Friday the Rabbi Slept Late

by Harry Kemelman

  “It’s not necessary.”

  He watched from the window as the lieutenant got into his car and drove off, and was pleased to see a good portion of the crowd leave with him.

  Several times during the course of the day the rabbi tried to call his wife, but each time the line was reported busy. He called Mr. Wasserman’s office, but was told that he was away and was not expected back.

  He opened one of the books on his desk to leaf through it. Presently he made a note on a card. He checked a passage in another book and made another note. Soon he was completely absorbed in his research.

  The phone rang. It was Miriam.

  “I tried to get you three or four times, but the line was busy,” he said.

  “I took the receiver off the hook,” she explained. “It started just after you left, people calling to ask if we had heard the news, and wanting to know if there was anything they could do. There was even one call to tell me that you had been arrested. That was when I took the receiver off, but then it makes funny little scratchy noises and you start wondering if it might be an important call. Didn’t anyone call you?”

  “Not a single call.” He chuckled. “Guess no one wants to admit he’s on speaking terms with Barnard’s Crossing’s Public Enemy Number One.”

  “Please don’t! Its nothing to joke about.” Then: “What are we going to do, David?”

  “Do? Why, what is there to do?”

  “I thought, what with all this—well, Mrs. Wasserman called up and invited us to stay with them—”

  “But that’s silly, Miriam. Tonight is the Sabbath and I intend to welcome it in my own house and at my own table. Don’t worry, it will be all right. I’ll be home in time for dinner, and then we’ll go to the services as always.”

  “And what are you doing now?”

  “Why I’m working on my Maimonides paper.”

  “Do you have to do that now?”

  He wondered at the edge in her voice. “What else would I do?” he asked simply.

  13

  THERE WERE FOUR OR FIVE TIMES AS MANY PEOPLE AT EVEning services than as usual, much to the consternation of the members of Sisterhood, who had prepared cake and tea for the collation in the vestry afterward.

  Considering the reason for the unexpectedly large attendance, the rabbi was none too pleased. He sat on the platform beside the Holy Ark, and grimly made up his mind that he would make no reference whatsoever to the tragedy. Pretending to be studying his prayer book, he glowered under his eyebrows at member after member who had never before attended a Friday evening service, smiling only when one of the few regulars entered, as if to show he knew they had come to worship rather than out of vulgar curiosity.

  With Myra the president of Sisterhood, the Schwarzes were one of the regulars, but they usually sat fairly well back, in the sixth or seventh row. Tonight, however, although Ben slid into his regular seat, Myra continued on down front to the second row where the rabbi’s wife was sitting. She sat down beside her, and leaning over, patted her hand and murmured in her ear. Miriam stiffened—then managed a smile.

  The rabbi caught the little byplay and was touched by this consideration on the part of the Sisterhood president, all the more because it was unexpected. But as he thought about it, its full significance began to dawn on him. It was a gesture of reassurance, the sympathy one extends to the wife of someone who is under suspicion. It gave him another explanation for the large attendance. Although some may have come in hopes he might speak of the crime, others wanted to see if he would show signs of guilt. To remain silent and not mention the affair might give the wrong impression and imply he was afraid to speak.

  He made no mention of the subject in the course of his sermon, but later, near the close of the service, he said: “Before the mourners in the congregation rise to recite the Kaddish, I should like to recall to you the true significance of the prayer.”

  The congregation sat up and edged forward in their seats. Now he was coming to it.

  “There is a belief,” the rabbi went on, “that reciting the Kaddish is a duty the mourner owes to the dear departed. If you will read the prayer, or its English translation on the opposite page, you will notice that it contains no mention of death or any suggestion of a plea for the soul of the dead. Rather, it is an affirmation of the belief in God and in His power and glory. What is the significance of the prayer then? Why is it especially reserved for those who mourn? And why, when most of our prayers are whispered, is this one prayer said aloud?

