She finished writing and straightened up, but she did not immediately return to the couch. Instead, she leaned against the edge of the desk, facing him. “Is that all you want, Mr. Serafino?” she asked.
“Yeah.” He studied the paper. “You know, we might be able to use you from time to time. Nellie was hinting she’d like an extra night off. It’d give her more time with her kid.”
“Oh, Mr. Serafino, I’d appreciate that.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see about it. Say, you got your car here?”
“No, I came on the bus.”
“Then how were you planning on getting home?”
“Mr. Leonard said I could leave just before midnight. That way I could catch the last bus.”
“Aren’t you afraid to go home that late at night alone? That’s a hell of an arrangement. Tell you what, I’ll drive you home tonight, and you can make some better arrangement next time. Pat, in the parking lot, can usually work out something for you with one of the cabbies.”
“Oh, I couldn’t have you do that, Mr. Serafino.”
“Why not?”
“Well, Mr. Leonard said—”
He held up a hand. “Nobody has to know,” he said, and his voice was easy and coaxing. “This door here leads right to the parking lot. You leave at quarter of twelve and walk down to the bus stop and wait for me there. I’ll get my car and pick you up.”
“But Mr. Leonard—”
“Lennie wants to see me, he comes here. He finds the door locked and he knows I’m grabbing a little shut-eye. He knows better than to disturb me when I’m having a little snooze. Okay? Besides, we got business to talk about, ain’t we?”
She nodded her head and fluttered her eyelashes at him.
“Okay, run along, kid, and I’ll see you later.” He patted her in dismissal, in a fatherly sort of way.
The Ship’s Cabin served sandwiches, doughnuts, and coffee during the day. In the evening they offered hot dishes—spaghetti and meatballs, fried clams and french fried potatoes, baked beans and frankforts—which were described on greasy, flyspecked cards and inserted in the frame of the bar mirror. Each dish was numbered and regulars like Stanley would order by number, presumably to speed up the operation.
There was no heavy drinking either during the day or in the early evening. The patrons who dropped in at midday usually took ale or beer to wash down their sandwich. Those who came later might have a shot of whiskey before supper. But the regular customers, like Stanley, usually returned around nine. That was when the Ship’s Cabin really came alive.
After leaving the rabbi’s house, Stanley drove his yellow jalopy to the Ship’s Cabin, had his regular evening meal, one of the three specials, together with a few glasses of ale. He sat at the bar eating stolidly, his jaws moving rhythmically like a machine. He focused on his plate just long enough to load his fork and then turned his head to watch the television screen set high in one corner of the room, as he chewed away. Every now and then, he reached for his glass and took a long draught, his eyes remaining fixed on the screen.
Except for exchanging a remark about the weather with the bartender when he first set his plate before him, Stanley spoke to no one. The program ended, and he drained the remains of his second glass, wiped his mouth with the paper napkin that had lain folded all through supper, and ambled over to the cashier to pay his tab.
He left the tavern with a wave to the bartender, and drove the few blocks to Mama Schofield’s. No point in hanging around; there would be nothing doing for another hour or two.
Mrs. Schofield was sitting in her parlor when he stuck his head in to say good evening. Upstairs in his room he took off his shoes, his denim work pants and shirt, and lay down on the bed, his hands clasped under his head, staring up at the ceiling. There were no pictures like those he had on the wall in the temple basement; Mama Schofield would not have stood for them. The only decoration was a calendar showing a picture of a little boy and a puppy that was somehow supposed to induce fond feelings for the Barnard’s Crossing Coal Company.
Usually he napped for an hour or so, but tonight for some reason he was restless. He realized he was undergoing one of his frequent attacks of loneliness. In his circle of acquaintances, his bachelorhood was regarded as proof that he was too smart to have got himself caught. He wondered uneasily if he hadn’t outsmarted himself. What sort of life did he have? Supper, a greasy meal eaten at a counter stool; then back to a furnished room, with the boozy good fellowship of the Ship’s Cabin afterward the only thing to look forward to. If he were married now—and his mind slipped into a pleasant daydream of married life. Soon he dozed off.
When he awoke, it was almost ten o’clock. He got up and dressed in his good clothes and drove to the Ship’s Cabin. The dream persisted. He drank more than usual in an effort to drown it, but it only bobbed up whenever the talk lagged or the noise momentarily abated.
Toward midnight the crowd began to thin out and Stanley got up to go. The loneliness was stronger than ever. He realized that it was Thursday and there probably would be some girl getting off the last bus at Oak and Vine. Maybe she would be tired and appreciate the offer of a ride the rest of the way home.
Elspeth sat in the back seat of the car. The rain had let up somewhat, but large drops still bounced on the asphalt, turning it into a sleek black pool. She was at ease now, and to prove it she took slow, graceful puffs at her cigarette, like an actress. When she spoke, she stared straight ahead, only occasionally darting quick looks at her companion to see how he was reacting.
He was sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide and unwinking, his jaw set and his lips tight—in anger? in frustration? in despair? She could not tell. She leaned forward to snuff her cigarette in the ashtray attached to the back of the front seat. Very deliberately, as if to emphasize each word, she tapped her cigarette out against the little metal snuffer.
