[voiceover] I always believed it was the things you don't choose that makes you who you are. Your city, your neighborhood, your family. People here take pride in these things, like it was something they'd accomplished. The bodies around their souls, the cities wrapped around those. I lived on this block my whole life. Most of these people have. When your job is to find people who were missing, it helps to know where they started. I find the people who started in the cracks and then fell through. This city can be hard. When I was young, I asked my priest how you could get to heaven and still protect yourself from all the evil in the world. He told me what God said to his children. "You were sheep among wolves. Be wise as serpents, yet innocent as doves.
[voiceover] And like that, she was gone. We gave our statements. Nick and Remy the same. All of us spared any blame for Amanda's death. Jack Doyle resigned on the condition that he and he alone be held accountable. He was granted the dignity of early retirement, but the humiliation of half a pension. It was an ignominious end to an illustrious career.
[voiceover] I couldn't stop running it over and over and over in my mind. The vague and distant suspicion that we never understood what happened that night; what our role was. Or maybe it was just like the hundreds of other children who disappear each year and never return. Amanda was even more haunting for never being found.
[about Remy] He lied to me. I can't think of one reason big enough for him to lie that's small enough not to matter.
I planted evidence on a guy once, back in '95. We were paying $100 an eight-ball to snitches. We got a call from our pal, Ray Likanski. He couldn't find enough guys to rat out. Anyway, he tells us there's a guy pumping up in an apartment up in Columbia Point. We go in, me and Nicky. Fifteen years ago, when Nicky went in, it was no joke. So it's a... it's a stash house, right? The old lady's beat to shit, the husband's mean, cracked out, trying to give us trouble, Nicky lays him down. We're doing an inventory, but it looks like we messed up because there's no dope in the house, and I go in the back room. Now, this place was a shithole, mind you? Rats, roaches, all over the place. But the kid's room, in the back, was spotless. No, I mean, he swept it, mopped it; it was immaculate. The little boy's sitting on the bed, holding onto his playstation for dear life. There's no expression on his face, tears streaming down. He wants to tell me he just learned his multiplication tables.
You gotta take a side.You hurt a child,You molest a child You're not on My side.If you see me coming, you better run, because I am gonna lay you the fuck down! Easy.
Kids forgive, they don't judge, they turn the other cheek, and what do they get for it?
A four year old child is on the street. It's seventy-six hours and counting. And the prospects for where she might be are beginning to look grim, you understand? Half of all the children in these cases are killed, flat out. If we don't catch the abductor by day one, only about ten percent are ever solved. This is day three
My only child was murdered. She was twelve. Did you hear about it? What you probably didn't hear, and what I hope you never have to deal with, Miss Gennaro, is what that feels like. What I have to deal with. Knowing that my little girl likely died crying out for me to come and save her. And I never did. My little girl died afraid and alone in a shallow ditch bank by the side of the road, not ten minutes from my house. I know what it feels like to lose a child. Now damn it, you force my hand and then you question the way I handle it.
Thought you would've done that by now. You know why you haven't? Because you think this might be an irreparable mistake. Because deep inside you, you know it doesn't matter what the rules say. When the lights go out, and you ask yourself "is she better off here or better off there", you know the answer. And you always will. You... you could do a right thing here. A good thing. Men live their whole lives without getting this chance. You walk away from it, you may not regret it when you get home. You may not regret it for a year, but when you get to where I am, I promise you, you will. I'll be dead, you'll be old. But she... she'll be dragging around a couple of tattered, damaged children of her own, and you'll be the one who has to tell them you're sorry.