Гарри Кемельман - Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red

"That's right. Setting off a bomb is arson, which is a felony. It's our assumption that the explosion caused the statue to fall on Professor Hendryx and kill him, that makes it a felony murder which is first degree murder."

"I understand."

"And since in this state there's no bail for first degree murder, we've got the students sitting in jail waiting for arraignment before the grand jury. If they find a true bill, they'll remain in jail until they go to trial."

"Yes, I know that."

"What do you think of it?" Ames asked unexpectedly. It caught the rabbi by surprise. "I don't understand. Does it make any difference what I think?"

"No, I suppose not, but I'd like to know anyway." The rabbi smiled. "It's not really much of a coincidence, but only yesterday I was doing some research in the Talmud for a sermon and I came across a passage which bore on a somewhat similar problem."

"Talmud? Oh, that's one of your religious books, I believe."

"It's actually our book of law, and the passage was not concerned with murder, but with the law of bailment and the responsibility of the bailee."

"You mean this Talmud deals with civil law?"

"Oh yes." said the rabbi. "And criminal law, and religious law— all the laws by which we were governed, we don't separate them in our religion, well, this case involved a loss by accidental damage and there was evidence of negligence on the part of the bailee, the question concerned his liability. One rabbi held, as a general governing principle, that if negligence in the beginning results in damage in the end, even by accident, then the bailee is liable."

"Well, that's the point of view we take."

"But another rabbi held that the basic principle should be different. Even though the beginning may be negligence, if the damage results by accident he is not liable."

"And how was the case finally decided?" asked Ames, interested in spite of himself. The rabbi smiled. "It wasn't, as in a number of such cases, the final decision was held in abeyance until the coming of the prophet Elijah." Ames laughed. "Very good. I wish we had a device like that." The rabbi laughed too. "You can't,” he said, "unless you believe that Elijah is actually coming."

"That would make a difference, of course." Ames found himself liking the rabbi and decided to go ahead with his plan to confide in him. "To get back to the matter in hand. Rabbi. I don't mind admitting that I am not too happy with the situation as it stands, these young people can be kept in jail for some time even though they have not as yet been tried and found guilty. Of course, that's one of the hazards of citizenship. It could happen to anyone. It's unfair to the individual, of course, but on the other hand the state must protect its citizens, we take all sorts of precautions to insure that the innocent are not harassed in this way, the police cannot hold people for more than twenty-four hours without the consent of a magistrate, just as we don't subject people to the annoyances and vicissitudes of a trial until a grand jury has decided that there is a good case to be made out against them."

"Surely, Mr. Ames, you didn't come here to lecture me on the virtues of our legal system."

Ames giggled. "True enough. Rabbi, well, the medical examiner has just filed his report, and according to his analysis the death of your colleague occurred some time before the explosion. Now, the M.E.'s findings are not conclusive, you understand, he can make a mistake, and probably did, but I'm sure that if the judge had had the medical examiner's report he would not have refused bail."

"I see." said the rabbi. "So what do you do in these cases? I'm sure it must have happened before— not exactly like this perhaps, but where some new piece of evidence has been introduced."

"Oh, it occurs often enough, and what I'd be apt to do is call the defense counsel and tell him, so that he could file a motion to quash or to reduce bail. But in this case, the district attorney has rather strong views, which makes it a little difficult. You understand?" He peered up at the rabbi expectantly.

"I think so." said the rabbi doubtfully, then. "In the other cases, did you get the district attorney's permission first?"

"Oh no. I handle mv own cases as I see fit. Normally, there's no interference." The rabbi looked at him. "So why couldn't you do the same here?" Ames tried to find a more comfortable position in the visitor's chair. "Because we've already discussed it, and he's against it."

"Suppose you didn't bother to tell him and just did it wouldn't he assume the defense attorney had thought of filing the motion on his own?"

"Well, if it were a lawyer I knew, one I'd had dealings with. I could manage it that way without any trouble. I'd let them know I was going out on a limb and to keep it quiet. You understand, there are only so many lawyers practicing criminal law in the county and over the years I've established good working relations with most of them. But here I don't know any of the people who are acting for these students. Besides, there are four of them, and it would be bound to get out."

"Ah. I see the problem." The rabbi was silent for some little time. Finally he said. "In talking to me about the case, did you feel that because I'm a rabbi, that is, a clergyman, that what you said was privileged and that I was thereby bound to respect your confidence?" Ames chuckled. "You catch on fast. Rabbi. To answer your question, let's put it this way: if you were on the witness stand and refused to answer on those grounds, the examining attorney would be sure to point out that since one party to the conversation was a Jewish rabbi and the other a Unitarian, the principle of privilege of the clergy certainly would not apply."

"All right. I'll proceed on that basis. Tell me, Mr. Ames, how did you happen to come to me?"

"Well, of the four lawyers. I thought only Paul Goodman seemed at all possible, he's mature and he's local, but I thought I'd better get a line on him first. So I called Chief Lanigan, and he suggested I talk to you. I gather you two know each other." The rabbi smiled. "Yes, we've had dealings."

Bradford Ames slowly circled the apartment, stopping to glance at the titles of the books on the shelf, staring at a picture on the wall.

"What are you looking for?" asked Sergeant Schroeder.

"I don't know." Ames shook his head. "I don't have any idea, that hassock, the cleaning woman says it wasn't there when she left?"

"That's what she said."

"And the pipe and the ashtray, she's positive they weren't there?"

"Just the pipe," said Schroeder. "She said she cleaned the ashtray and doesn't remember whether there was a pipe in it, but if so she'd have returned it to the rack."

"It's true, Sergeant, as a bachelor of long standing, I can testify to the fact that cleaning women always clean ashtrays whether they need cleaning or not."

"Wives, too."

"Is that so?" he said abstractedly. "Well, Sergeant, I'm inclined to believe her."

"And you didn't before?" asked Schroeder in surprise. "Why?"

"Because if her story is true, then the whole thing just doesn't add up."

"Why not?" Ames raised a pudgy finger. "She says she left here a little before three, maybe ten to, we know the bomb went off just after three, that means Hendryx had to go to his apartment, pull over the hassock, select a book from the shelf, light his pipe, sit down to read and then hightail it back to his office in time to get killed by the statue— all in fifteen minutes."

"He could have been smoking the pipe when he came in."

"Good point, and yet not so good, because there are half a dozen matches in that ashtray."

"They do it all the time." said Schroeder. "They smoke more matches than they do tobacco, are you saying it couldn't be done in fifteen minutes?"