Happy Birthday to TheFridgeLovesFood! You're such an inspiration to me! :)
So here's the deal with this one. It's based off the episode At Least It's Justice (1x10) and focuses completely on Halstead's story line. Lonnie Rodiger was a pedofile, rapist, and murderer. Therefor-
I reference past sexual assault and murder, as well as implied sexual acts against someone's will. I do NOT go into detail during these events, and I do not write anything like a sexual act against someone's will that could or would be classified as rape.
That's a spoiler but please keep that in mind. I don't think I will ever be okay writing something like that it hits very close to home and is a reason why this is so short.
If you don't like, please don't read.
Once again though, I'd like to reiterate that this is not a rape story.
"You gotta end this."
"End what?"
"The Rodiger thing.
(?)
When he showed up at my house, it was the final straw. I'd seen him around since Ben (beautiful, gorgeous Ben, with the same dark hair and blue green eyes that filled with that delicious fear when I had him) but recently he'd been getting closer, more cocky.
He was interrupting certain schedules of mine, and that just wouldn't do. Plus my father was beginning to doubt me because of him. I couldn't have that. I need him in place to continue my work. I needed him compliant and easy to touch, but I needed him out of the way. He couldn't be so close.
It's alright though. I can make this work. It'll take a little more planning, a little more effort and thought checking (because sometimes in the heat of the moment, it's easy to want to just let go and give in, but you have to be smart Lonnie, you need to be smart if you want him) but I can take him.
He isn't the trouble. The trouble, will be having time with him, and still being able to get home in time that my father will vouch for me with blind honesty and half desperate truth.
The trouble will be his team.
But watching him walk down the steps through the curtains, my father annoying as he talks over the phone to his lawyer, the urge flares, and excitement courses through me.
I never forgot them. All the ones I've had. But Ben….Ben was special. Killing him was just….so satisfying. And everything about him is the same as it was with Ben...the eyes, the hair, the build. The stubborn determination to always be right about decisions, to always think carefully...unless they were mad. Then that carefulness...slipped.
It's how I took little, innocent (but so wise, so strong-) Benjamin. So strong, until I had him.
It's how I'll take him too. How I'll make him beg. There's nothing more satisfying than watching the shame and humiliation fill their face, feeling that rush of pure pleasure as you break them.
It's going to be so, so much fun.
Jay's P.O.V.
It's dark.
Through the thick muddy soup that is my brain, that of all things registers. I'm moving, but I can't move, and it's dark. And for some reason that doesn't make sense.
Something about that sentence is wrong, but I can't figure out what.
The moving thing jolts. I sink back into sleep.
….
My eyes are closed. And it's possibly night.
Those are the next two concrete facts I manage to congeal in my brain when I wake again. I'm not moving anymore and something...there's a sound that's traveling towards me, getting closer. It's sort of a crunching, but I can't get any farther than that.
A soft clunk echoes weirdly in my brain and then I manage to peel my eyes open and there's a person above me now but they're doing something to-
...
My god, I am concussed. Very, very badly. The side of my face is numb and my jaw is stiff, and somebody filled my skull with marbles so my head feels all rolly and bowling ball-ish. It's the only other explanation beside drugs. So possibly it's both.
I decide it's both after the trees start looking at me oddly. They're moving kinda slow around me, and whatever I'm moving on is very bumpy and it makes my head hurt more.
I go back to a sleep that's starting to register more as unconsciousness.
…
It's dark still. It never got brighter. Well, okay it did, but not from the sky. There's a penetrating glow from somewhere in front of me, and it hurts as it filters through my eyelids. Both of which, seem to be stuck closed.
There's noise around me - strange howls and buzzes, phantom moans and weird little grunts. Someone's talking but their words are garbled in my ears, strange and confusing.
"...leave….won't be co-...this…-oing to…-uch fun."
Fun? This isn't fun. This is like the one time Mouse dragged me to the hippie festival in california and somebody put some shit in my water and I was tripping so hard I had nightmares in my nightmares. And then I woke up three days later with a shattered wrist, two broken knuckles and no idea where-
Where am I?
Something - probably me - groans; soft, pitiful, and full of pain. I try to move as I vaguely recognize that I'm not in the same position I was earlier, which much have been the trunk of a car.
And if that's the case, then I'm probably not in a place I want to be, nor am I with people I want to be around either.
My wrists hurt. I can lean forward a solid inch off of the harsh surface my back's pressed against, and my legs are starting to get pins and needles from sitting with them splayed out for who knows how long.
It's rope. That's what binds my hands behind my back, and it's what keeps me securely stuck to the ground, less I uproot the fifty year old birch that I'm leaning against.
I'm still so confused though. I don't know where I am, or how I got here, or what the hell is going on. I'm sure I'm in danger, but I just don't have the energy or coordination to feel like I'm in danger. I can't even tell how much time it took me to piece my surroundings together. I'm in the woods, there's a fire in front of me, and I can't open my eyes because I'm just so damn tired.
I can't even think. Concussion or drugs. Drugs or concussion.
There's a hand. On my leg.
Oh how nice. I won't starve to death. Glad my kidnappers (is that the right word? Is that what happened to me?) didn't just leave me here.
The hand moves. I become less glad the farther up my leg it gets.
I may be severely incapacitated here, but even through my confusion, through the pounding in my skull and the pulse of blood that I feel all through my body, through my ragged breathing and fog filled mind, there is still a part of my brain that recognizes intent, that knows, that understands that this is wrong, no, not there, please don't touch me, please, not there, don't this I don't want to do this oh god-
A voice floats past my ears in a breathy, terrifyingly excited growl of predatory status.
"I hope you enjoy this as much as I do." The hand jerks, making my whole body jerk, strung tight in fear as my heart just about explodes. Unfortunately, despite the self preservation instinct that screams at me to stay awake because you don't know what he'll do if you fall back asleep the increase in heart rate sends the pain skyrocketing and blackness encroaches once more.
…
Somebody's - something is - oh please tell me he didn't, please somebody help me he's going to-
"Jay, it's alright. Just calm down okay, you're bleeding...everywhere."
That voice. I know that voice. I knew the other voice too, the bad one. I try to think, to feel, to make my body comply to something, so I know if he...I'd know if he did something right, I'd...I'd feel it…
Wouldn't I?
"Kid..-f you can hear me….just rela-...-on't try...move."
Please help me.
God, why can't I just...why is everything so...confusing….
"You gave it to him? All of it?"
"Had to or he was gonna bleed out. Somebody hold this while we get him on the back board...and call Med. Tell them they're going to need a few units of blood….and a rape kit."
It's so dark Mom. I'm scared.
…
"How's he doing?"
"Fevers still high. The Doc thought it would be good to start taking him off the vent though."
"And his head?"
There's a deep sigh.
"I don't know."
…
"He's doing better?"
"Think so. Did the lab come back with the results?"
"Yeah, they…"
...
"...-o we got the son of a bitch Jay. Actually it was Erin. Never seen her that mad now that I think about it. Not even that time you crashed the three hundred…"
A soft touch on the hand. It's warm. It stays.
"Now we just need you to wake up kid. They'll need your testimony to help put him away…and if you don't wake up I don't think Voight will let him make it to court."
Quiet. Someone sits.
"Damn. Here I was thinking your righteous ass would be out of bed in a minute. But….after what he did to you…"
A soft breath.
"I'm so sorry, Jay."
The voice is broken.
…
Things register slowly when I wake again. In fact, I'm awake before I even fully realize what 'awake' actually is.
Little things. It's bright. Quieter. Breathing is easier. My head doesn't hurt.
I think I hear Antonio.
"Jay?!"
Something grabs my hand - oh look another hand -
Oh my eyes are open. Good times. His face appears suddenly, blurred and through a haze, just like my thoughts.
