Chapter 208 - Casey Casden

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They ran down the stairs. The alert had put the entire precinct on edge; the lobby was packed with officers coming and going.

Thud!

A hurried figure crashed straight into Ethan and practically fell into his arms.

—Careful.

Ethan caught her at once with one arm and gave her a light pat on the shoulder to steady her.

—Sorry.

Burgess looked up, scratched her hair nervously, and half turned, as if for a second she did not know which way to run.

Then she snapped back to herself and quickly stepped away.

—Good morning.

Ethan greeted Atwater, who was coming right behind her, with a faint smile.

Atwater looked first at Ethan, then at Burgess, who was moving away far too quickly to look natural.

—Good morning… —he replied, somewhere between confused and suspicious.

Ethan did not stop to explain anything.

He turned and left the precinct with the rest of the team.

—Hello, good morning, Sergeant.

Atwater looked at him, then glanced suspiciously at his partner, who was standing nervously not too far away.

Platt was standing behind the front desk, watching the whole scene unfold before her eyes from beginning to end.

She thought for a moment, took off her glasses and, without making a sound, positioned herself behind Burgess.

—Hey.

Burgess had just taken the radio off the wall. When she turned around and found Platt so close, she gave a small start.

—Sergeant…

—Tell me something —Platt said, her expression unreadable— Did something happen between you and the handsome detective?

Burgess blinked.

—Ethan?

—Don't play dumb. You know exactly who I'm talking about.

Burgess smiled nervously and waved her hands, too quickly to look natural.

—Nothing happened. He's a detective, I'm patrol. I don't know what you're talking about.

Platt crossed her arms and watched her in silence for a second.

—I've been a cop for a lot of years, Burgess. Do you know what I'm very good at?

Burgess swallowed.

—Scaring rookies?

—That too —Platt replied, without changing her expression— But I meant body language. Microexpressions. Those little things people do when they think no one is watching.

Burgess tried to keep a straight face, but her fingers tightened around the radio.

Platt tilted her head slightly.

—And your body language tells me something happened with him.

—Sergeant…

—Something interesting.

Burgess's eyes widened.

—What are you implying? That's impossible!

Platt did not move.

—How old are you turning this year?

—Twenty-six —Burgess said, shrugging with her hands in her pockets.

—Shit!

Platt took two steps toward Burgess, just enough to invade her personal space without touching her.

—Let me make this easy for you, Burgess.

—Make what easy for me?

Burgess took half a step back, unnerved by the way Platt was looking at her.

—Life —Platt said, raising an eyebrow— Why not have a little fun while you're still young?

—Sergeant, I didn't…

—Don't give me that frightened-nun look —Platt cut her off— When I was your age, I had already left my mark in several parts of this precinct.

Burgess opened her mouth, but no answer came out.

—Don't overthink it —Platt continued, lowering her voice a little— This job reminds you every day that anything can happen tomorrow.

Then she looked toward the door Ethan had just walked through and let out a snort.

—Besides, for God's sake, have you seen Detective Morgan?

Burgess turned red instantly.

—Sergeant…

—None of that "sergeant" nonsense. That man has an ass that should come with a department warning label.

Burgess pressed a hand to her forehead, embarrassed.

—I can't believe you're saying this.

—I can —Platt replied, deadly serious— And if I were ten years younger, believe me, he wouldn't get away from me.

Seeing Burgess's completely bewildered expression, Platt lifted both hands in the air as if she had just shared a universal truth.

—Life is short, Burgess. Happiness is the most important thing.

Burgess blinked, still trying to decide whether she had just received motherly advice, a threat, or both at the same time.

—Oh, and by the way.

Platt recovered her stern expression and pointed a finger at her.

—If a single word of this reaches anyone else's ears, you'll be directing traffic until the day I die. Is that clear?

—Crystal clear —Burgess answered immediately.

Platt raised her fist in one final silent threat before turning around and walking away, returning to the front desk as if nothing had happened.

Burgess remained frozen, radio in hand, her mind a complete mess.

Meanwhile, Ethan had already arrived at the alert location.

When he stopped, he looked around the nearby streets in surprise. The neighborhood was far too familiar. Fiona's house was barely two streets away.

Coincidence or not, for some reason this felt familiar to him, but he could not quite remember why.

A crowd had gathered in front of a simple-looking house. Neighbors stood on the sidewalk, curious onlookers watched from porches, and several patrol cars were parked haphazardly, blocking much of the street.

Ethan stopped the Ford Interceptor in the middle of the road, turned off the engine, and got out.

—Oh, oh, oh.

—Oh, sure, perfect! —Frank shouted from the sidewalk, raising his arms as if he were reporting a crime— The land of the free, where a man can't drink in peace, but a cop can park in the middle of the damn street like he owns Chicago!

Several people turned their heads toward him.

Frank pointed indignantly at the Ford Interceptor.

—Is nobody going to give him a ticket? Nobody? If I leave a bicycle leaning wrong, half the department shows up to ruin my life!

He staggered a few steps forward, his coat crooked and his hair a mess.

—Since when is this a private police party? Look at all these cars, blocking the street, trampling our constitutional rights and scaring the good, hardworking people of this neighborhood.

Some of the neighbors looked at him in annoyance.

Frank pressed a hand to his chest.

—Yes, I said good people. We may owe money, we may have trouble with the law, and one or two cousins might be on parole, but we're still American citizens, damn it. So stay away from the residents around here. We're decent people… within reason.

—Shut up, Frank —a scolding voice said— A child is missing. Why don't you go bother someone else?

Ethan turned his head and confirmed that the one shouting was, in fact, Frank.

