Snapshot

They got back to the school around 19:00, half an hour before the Photographer was supposed to return. They entered an apartment building with back windows looking out at the school—one of the few places to watch from. After knocking a few doors, they found an apartment where no one answered. Chaz kicked open the door, and Davis used his regular police badge—not his reality badge—to quiet the neighbors.

They settled down in the bathroom, where a tiny window gave them a good—if cramped—view. As they waited, Davis played with the facts, dancing them around in his head. As long as he could focus on those, on making neat rows of ideas—on grouping them into abstract sets and collections—he didn’t feel so nervous.

“Why poison?” he finally said.

“Hmm?” Chaz asked, standing beside the toilet.

“He’s killing them with what he sees as their flaws,” Davis said. “He locked those poor people in with bees so their allergies would kill them. He suffocated the asthmatics. It’s like . . . he sees himself as culling the species. Letting our own diseases or handicaps destroy us. The people who were paralyzed? The cops found bloody scrapes on the side of the half-full pool. People trying to climb out, breaking fingernails. He dumped those poor people in a swimming pool alive, and let them drown because all their limbs didn’t work.”

“Bastard,” Chaz whispered.

“Yeah. But the poison . . . Why the poison? For the farsighted people? It doesn’t fit the pattern.” Davis tapped on the window, beside where the paint had chipped free. Outside, it was growing dark. “And another thing. Why in the world didn’t the precinct tell us about this?”

“Maybe they worried we’d do what we’re doing,” Chaz said.

“Who cares though? Maybe we create a few more Deviations for a meaningless domestic abuse case, but wouldn’t getting a clue about a terrible murderer be worth that risk? Besides, they know we usually ignore orders to go to saferooms—so we’re out creating Deviations anyway. Might as well have us doing something useful.”

“Yeah, but they call him the Photographer,” Chaz said. “He knows about Snapshots and how to avoid them, right? That’s what Maria said. We can’t do anything to help.”

“Like we’re not doing anything now?”

“That’s different. They don’t realize you could actually do something—they think we’re both useless, but you, you’re stealth competent, Davis.”

Davis grunted. “I don’t buy it, Chaz. We did a Snapshot last week to find that kid working with the Juarez. Why not have us just pop over to that old apartment building? They’d have known about it IRL by then. We could peek in and see if any of the drowning people were still alive on that day—and that would have let us get some intel. But no, instead the precinct just pretends we can’t do anything.”

“Too deep for me,” Chaz said. He pointed out the window. “I can tell you though, this stakeout feels wrong. What if he doesn’t go in this way? What if he’s been scared off, and doesn’t come here at all? Or what if he returned early today, before we got back?”

“One of us should go in there, huh?” Davis said, feeling nervous.

“Yeah.” Chaz glanced at him. “Don’t worry. I’ll do it.”

“We should flip for it or something.”

“Nah. I’m good.” He patted Davis on the shoulder. “I’ll text you once I get into position to watch the gym. I’ll listen a little bit, then peek in and make sure he’s not already in there. You text me if you see him approach. Okay?”

Davis nodded, taking a deep, relieved breath. Chaz walked to the door, but Davis called after him.

“Chaz?”

“Yeah, partner?”

“I couldn’t pull the trigger.”

Chaz frowned from the doorway. “What—”

“You wanted to know why I’m in here,” Davis said, looking back out the window. “Years ago, when I was a real cop, we were in a shootout. Real bad guys, hostages, the terrible kind of stuff that ends up on the news. They sent in everyone. And I . . .”

“Couldn’t shoot?”

“Had one right in my sights. And I blew it. You hear about Perez?”

“Yeah.”

“The guy I couldn’t shoot, he killed her. They found me trembling in the hallway, gun on the floor in front of me.” He squeezed his eyes closed. “I thought . . . well, you should know.”

“I already did.”

“But—”

“Gutierrez told me,” Chaz said. “Soon after I got assigned to you. I figured it was better if you told me yourself, you know? If I gave you a chance to bare your soul. Then we could be real partners.”

Davis blinked, staring at the grinning taller man. Here I think we’re sharing something, Davis thought, and then you remind me how good you are at lying.

“I’ll text you,” Chaz said, then left.

Davis waited, watching carefully while Chaz slipped across the street and into the building. They had time before the Photographer was supposed to return, but still Davis had visions of the killer spotting Chaz and bolting before either of them could catch him.

Shortly after Chaz entered the building, Davis’s phone buzzed. He checked it, but was surprised to see the text wasn’t from his partner.

Davis, Maria sent. She’d still be on duty, IRL. She worked a long shift on Snapshot days. It’s getting close to your second case. You guys in the saferoom?

Yes, Davis sent back, trying to watch both the alley outside and his phone at once.

Good. You have the second case details. Head to Tenth. Be aware, there’s going to be some gang violence one block over, at Warsaw Street. Advised to stay away from that. Just check on the domestic case on Tenth.

Understood, Davis sent.