“Pretty Polly. Those were the victim’s last words?” Detective Williams asked as the smoke from his cigar burned his eyes.
The paramedic nodded, and left.
Visiting the retired Commander always made Williams uneasy. His place was a little too musty and dim for his liking.
“Drink?” the Commander asked.
Williams wandered about the room, absently touching littered trinkets. Feeling like he was in a museum, he stopped at the parrot cage.
“Just an odd phrase. It’s probably nothing.”
Without warning the parrot squawked, “Pretty Polly”, and whistled.
Williams spun. The Commander smiled, aiming a pistol.