Ethan caminaba más adelante, con una mano en la barandilla y la chaqueta colgada del hombro. Erin la siguió de cerca, claramente reflexionando sobre algo en su cabeza —algo que no tenía intención de dejar ir.
—Todavía no lo entiendo, —dijo ella, rompiendo el silencio cuando llegaron al primer aterrizaje.— ¿Cómo puede un tipo con salario de policía… tener una tarjeta negra como esta? —agregó, girándola entre sus dedos, jugando ociosamente con ella.
Ethan sonrió sin darse la vuelta.
—¿Es realmente tan sorprendente?
—Un poco. ¿Eres hijo de alguna familia adinerada? —Erin respondió.— Si lo eres, probablemente deberías decírmelo.
Ethan se detuvo sólo un segundo, el tiempo suficiente para mirarla por encima del hombro.
—Nada de eso. Simplemente me gusta mantener mis cosas en privado, —dijo, reanudando su ascenso.
Ella frunció el ceño, claramente molesta.
—Bien. Pero esta conversación no ha terminado.
Después de abrir la puerta de seguridad, ambos entraron a la oficina. La puerta de la oficina de Hank estaba abierta, aunque aún no había llegado.
En la sala de descanso, Olinsky y Rusek discutían a puerta cerrada. Ethan y Erin intercambiaron una mirada, pero ninguno de los dos quería involucrarse—era mejor dejar que Alvin se encargara de disciplinar a su protegido.
Ethan regresó a su escritorio y encendió su computadora. Tenía varios informes que escribir sobre los casos recientes en los que había estado involucrado. Erin normalmente lo ayudaba con la mayor parte del papeleo, pero todavía había cosas que tenía que manejar por su cuenta.
Un momento después, la puerta se abrió y los dos hombres salieron.
Rusek parecía menos tenso y la expresión de Olinsky se había suavizado ligeramente.
—¿Dónde están Hank y Antonio?
Ethan se reclinó en su silla, apoyando los pies sobre el escritorio mientras miraba a Olinsky.
—No los he visto.
Olinsky sacó un trozo de caramelo de regaliz y se lo ofreció con un gesto. Ethan negó con la cabeza. Lo había probado una vez —sabía a plástico masticable. Nunca entendió cómo Olinsky podía disfrutarlos.
—¡Chicos! Necesito tu opinión…queremos saber qué sabor prefieres.
Rusek se acercó llevando varias cajas pequeñas.
Ethan se inclinó hacia atrás y levantó las manos.
—No me preguntes. No me gustan las cosas dulces.
—Entonces prueba este pastel de limón, —insistió Rusek, eligiendo cuidadosamente una de las cajas y colocándola sobre la mesa.— Es un poco ácido y no demasiado dulce. Puedes probarlo.
—Bine, mulțumesc.
Ethan abrió la caja. Dentro había un pastel del tamaño de su puño, cubierto con virutas de ralladura de limón. Era un poco demasiado ácido para su gusto, pero no estaba mal.
Cuando Rusek terminó de repartir los pasteles, Ethan agarró su taza de café y le indicó a Rusek que se uniera a él afuera en la terraza.
Se sirvió otro café fuerte y salió al balcón.
Ethan no creía que Rusek fuera un mal tipo. En esencia, todavía era un chico recién salido de la academia, con esa necesidad constante de demostrar su valía y ganarse un lugar real en el equipo. Todos a su alrededor eran detectives experimentados; Ethan era el único de su edad que ya llevaba la insignia— y además de eso, tenía un conjunto de habilidades que era difícil de ignorar.
Esa comparación silenciosa pesó sobre Rusek en cada decisión, cada comentario, cada mirada que lanzó en busca de aprobación. No era envidia—era presión: la sensación de estar siempre un paso atrás, de tener que correr más rápido sólo para evitar caerse de la carrera.
