Someday the Rabbi Will Leave

by Harry Kemelman

  “He notices that his headlights had blinded D’Angelo. Maybe he threw his hand up against the glare, and it suddenly occurred to Scofield that if he rammed him, he would be free of him and not have to pay. So he pressed down on the accelerator.”

  “But, still, it could have been an accident.”

  “Of course, but he’d have a hard time proving it when he had made an appointment with him. My guess is that he didn’t even stop to see how badly he had hurt him. It would be dangerous because if the man was conscious, he would recognize him—”

  “But in any case, he’d know it was Scofield who had hit him.” Lanigan objected.

  “How would he know? How could he see the car with those headlights glaring at him out of the darkness?”

  “Yeah, I suppose not.”

  “But—but if Scofield knew who it was, and was there to meet him, isn’t that murder?” Miriam ventured timidly.

  “Second degree, anyway,” said Lanigan. “I don’t know if we can prove it. And I’m sure the defense attorneys will try to get some of our evidence thrown out on the basis of the Miranda ruling, but I expect the D.A. will consider it a strong case.” He rose to go and said, “You know, David, I’ll be sorry when the new man comes to replace you and you leave town.”

  “Thanks. It’s good of you to say so, but I think I might be staying on for a while.”

  “You mean because of this?”

  “That’s right.”

  “This man, Magnuson, was somehow involved with Scofield?”

  “He wanted me to officiate at his daughter’s marriage to him. That was what all the fuss was about.”

  “And you people don’t sanction marriage outside your faith any more than we do. Although we’ve loosened up a bit in recent years.”

  “Well, we haven’t.”

  “And that’s what it’s all about, eh?” He shook his head admiringly and said, “All I can say is you’re a lucky guy.”

  The rabbi smiled. “Well, we believe in luck.”

  “I guess everybody does, don’t they?”

  “No, it’s different with us. We believe in luck, good and bad, as a matter of practical philosophy. You might even say, it’s a matter of religion with us.”

  “Is that so? How do you mean?”

  “Well, when a person is sick or poor, or miserable, we don’t assume that he is wicked and a sinner. We just consider him unlucky.”

  “Well, of course, but—”

  “I can turn on the TV any Sunday morning, and other times as well, and hear a preacher say that if you repent of your sins and give your heart to Jesus, you will be relieved of your sickness and your misery. And usually there are testimonials to that effect, people telling of terrible ailments that they were cured of through prayer, or how giving their hearts to Jesus made them prosperous. The implication is, of course, that disease and misery in general are the result of sin or lack of faith.”

  “Ah, those are the evangelical sects,” said Lanigan with a wave of the hand, dismissing them.

  “Yes, but the Catholic Church has ventured into that area lately, too. How about the various saints to whom you can pray to intercede for you. Presumably, the act of prayer, with the repentance that’s implied, removes the sin which is the cause of the condition. The basic difference between the Catholic Church and the Protestant evangelical churches in that respect would seem to be that in the Catholic Church, the work is largely delegated to the saints. I suppose it’s logical in the light of the elaborate bookkeeping system involved in balancing sin and grace to determine one’s eventual destination—heaven, hell, or purgatory. We don’t believe in any of that, so we can be realistic.”

  “Well, what if you had been fired?” suggested Lanigan.

  “Then it would be because I was unlucky. Not that I had sinned, or was even wrong. Just unlucky.”

  Lanigan smiled broadly. “Well, I’m glad you were lucky,” He chuckled. “They say it rubs off.”

  46

  Laura put down the receiver and said in bewilderment, “They’ve arrested him. They arrested Jack.”

  “Who arrested him? What are you talking about?” her father demanded. “Who were you talking to?”

  “I called Jack’s office and I spoke to the girl there. She said he’d called to say he’d been arrested and he wanted J. J. Mulcahey—he’s the sort of senior lawyer there—to come and see him at the Barnard’s Crossing Police Station. Mulcahey hadn’t got in yet, but it sounded urgent, so she called him at home, and he said he’d go right over. He hasn’t got to the office yet, and here it is almost eleven.”

