Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red (19 page)

Normally, a hint to the defense attorney would take care of the matter, but each of the four defendants was being represented by a different attorney; all of whom were strangers to Ames, the O’Brien boy had retained a young lawyer who had just passed the bar exam; Allworth had someone furnished by one of the radical black organizations; and the girl. Judy Ballantine, whose father was well off, was being represented by a firm of New York lawyers. Only Paul Goodman, the attorney for the Selzer boy, seemed a possibility, but even he was an unknown quantity since he practiced largely in Essex County, not Suffolk. Still, Ames thought he might get a line on him, and if he measured up, risk it.

From his years of summering in Barnard’s Crossing, Ames had got to know its chief of police, he called him at home that evening. “Hugh Lanigan? This is Bradford Ames.”

“Oh yes, Mr. Ames. How are you?”

“Look, do you know a lawyer in your town, name of Paul Goodman?”

“Yes, I know Mr. Goodman.”

“He’s acting for Abner Selzer, that’s the boy who –”

“Yes. I know, sir.”

Ames sensed the caution at the other end of the line and hastened to reassure Lanigan. “I’m not planning any skullduggery, at least not against him or his client. In fact. I’m trying to help him out a little, but it’s pretty confidential and I’d like to know the sort of man Goodman is.”

“Well.” Lanigan began doubtfully, “I don’t know that I can tell you much, he’s the lawyer for the temple here, and he’s appeared before the board of selectmen a couple of times on zoning matters, usually. I guess he’s well enough thought of.”

“What kind of man is he?” Ames began to suspect he may have made a mistake in approaching Hugh Lanigan. “Is he accessible? A reasonable man? You know what I mean?”

“Look.” said Lanigan. “I got an idea. Why don’t you call the rabbi of the temple here. Rabbi Small. Now he’s a good man, and bright, ask him about Mr. Goodman. This Goodman is a sort of vestryman of the temple, one of their board of directors, so the rabbi would know all about him.”

The rabbi? Of course! He could tell the rabbi and thus transmit the information to Goodman at one remove, and if the rabbi was adroit, Ames’ name need never come into the picture.

He thanked the police chief, hung up, and immediately called Rabbi Small, he identified himself and explained that he wanted to discuss the case with him.

“Certainly.” said the rabbi. “I have a class tomorrow from nine to ten. I could come to your office any time after that.”

Ames hesitated, he felt a certain reluctance in having the rabbi seek him out when it was he who was going to ask a favor. So he said. “Why don’t I meet you outside your classroom at ten. Rabbi?”

The bell rang, and the rabbi dismissed his class, he gathered up his books and papers and left the room. In the corridor, just outside the door, a plump middleaged man was standing.

“Bradford Ames. Rabbi. I hope I’m not putting you to any inconvenience.”

“Not at all. My office is just down the hall.”

As the rabbi inserted his key, Ames asked. “The office is kept locked all the time?”

“All offices. This one has a door-closer which shuts it automatically.”

Ames looked about him curiously. “And that’s the desk where Hendryx was sitting?”

“That’s right.”

“And the bust?”

“Was on the top shelf just above.”

They sat down, the rabbi in the swivel chair, ames across the desk, silent as his eyes roamed around the room, as he continued to maintain his silence. David Small asked politely, “Do you have any other questions?”

Ames chuckled. “I didn’t really come here to question you. Rabbi. I suppose that’s what I implied over the phone, but it’s more that I want to tell you something.”

“All right.”

“I’m sure you know the nature of the charges against the four students?”

The rabbi nodded. “I think so, arson and felony murder?”

“That’s right. Setting off a bomb is arson, which is a felony. It’s our assumption that the explosion caused the statue to fall on Professor Hendryx and kill him, that makes it a felony murder which is first degree murder.”

“I understand.”

“And since in this state there’s no bail for first degree murder, we’ve got the students sitting in jail waiting for arraignment before the grand jury. If they find a true bill, they’ll remain in jail until they go to trial.”

“Yes, I know that.”

“What do you think of it?” Ames asked unexpectedly.

It caught the rabbi by surprise. “I don’t understand. Does it make any difference what I think?”

