“Will you come with me to the police, then? They’ll believe both of us.”

“Believe us? Believe that one man sorts through and readdresses mail, writes forged letters to people all over town, well-researched letters at that, is responsible for two suicides as well as God knows what else? I’m not sure I believe it. I think that the mailman is somehow involved in this, but I don’t know what the connection is. We’re edging into Twilight Zone territory here.”

“You think I should tell the police what I know?”

“What you know?”

“What I think, then.”

“I don’t know how much good it will do at this point, without any proof—”

“I have the letters from the creek.”

“That’s true.” The editor leaned back in his chair. “Yes,” he said. “I think you should talk to the police. I won’t go with you, because my credibility’s not my own, it’s tied to the paper’s as well, and that is something I will not jeopardize. You know Mike Trenton?”

“He was in my class several years ago.”

“He’s a good kid, and a good cop. Talk to him. He has an open mind. He might listen. Stay away from Catfield.”

“Mike Trenton. Can I tell him about your letters?”

Stockley nodded. “Tell him.” He sighed and leaned forward, withdrawing another fortune cookie from his desk. “I shouldn’t be getting involved in this. I’m supposed to report stories, not be part of them, but to be honest you’ve scared the hell out of me.”

Doug smiled wanly. “I’ve been scaring the hell out of myself for a week.”

“It’s time to do something about it,” the editor said. He bit into his fortune cookie.

Doug sat on the low Naugahyde couch in the waiting room of the police station. Behind the counter, uniformed clerks and officers answered phones and completed paperwork. He felt old. Three of the five employees in the office had been his students at one time or another. That wasn’t unusual. In a town as small as Willis, he was always running into ex-students. But seeing ex-students in positions of authority, their young faces hardened into adulthood, made him feel hopelessly old.

Mike Trenton emerged from one of the back rooms, smiling broadly. His hair was shorter than it had been in high school, but aside from that, he had hardly changed at all. His face was still openly honest, naive, and even in his dark-blue uniform, he seemed young. “Long time no see, Mr. Albin.”

“Call me Doug.”

“Doug.” He shook his head. “It feels weird calling a teacher by his first name.” He chuckled. “Anyway, what can I do for you?”

Doug glanced around the crowded office. “It’s kind of busy in here. Is there someplace we can talk that’s more private?”