He looks so hopeful though, so excited and scared and -
"-ou n'd t' sh've." I slur as a goofy grin spreads unrestrained across my face (somebody be proud of me please its been awhile since I attempted coherency) and his face lights up like a christmas tree.
"Voight!"
Seventy two hours earlier.
Al's P.O.V.
The bullpen is quiet, Jay having actually been the first to go home (which is insane the guy has to be pushed out the door everyday), and Ruzek only descending the stairs a few minutes ago with the same mission when Voight finally disentangled himself from the paperwork stacked on his desk and exits his office, conversing with Erin and Antonio about little things on the open cases and what to do tomorrow. Sighing he looks around the office, taking in the empty desks.
"Alright, everybody go ho-"
"Sarge!" Everyone's eyes snap towards Ruzek who comes bounding back up the stairs, looking like he just sprinted up here from his car.
"We have a problem." Voight tips his head back, hands still tucked in his pockets, without a sign of alarm on him. I know better.
"Do tell." The tiny amount of dread notable in his inflection if you've known him long enough.
"It's about Lonnie Rodiger." My skin goes cold at his words, and I lean forward to share a glance with Dawson who looks just as apprehensive as I feel.
I told him, I told him to be careful, I know the kid was angry but he wouldn't have-
"He has Jay." There's a pause in the bullpen.
"What?!" Erin snaps from her desk. I lean forward, dropping my head into my hands.
Well. Shit.
"Are you sure-"
"A lady called nine-one-one at the Mobile Station next to Franconia and Village because of a suspicious vehicle that had been at the gas pump for a while. Dispatch ran the plates and it's confirmed to be one of ours." Erin nods, her expression on of that whose mind is going a million miles an hour.
"Jay had the three hundred."
"Are you sure it's him?" Ruzek opens his mouth to answer but is run over my Dawson.
"How the hell does Lonnie Rodiger overpower Halstead?! The pedo weighs like a buck fifty soaking wet and Jay ain't a lightweight." Adams takes a breath before responding with a nice, casual:
"He hits him in the side of the head with a crowbar." He glances at Voight who's graduated from 'calm but might kill someone' to 'openly enraged'. "Jin's in the pit now, organizing the footage."
"When did it happen?" Erin pipes, looking torn between worry and anger.
"Call came in two hours ago but it was probably longer, we have no idea how long it took the lady to call it in. Platt's working on tracking her down to get a better statement as well as the uniforms who responded. The manager already sent over the footage, Jin just saw the first few minutes but...it took them a long time to figure out it was us."
"Because the plates aren't registered directly in our names. Damn." I purse my lips as she sighs, dropping her head into her hand. "So this freak has had Jay for almost three hours now. They could be anywhere in Chicago, if they're even in Chicago anymore."
It gets quiet as everyone looks towards their sergeant. I glance at Voight who looks right back with murder in his eyes to match the anger burning through me. We both know what Lonnie did to his victims.
I nod. This is Jay. We don't stop. We don't get to stop.
"I don't care what you have to do. I don't care who we have to go through. Nobody goes anywhere until we find him. Are we clear?"
The tension in the bullpen shifts from shock and fear to determination. This is personal. But operating under pressure is what intelligence does best. There are nods all around.
"Antonio, you and Adam go over that footage with Jin. I want to know everything you can get from the footage, from when they left to what color shoes Lonnie was wearing. Lindsay put a call into homicide, we need the full Rodiger file, everything they've got on him along with every case he's ever been involved with." Lindsay nods quickly, phone already to her ear while my partner and Voight's second in command start down the stairs.
"With me." Voight growls. I grab my coat.
…
"Chicago police!" Hanks slams a hand on the heavy oak door, then shoves his way past the heavy set man that answers, moving into the living room to check the house.
"Hey you can't just-"
"Woah, woah. Step back." I kick the door close, voice deceptively calm as I put a hand on his chest and not so gently force him backwards.
"I want to see a warrant!" He blusters as Hank reappears to climb the staircase.
"You'll see a warrant when I see my friend. Now. Where is he."
The guy looks like he hasn't had any sleep in a few nights, dark circles under his eyes adding to his age with the haggard look on his face. Fear flashes in his eyes, but denial and anger cover it quickly.
"What?!" He sputters, obviously lying but to unprepared for a better cover. It's angering. It's antagonizing.
It's the last straw.
My fist snaps out, hitting him in the gun so hard I can hear the breath being expelled from his lungs. He bends over with a groan and I grab his shoulder with one hand, the back of his neck with the other. Forcibly straightening him he growls something about police brutality. I dig my thumb into the pressure point next to his collar bone.
"We have your son-" I growl, pressing harder at the word. "-on tape, taking our detective. And since we know you'd do anything for him…" I push now with my right hand that's on his neck, digging into the pressure point under his jaw as he cries out in pain. "...lets try this again. Where. Is he."
"Stop! I don't know, I swear! I haven't seen Lonnie since this morning!"
"O, let him go." With a snarl I release my grip, pushing him back against the banister. He coughs rubbing his throat and shoulder. I step back, anger not yet spent, to allow Voight to get in his face.
"Let me make this clear. A uniform will be showing up in a few minutes to do exactly what I just did, only once they're done, they're going to take everything in your sons room that we can use for evidence. You won't be getting it back. And I hope to god you try and resist, because then I can throw you in jail cell for the rest of my investigation. But-" He steps closer, making the distance between himself and the man less than a few inches.
"If find out, that you had anything - and I mean anything - to do with helping your son take my detective...there won't be a place on earth where I won't find you."
…
When we return the bullpen is full of boxes, and Lindsay is just finishing taping up a few pictures while Tony is writing information next to the ones already up on the board.
"Anything?"
"Didn't expect him to be there and he wasn't. Lonnie's not stupid, he knew the first place we'd go was his house."
"And the dad?"
"Uniforms are bringing him in for questioning, CSU is tearing the house apart as we speak." Ruzek answers Dawson for us, hanging up the phone at his desk while I plant myself next to mine.
"You ready?" Hank asks Erin, who nods, then turns to the whiteboard where eight pictures are lines up edge to edge.
"I went to homicide to see what they had, and talked to the detective who was assigned to the case. So the case is something of a sour note for these guys, multiple districts had a hand in it and the assault and felony divisions was partnered with homicide during the investigation. The officers I talked to all said they knew Lonnie did it, and had a possible witness that would have come forward had Mr. Rodiger's lawyer not stepped in and scared them off. Coupled with his dad's alibi, they couldn't convict and the case never went to trial." She points to the picture on the far right.
"That's the last good photo of Ben Corson, the sister of Allie Corson who Jay had a connection too. It's the only case they had a decent chance of getting a conviction. These-" She sweeps a hand across the other eight photos. "- are all the suspected victims of Lonnie. They match his MO perfectly and they were all kidnapped within five miles of each other."
"I got word from the CSU guys, and several of these kids pictures were found in Lonnie's room." Ruzek pipes up, staring at his phone. "And there were more of Ben then of anyone else."
"So he was a special victim then." I murmur, looking over the photos of the boys, noting how how they're all the same age, same skinny but strong build. I bet if you asked around, everyone would say they were just the sweetest kids. I stare at Corson's picture a second longer.
"Look at the physical similarities. With the Corson kid, look."
"Same hair. And eyes. And...wow that's actually pretty freaky how close he is to Ja-" Ruzek starts after everyone's had a moment to look.
"That's why he broke his typology. If Ben Corson was the victim that made him feel the most, that gave him the biggest rush, then the similarities between him and Jay would be enough of an incentive to get Halstead out of the picture." I explain, dread settling back in my stomach once more. Things just got much more complicated.
"But still...there's a lot more to that choice. There had to be another reason for him to move on to Halstead. I mean...think about it. All these victims were less than a year apart until Ben, then there were no more after that."
"Not that we know of anyway." Dawson mutters.
