Chicago PD/Chicago Med fic: Caged Emotions (1/3)
Title: Caged Emotions
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Fills my cages square for . Don't mind the lack of realism. Or the typos. I wrote too much of this on my phone, and so the random typos are going to be evident.
Summary: Do you know what you’d do for the people you care about, though? Do you really?
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
-o-
Now, as a cop, Jay is supposed to maintain a certain level of professionalism. He’s supposed to have this thing called detachment.
Sometimes, he pulls it off.
Most of the time, however, he doesn’t do so well.
Because violent crimes, they’re personal. Even when they’re happening to complete strangers, it’s impossible not to take the violence of it all personally.
And when it hits close to home?
Well, then, for Jay, all bets really are off.
-o-
That’s not how this case starts, though. It’s just not. When it lands on Jay’s desk, it’s a run of the mill thing. A robbery gone bad, it looks like. But when Jay pulls the investigative threads, the whole thing unravels into a much bigger plot. There’s robbery, sure. There’s murder, yep. There’s bribery, embezzlement, money laundering, drugs, guns -- the whole nine yards. His little robbery case ends up being the organized crime bust of the damn year.
The bad news is that all the evidence Jay has, and it’s not enough to nail the kingpin.
Lester Scarro.
Local businessman with deep ties to every bad thing in the book. He’s been masquerading as a philanthropist for years because nobody can get dirt on him. Jay’s gotten closer than anyone, and it’s not enough. He takes it to the district attorney who just shakes her head and tells Jay to try again.
“Aim lower,” she suggests.
Jay stews on that for awhile, pissed as hell.
Then, he does.
-o-
See, the evidence is good, but it doesn’t link directly to dear old Lester. It does, however, link to several of his associates. Including one Michael Scarro.
Yeah, that’s his kid.
The bastard hired his own 22 year old kid to play a key role in the operation, and at 22? The kid doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s one of the only ones who has left himself wide open to charges. He doesn’t need to ask the DA on this one. He knows the case will stick, and he knows Michael Scarro will go down for 20 years, minimum. Maybe more, if Jay can get him tied to the murder.
Now, to be sure, Michael’s not the one Jay wants. But, he says as he pitches the case to Voight, if they can get Michael on serious charges, then maybe he’ll turn. Maybe he’ll roll over on his old man.
“You think the kid would do that?” Voight asks, clearly skeptical. “To his own father?”
“With this kind of sentence looming over his head?” Jay asks. “Hell, I’d flip on my old man.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” Voight says.
“Still,” Jay insists, pointing at the file. “This will work. I know.”
Voight considers it for a moment, but he nods his head. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s see what happens.”
-o-
What happens is, Jay makes the arrest. Jay does the interrogation, and the kid sings like a bird. He talks about everything he knows, every location, every shipment, every contractor, every date. Hell, the kid is so credulous that he goes three hours before he even realizes that he should probably stop talking and lawyer up. By then, it’s too late for him. There’s more than enough evidence to pin him with any charge Jay can think up, and he’s got a string of confessions on tape that are 100 percent uncoerced.
What he doesn’t have, however, is pressure to make the kid flip.
Because he doesn’t.
He gives up everyone else -- he’s happy to burn the organization to the ground -- but according to Michael, Lester is nothing but a family man. He’s a damn near saint, the kind of dad who showed up to all the baseball games, made it to the school plays and took him boating every weekend.
“We sailed,” Michael keeps saying, again and again. “Those times with my dad, on that boat, were the best in my life. There’s no way he’s the monster you say he is. No way.”
There’s every way.
There’s just no way to get the kid to see it.
-o-
Jay hopes that a formal charge will help bring the kid around, but it doesn’t. The case goes forward, and Michael retains the most expensive lawyer around, but it’s not going to make a difference. Michael’s still doing what his father is telling him, and they’re hoping they have enough money to dig themselves out of this hole.
It’s a pretty deep hole, however.
And Michael’s at the bottom.
And dear old Lester, the sainted family man that he is, is still standing at the top.
-o-
The trial approaches, slowly as these things are. The lawyer makes things difficult, throwing up roadblocks left and right, but the DA is pretty motivated on this one. They just want to be sure they have what they need, and the DA comes to Jay, asking if he’ll be the star witness.
“We really are going to prosecute this kid?” Jay asks, shaking his head.
“The kid still doesn’t believe his dad’s the bad guy,” she replies.
“But Michael’s a kid. He was just doing what his dad told him. He had no idea,” Jay points out.
“He knew enough. And 22 isn’t a kid. He knew better,” she says.
“Then why the hell won’t he flip?” Jay wonders.
She shrugs. “We’d have a better chance of getting the old man to come clean. Save his son,” she muses. “But will you do it? Will you testify?”
“Yeah,” Jay says. “I mean, that’s the job, right?”
She smiles. “I’ll meet with you later, go over your testimony,” she says. “This is still good work, Detective.”
-o-
It’s good work.
But it’s not the best work.
It’s not even really the work Jay wants to do. Yet, here he is. On the cusp of convicting a kid who loves his dad too much to know better. It’s a blind loyalty; it’s based in love. In some ways, Jay is almost jealous. To be that secure in your old man’s love. To trust him that much.
We’d have a better chance of getting the old man to come clean.
It’s an idea, then.
If Lester is the dad Michael thinks he is, it’s certainly an idea.
-o-
Now, technically, Jay probably shouldn’t go anywhere near Lester Scarro. With the litigation pending, Jay knows it’s a tricky situation, and any wrong step might be used by the defense to help show police malfeasance. It’s something he’s pretty sure the smarmy lawyers might try, but Jay goes with his gut on this one. Lester employs the smarmy lawyers, but he’s the one calling the shots here.
Jay’s pretty sure he can make an appeal to the guy, going to him as a father first, not a suspect.
At least, that’s what he’s banking on.
He’s aware, at least on some level, that he’s taking a hell of a risk, but Jay feels pretty good about it. At the very least, he’s not thinking about it hard enough to doubt himself.
He finds Lester in the main front operation for his operations. It’s a legit place with all sorts of dirty ties that no one can trace or prove. Jay doesn’t bother to be discreet. He goes to the secretary, gives her his name, and asks for a meeting.
She looks vexed, but calls into the office.
Then, she lets him inside.
Inside, Lester’s office is immaculate. On a high floor, he has quite a view, and he’s clearly spared no expense. He’s got fine furniture, and pieces of art that Jay are sure are worth more than his whole year’s salary.
From behind the desk, Lester doesn’t greet him.
That's fine. Jay doesn’t wait for an invitation, and he sits down. They don't need small talk. Hell, they don't even need introductions. They know what this is. They understand the roles they're playing here. All the cards are on the table, and Jay is here to offer a deal before the bluff is called and Scarro loses everything.
It's a kindness of the most cruel variety.
They both know that, too.
"This case against your son, it's a slam dunk," Jay begins. "You've paid for good lawyers, so I know you know that. He's not going to win, and the judge will throw the book at him. We're looking at maximum time, easy."
It would be tempting to write this off as a scare tactic, but Jay just wants to be clear. The terms here can't be in doubt.
Scarro belies nothing. He sits back and folds his hands, looking at Jay expectantly. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Officer,” he meanders, almost as if he hasn’t heard Jay’s introduction.”
“Detective,” Jay clarifies for him. “Halstead.”
“Ah,” he says, feigning surprise. “The star witness.”
He knows Scarro knows this. He’s playing a game, as if he can obfuscate the stakes. They’ve never met, but they’re not strangers. In fact, Jay feels more connected to this guy than he’d like to admit.
“Look, I’m not here to posture. The DA has nothing on you,” Jay says.
Scarro smiles wryly. “Perhaps there is nothing to have.”
Jay doesn’t bite. He keeps his gaze steady. “There’s plenty, which is why your kid is set to take the fall. They will throw the book at him. He’s going down for this.”
Scarro’s expression darkens marginally, but Jay still sees it.
So, he leverages that advantage, slight as it is. “But you can still fix this,” he says. “They don’t really want your son. They want you. You can play that to your favor and protect your son.”
He’s being honest. He’s being earnest.
Scarro doesn’t seem to appreciate that. Stiffly, he raises his chin. “I have done nothing to my son.”
Jay revisits the need to roll his eyes. The pride is palpable, and Scarro looks like he may actually believe what he is saying.
Perspective is a hell of a thing, it’s why bad guys are always the heroes of their own stories. It’s even worse when they fancy themselves as victims.
“You let him take part in what you were doing, and worse, you never told him the risks he was taking,” Jay says, unwilling to play nice with this asshole’s feelings. “And he’s still loyal to you. He’s going to trial because he won’t give you up. He’s a good kid. Are you seriously willing to let him do this?”
The question seems to make Scarro uncomfortable. “I love my son very much.”
That’s an easy point, one neither of them have to debate. As far as baselines go, Jay is hoping this one is pretty good. “And I’ve talked to him. He thinks the world of you,” Jay says, seizing upon the sentiment. “He still doesn’t believe you’re the bad guy.”
Jay is vying for a sympathetic take, but Scarro nearly flinches. He bustles himself up, and there is the faintest flicker of fear in his eyes before he steadies himself once more.
That’s when Jay gets it.
That’s when Jay first starts to understand what Lester Scarro is all about.
It’s not a question of his son going to prison for him.
It’s a question of how his son sees him.
Scarro will let his boy languish behind bars if he still thinks his dad hangs the moon. To get him out would ruin the illusion, and that’s a sacrifice this man won’t make.
