Consulting Detective

by Alan Manifold

  “Oh, that’s all right then. Yes, he was getting along very well. He treated us old-timers with respect and honored the traditions of the temple, but he also seemed to relate to the younger people. More of them have been showing up lately, and I think it’s because of him.”

  “This is sort of a side issue,” Montgomery said, “but can you clarify for me the relationship between the terms congregation, synagogue, and temple? I thought I remembered that the term temple was reserved for the ancient one in Jerusalem.”

  “That’s true for the orthodox congregations. They’ll call themselves a congregation and generally call their place of worship a shul, and they don’t use the term temple at all. The reformed Jews usually call their places temples. This is a conservative synagogue, sort of a compromise for when there’s only enough of us for a single congregation. Officially, we stick with the term synagogue, but I’m a reformed Jew myself, and they all mean pretty much the same thing to me.”

  “Sorry for the tangent. I like learning.”

  “No problem, Detective Montgomery. I like talking, so we’re a good match.”

  Both men laughed.

  “Obviously nothing like this has ever happened before here, but there have been some unpleasant incidents in the past, haven’t there?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. Over the last two years we’ve had, I think, three different attacks by vandals. In each case, they spray-painted their garbage on the front of the building or the doors.”

  “I hate to make you repeat the words, but I think it would help me to know what was written.”

  Mr. Schliebaum sighed. “I’ve heard this garbage all my life, son. I don’t have any problem repeating it. Once they wrote ‘Hitler was right,’ and once it was, ‘Death to Jewish pigs.’ The third time, there were no words, only swastikas. One of them was even carved into the door that time. Luckily, it wasn’t very deep, and it could be repaired fairly easily. Had to stain the doors a lot darker, though, to hide it.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Schliebaum,” Mihdí said. “It makes me sad that anyone in this community would be so sick that they would do that kind of thing.”

  “Jews are used to persecution, son. We’ve grown tough. But it’s hard to see a nice young man like Rabbi Klemme lost. It’ll be a blow to the congregation, make no mistake.”

  “Could you tell me a little about Jacob Klemme, Mr. Schliebaum?” Mihdí asked. “What kind of person he was, how he spent his time, whether he was married? Anything you can think of would be of interest.”

  “I’ll tell you what I know,” Schliebaum replied. “You might do best to talk to some of the younger members of the congregation as well, since I believe he spent a great deal of time with them.”

  “Yes, of course,” Mihdí replied.

  “I believe he grew up in New York City,” Schliebaum began. “At least I know his parents are living there now. His degree is from JTS, which is also in the city.”

  “That’s the Jewish Theological Seminary?” Mihdí asked.

  “Very good, young man,” answered Schliebaum. “Didn’t know if you would know what that is.”

  “A little test, then, eh?” chuckled Mihdí.

  “I guess so, now that you say that,” confirmed Schliebaum. “His first synagogue was near Pittsburgh, I believe. He was there only a couple of years then moved to the synagogue in Lorain, Ohio. That’s where he was when we hired him.”

  “That’s on the lake, east of Cleveland, I think, right?”

  “That sounds about right. It’s been a long time since I traveled out that way, but I think that’s right. It took us a while to find him, once we started our search. He’s been here about half a year now. I remember he started on April 15th—tax day.”

  “Where did he live?” Mihdí asked.

  “He has an apartment here in Pine Bluff,” answered Schliebaum. “I haven’t been there, but he said it’s just a short walk from here. Some of the folks that helped move him in said the whole place is just wall-to-wall books. That’s a typical rabbi for you, I guess.”

  “Perhaps I’m a rabbi and don’t know it,” Mihdí joked.

  Schliebaum laughed. “I think there’s a bit of rabbi in all of us. Or there should be, anyway.”

  “Did Rabbi Klemme have any special friends in the congregation?” Mihdí inquired. “Either people who knew him from before or people with whom he had a special bond?”

  “He seemed to make friends easily,” Schliebaum replied. “But of course there’s Tammy.”

