Never Say No To A Killer

was only after nine and the postman hadn't been around yet. I breathed easier.

It was almost an hour later that the postman finally showed up. From down the hall I heard the familiar rattle of keys the minute he stepped into the building, and I was there at the mail box almost before he was.

“Good morning,” I said pleasantly.

“Mornin',” he said, not looking up. He unlocked the boxes, began sorting out a small bundle of letters, dropping the envelopes into the individual slots.

“Name?” he said.

“What?”... not understanding at first what he meant.

“Your name,” he said, still not looking at me, still busy at sorting the envelopes. “You got any mail, you might as well take it now. Before I lock up the boxes.”

“Oh, My name's O'Connor, but I'm not expecting any mail. Fact is I'm here to pick up Miss Kelso's mail for her. She asked me to. That's all right, isn't it?”

He shrugged. “Sure, it's all right, I guess, if Miss Kelso had any mail to pick up. But she don't.”

I felt my insides shrink. “You must be mistaken,” I said, forcing a laugh, forcing myself to remain outwardly calm. “You see Miss Kelso was expecting this letter; she was quite certain that it would be in this morning's mail, and she wanted me to pick it up for her. Maybe you overlooked it.”

“Didn't overlook it,” he said, completely uninterested. “Everything for this address was in that bundle. Nothin' for Miss Kelso.”

My scalp began to prickle. You sonofabitch, I thought savagely, if you're holding out on me I'll leave you dead right here in the hallway! So help me I'll strangle you if you don't come across with that letter!

He dropped some magazines on the table and began locking the boxes.

I made myself calm down. In spite of his self-assurance he must have overlooked that letter! He must have! Then he shouldered his leather mailbag, nodded and started to go.

“Please!” I said quickly, licking my lips. “I know this might sound crazy to you, but that letter is very important—to Miss Kelso. You see, well, I promised I'd get it for her, and naturally I don't want to disappoint her. I'd be very grateful if you'd look again, just to be sure. Would you do that, please?”

He said nothing. He went on thumbing through the bundles of envelopes, and I felt a sick emptiness in the pit of my stomach as bundle after bundle was dropped back into the bottom of the bag.

“Isn't it there?” I asked. “It's there somewhere, isn't it? It got misplaced?”

He finished with another bundle, the last one, and once again shouldered the bag. “Nope. Just like I told you the first time, there's nothin' here for Miss Kelso.”

That letter simply had to be there! I said: “How about another delivery? Is it possible that the letter would be delivered later in the day?”

“Not unless it's special delivery.”

By God, I thought, that would really cook me, if that letter turned out to be special delivery. But surely Ellen Foster would have noticed a thing like that—sure she would —so I immediately ruled out the possibility of special delivery.

The postman gave me one look, a sort of fishy look, then turned and went out of the building. It was all I could do to keep from yelling at him and making him go through his bag all over again. That letter just had to be there somewhere!

But it wasn't. If that letter had fallen into the wrong hands, I was good as dead, and I didn't want to admit it.

What I had to do was think. This was no time for breastbeating and wailing. I stood there staring at the mail box, that empty mail box, and made myself calm down. There was one thing I had to do; I had to systematically figure out what had happened to that letter.

Now that letter was mailed around four o'clock yesterday afternoon... that's the starting point. There was just a chance that the letter wasn't picked up at all yesterday. If that was the case, it wouldn't be delivered until tomorrow, since there was only one-a-day delivery service at this address. Maybe that's what happened, I thought. And I began to feel better.

But only for an instant. Oh, no, I thought, that letter was picked up all right. If it hadn't been, the police would have intercepted it right on the spot.

That left two possibilities, two possible explanations as to why the letter hadn't arrived here this morning: either it had been lost, or it had been intercepted at the main mail distribution point.

Then I thought: what are the odds on getting a letter lost in the mails? A million to one? Two million to one? The post office is a damned efficient organization; they just don't lose letters, especially on local delivery, often enough to make it a possibility.

That left only one answer, the answer that I had been trying to dodge, the answer that I was afraid of. The letter had been intercepted by the police. I didn't know how, but it had happened!

I had promised myself that I would never be afraid again... but I was afraid now.

It was a miracle that I was still alive! The miracle was that this apartment building hadn't been swarming with cops long before now! By God, I thought, I've got to get out of here! I've got to move faster than I ever moved in my life!

That was when I started running.

I suppose I was running for my apartment, but I can't be sure about anything that happened for the next few minutes. Panic had seized me and for that instant had complete control of me, but instinct alone had probably turned me toward my apartment. That's where my money was. That's where my gun was—the equipment of survival.

Once I recognized the fact that the letter had been intercepted, I knew instantly just the way it must have happened. It had started with that maid, Ellen Foster, who had suddenly become so proud of her memory. After thinking it over, she must have realized that the name on the letter hadn't been Keaslo at all, but Kelso, and she had probably called the cops about it.

But it couldn't have happened last night. It could only have happened this morning, and not early this morning, either, and that was the only thing that saved me this long. That and a legal complication that naturally arises when you fool with the U. S. Mail. The cops, after they had intercepted the letter, probably had gone after Pat's permission to open it and act on the information in it. That small time lapse had saved me. It had given the postman time to make his regular delivery and arouse my suspicions.

If the cops had just held up that postman I would have been cooked hours ago. Blue suits and badges would have filled my apartment before I'd even got out of bed.

All this went through my mind as I ran down the hallway of that apartment building. In a matter of seconds the whole story was there, full grown, in front of me.

But the situation was bad enough as it was. Sooner or later the cops would be here. In a matter of minutes, probably, or even seconds. Surely, they would know the contents of Dorris Venci's letter by this time, the news that Roy Surratt, Alex Burton's murderer, was at large in Lake City. I didn't dare think of the number of police cars that must be converging on this point at this minute, this second.

Where I was going from the apartment I didn't know. I just knew instinctively that I had to get there first, I had to get the gun, the money, the keys to the Lincoln. I didn't have enough of a future to plan on... the future, after I had picked up the essentials, would have to take care of itself.

I was about six or eight quick running steps from the mailbox, right at the rear entrance of the apartment building, when I heard the first siren.

The sound froze me.

I forgot about the apartment. I forgot, gun, money, keys, everything. All I could think about was getting away from there as fast as possible. I hit the rear entrance of the apartment building, with a force that almost took the door off the hinges. I ran past the garage stall where the Lincoln was parked... that sleek, beautiful, powerful Lincoln that I'd never be able to use again, not even if I had remembered the keys. They would be looking for that Lincoln, they would be looking for any kind of car, so I didn't even give it a second glance.

I ran around the row of brick garage stalls, clawed my way through a hedge fence and broke into the open alley behind the apartment building. I had no time to wonder where I was going from here. The first siren was