The Day the Rabbi Resigned (20 page)

“You mean to go into a convent?”

“Uh-huh. But then she met Victor Joyce and decided to get married. Happens a lot, I guess. Anyway, shortly after we arrived, she led me into what I guess was her husband's study. She shows me the stuff that had been turned over to her, her husband's effects: wedding ring, billfold, handkerchief—the usual stuff that a man has in his pockets. And then she tells me his watch is missing. She was terribly upset about it.”

“Was it a valuable watch?”

“Not particularly, from what I could gather. But it had been her father's. Her mother had bought it for him in Rome, where her parents had gone to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary. She had had a relic mounted on the dial—”

“A relic?”

“That's right, a relic of a saint. A Saint Ulric, she said, whoever he was. A fragment of bone, in a tiny silver tube which her mother had had mounted on the dial by a watchmaker. Her father had always worn it on the inside of his wrist so that it was closer to his heart, nearer to the arteries and veins, you know. She had given it to her husband when they got engaged, and he had also worn it inside his wrist. I told her that it was unthinkable that one of my men would have taken it, but I said I would check into it. I thought maybe when he crashed, the impact might have released the catch on the band and that it had been flung off his wrist. So when I got back to the station, I sent a man up to the scene of the accident to comb the area.”

“And?”

“Nothing. But I also had another idea. I remembered that Dr. Gorfinkle had told Sergeant Pierce, who was on the desk at the time, that he had taken the victim's pulse. It occurred to me that if Joyce was wearing a wristwatch, especially if he was wearing it inside his wrist, the doctor may have taken it off in order to feel the pulse, that he had put it in his pocket and forgotten about it. So I sent Detective Sergeant Dunstable to ask him about it. I sent Dunstable rather than a uniformed man because I didn't want it to appear to be an official inquiry, if you know what I mean. If the neighbors see a policeman in uniform ringing your doorbell, they may think you're in some sort of trouble. So I wanted him just to ask, not institute an official inquiry.”

“It evidently didn't work out that way,” observed the rabbi.

“I guess not. I try to impress on my men that we are a small-town police force and that the people we have to deal with are our friends and neighbors, and what's more, that each year they vote our salaries at the town meeting. But they watch TV and sometimes they tend to model their behavior on what they see in the crime shows, and besides, it's hard to resist the lure of authority.

“I'm sorry that Gorfinkle was upset, and you can tell him that I'll see to it that Dunstable doesn't bother him again. I guess what happened is that someone came along after Gorfinkle left, and seeing the watch and that the owner was unconscious, simply took it.”

“But wouldn't he have called the police to notify them of the accident? He wouldn't have had to leave his name.”

“You'd think so, wouldn't you? But the autopsy report said he had died as a result of hemorrhage from a ruptured artery in the left wrist. I guess that in trying to get the watch off, he cut the artery along the jagged row of glass and the blood began to spurt.”

“Or possibly the other way around,” said the rabbi.

“What do you mean the other way around?”

“Well, you think he may have cut the artery in order to remove the watch. It's also possible that he removed the watch in order to cut the artery.”

“But that's murder. Why would anyone kill—”

“I didn't mean to suggest that anyone did,” the rabbi said hastily. “Merely that it is just as logical to assume that the watch was taken to expose the blood vessels in the wrist as it is to assume that they were accidentally severed in removing the watch.”

“But the watch is gone,” Lanigan insisted.

“And the man is dead,” said the rabbi.

“But it doesn't take any animus to steal a man's watch. All that's required is opportunity. But to kill someone calls for a powerful motive.”

“A powerful motive is needed to plot a murder,” the rabbi said slowly, “but suppose there is an opportunity to get rid of someone who is a nuisance, an inconvenience. You don't hate him or fear him. He's just troublesome, and you can get rid of him with no effort on your part, as here, where all that was required was to press down on the man's wrist.”

“I suppose so,” Lanigan admitted. “And it could be that all that was involved was the taking of a watch, but the thief was nervous or clumsy and pressed down too hard. A little thing can make all the difference. The widow said that if Victor Joyce had only waited a few minutes before setting off for this dinner he was going to, it wouldn't have happened. See, Cyrus Merton was going to that same dinner and he came by to pick up Joyce so they could drive up together. Then they would have come home together.”

