Ten minutes later, he stopped and parked. With a simple movement of his palm, a bottle of whiskey appeared.
He glanced at the apartment building beside him and opened the car door.
There was someone else in that place who needed support, and he wondered how Halstead felt after everything that had happened, after being suspended.
Knock, knock, knock.
After a few knocks on the door, footsteps could be heard inside.
—Ethan.—
Halstead opened the door, surprised, and said:
—Come in. Did you guys coordinate this?—
—Guys?—
Ethan stepped inside and saw who Halstead meant.
—Hey.—
Olinsky was sitting on the living room sofa, looking up and greeting him. He had a bottle of red wine in his hand. It looked like he had just arrived too.
—Do you have a couple extra glasses?— Ethan asked, taking off his jacket as he looked at the two empty glasses on the table.
Halstead followed his gaze and immediately stood up.
—Right away.—
He walked quickly into the kitchen, opened one cupboard, then another, and took a little longer than anyone would consider normal to find something as simple as a glass.
From the living room, Olinsky raised an eyebrow.
Halstead came back a few seconds later with a thick glass tumbler in his hand. It wasn't a wineglass, not even close. It looked more suited for orange juice than wine.
Olinsky saw it, slowly lowered his own glass, and let out a sigh full of disappointment.
—Oh my God.—
Halstead stopped halfway.
—What?—
Olinsky pointed at the glass with his chin.
—Did you grow up in a trailer park?—
Ethan looked at the glass and then at the bottle of red wine on the table. He couldn't help smiling.
—It's a clean glass,— Halstead defended himself, sitting down with them. —That already counts as luxury in my apartment.—
Olinsky shook his head, still offended.
—It's a waste to drink red wine out of something like that.—
Halstead took the bottle, poured some into the glass, and shrugged.
—As long as it works.—
Ethan accepted the improvised glass with a calm smile.
—At least you didn't bring me a coffee mug.—
Halstead raised a finger, serious.
—What brought you both here?—
—Not much.—
Olinsky took off his wool hat. He poured the red wine and raised his glass.
—A man shouldn't drink alone. Remember, you have friends in this city.—
—Thanks,— Halstead said, looking at the two people who had come to see him late at night, moved.
He took his glass.
—You're right. I do want a drink.—
The three of them toasted, and two of them took a sip of red wine.
The remaining one, as usual, drank it in one shot.
—Come on,— Olinsky said, spreading his hands. —This is a good red wine I brought. You're supposed to savor it slowly.—
—It's all the same to me.—
Ethan set down his empty glass and said it indifferently.
The three of them looked at one another and laughed softly.
—You know what?— Olinsky let out a low snort and looked at Halstead over the rim of his glass. —I went through the same thing once too.—
Ethan said nothing. He remained reclined in the armchair, attentive, letting the conversation take its course.
Olinsky slowly turned the glass between his fingers. The wine moved against the crystal in small dark circles.
—And I have to say… that feeling was shit.—
Halstead lowered his gaze to his own glass. He held it with both hands because he needed to keep them busy.
—Was it because of Brownie?—
Olinsky didn't answer immediately.
The name weighed heavier in the room than any accusation. Halstead knew the story.
Olinsky let out a dry laugh, without humor.
—Brownie…— he repeated, as if the name left a bad taste in his mouth. —It always comes back around, doesn't it?—
Halstead watched him carefully.
—They say you made him disappear.—
—People say a lot of things.—
—But you're not saying it's a lie.—
Olinsky lifted his gaze to him. His eyes weren't hard, but they weren't defensive either. Just tired.
—How should I explain it?— he murmured.
He leaned back on the sofa, letting his back sink into the cushion.
Ethan looked away toward the window. He didn't intervene. This wasn't a confession meant for him.
It was a warning for Jay.
—Did Voight force you?—
Olinsky barely turned his head toward him.
—No.—
The answer came immediately. Firm.
Halstead held his gaze.
—That night, no one forced anyone, Jay. That's the part people don't understand… or the part they prefer not to understand. We were just there, all of us knowing exactly what kind of man Brownie was and how much damage he could keep doing.—
Halstead gripped the glass tighter.
—That doesn't make it right.—
—No,— Olinsky admitted, not looking away. —It doesn't make it right.—
Silence settled between them again.