“Seriously? That’s the reason?” Jay asks, not bothering to mask his incredulity. “You don’t want him to know you’re the bad guy?”
His face is pinched, and his eyes are hard as he stares at Jay emphatically. “Family dynamics are hard to define, harder still to explain. It’s not exactly a question of logic or pragmatism,” he says icily. “There are many ways to lose a child, Detective.”
“Oh, I get complicated family dynamics,” Jay assures him, thinking of his own mother dying from cancer and the cruel snipe that was his last words to his father. And he doesn’t even need to get started on his lingering resentments for Will, who took 35 years of his life to finally learn how to stop running when things got hard. “But I’m pretty sure letting him go to jail to save face with him isn’t going to get you father of the year.”
His expression is dark as he looks at Jay. “Do you know what you’d do for the people you care about, though?” he asks pointedly. “Do you really?”
The question, of course, isn’t casual. It’s targeted; it’s meaningful.
But if Scarro thinks he can prove a point, he’s got it all wrong.
He’s talking to Jay, after all.
The same guy who can hate his family.
And then defend them with his life.
Family is a constant string of choices, and you just keep making the best ones you can.
“Uh, yeah, pretty sure I do,” he says, and there’s no guile in his tone. He’s thinking about more than his mom and dad now. He’s thinking about Will, and the brother he’s become. He’s thinking about Hailey, and the family they’re going to make. “And I can tell you right now, no question. I would never let someone I care about take the fall for me. Never.”
Scarro draws a breath, and he sits back while he exhales thoughtfully as he regards Jay. Sitting across from him, Jay takes in the scene. Scarro, polished and nice behind the large, sprawling desk. The walls of the office are immaculately adorned, and expensive art is mixed with large snapshots from Scarro’s family life.
It’s opulent as a display, really. The lake houses where Scarro poses with his boy. The two of them on the bow of a private yacht, holding a prize fish between them. A private high school graduation. The two of them, courtside, at the Chicago Bulls.
Jay points at the pictures, nodding. “You know he talks about you,” he says. “He talks all about the things you do together. The sailing. The kid really likes sailing.”
Scarro chuffs, and he folds his hands together. He follows Jay’s finger and looks at the picture in question, the two of them on Lake Michigan. He looks fond, suddenly. “We love it. Sometimes his mother comes, but mostly it’s just him and me,” he recalls. “The last time we went was the weekend before your little police raid, you know.”
It’s a pointed comment, but the barb doesn’t sting. Jay knows better than that. Scarro can play the part of a fond father, but he can’t obscure the reality of what’s going on here. The reality that Scarro is letting his son take the fall.
Knowingly.
Purposefully.
Willfully.
It’s not fate. It’s not bad luck. This is a choice, 100 percent.
Jay keeps his gaze steady on Scarro. This is his pitch to make; this is his chance to nail Scarro and get his son off the hook. “You’re too smart not to see that there’s a way out. You can fix this. You can get him off.”
The fondness dissipates, and Scarro regards Jay once more. “I’m afraid you really don’t understand.”
“But I do,” Jay says. “Legally and personally. I’m not here from the prosecutor, but I know how these cases work. I know that we’ll do anything for the big fish.”
Scarro scoffs lightly. “And personally?”
Jay makes a face. “Personally? I have a family, too. A family I’d do anything for.”
Scarro’s eyes narrow. “And you think I’m doing the wrong thing?”
If he’s looking for Jay to equivocate, then he’s got another thing coming. When Jay scoffs, he makes the sound loud and decisive. “I know you are.”
It’s too brash, and Jay realizes it the moment he says it. Scarro visibly pulls back, his facade sliding perfectly back into place like the luster of his immaculate office. “I guess you have the luxury of saying that,” he says. He smiles coolly. “Seeing as your family is not in peril. Are they?”
It’s a pointed question, and Scarro’s voice is laced with vindictiveness. He thinks this is personal, then. And it is, but not between him and Jay. Jay is here for a kid in prison who shouldn’t be there.
He just needs Scarro to see it.
“Look, I know the DA will take you, no matter when or how you present yourself,” he says. “You’ll have leverage when you come to the table. The outcome of this is up to you.”
Scarro raises his eyebrows with an air of indifference. “Thank you for stopping by,” he muses at Jay. “I’ll see you at the trial?”
Jay gets up, jaw rigid. “Think about it.”
“Oh, I will,” Scarro promises meaningfully. “I definitely will.”
-o-
He leaves, and he knows Scarro won’t think about it. The bastard, tried and true. He won’t think about it at all while his son faces a sentence that will effectively end his life.
Jay thinks about it, though.
Jay thinks about it a lot.
What people will do for family.
And what they won’t.
-o-
Scarro, then, is a lost cause.
The case against his son, however, is foolproof. The prosecutor works with Jay personally to prepare his testimony. He’s the lynchpin, the key witness. It will be Jay who puts this kid away. Jay will throw away the key.
It’s the right thing to do, in the strictest sense. Jay Jay’s a pretty uncompromising view of the law. His sense of justice, his notion of right and wrong.
But he gets family, too. He gets how love makes you blind, makes you stupid.
And this? It’s stupid on every level.
How can Scarro let this happen? The man is not dumb. He knows what his kid is facing. He knows, he has to know, he can stop it.
But he won’t.
Jay can read the guy, and it’s pretty easy to see. Scarro is never turning himself in, never. He loves his family, but it’s conditional. It has limits. He won’t go that far.
Jay wonder about that.
He went after the asshole who killed his dad, broke all the rules and did it his way, for family, see. For family.
But revenge isn't noble, and that’s not even what this is. This smacks of cowardice, and Jay can’t fathom it. This is insane, that’s what it is. Absolutely insane.
He gets revenge. He understands holding a grudge. He knows how to shut someone out.
But to do nothing?
To look at the impossible and do nothing at all? Everyone is selfish in their own ways, but when push comes to shove, family’s first. You put yourself on the line. You take the fall. They can love you, they can hate you, and it doesn’t matter as long as they’re alive. As long as they’re free.
Scarro’s got it all wrong, then.
And the person he claims to live most will be the one to suffer.
-o-
Jay hates it, but that’s how it is. He won’t capitulate.
Justice is the choice Jay makes.
Scarro, on the other hand, makes his.
-o-
The case goes to trial, none of the efforts of Scarro and his lawyers are enough. The back and forth between the defense and prosecution make for a contentious affair, and the media only plays up the tensions for a quick buck. Things escalate and national coverage kicks in, and it’s a full blown circus by the opening arguments.
Jay, of course, is the star witness.
His testimony is thorough, precise and damning. The trial breaks to the prosecution on Jay’s word, and he’s lauded as a citywide hero when the verdict comes back, guilty on all counts.
The Scarro family has finally been held to account.
And Jay’s the one who made it happen.
Everyone is thrilled a Scarro is behind bars, even if it is the wrong one.
-o-
The verdict is guilty, but that’s not the end. It’s really the start. The verdict has been obvious from the beginning. The real question has always been just what kind of example the judge will make of this kid because he failed the genetics lottery.
This kid is figuring it out too late. Jay lives with regret of not making nice with his dad before he passed. Michael Scarro is making the opposite mistake. He still doesn’t see that his old man is the bad guy.
Even when the judge hands down a life sentence, the stiffest penalty on the books, Michael doesn’t see it.
Jay looks at Scarro, and across the courtroom, their eyes meet.
Jay sees it.
Scarro, stone faced and impassive, let’s his gaze drill on Jay.
Because he sees it, too.
-o-
Michael is taken away, transferred to a maximum security state facility. He’s going with murderers and rapist, to the inside of a cell he’ll never get out of.
His life is over, then.
22, his father’s son in none of the ways that count, and that’s how his story ends.
-o-
The press is jubilant, of course. Michael’s pale face, empty eyes and sickly countenance is splashed on the cover of every paper.
And every story names the same hero.
Jay Halstead.
Jay Halstead.
His biggest win.
Could not feel more like a loss.
-o-
Jay is overseeing the prison transfer. It’s not his job, really, but somehow it feels like his responsibility. He wants to be sure Michael is safe. Given his dad’s numerous roles, he’s made enemies, and he has a habit of letting his friends take the fall. There are dozens of people who would like to get back at Scarro, and a green, not quite innocent kid is going to be a convenient opening.
He’s going to need security. He’s going to need extra supervision. He’s probably going to benefit from an isolated ward.
It’s not easy, playing those cards, but it feels like the right thing to do. His father is hanging this kid out to dry. Jay figures he needs someone in his corner, even if it is the cop who sealed his fate.
Afterward, when the transfer is complete, Jay finds Lester Scarro waiting for him in the parking lot.
At first, Jay thinks he’s come to deal.
But Scarro regards him coldly, and Jay realizes he’s as resolute as ever. Unswayed.
“You come to gloat?” Scarro asks. “You didn't strike me as a petty man, Detective Halstead.”
Scarro is unswayed.
So is Jay. “I wanted to be sure everything was safe,” he says. “There had already been some threats, and Michael’s not cut out for prison.”
Scarro laughs humorlessly. “Says the man who put him there.”
“It was your business, Scarro,” Jay counters. “You had every chance to make this right. Hell, you still do. We can go to the DA together, right now,”
But Scarro stands as stiff as ever. Like his son, his prized child, hasn’t been sent to prison for life on his behalf. As if letting his son believe he’s a good father excuses how bad of one he is.
He looks at Jay, almost as if he dares Jay to look away first. “I stand by my family," he declares.
