Tuesday the Rabbi Saw Red

by Harry Kemelman

  Ekko still thought she’d gone to the can.

  “Well, maybe,” said Selzer, “but if so, she’s been there a long time now. It’s at least ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “Well, women are that way,” said Ekko.

  “How about you?” demanded Judy. “You can tie up the John for an hour.”

  Ekko grinned.

  Selzer came to a decision. “Look Judy, you go down to the women’s John and see if she’s there. Yance, you go up to the president’s office. Me and Mike, we’ll check around the other rooms.”

  “How about me?” asked Ekko.

  “Somebody’s got to stay here in case she comes back.”

  Alone in the office, Ekko sat down in the dean’s swivel chair, teetered back and forth, and then hoisted his feet onto the desk. While he would have preferred that someone besides Judy had disrupted the meeting, he was not sorry it was over. Obviously, Selzer had forgotten he was supposed to play down the Fine issue. The dean was one shrewd cookie, and he was sure that if the meeting had continued she would have led them on and then sprung Fine’s letter on them. It would get all over the school, and his friend Fine would really be hurt.

  They began to drift back into the office, one by one. Finally, Selzer appeared. “I checked every goddam room, corridor, telephone booth from the top floor clear down to the basement. She’s gone.”

  They looked at each other.

  “What do we do now?”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  Millicent Hanbury, outwardly cool and unruffled, pressed down the release bar on the front door of the administration building and let herself out. Outside, she hesitated and glanced up at the window of her office, then hurried across the deserted street to where her car was parked.

  When she pulled into her driveway and glanced at her watch, she realized how fast she had been driving; she’d made it from school to her house in just thirty-five minutes, her best time yet.

  Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it for a moment as if to reassure herself she was within the sanctuary of her own four walls. But only for a moment. She went to the phone.

  “Barnard’s Crossing Police Department, Sergeant Leffler,” came the response from the other end.

  “This is Millicent Hanbury, Sergeant, at 48 Oak Street.”

  “Yes, I know the address, Miss Hanbury.”

  “I’ve just returned home and I found a window in my living room open. I’m sure I closed it when I left.”

  “Was anything taken, Miss Hanbury? Does it look as though the place has been ransacked?”

  “No,” she said. “Everything seems to be in order, but I haven’t gone through the rest of the house yet.”

  “Well, don’t. I’ll have somebody there right away. Just wait there. Or better, wait outside. The cruising car will be around any minute.”

  When the cruising car arrived, Officer Keenan accompanied her from room to room while his fellow officer remained at the wheel. “Everything look all right to you, Miss Hanbury? Nothing missing?”

  He examined the open window from the inside and the outside. “There’s nothing that looks like a jimmy mark on the sash,” he said. “And of course there wouldn’t be any footprints on this concrete path. Was the window locked, Miss Hanbury?”

  “I’m quite sure it was.”

  “Well, it’s no big job to open a window with one of these old-fashioned latches. You can do it easy enough with a piece of plastic or one of these thin metal rulers. You ought to get the new type of latch for these windows on the first floor, Miss Hanbury.”

  From the cruising car came a loud, insistent honking. Keenan ran outside and came hurrying back. “Say, Miss Hanbury, a call just came in to the station. There was an explosion in your school. A bomb, they think. They want you back in Boston right away. We can drive you if you like.”

  * * *

  “Oh David! I was going to call, but I didn’t know where. I was so worried. Thank God you’re safe!” Bursting into tears, Miriam threw herself in his arms.

  “What’s the matter?” He held her away and looked at her. “Pull yourself together, Miriam. I know I’m late, but I only stopped for a cup of coffee.”

  “Then you don’t know?” she cried. “You weren’t there when it happened?”

  “Don’t know what?” He was getting exasperated. “When what happened?”

  “The explosion! There’s been an explosion in your school, in the administration building.”

  “What kind of explosion? When did it happen? Make sense, Miriam.”

  “A bomb! They’re sure it was a bomb,” she said, taking out a handkerchief to dry her eyes. “I was watching ‘Way of Life’ and then they interrupted the program with a news flash, only about fifteen minutes ago. They said no one appeared to be hurt, but with you not home yet …”

  He put his arms around her and soothed her.

  “You always get home around three,” she said against his chest, “and here it was almost half-past. I tried to tell myself you sometimes get involved in something and lose all track of time.”

  “That’s about what happened,” he admitted sheepishly. “I started to read a book over my coffee and just didn’t notice.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except that you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I’m only sorry I made you worry. But I still don’t understand it. A bombing? You sure they didn’t say anything more?”

  “No, that’s all. It was a news flash. But maybe you could call someone. Lanigan? Wouldn’t he know what happened?”

  “No, it’s something for the Boston police.” He was very disturbed of course, but did not want to show it for fear of upsetting her further. “We’ll get more details on the evening broadcast, I’m sure. In the meantime, the Sabbath is approaching.”

  While she made ready, he showered and changed, and then played for a while with his children Jonathan and Hepzibah. He did not want to leave Miriam alone, so he decided not to go to the temple for the afternoon Mincha service. By the time he had finished it was time for the news.

