Friday the Rabbi Slept Late

by Harry Kemelman

“It’s a variation of Elizabeth, of course. It’s English and the girl was from Nova Scotia.”

  “From Nova Scotia? A tourist?”

  Lanigan smiled. “Not a tourist, rabbi, a domestic. You know, during the Revolution a number of the more important and wealthier citizens of the Colonies, especially right here in Massachusetts, ran off to Canada, mostly to Nova Scotia. Loyalists, they were called. And now their descendants come back down here to go into domestic service. Pretty bad guessing on the part of their ancestors. This one worked for the Serafinos. Do you know the Serafinos, rabbi?”

  “The name sounds Italian.” He smiled. “If I have any Italians in my congregation, I’m not aware of it.”

  Lanigan grinned back at him. “They’re Italians all right, and I know they don’t go to your church because they go to mine, the Star of the Sea.”

  “You’re Catholic? That surprises me, by the way. I didn’t think of Barnard’s Crossing as the sort of town where a Catholic was apt to get to be chief of police.”

  “There have been a few Catholic families here since the Revolution. Mine was one of them. If you knew the history of the town, you’d know that this is one of the few communities in Puritan Massachusetts where a Catholic could live in peace. The town was started by a group that didn’t care too much about Puritanism.”

  “That’s very interesting. I must investigate it someday.” He hesitated, then he said, “The girl—had she been attacked or molested?”

  Lanigan spread his hands in a gesture of ignorance. “Seemingly not, but the medical examiner might come up with something. There were no signs of struggle, no scratches, no torn clothing. On the other hand, she wasn’t wearing a dress—just a slip, with a light topcoat and one of those transparent plastic raincoats over that. From what we have right now, there are no signs of struggle. The poor girl didn’t have a chance. This chain she was wearing is what they call a choker, I believe. It closely encircles the neck. The murderer had only to grab it in back and twist.”

  “Terrible,” the rabbi murmured, “terrible. And you think this was done on temple grounds?”

  Lanigan pursed his lips. “We’re not sure where it happened. For all we know, she could have been killed elsewhere.”

  “Then why was she brought there?” asked the rabbi, ashamed that his mind automatically reverted to thoughts of a scheme to discredit the Jewish community with some fantastic plot of ritual murder.

  “Because, when you come to think of it, it’s not a bad place for the purpose. You might think that out here in the suburbs there’d be any number of places where you could dispose of a body, but actually there aren’t. Most of the likely places are apt to be under someone’s view. Places where there are no houses tend to become lovers’ lanes. No, I’d say the temple area would be one of the best spots. It’s dark, there are no houses in the immediate vicinity, and there’s not likely to be anyone around most nights.” He paused and then said, “By the way, between what times were you there?”

  “You are wondering if I heard or saw anything?”

  “Ye-es.”

  The rabbi smiled. “And you would also like to know how I was myself engaged during the critical time. Very well. I left my house around half-past seven or eight o’clock. I’m not sure of the time because I don’t have the habit of glancing at my watch. Most of the time I don’t bother to wear one. I had been having tea with my wife and Mr. Wasserman, the president of our congregation, when Stanley—he’s our janitor—stopped by to tell me that a box of books I had been expecting had arrived and was now in my study. I excused myself and got into my car and drove to the temple. I left only minutes after Stanley left, so between my wife and Mr. Wasserman and Stanley you should be able to get pretty close to the exact time. I parked my car and let myself into the temple and went directly to my study on the second floor. I stayed until after twelve. I know that because I happened to glance at the clock on my desk and saw that it was midnight and decided I should be getting back. I was in the middle of a chapter, however, so I didn’t leave immediately.” He had a sudden idea. “This might help you to fix the time with greater precision: just before I arrived home, there was a sudden cloudburst and I had to sprint the rest of the way. I suppose somebody, the weather bureau perhaps, keeps an accurate record of the weather.”

  “That was at 12:45. We checked that first thing because the girl was wearing a raincoat.”