  “Perhaps our very manner of delivery will give a clue to its meaning. It is a prayer not for the dead but for the living. It is an open declaration by one who has just suffered the loss of a dear one that he still has faith in God. Nevertheless, our people persist in thinking of the Kaddish as an obligation they owe to the dead, and because in our tradition custom takes on the force of law, I shall recite the Kaddish with the mourners, for one who was not a member of this congregation, nor even of our faith, someone about whom we know little, but whose life happened through tragic accident to touch this congregation ….”

  The rabbi and his wife said little as they walked home from the temple. Finally he broke the silence. “I noticed Mrs. Schwarz went out of her way to extend her sympathy to you.”

  She s a good soul, David, and she meant well.” Then, “Oh, David, this can be a nasty business.”

  “I’m beginning to think so,” he said.

  As they approached their house, they could hear the telephone ringing inside.

  14

  THE RELIGIOUS REVIVAL DID NOT EXTEND TO THE SATURDAY morning service; no more than the usual twenty or so turned up. When the rabbi got home, he found Chief Lanigan waiting for him.

  “I don’t like to intrude on your Sabbath,” the chief apologized, “but neither do we like to interrupt our investigations. We police have no holidays.”

  “It’s perfectly all right. In our religion, emergencies always supersede ritual.”

  “We’re about through with your car. I’ll have one of the boys drive it up here sometime tomorrow. Or if you’re downtown, you can pick it up yourself.”

  “Fine.”

  “I’d like to check over with you what we found.” From his briefcase he drew several pliofilm bags, each marked in black ink. “Let’s see, this first one is stuff found under the front seat.” He dumped the contents onto the desk. It consisted of some loose change, a receipt for repairs to the car dated several months back, a wrapper from a five-cent candy bar, a small calendar giving Hebrew and English equivalent dates, and a woman’s plastic barrette.

  The rabbi gave them a cursory glance. “Those are ours. At least, I recognize the barrette as my wife’s. But you can ask her to be sure.”

  “We already have,” said Lanigan.

  “I can’t vouch for the candy wrapper or the money, but I have eaten that candy. It’s kosher. That calendar is the kind that various institutions and business houses distribute on the Jewish New Year. I must get dozens of them each year.” He opened his desk drawer. “Here’s another.”

  “All right.” Lanigan replaced the contents of the bag and emptied another on the desk. “This is the contents of the trash bag under the dashboard.” There were several crumpled tissues with lipstick, a stick from a chocolate-covered Eskimo Pie, and an empty, crumpled cigarette package.

  “Those look all right,” said the rabbi.

  “Does that look like your wife’s lipstick?”

  The rabbi smiled. “Why don’t you check with her?”

  “We have,” sald Lanigan, “and it is.” He then offered the contents of the next bag, which was from the glove compartment. There was a crushed box of tissues, a lipstick, several road maps, a prayer book, a pencil, a plastic ball-point pen, half a dozen three-by-five cards, a two-cell flashlight, and a rumpled pack of cigarettes.

  “That seems right,” said the rabbi. “I think I can even be sure of the lipstick, because I remember when my wife got it I made some remark about its b
eing worth a king’s ransom if all that jewelry were real. I think my wife paid a dollar or a dollar and a half, and yet see with what brilliant gems it is encrusted.”

  “They sell thousands of them, so you would have no way of knowing if this particular one is your wife’s.”

  “No, but surely it would be quite a coincidence if it were not.”

  “Coincidences happen, rabbi. The girl used the same lipstick. And it isn’t such a terribly remarkable coincidence at that, since I gather it’s a very popular make and a very popular shade for blondes.”

  “She was blonde then?”

  “Yes, she was blonde. The flashlight, rabbi, shows no fingerprints.”

  The rabbi thought a moment. “The last time I recall using it was to check the lipstick, after which I wiped it, of course.”

