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

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.”