She sensed, rather than saw, his hand reaching forward. She felt it on her neck and was about to turn to smile at him when his fingers curled around her silver choke collar. She tried to complain he was holding too tight but his hand gave the heavy chain a sudden twist, and it was too late—too late to remonstrate—too late to cry out. The cry was stifled in her throat and she was enveloped in a red mist. And then there was blackness.
He sat with his arm still outstretched, his hand gripping the silver choker as one would to restrain a vicious dog. After a while he relaxed his grip, and as she began to fall forward be caught her by the shoulder and eased her onto the seat again. He waited. Then, cautiously, he opened the door of the car and looked out. Certain that there was no one in sight, he got out, and leaning in, scooped her up in his arms and eased her out of the car. Her head lolled back.
He did not look at her. With a swing of his hip, he slammed the door to. He carried her over to the wall where it was lowest, barely three feet high. Leaning over, he tried to set her down gently on the grass on the other side, but she was heavy and rolled out of his arms. He reached down in the darkness to close her eyes against the rain, but it was her hair that he felt. There seemed to be no point in trying to turn her over.
8
THE ALARM CLOCK ON THE NIGHT TABLE BESIDE RABBI Small’s bed rang at a quarter to seven. That gave him time to shower, shave, and dress for morning services at the temple at seven-thirty.
He reached and turned off the alarm, but instead of getting up he made happy animal sounds and rolled over again. His wife shook him. “You’ll miss services, David.”
“This morning I’m going to pass them up.”
She thought she understood and did not insist. Besides, she knew he had come in very late the night before, long after she had gone to bed.
Later, in his study, Rabbi Small was reciting the morning prayer, while in the kitchen Miriam was preparing his breakfast. When she heard his voice raised exultantly in the Shema: Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One, she began heating the water; when she heard the buzz-buzz of the Amidah, she started his egg
s, cooking them until she heard him chant the Alenu, when she took them out of the boiling water.
He came out of the study a few minutes later, rolling down the left sleeve of his shirt and buttoning the cuff. As always, he looked with dismay at the table set for him.
“So much?”
“It’s good for you, dear. Everybody says that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Her mother-in-law had been most insistent on it: “You should see that he eats, Miriam. Don’t ask him what he wants, because for him, if he has a book propped up in front of him or if he has some idea spinning around in his head, he can gnaw on a crust of bread and be satisfied. You’ve got to see that he eats regular, a balanced diet with lots of vitamins.”
Miriam had already breakfasted—toast and coffee and a cigarette—so she hovered over him, seeing to it that he finished his grapefruit, setting his cereal down before him with an air that indicated she would brook no refusal. As soon as he had finished the last spoonful, she served his eggs, along with his toast already buttered. The trick was to avoid any delay during which his mind could wander and he would lose interest. Not until he had started on his eggs and toast did she pour herself another cup of coffee and permit herself to sit down opposite him.
“Did Mr. Wasserman stay long after I left?” he asked.
“About half an hour. I think he feels I should take better care of you, see that your suits are always pressed and your hair combed.”
“I should be more careful of my appearance. Am I all right now? No egg stains on my tie?” he asked anxiously.
“You look fine, David. But you can’t seem to stay that way.” She regarded him critically. “Maybe if you used one of those collar pins, your tie would stay in place.”
“You need a shirt with a special collar for that,” he said. “I tried one once. It binds my throat.”
“And couldn’t you use some of that stuff that keeps your hair in place?”
“You want women to chase me? Would you like that?”
“Don’t tell me you’re above wanting to be attractive to women.”
“You think that would do it?” he asked in mock eagerness. “A shirt with a tab collar and stickum on my hair?”
“Seriously, David, it is important. Mr. Wasserman seemed to think it was very important. Do you think they’ll drop your contract?”
He nodded. “Quite probably. I’m sure he wouldn’t have come down to see us yesterday if he thought otherwise.”
“What will we do?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Notify the seminary that I am at liberty and have them find me another congregation.”
“And if the same thing happens again?”
“We notify them again.” He laughed. “You remember Manny Katz, Rabbi Emmanuel Katz, the one with that tomboy wife? He lost three jobs one right after the other because of her. She used to wear shorts around the house during the summer, and when they went to the beach she wore a bikini, which is exactly what the women her age in the congregation would wear. But what they tolerated in their young women they wouldn’t tolerate in the rebbitzin. And Manny wouldn’t ask his wife to change. He finally got a job with a congregation down in Florida, where I guess everybody dresses that way. He’s been there ever since.”
“He was lucky,” she said. “Do you expect to strike a congregation where the leaders wear sloppy clothes and are absent-minded and don’t keep their appointments?”
“Oh, probably not. But when we get tired wandering, I can always get a job teaching. Nobody cares how teachers dress.”
“Why don’t we do that right away instead of waiting to be kicked out of half a dozen congregations? I’d like to be a teacher’s wife. You could get a job at some college in Semitics, maybe even at the seminary. Just think, David, I wouldn’t have to worry whether the president of the Sisterhood approved of my housekeeping or if the president of the local Hadassah thought my dress was in good taste.”
