“I don’t know exactly what’s going on around here, but it seems to me that John Smith, if that is his real name, has the ability to… to somehow channel the mail in the way he wants it to go. He can separate letters from bills, good letters from bad. He can redirect a letter from its intended recipient to the person the letter is about. We got a note from Howard the other day that was supposed to be for Ellen Ronda. But the envelope was addressed to us. And this has happened to other people.”

“So you’re saying that Mr. Smith somehow opens all these envelopes, reads all these letters, and redirects them as some sort of perverse practical joke?”

“I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Assuming that he would want to, do you know how long it would take for one man to do such a thing, even in a town this small?”

“I’m not sure he sleeps. Hell, I’m not sure he’s even human.”

“You lost me, Mr. Albin. I respect you and all, and I admit that strange things have been happening to the mail lately, but this sounds a little off the deep end.”

Doug smiled wryly. “You haven’t heard it all. I also think he’s connected with Bernie Rogers’ death and Bob Ronda’s.”

“This is a joke, right?”

“No joke. Just hear me out.” He went on to explain his discovery at the creek and the increasingly bizarre nature of the mail both he and the newspaper had been receiving.

Mike frowned. “How come Ben didn’t tell me this himself?”

“He didn’t even want me to tell you.”

“So what about Ronda and Rogers?”

Doug explained their connections to the post office and the unlikely nature of their suicides.

“We have been wondering how Rogers tied that rope,” Mike admitted.

“So, what was written on the note pinned to Bernie’s chest?”

The policeman shook his head. “Sorry. Confidential.”

“But you don’t think I’m totally crazy?”

Mike looked at him silently for a moment. “No, I don’t,” he said finally. “God knows why, but I don’t. I don’t entirely believe you, but I don’t disbelieve you either.”

“Good enough for now. I know there’s no proof against the mailman. There’s no way you can haul him in. Yet. But I just want you to keep your eyes and ears open. Be on the lookout. Just be prepared.”

The young officer shook his head, grinning ruefully. “If anyone else finds out about this, I’m dead meat. But okay.”

Doug stood up, pushing his chair back. He looked at the policeman curiously. “You got something, didn’t you?” he asked. “In the mail?”

Mike stared up at him, then nodded slowly.

“I could tell. You dropped that cop routine pretty fast and hopped aboard the bandwagon, no questions asked.”