Sgt. Voight was sitting in his office going over his files on the Clarence Walker case while his team was out in the field still canvassing the neighborhoods for any clues as to Walker's whereabouts. They were no closer to finding him now than they had been three weeks ago, and everyone was holding his breath waiting for the next murder. The Forest Preserve police were out in the areas in record numbers patrolling every square inch of the preserves. Sadly they had unearthed more dead bodies bearing Walker's signature. Most of these bodies were no more than bones and hanks of hair, but there were enough forensics left to determine that it was his handiwork. Walker would be caught. He had to be. It was just a matter of when.
It was a little before 5:00 p.m. when Voight's cell phone rang, and the caller ID said it was Mike.
"Hey, Mike, how's it going, Bro?"
"Oh, man, sometimes I have to ask myself why I became a lawyer. I'm in the middle of this evidence deposition that's turned into a marathon session thanks to this young snot-nosed prick defense counsel who's trying to make his chops on his first major case."
"That bad, huh?"
"Worse. He's objecting to every question I ask and then instructing his client not to answer, which means I have to certify each question. So far we're up to 87 certified questions. That's unheard of. But what am I going to do, huh?"
"I'll tell you what you're gonna do. You're gonna keep making those big bucks so you can pay for that Hyde Park mansion and Mercedes Benz and that condo on Maui."
Both men laughed.
"Listen, Hank, how's my niece doing?"
"Actually , she's doin' great. She's in the break room right now finishing up her homework. Are you on your way to pick her up?"
"Thats what I was getting to. I think we've got another two, possibly three, hours to go on this damn deposition, so I was going to ask you if you could get one of your patrol officers to drop her off here at the office. I won't be leaving here any time soon, and she can hang out in our lounge until I'm done."
Voight thought for a moment.
"Listen, Mike, how about this? I'm gonna be leaving here in a few minutes, so what if I take her home with me, and you can just pick her up from my house whenever you're done. I'll give her dinner so you won't have to worry about that."
"I couldn't ask you to do that, Hank."
"Why not? It's not a problem. Besides it'll be nice to have a dinner guest for a change. I eat alone most of the time. C'mon, what do you say?"
"I don't know what to say. You've done so much for me already this past month. Okay, yeah, sure. I'll pick her up from your house as soon as I finish up here. Like I said it'll be another two, maybe three hours."
"Great. Do you remember my address?"
"How could I forget it? All that time I spent at your house after school and on the weekends, it's burned into my lifetime memory. I'll call you when I'm leaving the office. Right now I've gotta get back to this miserable fuck face pissant lawyer."
Voight chuckled at his friend's anger. "Man, I can always tell when you're super pissed because that's the only time you curse."
"Really? I hadn't noticed," replied Mike. He had never noticed that.
"Yeah, really. Back in high school you were always this straight-laced choir boy who never uttered a curse word until that time Mr. Mulhern, our biology teacher, had the nerve to give you a B minus on a quiz, and you called him all kinds of sons of bitches and assholes."
Voight laughed at the memory.
"Huh, I don't remember that," Mike said, his memory of that event nonexistent.
"Well, I do. And hey, it just means you're human."
Mike chortled at his friend's remembrance .
"Listen, Hank, I gotta go. We'll talk about my cursing history later."
"Okay, Buddy, I'll talk to you soon. And don't worry about Elena. She's in good hands."
Voight disconnected the call and put his phone into his pocket and went to the lounge where Elena was studying.
"Hey, Kitten," he said as he entered the break room and saw the girl curled up on the sofa with a book. She looked up at him and flashed him a smile that instantly melted his heart.
"Hi, Hank. Have you heard from Uncle Mike?"
"Yeah, as I matter of fact I just got off the phone with him. Look, he's stuck at the office and can't pick you up right now, so I'm gonna take you home with me, and he'll pick you up from my house later on tonight. How does that sound?"
"Awesome." She closed her book and began gathering her things.
"And I thought I'd fix us dinner," Voight continued. "Do you like spaghetti — or does that have too many carbs for you?" he asked her teasingly.
"Actually, I love spaghetti."
"Well, then spaghetti it is."
"Are you a good cook," she asked.
"Of course I'm a good cook! Everybody says so!! But you'll be able to judge for yourself."
Elena laughed. "I'm looking forward to it."
"We'll roll in five minutes, Voight said as he started to walk out of the break room. "We'll have to stop at the store so I can pick up a few things, and then it's on to Chez Voight for an Italian-style spaghetti dinner."
He walked back into his office to gather up his belongings. He had a smile on his face, happy that he was actually going to have a dinner companion tonight — even if she was only 15 years old.
.——————————————————————————-
Voight and Elena went to Mariano's and shopped for the items he would need to make dinner that evening. He really enjoyed walking around the store with her and discussing which brands were better. He felt comfortable with her, and she was very comfortable being with him. He was amazed at how close they had become in such a short amount of time, and he did not want to see it end.
