After receiving Hank Voight’s call, Jack Stacy drove the black Mercedes-AMG GT Ivanka had given him to the address Hank sent.
The destination was an abandoned chemical plant on the edge of Chicago, far enough from traffic that nobody would accidentally overhear a private conversation.
Hank’s black Cadillac Escalade was parked in the darkest corner of the property with its lights off.
He stood beside it like part of the shadows, his face looking older and more exhausted than usual.
Beneath the calm expression Jack could still see anger and worry burning in his bloodshot eyes.
“Sergeant.” Jack walked over and stopped several feet away.
Hank looked at him for a moment.
“Thanks for coming.
This is complicated, Jack.
If you don’t want any part of it you can walk away right now.”
“What happened?” Jack asked, feeling his attention sharpen.
After everything he had learned about Brian Anderson, difficult cases no longer intimidated him the way they once might have.
Every dangerous investigation also gave him another chance to improve himself through the Super Cop System, though Hank obviously knew nothing about that.
Hank took a slow breath before speaking.
“A civilian found a body in Lincoln Park this morning.
Single gunshot to the head.
Homicide.”
“The victim was Frank Fittoli.
South Side gang figure.
Mostly robbery crews, street muscle and territorial disputes.” Hank paused before adding, “On the surface it looks like one criminal settling things with another.”
Jack immediately caught the hesitation.
“But?”
Hank looked straight at him.
“My son might be involved.”
Jack’s expression changed.
He had seen Justin Voight’s photograph on Hank’s desk more than once.
Justin was in his twenties and had already served time after a serious fight.
He had only been out of Illinois state prison for about a month.
“I got him a job at a Secretary of State facility after he got out,” Hank continued.
“Something steady.
Something legitimate.
He hasn’t shown up for work in three days.”
“Anything directly connecting Justin to Frank’s murder?”
“Nothing physical.” Hank reached into the Escalade and took an evidence bag from the driver’s seat.
Inside was a photograph of a young white man with a hard face and a faintly gloomy smile.
“This is Joe Catalano.
Justin’s former cellmate.” Hank tapped the photograph.
“Joe’s uncle is Alessio Crow.
Alessio and I grew up around the same people.”
Jack studied the photo while Hank continued.
Frank Fittoli had been fighting Alessio over territory, and Joe believed Frank had helped set him up for the crime that sent him to prison.
That gave Joe both motive and history with the victim.
“When I heard Frank was dead, Alessio and Joe were the first names that came to mind.” Hank’s jaw tightened.
“So I went to see them myself.”
Jack remained silent and let him finish.
“Joe didn’t even bother denying it.
Kid looked me in the face and said he killed Frank.” Hank’s voice became rougher.
“Then he told me Justin was involved too.”
“You believe him?”
“I don’t believe anything a gangster says just because he says it.” Hank pulled out a cigarette and lit it before offering the pack to Jack.
“But I can’t ignore it either.”
Jack accepted one and waited.
“Justin got through prison because Joe watched his back.” Hank stared into the darkness.
“A cop’s son doing time can become a target real fast.
Joe protected him when I couldn’t.”
“So they stayed close.”
“Close enough that I have to take the accusation seriously.” Hank exhaled smoke slowly.
“Joe also told me that if I arrest him for Frank’s murder he’ll make sure Justin goes down with him.”
Jack frowned.
“What exactly do you want from me?”
Hank crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe and faced him.
“Find Justin.
Figure out exactly what he did and how deep he was involved.”
His expression hardened.
“And get to him before Joe does.”
Jack watched Hank carefully.
“Why only me?
Intelligence could handle this.”
“Because Internal Affairs is already circling.” Hank’s anger surfaced for the first time.
“You know Megan Gladysal?”
Jack had heard the name.
Gladysal had built a reputation inside CPD as one of Internal Affairs’ most relentless investigators.
She was known for being difficult to intimidate, impossible to buy and very good at finding pressure points that made officers turn on one another.
“She’s looking at you,” Jack said.
“And she already approached somebody inside Intelligence.”
Hank’s eyes narrowed with brief approval.
“That’s why I called you.”
“Antonio?”
Hank nodded.
“Gladysal talked to him around noon.
Antonio didn’t tell me but I know how he looks at me when something’s wrong.”
Jack understood immediately.
Antonio Dawson was one of the most principled detectives in Intelligence.
He respected Hank but he would never knowingly protect criminal behavior simply because the person involved was another cop or a cop’s family member.
“She thinks I can’t be objective because Justin is my son,” Hank said.
“For once she may be right.”
That admission carried more weight than almost anything else Hank had said.
“If Justin really had something to do with Frank’s murder, I don’t know what I’ll do when I’m standing in front of him.” Hank looked directly at Jack.
“That’s why I need somebody else to find the truth before I screw this up.”
Jack’s expression became serious.
“You want me to find Justin before Antonio and Internal Affairs.”
“Before everybody.”
“Why me?”
“Because you can do it.” Hank answered without hesitation.
“And because you understand me without being stupid enough to blindly follow me.”
Jack raised an eyebrow.
“You’re willing to bend a rule when you think it matters,” Hank continued.
“But you’re not going to bury a murder just because the suspect happens to be my kid.”
That was exactly the answer Jack wanted to hear.
He understood Hank’s methods better than most officers would.
The law did not always reach everyone cleanly, and Hank had never been afraid to fight dirty against people who lived that way.
But understanding him was not the same as covering up homicide.
