Snapshot

“So we wait here,” Chaz said, “and catch him when he returns?”


Davis rocked himself, the woman’s whispers haunting him.

“Davis!” Chaz said. “What do we do now?”

“We . . .” Davis took a deep breath. Just a dupe. She was just a dupe. In the real world, she’s already dead. “What would we do if we caught him, Chaz?”

“Interrogate him. Like we did earlier.”

“Earlier, in the precinct and with the narco, we simply flashed our badges. But the Photographer already believes he’s a dupe. I don’t think it will work.”

Chaz considered that.

“What we really need,” Davis said, “is to pin down where the IRL cops can find him. He’s obviously got a third hideout—the place where he really lives. If we can find that and send it to Maria, I think they’ll have a good shot at grabbing him.”

“So . . .”

“So we watch him when he comes back,” Davis said, taking a deep breath. “And we tail him. If it looks like he’s spotted us, we capture him and see what we can beat out of him. Maybe that will be enough. But hopefully, instead we can find where he lives.”

“Great, okay,” Chaz said. “But we’re not waiting here. Not with those corpses in there.”

“We shouldn’t go far, in case he—”

“You need a break, Davis. Look at you! Hell, I need a break. We’ll go get a coffee or something. When’s the last time we ate? Those burritos?” He thought for a moment. “Better yet. We’ll go to Ingred Street. It’s four, right? Good timing.”

Ingred. Of course you want to go to Ingred.

Davis just nodded his head, mute. Chaz was right. Though they probably should stake out nearby and watch, he was at his limit. He couldn’t confront a killer like this. He needed some time to recover.

“Ingred it is,” Davis said, standing.





Seven





Chaz left him, as he always did when they stopped at the park on the corner of Ingred and Ninth.

It was a little city park, of the type you found on neighborhood corners. Full of playsets that were old but sturdy, coated periodically in new layers of paint for a facelift. The place smelled better than the streets did. Of dirt and wet sand. Of course, it sounded better too. Over the distant rumbling of construction equipment and honking horns, here you could hear children.

Davis smiled, stepping up to the corner of the park, basking in the sounds of the laughter. Of children running, shouting, playing. When was the last time he’d just enjoyed life? He’d lost that skill, which seemed so natural to children. They didn’t have to work at having fun.

Hal was there, as he’d hoped. Though he was eight, he seemed smaller than the kids he played with. A mop of dark hair, messy as always, and a ready smile. He was never happier than when he was around others. He liked people. He got that from his dad too. Davis had always thought that would make him a good cop.

Hal stopped in place when he saw Davis, then grinned widely. The worry that they might get back too late to catch the killer fled Davis’s mind. Even with all the baggage that came along with visiting here, seeing Hal was worth it.

Hal ran up, and Davis grabbed him in a huge hug. The kid didn’t ask why his father had come to see him on a random day, unannounced. He didn’t connect that it was 16:00, when Davis knew his wife would be napping and the kid would be out playing. Hal was just happy he got to see his father.

And fortunately, court orders didn’t cover dupes inside a Snapshot.

“Dad!” Hal said. “I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“I’ve been busy with work.”

“Catching bad guys?”

“Catching bad guys,” Davis said softly.

“Dad,” Hal said. “We went to the zoo. I got a stuffed penguin. And there was a little antelope—it’s called a dik-dik, but we’re not supposed to laugh—and when we went walking, it followed me, Dad. It followed me all around. It attacked Greg. Kept butting its little head into his leg, everywhere he went, but it liked me.”

Hal took a deep breath, then grabbed Davis in another hug. “Are you here to talk to Mommy?”

Davis glanced toward a window of her nearby apartment. The blinds were drawn.

“No,” Davis said.

“Oh.” Hal looked morose for a minute, then perked up. “Want to be a monster?”

“I’d love to be a monster.”

The next hour was a bliss of chasing, growling, climbing on the jungle gym, and imagination. They were monsters, they were superheroes, they built mountains of sand and then stomped them. Hal changed the rules indiscriminately to every game as they played, and Davis wondered why he’d ever been annoyed at that. This kid didn’t need more structure. He needed to be free, to live, to have all the things his father didn’t have.

It didn’t last though. It couldn’t last. Eventually he spotted Chaz waiting for him at a nearby corner—and he couldn’t believe that the time was over already. Sweating, Davis felt his grin melt away.

Right. The world waited; Chaz was its banner, held aloft to gather the faithful. Or in Davis’s case, the reluctant.

Hal stepped up beside him. “Is that your partner?”

“Yeah,” Davis said.

“You’ve gotta go?”

Davis pulled him close, and felt tears in his eyes. “Yeah.” Then he turned, squatting down and fishing in his pocket. He took out the nickel, his fingers brushing past the paper with the number, and held it out. “Check it.”

“Two thousand one?” Hal said. “Oh! You’ve been looking for one of these.”

“Keep it,” Davis said.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Davis said. “I’ve got another.”

“You found two?”

The same one twice, he thought, then hugged his son one last time. Hal seemed to sense something to it, and clung tightly.

“Can’t you stay a little longer?” Hal asked.

“No. Work needs me.” And your mother will be down soon.