2x19
Valerie navigated the bustling lobby, her phone wedged securely in her back pocket, a steaming cup of coffee warming her hand. As she climbed the stairs, a silent debate raged within her. Reaching her desk, she set down her belongings with practiced efficiency, the coffee cup finding its designated spot.
Settling into her chair, she felt a familiar buzz erupt from her phone. A glance at the screen revealed Michael's name—a name that had been curiously absent for weeks since their tangled night together.
Hesitation etched itself on Valerie's face. A part of her, a tiny, insistent voice, whispered the need to answer. But the mountain of work looming on her desk, a metaphor for the chaos in her head, effectively silenced it.
Just as she reached for her phone, a whirlwind named Hank erupted from his office, his coat flapping dramatically behind him.
"Vega, Dawson," he called out, voice laced with urgency, "Lindsay and Olinsky snagged a case. We're rolling out now!"
The announcement was a lifesaver. Relief washed over Valerie's features. Antonio mirrored her reaction, both rising from their seats in a synchronized surge of movement.
Ignoring the insistent buzz of her phone, Valerie joined the exodus, the unresolved tension with Michael momentarily swept away by the tide of the new case.
The warehouse at 2122 West Cermak loomed before them, a grim sentinel against the bruised Chicago sky. Valerie and Antonio exchanged a tense look; the air crackled with foreboding energy. Stepping inside, they were met by the grim ballet of the forensics team, their practiced movements in stark contrast to the scene before them.
Valerie stepped forward, then faltered. Her face contorted in a silent scream, a wave of nausea crashing over her. The sight wasn't horrific; it was obscene. A row of at least five girls and counting hung limp against the wall, their bodies secured by rusty chains that bit into exposed flesh.
The indignity of their posture, like that of captured animals, was the first blow. Valerie felt a white-hot fury blossom in her chest, reflected in the steely glint that entered Antonio's eyes.
All she could think was what kind of monster could have done this to the poor girls. Both she and Antonio were looking at the girls closely while studying the secrecy, and everything surrounding them was any possible clue or evidence as to what could have happened to them.
The examiner came over and explained that girls were most likely to have died due to a combination of starvation and dehydration.
Dawson's voice cut through the oppressive silence, a sharp "Check this out," as he snapped his flashlight beam across one of the victim's faces.
The stark light revealed a brutal landscape—a canvas marred by splotches of purple and blue—a testament to the violence these girls had endured.
Valerie, already crouched low, followed Antonio's gaze. Her keen eyes spotted a detail that sent a jolt through her. A discarded, empty gallon water container lay near a lifeless hand.
A horrifying realization dawned on her. She darted to another girl, scrutinizing her pale face. There, etched onto the desiccated skin, were telltale scratches—frantic attempts to claw at something, anything, in a desperate fight for survival.
The pieces clicked into place in Valerie's mind. "They fought each other over water," she breathed, her voice tight with a chilling realization.
As Al and Hank were going over some details they had up until that point regarding the shooter, a man showed up to the secrecy, begging to be let in since he believed that his daughter could have been one of the victims.
being let in by Hank, as soon as he came in, he cried even more approaching one of the bodies. Everyone watched him as he wept down on the victim's face. "That's her. It's Jun." he sobbed.
After confirming it was her, Mr. Chen was then pulled over to the side and questioned for any possible information he could give.
He explained to both Hank and Al that he had paid over 30,000 to bring his daughter over from China, but then was demanded to pay another 30,000, which he didn't have.
He gave a name for the person he had paid off. He went by the name of "Dennis Lee," who was known for formally running Chinatown.
...
Valerie ascended the creaking steps to the bullpen, exhaustion etched on her face. Her shoulders slumped with each step, and a defeated sigh escaped her lips. Reaching her desk, she scanned the surface, a flicker of disappointment flitting across her eyes. The promised coffee, once a beacon of hope for a decent start to the day, was nowhere to be found.
A deeper sigh, tinged with longing, rumbled from her chest. "Oh well," she muttered, accepting the cold reality.
Pushing past the minor annoyance, Valerie grabbed a fresh marker and pulled a whiteboard closer, its surface gleaming with promise despite the grim task at hand. With practiced efficiency, she began pinning up photos of the victims, each young face a reminder of the tragedy that had unfolded.
Under each picture, she meticulously inscribed the limited information they had gleaned so far. Name, age, any identifying details—a desperate attempt to weave a narrative from the fragmented threads of their lives.
Suddenly, Al appeared beside flicker of empathy softened his eyes, momentarily replacing his usual gruff demeanor. He didn't speak at first; he simply stood there, the weight of the situation settling upon them both.
