of that great mass of Americans who knows that calme exists but never feels it personally. They lived in an atmosphere of trust; they had no reason not to. For most of his career, Ray Norton’s time had been taken up with citing speeders (most of them tourists) and keeping the peace at the tavern. There had been an occasional suicide in Port Arbello, but that was not unusual for New England, particularly during the winter. The crimes that plagued the country, the urban crimes that make urban people barricade their doors, were essentially unknown in Port Arbello. There had never been so much as a mugging, let alone a murder, at least not in the last hundred years. The town was so innocent, indeed, that it was only in the last few days that the people had begun installing new locks on their doors. Until now they had felt perfectly comfortable with the old locks, locks that could be opened with almost any key that came to hand.
But now they were frightened, and Ray Norton found it worrisome. Particularly with a man like Marty Forager doing his best to fan the fires. Ordinarily nobody paid much attention to Marty Forager, but now he had something to use as leverage, and Ray Norton was convinced that he would use it to his best advantage. Ray was very much aware that Martin Forager resented the position lie held in Port Arbello. Not that he could blame him; who, after all, would want to be known as “poor Marty Forager”—a phrase always accompanied by a sorrowful shake of the head and words of pity for his wife and daughter.
He was pondering the situation, trying to figure out the best way to defuse it, when his main worry appeared in his office.
Marty Forager loomed over him, and Ray Norton could see immediately that he had already been drinking.
“I came to tell you,” Forager said, his voice surly. “There’s going to be a meeting tonight A town meeting. Since you don’t seem to be able to do anything about what’s going on in this town, we’re going to see if we can come up with some ideas of our own.” He stared down at the chief of police as if waiting to be challenged. Ray Norton looked up at him.
“Am I invited?” he asked mildly. The question apparently took Forager by surprise, as he stepped back a pace.
“No way we can keep you from coming,” he said reluctantly. “But you ain’t running it,” he added.
“I would assume that Billy Meyers will be running it,” Ray said quietly. “He’s still president of the council, isn’t he?”
“This’s a citizens’ meeting,” Forager sneered. “Not a council meeting. Nobody’s gonna run it.”
“I see,” Norton said, standing up. He was pleased to note that Forager moved back another pace. “In that case, you can count on me showing up. I always wanted to see a meeting nobody was running. It ought to be fascinating.”
Marty Forager glowered at him, and Ray thought he was going to say something more. Instead, Forager simply wheeled and stalked silently out of the police station. Norton watched him go and decided it was time to call Jack Conger.
“Jack,” he said when the editor was on the phone. “I’m afraid we’ve got trouble.”
“Not another child,” Jack said. “I don’t think the town could stand it.”
“No,” Norton replied. “It’s not that. It’s the town I’m worried about now. Martin Forager was just here again.” Quickly he filled Jack in on what Forager had told him, and made sure that the editor understood Forager’s manner as well as his words.
“In other words,” Jack said after he’d heard Ray Norton out, “you see a lynch mob developing.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Ray said slowly.
“Not for publication, anyway,” Jack gibed at him. “But that is what you’re saying, isn’t it?”
“Well I don’t think it’s gone that far yet,” the police chief began.
“—But that’s the direction it’s taking,” Jack Conger finished for him. “Any ideas about who Forager wants to string up?”
“I think I’m at the top of the list,” Ray replied, trying to put some banter into his voice. Then he became more serious once again. “Frankly, it’s you I’m worried about.”
“Me?” Jack said, his voice reflecting a disbelief he did not feel. “Why me?”
“Well, we might as well face the facts,” Norton said. “All the things that have been happening have been happening near your place.”
“That’s not quite true,” Jack corrected him. “Anne Forager says she was near our