Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry

“Well, to get to the lab from the garage, you have to pass the turnoff where Hirsh was parked. It’s just about halfway.”

“Yes, you can see the turnoff from the lab.”

“Right. Well, now I know that Sykes had his car serviced at Morris Goldman’s garage that Friday, because when I got behind the wheel I saw one of his lube stickers on the doorjamb. It was dated the eighteenth. That was Friday.”

“It still doesn’t place him on foot. After all, he could have picked up his car after work-before Hirsh returned to the lab after his dinner.”

The rabbi shook his head.

“Why not? You yourself said Goldman’s stays open late.”

“But not that Friday night. It was Kol Nidre. He would have closed well before six. And we know Sykes was at the lab that late because he phoned Mrs. Hirsh and left word that her husband was to call him when he got in.”

“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t get home. He could have called a cab-why not?” as the rabbi shook his head vigorously.

“You can ask Miriam if you wish. The nearest cab company, the only one for practical purposes, is the one in Barnard’s Crossing. And when Miriam had me stop off there the proprietor told us the only calls he got that evening were to take people to the temple.”

“All right!” Lanigan sounded exasperated. “But it’s all conjecture.”

“No, Sykes had no car all weekend.”

“How do we know that?”

“He didn’t pick up his car Friday. And he couldn’t pick it up on Saturday, because that was Yom Kippur and Goldman was closed. And I know for a fact he had no car on Sunday.”

“Oh?”

“You see, when he came to my house to arrange for Hirsh’s funeral, he arrived and departed by cab. Why would he do that if he had his car? Yet we know he had it on Monday, because he drove it to the funeral.”

Lanigan was silent for a minute. “So your theory-and it’s no more than a theory,” he said finally, “is that Sykes sat around waiting for Hirsh to call back. When he didn’t, he started out on foot to get his car, saw Hirsh parked in the turnoff on 128, and offered or Hirsh asked him, to drive him home and-”

“And Hirsh passed out on the way.”

“But why would he want to kill him? Sykes was probably his closest friend here in Barnard’s Crossing. He went to bat and covered up for him half a dozen times. I got that from Amos Quint who admitted he would have fired Hirsh long before if Sykes had not interceded for him.”

“And why would Sykes have to intercede for him?” the rabbi demanded.

“I don’t understand.”

“Quint never spoke to Hirsh except on the day he hired him. Everything there went through channels. Whatever communication there was between Hirsh and Quint passed through Sykes. Now if Sykes didn’t want Hirsh fired-if he was such a good friend-why mention his mistakes to Quint in the first place? Why go to bat for him? Quint is no scientist, he’s an administrator. If Sykes wanted to cover for Hirsh, all he had to do was refrain from mentioning his name and Quint never would have known. But evidently there were errors-at least half a dozen, according to you. Now suppose they were the fault not of Hirsh but of Sykes? It would be mighty convenient to have Hirsh there to take the blame.”

“All the more reason for not wanting to kill him. Why give up a good thing? In any case, Quint was going to fire him Monday, so Sykes would be off the hook.”

“Then there’s your answer!” said the rabbi triumphantly. “This time apparently there was an important mistake-one Quint couldn’t overlook. We know he always made a point of seeing a man he was going to fire. He saw him, told him just why he was firing him, and that ended it. Isn’t that the way you reported it? So he tells Hirsh the reason for his dismissal, and Hirsh says, ‘Oh, no, sir, it was Ron Sykes that did that; I discovered the error.’ There’s a confrontation, Hirsh shows his work notes…”

The chief folded his hands behind his head and leaned against the car seat, absorbed in thought. Then he shook his head. “It hangs together, Rabbi, and it sounds plausible, but you’re just guessing. It’s all surmise and conjecture. We don’t have a bit of proof.”

When the rabbi spoke, his tone denoted both certainty and finality. “Just ask Sykes how he got home from the lab Friday night. Just ask him that.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” He smiled. “You know, Rabbi, somehow or other, you do manage to take care of your flock.”

“You mean Goralsky and Brown?”

“Oh, we didn’t really have anything on Brown. We were just floundering, looking for some line we could follow. You know why he left the temple early? He was ashamed to tell you, but he made a statement to us. He had a business deal on-a big policy, and the customer insisted on getting the papers signed that night.”

“I suspected it might be something like that.”

“I guess from your point of view it was a pretty terrible thing for him to do.”

The rabbi thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think it was terrible. In a way I’m rather pleased.”

“Pleased that he ran out on your Yom Kippur service to consummate a business deal?”

“No-pleased that he was ashamed of it.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Sunday morning, the Schwarz forces were standing around unhappily in the corridor just outside the Board meeting room.

“Do you think the rabbi will show up today?” asked Marvin Brown.

“I doubt it,” said the president. “Stands to reason as an expectant father he’ll be at the hospital.”

Herman Fine came up and joined them. “I understand the rebbitzin went to the hospital yesterday. Maybe we should hold off on the rabbi’s letter of resignation at least for today. I know I for one would feel funny-”

“Are you kidding?” demanded Schwarz. “The resignation is definitely out. I guess you didn’t hear what I just told the boys. I ran into Ben Goralsky after the minyan this morning, and for about twenty minutes all he could talk about was how wonderful ‘the little rabbi’-that’s what he called him-how wonderful he was. You’d think the rabbi saved his life.”

“Maybe he did,” said Marvin Brown. “You hear about how if a man is innocent he won’t be convicted, but every now and then some guy will confess to a crime some other guy has done twenty years in prison for.” He ran his hand under his collar. “Don’t think I wasn’t plenty worried about the same thing. Besides, even if he got off, how about his old man? A thing like that could kill him.”

“All right, the resignation is out,” said Fine. “And it’s okay by me. So what do we do now? I say we ought to go the whole way and do it up handsome. Mort should read the letter, explain it was due to a misunderstanding, and call for a vote from the Board refusing to accept it.”

“Like hell.”

“What d’you mean, Mort?”

“I mean I’m certainly glad Ben Goralsky got off, and I’m willing to give the rabbi some credit. Still it’s one thing to forget about the resignation, because then we could kiss the Goralskys goodby. But I’m damned if I go begging to the rabbi. There’d be no living with him after that. If we ever disagreed on anything again-Watch it, here come Wasserman and Becker.”

“Good morning, gentlemen, I got good news. I just called the hospital and they told me the rebbitzin had a boy.”

“Hey, that’s all right.”

“That is good news.”