There's no hint of irony, remarkably. His gaze is steady, almost unyielding on Jay.
If he's trying to intimidate him, it's not working.
“Really?" he asks, and he's trying not to be smug. He's not here to gloat. Controlling his genuine incredulity, however, is a much harder task. "Then why did you let him take the fall? I don’t get it.”
“Because family protects,” he says, almost emphatic in his sentiment. He’s sincere. A crazy criminal, a killer and a thief, but as sincere as anyone Jay has ever met. “Don’t you know anything about family, Detective?”
It’s too easy, though. The high ground you made for yourself at the expense of others.
“A hell of a lot more than you do," he replies readily. "I know my family is worth it. I'd never put them in a position to take the fall for me. Never.”
Scarro raises his brows, cool and clinical in his expression. “You sound awfully confident, Detective.”
It's a bit too much, really. Seeing a guy like this, a guy who forfeits his own kid, preen. “Look, I was just doing my job," Jay says, trying to keep his emotions in check, even as he has to point out the obvious. "You could have come clean at any time.”
“Fine, I can accept that," he says with an air of diffidence. "As a parent, I'm just doing my job, too.”
He says it like it's sensible. The problem is that it's anything but.
There’s nothing to be done for it, though. Jay’s got nothing on this guy, and if his son’s sentence won’t persuade him, Jay has to accept that nothing will.
“Look, we’ve made sure your kid is safe. He’s young; he’s got a strong chance to be rehabbed. I know with your family connection, he’s a target inside. We’ve got him on isolation -- extra guard,” he explains without pretense now. “He’s safe. I made sure of it.”
Scarro smiles, but the movement is unsettling. The smile is wrong, somehow, and Jay feels something uncertain churn in his gut as Scarro stares him down.
“Yes, he’s safe. You have made sure,” he says smoothly. “It's a promise you think you can keep?”
Jay nods with confidence. “As best I can. That kid needs someone at his back.”
“Someone like you,” Scarro muses. “But I must ask if you are truly up to the task. What if it’s not enough? Are you aware of your own limitations, Detective? Do you understand your vulnerabilities?”
Jay makes a face, finding the questions off putting. “I have a lot of connections,” he says. “I’ll do my best.”
“But our best is never a guarantee, is it?” he asks, and there’s a dark severity to his coyness. “Our actions rarely are limited to ourselves. Each choice we make, right or wrong, leaves a trail of consequences. Collateral damage and all.”
They’ve moved past chitchat. They aren’t positing for a deal. There’s no more bargaining, and all hints of reassurance have been swallowed whole.
Jay all but shudders this time, and he looks at Scarro with sudden understanding.
He’s not here to talk about Michael.
“Is that a threat?” Jay asks, feeling incredulity rise like bile in the back of his throat.
But Scarro just smiles again. “Well wishes, of course,” he says. “Best of luck, Detective Halstead. To you and yours.”
-o-
Yeah, so that’s a threat.
Straight up. Unequivocal.
Given Jay’s role in the trial -- the crucial nature of his testimony and the play he got in the press -- he was an easy target. An obvious target. The only target.
And with Scarro’s resume, and apparently his ill-will, it’s going to be a problem.
Jay doesn’t hesitate to report it, and he runs it all the way up the food chain as quickly as he can. He starts an open investigation, and he tells Voight he wants surveillance on his house, everyone he cares about. He insists on increased security at Intelligence, and he puts in warnings with the DA and the rest of the prosecution team. Hell, Jay puts in a protection order for the judge. Anyone who’s touched the Scarro case, he lets them know this is bad.
This is bad.
For a week, it’s high alert. The investigation yields little, and there’s plenty of action at Scarro’s company but nothing of particular suspicion.
Which is, of course, all the more suspicious.
Even so, after two weeks, some of the manpower is diverted. After three weeks, the details tail off. After a month, things go back to normal as Scarro resumes his daily routine as if there were no interruption and Michael Scarro rots away in a prison not meant for him.
Jay’s not one to let it go, but life goes on. There are more cases. There are more criminals to catch. Justice is a never ending pursuit.
And maybe Scarro’s moved on. Maybe Scarro’s come to terms. Maybe he’s ready to focus on being a good father.
Maybe Jay can put this case behind him, and move on with life.
He allows himself to hope.
-o-
Another month.
Three.
Jay hasn’t thought about Scarro in weeks.
And why would he?
Why would he.
-o-
The call comes early when he’s still getting ready for work. Hailey’s in the shower, and Jay gets the call.
To come.
Come now.
“Hailey,” he calls to her over the sound of the shower. “Something’s come up. We’re going to have to go separate today.”
She pokes her head out from behind the curtain. “Everything okay?”
Jay shrugs. “No idea,” he says. “You’ll be okay?”
She grins at him. “Always. Oh, and don’t forget. Will’s coming over for dinner tonight.”
Jay makes a face. “Do we have to?”
She gives him an exasperated look. “You’re the one who invited him. And you always have a great time.”
“Sure,” Jay says. “But you look so good in the shower--”
She rolls her eyes. “See you later.”
He grins back at her. “See you.”
-o-
He shows up at a crime scene, and it’s already swarming. The press have gathered, but they’ve been kept clear. The perimeter has been set, and it’s been set far.
Jay flashes his badge, curious. The uniforms there look at him, faces tight and composed. As he crosses toward the scene, he hears their hushed voices behind his back, but when he glances back, they’re quiet once more.
He’s starting to get a weird feeling as he goes inside. He recognizes the detectives from the local precinct, and one of them comes up to him, quickly crossing the room to intercept him.
“Halstead, good,” he says, and he draws Jay to the side. He looks around somewhat furtively, and draws a breath. “Look, there’s no easy way to say it.”
“Say what?” Jay asks. He tries to glance over the guy’s shoulder to the crime scene just beyond. “Who’s our vic? Someone I know?”
It’s the only logical conclusion. Maybe it’s a CI. It could be someone he’s arrested before. Maybe the victim is connected to another case he’s working on, or one of his open cases. Jay’s had a long career as a police officer; the possibilities are pretty vast.
And even so, he’s not quite prepared when his colleague delivers the news.
“It’s Lester Scarro,” he says. “Looks like a clear-cut suicide.”
Jay can’t help it; his jaw drops. “Scarro? A suicide?”
“We have to run forensics, ask around, but yeah,” he says. “Looks like it.”
Jay is still reeling with that bit of impossible news when the detective drops another.
“And the note he left?” the guy says, biting his lip for a second before he finishes. “Was addressed to you.”
-o-
Jay takes in the scene, for what that’s worth. It’s not particularly noteworthy, no signs of a struggle, no forced entry. Nothing looks amiss except the dead body on the floor and the spray of brain matter and blood on the wall.
That being said, the case for suicide looks pretty strong. At a glance, that’s how Jay would classify it, the gun in Scarro’s mouth, the bullet wound out the back of his head. These things can be forced, Jay knows, but in his experience, it’s not very likely.
Then, Jay reads the note.
It’s not a traditional suicide note, atoning for wrongs or explaining his grievances. But Jay has to admit, it’s a convincing piece of evidence to mark this thing down as a suicide once and for all.
The note is scrawled in perfect, looping penmanship, impeccably drawn with strokes of ink.
For the record, Detective Halstead, I don’t believe in the afterlife.
So, when I tell you this, please understand just how personal it is.
I sincerely hope, with all I have left, that I see you in hell.
-Lester Scarro
Evidence of suicide, to be sure. That’s the good news for the responding officers who land this case.
It’s less good news for Jay.
And, he suspects, for anyone he cares about.
-o-
Jay can’t take the note -- it’s evidence -- but it doesn’t matter. Once this thing gets hot, he knows Voight’s going to be all over this crime scene and they can process things their way. Besides, the specifics of the threat can be analyzed later.
Jay’s more concerned with the implications.
Scarro’s after Jay, but Scarro’s dead and Jay’s still standing. Which means, there’s a plan. With a guy like Scarro, his means, his resources, his hatred for Jay, there’s a plan.
And it’s not rocket science. Jay put his kid behind bars. He took away the only thing that Scarro really cared about.
Needless to say, as he excuses himself out the back door of the crime scene, he’s already got his phone out. His first call isn’t to Voight. No, his first call is to Hailey.
She’d still be at home, getting ready for work. She wouldn’t leave for another 20 minutes, at least. Maybe more if she’s really enjoying her coffee. She’ll be home. He can warn her. It’ll be okay.
It’ll be okay.
He turns away from the crime scene a little more, pressing his finger over his ear to hear the connection better as it starts to dial.
And ring.
And ring.
Jay breathes out, wriggling his toes anxiously in his shoes. “Pick up, pick up,” he mutters to no one in particular, and he has to adjust his grip on his phone.
It rings some more, and Jay starts holding his breath. “Come on,” he half hisses into the line, feeling the heat start to creep up his cheeks.
After another series of rings, the phone goes to voicemail, and Hailey’s friendly voice chirps in a recorded message over the line while Jay’s heart drops.
He hangs up, not bothering with the message, and quickly dials work. He calls Hailey’s number directly, but she doesn’t answer. When he calls the desk, Platt says she hasn’t seen Hailey today, but maybe she met Voight out at a call.
She’s about to tell Jay about the call -- some high priority something or other -- but Jay isn’t listening. He mutters some dismissive apology and hangs up again. He’s pacing now, back and forth in Scarro’s backyard, calling Hailey’s number one more time.
Maybe she’s driving.
Maybe she’s running an errand.
Maybe--
The phone goes to voicemail again.
