“But why would Ike commit suicide? He’d have no reason. He liked living here. We were getting along fine.”
Sykes said nothing.
“They’ve got to prove that it was suicide, don’t they? They can’t just say they think it was suicide and refuse to pay, can they?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well?”
“Look, Mrs. Hirsh, the custom in such cases is to investigate and should they decide it’s suicide they refuse to pay and it’s up to you to bring suit to collect. If they don’t have positive proof, they’re apt to offer a settlement-seventy-five percent of the claim, say, or fifty percent-depending on how strong they feel their case is.”
“But I don’t have to take it.”
“No, of course not, but you should have all the facts before you make up your mind one way or the other.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“That’s why I came over.” Choosing his words carefully, he said, “I never was going to tell you this, Mrs. Hirsh, and I wouldn’t now if you didn’t need to know to help decide a very important question. But the fact is your husband was going to be fired and he knew it.”
“Fired? But why? I thought he was doing well.”
Sykes obviously was embarrassed. “I wish that were so,” he said gently. “Especially since from all I’ve heard, your husband was quite a man when younger. When he was on the Manhattan Project his work was very well thought of by some mighty important people. But since coming to Goddard, and probably for a while before that, he just didn’t have it. He made half a dozen mistakes in the-what is it, less than a year?-he’d been with us. I covered for him each time with the boss, but this last time he made a mistake that was pretty serious. It was on a job for one of our most important clients, and I did what I could but the boss was stubborn. Ike had an appointment with him for Monday morning.”
“But what did he do?”
“I don’t think I could explain it unless you were a mathematician. But in general, his research seemed to prove that a whole new process was possible, a much cheaper way of doing the thing-sorry, but I can’t be any more explicit-and doing it better. The story leaked out and the company’s stock went up. And then we found that your husband had made a mistake. Naturally the client was angry. What made it bad is that the company is involved in a merger, so it makes them look as though they were manipulating their stock.”
“And Ike knew it?”
Dr. Sykes remained silent.
“Oh, Ike, you poor dear. He must have known and wanted to keep it from me. He was probably afraid we’d have to pick up and move along. We had moved so many times-because of the drinking, you know-and he knew I was beginning to think we had it pretty much licked and we’d be able to stay. He knew I liked it here-”
She broke off as a sudden thought occurred to her. “You don’t think it was because he was afraid he didn’t have it anymore, Dr. Sykes? I mean, you say he made mistakes-he never used to make mistakes. If he thought his mind wasn’t as sharp-from the drinking perhaps-But I wouldn’t have cared. He must have known that. No matter what happened, he’d still be plenty smart for me.”
“I’m sure he did know, Mrs. Hirsh,” Sykes said.
She sat up and squared her shoulders. “All right, then, what do I do now?”
“Nothing. You don’t have to do anything. When you hear from the insurance company, you can decide then. If I can help-” He got up. “If there is anything I can do, Pat-anything at all-you have only to call.”
She nodded. “Yes, I know. You’ve been a good friend to us.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Possel? What do you mean possel?”
“It’s like tref, not kosher, it’s unclean.”
“What are you saying, Mr. Goralsky? How can our cemetery be unclean?”
“It’s unclean because there’s a suicide buried there. A suicide is supposed to be buried in a corner, near the wall, off to one side. You buried a suicide right in front and that makes the whole place possel.”
“We didn’t bury any suicide, Ben. Who are you talking about?”
“Look, Mr. Schwarz, don’t pull that with me. Yesterday you people buried Isaac Hirsh in your cemetery. I was there. I saw it. Today, the insurance investigator comes to see me, and there’s no doubt the guy committed suicide. So I mention it to my father and he gets terribly upset.”
“Why should he be upset?”
“Why? Because, in case it’s slipped your mind, my mother is also buried there. All her life, she was a good, pious woman. She kept a kosher house and observed every rule and regulation, and now she lies in ground that’s been contaminated. And I shouldn’t be concerned? And my father shouldn’t be upset?”
“Look, Ben, Mr. Goralsky, I don’t know anything about Isaac Hirsh. First I’ve heard of the name. This is a matter the Cemetery Committee takes care of. I’m sure there’s some explanation. Did the rabbi officiate at the burial?”
“Of course he did. And he made a eulogy, and he made the blessings. Yet only a few days ago-on the eve of Yom Kippur-with my own ears I heard him threaten my father that if he didn’t take his medicine and died, he would consider him a suicide and bury him in a corner without blessings or eulogy. Then along comes this Isaac Hirsh, who isn’t even a member of the temple-and this is supposed to be a private cemetery for members only-and his wife isn’t even Jewish, and the rabbi buries him with all the trimmings. You say there’s an explanation. I guess there is. The explanation is that you guys wanted to sell a cemetery lot, and for the couple of hundred bucks or whatever it runs, you didn’t care what happened to anybody else who was buried there.”
“I assure you, Ben, it was nothing like that. Marvin Brown, the chairman of our committee, would never do a thing like that. And our rabbi wouldn’t either. There must be some mistake.”
“You think my father doesn’t know what’s kosher and what ain’t?”
“Of course not, but that insurance investigator could be mistaken.”
“How could he be mistaken? He laid it out for me plain as day. This Hirsh goes into his garage and closes the door. Then he sits in his car swigging booze with the motor running. So is it suicide, or isn’t it?”
“Well, it certainly sounds that way, but-Look, if anything can be done-”
“If?”
“Well, tell me, what do you want us to do?”
“You can get him out of there.”
“You mean exhume the body? Ben, we couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t want us to do that. It would create a scandal. We’d need the consent of the widow. The town would-”
“Look, Schwarz”-Goralsky’s tone was cold and dispassionate-“you’ve been sweet-talking my father about building a chapel, and he’s half committed himself to you. Personally, I think the congregation needs a new chapel about as much as they need a pogrom, but if the old man wants it it’s all right by me. But I’m telling you right here and now that if you don’t take care of this cemetery business, any money you get out of us wouldn’t even build a pup tent.”
“Mort, I’m not one of the rabbi’s most ardent admirers any more than you are, but you’ve got to admit he knows his stuff. I mean, if he buried Hirsh then it must be okay.”
“You don’t understand, Marvin. You still don’t get it,” said Schwarz wearily. “The rabbi probably didn’t go into the question of suicide at all. Maybe he suspected and maybe he didn’t. Suppose he did, what would he do? He’d call his friend the police chief who would naturally give him the official finding, death by accident. So he went ahead. In his place I wouldn’t have done any different. And if we ask him, I’m sure he’ll say everything is right and kosher. He’s not going to come right out and say he made a mistake.”