Friday the Rabbi Slept Late

by Harry Kemelman

  She gave him a look of approval, even admiration. “Now you’re talking.”

  “Yes?”

  She nodded. “He liked her. He let on that he didn’t know she was alive, he hardly ever talked to her, but he was always watching her when he didn’t think anyone was noticing. He’s the kind that undresses a girl when he looks at her. That’s what Gladys used to say, but she thought it was funny and kind of led him on.”

  “And what happened to her?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Serafino got jealous and gave her the sack. I say when a wife is jealous, she usually has reason.”

  “I should think she would have hired an older woman then.”

  “And where would she get an older woman to take a job like that, six days a week and baby-sitting until two and three every morning?”

  “I see your point.”

  “Besides, don’t you think he had something to do with who got hired?”

  12

  LIEUTENANT EBAN JENNINGS OF THE BARNARD’S CROSSING police force was an angular man in his late fifties with watery blue eyes, and he dabbed at them constantly with a handkerchief.

  “Damn eyes start tearing first week in June and keep on clear through September,” he remarked as Hugh Lanigan entered the office at the station house.

  “Probably an allergy, Eban. You ought to get yourself tested.”

  “I went through that a couple of years back. They found I was sensitive to a lot of things, but none of them that would hit just at this time. I figure maybe I’m sensitive to summer residents.”

  “Could be, but they don’t usually show up till the end of June.”

  “Yes, but there’s the anticipation. Get anything on the girl?”

  Lanigan tossed the snapshot that Mrs. Serafino had given him onto the desk. “We’ll give that to the papers. Might start something.”

  Jennings examined the picture carefully. “She wasn’t bad-looking—sure a lot prettier than when I saw her this morning. I like them built that way, kind of stocky. I don’t much care for these skinny little dames you see nowadays. I like a girl to be well-cushioned, know what I mean?”

  “I know what you mean, Eban.”

  “And now I’ve got something for you, Hugh. The medical examiner’s report came in.” He handed his chief a paper. “Take a look at that last paragraph.”

  Lanigan emitted a low whistle. “The girl was two months pregnant.”

  “Yep, how do you like that? Somebody upstumped our little girl.”

  “It sort of gives a new slant to things, doesn’t it? The people who knew her, Mrs. Serafino and her friend Celia and Mrs. Hoskins, are all agreed that she was quite shy and had no men friends at all.”

  Just then a patrolman walked by the door and he called him in. “Want to see you for a couple of minutes, Bill.”

  “Yes, sir.” Patrolman William Norman was a young man with dark hair and a serious, businesslike demeanor. Although he had known Hugh Lanigan all his life and they had been on a first-name basis, characteristically he stood at attention and addressed the chief formally.

  “Sit down, Bill.”

  Norman took one of the office chairs, managing to give the impression that he was still at attention.

  “Sorry I couldn’t let you off last night, but I had no one to cover for you. A man shouldn’t have to work the night of his engagement party.”

  “Oh, that’s all right, sir. Alice understood.”

  “She’s a wonderful girl, and she’ll make a fine wife. And the Ramsays are fine people.”

  “Yes, sir, thank you.”

  “I grew up with Bud Ramsay and I can remember Peggy in pigtails. They’re conservative and kind of straitlaced, but the salt of the earth. And I tell you they didn’t object to your taking your regular tour of duty—quite the contrary.”

  “Alice told me the party broke up a little after, so I guess I didn’t miss much. I guess the Ramsays aren’t much for staying up late anyway.” He blushed slightly.

  Lanigan turned to his desk to consult the duty roster. “Let’s see, you came on duty last night at eleven?”

  “Yes sir. I left the Ramsays at half-past ten in order to change into my uniform. The cruising car picked me up and dropped me off at Elm Square at a couple of minutes before eleven.”

  “You were headed up Maple Street to Vine?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “You were supposed to pull the box on Vine Street at 1:00 A.M.”