  They sat together on the sofa, his arm around her, watching the picture in front of them. “Tonight’s lead story,” the announcer said. “At 3:05 this afternoon a bomb was exploded in the administration building of Windemere Christian College in Boston’s Fenway. Police from Station 15 responded within minutes and the fire apparatus from the Boylston Street station immediately after. The explosion occurred in the dean’s office and damage was minor, according to Inspector Frank Laplace of the Fire Department.

  “The building was presumed empty since no classes are scheduled at that time on Fridays. However, Lieutenant Hawkins of Station 15 instituted an intensive search of the premises and found the body of a man in one of the locked offices. He was identified by Mr. Laferty, the custodian of the building, as Professor John Hendryx. For a statement from Lieutenant Hawkins, we switch you now …”

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Sitting on the bed, she watched him gather his few possessions together and stuff them into the duffle bag. They had not quarreled, he had not appeared angry. But then of course he never got angry; that’s what she liked about him. He had merely announced he had to be pushing along and then resurrected his duffle bag from the depths of the closet.

  If they had one rule, tacitly agreed on, it was that each was free to come and go as he pleased; should either of them decide to leave for any reason there would be no recriminations. But still she felt an explanation was—not due her, but, but-well yes, dammit, due her. However, she molded her voice so that it showed no hint of hurt, only normal curiosity: “Anything happen, Ekko?”

  “The goddam school blows up and she asks if anything happened. One minute the place is peaceful like a morgue. Then Boom! It’s a regular Fourth of July carnival with cops and fire engines, even the guy with the popcorn cart.”

  “Oh that! I meant between us. Are you sor
e because I sounded off at the meeting?”

  “Nah,” he said. “She was just looking for an out. If it hadn’t been that, it would’ve been something else.”

  “So then why are you splitting?”

  He threw more things into the bag. “Because they’ll be coming after us, baby. They’ll get hold of Hanbury and she’ll tell them about the meeting and how she walked out and left us behind. And she’ll give them our names and they’ll pick us up. Then they’ll start questioning and they’ll find out. I was in Nam, and in Ordnance, and next thing you know I’m in the slammer.”

  “But they haven’t got anything on you.”

  “They don’t need anything to start pushing, baby. When I got out of the Army, I made up my mind I wasn’t ever going to let anyone push me around again so long as I could help it.”

  “But if you split now, won’t that be suspicious?” she said. “Then they’ll be sure you did it.”

  “They can think what they want, so long as I’m not around.”

  She was silent, trying to understand why he would invite suspicion by running away. Hesitantly, she asked: “Did—did you do it, Ekko?”

  He snorted. “Why would I blow up the goddam school? For Roger Fine?”

  “Then who did?”

  “Probably those goddam Weathervane crazies. Same as last time. They’re stoned out of their heads most of the time. They must have found out about our meeting somehow. They see Hanbury leave. Then fifteen minutes later they see us leave. So they get a clear road. Blooey: the Fourth of July!”

  She looked at him. “How did you know they did it last time?”

  “I just know.” He continued with his packing.

  “They could catch you tomorrow,” she said.

  “Sure, and I could be run over by a car and dead tomorrow. In the meantime, I’ll be free.”

  In a quiet voice: “Are you coming back?”

  “Sure, after things cool down. The college won’t push this—bad publicity. Like the last time, the computer was wrecked and they gave out to the papers it was only minor damage. Same way now. The college won’t press, and after a while the pigs will have to drop it. Then I’ll come back.”

  “But you’ve paid for your tuition.”

  “Half a semester. So I’ve had half a semester. Big deal; the stuff is a lot of crap anyway. Maybe I’ll get me a job as a carpenter like my old man. There, when you do some work, you can at least see something for it. Yeah, maybe that’s what I’ll do. Carpentering. Ten bucks an hour some places.” He pulled the cords and closed the mouth of the bag.

  “But you won’t get the chance,” she appealed to him. “Once they start looking, they won’t let up till they find you. They got your picture in the school files and with that bald head they won’t have any trouble finding you.”

  “Oh yeah? Turn around for a minute.”

  She did so, doubtfully.

  “All right, now you can look.”

  She could scarcely recognize him. He was wearing a wig of thick black hair and the whole cast of his face was transformed by a Mongol moustache.

  “How do you like it?”

  “Crazy!”

  He slung the bag over his shoulder. “I got a friend out in the western part of the state. I can hole up with him for a couple of days. Then there’s a guy I know in Ohio who’s running some kind of dope rehabilitation center. I bet I could stay with him for a month and nobody would even notice me. Don’t worry about me.” He hesitated then said, “Well, so long. Be seeing you.”

  “You going just like that, Ekko?”

  He looked at her narrowly and said, “Okay, I guess it won’t do no harm to start a little later.”

  Later, as she lay in his arms, she murmured, “I’m afraid, Ekko.”

  “What of?”

  “Oh, what they’ll do when they arrest me.”

  “You got no call to be afraid,” he said. “Your old man will hire some high-power lawyer, and they’ll treat you with kid gloves. It’s just slobs like me that got to worry. They take it out double on me because they can’t touch you.”