When they got to his home she helped him prepare the dinner by chopping the garlic and onions and boiling the pasta. They chatted the whole time.
Later they sat at the table enjoying the meal they had both collaborated on and talked about everything from her school and friends to the members of his Unit with a special focus on Atwater. She was still enamored with his young detective, which Voight found amusing.
Later after dinner when the dishes were washed and put away, Voight and Elena sat on the couch in his study scrolling through On Demand to find a movie to watch.
"I have to say, you ARE a good cook, Hank," Elena said. "That spaghetti was awesome."
"Well, thank you, Miss Elena. Team effort. I gotta say, I didn't know a tiny girl like you could put it away like that. I'm glad I made as much as I did. Up til now, I thought the only thing you ever ate was Greek yogurt and grapes."
"No, I like good food. And yeah, I'm into healthy eating, but I got that from Uncle Mike. He says good health habits should begin when you're young, that way when you get older you'll reap the benefits and live a longer, healthier life."
"That sounds like something he'd say," Voight mused. "I remember back when we were in high school, he'd order salads and cottage cheese and sh . . . stuff like that while the rest of us were scarfing down hamburgers and French fries or onion rings. But what's the fun in eating a salad?"
"Well, it's paying off. For an old man, he's still in really good shape."
"Old man? Whaddaya talking about? He's four months younger than I am, young lady."
"Yes, I know."
Hank playfully bopped her on the head in mock anger.
"So what do you want to watch?" he asked. "What kind of movies do you like? Romantic, comedy, fantasy, adventure, uh, Disney?"
"I'm more into horror movies, thrillers, supernatural, crime, slasher movies, that kind of stuff."
"You're kiddin'"
"Yeah, I'm a big fan of the Friday the 13th movies."
"Gotta say, Kitten, behind that sweet innocent face of yours lurks a rather disturbing dark side." Voight winked at her.
"Uncle Mike says the same thing. But hey, everyone has a dark side. How about a good ghost story?" she asked. "I like those, too."
"Sure, why not. Did you have a particular one in mind?"
"The Haunting. Scariest movie I ever saw. And I'm talking about the 1963 black and white version with Julie Harris, not that 1999 remake crap with Liam Neeson with all of those special effects."
"Wow, a woman who knows what she likes. But how would you know about movies made back in the sixties — or even the nineties for that matter? You're only 15."
"Uncle Mike is into old movies. He says they don't make them like they used to, and I have to agree with him. Movies today rely too much on special effects. Now take The Haunting for example, the 1963 version. No special effects at all. In fact, you never even see a single ghost, and yet it's still terrifying. And the director pulled it off on a budget of just a million dollars. Even in 1963 that wasn't a lot of money for making a movie. I had to sleep with the light on for two weeks the first time I saw it."
"You like being scared?" asked Voight.
"Sure, it's fun."
"Then I guess we'll watch The Haunting," he said as he clicked on the movie. "And that would be the 1963 version, not that 1999 remake crap with Liam Neeson."
Elena smiled at him. He felt comfortable with her, as though he had known her for years rather than a couple of months. They settled in to watch the movie.
———————————————————————————
Mike Nashton sat at his desk in his office tapping out the last notes on the evidence deposition he had just taken. Silently he cursed the young attorney who had turned what should have been a routine evidence deposition into a major ordeal replete with future motions and court hearings.
"It's personal now, ass-wipe," as he thought of his opposing counsel. Mike always tried to keep things professional but sometimes some pompous twerp got under his skin and sent him down a different path, one of revenge and annihilation.
He was almost finished, and then he would call Hank and let him know he was, thankfully, on his way to pick up Elena. He wasn't much of a drinker and never kept liquor in the house, but he definitely could use one tonight and hoped Hank would pour one for him. He recalled back in the day that Voight knew his away around his father's liquor cabinet.
Then he heard it. The first time he heard the noise, he didn't think anything of it. It was well after hours, everyone in his office had left for the day, and the only other people left in the building were the cleaning crew and custodians. But when he heard the sound again, some visceral instinct told him that it was not the sound of the cleaning crew or maintenance person.
His heart began to race as he slowly lifted himself out of the chair and walked quietly out of his office. He first went into the conference room and flipped on the lights. Clearly no was in there. He then systematically went down the hallway of his suite of offices, opening the doors and looking into each of them. Empty. He then went to the restrooms, first the men's, then the women's. The stalls were empty. He finally convinced himself that he was behaving just like he did at home at night every time the house creaked or settled. Stupid, he thought. " Between Elena and me, I'm the one acting like a 15-year old girl," he thought. He was tired and just wanted to get home. He had two more lines to type on his notes, and then it would be out the door.
He walked into his office and stopped dead in his tracks, his heart racing, sheer panic and terror suffusing his entire body in an instant. There, sitting at his desk, was Clarence Walker.
