Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red (13 page)

So Bradford Ames was surprised when he found the folder for the Windemere College case on his desk with a note from his superior. “Brad. I want you to handle this one personally.” He came in to Rogers’ office to discuss it. “How come, Matt?”

“Because this time I want the book thrown at them.”

“Why?”

It was not easy for Rogers to explain, a scion of the Massachusetts Ameses looked at things differently from the son of Timothy Rogers, a mail carrier. Take this matter of these college kids raising hell all the time; Brad didn’t exactly side with them, but he didn’t get too indignant either, as though he thought they might have a point, then, too, the man was a bachelor. How could he understand the feelings of a man with four daughters? To a man with daughters, the direction the world was taking was frightening: a girl living openly with a man and no one, not even the college authorities, thinking anything of it; kids using dirty language to their dean – a lady dean at that – and expecting to get away with it.

Occasionally Matthew Rogers found himself feeling defensive before the aristocratic coolness of his subordinate, so he now said more emphatically than he Normally would: “This one is different, Brad. I know you feel these student riots are none of our business, and I go along with you; but this involved arson, and arson by its very nature is not an intramural sport.”

“There is that of course.”

“And a man was killed.”

“Well, that appears to have been an accident.”

Then defiantly: “And I think it’s good politics. I think we’re at a turnaround. Brad. I think the public is goddam fed up with these goddam radical kids doing whatever they goddam please. So by taking control now. I think I can demonstrate leadership.”

Ames smiled. “You planning to run for attorney general next time around. Matt?”

“I’ve thought of it.” said Rogers evenly, ames saw he meant business.

“We don’t have too much of a case, you know, the youngsters claim they had nothing to do with the bombing.”

“Naturally.”

“And there isn’t much evidence that they did, not anything that would stand up in a court.”

“How about the fact that one of them ran away?”

“We don’t know that he did.” said Ames. “He could have just taken off someplace the way kids do.”

“How about the time?” Rogers persisted. “The dean says she left her office around quarter of three, the kids admit they remained until three, a few minutes later the bomb goes off. Who else could have done it?”

“The caretaker stated the doors of the building are left open, anyone could have come in. It could be another student group. I understand there are at least half a dozen of various shades of radicalism.”

“Look.” said Rogers, “have we got enough to hold them?” Ames temporized.

“Well, it would probably depend on who was acting for them and which judge they came up before. Somebody like Sullivan, he’d hold them just for the way they’re dressed.”

Rogers nodded. “So arrange to have them come up before Sullivan, or even Visconte. In the meantime I’ll put enough investigators on it to make sure he’ll hold them.”

“All right.”

“And I want them held. Brad. No bail.”

“Oh cummon, Matt! Even Sullivan wouldn’t go for that.”

“Why not? It’s murder, isn’t it? A homicide resulting in the course of committing a felony is murder in the first isn’t it? Exploding a bomb is a felony; isn’t it? So the professor getting killed is murder. Is that the law, or isn’t it?”

Ames hedged. “It’s not as simple as that. Matt, the rationale behind felony murder is that malice is presumed when a homicide takes place during the commission of felony. But the homicide has to be so closely connected with the felony that it is within the res gestae. Coincidence is not enough. Now this was done late Friday afternoon when the building is usually empty; and the victim was in another room.”

“That’s something for a trial judge to decide. Brad.”

“Yes,” said Ames. “But these kids are in school. If we hold them without bail, they won’t be able to attend their classes.”

Matthew Rogers smacked his hand on the desk.

“As far as I’m concerned, kids that blow up their school with a bomb aren’t too interested in attending classes. I want those bastards held, understand? We’re in an adversary system. If their lawyers can get them out on bail. I got to go along, but I’ll be damned if I’ll help them. I’m pushing for no bail, and if the judge won’t go along on that, then push for the highest bail you can get.”

“If that’s the way you want to play it.”

“I do.” said Matthew Rogers.

