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Thirty-four hours.
It had been thirty-four hours since the frantic, static-filled burst of Detective Burgess’ voice had cut out over the radio, followed by the sickening sound of a struggle and a gunshot, followed by dead air, and Kim not responding to any further attempts to raise her on the air.
Correspondingly, it was also thirty-four hours since the world stopped spinning on its axis and plummeted into a free-fall of sheer, unadulterated terror for Adam Ruzek, and unfortunately, not for the first time.
The Intelligence bullpen was a buzz of energy, officers and detectives milling around, pots of coffee consumed faster than new pots were being brewed. The board was a chaotic web of dead ends, too many possible suspects instantly alibied out, security footage good for absolutely nothing.
Adam was leaning against his desk, hands braced flat against the wood, staring at the photograph of Kim pinned to the centre of the board, VICTIM emblazoned at the bottom.
Victim.
Kim.
Again.
She was smiling in this picture. It was from the first birthday they had celebrated once Makayla had become theirs.
His chest felt like it was wrapped in barbed wire, every breath a conscious, agonising effort.
The background noise quietened down as boots echoed, everyone turning to see the new Deputy Superintendent, Don Callaghan, stroll in.
Great, the pencil pusher.
The new superintendent was not well-liked – he had climbed the ranks by being mediocre and yet taking the credit, preferring press conferences over the grunt work that was the foundation of policing.
Voight stepped out of his office, ready to greet the Superintendent, but Don brushed right past him, heading towards Ruzek…
“Officer Ruzek,” he said softly, placing a hand on Adam’s shoulder, “I know it’s bad right now, and I understand the urge to want to help. But you know you can’t be here, Officer. You should go home and be with your daughter.”
Everyone froze, not sure what reaction to expect from Adam – he’d already brushed off their attempts to wrangle him home, to Makayla.
Adam didn’t move, didn’t even blink. He kept looking at the board, the board with too many questions, but not enough answers.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice dangerously low.
“Adam, listen to me,” Callaghan continued, adopting the placating tone a hostage negotiator would when dealing with a jumper, “You staring at the board isn’t going to bring Kim Burgess back faster. We have patrols on the lookout for her across the city, Ruzek. We have aviation in the air. FBIs have been brought in as well for extra manpower. I promise you, everyone is working on it.”
The silence somehow deepened.
Kevin, who had been sitting at his desk, rubbing his exhausted eyes, looked up at Adam, noting the way Adam had clenched the desk so hard that his knuckles had whitened. Hailey slowly lowered the file she was pretending to read. Even Voight’s jaw tightened, the tension that had already been in the room now reaching a boiling point.
It was a generic phrase. A cop cliché. Something they all said all the time, without even thinking about it.
Instead, it was the spark that hit the powder keg.
“Everyone is working on it,” he repeated softly, jerking his shoulder so that Callaghan’s hand fell off it.
“That’s right,” he nodded, not too sure why the rest of the squad looked like they were preparing for a gunfight in the bullpen.
“Working on it,” Adam repeated, pushing himself off the table and turning to face Callaghan. He looked like he hadn’t slept for long before Kim was missing, but at the moment, his eyes were burning with feral intensity, as though he could burn a hole through Don, “Everyone’s working on it, are they?”
“Adam,” Kevin felt brave enough to interrupt, approaching Ruzek as if approaching a wild animal, “Take a beat.”
“No, Kev, no. I want to hear Callaghan continue,” he said, his voice rising, almost yelling like a whip in a quiet room. He took a step towards the superior officer, invading Don’s space, “Everyone’s working on it. Oh, so you’re working on it too? Great, guess I can just go home and take a nap then, can’t I? Flick on the TV and watch another one of your press conferences and just sit back and wait for Kim at home?”
“Officer Ruzek, dial it down,” he ordered, his tone hardening.
“Dial it down?” Adam was yelling now, hand slamming down on the table, landing on the stack of neat papers on Kim’s side, the folders exploding, showering the bullpen in case reports and photos.
Callaghan flinched, taking a step backwards, looking at Voight, as if to tell him to get his officer under control.
“Don’t you dare tell me to dial it down.” Adam’s entire body was shaking now in rage, and he knew it was wrong, that yelling wouldn’t do anything to fix the issue, but it was so cathartic… All the rage that had been bubbling in him with every hour that passed at Kim was still gone, and came flooding out, Callaghan, the unfortunate victim of the breakdown of the Officer.
“Look at her! Look at her picture!” Ruzek approached the board, gesturing wildly at it, “Do you know how many times we’ve been working on it whilst Kim’s been out there? Whilst she’s been missing out in the dark, or bleeding out from being shot? And now we don’t even know what’s happened to her…”
“She is the mother of my child, Callaghan,” he continued, approaching the superior officer again. In the corner of his eye, he saw Upton gear up to approach him, but Hank held out his hand, keeping her back.
“You need to leave, Callaghan,” Voight demanded, and for once, the superintendent made the right choice, leaving the Intelligence Unit’s bullpen, the rest of the officers watching as Ruzek left the ‘pen and slammed the door to one of the interrogation rooms, the sound of the chair slamming against the wall echoing.
“Get back to it,” Voight told the team, knocking on the door before entering, spotting the officer slumped on the bench, head in hands.
“That feel good? Got it out of your system?” Voight asked, and Adam nodded.
“Good. Wipe your face and grab your gear. We’ll be waiting downstairs.”