  “All that’s left now is the contents of the ashtrays. The one in the rear had one cigarette, lipstick-stained. There were ten butts in the front ashtray, all the same brand and all lipstick-stained. Your wife’s, I take it. You don’t smoke.”

  “If I did, I don’t think my cigarette would be lipstick-stained.”

  “Then that’s about it. We’re keeping these things for a while.”

  “Take all the time you need. How is the investigation going?”

  “Well, we know quite a bit more than we did when I saw you yesterday. The medical examiner found no signs that she had been sexually attacked, but he did come up with one curious finding: the girl was pregnant.”

  “Could she have been married?”

  “We don’t even know that for sure. We found no marriage certificate among her effects at home, but in her purse, the one we found in your car, there was a wedding ring. Mrs. Serafino assumed that she was single, but if the girl had been secretly married, she never would have confided in her employer because it might have meant her job.”

  “Then that could account for her having the ring in her handbag instead of on her finger,” suggested the rabbi. “She would wear it while she was with her husband and then take it off before coming home.”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  “And have you arrived at any theory as to how the girl’s handbag got in my car?”

  “It could have been put there by the murderer deliberately to cast suspicion on you. Do you know anyone who might want to do that to you, rabbi?”

  The rabbi shook his head. “There are a number of people in my congregation who don’t care for me, but none who dislike me so much they would want to see me mixed up in this sort of thing. And I know almost no one here outside of the members of my congregation.”

  “No, it doesn’t seem too likely, does it? But if someone didn’t put it there, it can only mean the girl was in your car at some time. Then for some reason—perhaps the murderer had noticed the light in your study—she was transferred to where we found her.”

  “I suppose so.”

  Lanigan grinned. “There is another theory, rabbi, which we’re duty-bound to consider because it fits the facts as we know them.”

  “I think I know. It is that when Stanley came to tell me my books had arrived I used that as an excuse to get out of the house in order to meet this girl. We had been having an affair and our meeting place was my study. I waited for her until I got tired or decided she was not going to appear, but she turned up just as the study door locked behind me. So we sat in my car and it was there she told me she was pregnant and that she expected me to divorce my wife and marry her to give her baby a name. So I strangled her and carried her body over to the grass plot beyond the wall. Then I coolly strolled home.”

  “It does sound silly, rabbi, but it’s also possible as far as time and place are concerned. If I were asked to make book on it, I’d put it at a million to one. Nevertheless, if you told me you were planning a long trip someplace I’d have to tell you I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “I understand,” said the rabbi.

  Lanigan opened the door to leave, then stopped. “Oh, there’s another thing, rabbi. Patrolman Norman has no recollection of meeting you or anyone else that night.” He grinned at the look of astonishment on the rabbi’s face.

  15

  ELSPETH BLEECH’S PICTURE APPEARED IN THE SATURDAY papers, and by six that evening Hugh Lanigan was getting results. Nor was he altogether surprised. The girl had left the Serafino household early in the afternoon and had been gone all day. Surely a number of people must have seen her. Some would call almost immediately, but some might want to think over getting involved with the police.

  The first call was from a doctor in Lynn who said he believed he had seen the young woman in question Thursday afternoon under the name of Mrs. Elizabeth Brown. She had given an address and telephone number. The street was the Serafinos’, but the house number was reversed. The telephone number was that of the Hoskins.

  The doctor reported that he had examined her and found her in excellent health and in the first stages of pregnancy. Had she appeared upset or nervous? No more than many of his patients in similar circumstances. Many were delighted when they discovered they were pregnant, but there were also any number who found the news upsetting, even though they were legitimately married.

  Had she mentioned her plans for the rest of the afternoon or evening? He was sure she had not. Perhaps she had spoken to his secretary, who had now already left for the day. If the police thought it important he would get in touch with her and inquire. They did, and he said he would.

