“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.”
“I’ve heard the term. But tell me exactly what that means, will you?”
“It means you won’t be quoted, but I can use the information in a story if I need it.”
She nodded. “Okay. I think that works for me.”
She paused again. Stevie wondered if it was okay to take notes when you were talking on background.
When she started to talk, he completely forgot about taking notes.
“I had finished my freshman year at Virginia Tech,” she said. “As you might have guessed, I was a basketball player…”
Stevie knew he should keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t resist. “How tall are you?” he asked.
“Six three,” she said. “I was six three when I was fourteen. Believe me, it wasn’t fun.”
Stevie decided to shut up. Her height was not part of the story.
“Anyway,” she continued. “The baseball team put out the word in the community that some of the players and their wives were looking for babysitters, and the Doyles hired me to sit for their twins right after I got back from school in early June. I was working as a camp counselor during the daytime and I liked making the extra money at night.
“They were very nice people. Most of the time I would sit when Mr. Doyle was pitching and Mrs. Doyle wanted to go to the game. But this was an off night and they were going out to dinner.
“I put the twins down just after sunset, about eight-thirty,” she said. “It was a perfect night. Not even that hot. I sat on the back porch reading.
“They had said they wouldn’t be that late-maybe ten-thirty or eleven. By midnight I was beginning to wonder what had happened. There were no cell phones then, so I couldn’t try to call them. I tried the restaurant, but they had already left. I started work at my day job at seven, so I was getting a little concerned. About midnight I called my parents. They said they’d come over and stay with the kids so I could go home to sleep. They got there just before Officer Molloy showed up.”
“Officer Molloy?” Stevie said. He hadn’t heard that name before. “The report on the accident was written by-”
“Officer Hatley,” she said. “That’s what I heard later on. Nothing stays secret in a small town for very long. This is where the story has always been a little bit murky to me.”
He waited, hoping they had arrived at the place where she might clear some things up for him.
“Officer Molloy told us there’d been an accident, that the Doyles’ car had hit a tree. I remember my mom saying, ‘Oh God, Joe, are they okay?’ My parents knew Joe Molloy-know Joe Molloy-pretty well. Anyway, I remember he shook his head and said, ‘He is. She’s not. I’m afraid she’s dead.’
“I sort of freaked out right then. I’d never known anyone who died except my grandmother.”
She paused a moment. “I know I’m dragging this out, but I’m getting to the part that may be important to you.”
Stevie just nodded.
“When I calmed down a little, Officer Molloy was describing the scene to my parents, and it sounded pretty terrible. He said the car was totaled. He said Norbert was incoherent, trying to get up to get to Analise. He said he left the scene to come tell us what was going on after Sergeant Hatley got there.”
Stevie was rocked. There had been no mention in the report that another officer had been at the scene or, perhaps more importantly, that another officer had been there before Hatley.