Someday the Rabbi Will Leave (25 page)

“So he gets sore and—”

Lanigan nodded. “And decides to take revenge. He breaks Kramer's headlight because in the state he's in, he thinks of him as having stolen his girl. So he turns around and drives back to the scene of the accident and drops the broken glass there. The next day, he's lucky enough to be in a position to tell Billy Dunstable where the car is.”

“Of course, you don't have the slightest proof, Hugh.”

“No, I don't. But I've got a good story, and if I piece it out, and then call in Tom Blakely and spring it on him, it might work. There are a lot of angles we can work on. We can take a look at his car. It might have a dented fender. He'd say it's an old dent, but maybe Glossop would remember that it wasn't. The chances are that he washed his car the next day, and maybe Glossop would remember that.”

“He wouldn't remember that. They must wash lots of cars in that garage. At least, they have one of those machines that steam cleans your engine, so the chances are they wash and wax, too.”

“He might remember it if it were unusual. Then I could talk to this Aggie Desmond and find out just when Blakely came calling that night. I intend to talk to the Kimball girl again. I'd like to know what time she went to bed, and which bedroom they used, and whether the lights were on when they undressed, and if the shades were up.”

“You could ask Kramer.”

“No, he's under indictment. I can't question him unless his lawyer agrees.”

“Well, maybe Scofield would agree if you explained that it wasn't his client you were interested in, or that you were trying to clear him.”

“Possible,” Lanigan admitted. “The point is to get as good a story as I can, with all kinds of little details pinned down by testimony from one person or another, and then I'd have Dunstable bring in Blakely to make a statement.”

“A statement about what?”

“Oh, as to how he came to know where Kramer's car was,” said Lanigan airily. “Just a matter of form for possible use in the trial. I'd have him hang around for a while until he got kind of restless, and maybe a little nervous, and then I'd call him in and ask him how he happened to break Kramer's headlight. You remember we used the same technique a couple of years back on that guy Slocumb in the breaking and entering when we didn't actually have a thing.”

“How about Miranda?”

Lanigan looked at his lieutenant in innocent surprise. “Why, I wouldn't be accusing him of anything, merely asking him how he happened to break someone's headlight.”

44

At the dinner table, Rabbi Small looked at the empty place on his right and asked, “Where's Jonathon?”

“Oh, he called up and said they'd asked him to work late at the Republican headquarters. They're very busy there right now.”

“He thinks he's a big shot,” said Hepsibah spitefully.

“Sibah!”

“I don't like the idea of his missing dinner—”

“He said he'd get a sandwich and some milk,” Miriam explained.

“I mean I don't like him missing dinner with the family. I'm not sure I care to have him work there,” said the rabbi.

“Why not? It pays better than baby-sitting and he feels it's more dignified. He also says he's learning a lot, and that he is now the shark of his Political Process class.”

“Well, I suppose it's only for another two or three weeks until the election. How is he planning to get home? Did he take his bike?”

“No, he went there right from school. He'll walk, or maybe take the bus—”

“Or maybe call and ask me to come down and get him,” said the rabbi.

“He might get a lift from somebody there.”

“Did he say when he'd be through?” asked the rabbi.

“About eight or half past, he said. You seem overly concerned, David. After all, he's seventeen.”

“And very impressionable. There are always a lot of loafers hanging around the Republican Committee headquarters, talking and drinking, especially in the evening, and I don't think it's a good influence on a young boy.”

“Well, you can tell him that you don't want him working late there and that he is to be home for dinner every night,” said Miriam reasonably.

“Yes, I think I will.”

But Jonathon did not come home at eight, nor even at half past. When the clock struck nine, Miriam, uneasy, went to the telephone to call the Republican Committee headquarters. She returned to the living room a few minutes later to say, “I spoke to the man in charge. He says he sent Jonathon on an errand down the street about an hour ago, before eight. He's probably walking home. Do you think you ought to drive down and see if you can pick him up?”

“No. If he left before eight, he should be along pretty soon.”

Chief Lanigan raised his whiskey in a perfunctory and automatic toast to his wife, who had just handed it to him, and drank deeply. He had dined well—Amy had a way with spareribs—then relaxed with the evening paper and watched television for a while. Now, at nine o'clock, he was planning to get into pajamas and go to bed and read, but Amy was inclined to conversation.

