Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry

by Harry Kemelman

  “Anyone is subject to police inquiry, I suppose, Mr. Brown. Are you suggesting that I sent them?”

  “Well, they came to talk about Hirsh. They wanted to know what connection I had with him. What connection would I have with him? I hardly knew the man. When he first moved into town, I sent him an announcement. I send them out to all new residents, that’s business. A little later, I sent him another announcement. It’s a special kind of letter that offers a special free premium if you fill out the enclosed card. I think at that time we were using a kind of wallet that you carry in your breast pocket and it has a little pad of paper and a ball-point pen, twenty-eight fifty a gross. So when he or his wife signed the card and sent it in, I called him on the phone and made an appointment, just like I would with anyone else. Maybe you got one when you first came to town. Then I went over there and sold him some insurance. And that’s all there was to it. I didn’t even deliver the policy. I was busy at the time and sent one of my salesmen down. I never saw him again, I’m not even sure if I would remember him if I did see him again. That was my connec­tion with Hirsh.

  “But the way they acted and the questions they asked, like I had done something criminal. Why was I so inter­ested in changing the layout of the road? Didn’t I realize that it would cut Hirsh’s grave off from the others? What did I have against Hirsh? I couldn’t tell them about the Goralsky business. That’s all hush-hush, and as far as I know Ben Goralsky hasn’t even agreed to give the chapel. So I told them about our law against burying suicides. And then they tell me that they understand according to you it isn’t against the law, and couldn’t it be I had some other reason. Then they begin asking me what I was do­ing the night Hirsh died.”

  “Well, that should have been easy. It was Kol Nidre.”

  “None of it was hard. They were just giving me the business. And don’t tell me, Rabbi, that they can’t touch me if I haven’t done anything wrong. Aside from taking up my time, they can do me lots of harm just by coming to see me. A man in business, especially the insurance business, has to be above suspicion. What if word gets around that the police are coming down to the office to question me? Do you think that would improve my busi­ness?”

  The rabbi was spared the necessity of answering by the ringing phone. It was Lanigan.

  He sounded jubilant. “Rabbi, remember I told you that Goralsky, Mr. Ben Goralsky, was the one who recom­mended Hirsh for the job at Goddard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, did you know that Hirsh and Goralsky were originally partners, and that the process the Goralskys now use by which they made a fortune, I might add, was Hirsh’s idea? They backed him with money and then bought him out.”

  “Yes, I knew that.”

  There was a pause, then—and the voice was cold, “You never mentioned it to me.”

  “I didn’t think it was significant.”

  “I think you and I should have a little talk, Rabbi. Maybe tonight?”

  “That will be all right. Right now, Mr. Marvin Brown is here with me. He tells me that a couple of your men were down to see him.”

  “And I might say that he wasn’t what I would call overly cooperative.”

  “That may be, but what I’m concerned with right now is that he seems to think it was done at my instigation. Did your men say anything to give him that idea?”

  “You know better than that, Rabbi.”

  “Of course. But then how can you possibly be inter­ested in him?”

  “Well now, Rabbi, on that point I received a bit of in­telligence not twenty minutes ago. Since he’s there with you, you might just ask him a question for me. Ask him, why did he leave the temple before the service was over?”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure, Rabbi.” With a laugh Lanigan hung up.

  The rabbi turned to Marvin Brown. “That was Chief Lanigan.”

  Brown’s smirk seemed to say, I told you so.

  “Tell me, Mr. Brown, Friday night, the Kol Nidre ser­vice, did you leave the temple early?”

  Marvin Brown reddened.

  “So that was why you did not respond when you were called for your honor. Why, Mr. Brown, why?”

  “I—I don’t think I have to answer. I—I don’t care to—that is, I’m not on any witness stand, and I don’t have to answer as to my whereabouts to anyone.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I’m a cop first and foremost, Rabbi,” said Lanigan, “and I don’t take kindly to your withholding information that might be of value to our investigation.”

  “I don’t see how the fact that Goralsky recommended Hirsh for a job should make me think he wanted to kill him,” said the rabbi. He was matching the chief’s reserve and his tone was coldly polite.

  “Rabbi, Rabbi, I explained all that. We’ve got a weapon that practically anybody could have used, and a motive that can be almost anything. The only line we can take is to check opportunity. I told you the Jews of Barnard’s Crossing had practically a communal alibi because they were all in the temple at the time, so for that very reason anyone who wasn’t has some explaining to do. Now who wasn’t? Your friend Marvin Brown, for one. I understand he’s some kind of big shot in your temple, a vestryman or something like that.”

  “He’s on the Board of Directors.”

  “Okay, so if anyone should have been there, he should. And we know he was at the temple but left early—why, he wouldn’t say. Now on top of that, we find he sold Hirsh his insurance. It isn’t much, but for a guy like Hirsh who kept to himself pretty much, it’s a connection. So we question him. If it upsets him, that’s too bad. It’s one of the burdens of citizenship.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to tell a man what he’s being questioned for? And in a murder case, aren’t you supposed to warn him that what he says may be used against him?”

