“There was a cutoff back there about a hundred yards. Probably the one that leads to Morris Goldman’s garage. We’re on an incline. Maybe I can coast back—”
“On 128? With cars zipping along at sixty miles an hour! You’ll do no such thing.”
“I’m not keen on it myself. I suppose I better ease her back onto the shoulder of the road and raise the hood. That’s a sign that you’re in trouble. The state troopers will be along in a minute, they patrol this road constantly. . . . What’s the matter?”
Her fists were clenched and she was biting her upper lip. Her forehead suddenly was bathed in perspiration. After a moment, she smiled weakly. “You might look at your watch and time the next one. I think you’re about to become a father, David.”
“Are you sure? That’s all we need right now. Look, don’t worry and don’t get excited. Just sit tight and I’ll flag down a car.”
“Be careful, David,” she called as he got out.
A moment ago the highway had been filled with cars, but now not a car was to be seen. He drew out his handkerchief and took up a position in the middle of the road. Presently he saw a car in the distance and began to wave his handkerchief. To his tremendous relief, the car slowed down. It passed, swung over to the side of the road, and then backed up to within a few feet of his car. When the driver got out, the rabbi saw it was Dr. Sykes.
“Why it’s Rabbi Small, isn’t it? You in trouble?”
“My car stopped.”
“Out of gas?”
“I don’t think so. No, I’m sure it isn’t that. I’ve been having some trouble—”
“All right, I’ll call a garage just as soon as I get to the lab. I’m supposed to meet the police chief there. Conked out right in the middle of driving, eh? Could be that your—”
“Look, my wife is in labor.”
“Oh, boy, that’s bad—” He eyed her in consternation. “Maybe, I—Say wait a minute! Why don’t you take my car and I can hoof it to the lab. It’s only a few hundred yards up the road.”
“It’s very kind of you, Dr. Sykes.” The rabbi climbed into the bucket seat of the little sports car and grasped the wheel. He looked uncertainly at the array of dials on the dashboard and then at the grinning face of Sykes leaning on the open door.
“Stick shift with four speeds forward. She’ll do a hundred easily. I had her gone over not long ago and she’s tuned like a fine watch.”
The rabbi nodded at the sticker on the doorjamb. “Yes, I see. Chai.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a Hebrew word. It means life.”
Sykes looked at him doubtfully, and then over at Mrs. Small and seemed to understand. “Right. You both have it on your mind. Well, let me help your lady out.”
“No.”
“What’s the matter?”
The rabbi had stepped out. “No, I couldn’t. I wouldn’t dare drive it. I—I wouldn’t know how. We’d end up in a ditch. Look, I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you drive on to the lab and tell Lanigan about our situation here. He’ll come and get us. Oh, and you could also have someone call the doctor—Dr. Morton Selig. He’s in the book, and tell him what happened and that I’m on my way to the hospital.”
“All right if you’re sure you’d rather.”
He climbed into the car and gunned the motor with a deafening roar. “Good luck and my best to your lady.”
“Nothing to be worried about, you two,” Lanigan remarked over his shoulder to the couple in the back seat. “When I first joined the force, I was on the ambulance trick and I wouldn’t care to venture a guess at the number of women I drove to the hospital. We used to take them over to Salem in those days—didn’t have a hospital of our own in the town. I don’t claim to be an obstetrician, but in my experience the first child always took a long time.”
“The pains are coming every ten minutes now.”
“Plenty of time. It’s when they start coming fast, every couple of minutes or every minute. It’s when it’s a second or third child they’re apt to pop. And don’t think I haven’t delivered babies either, or helped to. So you couldn’t be in better hands.”
He was obviously talking to distract them, and the rabbi recognized it and was grateful. He sat with one arm around his wife and gave her his hand to clutch whenever the pains came. Every so often he would wipe her forehead with his handkerchief.
They reached the outskirts of the city and Lanigan glanced back at them. “You know, if you like I could pick up a motorcycle escort. That way we could get through a little quicker.”
