Murder of Crows

by Cat Fiasco

Exhausted after a harrowing flight from Dallas and soaked from a late-night thunderstorm, I decided to check in at police headquarters. Dripping wet, I greeted the bleary-eyed night owls who had the dusk to dawn duty. They rarely spoke but always acknowledged my arrival with a nod or a hoot. Making my way upstairs, I felt small comfort in seeing the hole I called an office.

My door was always open. That wasn’t part of any worker-friendly policy; just that stacks of unsolved case files overflowed into the hallway blocking the door. City lights twinkled in the distance offering enough light to make my way around the reams of paperwork. Drat! Candy-wrappers littered my desk. Those damn squirrels downstairs were using my space again. I could only hope for better accommodations when the new branch opened this Spring. Right now, I needed a Texas gully-washer to do some housekeeping for me.

 Time to visit the night-shift officers. I had one or two bird brains on my team, but most were capable investigators. Russell, my sergeant, was a tough old coot who spent his career working homicide. He wasn’t a high-flyer, but he had a keen sense of right and wrong. And he was good at his job. As I perched on the edge of his desk, he got a caw. At this late hour, that usually meant trouble.

Minutes later, Russell and I arrived at the edge of the heavily wooded city park. The steady downpour and a flickering streetlight offered little help in sorting out the scene.  We examined the sweet young thing lying motionless in the middle of the well-worn path that stretched the length of the park. Who was she? How did she die? Why was she here?  Was it accidental or intentional? I needed answers.

Russell pointed to the tire tracks across her sleek, lifeless body as I watched raven-colored quills drift into a nearby ditch. Must have been something heavy. Likely hit and run. As we surveyed the dark landscape, Russell spied a second feathered body deep in the rain-soaked weeds. Yes, tonight we had a murder of crows.  I needed coffee.

After two hours of waiting, a sliver of sunlight signaled the end of the midnight storm and the arrival of the forensics team – more like a forensics pair, an MD named Tom and his no-name sidekick. Tom, a seasoned crime scene investigator with a taste for tragedy, waved as he approached.  One of the local cops lifted the crime scene tape deferring to Tom’s gruff manner and imposing figure – large frame, heavy jowls, and dark piercing eyes.  His sidekick hefted the tools of their trade.

When Tom joined Russell and me beside the tire-marked body, he handed me a small bag. “Here you go, Hawkeye.”

Even though it was a routine Tom and I had established in our early years together, the satisfaction of this small gesture never diminished.  Neither did my desire for coffee.  Quickly I opened the sack and chucked down my first coffee bean of the day.  I liked them raw and one at a time. It was an acquired taste, like working homicide.

 Tom squatted to examine the wounds on the first victim as I turned to Russell. Who, how and why thoughts raced through my head. “Beside two dead bodies, what do we know? Any witnesses? How about who called it in?”

Russell hesitated. “I think we have a witness.  Well, maybe not an eyewitness. He’s a petty thief that we’ve dealt with before; goes by Snake. He says he spoke to this young bird right before she died. Do you want to talk to him here or at the station?”

“Bring him here. Let’s do it now before those vultures who call themselves reporters show up. And tell the locals to get rid of that gaggle of onlookers. They display no concern for the living but show up with a morbid curiosity for the dead and dying. I hate that.”

A tough flight, a sleepless night and two dead bodies added up to a rough day ahead. Hoping for a sorely needed energy boost, I popped another coffee bean.  As the caffeine buzz grew stronger, I watched Russell yank the skinny small-time hood from the departing crowd and push him my way.

This guy didn’t want to make eye contact, but I insisted. “Look at me, Snake. You might be our only witness. Or you could be our only suspect. I need to know what you know. Talk to me now and maybe you can slither back under that rock you call home.”

He decided to talk.

“Okay, okay. Like I was telling your sergeant, her name is Flora.  And that pile of feathers in the weeds is her boyfriend, Chi. They’re always together.  Anyway, I don’t know about him, but I heard Flora scream. It was raining hard and by the time I got to her, she was barely breathing. Her eyes were closed but she managed to whisper one word.”

Snake paused. What’s with this lizard? My blood pressure was climbing. “Okay, drama queen, I’ll bite. What did she whisper?”

 “My hearing’s not so good but it sounded like ‘Nevermore’.”

I stumbled backward as I shouted. “You’ve got to be kidding! What kind of bird brain quotes poetry as a dying declaration? Get out of here. And go get your ear buds cleaned.”

Snake seemed anxious to oblige but my sleep-deprived, caffeine-charged rant wasn’t finished.

“And don’t leave town. You’re still on my radar. Go, before I change my mind.”

After Snake skittered away, Russell poked at me. “Hawkeye, maybe he’s right. If they were lovers, it’s possible her last thoughts were about Chi – about losing him. Think about it.”

Trying to ignore him, I turned for an update from Tom but Russell persisted. “I’m not finished. Quit popping those coffee beans. They’re not helping. You’re jittery and not thinking squarely. You need to rest. I don’t care where – just get some shut-eye. I’ll check with forensics and then find us some breakfast. Be back in an hour.” Then he was gone.

