Chicago P.D.

What are you doing?

- Hey. - Hey.

Um, my sister's coming.

Oh, all right.

The judgmental one or the pretty one?

They're the same sister.

Right, right.

Well, I always liked her. I think the feeling was mutual,

so I'm gonna talk you up, girl. - Oh, yeah?

- Yeah, I'm gonna make you look awesome.

- Okay, just in case it comes up,

but I'm sure that it won't... - Mm-hmm.

She hates you now.

- She what? - We gotta go.

Hold on.

What are you talking about?

We gotta go.

Wha... I'm loveable.

- Hey, you're gonna miss your bus.

- Who got popped? - A kid who missed his bus.

Man!

Uh, this isn't one of us.

This is Bobby Trent's car.

You know, that sleaze bag videographer.

Yeah.

- .22's his, but this is no suicide.

The entry wound is in the center of his face.

And there's no contact wound.

People don't wanna see it coming.

- He's got half a dozen puncture wounds.

Shallow, sporadic. It's overkill.

- We talked to one of Bobby's stringers,

who was out here shooting crime scenes last night.

He didn't know if Bobby was working

but there were three shootings in the area,

so he might have been. - Oh, look,

the car's a crime scene.

I don't want anyone else near it until it's towed.

Hey, you and ruzek canvas the area.

See if anyone's willing to talk to us.

- Yeah. - And confirm whether or not

Bobby was working. If he wasn't,

what the hell was he doing here?

- Yo, sarge. - Huh?

- Bobby's daughter was actually the one who found him.

- Yeah. - Her name is Margot.

Says she's not leaving till she talks to whoever's in charge.

Huh.

Margot?

Hey, can you give us a minute, please?

Hi, Margot. I'm sergeant Hank Voight

with the intelligence unit.

One of my officers said you wanted to talk to me.

Yeah, um, do you know my dad?

Not well.

- Most cops hate that he films what he films.

They don't think he's worth much.

- Listen, your father was just doing his job.

My job is to find out what happened to him.

I've been working for him.

This morning, I was logging footage

and I knew something was wrong.

We all share our locations for work.

And he said he was here.

I thought he must be working a scene.

- And why'd you know something must be wrong?

Because I didn't have access.

His computer, our servers... It was all down.

Clear.

Clear.

Well, someone did not like Bobby Trent.

Everything electronic is destroyed.

There's gonna be nothing left but dust.

I think that's the point.

Somebody wanted everything gone.

Got something.

- All we have is a video file. No audio at all.

- They have no idea they're being filmed.

Maybe Bobby got off on this.

- Or maybe this is what got him killed.

Bobby Trent, 41 years old.

Was a freelance videographer at crime scenes.

Sold footage to all the major news affiliates.

He was found at 6:12 A.M.

Single .22 caliber gunshot to the face.

Ballistics match Bobby's gun.

Estimated time of death between 10:30 and midnight.

- The me thinks that the seven puncture wounds

to Bobby's chest and stomach came after the shot.

They're very in depth, but they're all with the same blade.

Small, shallow. Swiss army knife,

something similar.

- His phone locations show he left his loft,

drove straight there, arrived at 10:21 P.M.,

but the closest crime scene is three blocks away.

- And forensics has no trace evidence to work with.

No prints on the gun. Offender likely

wore gloves, so... - We're working backwards.

Yeah, in a very large pool.

- I mean, think about it. Bobby made all of his money

profiting off of death, so naturally, he racked up enemies.

Victims, victims' families, news affiliates

sending him hate mail. - There's also four ex-wives.

He's not on speaking terms with any of them.

Five restraining orders filed in the past two years

and a history of drugs and alcohol.

Speed, cocaine.

He's been in and out of na for a decade.

Huh, right, and our video?

- There's no ID on the woman. I'm enhancing the footage

to get a better image, so hopefully we'll get a pop.

The guy, he's a total no go.

He never looks directly at the camera,

he's got no defining characteristics,

as far as I can tell.

- Well, every other drive in Bobby's house was destroyed.

And most of his personal files are nixed,

but he did back up a lot of footage on his icloud.

- Mama! - Go inside, baby!

- What happened? - Go inside. I'm okay.

I'm okay, go inside.

Run, baby, run, go inside. - No, stop, mom!

What happened? - God.

- No, mama, you can't! Please!

No!

- Hank? - Yeah?

Um, Margot Trent's here.

Okay, we all know who this guy is.

We all crossed paths with him.

Doesn't matter. He's still a victim

with a kid downstairs.

Lindsay.

No, no, I've never seen her.

- You have any idea why your dad would hide footage?

Had he done that before?

I don't think so.

And would he have a reason to?

- He could be paranoid sometimes.

What was he paranoid about?

- Ah... maybe paranoid's the wrong word.

He was careful.

What about a girlfriend?

I don't... I don't know.

- You never saw him with anybody?

- I only just got back in touch with him six months ago.

If he had a girlfriend, I wouldn't be the one

to know about it.

- Okay, who would be? - No one.

He didn't have people like that.

I grew up eight miles from him.

I would send him letters, school projects, photos,

try and call.

He'd fedex me a present on my birthday.

I was his own daughter, and I didn't even know him.

Oh, come on.

- Excuse me, are you sergeant Trudy platt?

Yeah, that's me.

- I'm Nicole silver, Kim burgess' sister.

I've heard a lot about you.

- Well, you know, Kim... Kim can exaggerate.

Oh, I doubt that.

I just wanna thank you.

She always says how much you taught her, how you helped

her get into intelligence. It's just nice to know

that there's someone looking out for her here.

Sh... she said this?

Yeah.

- Well, hey, let me show you upstairs.

You want some coffee?

Thanks.

Hey, burgess, look who's here.

- Hey! - Hey!

- I told you to call me when you got here.

- It was so nice to meet you, Nicole.

You too.

Have a great day.

Nicole, hey.

How are you?

How you doing?

Hey.

I was...

- It's Adam, remember? - Yeah.

- I last saw you at your husband's birthday.

- Oh, I remember you. I had your engagement photo

pinned to my fridge for eight months.

- Let's go get coffee. - Sure, okay.

We're gonna get coffee.

- So out of all the hate mail that I ran through

from Bobby's news affiliates, one popped.

Gangbanger from the West Side named aj hines.

He used to live three blocks away from where we found Bobby.

I've caught him on two crime scenes and mouthing off.

All the hate on social media's pretty loud.

He actually put a hit out on Bobby on Facebook

like four months ago.

Huh, you got an address?

- No, he moved, and I can't confirm the new address, but

ajhin0300 is snapchatting the hell out of Michigan Avenue.

Wanna go get him?

- Yes, please. - Let's do it.