  “We haven’t accused him of anything. We were just looking for information. Maybe when we go see him again, I’ll take just that line. Right now, I’m letting him stew a little. And remember, no one is supposed to know that Hirsh was murdered.”

  “How long are you going to keep that up?”

  The chief grinned, for the first time since he arrived. “It’s actually not much of a secret right now. Once I reported the matter to the D.A., it was bound to get around town. You can’t keep those things dark. The chances are that your friend Brown has already figured out that we wouldn’t send two men to question him at his office and check on his whereabouts unless something like murder was involved. In tonight’s Examiner there was a little item in Fred Stahl’s Roundabout column. Didn’t you see it?”

  “I don’t read gossip columns.”

  “Well, sometimes it pays. The Roundabout asks: Are the police hiding something? Why should the office of the District Attorney be investigating the death of a well-known scientist in a town not many miles from here? Could the death possibly be more mysterious than it ap­peared? Did the police goof and are they covering up?”

  “And this is how the most important business of the community is conducted?” asked the rabbi sadly. “Hints in gossip columns, rumor, speculation? And if Marvin Brown’s secretary and the other people in the office see that item and jump to the conclusion that he’s a suspect in a murder case, that’s just one of the burdens of citizenship, is it? And all because he sold the dead man an in­surance policy.”

  “It wasn’t just the insurance policy. There was also the matter of selling the widow a grave site. And trying to shunt the body aside in the cemetery. And in this crazy case where we have so little to go on, we check any two facts that happen to coincide.”

  “And Ben Goralsky—he is suspect because he got Hirsh a job and because years ago they were partners for a short time?”

  “And because he wasn’t at the synagogue either. And according to what I hear, the Goralskys are very Ortho­dox and very devout. It seems funny that he shouldn’t have gone.”

  “You also heard, I suppose, that his father was very sick
and that he was afraid he might die?”

  “Not from you, Rabbi.” And once again, the atmo­sphere which had warmed somewhat, cooled.

  “You said you were first and foremost a policeman. Well, first and foremost I am a rabbi. Mr. Goralsky is a member of my congregation, and I cannot see myself inviting his confidence in order to transmit it to the police.”

  “You mean that if you found a member of your con­gregation had committed murder you would not inform the police?”

  “I am bound by the duties of citizenship just as is everyone else,” said the rabbi stiffly.

  “But you won’t help us find him.”

  “I will not cast suspicion on innocent people so that the police can harass them—”

  “Harass them? Do you think we grill them for the pleasure of seeing them squirm?”

  “The effect is the same. Marvin Brown was upset—even frightened. I’m sure it wasn’t because he had com­mitted murder and was afraid he might be discovered. He was afraid of the effect on his business and his friends, on his wife and children.”

  “But he did leave the temple early and he wouldn’t tell you why.”

  “What of it? There were probably lots of people who left the temple at one time or another. It’s a long service, and people get tired. They go out for a breath of air, or to stretch their legs—”

  “And would they be ashamed to say so?”

  “Of course not. But Marvin Brown might have left for any number of reasons he would hesitate to admit to me. Maybe he went home for a bite, and he wouldn’t like it known that he had broken his fast.”

  “And he might have gone to kill Hirsh.”

  “Why? Because he sold him an insurance policy? You might as well question anyone else who had the slightest contact with Hirsh—the baker who sold him bread, the butcher who sold him meat, the mechanic who fixed his car, a hundred others. And since most of them probably are not Jews, they would not have been in the temple and a good many probably would be unable to prove their whereabouts.”

  “I’m not saying Brown’s guilty of murder because he left the synagogue early. I’m just saying that in a case like this where the weapon was so accessible, and the motive could be almost anything—”

  “Aren’t you, perhaps, riding that idea a little too hard?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Because there was ample opportunity for the killing you have proceeded on the theory that no strong motive was involved. That may very well be true, but it doesn’t have to be. The killer may have been planning to kill Hirsh for months, but either didn’t quite have the nerve or the opportunity never arose. Perhaps he may have planned to kill him in some conventional manner and taken advantage of this situation merely because it pre­sented itself.”

  “I don’t see how that gets us any further.”

  “It suggests other lines of investigation.”

  “Such as?”

  The rabbi shrugged his shoulders. “We know Hirsh worked on the Manhattan Project. Perhaps his background there might be worth investigation. I don’t want to sound melodramatic, but conceivably he had informa­tion someone might want, or even might not want him to tell.”

  “But that was almost twenty years ago. It’s unlikely such information would have much significance today. Besides, why wait all this time before acting?”

  “There may be nothing to it, but can you rule it out for certain? Up till now, he’s been in another part of the country. Now he comes back East—where there is the greatest concentration of scientists. Who’s to say he didn’t run into someone—maybe at Goddard?”

  “I suppose we could check the personnel files to see if anyone else there worked on the Manhattan Project,” the chief said doubtfully.

  “What about the fact that Mrs. Hirsh is a rather attrac­tive young woman?”

  Lanigan looked at the rabbi. “As a rabbi, I wouldn’t think you’d notice such things.”

