That Day the Rabbi Left Town (18 page)

“You shouldn't have done that, Sergeant,” said Lanigan.

“Don't blame him,” said Miller. “I'm running a temperature and I assure you I wouldn't have come if he hadn't told me why you wanted me.”

“All right. You can take him back now. I'll drop by and see you at your house,” he said to Miller.

Later, after he'd had Lieutenant Jennings come to take charge, he proceeded to the Miller House. It was Mrs. Miller who opened the door in answer to his ring. As she led him to the living room where her son was, she admonished, “Now, don't you go badgering him. He's sick, poor boy.”

“Aw, Ma!”

“Well, I'm going to sit right here and listen.”

Lanigan smiled. “That's fine, Mrs. Miller. I just want to get this business cleared up as soon as possible.” He turned to Miller. “Now, were you expecting this Professor Kent Wednesday? Was he coming to visit you?”

“Well, he was and he wasn't. You see, he was going to a formal wedding reception up in Breverton, at the country club there. So he thought he'd come here and spend the early evening with us, perhaps have a bite to eat, and then I was to drive him up there. Then when it was over, he was going to phone me, and I'd go up and get him and bring him down here for Thanksgiving. Unless, of course, someone at the reception invited him to stay over.”

“Seems like you were going to a lot of trouble for him,” remarked Lanigan.

“Well, he'd gone to a lot of trouble for me,” said Miller.

“That's so?”

“Damn right. See, I'm not much of a scholar; I've never published and I didn't know how long I'd be allowed to stay at Windermere. So I sort of lined up another job—in Arizona because I thought it would be good for my mother's asthma.”

“He's always thinking of me,” remarked Mrs. Miller.

“It was a two-year junior college, and a technical school at that. When I told him about it, he practically ordered me to turn it down. When I pointed out that I didn't have tenure here and could be dropped anytime, he said he'd get it for me. And he did.”

“Yes, I can see why you'd be grateful. And you, ma'am, are you glad your son didn't take the Arizona job?”

“Well, I have a sister there who is also troubled with asthma, and she says the climate is good for her; it's so dry. Matter of fact, I'm going out to visit her tomorrow if Thor is better. But I wouldn't stand in Thorvald's way for anything. My Thorvald is a professor in an eastern college, right in Boston, at that; well … and being a friend of Professor Kent, whose folks started the college, and knowing all those important people …” Her voice trailed off as she considered the possibilities for the future.

“But I didn't drive in Wednesday,” Miller went on. “I had trouble with my windshield wiper, so I parked at Swampscott station and took the train in. Professor Kent suggested we could take his car. That was all right with me, but I had an appointment and told him I'd drop by afterwards. Then he said that the radio reported that the roads were clear and he might drive up by himself. I called his house when I was through, but he wasn't there and I figured he'd gone ahead. I wasn't worried because he's a good driver. I called here to ask if he'd got in yet, and Ada Bronson said he hadn't, so I figured he'd gone straight up to Breverton instead of stopping here. I took the five thirty-two and got to Swampscott just before six. I was a little concerned that maybe he might be sore at me, so I waited up till past midnight on the chance that he'd drive up after the reception. When he didn't, I assumed he'd been invited to stay over at someone's house for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“And you weren't troubled that you didn't hear from him all weekend?”

“He wasn't one for telephoning. But no, I wasn't worried about his safety. The roads had been cleared, and he was a careful driver. I figure what happened was that when it got dark, he parked someplace and decided to take the bus. He got off at the sign where he usually got off when he came by bus. Then he went up the right-of-way, on the outside of the hedge because I had warned him against using the driveway, and he'd either stumbled, or maybe had a heart attack—that's a bit of a hill, and it was cold and snowing—and had tumbled off the ledge.”

“I think,” said Mrs. Miller very deliberately, “that he came up the driveway and that rabbi feller saw him and threw him over the hedge and he fell off the ledge.”

“Oh, Ma, that was just a kind of joke.”

“Well, that's what he said he was going to do.”

