Following the prison guard, Ethan made his way down the narrow corridor. After turning several corners, they finally reached the visitation room at Stateville Correctional Center.
Bang.
The guard stepped out and closed the heavy iron door behind them.
The room was divided by a concrete wall topped with a thick glass window. Once they were alone, Ethan calmly took a seat, waiting for the guard on the other side to bring Dominic in.
Hank looked around and drummed his fingers against the windowsill.
—I hate this place.
He said it with an expression that was difficult to read before dropping into the chair.
—Does it remind you of your time in prison? —Ethan asked with an amused smile.
—Yeah.
Hank looked uncomfortable. He shifted slightly in his seat before settling in.
—What's it like in there?
Ethan turned his head toward him.
—For people like us, it's fucking hell.
Hank took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
—The first few days I was in there, I didn't sleep at all. I kept my eyes open the whole time.
He paused.
—I was a cop in Chicago for decades. Do you know how many people I personally sent to prison?
—Then how did you survive?
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
The idea of being locked up in a prison and occasionally running into familiar faces among the inmates, or even among his cellmates, was unpleasant enough.
On top of that, he had spent his entire life as a police officer. Inside a prison, that alone could make him a target.
—There was no way I could have survived on my own —Hank replied.
Even remembering it still seemed to make him uncomfortable.
—In a place like that, knowing how to fight doesn't get you very far. If you can't keep those animals at bay, you're always going to have problems. You can go one, two, or even three days without sleeping, but after that... what do you do? I got beaten up a couple of times.
He shook his head.
—And how did you manage?
—Not everyone is lucky enough to know people inside the same prison.
Hank clenched his fist over his knee and gave a bitter smile.
Ethan looked at him in silence.
—Luckily, my situation hadn't hit rock bottom yet. At the time, the guy who ran my block stepped in. He was a friend of a friend.
Hank let out a small laugh.
—After that, I was finally able to sleep peacefully.
Ethan patted him on the shoulder.
—Actually, I think you could survive just fine.
Then he looked at Ethan.
—Why?
—Because you're tough enough... and ruthless enough.
Hank glanced from side to side before lowering his voice.
—I think after you beat the shit out of a couple of them, they'd stop bothering you.
—I hope I never have to find out.
—I've been a cop for many years. I've seen good cops and bad cops. Some who never fired a weapon, and others who didn't survive their first day of training. But I've never met anyone like you.
Ethan let out a small laugh.
—I'm glad to have you on the team. And that you look after Erin.
Hank paused, looking at Ethan.
—And, damn it, I guess I even have to thank Phillips. He was the one who insisted I meet you.
Ethan gave him a sideways smile.
—Well, Sergeant. Was that a compliment?
Hank let out a short laugh and shook his head.
—I'm just saying... I'm glad you're here.
Ethan looked at him for a second. This time, his smile was more genuine.
—You watch my back, and I'll watch yours. That was the deal, wasn't it?
—Yeah.
—Then we're good.
Hank gave him a pat on the shoulder.
A few minutes later, a loud bang announced that the iron door on the other side had opened.
A large white man wearing a yellow prison uniform entered the cubicle. His wrists were cuffed, and he had shackles around his ankles.
He dropped into the chair opposite the glass.
—Unless you two are my new lawyers... I have nothing to say to you.
Dominic looked at Ethan and Hank with obvious irritation.
—I have no interest in talking to you idiots.
—Your brother Lukas is dead.
Hank stood and stared directly at him.
—They shot him up on 18th Street. Left him looking like Swiss cheese.
Dominic's smile immediately disappeared.
He had assumed those cops had come to question him about the robbery. He hadn't expected to hear that.
—Tsk.
Dominic sneered.
—I'm not stupid. Why should I believe you? The Colombians killed him and took the robbery money.
—I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about.
Bang.
Ethan placed the photograph he had prepared beforehand against the glass.
A faint smile appeared on his face.
—Come on. Take a look.
He pointed at the picture.
—Even if it's difficult to recognize him, you should be able to recognize your brother, shouldn't you?
The moment Dominic saw the photograph in Ethan's hands, he froze.
The triumphant expression he had worn until then disappeared. In its place came shock, pain, and disbelief.
—Why...?
His fingers trembled as he tried to reach for the photograph. But there was a thick sheet of glass between him and the image. He could no longer touch the person in it.
—Who did it?
His eyes reddened.
—Who did this?
—You tell me.
Ethan held the photograph against the glass.
—Who was your brother working with?
Dominic didn't answer.
—Or did he betray you, and that's why you decided to get rid of him?
—Shut up!
Dominic slammed his fist against the table in fury.
