Cold Trace by D.V. Chernov

Author:D.V. Chernov [Chernov, D.V.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Heathen Press
Published: 2024-02-18T00:00:00+00:00

26

Nick ejected the magazine of his Springfield XD-M handgun and checked it. The heavy stick of polished steel held nineteen 9mm rounds. Stagger-stacked and ready, gleaming with their golden primer caps through the small, numbered holes at the back of the magazine. He put the magazine on the bed next to him and turned his attention to the pistol itself. The empty black frame felt like a toy without the weight of all those rounds. He raked back the slide, checking that the firing chamber was empty. Satisfied, he pressed the trigger and heard the reassuring empty click. He raked back the slide and pressed the trigger again. Click. He slipped the magazine back into the hollow grip and pushed it into place until he heard another click. The weapon was ready, and it felt like a weapon once more.

Nick liked this gun. He liked it better than the Glocks most cops preferred. He liked the balance the Springfield had, liked the way its grip fit between his thumb and index finger. Liked the way it fired at the range—with noticeably less muzzle flip than a Glock.

In his five years as a cop, he had never fired his weapon at anyone. He never wanted to until this morning.

“You planning to use that today?” Claire was looking at him in the bathroom mirror as she was putting in the tiny diamond stud earrings she wore to work.

“Come here,” he said, slipping the Springfield into the holster. He picked up his laptop and opened it.

“Beck’s team in Albuquerque is documenting and backing up material from LoliTown.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, sitting down next to him. “As evidence?”

He nodded and typed in his password. “Beck sent me one of the videos Mr. Giggles is selling.”

The screen unlocked, revealing a video player stopped on a freeze-frame showing a little boy sitting on the bed.

“That’s Ben!” Claire said. “He’s maybe three or four here.” She looked at Nick. “Can I play this?”

“It’s rough, Claire.” Nick’s voice cracked. “You sure you want to?”

She nodded and tapped Play.

A man’s voice spoke off camera. “How is it going there, Billy?” The voice sounded clear and close, like in the old family videos in which the person filming is speaking to someone in the frame. The man was so close to the microphone, Nick heard his breathing. The voice was not unpleasant—soft and with a tone of parental gentleness, but without the exaggerated rising and falling inflections people often take on when talking to toddlers and pets.

The boy mumbled something, not taking his big, unblinking brown eyes from the camera. Claire leaned in and turned up the volume on Nick’s laptop. The old audio hummed and crackled with the man’s breathing.

“I want you to meet a new friend,” the man’s voice said. A man’s torso moved into the frame—jeans and a dark T-shirt, but the camera could not see the man’s face. The camera remained steady, probably mounted on a tripod.

“His name is Mr. Giggles.” The man sat a clown doll in front of the boy.

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