Onlinsky's gaze lingered on the photos pinned to the board, a heavy silence pressing down on the room. Lines etched themselves deeper between his brows, and a weary sigh rumbled through his chest. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and gravelly. "Cases like these are when the job becomes hard," Onlinsky said as he looked at the photos.
"Yeah, it makes sense why some eventually eat their gun," hung in the tense silence. A ripple of unease passed through the room, reflected in the sidelong glances shot her way. The weight of the situation and the raw grief they were only beginning to process pressed down on them all. Valerie didn't take much notice of everyone's eyes on her; she just sat back down in her chair.
Erin entered, her brow furrowed in concentration. Dampened by the gravity of the situation, Mouse followed close behind, his usual swagger gone. As Erin approached the board, Olinsky added Jun's name with a heavy sigh, the marker leaving a dark streak across the photo. Erin gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before she took her seat with her mug of coffee in her hand.
Hank then joined the group, silent but feeling the same as everyone else in the room, pulling another whiteboard towards him with a tired groan. With a grim snap, he secured a photo onto the new board.
Voight's voice cut through the oppressive silence. "Dennis Lee." He spoke the name with a steely glint in his eyes, his jaw clenched tight. "Been on CPD's most-wanted list for over six years. Firearms, human trafficking... over fifty warrants in total." He paused, letting the weight of the charges hang heavy in the air.
Dawson spoke up, his gaze fixed on the photo of Lee. "Ran across him back in Vice," he stated matter-of-factly, a flicker of past frustration crossing his features. "Made his fortune supplying the South Side with the unholy trinity: girls, guns, and gambling machines. All shipped straight from China in containers." His voice held a sharp edge, laced with disgust.
Lindsay chimed in, her voice tight with anger. "So, what? Six years is enough time for him to think the heat's died down? He's just back in business." Her question hung in the air, a challenge met with grim nods from her colleagues.
Halstead came into the room, a whirlwind of controlled urgency. In his hand, he clutched a photograph, held out like a trophy. "Got a hit on the burgundy Toyota Supra," he announced, his voice clipped with purpose. His eyes darted around the room, searching for confirmation.
He slammed the photo onto the whiteboard, the sharp crack echoing in the tense silence. Olinsky lurched forward, squinting at the image. Recognition flared across his face, morphing into a grimace.
"That's him," he said, pointing at the photo
Halstead continued, his tone flat. "Eddie Cao. Dennis Lee's nephew. When he's not fetching for his uncle, he's a known counterfeiter. Anything from knock-off DVDs to Gucci bags—you name it, he can fake it. Runs a sweatshop down on Wentworth too." He leaned back, arms crossed.
Voight, a statue of steely resolve at the center of the room, spoke a single, commanding word. "Gear Up." It wasn't a request, but an order, heavy with the promise of retribution.
...
Determination was heavy in the air as the team filed out of the bullpen, heading towards the sweatshop on Wentworth. Erin and Valerie, however, remained glued to their desks, in stark contrast to the flurry of activity around them.
Voight's voice, laced with a hint of regret, had echoed before they left: "Lindsay, Vega, you stay back and help Mouse with the IDs. We're running blind on these girls, and every scrap of information counts."
The weight of the situation pressed down on them. Valerie slumped in her chair, letting out a weary sigh that spoke volumes. Mouse, usually brimming with nervous energy, tapped his pen rhythmically against the desk, a frown creasing his brow.
Some time passed, and they were all doing their best with what information they had, which at the moment was very little. with everyone working hard, the room was silent The sound of tapping keyboards and flipping through papers and files filled the room
Breaking the silence, Valerie pushed herself up with a resolute air. "I'm going to make coffee," she announced, her voice flat but determined.
"Alright," came the reply, which surprised them both. Lindsay and Mouse looked up, a flicker of shared understanding passing between them. The lack of usual banter spoke volumes about the heavy atmosphere that had settled in the bullpen.
Valerie pushed open the break room door with a sigh that escaped her lips in a gusty whoosh. Her steps were heavy, each one a testament to the exhaustion gnawing at her. Reaching for a cup, her hand hovered at the cabinet door for a beat too long before she finally grabbed one. The coffee pot, however, sat empty, a cruel reflection of her own depleted reserves.
With a resigned grunt, she slammed the pot down on the counter and began the familiar ritual of scooping grounds and pouring water. Deciding against frugality, she filled the pot to the brim, a silent offering to the team likely facing a similar desolate state upon their return.
As the coffee gurgled to life, the break room door creaked open again. Erin sauntered in, her usual swagger tempered by the gravity of the case they were working on. "Hey," she said, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes. "Some guy named Michael keeps blowing up your phone."
Valerie rubbed a hand across her forehead, the gesture creasing her brow with lines of fatigue. Without a word, she extended her hand towards Erin, palms glanced at Erin, a silent question hanging in the air.
