Chicago PD: Hank Voight's Forbidden Love

Tell Me the Truth

Kevin Atwater sat in his living staring at the television.  A movie was on, but he wasn't watching it because his thoughts were light years away from his current location. The house was quiet, too quiet for his taste since his brother, Jordan, had moved out some months earlier and his sister,Vanessa, was now attending college at Tuskegee University in Alabama. He missed them both as he sat on that couch sipping a beer . . .  and waiting.

There was a knock at the door. He put down his beer, got up from the couch, and walked over to the door and opened it. His sergeant stood outside on the front porch.

"Hey, Kevin."

"Sergeant. Come on in."

Kevin stood aside as Voight entered the house and walked into the living room.

"What are you watching?" Voight asked as he glanced at the television.

"I don't know," Kevin said dismissively, shrugging his shoulders.  "Some dumb movie I just happened to turn on. It looks like one of those teenage vampire movies. Who the hell knows? Can I get you a beer?"

"Yeah, I could use one," Voight said as he sat down in an armchair, making himself comfortable.

Atwater walked into the kitchen, retrieved a can of beer from the refrigerator, and took it into the living room, handing it to Voight.

"Thanks, Kev."

"No problem."

Kevin settled onto the couch and waited for his sergeant to state his business. He knew this wasn't a casual, drop-in let's-have-a-beer-together kind of visit.

Voight took a swig of the beer and placed the can on the end table next to where he sat. He watched Kevin for several seconds without saying anything. He noted that his young detective didn't seem the least bit surprised or even curious about this unannounced visit and was patiently waiting for the conversation to begin.

"You knew I was coming, didn't you?" Voight asked, breaking the silence.

Atwater didn't reply. He took another sip of beer and placed the can on the coffee table before him. He then picked up the TV remote and turned off the television.

Turning to Voight he said, "What brings you here tonight, Sergeant?"

All pretenses were set aside, and the time for truth had arrived.  Voight began:

"I just had an interesting conversation with Kirkland Wright, Midian's dad, but I'm guessing you already know that because I'm also guessing he just called you and filled you in."

Atwater said nothing.

Voight continued:

"So it would appear that neither he nor his son, Matthew, killed Murphy," Voight continued.  "If their alibis check out — which I'm certain they will — neither one of them was anywhere near the crime scene on the night of the murder. Wright was in L.A. attending some convention, and young Matthew was in Indiana at his frat house."

"Yeah, I would say that sounds pretty air tight," Atwater replied nonchalantly.

"And here's another interesting note," Voight continued.  "He said that .40 caliber S and W Glock of his was stolen years ago by his nephew and hasn't been seen since. And contrary to what we thought, he says he's known all along that his nephew, Ethan Campbell, claimed responsibility for the Lane Bryant massacre.  He also says not to put  too much stock in his claim because apparently the young man had some serious mental and emotional problems, not to mention drug and alcohol addictions.  It would appear that Wright has covered all his bases, and this case has suddenly hit a dead end."

"It appears that way," Atwater said in a dry, unconcerned voice.  "But it's Homicide's problem, not ours, right, Sergeant?"

"Right.  But here's another thing:  Wright knew that."

Atwater looked at Voight.

"Knew what?"

"He knew that Homicide is running point on this case.  He also knew that the Intelligence Unit was ordered not to go anywhere near this case.  Now, as you know, Kev, those are internal matters that he wouldn't know anything about.  He also knew that Murphy was intoxicated and shot in an alley.  That was never publicized."

Kevin nodded in agreement. 

Voight continued:

"Also Wright says there's a surveillance video of him and some of his architect buddies sitting in a bar lounge at the Marriott Hotel in downtown L.A. at exactly the same time of Murphy's death.  How would he even know the exact time of Murphy's death?  That was never made public either.  So it would appear to me that someone from inside the CPD has been feeding him information.  At least that's the only logical explanation I can come up with."

Atwater took another sip of his beer.

Voight looked at Atwater and could tell nothing he was saying to him was a startling revelation.

"You know, Kevin, one of the smartest things I ever did was bringing you into the Intelligence Unit. You're not a good cop, you're a great cop. You're smart without being arrogant; you're decisive but can improvise on a dime if the circumstances dictate it; you're tough as nails without being brash or hotheaded; and while you can be very calculating, you listen to your  gut instincts which are always on point. Also — and this is coming straight from the heart — you've become like a son to me."

Atwater looked at Voight, genuinely touched by his comment.  "Thank you, Sergeant.  I feel the same way."

"Kevin, when you first came into my unit do you remember what I told you? I said always tell me the truth so that I can lie for you. Do you remember that?"

Atwater nodded. "I do."

"So you need to tell me the truth now." Voight leaned into him.

"Kevin, did you kill Murphy?"
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