“Look here. Matt.” Ames said earnestly, “the chances are that it was the missing one, the one they call Ekko, who did it and that the others didn’t know anything about it.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, he’s not like the others, he’s quite a bit older and has already served in the Army, he was in Vietnam.” He raised an admonishing finger. “In Ordnance. What’s more, on what we were able to gather from preliminary questioning, he was the only one who was alone in the dean’s office for any length of time; the others were searching for her all over the building, and he had a dispatch case with him. Finally, he was the only one who ran.”

“Did any of them suggest that it might have been him?”

“No: but –”

“And if they don’t know for sure, it’s a cinch that they won’t say a word. Those kids stick together.”

“So?”

Matthew Rogers grinned. “So isn’t it to our advantage to keep them in jail? When this Ekko hears of it, especially that we’ve got his girl, there’s a good chance he’ll give himself up.”

“That’s like holding them for ransom. Matt.” Ames protested.

“Uh-huh.”

“Matt that’s a dirty Irish trick.”

Rogers grinned broadly. “Uh-huh.”

The rabbi was dressing for the Friday evening service when the phone rang, the baby-sitter took the call, and as the rabbi came to the door of the living room, knotting his tie, he saw the girl’s eyes widen.

“Who is it?” he asked.

She covered the receiver with her hand and whispered. “It’s the police, Rabbi! From Boston.”

“All right. I’ll take it.” She handed him the instrument quickly as if eager to relinquish it.

“Rabbi Small?” said a gruff voice. “This is Sergeant Schroeder of Boston Homicide.”

“How do you do. Sergeant,” said the rabbi pleasantly.

“What? Oh yes. Look. Rabbi. I’d like to ask you a few questions about Professor Hendryx.”

“All right, ask.”

“No. Not on the phone. I want to talk to you, and I’d like to get a signed statement. I’d like you to come down to headquarters here in Boston.”

“That’s out of the question, Sergeant.”

“I can send a car.”

“I’m afraid not. Sergeant,” said the rabbi. “I’m on my way to the temple right now. This is the Sabbath and we hold an evening service.”

“What time does it end?”

“Around ten. Why?”

“Well, suppose I come out to Barnard’s Crossing, say around ten-fifteen.”

“There’s nothing I can tell you.”

“You were probably the last person to see him alive. Rabbi.”

“That may be true, but I left him shortly after two o’clock and he was alive then.”

“I’d still like to talk to you.” the sergeant said.

“Then I’m afraid it will have to wait until tomorrow evening. I don’t discuss business matters during the Sabbath.”

“But this is a homicide. Rabbi.”

“There’s nothing I could tell you that would justify my breaking the Sabbath.”

“What if I came out there?”

“I would not talk to you.”

The receiver at the other end banged down. Rabbi Small listened for a moment and then gently hung up the instrument.

Baffled and angry. Sergeant Schroeder sat staring at the phone, then he remembered Hugh Lanigan. Barnard’s Crossing’s police chief, whom he had met at numerous police conferences and who had once invited him to come out sailing some Sunday during the summer.

He called Lanigan. “I wonder if you’d do me a favor. Hugh. I’d like you to pick up somebody for me and bring him in for questioning…. Yeah, on this Windemere College thing…. No: there’s no charge against him. I just want him for questioning…. Who? A Rabbi Small. You know him?…Yeah, well, I asked him to come in, even offered to send a car out for him, but he said he wouldn’t talk to me because it’s the Sabbath.”

“That’s in character.”

“Oh? A tough guy?”

Lanigan laughed. “Far from it, but he does observe his Sabbath, they don’t transact business or even talk about it from Friday to Saturday night.”

“That’s what he said, but –”

“Look, Bill, don’t let your pee steam. I wouldn’t intrude on the rabbi on his Sabbath any more than I’d interrupt Father Aherne during a mass. If I asked him to go, he wouldn’t come, and if I tried anything stronger. I could get into trouble. This isn’t the big city, Bill, we’re a small town and everybody knows everybody, we do things differently here. Tell you what, why don’t you drive down tomorrow afternoon and take Saturday night supper with us? It’s ham and beans and brown bread, but Gladys has a way with it, then afterward, we’ll drop in to see the rabbi. I guarantee he’ll cooperate with you then a hundred percent.”

The next evening Lanigan and Schroeder appeared at the Smalls’. Lanigan introduced the sergeant and said. “Why don’t you two start fresh?”