Jay curses as he hangs up, looking back at the scene behind him.
So, when I tell you this, please understand just how personal it is.
It’s silly, he tells himself. Scarro’s dead. Hailey’s fine. It’s silly.
He can’t shake the nagging doubt in the pit of his stomach, however, and he ducks out of the crime scene and speeds the whole way home.
-o-
He convinces himself he’s being ridiculous. He tells himself that, over and over again. He rationalizes, objectifies, deduces -- all of it. He’s not going to call Voight -- not yet. He’s going to go home. He’s going to find Hailey fine and he’s going to feel so stupid. They’ll go into work together, just as planned, and he’ll report the news to Voight and everything will be fine.
Everything will be fine.
He parks the car, runs up the stairs. He fumbles with the keys as he opens the door, and he’s calling her name before it’s shut behind him.
“Hailey?” he says, still jogging down the hallway of his apartment toward the kitchen. “Hailey!”
The kitchen is empty, though. Her cereal bowl is still damp, dripping milk in the dishwasher. He darts toward the bedroom, where the bed has been made, the throw pillows neatly arranged. In the empty bathroom, her towel is still damp on the rack and her dirty clothes sit at the top of the hamper.
“Hailey!” he calls again, spinning around and starting back through the apartment. There’s no answer; no sign. “Hailey!”
He finds Hailey’s phone on the counter, charged and ready. Her purse is by the door, keys still inside.
But there’s no sign of Hailey.
I sincerely hope, with all I have left, that I see you in hell.
-o-
This time, Jay calls Voight. He sitting at his own kitchen table, staring at his girlfriends things, his fingers almost disconnected from his body as he brings up his boss’ number on autopilot. It’s probably the first call he should have made, but he’d let himself believe. He’d allowed himself some hope.
Now, he has to face the reality.
Scarro’s gone and killed himself, but he’s set up Jay first. He’s not sure what that means, he’s not sure how bad this is going to get, but Hailey’s gone -- and that’s bad enough. Jay’s in no position to figure this out. He’s not sure he could make his brain function properly even if he wanted to.
It’s all hands on deck now.
For Hailey, Jay will recruit every hand in the city.
Voight answers quickly when Jay calls, no hesitation. Almost like he’s expecting it.
“Scarro’s dead. Killed himself,” Jay reports. “And he left me his suicide note.”
“I’ve heard,” is Voight’s reply, and he sounds utterly nonplussed. “I’ve already been fully briefed.”
Jay nods tautly, eyes fixed on Hailey’s phone on the counter, her purse at the door. “Sarge, I think he took Hailey,” he says. “I got home, and she’s gone. She’s not at work. Her car’s still here. Hailey’s gone.”
This time, Voight sounds taken just slightly aback. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Jay snaps. “I’m sitting here in an empty apartment, and her stuff’s still here. She didn’t take her phone, her purse. We need to get on this. We need to open an investigation now, all red tape and whatever be damned. I need you here.”
“We’ll get the investigation going, sure,” Voight says. “But I’ve got to finish up here first.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jay demands. He can feel the color rising in his cheeks, and his palms are clammy and his voice is thick. His heart is pounding so much that it may beat out of his chest. He turns, looking away from Hailey’s things, endeavoring for the smallest sliver of restraint. “This is Hailey we’re talking about. Hailey.”
It’s an angle that even Voight has to be sensitive to. In fact, Voight’s usually the first one ready to start murdering people when one of their own is on the line. So, it’s weird, and Jay can’t make it parse.
“I know,” Voight says in reply. “But I’m at your brother’s place.”
Jay’s been bracing for something -- some reason, some excuse, some answer -- but not that. He stops, a frown creasing his face. The anger gives way to confusion. The fear freezes in his chest. “What?” he asks, shaking his head. “Will’s? Why the hell are you there?”
And there’s no hesitation. There’s no hedging.
Voight is a straight shooter, at least.
Always has been.
Always will.
“He’s gone, too,” he replies. “Someone took him.”
It’s impossible to comprehend, but the moment Voight says it, Jay understands. Jay understands the threat. Jay understands the weight of Scarro’s loss. Jay understands the depths of hatred that drive a man to put his own son in prison.
Are more than enough to rip apart the life of the man who forced his hand.
Just like that, Jay realizes just how bad this really is.
-o-
The team regroups, all hands on deck. Everyone’s at the ready.
Everyone but Jay.
He joins the group with a shell shocked demeanor. The facts are frozen in his kind. He’s numb with it, almost breathless on his inability to comprehend. He keeps thinking it can’t be true.
But it still is.
His fiancé.
His brother.
They’re both gone.
Taken. Right out from under Jay’s nose.
Gone.
Trapped in cages, running out of air.
Everything Jay cares about on this planet.
Gone.
-o-
Jay keeps thinking about what he’s missed.
His team focuses on what they have to find.
This is what they know.
Hailey was taken first. There’s footage of various parts of the building, and they’re able to track two men enter from a side service entrance and move through the staircase. The van they drive is nondescript and without identifying markers. Although it’s clear they’re white and average build, there’s no view of their faces to even attempt identification.
There’s no trace from inside the apartment, but they are quick and to the point. With no sign of a struggle, and no trace of blood, the best guess is drugging. There’s no shot of Hailey leaving the building, but the men exit with a heavy laundry sack, slung weightlifting between them.
It’s Hailey. They broke in, drugged her, and then hauled her out like used goods, and no one saw a thing.
From there, they timestamp the movement of the van, and it shows up a short time later down the street from Will’s place. It’s parked conveniently again to obscure it, and the men seem to know the security situation here as well. They enter without issue at the back, taking the stairs. The interior view to Will’s place is worse than Jay’s place, but it wouldn’t have mattered. These guys know what they’re doing. There’s nothing to distinguish them on the footage they have.
The scene at Will’s is nearly identical to the one at Jay’s. No struggle. No blood. The men leave with another, even bulkier laundry bag. The bag is loaded up, and the men and the van are gone.
Someone pulls traffic footage from the area around Will’s apartment, hoping to get a better idea where they’ve been taken, but it feels like a fool’s errand. It seems like a dead end.
Will and Hailey are missing. Jay has the who and the what and the how. But not the where.
And, he fears, he has yet to really grasp the why.
-o-
He’s not panicking.
Jay would like to think he’s too professional but really he’s just too shell shocked. He can’t get his mind around it. They’re gone. Hailey. Will. Gone.
Jay’s not panicking, but he’s also not being particularly useful at the moment. The team is getting to work, and he stands there, staring at the evidence, wondering how the hell this happened.
No one wants to approach him.
Voight does it anyway. He’s quiet. Understated. Jay understands it as his means of encouragement. “How are you holding up?”
It’s a ridiculous question, and Jay can’t hardly stomach it. He returns the encouragement with his most withering look. “I’m fine, but Will and Hailey aren’t,” he says, and he shakes his head in disgust. “They’re gone, and we’ve got nothing.”
It’s not like Voight is surprised, not by Jay’s point or his affectation. “That’s how we work. We make our own leads. We have angles we can pursue.”
He says it simple and matter of fact, even if it’s nothing of the sort. “But they’re out there, Sarge. They’re out there,” Jay says emphatically, willing his boss to understand. The helplessness he feels is more than overwhelming. It’s encompassing in a way he can’t explain. It’s like he’s drowning. He needs Voight to understand.
And, standing there, more alone than he’s ever been, Jay knows Voight does understand. All the operations they’ve conducted. All the work they’ve done. All the years they’ve spent together. Voight understands.
But that doesn’t mean he really gets it.
For Voight, the emotion is always weighed against the operational value. He’s pragmatic in his vendettas, and when Jay needs him to be on edge, he’s always the epitome of resolve.
“I know,” is all he says.
And Jay scoffs, because he clearly doesn’t know. “It’s Hailey. Will,” he says, giving their names the weight they deserve. “And they’re out there. I -- can’t.”
The more desperate he feels, the more unyielding and certain Voight seems. “That’s why you have to,” he says simply. “Because they’re out there.”
He makes it sound so simple, painfully simple. Jay has to shake his head, scoffing again. “And?” he asks, nothing but incredulity in his voice.
Voight shrugs, still nonchalant. “And we do what we have to do,” he says. “I know it feels hard now that it’s personal, but this is what we do.”
It sounds reasonable, but it’s anything but. He knows it. He knows Voight knows it, too, but the man’s a bastard through and through. All the strings he’ll pull for his own reasons, and he plays the straight and narrow when it suits him. “This is what we do?” he asks, letting his skepticism show. “We sit here and go over paperwork while people we care about -- our own -- are out there?”
Jay’s trying to guilt him, but he should know better. The harder Jay pushes, the less concerned Voight appears. He lifts his shoulder in a diffident shrug. “We pull in witnesses, go over the details, anything we got,” he says. “This guy had a massive organization -- a list a mile long of connections. So we play that, and we play it hard. Kick over every rock until something slithers.”
Jay can’t do it, though. He can’t play reasonable and professional. Not with Will and Hailey missing. “But, Sarge--”
Bastard he may be, but Voight is still reliable in this. He looks Jay in the eyes, and he doesn’t waver. “We’ll find them,” he says -- and Jay knows it’s a promise. No caveats, no strings attached. A promise. “We’ll make our own lead, and we’ll bring them home.”
Jay’s heart feels like it’s trembling in his chest, and the adrenaline is almost more than he can control. But he manages to breathe, and he keeps himself in check as he holds his boss’s gaze. “I may hold you to that.”
