He looked at her in surprise. “I bend when I have to, and I can. But I’ve got to be careful not to bend so far that I’ll fall over.”
CHAPTER
FIFTY-FIVE
On Sundays the minyan was held at nine instead of seven thirty, as it was on weekday mornings. Although it was a lovely day and he had plenty of time to walk, the rabbi took his car. He did not go directly to the temple, but drove along the shore, stopping once or twice along the way to enjoy the sight of the waves breaking against the rocks and the gulls swooping down low over the water.
The road hugged the shore and then fell away, and he looked ahead and realized that he was approaching Hill-son House. He slowed down as he came abreast of it and for a moment thought of stopping to look around. But he saw a man standing at the window of the adjoining house, talking into a telephone, so he drove on.
He arrived just in time for the service. Sundays always drew a larger crowd, because many fathers who brought their children to the Sunday school attended the minyan for lack of anything better to do while waiting to take them home. Today the short service was followed by a collation, given by one of the regular members in honor of his daughter’s engagement.
They stood around, sipping their tea or coffee, munching cake and cookies, unleavened, of course, in keeping with the Passover regulation, since the holiday began that evening. Arthur Nussbaum was there, still pushing his pet project. “Look, fellows, I tell you it makes no sense to keep all that dough just sitting in a bank–”
“It’s earning interest, isn’t it?”
“So every year costs go up twice as much. Sooner or later, everybody knows we’re going to change those seats. If we had gone ahead when the money was first left to us, we could have done half the sanctuary, right up to the center aisle. This year the money probably wouldn’t cover more than a third.”
“Yeah, fat chance of having some seats of one kind and the rest another. It will look terrible. The women will raise Cain.”
“Let ’em. Don’t you see,” Nussbaum urged, “if they think it looks funny, they’ll work all the harder to get the rest put in.”
“Yeah? Well, if you think there was a stink about permanent seating, just wait till the first third of the sanctuary is fancied up with one kind of seat–”
The rabbi, who was standing nearby, murmured, “So why does it have to be the first third? Why not start replacing the seats from the rear?” He spotted Paff leaving the chapel and excused himself.
Nussbaum overheard the remark and repeated it to the others.
“Is he kidding?”
“That would be even worse. That would guarantee getting everyone sore.”
“Not as sore as our present seats,” said Dr. Edelstein. “You put padded seats in back, and you can put me down for one right now.”
Irving Kallen nodded. “You may have something at that, Doc. For me I don’t care. I’m well-padded, but my old man, I’d bet he’d really appreciate it.”
“When you come down to it,” said Nussbaum slowly, “it’s only fair.”
Brennerman, who was standing by, pursed his lips, then suddenly broke into a delighted roar of laughter. “By God, Nussbaum, you’re right. The rabbi’s come up with the perfect solution!”
They all looked at him.
“Don’t you see it, boys? Front row yicchus, back row tuchus. Suit yourself!” Laughing loudly, he spotted Gorfinkle and hurried over to tell him what had happened.
The rabbi hailed Paff and led him to a side corridor. When they were a safe distance from the others, he said, “I read your statement to the police, Mr. Paff. Judging from the names of those people you listed as partners in your business deal, I suspect you were interested in Hillson House as a possible new temple.”
Paff grinned. “That’s right, Rabbi, but of course, it’s out of the question now. We’re letting the whole matter drop for the time being.” He thought of something. “I was going to tell you, of course, but Becker reported that you weren’t interested anyway.”
“That’s all right,” the rabbi hastened to assure him. “I wasn’t, and I’m not. My reason for questioning you is that I wanted to clarify some things in my own mind with respect to this case. You told the police that you slowed down as you approached Hillson House and then drove on. Is that correct?”
“Yes?”
“You didn’t stop?”
Paff considered. “I may have stopped for a moment.”
“You’re quite sure you didn’t stop for much longer than a moment?”
“What are you getting at, Rabbi?”
“I’m suggesting that you stopped for quite a while, perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes or even longer.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because as it stands your statement doesn’t ring true. I passed Hillson House on my way over to the temple this morning. That’s a straight stretch of road, no turn, nothing blocking your vision. Even in a rainstorm, long before you reached Hillson House by whichever direction you approached, you could see whether someone was waiting there or not. So there was no need for you to slow down. And since you expected to meet someone there, I suggest that you would have waited for fifteen minutes anyway.”
“All right, suppose I did?”
“Then the police might wonder why you didn’t bother to go inside in all that time.”
“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t, Rabbi.”
“Why not?”
His face showed resignation. “I don’t really know. I’ve been by there any number of times, but I guess it was during the daytime, and it always looked bright and cheerful. And this night it was all dark, and it was raining, and I just didn’t like the idea of going in alone.”
“Then why didn’t you tell the police the truth?”
“You know how it is, Rabbi. I heard that Moose had been found in there. Well, he worked for me, and I knew him. If I said I had been waiting around there for half an hour or so, they’d begin to ask me questions: Did I hear anything? Did I see anything? Why didn’t I go in? No, I just didn’t want to get involved.”
