Tyler Slade didn't have a prayer when Sergeant Voight stepped into the interrogation room.
This night wasn't happening, he told himself. It's all a bad dream.
In no time flat, Voight had the petrified kid singin' like a canary.
And they had a name.
Jay Halstead and Erin Lindsay stood on the other side of the glass watching the boss work his mojo...
"Five more minutes and the kid woulda confessed to killing Jimmy Hoffa." Halstead remarked drily.
Lindsay shot him a look.
"Let's go try and set up a buy..." she said, totally ignoring Jay's last comment.
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The next week and a half was a blur...and Dr. Bernard wouldn't remember a thing. Police reports...rushed autopsy... the funeral...making the arrangements, never stopping for even a second to think about what happened. That was how he did everything...cool, detached...without any feeling. And it had always served him well.
But his youngest son was dead. And Dr. Bernard really didn't know the boy. His third wife, young Duncan's mother, had died of ovarian cancer when the boy was five, leaving him to raise the whiney child on his own. But he didn't have time for that. So for a short time there was a nanny. And then boarding school.
Even at the age of five he knew young Duncan was soft. How could he not be, with that ridiculous nickname his mother called him...Duncie? Every time he heard Jennifer say it he cringed with embarrassment.
Of course, what could you expect from a girl like that? When he'd met Jennifer back in 1988 she was a waitress, but she was saving up to go to cosmetology school. But Dr. Bernard was taken by the bubbly, vivacious girl nonetheless. He'd spent almost five years grooming her before he finally married her in 1993, when she was twenty- three and he was fifty-two.
Duncan came along a year and a half later. Jennifer was dead five years after that.
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Now, another funeral...done. Dr. Bernard focused his attention to the task at hand, and it was time for results.
He'd been appalled to learn that his son's death was brought on by an interaction of opiates with his prescription antihistamines, antidepressants and antianxiety drugs. And he'd see the hoodlums responsible rot in jail or his name wasn't Duncan Bernard III, MD, PhD.
He pulled out his phone to call the detective in charge...Sergeant Hank Voight.
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Kelly Severide's whole life was also a blur.
His dad had showed up demanding to know what happened with Katie and where the cops were at in terms of making an arrest.
Typical Benny, a day late and a dollar short. He hadn't been there for Katie while she was growing up. And Kelly told him to go back to Kenosha.
But father and son could definitely agree on one thing. Benny Severide shared his son's desire for some retribution.
The CPD had dropped the ball as far as Keeler getting what was coming to him. Erin and Voight's promises came up empty, and as far as Severide was concerned, Keeler had enjoyed his freedom for long enough. Well that was comin' to an end...now.
When Keeler turned up missing, Sergeant Voight knew a Severide was to blame, or perhaps to be congratulated. He questioned Kelly for over an hour but he just didn't get a good read.
"I don't know," he told Erin. "I can see him doing somethin' to the bastard, but I can't tell."
"I don't think he did it. Whatever 'it' is," said Erin.
After all, Kelly had looked her in the eye and said he had nothing to do with Keeler's vanishing act. And she wanted to believe him.
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Then a couple days after Kelly's interrogation, Benny Severide called Voight up, asking to meet. It was important, he said.
The two older men went way back, and even though neither would ever admit it, they were more similar than different. They'd had a few run-ins back when Benny was still on the job, particularly when he was over in arson. But they also shared a mutual respect.
After that talk, Voight's level of Severide respect increased tenfold.
The next morning he strode into the station informing his team that the Keeler case was officially closed. New evidence surfaced pointing to a neighborhood thug who'd been trying to make a name for himself. And takin' out Vince Keeler apparently amounted to a lot of street cred.
Whatever. Case closed. End of story.
So now the squad's lieutenant owed him. He had two markers that could be called in. That is, if anyone was keepin' score. He might have to start though, and soon. The seeds of a plan began sprouting in his brain. It was a good plan...one that would hopefully get him out from under IA's thumb.
They were gettin' nowhere fast in this investigation.
They had a name...Joe Pierson. That's who Tyler had got his pills from. And that's where they had to start.
If only they could.
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First, Ruzek and Halstead had argued about which one of them should make the buy.
"C'mon!" Ruzek groaned. "He looks like he's about twelve! Nobody's gonna buy him for a college student! High school, maybe."
"Bite me, Ruzek." Jay told him, bouncing his pen across his desk. "I'm older than you are."
"Only two freakin' years..."
"And yet, I've got over ten years on the job...you were only in the Academy up till a couple months ago. What were ya doin' all that time, huh, Ruzek?"
"I had to wait for my number to come up in the lottery..." Adam retorted.
"So you passed the time walkin' the malls in suburbia as a rent-a-cop."
Voight appeared in the doorway of his office.
"Hey!" he barked. "If the two 'a you wanna turn this into a pissin' contest...I'll toss both 'a you out on your asses!"
He stood there...hands on his hips...looking back and forth between his two most junior team members.
"Halstead makes the buy." he said.
Then he turned around...went back into his office and slammed the door hard enough to make the glass rattle.
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After his son's funeral, the elder Bernard had a single focus...to see everyone responsible for his son's death punished. Unfortunately things weren't moving fast enough for his taste.
Having old money and power could get things done in Chicago. Dr. Bernard got things done. First on his hit list...the slacker of a roommate...Tyler.
One call to an old friend, and the kid was packing his bags. Expelled.
Another call was all it took to sic the Vice Squad on the party hosts. And they found something. Not a lot...but enough to make their lives miserable for quite a while.
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In the meantime, Voight had troubles of his own. He was workin' a deal with Maurice when the cop cars swooped in. And that's when he met his new IA nemesis. After failing to get the results she promised, Gradishar was unceremoniously replaced by a new guy, the uber ambitious Edwin Stillwell.
The initial half smile Voight cracked after finding out Gradishar was gone was replaced by a pulsating clenched jaw after a two minute conversation with the new guy. Stillwell laid it out. Veiled threats were not his style...Hank had one month to show progress. And in case Voight was wondering, "progress" meant arrests, drug dealers behind bars, kingpins brought down,. It was basically an impossible ultimatum. But one he better deliver on if he didn't want his ass locked back up.
They set up the buy with Pierson and Halstead went out to meet him. And he waited...and waited...and waited. Just as he was about to write it off to a no-show, a guy with long, greasy, stringy hair and a dirty jean jacket approached the undercover cop.
He had a message...he said.
Halstead took a step back. The guy's breath alone was enough to knock a buzzard off a shit wagon. Just his luck to be standing down wind.
"What message?" he said, trying not to breathe.
"Pierson says to tell you he doesn't deal with cops."
They tried again...this time with Ruzek. And the results were the same...except the messenger who approached him smelled a helluva lot better.
Back at the 21st, Voight was sweating bullets. Not that anybody would know. Outside he was his usual cool, collected, somewhat sadistic self. But Stillwell was breathing down his neck and he didn't like it one bit.
Two detectives made in about two weeks. And they hadn't even gotten a fuckin' toe in the door. That kinda thing just didn't happen. At least not in his unit.
Sure...things got dicey sometimes...undercover work wasn't for the faint of heart. Voight had even been tripped up once or twice himself back in the day. But this?
There was only one explanation.
They had a security problem.
There was a mole somewhere in the precinct.
Severide is coming! It's all Kelly from here on out. We'll update soon.