Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry

by Harry Kemelman

  “But godammit, Hugh, you’ve got it arse-backwards. In the business dealings between Hirsh and Goralsky, it wasn’t Goralsky that got screwed. It was the other way around. You’d have a motive for Hirsh killing Goralsky, but not—”

  “How do we know what the relations were between them? Look, way back there was some trouble between them on a business deal. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “Then twenty years later, Hirsh asks Goralsky to rec­ommend him for a job at the Goddard Lab, and he not only gives him an excellent recommendation, he practi­cally rams him down their throats.”

  “Right.”

  “But then he refuses to see him after he gets here. Now those three things don’t jibe. If there was trouble between them, he wouldn’t have given him the recom­mendation and Hirsh wouldn’t have asked him for it. If he gave it and got him the job, he wouldn’t have refused to see him afterward. Now all that suggests just one thing to me.”

  “Blackmail!”

  “Right. And if you want to let your mind play a little, doesn’t it seem mighty funny that it was Hirsh who was responsible for throwing a monkey wrench into this merger business?”

  “Hey—and that could be a good reason for Goralsky wanting to kill him.”

  Lanigan considered. “That’s a little weak. For one thing, it isn’t a killing matter. And besides, the deal hasn’t fallen through—not yet. And since Hirsh was going to be fired anyway he wouldn’t be in a position to do any more damage.”

  “But that’s just the point, Hugh.” Jennings was excited. “It’s like you’ve been saying all along—that this is the kind of killing where the motive could be weak.”

  “Yeah,” said Lanigan, “and there’s nobody I’d rather pin it on.”

  “I didn’t know you knew Goralsky.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Then why him?”

  “Because I’m only human. The rabbi tried to tout me off, and Alf Braddock warned me that if I touched him he’d have my head. Well, I’d like to show the whole lot of them. Besides, if it should be the way we’ve figured—a weak motive—I’d get a lot of personal satisfaction telling it to the rabbi.”

  “So let’s pick him up.”

  Lanigan shook his head. “What’s the use? He’s got an alibi. His pa and the housekeeper would swear he was there all evening. And the rabbi and his wife could ac­count for what little time he wasn’t at home.”

  “We’ve been able to break alibis before, Hugh. I say, let’s pick him up.”

  “Yeah, but your head isn’t on the block. Mine is.”

  The desk sergeant thrust his head through the door. “There’s a guy here, Chief, a Marvin Brown. He wants to make a statement.”

  Lanigan shuffled the freshly typed pages. “Who’s your lawyer, Mr. Brown?”

  “Oscar Kahn of Kahn, Kahn, Channing, and Spirofsky. Why?”

  “I want to be completely fair. This is a serious matter. It’s a murder case and I’d like everything to be correct. I’m going to ask you to sign this. I told you that when we started. Well, I think it would be a good idea if you had your lawyer look it over before you swear to it.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Marvin. He was trying very hard to be jaunty and at ease. “You send a couple of guys to my office to ask me all kinds of questions. You don’t bother to hide the fact that you’re from the police. So I get to thinking maybe you’ll come down again; maybe you’ll come to the house and question my wife; maybe you’ll shadow me.” He laughed nervously. “I guess that’s what you guys call using psychology. So I decide to save you the trouble and come down myself and make a state­ment. And now you say I should get a lawyer.”

  “I’m merely interested in protecting your rights, Mr. Brown. All I’m suggesting—”

  There was a knock on the door and Lanigan shouted, “Come in.”

  Sergeant Whitaker opened the door. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Chief?”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The rabbi watched the car drive into the parking lot and pull up to a stop near the temple door. A uniformed chauffeur opened the rear door and helped out the elderly Goralsky. Although it was early in October, the morning was unseasonably warm, Indian summer. Nevertheless, Mr. Goralsky wore a coat and muffler. He leaned on the arm of the chauffeur. The rabbi hurried over.

  “Why, Mr. Goralsky, how nice to see you up and about—and to have you join us at services. But is it wise? Does the doctor approve?”