  “Yes sir, I did.” He reached into his high pocket and drew out a small notebook. “At one-three I pulled the box.”

  “Anything unusual from Maple to Vine?”

  “No sir.”

  “On your route, did you meet anyone?”

  “Meet someone?”

  “Yes, did you see anyone walking down Maple as you were walking up?”

  “No sir.”

  “Do you know Rabbi Small?”

  “He was pointed out to me once and I’ve seen him around.”

  “Didn’t you see him last night? He said he met you as he was walking home from the temple. That would be sometime after half-past twelve.”

  “No sir. From the time I finished trying doors in the Gordon block—that would be around a quarter-past twelve—to the time I rang in, I saw no one.”

  “That’s curious. The rabbi says he saw you and you said good evening.”

  “No sir, not last night. I saw him coming home late from the temple a couple of nights ago and I spoke, but not last night.”

  “All right, what did you do when you got to the temple?”

  “I tried the door to see that it was locked. There was a car in the parking lot and I flashed my light on it. Then I pulled the box.”

  “And you saw nothing unusual, or heard nothing unusual.”

  “No sir, just the car in the parking lot, and that wasn’t too unusual.”

  “O.K., Bill. Thanks.” Lanigan dismissed him.

  “The rabbi told you he had seen Bill?” asked Jennings after Norman had left.

  Lanigan nodded.

  “So he was fibbing. What’s it mean, Hugh? Think he could have done it?”

  Lanigan shook his head slowly. “A rabbi? Not too likely.”

  “Why not? He lied about seeing Bill. That means he wasn’t where he said he was, which means he could have been where he shouldn’t have been.”

  “Why would he lie about something we could check on so easily? It doesn’t make sense. More likely he was a little confused. He’s a scholar. His head’s in his books most of the time. You know, the president of the temple was at his house visiting when Stanley came to tell him some books he’d been expecting had arrived. So what does he do but run right out to the temple to look them over and stays in his study poring over them until well after midnight. A man like that, he could be a little confused about a casual meeting with a policeman a couple of days earlier. He could have telescoped the two nights and thought it was last night. Then it was actually a week ago.”

  “It seems to me his leaving a guest, especially where the guest is the president of the congregation, is pretty strange by itself. He says he was studying all night. Well, how do we know that he didn’t meet the girl up there in his study? Look at the evidence, Hugh. The medical examiner fixes the time of the girl’s death at one o’clock. Figure twenty minutes either way. The rabbi admits he was there about that time.”

  “No, twenty minutes to one is about the time he estimated he got home.”

  “But suppose he’s shading the time a little, even five or ten minutes. Nobody saw him. The girl’s handbag was in his car. And one thing more—” Jennings held up a forefinger—“today he didn’t go to the services they hold every morning. How come? Was it because he didn’t want to be around when the body was discovered?”

  “Good Lord, the man is a rabbi, a religious man—”

  “So what? He’s a man, isn’t he? How about that priest over in Salem a couple of years back? Father Damatopoulos? Didn’t he get in trouble with a girl?”


  Lanigan looked disgusted. “That was an entirely different case. He wasn’t fooling around with the girl, in the first place. And in the second place, he’s a Greek priest, and they’re allowed to marry. They’re even expected to, I understand. The trouble was that her folks tried to force a match.”

  “Well, I don’t remember the details,” Eban insisted doggedly, “but I remember there was some scandal connected with it.”

  “The only scandal was that a lot of people assumed that as a priest he wasn’t supposed to marry, like the Roman Catholic priests. They thought it was terrible that a priest should be courting a girl. But the point is that as a Greek Orthodox priest, he had every right to.”

  “My point is that woman trouble can happen to any man,” said Jennings. “That’s the one thing, to my way of thinking, that his calling wouldn’t protect him against. Any other crime in the book, stealing, breaking and entering, forging, assault, you could say a man who was a priest or a minister or a rabbi wouldn’t do things like that. They wouldn’t care enough about money, or they’d have better control of their tempers, but a woman can happen to any man, even a Roman priest. That’s my way of looking at it.”

