Outside the hospital.
Rorschach had just hung up on the Irish brothers.
Gus's words that morning had clearly left a mark.
Family, he truly did not have.
But friends and partners… fine. He always liked to think of himself as a lone wolf, but there were a few people he could not honestly deny were friends.
He had already called them one by one, warning them to be extra careful for a while.
But that was only treating the symptom, not the disease. As long as Gus was alive, he and everyone around him would sleep with one eye open.
If he simply put a bullet in Gus, though, his own criminal past would be dragged into the light.
Kill a thousand enemies, lose eight hundred of his own.
He could try sneaking into Gus's home and stealing the safe… but with how paranoid Gus was, his villa would be crawling with armed guards now, patrolling in shifts. "Just stealing a safe" was easier said than done.
Rorschach sank into thought, coming up empty for a perfect solution.
But one thing was clear: Gus had to die, and it could not be put off for long.
If it came down to it, he would just have to be the lone wolf again and slip into Gus's house for a full‑scale slaughter.
"Hey! What evil plan are you spacing out over?"
Ginny had just walked out of the hospital. Seeing him lost in thought, she tapped his arm.
"Figuring out how many laps you're running behind the squad car today," Rorschach said, giving her a sideways look.
After a few days of rest, Ginny was back to her old self. There was no trace of the concussion.
"Ugh, heartless," she huffed, then brightened. "The chief said we've got a big case. You know what it is?"
"Get in the car. I'll fill you in. And leave the uniform. We're going north; plainclothes this time."
"Yes!"
Her eyes lit up. Only detectives got to work out of uniform. She had barely been a cop for a few days and was already pulling plainclothes duty.
She practically skipped to the passenger door and climbed in, urging him to move.
Watching the rookie's energy, some of the heaviness in Rorschach's chest eased.
Once they were on the road, he tossed the file onto her lap and gave her the rough outline.
Four victims: a high school couple, a student on the school hockey team—those three all attended the most expensive private school in Chicago and came from top‑tier families—and one even trickier: a statewide famous plastic surgeon with serious pull in the North Side.
Ginny nodded along as she skimmed the papers.
The girl in the couple had broken her neck at the rink three days ago. Preliminary ruling: accident.
Her boyfriend had been found in a motel yesterday, skull caved in with a blunt object.
The hockey player had been discovered the same day in a campus locker room, his head smashed repeatedly with a hockey stick.
The plastic surgeon had been found this morning at home, throat slashed.
Once she finished the witness statements, Ginny frowned. "Isn't it obvious? The last person all four saw alive was a girl named Maria. There's no such thing as that much coincidence. The killer has to be this Maria."
"No physical evidence. All the cameras at the scenes were disabled. Ever heard of 'in doubt, rule out'?"
Rorschach drove and lectured at the same time. "Maria is the surgeon's daughter and the other three victims' classmate. Sure, that puts her at the top of the list. But they didn't find her prints at any of the scenes."
"All those statements are just other kids talking. Read how they describe her: contempt, disgust, pity. That tells you she's not liked at school and is probably bullied a lot. Those statements aren't exactly reliable."
"And her mother backs her up—says Maria was with her at the grocery store when her father died. Store security cameras support that."
Ginny scratched her head. "So the girl's innocent? I mean, patricide… that does sound unlikely."
"Not necessarily," Rorschach said lightly.
He had never needed evidence to judge guilt.
——————————
As the third-largest metro area in the country, Chicago did not just have South and West Side slums. It also had the North Side.
In the South Side, a patrol car sighting was rare. In the North, there was one every couple of blocks, guarding the lives and property of the wealthy.
The cruiser rolled up in front of a luxury villa, where Rorschach and Ginny met the victim's daughter—and prime suspect—Maria Brennan.
His first impression: her skin was so pale it looked like the slightest touch would leave a mark. Delicate features and eyes full of sadness and fragility gave her the aura of an exquisitely breakable doll.
(Maria Brennan is from the film "The Uninvited.")
"Thank God, boss, you're finally back from your South Side vacation!" The homicide detectives on scene visibly relaxed when they saw him.
No matter how tough the case, when Rorschach was around, they usually had a suspect in cuffs fast. They were banking on this time being no different.
"I leave Homicide for a few days and you all turn into useless trash?"
Rorschach did not bother to be nice. After barking at them, he turned his gaze to a woman dressed like a high‑society matron.
Mrs. Brennan. Stay‑at‑home wife. Before marrying, she had been an anesthesiologist at a cosmetic surgery clinic.
"Boss, we've checked the house. No murder weapon." One officer leaned in to explain. "Mother and daughter claim an intruder broke in to rob them, but there's no CCTV in the house, so we can't verify."
Rorschach nodded. This one, Martin, had been his most reliable guy in Homicide—quick on the uptake.
"Get two K‑9 units. Sweep the drains and the yard for the weapon. Pull security footage from the neighborhood and review three blocks in every direction with local security. Look for any unfamiliar faces."
"And send people to his clinic. I want his recent patient list and any malpractice complaints. Also pull his full schedule for the last three days before he died."
"Jesus Christ, do I really have to walk you through this crap step by step?" Rorschach glared at them.
Hours had passed since the body was found, and they had not even done the basics.
At this pace, no wonder everyone said Chicago PD was useless.
Grumbled at like kids, the homicide team just chorused, "Yes, sir!" and scrambled.
The mother and daughter exchanged a look. This new cop seemed to have a decent rank—and an even worse temper.
Soon, only the two women, Rorschach, and Ginny—on her first homicide scene—were left inside.
Rorschach did not question them right away. He crouched beside the body first, giving it a close look.
The cut across the throat was unnaturally clean and smooth. The killer had struck fast and without a hint of hesitation. The dead man's face still held an expression of shock and disbelief.
Looked a lot like he had known whoever did it.
Rorschach touched the skin behind the man's ear, frowned slightly, then scanned the room.
The living room was a mess, drawers yanked and furniture overturned. That matched the story about a robber.
Then his gaze caught on a line of bottles in the kitchen cabinet—tranquilizers.
"My husband and I both have mild anxiety," Mrs. Brennan said quickly when she saw where he was looking.
Rorschach nodded and said nothing. He pulled a cigarette from his pack and had just raised the lighter when Maria spoke softly, "We don't allow smoking in the house."
"Perfect," Rorschach said, lighting up anyway. "Saves me from having to offer you one."
"You—"
Maria froze, taken aback. She was about to snap when her mother tugged her sleeve.
"Officer," Mrs. Brennan said, voice thick with grief, "a lot of terrible things have happened around my daughter lately. People are already saying she's the killer. I just want you to give our family the truth."
Rorschach crushed the cigarette under his heel, then looked straight at Maria's cool, distant eyes. "Mind if I talk to your daughter alone? Right here."
Mrs. Brennan frowned, but seeing Ginny approaching to lead her out, she could only nod and follow the younger officer into the yard.
The hall was suddenly quiet. Just Rorschach and Maria.
He lit another cigarette. Across from him, Maria flinched and said again, unable to help herself, "Please don't—"
"Shut the f*ck up."
His bark cut her off.
In the Eye of Judgment, a cloud of blood-red mist hung over the girl's head—the unmistakable sign of "execute on sight."
(End of Chapter)
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