“Anything happen today?”

“Nothing special. Just the usual.” Then, out of politeness, “And with you?”

“I bumped into Mary Hagerstrom this afternoon.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You remember her.”

“Hagerstrom?”

“She's the housekeeper and cook for the Magnusons.”

“Oh yes.”

“I asked her why she didn't come to the sodality the other night. And she said Mr. Magnuson asked her to stay on because he was having some men over and he wanted her to prepare a bunch of sandwiches for them.”

“Is that so?”

“Have you seen David Small lately, Hugh?”

This sudden change of subject, while exasperating at times, did not surprise Lanigan. He was used to it. What is more, he was sure that sooner or later Amy would make a connection between the Magnusons, Mary Hagerstrom, and Rabbi Small. So he said, “No, not lately.”

“Is he in any trouble?”

“Who? David Small? Not that I know of. Certainly nothing that involves the police.”

“I mean with his congregation.”

“Well, I hear rumors. I've been hearing them ever since he came here. Jews do a lot of bitching about their rabbis, I guess.”

“I mean a plot to get rid of him.”

“No, I can't say I've heard anything lately. Why?” He put his paper down and gave her his full attention.

“Well, according to Mary Hagerstrom, the reason for that party with the sandwiches, you know, there were just men—”

“Come to the point, woman.”

“It was to show one of those videotape things about a rabbi.”

“They had a videotape of Rabbi Small?”

“Not Rabbi Small. Another rabbi, a younger man. It showed him in a robe and a kind of scarf, and one of those little caps that bishops wear, only it was black. And it showed him standing at a lectern, I guess, delivering a sermon. Mary only got a glimpse when she'd be in and out with sandwiches and coffee. And she heard comments about how good he was, and what a nice appearance he made.”

“Mary Hagerstrom told you all this? Why?”

“Well, she just happened to mention it, and I kept pressing her.”

“What are you getting at, Amy?”

“I think those men at the party are the big shots in the temple. Mr. Magnuson is the president, you know. And I think they were planning to get rid of the rabbi and hire this one in his place. Mary Hagerstrom said that when they were leaving, Mr. Magnuson kept telling them to keep it under their hats, not to mention it even to their wives.”

“It could be they're getting Small an assistant, a sort of curate,” he suggested, but his tone lacked conviction.

“Then Rabbi Small would know about it, wouldn't he?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Why not call and ask him?”

“Yeah, maybe I will.” He went to the telephone and dialed. When Miriam answered, he announced, “Hugh Lanigan.”

“Oh, hello. Did you want to talk to David?”

“Yes. No, look, Miriam. Just tell me, are you folks alone and planning to be in?”

“Yes, Chief. Would you like to come over?”

He changed from house slippers to loafers and put on a sweater. “I'll be back in a little while, Amy. I couldn't ask him something like that over the phone.”

He drove to Maple Street, and Miriam opened the door for him as soon as she heard him turn into the driveway. “We were just going to have tea when you called,” she said, “so we waited for you.”

“Thanks, Miriam, I could use a cup.”

It was only after the tea had been poured and they were nibbling on cookies that Lanigan asked, “Are you in trouble with the congregation, David?”

“Oh, David is always in trouble with the congregation,” said Miriam lightly. “It goes with the territory.”

And from the rabbi, “Why do you ask?”

Glancing from one to the other, Lanigan told them what he had learned. He could see by the frozen smile on her face that Miriam was upset. Her husband, however, merely nodded and smiled, saying, “It proves the importance of having a high-powered executive in the top position. There have been attempts before to get me out. Usually the dissidents start by trying to get a majority on the board, and by the time they do, a sizable opposition to them has also developed, some of them because they approve of me, I suppose, and some because they don't like those who are trying to oust me, and the greatest number, perhaps, because it means avoiding trouble. It means doing without a rabbi until they find another, and how can they be certain that the new one will be any better? But with an executive type like Howard Magnuson, we have efficiency. They line up another rabbi first, and then they get a majority, and they keep it all secret so that an opposition can't get started.”

“And can't you do anything about it?” asked Lanigan.

“I'm not sure I want to.”

“You don't?”

