Change-up: Mystery at the World Series

19: THE BAD COP

AS IT TURNED OUT, Mike Lowell did speak to the press, although he did so while holding an ice pack to his face, which was already swelling and had turned several different colors. He had heard of Tony Kubek.

“The good news is that this wasn’t game seven,” he said. “We still only have to win two more games, and the last two are in Boston. I’ll take those odds.”

He insisted he would play the next night even if he had to have some stitches taken in his lip, which appeared likely.

The only other person in the Boston locker room Stevie could find who had heard of Tony Kubek was Terry Francona. “My dad was playing in those days,” he said. “I watched a lot of games. I remember Tony working for NBC in the late sixties and early seventies. Whenever someone hit a bad-hop grounder, the other announcer would say, ‘Hey, Tony, does that remind you of the ’60 series?’”

Standing in the middle of the clubhouse, Ortiz said he thought Jason Bay was going to catch Boone’s home run. He shook his head. “Dude always seems to get us.”

Stevie had gotten about three steps outside the clubhouse door when he heard a voice calling his name. He looked up to see Morra Doyle. He might have turned and run, but she was smiling.

She rushed up to him, threw her arms around him, and said, “David told me that you and Mr. Kelleher aren’t going to pursue the story. Thank you!” Before Stevie could say anything, she gave him a firm kiss on the lips, which, if nothing else, was a good deal more pleasant than getting slapped.

“Don’t thank me,” he said. “Bobby has the final word on all this.”

He liked the answer because he hadn’t really lied. Clearly, Susan Carol had carried off her part in the misdirection perfectly.

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re doing the right thing. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

She turned and walked down the hall, leaving Stevie just a bit dizzy.

“That was a touching scene,” a voice said behind him. He turned and saw Susan Carol, who had just come from the Nationals clubhouse and had apparently seen the kiss.

“Well, I guess I have you to thank for it,” he said, giving her his best smile. “She’s thrilled that we’re backing off the story.”

“Good,” Susan Carol said. “Let’s hope that means we won’t be bothered tomorrow in Lynchburg.”

They walked down the hall in the direction of the elevators.

“Pretty girl,” Susan Carol said while they waited.

“Don’t even go there, Scarlett,” Stevie said. “My loyalty has never been at issue this week.”

She moved closer to him so she could speak softly and said, “Neither was mine, really. I hope you know that.”

He said nothing, and she slid her arm through his as they pushed onto the elevator to go back up to the press box and write. It had been, Stevie thought, quite a day.

Stevie called Miles Hoy on the way to the train station the next morning and was relieved when he answered right away. He explained that he needed to talk to Joe Molloy again and that he was coming back to town with a friend.

“Let me find out if he’s working or at home today,” Miles said. “I’ll pick you and your friend up at the train station.”

“I’d rather he didn’t know we were coming,” Stevie said.

“Gotcha,” Miles said. “I’ll handle it.”

Stevie told him what time the train got in-12:40-and he said he’d call back if there was any sort of problem.

As soon as they got on the train, Susan Carol started to work on a paper for school. Stevie grabbed the Sports section of the Post. Stevie always enjoyed comparing Tom Boswell’s columns in the Post with Kelleher’s. Boswell saw wonder and beauty in everything that took place on a baseball field; Kelleher was skeptical about the teenage choral group that sang the national anthem.

The trip passed fairly quickly. Stevie finished off the two Sports sections and then quickly fell asleep-again-while trying to wrestle The Great Gatsby to the ground.

Stevie noticed a chill in the air and an overcast sky when they got off the train. “Wonder what it will be like for the game tonight,” he said as they walked through the small station.

“Supposed to be cold and maybe rainy,” Susan Carol said. “Great football weather.”

“Well, when you play the World Series the last week in October, that’s bound to happen.”

Miles Hoy was waiting with his cab as promised. Stevie introduced him to Susan Carol.

“Wow, a budding Erin James,” he said, shaking hands with Susan Carol.

“What’s that mean?” Susan Carol said as they slid into the backseat of the cab.

“She’s very tall,” Stevie said. “I guess I didn’t get a chance to tell you that.”

“How tall?”

“She said six three.”

Susan Carol winced. “Ooh God, I hope I’m not that tall. Five eleven is plenty for me.”

“Me too,” Stevie said, and saw the Smile-which made him smile.

Hoy jumped behind the wheel. “So, here’s the deal,” he said. “Our timing should be perfect. Joe’s on call today, but he’s not at the station. He and his family go to church in the morning and then out to brunch. But they should be home by now.”

“You didn’t tell him we were coming, did you?” Stevie asked.

“Absolutely not,” Hoy said. “One of the guys who works for me driving one of my other cabs lives down the street from Joe. He gave me the info.”

“Miles, you should have been a reporter,” Susan Carol said in her best Scarlett O’Hara voice.

Stevie saw Miles smile in the rearview mirror.

