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Antonio, Erin, and Sumner returned to the station to review Jenny's background and her ties to the law firm. Hank ordered someone to go directly to the firm to verify her professional situation, her recent cases, and any suspicious activity surrounding Dr. Elliott.
Ethan and Olinsky, meanwhile, followed the ambulance to Chicago Med.
Ruzek was inside.
The impact had been severe, and although the bulletproof vest had absorbed most of the force, no one wanted to take any chances.
After several tests, X-rays, and a full examination, the doctor came out with news that relieved everyone except, apparently, Ruzek himself.
—There's no fracture to the sternum —the doctor reported—. You have significant bruising to the chest, and you're going to be sore for a couple of days, but it's nothing to worry about.
Ruzek, however, sat on the examination table with his torso bandaged and a dejected expression, as though the doctor had just ruined his life.
—Great —he muttered.
The doctor gave him a dry look.
—You can be thankful it wasn't worse.
—Believe me, I am —Ruzek replied, though he did not sound particularly convincing.
Ethan noticed the frustration on his face and tilted his head.
—Are you disappointed you're not injured?
Ruzek grimaced.
—If they'd kept me under observation, maybe I could've gotten a few days off.
Olinsky stared at him in silence.
A second later, he smacked him on the back of the head.
—Ow! —Ruzek protested, bringing a hand to the spot—. What the hell?
—That's for being an idiot —Olinsky growled—. You're lucky to be alive. A lot of people aren't that lucky.
Ruzek opened his mouth to answer, but closed it again when he saw Olinsky's expression.
The veteran looked annoyed, but Ethan could see what lay beneath the roughness: concern. Ruzek had joined Intelligence on Olinsky's recommendation.
Olinsky could act as though nothing mattered to him, but in reality, he cared deeply about Ruzek and his training.
—Stay out of the field for a few days —the doctor warned—. You can move around normally, but no chases or heavy training.
Ethan looked at Ruzek.
—Desk duty. Your specialty.
—Very funny.
Olinsky picked up Ruzek's jacket and held it out to help him put it on.
—Come on, princess. We've got work to do.
Ruzek tried to slide one arm into the sleeve and doubled over with a pained grimace.
—Easy, Al.
—That's what you get for using your chest as a shield.
—Technically, it worked.
Olinsky looked at him again.
—Don't make me hit you twice.
Ruzek did not argue.
The three of them walked down the hospital stairs together. Ruzek moved more slowly than usual, but he was able to walk on his own.
Jacob Sims's surgery took longer than expected.
He had been taken into the operating room almost as soon as they arrived at the hospital. The wounds to his hands and knees were not life-threatening. The problem was that the doctors wanted to stabilize him enough to avoid complications before allowing any questioning.
Ethan waited in the hallway with little patience.
Sitting in a plastic chair, he rolled his phone between his fingers, locking and unlocking it every few seconds. He was not checking anything. He simply needed to keep his hands occupied.
The wait dragged on until, finally, a young nurse appeared at the end of the hallway, reviewing a chart. She walked quickly, but without losing the trained calm of someone who had seen enough emergencies not to be swept up by the noise of the hospital.
Dr. Will Halstead followed behind her, still wearing his lab coat, a stethoscope hanging around his neck.
The nurse looked around until she spotted Ethan.
—Detective.
Ethan stood immediately.
—Is he awake?
Will was the one who answered, briefly checking the chart.
—Yes. He's conscious, oriented, and stable.
Olinsky let out a brief laugh.
Will gave him a dry look.
—Don't agitate him too much.
—Thanks for the warning, Doctor.
Will closed the chart against his chest.
The nurse opened the room door and stepped aside.
Jacob Sims lay in bed, pale, his face covered in a cold sweat. Both hands were bandaged, his knees wrapped in thick layers of gauze, and his body sank into the sheets.
There was nothing left of the arrogance he had shown while trying to escape. Without his gang, without his strength, and without the illusion of control, he looked much smaller.
Ethan dragged a chair over and sat beside the bed.
—Hello, Mr. Sims.
Sims barely turned his head, looked at him with hatred, and then looked away.
Ethan waited a few seconds.
When he received no response, he raised a hand and gave one of Sims's bandaged knees a light pat.
Sims tensed immediately.
—Shit! Stop!
Ethan tilted his head.
Sims gritted his teeth, his eyes wide with pain. He looked toward the nurse, searching for support.
She was adjusting an IV line and barely looked up.
—Don't use too much force, Detective.
Sims froze.
Ethan smiled.
—I'll keep that in mind.
The nurse finished checking the monitors.
—Five minutes. Ten if he doesn't start screaming.
—Thank you —Olinsky said, accompanying her to the door.