For a moment, only the distant hum of the refrigerator and the muffled sound of a car passing on the street could be heard.
Olinsky lowered his gaze to the wine.
—But there are nights in this job when what's right and what's necessary don't sit at the same table. And when you choose… you'd better understand you're going to carry that, even if no one throws it in your face.—
Halstead inhaled deeply through his nose.
—Do you regret it?—
Olinsky took his time answering.
When he did, his voice came out rougher.
—I regret a lot of things.—
He lifted the glass slightly, without really toasting.
—But that night… every decision I made was mine.—
He looked at Halstead with an almost paternal seriousness.
—That's why I'm telling you this: don't let IA, Voight, or anyone else write your story for you. Decide what you did. Decide why you did it. And then have the balls to live with it.—
Ethan looked back at Halstead.
He only held the glass between his hands, staring at the dark wine as if he could find an answer at the bottom that none of them could give him.
—I didn't kill Lonnie.—
Halstead felt deeply moved, but still defended himself.
—We know, Jay. I just want you to know we all have your back.—
—Did Internal Affairs talk to you today?— Ethan interrupted.
—Yes.—
Halstead exhaled deeply.
—It was a guy named Stillwell,— Halstead said, his eyes fixed on the wine. —That bastard wants to bury me. He didn't even pretend to give me the benefit of the doubt.—
Halstead clenched his jaw, but tried to stay calm.
—I'm not worried about what they believe. All he has are a few photos of me driving near the area. Nothing else.—
Ethan, who had remained silent, rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Ethan took the bottle and poured himself a little more wine.
—A few photos can be enough to suspend you, Jay,— he finally said. —Maybe not to convict you, but enough to leave you without a badge.—
Halstead turned his head toward him.
—I didn't do it.—
—I didn't say you did.—
—I know how this works,— Jay continued, his voice tenser. —They can't prove something that didn't happen.—
Olinsky let out a low snort.
—I wish the world worked that way.—
—You're right about one thing: they can't convict you if they don't have real evidence. But you're not just fighting to stay out of prison, Jay. You're fighting to keep your job.—
Halstead lowered his gaze and ran his thumb along the rim of the glass.
—I know.—
Then Halstead shifted on the sofa, leaning slightly forward.
—That's why I started looking into it on my own.—
Ethan looked up.
—What did you find?—
Beside his thigh, something was covered by a piece of clothing.
Noticing Ethan's gaze, Halstead quickly moved to one side, covering the object underneath.
—Take the file out from under that shirt,— Ethan said with a smile, looking at him. —That's what I asked Antonio to give you earlier. It's one of the reasons I came tonight, to see what you found.—
—Huh?—
Halstead looked confused, spreading his hands.
—What are you talking about?—
—You're good at keeping secrets.—
Ethan gave him a thumbs-up.
—The case files on Lonnie's murder. Stop pretending. What did you find?—
Since Ethan had even revealed what the object was, Halstead knew he wasn't lying.
At first, he had thought his partners in the Intelligence Unit had abandoned him, but unexpectedly, one by one, they had all extended a helping hand.
—Come on, don't get like that,— Olinsky said, giving a clap. —You want us to hug you?—
—Hurry up and let's see what that bastard Stillwell has.—
To be honest, Olinsky didn't even know anything about it. He had only heard Ethan tell Antonio he would offer help that day.
—Alright.—
Halstead quickly stood up.
He pulled out the file from under his backside.
—I found something strange.—
—Look, this is Lonnie's father's statement.—
He flipped through the file, pulled out a sheet of paper, and said enthusiastically:
—He said Lonnie didn't come home that night,— Halstead explained, his voice lower. —But I know he's lying.—
Ethan watched him in silence.
Jay gripped the glass between his hands, as if he needed to hold on to something to keep anger from taking over.
—Lonnie did come back. I followed him to his house. I saw him go in. I stayed long enough to make sure he was inside… and then I left.—
He lifted his gaze toward them.
—Why would his father lie?—
Taking the paper from his hand, Ethan saw that it contained the father's statement. Handing the paper to Olinsky, Ethan reflected.
