The interlude ended, and Ethan and Erin headed toward the nearby stairwell.
—You go back first. I'll go with Jin.
Ethan turned and walked toward the garage. When he reached the technical room, Jin was playing on his PSP. Seeing Ethan come in, he set the console aside.
—The video hasn't been sent yet. I'll let you know as soon as I hear something.
It was an official matter; the footage would be sent directly to Jin.
—Alright. Just one more thing.
Ethan placed a hand on Jin's shoulder.
—Tell me.
Even though Ethan hadn't been there long, he had a good relationship with Jin. He was one of the people he interacted with most in the Intelligence Unit.
—Hank wants to see the video before anyone else. As soon as you have it, notify either me or Hank immediately —Ethan said seriously—. No one can view the footage before he and I do. That includes you. Do you understand what I'm saying?
Jin's expression turned serious; a request like that wasn't common.
He nodded and extended his fist toward Ethan.
—Don't worry. No problem.
After bumping fists and giving him a pat on the shoulder, Ethan headed back upstairs.
He entered the office, closed the door, and motioned for Hank to activate the signal jammer.
—The only possible evidence is the surveillance footage from the construction site by the lake. I already gave Jin instructions—once the video is in his hands, he'll notify us first.
—Good —Hank nodded, visibly more relaxed—. I trust Jin.
—Also, I found an excuse and took care of IA. I'll transfer the case to Homicide later. Once we confirm the surveillance footage has nothing on Justin, they won't find anything.
—Then that works.
—Oh, by the way, Hank —Ethan added—, I wanted to ask you something real quick.
Hank looked up, curious.
—Go on.
—A couple of days off —Ethan said—. A friend from Pennsylvania is coming to visit.
Hank blinked, surprised.
—Days off? —he repeated, then smirked—
—Yeah. Even I need a break sometimes —Ethan replied.
Hank let out a small laugh and shook his head.
—Alright. Take the weekend.
Ethan nodded.
—Thanks —he said, sincerely.
—Just keep your phone close —Hank added—. You know, just in case.
Ethan nodded, and the conversation ended.
Back at his seat, everyone—except Antonio—was in the bullpen.
There was no point in continuing the investigation for now. Not much time passed before Hank opened the door and stepped out.
—Guys.
He gestured toward the board. The victim's photo and the surveillance still had been removed.
—Based on what we have so far, this looks like a routine homicide, no signs of a gang war —Hank said with a shrug—. I'm transferring the case to Homicide. Sorry for wasting your time.
Erin was stunned. The surveillance video hadn't even arrived yet—why shut it down so quickly?
She was about to speak, but Hank's look stopped her.
Olinsky and Ruzek signaled for her to let it go. With only one photo and a blurry surveillance image, they hadn't gotten far either.
—Wait a second!
Antonio came up the stairs at that moment.
He was holding several folders, his expression serious.
—Everyone, take a look. I found some leads.
As he spoke, he handed out the documents.
Ethan opened a folder and narrowed his eyes.
The first photo was identical to the one Hank had shown that morning—same angle, unchanged. Among several people stood a bald man with black hair, holding a cup of coffee.
—Alessio Colo.
Antonio walked straight to the board and pinned the photo up without looking at Hank.
—He's the head of an Italian gang on the South Side. Loan sharking, extortion, armed robbery—everything in his territory.
He extended his fingers one by one, staring directly at Hank.
—CPD thought he'd retired. But now there's evidence he's active again.
—What do you think you're doing? —Hank snapped, stepping forward, his cheeks puffed with anger.
—This is Joe Catalano.
Antonio ignored him and put up the next photo.
When Erin saw it, her expression hardened.
—He was released from prison recently. Alessio's nephew.
Antonio took the photo Hank had removed earlier and put it back on the board.
—The victim we found this morning, Fitori, made a deal with the DA years ago to testify against some of his associates. Fitori walked free. Joe Catalano did several years in prison.
Olinsky stood and joined them at the board.
—Looks like Catalano started his revenge as soon as he got out.
He tapped the surveillance still.
—So the question is: if Catalano dumped the body, who was driving the car?
—Doesn't matter who it was.
Antonio looked from Alessio's photo to Hank.
—This is exactly what we need to investigate.
Ruzek raised a hand, ready to speak, but the bullpen fell silent.
Hank and Antonio stood face-to-face at the board.
Both wore dark expressions. The difference was clear: Hank was furious; Antonio was deeply disgusted.
Hank had just said they wouldn't investigate. Antonio had just dropped a mountain of evidence on the table.
Antonio had never thought Hank would act this way. He'd always put the case first. But his reaction made one thing clear—something wasn't right. Someone had fed Antonio this information, and it could only be the same people who had fed Hank.
Olinsky stepped in immediately, pulling another photo from the folder—a man in a leather jacket.
