Voight dragged back in pre-dawn to find Burgess dozing on the couch in his office. She was pale, shrunken looking. "How'd the rest of the questioning of Sharla Heaton go?" he asked her quietly, reflecting on how these sleepovers in his office would have come to an abrupt end if Kim hadn't lost her baby.

Kim's coat, which had been draped over her, slid to the floor. "I was just about to leave when Austin coded. He died of an embolism. This is a homicide investigation now."

"Then we'll make his death matter. What's your gut telling you about the mother?"

"She's in the can right now. Her alibi checks. She knew something was a little off with her boys, but I really think she's too worn down to notice much. If she's involved, she's a damn good actress."

"She has motive, means, and opportunity."

"Yeah. She's broke. I pulled her financials. No unusual deposits, nothing but her paychecks. She cleans offices at night. Who knows what the porn ring is getting for speciality vids of sibling molestation? A new frontier for them. Even a small percentage might be enough to lift Sharla out of the hole. She has gambling debts. Tried to make a quick score and lost. If she's involved there are no records, at least money-wise. The ring will likely try to throw the parents of these kids under the bus as co-conspirators if they're pressed to the wall."

"How recently? The gambling debts?"

"A couple months." Kim yawned hugely, cradling her aching head in her palm.

"It would have taken them more than a couple months to groom Austin's brother before they cajoled him to act."

"I thought of that. While I let Sharla stew in the box, I ran through the victims again. There's one commonality - the parents of all the kids are all receiving either food stamps, welfare, or both."

"So it's someone at DCFS feeding info about the kids to the ring?"

"That's what I suspect. None of them have the same social worker. So it's either someone at the top harvesting the info, or the ring spreads through DCFS and on from there."

"This is bigger than DCFS."

Kim nodded, staring at her hands. "You wanna have a go at Sharla?" she asked Voight.

"Yeah. But first, I'm sending you home for a few hours of sleep. You've done good work tonight, but you're no good to me if you drop." Voight raised a palm when he saw she was about to protest. She was too weary to fight.

"I could use a shower and a change of clothes. Thanks, Sarge." She had clothes in her locker and she could use the showers here, but she needed to get out of the building for a while.

Voight grunted affectionately at her. He watched her retreating form, his gaze not moving until long after she had disappeared down the stairs.

Kim's thoughts spiraled as she drove, barely taking in her surroundings, mentally dodging the last moments of Austin Heaton's life. She came back again and again to some of the many cruelly harsh words she had said to Adam right after the miscarriage. Words are like bullets, she thought. Once fired, they are out there in the world, tearing through emotional flesh with no resistance to stop them. Sometimes words had the power to do far more damage.

She was unsurprised to find she had pulled down a side street several blocks from where she lived, and stopped. Her kid would have gone to the elementary school across the street, providing she hadn't moved from her current address and moved in with Adam, who was even less equipped to take care of a baby than she was. It wouldn't have mattered. Love for what they had created would have covered all their shortcomings.

Sharla Heaton had probably once felt that same way too. Kim had left her in the box ready to sink to the floor in a paroxysm of grief. Kim had not gone easy, knowing the trauma of her son's death could mean interrogation opportunities. If Sharla had been about to crack, Kim had not seen it. Maybe Voight would be just different enough from her to get to Sharla. Sharla was exhausted now. It would be soon, if at all.

Kim stared at the school with brightening eyes, fumbling for her phone. "Teachers," she murmured to herself. "Hey, Sarge, is Kevin there yet?" Her eyes never left the front of the school. "Good. Most of the tender age victims are elementary school students. Have him run down who might have teachers in common." It was a long shot; teachers were diligently screened and their records and personal history closely scrutinized. Still, some could have slipped through the cracks. "Yeah. Have him flag teachers who are new to Chicago. It's just a hunch. Yeah, I know. I'm about to crawl into bed." Voight knew she was bullshitting him and ended the call before he could get the last word in.

Kim sat watching as a mother led what looked like a sick child down the cement steps of the school, his small hand in hers. Her car window was rolled down, and someone nearby was doing laundry. The flowery, overly clean smell of dryer sheets wafted into the car. Normal daily activities; laundry and picking up your sick kid at school. The world went on, oblivious, while Austin Heaton grew colder in a drawer in the hospital morgue.

The sugar in the coffee drink she had picked up on the way home and clothes that didn't smell like hospital were enough to re-energize Burgess for a while. The school angle wouldn't let go of her, and she sat in front of her laptop reading the front pages of the websites for the schools the victims attended. By the time she finished the third one, she was on the phone.

"Kev. All the schools the victims go to have one important thing in common. None of them has a cafeteria. They have school lunches delivered, all by the same company."

"Info couriers?"

"Could be."

"Where they at?"

"Canaryville."

"Text me the address, I'll meet you there."

"Wait! We can't afford to tip anyone off just yet."

"What you got in mind?"

"One helluva massive UC op. The schools, DCFS, this food delivery service. The internet providers who are complicit in allowing this remote access molestation."

"I'll run it by Voight. You on the way back in?"

"Yeah."

Kim inhaled deeply, the scent of the fabric softener she used filling her head, taking her back to the moments in front of the school her kid would never attend now. It came in waves, the loss and the grief and the endless questioning. She felt a stab of cold longing for the scent of Adam's cologne instead, for the feel of his neck against her lips as they drifted into sleep. Her river always led to his ocean. God, she was tired. She let herself sob for a few minutes, then cut herself off from tears and distractions for the rest of the day.

Burgess hit the bullpen to find most of the unit gathered in front of the board, going over all the info she had relayed. She felt that small swell of pride that always came when she was taken seriously. Atwater sidled up to her, his eyes shining. "You're gonna make Detective soon," he rumbled. Only Kim heard him.

"Well?" she asked Voight.

"It's on," Voight replied, his gravelly voice cutting through all the background noise.

Halstead called out to them from behind his desk. "We'd better get a move on. There's been another assault. Four year old girl in Englewood."