"Well, I might make a suggestion, speaking only as a lawyer, you understand, the fact that the boy had come to live with him suggests that he was still in contact with the boy's mother, and while he did not tell the boy that he was naming him his heir, he might have confided in the mother. It might be worthwhile inquiring where she was Friday night."
"She was in Europe."
"Are you sure?" he asked pointedly.
"Well—" A thought occurred to Lanigan, and he smiled. "Where were you—and Emily that Friday night?"
Sawyer began to laugh, a deep gurgling in the throat that sounded as if he were choking. Finally he stopped and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. "Very good. Mr. Lanigan."
"Well, where were you?"
Sawyer's face showed annoyance. "We were right here, working late on that same blasted will to ready it for Saturday when he said he'd be in." He smiled again and purred. "No doubt the night watchman noted the time of our departure on his register."
32
IT WAS HERB WHO OPENED THE DOOR TO THE SERGEANT, they had finished Sunday dinner. His mother had gone upstairs to her room for a nap, and while Molly was in the kitchen finishing the dishes—the division of labor between them called for him to wash and for her to wipe and put away—he had been in the living room reading the Sunday paper.
"Sergeant Holcombe." his visitor announced and showed his badge pinned in his wallet.
"What can I do for you, Sergeant?"
"Can I come in?"
Herb stood aside for him and motioned him to a chair.
"You're Mr. Mandell? You're up at the high school, aren't you?"
"That's right."
"You got my kid sister in bookkeeping."
From the kitchen. Molly called out. "What is it, herb?" "Just some school business,” he called back.
The sergeant was embarrassed. "Oh, I didn't come to see you about my sister, Mr. Mandell. I wouldn't come to your house and on a Sunday. I'd go to the school. Chances are. I wouldn't go at all. I mean, it would be my dad who'd come to see you. It was Mrs. Mandell I came to see."
"What about?"
"Oh, it's just routine. Mr. Mandell. Could I see her for a minute. Could you ask her—"
But it was unnecessary; for Molly had finished with the dishes and had come into the living room, she looked questioningly at the sergeant.
"It's just a matter of routine,” he apologized. "I’ve got some questions—"
"Of course. Sergeant." She seated herself beside Herb on the sofa and waited as the sergeant flipped pages of a notebook to a clean page.
"It's about this business Friday night. Mr. Gore said he stopped at a gas station on the road to Boston and phoned you—"
"You mean they suspect Mr. Gore?" she asked indignantly.
"Oh no. It's just that the chief wants everything neat and tidy. This is a pretty important case, and everything has to be just so. I guess what he's after mostly right now is pinning down the exact time when—well, when it happened. Now Mr. Gore don't remember what time it was when he stopped at the gas station, but he remembers calling you, and the attendant at the gas station don't remember what time it was but he remembers Mr. Gore making the call, mostly because the outside pay station was out of order and he used the one in the office. So I thought maybe you might remember." He looked at her hopefully, pencil poised over his notebook. "He did call you, didn't he?"
"Oh yes, he called all right,” she said, "and I remember what time it was, too, It was half past eight."
The sergeant wrote happily in his notebook and then looked up. "You're very sure of the time. Miss. How can you be so sure?"
"Because I looked at my watch, of course."
"And how did you happen to do that? Did he ask what time it was?"
"Oh no. I was working on a report for the bank, the reason for Mr. Gore's call was to see how I was getting on. I was practically finished, and I looked at my watch to see about how soon I would be done."
The sergeant shook his head in wonder. "For the bank, you say. I guess this talk about bankers' hours is just a lot of talk."
She smiled. "I very frequently take work home, and I know Mr. Gore does almost every night. Most people at the bank do, that is, the executives."
He digested this with a slow nodding of the head. "So he called and asked you how you were getting on and you looked at your watch and said you were almost finished."
"That's right."
"And it was half past eight by your watch?"
"M-hmm."
He smiled as he rose to go. "And did you? Did you get it done?"
She smiled back at him. "I did. Sergeant."
The sergeant read over what he had written. "Anything else you can tell me, Mrs. Mandell?"
"Like what?"
"Oh, anything that might have bearing on this business."
She hesitated and then shook her head slowly.
A thought occurred to him. "The chief may want me to type this out and then have you sign it," he said.
"Then I'll sign it, of course."
As Mandell showed him to the door, the sergeant said. "My sister, the one who's taking your course, she likes it."
"Glad to hear it." said Mandell. "What did you say her name was?"
"Same as mine. Holcombe. Doris Holcombe." "Oh yes. Tall, blond girl, she's a good student." "I'll tell her you said so, Mr. Mandell." "You do that. Sergeant."
33
THE VOICE ON THE TELEPHONE WAS EXCITED AND IMPATIENT. "Rabbi Small? I'd like to see you about something. It's terribly important. Do you have office hours?"
"If it's terribly important, my office hours are twenty-four hours a day. Whom am I talking to?"
"You don't know me. My name is Segal. It's about—well, I'd rather not say over the phone. If you'd let me know when I can come—"
"I'm free for the evening. Mr. Segal. You can come over anytime. Right now, if you like."
"I'm on my way. Rabbi."
Twenty minutes later as they shook hands. Rabbi Small said. "Ive heard about you, Mr. Segal."
"Oh? You take a flyer in the stock market?" And as the rabbi smiled in obvious negation, "Oh, I know, the real estate man, Mr. Maltzman, spoke to you, he said he was going to, he hasn't got back to me yet. Is it all right?"
"I'm sure we'd all like to have you join our temple. Mr. Segal, there's no special ceremony necessary."
"But the Bar Mitzvah—"
"You were Bar Mitzvah when you reached the age of thirteen, whether you had a ceremony or didn't. It just means that by our law you are of age." He went on to explain the significance of the ceremony and how it had developed to its present proportion. Segal listened, but with no great interest.
"Good,” he said when the rabbi finished. "You know after I agreed to do it. I got to thinking about it. I was prepared to go through with it, but it occurred to me that it might be kind of embarrassing. I'm certainly glad I don't have to."
"Is that what you wanted to see me about. Mr. Segal?"
"Oh no, nothing to do with your temple. It's about this William Green who's involved in the murder. Have you been following it at all?"
"I read the local papers, and I listen to the news broadcasts."
"You see. Rabbi. I'm living in the hotel for the time being, and I take my meals there, too. You can't help overhearing conversation, and that's all they're talking about, the general consensus seems to be that this William Green did it. I gather that he's new in town and that he was just visiting with the man who was murdered, and there seems to be some suggestion that the young man is somewhat strange, that he has no friends and keeps to himself. I heard one man say that the proof he was guilty was that the police were keeping him under wraps. I guess there was some truth to that, because in one newspaper story, it said they were unable to contact him, and in the news broadcast this evening, it said he was unavailable for questioning by the reporter, then he went on to say he was the son of Hester Grimes, well-known nightclub and TV entertainer, that brought me up sharp. Rabbi, because I know Hester Grimes."