“That he killed him? Why would he want to kill Joyce?”
The rabbi shook his head. “I don’t know any of these people, neither Joyce nor his wife, nor Jacobs, nor Merton. I can only guess. Mrs. Joyce was sure her aunt knew that she was planning to get a Church-approved separation and a civil divorce. She thought her uncle did not know. But I’m inclined to believe that if her aunt knew, then her uncle knew. Well, where would that leave her? She’d be in the anomalous position of a grass widow, without a husband and unable to remarry. You want to know where Dorfbetter found the watch? He found it in the glove compartment of Merton’s car.”
“But why—I mean, how—”
“The watch contained a saint’s relic, so Merton wouldn’t throw it away. To a man like Merton, that would be sacrilegious. And if it had blood on it, he wouldn’t put it in his pocket, or even on the seat of the car, where it would stain the upholstery. But the glove compartment is where you keep your registration and garage bills, almost anything except gloves, which you keep in your pocket. You might even find a bloodstain on one of those papers that could be identified.”
Lanigan sat in silence for a minute. Then he rose abruptly and said, “I’ve got to get back to the station house. I’ve got to think this through.”
The first thing Lanigan did when he reached the station house was to call the Assistant District Attorney. “I’ve got to see you. Something has come up on the Joyce case.”
“All right, drop in tomorrow morning and—”
“No, Lou, it’s urgent. I’ve got to see you now.”
“Well, all right. It won’t be the first time Angela has had to wait supper.”
When he heard Lanigan out, he said, “It’s weak, Hugh, but it’s good enough to proceed on. I think it’s enough to charge the sonofabitch. I want you to go through the regular procedure, mug shots, prints, the works, and then lock him up. He’ll spend the night in jail, and then tomorrow morning we’ll bring him up for arraignment.”
“What have you got against him, Lou?” asked Lanigan curiously.
“I’ll tell you what I’ve got against the sanctimonious bastard. When we first moved into the area, we bought a house from him—on the recommendation of Father Joe, by the way. What did we know about houses? We assumed that someone recommended by the local priest would treat us right. Well, when we moved in we found the place was infested with termites. And he knew about it because the expert we got to get rid of them said there’d been a half-assed attempt at it earlier. So if he spends a night in jail, it won’t bother me one little bit.”
“He’s been spending the evenings with his widowed niece at her house. I don’t like to do it in front of her. Besides, I’d like to check and see if there’s a bloodstain in the glove compartment.”
“All right. So first thing tomorrow morning, here’s what you do …”
40
Although the meeting of the Windermere Board of Trustees was scheduled for ten o’clock, the program of events started much earlier, with an informal breakfast served in the cafeteria from half past seven to nine, at which time there would be a tour of the buildings. Those who came early, the out-of-town people who had been put up at hotels mostly, had large breakfasts of eggs and bacon and sausages, but others who drifted in later and had already breakfasted at home, took only coffee, perhaps with a doughnut or a piece of toast. It was an opportunity to renew their acquaintance and to urge and argue over pet projects.
President Macomber was not present, but Mark Levine was very much in evidence. He made no effort to campaign for the name change, feeling it would be counterproductive. Instead, he made a point of circulating, greeting new arrivals, and manifesting general friendship and bonhomie.
Charles Dobson was also one of the early arrivals. Because he was in the automobile business, his opinion was sought on various makes of cars, their comfort, their sturdiness, their retail value. “What do you think of this new Nissan that’s just come out?” And his answer always began, “Well, it’s no Cadillac.” He, in turn, inquired about Cyrus Merton. “Have you seen Cy Merton around? You heard about his niece’s husband getting killed?”