And the one scolding him was Tony, the patrol officer who had pointed a gun at him last time, and also one of Fiona's neighbors.

Now was not the time for greetings.

The Intelligence Unit walked toward the house.

The front yard was covered in streamers and birthday balloons, but there was no trace of the festive atmosphere that should have been there.

A cacophony of arguments rose from the crowd, creating a deafening noise.

—Who are the parents?

Ethan and Hank entered the front yard and asked the nearby patrol officers.

—Hey.

Tony pushed his way through the crowd and raised a hand in greeting.

—Hi, Tony, right?

Ethan shook his hand and then gestured beside him.

—This is Sergeant Hank Voight.

—Detective Morgan, Sergeant, pleasure.

Tony let go of his hand and nodded respectfully toward Hank.

—Sergeant. The boy's parents are inside. Follow me.

—Everyone else stays here —Hank ordered, turning toward the team— Talk to the neighbors, check the party guests, ask if anyone saw a stranger, an unusual car, anything out of place.

The members of Intelligence dispersed through the crowd, questioning the neighbors and the guests still gathered in the yard.

Since it was a child's birthday party, there were also a lot of people inside the house. Balloons, plastic cups, plates with half-served cake, and toys scattered across the floor contrasted with the heavy atmosphere filling the place.

Tony cleared a path through a few relatives and led them into the living room.

On the couch, a man wearing glasses sat stiffly, holding the shoulders of a woman who was crying against his chest. Both looked on the verge of collapse.

Tony discreetly indicated the couple and stepped aside.

Ethan took a deep breath, softened his voice a little, and showed his badge.

—I'm Detective Morgan. I understand your son is missing, correct?

—Yes… yes, that's right.

The white man adjusted his glasses with a trembling hand, trying to keep himself together while his wife continued crying beside him.

—I need you to try to calm down for me now. This is very important for us. Can you do that?

Ethan took out his notebook.

—Yes.

The white man nodded repeatedly, still unable to hide the panic in his eyes.

Seeing the chaotic crowd around him, Ethan impatiently raised the hand holding his pen.

—Hello, everyone. We need a quiet environment in here. Clear the area.

There were murmurs of discontent, but most people obeyed, either going upstairs or heading outside.

The remaining people also left the living room after being persuaded by Tony and other patrol officers.

—All right.

Ethan sat down beside the coffee table and asked:

—Hello, I'm Detective Morgan, and this is Sergeant Hank Voight. What are your names?

—Gary Casden —the man answered, adjusting his glasses with a trembling hand. Then he pointed to the woman beside him— This is my wife, Beth.

Ethan wrote the names in his notebook and looked up at him.

—Mr. Casden, I need you to tell me everything from the beginning. At what point did you lose sight of your son? Where was the last time you saw him?

Ethan quickly wrote the information in his notebook without fully taking his eyes off the couple.

Gary took his wife's hand anxiously, as if he needed to hold on to something to keep from falling apart.

—Casey —he said, his voice tight— He's two years old. Today was supposed to be his birthday party.

That much was obvious from the streamers, balloons, and paper plates scattered throughout the house. Everything was still prepared for a celebration that had suddenly become a nightmare.

—All right —Ethan said, keeping his voice calm— When was the last time you saw him?

—About an hour ago —Gary answered at once— He was playing in the front yard. People were coming and going, other kids were running around… we thought he was fine. When we looked again, he was gone.

Ethan made a brief note.

This was the South Side. Leaving a two-year-old child playing alone in the front yard was, at the very least, a dangerous display of trust.

—I need a recent photo of the boy, and I need you to tell me what clothes he was wearing when he disappeared.

—Of course, Detective —Mrs. Casden said, drying her tears with the back of her hand— He was wearing a Superman costume, with a red cape.

Ethan nodded.

That helped. A small child dressed as Superman would draw much more attention than a generic description.

—Good. That's useful.

He tapped the pen softly against his notebook and continued:

—Now I need to ask you something else. Do you have any enemies? Anyone you've argued with recently? Family problems, debts, work conflicts, anyone who might want to hurt you?

—No.

Mrs. Casden quickly waved her hand, almost offended by the idea.

—I'm a housewife. My husband is a good man. He doesn't look for trouble. He doesn't even argue with the neighbors when their bushes cross our fence.

Ethan listened, but he did not settle for that. He turned his gaze toward Gary.

Sleeping in the same bed as someone did not mean knowing all their secrets. In a disappearance, any detail could matter, even the one that seemed impossible.

Gary swallowed and shook his head.

—My wife is right. I can't think of anyone. No one I know would do something like this.

—All right.

Ethan closed his notebook.

—Can you give me a recent photo of Casey?

—Of course, no problem.

Mrs. Casden quickly took out her phone.

—I took this one this morning.

On the screen was an adorable little blond boy, dressed in a Superman costume with a red cape on his back.

Ethan took out his phone and forwarded the photo to Jin so he could distribute it.

Jin would send the image to every corner of the city, including the media, so it could be broadcast throughout Chicago.

—Thank you for your cooperation. We'll take it from here.

Hank, who had been standing silently behind him, stepped forward, took a business card from his pocket, and handed it to Mrs. Casden.

—If you remember anything else, you can call me anytime.

—I will.

Mrs. Casden clutched the card in both hands and said anxiously:

—Please, you have to bring Casey back.

The two of them left the house together, and Ethan pressed the button on his walkie-talkie, relaying Casey Casden's physical description to Platt.

A moment later, the walkie-talkie clipped near a patrol officer's shoulder crackled.

The information transmitted from central communications was exactly what Ethan had just given.