After Jin stepped away to trace the guest lists from recent events, Erin refocused on the file. She flipped through several pages with a frown, clearly dissatisfied, until she finally looked up.
—So… who exactly is this guy? —she asked—. I mean, what is it that we're really looking for?
Rollins didn't answer right away. She opened the folder she'd brought from New York with meticulous care, as if every document carried its own weight. She took out several photographs and laid them on the table one by one: crime scenes, close-ups of the victims, details that were unsettling at first glance.
—This subject has already crossed a line —she said at last—. Our unit officially classifies him as a serial killer. Based on the patterns of assault and homicide, we've identified at least five distinct psychological profiles. He doesn't act on impulse… every attack is personal. Everything points to retaliatory assaults, driven by a precise, carefully focused rage.
The silence grew heavy.
Erin swallowed and pointed at one of the photos without touching it.
—Then… why did he cut off their ears?
Rusek stepped forward, leaning over the table to get a better look at the images.
Rollins met both of their gazes.
—In most cases, that kind of mutilation serves a clear purpose: souvenirs or trophies.
Odafin, who had remained silent until then, frowned with visible disgust.
—These types are usually psychopaths —he interjected—. They take pleasure in mutilating their victims and keeping body parts as symbols of power or as pieces of a personal collection. —He paused briefly—. It's more common than I'd like to admit.
Erin's expression darkened at that. She lowered her gaze for a moment, clearly affected. Antonio and Olinsky, on the other hand, remained serious and still; they knew from experience that psychopathic killers were the most unpredictable… and the hardest to stop.
Hank broke the silence in a practical tone.
—How long are you planning to stay? —he asked—. With your help, we can close this case much faster.
Rollins looked straight at him, without hesitation.
—We'll stay until we catch the bastard.
Hank nodded once.
—All right. Sit wherever you like. Consider this your home while you're here —he said, gesturing broadly toward the room.
—Thank you —Rollins replied.
She scanned the space, assessing it, until she finally chose the table where Julie had been sitting earlier. She set the folder down firmly, as if staking a claim.
Detective Odafin went straight to Halstead's seat and settled in, assuming it was going to be a long day.
The case had just begun. Hank handed them the Chicago case files, spoke with them briefly, and then returned to his office.
Rollins, seated across from Ethan, turned toward him with curiosity. Her blonde hair fell loosely over her shoulders as she studied him closely.
—You're not from Chicago, are you? —she said after a brief pause—. Sorry… it's just that your accent sounds familiar.
—Pennsylvania.
Ethan nodded with a faint smile, as if the question didn't surprise him.
—That's very close to New York.
Rollins's blonde hair swayed softly as she turned back to the screens, and her perfume lingered in the air for a moment, mixing with the constant hum of the monitors.
—You're a long way from home —Rollins said, without taking her eyes off the monitor.
—Yeah. Well, Sergeant Voight invited me personally. I couldn't exactly say no —Ethan replied.
Rollins tilted her head slightly.
—Huh… that's interesting.
Amanda's curious nature surfaced. It struck her as odd to see such a young detective; usually, reaching that position required many years of service, and the guy couldn't have been more than twenty-five. At that time, she was still a patrol officer herself and remembered well how much time and effort it had taken her to make detective after passing the exams.
The difference didn't go unnoticed. It unsettled her enough to want to dig deeper.
But a second later, the yellow light on the ceiling switched on. It was the signal Jin used to call them when he had new information. Ethan, Antonio, and Rusek stood up at the same time and headed downstairs together.
When they arrived, they saw Jin busy; he had already pulled the attendee list and gestured for them to wait a moment.
Antonio stepped closer, watching Jin filter data on the screen.
—Hey…
Rusek, leaning against the table, toyed with his stress ball.
—What do you think about Detective Rollins? —he asked—. She's pretty attractive, right?
—Tch…
Antonio didn't even bother turning around.
—I'll bet ten dollars your marriage doesn't last six months —Antonio said flatly.
—Huh? What are you talking about…? —Rusek shook his head—. Wendy and I don't mind appreciating the opposite sex.
