Friday the Rabbi Slept Late (14 page)

“If I did, I don’t think my cigarette would be lipstick-stained.”

“Then that’s about it. We’re keeping these things for a while.”

“Take all the time you need. How is the investigation going?”

“Well, we know quite a bit more than we did when I saw you yesterday. The medical examiner found no signs that she had been sexually attacked, but he did come up with one curious finding: the girl was pregnant.”

“Could she have been married?”

“We don’t even know that for sure. We found no marriage certificate among her effects at home, but in her purse, the one we found in your car, there was a wedding ring. Mrs. Serafino assumed that she was single, but if the girl had been secretly married, she never would have confided in her employer because it might have meant her job.”

“Then that could account for her having the ring in her handbag instead of on her finger,” suggested the rabbi. “She would wear it while she was with her husband and then take it off before coming home.”

“That’s a possibility.”

“And have you arrived at any theory as to how the girl’s handbag got in my car?”

“It could have been put there by the murderer deliberately to cast suspicion on you. Do you know anyone who might want to do that to you, rabbi?”

The rabbi shook his head. “There are a number of people in my congregation who don’t care for me, but none who dislike me so much they would want to see me mixed up in this sort of thing. And I know almost no one here outside of the members of my congregation.”

“No, it doesn’t seem too likely, does it? But if someone didn’t put it there, it can only mean the girl was in your car at some time. Then for some reason – perhaps the murderer had noticed the light in your study – she was transferred to where we found her.”

“I suppose so.”

Lanigan grinned. “There is another theory, rabbi, which we’re duty-bound to consider because it fits the facts as we know them.”

“I think I know. It is that when Stanley came to tell me my books had arrived I used that as an excuse to get out of the house in order to meet this girl. We had been having an affair and our meeting place was my study. I waited for her until I got tired or decided she was not going to appear, but she turned up just as the study door locked behind me. So we sat in my car and it was there she told me she was pregnant and that she expected me to divorce my wife and marry her to give her baby a name. So I strangled her and carried her body over to the grass plot beyond the wall. Then I coolly strolled home.”

“It does sound silly, rabbi, but it’s also possible as far as time and place are concerned. If I were asked to make book on it, I’d put it at a million to one. Nevertheless, if you told me you were planning a long trip someplace I’d have to tell you I’d rather you didn’t.”

“I understand,” said the rabbi.

Lanigan opened the door to leave, then stopped. “Oh, there’s another thing, rabbi. Patrolman Norman has no recollection of meeting you or anyone else that night.” He grinned at the look of astonishment on the rabbi’s face.

Elspeth Bleech’s picture appeared in the Saturday papers, and by six that evening Hugh Lanigan was getting results. Nor was he altogether surprised. The girl had left the Serafino household early in the afternoon and had been gone all day. Surely a number of people must have seen her. Some would call almost immediately, but some might want to think over getting involved with the police.

The first call was from a doctor in Lynn who said he believed he had seen the young woman in question Thursday afternoon under the name of Mrs. Elizabeth Brown. She had given an address and telephone number. The street was the Serafinos’. but the house number was reversed. The telephone number was that of the Hoskins.

The doctor reported that he had examined her and found her in excellent health and in the first stages of pregnancy. Had she appeared upset or nervous? No more than many of his patients in similar circumstances. Many were delighted when they discovered they were pregnant, but there were also any number who found the news upsetting, even though they were legitimately married.

Had she mentioned her plans for the rest of the afternoon or evening? He was sure she had not. Perhaps she had spoken to his secretary, who had now already left for the day. If the police thought it important he would get in touch with her and inquire. They did, and he said he would.

Almost immediately there came another call, this time from the secretary, who had seen the girl’s picture in the paper and was sure she had been in the office Thursday afternoon. No, she had noticed nothing unusual. No, the girl had not mentioned what her plans were for the afternoon or evening. Oh yes, just before leaving, she had asked where she could make a call. The secretary had offered the office phone, but she preferred the privacy of a pay station.

