Гарри Кемельман - Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red

"How about something a bit more personal?"

"More personal than panties?" asked Ames with a smile. "I was thinking of a knitting bag," suggested the rabbi.

"Ah yes." said Ames. "I can see where she'd have to get that"

"Look." said Schroeder. "maybe I'm just a dumb cop, but you still haven't explained how she could have pulled that statue down on him without a struggle." He thought a moment. "Even if she once was a Phys. Ed teacher."

Ames flashed the rabbi a questioning look.

"Let's go back to the Talmud again." the rabbi said. "It's the same business of considering all the possibilities, a statue on a shelf can tumble down as the result of a concussion, like a bomb's explosion, that was the point of view of the police when you arrested the students. Or it can be pulled down, which is the basis for your suspicion of Professor Fine and a moment ago, Sergeant, of the Macombers. But it can also be pushed off the shelf, and that's what I think happened."

"Pushed?" said Ames. "How could it have been pushed?"

The rabbi said quietly, "Our office phone feeds off the line in the dean's office; the wire comes through a hole in the wall above the top shelf near the ceiling, the statue was right in front of it. In fact, the phone man had to move it to make the hole."

"So there's a hole in the wall, and the phone wire goes through it." said Ames in annoyance. "What of it?"

"The wire comes through it, but there's still enough room for a thin but strong steel rod to be pushed through." said the rabbi.

"A thin steel— a knitting needle!" exclaimed Ames.

The rabbi nodded. "My guess is that when she heard me leave— and you can hear through those walls; the office shares a common partition— she moved the desk over to the wall and climbed up, then she pushed the knitting needle through the hole and toppled the statue. Sure enough, it tumbled down and killed him."

Ames was silent for a long moment. "And motive. Rabbi,” he said at last. "Do you have some theory as to motive?"

"I have a theory," said the rabbi diffidently. "My guess is that she assumed she and Hendryx were going to be married, perhaps as soon as he was made head of the department. It was no secret that she was pushing for it but so far had been unsuccessful, Hendryx must have decided he'd have a better chance if the daughter of the president backed him, so he made a play for her and they became engaged. Friday morning, when President Macomber told the dean that Hendryx was at last getting his appointment, he probably told her why, since he'd know nothing of the prior relationship between his future son-in-law and the dean."

"It's a lovely theory. Rabbi." said Ames, "and it seems to cover everything, but you realize of course that you don't have a particle of proof."

"I'm not so sure it covers everything, at that." said Schroeder. "You say she moved her desk and then climbed up on it."

"I'm sure that's what happened." said the rabbi. "Any of the chairs would have been too low."

Schroeder shook his head slowly in flat negation. "The desk is a good three feet from the wall and it's screwed to the floor, she couldn't have moved it."

The rabbi frowned. Bradford Ames giggled nervously.

"Three feet, you say? Yes, I suppose it is." The rabbi's face brightened. "Then I might even be able to offer your proof, Sergeant." Rising from his seat, he stood about three feet away from the wall and leaned forward, his left arm outstretched, his hand pressed against the wall to support himself, he drew a pencil from his breastpocket, and jabbed it against the wall. "High up on the wall, there's a good chance the print is still there."

She looked up from her knitting as the three men entered her office. "You remember me, don't you, ma'am?" asked Schroeder politely.

"Oh yes, you're from the police."

"And this is Mr. Bradford Ames, assistant district attorney, he's directing the investigation."

"How do you do, Mr. Ames, and this man?" she asked. "He's our fingerprint expert. Miss Hanbury," said Ames. "All right, Bill." The man looked at the wall. "I'll need something to stand on,” he said.

"Why don't you hop on the desk here." Ames suggested. "I'll put this paper down so you won't scratch it with your shoes." She watched with interest as Bill mounted the desk, as he peered at the wall. "Yup, it's here,” he said, "one print, full palm and all five fingers. Perfect."

She smiled as she bent over her knitting. "So you know."

"Yes, Miss Hanbury., we know."

Later, Ames joined the rabbi at the apartment.

"I could use a cup of coffee." said Ames. "Seems to me I noticed ajar of instant coffee in the kitchen."

And with the long practice of the bachelor, he scurried about the kitchen, boiling water, rinsing cups, setting the table.T hey were both seated at the kitchen table, their steaming cups before them, before Ames said. "In spite of that Talmudic razzle-dazzle, you must have had some idea of where you were heading, and please spare me your facile explanation to the good sergeant that it was he who first put you in mind of Dean Hanbury. What was it actually?"

The rabbi set his cup down. "From the day I first met her. Millicent Hanbury has been in my mind. I suppose it's our general way of looking at things: the biblical injunction to be fruitful and multiply. To us, the unmarried woman, the spinster, is a tragic figure because she has not had the chance to complete her normal life cycle. In the stetl, the small ghetto towns of Russia and Poland where every girl was required to provide a dowry for her marriage, the poor girl, the orphan, was furnished a dowry by the community so that she would not be condemned to a life of spinsterhood. Even if she was ugly, they managed to pair her off with someone, there were no spinsters in the stetl." "How about bachelors?"

"An occasional one." The rabbi smiled. "They were not considered so much tragic figures as failing in their duty, not pulling their weight, as it were."

"You, too?" In answer to the rabbi's questioning look, he explained. "I’ve got it from my family most of my life— not pulling my weight, not doing my duty. But it wasn't because I remained single; it was because I didn't become a bigshot lawyer. Not fulfilling my potential is the usual remark."

The rabbi smiled. "Well, in our modern system, where you marry for romantic love, it's pretty much a matter of luck whether you marry or not. But I venture to say that in the older system of the arranged marriage, you probably would not have remained a bachelor, and Miss Hanbury certainly would not have remained a spinster, she is too attractive. So I found myself wondering why she hadn't married. Was it for the sake of an academic career?" He broke off as a thought crossed his mind. "You know, the chances are that if you had married, your wife would have seen to it that you became that bigshot lawyer."

Ames chuckled. "Then it's just as well that we don't have the arranged marriage."

The rabbi grinned in sympathy. "Well, shortly afterward I bumped into Chief Lanigan and he told me about Millicent Hanbury, she was a Hanbury, and Hanburys didn't associate with just anyone. But since she belonged to a poor branch of the family, she didn't even associate with those she considered her equals, she couldn't. It was a matter of pride in her family, her upbringing, and it left her emotionally crippled."

"I’ve known similar cases." said Ames. "Yes, I imagine so, well, along comes Hendryx who had left Barnard's Crossing in his early teens, and the Hendryxes were of the same social class as the Hanburys, she had known him, and it's quite possible that in spite of the difference in their ages she could have had a crush on him."

"Or because of the difference in their ages."