  “You’ve got a point there, Eban.”

  “And another thing, if not the rabbi, who’ve you got?”

  “As to that, we’ve just started. But even then if you want to consider possibles there are plenty of them. Take Stanley. He’s got a key to the temple. He’s got a cot down in the basement. And the wall above the cot is covered with pictures of naked girls.”

  “He’s a horny bastard, Stanley is,” Eban agreed.

  “And how about the job of carrying her to where she was finally dumped? That girl was no lightweight and the rabbi is not a big man. But that wouldn’t faze Stanley.”

  “Uh-huh, but would he then go and put the girl’s pocketbook in the rabbi’s car?”

  “He might. Or they could have been sitting there to get out of the rain. That jalopy he drives has no top to it. Yes, and another thing, suppose the man who murdered the girl had been carrying on with her for some little time, long enough to get her pregnant. Now between the two—the rabbi and the girl in his study, or Stanley and the girl in the basement—which is the more likely to be found out? If the rabbi had been meeting the girl, I’ll bet Stanley would have known it inside of a week, especially since he cleans up every morning. Whereas if it were Stanley, the rabbi wouldn’t find it out in a year.”

  “You’ve got a point there. What did Stanley tell you when you questioned him?”

  Lanigan shrugged. “He claims he had a few beers at the Ship’s Cabin and then went home. He’s living at Mama Schofield’s, but he says no one saw him come in. He could have met the girl after he left the Ship’s Cabin and no one the wiser.”

  “It’s the same story he gave me,” said Jennings. “Why don’t we pull him in and ask him a few questions?”

  “Because we don’t have a damn thing on him. You asked who it could be if not the rabbi, so I gave him as a possible. I’ll give you another. How about Joe Serafino? He could have been carrying on with the girl right there in his own house. Mrs. Serafino did the shopping and ran the household. The girl was only a baby-sitter. All right, that means there must have been plenty of times when the missus was out of the house and Joe could have been with the girl. If his wife came home unexpectedly, why there was a bolt on the girl’s door. Mrs. Serafino couldn’t get in through the kitchen, and Joe could go out quietly through the back way. It could explain why the girl didn’t have any boyfriends. She wouldn’t need any if she had one right in the house where she lived. What’s more, it could explain the way the girl was dressed when we found her. She must have come home, because she took her dress off and it was hanging in the closet. Suppose Joe came into her room just after and persuaded her to go out for a short walk. Since it was raining and she’d be wearing a coat anyway, she wouldn’t go to the trouble of putting her dress on again. Besides, if they were that cozy he’d seen her in a lot less than a slip. Mrs. Serafino would be asleep and wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

  “Now that has real possibilities, Hugh,” declared Eban enthusiastically. “They could have gone for a walk and got as far as the temple when it really began to come down. Only natural that they’d take shelter in the rabbi’s car.”

  “What’s more, both Stanley and Celia, who was Elspeth’s particular pal, hinted at some connection between Serafino and the girl. And I got the feeling that Mrs. Serafino was a little afraid her husband might be connected with the case. It’s too bad I didn’t get a chance to see him first thing in the morning.”

  “I did. We got him out of bed to identify the body. He was upset, but nothing more than you’d expect under the circumstances.”

  “What kind of car does he drive?”

  “Buick convertible.”

  “I didn’t see it.”

  “We might ask him a few questions,” said Jennings.

  Lanigan laughed. “And you’ll find he was at that club of his from about eight o’clock Thursday evening to two o’clock Friday morning, and probably in plain sight of half a dozen employees and several dozen diners all the time. What I’m trying to tell you, Eban, is that if you’re going to consider who could possibly have done it, there’s no limit to the number of suspects. Here’s another one: Celia. She was supposed to be the only one the dead girl knew. She’s a big, strong, strapping young woman.”

