The front desk of the 21st District had been overwhelmed all morning, and Trudy Platt’s patience was already running dangerously thin.
The tall man who had been trying to get her attention nevertheless pushed his folder forward again and said anxiously, “I don’t want to rush you, Sergeant, but I really need someone to listen to me.” Trudy finally looked up and asked bluntly, “What exactly do you need?” The man’s expression tightened.
“My daughter.
She’s gone.” That immediately changed Trudy’s attention, and she picked up a pen before asking, “How old is she?” The man answered quickly, “Eighteen, but she’s never disappeared like this before.” The moment Trudy heard eighteen, some of the urgency left her expression.
Sara was legally an adult, which meant this wasn’t automatically treated the same way as a missing young child.
Trudy set the pen down and said, “Then you need Missing Persons.
They handle adult disappearances unless there’s evidence of immediate danger.” She wrote down an address and slid it toward him.
“Try the office near Belmont.
They’ll get you to the right investigators.” The man stared at the paper with growing frustration before pushing his folder toward her again.
“I’ve already been there,” he said.
“They sent me somewhere else, and that place told me to come here.” His voice started rising as he added, “I’ve been getting sent from one desk to another for weeks.” At the same moment, the impatient man beside him squeezed closer to the counter and snapped, “Can somebody hurry this up?
I’ve been standing here forever.” His shoulder bumped the desperate father hard enough to knock the folder from his hands.
Papers, photographs, receipts, and copies of reports scattered across the floor.
The tall man immediately crouched and began gathering everything.
His hands were visibly shaking as he picked up the photographs and stuffed them back into the folder.
Once he stood again, he tried one more time to hand it to Trudy and pleaded, “Please.
Just look at this.” Trudy still had several people waiting and no way to personally take over every complaint.
“Sir, you can either go where I told you or sit down until somebody’s available.” Her tone wasn’t warm, but she was trying to keep control of an increasingly chaotic desk.
That was when Adrian Knight came downstairs carrying a form.
He stepped around the cluster of civilians, reached the front counter, and placed the document in front of Trudy.
“Sergeant, I need your signature on this application.” Trudy’s expression immediately softened.
“Oh, sure, Adrian.” She pulled the form toward herself and asked, “Everything going okay upstairs?
Need anything for Intelligence?” Adrian smiled.
“I’m good.” Trudy signed the form and continued, “You sure?
New desk, chair, equipment, whatever.
I can probably make something happen.” “No, thanks,” Adrian replied.
“My desk is fine.” The tall man beside them stared in disbelief.
He had spent what felt like forever trying to get someone to look at his daughter’s file, yet Trudy suddenly had time to discuss office furniture.
Something inside him finally snapped.
“My daughter is missing!” he shouted.
Everyone near the desk turned.
“Sara Fraser!” the man continued, his body trembling with anger and desperation.
“She’s been gone for three months!” Adrian looked toward him in surprise.
Three months was very different from a teenager failing to come home one night.
The man’s exhausted face, scattered paperwork, and frantic behavior suddenly made far more sense.
Adrian could tell he had probably repeated the same story to multiple officers already.
Trudy wasn’t pleased about being screamed at.
“Sir, lower your voice and step back from the counter.” She pointed toward the waiting area and added, “You need to wait your turn.” The man stared at her as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Then his hand disappeared beneath his jacket.
Adrian noticed the movement a fraction too late.
The man pulled out a handgun, grabbed Adrian around the upper body, and pressed the muzzle against the side of his head.
“Now will somebody let me finish talking?!” The entire front desk froze.
Trudy’s eyes widened for an instant before training and instinct took over.
Patrol officers throughout the room immediately drew their weapons, and Kim Burgess stepped into position with her pistol aimed directly at the hostage-taker.
“Drop the gun!
Put it down now!” The man tightened his grip around Adrian.
“I don’t think so!” Kim kept her weapon steady.
“Don’t make this worse.” “You want to try me?” he shouted back.
Adrian stood almost perfectly still with the cold barrel pressed against his head.
He had survived gangsters, torture, gunfights, and a shotgun pressed against his chest, yet somehow getting a simple signature downstairs had turned into another life-or-death situation.
Chicago apparently refused to give him an ordinary workday.
More importantly, Adrian didn’t trust the man holding him, and he certainly didn’t want half a dozen officers firing toward his head.
He slowly raised both hands and said, “Everybody calm down.
Nobody needs to fire.” The commotion quickly reached the second floor.
Hank Voight came down the stairs and immediately took control.
One look at Adrian being held at gunpoint was enough to darken his expression, but his voice stayed controlled as he shouted, “Everybody stop.” He pointed toward the civilians.