Voight smiles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N: Fills my cages square for . Don't mind the lack of realism. Or the typos. I wrote too much of this on my phone, and so the random typos are going to be evident.
Summary: Do you know what you’d do for the people you care about, though? Do you really?
PART ONE
PART TWO
PART THREE
-o-
Now, as a cop, Jay is supposed to maintain a certain level of professionalism. He’s supposed to have this thing called detachment.
Sometimes, he pulls it off.
Most of the time, however, he doesn’t do so well.
Because violent crimes, they’re personal. Even when they’re happening to complete strangers, it’s impossible not to take the violence of it all personally.
And when it hits close to home?
Well, then, for Jay, all bets really are off.
-o-
That’s not how this case starts, though. It’s just not. When it lands on Jay’s desk, it’s a run of the mill thing. A robbery gone bad, it looks like. But when Jay pulls the investigative threads, the whole thing unravels into a much bigger plot. There’s robbery, sure. There’s murder, yep. There’s bribery, embezzlement, money laundering, drugs, guns -- the whole nine yards. His little robbery case ends up being the organized crime bust of the damn year.
The bad news is that all the evidence Jay has, and it’s not enough to nail the kingpin.
Lester Scarro.
Local businessman with deep ties to every bad thing in the book. He’s been masquerading as a philanthropist for years because nobody can get dirt on him. Jay’s gotten closer than anyone, and it’s not enough. He takes it to the district attorney who just shakes her head and tells Jay to try again.
“Aim lower,” she suggests.
Jay stews on that for awhile, pissed as hell.
Then, he does.
-o-
See, the evidence is good, but it doesn’t link directly to dear old Lester. It does, however, link to several of his associates. Including one Michael Scarro.
Yeah, that’s his kid.
The bastard hired his own 22 year old kid to play a key role in the operation, and at 22? The kid doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s one of the only ones who has left himself wide open to charges. He doesn’t need to ask the DA on this one. He knows the case will stick, and he knows Michael Scarro will go down for 20 years, minimum. Maybe more, if Jay can get him tied to the murder.
Now, to be sure, Michael’s not the one Jay wants. But, he says as he pitches the case to Voight, if they can get Michael on serious charges, then maybe he’ll turn. Maybe he’ll roll over on his old man.
“You think the kid would do that?” Voight asks, clearly skeptical. “To his own father?”
“With this kind of sentence looming over his head?” Jay asks. “Hell, I’d flip on my old man.”
“Somehow, I doubt that,” Voight says.
“Still,” Jay insists, pointing at the file. “This will work. I know.”
Voight considers it for a moment, but he nods his head. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s see what happens.”
-o-
What happens is, Jay makes the arrest. Jay does the interrogation, and the kid sings like a bird. He talks about everything he knows, every location, every shipment, every contractor, every date. Hell, the kid is so credulous that he goes three hours before he even realizes that he should probably stop talking and lawyer up. By then, it’s too late for him. There’s more than enough evidence to pin him with any charge Jay can think up, and he’s got a string of confessions on tape that are 100 percent uncoerced.
What he doesn’t have, however, is pressure to make the kid flip.
Because he doesn’t.
He gives up everyone else -- he’s happy to burn the organization to the ground -- but according to Michael, Lester is nothing but a family man. He’s a damn near saint, the kind of dad who showed up to all the baseball games, made it to the school plays and took him boating every weekend.
“We sailed,” Michael keeps saying, again and again. “Those times with my dad, on that boat, were the best in my life. There’s no way he’s the monster you say he is. No way.”
There’s every way.
There’s just no way to get the kid to see it.
-o-
Jay hopes that a formal charge will help bring the kid around, but it doesn’t. The case goes forward, and Michael retains the most expensive lawyer around, but it’s not going to make a difference. Michael’s still doing what his father is telling him, and they’re hoping they have enough money to dig themselves out of this hole.
It’s a pretty deep hole, however.
And Michael’s at the bottom.
And dear old Lester, the sainted family man that he is, is still standing at the top.
-o-
The trial approaches, slowly as these things are. The lawyer makes things difficult, throwing up roadblocks left and right, but the DA is pretty motivated on this one. They just want to be sure they have what they need, and the DA comes to Jay, asking if he’ll be the star witness.
“We really are going to prosecute this kid?” Jay asks, shaking his head.
“The kid still doesn’t believe his dad’s the bad guy,” she replies.
“But Michael’s a kid. He was just doing what his dad told him. He had no idea,” Jay points out.
“He knew enough. And 22 isn’t a kid. He knew better,” she says.
“Then why the hell won’t he flip?” Jay wonders.
She shrugs. “We’d have a better chance of getting the old man to come clean. Save his son,” she muses. “But will you do it? Will you testify?”
“Yeah,” Jay says. “I mean, that’s the job, right?”
She smiles. “I’ll meet with you later, go over your testimony,” she says. “This is still good work, Detective.”
-o-
It’s good work.
But it’s not the best work.
It’s not even really the work Jay wants to do. Yet, here he is. On the cusp of convicting a kid who loves his dad too much to know better. It’s a blind loyalty; it’s based in love. In some ways, Jay is almost jealous. To be that secure in your old man’s love. To trust him that much.
We’d have a better chance of getting the old man to come clean.
It’s an idea, then.
If Lester is the dad Michael thinks he is, it’s certainly an idea.
-o-
Now, technically, Jay probably shouldn’t go anywhere near Lester Scarro. With the litigation pending, Jay knows it’s a tricky situation, and any wrong step might be used by the defense to help show police malfeasance. It’s something he’s pretty sure the smarmy lawyers might try, but Jay goes with his gut on this one. Lester employs the smarmy lawyers, but he’s the one calling the shots here.
Jay’s pretty sure he can make an appeal to the guy, going to him as a father first, not a suspect.
At least, that’s what he’s banking on.
He’s aware, at least on some level, that he’s taking a hell of a risk, but Jay feels pretty good about it. At the very least, he’s not thinking about it hard enough to doubt himself.
He finds Lester in the main front operation for his operations. It’s a legit place with all sorts of dirty ties that no one can trace or prove. Jay doesn’t bother to be discreet. He goes to the secretary, gives her his name, and asks for a meeting.
She looks vexed, but calls into the office.
Then, she lets him inside.
Inside, Lester’s office is immaculate. On a high floor, he has quite a view, and he’s clearly spared no expense. He’s got fine furniture, and pieces of art that Jay are sure are worth more than his whole year’s salary.
From behind the desk, Lester doesn’t greet him.
That's fine. Jay doesn’t wait for an invitation, and he sits down. They don't need small talk. Hell, they don't even need introductions. They know what this is. They understand the roles they're playing here. All the cards are on the table, and Jay is here to offer a deal before the bluff is called and Scarro loses everything.
It's a kindness of the most cruel variety.
They both know that, too.
"This case against your son, it's a slam dunk," Jay begins. "You've paid for good lawyers, so I know you know that. He's not going to win, and the judge will throw the book at him. We're looking at maximum time, easy."
It would be tempting to write this off as a scare tactic, but Jay just wants to be clear. The terms here can't be in doubt.
Scarro belies nothing. He sits back and folds his hands, looking at Jay expectantly. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Officer,” he meanders, almost as if he hasn’t heard Jay’s introduction.”
“Detective,” Jay clarifies for him. “Halstead.”
“Ah,” he says, feigning surprise. “The star witness.”
He knows Scarro knows this. He’s playing a game, as if he can obfuscate the stakes. They’ve never met, but they’re not strangers. In fact, Jay feels more connected to this guy than he’d like to admit.
“Look, I’m not here to posture. The DA has nothing on you,” Jay says.
Scarro smiles wryly. “Perhaps there is nothing to have.”
Jay doesn’t bite. He keeps his gaze steady. “There’s plenty, which is why your kid is set to take the fall. They will throw the book at him. He’s going down for this.”
Scarro’s expression darkens marginally, but Jay still sees it.
So, he leverages that advantage, slight as it is. “But you can still fix this,” he says. “They don’t really want your son. They want you. You can play that to your favor and protect your son.”
He’s being honest. He’s being earnest.
Scarro doesn’t seem to appreciate that. Stiffly, he raises his chin. “I have done nothing to my son.”
Jay revisits the need to roll his eyes. The pride is palpable, and Scarro looks like he may actually believe what he is saying.
Perspective is a hell of a thing, it’s why bad guys are always the heroes of their own stories. It’s even worse when they fancy themselves as victims.
“You let him take part in what you were doing, and worse, you never told him the risks he was taking,” Jay says, unwilling to play nice with this asshole’s feelings. “And he’s still loyal to you. He’s going to trial because he won’t give you up. He’s a good kid. Are you seriously willing to let him do this?”
The question seems to make Scarro uncomfortable. “I love my son very much.”
That’s an easy point, one neither of them have to debate. As far as baselines go, Jay is hoping this one is pretty good. “And I’ve talked to him. He thinks the world of you,” Jay says, seizing upon the sentiment. “He still doesn’t believe you’re the bad guy.”
Jay is vying for a sympathetic take, but Scarro nearly flinches. He bustles himself up, and there is the faintest flicker of fear in his eyes before he steadies himself once more.
That’s when Jay gets it.
That’s when Jay first starts to understand what Lester Scarro is all about.
It’s not a question of his son going to prison for him.
It’s a question of how his son sees him.
Scarro will let his boy languish behind bars if he still thinks his dad hangs the moon. To get him out would ruin the illusion, and that’s a sacrifice this man won’t make.