  “Thank you, Rabbi, but when I know what I have to do I don’t ask the doctor. Today, I decided I had to come to pray. They came this morning and took my Benjamin.” There was a quaver in his voice and his eyes filled with tears.

  “Who came? What do you mean they took him? What happened?”

  “This morning. We had just barely finished breakfast. I was not even dressed. These days, since I been sick, I wear my pajamas and a bathrobe all day long. I am in and out of bed. The police came. They were very nice, very polite. They were dressed like me and you, without uniforms. One shows his badge. He keeps it in his pocket. The other one shows a card, a business card, like a salesman. He’s the chief of police. ‘What do you want, gentlemen?’ my Benjamin asks them. I thought maybe something happened at the plant, or maybe Gamison, the gardener, got drunk again. He likes to drink, but he’s a good worker and always when he has too much he goes to his room and stays there till it’s over. No trouble, no loud talk. He hides, I shouldn’t see him. But then he works twice as hard afterwards. And he has troubles with a daughter with a couple of children yet and her husband can never hold a job. So I keep him. It’s a pity. So I thought maybe this time he didn’t hide and the police ar­rested him. But no, it’s my Benjamin they wanted. They want to ask him some questions about this Isaac Hirsh who everybody thought committed suicide, but now it seems it’s not suicide.

  “So you want to ask questions, so ask. Sit down, have a cup of coffee; make yourselves comfortable and ask your questions. But no, in my house they can’t ask my son questions. It isn’t big enough? Somebody will maybe disturb them? They got to have my Benjamin should come to the station house with them. There, they’ll ask him the questions. What kind of questions can they ask him there that they can’t ask him in the house? And they’re in a hurry yet. My Benjamin likes to sit with me, especially these last few days when I could come down to breakfast, he likes to sit with me and have another cup of coffee. And we talk—about the business, about problems, what we should do about this customer or that customer. After all, we worked so hard all our lives and there never seemed to be enough time to sit down and have a decent meal, always a bite here and a bite there when there was a minute. And now, when things are better and we can take it easy and Benjamin can go to work a little later, is it wrong, Rabbi? But no, they couldn’t wait. They could barely wait until my Benjamin put on his tie and his coat, so much they were in a hurry.”

  “Do you mean that they arrested him? On what charge?”

  “The same question I asked them, and my Benjamin too. And they said they weren’t arresting—they were just taking him in for questioning. So if they weren’t arresting why did they make him go? What would they do differ­ent if they were arresting? Carry him maybe? I said to them, ‘Gentlemen, you want to ask my son some ques­tions, ask. You don’t want to ask here, only in the station house? All right, he’ll come to the station house. But does it have to be now? It’s Saturday which it is by us the Sab­bath. Let him go now to the temple, and later he’ll come to the station house. I’ll guarantee it.’ But no, it had to be right away. So they took him away. So what could I do? I dressed myself and I came here.”

  The rabbi took his arm. To the chauffeur he said, “I’ll take him from here.” Then turning to the old man, “Do you feel strong enough to lead the prayers, Mr. Goral­sky?”

  “If you want me to, I’ve got the strength.”

  “Good,” said the rabbi. “Later we can talk.”

  The dozen or so men who had
come to the service were impatient to begin, but when Goralsky entered on the arm of the rabbi those who knew him shook his hand and congratulated him on his recovery. The rabbi helped him off with his coat and scarf and then, draping a prayer shawl around his thin shoulders, led him to the table before the Ark. The old man prayed in a high, quavery voice which cracked occasionally on the higher notes of the chant; but he made no effort to hurry the service along, waiting each time for the rest to finish their recitations before chanting the line or two preceding the next prayer. At the Reading, the rabbi called him up for one of the portions. He seemed to gain strength as he prayed, and when he began the final prayer, the Olenu, his voice was strong and the thin little old man seemed to the rabbi to be standing straight and tall. He was as proud of him as though he were his own father.

