Гарри Кемельман: Thursday The Rabbi Walked Out

The chairman stroked his chin reflectively- "That seems reasonable enough,” he said. "All right, we'll do it that wav." To the secretary- he said. "Gladvs, whv don't you pass out some paper, we'll vote Aye and Nay. If you want to vote for renewal of the rabbi's contract, you vote Ave.

If you're opposed, you vote Nay. Everybody got it?"

The secretary tore several pages out of her notebook and then proceeded to fold and tear these in quarters, which she passed down the table.

"Can you spare it?" asked Pollock, ever the comedian.

"It's big enough for a three-letter word." said Mrs. Melnick, always the schoolteacher, then with twitching lips. "Do you know how to spell it?"

"Keep me after school if I can't?" He leered at her.

A few marked their ballots openly and boldly, but most cupped one hand over the paper while they scribbled furtively with the other, the former folded their ballots once and negligently tossed them onto the table to be passed on, the more cautious folded them at least twice and personally handed the resultant little cushions of paper to the secretary, in some cases even leaving their seats to do so.

As he waited for his neighbor to finish so that he could borrow his pencil, herb began to have doubts, he had nothing against the rabbi, he was doing it because Molly and Maltzman wanted him to. Molly and Maltzman. Molly sneaking out when she was supposed to be with his mother and Maltzman coming to the service late. Molly and Maltzman, their heads together as they pored over their lists. Molly off to help a girl with her bridge party—"Oh, no one you know"—and Maltzman calling to say he couldn't come to the meeting. His neighbor passed him a pencil, herb hesitated a moment and then wrota Aye.

The secretary had waited until all ballots were in. Now she proceeded to unfold them and separate them into two piles, she counted first one and then the other, then she announced. "Thirteen votes in all. Seven vote Aye, six Nay, the Ayes have it."

"WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO NOW?" MIRIAM ASKED TRAGIcally after Lanigan left.

The rabbi shook his head. "I don't know that there's anything we can do. It's up to Maltzman, and if he—"

"Oh, I don't care anything about Maltzman. I was thinking of the congregation and the community, and how the town will react."

"You mean how the town will react to the congregation? Believe me. Miriam, there'll be no reaction at all. People don't think that wav anymore, thev no longer feel that the actions of an individual are a reflection on the group he comes from. If there is an announcement in the press, there may be some editorializing on the fact that he's a prominent member of the community, and by that I mean Barnard's Crossing rather than the Jewish community, they'll mention that he's president of the temple, along with mention that he's president of the chamber of commerce and a big shot in the veterans' organization, the point they'll be making is that he's a community leader, that's all."

"Well, even for his own sake, don't you think you ought to try to help him?"

"What can I do?"

"I don't know what's got into you lately., David,” she flared at him. "You don't seem to care anymore. When it looks as though the board might not renew your contract, instead of making a fight for it, you say you'll leave it to God to take care of, and now, when the president of the congregation is arrested for murder, you say 'What can I do?' Do you think he actually did it?"

"No, I don't."

"Because he's not the type?"

"Every type is capable of murder, or anything else,” he replied gravely. "Who can know the depths of another person? No. I don't think he's guilty for the very reason that Lanigan arrested him, because he won't talk. It seems to me, if he had actually done it, he would have tried to arrange for an alibi, or offered some plausible explanation, even if it were only that he had taken a nap and overslept. But to tell the police that it is none of their business, that suggests that he has an alibi, an ironclad alibi, that he can produce if it becomes absolutely necessary."

"You think he's shielding someone?"

"Possibly. But I don't think so, maybe if he had come late to the Friday service that one time, then it could have been because he happened to see something, perhaps some good friend of his whom he had seen going into or coming out of Jordon's house at about the time the murder was committed. But Maltzman came to the service late the Friday before that, and since then. Come to think of it, he hasn't sat beside me for the last three or four Fridays. No, there's something he's involved in that takes place every week at the same time, and he won't tell what it is because he's ashamed of it, or finds it embarrassing."

"You think he may be seeing a woman?" asked Miriam eagerly.

"Possibly, considering his reputation. But I doubt it. Because each time I've seen Laura Maltzman in her regular seat in the front row, and she was there from the beginning of the service, then afterward she joined him for the collation, and everything seemed to be normal between them."

"But if she didn't know—"

"That could happen once, he might pretend an important business engagement and tell her to go on ahead and he'd meet her afterward. But not Friday after Friday, anything he's doing. I'm sure she knows about."

"I suppose—yes, she'd have to, then maybe he's taking some kind of course."

"Then there would be no reason for not telling the police. No, it's something that takes place every Friday night at the same time, that she knows about and seems to approve of, and yet is embarrassing to the point that—" He snapped his fingers. "You hit it right on the head. Miriam."

"I did?"

"He is taking a course—a course of treatment—from a psychiatrist."

"Oh, David. I think that's it, Henry Maltzman strikes me as just the kind of man who would be ashamed to have it known that he was getting psychiatric treatment, he'd ba afraid that people would think he was crazy. But that gives us something to go on. If you talked to him and hinted—"

"He wouldn't talk to me." said the rabbi flatly. "Even if I could get to him, he'd shut up as soon as he sensed what I was hinting at. But, you know, it might be worthwhile talking to Laura."

"Why Laura?"

"Because I could tell her point-blank what I thought. If I'm right, then there's a good chance that I could induce her to give me the name of the doctor, then—look here, I'm going over to see her right now."

For a few minutes after her husband left. Miriam was buoyed up by his certainty, then doubts began to set in. Laura Maltzman might be just as obdurate as Henry, she might have the same view of psychiatric treatment. Or even if not, she might feel it was disloyal to reveal what her husband was so anxious to keep secret. Perhaps there was another way, and a plan began to form in her mind, she reached for the phone and called the local hospital.

"You have lists of local doctors, haven't you?" she asked the switchboard operator, trying to keep her voice from trembling. "Can you—" "Hold on. I'll connect you."

She took several deep breaths, and to the person who answered this time, she was able to say crisply., "I would like a list of the local psychiatrists whom you recommend."

"Who is this calling, please?" "Mrs. Small."

"Mrs. David Small? The rabbi's wife?" "That's right. Can you help me?"

"I'm Mrs. Clausen, Mrs: Small, the rabbi checks in with me when he comes on his regular visits, he's all right, isn't he?"

"Oh yes. This involves a case he's working on, he asked me—"

"I understand, well, there aren't too many. You're thinking of those who practice in the area, I suppose. Becausa there are a number who live here, but their offices are in Boston. Let's see—"