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The two of them began talking, and Ethan tuned the walkie-talkie to the public channel, where internal police communications could occasionally be heard.
Based on the information available and the surrounding area, they quickly came up with a plan.
Veronica and Carl would run a little farther away and use a payphone to call the case hotline, falsely reporting a location to confuse the police.
Of the people who remained, Kevin would go back to the bar to spread the news.
Ian would also use a payphone to call 911, but both locations they reported would be along the preselected route.
That route was isolated enough not to attract anyone's attention.
Lip, Debbie, and Liam would go to the designated spot first, while Fiona would bring Casey.
After the two groups met at the agreed location, Fiona would switch places with Liam and head to the Jackson family's house, creating an alibi.
The Jackson house was right next to the scene of the incident.
That would also make it easier for Fiona to follow up afterward and complete any missing information.
As for Debbie, she would have to return to the scene alone with Casey and bring the child back.
For that, Ethan and Lip even came up with a story.
They called Debbie over and made her memorize it perfectly, word for word, to avoid any accidents.
—You don't have anything to worry about.
Ethan looked at Debbie and spoke to her patiently.
—These words may be necessary, but you have to memorize them. I'll be there with you, so you don't have to be scared, all right?
—Mmm.
Debbie nodded quickly.
The others also breathed a sigh of relief after hearing Ethan's words.
If he was there to help her, the situation would be completely different.
Debbie was only a child, and if other officers questioned her for too long, contradictions could easily appear in her story.
The mention of the Jackson family suddenly awakened a question in Ethan's mind.
—This morning, while I was investigating, I ran into Frank at Eddie Jackson's house. Do you know what's going on there?
—What else could be going on? My father apparently charmed Eddie's wife, and now he's staying at her house. Can you believe it? He lives with them now.
Fiona shook her head and said.
It turned out that the last time Frank had been beaten up, Eddie Jackson had been the one who did it.
The origin of it all had been the incident between Ian and Karen.
Eddie had caught them when Karen was giving Ian a blowjob under the kitchen table. The problem was that, unable to find Ian to unleash his fury on, Eddie had ended up focusing all his rage on Frank.
Later, Frank found out that the scandal had been the final straw in Eddie's marriage. Sheila, his wife, had started the separation process, and Frank, being Frank, did not take long to see an opportunity where any decent person would have seen a family disaster.
He approached the poor woman with a mixture of false understanding, shameless opportunism, and that peculiar ability of his to seem harmless right before installing himself in someone's life.
Not even they seemed to fully understand what kind of relationship they had now, but one thing was clear: Frank had no intention of leaving anytime soon. There, he had hot food, a roof over his head, and someone willing to take care of him without asking too many questions.
For Frank Gallagher, that was practically paradise. Since then, he rarely came home.
Ethan scratched his head and glanced sideways at Ian.
Something did not quite add up.
From what he knew—or what he thought he knew—Ian was gay. So why would he have ended up in a situation like that with Karen? Had he been wrong in his assumption?
Ian noticed Ethan's look almost immediately. His body tensed, and he shifted uncomfortably in place, as if he knew exactly where Ethan's thoughts were going.
—All right, that's everything.
There was not much more to say. Ethan gave a light clap to get everyone's attention.
—Does anyone have any questions before we do this?
—Yes.
Carl raised his hand, scratching his buzzed hair with a practical expression.
—The place Lip told me to go is too far, and I don't have a bike.
—Cough.
Ian coughed in a very unsubtle way and vaguely pointed toward the kitchen.
—There are some bolt cutters in the top drawer. You can figure something out, right?
Carl looked at him for a second. Then a slow smile appeared on his face, as if he had just received divine blessing.
—Yeah. I know what to do.
Fiona closed her eyes tiredly.
—I don't want to know.
—Me neither —Ethan murmured.
So he decided to pretend he had not heard that conversation. There were enough problems in that house without starting to worry about where Carl's next bicycle would come from.
Instead, he walked over to Debbie.
The girl was still quiet, her hands clasped tightly in front of her and her gaze lowered. There was no trace left of her earlier stubbornness. Only guilt, fear, and that delayed understanding that what she had done could destroy much more than a birthday afternoon.
Ethan crouched slightly in front of her, just enough to look her in the eyes.
—Listen to me carefully, Debbie. This isn't just for you. It's for Fiona, Lip, Ian, Carl, and Liam. It's for your whole family.
Debbie swallowed and nodded slowly.
—I know.
—I need you to do exactly what we talked about. No making things up, no getting nervous and saying weird things, no mentioning words we shouldn't mention. Just breathe, answer what you need to answer, and stay calm.
—I can do it —she said quietly.
—Are you sure?
Debbie squeezed her little hands tightly and looked at everyone present, one by one. Her eyes shone, not with excitement, but with regret.
The intense discussion she had heard, the tense faces of Fiona and Veronica, the distant sound of sirens in the street… all of it had made it clear to her that this was not a game.