—So you're telling me you'd tell your fiancée you worked with a hot detective from New York who completely blew you away?
Then he looked at Ethan.
—Well, no… but that's not the point. Besides, what do you think, Ethan?
—I'd say she's a solid seven point five out of ten —Ethan muttered.
Antonio turned his gaze back to Ethan.
—Isn't that a bit low? If we're being honest, Detective Rollins is really sexy.
Ethan said nothing. Calmly, he pulled out his phone and showed them a photo of Blake on his Instagram, posing in a swimsuit.
—Holy shit!
The three of them leaned in at the same time to look at the screen and nodded in unison:
—A perfect ten.
—Wow, she's really beautiful —Rusek said—. Is she your girlfriend?
He asked with envy, his eyes full of curiosity.
—No, just an old friend… and if you tell Erin what you just saw, I'll kill you —he joked, smiling.
But his eyes said something else, and that was enough to scare Rusek.
Ethan slipped the phone back into his pocket.
A few minutes later, Jin hit Enter.
—Done. This is the list of attendees from both conventions. There are a total of forty-five matches between names and dates. I cross-checked them against the DMV database and compared the results.
He unplugged the USB drive and connected it to another laptop.
—We'll take this to the informant. With a little luck, we'll get results —Antonio said as he picked up the laptop—. Good work.
If the tracking lead was correct, it would allow them to locate the target quickly instead of searching for a needle in a haystack of surveillance footage.
—No problem.
Antonio took the laptop, and the three of them headed upstairs together. He and Ethan went into the interrogation room, where Mitchell was yawning, visibly bored.
When he saw them come in, Mitchell forced himself to stay awake.
—Man, how much longer do I have to sit here? —Mitchell asked, slumped in the chair.
Antonio leaned on the table before Ethan could answer.
—Not much longer —he said calmly—. But while you're here, you'd better help us.
Ethan nodded and got straight to the point.
—If you cooperate, you'll be out of here soon.
He pulled over a chair, sat across from Mitchell, and opened the laptop.
—Look at these photos carefully —Antonio added—. Tell us if you recognize the man you saw in the park. Don't rush.
The images began to scroll one after another. The hum of the equipment and the click of the mouse were the only sounds in the room.
After several minutes, Mitchell rubbed his face and then his head, clearly impatient.
—How many photos are there?
—As many as it takes —Ethan replied, not hiding his impatience—. Keep looking.
Antonio tilted his head slightly, watching him.
—Focus —he said—. This matters.
Mitchell sighed, rubbed his eyes, and fixed his gaze back on the screen.
—Wait a second… —he said, frowning—. Can you go back two photos?
Ethan did.
Mitchell scanned a few more images. Suddenly, his expression changed. He leaned forward and pointed at the screen.
—This one. That's him. The man I saw lurking around the park.
—Are you sure? —Ethan asked, freezing the image.
On the screen was a white man, blond, well dressed. He didn't look like a serial killer.
But Antonio didn't look away. Experience had taught him that appearances almost always deceived.
—Are you absolutely sure? —Antonio pressed.
Mitchell nodded without hesitation.
—I swear. I make a living recognizing people. You can trust me.
Ethan closed the laptop.
—All right, you're free to go. In a moment, a couple of officers will escort you out. Don't get into trouble —he said, handing him a card—. And if you remember anything else, call me.
Mitchell took the card.
—You got it, detective.
—You got it, detective.
Ethan stood up and left the interrogation room with Antonio, both already focused on the next step. They went straight to the office. Ethan printed a photo of the suspect and pinned the image of the blond man to the board.
—Our friend Mitchell identified this man as Jeffrey Baker. He attended trade shows in both New York and Chicago. Jin pulled his information from the DMV database.
—Good.
Hank nodded, satisfied. He looked around. Rollins and Odafin were from New York and had no authority in Chicago. Olinsky and Rusek were the primary leads for undercover work. With few options, he turned to Erin.
—Erin, you and Ethan go find Jeffrey Baker and bring him in for questioning. Don't push it. I don't want to scare him off before we have anything solid on him.