“Then both might have been injured,” said the rabbi.

“Exactly what I said. But she said Cyrus would not have let him drive if he were drunk. It's all a matter of luck, I suppose, and for the Mertons it was all bad. That same night Cyrus had his car stolen.”

“While he was at dinner in Breverton?”

“No, right here in Barnard's Crossing, at the mall, while he was at the Donut Shop.”

“What was he doing there?”

“Having a cup of coffee, I understand.”

The entrance of the wives from the kitchen halted further discussion, but later as they were driving home, Lanigan thought about it. His policeman's instincts were aroused. Even if the blood vessels had been cut as a result of removing the watch, it would still be murder, felony murder. In any case, it was far more important than the theft of a watch.

Early the next morning he called in Sergeant Dunstable. “What are you working on, Sergeant?” he asked.

“Well, I was just going to type out that statement of Gorfinkle's so I could—”

“Don't bother, Sergeant. I inquired into it myself and it seems that he took the pulse by placing his fingertips at the man's throat. He didn't touch the man's wrist at all. Which means that someone came along afterward, and if he cut the man's wrist in trying to take his watch, that's felony murder.”

“But that could have been Gorfinkle.”

Lanigan shook his head vigorously. “Would a successful doctor—and believe me, Gorfinkle is a successful doctor—steal a man's watch? With his wife right there looking on? What's more, if he had started to bleed profusely, he would have told us the man was critical. So we could get out there in a hurry. He wouldn't have suggested the guy was stable by saying his pulse was normal. So what I want you to do is run up to Breverton and make inquiries around the club. Maybe you can find out if he was wearing a watch in the first place.”

“But you said his wife told you—”

“Yeah, but if he was driving at the speed he must have been driving to wrap himself around a tree, on Pine Grove Road at night, he must have been drunk. And drunks are always misplacing things. He may have even given the watch to someone for money for a drink. So you go up there and see what you can find out. Who left when? Was there any sort of row before he left? Did anything unusual at all happen that night? Got it?”

“Got it.”

29

It was four o'clock when Dunstable returned to Barnard's Crossing. He went straight to Lanigan's office. “I was lucky, Chief,” he said, “real lucky. I see the manager”—a glance at his notebook—“Gerald Foster, and he tells me it was a banquet of the faculty of the Windermere Christian College of Liberal Arts. Just the faculty; no wives, no husbands, no secretaries, just the teachers. Now you've got to know the layout in order to get the picture. There's this lounge with a coatroom on one side and a kind of alcove on the other side, which is the bar. And beyond is the dining room.”

Lanigan nodded. “I know the layout. I've had dinner there several times.”

“Oh yeah? Well, the point is that the bartender and the coatroom attendant can see the whole scene. I mean, if there was anything going on, like a fight or a big argument, they'd see it. So I see the bartender”—another glance at the notebook—“Jack Bohrman.” Dunstable chuckled. “He says, ‘I'm Bohrman the barman.' A regular card, that one. And he knows Victor Joyce. Ask me how he knows Victor Joyce.”

“All right, how does Bohrman know Joyce?”

“On account he played golf there a few times. And he tells me Joyce was a champion on the nineteenth hole. See, there are eighteen holes in a golf course, and—”

“I know what the nineteenth hole is, Sergeant. You mean Joyce was a boozer.”

“Yeah, according to Bohrman, he'd lap it up. Well, for the banquet they had what they call a cash bar. The first drink was free, but after that you had to pay. See, there was like a stub on their tickets, that they tore off and gave the bartender for their first drink. So Joyce hands in his stub, gets his drink, tosses it off, and wants another. But he doesn't have any money on him, and Bohrman tells him he's not allowed to cuff drinks. But later he comes back, and he's got plenty of money now. Bohrman figures he must have had about four drinks altogether. Scotch. Doubles.”

“That's a lot of scotch,” Lanigan remarked. “Where'd he get the money?”