“Clear the room.
Get everyone out.” Patrol officers began moving the public away from the desk and toward the exits.
Several others maintained firing positions around the hostage-taker while keeping enough distance to avoid provoking him.
Within moments, the center of the district had been turned into a tense circle around Adrian and the armed father.
Hank stepped forward just enough to be clearly seen.
“All right, sir.
I’m Sergeant Hank Voight.” The man’s breathing was fast and uneven.
Hank continued, “Whatever happened, we can deal with it.
But you’re holding one of my officers at gunpoint inside a police station.” The man shook his head angrily.
“I’ve tried doing this the normal way!” His voice cracked.
“Nobody wants to listen to me!” Hank kept his hands visible.
“I’m listening now.” The father swallowed hard.
“Police back in Iowa laughed at me.
They said Sara was eighteen and probably ran away.” His grip around Adrian tightened slightly.
“But I know my daughter.
She didn’t run away.” Hank’s eyes narrowed.
“Okay.
Tell me why.” The man finally seemed relieved that someone had asked.
“I gave her a credit card for emergencies,” he said quickly.
“She knew she wasn’t supposed to use it unless something serious happened.” Hank waited.
“Last week, somebody used that card here in Chicago,” the man continued.
“She’s here.
She has to be here.” His voice became increasingly frantic.
“All the information is in my folder.
Transactions, pictures, everything.” Hank nodded.
“Good.
Then we’ll look at it.” The father shifted slightly and reached toward the papers he was still carrying.
Adrian felt the gun move.
That was enough.
He suddenly caught the man’s gun wrist with both hands and twisted his head away from the muzzle.
The father barely had time to react before Adrian tore the handgun from his grip and broke free, turning immediately with the weapon aimed back toward him.
The man froze.
His documents slipped from his other hand and scattered across the floor again.
Three patrol officers rushed him almost simultaneously.
They slammed him against the wall, pulled his arms behind his back, and forced him into handcuffs before he could recover from Adrian’s disarm.
The entire incident ended almost as quickly as it had started.
Adrian remained where he was for a moment, breathing harder than he wanted anyone to notice.
He looked down at the M1911-style pistol in his hands before carefully lowering it.
Even with his increased Vitality and police training, having a loaded gun pressed against his skull was never going to become a comfortable experience.
Hank immediately walked over.
“You okay?” Adrian handed him the weapon and shrugged.
“Yeah.
I’m fine.” His heart was still pounding, but nothing had happened beyond the scare.
The restrained father barely seemed to care that he was being arrested.
While officers dragged him toward the holding area, he twisted around and shouted toward Hank, “Find Sara!” One officer pushed him forward.
“Find her!” he shouted again.
“Please!” The man was eventually locked inside a holding room while the district returned to something resembling normal operation.
His decision to take a police officer hostage had created an entirely new criminal problem for himself, but it had also accomplished the one thing he had been trying to do for months.
Someone was finally looking at Sara’s case.
Hank brought the folder upstairs.
Not long afterward, a photograph of Sara Fraser was pinned to the Intelligence Unit case board.
She was eighteen years old and had last been confirmed seen in July, roughly three months earlier.
Adam Ruzek placed another sheet beside the photograph.
“Her car was found in a rail parking lot.” Jesse looked toward him.
“Train station?” “Near the rail property,” Adam replied.
“But there’s no record of her buying a ticket.” That made the abandoned car considerably more suspicious.
If Sara had deliberately planned to leave town by train, investigators would normally expect some sign that she had purchased a ticket, entered the station, or continued traveling.
Instead, the trail appeared to stop with her vehicle.
Adam leaned back against the table and exhaled.
“Guy pulled a gun inside the district and basically shut the whole place down just to make us listen.” Nobody disagreed.
Jesse studied Sara’s photograph for a moment before asking, “Has anybody checked the city cameras?” Hank looked toward him.
Jesse pointed toward the information on the board.
“OEMC feeds, POD cameras, traffic cameras, private systems that tie into the city network.
If her car was sitting near the rail property or somebody used her credit card last week, maybe we can trace who was moving around those locations.” Mouse immediately turned toward his computer.
Chicago’s Office of Emergency Management and Communications had access to a large network of city and partner cameras, including Police Observation Devices and other surveillance systems.
If Sara Fraser—or whoever had her credit card—had crossed one of those cameras at the right time, Intelligence might finally have a direction.
For three months, Sara’s father had been telling anyone who would listen that his daughter hadn’t simply run away.
Now Intelligence was going to find out whether he was right.