"A Risk Worth Taking" - Chapter One
Sergeant Hank Voight sat at his desk going over case reports as the last rays of sunlight slipped through his window. He'd put off the mundane task for too long and would have to stay late to get all the reports in by the deadline. As a little incentive for himself, he'd replenished the near-empty bottle of scotch in his bottom desk drawer with a full one, and planned on indulging as soon as his last team member called it a night.
As if Jay Halstead could hear his boss's thoughts, he stood up from his desk in the bullpen, pushed in his chair and threw on his coat, calling out, "Night, Sarge," over his shoulder as he headed towards the stairs.
Voight called out a gravelly "goodnight," and turned his chair slightly to reach his bottle of scotch. He stopped when a photo on his shelf caught his eye. It was a photo of he and Alvin Olinsky. His partner. His friend. When Al was alive, he would always stay late with Voight - they'd turn the night of paperwork into a night of drinking and reminiscing. Hank missed that. He missed Al. He missed his son, Justin. He missed his wife, Camille. And he missed Erin. She was so busy in New York with her new job at the FBI that he only heard from her occasionally, and hadn't seen her in months. Most nights he went home to an empty house, watched a little TV and went to bed.
Voight was pulled from his thoughts when he heard someone approaching his office. He looked up to see Jay returning, with a striking auburn-haired woman beside him. "Uh, boss? This is Layla Martin. Sergeant Platt asked me to walk her up. She's doing the software updates for us."
Hank stood and walked around his desk. "Okay. Thanks, Jay."
As Jay walked back towards the stairs, Hank extended his hand. "Hi, I'm Hank Voight."
"Nice to meet you, Sergeant," Layla smiled back, shaking his hand with a firm grip. "Your reputation precedes you." Her green eyes sparkled with a little mischief and Hank smiled, nodding. "Well, don't believe everything you hear."
"Don't worry, I hardly ever do." Hank smiled, satisfied with her answer.
Layla looked around his office and nodded towards his computer. "Mind if I get started? It should only take me about 30 minutes and then I'll pop back up here tomorrow to do the rest of your team's computers."
Hank gathered the folders of reports from his desk and said, "Be my guest."
As Layla made her way around his desk, the folded flag on the shelf behind it caught her attention. She hesitated when she saw it, but only for a split second. Hank pretended not to notice.
"I'll be in the break room finishing this paperwork if you need me," he told her.
Layla met his eyes again and nodded, but this time the mischief in her eyes was replaced by sadness.
...
About a half hour later, Voight heard a knock at the break room door and glanced up to see Layla pulling her bag onto her shoulder.
"All done, Sergeant."
"Please, call me Hank."
"See you tomorrow, Hank."
With one more report to finish, Hank kept working, thinking about the glass of scotch he never got to have and ready to get home to pour himself one. A few minutes later he realized he never heard the gate at the top of the stairs slam shut after Layla.
Curious, he stood up, stretching, and walked out into the bullpen. He was surprised to see Layla standing in front of the suspect board. Her back was to him but he distinctly heard the telltale sniffling of someone who'd been crying.
"Sorry, Jay should have covered that before he left." Hank apologized, the sound of his voice so close making Layla jump. She turned to look at him. "No, I'm sorry. This is none of my business. I just…" She trailed off, not finishing her sentence as she wiped a single tear from her face.
Taking a steadying breath, she looked back at the board. Hank took a step forward to stand beside her. He noticed her attention was focused on the photo of their victim, a Marine, killed one month after returning home from an active tour in the Middle East, just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The photo beside his service photo showed the victim and his wife posing with their children.
"It's just," Layla said quietly, "I know what it's like to have a stranger show up at your door and tell you your husband's not ever coming home."
Hank frowned and moved a little closer to her. Waiting until she looked up, he met her eyes and said sincerely, "I'm sorry."
Layla nodded her thanks, biting her lip to compose herself.
After a moment she took a deep breath and said, "Well, see you tomorrow Hank," and made her way to the stairs.
"Tomorrow." Hank nodded, watching her go.
He stood there a few moments after the gate slammed shut signaling her departure. He'd buried his wife, and he wouldn't wish that on anyone. Layla was young, Hank thought, maybe 35? That's too young to carry that weight.
Turning his attention back to the case board, Hank looked at the photos with fresh eyes. This man's family deserved justice and Hank wasn't going to rest until they got it.
To be continued