“Does Mrs. Molloy know all this?” Susan Carol asked.
“No, I’m sure not,” Hatley said. “And I’ll be very sorry when she finds out her husband hasn’t been honest with her all these years.”
“Have you talked to Norbert this week?” Stevie asked.
He shook his head. “No. We keep in touch sporadically, mostly by e-mail now. He updates me on the kids, things like that. I wrote to him to congratulate him after game two but didn’t hear back, which certainly isn’t surprising. Then that guy Walsh showed up on my doorstep saying that if I talked to anyone in the media, it could cost Norbert millions.”
“You just talked to us,” Stevie said.
“I know,” Hatley said. “But the ship sailed on this staying secret days ago. I mean, what are the chances I could convince you this has nothing to do with baseball and that you shouldn’t write about it? About zero, I’d guess. So if it’s going to come out, it should come out the way it really happened.”
“Norbert hasn’t told the truth about what happened,” Susan Carol said. “That makes it a story.”
“Maybe. But maybe you can understand why he wouldn’t want it splashed over the headlines. Norbert was a good guy going through a very bad time: he was killing his career and his marriage with his drinking. He’s carried the guilt for Analise’s death around for twelve years, and I don’t think he’s had a drink since that night. That may not be the squeaky-clean, feel-good story people are looking for, but it’s not a bad story of redemption, if you ask me.”
There was something to that, for sure. Susan Carol stood up. “Can we get a phone number for you?” she said. “I’m sure we’ll want to get back in touch before anyone writes anything.”
He pointed at her notebook, which she handed him, and wrote down a phone number. “There’s my e-mail too,” he said, handing the notebook back. He led them to the door. “I’m sorry again about Friday,” he said. “I overreacted. All I really want is what’s best for Norbert and those kids.”
They shook hands at the door and then sprinted back through the rain to the cab.
“You guys okay?” Miles Hoy asked when they climbed back inside.
“We’re fine,” Susan Carol said. “Just completely, absolutely, and totally confused.”
Stevie called Kelleher from the cab to tell him they had spoken to both Molloy and Hatley.
“That’s good work,” Kelleher said. “What’d you figure out?”
“It’s complicated,” Stevie said. “The next train back is at four-thirty. Why don’t I call you from the train? I’ll fill you in then.”
On the way to the train station, they told Miles Hoy about Hatley’s version of events.
“I never heard about him teaching over at Radford,” Hoy said. “But that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Easy enough to check, I guess.”
“Miles, can we possibly ask you one more favor?” Susan Carol said.
“Name it,” he said.
“I know you weren’t here back then, but you must know some of the cops who have been on the force long enough to remember what it was like at King’s Tavern back then. We don’t have time to hang around here and try to track them down, but maybe…”
“I can do that,” Miles said. “In fact, I think I can do better than that. I know the guy who’s owned the place since it opened. Mickey DeSoto. Nicest guy you’ll ever meet. I think he’d remember those days.”
Stevie looked at his watch. “Is King’s open today?” he said.
“Absolutely,” Hoy said. “They serve a brunch and then dinner on Sunday.”
“Do you think Mr. DeSoto would be there now?”
“I’d think so…”
“We’ve got an hour and fifteen minutes until the train,” Stevie said. “How about we swing by there?”
He looked at Susan Carol, who nodded. “Great idea,” she said. “Maybe we can get a better sense of who-if anyone-is telling the truth.”
21: CONFRONTATION
KING’S TAVERN LOOKED NOTHING like Stevie had pictured it. He’d imagined a dark place with tattered furniture and a bartender named Joe.
Instead it was brightly lit, with comfortable-looking booths and tables with white tablecloths on them. The bartender was definitely not named Joe. Her name tag said Amber, and she reminded Stevie a little bit of Tamara Mearns.
“Hey, Amber, is Mickey around?” Miles asked as the three of them approached the bar.
“In his office,” she said, pointing in the direction of a hallway. “You want me to bring you something to drink back there?”
The place was pretty full, considering that it was mid-afternoon. Stevie noticed TV screens placed strategically around the bar area, with a different NFL game being shown on each screen.
“No thanks, hon, I’m fine,” Miles said, waving at Amber and leading Stevie and Susan Carol down the hall.
“Are you the mayor of Lynchburg or something?” Susan Carol asked. “Does everyone know you?”
“Something like that,” Miles said with a smile. He knocked on a door that was marked Big Boss and pushed it open just as they heard “Come on in” from the other side.
The office wasn’t very big, or maybe it was but it appeared small when Mickey DeSoto stood up from behind the desk, hit a remote to turn off the TV, and came around to greet his visitors. He was, by Stevie’s estimate, at least six foot five, and although he wasn’t fat, he was just plain big-big shoulders, long arms, big all over. He had a shock of white hair and an easy smile.
“Hey, Miles, what’s up!” he said enthusiastically. Seeing Stevie and Susan Carol, he stopped short and pointed. “I know you kids. Why do I know you kids?”
“Kidsports,” Miles said.
“That’s it!” DeSoto said. “Hey, grab chairs. What in the world brings you two to Lynchburg and my little establishment? Are you hungry?”
Actually, Stevie was starving. “We’re kind of in a rush, Mr. DeSoto,” Susan Carol said as they sat down. “We’re trying to catch the four-thirty train to Washington.”
“That’s in an hour!” DeSoto roared. “Tell me what you want and I’ll get the kitchen cranking. We’ll have you fed and out of here with time to spare, won’t we, Miles?”
“Take him up on it,” Miles said. “The food’s good.”
Stevie ordered a hamburger and French fries and, coaxed by DeSoto, a vanilla milk shake. Susan Carol asked for lemonade and a Cobb salad-which made DeSoto wince noticeably.
“Come on, girl, we need to put some meat on your bones,” DeSoto said. “Best steaks in town. It’s on me. Give it a shot.”
She thanked him but said no, and he raced off to put in the order.
“We need to get cracking here,” Susan Carol said to Miles.
“If we’re out of here at four-fifteen, even four-twenty, you’ll make the train,” Miles said. “Station’s five minutes away.”
DeSoto came back in and sat again. “So, much as I wish it were true, you didn’t come to see me because you’ve heard how good our food is. What can I do for you?”
They had decided before coming inside that the best way to get a straight answer about Hatley and Doyle was to just ask about what he remembered about the two of them from twelve years ago without going through the whole story again.
“Mr. DeSoto-” Susan Carol began.
“Mickey, please,” he interrupted.
“Okay, Mickey. I’m sure you know what a great story Norbert Doyle has become during this World Series. We’re wondering what you remember about him from his days in Lynchburg.”
The big smile vanished from Mickey DeSoto’s face. “Is this to be quoted?” he asked.
“No, it’s not,” she said. “We’re just trying to confirm some things…”
“Like the fact that he drank?” DeSoto said. “Look, the guy straightened his life out. He went to rehab. He’s raised those kids. Why revisit all this now?”
“We understand what you’re saying,” Stevie said. “But there are conflicting stories.”