Less than an hour later, Jin ran up the stairs with a folder in his hand.
—We have a confirmed ID.—
The conversation in the bullpen died immediately. Everyone looked up as Jin walked over to the whiteboard and pinned the photo of an older white man with gray hair and a serious expression to it with a magnet.
—Doctor Richard Elliott,— Jin said, pointing at the image. —DNA consultant for the State's Attorney's Office. The prosthesis matches the serial number registered under his name. Hip surgery four years ago. Northwestern Hospital. Same model, same batch, same patient.—
Hank stepped out of his office at that exact moment. When he saw the photograph, his face hardened.
—I've dealt with him before,— he murmured, approaching the board. —He helped us get convictions against several dangerous criminals.—
—Also,— Jin continued, opening the folder, —his wife filed a missing person report yesterday afternoon. He didn't come home, and he didn't answer his phone.—
Jin handed a sheet to Hank.
Hank took the document, glanced over it, then gave Jin a brief pat on the arm.
—Good work.—
Jin nodded, though his expression remained tense.
Hank looked at the rest of the team.
—Now we need to talk to Mrs. Elliott.—
Telling someone that her husband was dead was one of those parts of the job no one wanted to do, no matter how long they had been in law enforcement.
There was no clean way to say it. No right phrase, no perfect tone, no professional distance that could keep you from watching a person's world collapse in front of you.
Judging by the photograph, Doctor Elliott had to be at least sixty. His wife was probably around the same age. A woman who, until a few hours ago, might still have been waiting for a call, an explanation, anything that would let her believe her husband was coming back.
One by one, everyone in the room seemed to find something urgent to look at.
Antonio lowered his gaze to his notes. Olinsky put a Twizzler in his mouth with excessive concentration. Ruzek pretended to review some documents. Even Ethan moved his computer mouse slightly, as if the screen had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world.
Hank looked at all of them with a dry expression.
—You all look real brave when nobody has to knock on a door. Fine, if there are no volunteers, I'll choose…—
Ethan looked up, sighed, and pushed his chair back.
First, Hank looked at Erin and Sumner. A female officer usually helped calm a victim's family better in situations like that.
But now, after the incident with her partner, Erin's emotions were out of control, and she couldn't be trusted with that.
After thinking it over for a moment, Hank made a decision.
—Sumner, do you think you can do it?—
He walked over to a desk and tapped on it.
Sumner hadn't expected Hank to assign her any task, so she had been busy with her own work, head down as usual.
It wasn't until someone tapped the desk that she realized he was speaking to her.
She quickly stood and nodded several times.
—Of course.—
—Then let's go.—
Hank didn't waste time and went straight down the stairs.
Sumner grabbed her jacket, saw Ethan give her an encouraging smile, and hurried after him.
She had told herself that everything from last night would not be so easy to forget.
Ten minutes later, Ethan's personal printer began working quietly.
A couple of sheets came out one after another, still warm. Ethan took them without drawing attention, quickly reviewed them, then opened an empty folder and placed them inside.
It wasn't much information, but it was enough to give Halstead somewhere to start.
He closed the folder, held it against his chest, and grabbed a pack of cigarettes before heading to the small balcony beside the pantry.
He needed air.
Once outside, he lit a cigarette and inhaled slowly, narrowing his eyes under the warm sunlight. The noise of the precinct was muffled behind the door, replaced by the distant murmur of traffic and the cold wind brushing against his face.
He placed the folder on the railing and began flipping through its contents.
There was nothing spectacular at first glance. The preliminary autopsy report, some forensic notes, statements from Lonnie's relatives, neighbors, and acquaintances. From the outside, it looked like an ordinary murder. Dirty, brutal, but ordinary.
It only became extraordinary because an Intelligence detective was caught in the middle of it.
Ethan read for several minutes, turning the pages with the cigarette between his fingers. He didn't find a clear answer, nothing that pointed to another culprit.
He closed the file, took out his phone, and sent a short message.
A little later, the balcony door opened.
Antonio appeared on the other side, looked around by instinct, then stepped beside him.
—What's so important that it couldn't be said inside?—
—This.—
Ethan tapped the folder with his fingers and pushed it toward him.
—Give this to Halstead. Be careful. No one can know he has it.—
Antonio frowned, took the file, and opened it cautiously.
—What is this?—
He had barely turned a couple of pages before he understood. His expression changed immediately. He snapped the folder shut and looked at Ethan in surprise.
—Where did you get this?—
Ethan slowly exhaled smoke and held his gaze.
—Don't ask.—
Antonio clenched his jaw.
He didn't need any more explanation. He knew perfectly well that this had not come through normal channels.
—No one else knows I have this, not even Hank, so let's keep it that way for now,— Ethan added.
Antonio looked down at the folder, understanding the weight of what he held in his hands.
—This could get you in trouble.—
—Only if you tell someone.—
Antonio nodded slowly, serious. He held the file against his chest.
—Thank you.—
Ethan took another drag from his cigarette and looked toward the street.
—Don't thank me. Tell Jay to stop doing stupid things and not get caught.—
Antonio had already been pulling strings and reaching out to contacts, trying to gather information about the case, but several phone calls had led nowhere.