  Almost immediately there came another call, this time from the secretary, who had seen the girl’s picture in the paper and was sure she had been in the office Thursday afternoon. No, she had noticed nothing unusual. No, the girl had not mentioned what her plans were for the afternoon or evening. Oh yes, just before leaving, she had asked where she could make a call. The secretary had offered the office phone, but she preferred the privacy of a pay station.

  Then came a rash of telephone calls from people who were sure they had seen her, some in stores in Lynn, where she could have been, and others from nearby towns, where the likelihood was less. A gasoline station attendant called in to say she had been on the back seat of a motorcycle that had stopped for directions. There was even a call from an operator of an amusement park in New Hampshire who insisted the girl had been there around three o’clock to ask for a job in one of the concessions.

  Lanigan remained at his desk until seven and then went home for his dinner, leaving strict orders that any call concerning Elspeth Bleech should be transferred to him at home. Fortunately, none came in and he was able to eat in peace. He had no sooner finished, however, than his doorbell rang; he opened the door to Mrs. Agnes Gresham, who owned and operated the Surfside Restaurant.

  Mrs. Gresham was a fine-looking woman of sixty with beautifully coiffed snow-white hair. She carried herself with the dignity becoming to one of the town’s leading business-women.

  “I called the police station and they told me you had gone home, Hugh.” Her tone carried a faint air of disapproval.

  “Come right in, Aggie. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “This is business,” she said.

  “There’s no law that says we can’t be comfortable while talking business. Can I fix you a drink?”

  This time she refused more graciously, and took the seat he indicated.

  “Okay, Aggie, is it my business or your business?”

  “It’s your business, Hugh Lanigan. That girl whose picture was in the paper—she was in my restaurant having dinner Thursday night.”

  “Around what time?”

  “From before half-past seven when I took over the cashier’s cage so that Mary Trumbull could get her dinner, to around eight o’clock.”

  “This for sure, Aggie?”

  “I am quite sure. I took particular notice of the girl.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the man she was with.”

  “Oh? Can you describe him?”

  “He was about forty years old, dark, good-loo
king. When they finished eating, they left the restaurant and got into a big blue Lincoln that was parked in front of the door.”

  “What made you pay such particular attention to him? Were they arguing or quarreling?”

  She shook her head impatiently. “I noticed them because I knew him.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know his name, but I know where he works. I bought my car at the Becker Ford Agency and I saw him there once behind a desk when I went there on business.”

  “You’ve been very helpful, Aggie, and I appreciate it.”

  “I do my duty.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  As soon as she was gone, he telephoned the Becker home.

  “Mr. Becker is not in. This is Mrs. Becker. Can I help you?”

  “Perhaps you can, Mrs. Becker.” Lanigan introduced himself. “Can you tell me the name of the person in your husband’s employ who drives a blue Lincoln?”

  “Well, my husband drives a black Lincoln.”

  “No, this is blue.”

  “Oh, you must mean my husband’s partner, Melvin Bronstein. He has a blue Lincoln. Is anything wrong?”

  “No, nothing at all, ma’am.”

  Then he called Lieutenant Jennings. “Any luck at the Serafinos’?”

  “Not much, but I did get something. The Simpsons across the way saw a car parked in front of the Serafino house very late Thursday night, midnight or even later.”

  “A blue Lincoln?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Never mind, Eban. Meet me at the station right away. We’ve got work to do.”

  Eban Jennings was already there when he arrived. Hugh filled him in on what Aggie Gresham had said. “Now Eban, I want a picture of this Melvin Bronstein. Go down to the offices of the Lynn Examiner.”

  “What makes you so sure they’ll have one?”

  “Because this Bronstein lives in Grove Point and owns a car agency. That makes him important, and anyone who’s important gets put on a committee of some kind or is made an officer of some organization, and the first thing they do is have their picture taken and printed in the Examiner. Look through everything they have on him and get a nice clear picture that shows his features plainly and have about half a dozen of them printed up.”