Petrelli’s words hit him in the chest like a hammer. Bang! Warren had known going into this meeting that his arguments were not yet well formed, and that they directly contradicted much of the physical evidence. He knew that he would have to change their entire approach to the facts, and he had, in fact, done the sales job of his life.
To anyone else, the arguments would have been persuasive, but he had underestimated the depth of political ambition jammed into this tiny little office. By refusing to be persuaded, they had made Warren look like a fool. It had been an opportunity for which Petrelli had been waiting for years, and there it was. Find the most vulnerable weakness in your opponent, and concentrate all your forces on that spot. It was every bit as reliable a rule in politics as it was on the battleground.
Worst of all, Petrelli was right. He had no business remaining a part of this case. Warren had known it ever since he’d seen the still picture from the JDC video. His heart was every bit as involved in this case as his mind, but he believed nonetheless that he could keep them separate; he believed he could be professional and objective when he had to be.
But objectivity was not the issue here. Fact was, he was right! And these assholes knew it! For Petrelli, though, the opportunity to make his historical adversary squirm was a far more important prize than justice. By discrediting Warren—the flatfoot in charge of the investigation—Petrelli would be able to recover a portion of the political damage done by Nathan’s celebrity.
“So, what do you say, Warren?” Petrelli pressed. “Why don’t you step down?”
Warren smiled politely. “Why don’t you kiss my ass, J.?” He knew when he’d lost. He also knew that Chief Sherwood was the only human being on earth who hated Petrelli more than Warren did. Petrelli’s threats were as hollow as his spine.
“That’ll be enough!” Sheriff Murphy intervened. “Lieutenant Michaels, I think this meeting is over.”
Warren turned away from Petrelli and faced Murphy. “Look, Sheriff, all I ask is for you to tell your men to take it easy. They’re looking for a murderer named Nathan, not a victim named Nathan. That makes a huge difference in how they take him down. You authorized a green shooter’s light, for Chrissake!”
“Do I need to arrange an escort for you to leave, Lieutenant?” Murphy offered. The phone rang. “I can arrange that, if you want.”
Warren stood still for a moment longer. There was nothing left for him to do. As he turned to leave, he heard Murphy answer his phone and pass it to Petrelli.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Petrelli exploded. “I did no such thing!”
Warren stopped short of the door to eavesdrop. Seeing Petrelli blow his cool always lightened his day. Now the prosecutor-cum-senator seemed as confused as he did angry.
“Look, Stephanie,” he said after a long spate of listening, “I’m telling you I didn’t call. Do you think I have a death wish? Judge Verone would have my butt in jail before nightfall.”
The pieces fell together for Warren. “Stephanie” would be Stephanie Buckman, who had represented Petrelli’s ridiculous petition before Judge Verone the day before. When it all focused in his mind, Warren’s heart started racing. Somebody was trying to trace Nathan’s call.
As much as he wanted to suspect Petrelli of foul play, he knew that the slimebag would let his mother be lynched before he’d violate a court order. After all, the lynching would earn him tons of voter sympathy; the bad press from violating the court order would kill him. He realized in an instant that Nathan’s would-be killer was making his next move.
Warren moved quickly back across the office and snatched the telephone away from Petrelli, pushing him aside with a forearm. J. Daniel looked shocked at the lieutenant’s strength.
“Stephanie, this is Warren Michaels,” he said hurriedly. “I understand that somebody was trying to trace Nathan Bailey’s telephone call?”
Stephanie’s voice showed surprise at the sudden change in characters. “Well, y-yes,” she stammered.
“Did he get it?”
“Y-yes. But why…”
“How long ago?” Warren interrupted. His voice was abrupt and insistent.
“Look, Lieutenant…”
“Goddammit, how long ago, Stephanie?” Warren was shouting now.
“I-I don’t know for sure. Twenty minutes, maybe.” Stephanie seemed hesitant to speak to him about the details.
Warren checked his watch without seeing the time. “Shit. What’s the number?” he asked.
“Lieutenant, what happened to Mr. Petrelli?” she stalled.
“No one knows for sure,” Warren said without missing a beat.
“We think he was born an asshole.” He looked directly at Petrelli as he spoke, lest there be any doubt. “Look, Stephanie, I need that number. The guy who was asking for it is our killer. Please. Tell me what it is.”
Petrelli made a move to wrestle the phone back, but retreated immediately from Warren’s threatening glare.
“You know if you use this, any evidence will be tainted,” Stephanie warned, a broad smile in her voice from Warren’s comments about her boss.
“I don’t care:’ Warren promised. “I just need that number.”
With more than a little hesitation, she gave him the number. As soon as the seventh digit passed Stephanie’s lips, Warren dropped the phone onto its cradle.
Without a word, Warren left Murphy’s office, dialing his cellular as he walked.
Denise marveled at the margin by which the afternoon callers were favoring Nathan’s side. Having been so terribly unnerved at first, Nathan seemed to have calmed down a lot, though he was a mere shadow of the jovial personality she’d had on the air yesterday. For the most part, he was sparing of the details surrounding his capture and escape. All she really knew for sure after nearly two hours on the phone with him was that he was convinced that he was the target of a police conspiracy to kill him, and that he had had nothing to do with those police officers’ deaths the night before.
When Denise pointed out that law enforcement people had an uncanny way of turning up dead in Nathan’s presence, he had no rehearsed response. He only reiterated that he was victim just like all the others—or a potential victim, anyway. And if cops were trying to kill you, what better place to do it than at a prison?
Much as she hated to admit it, today’s phone call with Nathan was getting repetitive and boring. Pretty soon she was going to have to cut him off and move on to other things. The thought tugged at her heart, though. It seemed as if he needed to talk on the radio today.
Carter from Tuscaloosa was on the phone asking Nathan about life with his Uncle Mark when a stranger joined them on the line. “Excuse me,” the voice said, “this is the telephone operator, with an emergency break-in call from Lieutenant Michaels from the police department. Go ahead, sir.”
There was a click, and then Warren’s voice joined the conversation. “Nathan, this is Lieutenant Michaels from the Braddock County Police Department,” he said officiously.
“Wait a minute, Lieutenant,” Denise protested. “How did you break in? In case you hadn’t heard, we won our case yesterday…”
“Yes, ma’am, you did,” Warren confirmed. “I’ll be happy to explain all the details to you later, but right now Nathan is in grave danger. Son, you need to run away from where you are. Now. The man who tried to kill you last night is on his way to do it again.”
Nathan turned pale, causing Billy to move closer to the receiver where he could hear. Barney followed. It didn’t even occur to him to turn on the radio.
The police had traced his call! They couldn’t do that! He’d heard this morning on the news that a judge had told them they couldn’t do that. Now a cop was telling him to run away, but it was cops who had tried to kill him in the first place.
“H-how do I know you’re not trying to trick me?” Nathan asked, his voice taking on a dazed quality.