“Aha, I had the same idea. Did he sell the watch to one of the other guests? So I ask Bohrman was Joyce wearing a watch, but he couldn't remember. I didn't really expect him to. Just thought I'd chance it. Anyway, Joyce comes up to the bar for another double scotch, and Bohrman refuses to serve him. Claims he was like weaving. So he refuses him, says he's got his license to think of. So Joyce tells him to shove it, and walks across the lounge to get his coat.”

“Typical,” said Lanigan.

“Typical of Joyce?”

“Typical of drunks.”

“Yeah, there's where I get lucky, real lucky. I'm lucky that the coatroom guy is there. See, they don't operate the coatroom full time. I mean, you go there for lunch or dinner, you hang your coat up yourself in the coatroom. They don't have an attendant. Only when they have one of these big affairs. What's more, this kid, the coatroom attendant, Charlie Aherne, he's there only part-time, doing all kinds of odd jobs, whatever they ask him. The rest of the time he goes to school, in Boston, and get this: to Windermere, where he's going into his junior year, so he knows all the guests at the dinner.

“Does he know Victor Joyce: sure he knows Professor Joyce. And what time did he leave? He knows exactly on account he says to him, ‘Leaving early, Professor?' because the clock on the wall said quarter to ten. And Joyce raises his fist like he's just won some victory—that's what the kid said—see, Joyce wears his watch on the inside of his wrist, and he closes one eye and kind of squints, and says, ‘Almost ten. Late enough.' So we know the time he left. And we know he was wearing his watch.”

“And by the way he looked at his watch, that he was probably squiffed,” murmured Lanigan.

Dunstable was ecstatic. “That's just what I figured. Fact, I said to the kid, ‘You mean he was drunk?' And he says, ‘Well, he was feeling no pain.' And if you need more proof, the kid tells me he asks for his raincoat, but he can't find his check. So the kid asks him to describe the coat, and then he remembers he left it in the car, and turns and goes for the door.”

“Very good, Sergeant. Very good indeed. Now, did anyone else leave early?”

“Yeah. Fifteen minutes later another guy left.” Again he referred to his notebook. “A Professor Jacobs. Mordecai Jacobs. I'm not sure I'm pronouncing that right. The kid spelled it out for me. Mordecai—I never heard the name before. He hadn't checked anything, at least not anything of his own, so—”

“What do you mean he didn't check anything of his own? Did he check somebody else's coat?”

“That's right. He was with a lady professor, a Professor Saxon, so he checked her wrap for her, but it was after they were seated. This weather, not too many of the men wore coats, although some had raincoats just in case. But, of course, almost all the women wore coats.”

“I see. So did he claim the woman's coat?”

“No, he just walked out the door. This kid, Aherne, he'd had him in an English course, and I guess he liked him, so he followed him out. He was just going down the stairs when he said to him something like, ‘You leaving early, too, Professor?' And the professor told him he had another party to go to.”

“You mean he left the coatroom unattended?”

“Oh no. He called over one of the two regular waitresses, a Mary Ellen Brown. The other waitresses are all temporaries. See, Aherne works only until ten. Then either Mary Ellen or the other regular takes over, and Aherne goes home.”

“And the tips? Who gets those?”

“All tips, the ones the guests leave on the tables and those they leave at the coatroom, are pooled and the girls divide them up. Aherne doesn't share; he's on a straight hourly basis.”

“I see. So this Jacobs left at ten.”

“That's right.”

“Anybody else leave early?”

“Nope. Just those two all the time Aherne was there.”

“Yes, but how about right afterward? Did you question this Mary Ellen?”

“I did, but she tells me she didn't take over the coatroom in person until sometime later, maybe around half past on account they were busy serving second cups of coffee and clearing away dishes. See, what they do, they put up a little sign which says ‘Ring for service,' with an arrow pointing to a button you press. Then any one of the waitresses who happens to be nearby goes over and gets your coat.”

“I see. And the party broke up when?”

“Around eleven, eleven-fifteen. Then they all went for their coats, those that had checked them. From what this Mary Ellen said, some of them just folded them up and put them under their chairs. She thought it was a cheap crowd, and the tips weren't all that much either.”