The Day the Rabbi Resigned (28 page)

“Swell. I don't see your car in the parking lot, Rabbi. Can I give you a lift home?”

“No thanks. I think I'd like to walk.”

“Well, was he, or wasn't he?” Miriam asked as the rabbi closed the door behind him.

“Was he or wasn't he what? What are you talking about, Miriam?” the rabbi asked irritably.

“Was Herb Rosen at the Donut Shop, or wasn't he? You said you'd ask him. Did you forget, or didn't he come to the minyan?”

“Oh, I asked him. And you were right; he was there buying doughnuts.” He went to the telephone.

“Are you calling Simcha to set his poor mind at ease?”

He smiled grimly. “No, I'm not setting any minds at ease. I'm calling Lanigan, and I expect it will upset him.”

He dialed, and when Lanigan answered, he said, “David Small here, Chief. I think I know where Dorfbetter got the watch, and it wasn't from Joyce.”

“No? Then where—no, don't tell me. Hold it. I'm coming over.”

As soon as Miriam opened the door to him, and he caught sight of the rabbi in the living room, Lanigan demanded, “All right, David, what've you got?”

“I saw Mr. Rosen at our evening service tonight.”

“Herb Rosen?”

“Yes, the one who conducts the orchestra Amy belongs to. He said he'd been in the Donut Shop last Saturday night.”

“So? I knew that. What about it? He left the rehearsal at the same time we did, and the two cars were within sight of each other until we reached Abbot Road, where we took the left lane to make the turn, but he drove up on the next lane beside us. He said he was going to stop off to get some doughnuts.”

“What time was that? Do you know?”

“I didn't look at my watch, but let's see, we left the junior high where he holds the rehearsals a little before ten. He stopped a little earlier than usual because he said he had to get home for a phone call from his daughter. So, it was probably just about half past ten when we got to the lights and I turned off.”

“He said he got to the door of the Donut Shop and was heading out just as Cyrus Merton was coming in. In fact, as he put it, they did an Alphonse and Gaston act at the door.”

“So?”

“So how did he get there?”

“I told you how, he came down the state road—”

“Not Rosen, Merton. How did Merton get there at half past ten?”

“I don't—what are you driving at, David?”

“The country club and the junior high school are about the same distance from the state road. One is on the right-hand side of the road and the other on the left, but they're about the same distance away. Rosen leaves a little before ten, but Merton leaves sometime after ten. You were very definite about that: only two men, Joyce and Jacobs, left the country club dinner before ten. So if Merton left after ten, how did he get to the Donut Shop at the same time that Rosen did? The only way he could was to use the Pine Grove Road. And I think, under the circumstances, it would be the road he'd be likely to take, because he knew Joyce had been drinking. If Joyce got into some trouble, an accident of some sort on the state road, someone would be sure to come along in a minute or two. But if he got into an accident on Pine Grove, on a foggy, misty night at that, it might be an hour or more before another car came along. So Merton chose the Pine Grove Road. And in that case, he must have seen the wreck with Joyce's hand sticking out of the broken window. Maybe his first thought was to remove the watch lest someone come along and take it. But then why didn't he report the accident to the police? Which suggests the alternative I pointed out to you when you first told me about the accident.”

“That he killed him? Why would he want to kill Joyce?”

The rabbi shook his head. “I don't know any of these people, neither Joyce nor his wife, nor Jacobs, nor Merton. I can only guess. Mrs. Joyce was sure her aunt knew that she was planning to get a Church-approved separation and a civil divorce. She thought her uncle did not know. But I'm inclined to believe that if her aunt knew, then her uncle knew. Well, where would that leave her? She'd be in the anomalous position of a grass widow, without a husband and unable to remarry. You want to know where Dorfbetter found the watch? He found it in the glove compartment of Merton's car.”