"Right, but...why start again now. It had been almost five years...either something set him off again or something was holding him back." Erin speculates from across the room, sitting now at her desk.
"Was it us?" I glance at my protege, nodding at him to continue, but consciously aware that it's now been around five hours since Jay was taken, and the longer we wait the more likely it is we don't get to find him alive. Or at all. "I mean the police. You said the Corson murder, that was the one where they almost got him right?" Erin nods. "Then what if it was fear of the police? He knew they almost had him, so logically they'd be waiting for him to do it again. Hell homicide probably scanned every dead kid they came across for his marks. He probably thought 'hey it's been over five years they won't notice anymore'."
"I'll buy that." Hank speaks for the first time since the briefing began. "But that still doesn't explain why he'd try to go after Halstead. Guys like this don't break their victim type without some really good motive."
"Jay knew he was going to strike again." I whip my head around to look at Jin who's just appeared at the top of the stairs with a file in his hand that he hands to Voight. "These are the credit card receipts I gave to Jay last week. Lonnie bought duct tape, rope and camping supplies."
"But how would Lonnie know that Jay knew that-"
"Because he went to their house. Idiot." It's hard to tell if the curse is aimed at her partner or herself, but Erin slaps a hand down on her desk and shakes her head in anger. "That's why they filed the formal complaint, because he went to Rodiger's house to confront him. Lonnie knew Jay was on to him and if he was going to start killing again, then Jay couldn't be in the picture anymore. He was the only one still watching for victims that would match Lonnie. The fact that he looked just like Ben is just a….added bonus." Her voice gets shaky at the end as she realizes the full implications of Jay's relationship to Ben.
"Look I know no one wants to think about it...but Lonnie's a pedofile and Jay has similar features to his prized victims. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what Lonnie want's to do to him. It does however give us more time. It means there's a chance Jay's still alive." I talk staring at the floor, hat in hand. It gets very quiet in the bullpen and when I glance up no one meets my eyes.
Finally, after a solid minute of dead silence where everyone seems to want to throw up at the idea, Adam cuts through the anger and tension that sits low in the room.
"We, uh...we looked at the footage. It looked like he hit Halstead pretty hard. Jay wouldn't be awake and if he was he'd be really disoriented."
"And?" Voight snaps, clearing not liking the way the words come out of his mouth.
"Well...most….most serial rapists, especially sadists, like their victims to be awake and aware of what's happening to them as it happens. It's like how a lot of serial killers need their victims to be awake when they kill them otherwise they don't get the same...rush. It- it would buy us, a-and Jay, more time at least."
"He's right." I murmur to Voight, despite how sickening it feels to agree. Agreeing means acknowledging what happened. What might be happening as we speak.
"Fine. But we still need to find him. Have all patrols be on the lookout for his car, and send the information to neighborhood districts surrounding Chicago."
"The case detective that was originally assigned did speculate that he had a place that he took his victims. He said that all the victims looked like they were dumped somewhere, and that it was possible he had a place or places that he took them, more than whatever was convenient for him."
"Places?" I question Lindsay, who looks shaken but still determined to stay on task. She blinks, then looks down at her case file.
"She said...and I quote "when interviewed, he implied that we had it wrong. That the killer would put more effort into his actions than we gave him credit for and that whatever happened to those kids, happened for a purpose, and the actions carried out against them were very thought out."
"Thought out." I repeat, a solid thirty years of experience telling me that was the important fraise there. "He did a victim per year, that was his pattern right? These kids never saw it coming, and everything that connected their deaths to Lonnie was circumstantial. So this guy didn't just see a kid on the street and grab him, he probably tailed multiple children, for weeks, until he found the right one. Then he stalked that kid, figuring out schedules and habits and likes, and then he plans where he wants to take them. He choose each place to specifically fit his victim. Jay would be no exception."
"Okay, so wherever Jay is, it's someplace special, did I get that right?" I nod towards Antonio.
"So...how did he know where Jay was in the first place? That gas station isn't even close to his apartment, the only reason he was there was because his CI lives on the north side of town."
Voight looks at me and Ruzek.
"Check the car. And you two, start going through Lonnie's financials, see if you can get his phone records. See if there's someplace we can track him coming and going." Erin and tony start on it as Adam starts to dial the tow company that has the car.
"Hank." I step closer, shrugging on my jacket and lowering my voice, allowing the anger I feel to make itself known in my tone of voice.
"When we get this guy….I want him."
…
"Al, you don't really think...I mean Jay's just...he wouldn't let Lonnie do anything right?" I glance at my partner, reminded once again how young and inexperienced he is. I don't answer right away, gesturing to the hood of the Chrysler and flicking on my flashlight once it pops.
"I don't think Jay will let Lonnie do anything...but when you're concussed and tied up there isn't much you get to stop either."
The simple idea of somebody doing that to another person is sickening, but having it happen to someone you know, someone you've trusted with your life and held theirs in your hands...it's more than nauseating or spine chilling it's...revolting. It goes against every logical thought you produce that someone might do that, that they might take that strong person you know and scar them like that. it's abhorrent and repulsive to even think about, but to know that the longer you wait, the more likely it is to happen is just…
No matter what we do, what happens to him will be on us. It's why the worry and fear is covering dread and guilt, and why the anger is constantly overshadowed by the way we all feel we had a part in this.
"Is that what I think it is?" I blink, then follow Ruzeks flashlight beam to a small, nearly inconspicuous black box next to the battery.
"Tracking device." I mutter, pulling the thing from its wedged in position. "Given the fact that his dad works for an electronics company this would've been easier than tracking his phone."
"Tracking device…." Ruzek mutters, staring at the box for a few seconds before a literal lightbulb goes off in his head, evident by the sharp inhale and wide eyes. "What kind of car did Lonnie have?!"
…
"Please, please, please…" Adam mutters as he types frantically at Jin's computer, slamming the enter key down hard. There's a few seconds as whatever he's doing processes, then…
"YES! Oh my god, okay, somebody tell the team to suit up." I raise an eyebrow, glancing around at the rest of the team that's crowded around Adam and Jin. That arrived right after I called Hank for the car make and model, and told him to get down stairs before Ruzek had a conniption.
"Suit up." I don't know if it's the flat sarcasm in my voice or the sentence itself but Adam turns around and comes face to face with an over eager Erin.
"Did you find him?!"
"Uhhh, no, not yet. Okay so newer models of some cars have built in Nav systems, and since Jin here is amazing and can do this stuff, he should be able to track the car's recent endeavors. Even if Lonnie ditched it and got a new car, he still would have visited the site at least once. We should be able to narrows down locations pretty quickly." He glances at the tech whiz who's furiously typing on his own keyboard. "You...can do that right?"
"I just did." He tilts the monitor towards us and a map of chicago and the surrounding provinces are displayed with red lines criss crossing them. "Looks like he kept the car. It's parked outside of-"
"-Rubio woods. Son of a bitch!" Erin once again interrupts, snarling with anger as she straightens and starts to stalk towards the weapons cage.
"How'd you know it was there?" Jin calls as the rest of the team, myself included, rush to get our vests and radios on.
"Because that's where Jay's dad used to take him as a kid. And on weekends he still goes there to run."
…
"It's definitely his car!" Antonio yells, jogging over the group with Ruzek on his heels. "It's not warm, they've been here for a while."
"Okay so how do we do this? This place has over five hundred acres of woods. Even with the extra uniforms it'll take hours and Jay will be dead by then."
"Start with the perimeter." I glance at Hank. "Walk in pairs, look for places that the brush was disturbed. Listen Lonnie was banking on never being found, he wasn't concerned about covering his tracks. And it's dark, so nobody was here to see him drag Halstead out of the car."
"Dragged?" Erin asks, like she can't figure out if she should be scared or angry.
