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

“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.”

MILES HOY PULLED AWAY from the curb and had driven to the corner before Stevie recovered from his shock and found his voice again.

“Miles, what’s this about?” he said. “Are you in on this too?”

Hatley laughed. “Miles isn’t in on anything,” he said. “Nancy Molloy called me and said you kids were talking to Joe. She’s scared because Joe’s scared. She asked me if I would talk to you because she’s afraid you won’t believe Joe.”

“Why wouldn’t we believe him?” Susan Carol asked.

“Because he lied to you on Friday,” Hatley said. “He called me that night to ask me why I ran you off. Then he told me he panicked and lied to you.”

“So you two are friends?” Stevie asked, becoming more incredulous by the minute.

“No, not at all,” Hatley said. “But he told me you snooping around could be trouble for Norbert Doyle. And he was my friend, once upon a time.”

“So what did happen that night?” Stevie said. “What’s the truth?”

Hatley held a hand up. “Let’s wait until we get to my house. You can run a tape recorder once we get there.”

“So you’ll talk to us on the record?” Stevie said.

“I will only talk to you on the record.”

They drove in silence through the rain until they came to Brill’s Lane, which Stevie recognized immediately. His stomach churned a little bit at the memory of the great dog chase. Hoy pulled into the driveway.

“You stay here, Miles,” Hatley said.

“I think maybe I should come in,” Miles said.

“I understand,” Hatley said. “But you stay here. The kids will be fine.”

Stevie wasn’t so sure he wanted to take Hatley at his word, but the look on his face made it clear that Miles wasn’t going to be welcome inside.

“It’s all right, Miles, we’ll be okay,” Stevie said.

“Don’t worry,” Hatley said, climbing out of the cab. “Remember, I came looking for them, not the other way around. This won’t take long. You can probably make it back to Washington for the game tonight.”

He got out and started walking into the house. Stevie looked at Susan Carol. They could easily get away right now. “Should I take off?” Miles said.

“No,” Susan Carol said. “We need to talk to him anyway. Let’s go, Stevie.”

They both followed Hatley up his front steps and into the house, which was apparently unlocked. He led them into a large living room with a high ceiling and a large fireplace. Hatley gestured for them to sit, then tossed a couple of logs into the fireplace and knelt to light them.

“You kids want anything to drink?” he said once the fire was started, acting as if they were old friends who had dropped by for a Sunday visit.

“Thanks, we’re fine,” Susan Carol said.

“Actually, I’d like a Coke if you have one,” Stevie said. He was thirsty and he wanted a moment alone with Susan Carol.

“Be right back,” Hatley said.

He walked off, presumably to the kitchen.

“Why do I feel like this is another setup?” Stevie hissed at Susan Carol.

“Stay calm,” she said. “He clearly wants to talk, so we’ll let him talk. Maybe we’ll even believe him…”

Hatley walked back in carrying an ice-filled glass of Coke and a coffee mug. He looked at Susan Carol. “You sure I can’t get you something?”

Susan Carol shook her head. Hatley sat down in a chair next to the couch. He turned to Stevie. “First, I want to apologize to you for Friday,” he said. “I got carried away. Watching Norbert pitch the other night-I was so happy for him after everything he’d been through. And then this guy Walsh came by telling me there’d be reporters down here snooping around, trying to ruin it for him. And not two hours later there you were. I overreacted.”

The man sipping coffee in front of a fire on a rainy Sunday afternoon was considerably different than the snarling jerk who had confronted Stevie two days earlier.

It suddenly occurred to Stevie that he hadn’t seen or heard the dog who’d chased him. “Where’s your dog?” he asked, even though it was an irrelevant question.

“Out in the barn,” Hatley said. “I didn’t want to scare you to death again.”

This was all too weird. Two days ago Hatley sics his crazy dog on him. Then he shows up out of nowhere and half kidnaps them, and now he’s mister sensitive? Susan Carol was clearly thinking the same thing.

“Okay, Sergeant Hatley,” she said. “Why don’t you tell us your version of what happened that night?”

“It will be my pleasure,” Hatley said. “Where’s your tape recorder?”

The back part of Hatley’s story wasn’t all that different than what they already knew-or thought they knew-except for one key thing: Hatley had been friends with Norbert Doyle and they did hang out at the same bar, but they were not (according to Hatley) drinking buddies.