Erin, ever-perceptive, shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't mean to peek at the caller ID. Your phone kept buzzing like a hornet on caffeine, so I figured you might want to deal with it."
Valerie reached out, taking the phone back with a murmured thanks. The screen flashed—Michael's name was glaring back at her like an unwelcome beacon. A muscle ticked in her jaw as she switched the phone to silent, shoving it into her back pocket with a finality that spoke volumes.
Erin watched the silent exchange with a furrowed brow. "You aren't going to answer?" she finally asked, her voice laced with a mix of curiosity and concern.
"Nope, not right now," Valerie replied with a dismissive wave of her hand, her shoulders slumping slightly as if the day had already worn her down. With a sigh that escaped her lips, she pivoted on her heel and made her way towards the coffee machine. It had just finished brewing, announcing its completion with a satisfied gurgle and releasing a rich, enticing aroma that filled the air. Valerie responded with a grateful smile, inhaling deeply as if to savor the scent.
Her movements were practiced with efficiency as she grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. A furrow appeared in her brow for a moment of concentration as she rinsed them quickly under the warm tap. Setting them on the counter with a soft clink, she turned towards Erin, a wondering look on her face.
"I know you just had a cup earlier, but are you up for another one?" She asked, her voice soft and laced with a touch of amusement.
"Yeah, sure, that'd be great," Erin replied, a weary smile gracing her lips. Her voice held a hint of resignation, as if admitting defeat to the need for another caffeine boost. "Besides, you make the best coffee here anyway," she added, her tone shifting slightly to one of playful admiration as she glanced at Valerie.
Leaning back against the doorway with a tired sigh, Erin cast a critical eye towards the coffee pot. "I don't know who made this morning's batch," she remarked, her voice laced with a touch of disappointment.
A playful nudge followed, delivered with her elbow towards Erin "It was probably Adam," Vega joked, a mischievous glint sparkling in her eyes. Erin let out a soft chuckle, her shoulders shaking slightly
"Have you and Mouse found anything on the girls yet?" Vega inquired, her voice laced with a hint of impatience. She leaned forward slightly, her eyebrows furrowed in concern.
Erin responded with a resolute shake of her head, her arms crossing defensively across her chest. Lines of frustration etched themselves onto her face as she muttered, "No, and it's getting frustrating. Hopefully, we get a hit on something soon."
Her gaze then darted towards the counter, where three mugs sat waiting. A flicker of suspicion replaced the frustration on her face. "Wait a minute," she said, her voice sharp with curiosity. "How come you're making three coffees?"
Valerie glanced up, a gentle smile softening her features. "Oh, I'm making another one for Mouse," she explained, her voice warm and reassuring. "I figured he'd want some too." She placed a mug in front of Erin with a soft thud and added, "Alright, here you are," in a friendly tone.
Erin offered a grateful smile as she reached for the mug. "Thank you," she murmured, taking a tentative sip and letting out a satisfied sigh as the rich coffee flavor hit her tongue.
Valerie paused mid-pour, the steam from the coffee swirling around her hand. She glanced down at the mug she'd just filled, a small, cartoon mouse adorning its side—a clear sign it was meant for Mouse. A ghost of a smile played on her lips as she reached for her own mug, only to be interrupted.
Trudy materialized in the doorway, her presence casting a shadow over the previously lighthearted atmosphere. She positioned herself beside Erin, their proximity suggesting a pre-existing bond.
"Vega," Platt stated, her voice flat and emotionless. "Your favorite visitor is downstairs and wants to talk to you.
Vega's head snapped up at Platt's words. A flicker of annoyance crossed her features before she schooled her expression into a mask of indifference. Without missing a beat, she leaned over to the counter and retrieved a sticky note, her movements crisp and efficient.
"Tell them to leave a message," Valerie instructed, her voice clipped and firm. It was clear she wasn't interested in entertaining whoever this "favorite visitor" might be.
"I would love to too," she began, her voice laced with frustration, "but your little friend Michael won't leave until he talks to you."
Valerie's shoulders slumped as she let out a heavy sigh. The mug she'd been holding seemed to suddenly weigh a ton, and she settled it back on the counter with a soft thud. Her gaze flicked to Platt, a flicker of exasperation crossing her features. "You can't just have some officers throw him out," she countered, her voice laced with a hint of annoyance.
Platt's response was a sardonic smirk. "Aren't you an officer?" she drawled, each word dripping with sarcasm. Her tone was a clear challenge, daring Valerie to disagree.
