In the early hours of Thursday, April 10, 2025, a somber stillness enveloped the 18th District police station at 1160 N. Larrabee St. in Chicago’s Near North Side. At approximately 2:25 a.m., the life of 34-year-old off-duty Chicago Police Officer Malisa Tores came to a tragic end in a restroom within the station. Authorities confirmed that Tores, a dedicated member of the department’s Chicago Alternative Policing Strategy (CAPS) unit, died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, casting a profound shadow over her colleagues, family, and the broader community. The discovery of her body marked the beginning of a morning filled with grief, reflection, and unanswered questions about the pressures faced by those who serve.
Malisa Tores was found by fellow officers shortly after the incident, her lifeless form a stark contrast to the vibrant energy she brought to her work. The Chicago Police Department released a statement shortly after dawn, expressing their deep sorrow over the loss. “We are mourning the tragic loss of an officer within the 18th District station,” the statement read, a restrained yet poignant acknowledgment of the pain rippling through the ranks. The Cook County Medical Examiner’s Office corroborated the time of discovery, noting that emergency responders were unable to revive her. By sunrise, red crime scene tape fluttered outside the station, a silent testament to the gravity of what had occurred within its walls.
Tores had served with the Chicago Police Department for several years, earning a reputation as a warm and welcoming presence among her peers. Assigned to the CAPS unit, she worked tirelessly to bridge the gap between law enforcement and the communities they serve, fostering dialogue and trust in neighborhoods often marked by tension. Her role involved organizing community meetings, addressing local concerns, and collaborating with residents to solve problems—a job that required not only resilience but also a deep well of empathy. Those who knew her described her as someone who carried herself with quiet strength, always ready to listen and lend a hand.
The news of her death sent shockwaves through the department and beyond. Mayor Brandon Johnson addressed the tragedy in a statement released later that morning, his words heavy with emotion. “Our city mourns the tragic loss of an 18th District Chicago Police officer. Our hearts are shattered and broken over this tragedy,” he said, urging residents to keep Tores’ family, her fellow officers, and the entire police force in their thoughts during this time of immense grief. Superintendent Larry Snelling, in a message to the department, confirmed the cause of death and emphasized the need for support. “Grief affects each of us in different ways,” he wrote, encouraging officers to lean on one another and seek counseling services as they process the loss.
As detectives began their investigation, the 18th District station was closed to the public, with service calls redirected to nearby districts. Outside, a handful of officers stood in quiet salute as Tores’ body was removed, a stretcher borne through a corridor of somber faces. The scene was captured by news crews stationed nearby, their footage revealing the weight of the moment—a community of protectors grappling with the fragility of one of their own.
The incident has reignited conversations about the mental health challenges faced by police officers, who often confront trauma and stress as part of their daily duties. Tores’ death is a stark reminder of the toll that such work can exact, even on those who appear steadfast. The department has long offered resources like the Employee Assistance Program, but advocates argue that more must be done to destigmatize seeking help. In the wake of this tragedy, the city finds itself at a crossroads, compelled to examine how it supports those who dedicate their lives to its safety.
For now, the focus remains on honoring Malisa Tores’ memory. Her colleagues recall her dedication, her kindness, and the light she brought to a challenging profession. As the investigation continues and the community mourns, her story serves as both a call to action and a poignant tribute to a life cut short. The 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline stands ready for anyone in distress, a resource underscored by officials in the hopes that others might find the help Tores could not. In the quiet aftermath, Chicago holds its breath, grieving a loss that feels all too personal.