The house at 47 Lakewood was silent, except for a voice that repeated itself every morning:

“Don’t shoot! Please, don’t shoot!”

The voice came from a green parrot named Oliver, owned by the widow Helen Moore, a woman in her forties with a gentle face and a blank gaze.

Her husband, David Moore, a former army officer, had been shot to death in this very house three months earlier. The police had ruled it an “accidental break-in,” but from that day on, Oliver began repeating the same phrase—the exact syllable, the trembling of a real plea.

One morning, the neighbors called the police. They said that “the bird was talking like a real person.” When Detective Ryan Carter arrived, Oliver looked at him with his black eyes and tilted his head slightly:

“Don’t shoot… Helen… don’t…”

The room fell silent. Ryan looked up at the widow Helen, who was pale.

“This bird… who taught it to speak?”

“Nobody,” Helen whispered. “It heard it the night David died. It’s been singing ever since.”

Ryan immediately ordered the parrot seized, taking it and its cage back to the audio lab. A thought crossed his mind: Could it have recorded something that humans missed?

The audiologist discovered a mini microphone in the cage – an automatic recording device, which David himself had installed. He used to be a security engineer and liked to record any strange sounds in the house.

They recovered the tape from the night of the murder. Over the sounds of rain and thunder, a faint conversation could be heard:

Female voice: “Have you been drinking again, David? You swore you’d quit!”
Male voice: “Shut up! You’re just being judgmental. I lost everything because of you!”
The sound of falling objects, Oliver’s screams, and then David’s harsh voice:
“Don’t come any closer!”
And then – the bang. A single shot.

It seemed like it was over, but the final part was so small, only a few seconds, that the entire engineering team fell silent:

A trembling whisper: “I’m sorry, Helen…”

Ryan paused. Helen? Didn’t David say her name?

The police brought Helen in for questioning. She insisted:

“There was a burglar that night. I hid in the room, I didn’t see anything. My husband shot in self-defense.”

Ryan turned on the recorder.
When the shot rang out, Oliver in the next room also shouted:

“Don’t shoot! Helen, don’t!”

Helen jumped up, trembling: “No! He said it wrong, I didn’t shoot!”

“You said it wrong,” Ryan said coldly. “The parrot just repeated what he heard. And on the tape, David said ‘I’m sorry, Helen’. If he apologized, then who pulled the trigger?”

Helen collapsed, tears streaming down her face:
“He hit me… that night, I just wanted to scare him. I didn’t try to kill him…”
Ryan interrupted: “Whose gun was it?”
“Mine.”

The case seemed to have ended there. Helen was arrested, Oliver was transferred to an animal conservation center. But the story wasn’t over yet.

Three weeks later, the lab staff called Ryan:
“We found another copy of the data on the recorder’s auxiliary memory card – it’s not the same as the first one.”

Ryan listened. After the gunshot, there was the sound of the door opening and another male voice:

“Good, Helen. Now you’re the only one convicted.”

The voice belonged to Ethan Price, David’s younger brother – who was also the first person at the scene the next morning. He always pretended to feel sorry for his sister-in-law, and even stood up to “take care of the funeral.”

Ryan looked through the records: Ethan had a $2 million life insurance policy in his name if David died without children.

The police raided Ethan’s house. He tried to flee, but before he was handcuffed, he just laughed:

“I didn’t expect to be taken down by a stupid bird.”

At trial, evidence from the second recording changed the entire verdict of the jury. Helen was acquitted.

Before leaving, she went to visit Oliver at the conservation center. The bird looked at her and whispered:

“Helen… don’t shoot.”

She burst into tears: “No, Oliver. Thank you for saving me.”

But as soon as she turned to leave, the caretaker called out:

“You know, he’s been saying a new thing lately.”

She turned back. Oliver tilted his head slightly and chirped:

“Good job, Helen. Now you’ll be the only one convicted.”

Helen was stunned. The words had never been broadcast publicly—only the police and the perpetrator had heard the original recording.

Ryan stood behind the glass door, watching her. In the latest file, a red note appeared:

“Helen’s accomplice: not yet completely ruled out.”

The parrot kept chirping… and no one was sure if it was repeating the past or predicting the future.