My name’s Hawk. DCI Hawk, Homicide. Just a few questions to help us with our inquiries, if you don’t mind, sir.
Who did kill Cock Robin?
That confession from the Sparrow about his bow and arrow. Something fishy about that. According to our investigations he couldn’t hit the side of a brick proverbial at ten paces.
And the Fly who claims to be an eye witness. Load of cock and bull. We’ve turned up a whole flock of much more reliable witnesses who swear that Fly was buzzing around a pile of sheep poo all day. Nowhere near the scene of the crime. I smell a rat.
We’re still waiting on the final results of the autopsy, but our lovely Jen, Dr Wren MD (Pathol.) to you, is pretty sure that the arrow was inserted after death. So the actual cause of Cock Robin’s demise is still a mystery.
We had hoped to keep the whole thing quiet until we had more to go on, but somebody let the cat out of the bag and the media got wind of it. We’re well aware that the birds of the air are a-crying and a-sobbing because they’ve heard of the death of Poor Cock Robin, but that’s no help to us.
Now it seems, the whole thing’s gone viral and my team’s flat out taking calls about dead dickies from Hobart to Darwin. But that could just be a wild goose chase.
It’s a tough nut to crack, but we’re hoping you can help us. Sure as eggs is eggs we’ll get to the bottom of this case and the file won’t be closed until we do.
I am a freelance writer living in a small, but vibrant, town in southern Tasmania. Most of my writing is for children and I am published by Scholastic, also under contract to Hardie Grant Egmont. Every now and then, particularly now I’m in lockdown, I love to play around with new ideas and genres. Thanks for the opportunity!