  “I see. Well, normally it takes me twenty minutes to walk from the temple to my house. I know because we do it every Friday evening and Saturday. But I think I walked more slowly last night. I was thinking of the books I had read.”

  “But on the other hand, you ran part of the way.”

  “Oh, that was just the last hundred yards or so. Call it twenty-five minutes and I think that would be fairly accurate. That would mean that I left the temple at twenty past.”

  “Did you meet anyone on the way?”

  “No, just the police officer. I suppose he knew me because he said good evening.”

  “That would be Officer Norman.” He smiled. “He wouldn’t have to know you to say good evening. He rings in at one o’clock at the box on Vine Street just beyond the temple. I’ll be able to get the time from him when I see him.”

  “You mean he records it?”

  “Probably not, but he’ll remember. He’s a pretty good man. Now, when you entered the temple, you turned on the light, I suppose.”

  “No, it wasn’t dark yet.”

  “But you turned on the light in your study of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “So that anyone passing by would have seen it.”

  The rabbi considered. Then he shook his head. “No, I turned on my desk lamp rather than the overhead light. I opened the window, of course, but I lowered the venetian blind.”

  “Why?”

  “Frankly, so that I wouldn’t be interrupted. A member of the congregation might pass by and see the light and come up to chat.”

  “So no one approaching the temple would guess anyone was there. Is that right, rabbi?”

  The rabbi thought a moment and then nodded.

  The police chief smiled.

  “This has some significance for you?”

  “Well, it might help to clarify the time element. Suppose the light could be seen. Then that, in conjunction with your car in the parking lot, would indicate that someone was still in the building and might come out at any time. If that were the case, it would be fair to assume the body had been deposited behind the wall after you left. But with no light showing, it might be assumed your car had been left for the night perhaps because you couldn’t get it started. Under those circumstances, the body could have been dropped while you were still upstairs. Now the medical examiner’s first estimate was that the girl was killed around one o’clock. At this point in his examination, that’s just an educated guess. If your light had been visible, it would tend to corroborate his estimate, but since the light could not be seen the girl could have been dropped near the wall while you were in your study, and that could have been anytime from the early evening on.”

  “I see.”

  “Now think carefully, rabbi, did you hear or see anything unusual—a cry? the sound of an automobile driving onto the parking lot?”

  The rabbi shook his head.

  “And you saw no one either while you were in your study or on your way home?”

  “Only the police officer.”

  “Now you say you do not know Elspeth Bleech. Is it possible that you know her but not by name? After all, she lived with the Serafinos no great distance from the temple.”

  “It is possible.”

  “A girl of nineteen or twenty, blonde, about five feet four, a little on the stocky side but not unattractive. Perhaps later I’ll be able to show you a picture.”

  The rabbi shook his head. “I don’t recognize her from your description. It would fit many girls I may have seen. Nothing comes to mind at the moment, however.”

&nbs
p; “Well, let me put it this way: did you give anyone a lift in your car in the last day or two who might answer that description?”

  The rabbi smiled and shook his head. “A rabbi, no less than a priest or a minister, finds it necessary to be circumspect about those things. I would be no more likely to offer a lift to a strange young woman then they would. One’s congregation might misinterpret it. No, I gave no one a lift.”

  “Could your wife perhaps?”

  “My wife doesn’t drive.”

  Lanigan rose and held out his hand. “You’ve been very cooperative, rabbi, and I appreciate it.”

  “Any time.”

  At the door, Lanigan paused. “I hope you won’t be needing your car for a little while. My boys are checking it over.”

  The rabbi looked his surprise.

  “You see, the girl’s handbag was found in it.”

  9

  HUGH LANIGAN KNEW STANLEY, JUST AS HE KNEW ALL THE Old Towners. He found him working in the vestry, setting up a long table on which the Sisterhood would later serve the little cakes and tea things that constituted the usual collation after the Friday evening service.

  “Just checking on this business, Stanley.”