It started to rain en route to the Molloy house. “I hope this isn’t a harbinger,” Susan Carol said.

“I think you and I working together again is a harbinger of good things,” Stevie said.

“Why, Stevie, you do say the sweetest thangs.”

“Stop it, Scarlett,” he said, a wide grin on his face.

They pulled up to a brick two-story house at the far end of a quiet cul-de-sac.

“Do we have a plan here?” Stevie asked as they pulled up.

“Do we ever have a plan?” Susan Carol answered.

She had a point.

“I’ll be right here,” Miles Hoy said.

They jumped out and hustled up to the front porch to get out of the rain.

“Ready?” Susan Carol said.

Stevie nodded. She rang the doorbell. They waited. Several seconds went by. Stevie heard a dog bark. Oh please, he thought, not another dog. Finally the door was opened by an attractive woman of about forty wearing what was no doubt her Sunday go-to-church dress.

“Hi,” she said. “May I help you?”

“Mrs. Molloy?” Stevie said, just to be sure.

“Yes?” she said.

Susan Carol, as usual, took over from there. “Mrs. Molloy, my name is Susan Carol Anderson, and this is Steve Thomas. We’re reporters covering-”

“Kidsports!” Mrs. Molloy said. “I recognize you both! Hey, come in. The kids will be thrilled to meet you!”

Stevie had been uncertain what kind of reception they might get at the Molloys’, but a hero’s welcome was not on the list he had made in his head.

“Well, we really don’t want to bother you…,” Susan Carol said.

“No, no, please come in, it’s starting to rain hard out there.”

She ushered them into the front hallway. “Joe, Joey, Denise, come out here, we’ve got surprise visitors,” she called toward the back of the house.

Joe Molloy, still wearing a white shirt and tie, and two neatly dressed kids, maybe eleven and nine, Stevie guessed, appeared in the hall.

“Steve?” Joe Molloy said. “Is that you? What brings you back here?”

Before Stevie could attempt an answer, his wife was introducing her two kids. “This is Joey, he’s a seventh grader,” she said. “And Denise is in fifth. They both used to love your show.”

Stevie and Susan Carol thanked them for watching and shook hands with both of them. “Hey, kids, why don’t you go find some paper and pens so you can get autographs,” Joe Molloy said. That seemed a bit much to Stevie, but the kids both scrambled off to find paper and pens.

“So what brings the two of you back to Lynchburg on a rainy Sunday afternoon?” Molloy asked.

“We’re really sorry to just show up like this, Chief, but we need some more help on the story you talked to Steve about on Friday,” Susan Carol said. She had been in full Scarlett mode since Mrs. Molloy opened the door.

Molloy shrugged. “Sure. I’m not sure what else I could tell you, but I’ll try.”

The kids came back with pens and paper. Stevie and Susan Carol both signed, writing the kids’ names and “Best wishes.”

Susan Carol looked around. “Is there someplace quiet we can talk?” she said. “Given the subject matter…”

Molloy nodded. “I understand. Follow me.” He turned to his wife, who had come back after the kids had retreated to the family room. “Nance, we’ll be on the back porch. Give us a few minutes, okay?”

“Of course,” she said. “Anyone thirsty?”

“We’re fine,” Susan Carol said. “Thanks, though.”

They followed Molloy to the back porch, which was screened in. It was chilly but dry, and they sat on comfortable chairs. Stevie was very glad he’d worn a sweater and a rain jacket.

“Little bit cold,” Molloy said. “But private. So, what exactly can I do for you kids?”

Susan Carol looked at Stevie. Since he had talked to Molloy on Friday, it was really up to him to start. Stevie took a deep breath.

“Chief, after we talked Friday, I went back to Washington,” he said, “and as you can imagine, we’re doing research on everyone involved in this story-”

“And you found out that I played with Doyle in Sumter,” Molloy said. “I knew I should have brought that up when we talked.”

“Why didn’t you?” Susan Carol asked, her tone soft and nonaccusatory.

Molloy shook his head as if to say he didn’t know. “Good question,” he said finally. “I assume we’re under the same ground rules as Friday?”

Stevie shook his head. “Not telling the truth changes things a little,” he said. “We need the truth now, and we need to be able to use the information you give us. We’ll check with you first if we need to quote you specifically on something, though.”

Kelleher had briefed him on how to handle this. “Rules of protecting sources are fairly basic,” he said. “As long as they tell you the truth, you protect them. You catch them in a lie, all bets are off.”

Molloy leaned forward for a moment, and Stevie wondered if perhaps he’d been too rough and they were going to get thrown out of the house.

“That’s not unfair,” he said finally.

Susan Carol reached into the purse she was carrying and pulled out a tape recorder. “So we get it right,” she said. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Molloy said as she turned the tape on and put it down in front of where he was sitting.

“After you left, Steve, I almost tried to call you because it occurred to me that you’d have to talk to Norbert eventually, and when you mentioned my name, the fact that we played together in Sumter was bound to come up,” he said, his voice calm and measured.