Then came a rash of telephone calls from people who were sure they had seen her, some in stores in Lynn, where she could have been, and others from nearby towns, where the likelihood was less. A gasoline station attendant called in to say she had been on the back seat of a motorcycle that had stopped for directions. There was even a call from an operator of an amusement park in New Hampshire who insisted the girl had been there around three o’clock to ask for a job in one of the concessions.

Lanigan remained at his desk until seven and then went home for his dinner, leaving strict orders that any call concerning Elspeth Bleech should be transferred to him at home. Fortunately, none came in and he was able to eat in peace. He had no sooner finished, however, than his doorbell rang; he opened the door to Mrs. Agnes Gresham, who owned and operated the Surfside Restaurant.

Mrs. Gresham was a fine-looking woman of sixty with beautifully coiffed snow-white hair. She carried herself with the dignity becoming to one of the town’s leading business-women.

“I called the police station and they told me you had gone home, Hugh.” Her tone carried a faint air of disapproval.

“Come right in, Aggie. Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

“This is business,” she said.

“There’s no law that says we can’t be comfortable while talking business. Can I fix you a drink?”

This time she refused more graciously, and took the seat he indicated.

“Okay, Aggie, is it my business or your business?”

“It’s your business, Hugh Lanigan. That girl whose picture was in the paper – she was in my restaurant Having dinner Thursday night.”

“Around what time?”

“From before half-past seven when I took over the cashier’s cage so that Mary Trumbull could get her dinner, to around eight o’clock.”

“This for sure, Aggie?”

“I am quite sure. I took particular notice of the girl.”

“Why?”

“Because of the man she was with.”

“Oh? Can you describe him?”

“He was about forty years old, dark, good-looking. When they finished eating, they left the restaurant and got into a big blue Lincoln that was parked in front of the door.”

“What made you pay such particular attention to him? Were they arguing or quarreling?”

She shook her head impatiently. “I noticed them because I knew him.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know his name, but I know where he works. I bought my car at the Becker Ford Agency and I saw him there once behind a desk when I went there on business.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Aggie, and I appreciate it.”

“I do my duty.”

“I’m sure you do.”

As soon as she was gone, he telephoned the Becker home.

“Mr. Becker is not in. This is Mrs. Becker. Can I help you?”

“Perhaps you can, Mrs. Becker.” Lanigan introduced himself. “Can you tell me the name of the person in your husband’s employ who drives a blue Lincoln?”

“Well, my husband drives a black Lincoln.”

“No, this is blue.”

“Oh, you must mean my husband’s partner, Melvin Bronstein. He has a blue Lincoln. Is anything wrong?”

“No, nothing at all, ma’am.”

Then he called Lieutenant Jennings. “Any luck at the Serafinos’?”

“Not much, but I did get something. The Simpsons across the way saw a car parked in front of the Serafino house very late Thursday night, midnight or even later.”

“A blue Lincoln?”

“How’d you know?”

“Never mind, Eban. Meet me at the station right away. We’ve got work to do.”

Eban Jennings was already there when he arrived. Hugh filled him in on what Aggie Gresham had said. “Now Eban, I want a picture of this Melvin Bronstein. Go down to the offices of the Lynn Examiner.”

“What makes you so sure they’ll have one?”

“Because this Bronstein lives in Grove Point and owns a car agency. That makes him important, and anyone who’s important gets put on a committee of some kind or is made an officer of some organization, and the first thing they do is have their picture taken and printed in the Examiner. Look through everything they have on him and get a nice clear picture that shows his features plainly and have about half a dozen of them printed up.”

“We going to give these to the papers?”

“No. As soon as you have the prints, you and maybe Smith and Henderson – I’ll look through the roster and line up a couple or three men – will drive along Routes 14, 69, and 119. You’ll stop at every motel and show Bronstein’s picture, and see if he’s stayed there any time in the last few months. You can’t go by their registers because chances are that he didn’t sign under his right name.”

“I don’t get it.”

“What don’t you get? If you had a girl you wanted to shack up with, where would you take her?”

“Up in back of Chisholm’s barn.”

“Tcha. You’d drive up country and stop at a motel. That girl was pregnant. She may have got that way in the back seat of a car, but she also may have got that way in some motel not too far from here.”

