Chicago PD: Hank Voight's Forbidden Love

Chapter Three: The First Meeting

         Sgt. Hank Voight called his old high school friend, Mike Nashton, and told him he needed to talk to him as soon as possible about the investigation on Clarence Walker's whereabouts.  Mike told him he was working from home that day and to come there. 
          When Voight pulled into the driveway of Mike's home, he let out a long whistle.  It was one of those massive 19th century mansions that sat in an upscale section of Hyde Park.  It had to have had at least 20 rooms, maybe more, he thought, as he stared in awe at the magnificent edifice.  He couldn't believe that only two people, Mike and his niece, lived here.   The corporate law practice must be very lucrative, he mused.  He was happy for the tall skinny kid he used to protect from the bullies back in the day.
           Mike answered the door, and the two men shook hands. 
           "Come on in, Hank, and take a load off."
           Voight stepped into the foyer and looked around the house in amazement.  The house was tastefully and expensively decorated, its opulence imposing.  And yet, it also had a coziness about it that one wouldn't expect in a home that large.
            "You've obviously done well for yourself, Mike.  I gotta say, you mentioned you lived in a mansion, but I wasn't expecting this.  And it's just you and your niece living here?"
           "Yep, just the two of us.  But we love it.  I had to get after my niece a few years ago when she was learning to roller skate on my hardwood floors.  I put a stop to that immediately."
           Hank winced.  "Ouch.  Roller skating on hardwood floors?  But you know what, you could turn this downstairs area into a roller rink some day.  It's certainly big enough."
          The two men laughed as they walked into the kitchen to talk.
          "Can I get you a drink, Hank?"
            "No, thanks, Mike, I'm still on duty."
             "Well, actually I was thinking of something nonalcoholic like a coke or orange juice."
            "I'll take a coke then."
            "Coming right up."
            Mike took a can of Coca Cola  out of the refrigerator and handed it to Hank as the two men sat at the butcher block table.
            "You want a glass for that?"
             Hank waved him off and said he'd drink it straight from the can.  He took a swig and then placed it on the table as he began to bring Mike up to speed.
            "So here's the deal, Mike.  We can't locate this Clarence Walker.  The man's a ghost. It's like he never existed.  We've checked the DMV records, and there's no registration for the blue Ford Escort."
         "I gave you the mechanic's name who sold it to him."
         "One of my detectives talked to him already, and it led to a dead end.  The car was a piece of junk, and the registered owner has been dead for almost 10 years.  The only paper they exchanged for the sale was the $300 in cash Walker paid for the heap."
         "That doesn't surprise me."
          "Also we can't find any records on him at all.  No social security number, no tax ID, no cell phone or landline phone.  Not so much as a library card."
         Mike snorted in contempt.  "Library card.  Clarence hasn't read a book his entire life. He dropped out of high school his sophomore year.  Not that he attended anyway.  He was always on his own as a kid.  His mother was an alcoholic and a junkie, and his father was never in the picture.  I don't think he even knew his father."
        "This guy has raised being off the grid to an art form," Voight continued. "But my team is still working on it.  The entire Chicago Police Department is looking for him, not to mention that the Englewood neighborhood watch is on high alert as well.  They wanna catch this guy as much as we do.  It's just gonna take a little time."
         Mike was disappointed by the news, but he knew that Hank and his team were the best at what they did.  He just hoped another murder wouldn't occur in the meantime.
           "Let me ask you something, Hank."
           "What's that?"
            "Do you think Clarence knows I talked to you?  I mean think about it.  He confesses to me, and the next day the police are swarming all over Englewood looking for him.  I'm sure he's heard you guys are out there.  It wouldn't be too much of a leap for him to figure out why.  He's crazy, but he's not stupid."
             "I suppose it's possible he knows we're on to him, so you may want to stay away from your office until he's apprehended since he knows where you work.  You should be safe here."
         "Not really."
          "What do you mean?"
           "Clarence knows where I live.  He came by here about a year and a half ago."
            Voight was taken aback by this news.
            "You told him where you lived?"
             "That's just it, Hank.  I made it a point to never give him my address because I didn't want him showing up here.  But that's exactly what happened.  I was in my office one day, and Elena was here by herself.  She had just gotten home from school, and the housekeeper had left for the day."
              Voight's anxiety was beginning to build as he listened to Mike.
               "So at about 4:00 in the afternoon Elena calls me whispering in a panic that some scary looking guy was at the door looking for me.  I asked her to describe him, and I knew immediately it was Clarence.  So I tell her to give him the phone and then go upstairs to her bedroom and lock the door."