  “Sure, Hugh, but I told Eban Jennings all I know.”

  “Well, you might as well give it to me again. You went to the rabbi’s house last night to tell him about a box of books. When did the books arrive?”

  “Delivered by Robinson’s Express around six o’clock. Maybe a little after. It was his last stop.”

  “And when did you go over to the rabbi’s?”

  “Seven-thirty or so. I got this box and it’s a pretty big wooden case and it’s for the rabbi. I don’t know that it’s books at first—I mean, the rabbi, he told me about a shipment of books he was expecting, but I had no idea it would come in a wooden box. But then I notice it was shipped from Dropsie College. Well, the rabbi had mentioned that the books were coming from Dropsie College. Now that’s a funny name for a college, and I remembered it because my Aunt Mattie—you remember her—well, that’s what she had, dropsy, I mean. She was all puffed up, you could hardly see her eyes—”

  “Never mind, just tell me about the box.”

  “Oh yeah, so I see the name and I remember that that’s where the books were supposed to come from. So I figure it must be the books. Well, you wouldn’t believe it, Hugh, but this rabbi—he’s a nice feller and all that—but he wouldn’t know which end of a hammer you hit with. So no matter what’s in that case, I’m going to have to open it for him anyway. Right? So I figured I might as well do it right then. So I toted the whole business, box and all—and it was heavy as a sonofabitch, Hugh—right up to his study. Then I kind of finished my chores here and I thought I’d let him know that they came, seeing as he was so anxious for them and it was on my way home anyway.”

  “Where you living now, Stanley?”

  “I got a room at Mama Schofield’s.”

  “Didn’t you used to live at the temple?”

  “Yeah, at the old place. I had me a room up in the attic. Beauty. It was kind of nice, living right at the job, you know. But then they stopped it. They gave me a few bucks more each month to pay for a room, and I’ve been at Mama Schofield’s ever since.”

  “Why did they stop it?” asked Lanigan.

  “I’ll tell you the truth, Hugh. They found out I was having some company up there once in a while. No wild parties, you understand, Hugh. I wouldn’t do anything like that, and never while the temple was being used. Just a couple of people over for a little talk and a few beers. But I guess they got to thinking I might take it into my head to bring a broad up there, maybe on one of their holy days.” He gave a loud chortle and slapped his thigh. “I suppose they were afraid that while they were praying down below, I might be bouncing a broad upstairs, and that would kind of short-circuit their prayers on the way up, see?”

  “Go on.”

  “So they asked me to find myself a room, and I did. There was no hard feelings.”

  “How about here in the new building? Don’t you ever sleep over?”

  “Well, in the winter after a heavy snowfall, when I got to get the sidewalks cleared early. I got me a cot down in the boiler room.”

  “Let’s go take a look at it.”

  “Sure, Hugh.” Stanley led the way down a short flight of iron stairs and then stood aside as Lanigan pushed open a steel-clad fire door. The boiler room was immaculate, except for the corner where Stanley had set up his cot. Lanigan pointed out that the blankets were rumpled.

  “Been that way since the last snowfall?” he asked.

  “I lie down for a nap most afternoons,” said Stanley easily. He watched while Lanigan poked idly through the cigarette butts in the ashtray. “I told you I never have anybody down here.”

  Lanigan sat down in the wicker chair and let his eyes wander over Stanley’s art gallery. Stanley grinned sheepishly.

  The police chief motioned for him to sit down, and he obediently plumped down on the cot. “Now let’s get on with it. Around half-past seven you stopped at the rabbi’s house to tell him about the box. Why couldn’t you wait until morning? Did you expect the rabbi to leave his house at night?”

  Stanley showed surprise at the question. “Why sure, the rabbi is up there reading and studying plenty of nights.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I went on home.”

  “Stop on the way?”

  “Sure, I stopped at the Ship’s Cabin for a bite of supper and a couple of beers. Then I went on to Mama Schofield’s.”

