The Parrot

Usually when a detective is searching for clues in a room with a parrot, the parrot will, at some point, say something that opens a door to new investigative possibilities.

But this parrot? This parrot wasn’t saying shit.

Come on, said Detective Kimbrel, his grizzled face nearly touching the thin metal bars of the cage. Say something.

The parrot, whose name, according to the victim’s diary, was Poughkeepsie, said nothing and simply nibbled on some sunflower seeds.

Please, said Detective Kimbrel. Please speak. Give us something to go on. We’re grasping at straws.

The parrot made a few little squawks that were not even in the same zip code as human speech.

Detective Kimbrel looked over at Detective McNutt, who was inspecting the toaster.

Can you believe this? said Detective Kimbrel. After forty-plus years, we finally get a crime scene with a parrot, and the parrot doesn’t say anything. Not a peep! What are you doing with the toaster?

It’s got blood on it, said Detective McNutt, who was taking photos of the toaster.

Good work, McNutt, said Detective Kimbrel. You know, you’ve got some eye.

Thank you, sir, said Detective McNutt. Well, should we head back to the station now?

You go, said Detective Kimbrel. I’m going to take another crack at this parrot.

But you’ve been standing there for two hours, said Detective McNutt.

I’ll pull up a chair, said Detective Kimbrel, who dragged one of the kitchen chairs over to the birdcage. Happy?

No, I mean, I don’t think that’s a parrot that talks, said Detective McNutt.

You a parrot expert now? Earl McNutt, parrot pro? Is that who you are?

I don’t know who I am, said Detective McNutt. We talked about this the other night. I’ve been trying to figure out who I am. I have so many conflicting desires that I—

We can talk more later, said Detective Kimbrel. For now, I’m going to sit here with this bird.

Suit yourself, said Detective McNutt. But let the record show that I think it’s a waste of time.

What record? said Detective Kimbrel. Who’s keeping a record?

I’ll see you at the station, sad Detective McNutt, who picked up his briefcase and left.

Detective Kimbrel looked at Poughkeepsie. He’d stay as long as it took. He had no one to go home to anyway. He had a whole backstory, a whole life. Maybe one day he’ll tell you all about it.