Thursday the Rabbi Walked Out (15 page)

“Well, if it’s a professional job, either we know who had it in for the victim, and then it’s a job of breaking down an alibi – because they make damn sure they’ve got an alibi – or we get someone to talk. You can do pretty good if you’ve managed to build up a stable of stoolies. On the other hand, if it’s amateur, then it’s usually a matter of finding out who hated the victim’s guts. But in this case, the victim, as near as I can make out, was a pretty nasty specimen, any one of the people who were here at the house last night might have wanted to give him the business because he quarreled with every one of them. Not to mention the guy who called him on the phone earlier. Or, for that matter, someone whose name hasn’t even been mentioned, who could have dropped in on him.”

“I suppose that’s true enough.” said Lanigan. “but –”

“And another thing,” McLure went on, “take the matter of the weapon. Usually, it gives you a lead. Or you have the bullet and when you get it matched up with a particular gun, you’ve practically got your case. But here, the gun was lying on the table in plain sight. So if this Martha came back, or her boyfriend, or this guy that called, or the kid Billy, well, there it was, ready to hand, so to speak.”

“Yeah, but on the other hand, there’s the pattern of the shooting,” said Jennings. “The doc said it was like a woman firing away with her eyes closed until the cylinder was empty. I buy that.”

“But it could also be a kid who’s crazy about guns, and yet doesn’t know anything about them.” McLure pointed out. “Or take this Stanley –”

“Not Stanley^ said Jennings with conviction. “He goes up to Maine every year and brings back a deer.”

“Yeah; but he’s something of a boozer. I gather, and if he got tanked up first –”

“What time is it?” Lanigan asked suddenly. “It’s almost six.” said Jennings. “Why?”

For answer. Lanigan reached for the phone and dialed a number. Into the receiver he said. “Miriam? It’s Hugh Lanigan. Is David there?”

“He’s at the temple for the evening service.”

“Oh, I figured since it was after sundown it was all right to call.”

“Well, it is. But that’s when they start the service. It takes about fifteen or twenty minutes, and he’ll be walking home, of course. Shall I have him call you when he comes in?”

“Maybe you can tell me. Did you go to the service last night?” ‘

“Yes, of course. I go every Friday night.”

Lanigan signaled to Jennings who lifted the extension and simultaneously pulled over a pad of paper. “Was Henry Maltzman there?”

“I believe so. Yes. I’m sure he was. Why?”

“And Stanley Doble? Was he there?”

“I didn’t see him, but I wouldn’t be likely to since he’d be down in the vestry helping with the preparations for the collation afterward. Why? Is something the matter?”

“Just routine. Miriam, that’s all. Thanks.”

After making note of the time and the date Jennings ripped the sheet off the pad and filed it in the ever-increasing folder of the case.

“If the medical examiner confirms the time of the killing as half past eight, that eliminates Henry Maltzman.” said Lanigan. “As I expected, he was at the temple last night, they start at half past eight.” He squared his shoulders and sat up straight, as if to signal that the period of relaxation was over and it was time to get back to work. “Now, let’s list what we’ve got to do, the first thing is to clear away the brush, eliminate the unlikely; so we won’t waste any time. Besides Maltzman, Gore seems to have a pretty good alibi, he says he stopped at a gas station to make a phone call around that time, he called from the office, so maybe the gas station attendant remembers. Check with this Mrs. Mandell that he called, she might remember the time. If he’s out of it, then we don’t have to bother about him either. See?”

“Yeah, but Maltzman, he could have gone there earlier and maybe seen something or heard something,” said McLure. “I’d like to question him.”

“Okay, then question him. But he’s a tough monkey, he was a captain in the Marines –”

“I’ve had lots of experience with tough monkeys.” said McLure, “and when I was in the service I was a buck private, so I kind of like to take on officers.”

Lanigan winked at his lieutenant and said, “All right, so let’s consider the others. First of all, especially Martha.”

Jennings opened the folder and found the notes on their interrogation of her earlier. “She says she left here around seven, and as soon as she got to the street, a bus came along. Got off at Midland Street and walked the two blocks to her house, she decided to stay in and made herself some supper. Stanley came by around seven-thirty, she says she didn’t admit him, she watched TV and then went to bed around eleven.”