"You can see the marks by his car. They disappear in the grass but he definitely went through the field to get into the woods." Dawson pipes up, pointing to the trail of scuff mark that lead to an opening in the wood fence that surrounds the parking lot.
"Alright let's go. The second somebody finds a viable trail radio it in, get an ambulance down here. Erin go with Dawson start on the left, Adam stay here until Burgess and Atwater get here, then take one of them and go straight to the back. Alvin, you're with me." Voight orders, strong as ever, and the team springs into action, eager to find the trail that might end this nightmare.
I am less enthusiastic.
"Al?" I sigh, flicking on my flashlight and following Voight. It's quiet for a few minutes, both our flashlights scanning every inch of the undergrowth around us.
"You don't think we'll find him?"
"No, we'll find him. I just don't think we'll find him alive." Hank actually stops and turns to look at me.
"You care about him?" Why does he actually sound surprised?!
"You don't?!" I snap back, angry and already preparing to grieve. "Hank this kid is in your unit. He's your detective and your responsibility just as much as he is mine. He could be a great cop - hell, he already is - but he could be even better if you just let him."
"What is that supposed to mean?" I know he's angry, I can tell. The only reason I got away with saying that is because I've known him for the same amount of time I've been a cop. He needs to hear this though.
"It means that if you just stopped hating the fact that Erin has a guy partner, you might notice that Jay wants to learn from you. If you took a step back and actually taught him? Well, shit the world might end first, but he could be a better second than Dawson is. He could lead Intelligence one day. If it's not too late."
There a noncommittal grunt. We start walking again.
…
"There!" I whisper, shining the light on the disturbed brush up ahead. Hank jogs forward while I jump on my radio alerting the rest of the team. They respond, but it'll take a good five minutes for them to get across the field. I glance out at the darkness.
"We gonna wai…" I trail off as I look back at the bush where Voight used to stand. "...okay then."
Moving as quickly as possible with minimal noise I see Hank's flashlight up a head, following the obvious trail. He stops after a few minutes. At first I think it's just to let me catch up (I left my flashlight on and pointing towards the entrance) until I get next to him, and notice the discarded brass he holds in his hand.
The badge has blood splattered across its surface, the '51163' seemingly laughing at us from under the gore.
"Call the ambulance. We have evidence of an officer in distress." His voice is flat, different from his normal growl. I understand why. That's what our commander required us to have before we put in the call for an ambulance or additional units. He didn't want us to 'waste city resources'
I do. We hold onto the badge and keep walking.
After a few minutes of breathing, animal calls, and pitch darkness I put my hand on Voight's shoulder, holding a hand to my lips and pointing towards the low glow of light that's started to filter through trees. He turns his flashlight off and we pull our guns, creeping forward in a low crouch.
The fire is still going, the flames intentionally small but well stocked. At first I can't see anybody, basically squatting on the ground behind a bush. It's centered in what must be a clearing, but not an overly large one.
Voight nods to me. We move.
….
"Oh hell, kid." I mutter, dropping to my knees in front of him. There's a yell behind me and suddenly the team is bursting into the clearing, guns high.
"Al?!"
"He's alive." I reassure, fingers just pressed to the cold skin under Jay's neck. The pulse is weak and varying, speeding up rapidly under my fingertips, changing quickly from the snail's pace it was when I first touched him.
"What about Lonnie?" I point towards the direction in the woods Hank disappeared to the second he saw more broken brush and no criminal, not bothering to answer Ruzek.
"Where the hell is he?!" Erin snarls, like she had been looking forward to murdering him (and she probably was) and my gesture was a trick or something.
"Probably saw our flashlights through the trees and ran." I respond, not at all surprised when she takes off with Antonio on her heels.
"Is...is he…?"
"He's breathing. You have your knife on you right? Can you get his hands?" Adam nods and hurries forward, looking like he was happy to have something to do. I turn my attention back to Jay, cupping his face in my hands.
"Jay? Can you hear me?"
A soft moan is the only response. My stomach leaps into my throat anyway, because, really, it was way more than I was expecting.
His skin is pale, but then it's never really got more than a few shades of normal tan in the summer. It's cold too, and his breaths are weezy.
It's easy to see why.
There's a blood trail, from the collar of his shirt, up his neck and covering the entire right side of his face that traces to a dark contusion in his hair line that's still sluggishly bleeding. It must be from when Lonnie hit him. The jagged wound is less of a cut and more of a gap in his skin. I'm actually pretty glad for the amount of blood that's caked around it, mostly so dark it's black in the dim light. If there wasn't, I'm afraid I'd be seeing bone.
"Shit."
"What?" I call, keeping my eyes on Halstead's face, scared of what might happen if I divert my attention away from him for even a second.
I could honestly say I was surprised to find him here. Given the amount of time it took us from figuring out he was missing to actually getting here, I believed we were about to be searching for a body. Planning another funeral wasn't something I wanted to do, not with Jay, not with any of them. Not so soon after Jules.
It didn't stop me from being a realist. Even with the chance we had, I thought he was dead by now. However, the relief at seeing him alive and fully clothed was belated by a few key facts. Like how he was unconscious with blood covering all visible skin, arms included. Or how, upon further investigation, his jeans sit lower on his hips, button undone and zipper down. Lonnie always redressed his victim after he was done with them.
Speaking of the deranged Rodiger, should they find him, I seriously doubt they'll bring him back alive, what with how both Voight and Erin were when they took off. Hell with how the whole team was on the way over here...well, if they do bring him back alive, I'm going to make him wish they hadn't.
"There's uh...well he's losing a lot of blood." With that he brings Jay's arms around, showing the deep cuts that run laterally from wrist to elbow. I drop my head, taking a deep breath to push away the defeat that threatens to overwhelm me.
"Alright." I whisper. "Take you jacket or something, just press against it. But make sure to check there's nothing sticking out of the cuts like glass or something. Wait-" My rookie freezes halfway in the process of shedding his light long sleeve sweatshirt. "- help me lay him down."
Once we get him on the ground (or fully on the ground rather) Adam goes about pressing the rags of his zip up to Halstead's arms while I shove a large rock under each foot so as to raise his legs.
I don't know if it's the blood plodding it's way back to his brain, or the feeling coming back to his legs and arms that must hurt especially, but a sharp moan cuts through the silence that had just started to prevail over the situation. Scrambling my way over to his head, I carefully press a hand to his neck to still whatever movement semiconscious may arouse.
"Halstead? Hey can you hear me?" A small, pitiful whimper is my only verbal response, but his body moves feebly under my hands, arms and legs jerking away from Adam's administration. Ruzek hisses as the bandages are jostled, and I glance down to see fresh blood starting to seep out of the wounds again. I curse, adding to the growing din as more voices and shouts are heard through the woods.
"Is that the paramedics?"
"Stay with him, try to keep him calm." I order, standing ready to get the rest of the rescue crew who are now blundering their way through the woods.
"How?!" He asks as Jay moans again, to weak to put up a struggle beyond slowly writhing on the ground.
"Just talk to him!" I yell, scooping up my flashlight again and jogging back towards the opening we came from.
A distant gunshot sounds as I enter the dark woods.
It's followed by a scream.
"...and get me some Etomidate. He's still fighting us."
The other paramedic looks up with an expression that's half wariness, half understanding.
"Are you sure?" She asks as I card my hand through Jay's hair. The gesture, which had been done out of my own emotional desperation, calmed him somewhat. But that was a few minutes ago, and since then, his movements have increased once more. They aren't powerful or dangerous to anyone hit, but they are dangerous to him. He's lost a lot of blood, and combined with the severe head trauma and shock, his system is way beyond its limits.
As if to validate the senior medics order, Jay's arms move again, compression bandages soaked through and falling off to show the jagged cut that exposes the vital tendons, muscles, and veins to the outside world.