—I know this guy.
—He used to be close with Fitori. Very close.
—Yeah. He's probably next —Antonio said, looking away—. He was also one of the ones who made a deal with the state back then.
—Then it's settled —Olinsky removed the toothpick from his mouth—. Ruzek and I will watch him. We'll look for a chance to bring him in and see what he knows.
Hank spoke in a low voice, restraining himself.
—Ethan and I are coming too.
—Then I'm not staying out either —Antonio replied, not backing down.
The tension was so thick even Ruzek could feel it.
—Come on. We need to talk in my office.
Hank stared at Antonio stiffly.
—Fine.
Antonio tossed the folder aside and went in first.
Bang!
The door slammed shut behind Hank.
The others exchanged looks. Ethan studied the photos still in his hands—almost identical to the morning ones, with a few new additions he hadn't seen before.
Hank wouldn't hide anything from him. He'd told him earlier that Internal Affairs had agreed to transfer the case, but now it looked like they weren't as agreeable as Hank thought.
Not only that—they'd pulled Antonio in to box Hank into a corner.
Erin and Olinsky quickly returned to their desks, glancing toward the office.
With no other options, Ethan stood and headed toward the break room, Erin following.
Ruzek tried to follow, but Olinsky pushed him back into his seat.
—Knew something was off. What exactly are you hiding?
Olinsky looked at Ethan seriously as well.
—What's going on?
Ethan was just as worried, unsure where to begin.
But the two people in front of him were Hank's adopted daughter and his oldest partner. There was no reason to hide anything now.
Ethan sighed.
—Hank wanted to keep things as sealed as possible.
—What exactly is happening? —Erin lowered her voice, a bad feeling settling in her chest.
—The person driving Catalano's car… we suspect it was Justin.
Ethan shrugged, revealing only part of the truth.
—What the hell? Why didn't you tell me sooner?
Erin grabbed him by the collar, completely shaken.
For both of them to suspect it meant it was almost ninety percent certain—only the proof was missing. When Justin showed up at her door the night before, she'd already felt something was wrong.
At first, she thought it was just a bar fight. She never imagined it was this serious.
In his agitation, Olinsky snapped the toothpick in his hand.
He'd watched Justin grow up and never expected to hear his name come out of Ethan's mouth.
—How far did it go? Did he…?
Olinsky lowered his voice and made a gun gesture with his hand.
—It's not clear. We think he was just driving.
Ethan shook his head.
—Damn it. Damn it…
Erin paced back and forth, nervous.
—What do we do now? He can't go back to prison. He won't survive it.
Adopted or not, Justin had always been her brother.
—Easy.
Olinsky waved a hand, the broken toothpick falling to the floor.
—We'll find a solution.
—First, we bring in Catalano's next target. There can't be any more bodies, or this becomes impossible to contain.
Regardless of Antonio's position, they couldn't allow any more loss of life.
Later…
Since Olinsky knew the next target often visited a tanning salon on the North Side—far outside Alessio Colo's territory—he directed the team straight there.
The location sat at an intersection.
Antonio's and Erin's vehicles were positioned diagonally across from each other, while Olinsky and Ruzek covered another direction.
Three cars watched the area.
—This place looks like a tanning salon, but it's really a money-laundering front —Olinsky said through the earpiece—. From here, we've got good visibility.
Ethan wasn't focused on the earpiece.
He reached up and turned off his mic, then looked at Hank.
Only when Hank did the same did he speak.
—Erin and Olinsky already know Justin was involved in Fitori's death. There was no other choice. You and Antonio made the situation too tense.
Hank shook his head helplessly. He hadn't wanted things to reach this point either.
Who would've thought Internal Affairs would use Antonio to screw him over?
—By the way —Ethan glanced at the rearview mirror—, what's going on with Antonio? Why did he have the photos you got from Internal Affairs?
—I was set up —Hank clenched his teeth—. Right now, the main lead is in Antonio's hands. They're trying to pressure me into handing over what they want.
—Don't worry. I'll deal with them when this is over.
He looked at Ethan, something strange flickering in his eyes.
—This looks like one thing, but it's really two fronts. Internal Affairs thinks Alessio ordered Catalano to act and that I was involved. They're trying to pull me into the investigation.
—Damn…
Ethan understood immediately.
—But without Justin, this has nothing to do with you.
—Exactly.
Hank let out a bitter laugh.
—I talked to Alessio. His nephew acted on his own—pure revenge.
—Then he's a ticking time bomb now —Ethan slammed his fist against the window—. If he uses what he knows about you, who knows what kind of insanity comes next.
Hank's eyes wavered. He'd originally planned to give Catalano money and force him to disappear.
Now it didn't seem like that would be enough.
A burst of static cut through the silence.