“That's a terrible accusation, Mrs. Miller,” said Lanigan severely, “and you'd better not repeat it. You might find yourself being sued for more money than your son is apt to make in a lifetime.”

He had risen and was on the point of leaving when a thought occurred to him. “He was not wearing overshoes or even rubbers when he was found, just his patent leather pumps. Doesn't that seem strange to you?”

“No, not really,” said Miller. “He was a bit of a dandy, Professor Kent was. There's a sort of covered walk from his back door to the shed where he kept his car. Then if he drove here, he'd park right in front of the house, and it is just a step or two to the door. And if I drove him up to the country club, naturally I'd drive him to the foot of the stairs, which would certainly have been shoveled.”

Lanigan nodded and made for the door.

Chapter 27

By the time Lanigan got back to the scene, the body had been removed and the area marked by yellow tape stretched on iron rods that had been pounded into the frozen ground. In addition to the policemen, there were a few people standing around, with those who had been there earlier describing to later arrivals where the body had been found, how he was dressed, and what he looked like. From his car, Lanigan spotted Rabbi Selig and hailed him and beckoned him over to the car. He opened the door on the passenger side and said, “Get in, Rabbi. Might as well be comfortable. Looks mighty cold out there.”

“It is. Thanks.”

“Did you get a look at the body, Rabbi?”

“No, he was covered and they were just taking him off when I got here.”

“Well, he was the fellow that we picked up in response to a call from your wife.”

“The Peeping Tom?”

“That's right.”

Rabbi Selig shook his head slowly, incredulously.

“Who shoveled your driveway, Rabbi?” Lanigan asked.

“I did, but I didn't shovel. I have a snowblower.”

“That's so? And when did you do it? What time?”

“I plowed twice; the first time just after my wife left for her class in Salem. That would be a little after two, I'd say. And I just plowed a strip in the driveway so she could get back. But then she called in the early evening and said she was having some people over, her class, because they were finishing a section and celebrating. So I plowed the whole terrace because she said there'd be half a dozen cars or more.”

“And what time was that?”

“Let's see, the evening service starts at half past six, so I started around half past five and finished a little after six. Is it important?”

“Yes, it's important because it gives us the time. See, he was lying on plowed snow, not falling snow.”

“You mean if I had looked over the ledge, I would have seen him?”

“Probably not, since the snow continued to fall for some time and it covered him. Do you go to the evening services every night?”

“No, not every night. Some nights I recite the prayers at home. If I'm tired, or not feeling well …”

“Then why did you feel you had to go Wednesday when the weather was so bad?”

“I had to go
because
the weather was so bad. You see, some people come because they are in mourning, or because it is the anniversary of the death of a member of the family. There's a special prayer they recite, but it can only be said in a public service, not if they're praying alone at home. Well, when the weather is bad, it's sometimes hard to get the ten men required for a minyan, a public service, so I make a point of attending if the weather is bad.”

“And you need ten men?”

“Uh-huh. Like a quorum, or twelve men for a jury.”

Lanigan nodded.

It was a troubled Rabbi Selig who made his way back to his house. “It was that Peeping Tom guy,” he told his wife in answer to her question of what it was all about.

“Oh, no!”

“Yup. And he was lying on plowed snow, which means—”

“I know what it means. And you told that Miller person that you'd throw him over the hedge if he came on our property again. Dana, we're in trouble. We certainly don't need a scandal.”

“So what do I do?”

“Maybe you ought to see a lawyer. How about talking to Lew Baumgold?”

“Why Lew Baumgold?”

“Because he's not a member of the congregation.”

“Yeah.”

No sooner had Rabbi Selig left the car than Lieutenant Jennings sauntered over and took his place on the passenger seat of the car. He was a tall, gangling man of sixty, with a prominent Adam's apple that bobbled as he talked, and with teary blue eyes at which he kept dabbing with a handkerchief. “So what do we do now, Hugh?”

“We'll get the make and license number of his car and notify all garages and police stations here to Boston to be on the lookout for it.”

