After a successful career founded on the qualities of her voice, Denise was unexpectedly aware of her hands. They seemed like unnatural appendages. Should they be folded on her lap, placed on the arms of the chair, or maybe just rested on her knees, where they would undoubtedly leave indelible sweat stains on the fabric of her skirt?
“We go live in thirty seconds, Denise.” Allen’s familiar voice had a sweet smile in it now; carefully practiced, she was sure, to keep nervous guests from bolting at the last minute. “And I vote for keeping the hands crossed on your lap. Looks most natural that way, even though they’ll never be in the frame.”
When Allen was done, the audio in her ear switched to the familiar theme music for Good Morning America. The sound quality wasn’t bad, though nothing compared to the stereo ‘phones’ she was accustomed to. Denise took a deep breath and let it out slowly. As she did, a feeling of calm poured over her. She was in control again.
“Okay, Denise,” Allen coached in her ear. “Don’t say anything until you’re asked a question. Your mike is live… now.”
Denise acknowledged him with a slight nod. And waited for the light on the camera.
“Welcome back,” Joan’s voice said to America. “Much has been said and written recently about the increase in violence among children. Law enforcement officials have become concerned in many areas of our country about violent crime which not only victimizes children, but which is committed by them as well.
“Over the Fourth of July holiday, in a quiet suburb of Washington, D. C., a guard in a juvenile detention facility was murdered, apparently by one of the residents—a twelve-year-old boy named Nathan Bailey, who subsequently escaped and is still at large. Joining us this morning in our studios here in New York is the Honorable J. Daniel Petrelli, the prosecutor with jurisdiction in this case, and from our affiliate in Washington we have Denise Carpenter, a syndicated radio personality, who talked with Nathan Bailey during her radio talk show yesterday morning. Welcome to both of you, and thank you for joining us.”
With the mention of her name, the two lights on the bottom of Denise’s camera lit up, and she smiled pleasantly into her fish-eyed reflection. Nobody said anything about Petrelli being on the show! “Thank you, Joan,” she said. “It’s nice to be here.”
“Mr. Petrelli,” Joan said, “let’s start with you. What happened the other night?”
Petrelli had been flown to New York the previous night-first class, of course—where he’d spent the night in a deluxe hotel, and had been shuttled to the ABC studio by limousine. He sat across from Joan on a tan leather sofa, wearing a charcoal gray suit with the blue shirt and striped tie that had been selected by his media consultant. He was trim, if somewhat soft, with a bald pate that had to be matted with pancake to prevent reflection of the bright lights off of his normally shiny crown. When he spoke, his voice masterfully mixed professional disinterest with compassion, his Richmond accent adding a certain air of sophistication.
“Sometime between seven and nine P. M. on July fourth, Nathan Bailey, a very troubled young man with a history of car theft and violence, attacked and killed one of the child care supervisors at the Brookfield Juvenile Detention Center, and subsequently escaped. He remains at large, and our search for him continues to this moment.”
“How did he kill the guard—excuse me, child care supervisor?” Joan asked.
Petrelli looked uncomfortable in a professional gee-I’d-like-to-tell-you-but-I-can’t sort of way. “I really can’t go into detail, because it’s part of a continuing investigation…”
But we all know you will anyway, Denise thought.
“… but I can tell you that he was brutally stabbed to death with a knife.”
Joan seemed incredulous. “Where would a prisoner get a knife?”
Petrelli resisted the urge to snicker. Like it wasn’t common knowledge that prison inmates fashioned shivs from anything they could get their hands on. “I really can’t go into specific detail. But we are very concerned at what may be a serious breach of security there at the Juvenile Detention Center.”
“I’m sure you must be:’ Joan said, her voice full of compassion. “Now, Denise,” she went on, turning her attention to the television monitor in the studio, “I understand that Nathan called your program yesterday.”
“That’s right, Joan,” Denise confirmed, smooth as could be. Into the camera. “But the story we got was considerably different from the version told by Mr. Petrelli. According to Nathan, he killed the supervisor in self-defense.” In just under sixty seconds, Denise gave the short version of the story Nathan had related. In concluding, Denise offered, “Killing is always a terrible thing, and we certainly can’t condone escapes from jail, but I have to tell you that after talking with Nathan on the telephone, I’m not sure what kind of choice he really had.”
“I’ll tell you exactly what choice he had,” Petrelli drawled without being prompted by Joan. “He had the choice of reporting these alleged events to the proper authorities, and letting us take action accordingly.”
“You’re thinking like an adult, Mr. Petrelli,” Denise reproached. “We’re dealing with a child, whose imagination can be many times bigger than reality. I got the impression talking with him that if you hadn’t promised to try him as an adult, with veiled threats of execution, he might have turned himself in already.”
Petrelli’s face reddened through the makeup.
“So you have determined that you will try Nathan as an adult?” Joan prodded.
With the exaggerated patience of a schoolmaster repeating a lesson to a dense child, Petrelli repeated the position he’d already stated so many times. “We have determined that Nathan Bailey is the prime suspect in the murder of a law enforcement official, and we will pursue his arrest and ultimate prosecution with all of the commitment and dedication that should be expected under those circumstances. As I said yesterday, if he’s adult enough to commit such a crime, we should expect him to pay an adult price.”
“So you’re assuming that the story told by Nathan on Denise’s show was a lie?” Joan goaded.
Petrelli sensed where this was going, and he circled his wagons. “I’ll say again that we really cannot go into the details of this case at this point, but I have reason to believe that Nathan Bailey’s story is a fabrication.”
“Did you hear him on my show yesterday, Mr. Petrelli?” Denise asked, her volume rising.
“I’m afraid not,” Petrelli lied. His voice dripped with condescension. “My work schedule rarely allows me a chance to listen to the radio.”
“So how is it that your office was so quick in issuing a subpoena to see our private telephone records?” Though it was never her intent to be on the attack, it was part of her nature, and there was something about Petrelli’s sanctimonious attitude that really pissed her off.
Clearly, Joan’s researchers had missed this development. She turned to Petrelli for comment. “What sort of subpoena did you issue?” she asked.
Petrelli’s jaw flexed, making his sideburns move up and down. This was outrageous. The Bitch had turned this into a personal battle, and she was free to say whatever she liked, while he was bound by professional ethics. “Again, I hate to sound like a broken record, but this is another area where I really cannot comment,” he said.
“Well, I can comment all I want,” Denise attacked. “The police and the prosecutors in Braddock County can’t figure out where Nathan has gone, so they’re resorting to Gestapo tactics to seize the private records of our production company. Can you imagine, Joan, what would happen if the police or the FBI could gain access to ABC’s telephone records? What do you think the effect would be on the news-gathering capabilities of your network?”
“Oh, come now, Ms. Carpenter,” Petrelli moaned as the theme music potted up from the background. “I really don’t appreciate your characterization of this situation—”