—Yes —she murmured— I know what to do.
Ethan watched her for another second, then took one of her hands and gently brushed his thumb over her knuckles.
—Good luck.
Debbie looked up.
—Am I going to get in trouble?
Ethan did not lie.
—That depends on how well we do this.
The girl lowered her head again.
Ethan softened his voice a little.
—But if you behave and do exactly what I told you, I'll buy you a present afterward.
Debbie lifted her head immediately. Her eyes lit up with a mixture of childish hope and relief.
—Really?
—Of course.
Ethan gently pinched her nose and smiled.
—I'll take you to the mall so you can pick it out yourself. I promise.
If Debbie did something like this, other people would probably think she had a serious mental illness.
Of course, Ethan felt more or less the same way.
But more importantly, it was the lack of family support that had led her to do something like this.
While the Gallagher family had been busy fighting to survive, everyone had overlooked Debbie's emotional needs.
As she herself had said, she only needed a friend.
Once everything had been clearly explained, the group left one by one.
Seeing Fiona still worried, Ethan walked over and hugged her.
—Don't worry. Everything will be fine.
—I'm worried about Debbie —Fiona said, hugging Ethan tightly and whispering— Even now, she hasn't apologized. Besides, she'll have to take Casey back by herself later. I'm worried she'll have problems.
—She knows she was wrong. I think she learned her lesson. There's no need to punish her any more.
Ethan kissed her on the forehead.
—Don't worry. Debbie is a smart girl.
Fiona was not sure, and with a bitter smile, she said:
—You think so?
They got into the car, and Ethan drove Fiona and Casey to the agreed location.
After waiting a brief moment, Lip appeared in the distance, carrying Liam in his arms, with Debbie following closely behind him.
—All right, let's put the plan into action.
Ethan looked back toward the stroller, warning Fiona.
—Yes.
There was no one nearby, so Fiona quickly got out of the car. She opened the side door and took out the stroller. Casey was lying inside, completely covered.
Soon, Casey and Liam would be switched.
Fiona would openly walk down the street for a while, letting surveillance cameras catch her with a Black child, and only then would she head to the Jackson house.
After that, it would be Debbie's turn to act, with Lip watching her closely.
Seeing the group gather, Ethan turned the steering wheel.
He still had to wait at the scene from that morning, and every now and then, police cars could be seen passing along the road.
If it had not been for his car, making the switch would have been very difficult for them.
As he approached the area, he saw two familiar faces at the intersection.
—Hey, what are you doing here?
Ethan slowed down and rolled down the window.
—Hi.
Burgess, who had been leaning against the patrol car, quickly straightened.
—The department assigned us here to watch the area —Burgess explained, approaching the Ford Interceptor's window— You know, because of the missing person case.
Ethan looked at her for a second. Then his gaze shifted to Atwater, who was leaning against the patrol car.
—You two look a little tired.
—We've been standing here all morning —Burgess replied, crossing her arms— Neighbors who didn't see anything, and curious people who want to know everything.
—That's tragic.
—Don't make fun of us.
Ethan turned off the engine, opened the door, and stepped out of the Interceptor with a calm smile. He walked toward her with that easy confidence.
—Since you're not going to lunch, I'm buying.
—You?
—Of course. Surprised? Come on. If anything happens, I'll cover you with Platt.
Before Burgess could answer, Ethan pulled a hundred-dollar bill from the inside pocket of his jacket, folded it carefully between his fingers, and took another step toward her.
Burgess looked at him, confused.
—What are you doing? Ethan…
He did not give her time to protest. With a crooked smile, he slipped the bill into the back pocket of her pants, slowly, lingering just a second longer than necessary.
Burgess froze.
Atwater, from the patrol car, widened his eyes.
Ethan withdrew his hand with all the naturalness in the world, as if he had just handed her a receipt.
—For lunch —he said— For both of you.
Burgess blinked, trying to regain her composure.
—You could've given it to me in my hand.
—Yes.
—Then why…?
Ethan tilted his head slightly, with a shameless smile.
—Because this was more fun.
Burgess looked at him with a mixture of surprise, embarrassment, and the desire to punch him in the face.
—You're unbearable.
Atwater cleared his throat, raising a hand.
—Just for the record: I fully support this lunch budget, regardless of the delivery method.
Burgess shot him a murderous glare.
—You shut up.
—I'm quiet. Very grateful, but quiet.
Ethan smiled, took a step back, and returned to the Interceptor.
—Go eat something. You're working hard.
Burgess took the bill from her back pocket and held it between her fingers, still looking at it as if she didn't know whether to use it or throw it back in his face.
—This doesn't mean anything.
Ethan opened the car door and looked at her over his shoulder.
—Of course it doesn't.
The way he said it made it very clear that he did not believe her at all.
Burgess pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. Ethan got into the Interceptor, started the engine, and drove down the street.