useful to her, for a while. Later, in some sense, I was the last chance. Thefaithful follower. The last chance for gas before the desert."

"The desert?"

"The desert of love. The desert ofunlove. But I don't think I'll go into the long and dreary chronicle of mymarriage. It wasn't a lucky one, for either of us. I loved her, as far as I'mable to love, but she didn't love me. Proust says it's always that way. I'mteaching Proust to my sophomore class this fall, if I can summon up theélan to go on teaching."

"Who did Helen love?"

"It depends on which year you'retalking about. Which month of which year." He didn't move, but he washurting himself, hitting himself in the face with bitter words.

"Right at the beginning, before sheleft Bridgeton."

"I don't know if you'd call it love,but she was deeply involved with a fellow-student at the City College. It was aPlatonic affair, the kind bright young people have, or used to have. Itconsisted largely of reading aloud to each other from their own works andothers'. According to Helen, she never went to bed with him. I'm pretty sureshe was a virgin when I met her."

"What was his name?"

"I'm afraid I don't remember. It's a clear caseof Freudian repression."

"Can you describe him?"

"I never met him. He's a purelylegendary figure in my life. But obviously he isn't the elusive murderer you'researching for. Helen would have been happy to see him go free." He hadwithdrawn from the pain of memory and was using an almost flippant tone, as ifhe was talking about people in a play, or watching ceiling movies at thedentist's. "Speaking of murder, as we seem to be doing, you were going totell me about my ex-wife's death. She's completely ex now, isn't she, exedout?"

I cut in on his sad nonsense and gave himthe story in some detail, including the man from Reno who ran away in the fog,and my attempts to get him identified. "Earl tells me you went to Renolast summer to see your wife. Did you run into any of her acquaintancesthere?"

"Did I not. Helen played a trick onme involving a couple of them. Her purpose was to stall off any chance for anintimate talk with me. Anyway, the one evening we spent together she insistedon making it a foursome with this woman named Sally something and her allegedbrother."

"Sally Burke?"

"I believe that was her name. Thehell of it was, Helen arranged it so that I was the Burke woman's escort. Shewasn't a bad-looking woman, but we had nothing in common, and in any case itwas Helen I wanted to talk to. But she spent the entire evening dancing withthe brother. I'm always suspicious of men who dance too well."

"Tell me more about this brother. Hemay be our man."

"Well, he struck me as a rathersleazy customer. That may be projected envy. He was younger than I am, andhealthier, and better looking. Also, Helen seemed to be fascinated by his lineof chatter, which I thought was pointless—all about cars and horses andgambling odds. How a highly educated woman like Helen could be interested insuch a man—" He tired of the sentence, and dropped it.

"Were they lovers?"

"How would I know? She wasn't confiding in me."

"But you know your own wife, surely."

He lit another cigarette and smoked halfof it. "I'd say they weren't lovers. They were simply playmates. Of courseshe was using him to hit at me."

"For what?"

"For being her husband. For havingbeen her husband. Helen and I parted on bad terms. I tried to put the marriagetogether again in Reno, but she wasn't even remotely interested."

"What broke up your marriage?"

"It had a major fracture in it fromthe beginning." He looked past me at the house where Earl Hoffman waslying senseless under the past. "And it got worse. It was both our faults.I couldn't stop nagging her and she couldn't stop—doing what she wasdoing."

I waited and listened. The church-bellswere ringing, in different parts of the city.

"She was a tramp," Haggertysaid. "A campus tramp. I started her on it when she was anineteen-year-old babe in the woods in Hyde Park. Then she went on without me.Toward the end she was even taking money."

"Who from?"

"Men with money, naturally. My wifewas a corrupt woman, Mr. Archer. I played a part in making her what she was, soI have no right to judge her." His eyes were brilliant with the pain thatcame and went like truth in him.

I felt sorry for the man. It didn't prevent me fromsaying: "Where were you Friday night?"

"At home in Maple Park in our—in my apartment,grading themes."

"Can you prove it?"

"I have the marked papers to proveit. They were turned in to me Friday, and I marked them Friday night. I hopeyou're not imagining I did something fantastic like flying to California andback?"

"When a woman is murdered, you askher estranged husband where he was at the time. It's the corollary of cherchezla femme."

"Well, you have my answer. Check itout if you like. But you'll save yourself time and trouble simply by believingme. I've been completely frank with you—inordinately frank."

"I appreciate that."

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009