He knew Erin could get emotional with cases like this, and Ethan—well, subtlety wasn't exactly his strong suit when dealing with suspects. So he gave them a warning. They both knew how to behave, but a reminder never hurt.
Erin nodded and grabbed her coat.
Just as she looked at Ethan, a set of keys flew toward them. They rushed out of the station, jumped into the Chevrolet SUV, and sped off toward the Plaza Hotel.
At the conference organizers' reception desk, Ethan showed his badge and quickly obtained the attendee's information. According to the schedule, Baker was attending a conference at that very moment.
Without evidence, they couldn't arrest him; all they could do was wait patiently outside the conference room. They already had an idea of how they'd get him back to the station—by feeding him a fake story.
—By the way, we need to come up with a believable story for tonight —Erin said, interrupting him shortly after sitting down.
—What do you mean? —he asked, confused.
—Our stupid cover story —Erin clarified, trying to explain it as sensibly as possible—. They're going to ask where we met, what you do for a living. You're the owner of a tech company; for your age, that sounds more believable, you know?
Ethan smacked his forehead.
—Couldn't I be a shareholder in a Native casino? You know, one of those guys who does nothing and still makes over two million a year?
Erin looked at him like he'd just said the dumbest thing of the day.
—Who would believe that?
—All right, I was just saying.
Ethan shook his head, resigned to playing along. What kind of damn movie cliché was this? Then again, technically he was living in a world of TV shows and movies—so maybe it was more a rule than an exception.
That sudden display of confidence caught Erin off guard. After a moment, she recovered and nodded with satisfaction.
She crossed her legs and studied him closely, as if assessing a battle plan.
—All right —she said—. Official version: we met in Hawaii.
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
—Hawaii?
—Yes. We met by chance, it was raining a little that day, nothing dramatic. We ran into each other at the hotel, talked at the bar… —she smiled—. We ended up having dinner by candlelight, one thing led to another, and we've been together ever since.
—Wow, you really thought of everything —Ethan murmured.
—That's the point. If it helps, think of it like building an alibi. The more details we have, the less chance someone trips us up.
—And is it really necessary to go into that much detail? —he asked—. I mean, no one's going to ask for a minute-by-minute timeline.
—Never underestimate human boredom —she replied seriously—. There's always someone who asks too many questions.
Ethan watched her for a second, thoughtful… then smiled.
—Well, then we'd better be prepared. What would we say about our first time?
Erin blinked.
—Excuse me?
—Details —he insisted, amused—. You know, the basics. Was it tender? Awkward? Memorable?
—Ethan…
—Or how about something more practical? —he continued—. What color was your lingerie? I need to know in case someone asks.
—You're impossible!
Erin shook her head, though a treacherous smile slipped through.
—Who the hell would ask that?
—There's always someone —Ethan shrugged—. Besides, you said the more details, the better.
Erin leaned closer, lowering her voice.
—If you stop talking —she said softly— tonight I'll wear exactly whatever you choose… from Victoria's Secret.
Ethan caught the warning instantly.
—Okay, okay, deal —he said quickly—. Let's talk about something important… the ring.
Erin leaned back in her chair, thoughtful.
—I was thinking of borrowing one. My informant can get them at no cost.
Ethan shook his head immediately.
—No way. You're not wearing a secondhand ring.
She looked at him, surprised.
—Seriously?
—Completely —he replied—. Even if this is fake, my girl isn't wearing a used ring.
Erin studied him for a second… then smiled.
—So, what do you suggest?
—After this, we go to a jewelry store —he said casually—. We pick something decent. Nothing flashy, but something that looks real.
Erin took his hand, carefully measuring his finger.
—Wow —she murmured—. You're really taking this role seriously.
—I'm just committed to making the lie work —Ethan said—. The rest… we'll see.
She looked up, holding his gaze a second longer than necessary.
—Sure —she said—. We'll see.
Bang.
The doors of the adjacent conference room burst open, and attendees began pouring out all at once. When it came to work, both of them maintained a high level of professionalism.