"Jay, listen. If you can hear me just...just relax okay? You're safe we got ya. He's not going to hurt you anymore. You keep moving you're going to hurt yourself. You hear me? Don't try to move."
The paramedics are respectful at least, of us and the situation. They wait in silence. When there's no acknowledgement of my words, the girl silently hands her partner a syringe filled with a clear liquid, the sharp metal glinting under the unnatural light of standard police issued flashlights. Ones being held by most of intelligence and a few other uniformed police officers. I recognize a few of their faces, not enough to really know them but enough to understand that Platt sent the best she had.
"We'll only use half." The guy, an older man with black hair that's greying at the edges and scars on his neck that tell a story, speaks to me as he plunges the needle into the side of his neck as both his arms are unavailable. "He won't need that much anyway with the blood he's lost."
I just look at him.
Two minutes later, Jay's still moving enough that they can't keep the dressing in place to tape it. The rest of the clear liquid disappears into his blood. The girl looks surprised when he finally stops.
"You gave it to him? All of it?"
"Had to or he was gonna bleed out." She looks like she's close to saying something, a disapproving look of stern judgement passing across her face. He just glances at her and starts barking orders at the crowd around us.
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't numb at this point.
I'd also be lying if I said I didn't flinch when he started spouting sexual assault protocols like all of this was real.
….
Voight stands with a sigh when the ER doc who worked on Jay walks back into the waiting room. I follow, but the rest of the team only stands, some unspoken agreement keeping them from following us.
"Sergeant Voight?" He nods. The older man doesn't even try to question my validity as a recipient of news concerning his patient. I'm grateful for it.
"He made it. It was close with the amount of blood he lost but we got him through it. Unfortunately though, he's developed an infection, most likely from having the wound open and uncover for so long. We also had to clean out dirt from both wounds on his arms."
"His head?"
"Well he…" The man purses his lips shaking his head slightly in a way that says he's thinking about how explain whatever he's gotta say. "He has a severe concussion. We did a CT scan and an MRI and they showed us some good and bad things. He's not bleeding anywhere but there is some swelling which is creating pressure in his skull. Now normally we would keep him on several anti-inflammatory drugs and if the pressure increased then we would have to drill small holes in his skull to relieve the pressure. But the force of the blow to his head created fractures so right now we really don't want to...well the wound was open for a long time and continued to bleed for most of that time. His body is under a lot of stress, with infection, blood loss, and his brain struggling to heal itself. Doing anything more than regulating his breathing and using drugs to help his body heal is...dangerous to say the least."
"He's on a vent?" I ask, trying to absorb and make sense of all the information he just dropped on us.
"Correct. We felt it better, what with the fever and head trauma. He was fighting us when he surfaced from the anesthesia but never became coherent."
"So wouldn't sedating him have been a bad idea? Wouldn't it have...messed with him or something?"
"It can make it harder for him to wake up, yes. Truthfully, I didn't want to put him under, but his vitals kept dropping and once he stayed below a certain level for too long we didn't want to deprive his brain of oxygen after…" The doctor seems at a lose of words then and eventually just tells us the room number and floor and leaves. I understand what he means though, even if he never said it.
Yes, Jay's alive. Yes, he could make it. But he also couldn't. And even if he did, he might never wake up the same. It's all up in the air at this point. Even they don't know if they're helping him or hurting him.
"Al." I jerk around to see the team dispersing and Hank looking concerned at me. "You good?"
Swallowing thickly I nod, busying my hands by fixing my hat. "Yeah I'm gonna...I'm gonna stay with the kid. In case he wakes up."
We both choose to ignore me purposely disregarding the other option.
"Alright. I'll have Dawson keep you company. I gotta go back to the station, deal with the commander. And Erin." I raise an eyebrow, thinking about how surprised I was to see her dragging Lonnie out of the woods with gunshot wound in his...well in what was between his legs. She didn't even come to the hospital with us, and had volunteered to stay at the scene and get everything in order. I have my theories as why, and they don't all concern threatening Lonnie since we had to call another ambulance for him.
It doesn't matter. We still have cases to close. And the answer to all of them is sitting locked in a metal cage in the basement of District Twenty One.
…
It's been two days. The fever hasn't broken once, and his brain waves have barely improved. Dawson and I sat with him most of the first day, trading with Voight to go home for a while, who traded with Ruzek, who never traded with Erin when she was supposed show up. I saw her later when I went to get some paperwork from my desk.
"You haven't seen him yet."
"No."
"He's your partner Erin. You-"
"I can't be there okay!? I can't be there when he dies! Not like...not like I was with Jules. I can't do that again. I'm sorry."
I didn't ask again.
I filled out my report next to Atwater, on the small adjustable table meant for the patient to eat off of. I gave it to him when he left to go back to the precinct to help the rest of the team organize the evidence for each case. The CSU unit tore Lonnie's house to pieces, stripped everything from his laptop and phone, even got records from the internet provider and phone company that he used. The amount of kiddy porn, pictures, and sound bits that were found were both disturbing and astounding. There was a box hidden in the crawl space filled with pictures of the victims. All of the victims. Looks like homicide was right.
The last few were of Jay. All of them with his badge in plain sight and even a few with him in his tac vest and the team standing around him. Meaning he was there while Jay was working, most likely at crime scenes. Each set of pictures has the victim before they're taken, one before they're killed, and one after.
We checked Lonnie. The cell he had was empty. No photos on it.
That meant nothing until the test results came back, with no traces of foreign DNA anywhere on or...in places it shouldn't be. I guess we were right with head wound theory. He had more than enough time to do what he kidnapped Jay to do, but since Jay wasn't conscious he didn't.
And with Jay still being unconscious, we're finding more problems with this case.
...
"What do you mean?" Voight's gruff as usual, but the underlying warning tone is a good indication of how close Lonnie is to taking a trip he won't return from. Atwater, to his credit looks just as angry as we feel, and I can bet that he argued with whoever told him the news.
"The prosecutor I talked to said there was nothing we could do about. We could convict with the other victims maybe, but their lawyer is good. He would be out within forty years, less if he convinced people he was reformed. And because kidnapping a cop is so far out of his victim range, the only evidence we have is the few pictures and the fact that we found Lonnie there. Even the gas station video can be discredited, because you never fully see his face. It's dusk and it's a low quality video. Plus they found no DNA that matched Lonnie on Jay's clothes or his skin."
"So how the hell would they convince a jury that Lonnie just happened to be there at the woods?" I snarl, enraged that this bastard might get away with what he did to Jay. Ruzek's jaw clenches and he glances at Kevin who looks so angry he might hit something. The dark skinned man just stalks away down the hospital hallway while Adam explains.
"The GPS records show him going there, but phone records show him being there multiple times before hand. It'd be easy to say he went there in hopes of clearing his head. He's been going there for the last three, four years. It can be played as circumstance. The only irrefutable evidence we would have that could send him away for life would be Jay's testimony. And...look even if Jay wakes up the chances of him remembering anything would be slim."
...
"They took him off the ventilator?" I glance up at Antonio, who's returned to the hospital after taking some time to be at home with his family. Voight's outside, waiting to give me a lift back to the precinct to review what have for each case. Ever since we've got him back, some unanimous decision was made and Halstead has never been alone.
"Yeah a while ago. Said they've finally got ahead of the infection. Fever broke a couple of hours ago. They still don't know if he's...when he's going to wake up, but they took him off the meds that were keeping him under." Antonio nods, shrugging off his jacket.
"Well, I'll trade places with you. Any idea if the judge has decided on a trial date?"
"Yeah sometime next week." I curse. It's not that we don't have the evidence to convict, it's just we don't have Jay.
And I want Jay to be aware of this, to be there for this, not so he can testify, but so he can see justice done. And because it means he'd be okay.
I get a solid twenty feet down the hall with Hank before Dawson starts yelling.