“But why—I mean, how—”

“The watch contained a saint's relic, so Merton wouldn't throw it away. To a man like Merton, that would be sacrilegious. And if it had blood on it, he wouldn't put it in his pocket, or even on the seat of the car, where it would stain the upholstery. But the glove compartment is where you keep your registration and garage bills, almost anything except gloves, which you keep in your pocket. You might even find a bloodstain on one of those papers that could be identified.”

Lanigan sat in silence for a minute. Then he rose abruptly and said, “I've got to get back to the station house. I've got to think this through.”

The first thing Lanigan did when he reached the station house was to call the Assistant District Attorney. “I've got to see you. Something has come up on the Joyce case.”

“All right, drop in tomorrow morning and—”

“No, Lou, it's urgent. I've got to see you now.”

“Well, all right. It won't be the first time Angela has had to wait supper.”

When he heard Lanigan out, he said, “It's weak, Hugh, but it's good enough to proceed on. I think it's enough to charge the sonofabitch. I want you to go through the regular procedure, mug shots, prints, the works, and then lock him up. He'll spend the night in jail, and then tomorrow morning we'll bring him up for arraignment.”

“What have you got against him, Lou?” asked Lanigan curiously.

“I'll tell you what I've got against the sanctimonious bastard. When we first moved into the area, we bought a house from him—on the recommendation of Father Joe, by the way. What did we know about houses? We assumed that someone recommended by the local priest would treat us right. Well, when we moved in we found the place was infested with termites. And he knew about it because the expert we got to get rid of them said there'd been a half-assed attempt at it earlier. So if he spends a night in jail, it won't bother me one little bit.”

“He's been spending the evenings with his widowed niece at her house. I don't like to do it in front of her. Besides, I'd like to check and see if there's a bloodstain in the glove compartment.”

“All right. So first thing tomorrow morning, here's what you do …”

40

Although the meeting of the Windermere Board of Trustees was scheduled for ten o'clock, the program of events started much earlier, with an informal breakfast served in the cafeteria from half past seven to nine, at which time there would be a tour of the buildings. Those who came early, the out-of-town people who had been put up at hotels mostly, had large breakfasts of eggs and bacon and sausages, but others who drifted in later and had already breakfasted at home, took only coffee, perhaps with a doughnut or a piece of toast. It was an opportunity to renew their acquaintance and to urge and argue over pet projects.

President Macomber was not present, but Mark Levine was very much in evidence. He made no effort to campaign for the name change, feeling it would be counterproductive. Instead, he made a point of circulating, greeting new arrivals, and manifesting general friendship and bonhomie.

Charles Dobson was also one of the early arrivals. Because he was in the automobile business, his opinion was sought on various makes of cars, their comfort, their sturdiness, their retail value. “What do you think of this new Nissan that's just come out?” And his answer always began, “Well, it's no Cadillac.” He, in turn, inquired about Cyrus Merton. “Have you seen Cy Merton around? You heard about his niece's husband getting killed?”

He wanted to see Cyrus, to ask if he had been approached by Macomber and whether the death of Joyce had affected his decision on the name change, and as the hour approached nine, he wondered at his continued absence. He asked several of the others if they had seen him, and when they said they had not, he thought of calling his house in Barnard's Crossing. He mentioned it to his friend Ridgeway, who reassured him. “Oh, he'll be along for the meeting. Seems to me he didn't come to the breakfast last time either. Have you ever driven with him? He's a very careful driver. He once gave me a lift to Cambridge. I thought we'd never get there. My guess is that he didn't come to the breakfast because he didn't want to buck the morning traffic. Or maybe he didn't want to see Macomber until he had to.”

At nine o'clock President Macomber arrived and announced, “I'm having Mr. Perkins, our custodian, take us around. He'll tell you as we go along about a number of repairs and some remodeling we are contemplating. And we'll meet Professor Sykes, head of our Physics Department, who will show you around our new physics laboratory.”

Macomber set out and the rest straggled after him. The tour started at the corner house, and Ridgeway pointed and said, as he had on similar occasions, “That's the Clark house. I've had dinner there. I was at school with Roger Clark.” And Dobson replied, as he had on similar occasions, “What d'ya know!”