  “Even your priests who are celibate can, I’m sure, dis­tinguish between an attractive woman and a plain one.”

  Lanigan smiled reminiscently. “Yeah, I guess Father O’Keefe could, although I have my doubts about Father Chisholm. Are you suggesting that the widow might have a lover—”

  “From what I have seen of her I would doubt it, but it’s not impossible. Rather I was thinking that some man, a man younger than her husband, might have been at­tracted to her and think he’d have a better chance with Hirsh out of the way.”

  “It’s worth checking into, I suppose.” He turned to his host with sudden suspicion. “You wouldn’t be trying to tout me off Marvin Brown and Goralsky, would you now, Rabbi?”

  “I am merely suggesting that there are other lines of investigation than members of my congregation who happened for one reason or another to have missed the Kol Nidre service.”

  “Yeah? Well, that’s as may be. But we’re going to con­tinue to check into the movements and whereabouts of your friends that Friday night regardless of whatever other approaches we make. I’ll bid you good night now, Rabbi, but I don’t mind saying I’m a little disappointed. I don’t suppose I have to warn you that if you tip off Goralsky or anyone else I’ve mentioned, I could consider you an accessory after the fact.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  In a small town there are no secrets; a secret is not something unknown, only something not talked about openly. By Thursday, when the district attorney finally met with the press, it was generally known that there was some mystery connected with the death of Hirsh. Nor did the district attorney clarify matters much in his press conference. In spite of sharp questioning he would admit only that evidence had come to the attention of the police of Barnard’s Crossing that suggested Isaac Hirsh had not met with death by accident.

  “Are you suggesting that his death was suicide?”

  “That’s certainly one of the possibilities.”

  “Are you perhaps suggesting that he might have been murdered?” asked another reporter.

  “We are not ruling out that possibility.”

  “Can you give us some idea of the nature of the new evidence that was brought to your attention?”

  “I do not think it would be in the public interest at this time.”

  “Isaac Hirsh was at one time connected with the Man­hattan Project. Is there any connection between his death and his government work on the atom bomb?”

  “We are not ruling out that possibility.”

  “Can you tell us what steps you plan to take—”

  “The investigation is at present being conducted largely by the Barnard’s Crossing police in cooperation with state detectives.”

  “If there is any connection with the federal govern­ment, or for that matter if it is murder, isn’t it unusual to leave this to a small town police force?”

  “We have every confidence in Chief Lanigan, and since he is intimately acquainted with the people of the town we feel he is the best man to work on the case at this stage. Of course—through this office—he can call on every facility of the commonwealth, or of the federal government if it should turn out to be involved.”

  “Are you planning to exhume the body of Isaac Hirsh?”

  “That is a distinct possibility.”

  And that was as far as he would go. To all other ques­tions he answered, “I don’t think I care to go into that at this time.”

  Lieutenant Eban Jennings was a tall, thin man with sparse grayish hair. He had watery blue eyes which he dabbed frequently with a folded handkerchief, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his scrawny neck as he talked.

  “I went over to see the widow like you said. You know, Hugh. She’s really something.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, she’s a big woman and right handsome, with a head of flaming red hair, white skin, and tits like a pair of silver cups—”

  “My, aren’t we getting poetic!”

  “It’s just that she’s a fine figure of a woman with a lovely round
arse your hands just itch to pat—”

  “You’re a horny bastard.”

  “I’m just telling you how she struck me,” said Jennings reproachfully. “My point is, there she is—a woman like that, not more than thirty-five I’ll bet, and she’s married to a little shrimp of a guy old enough to be her father. And what a guy. Bald, pot-bellied, a rummy, and a Jew at that. So why would a woman like her want to marry somebody like him? All right, maybe she’d had tough times and wanted someone who’d treat her decent. But, dammit, it couldn’t last. After a while, she’d stop feeling grateful and start looking around, and there’d be plenty of men willing to start making up to her.”

  “Hear anything—rumors, gossip, to that effect?”

  “No-o, but then I haven’t really asked around. I just questioned the widow about whether anything unusual had happened that day. You know: any unusual letters, phone calls, visits. She couldn’t think of anything but did happen to mention that the young curate, whatsisname, Peter Dodge over at St. Andrews, had said he might drop in on Hirsh that evening.”

  “The Reverend Peter Dodge?” Suddenly Lanigan had a thought. “Say, that’s right. That time he came down to complain about some fracas at Bill’s Cafe he mentioned he was from South Bend. And that’s where she’s from.”

  “Yeah? Then listen to this. After what she told me, I figured maybe he did drop in that night. Maybe Hirsh said something that could help. So I went on over to this place where Dodge boards, with Milly Oliphant—just rou­tine follow-up—and he was gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Not for good. According to Milly, Dodge packed a bag and flew to Alabama. He’s head of some bunch of clergy-men who are going down there to picket. But now, get this—the group isn’t supposed to leave for a couple of days. I got that from Dr. Sturgis, the rector, who is his boss. He said Dodge decided to go down a little earlier to take care of some administrative details.”