“Actually, we haven’t spoken to him yet,” Stevie said.

“Then who-”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Stevie said. “But it does raise some issues. You told me you didn’t follow baseball, didn’t even know who Norbert Doyle was. That kind of goes beyond forgetting to mention you were teammates.”

“You’re right,” Molloy said. “And I suppose whoever told you we were teammates also told you that Analise and I dated before she and Norbert met.”

“That did come up,” Susan Carol said. “The version of the story we heard was that you wanted to nail Norbert Doyle for Analise’s death, and that Jim Hatley wouldn’t let you do it.”

He shook his head. “It wasn’t nearly that simple,” he said. “Whoever gave you that version is leaving a lot of facts out.”

“Why don’t you fill us in,” Stevie said.

Molloy sighed and looked at the tape recorder. It seemed to Stevie as if he was making a decision.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I was upset with Norbert-obviously. Everyone in town knew he was a drinker. But I didn’t try to nail him. I didn’t really want the truth about that night to come out either.”

“What is the truth?” Susan Carol said quietly.

“The truth is that he didn’t belong behind the wheel that night, and I knew it.”

“You mean because you smelled alcohol on his breath at the scene?”

“No, I knew it before the accident.”

“How?”

“I got a call from the manager at the restaurant where Norbert and Analise were having dinner. He said they’d had a fight and that Norbert had had a lot to drink. I told him to keep them there and that I would come and drive them home.

“I got there about two minutes too late.”

“And this manager will confirm your story?” Stevie asked.

Molloy shook his head. “I don’t know. His name was Tom Barton. He left town years ago. I have no idea where he is now.”

“Is there anyone who can confirm the story?” Susan Carol put in.

Molloy smiled sadly. “Jim Hatley. But I don’t think he’s likely to talk to you two anytime soon. There might still be a record of the restaurant’s call in about a drunk patron, I don’t know.”

Stevie and Susan Carol looked at each other. “So the part about you being first on the scene…,” Stevie said.

“Is true,” Molloy said. “I was closest to the scene because I was still at the restaurant when the call came in.

“I was probably as much of a wreck when Jim showed up as Doyle was. That’s why he sent me away to go tell the babysitter. Jim showed me the report the next day and said to me, ‘He’s going to have to live with the guilt the rest of his life.’ I felt pretty guilty myself, so I said I’d go along on one condition.”

“What was that?” Susan Carol asked.

“That he get Norbert into rehab. He agreed.”

“So what was the purpose of your lies on Friday?” Stevie asked. “Why embroider the story for me?”

Molloy sighed again. “I was being both stupid and selfish, I guess. Stupid to think the truth wouldn’t come out. Selfish because I want to be chief. And if it becomes public knowledge that Jim and I knew Norbert was drunk and that we let it slide, and then basically falsified the report, I’m done. They can’t touch Jim-he’s retired. I might not get fired, but I’ll never be chief now. I probably don’t deserve to be chief.”

He stopped and looked away, clearly upset.

Stevie looked at Susan Carol, who gave a tiny shake of her head to indicate he shouldn’t ask another question right at that moment. Molloy broke the silence.

“If Norbert had not been an alcoholic, Analise would be alive today. If the restaurant manager had kept them there longer, or if I’d gotten there…” Molloy paused again and sighed. “Look, I give him credit because I think he’s stayed sober since rehab. He did go out and turn his life around after that night. But it doesn’t change what happened.”

This was the first Stevie had heard of Norbert’s going to rehab. If Susan Carol was surprised, she didn’t show it.

“But why do you feel guilty?” Susan Carol said. “You got there as fast as you could. You helped get the guy into rehab. Yes, you let him off the hook on the accident, but your intentions, it seems to me, were good.”

“Well. Did I get there as fast as I could? I didn’t turn the siren on and speed to the restaurant. It didn’t seem that urgent. It’s hard not to think of all the ways you might have done it differently when someone ends up dead…”

Molloy shook his head again. “That’s not even the point, though, really. We all knew Norbert Doyle did a lot of drinking and driving. We should have stopped him before someone died.”

The tape clicked, indicating it needed to be flipped over. Susan Carol leaned forward and turned it off.

“I think we’re done,” she said. “For now. We’ll be back in touch before we write, and we may call if we have follow-up questions. I’m sorry to have to dredge all this up again.”

They walked in silence to the door and shook hands briefly and said goodbye. The rain was still pelting down as Molloy closed the door behind them. Miles Hoy’s cab was at the curb waiting for them. They sprinted for the car, dove in through the back door, and were surprised to see someone sitting in the front seat next to Miles.

“Miles?” Susan Carol said before the man swung around so that Stevie could see his face.

“Oh my God!” Stevie yelled.

“Don’t panic, kid, everything’s going to be fine,” Jim Hatley said. “Miles, my house please. The fare is on me.”