Interrogation

The drab portal to the interrogation room creaks open. The meticulously-polished footwear of Detective Brad Kopp appear in the doorway.

       

"Alright fella, let's get down to b ---"
       

The mustached police veteran halts. It seems his little suspect has managed to take flight. Anger turns his face nearly as red as a blaring siren. Turning back toward the door, Kopp fires a verbal round on his desk-cuffed colleagues.
       

"What is going on out here?! So you just let a robbery suspect waddle out the door? Come on! I mean, I know paperwork can be distracting - what with the rectangular shape and ink and all. But now my main guy is gone. Just gone!"
       

A voice replies.
       

"No one has exited that door, sir."
       

Hands on hips, the detective tilts his graying head and combs the precincts of his brain for an answer. As he turns around to re-enter the interrogation room, a second voice mumbles.
       

"Not real sure how that guy could open a door...with the wing thingies."
       

Giggles escape from smirked lips across the network of desks.
       

"What's that?," snarls Kopp.
       

"Nothing, sir."
       

The door slams shut.

*

       

Where could he have gone? So occupied with this question is Kopp that he doesn't notice the slightly-swaying light fixture above his head. Not immediately, anyway. Finally he lifts his strained eyes - the very eyes which have fallen upon decades of sad sights and human wickedness. Now he deals with a suspect of a different...*ahem*...pattern.
       

Deflecting the light rays with his right palm, Kopp squints. Black eyes stare back at him. Suspect found.
       

"Get down from there! You've got some questions to answer."
       

"I'm fine up here, thank you. Fantastic view."
       

"I said get down here. I will not blind myself because of you. Nice disappearing trick but the magic show is over. Now come on and let's talk."
       

Kopp extends his rolled-up sleeve. "Come on, I won't hurt you." BB inches his way around the hanging lamp, then stops. After a nod of the detective's head, BB finally and hesitantly dismounts onto the human limb.
       

"Take a seat." Once situated in the time-worn chair, BB disappears from view yet again. "This might not work," admits Kopp with an irrepressible laugh.

*

       

Peck. Peck. Detective Kopp is seated at the head of the interrogation table, looking down at a yellow legal pad. Peck. Peck. Over the course of his career, he has acquired an almost superhuman ability to block out all noises not immediately relevant. Peck. Peck. Peck. Finally he looks up. BB is pecking on the buttons of the recording device.
       

"Hey, cut that out," orders Kopp. "I will handle the recording."
       

BB instantly stops. The detective sighs.

*

       

"We both know why you're here, BB." Kopp leans his head toward his right shoulder as he speaks. To an outside observer, looking into the room, it would appear that the seasoned investigator has taken leave of his senses. Either that, or he suffers from some unfortunate neck spasm. In actuality, he is addressing his suspect. BB is perched on his shoulder. "Why don't you save us both a lot of time and confess."
       

"Confess to what?"
       

Kopp purses his chapped lips. "Why did you do it, BB?"
       

"Do what, Detective?"
       

A fist of anger pounds the table. Startled, BB flutters onto the table in front of Kopp.
       

"Why did you rob the First Featheral Bank in the late afternoon on the twenty-third of September? What's the motive? What were you thinking?"
       

BB tilts his masked head to the side. "Did you just say 'First FEATHERal Bank'?"
       

"Now why would I say that? Stop deflecting and start answering. The First FEDeral Bank - why did you hold it up?"
       

"You do realize that I'm a bird, right? I eat, sleep and poop for a living."
       

"I know that's what you claim. It's a handy alibi. But the facts are not in your favor. Multiple witnesses place someone who fits your description at the scene. Short, nose like a beak, wearing a mask."
       

BB is incredulous. "Detective, are you actually saying these things out loud? Surely you cannot be serious!"
       

"I have never been more serious in my life. I'm so serious, I should have my own satellite radio corporation. And my name's not Shirley. Actually, my sister's name is but ---" Kopp suddenly hears himself, snapping back to a less ridiculous approach.
       

"Let's come at this another way. We have physical evidence linking you to the crime."
       

BB calmly asks, "Such as?"
       

Stroking his facial stubble, Kopp smugly grins. "The gun. And not just any kind of gun. A BB gun." He pauses for dramatic effect. "So BB, have you been missing your BB gun? That's right - your name is literally all over this thing."
       

"Detective, are you feeling okay? Or is this some sort of comedy bit? I mean, when does the camera crew jump out?"
       

"Oh there are cameras all right. Don't you worry about that. But there's nothing funny about this process, and I don't find comedy in what you did."
       

The two creatures glare at each other. Finally, BB breaks the painfully-awkward silence. "Detective, I know you have a job to do. But I can't give you what you want, because I simply didn't do it. I am only a bird. And a lovebird at that." He begins whistling a vaguely-familiar tune to Kopp's ears. Then he recites some of the lyrics with a slight alteration.
       

🎵 "Just a good ol' bird. Never meaning no harm. Making my way the only way I know how."
       

Kopp extends a finger in the direction of the door. "Get out."

© Matt Decker

» This post is an excerpted chapter from my book  JAILBIRD