Harry Kemelman - Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home

“Precisely. Now why were they given to him? Two of them, mind you.”

“We can’t know that, Rabbi.”

“Let me put it another way. Suppose in the course of conversation Moose had mentioned that he was broke. Conceivably, Wilcox might have been willing to lend him some to tide him over. Normally, that would mean a dollar or two, or five dollars, or even ten. But if he had nothing smaller on him at the time than twenties, he might have given him one of those. But he gave him two twenties—forty dollars. What does that suggest?”

Lanigan shook his head. “I pass.”

“It suggests payment for something. But since Moose was broke and had nothing Wilcox could want, it suggests some sort of payment in advance.”

“For what?”

“We can’t be certain, of course, but didn’t you say this Wilcox was connected with the drug traffic?”

“The Boston police are sure he was a dealer.”

“All right, and since you also found a rather sizable quantity of the marihuana on Moose, and Jenkins admits having taken ten cigarettes from him. I suggest this was either an advance on salary or on commissions on sales. Mrs. Carter said that Moose had gone to Boston for a job. I think he got it.”

“Yeah, could be. Could be he was setting him up in business. All right. I’ll buy that. What’s the connection with his death? And with Begg?”

“We haven’t finished with Moose’s activities.” said the rabbi reproachfully.

“Why, what did he do then?”

“He came back to Barnard’s Crossing and went directly to see Mr. Begg.”

“Any more on Moose?”

The rabbi shook his head. “I didn’t know the young man. I can only speculate that the description of his behavior at the cookout, his drinking and carrying on there and again at the Hillson House, suggests he was euphoric. And when you add in the fact he neglected to go home to dinner, which was a serious offense in the Carter household, it indicates he no longer had reason to fear his father.”

“And Begg?” Lanigan asked sarcastically. “Do you know what he did? Where he went after he left Moose?”

“I’m afraid it would be pure speculation,” said the rabbi primly.

“I see. Well, why stop now? Go ahead and speculate.”

“Very well, I imagine he went to see Wilcox. The fact that Moose came to see Begg directly after leaving a narcotics dealer who had just set him up in business suggests that Begg was another agent of Wilcox, or a partner. If he were an agent, he certainly would have objected to anyone sharing the territory, Moose particularly. And if he were a partner, he may have gone to protest an injudicious appointment.”

Lanigan sat back and stared at the rabbi in silence. Finally he said. “I don’t suppose you’d care to amplify that with a fact or two, would you? Or did you mention something I happened to overlook?”

The rabbi grinned good-naturedly. “I said it was pure speculation, but if we consider it from the other end, it may seem more reasonable. For example, it gives us the first real motive for killing Moose. When Begg left his house, Moose knew where Begg was going, and when he heard of the death of Wilcox, he would know who did it.”

Lanigan stared at the rabbi in silence. Finally he said. “So now you’ve got Begg killing Wilcox, too.”

“It adds up.”

“And proof?”

“Perhaps fingerprints. Begg’s, in Wilcox’s apartment?”

Lanigan shook his head. “Not after a week, with cops all over the place.”

“Just a minute. Didn’t you say some woman had seen him?”

“Madelaine Spinney. The Boston police thought they had something when she recognized Moose from a photograph they got from the files of the Boston papers. It’s a different size than rogue’s gallery pictures. That’s probably why she picked it; it was different. From what they say; I doubt if she’d be able to identify your man. She’s not very bright.”

“Maybe he would identify her,” suggested the rabbi.

His car is in the driveway?… Good, then he’s home.”

“Now, how do you want us to work it, Chief?” asked the Boston detective.

“Just drive along, and when you come to the house, stop,” said Lanigan. “Keep your motor running, just as you would if you stopped to ask someone for directions. Madelaine will get out. The house will be on her side. Keep your coat buttoned and push the collar up, Madelaine. That’s fine. Put your head down a little. That’s right. Then you just go up and ring the bell. When the door opens and he answers, you let him get a good look at you and ask how to get onto the road to Boston. Nothing to be afraid of. The worst he can do is slam the door in your face.” He turned to the policeman. “You just sit tight unless you see something unusual.”

“Like what?”

“Like anything different from the way a man normally would behave if somebody asked him directions. We’ll be behind you, but we’ll keep out of sight. If we see you get out of the car, we’ll come a-running. All right?”

“Check.”

The two cars began to move, Madelaine Spinney and the policeman from Boston in one, Lanigan and Jennings in the other. When they reached Tarlow’s point, the woman got out and walked up to Begg’s house. She rang the bell, and a moment later the door was thrown open. “Yes?”

As instructed, she raised her head from her coat collar. The two stared at each other.

“You!”

The policeman moved rapidly toward the house.

It was late in the afternoon, and Miriam watched with some concern as her husband paced the floor. Every now and then, he would pick up a book and try to read, only to put it aside and resume his pacing.

“Don’t you think you ought to go over to the temple, David, just to see if everything is all right?”

“No. I’m staying home until I hear from Lanigan. Somebody will be there to check, the cantor or Brooks or maybe Mr. Wasserman.”

Whenever the phone rang, he ran to it. Most of the calls were indeed for him, but he answered as briefly as possible, fearful that Lanigan might be trying to reach him. Finally, when it was almost time to go to the temple to begin the seder, Lanigan called. The rabbi listened for a moment and then smiled. “Thank you,” he said, “and thank you for calling me.”

“Is it all right?” Miriam asked when he hung up. “Can we go now?”

“Yes, we can go now.”

The baby-sitter had been there for half an hour, waiting for them to leave so that she could turn on the TV. Miriam gave her some last-minute instructions and went out to the car. When the rabbi came out a minute later, she saw that he was carrying the tape recorder he used to dictate letters, presumably so that he could tape the proceedings. She was mildly amused at his sudden sentimentality.

When they arrived at the temple, the members were still milling around, looking for place cards, talking, trying to shift from the table they had been assigned to another where their friends were. The tables looked festive, with snowy white tablecloths and gleaming silver, and the long head table had a magnificent floral centerpiece. Drawn up to the head table were armchairs, each with a pillow to lean on in accordance with the prescribed ritual, and beside each armchair, ordinary chairs for the wives. In front of the rabbi’s place were the required three matzoth covered with a napkin and the seder plate, with its egg, shank bone, bitter herbs, green herbs, and its two little dishes, one for horseradish and the other for the mixture of chopped nuts and apple.

Those at the head table were already seated, and before taking his place, the rabbi went to each one for the customary greeting and handshake.