Then he closed it and lowered the blinds.
Sims watched them suspiciously.
—What do you want?
Ethan moved the chair closer.
—To talk.
—I want a lawyer.
Olinsky leaned against the wall.
—They always start the same way.
Sims lifted his chin, trying to recover some of his former confidence.
—I know my rights. I've dealt with cops before. You think you can pressure me, but I'm not an idiot.
—That remains to be seen —Ethan said.
He pulled a notebook from the inside pocket of his jacket, tore out a sheet of paper, and placed it on a rigid folder. Then he held out the pen.
—Write down your lawyer's name and number. I'll call her myself.
Sims blinked.
He had not expected that answer.
For a second, surprise overcame the pain. Then a slow, almost triumphant smile spread across his mouth.
—That easy?
—That easy.
Sims took the pen with difficulty. The bandages prevented him from moving his fingers properly, but he still wrote down a name and number in clumsy strokes.
When he finished, Ethan took the notebook, read what he had written, and showed it to Olinsky.
The two men exchanged a look.
Olinsky let out a low laugh.
—Well, look at that.
Sims frowned.
—What?
Ethan waved the notebook.
—Jenny Perskins.
Some of the color drained from Sims's face.
—What about Jenny?
—That's what I wanted to ask you —Ethan said—. Do you really want to call her as your lawyer?
Sims swallowed.
—She is my lawyer.
—No. I think she just resigned. Jenny was the one who helped us find you.
Silence fell abruptly.
Sims stared at him as though he had just heard a word in another language.
—Liar.
Ethan slowly shook his head.
—No. You're lying.
Sims tried to sit up, ignoring the pain, but only managed to rise a few inches before sinking back into the bed with a grunt.
Ethan rested the notebook on his legs.
—Jenny cooperated very well with us. She told us you forced her, how you harassed her for months, and how you coerced her into being with you and participating in what happened to Johnston.
Sims's breathing grew heavier.
Olinsky crossed his arms.
—According to her, you were the monster in the story.
—No...
—She said you controlled her —Ethan continued—. That you kept her terrified. That if she didn't do what you wanted, you would destroy her marriage, her career, and her life.
Sims closed his eyes.
His jaw trembled.
—No.
—Wake up, Sims —Ethan said, lowering his voice—. She gave you up. If it hadn't been for Jenny, we wouldn't have found you so quickly.
Sims slowly opened his eyes.
The anger began to mix with something else: pain. Not physical pain. Something far more humiliating.
—She said she loved me.
Olinsky raised an eyebrow.
Ethan stared at him without saying anything.
Sims swallowed.
—She said she wanted to leave with me when it was all over. That Johnston was just a problem. That Elliott was another one. That after that, we could start over.
Ethan could not stop himself from rubbing his forehead.
—Sims —he said wearily—, that woman used you.
Something broke across Sims's face.
—Lying bitch —he spat through clenched teeth.
Ethan picked up the pen.
—Now we're talking.
Sims took a few seconds to steady his breathing. Then he began to talk.
He and Jenny had met during Johnston's appeal process. At first, there had been no threats, harassment, or coercion. According to Sims, she had been the one to approach him. First with questions about the case.
Then with meetings outside the office. After that came smiles, private calls, and promises that a man like him found impossible to ignore.
Jenny was not just a lawyer. To Sims, she was something untouchable. An educated, elegant woman with a life that did not belong to his world. And precisely because of that, when she began treating him as though he could be something more than a criminal, he fell without resistance.
—She made me feel like I mattered —Sims admitted, his voice hoarse—. Like I could give her something her husband couldn't.
Olinsky let out a quiet snort.
He explained that Jenny had asked him to help remove obstacles from her career.
Dr. Elliott had destroyed several of her cases with his testimony. Johnston had also been involved. He was supposed to dispose of the doctor's body, but he had suffered a car accident while on his way to destroy it.
When Jenny found out, she panicked.
She told Sims that Johnston might talk.
That he had to be silenced.
Sims, who already wanted Johnston out of the way so he could have Jenny to himself, agreed without giving it much thought. From that point on, everything else had happened in a chain reaction.
Ethan wrote quickly without interrupting him. When Sims finished, he looked up.
—What evidence do you have?
Sims blinked.
—Evidence?
—Messages. Emails. Letters. Recordings. Anything that proves Jenny asked you to do all this.
Sims lowered his gaze.
—I don't have anything.
Ethan stopped writing.
—Sims.
—I don't have anything —he repeated more quietly—. We talked about everything in person.
Olinsky closed his eyes for a second, as though someone had just confirmed bad news he had already expected.
Ethan leaned forward.
—Where did you meet in person?
