“The police report doesn’t mention Officer Molloy at all,” he said.
“I’ve never seen it, but I guess I’m not totally surprised,” she said. “My dad asked Joe Molloy why he had left the scene if he was the first one there. He said that Jim and Norbert were close friends and that Jim had wanted to stay with Norbert and handle the situation.
“I remember thinking that sounded reasonable, nice even, but also maybe a little suspicious. My dad said, ‘Joe, was the pitcher drinking?’
“And Joe just said, ‘That’s a fair question. I’m sure Jim will check that out.’”
“Did you know there’s no mention in the report of any kind of Breathalyzer being taken or any sobriety check at all?” Stevie said.
“Well,” she said, “there was nothing in any of the papers or the TV reports about Mr. Doyle drinking. My dad wondered if maybe Jim Hatley had taken care of his friend the baseball player. I thought maybe they’d checked and found out he wasn’t drinking…” She paused. “So the report says he was never tested? That doesn’t sound right.”
“It doesn’t say anything about a sobriety check. Just that he swerved to avoid an animal.”
“He didn’t pitch again that season,” she said. “I remember that. They said it was the cracked ribs and his collarbone. But I remember the initial doctor’s report said he’d be out two to three weeks, and there were six weeks left in the season.”
She let that hang there without going on. Stevie’s mind raced. He looked at his watch. Almost three-thirty. “I know you have to go to practice,” he said. “But one last question. Is Joe Molloy still around here?”
She smiled. “I thought you’d ask me that,” she said. “He’s the deputy chief of police now. He’s probably at the station. Miles can help you find him, I’m sure.”
“Thank you,” he said.
She stood up and Stevie felt a little bit dizzy looking up at her again. “I liked the Doyles, they were always very nice to me. The kids were cute and smart. Watching him pitch the other night, I felt happy for him. But I’ve always wondered what really happened that night. Maybe you’ll find out.”
“Maybe,” Stevie said. “I hope so.”
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll take you back to Miles.”
15: THE GOOD COP
WHEN THEY WALKED BACK TO THE CAB and Stevie asked if he could go next to the police station, Miles Hoy asked the question Stevie’d been waiting for: “When are you going to tell me what you’re really looking for here?”
Stevie nodded. “You’re entitled,” he said, and on their way to the police station, he filled him in. Hoy listened and said little.
“I wasn’t here back then,” Hoy said after a pause. “I was still working in Atlanta.”
“What brought you here?” Stevie asked.
“My grandparents owned a house here and they left it to me. I’d always liked Lynchburg -it’s a nice, small town. People are friendly-even Jim Hatley, most days. I drive the cab and I also do some part-time coaching at the junior high school. Keeps me busy enough.”
Stevie asked him if he knew Joe Molloy.
“Everyone knows Joe Molloy,” he said. “He’ll be chief when Bob Lawson retires in a few years. Good man. I think you’ll like him.”
The police station, as it turned out, was behind the courthouse, just across a parking lot from the back door. It was just before four o’clock when they pulled up. Hoy volunteered to come inside and try to smooth the way for him-Stevie gratefully accepted the offer.
They walked into the small one-level building and found a burly cop with a mustache sitting behind the desk. “What’s up, Miles?” he asked in a friendly tone. Stevie doubted he would have been greeted quite so warmly on his own.
“Young man here needs a minute with Chief Molloy,” Hoy said. “Is he around?”
The desk cop, whose name tag said J. G. Brendle, looked at Stevie as if waiting for him to explain. When Stevie stayed quiet, he just shrugged. “He’s here,” he said, picking up the phone. “Let me see if he’s busy. Why don’t you guys have a seat.”
Brendle put the phone down a minute later and said: “Miles, you’re in luck. He’ll be right out.”
A few seconds later a door swung open and a tall man with blond hair and an easy smile walked over to them.
“Miles, what have you brought me today?” he asked, hand out as he approached Hoy.
“Someone who has some interesting questions for you, I think,” Hoy answered.
Molloy turned to Stevie. “Joe Molloy,” he said.
“Steve Thomas,” Stevie said, shaking the proffered hand. “I work for the Washington Herald.”
Molloy snapped his fingers. “Kidsports,” he said. “You and that girl were on that show last year, weren’t you?” he said.
Stevie nodded. “Didn’t last very long,” he said.
“Too bad, my kids really liked you. Come on back and you can tell me what you need.”
Stevie looked at Hoy to see if he was going to come with him. “I’ll wait here,” Hoy said.
“You sure?” Stevie said.
“Oh yeah,” Hoy said. “You’re the reporter, I’m just the driver.”
Joe Molloy led Stevie through a maze of hallways until they reached the back of the building. They passed a door marked Chief Lawson, turned one more corner, and walked into a comfortable office that belonged to Molloy.
“Have a seat,” Molloy said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Stevie was, he suddenly realized, very thirsty.
“Is a Coke too much trouble?” he asked.
“Be right back,” Molloy said. He disappeared from the office and returned thirty seconds later carrying two Cokes. He sat across from Stevie and said, “So, what can I do for a hotshot young sportswriter?”
Stevie figured he was going to have to go through the whole story one more time. “Well, I’ve been covering the World Series for the Herald,” he began.
Molloy suddenly smacked himself on the forehead. “Oh God,” he said. “Norbert Doyle. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Stevie nodded.
Joe Molloy stood up and closed the door to his office. He sat down, took a long sip from his Coke, and said: “Why don’t you tell me what you know. We’ll go from there.”
As he had done with Erin James, Stevie went through the entire tale, adding what she had told him about Molloy’s visit to the Doyles’ house that night. When he had finished, Molloy sat with his arms folded for a moment before standing up and walking to the window that looked out on a parking lot.
“You’ve covered a lot of ground today. I’m sorry about Jim Hatley. That sounds more like him in his drinking days-can’t think what got into him. Maybe this Walsh guy gave him some money and told him not to talk to you. He took it a step further.”
“It’s okay,” Stevie said. “I’m okay.”
Molloy walked back to his chair and sat down again. He was having trouble staying still. “Look, I’m not sure what’s going on here. You and I have to have an agreement,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I know, but for now you can’t quote me. I’m not saying I won’t go on the record ever, I just need to think the whole thing through first.”
Stevie thought he understood. “So for now we’re on background?” he asked.
Molloy nodded.
Stevie agreed, just as he had done with Erin James.
Molloy took a deep breath. “It was only twelve years ago, but a lot has changed. In those days we worked alone on patrol, nowadays everyone has a partner. I got a call saying someone had plowed into a tree on Route 260, and I was nearest to the site. I got there pretty quickly-under five minutes-and could see right away that it wasn’t good.
“Norbert Doyle, who I didn’t recognize because I didn’t really follow the baseball team, was sitting next to the car. He was cradling his wife in his arms. I was pretty certain she was gone, but I put out an EMS call.”