  At the end of the service all came up to wish him a Gut Shabbes, and then leisurely strolled out of the tem­ple, as was proper on the Sabbath. But the rabbi detained the old man. “Sit down, Mr. Goralsky. Now we can talk.”

  To one of the men who asked if everything was all right, he said: “Perhaps you’ll be good enough to tell Mr. Goralsky’s chauffeur that we’re going to sit here and talk for a little while.”

  “You know, Rabbi, I’m a little bothered,” Goralsky said when the man left. “This is the first time that I ever rode on the Sabbath, and yet I led the prayers and you even called me up for a Reading.”

  “It’s all right, Mr. Goralsky, believe me. Now tell me, have you notified your lawyer?”

  The old man shook his head. “For a lawyer there’ll be plenty time. My Benjamin he also says I should call the lawyers. In the old country, in the shtetl, we didn’t know about lawyers. When we got into trouble—and what kind of trouble? Like opening your store a little too early on Sunday—did we get a lawyer? We went to see people who could help us: somebody who knew somebody or knew a relative of somebody should do a favor. Now, I’m sure the police don’t come down and take my Benjamin to the sta­tion house just to ask him he should help them. No, they got it in their minds that my Benjamin had something to do with this Hirsh dying. They must have on him a suspi­cion.” He gave the rabbi a searching look to see if he would deny it.

  “Yes, I think you’re right, Mr. Goralsky.”

  “But this is impossible, Rabbi. I know my son. He’s a good boy. He’s big and he’s strong, but a heart he’s got like a girl—so gentle. When we were in the chicken busi­ness, he would never do the slaughtering, on the nonkosher part of the business, I mean. For the kosher part, naturally we had it a shochet. I know him, I tell you. Years ago when I was younger, I used to be disappointed in him. A father always wants his children should go to school and become educated. He left school early. Sure, it was hard times and I could use his help, but believe me, Rabbi, if he had a head on him and been good in school, somehow I would have kept him there. But he didn’t want to study. It came hard for him. And this was a big disap­pointment to me. And next door, Hirsh had a son, this Isaac, who was a regular gaon and won all kinds scholarships. But later on, I used to think, maybe I didn’t do so bad with my Benjamin. This Isaac Hirsh never set foot in a synagogue after he grew up. Then he became a drunk­ard. Then he married a Gentile. Then they even said that he took his own life.”

  The rabbi shook his head.

  “I know that wasn’t true now. I’m only telling you what I was thinking. And my son, who didn’t even finish high school, he grew up a fine, kosher young man, and it turned out he even had a head for business. There was even an article they wrote on him in Time magazine how he was such a wonderful businessman. Believe me, they’re making a mistake, the police. My Benjamin, what interest would he have with this Isaac Hirsh, and after so many years?”

  “Well, you’ve got to understand the situation,” the rabbi said. “This Hirsh is comparatively new here and kept to himself. He didn’t have any friends to speak of, and no business dealings with anyone who had any con­nection with him. They found out about your son having known him when they were boys together and about the partnership later on. And then when he made such a point about not wanting Hirsh’s body in the cemetery—”

  The old man clasped his thin hands together. “God forgive me—that was my fault, Rabbi. He knew nothing about these things. It was from what he heard me say.”

  “Yes, I know, but there was also the matter of his get­ting Hirsh the job at the Goddard Lab. He wrote a strong letter of recommendation—”

  “See, doesn’t that show you what kind of heart he’s got, my Benjamin? Never was he friendly with Isaac Hirsh, even when they were boys. I don’t blame him. Maybe he got it from seeing my disappointment in him. Maybe I was harsh with him. Even when I realized that he was such a good son, could I tell him to his face? A girl, a daughter you can pat her on the head and pay her com­pliments, but a son?—”

  “Yes, I understand. But you see, because of all this, it’s only natural for the police to want to make sure there wasn’t some recent connection between your son and Isaac Hirsh. I would earnestly advise you to consult with a lawyer so he can take care of your son’s interests.”