  “Tammy was a special friend?” Mihdí asked. “Is she a member of the congregation? What is her full name?”

  “Tammy Ornstein,” Schliebaum replied. “Tamar Ornstein, actually. She’s the daughter of a couple that have been members here for a number of years. She lives up in Downers Grove, but she still comes here for services. She and Jacob hit it off immediately and have been going together pretty heavily almost the whole time he’s been here. I think she broke off an engagement with someone else even.”

  “That sounds pretty serious,” Mihdí said. “I’d better talk to her right away.”

  “Here’s a copy of the synagogue directory you can have,” Schliebaum offered as he reached up to a box on a nearby shelf and pulled out a small booklet. “Tammy should be listed in there.”

  “Thank you for that,” Mihdí said.

  “Tammy is probably twenty-five or so,” Schliebaum said. “She was one of a whole group of kids around that age that have grown up together. Several of them still come here. Since Jacob has been here, a few more have started attending regularly again. One or two of them are married, but it seems like they’re mostly single. I’d say that group was Jacob’s main crowd, particularly with his connection to Tammy. In addition to that crowd, Jacob had started an “Introduction to Judaism” class that had a couple of people attending. And there was the daily minyan, which attracts mostly older folks like me. We had a period of eight or nine months when we didn’t have a rabbi here, after Rabbi Horwitz retired. I hadn’t realized how much more vibrant a synagogue is with an energetic rabbi. I guess we have to start that journey all over again now.”

  “Yes, I understand that can be a long, hard process,” Mihdí said.

  “How do you Bahá’ís get new ministers or whatever you have?” Schliebaum asked. “Do you have to do a big search like we do, or does someone just appoint them, like the Methodists do?”

  “There’s no clergy in the Bahá’í Faith,” Mihdí said. “So we avoid the whole ordeal of having to find clergy. But the trade-off is that we all have to share the responsibility for making sure the community stays vibrant.”

  “Interesting,” Schliebaum replied. “I don’t envy you that. In any case, it will take a while for this congregation to recover.”

  “I wish you the best of luck,” Mihdí said. “I believe we’re done here, Mr. Schliebaum. And I think we’ve gotten all the information we can from the crime scene, so I’ll ask to have all traces of our presence removed as soon as possible. Hopefully, you can get back to some degree of normalcy here. I’ll be in touch, though.”

  Mihdí called Tammy Ornstein and arranged to meet her at her home in Downers Grove that afternoon.

  Detective Kurt Childs had already canvassed the neighborhood and asked if anyone had seen anything or knew anything about the murder, but Mihdí wanted to gather a bit of intelligence on his own, and in his own way. There was a coffee shop right next to the synagogue, so he went in and ordered a decaf cappuccino. There were only a few customers at that time of day.

  Mihdí struck up a conversation with the man who had served him, who turned out to be the owner, Ahmad Muhammad. Muhammad was thin but not too tall, and his skin tone was nearly the same light brown as Mihdí’s. He wore a gray t-shirt and jeans, but with a white apron over the ensemble. Mihdí complimented him on the coffee and on the atmosphere of the coffee shop.

  “It was a dream of my father’s to come to America and open such a shop,” the shop owner told him. “But he
died at home in Tunisia before he was able to make it a reality. I did it partly for him.”

  “I believe family is very important in Arab culture,” Mihdí offered.

  “Friendships, alliances—all of these things can pass, but family is a constant.” As Muhammad spoke about family, he drew himself up to his full height.

  Mihdí nodded. “I’m with the police force, a detective. I’m sure someone already asked you whether you saw or heard anything about the murder next door.”

  Ahmad nodded. “I wasn’t here that day; my nephew, Azdeen, was watching the shop. Azdeen couldn’t think of anything unusual from that evening, and I couldn’t think of anything from the day before.”

  “Actually,” Mihdí interrupted, “it appears that the murder took place sometime Tuesday afternoon. The body was discovered not too long after that.”