  “Did she say why he’d been arrested?”

  “She didn’t know. Oh, I’ve got to go down there right away.”

  “No, Laura. I’ll go. I can get more out of the police than you can.”

  “Why?” She was suspicious of her father. She felt he had no great enthusiasm for Scofield.

  “Because I make a sizable contribution to the Policemen’s Association every year.”

  “When would you go?” she asked, still suspicious.

  “I’ll leave right now. And I’ll come right back as soon as I find out anything.”

  At the station house, Magnuson had no difficulty in seeing Lanigan. In fact, he was at the front desk talking to the sergeant. When he saw Magnuson enter, he said, “Hello, Mr. Magnuson. What brings you down here?”

  “You know me?” asked Magnuson, surprised and a little flattered. “Can I talk to you—er—”

  “Sure, let’s go into my office, we can talk there. Coffee?”

  “Er—no thanks.” When they were seated, he said, “Look here, I’d like to know what you’ve got on Jack Scofield.”

  Lanigan spread his hands and shrugged. “That’s in the hands of the D.A.”

  “I’m not asking just out of curiosity. My daughter is involved with this man.”

  “Yes, I know. She managed his campaign.”

  “It’s more than that. She’s almost engaged to him. Now, if you arrested him because of violation of some minor regulation, something that he did or didn’t do, maybe in connection with the campaign, that’s one thing. But if it’s something serious, something reprehensible, then I’ve got to know that for Laura—for my daughter’s sake. I assume it will be on the radio or in the newspapers before the day is over, so why not give me that much of a head start? I may even be able to help you.”

  Lanigan pursed his lips and then nodded. “All right. There was a hit-and-run on Glen Lane a little while back, and the victim was killed. Scofield was the driver. Is that serious?”

  Magnuson nodded. It was a terrible thing not to stop after an accident, to see how badly the victim was hurt and go for aid. On the other hand, he could also understand Scofield’s panicking, considering all he had at stake. “Is that it?” he asked.

  “There’s more. In order to misdirect the police, he broke a headlight on a parked car and brought back the bits of glass and scattered them near the body. Now, that might qualify as reprehensible, I think.”

  “You know for a fact that he did that?”

  “Uh-huh. You see, he gathered up the glass in an old towel that he kept in the trunk of his car. Some fragments adhered to the towel. And they match up perfectly with the glass near the body.”

  “This parked car, it belonged to someone he had a grudge against?”

  “No, it’s just that it was there, available, you might say.”

  “I see. So that’s it. A hit-and-run, and then misdirecting the police.”

  “That’s all we can prove at the moment. But we have reason to believe that Scofield knew the man he killed, that he drove there to meet him, and that it was no accident, that he did it on purpose.”

  “You mean—”

  “M-hm. We think the victim perpetrated some kind of dirty political trick for him, that he had arranged to meet him in Glen Lane to pay him off.”

  “But that’s murder.”

  “That’s the way it looks to us.”


  Magnuson nodded. “I see.” He thought about Laura, and how she would take the news. She was a sensible girl, but if she loved the man, she might feel that she had to be loyal to him. She might be able to rationalize the hit-and-run on the grounds that he was weak and had panicked. Maybe even the business of misdirecting the police. But murder? He was sure she could not accept that. Still … He came to a decision.

  “When Laura told me she was interested in Scofield, I checked his bank account,” he said quietly. “I’m a director of the main bank in Boston. One day right after the election, Scofield withdrew three thousand dollars in cash, half his total capital.”

  “Is that so?”

  “And redeposited it the next day.”

  “Very interesting. We’ll subpoena the records and check it out. Thank you very much, Mr. Magnuson.”

  Telling Laura was not as hard as he thought it would be. At first, she was aghast, and then weepy, whether for Scofield or for herself, he could not be sure.