“Seriously? That’s the reason?” Jay asks, not bothering to mask his incredulity. “You don’t want him to know you’re the bad guy?”
His face is pinched, and his eyes are hard as he stares at Jay emphatically. “Family dynamics are hard to define, harder still to explain. It’s not exactly a question of logic or pragmatism,” he says icily. “There are many ways to lose a child, Detective.”
“Oh, I get complicated family dynamics,” Jay assures him, thinking of his own mother dying from cancer and the cruel snipe that was his last words to his father. And he doesn’t even need to get started on his lingering resentments for Will, who took 35 years of his life to finally learn how to stop running when things got hard. “But I’m pretty sure letting him go to jail to save face with him isn’t going to get you father of the year.”
His expression is dark as he looks at Jay. “Do you know what you’d do for the people you care about, though?” he asks pointedly. “Do you really?”
The question, of course, isn’t casual. It’s targeted; it’s meaningful.
But if Scarro thinks he can prove a point, he’s got it all wrong.
He’s talking to Jay, after all.
The same guy who can hate his family.
And then defend them with his life.
Family is a constant string of choices, and you just keep making the best ones you can.
“Uh, yeah, pretty sure I do,” he says, and there’s no guile in his tone. He’s thinking about more than his mom and dad now. He’s thinking about Will, and the brother he’s become. He’s thinking about Hailey, and the family they’re going to make. “And I can tell you right now, no question. I would never let someone I care about take the fall for me. Never.”
Scarro draws a breath, and he sits back while he exhales thoughtfully as he regards Jay. Sitting across from him, Jay takes in the scene. Scarro, polished and nice behind the large, sprawling desk. The walls of the office are immaculately adorned, and expensive art is mixed with large snapshots from Scarro’s family life.
It’s opulent as a display, really. The lake houses where Scarro poses with his boy. The two of them on the bow of a private yacht, holding a prize fish between them. A private high school graduation. The two of them, courtside, at the Chicago Bulls.
Jay points at the pictures, nodding. “You know he talks about you,” he says. “He talks all about the things you do together. The sailing. The kid really likes sailing.”
Scarro chuffs, and he folds his hands together. He follows Jay’s finger and looks at the picture in question, the two of them on Lake Michigan. He looks fond, suddenly. “We love it. Sometimes his mother comes, but mostly it’s just him and me,” he recalls. “The last time we went was the weekend before your little police raid, you know.”
It’s a pointed comment, but the barb doesn’t sting. Jay knows better than that. Scarro can play the part of a fond father, but he can’t obscure the reality of what’s going on here. The reality that Scarro is letting his son take the fall.
Knowingly.
Purposefully.
Willfully.
It’s not fate. It’s not bad luck. This is a choice, 100 percent.
Jay keeps his gaze steady on Scarro. This is his pitch to make; this is his chance to nail Scarro and get his son off the hook. “You’re too smart not to see that there’s a way out. You can fix this. You can get him off.”
The fondness dissipates, and Scarro regards Jay once more. “I’m afraid you really don’t understand.”
“But I do,” Jay says. “Legally and personally. I’m not here from the prosecutor, but I know how these cases work. I know that we’ll do anything for the big fish.”
Scarro scoffs lightly. “And personally?”
Jay makes a face. “Personally? I have a family, too. A family I’d do anything for.”
Scarro’s eyes narrow. “And you think I’m doing the wrong thing?”
If he’s looking for Jay to equivocate, then he’s got another thing coming. When Jay scoffs, he makes the sound loud and decisive. “I know you are.”
It’s too brash, and Jay realizes it the moment he says it. Scarro visibly pulls back, his facade sliding perfectly back into place like the luster of his immaculate office. “I guess you have the luxury of saying that,” he says. He smiles coolly. “Seeing as your family is not in peril. Are they?”
It’s a pointed question, and Scarro’s voice is laced with vindictiveness. He thinks this is personal, then. And it is, but not between him and Jay. Jay is here for a kid in prison who shouldn’t be there.
He just needs Scarro to see it.
“Look, I know the DA will take you, no matter when or how you present yourself,” he says. “You’ll have leverage when you come to the table. The outcome of this is up to you.”
Scarro raises his eyebrows with an air of indifference. “Thank you for stopping by,” he muses at Jay. “I’ll see you at the trial?”
Jay gets up, jaw rigid. “Think about it.”
“Oh, I will,” Scarro promises meaningfully. “I definitely will.”
-o-
He leaves, and he knows Scarro won’t think about it. The bastard, tried and true. He won’t think about it at all while his son faces a sentence that will effectively end his life.
Jay thinks about it, though.
Jay thinks about it a lot.
What people will do for family.
And what they won’t.
-o-
Scarro, then, is a lost cause.
The case against his son, however, is foolproof. The prosecutor works with Jay personally to prepare his testimony. He’s the lynchpin, the key witness. It will be Jay who puts this kid away. Jay will throw away the key.
It’s the right thing to do, in the strictest sense. Jay Jay’s a pretty uncompromising view of the law. His sense of justice, his notion of right and wrong.
But he gets family, too. He gets how love makes you blind, makes you stupid.
And this? It’s stupid on every level.
How can Scarro let this happen? The man is not dumb. He knows what his kid is facing. He knows, he has to know, he can stop it.
But he won’t.
Jay can read the guy, and it’s pretty easy to see. Scarro is never turning himself in, never. He loves his family, but it’s conditional. It has limits. He won’t go that far.
Jay wonder about that.
He went after the asshole who killed his dad, broke all the rules and did it his way, for family, see. For family.
But revenge isn't noble, and that’s not even what this is. This smacks of cowardice, and Jay can’t fathom it. This is insane, that’s what it is. Absolutely insane.
He gets revenge. He understands holding a grudge. He knows how to shut someone out.
But to do nothing?
To look at the impossible and do nothing at all? Everyone is selfish in their own ways, but when push comes to shove, family’s first. You put yourself on the line. You take the fall. They can love you, they can hate you, and it doesn’t matter as long as they’re alive. As long as they’re free.
Scarro’s got it all wrong, then.
And the person he claims to live most will be the one to suffer.
-o-
Jay hates it, but that’s how it is. He won’t capitulate.
Justice is the choice Jay makes.
Scarro, on the other hand, makes his.
-o-
The case goes to trial, none of the efforts of Scarro and his lawyers are enough. The back and forth between the defense and prosecution make for a contentious affair, and the media only plays up the tensions for a quick buck. Things escalate and national coverage kicks in, and it’s a full blown circus by the opening arguments.
Jay, of course, is the star witness.
His testimony is thorough, precise and damning. The trial breaks to the prosecution on Jay’s word, and he’s lauded as a citywide hero when the verdict comes back, guilty on all counts.
The Scarro family has finally been held to account.
And Jay’s the one who made it happen.
Everyone is thrilled a Scarro is behind bars, even if it is the wrong one.
-o-
The verdict is guilty, but that’s not the end. It’s really the start. The verdict has been obvious from the beginning. The real question has always been just what kind of example the judge will make of this kid because he failed the genetics lottery.
This kid is figuring it out too late. Jay lives with regret of not making nice with his dad before he passed. Michael Scarro is making the opposite mistake. He still doesn’t see that his old man is the bad guy.
Even when the judge hands down a life sentence, the stiffest penalty on the books, Michael doesn’t see it.
Jay looks at Scarro, and across the courtroom, their eyes meet.
Jay sees it.
Scarro, stone faced and impassive, let’s his gaze drill on Jay.
Because he sees it, too.
-o-
Michael is taken away, transferred to a maximum security state facility. He’s going with murderers and rapist, to the inside of a cell he’ll never get out of.
His life is over, then.
22, his father’s son in none of the ways that count, and that’s how his story ends.
-o-
The press is jubilant, of course. Michael’s pale face, empty eyes and sickly countenance is splashed on the cover of every paper.
And every story names the same hero.
Jay Halstead.
Jay Halstead.
His biggest win.
Could not feel more like a loss.
-o-
Jay is overseeing the prison transfer. It’s not his job, really, but somehow it feels like his responsibility. He wants to be sure Michael is safe. Given his dad’s numerous roles, he’s made enemies, and he has a habit of letting his friends take the fall. There are dozens of people who would like to get back at Scarro, and a green, not quite innocent kid is going to be a convenient opening.
He’s going to need security. He’s going to need extra supervision. He’s probably going to benefit from an isolated ward.
It’s not easy, playing those cards, but it feels like the right thing to do. His father is hanging this kid out to dry. Jay figures he needs someone in his corner, even if it is the cop who sealed his fate.
Afterward, when the transfer is complete, Jay finds Lester Scarro waiting for him in the parking lot.
At first, Jay thinks he’s come to deal.
But Scarro regards him coldly, and Jay realizes he’s as resolute as ever. Unswayed.
“You come to gloat?” Scarro asks. “You didn't strike me as a petty man, Detective Halstead.”
Scarro is unswayed.
So is Jay. “I wanted to be sure everything was safe,” he says. “There had already been some threats, and Michael’s not cut out for prison.”
Scarro laughs humorlessly. “Says the man who put him there.”
“It was your business, Scarro,” Jay counters. “You had every chance to make this right. Hell, you still do. We can go to the DA together, right now,”
But Scarro stands as stiff as ever. Like his son, his prized child, hasn’t been sent to prison for life on his behalf. As if letting his son believe he’s a good father excuses how bad of one he is.
He looks at Jay, almost as if he dares Jay to look away first. “I stand by my family," he declares.