Ethan decidió que era hora de hablar con él. Quería ayudar a Rusek a encontrar su equilibrio antes de que esa imprudencia terminara lastimando a alguien del equipo— o matándolo.
Tomó un sorbo de café y encendió un cigarrillo, dejando que el primer arrastre ardiera ligeramente en su garganta.
En ese momento, la puerta del balcón se abrió y Rusek salió.
—¿Cómo estás? —Ethan preguntó sin rodeos.
Rusek supo inmediatamente lo que quería decir. Se pasó una mano por la cara, rascándose la barba apenas crecida, y dejó escapar un breve suspiro.
—Lo sé… la cagué, —lo admitió.— No debería haber entrado sola ayer. Puse a mi compañero en peligro y aumenté las posibilidades de que los rehenes resultaran heridos.
Ethan levantó su taza de café y tomó un sorbo, dándole tiempo para terminar.
—¿Algo más? —preguntó mientras bajaba la taza.
Rusek's face was slightly flushed—not from embarrassment, but from the unusual seriousness in his voice.
—I'm ready to do my job the right way.
—And what does that look like? —Ethan asked, fixing him with a steady gaze.
Rusek hesitated for a second, then answered:
—Olinsky's way.
He nodded firmly, as if saying it out loud had convinced him. Ethan set his mug down on the table with a soft but decisive thud and spoke in a low voice.
—I know you're anxious. I can see it. But you can't afford to be.
He leaned forward slightly.
—We're more or less the same age, but I worked patrol. That teaches you how to read the street, how to assess risk, how to know when to push forward and when to pull back.
Rusek listened in silence.
—You didn't even go through patrol, —Ethan continued.— That means you have less experience than you think, and a lot less room to improvise.
He locked eyes with him.
—When you're out on operations, you follow Olinsky's orders. Always. He's not holding you back; he's keeping you alive. You still have a lot to learn. Is that clear?
Rusek straightened his back and nodded firmly.
—Understood! —he replied without hesitation.
Back in the main room, Jin came running up the stairs.
—Guys, we've got an urgent case, —he said as he handed out the files he was carrying.— The sergeant wants you to familiarize yourselves with the case file.
—Thanks.
Ethan took the folder and opened it.
Inside were more than a dozen photographs, all showing the condition of the victims. There were two women, both naked, with clear signs of sexual assault. Their bodies were covered in bruises, making it obvious they had been beaten before they died.
—Oh my God…
Erin frowned as she looked at the images.
—I can't imagine what those girls went through before they died.
As he continued reviewing the file, Ethan noticed the New York City Police Department logo stamped on the back of one of the pages. According to the report, two nearly identical rape-and-murder cases had occurred there just days earlier.
The leads were minimal.
There was only one blurry image captured by a traffic camera: the silhouette of a man closely following a woman on a public street. He was wearing a hoodie; his face was indistinguishable. The only thing investigators had been able to determine was that he was white, inferred solely from the skin tone of his hands.
Ethan closed the folder with a sharp motion.
It wasn't hard to see why Jin had flagged the case as urgent.
A possible serial killer moving between major cities was exactly the kind of story that set off alarms… and attracted the media like flies.
And when that happened, time was always the enemy.
A few minutes later, Hank and Antonio hurried into the main room. Without a word, they began pinning photographs to the board, nearly covering it entirely.
Alongside the images of the victims, there was a map of the crime scenes.
—Listen up, everyone! —Hank barked in a hoarse voice.— I know you're exhausted after yesterday, but we've got work to do. They found a second woman's body this morning!
—Commander Perry specifically requested that Intelligence take over the case. As of now, this is our top priority.
Hank planted his hands on his hips, squaring his shoulders as if trying to contain the tension running through him.
—The media has been relentless, —he continued.— They've already dubbed him the Riverside Walk Killer. Public pressure is brutal. The mayor personally went down to headquarters, and headquarters is furious with the section chief. As a result, the chief officially transferred the case from Homicide to our Intelligence unit.