—Her office. My car. Motels. Anywhere no one could hear us.
—And you never recorded anything?
Sims slowly shook his head.
—No.
—Not even during the video?
Sims looked up sharply.
—You found that too?
Ethan did not answer.
Sims let out a bitter laugh.
—I thought Johnston had destroyed it.
—Did Jenny talk about the murders in that video?
—No —Sims replied—. Never. Whenever we recorded anything, she never said something that could get her into trouble. She was very careful.
Sims's face slowly hardened, as though he were finally beginning to understand something he should have seen from the beginning.
—She was always careful.
Ethan closed the notebook with a sigh.
Sims's statement could help guide the case, but it would not close it. Without solid evidence, Jenny could deny everything. She could present herself as the victim. She could claim Sims was a bitter criminal trying to drag her down with him.
And perhaps a jury would believe her.
Ethan stood.
—Get some rest, Sims.
Sims looked at him with hatred.
—That's it?
—For now.
—She can't get away with this.
Ethan looked at him from the doorway.
—Then you'd better start remembering something useful.
Olinsky opened the door, and the two of them left the room.
They woke Ruzek in the hallway. He lifted his head with a start, looked around, and sat up with a grimace.
—Did he confess?
—He confessed that he's an idiot —Olinsky said—. The rest is complicated.
The three of them returned to the station.
Inside the interrogation room, Ethan and Hank tried to play good cop and bad cop with Jenny, hoping to make her trip over her own words.
At first, Jenny seemed surprised. Then incredulous. Finally, she adopted an expression of indignation.
But she wasn't falling for the trap. She was an experienced attorney and knew perfectly well how to handle an interrogation. They weren't going to get a confession out of her through insinuations or ambiguous questions.
Ethan and Hank exchanged a glance.
It was time to stop beating around the bush and speak to her directly.
— I think Dr. Elliott's testimony was going to make you lose everything — Hank said bluntly, pointing at her. — Your position at the firm, your two-million-dollar house in Lincoln Park... Everything you've built could have disappeared the moment he took the stand, and you decided to eliminate him.
— What exactly is that supposed to mean?
Jenny tightened her hands on the table, genuinely surprised.
— Are you implying that I killed Dr. Elliott?
— I don't know.
Hank scratched his cheek with his thumb.
— You tell me.
— I'm sorry.
Jenny straightened in her chair.
— I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Detectives.
Ethan opened a folder and began taking out photographs, placing them one by one on the table.
— We believe you seduced Sims and Johnston and then used them to eliminate the obstacles standing in your way.
The photographs were spread out in front of Jenny: Dr. Elliott's torso, Johnston's remains, and images related to Sims's murder.
Jenny didn't even bother looking at the photographs.
She brushed her hair away from her face with one hand and slightly raised her chin, fixing her gaze on Ethan.
— Johnston didn't dispose of the body properly, and he became a loose end — Ethan continued coldly. — So you had Sims take care of him before the evidence could lead us back to you. Am I wrong?
Hank leaned back in his chair.
— When things started getting complicated, you pointed us toward Sims. Did you want us to take care of him for you? Eliminate another problem while cleaning up your own tracks at the same time?
Jenny remained silent.
— A man blinded by love can be dangerous — Hank added. — Were you afraid he would keep stalking you?
He paused.
— You were especially pleased when you found out he'd killed a cop, weren't you? You thought he'd die in a hail of bullets, and no one would ever discover your dirty little secret.
Under the scrutiny of both men, Jenny lifted her chin slightly.
Her lips tightened.
— I'm the victim! Are you going to believe a sociopath? — Jenny shouted indignantly. — Or are you going to believe me?
Ethan and Hank exchanged a glance.
Hank shrugged.
— Personally, I believe Sims.
— So do I.
Jenny's expression went completely blank.
— Oh, really? Then I suggest you stop with the insinuations and show me the evidence supporting your accusations.
Her voice remained calm and perfectly controlled.
— Because, so far, all I've heard are conjectures. And if you're planning to formally accuse me of a crime, I expect you to have something more than that.
— And don't say I didn't warn you. If those recordings become public, you'll have to answer for it.
Jenny allowed a faint smile.
— I assure you, I'll file a lawsuit against every one of you. And I'll make sure your careers end long before mine does.
She calmly adjusted her clothes and stood.
— If you have nothing else to ask me, I assume we're finished here.
She picked up her purse and gave Ethan and Hank one last look.
— The next time you want to interrogate me, bring evidence, not insinuations. Otherwise, we're just wasting our time.
Her smile became slightly more pronounced.
— And I think we've wasted enough of it today.
Jenny let out a small smile.
Her face remained impassive, but a faint glimmer of triumph and contempt shone in her eyes.
