Harry Kemelman - Friday The Rabbi Slept Late

"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 conies 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.

"Well, working around the temple here, naturally I see a tot 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."

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.

Angry at the girl for oversleeping, she wrapped a robe about her and went down to wake her up. She pounded on the door and called her name. When the girl failed to respond, it occurred to her that Elspeth might not be in her room, and that could only mean she had not come home at all last night. For a live-in maid, this was a cardinal offense punishable by immediate dismissal. She was about to run outside to peer through the window and confirm her suspicions when the front doorbell rang.

She was so certain it was Elspeth, probably with some cock-and-bull story about having lost her key, that she raced down the hall and flung open the front door. It was a uniformed policeman. Her robe had fallen open, and for a moment she just stood there staring at him stupidly. His blush of embarrassment suddenly made her realize that she was exposed, and she hastily gathered the garment about her.

There followed a nightmare of a morning. Other policemen came, in and out of uniform. The telephone rang incessantly, all police business. She was told to get her husband up and dressed so that he could accompany one of the officers to make formal identification of the body. "Couldn't I identify her?" she asked. "My husband needs his sleep."

"He's a good man if he can sleep through all this," said the officer, and then not unkindly, "Believe me, lady, you better have him do it. She's not very pretty."

Somehow the children managed to get fed and dressed, and she even prepared a breakfast of sorts for herself. And all the time she was eating there were questions: formal interrogations with one officer sitting across the table and another taking notes; questions while they were measuring and photographing the girl's room; questions asked abruptly as if to take her by surprise.

After a while they left. The children were out in the backyard for the moment, and she had decided to lie down on the couch for a few minutes of relaxation, when the doorbell rang once again. It was Joe.

She scanned his face anxiously. "Was it the girl?"

"Sure it was the girl. Who else would it be? You think the cops didn't know who it was before I identified her?"

"Then why did they need you?"

"Because it's the law, that's why. It's like a routine you got to go through."

"Did they ask you any questions, Joe?"

"Cops always ask questions."

"Like what? What did they ask you?"

"Like did she have any enemies? What was the name of her boyfriend? Who were her friends? Was she upset lately? When was the last time I saw her?"