  Ahmad took that in. “I can ask Azdeen if he saw anything then,” he said, “but I think the police asked him about everything from that entire day. I’ve been keeping my eyes and ears open since then, but I haven’t heard anything out of the ordinary. It’s such a shame. The rabbi was a nice man. He came over here often to get coffee. I make sure to stock several foods that are certified kosher since we’re right next to a synagogue, but the rabbi usually just had coffee. He’d often sit and chat a while, either with me or with some of the regulars. Everybody liked him. I’ll miss him, personally. If I hear anything, I’ll be sure to let you know. “

  “I imagine you told the police where you were on Tuesday afternoon?” Mihdí asked. “I hate to ask, but it’s my job.”

  “Of course,” replied Ahmad. “I was on a buying trip downtown. I gave the contact numbers to the other detectives if you want to follow up.”

  “It’s routine to follow up,” Mihdí informed him. “Detective Childs has probably already done so.”

  “Well, I hope something comes up to help you catch whoever it was. Murdering a nice man like that is a crime against all of us.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Mihdí said. “Keep me in your prayers.”

  “You can count on that, Detective.”

  Mihdí walked past the other businesses on the block, which included a music store and a Christian bookstore, interspersed with a few empty properties, and finally ended up in a Jewish deli at the very end of the block. He ordered dessert and a drink and had just finished paying when he recognized one of the people behind the counter.

  “Harry Katz, you old dog! I didn’t know you worked here.”

  Harry Katz had reached retirement age a while ago, but he wore his years well. His hair showed some gray here and there but was still predominantly black. His complexion was light—almost unhealthy looking—and he had no facial hair. He was rather slight, both short and thin, but seemed to have wiry muscles under his wrinkled skin. He had a small, sparsely decorated black kippah pinned to his hair in the back, and he was wearing a brown plaid flannel shirt, khaki pants, and worn brown loafers.

  Harry ambled out from behind the counter. “I only started working here in January,” he said after they had shaken hands and found a table. “It’s part time, and Neil gives me first pick of hours, so it’s pretty ideal. I’m officially retired, but a man can’t sit at home all day. I’m not sure who would go crazy first, me or Marilyn.”

  “I’m sure Marilyn was overjoyed to have you at home,” Mihdí replied.

  “Oh, she was,” Katz said. “I started to think she had been saving up projects for me since the day we were married. I was working harder at home than I had worked at my job. I was almost ready to start going to the gym or something to get some rest. Luckily, I found this job instead.”

  They both laughed.

  “I’m working on the Klemme case, Harry.”

  “I had heard that. There aren’t too many secrets in a neighborhood like this, although it’s not what it used to be.”

  “How so?” Mihdí asked.

  “This used to be the heart and center of the Jewish community. There was the synagogue, of course; it’s been located here for many years. But most of the shops on this block and many of the surrounding blocks were owned and run by Jews. Much of the community lived within walking distance, and they really did all of their business right here.”

  “When did that change?” Mihdí prompted.

  “It was a gradual thing, I guess. New businesses have encroached a bit on the old residential sections, so some of the community moved out a bit farther. They mostly still came to the synagogue, but they just lived a bit farther away. With fewer Jews in the neighborhood, some of the Jewish businesses weren’t doing quite as well. They moved to strip malls and to other suburbs, where they could afford bigger and nicer places, and tried to appeal to a wider clientele. Suddenly, this community was no longer a Jewish community anymore. There are at least as many Arabs as Jews now, as well as Blacks, and Latinos, and Asians—you name it, we got it. Actually, I say we, but I don’t live in this area, either. Marilyn and I moved over to Lockport, west of you folks.”

  “I remember when you moved up there. Must have been what, three or four years ago?”

  Katz nodded.

  Mihdí continued, “Has there been any trouble between the groups?”

  “Surprisingly, no,” Harry told him. “If the world could get along as well as this neighborhood, we’d be in good shape.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  Mihdí’s cell phone rang, and he excused himself to answer it.

  “I’m sorry, Harry,” Mihdí said when the phone call was concluded. “The police dispatcher says that Enoch’s school called and that they need me to come over there for something or other.”