—Target spotted —Erin's voice came through.
Ethan tensed as he saw the man in the leather jacket, messy blond hair, step out from a nearby corner.
Before they could react, the glass door of a nearby café burst open.
Catalano, his long face tense, walked toward the man, hands inside his jacket.
—Damn it.
Hank threw open the car door and shouted:
—Catalano!
The shout echoed down the street.
The man in the leather jacket didn't look back. He dove behind a nearby dumpster—his survival instinct was impressive.
Catalano froze too. Realizing something was wrong, he bolted toward an alley.
Ethan opened his door and kept pace with Hank.
The three sprinted through the alley and emerged beneath the overpass.
Antonio's voice crackled through the earpiece—the incident had been sudden, no one had been ready.
Ethan pushed himself faster, quickly pulling ahead of Hank.
Catalano wasn't far. He glanced back nervously, gripping a gun.
Just as he hesitated, Ethan didn't raise his weapon.
Instead, he stopped and pointed in another direction.
—That way!
Catalano's face lit up. He looked at Hank with relief as Hank slowed, then slipped between two buildings.
Within seconds, the others arrived.
—Sorry, he got away —Ethan panted, hands raised.
—Damn it.
Antonio looked at the two of them and kicked a stone in frustration.
Back at the precinct, the others headed upstairs.
Ethan stayed outside the garage, smoking as usual. Letting Catalano escape wasn't weakness. Killing him then would've caused far bigger problems for Hank.
Antonio didn't go upstairs. He walked toward Ethan, anger still etched on his face.
—What the hell were you two doing back there? I know you and Hank are close, but in this case, Hank is way too involved.
—I don't know what you're talking about —Ethan said, trying to sound indifferent—. And you'd better choose your next words very carefully, Detective Dawson.
Ethan stared at him, brow furrowed, his face set in unyielding seriousness. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
—Those photos I showed you earlier aren't mine —Antonio continued—. Someone who knows exactly what's at stake gave them to me. And there's something else you should know: Hank has the same photos, and he chose to hide them —he went on— because Alessio is his friend. Hank has his way of doing things, and believe me, I respect that.
He paused, letting the information sink in.
—But not with something like this. We're cops. There are lines you don't cross. We can look the other way sometimes. We can use gang members, negotiate with them, even cooperate if the job demands it… —he leaned in slightly— but we never become part of them.
Ethan flicked his finger, the cigarette butt falling to the ground with a hiss.
He turned his head. Antonio watched him seriously. They each had their own circumstances, and that shaped their choices.
Still, Antonio was a good cop, and Ethan respected him for it.
—Antonio, I think there's been a misunderstanding. Things aren't what you think —Ethan said bluntly—. Why don't you talk to Hank?
—What kind of misunderstanding? —Antonio asked, hands on his hips—. Is there something I don't know?
Ethan studied him for a few seconds, then raised a hand, cutting off any reply.
—Internal Affairs gave you those photos, didn't they?
He didn't wait for an answer.
—No need to deny it —he continued, voice low but firm—. I'll say this one last time: talk to Hank before you do something stupid.
He stepped forward just enough to invade Antonio's space without touching him.
—Someone's trying to play us —he added—. Divide us. Push us into making mistakes.
His eyes never left Antonio's.
—This isn't just about a career. There are people waiting for us to cross a line that can never be erased.
Antonio stayed silent for a few seconds. Then he turned and headed upstairs.
A few minutes later, Jin called from the technical room:
—The surveillance video has been sent.
—Thanks.
Ethan pulled the file up on the screen, dragged over a chair, and sat down.
—Jin, why don't you go grab lunch? It's on me.
Before Ethan could say anything else, Jin checked his watch and left.
—Yeah, sure.
Ethan took out his phone and sent a message.
Moments later, hurried footsteps echoed.
Not only Hank came down—Erin was with him.
Ethan didn't know what Antonio had said to Hank, but his face was flushed, though much of the anger had faded.
Ethan moved the mouse and opened the file.
When the video began to play, the same car they'd seen before appeared on screen.
He paused the image.
Even at night, the frontal footage was clear enough to identify the driver: Justin.
Hank staggered for a second, then steadied himself.
—It's Justin.
Hank's voice was filled with fury.
—That kid is an accomplice to murder.
—Not necessarily —Erin shook her head hard—. Justin isn't capable of killing someone. There has to be another reason.
—The video is clear —Hank clenched his fist—. What more do you need?
—We need to find him now and clear this up —Erin pulled out her phone—. He won't answer your calls, but he'll answer mine.
As she spoke, she ran out.
Ethan deleted the video without a word and stood in front of Hank.
Their eyes met.
A flash of murderous intent crossed Hank's gaze.
He pulled a piece of paper and his car keys from his pocket and spoke quietly:
—Handle it.