And, in the end, she was right.
Accusing her without solid evidence was useless. No prosecutor would risk taking a case like this before a jury based solely on the testimony of an ex-convict, especially when Jenny could fight any accusation supported only by speculation with her reputation and legal resources.
No jury would easily believe Sims's words. And without additional evidence to support them, the case probably wouldn't even make it to trial.
Ethan and Hank left the interrogation room, leaving Jenny behind.
— Are we really going to let her go?
Sumner came out of the observation room and spread her hands in frustration.
— She's clearly the mastermind behind all of this.
Antonio came out behind her and shook his head.
— What else can we do?
— We have evidence connecting her to the suspects.
Sumner still wasn't willing to back down.
— We have two gang members with criminal records, a repeat offender, and several recordings linking her to them.
Hank shook his head.
— And what do we have against her? Nothing a prosecutor could take before a jury without getting torn apart. No one would risk it on something like this. Not without evidence.
— Then...
— Let her go. Talk to the State's Attorney if you want, but don't get your hopes up.
— But...
Sumner was left speechless. This time, she couldn't find an argument to counter him.
Sumner sighed.
It was the first case she had followed from beginning to end, and somehow, it had ended without any real sense of closure.
They had done things. They had arrested people. They had found answers. And yet, it felt as though they had accomplished nothing.
The man who had killed Dr. Elliott had been identified and captured.
But the real culprit was still free.
An indescribable feeling settled over the bullpen.
No one had much to say.
Until the arrival of two people interrupted the silence.
— This is Phil Rodiger.
Halstead stood on the stairs beside a burly old man with a white beard.
— He's here to turn himself in.
The old man's face remained expressionless. Halstead showed no satisfaction at having found him either.
At his words, everyone stood.
Hank quickly stepped out of his office, his hands in his pockets.
His gaze moved from Erin to Sumner. Erin understood the signal and, together with Sumner, escorted Phil toward the interrogation room.
The others approached Halstead. Some gave him a pat on the back before quickly making their way to the observation room.
Through the one-way glass, everyone watched in silence.
— My son was a pedophile and a murderer. I didn't know I'd been protecting a monster all these years.
Phil wiped away his tears with trembling hands.
Anger, desperation, and remorse mingled in his eyes. It was difficult to see so many emotions on one person's face at once.
Erin said nothing. She simply gave his hand a gentle pat.
— I always refused to believe my son could do something like that.
Phil's eyes filled with tears again.
His wrinkled hands trembled uncontrollably.
— Until two days ago, when Detective Halstead showed up at my door.
He swallowed.
— What he told me... made me think.
Phil closed his eyes.
— That night, after Lonnie left, I opened his computer.
He paused.
— I found a lot of photographs.
His voice broke.
— Pictures of little children. They were all pictures of children, damn it!
Phil lowered his head, unable to meet Erin's gaze.
— When Lonnie came back, I confronted him.
His hands clenched over his knees.
— We argued... and then I lost control. I panicked.
Tears began rolling down his cheeks.
— I saw the rope Lonnie kept in his room... and I took it.
His voice broke.
The silence that followed was enough. No one needed to ask what had happened next.
Almost a minute passed before Erin spoke.
— Then you disposed of the body...
Phil covered his face with one hand. His shoulders began to tremble as sobs shook his body.
When he finally raised his head, his eyes were red and his face was soaked with tears.
— Detective...
His voice barely came out.
Erin waited silently.
— Please — Phil continued, swallowing hard. — Let me go to prison. I have to pay for what I did. I can't keep living as if nothing happened.
Behind the glass, no one said a word.
There was no need.
A father whose conscience had finally awakened, and who had personally put an end to his own son's crimes, would spend the final years of his life in prison.
— Antonio.
Hank's voice broke the silence.
— Follow up on Phil's case with the prosecutor. Do everything you can.
— No problem.
Antonio nodded without hesitation.
The others no longer wanted to keep watching.
One by one, they left the observation room.
Halstead remained there.
Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, he watched the interrogation room with an empty expression, as if he still couldn't fully comprehend everything that had just happened.
— How are you doing?
Seeing him like that, Ethan approached and raised his hand.
Halstead took a moment to react before high-fiving him.
— I don't know.
He lowered his gaze and slowly exhaled.
— I'm supposed to be happy. We found him, we got him to turn himself in... I should feel good.
He paused.
— But I can't.
Ethan nodded. He didn't need to tell him that he understood.
He looked toward Phil one last time, sitting on the other side of the glass, then turned and left the observation room.
For Phil, spending the next few years in prison probably wouldn't be the most painful part.
The worst part would be walking out of there every morning and having to face, again and again, the man he had once been.