Гарри Кемельман - Wednesday the Rabbi got wet

"Well," said the rabbi diffidently, "Miriam's breaking her strand of pearls gave me an idea...."

As they drove to the Bernsteins, Miriam said. "I wonder how Safferstein felt when he found out that Aptaker didn't have a lease, that Mr. Goralsky had never got around to signing it."

"Probably not good,” her husband replied. "I suppose Kaplan told him Sunday after the board had voted to sell him the property. But even if he had told him that Wednesday night, it was already too late, the train had been set in motion."

"Do you think he planned it from the beginning and that's why he offered to deliver the pills to Kestler?"

The rabbi shook his head. "I doubt it. How could he have known what Kestler's medicine would be? It could have been a liquid. No, he made the offer in good faith, he's reputed to be a kind and generous man."

"Kind? Generous? And yet he was willing to gamble with a man's life—"

"That's just the point," the rabbi said. "The man was a gambler, who believed in his luck. When your luck is running, you play it for all it's worth. If you start getting cautious, you're apt to lose it, that's the way gamblers think, and if it's running and you have a setback, you double your bets, that way you force your luck back into the groove. His luck was running along nicely, he had been able to buy up all the surrounding property and now he was practically certain of getting the Goralsky Block, the only hitch was the drugstore, and he had reason to believe that he'd have no difficulty in acquiring that, aptaker was holding out only on the chance that Arnold might come back. But Safferstein had been dealing with Aptaker for some time, and as a shrewd businessman, he sensed that the likelihood was mighty small, and then he comes into the drugstore to fill a prescription, and there is Arnold working in the prescription room and Aptaker tells him proudly that it is his son. So there's the setback. But his luck holds, he finds he has two bottles of pills, the same size, the same number of pills, even the same shape, all he has to do is switch them and then get it known that the drugstore had made a mistake. I don't suppose it even occurred to him that someone might get hurt."

"Well, I can understand how a man can get caught up in some great project and lose all sense of proportion. You read about artists and scientists who sacrifice everything for their work, and I suppose Safferstein may have felt that way about the mall he was planning. But having caused the death of one man, needlessly as it turned out. I don't understand why he called Dr. Muntz about the second bottle of pills, he knew they were the wrong pills. What's more, he now knew that Aptaker didn't have a lease."

"But he didn't know for sure, because I was trying to get the temple to give Aptaker his lease," said her husband, "and there was a chance I might be successful, and remember, there hadn't been the slightest hint that the police were investigating Kestler's death, so it looked as though the mistake in the pills would never become known. You might say it was Lanigan's fault for playing his cards so close to his chest, and my fault for—"

"By the same logic you might say it was Jonathan's fault," she said tartly.

"Jonathan's?"

"Sure, David. If he hadn't got sick in the middle of the night a few years back, Arnold Aptaker wouldn't have had to get up to deliver the medicine and he wouldn't have overslept the next morning, and he wouldn't have quarreled with his father and— Stop!"

He jammed on the brakes. "Now what is it?" "You've passed Harris Lane again." "Well, I'll just back up, and—"

"Against oncoming traffic? You certainly will not, David Small. You'll ride on and take the next turn."

"Oh, all right," he said meekly.

I don't like it," said Lieutenant Jennings flatly.

"I don't care a hellova lot for it myself," said his chief. "And in addition I stand to lose a sizable hunk of change."

"You can charge it to the town." "Sure," said Lanigan sarcastically.

"It's a departmental expense. It was incurred while doing police work." Jennings insisted, but without much conviction.

"If it works. If it doesn't, I pay for it myself."

"It's your funeral. Hugh. If it was me, I'd talk to the selectmen first, then you could be sure that the town would pick up the tab."

"They'd never agree to it, Eban. You ought to know that."

"Guess you're right," said Jennings gloomily. "Okay, what do you want me to do? Would you like me to make the run? My car is older than yours, another dent wouldn't make any difference."

"No, I'll do it myself," said the chief. "But I'd like you to go down to the garage and alert McNulty, and then hang around until we get there, the more witnesses, the better."

"Will do. When are you starting out?"

Lanigan glanced at the wall clock and said. "Right now. It's quarter past twelve."

As Chief Lanigan drove along Minerva Road, he noted with satisfaction that there was almost no traffic. Fortunately, when he spotted Safferstein's car at the curb there was no other car on the road, he slowed down and very deliberately swerved into the parked car, denting the front door with his fender.

At the sound of the crash, Safferstein came running out of the house. "Hey, what the hell, you drunk or something? Can't you see— Oh, it's you," as he recognized Lanigan. "What happened?"

"Swerved to avoid a dog," said Lanigan sheepishly. "I guess I swerved a little too much. Gee. I'm sorry, Mr. Safferstein."

"You sure didn't do that door any good." said Safferstein.

"I didn't improve it." Lanigan admitted, "and there could be some damage to the frame, too. I feel terrible. Tell you what, why don't you follow me to the town garage. I'll get McNulty to take a look at it, he does all the body work on the town vehicles, he can give you an estimate on the damage for the insurance company."

Lanigan got back in his car and drove slowly, occasionally glancing in his rear-view mirror to make sure Safferstein was behind him, as they neared the garage, he speeded up a little so that he was out of his car and waiting as Safferstein pulled in.

The mechanic circled the damaged car and said, "It looks as though it's just the door, but we better check it out."

As Safferstein watched, interested, McNulty pulled out the front seat.

"Hey, there's my silver pencil," cried Safferstein, "and my wife's earring, and a dime, and—"

From the other side. Lanigan pointed. "What's that? It looks like a pill." He reached over and picked it up, he wiped it clean of the dust and grime and held it up. "So it is," he said. "A little oval orange pill, just like those delivered to old Kestler, there was one missing from the bottle, and I guess this is it."

"Oh my God!" And Safferstein buried his face in his hands.

The gabbe studied Reb Mendel appraisingly and said. "You look better this morning, Rebbe. Your cold—"

"It's all gone." said the rebbe, smiling broadly. "Look." With lips compressed, he breathed deeply. "Nasal passages clear. No coughing. No sneezing. I feel a hundred percent better."

"Yesterday, you looked—"

"Ah, yesterday, I was terrible. I ached all over. I'm sure I had a fever, and to add to my misery, you know how it is Sundays, there are always relatives. Yesterday it was my Uncle Elimelech and his oldest boy, he's a physicist at Cornell and he insisted on telling me about some research he was doing. I doubt if I could have understood it even if my head were clear. Finally, I excused myself and went up to my room. It was early, around six o'clock, but I couldn't keep my head up. I got undressed, took a couple of aspirins, and then some hot tea with lemon and honey and whiskey, then I got into bed and fell asleep immediately."