  “No.” The old man shook his head. “With a lawyer it’s already official. He goes to a judge; he makes a motion; he gets a paper. Right away, it’s public and it’s in the newspapers. My son is not just anybody. He’s an impor­tant man. The newspapers would make a big tumult about the police questioning him.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “That’s why I come to you, Rabbi. I understand that you and the chief are good friends.”

  “I’m afraid we haven’t been lately,” said the rabbi ruefully. “But even if we were, what could I do?”

  “You could talk to him. You could find out what they are looking for. You could explain to them. Please, Rabbi. Try.”

  And Rabbi Small did not have the heart to refuse. “All right, I’ll talk to the chief, but don’t expect anything. Please take my advice and get your lawyer.”

  “The lawyer I can get later, but first I want you should talk to him. I don’t mean you should work today, Rabbi. It’s the Sabbath, but maybe tonight?”

  “A man’s reputation is at stake. If you can ride on the Sabbath I can work on the Sabbath.” He smiled. “Besides, for a rabbi, the Sabbath is his regular workday.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The rabbi’s call came just as he was leaving. “I’ve got to see you about Goralsky.”

  “Sorry, Rabbi,” said Lanigan. “I was just on my way out.”

  “But it’s extremely important.”

  “I’m afraid it can’t be done. I have an appointment with Amos Quint and Ronald Sykes at the Goddard Lab in about twenty minutes. I’m hoping we can come up with something that will wind this thing up.”

  “I’m sure you’re making a terrible mistake, Chief. You’ve got your mind fixed on Goralsky, and you’re go­ing to do him a great injustice.”

  “Look, Rabbi, I’ve got to run along. I’ll try to get over to you later.”

  “But later could be too late.”

  “I can’t imagine anything that won’t keep.”

  “Rumor won’t keep. You’ve got Goralsky down at the station house. Before long everyone in town will know.”

  “All right. But the best I can do is meet you at the lab. You can sit in on the discussion if you want. I guess I owe it to you. That is, if you don’t mind riding on the Sabbath.”

  “For this I would make an exception. But I don’t like to leave Miriam alone at this time.”

  “Bring her along.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind—we’ll be there.”

  He hung up and called to Miriam to get ready. “We’re going to meet Lanigan at the Goddard Lab.”

  As they drove along Route 128, Miriam said, “Do you think Chief Lanigan really has a case against Mr. Goral­sky?”

  “Who knows? I haven’t spoken to him for a week or more, until just now. They may have found something I don’t k
now about, but then they probably would have ar­rested him outright instead of just taking him in for ques­tioning. I’m sure they can work up a plausible motive. The trouble is, the way Lanigan views this case, they could work up a plausible motive against almost anyone.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, he’s decided that it wasn’t the result of elabo­rate planning, that since it involved just walking away no great motive is necessary. Anyone could have that kind of motive—his neighbor who doesn’t like the way he keeps his lawn—anyone. It’s much the same with the rest—weapon, opportunity. Goralsky could have been there because he wasn’t at the temple. Well, a lot of other people weren’t at the temple. And of course Goralsky drives a car. Yes, Lanigan could make up a case that would justify holding him.”

  “But he’d be sure of being acquitted, wouldn’t he?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Suppose he were, would that be the end of it for him? Suppose they don’t even bring him to trial but release him, everyone will know he has been arrested. Even if they issue some sort of state­ment, what can they say? Mr. Goralsky has been released because of insufficient evidence? That wouldn’t signify he was innocent, only that they’d been unable to find the evidence they needed to connect him with the murder. And if he went to trial and was acquitted, it would be the same. No, he can be cleared completely only if they find the actual murderer. Well, more often than not, they never do.”

  The car slowed down.

  “Why are you stopping here?”

  “I hadn’t intended to.” He pressed down hard on the accelerator, but instead of responding the car slowed down still more. He shifted into second, went a few feet and stopped altogether. He tried the motor, but it did not catch.

  “What’s the matter, David?”

  He grinned foolishly. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, there’s a how-d’ye-do. What do we do now?”