Change-up: Mystery at the World Series

18: TO TELL THE TRUTH?

STEVIE LEFT THE RESTAURANT QUICKLY, checking to make sure Morra wasn’t outside waiting for him. Seeing no one familiar, he called Kelleher.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“It’s too complicated for the phone,” Stevie said. “I need directions.”

Thankfully, the directions were pretty simple. Down three blocks to E Street and then up six blocks to the Herald’s offices.

The guard at the door called Kelleher to come down and get him. When Bobby saw Stevie’s cheek, his jaw dropped.

“What happened to you?” he said. “No, wait, tell me when we get upstairs. Clearly, it’s a long story.”

For all the writing he’d done, Stevie had never been in the newsroom of a major newspaper before, and he was awed by how big it was. Since it was Saturday, the massive room was fairly empty.

Kelleher led Stevie through the newsroom to the sports section. A number of writers and editors were sitting at their desks, some working on computers, others reading the newspaper. Several were seated around a television set watching a college football game.

“Navy-Notre Dame,” Kelleher said. “Navy is trying to start another streak.”

“Streak?” Stevie said. He thought he remembered that Navy had broken a forty-three game losing streak to Notre Dame a few years earlier. His dad had called it one of the great upsets in the history of football.

“Yeah,” Kelleher said. “Navy beat them one in a row, then the Irish won last year.”

“Hey, Matt, how’s Coach Rockne doing?”

“It’s seven to seven in the second quarter,” Matt answered. “Coach Rockne just went for a fourth and nine and got stopped.”

“Coach Rockne?” Stevie asked.

“Yeah, we call Charlie Weis Coach Rockne because he thinks he’s so smart, he might as well be Knute Rockne. Not so much the last two years when he was ten and fifteen.”

He introduced Stevie to Matt Rennie, who was the deputy sports editor.

“You’ve done great work,” Rennie said, shaking Stevie’s hand. “Especially considering you’ve had to put up with Bobby.”

“I’d be so much better if I had some decent editing,” Kelleher said.

“Don’t hold your breath waiting for that to happen, pal,” Rennie said with a smile before returning to the game.

As they walked back to the small glass office that said Bobby Kelleher on it, Kelleher said quietly: “Best editor we’ve got. By far.”

“But you’d never tell him that, would you?”

“I’d sooner die.”

They sat down in Kelleher’s office.

“So, fill me in,” Kelleher said.

Stevie did-starting with the slap and then working backward. Kelleher let out a low whistle. “You have quite an effect on young women, don’t you?” Then he turned serious: “Clearly, she thought you’d be so charmed by her that you’d let her go off the record so she could take you off the story the way David did with Susan Carol.”

“Susan Carol had no idea what he was going to tell her…,” Stevie said.

Kelleher put up a hand. “No need to defend Susan Carol,” he said. “You know how I feel about her abilities as a reporter.”

“What do we do now?” Stevie said.

“First thing is pretty easy,” Kelleher said. “We check with the Braves to see if Joe Molloy played in Sumter.”

He pulled out his cell phone and hit a few buttons. “Here it is,” he said. “Bill Acree.”

Without explaining who Bill Acree was, Bobby dialed. Stevie heard a voice on the other end of the phone say, “I’m watching Georgia play Tennessee, why in the world are you calling me?”

Clearly, Bill Acree was a good friend of Kelleher’s. “How close are you to halftime?” Kelleher asked, then nodded at the answer. “When you get there, I need you to check on whether someone played for you guys at Sumter in 1993 or even ’92 or ’94.” He paused again before saying, “Joe Molloy.” He thanked Acree, said, “Go, Dogs,” and hung up the phone.

“Who’s Bill Acree?”

“He’s the Braves’ traveling secretary,” Kelleher said. “Old friend. Very smart guy. He’ll check on Molloy at halftime and call me back. He said the name sounded familiar.”

“So if Morra is telling the truth, what do we do next?”

Kelleher shook his head. “You’re not going to like it.”

Stevie looked at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Is there any choice? You have to go back and talk to Molloy again, and you might have to try to talk to Hatley again too.”

“Oh joy,” Stevie said.

“Don’t panic. We’ll get you some help.”

Stevie let out a sigh of relief. He would definitely feel better going back to Lynchburg if he had a grown-up with him.

“Can the paper spare someone right now?” he said.

“Don’t think so,” Kelleher said. “But the Post might be able to spring a freelancer.”

“Susan Carol?” Stevie said. “I doubt she’d want to go.”

“I’ll bet different,” Kelleher said. “We’ll tell her what happened when we get to the ballpark. I think you guys can stay for the game tonight and then go down tomorrow morning. You still have the card for that cabdriver in Lynchburg? I’ll bet he’ll help you again. Just tell him this time you’re going to pay him.”

Stevie nodded. He suddenly felt very tired. He’d felt so good about mending fences with Susan Carol in the morning. He had thought he was back at the series for good. And he felt so comfortable and safe in the newsroom. Now he would be back on the train in the morning. If Susan Carol went too, it wouldn’t be so bad. Jim Hatley probably wouldn’t sic his dog on her.