  “I’m responsible,” she insisted. “Maybe if I hadn’t encouraged him to win … If I hadn’t pushed him … I thought he didn’t have enough drive, but I thought the two of us would make a first-rate team. You see, he’s weak …”

  “Well, you know weak people aren’t just weak in one thing; they’re usually weak in everything.”

  “I’ve got to see him.”

  “No, Laura. That’s one thing you mustn’t do. I don’t want you to get within a mile of him. As far as we’re concerned, he’s poison.”

  “But I’ve got to. Even if it’s just—There are things to be done in connection with the campaign—bills to pay, letters to answer—”

  “I don’t want you to have anything to do with them. It could be dangerous for you. I’ll get Morris Halperin to handle it. He’ll get in touch with this Mulcahey who’s acting for Scofield, and between the two of them, they’ll work out what has to be done.”

  “Oh, Dad, it’s like rats deserting a sinking ship.”

  “No, Laura. It’s more like taking care to walk around a mud puddle.”

  “But what will I do all the time that he’s—”

  “I suggest you go to Paris with your mother. And I might come, too. It’s been some time since I’ve seen my brother.”

  47

  “Look, kiddo,” said Mulcahey, “If you want another lawyer, it’s okay with me. But if you want me, then you’ve got to give me all of it.”

  “I’d like you to handle it, but—”

  “Look, kid, I’ve defended in cases of rape, murder, even incest. I don’t sit in judgment. Talking to me is like talking to a tape recorder, no matter what you did. All I’m interested in is what I have to play up and what I have to play down to get an acquittal. But I can’t stand surprises in court. So either give it all to me or get yourself another lawyer.”

  “Sure, J.J., I understand. See, the campaign wasn’t going so good, and I didn’t think I had a chance. I was running up a lot of bills, and I wasn’t getting any of that free advertising you spoke about. At least, it wasn’t bringing in any business. Then this guy came to see me.”

  “D’Angelo?”

  “Yeah. He seemed to know his way around. He talked as if he knew all the big shots in Boston. And he said they had their eye on me because I was a new figure while Baggio and Cash were just ordinary pols. We talked about the campaign, and he said Baggio was the man I had to beat, that I didn’t have to worry about Cash because he couldn’t win. They wouldn’t let him. Then he told me he had a way for me to beat Baggio, but it would cost me a little money.

  “I asked him how much money and he said a couple of thousand. I told him I didn’t have that kind of dough, and he explained I wouldn’t have to pay it all at once, that I could give him a couple of hundred now and the rest after the election. But I figured I’d still be paying out money for nothing if I lost, and it would just add to all the bills I was going to have to pay. Anyway, we finally agreed I’d give him a couple of hundred for expenses, and then if I won the nomination I’d give him three thousand. And if I lost I wouldn’t owe him anything. That seemed like a good bet. I got the feeling that he could deliver.”

  “What were you getting for your money?”

  “He had this picture, a snapshot, of a bunch of gangsters in tuxedos. And right there with them was Baggio. He was going to get out like a leaflet, naming each of these guys and what they were charged with, and underneath he’d have in big print, ‘Is this the sort of company you want your senator to keep?’ You understand, he wouldn’t get out the leaflet personally. It would be like from a special association, The Committee of Concerned Citizens.”

  “Ah, so he was the committee. But then you repudiated it just before the election.”

  “Yeah, Laura insisted. She thought it was a dirty trick. I guess it was at that, but you know it’s like they say, all’s fair—”

  “All’s fair in love and war is the way that reads. These days that doesn’t include politics,” said Mulcahey.

  “Yeah, well, you could say it was for love because by that time I was pretty hung up on Laura and I got the feeling that if I lost I didn’t have a chance with her.”

  “All right, but it wasn’t very smart of you.”

  “It won me the nomination,” said Scofield.

  “Maybe. But if it ever got out, you’d be poison for the rest of your life. You’re not supposed to play dirty tricks on the members of your own party. If you win the nomination, you count on them to help you win the election. You work dirty tricks only on the other party. All right, so then what happened? He called you and asked you to pay up?”