           "And what happened?"
            "So she goes out to the front stoop where he is and hands him the phone, closes the door, and runs upstairs to her room and locks the door.  I grabbed my keys and ran to my car, but I kept him talking on the phone the whole time.  Man, I must have broken every traffic law on the books that day.  I just wanted to keep  him talking until I got there."
            "Smart move."
             "Yeah.  Well anyway I finally get here, and there he is still standing on the front stoop talking to me on the phone.  I took the phone away from him and told him he had to leave and not to come back to my house again."
         "Did you ask him how he knew your address?"
          "Actually, I did.  But he just kind of chuckled and said something about he had ways of finding out stuff.  But he assured me he wouldn't come back, and then he left.  He hasn't been back since.  But the point is he knows where I live, Hank.  And frankly, that scares the hell out of me."
         "Yeah, me, too."
          Voight thought for a moment, and then he came up with an idea. 
          "Here's what I'll do, Mike.  I'll arrange to have a patrol car park in front of your house twenty four hours until we catch Walker."
          Mike shook his head vigorously.
          "No, that won't work, Hank.  This is an upscale neighborhood.  My neighbors would raise holy hell if they saw a police presence around my house.  I know that sounds stupid, but I'm certain of what the fallout would be.  I suppose I could work from home, but there are days when I have to be in court."
          "Fair enough."  Voight leaned back and took another swig of cola as he thought of other possibilities.
          "Okay. I get it.  You don't want your niece here alone in case Walker shows up again, right?"
          "Exactly."
            "And you shouldn't have to interrupt your law practice.  You gotta pay for this mansion."  Hank winked at him.
           "So here's what I'll do," Voight continued. "I'll make arrangements to have an unmarked squad car pick her up from school every day and bring her to the 21st District where I work.  She can stay up in the bull pen with us.  She can do her homework, play games on her phone if she's into that, take a nap, whatever she wants. If we have to leave — which happens often — our desk sergeant, Trudy Platt, will take care of her.  Then either you can pick her up or one of us will bring her home when you're ready.  She'll be completely safe."
         "Hank, I can't ask you to do that."
          "Why not?  You've given us the biggest break yet in this case. Thanks to you we now have the identity of the Forest Preserves Killer. Plus we're friends, Mike. I always take care of my friends."
"Yeah, I know," said Mike. "You certainly looked after my skinny ass in high school."
"Now, your niece may not be thrilled at first, but we've got a bunch of great people who work at District 21 who'll look after her when my team and I can't, not to mention some pretty cool vending machines with plenty of  snacks.  Besides, it's only temporary.  Like I said, we will nab this punk sooner rather than later."
      "Thanks, Hank. I don't know what to say."
       The two men shook hands.
        "Elena's upstairs now in her room.  Let me call her down so she can meet her new babysitter."
         The two men laughed.  Mike called out to Elena and told her to come downstairs.
          Two minutes later an extraordinarily beautiful young girl dressed in jeans and an oversized T shirt — probably her uncle's — walked barefoot into the kitchen.  When she saw Voight, a look of confusion came across her face.
          "Yes?" she asked with uncertainty.
           "Elena, I want you to meet someone."
            Voight stood up and walked over to the young girl, his hand extended.  She took it tentatively as they shook hands.
            "This is Sergeant Henry Voight of the Chicago Police Department.  He and I went to high school together about 150 years ago."
            "How are you, Elena?"  Voight smiled as he looked down at the shy young girl.  As impossible as it was, she was even more beautiful than her photo.  He looked down at the soft small hand which rested in his and felt a sudden wave of tenderness  sweep over him.  He hadn't expected that, and it momentarily confused him. 
          "I'm fine, sir.  I'm . . .  I'm pleased to meet you."
            "I tell you what.  You call me Hank."
             Elena looked over at her uncle. 
             "It's okay, sweetie.  I know he's an adult, but if he says you can call him Hank, then I guess you can call him Hank."  He and Voight winked at each other.
             "It's like your Uncle Mike said, it's okay to call me Hank.  In fact, I insist on it."  Voight finally let go of her hand. 
              "Yes, sir . . . I — I mean Hank."  It was obvious she had no idea what was going on.
               Then Voight got serious and asked her to sit down with them at the table.  He was going to explain a few things to her about her new schedule without going into the sordid details.
              "So Elena, your uncle and I have been talking over a few things and want to let you know what's happening.  There are going to be a couple of changes, but just for a while.  So here's what's gonna happen."
             And for the next two hours the three of them sat around the table and talked about the change in Elena's schedule.
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