“The cemetery-that you bought. When they put up the central gate, your name will be on it. Schwarz wants something he can say, ‘This is what I did.’ What do you say, Rabbi?”
The rabbi, who had promised to say nothing about Schwarz’s personal involvement, nodded slowly. “Yes, I think it might be something like that.”
“Well, Rabbi,” said Wasserman, “it’s not going to be easy, but we’ll try our best.”
Outside, Becker said, “What really gets me is why he didn’t get in touch with us. We’re his friends, and we’re not the only ones. And he sure went out of his way to help me that time my partner Mel Bronstein was in all that bad trouble. So I, for one, sure owe him one mighty big favor.
“You know, the rabbi has changed in the few years he’s been here. I remember when he first came, he was so shy you could hardly hear him when he spoke. Now he lays it on the line like he’s in complete control of the situation.”
“That’s because he’s grown; he’s matured,” Wasserman said. “When he came here, he was fresh out of the seminary, a boy. He had ideas, and he was firm about them, but he said them so quietly no one really paid attention. But in these few years he’s got confidence, and he doesn’t mind asserting himself. I tell you, Becker, he’s got like a radar beam in his head.”
“What do you mean, radar beam?”
“It’s like the way an airplane flies at night. He’s got an instrument, the pilot, and it’s as if he’s flying an invisible line. The minute he goes off to one side or the other, the instrument gives out a beep. It’s like that with the rabbi. He’s got in his head the principles of the Jewish tradition. When the congregation goes off to one side or the other, the rabbi gets a warning, like a beep, and he knows we’re making a mistake.”
“Yeah, well, this time that beep may cause a crash landing.”
“Why?”
“Because the poor bugger is apt to lose his job. And his wife’s going to have a baby soon.”
“You might at least have told me,” said Miriam. “It was all I could do to restrain myself from coming in when I heard you tell Mr. Wasserman and Mr. Becker. I noticed when one of them asked how I felt about it, you were careful not to answer. Evidently they thought it was my concern.”
“I’m sorry, Miriam dear. It was foolish of me; I was wrong, but I didn’t want to distress you at this time. I thought that by today, by this morning, the whole affair would have been properly settled. It didn’t occur to me that Schwarz would suppress my letter.”
“And suppose he had read your letter and the Board had gone along with him?”
“I didn’t think they would have-not with me there to explain it.” He had been talking apologetically, but now his tone changed. “If they did, then I would have no choice but to resign. I could not remain here. The issue, as far as I’m concerned, is basic and fundamental. Either we are a religious group, a congregation, or we are nothing and I have no job here.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
He shrugged. “What can I do now? The matter is out of my hands. We can only hope that Wasserman and Becker can rally enough support-”
“You mean you’re going to sit with your hands folded and wait until the matter is resolved one way or the other?”
“What do you suggest?” He was nettled.
“You called this desecrating a grave. Very well, then you can appeal to the town authorities. You could talk to Mrs. Hirsh.”
He shook his head. “I could never do that. I am still an employee of the congregation, and if their elected representatives want to do something I disapprove of, I can’t protest to authorities outside.”
“It seems to me,” she said tartly, “that you’re a lot more concerned with your struggle with the Board than you are with Hirsh. You’ve dissociated yourself from their action, but if as you say it’s the desecration that really concerns you, what are you doing to prevent it?”
“Well-”
“The least you could do is prove what really happened.”
“Yes? And how would I go about that?”
“Well, if you found a note, that would prove that it was a suicide, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, but not finding it proves nothing. It’s negative evidence.”
“It seems to me that if you can prove something took place, you ought to be able to prove it didn’t.”
He realized that her fine scorn for logic was because she was hurt he had not confided in her. “But don’t you see,” he said patiently, “that simply because you can prove one thing doesn’t mean-”
“All I know is that if someone has done something, someone else ought to be able to find out what it was. Besides, there’s the widow to think of. There’s been a man around town, an investigator for the insurance company, and Mrs. Marcus-you remember she called-was saying that her friend Mrs. Hirsh was worried about losing the insurance money if he proves it’s suicide.”
“He can’t prove it’s suicide any more than we can prove it was an accident.”
“Yes, but he could make her a lot of trouble-hold up the money indefinitely. David, you’ve got to do something.”
“But how, woman, how?”
“I don’t know. You’re the rabbi. That’s your department. At least, you could try.”
He looked at her for a moment. Her face was intense. “All right, Miriam, I’ll try. I’ll call Lanigan and see if he’ll go over the facts with me. It’s just possible we can come up with something.”
“I’ll do better than that,” said the police chief when the rabbi got him on the phone. “I hear you’ve been under the weather, so instead of your coming down to my office tomorrow, I’ll get the files on the case and bring them over to your house tonight.”
“Oh, I don’t want to put you to that bother.”
“Look, Rabbi, you’ll be doing me a favor. Gladys is having some friends over, and I don’t want to be caught in a hen party.”
“Well, if you put it that way-”
“I do. Say, I’ve got another idea: has Charlie Beam got around to talking to you yet?”
“Beam?”
“He’s the man who’s been investigating for the insurance company. How about if I bring him along?”
“Fine.”
“Beauty,” said Lanigan. He chuckled. “You know, I’m really going to enjoy this little get-together.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, you’re hoping to prove that it’s a case of death by accident, and Beam naturally would like to prove that its suicide so his company won’t have to pay. And here I am, in the middle, and for once in the clear. I’ll just let you boys fight it out and I’ll sit back and enjoy it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Out of respect for his guests, the rabbi had shed his bathrobe and was dressed in slacks and a sport shirt. After the introductions, Miriam, feeling this was not part of her husband’s official function and that she had a stake in the proceedings, remained in the room.
“Maybe I’d better run through the facts as we know them,” said Lanigan, “and then we can talk about it afterward.” He opened a Manila folder. “All right. Isaac Hirsh, 4 Bradford Lane, married, white, fifty-one years old. He was five foot three or four and weighed one hundred and ninety pounds. Did you know him, Rabbi? Had you ever met him?”
The rabbi shook his head.
“He was built along the lines of Charlie here. Maybe a little shorter-”
“I’m five feet five,” said Beam.
“I would have said so. I make a point of this because it’s important, as you’ll see. All right, it’s Friday evening, September 18, the eve of your Yom Kippur. Hirsh gets home from the Goddard Lab where he works, his regular time-a little after six. In this case, that’s unusual because all other Jewish employees left a bit early. But although Hirsh was Jewish he did not attend services, so he worked a full day. He got home and left his car in front of the house instead of putting it in the garage-”