  “Not right away. It wasn’t quite clear whether I was to pay him after the nomination or after the final election. But Baggio was good and sore about it, because you see that wasn’t his picture actually. It was somebody else. He’d never been at the party where this picture was supposed to have been taken, and he could prove it. He was out of the state at the time. He complained to the Election Commission, and I guess he had some friends there because they got onto it right away.”

  “He’s got a brother-in-law on the commission.”

  “Oh yeah? That accounts for it. Then I got a call from D’Angelo. He said that the detectives from the commission were nosing around among printers and he was afraid that sooner or later they’d get to him. He thought he ought to go away for a while, maybe until after the election when he figured it would all blow over. Naturally I agreed. He said he was planning to leave the next morning early, but he needed going-away money. That’s what he called it. He wanted me to get the money and come over to the office or to my apartment to collect it that day. Well, under the circumstances I naturally didn’t want to be seen with him, so I said I’d meet him someplace, and I suggested Glen Lane. He was to get there around ten and wait because I was due over at Laura’s house for dinner—I’d been eating there practically every night—and I didn’t know how soon I could get away.

  “You see, I was a little bothered because I had given him a check for the two hundred, not him, you understand, but the committee—”

  “Your own check, or one from your campaign fund?”

  “I couldn’t give him one from the campaign fund because Laura checked the statement, and I didn’t want her to know. But when my own statement came from the bank, he hadn’t cashed it yet, so I was a little worried. See, what with finding out that the picture was a fake and the investigation by the Election Commission, I was beginning to think I’d got myself into something of a mess. So, naturally I was pleased that he was going to get out of town. I went down to the bank and withdrew three thousand dollars in cash. When I went to Laura’s that night, I told them that I’d have to leave early. Usually I stayed until about eleven, but I managed to get away just after ten.

  “As I drove out to Glen Lane, I began thinking about my situation, thinking all kinds of things. Maybe he’d have a photographer there who would snap a picture of me just as I was passing money. Because now that I knew t
he kind of guy he was, I figured there was no telling what he could arrange.”

  “I understand.”

  “So I got to Glen from the Salem end, and I was going pretty slow because I didn’t want to miss him. And then I see his car in this little clearing, and at the same time I see him up ahead in the middle of the road, on foot. Then I don’t know what happened. It crossed my mind that even after paying him, he’d still have a hold on me even after the election because of that check I gave him. Anyway, I stepped on the gas—”

  “And you rammed him. So then what did you do? Did you stop?”

  “I must have. At least, I’m sure I slowed down, because I looked back and saw him lying there in the road face down. I was going to report it to the police. I really was. I mean, report it as an accident. I could say that he came out of the woods suddenly and that I hadn’t seen him. But you know how the police are about motor accidents. You can imagine what effect that would have on the election. And if I lost the election, then I’d lose Laura, and—everything. So I thought I’d just stop off and make an anonymous phone call. That would take care of D’Angelo, and I wouldn’t get hurt. Because after all, he was blackmailing me. I stopped at the foot of the hill, just where Glen Lane turns into Maple Street to check my car—”

  “Check it for what?”

  “Well, did you see that movie on TV where the medical examiner cracked a hit-and-run case by a chemical analysis of some little paint chips found at the scene? He was able to prove that they came from the car that did it. So I wanted to see if any of the paint had chipped off my fender, and if it was dented.”

  “And?”

  Scofield shook his head sorrowfully. “I couldn’t tell. See, the fender had rusted some and I couldn’t tell. But I have this pink car, and it’s the only one in town so far as I know, and I was worried. And then I noticed a car parked just a little beyond. I thought maybe I could get the police to look in another direction. Well, all the houses were dark, so I thought I’d take a chance. I got a wrench out of the car and an old towel that I leave in the trunk. I sort of wrapped the towel around the headlight and then whacked it with the wrench. Then I kind of gathered up the glass that had fallen into the towel and brought it back to my car. Then I turned around and drove back to where—to where he was lying and dropped the glass on the road. And then I went home.”