Erin, caught off guard by Platt's snide remark, nearly choked on her coffee. A sputter escaped her lips, followed by a fit of coughs as she tried to regain her composure. Her eyes watered slightly, and her face flushed a light pink
Recognizing the escalating tension, Valerie decided to take charge. Squaring her shoulders, she met Platt's gaze head-on. "Alright, I'll go take care of it," she declared in a firm but controlled voice. With a determined nod, she turned and strode towards the exit.
Lindsay, After fully gaining her composure, she was concerned. "You want me to come with you, Val?" she asked tentatively, her voice laced with concern. Her eyes flickered between Valerie and Platt, unsure of the situation.
Valerie paused at the top of the stairs, shaking her head slightly. "It's fine, thanks though," she replied, a hint of a weary smile flickering across her face. With that, she descended the stairs, her footsteps echoing behind her, ready to face whatever "little friend" awaited her.
...
The last creak of the stairwell died as Valerie rounded the corner, her gaze immediately snagged by the belligerent tableau before her. Michael, a tightly coiled spring of barely contained fury, was locked in a verbal brawl with both Kim and Sean.
His face was flushed a mottled red, and the vein in his temple pulsed with each agitated word that escaped his clenched jaw. Kim, arms crossed defensively, stood her ground, her brow furrowed in a mixture of annoyance and concern.
Sean, however, wasn't backing down. He leaned into Michael's space, jabbing a finger in his chest, his own voice rising in a heated counterpoint.
Michael was about to respond by shoving Sean into the front desk, but he stopped when Valerie's voice came ringing out into the lobby.
"Are you an idiot?" The words ripped from her throat,
She didn't hesitate. In a blur of motion, she crossed the distance and positioned herself firmly between the two men, her body a physical barrier to the impending violence.
"Look, who's finally here!" he announced, his tone dripping with sarcasm.
Valerie met his eyes, her own icy. "Outside. Right now," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. A flicker of surprise crossed Michael's face, then a grudging nod. She cast a pointed look at Kim and Sean, who wisely kept their distance. She then pulled on Michael's arm, dragging him towards the entrance.
As he stalked out of the precinct, Michael didn't spare Sean and Kim a second glance. But then, in a childish display of defiance, he whipped around and flipped Sean off. Valerie, her jaw clenched, dug her fingers into his arm and yanked him towards the door
Outside, she stopped abruptly, shoving him back with a glare that could curdle milk. "Are you stupid?" she spat, her voice tight with controlled fury. "You nearly got yourself arrested for assaulting an officer!"
Michael winced at her shove, but his bravado remained. A smirk played on his lips as he met her glare. "Maybe," he drawled, his voice laced with mock innocence, "if a certain someone had picked up their damn phone, I wouldn't have had to come waltzing in here.
Michael's patience snapped. "Stop shoving me!" he yelled, lunging to grab Valerie's wrist. But she was quicker, her arm whipping out of his grasp like a startled snake.
Her voice, when she spoke, was a tightly coiled spring. "I thought I already told you to stop contacting me," she said, each word clipped and laced with icy anger.
Michael's. bravado faltered for a moment. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his face. "Valerie," he began, his voice dropping to a pleading whine, "I've already told you that we have to talk about Frank."
Valerie's face contorted in a grimace. She rubbed her temples, her touch rough and strained. "Why is it so important that I need to know it, huh?" She spat, her voice cracking with barely contained emotion. "What Is my life in grave danger? or is it some good news that he's six feet under? Why is it so important that we need to talk? Because I really don't want to, and you know that already!" Her final words were a desperate plea, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
Michael's voice was strained as he reminded Valerie, "Remember a few weeks ago, I told you the FBI had been asking about Frank?"
Valerie offered a curt nod, her expression guarded. "Yeah, I know." Her gaze flitted away, a clear dismissal forming on her face. "Look, if you're just trying to tell me they keep questioning you because you're his younger brother, well..."
"What are they close to finding him?" She crossed her arms, waiting for a response.
"No," Michael simply responded
With his response entering her ears, her shoulders tensed with practiced indifference, "Alright, as you can see, I'm pretty busy, and I have to get back to work." With that, she made a move to walk away.
Michael's hand shot out, gently but firmly grasping her arm. "Look, I'm sorry," he said, his voice laced with a weary apology. "I promise I'll leave you alone. I just... I really need you to talk about what happened that night, Valerie."
Valerie spun around to face him, her confusion etched in her wide eyes. "Michael, please," she began, her voice trembling slightly. Tell me why do I need to talk about what happened to me, my Dad... I really don't understand why you're so desperate to know what happened, Michael." Her brow furrowed in genuine bewilderment.
Michael held her gaze, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "Don't you think," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, "that out of everyone you've spoken to, I should have been one of them too? Before what happened to you, Valerie, we were good. After what, Frank... did. I really feel like I lost you too."