The Song Of The Blackbird

Introduction

Peter Quincy sat at his desk staring at the list of names on his computer.

Tom Simmons, too tall. Jacob Heshner, too old. Adam McDonald, too young. Gregory Jeffers, too short.

No matter what Peter did to get more information about who this burglar could be, it didn't fit. The victim, a 21-year-old college student living in a flat just around the block from New Scotland Yard, had given him little to no information other than the fact that it was a man that was about five and a half feet tall, and that he couldn't have been over the age of 30.

Peter scrolled down the list not having any luck finding a person that could possibly have done this. Not much was stolen other than an iPod and a couple of suit jackets in the closet. Peter thought that was an unusual selection of things to steal, although he didn't know what else the burglar would find. When Peter looked around the flat, he noted that it was a standard college student's apartment, with little to no things of value. All money and funds went to buying food and textbooks. Not to mention the area it was in, well known for college students looking for cheap housing. When Peter asked the neighbors if they had seen or heard anything, he got nothing of use.

He didn't even know why he was assigned this case in the first place. It was well below his paygrade.

Basically, all of London knew who Peter Quincy was, or 'Q' as his friends and coworkers call him. He was well known for being the son of Adam Quincy, previous Prime Minister, and well-spoken business man. Most people in this city think that Q didn't really earn his way into getting to where he's at. That his father somehow got him this job by paying his employers, but the truth was that he fought his way to earn his job. He didn't cut any corners or use his last name to get what he wanted.

Q gave up on looking through the list of possible suspects and closed the tab revealing a computer wallpaper of his German Shepard, Benny. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out to see who had texted him. Q looked down at the screen to see a text from his step sister, Jenny.

From Jennie: Go look on YouTube. There's a video of dad talking about you again Xx

Peter immediately groaned and clicked on the web browser and waited for it to load. He typed in 'YouTube' into the search engine and clicked on the website. He didn't even have to search for the video, it was right there on the front page. It was a video titled "Former prime minister Adam Quincy, speaks out about low crime rates". He put on his headphones and listened to his father go on about how good his son had been doing lately and what to expect for the future of crime. Q couldn't stand it when his father would go on to the press about things like this. Things he doesn't even know about. His father doesn't even tell him before he goes out and does stuff like this.

Q finished the video and closed the window. He heard a door open behind him and turned to see his boss motion for him to come with him.

                                                                             *******

Q wasn't sure what he was expecting to hear. Maybe that he was mistakenly assigned this beginner's case that he was overqualified for. Or that he needed to investigate a possible serial killer. Hearing his boss tell him that he needed to work harder on the case he was on, was not on his list.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understand what you're saying." Q knew exactly what his boss meant, he just needed to hear it again.

The man on the other side of the desk sighed as he rubbed his brow. He was a well-dressed man who looked to be no more than forty years old. His hands were well manicured and showed no signs of work strain. There was a nametag on his desk that read 'Richard Boxym'. It was one of those nametags that you see all over business places like banks and office buildings. Everyone here had them too.

"Listen, Peter," He removed his hand from his forehead and intertwined his fingers onto his desk. "I get that you think you can handle more than this case you're working on right now, but we just don't have anything else," He paused and looked at Q, a look of fake sympathy on his face, "I take it you saw the speech your dad made," He gestured with his hand at nothing in particular. Q nodded his head, an unreadable expression on his face. "Well he's not wrong. The crime rates really are down, and it's a good thing! I don't see why you're complaining. It's a positive change." Q knew he was right.

"Is there really no other case? I mean, nothing really?" Desperation filled his voice. What was the point in having this job if he didn't even have a job to do?

"Really." There was a sense of finality in his voice. Indicating that the conversation was over. Q was off to work once more. Off to scroll through the endless list of names.