“I like it very much,” Leland said.

Howard didn’t move. “You’re the one who shot down all them planes, aren’t you? I read about you in the paper.”

“I’m the one.”

“Now that’s my idea of doing something. The country ought to set you men up so you never have to work again. I’d help pay for that, I think. You men deserve better than you got. So did the ones in the first war. My cousin got gassed in that one. But he gets checks for it.”

“May we see the letters?” Leland asked.

“Why, sure. They’re upstairs. Wait here.” He stopped at the door. “Hey, if my wife comes down, don’t say anything about Ted being a faggot. She’s not a strong woman.”

The four men sat there, staring at separate sections of the room, waiting for him to return.

Miss Starrett, entering by the side door, preceded him by a minute. She put the tray bearing the cups and saucers on the edge of the table, took the bowl from the center and, not letting go of the tray, put the bowl on a small side table behind her. She was a girl who looked older than she was, and Leland could not help wondering why. When Howard re-entered carrying a messy stack of letters and torn envelopes, Leland said to him, “I’m going to have to ask you a formality question. Where were you Friday night?”

“I was down to Halsteader’s Tavern, here in town. All night.”

“Anybody see you?”

He grinned malevolently. “Old Halsteader himself, for one. Billy Swan. Frank Gilfoyle, he’s head of the volunteer fire department.”

Leland laughed. “I told you it was a formality. Give the letters to my father there. He’s the one who reads.”

Howard gave the letters to Schoenstein, laughing at him. “Get yourself up to the table,” Howard said.

“Read backwards, Dave,” Leland said. Schoenstein had to be wondering why Leland had not volunteered to take half the work. He would see soon.

The cups of coffee came around. Leland caught Susan Starrett’s eyes and stared at her, longer than she could stand. She did not know what to do. He backed off.

“You know,” Howard said, “you ought to write a book about your experiences. I bet you’d make a lot of money.”

“I had an offer,” Leland said. “That was three years ago, and I doubt if they’d be interested today. People are tired of hearing about that now.”

“Oh, no,” Howard said. “You’d be surprised.”

Leland knew that the local cops were thinking he was crazy, coming so far for social chatter. “To tell you the truth,” he said to Howard, “I hate to write even my reports. If I didn’t have Dad here to do my dirty work, I’d be pounding a beat.”