  “Give your kids a kiss for me, Mihdí. How old are they now?”

  “Enoch is seven, and Lua is five.”

  “Oh, my! Time does fly by, doesn’t it? My Josh turned forty this year, and his kids are both in high school. I thought things would slow down when I got older, but it seems the world is spinning faster and faster. Don’t miss any opportunities to spend time with your kids, Mihdí. All too soon you’ll be wondering where the time went.”

  When Mihdí had finished his conversation with Janice Chernievski at Enoch’s school, he had just enough time to make it to Downers Grove for his appointment with Tammy Ornstein. She came to the door quickly after he rang the bell.

  Tamar Ornstein was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. She was perhaps a bit shorter than average but not slight. Her hair was a dark brown and very curly and thick. Sam Schliebaum had said she was about twenty-five, but Mihdí would have guessed she was a bit older. Her smile was sincere but a bit strained. It was obvious from the redness and puffiness around her eyes that she had been crying.

  After they were both seated in Tammy’s living room, Mihdí said, “I’m very sorry for your loss, Miss Ornstein. I understand you and Rabbi Klemme were close friends.”

  “Yes, we were. I can’t believe Jacob’s really dead.”

  “Do you have someone you can talk to about it at this difficult time?”

  “Thanks, yeah. My parents still live in Pine Bluff, and I have lots of friends I can talk to as well.”

  “May I ask you some questions?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “I don’t know how I can help you, but I’ll be happy to try.”

  “Can you describe Jacob for me a bit?” Mihdí asked. “I need to get a picture of who he was in order to try to find out if there is more to this crime than the obvious.”

  “I’m sorry,” Tammy said. “I don’t really know the details of what happened.”

  “Oh, I apologize, of course you wouldn’t know anything about it. It appears that Rabbi Klemme surprised a vandal in the synagogue sanctuary and was struck in the head. We don’t yet have many more details than that.”

  “That’s horrible,” Tammy said, and began to cry.

  “It’s utterly incomprehensible,” agreed Mihdí. “I’ll never be able to understand how one person could do such a thing to another. Do they
not realize that we’re all God’s perfect creations?”

  Tammy looked at him with some surprise. “Funny to hear that sort of sentiment from a policeman. I’d have thought you’d be, oh, I don’t know, hardened to this sort of thing.”

  “I think too many of us are. I hope I never get so inured to the inhumanity of murder that it doesn’t kick me in the gut at least a little.”

  They sat in silence for a moment before Mihdí said, “Could you tell me a bit about Jacob?”

  Tammy thought for a moment, as if organizing her thoughts. “He was really present. I think that’s the first word I would use to describe him. Wherever he was, whoever he was with, he was always completely there, as if there was nothing else for him to think about in the entire world. It really made me feel special when he spent time with me. But it wasn’t just with me; he was like that for everyone.”

  Mihdí nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “I don’t know what you know about Judaism and rabbis, but they’re not quite the same as Christian ministers. Their primary duty is to study, to be scholars. Because they have studied so much, people come to them for advice and guidance and stuff. But they don’t have any responsibility for other people’s spiritual development or anything. It’s just that they get to be Jewish full-time, so to say, so they’re maybe better at it than the rest of us. But Jacob was really humble about what he knew. He didn’t approach things as if he was the only one who would know the answers and everyone else should just listen. It was more like a collaboration between equals. So I think the older members at Beth Shalom liked the fact that he honored their experience and wisdom. And the younger ones never felt talked down to, so they were very comfortable with him as well.”

  “How did he spend his days?” Mihdí asked.

  “I guess most days he worked in his office a lot of the day,” she answered. “In addition to studying and being a sort of spiritual guide, he was the only full-time employee of the congregation, so he took care of routine office matters, kept files, took care of business—that sort of thing. He also did a lot of reading at the office. Oh, and he prepared his sermons there. I don’t know how long all of that stuff took him each week. Whenever others were around, he dropped everything and was with us—fully present, like I said.”