Don't Cage The Birdie (Book 2)(rough first draft)

Chapter 22. The birdie

He had heard that bird song before. His thoughts were getting clearer the more he thought about it. The bird wasn't in the house when James arrived at the house the day the murder had been reported. It certainly wasn't at Dean's when he had visited the day before, and Dean apparently despised it and wouldn't let the pet in the house, also Claudia had ceased all Marjorie's visitations with him so there was no reason for the bird to be there in the first place. But, most importantly, thought James, the thought kept coming back to him, spinning in his head, was the fact that Pepito wasn't there when he got there a few hours after the murder.

At that second before his thoughts could progress any further his phone rang and he excused himself from the room, stepping out into the silent hallway littered with boxes of junk. It was Brewster.

'Hi,' said James, glancing back to the room he had just come out of. If the bird wasn't here and Dean wouldn't have taken it...

'Listen,' said Brewster on the other end of the line, calling James' attention, 'we finally got the CCTV tapes from the cameras at the store opposite the estate Claudia lived in. A bunch of cars left in the morning, a few came and went during the day, and most of the ones that left in the morning returned in the evening. No one came or went during the hours between 9 pm and 1.30 am. But, get this, a car did drive out of the estate around 1.54 am and the interesting thing is it never entered the estate during the day.'

'It came from one of the houses,' said James, mind picking up pace.

'Must have,' agreed Brewster. 'And guess what, it was a -'

'A blue Buick estate wagon with wood panelling on the side,' interrupted James, voice falling flat at the realisation.

'Huh?' said Brewster, voice filled with puzzlement. 'Yeah. That's it. How did you -'

'Send a squad to Nigel Mole's house immediately,' said James, picking up pace as he stormed through the house down the hall towards the front door. 'You'll find the car there,' he said as he fumbled with the lock on the car door.

'So it was Nigel Mole,' said Brewster.

'The car's at his place but I'm not sure it's Nigel Mole anymore.' James managed to get the lock open and pushed through the door, running full sprint to his car. He tumbled behind the wheel, clicking his phone shut and tossing it on the passenger seat. He revved the car into action and took off down the street, sweat dripping down from his forehead into his eyes. He had been so blind. It was like Lorenzo had said, 'Sometimes the key to a case is right under your nose.' Fuck, thought James as he drove. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

James sped through the streets as fast as he dared go, weaving through traffic. It all made perfect sense now that he realised it all. The power of hindsight. Nothing seemed to fit until it all did and then when you looked back you wondered how you never saw it to begin with. In record time his drifted to a stop in front of his destination and he climbed out, the engine still running in his haste. As he rushed up the driveway he slipped his gun from its holster, switching off the safety as he arrived at the front door and came to a stop just on the side of the house by the door.

'New York Police Department,' he yelled out. There was the sound of a TV blaring loudly but no other sound.

After a second silence he kicked in the door, pointing his gun in to cover himself. The hall was empty and he stepped tentatively inside. He crept down the hall and came into the living room, heart jumping up into his throat as he stared at the gruesome sight before him. The TV was running at full volume playing a day time soap. Dean Locke sat slumped in his chair, the back of his head completely mashed in, a hollow hole of broken skull. Brain and blood splatter was all over the couch, the wall, the floor, TV and, James could not help but notice, Marjorie Forrest. She stood next to the chair, chest heaving as he breathed deeply. Her face and body was covered in remnants of Dean's insides. A hammer was clasped tightly in her hand, covered in hair and brain. Blood dripped from it onto the carpet. There was already a pool indicating Marjorie had been standing looking at her father's remains for a short time already.