Jack held Hank’s gaze.
“If I find proof Justin killed Frank?”
Pain flashed across Hank’s face.
For several seconds the father and the sergeant seemed to fight inside him.
“Then you arrest him.”
Jack said nothing.
“I mean it.” Hank’s voice remained low but firm.
“If my son murdered someone, put cuffs on him.
I’d rather know what he actually did than watch him get protected by lies until everything blows up later.”
“And if Joe is setting him up?”
“Then prove it.” Hank’s expression hardened.
“Before Catalano buries him.
Before Gladysal turns this into something bigger and before Antonio finds Justin without knowing the whole story.”
Jack considered the situation.
This assignment was dangerous in a way gunfights weren’t.
If Internal Affairs discovered that Jack was conducting an off-books investigation for Hank while the sergeant’s son was tied to a murder, his career could be damaged before it had truly started.
“I need access to whatever information you can legitimately get me,” Jack finally said.
“Traffic cameras, vehicle information, phone records if there’s a lawful path to them.
Anything that can help me build a timeline.”
Hank’s mouth moved into the faintest smile.
He handed over the evidence bag.
“Everything I could collect without running this through Intelligence is in there.”
Jack accepted it.
“I’ll find something.”
He headed back toward the Mercedes before looking over his shoulder.
“You’ll have an answer as soon as I can get one.”
Once he was on the road Jack sent Ivanka a short message telling her the job might keep him out late and she shouldn’t stay awake waiting for him.
Her reply arrived almost immediately.
Waiting for you, no matter how late.
Jack smiled before putting the phone away.
His expression became serious again a moment later.
His first destination was Hank’s house.
If Justin had disappeared without contacting his father, Jack needed to understand what had happened during the days before Frank Fittoli’s death.
The fastest place to start was the room Justin had returned to after prison.
Hank’s home was clean enough to feel almost empty.
Photographs of his late wife and Justin were among the few personal things displayed in the living room, and nearly everything else looked purely functional.
Justin’s old bedroom was upstairs.
The door was locked.
Jack quietly opened it and stepped inside.
The room looked like someone had left high school behind without ever completely clearing it away.
Old sports trophies sat on shelves beside faded band posters, a basketball hoop hung against one wall and a bulky desktop computer occupied the desk.
Several rough wooden carvings stood nearby.
Jack recognized the style as the kind of work produced through prison art programs.
He started with the computer.
Most of Justin’s recent activity was ordinary.
Job searches, messages to old friends and a few online purchases showed nothing that connected him to murder.
Then Jack found a private encrypted chat application.
It was locked behind a password.
After several failed attempts Jack tried a date connected to Justin’s late mother.
The application opened.
Jack’s attention immediately sharpened.
Most of the conversations were meaningless until he reached the most recent messages between Justin and Joe Catalano.
Joe Catalano: Justin, you still have the Mustang?
Justin Voight: Yeah.
Street racing tonight?
Joe Catalano: Not racing.
Need to borrow the car, brother.
$500 cash.
No questions asked.
Old place at 10.
Justin Voight: Just borrowing it?
Nothing else?
Joe Catalano: I swear.
Just need transportation.
Problem?
Justin Voight: No.
See you there.
Jack photographed the conversation and saved copies.
The Mustang immediately became important.
Joe had specifically sought out Justin and offered him cash for transportation on the same night Frank was murdered.
That established contact but still didn’t prove Justin knew what Joe intended to do.
Jack kept searching.
Inside a hidden folder he found an audio recording transferred from Justin’s phone.
The timestamp showed 10:45 p.m.
the previous night.
Jack played it.
Joe Catalano’s voice came through first.
“Yeah, Frank.
I’m here.
Just me…
all right.
Ten minutes.”
The call ended.
Then Joe spoke again, this time apparently to Justin.
“Park here.
Wait for me.
If I’m not back in thirty minutes, leave.”
Justin’s voice followed.
“Joe, this doesn’t feel right.
You’re meeting Frank?
I thought you two—”
“Shut up and drive.” Joe cut him off.
“Remember, you’re just the driver.
You don’t know anything.”
The recording ended.
Jack sat quietly for several seconds.
This changed the picture.
Justin had clearly driven Joe somewhere connected to Frank Fittoli, but his reaction suggested he had not known what Joe planned when he agreed to help.
At minimum it created room to argue that Justin had not knowingly participated in a planned murder.
But it wasn’t enough to clear him.
What happened after the recording mattered just as much as what happened before it.
Maybe Justin waited in the car.
Maybe he heard the gunshot.
Maybe Joe returned and confessed.
Or maybe Justin became involved afterward.
Jack needed Justin’s version of events before anyone else found him.
He saved the important material and carefully restored the room as closely as possible to how he had found it.
With Internal Affairs already watching Hank, Jack had no interest in leaving obvious signs that someone had searched Justin’s bedroom.
Once he returned to the Mercedes he reviewed everything he had learned.
Justin had been extremely close to his mother.
Hank’s late wife appeared repeatedly throughout Justin’s belongings, old photographs and personal files.
Even the password protecting his private messages had been connected to her.
That gave Jack another idea.
A frightened man usually went somewhere familiar.
Someone confused and desperate often sought the one person they trusted most even when that person was already gone.
Jack started the Mercedes.
His next destination was Kettle Cemetery.
Justin’s mother was buried there.
And Jack had a strong feeling Justin Voight might be waiting beside her grave.
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