“No. I can't admit that my livelihood and the general welfare of my family is entirely dependent on the goodwill of one man. Once I think that, then I'm no longer my own man. I'll spend the rest of my life worrying about whether what I say or do will please him. And I can't live that way.”

“The one man is Magnuson?”

“Of course.”

“But he can't do it alone. Doesn't he have to have a majority of your board?”

“Oh, that's no problem for him. He's a tycoon, a millionaire.”

“You don't mean that he'd bribe them or that they'd sell their votes—”

“Not their votes, just their souls. Here's a small businessman who needs a bank loan, or access to a particular wholesaler. Magnuson can arrange that with a phone call. Or say, he's a professional man, a doctor, or a dentist, or a lawyer—they all have stock portfolios. ‘What do you think, Mr. Magnuson? Shall I sell? Any truth to the rumor that ABC is going to merge with XYZ?' Even if you don't ever come to him for a favor, it's nice to have a friend who's a millionaire if only to brag to your friends about. No, it's entirely his doing. You see, I know what it's all about. His daughter—”

He stopped as he heard a car drive up in front of the house. “That's probably Jonathon,” he said. “He must have gotten a ride home.”

Miriam and the rabbi both went to the door, and Lanigan, wondering at their uneasiness, joined them.

“He said he'd be home at eight o'clock and he hasn't had dinner yet,” Miriam explained.

In the light from the living room, they saw Scofield's pink car with the sign on top at the curb. They watched as Jonathon got out, circled the car, and said to the driver, “Gee, thanks, Mr. Scofield.”

“Thank
you
,” said Scofield and put the car in motion.

As Jonathon came up the walk, Miriam asked, “Why were you so late? What did you do to your hand?”

Jonathon held up his right hand, which had a handkerchief wrapped around it. “I scratched it. It's nothing.”

“Let me see.”

“Aw, Ma, it's nothing, I tell you. Mr. Scofield was fixing a flat outside his headquarters. Mr. Chisholm had sent me down there with some campaign stuff they wanted. So naturally I helped him. I must've scraped it when I reached in the trunk for the wrench. There was a lot of junk in there.”

“Let me see it.”

“Aw, Ma.” But he unwound the handkerchief.

“That's not a scrape. That's a cut. Now you go right upstairs and wash your hands with lots of soap and hot water. Then you put some Mercurochrome on it and a Band-Aid. Then you can come down and have your dinner in the kitchen.”

“Okay, okay. But I'm not hungry. I had a couple of cheese sandwiches.”

“Well, it's there if you want it. Or you can take some milk and cookies.”

“Was that Scofield's car? I mean, the one he uses regularly? Or is it just for campaign purposes?” Rabbi Small asked Lanigan after Jonathon had galloped upstairs.

“No, that's his car. It's the only one he owns as far as I know.”

“But the color!”

Lanigan chuckled. “Yeah, it's the only one I've ever seen.”

“Then that could be it,” the rabbi exclaimed.

“What could be it?” asked Lanigan. “What are you talking about?”

“That could be the reason for smashing Kramer's headlight and bringing the shards back to the scene of the accident,” said the rabbi quietly.

Lanigan stared, and Miriam, who had risen to remove the tea tray, sat down again. “If you hit someone with your car on a dark, lonely road like Glen Lane,” the rabbi continued, “and you didn't want to report it for fear of the consequences, what would you do?”

“Why, I suppose—”

“You'd get away from there as fast as you could,” said the rabbi. “That would be the obvious and sensible thing to do,” the rabbi went on. “But my guess is you would slow down as you approached Maple Street, because there are houses there, and someone might see you coming out of Glen Lane and remember that when the body was found. You might even stop and get out and look at the front of your car to check if there was anything incriminating like a dented fender or a bit of the victim's clothing caught on the fender or the bumper. You might notice that where there was some rust on the fender, perhaps some paint had chipped off. It might have flaked off before, but you can't be sure that there isn't a chip of paint on the ground near the body of the victim. And if it's the bright, shocking pink of your car, then you're the one the police will go to immediately because yours is the only car around in that color. But you can't go back to where the victim is lying to look for little chips of paint. It could take hours. However, you see a car parked right on the corner, as though placed there by Providence.”