The phone on Kelleher’s desk rang.

“Halftime already?” Kelleher said. He pulled out a pen and began scribbling on a notepad in front of him. “Got it, thanks a million. I’ll tell you the whole story very soon.”

He hung up and looked at his notes. “Joseph Wilson Molloy. Signed out of high school by the Braves. Spent four years in the organization: one year of rookie ball in ’92, a year at Sumter in ’93 and two years in Greenville. Released at the end of the ’95 season.”

“So Molloy’s a liar too.”

“Apparently. Lying cops really piss me off. And this many lies usually means there’s a serious story. You’re going to have to go back, I’m afraid.”

“This week just keeps getting better,” Stevie said.

“Relax,” Kelleher said. “You’ve got Susan Carol back on your side. And you guys are undefeated.”

“We’ll see,” Stevie said. He wasn’t sure if Susan Carol was actually back on his side. And he was really sure that he was a long way from undefeated. His burning cheek confirmed that.

They made reservations on the 9:00 train, the first one available on a Sunday. Kelleher called Tamara to ask her to get to Nationals Park a little earlier than normal so the four of them could find a quiet place to talk. Kelleher and Stevie pulled into the press parking lot at four-thirty-four hours before game time.

“You’re here early, Bobby,” the parking attendant said as they pulled into the lot.

They walked up the sidewalk that commemorated historic moments in Washington baseball history. Stevie couldn’t help but notice there weren’t too many of them.

Once inside the ballpark, they rode the elevator to the sixth floor and found Tamara and Susan Carol waiting for them in what was the media dining area during the regular season.

Stevie noticed that Susan Carol was drinking another cup of coffee. “How many is that for you today?” he asked, pointing at the cup.

“Not enough,” she answered. “These late-night games are killing me.”

“Speaking of which, I could use some,” Kelleher said, making his way to the small food-service area, where a large coffeepot sat in the corner. No one else was in the room except for a couple of Nationals employees who were getting set up for later.

“So,” Kelleher said to Stevie, “tell the girls about your lunch.”

Stevie did, and noticed Susan Carol wince when he got to the part about the slap. When he had finished, including Bobby’s conversation with Bill Acree about Joe Molloy, Tamara shook her head in disbelief.

“There are just no truth tellers in this story, are there?” she said.

“There’s only one thing we know for sure,” Susan Carol said. “This ain’t no kids’ movie.”

Stevie laughed. It was the Susan Carol he knew.

“So what do you think, Bobby? Another trip to Lynchburg?” Tamara said.

“Yes,” Kelleher said. “But I don’t think Stevie should go alone.”

“I agree,” Susan Carol said instantly. “I’ll go with him.”

Stevie was amazed. In under twenty-four hours she had gone from storming out of the kitchen never to speak to him again to helping him chase the story. Susan Carol read the look on his face.

“Look, we’re way past anything David told me in Boston,” she said. “There was no Joe Molloy in his story and no police report full of all sorts of contradictions and questions that weren’t answered. There was just this horrible tragedy in which all four of them were victims. I still think it’s sad and awful, but the story he told me is not the real story. And off the record only counts if your source is telling you the truth, isn’t that right?”

“Absolutely right,” Tamara said.

Susan Carol nodded. “In that case, I think two of us down there is better than one, especially if we have to go see that Hatley guy again.”

“How well does your cabbie friend know Hatley?” Kelleher asked Stevie.

“I’m not sure. A little bit, anyway,” he said.

“I think you should ask if he can call Hatley and see if he’ll meet you someplace, so there’s no issue about trespassing or dogs.”

“What should we do about Molloy?” Stevie said. “Should we have Miles call him too?”

“Absolutely not,” Kelleher said. “If he knows you’re coming back, his antenna will go up that something’s wrong. You need to just show up on his doorstep.”

“Are we worried that we’ll be followed or watched?” Susan Carol said. “After Stevie’s lunch with Morra, they’re bound to be worried that we’re going to keep going after the story.”

“Glad you brought that up,” Kelleher said. “I think we need to throw some misdirection at them.”

“How?” Susan Carol asked.

“You still in touch with David?”

“Yes,” she said. “He’s been texting me, I think trying to figure out what you and Stevie have been up to.”

“Good. Send him a text saying something like, ‘Bobby and Stevie have decided not to pursue this until after the series is over-if then.’”

“You think he’ll buy that?” Stevie asked.

“Not sure,” Kelleher said. “But it’s worth a try.”

“Let’s hope,” Stevie said.

“Okay then,” Kelleher said, standing up. “Let’s do something different for a few hours: let’s concentrate on baseball.”