He brought his heel down sharply at the end of the sentence. His voice was firm, clipped.
—But none of that matters to me.
He clenched his jaw, visibly irritated, his gaze hardening.
—Two young women were murdered. Antonio and I saw the bodies this morning. That poor girl… —he paused briefly, as if weighing every word— went through something horrible.
His eyes drifted back to the photographs spread across the table, and for a moment the room fell silent.
—This cannot happen again, —he added.— That's the only thing that matters.
One by one, everyone nodded. No one objected, no one argued. The gravity of the case left no room for doubt.
After a few seconds of silence in the large conference room, Antonio cleared his throat and spoke up:
—There were no witnesses at either scene. Local police processed both locations thoroughly but found no conclusive evidence. No usable DNA, no clear prints—the suspect was careful… so we're dealing with someone who knows what he's doing.
The tension hung thick in the air. This wasn't just a difficult case—it was a race against time.
—Surveillance footage was also reviewed, and nothing useful turned up.
That string of "nothings" left everyone unsettled. Without even a starting point, how were they supposed to begin?
—There's one more thing, —Hank said, looking around.— You've all seen the existing data. Similar cases occurred in New York. At my request, the NYPD Special Victims Unit will be sending two people to assist us with their experience on this type of case.
—Guys, be nice.
Olinsky ran a hand through his beard, thoughtful, as if trying to pull an answer out of the silence.
—What about registered sex offenders in the system? Anyone with a similar MO?
—Nothing, —Jin replied without looking up.— We already cross-referenced the profiles and found no matches in the database.
As he spoke, he flipped through the files with focused concentration.
—DNA is being extracted from the victims' bodies, but that's going to take time. Too much time.
—And even then, —someone else added,— this killer was extremely careful. Odds are, he didn't leave us anything useful.
Hank exhaled sharply, clearly frustrated.
—Since we don't have leads, we're going to have to go find them, —he said, pointing to a section of the map marked in red on the board.— Both bodies in this series were found along the same stretch: Riverside Walk. I want eyes on the ground. Look for anything out of place, any suspicious detail. Nothing is insignificant.
He lifted his gaze, sweeping the team with a firm look.
—Move.
The meeting ended as quickly as it had begun. Chairs scraped, folders snapped shut, and everyone gathered their things with the urgency of a case that couldn't wait.
—Ethan, —Antonio said as he passed him without stopping.— This case is generating a lot of noise. We're going to be getting nonstop calls. Some will have tips, others will just want interviews or statements. Go downstairs and get someone up here to answer the phones.
—No problem!
Ethan nodded and headed for the stairs. He was just reaching the last flight when he spotted Burgess.
She was standing at reception, shaking her head in visible frustration as her ponytail swayed back and forth. The phone wouldn't stop ringing, and her expression made it clear this was only the beginning.
—Burgess.
Ethan approached quickly, not wasting time.
—You're not going on patrol today, —he said quietly but firmly.— You're helping Intelligence.
—Alright!
Burgess's smile appeared instantly—wide, bright, showing her white teeth.
—Just tell me what you need.
—Have you heard about the serial murders? —Ethan asked, leaning slightly toward her.
—Of course, —she nodded without hesitation, serious for a moment.
—Good, —Ethan gestured upstairs.— We need someone in Intelligence answering the phones. This case is drawing too much attention—tips, false leads, curious callers… and maybe something useful. Can you handle it?
—Yes.
Burgess's ponytail bounced as she answered, clearly energized.
—No problem. Leave it to me.
Ethan dictated the access code and gave her a few quick instructions. Then he motioned to Platt and turned away, heading toward the garage without looking back.
Burgess watched him until he disappeared down the hallway. She couldn't help but smile.
—Kim Burgess, —Platt said without looking up from her screen, her voice neutral.— Congratulations on your official promotion to Intelligence secretary.
—No complaints, Sergeant, —Burgess replied with a laugh as she filled out the form.— It's all experience. Step by step—no rushing.
