“For city hall. For the records. For the official report on the investigation.”

Corey winced again. Then he turned slowly and showed her the lazy smile. He murmured, “I’ll tell you why he don’t want you to work. It looks better this way. It always looks better when the wife stays at home where she belongs.”

Lillian moved toward a chair and sagged into it.

The lazy smile thinned just a trifle as Corey queried, “How long has he been out?”

She didn’t answer.

“How long has he been out?”

“Over a year.”

“What was he in for?”

“Manslaughter.” Her head lowered. And then, looking up, “But he wasn’t guilty—”

“Of course not.”

“He swore to me—”

“Of course.”

“He was only trying to protect himself.”

“Sure, sure,” Corey purred. Then his voice tightened. “What was the weapon?”

“His hands. Just his hands. He’s never carried a weapon. He’s not a thug.”

Corey chuckled softly.

“Damn you,” she gritted. “I’m telling you he’s straight, he’s decent—”

“You think so?” The lazy smile probed ever so gently. “You really think so?”

She started to get up from the chair, then slumped back into it and stared at the floor. Her eyes were saying, I don’t know what to think. She made another effort and managed to lift herself from the chair. She breathed in through her teeth and said, “A factory worker, a man who sweats for every nickel he earns, who slaves in a tannery from nine to five—”

“In the daytime,” Corey said. And then, jabbing lightly, “What happens at night?”

She stood there breathing hard.

Corey said, “You can’t answer that. You don’t have the answer. You got no idea where he goes at night, and night after night you sit here wondering. You look at the floor, you look at the walls, and you wonder.”

“Stop it.”

“You wonder what goes on while you look at the clock, let’s say it’s midnight already, and he ain’t home yet. Then it’s two in the morning and then it’s three—”

“Stop it.”

“And maybe three-thirty or four, he comes walking in, and you’re waiting up. You ask him where he’s been. Chances are you don’t get an answer. If there’s any answer at all, it’s just some words coming out of his mouth; like he went for a walk or he went to play dominoes and lost track of the time. Or maybe he tells you—”

“No matter what he tells me, it’s all right.”

“She stands there and says it’s all right. Then later she’ll be at the Hangout, sitting alone and drinking beer.”

“God damn you,” she hissed. “Get out. Get outta here.”

He went to the door and opened it. The sound of the rain came in.

“Be seeing you,” he said.