Game four was playing out a lot like game two in Boston. The visiting team-in this case, the Red Sox-scored a run early, and then the game settled into a pitcher’s duel. The Red Sox and Jon Lester were still leading 1-0 heading to the bottom of the eighth. Terry Francona was spitting sunflower seeds faster and faster as the game went on. He brought in Hideki Okajima in relief after Lester had squirmed out of a men-on-second-and-third-with-one-out jam in the seventh to keep the lead and the shutout intact.

The crowd was on its feet as Cristian Guzman came to the plate to lead off the eighth inning. The fans knew that the Nats needed to score now against Okajima, since their chances of getting to the usually unhittable Jonathan Papelbon in the ninth weren’t very good.

Guzman struck out. So did Ronnie Belliard. The crowd got very quiet, especially when Okajima threw two quick strikes to Ryan Zimmerman, who was just one for fourteen in the series as he came up to bat. Okajima threw an outside fastball, and Zimmerman, lunging for it, hit a ground ball right at Mike Lowell, Boston ’s sure-handed third baseman. Lowell took a step to his left, went down to get the ball, and then suddenly jerked his head back as the ball hit on the edge of the infield grass and took a wicked hop right into the side of his face.

The ball rolled away while Okajima scrambled to pick it up and hold Zimmerman at first. Lowell lay on the ground as the Red Sox trainer and Francona rushed out to see if he was okay.

“He’s bleeding from the mouth,” said George Solomon, who had binoculars with him. “He got nailed.”

“Tony Kubek, 1960,” Mark Maske said.

Stevie knew a fair bit about baseball, but he had no idea what Maske was talking about. Naturally, Susan Carol did.

“Game seven in Pittsburgh,” she said. “Yankees had the lead in, I think, the eighth inning. Routine ground ball to Kubek at shortstop, and it took a bad hop and hit him right in the Adam’s apple. Opened the door for a Pirates rally, and they won the game on Mazeroski’s home run in the ninth.”

Stevie was no longer amazed when Susan Carol knew things like this. His only surprise, really, was that she hadn’t been the one to bring it up.

Lowell was being helped off the field, and the towel held to his mouth was turning red quickly. The Nationals fans gave him a round of applause as he disappeared into the dugout.

Okajima was given a couple of warm-up tosses because of the delay before Aaron Boone stepped in. “Well, what-dya know,” Barry Svrluga said. “It’s Aaron Bleepin’ Boone at the plate in a key situation against the Red Sox.”

“Can’t happen again,” Solomon said. “It’s too good a story.”

Whether Okajima remembered 2003-or even knew about it-was hard to say. But he worked Boone carefully, falling behind two balls and no strikes on breaking pitches.

“He would be wise,” Svrluga said, “to not give in and throw him a fastball. Aaron Boone can hit a fastball.”

“I’ll bet he’s taking here,” Solomon said. “A walk puts Zimmerman in scoring position.”

Okajima looked in to catcher Jason Varitek for a sign. Stevie glanced over to the on-deck circle to remind himself who would come up next if Boone walked. Adam Dunn, the Nationals’ best power hitter, stood there.

Okajima came to his set position, checked Zimmerman at first, and threw. Boone wasn’t taking. His bat whipped through the strike zone, and Stevie heard the distinct crack of bat meeting ball. The ball jumped off the bat, climbing high into the night air, headed in the direction of the left-field bleachers. Everyone in the park-including Stevie and those around him in the auxiliary press box-stood, watching the ball as Jason Bay circled back in the direction of the left-field fence.

He got there, paused for a split second, and then leaped. His glove went up over the wall, and he came down looking in the glove for the ball. Stevie thought he saw him smile weakly. His glove was empty. The ball had fallen just beyond his reach, just over the wall.

Aaron Bleepin’ Boone had done it to the Red Sox again!

The ballpark exploded with sound as Boone followed Zimmerman around the bases. The entire Nationals dugout came out to greet him even though the game wasn’t over.

“Nice call on Boone not doing it again,” Svrluga said to Solomon.

“Hey, it was the old jinx technique,” Solomon said. “Say it won’t happen so it will.”

Apparently, there was nothing that could jinx Aaron Bleepin’ Boone, especially against the Red Sox in October.

Okajima struck out Dunn on three pitches, but the damage was done.

Joel Hanrahan came on to pitch for the Nationals in the ninth. And even though he walked both Ortiz and Bay with two outs, he got J.D. Drew to ground out to-who else?-Aaron Bleepin’ Boone to end the game.

The series was tied at two games each. Judging by the reactions of the Nats and the fans, you might have thought it was over.

Stevie’s cell phone was ringing as he watched the celebration.

“I’m obviously doing Boone,” he heard Kelleher shout over the noise. “You go to the Sox clubhouse and see if Lowell is up to talking. Either way, ask anyone in there if they remember Tony Kubek. He was the guy-”

“I know, 1960,” Stevie said. “Got it.”

He followed Susan Carol and the other writers out, relieved-for this one night-that Kelleher wanted him to go to the losing clubhouse. He had no interest in seeing Norbert Doyle celebrating with tonight’s winners. Not yet, anyway.