'And he denies everything. I didn't use your name, of course. I --'
'What about the post office? What did they say?'
'We couldn't verify what you said. Their computers were down. They'll call us back when they can access the information.'
'What do you think?'
There was only a slight hesitation. 'I believe you.'
'But the chief doesn't.'
'But the chief doesn't.'
Doug looked over at Billy and Tritia . 'Why don't you go over to the car?
I'll meet you there in a sec.'
'Keys,' Tritia said, holding out her hand.
He dug the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to her. She caught them in midair and, her arm around Billy's shoulder, headed toward the Bronco. Doug turned back toward the policeman. 'He's not human, Mike.'
There was silence between them.
'I got another letter from myfiancee yesterday. She said she wants to break up again.'
'It's fake. You know that.'
'I called her, but she hung up on me. Wouldn't even let me talk.'
'Do you think --'
'I think he's sending her letters.' The policeman took a deep breath.
Around them, people were walking to their cars, heading for home. 'I'm not sure whether I should try to stay out of his way, to stay as far away from you as possible, or whether I should come down hard on his ass and make him pay.'
'You don't need me to tell you. You know the right thing to do.'
'What right thing? You want to know the truth? I don't care about doing the right thing. I care about keeping Janine. That's what I care about. That's all I care about.'
'I don't believe that,' Doug said softly. 'And neither do you. That's why you're talking to me right now.'
'I don't know.'
'You know, Mike.'
'But there's nothing we can do. Not really. Nothing we can pin onh'im .
Nothing we can prove. I'd like to be able to trip him up on something, to throw him in jail, but I can't.'
'He's tampering with the mails. Get him for that.'
'No proof.'
'There will be when the post office calls you back.'
'What if there isn't?'
'People are dying here, Mike. We have to do something.'
'Yeah? What do you expect me to do? Hang up my badge? Go out and gun him down?'
'No. Of course not.' But a small frightening voice within him was saying, _Yesyes _.
'I'm keeping my eyes open, like I promised. But I can't guarantee that I'll do any more than that. I'm a police officer, not a vigilante.'
The young cop was looking for reassurance, Doug knew, but he had none to give. When it came to something like this, older did not necessarily mean wiser.
He was just as afraid as the policeman and just as much in the dark about what to do. Still, he nodded. 'That's all I ask.'
'I have to get back to work. It's a rough crowd tonight.'
'Yeah. I have to go too.' Doug started to turn, but he looked back again.
'Be careful, Mike. If he's sending letters to yourfiancee , he knows about you.'
The policeman said nothing, but moved away, between the cars, toward the grandstand. Silently, Doug walked back to the Bronco, where Trish and Billy were waiting.
He drove home slowly and carefully, though the anticipated drunks did not materialize. There were very few cars on the road, in fact, and most of the houses they passed as they drove through town were dark. He looked at the clock on the dash. Nine-thirty. That was strange. People were usually up and about later than this on an ordinary Friday, not to mention a holiday. It was like driving through a ghost town, he thought. And even though Trish and Billy were with him in the car, he felt a slight tingle of fear.
Willis was changing.
There was no mail on either Saturday or Sunday, and when Doug went to the store on Monday and saw the mailman unloading one of the mailboxes, he was gratified to see that he looked paler than usual, and thinner, if that was possible. Maybe he's sick, Doug thought. Maybe he's sick and going to die.
But that was just wishful thinking. It wouldn't happen.
As always, the mailman smiled and waved at him as he drove past.
26
Billy rode wildly through the brush, thick BMX tires rolling over weeds and rocks, plowing through thin bushes. He and Lane had both signed up weeks ago for the motocrosscompetition,.and while he had always planned on winning, it was now a necessity rather than a desire. He didn't really care at this point whether or not he came in first -- he just wanted to beat Lane. To beat him bad.
He spun around a large boulder, taking the turn as sharp as he dared without slowing. He and Lane were about equal in skill and experience, and he knew it was going to take a lot of practice and dedication to beat his ex friend.
But he _was_ going to beat him.
He was going to make him eat dirt.
Billy had not been planning to ride anywhere in particular, but he found himself heading down the hill toward the archaeological site. He hadn't been down here since he and Lane had had their falling out, not because he hadn't wanted to, but because Lane had always done most of the talking for the two of them and he felt a little nervous going to the dig by himself.
Today however, he found himself speeding down the hill toward the narrow valley. Ahead was a small natural ditch carved by runoff, and he yanked up on his handlebars, jumping it. The bike wobbled on the hard landing, but he maintained his pace and balance, pedaling furiously.
The ground leveled off, and he slowed as he approached the site, not wanting to startle anyone. When he reached the trees on the perimeter of the dig, he hopped off his bike and walked it the rest of the way.
But there was no one there.
The site was deserted.
He looked around. The university had not been scheduled to conclude their excavation until sometime in late August, but obviously they had decided to leave early. Billy's first thought was that they had all taken a day off, gone to town or to the lake or to one of the streams, but it was clear that they had packed everything up, finished their work, and gone home. Nothing was left save a few stakes embedded in the ground and a scattering of torn envelopes on the dirt.
Billy frowned. Something was wrong here. There had been no litter left behind on the dig last summer. None at all. The professor's motto had been 'Pack it in, pack it out,' and he'd made sure that his students left the area as close as possible to the way they'd found it.
He was suddenly scared, and he realized that he was all alone out here, that the closest person to him was up at the top of the hill. It came over him instantly, this feeling of being isolated, cut off from everything and everyone, and he quickly turned his bike around . . .
And he saw the mailman.
The mailman was striding toward him across the dirt, his hair a fiery red against the green background. There was no mail sack on his back, no letters in his hand, and the fact that he had come here to do something other than deliver mail scared Billy more than anything else. He jumped on his bike, swung it around, and began to pedal.
But he did not see one of the excavation trenches, and his front tire slid sideways, spilling him onto the ground. His head connected with the hard dirt.
He was stunned but not hurt, and he jumped to his feet. The mailman was standing right next to him,
