“I was in Anniston,” he said abruptly. He seemed removed from the words, as if recalling some small incident of childhood. “It was business, with loan customers. They wish to build an apartment complex. I visited the site and afterwards we went to a country club for drinks and dinner. By the time I left it was past ten o’clock, so I turned off at the Holiday Inn and got a room.”

His speech had an eerie precision. Rayfield watched him coldly. “What happened then?”

“I awoke this morning and had breakfast in the dining room. I remember it was about nine-thirty when I finished. After that I decided to drive back to the apartment site to look at it alone.” He paused, speaking the next four words distinctly. “Then I came home.”

Rayfield’s eyes became slits. “At the motel—was there someone with you?”

Henry blinked. “What do you mean?”

Rayfield reached for his pen, still watching Henry. “Can anyone confirm you were there?”

“No. No one.”

“Did you call anyone from the motel?”

“No.”

The questions came faster. “You didn’t call your wife?”

“Well, yes—Lydia.”

“When was that?”

“Not long after—I don’t know exactly.”

“Did she answer?”

Henry flinched. “Yes.”

“What did you say?”

“I told her where I was. Sometimes, in Anniston, I would stop and drive home the next morning. I told her I might do that before I left.”

“Did she say anything when you called?”

“No.” Henry’s voice weakened. “Not really.”

“She didn’t say someone was with her?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“And you didn’t ask?”

“No.”

“What did you talk about?”

“Just that I was still in Anniston.”

“How long did that take?”

“I don’t know—I didn’t notice.”

“One minute? Two minutes?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps two.”

Rayfield switched tacks. “Who was the first person you saw this morning?”

Cade’s deep-set eyes searched Henry. “The waitress,” Henry answered in a chastened voice. “At breakfast.”

Rayfield’s cadence eased. “Anniston’s not much more than an hour, Mr. Cantwell. Might could be easy for you to check into a motel, drive home, and then back again.” He paused and asked coolly, “Is that what happened?”

“Is that an accusation?” Cade broke in.

“Are you instructing your client not to answer?”

“No.” Henry had stiffened in his chair. His voice was a rasp. “I would never harm Lydia.”

Rayfield said nothing. He began stroking his pen between thumb and forefinger, eyeing Henry narrowly. Bast turned to look at him, leaning slightly closer until I sensed him watching over Rayfield in some way I couldn’t understand. Rayfield’s voice was quieter still. “The coroner called a while back, Mr. Cantwell. He found semen traces in your wife.” Henry’s cheek twitched. Rayfield almost whispered. “Now how do you suppose that happened?”

“That’s enough,” I said sharply.