AN: This drabble is dedicated to wee-me, who guessed the answer to the riddle I posted. This was fun to write-- thank you very much for the request! Time-frame established as a pre-cursor to Life Sentence.
The request: "Oh, and about that story I kinda wonder how Lydia ended up taking crime scene photos, mind taking a stab at it?"
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Camera in hand, heavy and cool. Not the Polaroid anymore, but a shiny Nikon F100, a present from her father for graduating high school. And now she was in New York, sightseeing, wandering down Broadway in the direction of TriBeCa. Sudden scream, screeching crash, horns blaring right in front of her. Accident, twisted metal, sobbing. She snapped pictures for the police when they came, and did not cry.
When she developed them later that day, one had a strange blur. Shape of a face. Familiar. Was it… could it be him? They offered her a job. She took it.