“Seems pretty straightforward.” said McLure. “Anything bothering you about it? You think she might have come back afterward? Does she have a car?”

“It was in the garage being worked on. But she could have taken a bus.” said Jennings.

“You might be able to check with bus drivers.” suggested McLure doubtfully. “Or maybe the neighbors –”

“What’s bothering me.” said Lanigan. “is the whole setup of Martha as Jordon’s housekeeper, she had a job as a checkout clerk at the supermarket. Seems like an easy job, at least you’re sitting down rather than on your feet all day. It’s forty hours a week, with a paid vacation probably. My guess is it pays about a hundred a week. Now, why would she give that up to become Jordon’s housekeeper? He was a hard man with a buck, so I doubt if he paid her more than the supermarket, she’d get here about eight o’clock and she worked until after the supper dishes were done, which would make it some time after seven. Since she did the cooking, she might have had to come in seven days a week, six anyway. Why would she do it? Was she fired from the supermarket job, or did she quit to take the job with Jordon?”

“Some women prefer housekeeping to working in a store,” said Jennings.

Lanigan nodded. “Sure, and she got her meals and her time was pretty much her own during the day. On the other hand. Jordon may have led her down the garden path by hinting that the job could lead to her becoming Mrs. Jordon. I don’t buy Gore’s explanation that Jordon tolerated her slambanging back at him because he liked independence. To me, it sounds more the way lovers would act, and the whole business with Stanley could have been to spark a little more interest in the old man by making him jealous, and when she handed him her key, that could have been because she realized she didn’t have a chance with the old man and the game was over, and after she got home, she could have brooded a bit and then come back to have it out with him, since she knew Billy was going off with Gore and he’d be alone, the old man had a nasty way of talking, and I can imagine him lying back in that chair of his and being amused at the girl realizing she’d been had, well, the gun was there and –”

“Boy; you’re in the wrong part of this business,” said McLure. “You should be an assistant D.A, making your pitch to the jury. You realize you don’t have a single, solitary fact to back up any of this.”

“Well, there’s the pattern of the shooting.” said Lanigan. “And there’s the fact that she came back the first thing in the morning and discovered the body.”

“Oh, you take that old saw seriously about the criminal being drawn back to the scene of the crime?” McLure was sarcastic.

“I don’t know about any mysterious attraction that the scene of the crime might have for the criminal, but it seems to me that if I had shot a man in the heat of passion the night before and then panicked and run off. I’d want to come back when I was cooler to see if I hadn’t dropped something, a handkerchief or whatever, that might incriminate me.”

“Well –”

“And remember how we found him, sitting in his recliner, anybody else who came, my guess is he’d get up and open the door. But when the bell rings and he calls out who is it and finds out it’s Martha, he might say. ‘Come in, the door is open’ and just sit there kind of smiling at her as she jabbered away at him, anyway. I want you to check her out, Eban. Everything. Start back at the supermarket. Did she see much of Jordon while she was still working there? Was there gossip? Was there someone she confided in? Understand?”

“How about this Stanley guy?” asked McLure. “Now he threatened him, according to Gore.”

“We’ve got to pick him up, of course, and –”

“No, we don’t. Hugh.” said Jennings. “We’ve got him down at the stationhouse right now. I called about something else a little while ago and they told me, they found him on Fairbanks Street fast asleep in his car, drunk as a skunk. One of the residents notified the police and they took him in, he’s sleeping if off in a cell right now.”

“Good. So that leaves only the young fellow. Billy.”

“Put out an all points on him?”

“Let’s see if we can get it on the early evening news. Make it plain that he’s not a suspect, just that we’re interested in information that he might give.”

Jennings wrote in his notebook and then looked up inquiringly. “Anything else. Hugh?”

“Yeah, go on home and get yourself a decent meal. I’ll see you at the stationhouse afterward.”