—Heh.
Platt smirked and kept typing.
When the paperwork was done, Burgess clasped her hands over her duty belt, took a deep breath, and almost jogged toward the stairs, nerves and excitement shining in her eyes.
She opened the metal mesh door and hurried up toward the main room.
Silence hit her all at once.
The space was empty, still, and instinctively she slowed her pace, as if afraid to interrupt something. Then she saw the board and hurried again.
The photographs pinned to it were harsh, direct, impossible to ignore. Each image seemed to tell its own story, and together they made her hold her breath for a second.
For the Intelligence team, this was routine.
For an average patrol officer, it was… intense. Too real.
The board offered little in the way of clear answers—just fragments, dates, maps, and speculation. Burgess didn't dare touch anything on the nearby tables; it didn't feel like her place yet.
She crossed the break room and finally headed to an empty desk with a phone. She nodded to herself, satisfied.
That would be her station today.
Down in the armory, the rest of the team was already gearing up to head out. Erin wore athletic clothes—comfortable but fitted—effortlessly highlighting her curves as she fixed her hair.
—Whew, wheee! —Ethan whistled without thinking, betrayed by a poorly timed reflex.
Several heads snapped toward him instantly.
—Sorry, that was involuntary, I swear, —he added quickly, raising his hands in surrender at Hank's stern expression.
The tension eased just a little, drawing a few restrained smiles before professional focus settled back in.
Antonio glanced at Hank's scowling face and let out a brief, almost inaudible laugh. Erin, on the other hand, smiled openly, resting a hand on her hip.
Realizing how unconvincing his excuse had been, Ethan cleared his throat and coughed.
—So… what exactly are we playing today?
Antonio slipped on a reflective yellow vest; Rusek draped a pair of sunglasses around his neck, adopting a casual air; Olinsky adjusted a trench coat and a baseball cap, looking surprisingly British.
Erin was, without a doubt, a runner.
The rest looked like road workers or occasional tourists. Hank and Jin, meanwhile, hadn't bothered to change at all.
—Jin and I will be in the command vehicle, —Hank said with a resigned gesture, pointing to a large van that had just pulled into the garage.— You'll be out on the ground. Use whatever you need to blend in with the crowd.
The undercover operation had officially begun. As they approached the back of the van, the inside looked like an improvised storage unit. Whenever Olinsky and his team ran covert ops, they usually picked their disguises from that vehicle.
Ethan hesitated for only a moment before grabbing a mountain bike from inside the van. He weighed it in one hand, assessing it like another weapon, then slung it over his shoulder. It was old, unbranded, the kind of bike that could belong to anyone blowing off steam after work. Precisely why it was perfect.
Light. Discreet. Lethally functional.
The bike would give him the mobility he needed: he could move fast, change routes in seconds, and if necessary, disappear into narrow paths or pedestrian areas where a vehicle wouldn't stand a chance.
—This will do, —he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.
Once everyone had chosen their cover, the team dispersed efficiently. Each of them knew exactly what to do.
The Iveco van rolled out first. Behind it, Ethan and Erin followed in the Tahoe that joined the convoy, keeping just enough distance to avoid drawing attention. The engine hummed low, in sync with the city traffic.
—Next time, try to hold back a little, will you? Or do you want the whole team finding out about us? —Erin said.
Ethan flashed a crooked smile, never taking his eyes off the road.
—I'll try, —he replied calmly.— No promises.
The operation had truly begun. And everyone knew it.
They soon arrived at the riverside walkway. Erin put in her earbuds, did a few warm-up hops in place, then started jogging forward at an easy pace.
A short while later, Ethan carefully opened the car door, making sure not to draw attention. He pulled the bike from the trunk and, without looking back, headed off in another direction, merging onto the path that ran along the river. Within seconds, he stopped looking like an agent and became just another cyclist.
