshire, and investigations always involved a journal, suicide letter, or diary of some sort depicting the tragic last days of their lives.

  And, it never got easier reading them.

  One teen in the outskirts killed himself with his father’s .45-caliber handgun. His letter was so long his mother published it in the local paper trying to spread awareness.

  What she was spreading awareness of, I will never know. It lead to a public outcry, with many saying his most intimate feelings were being professionally published for the entire world to see.

  I tended to agree.

  The cherry-wood coffee table in front of my couch facing the wall-mounted TV was three beer cans deep before I grew the nerve to call Katherine. Her number was always at the top of my recently called, though I hadn’t spoken to her in many months.

  The checks for school I sent her were always cashed immediately, and I kept her tuition paid for on the regular.

  She had good reason to keep her distance, as the cans on the coffee table told more of a story about that than I ever could.

  The blame she set at my feet was more than appropriate, it was accepted. Not only that, but it was also harnessed and ridden. The constant sadness I felt about the way my life had gone up to that point was only rivaled with my innate ability to isolate and wallow in my self-pity.

  This wasn’t lost on me.

  Not even close. I understood what I did, but I had no idea how to stop it. The motivation I once had when I was married to Katherine’s mother, Vivian, had not only perished, but held me down with a crippling depression so deep I couldn’t begin to see through the darkness.

  The motivation I once had to find happiness was now my kryptonite, because I knew I had it within me to get up and do the things I once loved. It wasn’t even close to happening anymore.

  That motivation was used fo
r everything but the marriage.

  “Daddy?” she answered. I was so lost in my train of thought that I didn’t realize I had even placed the call. “Daddy? Are you there?”

  “Uh…yes,” I responded. “I’m just checking in to see how things are going.” I stood up and started pacing, which was normal for a nervous party in a phone conversation.

  “I’m good, but I’m at work.” I heard some commotion in the background. She worked at the university bookstore, and I knew they closed nearly two hours before the call. I didn’t want to step on any toes. This was the first time I spoke with her since before Christmas, after all.

  “Well, good honey,” I said. “I’m glad all is well.”

  “Is there something you wanted?” Someone in the background said something to the tune of, ‘No, it’s my turn to shuffle.’

  “I just wanted to make sure you have enough money for groceries or anything like that.” My bank account had swelled in recent months. Isolation kept me from spending anything.

  “Well, I could use a little gas money. There are a few pairs of scrubs and a stethoscope. I haven’t begun shopping for that stuff yet.” Her voice turned into a more innocent, cheery type; the kind of voice that has swindled me out of thousands of dollars in the year since Vivian left me.

  I didn’t mind. It used to be hurtful, but I was now numb to it.

  “Sure sweetie,” I responded with a slight smile. I could hear her smile from the other side of the phone. The facade she exhibited showed through, and sniffing it out had nothing to do with being a detective. “How does five-hundred sound?”

  She obviously held back a gleeful squeal and agreed. Five hundred should cover these expenses.

  Should.

  She didn’t want to sound too excited and hint that the amount I was offering was preposterous and would be enough to cover all of her nursing expenses and gas for the rest of the semester. We wouldn’t want that.

  “Thank you again, Daddy. I have to get back to work.”

  She hung up before I could tell her I loved her.