Miriam answered before the rabbi could speak. “I don’t think it will be necessary.” She blushed. “The pains appear to have stopped.”
“Doesn’t mean a thing,” said Lanigan. But he slowed down and proceeded at a more moderate pace until they reached the hospital. “I’ll stick around, until you know what’s what, Rabbi.”
Thanking him the rabbi helped Miriam out of the car and supported her up the steps. Though she needed no assistance, she enjoyed his solicitude. With some embarrassment they explained to the reception clerk that the pains had stopped.
The nurse at the desk informed them it was not uncommon and arranged for Mrs. Small to be escorted to her room. The rabbi remained in the waiting room, where after some ten minutes he was joined by Dr. Selig, a pleasant young man of his own age, who seemed to exude both assurance and reassurance.
“The pains have stopped for the time being. It’s quite common. Sometimes the girls get a little lazy, or maybe they just change their minds. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be women, ha-ha. Well, we’ll keep her here for the night anyway. Even if the pains start in again it will be hours, so there’s no sense in your waiting around.”
“But she’s all right?”
“Oh, perfectly. Nothing for you to worry about. You know, Rabbi, in all my practice I’ve—”
“I know, you’ve never lost a father.”
“Rabbi,” the doctor was reproachful, “that was my line.”
“Sorry. Can I see her now?”
“I’d rather you wouldn’t. She’s being prepared and we’ve given her some sedation. Why don’t you just go home. I’ll call you just as soon as anything begins to happen.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
The rabbi climbed into the front seat beside Lanigan. “The doctor says it will be hours.”
“I thought as much. I’ll drop you on my way back to the lab.”
“It was very decent of you to come and get us, Chief,” said the rabbi. “Things were pretty rough there for a few minutes until Sykes came along.”
“I understand he offered you his car and you refused. Those little foreign jobs are actually no different from ours, except you have to shift a little more often and they respond to the wheel a little quicker than you’re used to. But you would have got the hang of it before you’d driven a quarter of a mile.”
“Oh, I had no doubt I could drive it. I just didn’t want to be indebted to a murderer for the birth of my child.”
“Murderer? Sykes?”
The rabbi nodded soberly.
Lanigan stepped on the brake and brought the car to a halt at the side of the road. “Now. Let’s hear it.”
The rabbi settled back in his seat. “The man who drove Hirsh home had to be on foot. That’s basic. If he’d been driving, and stopped to take the wheel of Hirsh’s car, he would have had to leave his own. You had alerted the state troopers, so they were patrolling the road. An empty car would have been spotted. Chances are that it wasn’t a hitchhiker, because they’re expressly forbidden on Route 128. There are signs posted at each entrance, and the state troopers would pick up anyone they saw.”
“So.”
“But the people at Goddard regularly leave their cars to be serviced or repaired at Morris Goldman’s garage because it’s just a few hundred yards from the lab. They drop off their cars in the morning and walk along the embankment of 128 to get to work. At night�
��and Goldman’s, like most garages, stays open late—they walk back, pick up their cars, and drive home.”
“Everyone knows that.”
“Well, to get to the lab from the garage, you have to pass the turnoff where Hirsh was parked. It’s just about halfway.”
“Yes, you can see the turnoff from the lab.”
“Right. Well, now I know that Sykes had his car serviced at Morris Goldman’s garage that Friday, because when I got behind the wheel I saw one of his lube stickers on the doorjamb. It was dated the eighteenth. That was Friday.”
“It still doesn’t place him on foot. After all, he could have picked up his car after work—before Hirsh returned to the lab after his dinner.”
The rabbi shook his head.
“Why not? You yourself said Goldman’s stays open late.”
“But not that Friday night. It was Kol Nidre. He would have closed well before six. And we know Sykes was at the lab that late because he phoned Mrs. Hirsh and left word that her husband was to call him when he got in.”