“If he parked on the street, he was plowed in, and you'll get no results until we get a thaw. And if he parked in one of those big garages like the one they've got at the airport, that could take days, too. You give them the number and they say they'll look. But they're busy and they wait until one of the attendants is free, maybe on his lunch hour. And if a car drives in to park and the hood is still warm, he gets up on the hood to warm his arse while he eats his lunch. And if the guy left one of the doors unlocked, the son of a bitch gets into the car and has his lunch there.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“Look, Hugh, the guy is from Boston, and he's wearing a tuxedo, so he may be somebody important or social, so Boston is going to take over sooner or later.”

“So?”

“So Bradford Ames, the Suffolk County assistant D.A., is in town. Maybe he came to see if the storm caused any damage to his place on the Point, or maybe he had some people over for Thanksgiving. His car is still there, so why not let him carry the ball.”

“Oh, I'll let him know. Or he might have heard of it already, and he'll call me.”

Chapter 28

The call came a little after ten o'clock at night. Chief Lanigan, already in pajamas, robe, and slippers, was having a nightcap as he leafed through the sports section of the Sunday paper. In answer to his hello, a voice he knew well said, “It's Luigi, Hugh.”

“Not Luigi Tomasello, the senior assistant district attorney.”

“None other than the same, Hugh, if this is the chief of police of Barnard's Crossing.”

“Where you calling from?”

“From the office.”

“Don't you have Sundays off?”

“You don't have it off every week either, Hugh.”

“No, but I usually work a forty-hour week. Don't they have that in Lynn yet?”

“Look, Hugh, let's cut the chitchat. I want to know if you have the pics on the Kent case processed yet.”

“I suppose we have. I haven't spoken to the photographer since he took them this morning. Why?”

“Because Bradford Ames wants to see them. Can you get them to him first thing tomorrow morning?”

“What's he got to do with them? It's an Essex County case.”

“Well, now it's a Suffolk County case.”

“How come?”

“The preliminary autopsy showed no water in the lungs, and there would have been if he'd been alive when he fell or was dropped in the snow. There's also a contusion on the forehead—”

“That could have come from falling on a rock. There was one right under his head.”

“Sure, Hugh, but there was also discoloration from blood coagulation on his buttocks and backs of his thighs. He was lying on his front, so the coagulation should have been in front. Those are just preliminary findings. It may turn out to be heart failure or stroke, and subsequent death from the cold. Bradford Ames thinks it might be a car-jack case. And you know my boss; any chance he sees of getting out of a tough job, he'll grab. Besides, this one could be bad politically.”

“How do you mean politically?”

“Oh, you know. With that Peeping Tom business, he'd have to go after that new rabbi you have, and the Jews might resent that. And that could hurt him in the next election.”

“Yeah, I get the picture.”

“So if you'd arrange to get those pics to Ames first thing in the morning …”

“I'll bring them in myself, Luigi. Okay?”

On the chance that the Smalls had not yet returned to the city, Lanigan called. Miriam answered the phone. In response to his query, she said, “We're going in tomorrow morning. Al Bergson offered to take us to the train at Swampscott, but we didn't like to impose on him, so we're taking the bus.”

“Don't bother, Miriam. I've got to go to Boston, so I'll drive you in.”

It was before nine the next morning that he drove up to the Small house. He inched his way through the narrow opening in the mound of plowed snow and mounted the steps. To the rabbi, who opened the door in response to his ring, he said, “You hear what happened?”

“It was on the local news report on the radio.”

Lanigan held up the folder he had taken with him. “Want to see the pictures?”

“Not particularly.”

“Aw, c'mon. It will give us extra identification. You knew him.”

“Just barely.”

“But enough to recognize him.” He opened the folder. “This is how he looked when we uncovered him. He was lying facedown. And this is how he looked when we turned him over. Pretty, isn't he? In his tuxedo showing under his fine overcoat, with patent leather pumps nice and shiny, like he's been prepared for his wake.”