—I would never have done something like that to him! Shut your damn mouth!
—No, no. I think that's exactly what happened.
Ethan shrugged.
—Otherwise, what other explanation is there?
—You don't understand...
Tears began running down Dominic's face as he struck the glass with his palm.
—I love my brother —he said, his voice breaking.—I would have given my life for him.
Ethan remained silent for several seconds.
That wasn't exactly what he had expected.
Without saying anything, he pulled the photograph away.
—Tell me who did it! —Dominic roared, his voice broken with desperation.—Was it Novak?
The person he loved was dead, and at that moment, Dominic seemed willing to turn in anyone if it meant finding out who was responsible.
He didn't even hesitate.
—No. It wasn't them.
Ethan took out the other photographs he had prepared and placed them on the windowsill.
—Novak and his associates are dead too. And the eight million dollars are gone.
Dominic stared at the pictures.
—Impossible.
Dominic studied the photographs before finally collapsing back into his chair, completely stunned. His massive body seemed to shrink into the seat. Tears began running down his face again.
At last, he looked like a completely defeated man.
First, break down his defenses. Then, let his emotions do the rest.
Ethan rested one hand on the windowsill.
—The only thing we've been able to confirm so far is that they were Colombian immigrants.
Ethan crossed his arms.
—Do you know anything about them?
—I don't know anything.
For a moment, confusion appeared in Dominic's eyes. Then his expression changed completely, filling with rage.
—I don't know a damn thing!
—Heh. You know who's behind this, don't you? Do you want to get revenge yourself?
Ethan let out a mocking smile.
—It's eight million dollars. Enough money to go back to Colombia and live out the rest of your life. But when you get out of prison, are you sure you'll still be able to find them?
Dominic remained silent.
—If you tell us what you know, we can still catch them. And maybe, if you're lucky, they'll end up in this very prison.
Ethan paused.
—If you say nothing, we'll simply close the case.
After several seconds of hesitation, Dominic finally spoke.
—My cellmate is Colombian. I was bragging about a few things in front of him.
Ethan lightly tapped the windowsill with his fingers.
—Name?
—Marcelo Ruiz.
Bang.
The iron door opened, and within seconds, Dominic's back disappeared behind it.
Hank shook his head.
—Amateurs always end up talking. That's why being a loudmouth is one of the worst mistakes you can make in this business.
Ethan slipped the photograph into his pocket.
—Want to talk to his cellmate?
—Wouldn't do any good.
Hank narrowed his eyes.
—Those Colombians aren't going to cooperate, even if they know they could die for it.
—True.
Ethan remained thoughtful for a few seconds.
—We could tell him Dominic already knows. Make a deal with him, offer him protection, and transfer him to another cell.
—Trust me, we'd only be wasting our time.
Hank opened the exit door.
—The other side isn't going to be scared by something like that. The Colombians have plenty of influence inside the prison too.
Ethan didn't answer.
After hearing that, he had no choice but to abandon the idea.
Back at the station, Antonio asked as soon as he saw them arrive.
—How did it go?
—We found a few leads. Apparently, it all had to do with Dominic's cellmate overhearing his entire plan and deciding to make his own move. But we don't have any more details.
Antonio approached the board with several documents tucked under his arm.
The surface was practically covered with photographs. There was no room left, so he pulled down the pictures of the murdered men and left them on a nearby table.
—Well, good news for you. After you told us about his cellmate, we checked his visitor records, and over the last month, he received nine visitors in total.
Antonio placed two photographs on the board.
—He also made four calls. Every one of them was to this person.
He pointed to one of the pictures.
—Rolo Ramirez.
The photograph showed a Colombian man with a shaved head and a tattoo encircling his neck.
—We already ran Ramirez. He's the leader of a Colombian gang, and his whereabouts are difficult to track down. He has multiple arrests for violent crimes and murder.
Antonio moved his hand toward another photograph.
—This is Muñoz. He's the gang's second-in-command.
—Hey, guys.
Ruzek quickly came up the stairs with a sketch in his hand, interrupting Antonio.
—I finished the composite. We can distribute it throughout the city and issue an arrest warrant.
—Let's see it.
Hank stepped forward and held out his hand.
But unexpectedly, Ruzek froze with the sketch between his fingers.
—Give it to me.
Hank frowned and gestured toward him.
—No need.
Ruzek crumpled the paper and threw it straight into the trash.
Ignoring the confused looks from the others, he walked over to the board.
—Bang, bang.
He enthusiastically tapped Muñoz's photograph twice.
—This is the guy who disguised himself as a homeless man and shot Lukas Perko.
—Are you sure?