The cold wind whipped against his face, but it didn't dampen the visitors' spirits. Along the riverwalk, small groups strolled leisurely—some holding hands, others stopping to take photos of the Chicago skyline reflected in the grayish water. The murmur of conversation and laughter blended with the crunch of gravel underfoot.
—Clang!
The mountain bike wheels hummed with a metallic buzz as they rolled over the uneven path. Ethan pedaled at a steady pace, weaving between riverside trees, alert to everything: odd movements, nervous glances, any gesture that felt out of place.
A few yards away, the scene was very different. Antonio had cornered someone who might be useful—a mostly harmless pickpocket who worked this area regularly.
—Oh, oh, oh… —Theo raised both hands, exaggerating the gesture as if it were all a joke.— I know what you're trying to do.
Antonio didn't respond right away. He simply watched him, letting the silence do the work.
—You're trying to use this morning's murder case to blackmail me, —Theo continued, tilting his head.— Force me to confess to the theft, right?
He let out a short, humorless laugh.
—I'm not falling for that. I know how you guys work. I'm not saying anything… I want a lawyer.
He shrugged, feigning indifference, though his fingers twitched nervously.
—If you didn't do anything, why do you need a lawyer? —Antonio said calmly, stepping closer.
The proximity made Theo swallow hard.
Antonio gave him a firm slap on the shoulder—hard enough to make it clear who was in control.
—But I want to make you a deal, —he added.— You like deals, right?
Theo frowned, hesitated for a second, then let out a sound halfway between resignation and curiosity.
—Mmm.
At that moment, in the distance, the steady hum of a bicycle faded between the trees as the operation continued to unfold—silent, tense, like a trap slowly closing.
Theo thought the officer was just bluffing. This time he'd been caught red-handed and he knew it; calling a lawyer would only be a waste of time… and money.
Still, his eyes lit up at one word.
Deal.
Antonio noticed immediately.
—This is your territory, —he said quietly.— You move through here every day, watching, marking targets before you strike.
Theo tried to hold his gaze, but his eyelids fluttered.
Antonio stepped closer, invading his personal space, locking eyes with him.
—You must've noticed something out of place this morning.
—Oh yeah? —Theo replied with a mocking smile.— And what exactly do you think I saw?
—Two women were raped and murdered, —Antonio said, unwavering.— Give me one lead. Just one. And I let you walk.
Theo's smile faltered slightly.
—And how do I know I can trust you?
—You don't have a choice, —Antonio cut in flatly.
—And how can you be so sure I even noticed something weird? —Theo said, jaw tightening.
Antonio narrowed his eyes, assessing him like prey.
—Experience, —he said finally.— The cheetah always knows where the hyena is lurking.
He leaned in closer.
—And you're too territorial not to notice someone stepping where they don't belong.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy with an uncomfortable certainty. Theo understood then: he wasn't negotiating from a position of strength.
His eyes gleamed and he nodded several times, almost eagerly.
—I like your analogy… I really do, —he said with a crooked smile.— Alright. This time, I'll trust you.
He fell silent for a few seconds, as if rewinding the scene in his head. He inhaled instinctively and then spoke:
—Around five in the morning, there was a guy hanging around here. Gray-and-black tracksuit. He was stretching… but not like someone who actually works out. He kept looking around, alert, like he was searching for something.
He nodded again, reinforcing his certainty.
—At the time, I figured he had to be one of two things: a criminal… or a cop.
He looked up at Antonio, a smile laced with irony.
—But I've never seen a cop wear a watch that expensive, so…
—Seriously, —Antonio said, pinching his shoulder hard.— How close were you to him?
—Well… —Theo raised an eyebrow.— Close enough to see his face clearly.
An hour later, everyone was back at the precinct, staring intently at the board.
—Now you all see it, —Hank said, slamming his hand on the table.— We're reviewing every nearby security camera.
He pointed to the map.
—Between four and five-thirty in the morning. White males, gray and black athletic clothing. Anything you find, bring it to Theo for identification.
