Steve limped up the steps to Joe Joplin's house with a distinct sense of dread.
He knew that nothing but hostility would greet him, that as far as Joe was concerned, their friendship probably never even happened. But he had to make amends; at least try to, even if it meant dealing with angry glares and insults aimed to cut right through him.
With his heart heavy, he knocked on the door once again, keeping his expression neutral, hopefully not too neutral.
Several footsteps and hushed voices could be heard from the other side, only adding to the discomfort of the situation.
Never realizing he was holding his breath, Steve waited what felt like an agonizing eternity until he heard the locks on the inside turn, a chain rattling, as Joe stuck his head through the crack.
"What do you want, Steve?"
The voice was less than friendly- as he'd expected.
"Joe, we need to talk. Please."
"I think we have been doing plenty of that, haven't we?"
Knowing that he had to bridge that gap of hostile distancing before the door would ceremoniously be shut in his face, Steve lowered his voice some more, hoping to appeal to the scrutinizing jury awaiting him inside.
"Joe, we've been through a lot of stuff together. You know I am a straight shooter. I just… just want to clear the air. Give me five minutes and if you're still mad, I'll just…I'll leave. Okay?"
The desperate plea seemed to do the trick when the deep groove in Joe's forehead disappeared and he glanced to the ground, wagering his options, before opening the door wider.
"Five minutes it is."
Steve remembered to take a breath as he entered the lion's den, casually nodding toward Corby who stood near the kitchen, cradling the baby in her arm.
"I think you should lock your upstairs windows. Somebody can climb up the side of the house and gain access that way.", the young inspector began, not sure why he'd said that.
Joe looked back at him in perplexed, then nodded hesitantly.
"Okay. Anything else you need to get off your chest?"
"You should also cut down the brush in the front yard. It makes an attractive hiding spot. And you can't see if anyone is there as you walk up the stairs. You'd get blindsided. Maybe also come up with a better plan to remember locking your wrought-iron gate because it was left unlocked again.", he continued, breaking out in a nervous sweat, "And…I came here to apologize for my poor choice of words last night. I didn't mean for it to come out that way. I don't mistrust what you told me about those phone calls."
"You're right about the poor choice of words, Steve. I can't believe you insinuated that I made this up.", Joe fired back, the anger seeping through each carefully laid out word.
"That's not what I meant to say. You see, we deal with a lot of people every day. They're from all walks of life and we just have to…we have to make sure that we understand what we are being told and the accuracy of the information."
Seeing his friend open his mouth to rebut, Steve raised his hand, stopping him midway.
"All I was saying is that sometimes, when we are so entrenched in a situation, certain…incidences might seem more intense. Because we're focused on it. It can be blinding. Mike and I need to hold each other accountable for the very same reasons. Add in some of the stress you are going through, trying to keep your family safe; it's enough to expect something bad to happen round every street corner."
"Well, I know what I heard and seen."
Yale.
All Steve could think of was Yale and the way his mind had begun to play tricks on him. What a fragile thing the brain was, when a disease such as this could create images that weren't there, erase memories once cherished, and alter the character of a person drastically.
His awkward silence changed the air in the room dramatically, all the previous tension suddenly changing over to subdued resentment. At least the angry glares had softened somewhat.
"And I don't doubt that one bit. All I am saying is that we want to make sure that any evidence we present is concrete, not muddied up in some…some twilight zone of make-believe. If Warren Thompson is indeed behind all this, I want to make sure that he can't slide out from underneath our fingertips because this case isn't strong enough. That would make things worse."
"I just don't-", Joe began insisting on his ways, when the phone in the far corner of the living room rang.
A sound so common that he barely heard it anymore when inside the busy bullpen of the Homicide Department. And yet, in this exact case, it felt like the earth opening up underneath them.
Exchanging a worried glance with his wife, Joe slowly walked toward it, Steve staying on his heels.
With his fingers trembling, he reached for the receiver, waiting for the young inspector to lean over and listen in, as he raised it toward his ear.
"Hello?"
"You still aren't listening, Joplin.", came the menacing voice on the other line, "Remember, those cops can't protect you all the time. I can't wait to repay the old debt."
Weaving his hand wildly to get Joe to continue talking, Steve reached for the notepad in his breast pocket, ready to write down any observations that might help them later.
"I have had more than enough of your threats.", Joe tried, earning himself an approving nod, "Tell me what you want from me so we can get this settled like men."
"Nice try, Joplin, nice try.", came the unsettling response, "You want me to keep talking so that your friend can rush over and listen in. That won't work. I'll see you soon. Very soon."
With his heart racing, Steve barely heard the click as the line disconnected, leaving the three of them in stunned silence.
Partially aghast and yet grateful that he finally witnessed the call, Steve began his mental to-do list to get the case back on their radar and give Joe the protection he deserved. Better yet, he finally had a reason to supply to Mike with when it came to his friend's verified concerns.
There was just one new twist in this strange case.
The voice on the other end of the line didn't match the Warren Thompson they spoke to a few days ago.