By 2:30, the beach was almost empty. People had gone off to play tennis, to sail, to have their hair done. The only ones left on the beach were half a dozen teen-agers and the family from Queens.

Brody’s legs had begun to sunburn—faint red blotches were surfacing on his thighs and the tops of his feet—so he covered them with his towel. He took the walkie-talkie out of the bag and called Hendricks. “Anything happened, Leonard?”

“Not a thing, Chief. Over.”

“Anybody go swimming?”

“Nope. Wading, but that’s about it. Over.”

“Same here. What do you hear about the ticket seller?”

“Nothing, but nobody’s giving me tickets anymore, so I guess somebody ran him off. Over.”

“What about the TV people?”

“They’re gone. They left a few minutes ago. They wanted to know where you were. Over.”

“What for?”

“Beats me. Over.”

“Did you tell them?”

“Sure. I didn’t see why not. Over.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.” Brody decided to take a walk. He pushed a finger into one of the pink blotches on his thigh. It turned stark white, then flushed angry red when he removed his finger. He stood, wrapped his towel around his waist to keep the sun from his legs, and, carrying the walkie-talkie, strolled toward the water.

He heard the sound of a car engine, and he turned and walked to the top of the dune. A white panel truck was parked on Scotch Road. The black lettering on its side said, “WNBC-TV News.” The driver’s door opened, and a man got out and trudged through the sand toward Brody.

As the man drew closer, Brody thought he looked vaguely familiar. He was young, with long, curly hair and a handlebar moustache.

“Chief Brody?” he said when he was a few steps away.

“That’s right.”

“They told me you’d be here. I’m Bob Middleton, Channel Four News.”

“Are you the reporter?”

“Yeah. The crew’s in the truck.”

“I thought I’d seen you somewhere. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to interview you.”

“About what?”

“The whole shark business. How you decided to open the beaches.”

Brody thought for a moment, then said to himself, What the hell: a little publicity couldn’t hurt the town, now that the chances of anything happening—today, at least—are pretty slim. “All right,” he said. “Where do you want to do it?”

“Down on the beach. I’ll get the crew. It’ll take a few minutes to set up, so if you have something to do, feel free. I’ll give a yell when we’re ready.” Middleton trotted away toward the truck.

Brody had nothing special to do, but since he had started to take a walk, he thought he might as well take it. He walked down toward the water.

As he passed the group of teen-agers, he heard a boy say, “What about it? Anybody got the guts? Ten bucks is ten bucks.”

A girl said, “Come on, Limbo, lay off.”

Brody stopped about fifteen feet away, feigning interest in something offshore.