…
"Well?!" Erin asks, breathless from her run through the hospital. The doctor smiles at her, looking tired before repeating what he just finished telling us.
"He's awake and mostly coherent. I don't know how much he remembers from his ordeal, but there doesn't appear to be any long term memory loss and his motor functions remain intact. He's a little confused and very tired but that's to be expected. When you talk to him, don't be surprised if he gets lost easily or drops off suddenly. He's been through a lot, it's honestly a miracle that he is where he is right now. If you have any other questions I'm sure a nurse will be able to explain it further." With that he excuses himself and Erin looks like she simultaneously wants to punch him for being so nonchalant and hug him for giving her good news. It took Voight promising her that Halstead was going to be fine about ten times before she even got in her car to drive to the hospital.
"So...so what do we do? What do we tell him?" Lindsay crosses her arms, looking for all the world like she'd rather be anywhere but here, outside her partner's room (whom she's only known for three months, yet they're a better team than ninety percent of the pairs I've seen in my lifetime) who was just kidnapped, abused, and laid in a coma for half a week.
"Why don't we just...we see how much he knows. How much he remembers. If he doesn't know what happened after he got hit, then there's no point in asking him to testify." She nods.
"Right but...do we tell him about what...what'll happen to Lonnie? How he won't get life because his lawyer is decent and knows the judge? What'll that do to-"
"Don't worry about Rodiger." Voight growls, looking all like the dark cop he once was before he spent his time in jail. "We just make sure he's okay."
Erin shrinks, pulling her arms closer to herself and shrugging again.
"Yeah." She rasps. "Let's go."
…
The bruise is large enough that it spreads out from under the white bandage taped to his skin and intrudes on his hairline. It covers the entire right side of his forehead, circles his eye, dips almost all the way to his jaw line. An oxygen cannula has replaced the oxygen mask which replaced the tube they shoved down his throat to make sure he keep breathing. What skin is visible around the bandages and hospital gown is pale and somehow all of it (the wires and oxygen and blanket, the flimsy clothing and dim lighting, things he shouldn't need because he shouldn't be here) makes him look small.
Which is hard thing to do to a five foot eight former Army Ranger.*
A nurse is there when we walk in, just finishing changing the dressing on his arms where over a hundred stitches were needed to close the wounds, and a solid two hours worth of careful cleaning was needed before either of them could be disinfected and sutured. She smiles softly at us and tilts her head to say something to her patient. A soft murmur comes in response and I can hear Erin suck in a sharp breath as she sees her partner for the first time.
"He's going to be pretty groggy, we just gave him a new round of pain meds. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."
She exits quietly as I make my way around to the side of the bed that has a chair.
"Hey kid." A slow blink is my response, followed by a furrowed brow, like he's trying too hard to compute the sounds coming out of my mouth to words.
"That was…" He draws a breath slowly. "...way to casu'l. Ev'n fur you Al."
I glance at Erin who's worry has been stripped away to surprise at his words. She blinks a few times in shock then looks at me.
"Did he just-"
"I told you not to bother with the whole calm and collected thing-"
"He's severely concussed and yet-"
"He's r'ght h're." Erin throws her hands in the air, rolling her eyes then crossing her arms to glare at him.
"You're supposed to be nearly incoherent, you know." He grins, a huge bright smile that proves exactly how high he is right now, because...well because he never smiles like that around us. It's one of those real, honest smiles, one that reaches his eyes and makes you want to smile too. I've only seen it once. He was very drunk (we both were) and he was thinking of his mom at the time.
"Oh d'n't w'rry." He slurs, looking forever exhausted. "I 'm."
I rub my temples against the oncoming headache. This kid is going to put me in an early grave swear to god.
"Listen, we're glad you're okay-"
"Ish." Erin interjects into Voights lecture, and there's the stubbornly protective woman I know who is so creepily like Camille when she gets like this. Voight looks at her, half annoyed, have amused.
"-not about to die on us." He corrects, then continues. "But I know this is important to you. And if it was any of us in your position, I think we'd all want to know. Lonnie's going to trial. We have enough evidence to get him on Ben Corson's murder, as well as the very illegal videos he had on his computer."
Another slow blink. His eyes seem clouded, like he's not really here right now, which is probably an effect of the drugs and his still healing brain. The doc had said that he might be a bit scrambled for the next few weeks, because his brain is still healing and basically has to rediscover the correct pathways for certain things. So thinking one thing, may not bring about the correct memory or response. He's still trying though, that much is obvious.
"Wah bout...the rest?" He blinks hard, looking more agitated than before. I glance at the monitors above him, watching the steady lines and numbers.
"Without the bodies...we have a very good chance of convicting him on stalking the boys. He had pictures of them before, during and after their murders. If it goes to a jury, then...it could swing either way. His lawyer is going to try and paint this as circumstantial. And if push comes to shove then, the dad might step up and take the fall for him." Dull eyes glance to me once Lindsay finishes. The cloudy blues must find something in my face, (something I'm much to tired and worn out to hide) because he seems to put two and two together when he speaks again.
"Me?" He whispers, struggling more to stay awake.
"He wore gloves." I say back, keeping my voice low. "And we didn't find him next to you. We found him on a hiking trail."
"Circumstance." He murmurs.
"Yeah. So unless the crime lab comes through with some pretty compelling evidence...he won't be going away for what he did to you. They even processed his car and found no DNA. There's nothing linking him to you except for the fact that you were the detective whom they had a restraining order against." I watch as fear, sudden and pure, flashes across his face. Something else replaces it quickly, something hard but soften by the drugs and by trauma, something that might be hurt and shame but could also be anger and resolve. Something that's probably all of it, something that's pure emotion.
It's scary that the only part of said expression that shocks me, is the fact I'm seeing it. I've seen anger from him, and I've seen him smirk and laugh and be all the things that everyone else can be and expect him to be. Except I've never seen that true emotion, that at some point or other, a case will bring out in a cop.
It's scarier still, that I've known he's been hiding it. I saw it the second he walked up the stairs, that mask that people saw as his face. I just didn't quite put it together until he told me about his service record.
"Listen kid if you-" I start, leaning forward in my seat to rest my elbows on my legs.
"I'll do it." And damn if that isn't the strongest he's sounded since this all started.
"What?"
"That's…" He sucks in another slow breath, relaxing seemingly involuntarily, whatever small burst of energy needed to make his words loud and permanent before waning quickly. "...what y'll ask r'ght? To m'ke the case…'m g'n h've to test'fy?"
My eyes find the floor for short moment, repressing the urge to punch something before looking at Voight, my anger showing. Voight, who for all tense and purposes looks like a man about to murder someone, just says a short 'yes'. No emotion in it. Like they were having this conversation over tea.
Erin takes a deep breath to break the silence. Uncrossing her arms she presses a hand to her mouth for a second before dropping them both into her pockets. She mutters something about going to talk to the doctor before walking from the room so fast I think I see smoke coming off her heels.
"Jay listen...I know you want to put this guy away. I want him to face justice just as much as you do, believe me on that. But I don't want to put you up on the stand after nearly dying just for you to get torn apart in cross examination. Because unless you can definitively remember seeing and hearing Lonnie while he had you, then I don't want you up there."
"I…" His voice is weaker now and I can see he's slipping, stuck between here and what he remembers.
"Easy kid." I whisper, reaching out and grabbing his wrist in an attempt to ground him. "Don't force it."
"Rem'mb'r…" He whispers back and the lost way he says it worries me enough that even if he did, I don't want him to be up in front of a judge, in a courtroom being grilled by an attorney with no conscience. "...was th'r…" He blinks, slowly enough that I think he's passed out until he manages to peel them back open to gaze blearily at Hank.
"M good."
"You sure?" Jay just nods slightly. "Alright. Get some rest kid, I'll let you know what's going on when we get some definite dates."