It’s hard to do a self-assessment in the middle of a meltdown but he was right. My heart was racing, and my thinking was muddled. The hundred-year-old red oak shrouding the crime scene had my name on it. I needed sleep.

Hasty decisions often lead to negative consequences. My snap choice to doze near the crime scene provided welcome relief for my weary body. But – there’s always a but – I woke up to what looked like the mouths of hungry chicks, ten microphones begging for attention. No way to escape. And so, the questions began.

“Detective, are you okay? How do you feel? Can you tell us what happened? Who is the victim? Was it an accident? Was it gang related? Why were you sleeping? Did you pass out? Are you injured?”

I pushed the microphones away, swearing to myself that if one more reporter asked me how I felt, I would rip their heart out.  How I felt didn’t matter.  What my next steps were, did.

Pushing my way through the gauntlet of questions, I told them “Dead is dead. Two bodies, no answers. I’ll get back to you.” I left them to gnaw on those slim pickings.

Thankfully there was one important question they didn’t ask, and one I forgot to pursue. Who reported it? Snake wasn’t the answer. Then who? Witness, accomplice or murderer; I needed to find out.

Feeling refreshed and clear-headed, I caught up with Tom and no-name preparing the bodies for the trip to the morgue. Their preliminary investigation must be complete. I shouted at Tom. “What have you found?”

“Glad you’re back among the living. Your sergeant should return any minute with donuts. As for the victims, one scenario fits. They had to be close, perhaps embracing. The boyfriend took a direct hit from an unknown vehicle. That sent him sailing into the thistle. With no time to react, she was crushed by whatever rolled over her. Heavy rain washed away most of the evidence except for a few remaining tread marks. Not sure if they’ll be much help. Oh, I have a surprise for you.”

I yawned and waited. Yet another drama queen. There was no good reason to aggravate my esteemed teammate. Instead, I begged for an explanation, “Prey tell.”

My dark humor wasn’t lost on the good doctor. He chuckled then said, “They weren’t hit last night. It had to be 20 to 24 hours ago. Rough guess, mid-morning yesterday.”

“Doc, that doesn’t line up with our witness account. Snake said he heard Flora scream last night just before he found her.”

Tom shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just telling you what the science says.”

Still stunned by Tom’s revelation, I didn’t notice Russell’s return until he shoved a French cruller in my face. “Hawkeye, maybe Snake didn’t hear Flora? What if the scream came from our mysterious caller?”

God, I thought, Maybe I should give up coffee beans. I quickly discounted that idea. Beans or no beans, Russell was on to something. I decided to test his recall.

“Think, Russell, what exactly did the caller say?”

Before he could answer, one of the officers guarding the crime scene interrupted. “Excuse me, detective. This little lady needs to speak to you. Says it’s urgent.”

Without waiting for agreement, a tiny, blue-coated thing introduced herself. “My name is Betty Lou Byrd. I live at the south end of the park but we’re moving two streets north – lots more room.” She pointed over my shoulder, then continued.  “Last night I was returning from a late meeting with our contractor.  As I flew through here, I saw this poor dead thing in the short grass; nobody else around. All I could do was scream and hightail it home to call you folks.”

I smiled. We had our mystery caller. “Thank you. You did the right thing. If you think of anything else, please let us know. Russell, give the lady a jelly donut and help her on her way.”

Before a crumb touched her lips, Betty Lou shouted, “Wait, there is something else. This path has been overgrown for weeks, until three days ago. Someone’s been mowing the grass. I don’t know about you, but I think that could be dangerous.”

I wanted to hug Betty Lou Byrd. Instead, I waited until she left then hugged my sergeant. “Russell, I know what Flora tried to tell Snake. Remember he admitted his hearing was bad.  It wasn’t nevermore. She was trying to warn him. I think she said new mower.”

An odd look of disappointment crossed Russell’s face, perhaps he had a romantic heart.

 Unfortunately, my joy was tempered by a sad reality. Even if the crime guys could help us find the vehicle, there was little we could do. I decided to create a new file for hit-and-runs like this one. They don’t belong in the Closed pile or the Unsolved stack. I need one labeled Unpunished.

“Get the public safety guys to put out the word. Folks need to know about the mowers in the park. Maybe we can avoid more incidents.”

After a restless night dreaming about the doomed lovers, Flora and Chi, I made my way to the office. My early-bird sergeant leaned against my door frame. Doesn’t this guy ever go home? “What? Another case already.”

Russell grinned.  “No, boss. But we may have trouble; there are rumblings of a conspiracy. It’s the Ravens, that gang that hangs out by the city reservoir. Apparently, they’re talking to other neighborhood gangs. They’re threatening to dive bomb, and lay it on, any lawn mowers that come through the city park. What should we do?”

I paused to take a deep breath—my turn to be a drama queen. “Wish them Godspeed.”