Detective-P, At Your Service

Flash fiction

Photo by Federica Galli on Unsplash

“All right, who’s the smartass this time?” Captain Ellison stood, hands on hips, glaring around the room at his team. Nobody looked at the dunce’s cap sitting on the computer in the corner.

Finally, Detective Madras spoke. “It was there when we came in this morning, sir.”

“Sure, it was.” Ellison shook his head. “I don’t care if you don’t think the AI detective works, you have to use it, and be seen to be using it.” He glared at Sergeant Sharp, lounging back in his worn office chair. “Sharp, your murder case in Fitzroy. Get the AI onto it. Pronto. Can’t do any worse than you have.”

When Ellison had left, Detective Chan leaned across the desk. “Now you’ve done it. We’ll all have to use the stupid Detective-P machine — P for pathetic.”

“Don’t say that,” Detective Collins whispered. “It can hear you.”

Sharp gaped at her. “It’s not a real person, Collins. It’s an idiot machine. It couldn’t detect its way out of a paper bag. Get a grip.”

Collins shrugged and went back to her paperwork, murmuring, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Sharp sighed and went over to Detective-P, thumping down in the chair in front of it. Its screen lit up immediately with a smiling, artificial-looking face wearing a police uniform. A voice chirped, “Good morning, Sergeant Sharp. How may I help?”

Sharp frowned. The training course leader had told them all they had to do was speak to the thing. Every file in police history was inside its “brain”, including whatever they were currently working on. “Case Number 47532, murder of John Fitzgerald at the Clarion Hotel, Fitzroy. Analyze and tell me who the prime suspect is.”

“Certainly, Sergeant Sharp. Could you please take the cap off my head first?”

Sharp muttered some insults and threw the dunce’s cap into the bin, then waited, watching the images on the screen that showed a detective with a magnifying glass going through piles of papers. “Jeez…”

“Prime suspect identified as Malcolm Treem, convicted drug dealer,” Detective-P announced, and proceeded to provide Treem’s address.

Sharp took the printout and collected his car keys, heading for the door.

“You’re not actually going to follow what that thing told you?” Chan asked in disbelief.

“Like the boss said, I’ve been getting nowhere, so…” Sharp left, slamming the door behind him.

“Treem…” Collins mused. “Why does that sound familiar?” She looked at Detective-P for a moment and then began tapping keys, groaning at how slow her computer was. Half an hour later, she jerked upright. “Somebody call Sharp and stop him from confronting Treem. Now!”

“What’s wrong?” Chan asked.

“Treem is a police hater, suspected of shooting two officers last year. Intel says he’s vowed to kill the next one that knocks on his door.”

Detective-P’s screen flashed with a crying emoji. “Too late, DC Collins. Sadly, the ambulance has already been called.”