There's no hint of irony, remarkably. His gaze is steady, almost unyielding on Jay.
If he's trying to intimidate him, it's not working.
“Really?" he asks, and he's trying not to be smug. He's not here to gloat. Controlling his genuine incredulity, however, is a much harder task. "Then why did you let him take the fall? I don’t get it.”
“Because family protects,” he says, almost emphatic in his sentiment. He’s sincere. A crazy criminal, a killer and a thief, but as sincere as anyone Jay has ever met. “Don’t you know anything about family, Detective?”
It’s too easy, though. The high ground you made for yourself at the expense of others.
“A hell of a lot more than you do," he replies readily. "I know my family is worth it. I'd never put them in a position to take the fall for me. Never.”
Scarro raises his brows, cool and clinical in his expression. “You sound awfully confident, Detective.”
It's a bit too much, really. Seeing a guy like this, a guy who forfeits his own kid, preen. “Look, I was just doing my job," Jay says, trying to keep his emotions in check, even as he has to point out the obvious. "You could have come clean at any time.”
“Fine, I can accept that," he says with an air of diffidence. "As a parent, I'm just doing my job, too.”
He says it like it's sensible. The problem is that it's anything but.
There’s nothing to be done for it, though. Jay’s got nothing on this guy, and if his son’s sentence won’t persuade him, Jay has to accept that nothing will.
“Look, we’ve made sure your kid is safe. He’s young; he’s got a strong chance to be rehabbed. I know with your family connection, he’s a target inside. We’ve got him on isolation -- extra guard,” he explains without pretense now. “He’s safe. I made sure of it.”
Scarro smiles, but the movement is unsettling. The smile is wrong, somehow, and Jay feels something uncertain churn in his gut as Scarro stares him down.
“Yes, he’s safe. You have made sure,” he says smoothly. “It's a promise you think you can keep?”
Jay nods with confidence. “As best I can. That kid needs someone at his back.”
“Someone like you,” Scarro muses. “But I must ask if you are truly up to the task. What if it’s not enough? Are you aware of your own limitations, Detective? Do you understand your vulnerabilities?”
Jay makes a face, finding the questions off putting. “I have a lot of connections,” he says. “I’ll do my best.”
“But our best is never a guarantee, is it?” he asks, and there’s a dark severity to his coyness. “Our actions rarely are limited to ourselves. Each choice we make, right or wrong, leaves a trail of consequences. Collateral damage and all.”
They’ve moved past chitchat. They aren’t positing for a deal. There’s no more bargaining, and all hints of reassurance have been swallowed whole.
Jay all but shudders this time, and he looks at Scarro with sudden understanding.
He’s not here to talk about Michael.
“Is that a threat?” Jay asks, feeling incredulity rise like bile in the back of his throat.
But Scarro just smiles again. “Well wishes, of course,” he says. “Best of luck, Detective Halstead. To you and yours.”
-o-
Yeah, so that’s a threat.
Straight up. Unequivocal.
Given Jay’s role in the trial -- the crucial nature of his testimony and the play he got in the press -- he was an easy target. An obvious target. The only target.
And with Scarro’s resume, and apparently his ill-will, it’s going to be a problem.
Jay doesn’t hesitate to report it, and he runs it all the way up the food chain as quickly as he can. He starts an open investigation, and he tells Voight he wants surveillance on his house, everyone he cares about. He insists on increased security at Intelligence, and he puts in warnings with the DA and the rest of the prosecution team. Hell, Jay puts in a protection order for the judge. Anyone who’s touched the Scarro case, he lets them know this is bad.
This is bad.
For a week, it’s high alert. The investigation yields little, and there’s plenty of action at Scarro’s company but nothing of particular suspicion.
Which is, of course, all the more suspicious.
Even so, after two weeks, some of the manpower is diverted. After three weeks, the details tail off. After a month, things go back to normal as Scarro resumes his daily routine as if there were no interruption and Michael Scarro rots away in a prison not meant for him.
Jay’s not one to let it go, but life goes on. There are more cases. There are more criminals to catch. Justice is a never ending pursuit.
And maybe Scarro’s moved on. Maybe Scarro’s come to terms. Maybe he’s ready to focus on being a good father.
Maybe Jay can put this case behind him, and move on with life.
He allows himself to hope.
-o-
Another month.
Three.
Jay hasn’t thought about Scarro in weeks.
And why would he?
Why would he.
-o-
The call comes early when he’s still getting ready for work. Hailey’s in the shower, and Jay gets the call.
To come.
Come now.
“Hailey,” he calls to her over the sound of the shower. “Something’s come up. We’re going to have to go separate today.”
She pokes her head out from behind the curtain. “Everything okay?”
Jay shrugs. “No idea,” he says. “You’ll be okay?”
She grins at him. “Always. Oh, and don’t forget. Will’s coming over for dinner tonight.”
Jay makes a face. “Do we have to?”
She gives him an exasperated look. “You’re the one who invited him. And you always have a great time.”
“Sure,” Jay says. “But you look so good in the shower--”
She rolls her eyes. “See you later.”
He grins back at her. “See you.”
-o-
He shows up at a crime scene, and it’s already swarming. The press have gathered, but they’ve been kept clear. The perimeter has been set, and it’s been set far.
Jay flashes his badge, curious. The uniforms there look at him, faces tight and composed. As he crosses toward the scene, he hears their hushed voices behind his back, but when he glances back, they’re quiet once more.
He’s starting to get a weird feeling as he goes inside. He recognizes the detectives from the local precinct, and one of them comes up to him, quickly crossing the room to intercept him.
“Halstead, good,” he says, and he draws Jay to the side. He looks around somewhat furtively, and draws a breath. “Look, there’s no easy way to say it.”
“Say what?” Jay asks. He tries to glance over the guy’s shoulder to the crime scene just beyond. “Who’s our vic? Someone I know?”
It’s the only logical conclusion. Maybe it’s a CI. It could be someone he’s arrested before. Maybe the victim is connected to another case he’s working on, or one of his open cases. Jay’s had a long career as a police officer; the possibilities are pretty vast.
And even so, he’s not quite prepared when his colleague delivers the news.
“It’s Lester Scarro,” he says. “Looks like a clear-cut suicide.”
Jay can’t help it; his jaw drops. “Scarro? A suicide?”
“We have to run forensics, ask around, but yeah,” he says. “Looks like it.”
Jay is still reeling with that bit of impossible news when the detective drops another.
“And the note he left?” the guy says, biting his lip for a second before he finishes. “Was addressed to you.”
-o-
Jay takes in the scene, for what that’s worth. It’s not particularly noteworthy, no signs of a struggle, no forced entry. Nothing looks amiss except the dead body on the floor and the spray of brain matter and blood on the wall.
That being said, the case for suicide looks pretty strong. At a glance, that’s how Jay would classify it, the gun in Scarro’s mouth, the bullet wound out the back of his head. These things can be forced, Jay knows, but in his experience, it’s not very likely.
Then, Jay reads the note.
It’s not a traditional suicide note, atoning for wrongs or explaining his grievances. But Jay has to admit, it’s a convincing piece of evidence to mark this thing down as a suicide once and for all.
The note is scrawled in perfect, looping penmanship, impeccably drawn with strokes of ink.
For the record, Detective Halstead, I don’t believe in the afterlife.
So, when I tell you this, please understand just how personal it is.
I sincerely hope, with all I have left, that I see you in hell.
-Lester Scarro
Evidence of suicide, to be sure. That’s the good news for the responding officers who land this case.
It’s less good news for Jay.
And, he suspects, for anyone he cares about.
-o-
Jay can’t take the note -- it’s evidence -- but it doesn’t matter. Once this thing gets hot, he knows Voight’s going to be all over this crime scene and they can process things their way. Besides, the specifics of the threat can be analyzed later.
Jay’s more concerned with the implications.
Scarro’s after Jay, but Scarro’s dead and Jay’s still standing. Which means, there’s a plan. With a guy like Scarro, his means, his resources, his hatred for Jay, there’s a plan.
And it’s not rocket science. Jay put his kid behind bars. He took away the only thing that Scarro really cared about.
Needless to say, as he excuses himself out the back door of the crime scene, he’s already got his phone out. His first call isn’t to Voight. No, his first call is to Hailey.
She’d still be at home, getting ready for work. She wouldn’t leave for another 20 minutes, at least. Maybe more if she’s really enjoying her coffee. She’ll be home. He can warn her. It’ll be okay.
It’ll be okay.
He turns away from the crime scene a little more, pressing his finger over his ear to hear the connection better as it starts to dial.
And ring.
And ring.
Jay breathes out, wriggling his toes anxiously in his shoes. “Pick up, pick up,” he mutters to no one in particular, and he has to adjust his grip on his phone.
It rings some more, and Jay starts holding his breath. “Come on,” he half hisses into the line, feeling the heat start to creep up his cheeks.
After another series of rings, the phone goes to voicemail, and Hailey’s friendly voice chirps in a recorded message over the line while Jay’s heart drops.
He hangs up, not bothering with the message, and quickly dials work. He calls Hailey’s number directly, but she doesn’t answer. When he calls the desk, Platt says she hasn’t seen Hailey today, but maybe she met Voight out at a call.
She’s about to tell Jay about the call -- some high priority something or other -- but Jay isn’t listening. He mutters some dismissive apology and hangs up again. He’s pacing now, back and forth in Scarro’s backyard, calling Hailey’s number one more time.
Maybe she’s driving.
Maybe she’s running an errand.
Maybe--
The phone goes to voicemail again.