It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of people had passed through that area at that hour. And most of them were wearing exactly those colors.
But there was no alternative.
Jin immediately took the surveillance files. The rest returned to their seats, bracing themselves for a long haul: more than a dozen cameras, an hour and a half of footage, constant pausing, rewinding, fast-forwarding.
Hours of work.
Erin came back after showering and, once she understood the situation, quietly joined in. The room was soon dominated by the hum of monitors and focused stares.
Ethan never took his eyes off the screen. This wasn't the moment to relax.
Half an hour later, Burgess's phone rang. She hung up and almost ran to the sergeant's office. After a brief conversation, they both hurried downstairs.
Ethan rubbed his dry eyes and lifted his coffee mug, only to find it empty. He let out a tired breath.
A moment later, hurried footsteps echoed up the stairs, followed by the metallic screech of the gate opening to let four people through.
Everyone stood up.
—Alright, everyone, —Hank said.— I'd like you to meet Detective Amanda Rollins and Detective Odafin Tutuola from the NYPD Special Victims Unit.
Beside Hank stood a tall, slender blonde woman in a long trench coat, with a magnetic presence. Behind her was a Black man with a neatly trimmed beard and a dark jacket.
The two detectives shook hands nonstop.
—Welcome to Chicago. Want to rest? —Olinsky offered.
—No, —Rollins respondió con firmeza. Sus ojos ya estaban en el tablero.— Estamos aquí para trabajar. ¿Empezamos con el café?
Rusek no esperó órdenes. Minutos después, el equipo se reunió alrededor de la mesa. Burgess levantó una silla, atento.
Odafin habló primero, frotándose la barba mientras estudiaba la tabla.
—Tenemos que empezar con el patrón, —dijo, plantando ambas manos sobre la mesa—. ¿Por qué Nueva York y luego Chicago? ¿Un vendedor que sigue ferias comerciales? ¿Un camionero interestatal?
—Exactamente, —Rollins intervino, abriendo una carpeta gruesa.— Y ahí es donde se pone interesante.
El sonido seco de la apertura del cartón pareció resonar más fuerte de lo habitual en la habitación.
—En Nueva York no había ninguna duda, —continuó.— El asesino que estás buscando es el mismo que estábamos persiguiendo. Misma firma, mismo nivel de control, misma escalada.
Un murmullo bajo se extendió por la habitación. Ethan y Olinsky intercambiaron una mirada rápida y tensa.
—Pero hay más, —añadió Odafin, dando un paso adelante.— En cada caso de Nueva York, cada asesinato coincidió con una importante convención empresarial.
Señaló una de las páginas dentro de la carpeta.
—Grandes convenciones. Miles de asistentes. Personas que entran y salen de la ciudad sin levantar sospechas.
Rollins asintió y volvió a levantar la cabeza.
—Y lo mismo está pasando aquí en Chicago. Cuando se encontró a la segunda víctima, se estaba llevando a cabo una convención similar en la ciudad —hizo una breve pausa—. La misma que había tenido lugar en Nueva York semanas antes.
El silencio cayó duro, denso de significado.
—Escuché que uno estaba detenido en el Hotel Plaza esta semana, —murmuró Antonio, leyendo el encabezado del documento.
Hank tomó la carpeta, la hojeó durante unos segundos y luego se la entregó a Jin.
—Quiero una lista completa, —ordenó.— Todos los asistentes en ambas ciudades. Expositores, proveedores, personal técnico, seguridad. Nadie queda fuera.
Si esa pista tuviera éxito, finalmente podrían dejar atrás interminables horas de material inútil y avanzar con una dirección clara.
—Déjamelo a mí, —dijo Jin con confianza, ya de pie.— Si estuvo en ambas convenciones, aparecerá.
Sin esperar respuesta, se dirigió a las escaleras.
La caza acababa de dejar de ser ciega.
Ahora tenían un punto fijo. Un lugar. Y muy pronto, un nombre.