He looked at Olinsky and continued:
—If Lonnie's father is lying, then that means he knows who the killer is.—
—Or, more precisely, Lonnie's father is the killer.—
As he spoke those words, silence took over the living room.
Halstead had had that suspicion, but he had never dared to think in that direction.
If it were said out loud, few people would believe it.
—A father murdering his son? Isn't that a little hard to believe?—
Olinsky placed the printed statement on the table, frowning.
—Can I smoke?—
Ethan looked at Halstead and, after getting his permission, lit a cigarette.
He said, biting the filter:
—I'm not considering anything else,— Ethan said, his voice firm. —I'm only drawing conclusions from what we know.—
Halstead looked up at him.
—Lonnie went back to that house. You saw him go in. If his father now says he never came back, then he's lying.—
Olinsky remained silent, listening.
Ethan leaned forward slightly.
—My instinct tells me that man killed his own son.—
Halstead clenched his jaw, as if hearing someone else say it out loud made the suspicion feel heavier.
Ethan continued, lower:
—And don't tell me you didn't have the same suspicion.—
Olinsky picked up the photo beside him.
Lonnie lay in the snow, his neck covered by a reddish-purple bruise.
Seeing Lonnie's wide-open eyes, he also took Ethan's pack of cigarettes, lit one for himself, and took a few small drags.
He usually chewed licorice to stop smoking.
Now, finding himself in a situation like this, he no longer cared about that.
Halstead also put a cigarette in his mouth, joining the other two in the habit of exhaling smoke.
—The only thing I don't like about this job is having to deal with this shit.—
Olinsky rubbed his head and looked at Halstead.
—Go talk to Lonnie's father tomorrow. It would be best to persuade him to turn himself in. That way he'll receive the lightest sentence.—
He didn't know what Lonnie's father had discovered to become desperate enough to kill his own son.
—I understand.—
Halstead flicked the ash and leaned back in the armchair.
Although the other man had not said it explicitly, Halstead knew Olinsky was already convinced that Lonnie's father was the killer.
The next morning, as soon as Ethan entered the precinct lobby, he saw a white plastic paint bucket on the reception counter.
There was a photo taped to the center of the bucket.
It was a donation collection jar. Its presence indicated that a police officer had suffered an accident, usually a death. The money collected would be donated to the family of the deceased.
Regardless of the amount, it was a gesture of goodwill for a fallen colleague.
—Who's the collection for?—
Ethan put his hand in his pocket and looked at Platt.
—Come on, this is the officer who was shot in Rosemont,— Platt said, picking up the donation bucket.
—So it was him.—
Ethan looked at the familiar golden seven-point star badge, shook his head, and pulled his hand from his pocket.
—Yesterday he was lying on the ground. I couldn't see his face clearly.—
He took out two hundred dollars, showed it, and then slipped it through the slot at the top.
Seeing the two hundred-dollar bills, Platt nodded with satisfaction.
For that kind of donation campaign, people took into account how close their relationship was. For strangers, the amount was usually ten or twenty dollars.
For Ethan to take out two hundred was almost his daily salary.
The amount was considered generous.
—Let's go.—
After donating the money, he went up the stairs in long strides.
—Ethan.—
Just as he reached the staircase, Jin appeared from behind, signaling for him to come closer.
—The investigators thoroughly searched yesterday's auto shop.—
—They brought us the items this morning.—
—What did you find?—
Ethan stopped, with Jin holding several CDs in his hand.
—Besides drugs and weapons, also this.—
Jin shrugged awkwardly and handed the objects to Ethan.
—Tony Johnston, corroded by hydrochloric acid, and his lawyer. I think you should bring that lawyer back in for questioning.—
Ethan took the CDs and looked at him in confusion.
—You'll know when you see it.—
Jin scratched his head.
—I only watched a little, but it was too much for me.—
Since he was being so mysterious, Ethan's curiosity was immediately awakened, and he quickly went upstairs.
—Antonio, Ruzek.—
He called the two of them over, then opened the computer and showed them the CDs in his hand.
—This is what they found yesterday at the auto shop.—
Not only Antonio and Ruzek came over, but also Erin and Sumner.
He inserted it into the drive, found the video file on the computer, and, in front of everyone, double-clicked to open it.
—Yes, yes.—
—Oh my God!—