“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t get home. He could have called a cab—why not?” as the rabbi shook his head vigorously.
“You can ask Miriam if you wish. The nearest cab company, the only one for practical purposes, is the one in Barnard’s Crossing. And when Miriam had me stop off there the proprietor told us the only calls he got that evening were to take people to the temple.”
“All right!” Lanigan sounded exasperated. “But it’s all conjecture.”
“No, Sykes had no car all weekend.”
“How do we know that?”
“He didn’t pick up his car Friday. And he couldn’t pick it up on Saturday, because that was Yom Kippur and Goldman was closed. And I know for a fact he had no car on Sunday.”
“Oh?”
“You see, when he came to my house to arrange for Hirsh’s funeral, he arrived and departed by cab. Why would he do that if he had his car? Yet we know he had it on Monday, because he drove it to the funeral.”
Lanigan was silent for a minute. “So your theory—and it’s no more than a theory,” he said finally, “is that Sykes sat around waiting for Hirsh to call back. When he didn’t, he started out on foot to get his car, saw Hirsh parked in the turnoff on 128, and offered or Hirsh asked him, to drive him home and—”
“And Hirsh passed out on the way.”
“But why would he want to kill him? Sykes was probably his closest friend here in Barnard’s Crossing. He went to bat and covered up for him half a dozen times. I got that from Amos Quint who admitted he would have fired Hirsh long before if Sykes had not interceded for him.”
“And why would Sykes have to intercede for him?” the rabbi demanded.
“I don’t understand.”
“Quint never spoke to Hirsh except on the day he hired him. Everything there went through channels. Whatever communication there was between Hirsh and Quint passed through Sykes. Now if Sykes didn’t want Hirsh fired—if he was such a good friend—why mention his mistakes to Quint in the first place? Why go to bat for him? Quint is no scientist, he’s an administrator. If Sykes wanted to cover for Hirsh, all he had to do was refrain from mentioning his name and Quint never would have known. But evidently there were errors—at least half a dozen, according to you. Now suppose they were the fault not of Hirsh but of Sykes? It would be mighty convenient to have Hirsh there to take the blame.”
“All the more reason for not wanting to kill him. Why give up a good thing? In any case, Quint was going to fire him Monday, so Sykes would be off the hook.”
“Then there’s your answer!” said the rabbi triumphantly. “This time apparently there was an important mistake—one Quint couldn’t overlook. We know he always made a point of seeing a man he was going to fire. He saw him, told him just why he was firing him, and that ended it. Isn’t that the way you reported it? So he tells Hirsh the reason for his dismissal, and Hirsh says, ‘Oh, no, sir, it was Ron Sykes that did that; I discovered the error.’ There’s a confrontation, Hirsh shows his work notes. . . .”
The chief folded his hands behind his head and leaned against the car seat, absorbed in thought. Then he shook his head. “It hangs together, Rabbi, and it sounds plausible, but you’re just guessing. It’s all surmise and conjecture. We don’t have a bit of proof.”
When the rabbi spoke, his tone denoted both certainty and finality. “Just ask Sykes how he got home from the lab Friday night. Just ask him that.”
“Yeah, I’ll do that.” He smiled. “You know, Rabbi, somehow or other, you do manage to take care of your flock.”
“You mean Goralsky and Brown?”
“Oh, we didn’t really have anything on Brown. We were just floundering, looking for some line we could follow. You know why he left the temple early? He was ashamed to tell you, but he made a statement to us. He had a business deal on—a big policy, and the customer insisted on getting the papers signed that night.”
“I suspected it might be something like that.”
“I guess from your point of view it was a pretty terrible thing for him to do.”
The rabbi thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think it was terrible. In a way I’m rather pleased.”
“Pleased that he ran out on your Yom Kippur service to consummate a business deal?”
“No—pleased that he was ashamed of it.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
Sunday morning, the Schwarz forces were standing around unhappily in the corridor just outside the Board meeting room.
