John Feinstein - Change-up - Mystery at the World Series

“You wouldn’t think that dealing with a retired policeman would be dangerous work,” Stevie said. “What do we do now?”

For the first time since he’d met him, Stevie sensed that Bobby Kelleher was unsure what to do next. The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening.

“Bobby?”

“I’m thinking,” Kelleher said. “Part of me says you should catch the next train home, come to the ballpark, and get your shoulder looked at by a doctor. Then we should sit Susan Carol down and tell her the time for keeping secrets has passed.”

Stevie liked that idea. But he didn’t think it was the right thing to do. He was already in Lynchburg. They knew now that Norbert Doyle had lied about his wife’s death. But they didn’t have enough facts to write a story yet or even to confront Doyle.

“I think I should stay awhile longer,” Stevie said. “I think I should try to find the babysitter and see if she knows anything. It must’ve been Walsh who warned Sergeant Hatley someone might be coming, right? But maybe he figured that’d be enough. Maybe he hasn’t found Erin James yet.”

Again Kelleher didn’t answer right away. “Okay,” he said finally. “Start with the phone book. There’s obviously a good chance she doesn’t live there anymore, but it’s worth a shot while you’re there. I’m still trying to find out who the hell Walsh is. He told that cop some kind of giant lie about you or, more likely, paid him off to not talk to you. So he’s not another reporter.”

“He could be a tabloid guy.”

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s possible. I’m heading for the ballpark now. Maybe I’ll find out more there.”

“Okay, I’ll call you back if I have any luck.”

Stevie heard Kelleher sigh. “Do me one favor,” he finally said.

“What’s that?”

“Be careful.”

“Bobby, I am being careful,” Stevie said.

“I know. Be carefuller.”

“That’s not a word.”

“For you I need to make up words. Call me back within the hour one way or the other.”

He hung up just as Stevie saw Miles Hoy’s cab come into view. He stood up and waved even though he was the only person on the road. He glanced at his watch and saw it was a little after two. He still had time to find Erin James-he hoped-and make that 4:45 train.

Hoy braked to a halt and Stevie climbed into the backseat. Hoy turned and stared at him. “What in the world happened to you?”

“The guy’s got a big dog,” Stevie said. “I fell running from him.”

“He sicced his dog on you? That’s crazy! What could you possibly have said to get him that upset?”

“I didn’t get to say much of anything,” Stevie said honestly.

“Wow,” Hoy said. “So are you going to head home now?”

“Not just yet,” Stevie answered. “There’s one more person I need to find.”

“I hope whoever it is doesn’t have a dog,” Hoy said.

Stevie laughed, which made his head hurt a little bit.

“I don’t suppose you know Erin James?” Stevie asked. “She lived here about a dozen years ago…”

“Still lives here,” Hoy said. “She teaches my son history at the high school. She’s also the girls’ basketball coach. I would think we’ll find her at practice right now.”

“Really?” Stevie asked. He was a little surprised to find that Erin James was still in Lynchburg, stunned that Miles Hoy not only knew her but apparently knew just where she was at that moment. “Can you take me there right now?”

“I can,” he said. “But we’re going to stop somewhere so you can at least clean up. You’re a mess.”

Stevie didn’t argue. Hoy stopped at a Wal-Mart, and Stevie bought a new shirt to replace the filthy, bloodied one he had been wearing and cleaned up as best he could in the bathroom.

“Good as new,” he reported to Hoy, who had waited for him outside.

“Then you weren’t very good new,” Hoy laughed. “Come on, let’s roll. It’s almost three o’clock.”

Hoy parked in back of Lynchburg High School and walked Stevie into the gym. The boys’ basketball team was on the court practicing.

“They switch off every day,” Hoy said. “Today the boys must be first. That means Erin will be in her office. Come on.”

They walked through the gym and up a flight of steps to a hallway that had several offices in it. Stevie followed Hoy until he stopped in an open doorway.

“ Erin?” he said, poking his head inside the door. “I’ve got someone here who would like to talk to you for a minute. He’s a friend of mine, and I’d appreciate it if you’d try to help him out.”

Stevie heard a voice from inside the office. “Sure, Miles, send him in. I’ve got a few minutes before practice.”

“I’ll wait for you in the gym,” Hoy said, patting Stevie on the back.

Stevie wasn’t exactly sure why Miles Hoy had decided to take him under his wing, but he was grateful that he had.

Erin James was seated behind a desk and writing on note cards when he walked in. “Today’s practice plan,” she said, looking up at Stevie. She had short brown hair and piercing blue eyes.

“Ms. James, my name is Steve Thomas,” he said shyly.

“ Erin,” she said, standing up and coming around the desk to shake hands.

Stevie almost gasped when she stood. Erin James was, without question, the tallest woman he had ever met. At five eleven, Susan Carol was extremely tall. Erin James was at least three inches taller. She smiled down at him, her hand out, and said, “What can I do for you, Steve?”

Stevie managed to find his voice. “I-I wanted to ask you about the night Analise Doyle died,” he finally managed to say.

Erin James frowned down at him for a moment, then walked back behind her desk, indicating that Stevie should sit in the chair opposite. He was grateful that they were both now sitting.

“Why don’t you tell me why you want to know about that night,” she said.

Stevie nodded. He explained to her who he was and walked her through everything that had happened since he’d met Norbert Doyle-leaving out only the part about Susan Carol’s Faneuil Hall meeting with David Doyle. He wasn’t sure if he should be giving her so much information. Kelleher probably would have counseled him to say “I’m a reporter working on a possible story” and leave it at that. But something told Stevie that telling her everything was the best way to get her to trust him. Or maybe he was just dazzled by her. He couldn’t be completely sure.

When he had finished, she leaned back in her chair for a moment.

“That’s quite a story,” she said. “I watched Norbert pitch the other night. I hadn’t thought of him in a long time. And I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take the media to dig into his past and come back here. Turns out it was just two days…”

Stevie wasn’t sure what to say next. He wondered how Erin James felt about her old summertime employer.

“I always wondered,” she finally said after a long pause, “if the truth would ever come out.”

“What is the truth?” Stevie asked.

She put up a hand. “I don’t know what the truth is. If Norbert Doyle told you his wife was killed by a drunk driver, I suspect he was talking about himself. But I’m no more sure about that than you are.”

“What do you know? What do you remember about that night?”

She sat and looked out the window for a moment. “Do you want me to talk for the record?” she said. Stevie had taken out his notebook after they sat down.

“I don’t know how to answer that,” Stevie said. “Right now I’m looking more for information than quotes. We could go on background if you’d be more comfortable.”