He wanted to see Cyrus, to ask if he had been approached by Macomber and whether the death of Joyce had affected his decision on the name change, and as the hour approached nine, he wondered at his continued absence. He asked several of the others if they had seen him, and when they said they had not, he thought of calling his house in Barnard’s Crossing. He mentioned it to his friend Ridgeway, who reassured him. “Oh, he’ll be along for the meeting. Seems to me he didn’t come to the breakfast last time either. Have you ever driven with him? He’s a very careful driver. He once gave me a lift to Cambridge. I thought we’d never get there. My guess is that he didn’t come to the breakfast because he didn’t want to buck the morning traffic. Or maybe he didn’t want to see Macomber until he had to.”
At nine o’clock President Macomber arrived and announced, “I’m having Mr. Perkins, our custodian, take us around. He’ll tell you as we go along about a number of repairs and some remodeling we are contemplating. And we’ll meet Professor Sykes, head of our Physics Department, who will show you around our new physics laboratory.”
Macomber set out and the rest straggled after him. The tour started at the corner house, and Ridgeway pointed and said, as he had on similar occasions, “That’s the Clark house. I’ve had dinner there. I was at school with Roger Clark.” And Dobson replied, as he had on similar occasions, “What d’ya know!”
Levine came up beside Macomber and whispered, “How is it going, Don?”
“No change,” said Macomber gloomily.
“But Merton isn’t here. Maybe he won’t come.”
“Oh, he’ll come all right. He wouldn’t miss the meeting.”
But early in the morning, Lieutenant Jennings and a uniformed policeman had driven up to Merton’s house. Mrs. Marston opened the door in response to their ring, but Cyrus, who was about to set out for Boston and the meeting of the trustees, was right behind her.
“You’ve come about my car, haven’t you?”
“That’s right,” said Jennings. “We’ve got it down at the station house. If you’ll come with us, you can check it out, and then if it’s okay, you can drive it off.”
“Splendid! Was it damaged? It wasn’t vandalized, was it?”
“Well, that’s why we want you to look it over.”
Merton glanced at his watch. He had plenty of time, even though he assumed there would be some delay, if only to sign some papers and fill out some forms. It was worth it to drive his own car rather than the car with the company logo.
All the way down to the station house he asked questions. Where was it found? Do they know who took it? Was it a professional car thief, or was it some kid who had taken it joyriding? To all of which Jennings was careful to be noncommittal. “I don’t rightly know.” “The chief will explain all that.” “Chief Lanigan will tell you all about it.”
Lanigan was waiting for them in the parking lot when they drove up. “Is that the car?” he asked, smiling.
“It sure is.”
“Now will you look it over carefully and see if there was any damage done?”
Slowly, Merton walked around the vehicle.
“That scratch on the fender,” Lanigan suggested.
“No … that was there. I did that backing out of the garage one day.”
Lanigan got in behind the wheel and released the catch that opened the trunk. “Anything missing?” he called out.
“There doesn’t seem to be.”
Lanigan then leaned over and opened the passenger door. “If you’ll come in and look around,” he suggested. Merton slid in beside him, and then twisted around to look at the backseat. “Looks okay,” he said.
“How about the glove compartment?”
Merton opened the lid, gave a quick glance, and closed it.
Lanigan leaned across him and lowered the glove compartment lid. “There’s a
watch in there.” He drew it out. “Isn’t this Joyce’s watch? It looks just like the one his wife described.”
Merton reddened. Then he essayed a smile. “Yes, it’s his watch. I’m afraid I was not entirely candid with you. It was rather embarrassing. You see, when Victor borrowed the money from me at the club, he insisted I take the watch as security. I didn’t want to, but he insisted, and I’m a little ashamed to say I let myself be persuaded.”
“We have incontrovertible evidence that he was wearing it when he left the club,” said Lanigan evenly.
Merton remained silent, and then said, “If—you’ll have one of your men drive me home, I’d appreciate it. I think I should call my attorney.”
“You can call him from here,” said Lanigan. “We have a pay station, or you can use the phone in my office.” The steely glint in Lanigan’s blue eyes made it clear that he would not be allowed to leave.