“Do you think the rabbi will show up today?” asked Marvin Brown.
“I doubt it,” said the president. “Stands to reason as an expectant father he’ll be at the hospital.”
Herman Fine came up and joined them. “I understand the rebbitzin went to the hospital yesterday. Maybe we should hold off on the rabbi’s letter of resignation at least for today. I know I for one would feel funny—”
“Are you kidding?” demanded Schwarz. “The resignation is definitely out. I guess you didn’t hear what I just told the boys. I ran into Ben Goralsky after the minyan this morning, and for about twenty minutes all he could talk about was how wonderful ‘the little rabbi’—that’s what he called him—how wonderful he was. You’d think the rabbi saved his life.”
“Maybe he did,” said Marvin Brown. “You hear about how if a man is innocent he won’t be convicted, but every now and then some guy will confess to a crime some other guy has done twenty years in prison for.” He ran his hand under his collar. “Don’t think I wasn’t plenty worried about the same thing. Besides, even if he got off, how about his old man? A thing like that could kill him.”
“All right, the resignation is out,” said Fine. “And it’s okay by me. So what do we do now? I say we ought to go the whole way and do it up handsome. Mort should read the letter, explain it was due to a misunderstanding, and call for a vote from the Board refusing to accept it.”
“Like hell.”
“What d’you mean, Mort?”
“I mean I’m certainly glad Ben Goralsky got off, and I’m willing to give the rabbi some credit. Still it’s one thing to forget about the resignation, because then we could kiss the Goralskys goodby. But I’m damned if I go begging to the rabbi. There’d be no living with him after that. If we ever disagreed on anything again—Watch it, here come Wasserman and Becker.”
“Good morning, gentlemen, I got good news. I just called the hospital and they told me the rebbitzin had a boy.”
“Hey, that’s all right.”
“That is good news.”
“How’s the rebbitzin feeling?”
They all gathered around, asking questions.
“Look, fellows,” said Schwarz, “are we going to stand out here and schmoos all day? Let’s get the meeting started.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
“What do you plan to do about the rabbi’s letter?” asked Wasserman as they moved toward the door.
>
Schwarz looked at him in surprise. The group halted to listen.
“What letter, Jacob? What letter are you talking about?”
The men looked at each other and some smiled.
But Becker’s face got red. “What are you trying to pull, Mort? You know damn well what letter Jake is talking about. You planning some—”
Wasserman put a restraining hand on his friend’s arm. “Becker, Becker, if Mort doesn’t know about the letter, that means he never received it.”
“Why, was it something important?” asked Schwarz.
Wasserman shrugged his shoulders. “I guess not. Probably something routine—just routine.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
The missus home yet?” asked Lanigan.
“Tomorrow,” said the rabbi happily. “I take them home tomorrow.”
“I was hoping I’d have a chance to see the boy.”
“He looks like a little old man, so wrinkled.”
“They all do for a few days. Then they begin to round out and get fat.”
“I suppose so. The doctor said it was a fine healthy child, but you couldn’t tell by looking at him. He looked like a plucked chicken.”
“They’re just like puppies. They’ve got to grow into their skins.”
“Well, you’ve made me feel better already,” said the rabbi. “Say, why don’t you and Gladys drop around tomorrow? You’ll be able to see him then.”
“Oh, we intend to. But I was passing and thought I’d be able to sneak a preview. I’ve just come from the D.A.’s office. He made a deal with Sykes’s lawyer for second-degree murder.”
“Second-degree? But that’s unpremeditated—”
“I know, I know. But the D.A. still thought it best.”
“But you had a confession.”
“We had a confession but not for premeditated murder. When he confronted Sykes, we carefully refrained from mentioning the wiped fingerprint. We told him we knew he was without his car over the weekend; we told him what we’d uncovered about the work in his department at the lab. And I guess we sort of hinted Hirsh’s death was probably accidental, and that if he cooperated fully with us it would go a lot easier for him.”
Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry Page 22