Maybe It's A Chicken

I'm a big shot detective.
Worked my way to the top.
Been assigned a new directive,
gonna work it 'til I drop.

Must identify a witness
crucial to investigations.
Check veracity and fitness.
Reconsider speculations. 

He slipped through the cracks.
Now he's back out on the streets.
Check the railroad tracks,
his hangouts and retreats.

It's become a game of chase.
"Make the pieces fit".
Got a name without a face
and an ident-i-kit.

I'll check from every angle.
Both ends to the middle.
It might auto-untangle
if I let it breathe a little.

Make sure it's square and true.
Vertical and plumb.
Add it up.
Two plus two.
Multiply it by the sum.

Tear it down,
Reconstruct it.
C'mon.
The clock is tickin'.
Has anybody plucked it?
Maybe it's a chicken.

That would certainly explain
its refusal to speak
under threat of death or pain,
and the presence of a beak.

Before his trail gets cold
I'll be turning up the heat.
Man.
I must be getting old.
I never checked its feet.