———————————————————————————
"Hey, Man, long time, no see," said Walker as he grinned maniacally at Mike.
The two men stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Mike was able to find his voice.
"Clarence. Whaddaya doing here?" He was making a monumental effort to keep his voice from shaking.
"Just waiting to see you, Man, just waiting to see you."
Mike glanced over at his jacket which was hanging on the coat rack a few feet away. His 9-millimeter was inside.
That glance was not lost on Walker.
"Looking for this, Mikey?" He holds up the gun.
At that point the blood drained from Mike's face, and it took all the strength in his body to remain standing. Walker had the drop on him, and there was nothing he could do.
"Look, Clarence . . ."
"No, you look. I ain't got much time to chat. Maybe you haven't heard, but I've become famous all of a sudden. I turn on the TV and I see my face on every major network and cable channel in the area. Everybody's talking about me. They call me the Forest Preserve Killer. They say I'm one of the worst serial killers Illinois has ever had. Now why do you suppose they would say that?"
"Look, Clarence . . . "
"NO, YOU LOOK!!" shouted Walker as he stood up, rage flashing from his eyes.
"You was the one friend I had my whole miserable life. The one friend! What I told you, I said to you in confidence. Besides, what about that attorney-client privilege thing? Don't it matter for something?"
"Clarence, I'm sorry, but attorney-client privilege doesn't apply to violent crimes or when there's a grave public risk. You couldn't expect me . . ."
"What I expected was for you to be my friend like we was back in the day when I kept half the neighborhood gangbangers from kicking your sorry ass! What I expected was a brother who wouldn't turn on another brother he's known practically all his life just so he could play up to the Man. What I expected was a black man who thought more about friendship and loyalty than a bunch of bitches. What I expected was my oldest and onliest friend not to be an Uncle Tom by sticking his nose up the white man's ass!! That's what I expected."
"Clarence, I know you're upset, but we can work this out. Now I know you need money to get as far away from here as possible. I can help you out with that." Mike was desperate and pleading for his life.
"I could use some dough, yeah. How much you got on you?"
"I'm reaching for my wallet, okay, in my back pocket." Mike carefully pulled out his wallet and withdrew the cash and counted it out.
"I've got about $250 here. I know that's not nearly enough, but I can get you more, a lot more."
Walker grabbed the money out of Mike's hand.
"Well, you're damn straight, I'm gonna need a hellava lot more than that. Whaddaya gonna do, Man, take me to the bank tomorrow and withdraw a few thousand dollars for me? Introduce me to your personal banker? That would be real nice. Maybe if I opened my own bank account they'll give me a toaster. But I'm guessing that ain't gonna happen because . . . well, let's just say you ain't gonna be around tomorrow."
"Clarence, don't get crazy on me now. You're in enough trouble as it is."
"Who you calling crazy??"
Mike put his hands out placatingly. "I'm sorry, man, I wasn't suggesting you're crazy."
Walker moved away from the desk, the gun now pointed directly at Mike. "
"Get over there and set yo ass down."
Mike moved slowly towards the desk, trying desperately to think of some way to save himself. So far he was coming up with nothing.
As he moved past Walker his instincts kicked in as he blindly grabbed Walkers's arm and pushed him against the wall. The two men struggled for several seconds, until Walker grabbed Mike by the neck and struck him repeatedly with the butt of the gun. Mike went limp and slid to the ground, blood streaming down his face. Walker reached into his pocket and took out a flex tie, dragged Mike over to his desk, and dropped him into the chair where he tied his hands behind him.
In his stupor Mike realized he was doomed and that further struggle would be futile.
"Please don't do this, Clarence, I'm begging you. I've got my niece to raise. I'm all she has, Man."
"Yeah, I remember your niece. Real pretty little thing. Do you think she might be interested in an older man like me? Maybe I'll go back to your house one of these days and discuss it with her — if you get my drift."
"Clarence, please stop this now. You don't have to do this."
"You startin' to sound like them bitches just before I cut they throats. Turns out you just as big a pussy as they were. Maybe I should've let those gangbangers kick your ass back in the day. Maybe that would've made more of a man out of ya."
Walker walked behind Mike and stood there for about a minute before placing the muzzle of the gun against the back of his neck.
"See you around, Pussy!"
The first bullet crashed through the base of Mike Nashton's skull, tore through his brain, destroying it, and exited his forehead, smashing into a picture of Dr. Martin Luther King that was hanging on the opposite wall.
He never felt the other two bullets.
———————————————————————————
YOU ARE READING
Chicago PD: Hank Voight's Forbidden Love
FanfictionSgt. Hank Voight, head of the Chicago PD's Intelligence Unit, receives information from an old high school friend regarding the identity of one of Chicago's most brutal serial killers. His personal life takes an unexpected turn when his friend is m...