They stood up immediately, alert to whoever emerged. A minute later, the door opened and a white man appeared, wearing brown slacks and a blue shirt. He walked with confidence; his blond hair was perfectly styled. He smiled naturally.
Avoiding the crowd, Ethan and Erin approached him.
—Jeffrey Baker?
Ethan stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
—Do you need something?
Baker kept typing on his phone.
—Chicago Police Department.
Erin moved the badge clipped to her belt.
—I'm Detective Lindsay, and this is Detective Morgan.
—There's been reported damage to your hotel room. The establishment filed a complaint. We'd appreciate it if you came with us to the station so we can ask you a few questions.
Baker sent one last message before turning off his phone.
—I'm sorry, as you can see, I'm very busy.
—And I haven't damaged anything in the hotel, I assure you. —He flashed his trademark smile, showing perfectly white teeth.
—I believe you, Mr. Baker. In that case, you won't mind coming with us to the precinct to clear up the misunderstanding.
Ethan nodded.
Erin stepped aside and gestured with her arm.
—This way, Mr. Baker.
Under the watchful eyes of the two detectives, Jeffrey Baker slowly pressed his lips together before moving forward.
Later, at the station, the three of them sat in the interrogation room, wrapped in an uncomfortable silence. Since taking their seats, Ethan had limited himself to flipping through a blank file, not saying a single word.
Erin, on the other hand, hadn't taken her eyes off Jeffrey Baker.
He showed no sign of nervousness whatsoever; his professional smile remained intact—calm, calculated. That composure felt strange. Erin couldn't help wondering if, after all, they'd brought in the wrong person.
She shook her head, dismissing the thought, and picked up the bottle of water beside her.
—Mr. Baker…
Erin slowly unscrewed the cap and poured water into two disposable cups.
—How long have you been in Chicago?
—Not long, about five days.
—You're from St. Louis, right?
—That's right.
Baker answered briefly, accompanied by a smile.
—You must be thirsty, Mr. Baker.
Erin slid one of the cups toward him.
—No, thank you.
Jeffrey Baker glanced at the cup, smiled, and shook his head.
—Have you been to Riverside Walk?
Ethan launched the question suddenly.
—What does that have to do with my hotel room?
Baker reacted quickly, not only dodging the question but throwing it right back. His smile was too perfect, more a mask than a genuine expression.
The calm with which he had walked in wasn't natural; instead of reassuring, it betrayed unease.
A normal person wouldn't behave like this. Walking into a police station, anyone would show nerves, try to justify themselves, or lose their composure—even a little.
His serenity only reinforced Ethan's conviction: this was their man.
—Let me ask you one more time.
Ethan leaned forward, serious.
—Have you been to Riverside Walk?
Baker smiled with false courtesy.
—As I said, what does this have to do with my hotel room? Now I'm starting to suspect you have ulterior motives.
Erin watched him closely.
—What do you think our purpose is?
—I have no idea. Just a hunch, Detective. I haven't damaged the hotel property, so I'm not sure why I'm here—unless you have another reason. —Baker shrugged, feigning calm.
Ethan slammed his palm on the table. The sharp sound cut through the air.
—Answer my question. Have you been to Riverside Walk?
—You know, the other day I saw a very interesting video on YouTube.
Baker shifted strategies instantly. His voice took on a polished, almost commercial tone.
—There's a pretty popular video going around; you should watch it —he said—. It was made by a law professor from Oxford University. His conclusion is simple: never talk to the police.
He held Ethan's gaze without blinking.
—No offense, but I have the right to remain silent. —He added, raising his hands without losing his smile.
Ethan closed the file with a sharp snap. When he spoke, his voice was cold, unforgiving.
—Do you think this is a game, Mr. Baker?
Ethan leaned forward.
Baker's smile vanished completely.
—I don't know what you want from me —Baker said—, but whatever it is, you've got the wrong person.
He paused and took a deep breath before continuing.
—I want to exercise my right to call a lawyer.
At that moment, someone knocked on the door.