“No, I suppose not, but I’d like to know anyway.”

The rabbi smiled. “It’s not really much of a coincidence, but only vesterdav I was doing some research in the Talmud for a sermon and I came across a passage which bore on a somewhat similar problem.”

“Talmud? Oh, that’s one of your religious books, I believe.”

“It’s actually our book of law, and the passage was not concerned with murder, but with the law of bailment and the responsibility of the bailee.”

“You mean this Talmud deals with civil law?”

“Oh yes.” said the rabbi. “And criminal law, and religious law – all the laws by which we were governed, we don’t separate them in our religion, well, this case involved a loss by accidental damage and there was evidence of negligence on the part of the bailee, the question concerned his liability. One rabbi held, as a general governing principle, that if negligence in the beginning results in damage in the end, even by accident, then the bailee is liable.”

“Well, that’s the point of view we take.”

“But another rabbi held that the basic principle should be different. Even though the beginning may be negligence, if the damage results by accident he is not liable.”

“And how was the case finally decided?” asked Ames, interested in spite of himself.

The rabbi smiled. “It wasn’t, as in a number of such cases, the final decision was held in abeyance until the coming of the prophet Elijah.”

Ames laughed. “Very good. I wish we had a device like that.”

The rabbi laughed too. “You can’t,” he said, “unless you believe that Elijah is actually coming.”

“That would make a difference, of course.” Ames found himself liking the rabbi and decided to go ahead with his plan to confide in him. “To get back to the matter in hand. Rabbi. I don’t mind admitting that I am not too happy with the situation as it stands, these young people can be kept in jail for some time even though they have not as yet been tried and found guilty. Of course, that’s one of the hazards of citizenship. It could happen to anyone. It’s unfair to the individual, of course, but on the other hand the state must protect its citizens, we take all sorts of precautions to insure that the innocent are not harassed in this way, the police cannot hold people for more than twenty-four hours without the consent of a magistrate, just as we don’t subject people to the annoyances and vicissitudes of a trial until a grand jury has decided that there is a good case to be made out against them.”

“Surely, Mr. ames, you didn’t come here to lecture me on the virtues of our legal system.”

Ames giggled. “True enough. Rabbi, well, the medical examiner has just filed his report, and according to his analysis the death of your colleague occurred some time before the explosion. Now, the M.E.‘s findings are not conclusive, you understand, he can make a mistake, and probably did, but I’m sure that if the judge had had the medical examiner’s report he would not have refused bail.”

“I see.” said the rabbi. “So what do you do in these cases? I’m sure it must have happened before – not exactly like this perhaps, but where some new piece of evidence has been introduced.”

“Oh, it occurs often enough, and what I’d be apt to do is call the defense counsel and tell him, so that he could file a motion to quash or to reduce bail. But in this case, the district attorney has rather strong views, which makes it a little difficult. You understand?” He peered up at the rabbi expectantly.

“I think so.” said the rabbi doubtfully, then. “In the other cases, did you get the district attorney’s permission first?”

“Oh no. I handle mv own cases as I see fit. Normally, there’s no interference.”

The rabbi looked at him. “So why couldn’t you do the same here?”

Ames tried to find a more comfortable position in the visitor’s chair. “Because we’ve already discussed it, and he’s against it.”

“Suppose you didn’t bother to tell him and just did it wouldn’t he assume the defense attorney had thought of filing the motion on his own?”

“Well, if it were a lawyer I knew, one I’d had dealings with. I could manage it that way without any trouble. I’d let them know I was going out on a limb and to keep it quiet. You understand, there are only so many lawyers practicing criminal law in the county and over the years I’ve established good working relations with most of them. But here I don’t know any of the people who are acting for these students. Besides, there are four of them, and it would be bound to get out.”

“Ah. I see the problem.” The rabbi was silent for some little time. Finally he said. “In talking to me about the case, did you feel that because I’m a rabbi, that is, a clergyman, that what you said was privileged and that I was thereby bound to respect your confidence?”