I stand to exit with Voight who's already mostly out of the room when there's a soft call from Halstead.
"Wait."
I turn around to face him but don't sit again.
"You...said he...no DNA? On me?" His voice is nothing more than an exhale at this point, and I'm sure by all means he should be very unconscious. But since he's expended all this effort into staying awake, I give him a nod in answer instead of a reprimand to go to sleep.
"So...he d'n't..do...n'th'ng? T' me?" I blink, confused for a moment.
"No Jay he-" I suck in half a breath.
Oh. No one told him.
"The kit was conclusive. He never got that far."
Something cracks in Halsteads expression, and I try to ignore the way his eyes start to get glassy. I can't imagine what it would be like to think that someone did something like that and you couldn't even remember it.
"Oh." He breathes. "Th'nks Al."
"You're welcome Jay." I whisper as his eyes finally slid closed and he slips into sleep.
….
"Just so everyone here has a clear understanding - You saw, during the time in which you were being held against your will in the forest area known as Rubio Woods, the defendant, Lonnie Rodiger?"
"Yes."
"Anything else? I understand you were - and are - injured, but was there any other way you identified him."
"I- yes. His voice."
"So it's safe to say that…."
"This is such bullshit." Ruzek mutters from his seat next to me as he squirms on the hardwood bench. I give a slight hum in agreement, watching Jay carefully as he sits in the witness stand next to the judge. His face, which is still a spectacular mixture of color that's pure 'bruise', has gone from plain tired, to slightly pained and exhausted. I can tell whatever pain meds he got before leaving the hospital are wearing off, and the stress of trying to remember answers to the questions she's asking isn't helping. Voight got the best lawyer he knew off, a woman who's cut throat but simultaneously seems to understand that Halstead isn't even out of the hospital yet, and that hey, almost being sexually assaulted is traumatizing.
He was doing great. Until the Rodiger's lawyer, (another woman, just as aggressive and fifty times more nasty) steps up for cross examination. And she's good. Shes made our evidence seem sloppy and half involved, made the jury very damn confused when it comes to what they should believe. The fact that we even made it to a jury trial is infuriating. The simple thought that this creep might walk free in less than twenty years sends me clenching and unclenching my right hand to stretch the open cuts on my knuckles. Although it's interesting. Mostly because I didn't hit enough times to really do damage. They aren't broken and neither are Voights or Erins. They'll be healed in a few days.
Jay won't be.
It's rather ironic actually, because the only (and I mean only) reason Lonnie Rodiger is still alive, is that Erin Lindsay knew that her partner wouldn't have been able to stay in the unit if he knew that we killed in cold blood. For him.
He would try for a little while, sure. Jay's never been one to give up on something without a fight, but his conscious is too loud sometimes. Some might call it weakness, not wanting to deal with the death of your kidnapper and almost rapist who killed eight other boys. But considering what he might have went through, what he might have done in Afghanistan...well, I get the impression he has a good reason for sticking to his morals.
"...any evidence or prominent eyewitness accounts on his part is completely circumstantial. And, frankly, unreliable."
"What?" Jay sputters, and I can see the tiny flit of surprise cross his face. He's been having trouble with short term memory, (asked me three times in the same conversation when the court date was) and besides being mixed up with his thoughts, sometimes those mixed up things come out of his mouth without actually him saying so (example: Ruzek brought him green jello as a joke and halfway through eating it he frowned down at the cup, expressly mentioned how he hated cranberries, then refused to eat any more of it. We told him later what happened and he look at us like we were crazy because "Jesus Al is there was only one edible substance left on earth and it was green jello, I'd starve to death").
"You were released from the hospital for this hearing correct?" The woman says with false kindness in her voice. She knows the answer to this question. And she wants to make a point, the exact point Simons (our lawyer) told us she'd make. The doctor only allowed this to happen with express directions that he come back to the hospital afterward. He's not officially discharged.
"No."
"So then how are you here, exactly? Your doctor hasn't even deemed you healthy enough to leave the hospital."
"Objection your honor, relevance!" The cry comes from our bench. The judge takes head.
"Miss Cryn, we are not here to discuss how the witness came to be at the stand. Keep the focus on your case." The arbiter, an older colored woman, has enforced a no nonsense policy since the beginning of the trail, and neither side was given special treatment. Erin actually got scolded twice by the woman for trying to speak out against 'Miss Cryn'.
"I'm sorry your honor I was leading to a point."
"Then make it." She snaps back. "Both your client and this man have had severe physical trauma recently and still have to sit the rest of this trial. In light of not wanting anyone to pass out in my court house, I suggest you get on with whatever you need to do." The lady, (forty years or so, dyed blond hair, a dress suit and a gleam in her that tells you she has exactly what it takes to be a defense lawyer for criminals) just nods.
"You were diagnosed with a severe concussion, classified as a traumatic brain injury to go along with extreme blood loss. The brain has been proven to be mistaken even without these added injuries. How do you really know that my client was the one who took you?"
"I told you, I saw-"
"- his face yes, I know. And you heard him too. But, do tell me. How many times, did you happen to see him? Multiple times? Did you watch him move around for hours?" I see Jay get that pained expression again and I clench my jaw, knowing the answer.
"No."
"No? So you saw his face once? Just once singular glimpse of your kidnapper with a severely concussed brain and you assumed it was my client?"
"I heard him." Jay growls, but his conviction isn't as strong in his words, and it costs him.
"You heard a male voice." She corrects haughtily. "But can you honestly tell me, right now, that you, without a doubt, you truly heard my clients voice? May I remind you, you're under oath."
"Damnit." I whisper the second I see uncertainty flick across Halsteads face. Voight gives a low growl in agreement from where he sits next to me. We've all had to testify today on the events that occurred that night in the woods, since Cryn is saying we shot her client without cause.
"He was just going for a walk in the woods to clear his head. Heard people running towards him, and like anyone who's lived in Chicago for long enough, started running away from them. Did you ever identify yourself? Any of you? Did a singular person yell out the three warnings required before you put a bullet in his shoulder?"
It makes me wish we did actually kill him. Then he wouldn't be sitting all comfy at a table staring at Jay with dark eyes while the only victim who's ever escaped him tries desperately to stop him from ever doing it again. I can see the kid glance at his attacker every once in awhile, although the more this drags on, the more he does it, and I know he's starting to loose whatever foothold in his memory he had.
"No." The attorney smiles savagely.
"Which means the face you saw, could have easily been someone else, but your cop buddies found someone they were never able to put away because he wasn't guilty, and they shoved him in your face and said 'this is the guy right?"
"Miss Cayn!" The judge barks. She continues to stare at Jay like she's won.
"No further questions your honor." And with that she sits down.
"Miss Simons, would you like to re-examine?" The judge asks, and I swear I can feel all of Intelligence tense up. Marcy Simons is a good lawyer. The problem with this case, is that we don't know if she can be a good lawyer without hurting Jay in the process.
She seems to stare long and hard at Halstead, who, despite looking like he's about to throw up, gives a tiny nod. I groan internally, knowing that at least a small part of him is only doing this because his team is in the courtroom and he thinks that he has to prove something to us.
But when she takes a deep breath to talk again, the words out of her mouth are not those I expect.
"No, your honor."
"Very well. You may retire the witness." I can see the surprise on Jay's face but he stands nonetheless and we all take note of the slight sway he has walking back to his seat.
"That sucked." He mutters as I stand with Voight, grabbing his good arm to help him back into his seat. He's whiter than a sheet and his hands shake as he tucks them close to him torso, almost like he's hugging himself. He's supposed to have his arms in slings because they don't want him moving the wounds too much.
"Why'd they take you down?" Ruzek whispers, receiving a sharp elbow from Erin who sits next to him. Jay blinks a few times, like he's struggling to understand what Adams means, and I can see my protege blanch at the effort being made to answer his question.
