“Sober, Norbert knew Analise would never cheat on him. Drunk, he wasn’t so rational.”

Stevie and Susan Carol looked at one another. The story kept getting more complicated by the minute.

“Just so I’m clear on this,” Susan Carol said. “You aren’t trying to say that the accident wasn’t an accident, are you?”

Hatley shook his head. “No, I’m not saying that. What I’m trying to tell you is the reason Joe went along with the way I wrote the report.”

Stevie started to say that they already knew why, but Susan Carol shot him a look that clearly said, “Keep quiet.”

“Joe knew that Norbert shouldn’t have been driving that night,” Hatley said. “He got a phone call from the restaurant where Norbert and Analise were having dinner.”

“He told us that,” Susan Carol said. “He got there too late.”

“No, he didn’t,” Hatley said. “He never went. He called me and said, ‘Your pal’s drunk again, go drive him home so he doesn’t hurt Analise.’ I was the one who got there too late.”

“Why didn’t he go himself?”

“I guess he thought Norbert Doyle was my problem, not his.”

Stevie’s mind was swimming upstream. At that moment he was completely convinced that Hatley was telling the truth. Molloy had lied once, why not a second time? The good cop was turning out to be the bad cop, and the bad cop was turning out to be the good cop.

“Does Norbert know this?”

“I don’t know… Norbert was a mess after the accident, as you can imagine. I may have told him, I don’t remember, but he wasn’t in any state to take it in one way or the other. He only ever blamed himself.”

“Molloy told us the reason he went along with your report was because you agreed to get Norbert to go to rehab.”

Hatley laughed. “He told you that? Wow, that’s good. I told Norbert he was going to rehab in the hospital that night. You can ask him that if you want. Joe went along with the report because he knew if he had responded to the call from the restaurant himself, instead of calling me, the Doyles wouldn’t have been in the car that night. He was saving his own skin.”

“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.”