  “I’m afraid for you.”

  “Don’t worry. They won’t find me in a million years.”

  CHAPTER

  FIFTEEN

  Anything?”

  Detective Sergeant Schroeder of Homicide was slim and boyish, and his dark crewcut showed no touch of gray for all his fifty years. He looked half that age, until you were close enough to see the wrinkling around the eyes and the well-defined musculature of the face. He stood in the doorway of the dean’s office and watched the two men from the Bomb Squad carefully sweep up fragments from the floor.

  One of the men looked up. “Low grade bomb.” He straightened and pointed to the safe. “She was planted under there.”

  “You think maybe they wanted to bust it open?”

  “They’d never do it that way. Looks as though it sprung the door though. They might need a can opener to get it open now.”

  “How come the window in this office is still intact where the other one shattered?” the sergeant asked.

  “Well, Sarge, the force of the explosion wasn’t strong enough to blow out this window, especially since the safe took most of the blast. But the jarring was severe enough to rattle any that happened to be loose.”

  “The janitor said the window in the outer office was badly cracked,” the precinct lieutenant offered.

  “Well, that would do it all right,” said the bomb expert.

  Sergeant Schroeder went down the corridor to Hendryx’s office where police photographers were taking pictures of the room from various angles. He stopped to look at the empty frame in the door. “Lucky that glass shattered,” he said, “or it could’ve been Monday before he was found.”

  “That’s right,” the lieutenant agreed. “I sent a couple of men to look through the building, and naturally they wouldn’t bother with offices that were locked. But with the glass shattered, my man could get in and he saw these feet sticking out from under the desk like they are now. It’s plain what happened. The prof was sitting behind his desk, reading maybe. The bomb goes off, and this plaster cast—must weigh a good fifty, sixty pounds—topples off the shelf and comes crashing down on his head. It crushes the skull and he slides off the chair under the desk.”

  “What was he doing here?” asked the sergeant “I thought you said everybody clears out Friday afternoons.”

  “The janitor says he lives—lived—right across the street, so he popped back and forth from his apartment to his office from time to time.”

  They were joined by a young man who introduced himself as Dr. Lagrange.

  “You the medical examiner? Where’s Doc Slocumbe?”

  “He was tied up.”

  “I’ve never worked with you, I don’t think,” said Schroeder doubtfully.

  The doctor smiled. “I don’t see how you could have. I’m new.”

  “Okay, Doc, the boys are about through. He’s all yours.”

  They returned to the dean’s office. The Bomb Squad had finished and left; the photographers had done the room earlier. Schroeder sat down at the dean’s desk and asked to see the janitor.

  Pat Laferty was a small man of sixty, clean and neat in a business suit with a gray shirt and black plastic bow tie. He smiled ingratiatingly at the man behind the desk.

  “What time do you close up here, Pat?” asked the sergeant.

  “Well, that depends. If there’s nothing doing, no special meeting or anything, around five.”

  “Fridays too?”

  “Fridays a little earlier, maybe around four.”

  “And before you close, you go around to see that everyone is out of the building?”

  “Well, not exactly. I take a look-see to make sure lights are out, no faucets running. That can waste a lot of water, you know.”

  “Now today, what time did you lock up?”

  “Well, I didn’t. The dean was having a meeting with some students at half-past two, so I
decided to wait until it broke up.”

  “So anybody could have come in up to four o’clock?”

  “Oh, sure.”

  “You mean anyone can walk right into this building?”

  “Until I lock up—but what good would it do them? All the offices are locked. The classrooms aren’t but what’s there to take? Chalk?”

  “Guess you’re right,” said Schroeder. “Now, you say this Professor Hendryx lives right across the street?”

  “That’s right,” said Laferty. “That building right across the street. He’s got the first floor apartment, the one with the curtains. You can see it from here.”

  Schroeder swung his chair around. “Seems to be the only one with curtains. The place looks empty. How come?”

  Laferty explained the arrangement with Professor Hendryx. “It was good for both parties: it gave him a handy place to live nearby; and for the school, it was like having a watchman in the building. You know, kids see an empty building and first thing you know, they’re breaking in and messing things up.”

  “All right. We got your address?”

  “I gave it to the lieutenant.”

  A policeman put his head in the door. “That lady dean is here now, Sarge.”

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  He picked the Albany bus because it was the first scheduled out of the terminal. Ekko took a window seat four rows back and watched as the passengers entered, speculating who would sit beside him. An attractive girl with long blonde hair got on and he looked at her with interest, but she passed him by. He turned and saw she had chosen to sit beside another woman.

  A fat old woman carrying a bulging mesh bag was helped aboard by the driver and waddled down the aisle. Luckily, she too passed by. But almost immediately after he felt the slight jar of someone plumping down beside him.

  It was a middle-aged man with a square face capped by thick black hair. He wore eyeglasses with heavy frames of black plastic, above which black eyebrows all but met at the bridge of the nose. In the lapel of his dark gray suit there was a Kiwanis button. The man smiled and looked at his watch, a small square of gold much too delicate for his thick, hairy wrist. “We should be rolling pretty soon,” he said.