"Well she- uh, she has another...thing." His brow furrows and damn it if this doesn't hurt seeing my normally sharp team mate reduced to struggling to remember things that happened a few hours earlier. His troubled expression leaves after a few seconds, his eyes clearing as Simon's moves on to her next piece of evidence.
"The prosecutor would now like to present the court with two pieces of evidence, articles…."
"She's got this." He whispers back, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth. "And she's got something even better."
"These are shoe prints, impressions taken from the dirt that surrounded where Detective Halstead was found. The Crime Scene Unit was very thorough. Every single print has been accounted for, matching every police officer, detective, and paramedic that was on scene. As well as the defendants, whose shoe's that he was wearing at the time of arrested match the only unaccounted for prints. You're welcome to bring the atherfor mentioned people back up to testify that, yes, we took their shoes." She aims the last part at Ms. Cryn with smug sarcasm in her voice.
"I understand the rest of your argument Cryn, but do you really expect the good people here to believe that your client just happened to have the exact same type, size and tread shoe as someone who kidnapped Jay Halstead? Circumstance only goes so far. Because why would your client have walked past a severely injured police officer and just kept on going? What other reason could he possible have for being there except to be doing all the things he's accused off?"
"Shoe prints have no time stamp on them." The bitch defends with a snarl. "You have no proof that he was there when you the detective was."
"His car GPS marks him arriving less than five hours before Detective Halstead was found. The same GPS that puts him at the gas station when said Detective was abducted. When else did he put them there?! It rained twelve hours before he arrived, so any previous prints would have been gone or severely distorted and this-" She throws the picture of what must have the bootprint onto the defenses table so hard it lands with a nice 'thwack'. "-was very clear."
"Your honor this is harassment-"
"It's alright Miss Cryn we can move on to the pictures if you'd like?"
"I-"
"The ones found in a nifty little hiding hiding spot inside the crawl space? You know, the pictures of his eight victims, before, during and after they were raped and killed?!"
"Doesn't mean they belonged to him or anyone in that house!" She turns to glare as us in the audience before turning back to the jury. "Sergeant Voight and Detective Olinski could have easily planted those when they searched the Rodiger house without warrant and with excessive force! I demand any evidence found on their account thrown out!"
"It was. All zero pieces off it. All of the evidence collected and used in this trial was done legally and with warrant." Simmons fires back, and there's no way she hasn't planned for every excuse for this, because she looks almost gleeful as Cryn sputters and lies her way into a bigger, deeper hole of shit she can't get her client out of.
"It doesn't mean they didn't plant the evidence!"
"You're right." She says calmly, and I get the understanding she's got an ace up her sleeve and she's about to use it. "They could've planted those. Should we find out?" There's a murmur and for a second I think Voight and I are about to be called back to the stand. Then she turns towards the judge and speaks.
"Your honor, I'd like to call the defendant's father, Mr. Phil Rodiger, to the stand for witness examination."
My mouth actually opens in surprise and next to me Ruzek has to slap a hand to his mouth to keep from laughing. Something savage and angry twists in delight inside me, armed with the knowledge that Lonnie's father is going to be under oath and is going to incriminate his own son.
Phil is sworn in and sits, somehow looking even more nervous and agitated than Jay did.
"Mr. Rodiger, I'm going to cut right to the chase. You've been here this entire time. There is little need to stand here and interrogate you in front of the jury to make my point. These pictures, these morbid photographs of eight small children, first alive, then dead, photos taken of Detective Halstead without his permission-" Halstead flinches slightly next to me at the word permission. "-were they in your house before you were visited by the members of the task force known as Intelligence?"
The man sputters for a few seconds and then Simons reminds him that he's under oath, and the 'I don't know' that he managed is no longer an acceptable answer. The man actually looks like he's about to start crying, shaking his head and apologizing while Cryn starts yelling about emotional state of the witness and Simons is yelling right back. It's a madhouse for a few seconds until the judge slams the gavel down with a harsh yell.
"Miss Cryn if you had any regard for the emotional well being of witnesses then you wouldn't have dared to question the detective who just went through a much more traumatizing order than this man here! Sit down!"
"Excuse me?! Are you really-"
"Mr. Rodiger!" Marcy barks, running right over a very angry defense lawyers indignant screech. "Answer my question. Did you have knowledge of the existence of these pictures in your house taken by Lonnie prior to Sergeant Voight and Detective Olinski's entrance to your home?!"
"Yes."
….
"At least he got convicted on Jay's case too. That's more than we thought right?"
I hum in agreement, more focused on helping a very tired Halstead back to the car.
"Easy kid." I mutter as he stumbles over his own feet trying to get into the back seat. Once I'm sure he's situated I climb in after him, squishing Dawson in all the way over to the otherside. Erin clambers into the front seat, and Voight starts the engine, pulling away from the curb in silence.
The defense's case fell apart very quickly with the elder Rodigers testimony. He confessed to having suspicions about his son for a long time, to knowing that his son was a danger to Jay, to everything. The problem was, that without the bodies of the other children, Lonnie didn't get a life sentence. No, he got forty years in prison, with mandatory counseling sessions as well as being unable to live within a mile of children under ten, and being registered as a sex offender.
Which isn't enough. No, it's not even close. Because that means one day he'll get out. And as Jay finally slumps over on Antonio's shoulder in sleep, I exchange a glance with Voight in the rear view mirror. He looks over at Lindsay, who looks at him with satisfied anger on her face. She nods.
He makes a phone call.
….
"Sit down." The guard roughly shoves the pedofile into a hard metal seat. A pane of scratched glass separates Voight from Lonnie, separates the inmates from the visitors. Keeps me from beating the shit out of him infront of every body. He picks up the phone.
"What do you want?" And there it is, that horrible voice, that sounds weak and pliant, like he's just some harmless guy who works at an insurance firm and will probably never marry. Like he's never done anything worse than get a parking ticket.
"Hello to you too, Lonnie." Voight chirps back, voice full of fake cheer. "Well I was just wanting to have a conversation. How's prison treating yah? You good? Because you know, protective custody is real luxury. You're like the first class of prisoners."
"I don't have to listen to this-"
"Because you know, the middle and lower class, well. They may have done some bad shit to get in here, but they still really hate those in your position. You think you're better than them or something like that."
"I don't-"
"And it's funny because there's people in here for murder. Like you." Voight just keeps going, running over the offenders words like they don't matter. Because they don't.
"People in here for some pretty bad things, people in here for robbing the elderly and for selling drugs and for threatening and kidnapping and pretty much everything under the sun. Except-" And there it is, the false happiness is dropped from his voice, which lowers a few octaves to become the dark growl that haunts Chicago's criminals.
"-these people in here? Most of them have families. Children of their own. And you wanna know one thing they hate more than anything else? Something that gets even the scum without kids homicidally angry? Well..." Voight chuckles. "...you're about to find out." He smiles, satisfied and nearly sadistic. I'd be a little unnerved by it, if I wasn't feeling the same way, feeling the same satisfaction at the fear on Lonnie's face.
Hank's voice reverts back to that fake cheer, and I know the recording device they use for these conversations has just mysteriously stopped malfunctioning.
"Have a good day Mr. Rodiger."
Lonnie's yells are heard through the glass as I walk away.
It's the last thing anyone hears from him.
...
"You don't know the whole story."
"I do, actually."
Heyyyyyyy this took forever. Like normal. Sorry not sorry? I really am trying with this. Like I actually sat down two weeks ago and started this and finished it. Within the month. Without forgetting it. Like the next one shot to be posted. Hehe. whoops.
*no joke I actually spent a lot of time on google trying to find Jesse's height and this is the one most blogs agree on. As someone who's five two, I believe it.
AND GUYS SEASON FIVE IS FILMINGGGG OMG IM SO READY!
Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Leave a prompt in the review box, or maybe leave a review?