The meeting of the Windermere Board of Trustees was held on the fourth floor of the Administration Building. It was a large room with half a dozen round tables, each covered with a snowy white tablecloth and the necessary china, silverware, and glasses for the elaborate lunch which a caterer would bring in and serve at the conclusion of the board meeting.
In back of the room, beyond the round tables, was a long oblong table at which the board transacted its business. There were twenty-two small metal chairs with padded leather seats arranged around the table, for the twenty members of the board plus the secretary and the president, each with a small pad of paper, a pencil, a ballpoint pen, and a printed copy of the agenda in front of it. The meeting was scheduled for ten o’clock. At ten, whilst half a dozen or so had already taken their places at one end of the table, the others were still standing around and talking.
Mark Levine approached his friend, the president. “How does it look, Don?” he asked.
Macomber nodded at those already seated. “There’s six of them. If they hold firm with Merton, we’re licked. I’m hoping we might be able to detach at least one of them. It’s possible with a secret ballot, but I’m not too sanguine.”
“But Merton is not here yet,” said Levine. “Maybe he won’t show,” he added hopefully.
“Oh, he’ll show up all right,” said Macomber bitterly. “Believe me, this is one meeting he’s not going to miss.”
“Look, Don, maybe he’s been held up by traffic, or he could have had a flat tire or something. It’s ten o’clock right now. Why not call the meeting. Maybe we can put it to a vote before he gets here.”
“It’s tempting, Mark, but there’d be hell to pay if he showed up right after the vote was taken. We’ll wait a little while longer.”
Mark Levine shrugged and turned away. But at half past ten he decided to take a hand in the matter. “Hey, Don,” he called out, “it’s half past ten. When are we going to get started?”
“Cyrus Merton is not here yet,” someone said.
“So? We’ve got a quorum, haven’t we?”
“Yeah, but—look, he’s got to come all the way from Barnard’s Crossing.”
“So what? I had to come all the way from Dallas, Texas.”
“Yes, and I came down from Bangor, Maine,” said another. “Let’s get the show on the road, Prex.”
“Very well,” said Macomber. “Will you all please take seats.” And when they were seated, he said, “This meeting is now called to order. Will the secretary please note and record in the minutes that we are starting at ten thirty-five.”
Although sorely tempted, Macomber resisted the temptation to rush the business of the meeting so that they could vote on the change of name before a possibly tardy Merton might arrive. So they listened to the reading of the minutes of the previous meeting, and to the reports of the several committees, and it was after eleven before they took up the motion to change the name of the school.
There was desultory discussion on the motion, largely by the opponents of the measure in an effort to delay the vote as they kept glancing at the door in the hope that Merton would appear. When Macomber finally called for a vote, Charles Dobson, true to his promise, moved that it be by secret ballot.
Macomber shrugged. “I don’t think there’s any need to discuss this or to put it to a vote. If Mr. Dobson prefers a secret ballot, fine. The vote will be by secret ballot.”
The secretary passed out small pieces of paper, and then after a minute or two, collected them. Then he opened the folded pieces of paper and arranged them in two piles. He counted and announced, “The vote is carried sixteen to four.”
Immediately, McKitterick, the man from Bangor, moved that the vote be made unanimous. There was an interchange of glances from the opponents, then some head nodding, and the motion was carried.
Mark Levine had to run off immediately after lunch to take care of some business of his own downtown. But he returned to the college, to the president’s house, early in the evening, so that he and Macomber could take a leisurely stroll to dinner. As they walked along, Levine asked, “Did Merton call you to explain why he didn’t come to the meeting?”
Macomber shook his head. “No. I thought of calling him to inquire, but decided not to. He might interpret it as crowing over his defeat. I assume something important, some big business deal, must have come up and he was just unable to make it.”
“Maybe. And then maybe he knew the vote was going to go against him, and just couldn’t face it.”
