Harry Kemelman - Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home

“When you come down to it,” said Nussbaum slowly, “it’s only fair.”

Brennerman, who was standing by, pursed his lips, then suddenly broke into a delighted roar of laughter. “By God. Nussbaum, you’re right. The rabbi’s come up with the perfect solution!”

They all looked at him.

“Don’t you see it, boys? Front row yicchus, back row tuchus. Suit yourself!” Laughing loudly, he spotted Gorfinkle and hurried over to tell him what had happened.

The rabbi hailed Paff and led him to a side corridor. When they were a safe distance from the others, he said. “I read your statement to the police. Mr. Paff. Judging from the names of those people you listed as partners in your business deal, I suspect you were interested in Hillson House as a possible new temple.”

Paff grinned. “That’s right. Rabbi, but of course, it’s out of the question now. We’re letting the whole matter drop for the time being.” He thought of something. “I was going to tell you, of course, but Becker reported that you weren’t interested anyway.”

“That’s all right,” the rabbi hastened to assure him. “I wasn’t, and I’m not. My reason for questioning you is that I wanted to clarify some things in my own mind with respect to this case. You told the police that you slowed down as you approached Hillson House and then drove on. Is that correct?”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t stop?”

Paff considered. “I may have stopped for a moment.”

“You’re quite sure you didn’t stop for much longer than a moment?”

“What are you getting at, Rabbi?”

“I’m suggesting that you stopped for quite a while, perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes or even longer.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because as it stands your statement doesn’t ring true. I passed Hillson House on my way over to the temple this morning. That’s a straight stretch of road, no turn, nothing blocking your vision. Even in a rainstorm, long before you reached Hillson House by whichever direction you approached, you could see whether someone was waiting there or not. So there was no need for you to slow down. And since you expected to meet someone there. I suggest that you would have waited for fifteen minutes anyway.”

“All right, suppose I did?”

“Then the police might wonder why you didn’t bother to go inside in all that time.”

“I didn’t. I swear I didn’t, Rabbi.”

“Why not?”

His face showed resignation. “I don’t really know. I’ve been by there any number of times, but I guess it was during the daytime, and it always looked bright and cheerful. And this night it was all dark, and it was raining, and I just didn’t like the idea of going in alone.”

“Then why didn’t you tell the police the truth?”

“You know how it is. Rabbi. I heard that Moose had been found in there. Well, he worked for me, and I knew him. If

I said I had been waiting around there for half an hour or so, they’d begin to ask me questions: Did I hear anything? Did I see anything? Why didn’t I go in? No, I just didn’t want to get involved.”

“Well. I’d say you were involved now. If I were you. I’d go down to the police and tell them you’d like to change your statement.”

“But that would mean that I was lying, and that would look suspicious.”

“It will look a lot more suspicious when they find out the truth.”

Paff sighed. “I suppose you’re right, Rabbi.”

When he arrived home, he found Lanigan waiting for him.

“I thought those morning prayer services of yours only last about half an hour.” the chief of police complained.

“There was a collation afterward,” said the rabbi, “and then I had to perform an errand of mercy; I went to visit the sick. Sorry you had to wait. Is it business or purely social?”

Lanigan grinned. “I guess it’s always a little bit of both when I come visiting. I understand, Rabbi, that there’s a movement afoot to set up a Jenkins Defense Committee. You know anything about it?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I do. Why, do you object to it?”

“Well, of course, every man has a right—yes, I object to it!” said Lanigan. “I know this man Donohue. He’ll stir up a lot of trouble and maybe create an atmosphere in this town that we might be years getting over. And none of it will do Jenkins any good. It will just be a lot of propaganda about social justice and the rights of the underprivileged and Lord knows what all. And it won’t have any bearing on this case, because Jenkins is going to get a fair trial, and it’s got nothing to do with whether he’s black, white, or green with yellow polka dots.”

Tm not sure. Are you giving him a fair shake? It seems to me that you’ve made up your mind that he’s guilty—

“I don’t decide whether he’s guilty or not. That’s up to a judge and jury. But naturally I have an opinion. I’ve dealt fairly with him throughout. You were present when I questioned him. Did I browbeat him? I practically begged him to get a lawyer. He didn’t want one.”

“But when he told his story, didn’t you automatically assume those parts that indicated he was guilty were true and those that suggested he might be innocent a pack of lies?”

“You’ve always got to choose from the available material what you’ll believe and what you won’t. You know that. Take Jenkins statement that there was somebody parked right across the street for about twenty minutes—”

“That’s true.”

“How do you mean?”

The rabbi told of his conversation with Paff.

Lanigan strode around the room as he thought aloud. “That means Paff might have seen Jenkins enter the house and waited there to see what would happen. When Jenkins doesn’t come out, he rides off? So that leaves him on the scene with transportation to return and no real alibi—” He shook his head vigorously. “No. I don’t believe it. Rabbi. You wouldn’t throw a member of your congregation to the wolves just like that. You must have something else in mind.”

“I’m merely suggesting that there are other possibilities. You yourself suggested Gorfinkle and Jacobs. The point is that Jenkins is not the only one whose actions are suspect; besides, your case against him is full of holes.”

“Like what?”

“How about the death of that man in Boston? How does Jenkins fit into that?”

“I don’t say he had anything to do with that. His death and the connection with Moose—that’s pure coincidence.”

“Coincidences happen, but not often. But the big objection to your case against Jenkins is that the next door neighbor, this—”

“Mr. Begg?”

“Yes, Mr. Begg. He saw a light. That’s what led him to call the police.”

Lanigan looked puzzled for a moment, and then his face cleared. “Oh, I see what you’re getting at—that someone came to the house after Jenkins left, that he put on the light, and that he presumably killed Moose—maybe your Mr. Paff. It’s a good effort, Rabbi, but here’s where I demolish it. Jenkins said that he drew the shades and the drapes before he put on a light. Right?”

“Right.”

“And there was no reason for him to lie about something like that.”

“Agreed.”

“So if someone, Paff or a mysterious stranger, had put on a light, it would not have shown.”

“Precisely. Then how could Begg have seen a light?”

“Huh?”

“The youngsters were all agreed that they did not put on a light. Jenkins used a flashlight but only after he had drawn the drapes—”

“Then how could Begg have seen a light in the house?”

“That was my question.” said the rabbi pointedly. “But I can suggest an answer. The only way he could have seen a light with all the windows blocked off was by having himself been in the house and put them on.”