Erwin had set out for the creek a little after ten, stopping off at Kitty's Diner for some apple pancakes and coffee to fortify himself Bosley was his usual ebullient self, which on some days Erwin found grating but today merely amused him. Appetite satisfied, Erwin set off for the creek, parking his car beside the Masonic Lodge on First Street and walking from there. He was glad he'd put on sturdy boots and an old sweater. The warmth of the late summer days, along with the rains of a week or so ago, had made the thicket lusher than ever, and by the time he reached the creek he had scratches on his neck, face, and hands, and enough twigs in his sweater to fuel a small fire.

Over the centuries the creek had carved itself a deep trench to run in, its shallow, speeding waters overcast with antediluvian ferns. He had not ventured here in six or seven years, and he was surprised afresh at how remote it felt. Though Main Street lay no more than three-quarters of a mile behind him, the whine of gnats around his head was louder than the murmur of traffic, while in front of him, on the other side of the creek, the thickly wooded slope rose up towards the Heights undeveloped and, he supposed, untenanted. He was alone, and that was by no means an unpleasant feeling. He'd take his time looking for the house by the creek, and chew over his future while he did so.

Joe called Phoebe at the doctor's in the middle of the morning and asked her if she'd be available to meet him at lunchtime rather than in the afternoon. She warned him it'd only give them a few minutes together; it was a ten-minute drive in both directions between the office and home.

r, most likely, with the streets so busy. He had anticid this. Come to the apartment, he suggested, it's just a couple of minutes away. She told him she would. Expect me just after twelve-thirty, she told him.

"I'll be waiting," he said, and she got goosebumps from the heat in his voice. She spent the rest of the morning with a twitchy little smile on her face, and at twelve twenty-eight she was gone. She'd visited him at the apartment only twice before, once when Morton had been sick in bed with the flu, and once during his vacation. It was riskier than the house, because there was no way into his building without being seen. Especially today, with so many people out and about. She didn't care.

She parked on the street right outside the building, and defiantly marched up the side steps that led to Joe's front door almost hoping she was being seen.

Her knuckles had barely touched the door when it was opened. He was wearing just his shorts, and was running with sweat.

"The fan's broken," he said, ushering her inside. "But you don't mind sweatin', right?" The place was a mess, as usual, and baking hot. He cleared a place for her on the sofa, but instead of sitting she followed him through to the kitchen, where he poured a glass of ice water for her. There they stayed, with the noise of the street coming in through the open window.

"I've been thinkin'," he said. "The sooner we come clean about this, the better.

"I'm going to see an attorney on Monday."

He grinned. "Good girl." He laid his arms on her shoulders, clasping hands to wrist behind her head. "You want me to come with you?"

"No. I'll do it."

"Then we'll just get out of here. As far away as possible."

"Any place you like."

"Somewhere warm," he said. "I like the heat."

"Suits me," she said. She put her thumb to his cheek and rubbed.

"Paint," she said.

"Kiss," he said back.

"We have to talk."

"We'll talk while we fuck."

"Joe

"Okay, we'll fuck while we talk, how's that?" He drew a little closer to her. "It's too hot to say no." There was sweat trickling down between her breasts; sweat between her buttocks, sweat between her thighs. She was almost dizzy with the heat.

"Yes?" he said.

"Yes," she said, and stood there, head spinning, while button by button, clasp by clasp, he bared her to the air.

Erwin had first followed the creek downstream, thinking that the house was more likely to be situated on the flatter land than on the uneven terrain of the Heights' lower slopes. Either he was wrong in that assumption, he discovered, or else this part of McPherson's confession was a lie. After an hour he gave up trailing the creek's southeasterly course and turned round, following his own tracks back to the place where he'd begun. There he halted for a couple of minutes to smoke a cigarette and plot his next move. Bosley's pancakes would sustain him for another hour and a half at least, but he had quite a thirst after clambering over boulders and thrashing his way through the thicket.

Maybe a respite was in order. A cup of coffee back at Kitty's; then back to the trek refreshed. After a few moments, he decided to forgo the break and continue his search. Once he'd found the house the coffee would taste all the better anyway.

The terrain rapidly became more problematic as he moved upstream, however, and after a quarter of an hour of fighting his way through the dense undergrowth, his hands stained green with moss, his knees skinned from slipping on rocks, he was about ready to retreat. He paused to pull off his sweater-in which he was now cooking-and as it cleared his face he caught sight of a mysterious shape between the trees up ahead.

He started towards it, tugging his arms from the sweater as he went, little sounds of pleasure escaping him the closer he got.

"Oh... oh... that's it! That's it!"

There it was, right in front of him. Fire and rot had med most of the boards, but the framework and the brick mneys were still standing.

He hung his sweater in a branch, then thrust his way through the thicket until he reached the front of the housethough it scarcely deserved the word-shack, more likeand stepped over the threshold.

There were a few pitiful signs of the life that had been lived here underfoot: sticks of charred furniture, a piece of decayed rug, fragments of some plates, a battered pail. The scene was pitiful, of course, but Erwin was elated. There was now no doubt in his mind that McPherson's confession was substantially true. He had evidence enough to make public what he knew without fear of contradiction. All he had to do now was work out how to get maximum mileage out of the announcement.

He went down on his haunches and pulled a shard of crockery out from the tangle of undergrowth, touched for the first time by a tremor of unease. He didn't believe in ghosts@e dead were the dead, and they stayed that way- but the dripping hush of the place gnawed at him nevertheless. It was time to go back; time to get that cup of coffee, and maybe a celebratory slice of carrot cake to go with it.

Wiping the dirt from the plate shard, he got to his feet. As he did so he caught a motion in the trees on the other side of the creek. He looked towards it, and his stomach leapt. Somebody was standing there, watching him. The plate shard slipped from his fingers. The hairs at his nape prickled.

The shadows between the pines were too dense to make out much detail of the watcher's appearance, but it was plain he was no hiker. He was wearing something dark and full, almost like robes, his face half-hidden by a substantial beard, his pallid hands clasped in front of him.

He inclined his head in Erwin's direction now, as if to say: I see that you see me. Then he raised his left hand and beckoned Erwin towards him. The creek lay between them, of course, the humble gorge it had cut for itself deeper here, closer to its source, than further downstream.

It afforded sufficient protection should the stranger prove to be a lunatic that Erwin felt safe to obey the man's instruction, and come a little nearer. As he reached the edge of the bank, which fell away steeply four or five feet, the man spoke. His voice was low, but it carried over the rush of water.