“That’s not really in character. He’s got plenty of guts. And I suspect if he had been present, he might very well have brought it off. I figured he had six votes and his own, would have made seven, which would have been just enough to have beaten us. I was surprised that only four voted to oppose.”
“I wasn’t,” said Levine. “I was canvassing ever since I got here, Sunday. I didn’t just call people and ask them how they were going to vote. I talked to some of them at some length. I thought there was a chance with this McKitterick from Bangor. He sort of hedged and kept asking me if I were sure it would be a secret ballot. I got the impression that while he would like to vote our way, he did not want to offend Merton, and that if it could be handled in such a way that Merton wouldn’t know, he might come along. Another one—Bridges from Worcester, I believe—was involved in some deal with Merton, and wasn’t about to take chances.”
“Like that, was it? Hm, I wonder if he might not take it so hard as to resign.”
“Would it bother you if he did?” asked Levine curiously.
“Well, except for this matter of the name, he was very useful. A college is more or less in the real estate business, you know, and he was good at it.”
Levine smiled. “Then let’s hope he doesn’t take it too much to heart. In any case, we ought to celebrate. You’ll be coming to dinner tonight, won’t you? We’ll have champagne.”
“Oh, I meant to talk to you about that. My old professor, Simon Cotton, is in town. He came to attend the Anthropology Society meeting that’s going on right now, and I’ve invited him to dinner.”
“So what’s the problem? Bring him along.”
41
Macomber picked up his old teacher at the Harvard Club and then the two walked over to the Ritz Carleton, where Levine met them in the lobby and escorted them into the dining room. When they were seated, and a waiter brought over an ice bucket and a bottle of champagne, Cotton raised his eyebrows and asked, “Is this your usual tipple, Mr. Levine?”
“Oh no, this is by way of celebration. When we place our orders, I’ll select a proper wine for your meal.”
“And what are we celebrating?”
“At the meeting of my Board of Trustees this morning,” Macomber said, “it was voted to change the name of our college from Windermere Christian College to Windermere College of Liberal Arts.”
“I see. You mean you’ve cut your ties with the Church. And what church is it?”
“It wasn’t any church,” said Macomber. “Christian was inserted in the name when it was a ladies’ seminary to
indicate that it was a moral institution.”
“Donald thinks the vote today gives him greater control,” Levine offered.
“Believe me, it will,” Macomber asserted. “A two-thirds majority was required, and I got it by gradually getting people on the board who were likely to back me. Now, perhaps I can develop a college that will be a real educational institution instead of an intellectual rat race, the sort of thing you have always urged, Professor Cotton.”
Cotton shook his head doubtfully. “I wish you luck, of course, but don’t be too sanguine about your chances. You’ll be bucking the development of the American college for the last fifty or sixty years.”
“Why, what happened fifty or sixty years ago?” asked Levine.
“That was when college administrators saw that research was more profitable than teaching, so the focus of interest turned from student to faculty. The professor used to be someone who’d found satisfaction in the scholarly life and pleasure in imparting his knowledge to eager young minds. If he came across some special aspect of his subject, or some special problem, he might write it up for publication in a scholarly journal, or even a book. But he did it on his own time, because he wanted to. And when things changed, what he’d done for pleasure was now required as a term of his employment.”
“Publish or perish.”
“And XYZ University became the place where that fellow discovered a new planet or the new treatment for cancer. That also attracted endowments.”
“And I suppose,” said Macomber, “when someone at ABC University was on the verge of publishing something that might be important, XYZ might approach him with an offer.”
“That’s normal enough,” said Levine. “It happens all the time in large corporations.”
“Ah, but in a corporation the inducement is a bigger salary, I suppose, and more responsible work. In the college, though, the inducement is apt to be a smaller lecture load, and in some cases the professor won’t be required to teach at all. So while XYZ gains prestige, the ordinary student profits not at all.”
The Day the Rabbi Resigned Page 22