The rabbi smiled. “Only the dean’s wife. And I wouldn’t have to attend community breakfasts.”
“And I wouldn’t have to smile every time a member of the congregation looked in my direction.”
“Do you?”
“Of course. Till my face muscles ache. Oh let’s do it, David.”
He looked at her in surprise. “You’re not serious.” His face turned sober. “Don’t think I don’t feel my failure here, Miriam. It bothers me, not merely failing at something that I set out to do, but knowing that the congregation needs me. They don’t know it yet, but I know it. Without me, or someone like me, you know what happens to these congregations? As religious institutions, that is, as Jewish religious institutions, they dry up. I don’t mean that they’re not active. As a matter of fact, they become veritable hives of activity with dozens of different groups and clubs and committees—social groups and art groups and study groups and philanthropy groups and athletic groups, most of them ostensibly Jewish. The dance group works up an interpretive dance they call Spirit of the Israeli Pioneer; the choral group adds ‘White Christmas’ to its repertoire so they can sing it at Christian churches during Brotherhood Week and the church can respond by having its lead tenor sing ‘Eli, Eli.’ The rabbi conducts the holiday services with great decorum, and except for an occasional responsive reading he and the cantor perform the entire service between them. You would never know that this is the spiritual home of a people who for three thousand years or more considered themselves a nation of priests sworn to the service of God, because every bit of the energy of the congregation and the rabbi too will be bent on showing that this Jewish church is no different from any other church in the community.”
The doorbell rang. Miriam opened the door to a stocky man with a pleasant Irish face and snow-white hair.
“Rabbi David Small?”
“Yes?” The rabbi looked at him inquiringly, then at the card that indicated he was Hugh Lanigan, chief of police of Barnard’s Crossing.
“Can I talk to you privately?” he asked.
“Of course.” The rabbi led the way to his study. He closed the door, asking his wife as he did so to see that they were not interrupted.
Motioning his visitor to a chair, he sat down himself and looked at his guest expectantly.
“Your car was parked in the temple parking lot all night, rabbi.”
“This is not permitted?”
“Of course. The parking lot is private property, and I guess if anyone has a right it would be you. As a matter of fact, we don’t usually fuss too much if a car is parked on the street all night unless it’s winter and there’s a snowstorm and it interferes with the plows.”
“So?”
“So we wondered why you left it there instead of in your own garage?”
“Did you think someone might steal it? It’s very simple. I left it at the temple because I did not have the keys to drive it off with.” He smiled, a little embarrassed. “That’s not too clear, I’m afraid. You see, I went to the temple last night and spent the evening in my study. Some books had arrived that I was anxious to look over. Then, when I left, I closed the door of the study, and that locked it. You understand?”
Lanigan nodded. “Spring latch on the door.”
“All my keys, including the key to the temple study, were on a key ring on my desk inside. I couldn’t open the door of the study to get them, so I had to walk home. Does this explain the mystery?”
Lanigan nodded reflectively. Then, “I understand you people have prayers every morning. This morning you did not go, rabbi.”
“That’s right. There are some members of my congregation who take it amiss if their rabbi skips a daily service, but I hardly expected them to lodge a complaint with the police.”
Lanigan laughed shortly. “Oh, nobody complained. At least, not to me, not in my capacity as police chief—”
“Come, Mr. Lanigan, evidently something has happened, a police matter in which my car is concerned—no, I myself must be concerned or you wouldn’t want to know why
I didn’t go to morning prayers. If you will tell me what happened, perhaps I can tell you what you wish to know, or at least be able to help you more intelligently.”
“You’re right, rabbi. You understand that we’re bound by regulations. My common sense tells me that you as a man of the cloth are in no way implicated, but as a policeman—”
“As a policeman you are not supposed to use your common sense? Is that what you were going to say?”
“That’s not far from the truth! And yet there’s good reason for it. We are bound to investigate everyone who could be involved, and although I know a rabbi would be no more likely to commit the sort of crime we’re investigating than a priest, we’ve got to check everyone through.”
“I would not presume to suggest what a priest would or would not do, chief, but anything that a man might do a rabbi might do. We are no different from ordinary men. We are not even men of the cloth, as you call it. I have no duties or privileges that any member of my congregation does not have. I am only presumed to be learned in the Law by which we are enjoined to live.”
“It’s kind of you to put it on that footing, rabbi. I’ll be candid with you. This morning, the body of a young woman of nineteen or twenty was found on the temple grounds right behind the low wall that divides the parking lot from the lawn. She had evidently been killed sometime during the night. We’ll have a pretty good idea of the time when the laboratory gets through checking.”
“Killed? An accident?”
“Not an accident, rabbi. She was strangled with a silver chain that she wore around her neck, one of those heavy link chains with a locket. No chance of it being an accident.”
“But this is terrible. Was it—was it a member of my congregation? Someone I know?”
“Do you know an Elspeth Bleech?” asked the chief.
The rabbi shook his head. “It’s an unusual name, Elspeth.”
Friday the Rabbi Slept Late Page 7