Ames chuckled. “You catch on fast. Rabbi. To answer your question, let’s put it this way: if you were on the witness stand and refused to answer on those grounds, the examining attorney would be sure to point out that since one party to the conversation was a Jewish rabbi and the other a Unitarian, the principle of privilege of the clergy certainly would not apply.”

“All right. I’ll proceed on that basis. Tell me, Mr. ames, how did you happen to come to me?”

“Well, of the four lawyers. I thought only Paul Goodman seemed at all possible, he’s mature and he’s local, but I thought I’d better get a line on him first. So I called Chief Lanigan, and he suggested I talk to you. I gather you two know each other.”

The rabbi smiled. “Yes, we’ve had dealings.”

Bradford Ames slowly circled the apartment, stopping to glance at the titles of the books on the shelf, staring at a picture on the wall.

“What are you looking for?” asked Sergeant Schroeder.

“I don’t know.” Ames shook his head. “I don’t have any idea, that hassock, the cleaning woman says it wasn’t there when she left?”

“That’s what she said.”

“And the pipe and the ashtray, she’s positive they weren’t there?”

“Just the pipe,” said Schroeder. “She said she cleaned the ashtray and doesn’t remember whether there was a pipe in it, but if so she’d have returned it to the rack.”

“It’s true, Sergeant, as a bachelor of long standing, I can testify to the fact that cleaning women always clean ashtrays whether they need cleaning or not.”

“Wives, too.”

“Is that so?” he said abstractedly. “Well, Sergeant, I’m inclined to believe her.”

“And you didn’t before?” asked Schroeder in surprise. “Why?”

“Because if her story is true, then the whole thing just doesn’t add up.”

“Why not?”

Ames raised a pudgy finger. “She says she left here a little before three, maybe ten to, we know the bomb went off just after three, that means Hendryx had to go to his apartment, pull over the hassock, select a book from the shelf, light his pipe, sit down to read and then hightail it back to his office in time to get killed by the statue – all in fifteen minutes.”

“He could have been smoking the pipe when he came in.”

“Good point, and yet not so good, because there are half a dozen matches in that ashtray.”

“They do it all the time.” said Schroeder. “They smoke more matches than they do tobacco, are you saying it couldn’t be done in fifteen minutes?”

“Well, it’s possible,” said Ames. “But that’s all it is – possible, in the sense of racing against a stopwatch. Does it satisfy you?”

“No, it doesn’t, sir,” admitted the sergeant. “But you know what they say: when you’ve ruled out everything else, what’s left has to be the answer, then again. Mrs. O’Rourke could have been fudging a little on the time and actually left quite a bit earlier. But why would she lie about it?”

Ames shrugged. “They always fib. If they answer the phone in your absence, they always pretend they can’t hear, or the connection is bad, rather than go to the trouble of getting a pencil and taking down the message properly, and when they break things, they hide them instead of telling you. I had one who would put something she’d broken where I’d be sure to trip over it and think I did it myself.”

“We could question her again,” Schroeder suggested.

Ames agreed that was in order.

“What about the medical examiner?” asked the sergeant. “Did you get him to admit he’d made a mistake?”

Ames shook his head. “No, he insists the time is correct as he gave it.”

“Then it doesn’t make sense, none of it.” said Schroeder, shaking his head.

Ames chuckled. “Sergeant, let me tell you something about doctors’ testimony as to the time of death, there never was one I couldn’t have tied into knots on cross-examination on the witness stand. I never do, of course, because usually they’re on my side; but you have only to check the literature to find there is enormous variation in the process of departing this world, the doctor says that death occurred, say, between two-ten and two-forty, as here. So you ask if it couldn’t have been just a little earlier and a little later, say from two-five to two forty-five, and of course he has to admit that it’s possible. So you keep extending it five minutes at a time until he calls a halt and says, no, it couldn’t have been as earlv as that or as late as that. But by that time the jury is a little suspicious of him, and then you ask why he said between two-ten and two-forty when he now admits it could have been between a quarter of two and a quarter past three. Even if he manages to keep cool – and there’s a good chance that he won’t – the jury may think he’s not such an objective, scientific witness after all, but he’s only trying to help the side that’s paying him.”

“Well then!”