  “You’re forgetting that Elspeth was knocked up. Celia couldn’t have done that no matter how big and strong and strapping she is.”

  “No I’m not. You’re assuming the one responsible for her pregnancy is the one who killed her. It doesn’t necessarily follow. Suppose Celia was in love with some man and Elspeth beat her time with him. Suppose he was responsible for the girl’s pregnancy and suppose Celia found out. She admitted to me that she knew Elspeth had said something about going to a doctor for a check-up. Well, suppose she suspected what was really wrong, or suppose Elspeth confided in her. That would be only natural since she was all alone here. She’d want to confide in an older woman, and that could be only Celia. She might even tell her who was responsible, not knowing how Celia felt about the same man.”

  “But Elspeth didn’t know any men.”

  “That’s Celia’s story. Mrs. Serafino didn’t think she knew any man, but did mention something about some letters Elspeth got regularly, postmarked in Canada. I might also point out that Celia was away for the evening and probably got home late. Mrs. Hoskins would be asleep so she wouldn’t know what time Celia got in. Suppose Celia noticed a light in Elspeth’s room. She knew the girl had been to see the doctor, so she drops in to find out what happened. The girl had just had her fears confirmed and she wants to talk to someone about it. Celia persuades her to toss a coat on—her attire makes sense if she’s with a girlfriend—and they go for a walk. It’s raining quite hard by the time they come to the temple, so they get in the rabbi’s car. It’s then that Elspeth tells her who the man is and Celia, in a rage, chokes her.”

  “Any more?”

  Hugh smiled. “That’ll do for a starter.”

  “I’m still voting for the rabbi,” said Eban.

  Immediately after Lanigan left, the rabbi went to the temple. He did so out of a sense of fitness, not because he thought he could be of any help. There was nothing, unfortunately, he could do for the poor girl. And he was helpless when it came to police matters. Come to think of it, what more could he do at the temple than he could at home? But since the temple was involved he felt he should be there.

  From his study, he watched the police go about busily measuring and photographing and searching. A group of idlers, some women but mostly men, followed the policemen about the parking lot, edging up close whenever they spoke. He wondered how so many managed to be free at that hour, but then he saw that the crowd was constantly changing. A man would stop his car and inquire what happened. When someone told him, he would join the group for a whil
e and then leave. The crowd never varied very much in size.

  There was actually little to see, but the rabbi could not tear himself away from the window. He had the venetian blind drawn and adjusted the slats so that he could look out without himself being observed from the parking lot. A uniformed officer was standing guard over his car, telling anyone who came too close to move on. There were reporters and news photographers on the scene now, and he wondered how long it would be before they discovered he was in his study and came up to interview him. He had no idea what to say to them, or whether he ought to talk to them at all. Perhaps the best thing would be to refer them to Mr. Wasserman, who would probably in turn refer them to the attorney who handled the temple legal affairs. But then, would not his refusal to discuss the case be regarded as suspicious?

  The knock on the door, when it came, turned out to be not the reporters but the police. A tall, watery-eyed man introduced himself as Lieutenant Jennings. “Stanley told me you were here,” he said.

  The rabbi motioned him to a seat.

  “We’d like to take your car down to the police garage, rabbi. We want to give it a good going-over and we can do it better down there.”

  “Certainly, lieutenant.”

  “You got a lawyer representing you, rabbi?”

  The rabbi shook his head. “Should I have?”

  “Well, maybe I shouldn’t be the one to tell you, but we like to do things friendly-like. Maybe if you had a lawyer, he might tell you that you don’t have to agree if you don’t want to. Of course, if you didn’t, we’d get a court order easy enough—”

  “It’s quite all right, lieutenant. If you think that taking my car downtown will help you in this shocking business, go right ahead.”

  “If you got your keys handy …”

  “Of course.” The rabbi detached them from the ring that was still lying on the desk. “This one is for the ignition and glove compartment, and this one is for the trunk.”

  “I’ll give you a receipt for the car.”