Snapshot

“Damn,” Chaz said. “We should have done this ages ago, Davis. You see? She has full access to our records.”


Chaz had only been in the New Clipperton force for a year before being assigned to Snapshots. Before that, he’d served in Mexico City, with which they had an immigration treaty and transferable citizenship. His Mexico City record commended him for eagerness and enthusiasm in training, though it also contained this line at the end: Overly aggressive.

“Aggressive,” Chaz snapped. “What does that even mean? Rodriguez, you bastard. I mean, shouldn’t a cop be aggressive? You know, in pursuing justice and the like?”

The rest of the record, which Chaz scrolled down, had notes from New Clipperton officers.

Eager. Strong willed. I think he’ll cut it, Diaz had written before retiring.

Is a bully, Maria herself had written a few months into Chaz’s tenure in the city, when he’d been a traffic cop. I have seven complaints on this guy already.

Treats being a cop like playing a video game. That from his former partner.

It was followed by another note from Maria. Recommended for Snapshot duty. We can’t fire him, not without a concrete incident. At least in there, when he inevitably shoots someone, it won’t be grounds for a lawsuit.

Davis glanced at her corpse again.

“Huh,” Chaz said. “You read that?”

“Yeah.”

“Diaz,” Chaz said, raising his chin. “Hell of a guy, that man was. Strong willed? Yeah. Yeah, I’m strong. And I could have cut it, you know? If she hadn’t stuffed me in here.”

“Sure.”

“Let’s see what yours says,” Chaz said, sliding his fingers across the desk to start the search.

Davis tapped the desk, freezing the windows. “Let’s not.”

“Come on. Don’t you want to see?”

“I can guess,” Davis said. “Bring those other windows back, the ones with the case notes about the Photographer. Load them to my phone.”

Chaz sighed. “It would only be fair to read your record, Davis. You know why I’m here. What about you?”

“Aggression,” Davis said.

Chaz looked at him, then laughed. Though it was technically true; aggression was his problem. Not enough of it.

They got the files loaded, then Davis tugged Chaz’s shoulder, nodding for them to leave. “Let’s get out of here before someone decides that being a dupe means they can gun us down with no consequences.”

Chaz didn’t argue. He slipped out, almost tripping over Maria’s legs. Davis gave her one last glance, then—because he couldn’t help himself—he grabbed her little change bowl from the desk and dumped the coins into his hand.

Together, the two of them left the precinct. Davis felt better standing out on the steps, under the sunlight—even though it was as fake as everything else here.

“What now?” Chaz asked.

Davis checked his phone. 14:07. He had six hours left. “I’m going to stop a monster. You with me?”

“Of course. I can cut it, Davis. I’m telling you, I can. This is our chance, you know. To prove ourselves. But where do we go?”

“Back to the apartment building with the corpses,” Davis said, calling an autocab with a tap on his phone.

“To get information from the cops there?”

“No, I’ve got their report,” Davis said. “We’re going to talk to the people who own the building.”

“The bank?”

“No,” Davis said. “The real owners.”





Five





Davis spent the ride sorting through the coins that had been on Maria’s desk, absently raising each one to the sunlight shining through the cab’s window and checking the date it had been minted. American money; most city-states had adopted it, though the one-and two-dollar coins had both originally been Canadian.

It felt relaxing to study something like coins that was basically an anachronism. You could know everything there really was to know—now that no new ones were being made. Funny, how quickly they’d started to vanish. It had only been two years since the last coins had been minted.

Still, the story was finished. You could have all of the answers.

Wait, he thought, stopping on a nickel. He scanned through the list on his phone. 2001, Denver mint? He felt a little jolt of excitement. They’d both been missing the 2001 nickel. With this, he completed a set.

“What did you do, Davis?” Chaz asked. “Everyone else seems to know what landed you in here, but nobody will ever tell me. Did you shoot a kid?”

Davis ignored him, pocketing the coin, stupidly excited.

“I still don’t get why you like those coins so much. They’re old now, meaningless. Practically worthless.”

“That’s what my wife always said.”

“Your ex-wife, Davis.”

“That’s what I meant.”

He sifted through the rest of the coins, but didn’t find any of interest. Unfortunately, they reminded him of Maria, lying on the floor of the precinct office. Her dead eyes staring at the sky, the neat little hole in her temple leaking blood.

He dug out his phone and, just to reassure himself, texted the real Maria outside the Snapshot.

Hey, he said. Have you guys managed to catch the serial killer IRL? The one they call the Photographer?

There was a long pause where no reply came. Finally, the message bounced, and—annoyed—he sent it again. This time it went through. Then a direct line opened to IRL.

How do you know about that, Davis? Maria sent as soon as it opened. He could sense the sharpness of her tone.

Your dupe told us, Davis wrote. She considers it important, for some reason. I don’t know. Said maybe we should poke into things while we wait.

You aren’t authorized for that case, IRL Maria sent. If my dupe is talking about it to you, it means you’ve created a Deviation in her. Go to a saferoom. You’re supposed to be there anyway. Are you ignoring protocol again?

We’re on our way now, Davis sent. But did you catch him? The swimming pool corpses in the abandoned apartment building, they helped you track him down?

Pause.