Stevie had taken his notebook out of his computer bag. He flipped to the page where his Nieves notes began. When Kelleher gave him a nod, he began reading. It didn’t take long. Stevie couldn’t read Susan Carol’s face because he was reading the notes, but when he got to what Nieves had said earlier in the afternoon, he heard her let out what sounded to him like a disgusted sigh.
“‘That’s what I asked him,’” Stevie quoted Nieves as he wrapped up. “‘He just asked the waitress for some more iced tea.’”
Stevie looked up and closed the notebook. Now he could see Susan Carol’s face quite clearly. She was wiping tears from her eyes, trying to look composed when she wasn’t.
“Tamara?” Kelleher asked, saying nothing about Susan Carol’s tears.
Tamara looked at Susan Carol for a moment, then at Stevie. She took a deep breath. “I hate to say it, but it certainly sounds as if there was more to that accident than Doyle has said so far. It may not even be that big a deal, but it’s clearly something that’s bothering him. But short of him telling us, I’m not sure how we find out what it is.”
Kelleher looked at Susan Carol. Very softly he said, “Susan Carol, if I’m wrong, just tell me, but I think you know what it is that’s bothering him, don’t you?”
Susan Carol shot Stevie a look. “Please, Bobby, don’t ask me this,” she said. “It’s not fair.”
“Why isn’t it fair?” Stevie said, jumping in, then wishing he hadn’t.
“Because I was told in confidence. It was all off the record. Have you ever heard of off the record, Mr. Can’t Let Anything Go?” she said. “If someone tells you something off the record, that means you can’t talk about it to anybody. Isn’t that right, Tamara?”
“Sort of,” Tamara said. “You aren’t supposed to tell anyone specifically what you know. But the point of letting someone tell you something that’s off the record is that knowing that fact can lead you to other facts that aren’t off the record.”
“I’m assuming we’re talking about your conversation yesterday with David Doyle?” Kelleher said.
For a moment Susan Carol said nothing. Finally she just nodded.
“You aren’t violating anything if you tell us whether your conversation with him had anything to do with what Nieves told Stevie,” Kelleher said.
Susan Carol looked at Tamara. “He’s right,” Tamara said. “That’s fair for off-the-record info.”
Susan Carol looked at Kelleher again and nodded once more.
“Let me ask you one more question,” Kelleher said. “If we were to go to Lynchburg and pull the police records from the night Analise Doyle was killed, will they tell us anything about what David told you?”
Susan Carol grimaced and rubbed her forehead for a moment, thinking. “I don’t know,” she said. “And that’s the truth.”
Stevie was pretty sure he should keep his mouth shut but couldn’t resist. Trying to sound gentle, the way Kelleher had sounded, he said, “Why did David confide in you, Susan Carol?”
The soft voice didn’t fool Susan Carol for even a second. “That, Mr. Steven Richman Thomas, is none of your business,” she said. Then she stood up and fled the room.
Stevie looked at Bobby and Tamara. “I’ll go talk to her,” Tamara said, and headed after her.
Stevie looked at Bobby. “That went well,” he said.
Bobby laughed. “It’ll be okay,” he said. “I’m going to go online and find you a train tomorrow morning.”
“Oh joy,” Stevie said as Kelleher got up and left him sitting alone at the kitchen table. He looked around the empty room and said, “ Lynchburg, here I come.”
12: INVESTIGATIVE REPORTER
STEVIE WAS STILL SITTING at the kitchen table when Kelleher returned a few minutes later.
“Well, I’ve got good news and bad news,” he said. “The good news is it only takes about three and a half hours to get from Union Station to Lynchburg.”
“So what’s the bad news?”
“The train leaves at seven in the morning.”
Stevie groaned.
“It won’t be so bad,” Kelleher said. “You fall out of bed into a shower, I’ll drive you to the station, and then you can sleep again once you’re on the train.”
Yeah sure, Stevie thought, sleeping will be easy when I’m having a panic attack about what’s going to happen once I get there. “What time do we have to wake up?” he asked.
“I’d say five-thirty,” Kelleher said. “If we leave here by six, we’ll miss serious rush-hour traffic and you’ll be at the station by six-thirty.”
Stevie sighed. He didn’t have the heart or the guts to try to talk Bobby out of the trip, but he really didn’t want to go. He also wondered what his parents would say about it.
“One more thing, I talked to your dad,” Kelleher said, as if reading his mind. “I told him I needed you to go to Lynchburg to do some reporting for me and that you’d be back tomorrow night.”
“What’d he say?” Stevie asked.
Kelleher laughed. “His first reaction was, ‘Oh God, Bobby, what are they into now?’ I told him we were trying to dig up some important background on Norbert Doyle but there were no bad guys involved in this one. He said your mom wouldn’t be thrilled.”
“I’ll say,” Stevie said.
“But he said it was all right as long as you took some homework with you on the train.”
That reminded Stevie that he was supposed to write a report on The Great Gatsby, and he had barely started the book.
Tamara walked back into the room.
“What’s going on upstairs?” Kelleher said.
“Nothing good,” she said, sitting down. “Susan Carol feels that you two have put her in an impossible position: either she gives away something she was told in absolute confidence or she’s betraying you guys by not helping with the story.”
“You agree with her?” Kelleher asked.
“Honestly? Yes, I do.”
“Does that mean you don’t think I should go to Lynchburg?” Stevie asked-hopeful.
“No, it doesn’t,” she said. “The story needs to be pursued and it’s clearly your story. I just don’t think any of us should ask Susan Carol about it again.”
They agreed to split up for dinner to give them all some time apart. Tamara would cook for Susan Carol, and Stevie and Bobby would go out. They went to a place called Rio Grande, a Tex-Mex spot one town over in Bethesda. The place was huge and packed, but they only had to wait about five minutes to get a table. Stevie had just ordered steak fajitas when he saw someone approaching the table. Kelleher saw him too, and the look on his face made it apparent he wasn’t thrilled.
“Bobby, how’s it going?” the man said, extending a hand as he walked up. He was, Stevie guessed, in his mid-forties and he was overdressed for a place like Rio Grande in a jacket and tie.
“David, what brings you here?” Kelleher said, shaking hands.
“I live fairly close by and I like the food,” David answered. He turned to Stevie. “I’m guessing you must be Steve Thomas. I’m David Felkoff.”
Stevie accepted the proffered hand and said, “Nice to meet you.”
“David’s an agent,” Kelleher said, which instantly told Stevie why he had looked so unhappy when Felkoff walked up. Kelleher liked agents about as much as most people liked the dentist.
“Player representative, Bobby, you know that,” Felkoff corrected.
“Right, of course,” Kelleher said, sarcasm in his voice.
“Well anyway, just thought I’d say hello,” Felkoff continued, apparently unbothered by Kelleher’s cool reception. “Been on the phone all day talking to book and movie people about my new client. Made me kind of hungry.”
“New client?” Kelleher said.
“Norbert Doyle,” Felkoff said. “If there’s ever a guy who deserves to make a few extra dollars…”
“It’s you,” Kelleher said, which made Stevie laugh.