—Thank you, Ethan. You didn't have to take the risk.—
Ethan held out his hand.
—We're partners, and we watch each other's backs… Besides, Erin asked me as a personal favor, so it's not entirely altruistic.—
Antonio pressed his lips together, and they bumped fists firmly.
Ethan's phone vibrated.
He took it at once and pressed the button to answer, the cigarette still burning between his fingers.
—Morgan.—
Hank's voice came through the other end, dry and direct.
—We have a lead.—
Ethan straightened immediately.
—I'm listening.—
—Nicholas Djorjovic,— Hank said. —Alias DJ Nick. He's accused of murder, and his hearing is tomorrow.—
Ethan put out the cigarette in the nearest ashtray and pushed open the balcony door to return to the bullpen.
—What does that have to do with Elliott?—
—Everything,— Hank replied. —Doctor Elliott was the most important witness in the case. His testimony could bury him.—
Ethan crossed the room quickly, grabbed a marker, and planted himself in front of the board.
—Repeat the name.—
—Nicholas Djorjovic. DJ Nick.—
Ethan wrote the name in large letters beneath Doctor Elliott's photograph.
NICHOLAS DJORJOVIC — "DJ NICK"
Then he underlined the alias with a firm stroke.
—If Elliott was supposed to testify tomorrow and turns up dead today, that doesn't sound like a coincidence.—
—No,— Hank said on the other end of the line.
Ethan looked at the board, mentally connecting the pieces of the puzzle.
—I'll check his background.—
—Do it fast,— Hank ordered. —If DJ Nick had Elliott killed to stop that testimony, he may still be trying to get rid of the other witnesses.—
—Understood.—
Ethan ended the call and stared at the name freshly written on the board.
The case had just changed direction. The timing was too much of a coincidence, and the motive for the murder was far too obvious.
As soon as he hung up, several phones in the office rang one after another. Hank had sent a photo of DJ Nick.
He was a bearded guy with short blond hair.
—Found him.—
Erin had already located him in the police database.
She looked at the computer screen and said:
—Nicholas Djorjovic has a record for violent offenses. He is currently suspected of murder and was released on bail after paying a considerable sum.—
Hank had already sent the name to Jin, and it was soon discovered that DJ Nick had checked into a hotel in the city.
The remaining members of the Intelligence Unit moved quickly.
After showing their badges at the hotel reception desk and requesting the room number, they all took the elevator up to the third floor.
Looking at the familiar floor, Ethan scratched his head.
They walked down the hallway, their steps sinking into the thick carpet, until they reached a room in the farthest corner.
Even through the door, they could hear the blaring music inside.
Bang, bang, bang!
Antonio knocked hard on the door.
—Chicago Police. Open the door.—
After waiting for a while, there was no movement.
—Chicago Police.—
Erin knocked hard on the door again.
—Djorjovic, open up!—
Since the suspect was dangerous, Ethan and Ruzek stayed back, weapons in hand, alert.
Meanwhile, Olinsky kept a close eye on the hallway, not ruling out the possibility that DJ Nick had other accomplices.
The music continued playing inside, and the door remained closed.
—Ah!—
A scream echoed through the door.
The faces of those outside changed, and Antonio quickly stepped aside.
Ethan immediately understood what he meant. He lunged forward and kicked the lock.
Bang!
The doorframe cracked, and the door burst open.
Deafening music suddenly poured out, hitting them head-on.
The group drew their pistols and entered quickly.
—Shit!—
Ruzek rushed into the living room and froze at what he saw, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.
Inside the room, the party was in full swing.
Bottles were scattered everywhere, and DJ Nick stood on the living room table, constantly moving his body to the rhythm of the music.
The atmosphere inside the club was exactly what one would expect from someone like DJ Nick: low lights, music pounding against the walls, artificial smoke floating over the tables.
In the center of the room, on a wide table turned into an improvised stage, a man wore only a leather collar around his neck. From the back of the collar hung a long leash, held by a blonde woman who moved with shameless confidence beneath the lights.
Around them, two dancers—one brunette and one Latina—kept moving to the rhythm of the music, dancing on the table among bills, open bottles, and far too interested stares.
The scene was impossible to ignore.
Ethan and Ruzek, of course, made no effort to ignore it.
Both of them remained watching with almost professional attention, though the smiles on their faces completely gave them away.
Antonio and Olinsky, on the other hand, looked away almost at the same time. Not because they hadn't seen worse things on the job, but because there was a difference between walking into a crime scene and getting trapped in the middle of a private show without knowing exactly where to look.
Olinsky cleared his throat and stared at a blank wall with far too much interest.
Antonio did the same, although his traitorous eyes returned for a second before he looked away again.
Erin, seeing them, rolled her eyes.
—Ugh, men.—
Ethan didn't even bother pretending innocence.
—I'm observing the environment.—
—Sure,— Erin replied dryly. —Very thoroughly.—
Ruzek cleared his throat, trying to compose himself.
Erin looked at them again with irritation.
—Focus before I start handing out punches.—
Another scream was heard, but this time it was panic.
The blonde woman holding the leash finally noticed the armed people who had appeared in the room and hurriedly dropped it.