Antonio opened it and gave a brief hand gesture, signaling them to step out of the room.
—There's been another attack at Riverside Walk.
Antonio closed the door harder than necessary before speaking. The frustration was evident in his voice.
Ethan looked up immediately.
—Who's on scene?
—Olinsky and Rusek —Antonio replied—. They're securing the perimeter.
—The victim…? —Erin asked, holding her breath.
—Still alive. For now.
Erin checked her watch, visibly shaken.
—We were bringing him to the station at that exact moment.
The observation room door opened, and Rollins stepped out with Odafin. Rollins tucked her blond hair behind her ear, thoughtful.
—So… it's not him? —she asked.
—What did you see? —Ethan said, choosing his words carefully.
—Nothing conclusive —she replied—. Just trivialities. He's hard to read.
Rollins frowned.
—He's extremely guarded. Don't be fooled by that constant smile; he's always on alert.
—That's not unusual anymore —Odafin chimed in, raising his hands—. The guys who walk in and confess everything stopped existing years ago. Too many cop shows.
—All right —Ethan said, nodding—. Let's go to the hospital first.
He looked at Rollins.
—Can you keep an eye on him?
—Of course —she replied without hesitation—. I'll stay with him.
They shook hands and left their New York colleagues behind, hurrying toward the Chicago hospital.
Outside the room, Ethan stopped by the window. Inside, Erin was questioning the victim. It wouldn't have been appropriate for them to go in, so they waited in silence.
On the bed lay a Black teenage girl. Her face was swollen, covered in purple and blue bruises, almost unrecognizable.
—She was lucky… —Hank murmured gravely.
Minutes later, Erin stepped out of the room, clutching her notebook in anger.
—She's sixteen —she said—. She fought to get away.
The girl noticed the stares from the hallway and turned her head, saying nothing.
Hank's breathing grew rough.
—Any usable leads?
—Blond hair, brown eyes —Erin answered immediately—. The attacker had a scratch near his eye. There's DNA under her nails; I already requested processing.
—Good —Hank said, resting his hands on his hips—. What color were the eyes of the guy at the station?
—Blue —Erin replied, shaking her head—. And at that moment, Ethan and I were transporting him.
—Then rule him out —Hank ordered—. Notify all clinics and hospitals with the suspect's description. Look for anyone with eye injuries.
—I have a problem with that —Ethan said suddenly.
Everyone turned to him.
—There's no proof the attacker is acting alone.
Hank stopped.
—You think it's a group?
—In this line of work, we accept coincidences —Ethan said—, but something doesn't fit here. The attack happens exactly when we take him into custody—that's not random. The attacker follows a clear pattern: young, Caucasian victims.
At that moment, something felt different. He had never been this deductive before. Maybe that new trait—so far dormant—had finally activated; something about this case had triggered it.
—Predators with this profile rarely change their target type —he continued—. This attack isn't driven by primary sexual impulse. It's a desperate act, designed to distract us.
He nodded, convinced.
—To me, Baker is the key. During the interrogation, he was too calm, almost as if he'd been waiting for us. He was prepared. Overly cautious. An innocent man would've reacted with anger, accused us, threatened to sue us before blinking. He didn't do that. He was provoking us.
Hank studied him closely.
—And your proposal?
Ethan didn't hesitate.
—Let him go.
Silence fell like a blow.
—Bring Olinsky and Rusek back. They won't find anything in the park; the guy's already gone. Let forensics do their job —he continued—. Instead, put Baker under surveillance. If he's part of something, he'll lead us straight to his accomplice.
Erin thought about it for a second… then nodded firmly.
—I agree. Let's do it your way.
Hank pulled out his phone.
—I'll notify them.
Antonio did the same.
—I'll alert the patrol cars and foot units. Don't let him out of sight.
As both men hurried off, Erin clenched her teeth.
—She's only sixteen.
—You have no idea what that guy did to her —Hank murmured.
—We will —Ethan said, giving him a firm pat on the back—. Let's go.
His gaze hardened.
—Let's catch that bastard.