Sunday morning was bright and sunny; the sky was cloudless and there was a gentle breeze off the water. It was perfect weather for golf, and as the board of directors of the temple dribbled in to the meeting room their clothes indicated that many of them would be off to the links the moment the meeting was adjourned.

Jacob Wasserman watched them come in by twos and threes and knew he was beaten. He knew it by the number who finally appeared, almost the full complement of forty-five. He knew it by the friendly way they greeted Al Becker and the way he was avoided by the few who had told him they were still undecided. He knew it by a sudden realization that the great majority were all the same type: sleek, successful professional men and businessmen who belonged to the temple primarily as a social obligation, who were used to and expected the best of everything, who could be expected to have the same attitude toward a casual, unfashionable rabbi as they might toward an inefficient junior executive in their employ. He saw all this in their ill-concealed impatience to get on with the unpleasant business at hand and go about their pleasures, and he blamed himself for having permitted so many men like this to be nominated for the board. He had yielded to the needs of the building committee, who had recommended each candidate on the grounds that he was doing all right for himself. “If we put him on the board, there’s a good chance he’ll kick in with a sizable contribution.”

He called the meeting to order, and proceeded through the reading of minutes and the reports of committees. There was an audible sigh when Wasserman completed Old Business and began to explain the issues involved in the rabbi’s contract. “Before I call for discussion,” he concluded, “I should like to point out that Rabbi Small is willing to remain, although I imagine he could probably better himself by going elsewhere.” (He knew no such thing, of course.) “I have been in closer touch with the rabbi than has anyone else in the congregation. That is only natural in my capacity as chairman of the ritual committee. I would like to say at this point that I am more than satisfied with the way he has carried on his duties.

“Most of you see the rabbi only in his public capacity, when he is conducting services on the holidays, or when he is addressing a meeting. But there is a great deal of work of a more private nature that is part of his job. Take weddings for example. One of the marriages this year involved a girl who was not Jewish. There were lengthy discussions with both sets of parents, and when the girl decided to accept Judaism the rabbi gave her a course of instruction in our religion. He meets with every one of the Bar Mitzvah boys individually. As chairman of the ritual committee, I can tell you that we go over every service together. He is m constant touch with the principal of the religious school. And then there are dozens – dozens? hundreds – of calls from outsiders, both from Jews and from Gentiles, from individuals and from organizations, some having nothing to do with the temple, all with questions, requests, plans, that have to be considered and discussed. I could go on all morning, but then you would never get to the golf course.”

There was appreciative laughter.

“To most of you,” he went on seriously, “these and countless other phases of the rabbi’s work are unknown. But they are known to me. And I want to say that the rabbi has done his work even better than I had hoped when we first hired him.”

Al Becker raised his hand and was recognized. “I’m not so sure that I care for the idea of the rabbi we employ and whose salary we pay, busying himself with matters that have no connection with this temple. But maybe our good president is stretching things a little.” He leaned forward, and supporting himself on the table with his two clenched fists, looked around at each of the members and went on in a loud voice. “Now, there is no one here who has a greater respect for our president, Jake Wasserman, than I have. I respect him as a man, and I respect the work he has done for the temple. I respect his integrity and I respect his judgment. Normally, if he said to me, this fellow is a good man, I’d be willing to gamble that he was. And when he says that the rabbi is a good man, I’m sure he is.” His jaw protruded aggressively. “But I say he is not a good man for this particular job. He may be an excellent rabbi, but not for this congregation. I understand he’s a fine scholar, but right now that’s not what we need. We are part of a community. In the eyes of our non-Jewish neighbors and friends we are one religious organization of the several in the community. We need someone who will represent us properly to our Gentile neighbors and friends. We need someone who can make an impressive appearance on a public platform, who can carry on the public relations job that the position requires. The headmaster of the high school confided in me that next year he plans to offer the honor of making the graduation address to the spiritual leader of our temple. Frankly, friends, the sight of our present rabbi up on the stage in baggy pants and unpressed jacket, his hair uncombed, his tie twisted, speaking as he usually does with little stories from the Talmud and his usual hair-splitting logic – well, frankly, I would be embarrassed.”