“Well, I’d say you were involved now. If I were you, I’d go down to the police and tell them you’d like to change your statement.”
“But that would mean that I was lying, and that would look suspicious.”
“It will look a lot more suspicious when they find out the truth.”
Paff sighed. “I suppose you’re right, Rabbi.”
CHAPTER
FIFTY-SIX
When he arrived home, he found Lanigan waiting for him.
“I thought those morning prayer services of yours only last about half an hour,” the chief of police complained.
“There was a collation afterward,” said the rabbi, “and then I had to perform an errand of mercy; I went to visit the sick. Sorry you had to wait. Is it business or purely social?”
Lanigan grinned. “I guess it’s always a little bit of both when I come visiting. I understand, Rabbi, that there’s a movement afoot to set up a Jenkins Defense Committee. You know anything about it?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Why, do you object to it?”
“Well, of course, every man has a right–yes, I object to it!” said Lanigan. “I know this man Donohue. He’ll stir up a lot of trouble and maybe create an atmosphere in this town that we might be years getting over. And none of it will do Jenkins any good. It will just be a lot of propaganda about social justice and the rights of the underprivileged and Lord knows what all. And it won’t have any bearing on this case, because Jenkins is going to get a fair trial, and it’s got nothing to do with whether he’s black, white, or green with yellow polka dots.”
“I’m not sure. Are you giving him a fair shake? It seems to me that you’ve made up your mind that he’s guilty–”
“I don’t decide whether he’s guilty or not. That’s up to a judge and jury. But naturally I have an opinion. I’ve dealt fairly with him throughout. You were present when I questioned him. Di
d I browbeat him? I practically begged him to get a lawyer. He didn’t want one.”
“But when he told his story, didn’t you automatically assume those parts that indicated he was guilty were true and those that suggested he might be innocent a pack of lies?”
“You’ve always got to choose from the available material what you’ll believe and what you won’t. You know that. Take Jenkins’ statement that there was somebody parked right across the street for about twenty minutes–”
“That’s true.”
“How do you mean?”
The rabbi told of his conversation with Paff.
Lanigan strode around the room as he thought aloud. “That means Paff might have seen Jenkins enter the house and waited there to see what would happen. When Jenkins doesn’t come out, he rides off? So that leaves him on the scene with transportation to return and no real alibi–” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I don’t believe it, Rabbi. You wouldn’t throw a member of your congregation to the wolves just like that. You must have something else in mind.”
“I’m merely suggesting that there are other possibilities. You yourself suggested Gorfinkle and Jacobs. The point is that Jenkins is not the only one whose actions are suspect; besides, your case against him is full of holes.”
“Like what?”
“How about the death of that man in Boston? How does Jenkins fit into that?”
“I don’t say he had anything to do with that. His death and the connection with Moose–that’s pure coincidence.”
“Coincidences happen, but not often. But the big objection to your case against Jenkins is that the next door neighbor, this–”
“Mr. Begg?”
“Yes, Mr. Begg. He saw a light. That’s what led him to call the police.”
Lanigan looked puzzled for a moment, and then his face cleared. “Oh, I see what you’re getting at–that someone came to the house after Jenkins left, that he put on the light, and that he presumably killed Moose–maybe your Mr. Paff. It’s a good effort, Rabbi, but here’s where I demolish it. Jenkins said that he drew the shades and the drapes before he put on a light. Right?”
“Right.”
“And there was no reason for him to lie about something like that.”
“Agreed.”
“So if someone, Paff or a mysterious stranger, had put on a light, it would not have shown.”
“Precisely. Then how could Begg have seen a light?”
“Huh?”
“The youngsters were all agreed that they did not put on a light. Jenkins used a flashlight but only after he had drawn the drapes–”
“Then how could Begg have seen a light in the house?”
“That was my question,” said the rabbi pointedly. “But I can suggest an answer. The only way he could have seen a light with all the windows blocked off was by having himself been in the house and put them on.”
“You saying–”
“I am saying that he entered the house after Jenkins left. Since as the caretaker he must have had a key, the locked door presented no problem. He snapped on the light on entering and then went through each of the rooms. I’m suggesting that he put the plastic sheet over the boy’s head, and then, leaving the lights on as an excuse to call the police, he hurried back to his own house, where there was a phone.”
“And forgot to close the front door?”
“No, left it ajar purposely, I imagine, either on the chance of the cruising car spotting it–in which case, he would not be involved even as informer–or perhaps so as not to raise any immediate question of how the murderer had got in.”
Lanigan massaged his square chin with a big red hand as he checked back over the rabbi’s reasoning. Then he grinned. “You had me going there for a minute, Rabbi. It all sounds plausible except”–he held up an admonishing forefinger–“that he called from his own house. On the way back, he would have noticed that there was no light coming through the windows of Hillson House, because the blinds were drawn.”
The rabbi nodded. “Yes, and the phone is in a room which overlooks Hillson House. I drove by this morning and saw him at the window, phone in hand. So standing there, talking to the police, he’d certainly notice that there was no light coming from the windows of Hillson House. And the explanation is that there is where a real coincidence occurred.”