Levine came up beside Macomber and whispered, “How is it going, Don?”

“No change,” said Macomber gloomily.

“But Merton isn't here. Maybe he won't come.”

“Oh, he'll come all right. He wouldn't miss the meeting.”

But early in the morning, Lieutenant Jennings and a uniformed policeman had driven up to Merton's house. Mrs. Marston opened the door in response to their ring, but Cyrus, who was about to set out for Boston and the meeting of the trustees, was right behind her.

“You've come about my car, haven't you?”

“That's right,” said Jennings. “We've got it down at the station house. If you'll come with us, you can check it out, and then if it's okay, you can drive it off.”

“Splendid! Was it damaged? It wasn't vandalized, was it?”

“Well, that's why we want you to look it over.”

Merton glanced at his watch. He had plenty of time, even though he assumed there would be some delay, if only to sign some papers and fill out some forms. It was worth it to drive his own car rather than the car with the company logo.

All the way down to the station house he asked questions. Where was it found? Do they know who took it? Was it a professional car thief, or was it some kid who had taken it joyriding? To all of which Jennings was careful to be noncommittal. “I don't rightly know.” “The chief will explain all that.” “Chief Lanigan will tell you all about it.”

Lanigan was waiting for them in the parking lot when they drove up. “Is that the car?” he asked, smiling.

“It sure is.”

“Now will you look it over carefully and see if there was any damage done?”

Slowly, Merton walked around the vehicle.

“That scratch on the fender,” Lanigan suggested.

“No … that was there. I did that backing out of the garage one day.”

Lanigan got in behind the wheel and released the catch that opened the trunk. “Anything missing?” he called out.

“There doesn't seem to be.”

Lanigan then leaned over and opened the passenger door. “If you'll come in and look around,” he suggested. Merton slid in beside him, and then twisted around to look at the backseat. “Looks okay,” he said.

“How about the glove compartment?”

Merton opened the lid, gave a quick glance, and closed it.

Lanigan leaned across him and lowered the glove compartment lid. “There's a watch in there.” He drew it out. “Isn't this Joyce's watch? It looks just like the one his wife described.”

Merton reddened. Then he essayed a smile. “Yes, it's his watch. I'm afraid I was not entirely candid with you. It was rather embarrassing. You see, when Victor borrowed the money from me at the club, he insisted I take the watch as security. I didn't want to, but he insisted, and I'm a little ashamed to say I let myself be persuaded.”

“We have incontrovertible evidence that he was wearing it when he left the club,” said Lanigan evenly.

Merton remained silent, and then said, “If—you'll have one of your men drive me home, I'd appreciate it. I think I should call my attorney.”

“You can call him from here,” said Lanigan. “We have a pay station, or you can use the phone in my office.” The steely glint in Lanigan's blue eyes made it clear that he would not be allowed to leave.

The meeting of the Windermere Board of Trustees was held on the fourth floor of the Administration Building. It was a large room with half a dozen round tables, each covered with a snowy white tablecloth and the necessary china, silverware, and glasses for the elaborate lunch which a caterer would bring in and serve at the conclusion of the board meeting.

In back of the room, beyond the round tables, was a long oblong table at which the board transacted its business. There were twenty-two small metal chairs with padded leather seats arranged around the table, for the twenty members of the board plus the secretary and the president, each with a small pad of paper, a pencil, a ballpoint pen, and a printed copy of the agenda in front of it. The meeting was scheduled for ten o'clock. At ten, whilst half a dozen or so had already taken their places at one end of the table, the others were still standing around and talking.

Mark Levine approached his friend, the president. “How does it look, Don?” he asked.

Macomber nodded at those already seated. “There's six of them. If they hold firm with Merton, we're licked. I'm hoping we might be able to detach at least one of them. It's possible with a secret ballot, but I'm not too sanguine.”

“But Merton is not here yet,” said Levine. “Maybe he won't show,” he added hopefully.