Ethan stepped closer and examined Muñoz's photograph.
The man also had a tattoo around his neck and a short, black beard that extended from his sideburns to his chin, giving him a neat and well-groomed appearance.
—One hundred percent.
Ruzek nodded confidently.
If that was true, then there was no doubt that Ramirez's gang was responsible for betraying Novak for the eight million dollars.
—Distribute their photographs to every department in the city.
Hank slammed his palm against the table.
—Train stations, bus terminals, airports. I want everyone to have their information. I don't want them leaving Chicago.
He pointed toward the others.
—And notify all your informants too.
The team immediately got to work.
Everyone except Ethan.
He remained in front of the board, studying the photographs.
Something still didn't add up.
How had the Colombians obtained such precise information about Novak's movements?
They couldn't have been watching the bank twenty-four hours a day. They were violent criminals, not professional surveillance operators. A job at that level required inside information.
The Colombians must have somehow discovered where Novak was.
And not only that.
They had to have known the exact moment to act. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been able to organize the robbery so quickly and eliminate Novak the following morning.
—What are you thinking?
Hank stepped up beside him.
Ethan took a lone photograph from one corner of the board and slid it between his fingers.
—Is there any chance there's a second mole in all this?
Only Erin, who was sitting closest to them, managed to hear him. She immediately stood and walked over.
—No way.
She looked at the photograph and her eyes widened slightly.
—Gonzales... Didn't we say he had no reason to do this?
It was a picture of the security guard who had hidden inside an office during the robbery.
Then she looked at Hank.
—He's only been working there for two weeks. I'm starting to suspect Gonzales got himself placed there so he could monitor the robbery from the inside and let them know when it happened. All he had to do was wait.
Everyone began considering the possibility.
Erin quickly returned to her desk and picked up the case file.
—I asked for his address when we took his statement. After yesterday's shooting, Gonzales should be resting at home.
She quickly flipped through the pages.
—Found it. It's here.
—Have a patrol unit go watch him first.
Hank gave Erin the instruction, then motioned to Ethan.
—Let's go. We need to confirm this one way or another.
Erin picked up the phone to contact Patrol while the others returned to their respective tasks.
Shortly afterward, they arrived at the address Erin had given them.
A patrol car was already parked along the curb.
—Bang.
Ethan closed the vehicle door and quickly walked toward his partners.
—Sergeant. Detective.
Atwater and Burgess stepped out of the car. Atwater nodded toward Hank and pointed to a nearby house.
—Nothing strange has happened since we got here.
—We haven't seen anyone come or go either.
—Good.
Ethan rested a hand on the grip of his weapon as he quickly crossed the front yard and climbed onto the porch.
The others followed.
Burgess, almost without realizing it, turned slightly sideways as she climbed the steps, remaining alert.
Her posture reminded Ethan of what she had said the last time they had been tracking a phone.
Ethan gave her a small smile, then raised his hand and knocked on the door.
Five points of light could be seen from inside. The sound of a cartoon came through one of the windows.
One of those points of light quickly moved toward the door.
Ethan brought his hand back to the grip of his weapon.
—Click.
The door opened.
A wide-eyed little boy looked at them curiously.
—Who are you looking for?
—Hi.
Seeing the other two children sitting in the living room, Ethan took his hand away from his weapon.
—We're Chicago police officers.
He crouched slightly to bring himself down to the boy's level.
—Is your dad home? We want to talk to him about what happened yesterday.
—Dad, someone's looking for you.
The boy shouted toward the stairs before running back to the couch.
Ethan and the others remained outside, waiting patiently.
A short while later, they heard footsteps on the stairs.
Gonzales appeared and quickly came downstairs.
When he saw them, he stopped for a fraction of a second before continuing toward the door.
—Hello. How can I help you? I already sent the surveillance footage to the email address you gave me.
—Yes, we received it.
Ethan studied the Colombian man with thick eyebrows and large eyes.
He smiled.
—But you forgot to mention something.
Gonzales remained silent.
—For example, what's your relationship with Rolo Ramirez?
Ethan tilted his head slightly.
—Or better yet, where is he? Could you tell us?
At the mention of Ramirez's name, a flash of panic crossed Gonzales's eyes.
It lasted barely a second, but Ethan saw it.
—I'm sorry... I don't know who you're talking about.
—Da, da, da, da...
Ethan raised a hand to stop him.
—I'm tired of hearing that answer. Give me something new.
The smile disappeared from his face.
—You're a good actor, I'll give you that.
He stepped closer.
—But I know when I'm being lied to.
Ethan held his gaze.
—So do me a favor and show me a little respect, all right?