“What coincidence?”
“That while he was still inside Hillson House, or just as he left, all the lights in that part of town went out.”
“You mean the transformer blowing?”
“M-hm. That was the only coincidence.”
“How about his happening to go over there?”
“That was no coincidence. He went right after Jenkins left because Jenkins left. I mean he may have seen Jenkins leave or heard him starting up his motorcycle, right next door so to speak, so he hurried over to investigate. It looked all right; the door was locked and it was dark. But, of course, he had to make sure. He had a key and went in. Naturally, he put on the lights. Maybe he listened for a moment or called out. Then he went for a look around and found Moose. Since he wanted the body found immediately, that very night–”
“Why did it have to be that night?”
“Because if he waited a day or two, he himself would have to find the body–he was the caretaker. This way, it would be the police who would find the body, and if they came that night, they would see fresh evidence of someone having been there–cigarette butts, beer cans.”
Lanigan smiled. “Nice work, Rabbi. I’ll add Begg to my list of Jenkins, Paff, Carter, and seven assorted kids. While chewing the fat with Eban Jennings, my lieutenant, I made as good a case against each of those others. But, of course, they all have flaws. For instance, Begg couldn’t have known that Moose was in Hillson House, now could he?”
The rabbi shook his head.
“So if he had some reason for killing Moose, which you haven’t bothered to mention, by the way, how would he have known to go in there? The normal thing, if he thought someone had broken into the place, was to call the police and ask them to check.”
“I suppose because he had to go there. Before calling the police, he had to make sure that nothing had been taken.”
“Like what?”
“Like marihuana. He’d be more likely to cache it there than keep it in his own house.”
“But Mr. Begg? A pusher? Oh, that’s impossible, Rabbi.” His face showed utter incredulity. “He’s an old-time resident of the town, a crusty Yankee.”
The rabbi’s grin was derisive. “And former teacher and former selectman who couldn’t do anything wrong. It must be an outsider, a stranger.”
“All right, I suppose I deserve that,” said Lanigan, “but what I really meant is that–that he’s a cantankerous sort of man who’s always in our hair. If he were engaged in something like pot peddling, he wouldn’t be calling attention to himself.”
The rabbi shrugged off the argument. “Protective coloration. It evidently worked better than to try to be unobtrusive, especially in a small town like this. He always had the reputation of being a crank, so he went on being one when he began selling this stuff. It was safer than suddenly changing his image.”
Lanigan was silent, then he said quietly, “What made you think of him? Did you work this out by this Talmudic pil–whatever it is?”
“Pilpul? Not at all. I thought of Begg because he was the most obvious suspect. You would have seen it, too, if you weren’t conditioned to focus first and foremost on the outsider, the stranger, Alan Jenkins, who was not only from outside the town, but also colored.”
“But Begg is a kind of outsider. He’s a kind of recluse and a nut”
“Not at all. He’s eccentric but well within the acceptable. He’s even traditional–the hard-headed, cantankerous Yankee who sticks up for his rights.”
“But what did he do that made you suspect him?”
“For one thing, he runs a place where youngsters hang out. He sells soda and some school suppl
ies and lets them play the pinball machines. You’ve seen the place. What is there in that that makes it possible for him to even pay the rent? For another, Moose came from his house. He had to, because the tide was in and he couldn’t have come from farther along the beach. And then when the youngsters were breaking into the house and they were worried that they might be seen by someone next door, remember it was Moose who assured them that Begg wouldn’t bother them. Begg, a known crank and buttinsky. How could he possibly know that? Only if he knew Begg was going to leave. They probably left at the same time. And finally, I began thinking of Begg because it seemed odd that he should call to report he had seen a light. Unless he were a timid man, I would have assumed that he would first have investigated himself or at least reconnoitered.”
“Then, according to you, there’s a cache of marihuana in Hillson House.”
The rabbi shook his head. “There was. I assume he removed it before calling the police. That’s why he had to go there. And by this time, he wouldn’t have it in his own house either.”
“You realize, of course,” said Lanigan, “that there isn’t a particle of evidence against him. If we find his fingerprints in Hillson House, he says he’s been there many times as caretaker.”
“You might ask him about seeing the light.”
Once again Lanigan got up to stride around the room. “That’s not evidence. He has only to insist that he either saw it or thought he saw it. No jury would convict a man for saying he saw a light that he couldn’t have seen. They’d assume a natural mistake, the headlight of a car, the reflection of a streetlamp. No, it’s a pity we can’t introduce this pilpul of yours as legal evidence.”
“We could try.”
Lanigan hitched his chair up and said eagerly, “For instance?”
“Well, this man in Boston who was murdered the same day. We might think about him for a while to good effect.”
“Wilcox?”
“Yes, Wilcox. We know Moose went to see him because of the two twenty-dollar bills.”
“And the marihuana.”
“Marihuana he could have got from any number of sources, but two twenty-dollar bills whose serial numbers ran consecutive with those Wilcox had–those could have come only from Wilcox.”
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