He was safe. They might doubt him, but they couldn't prove a thing, except the drunk and disorderly charge—and they certainly wouldn't press even that after they had to tell him that his wife had been killed during the night, by the psycho. And on that angle, he was even safer; his alibi was solid from seven minutes after twelve on. From midnight on, really; Stella Brambaugh could testify she'd talked to him cold on the stroke of midnight, and just seven minutes away from Jerry's Log Cabin. Even farther back than that if the dollar tip had made the bartender at the Palace Bar remember him, and remember what times he'd been there. But even midnight was safe enough; Ruth didn't even get home until then.
Hoff said, "Ray, we've got to take you in. Want me to phone your wife so she'll know where you are?"
"God no," Ray said, and then made his voice calmer. "She won't worry about me—thinks I'm in an all-night poker game so won't 'spect me home anyhow."
"Okay. We're going to have to book you on suspicion of theft. Want a lawyer? He might get you out on bail right away."
"Hell no, Hoffie. Too drunk to do any good if I did get out. Too drunk, too sleepy. Just book me and jug me, and let me get some sleep."
"If that's the way you want it," Hoff said. The squad car pulled up in front of the station.
1:01 A.M.
Bare feet tucked under her, Ruth Fleck sat on the sofa in the living room. After her leisurely bath she'd put on pyjamas and a quilted housecoat, but no slippers; she liked to go barefoot around the house. The reading lamp was on and she had a magazine in her lap, opened to the beginning of a story. But she hadn't started it yet; she was still thinking about her coming conversation with Ray.
Not about what she was going to say; she'd already decided that, but about how she was going to say it. She was going to give him an ultimatum, but to spare his pride as well as to avoid another argument, she wanted to figure how to word it so it wouldn't sound like an ultimatum.
She'd thought about it all evening at work and had finally, if a bit reluctantly, decided to give him the five hundred he needed to pay off his bookie. George was probably right in saying that Joe Amico wouldn't have him beaten up, let alone taken for a ride. But still, Ray was in trouble, with that big a debt hanging over him and she should help him out, this once. She'd agree to go downtown with him tomorrow and arrange the loan against the policy.