Since Rabbi Small did not turn on either the radio or TV on the Sabbath, it was not until he arrived at the temple for the evening service that he heard about the murder, the dozen or so who had gathered for the service were a lot less observant of the Sabbath than the rabbi and hence knew all about it. Most of them were listening to Julius Rottenberg who was a maven, that is; an expert in matters criminological by virtue of operating a coffee shop just outside the law courts in the neighboring city of Lynn, and who, therefore, was on intimate terms with the district attorney (“coffee and a cruller and heavy on the cream”), the assistant D.A.‘s, all the cops and even the presiding judge (“tea with lemon and a little extra hot water. Julius”).

“It’s the kid, of course,” he was saying when the rabbi entered the chapel where they were waiting to begin the service. Fat and bald and normally with a perpetual, eager smile, Julius now showed a fine high scorn for someone who had suggested that it could be some stranger from his past who had shot Ellsworth Jordon.

“Nah,” he said with an impatient sweep of the hand. “The police always say that. It gives them an out. See? But it was the kid that did it, he’s crazy about guns, all kids are. What do you expect with all these westerns on the tube, and the gang pictures, too, he pinches the gun out of the bank where he works. To hold up somebody, or even to fire it in the woods? Nah. Just to fondle it. To practice a quick draw, maybe, or twirling it around his finger, like the gunmen do in the westerns. So the old man catches him with it and makes him put it down and sends him to his room, then everybody leaves – there was some sort of dinner party – and the old man sits down in his easy chair to grab himself forty winks.

“So they’re all alone, and the old man is asleep. So the kid leaves his room to get another look at the gun, to hold it and wave it around, and it goes off. So now he’s in for it for sure, so he figures he might as well get hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, so he fires away until the gun is empty, and when he’s finished. Ellsworth Jordon is dead.”

“Yeah, but why didn’t Jordon jump up and stop him. Julius?”

Julius nodded with pompous solemnity. “Good question. My theory is that the old man panicked and froze.”

A new arrival announced. “Hey, guys, I just heard that the cops arrested Stanley.”

“Stanley? Our Stanley? What for?”

“I don’t know, all I heard was he was arrested. Did you see him around today?”

“He wasn’t here last night either. Look in the vestry and you’ll see all the stuff from the collation, the dirty dishes, they’re still on the table.”

“You think we ought to clean up?”

“That’s the House Committee’s business.”

Throughout the service the rabbi had great difficulty in keeping his mind from wandering, he performed perfunctorily even the Havdala ceremony that divided the Sabbath from the rest of the week. What kept running through his head was that if Jordon was dead, and if Henry Maltzman had been right about him, then the temple might now be able to buy the adjoining land for the religious school.

A little ashamed of his thoughts and his inability to concentrate on the prayers, the rabbi did not stand around and talk with the members of the minyan at the conclusion of the service as he usually did, but excused himself and went right home, he had no sooner entered the house, when the phone rang.

“Rabbi Small,” he announced.

From the other end came a hoarse chuckle. “I figured you’d be getting home right about now. Rabbi.”

“Stanley?”

“That’s right. I’m down at the stationhouse, and they said I could make a phone call.”

“You mean you’ve been arrested? What for? What’s the charge?”

“I think maybe I was a little drunk.”

“All right. I’ll be down and talk with them.”

The desk sergeant looked at Rabbi Small doubtfully and said “Gee; I don’t know, Rabbi. You’re not a lawyer, are you? I mean, you don’t have a law degree, do you?”

“No –”

“Because he’s got a right to see his lawyer, of course, but I don’t know about anybody else. I guess it would be all right if you were his spiritual advisor, but Stanley not being Jewish, his spiritual advisor would have to be a minister or a priest depending on if he was Catholic or Protestant. See what I mean? I mean just because he works at your temple wouldn’t make you his spiritual advisor, and your not being a lawyer –” He chewed at his lower lip in vexation. “He said he wanted to make a call, so I figured he was going to call his lawyer, but you say he called you.” The sergeant was annoyed, as though Stanley had taken advantage of his trusting nature to deceive him.

“Why don’t you ask Chief Lanigan if it’s all right?” suggested the rabbi.

“He’s pretty busy, well –” He came to a decision and left his desk to walk down the short hall and rap on the door of the chiefs office. Lanigan opened the door and saw the rabbi, without waiting for an explanation from the sergeant, he said, “Hello. Rabbi. What brings you down here? You want to see me? Come on in.”