  “And you stayed there?”

  “Yeah, I was there all the early evening.”

  “And then you went to bed?”

  “Well, I went out for a beer just before turning in. At the Ship’s Cabin it was.”

  “And what time did you leave this time?”

  “Maybe around midnight. Maybe a little later.”

  “And you went right home to Schofield’s?”

  For a moment he hesitated, then, “Uh-huh.”

  “Anybody see you come in?”

  “No, why should they? I got my own key.”

  “All right. What time did you come to work this morning?”

  “Same as always. A little before seven.”

  “And what did you do?”

  “They have a service here at half-past seven in the chapel. So I put on the lights and open a couple of windows to kind of air the place out. Then I set about my regular work, which this time of year it’s mostly working on the lawn. I been raking up grass clippings mostly. I started yesterday working on the Maple Street side. So I started where I left off and gradually worked my way around the back of the building and then around to the other side. That’s when I saw the girl. They were just coming out of the service and getting in their cars when I spotted her up against the brick wall. I walked over and I could see she was dead. I looked over the wall and Mr. Musinsky—he’s a regular, I mean he comes every morning—he hadn’t got in his car yet, so I hailed him. He took a look and then went right back into the temple to call you people.”

  “Did you notice the rabbi’s car when you arrived this morning?”

  “Oh sure.”

  “Surprised?”

  “Not particularly. I figured he had come for morning prayers and had just got there early. When I saw he wasn’t in the chapel, I figured he was in his study.”

  “You didn’t go up to look?”

  “No, what would I do that for?”

  “All right.” Lanigan rose and Stanley did likewise. The police chief strode out into the corridor with Stanley right behind him. He turned his head and said matter-of-factly, “You recognized the girl, of course.”

  “No,” Stanley said quickly.

  Lanigan turned around to face him. “You mean you never saw her before?”

  “You mean this girl that was—”

  “What other girl are we talking about?” asked Lanigan coldly.

&n
bsp; “Well, working around the temple here, naturally I see a lot of people. Yes, I seen her around. I mean, I’ve seen her walking with those two little dago kids she takes care of.”

  “Did you know her?”

  “I just said I seen her.” Stanley sounded exasperated.

  “Did you ever make a pass at her?”

  “Why would I do that?” demanded Stanley.

  “Because you’re as horny as a mink.”

  “Well, I didn’t.”

  “Ever talk to her?”

  Stanley drew a dirty handkerchief from a pocket of his dungarees and began to mop his forehead.

  “What’s the matter, feeling warm?”

  Stanley exploded. “Goddammit, Hugh, you’re trying to get me tied up in this. Sure I talked to her. I’m standing around and a young chick comes along with a couple of kids in tow and one of them starts pulling at the shrubbery, naturally I’m going to speak up.”

  “Naturally.”

  “But I never went out with her or anything.”

  “Never showed her that little pigpen you’ve got down in the basement?”

  “Just, Hello or It’s a nice morning, isn’t it?” said Stanley doggedly. “And half the time, she never even answered.”

  “I can imagine. All right, how did you know the kids were Italian?”

  “Because I seen them with their father, Serafino, and I knew him because I once did some work on his house.”

  “When was this?”

  “When did I see him? A couple or three days ago maybe. He drove up in his convertible and he sees the girl and the kids and he asks do they want their daddy should get them some ice cream. Then they all pile into the front seat, the girl and then the kids fighting about who was going to sit next to the door, and the girl wiggling over to make room and the old man kind of arsing her. Disgusting.”

  “Disgusting because it wasn’t you?”

  “Well, at least I’m free and not a married man with a couple of kids.”

  10

  IT HAD BEEN A HECTIC MORNING FOR THE SERAFINOS. ALthough Mrs. Serafino went to bed early on Thursday nights, she did not usually rise much before ten on Fridays. But this morning she had been awakened by the children, who, having pounded on Elspeth’s door to no effect, burst into her bedroom demanding to be dressed.