The rabbi grinned. “Gladly.” And led them into the living room.

The Sergeant said. “Sure. You understand. Rabbi. I didn’t want to interfere with your religious holiday, but with us homicide takes precedence over everything.”

“With us too.” said the rabbi, “but I’m sure there is nothing I can tell you that will be of any help. Professor Hendryx was alive when I left him.”

“And what time was that?”

“Shortly after two. Ten after at the latest.”

“Was he usually there then?” asked the sergeant.

“I really couldn’t say. I have a class that ends at two, and afterward I stop into the office to pick up my coat and to leave rav books. Sometimes, not alwavs, he’d be there; I understand his cleaning woman comes to his apartment on Fridays so he escapes to the office – it’s only across the street, you know.”

“Yes. Rabbi, we’ve got the setup.”

“But yesterday.” said the rabbi, “he did say something about the dean having phoned him, asking him to stand by, she was scheduled to see a student committee and wanted him there in case they got obstreperous.”

“Aha!” exclaimed Schroeder. “So you did have something important to tell.”

“I did?”

“Why sure. In her statement, the dean didn’t say anything about phoning Hendryx and asking him to hang around.”

“And how is that important?” asked Lanigan, interested.

“Well, say she was involved.” He looked from one to the other, the rabbi’s lips were pursed in doubt; Lanigan was smiling. “I mean –” Then Schroeder surrendered completely and laughed. “Sorry. Rabbi, but I guess I was still a little sore because you wouldn’t see me last night,” he said sheepishly. “So after you left on Friday, did you see anyone at all, on your way out?”

“Well, the door of the dean’s office was closing as I came down the hall, so although I didn’t exactly see her I assume she was in her office, and then downstairs I saw Professor Fine in the English office, he said he was waiting for a phone call.”

“What time did you get home. Rabbi?” asked Schroeder.

“It was quite late.” the rabbi admitted. “About half-past three.”

Lanigan raised his eyebrows. “Have trouble on the road?”

“No, I stopped for a cup of coffee.”

“That shouldn’t have taken long,” said Schroeder. “Well, it was one of those places where you eat in your own car.” the rabbi explained. “I began reading a book and must have lost track of the time.”

When they left. Schroeder asked. “What do you think of your friend’s story?”

“You don’t know him.” said Lanigan. “I assure you it’s completely in character.”

“Still…”

“Look. Sergeant, there never was an investigation without its little inconsistencies, and the quickest way to get bogged down is to concentrate on them instead of the main line. But I guess you know that better than I.”

“Yeah.” said Schroeder. “but sometimes you can’t help being bothered by them. For example, why didn’t the dean tell me she’d phoned Hendryx and asked him to stand by?”

“You find that hard to understand?” asked Lanigan. “She didn’t tell you because she forgot, and she forgot because she wanted to forget, and she wanted to forget because otherwise it would mean that she was responsible for his death.”

The Sunday morning minyan was usually well attended. For one thing, it was held an hour and a half later than on weekdays – nine instead of seven-thirty – for another, it was followed by a meeting of the board of directors at ten, so most of them came early and participated in the twenty-minute service.

Although Malcolm Selzer rarely attended the weekday minyan – he was already in the warehouse at seven-thirty – he never missed the one on Sunday, he was one of the handful with a traditional upbringing who knew the liturgy and often was asked to lead the prayers. But this Sunday he did not show up. His absence did not pass unnoticed.

Although the name was reported variously as Abner Seldar, Adam Sellers, and Aaron Selger, no one in Barnard’s Crossing, certainly no one in the Jewish community, had any doubt that the person referred to in the newspaper accounts of the bombing was Malcolm Selzer’s boy; Abner, and the somewhat larger attendance at the minyan that Sunday was no doubt due in part to the quite human desire for more information.

The late Saturday night broadcast and the Sunday papers had provided a somewhat fuller account: that the dean. Millicent Hanbury: had met with a student delegation to discuss student grievances; that she had left the meeting – reason not given; that shortly afterward the committee of five had left her office and the building; that less than five minutes later the bomb had gone off, the district attorney’s office had issued a statement saying it was planning to question each of the students.