Jay curses as he hangs up, looking back at the scene behind him.
So, when I tell you this, please understand just how personal it is.
It’s silly, he tells himself. Scarro’s dead. Hailey’s fine. It’s silly.
He can’t shake the nagging doubt in the pit of his stomach, however, and he ducks out of the crime scene and speeds the whole way home.
-o-
He convinces himself he’s being ridiculous. He tells himself that, over and over again. He rationalizes, objectifies, deduces -- all of it. He’s not going to call Voight -- not yet. He’s going to go home. He’s going to find Hailey fine and he’s going to feel so stupid. They’ll go into work together, just as planned, and he’ll report the news to Voight and everything will be fine.
Everything will be fine.
He parks the car, runs up the stairs. He fumbles with the keys as he opens the door, and he’s calling her name before it’s shut behind him.
“Hailey?” he says, still jogging down the hallway of his apartment toward the kitchen. “Hailey!”
The kitchen is empty, though. Her cereal bowl is still damp, dripping milk in the dishwasher. He darts toward the bedroom, where the bed has been made, the throw pillows neatly arranged. In the empty bathroom, her towel is still damp on the rack and her dirty clothes sit at the top of the hamper.
“Hailey!” he calls again, spinning around and starting back through the apartment. There’s no answer; no sign. “Hailey!”
He finds Hailey’s phone on the counter, charged and ready. Her purse is by the door, keys still inside.
But there’s no sign of Hailey.
I sincerely hope, with all I have left, that I see you in hell.
-o-
This time, Jay calls Voight. He sitting at his own kitchen table, staring at his girlfriends things, his fingers almost disconnected from his body as he brings up his boss’ number on autopilot. It’s probably the first call he should have made, but he’d let himself believe. He’d allowed himself some hope.
Now, he has to face the reality.
Scarro’s gone and killed himself, but he’s set up Jay first. He’s not sure what that means, he’s not sure how bad this is going to get, but Hailey’s gone -- and that’s bad enough. Jay’s in no position to figure this out. He’s not sure he could make his brain function properly even if he wanted to.
It’s all hands on deck now.
For Hailey, Jay will recruit every hand in the city.
Voight answers quickly when Jay calls, no hesitation. Almost like he’s expecting it.
“Scarro’s dead. Killed himself,” Jay reports. “And he left me his suicide note.”
“I’ve heard,” is Voight’s reply, and he sounds utterly nonplussed. “I’ve already been fully briefed.”
Jay nods tautly, eyes fixed on Hailey’s phone on the counter, her purse at the door. “Sarge, I think he took Hailey,” he says. “I got home, and she’s gone. She’s not at work. Her car’s still here. Hailey’s gone.”
This time, Voight sounds taken just slightly aback. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Jay snaps. “I’m sitting here in an empty apartment, and her stuff’s still here. She didn’t take her phone, her purse. We need to get on this. We need to open an investigation now, all red tape and whatever be damned. I need you here.”
“We’ll get the investigation going, sure,” Voight says. “But I’ve got to finish up here first.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Jay demands. He can feel the color rising in his cheeks, and his palms are clammy and his voice is thick. His heart is pounding so much that it may beat out of his chest. He turns, looking away from Hailey’s things, endeavoring for the smallest sliver of restraint. “This is Hailey we’re talking about. Hailey.”
It’s an angle that even Voight has to be sensitive to. In fact, Voight’s usually the first one ready to start murdering people when one of their own is on the line. So, it’s weird, and Jay can’t make it parse.
“I know,” Voight says in reply. “But I’m at your brother’s place.”
Jay’s been bracing for something -- some reason, some excuse, some answer -- but not that. He stops, a frown creasing his face. The anger gives way to confusion. The fear freezes in his chest. “What?” he asks, shaking his head. “Will’s? Why the hell are you there?”
And there’s no hesitation. There’s no hedging.
Voight is a straight shooter, at least.
Always has been.
Always will.
“He’s gone, too,” he replies. “Someone took him.”
It’s impossible to comprehend, but the moment Voight says it, Jay understands. Jay understands the threat. Jay understands the weight of Scarro’s loss. Jay understands the depths of hatred that drive a man to put his own son in prison.
Are more than enough to rip apart the life of the man who forced his hand.
Just like that, Jay realizes just how bad this really is.
-o-
The team regroups, all hands on deck. Everyone’s at the ready.
Everyone but Jay.
He joins the group with a shell shocked demeanor. The facts are frozen in his kind. He’s numb with it, almost breathless on his inability to comprehend. He keeps thinking it can’t be true.
But it still is.
His fiancé.
His brother.
They’re both gone.
Taken. Right out from under Jay’s nose.
Gone.
Trapped in cages, running out of air.
Everything Jay cares about on this planet.
Gone.
-o-
Jay keeps thinking about what he’s missed.
His team focuses on what they have to find.
This is what they know.
Hailey was taken first. There’s footage of various parts of the building, and they’re able to track two men enter from a side service entrance and move through the staircase. The van they drive is nondescript and without identifying markers. Although it’s clear they’re white and average build, there’s no view of their faces to even attempt identification.
There’s no trace from inside the apartment, but they are quick and to the point. With no sign of a struggle, and no trace of blood, the best guess is drugging. There’s no shot of Hailey leaving the building, but the men exit with a heavy laundry sack, slung weightlifting between them.
It’s Hailey. They broke in, drugged her, and then hauled her out like used goods, and no one saw a thing.
From there, they timestamp the movement of the van, and it shows up a short time later down the street from Will’s place. It’s parked conveniently again to obscure it, and the men seem to know the security situation here as well. They enter without issue at the back, taking the stairs. The interior view to Will’s place is worse than Jay’s place, but it wouldn’t have mattered. These guys know what they’re doing. There’s nothing to distinguish them on the footage they have.
The scene at Will’s is nearly identical to the one at Jay’s. No struggle. No blood. The men leave with another, even bulkier laundry bag. The bag is loaded up, and the men and the van are gone.
Someone pulls traffic footage from the area around Will’s apartment, hoping to get a better idea where they’ve been taken, but it feels like a fool’s errand. It seems like a dead end.
Will and Hailey are missing. Jay has the who and the what and the how. But not the where.
And, he fears, he has yet to really grasp the why.
-o-
He’s not panicking.
Jay would like to think he’s too professional but really he’s just too shell shocked. He can’t get his mind around it. They’re gone. Hailey. Will. Gone.
Jay’s not panicking, but he’s also not being particularly useful at the moment. The team is getting to work, and he stands there, staring at the evidence, wondering how the hell this happened.
No one wants to approach him.
Voight does it anyway. He’s quiet. Understated. Jay understands it as his means of encouragement. “How are you holding up?”
It’s a ridiculous question, and Jay can’t hardly stomach it. He returns the encouragement with his most withering look. “I’m fine, but Will and Hailey aren’t,” he says, and he shakes his head in disgust. “They’re gone, and we’ve got nothing.”
It’s not like Voight is surprised, not by Jay’s point or his affectation. “That’s how we work. We make our own leads. We have angles we can pursue.”
He says it simple and matter of fact, even if it’s nothing of the sort. “But they’re out there, Sarge. They’re out there,” Jay says emphatically, willing his boss to understand. The helplessness he feels is more than overwhelming. It’s encompassing in a way he can’t explain. It’s like he’s drowning. He needs Voight to understand.
And, standing there, more alone than he’s ever been, Jay knows Voight does understand. All the operations they’ve conducted. All the work they’ve done. All the years they’ve spent together. Voight understands.
But that doesn’t mean he really gets it.
For Voight, the emotion is always weighed against the operational value. He’s pragmatic in his vendettas, and when Jay needs him to be on edge, he’s always the epitome of resolve.
“I know,” is all he says.
And Jay scoffs, because he clearly doesn’t know. “It’s Hailey. Will,” he says, giving their names the weight they deserve. “And they’re out there. I -- can’t.”
The more desperate he feels, the more unyielding and certain Voight seems. “That’s why you have to,” he says simply. “Because they’re out there.”
He makes it sound so simple, painfully simple. Jay has to shake his head, scoffing again. “And?” he asks, nothing but incredulity in his voice.
Voight shrugs, still nonchalant. “And we do what we have to do,” he says. “I know it feels hard now that it’s personal, but this is what we do.”
It sounds reasonable, but it’s anything but. He knows it. He knows Voight knows it, too, but the man’s a bastard through and through. All the strings he’ll pull for his own reasons, and he plays the straight and narrow when it suits him. “This is what we do?” he asks, letting his skepticism show. “We sit here and go over paperwork while people we care about -- our own -- are out there?”
Jay’s trying to guilt him, but he should know better. The harder Jay pushes, the less concerned Voight appears. He lifts his shoulder in a diffident shrug. “We pull in witnesses, go over the details, anything we got,” he says. “This guy had a massive organization -- a list a mile long of connections. So we play that, and we play it hard. Kick over every rock until something slithers.”
Jay can’t do it, though. He can’t play reasonable and professional. Not with Will and Hailey missing. “But, Sarge--”
Bastard he may be, but Voight is still reliable in this. He looks Jay in the eyes, and he doesn’t waver. “We’ll find them,” he says -- and Jay knows it’s a promise. No caveats, no strings attached. A promise. “We’ll make our own lead, and we’ll bring them home.”
Jay’s heart feels like it’s trembling in his chest, and the adrenaline is almost more than he can control. But he manages to breathe, and he keeps himself in check as he holds his boss’s gaze. “I may hold you to that.”
Voight smiles. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”