"No, I don't."
"Because he's not the type?"
"Every type is capable of murder, or anything else,” he replied gravely. "Who can know the depths of another person? No. I don't think he's guilty for the very reason that Lanigan arrested him, because he won't talk. It seems to me, if he had actually done it, he would have tried to arrange for an alibi, or offered some plausible explanation, even if it were only that he had taken a nap and overslept. But to tell the police that it is none of their business, that suggests that he has an alibi, an ironclad alibi, that he can produce if it becomes absolutely necessary."
"You think he's shielding someone?"
"Possibly. But I don't think so, maybe if he had come late to the Friday service that one time, then it could have been because he happened to see something, perhaps some good friend of his whom he had seen going into or coming out of Jordon's house at about the time the murder was committed. But Maltzman came to the service late the Friday before that, and since then. Come to think of it, he hasn't sat beside me for the last three or four Fridays. No, there's something he's involved in that takes place every week at the same time, and he won't tell what it is because he's ashamed of it, or finds it embarrassing."
"You think he may be seeing a woman?" asked Miriam eagerly.
"Possibly, considering his reputation. But I doubt it. Because each time I've seen Laura Maltzman in her regular seat in the front row, and she was there from the beginning of the service, then afterward she joined him for the collation, and everything seemed to be normal between them."
"But if she didn't know—"
"That could happen once, he might pretend an important business engagement and tell her to go on ahead and he'd meet her afterward. But not Friday after Friday, anything he's doing. I'm sure she knows about."
"I suppose—yes, she'd have to, then maybe he's taking some kind of course."
"Then there would be no reason for not telling the police. No, it's something that takes place every Friday night at the same time, that she knows about and seems to approve of, and yet is embarrassing to the point that—" He snapped his fingers. "You hit it right on the head. Miriam."
"I did?"
"He is taking a course—a course of treatment—from a psychiatrist."
"Oh, David. I think that's it, Henry Maltzman strikes me as just the kind of man who would be ashamed to have it known that he was getting psychiatric treatment, he'd ba afraid that people would think he was crazy. But that gives us something to go on. If you talked to him and hinted—"
"He wouldn't talk to me." said the rabbi flatly. "Even if I could get to him, he'd shut up as soon as he sensed what I was hinting at. But, you know, it might be worthwhile talking to Laura."
"Why Laura?"
"Because I could tell her point-blank what I thought. If I'm right, then there's a good chance that I could induce her to give me the name of the doctor, then—look here, I'm going over to see her right now."
For a few minutes after her husband left. Miriam was buoyed up by his certainty, then doubts began to set in. Laura Maltzman might be just as obdurate as Henry, she might have the same view of psychiatric treatment. Or even if not, she might feel it was disloyal to reveal what her husband was so anxious to keep secret. Perhaps there was another way, and a plan began to form in her mind, she reached for the phone and called the local hospital.
"You have lists of local doctors, haven't you?" she asked the switchboard operator, trying to keep her voice from trembling. "Can you—" "Hold on. I'll connect you."
She took several deep breaths, and to the person who answered this time, she was able to say crisply., "I would like a list of the local psychiatrists whom you recommend."
"Who is this calling, please?" "Mrs. Small."
"Mrs. David Small? The rabbi's wife?" "That's right. Can you help me?"
"I'm Mrs. Clausen, Mrs: Small, the rabbi checks in with me when he comes on his regular visits, he's all right, isn't he?"
"Oh yes. This involves a case he's working on, he asked me—"
"I understand, well, there aren't too many. You're thinking of those who practice in the area, I suppose. Becausa there are a number who live here, but their offices are in Boston. Let's see—"
"Do you happen to know which of them will see patients in the evening?"
"Well, if it's an emergency—"
"No. I mean who will schedule patients for regular treatment."
"Well, that limits it even more, doesn't it? Let's see, Dr. Boles used to, but I know for a fact that he doesn't anymore, he's quite old, abner Gordon doesn't as a rule, but he just might if the rabbi spoke to him, especially if he were interested in the case. I mean if it involved something he was doing a paper on."
She finally came up with a list of four names, two of which Miriam discarded because they were obviously Jewish, she reasoned that Maltzman might feel that if the doctor were Jewish, there was a greater chance of someone in the Jewish community finding out. Of the remaining two, one was a woman. For a couple of minutes Miriam agonized over the choice and then decided that Maltzman would be more inclined to tell his personal troubles to a woman than to a man.
"Dr. Sayre? I wonder if I could have an appointment—"
A firm contralto voice asked, "Whom an I talking to, please?"
"My name is—Myra, Myra Little."
"Miss or Mrs.?"
"It's Ms."
"Very well, and what is it you want to see me about?"
"It's—I don't like to say over the phone—I wouldn't want—I mean if someone were listening—"
"Who referred you to me, Ms. Little?"
"Well, it wasn't a doctor. It was one of your patients, Henry Maltzman."
"Oh yes." It was merely polite agreement, which might mean nothing, but it gave Miriam the courage to continue.
"He said you sometimes took patients in the evening, which is the only time I could come."
"I do take some patients in the evening."
"Well, could I have an appointment for Friday evening, around half past seven?"
"Friday evening? Let me see. Why that's Mr. Maltzman's time."
"Are you sure. Doctor. Because he said—" "Quite sure, he—"
But Miriam had hung up, leaving the doctor looking puzzled at her telephone which had inexplicably gone dead.
When the rabbi returned shortly after, he showed his disappointment. "I should have called first," he said. "There was no one home when I got there."
"It doesn't matter, David," she said. "It doesn't matter." She was excited at her success and yet fearful of his disapproval.
The rabbi listened in silence as she told him what she had done and repeated her conversation with Dr. Sayre.
He shook his head in wonder and then smiled. "As I remarked earlier, who can know the depths of another person?"
"Are you angry? Was it wicked of me?"
"The Talmud forbids pricing a merchant's wares if you have no intention of buying. It raises his hopes of making a sale and then causes him needless distress when you disappoint him. I suppose the same would apply to a doctor." He threw his head back and laughed joyously. "But it was awfully clever of you, and now. I'd better see Lanigan." He hesitated. "You don't have any other bright ideas you might try while I'm gone, do you. Miriam?"
"Oh, David!"
"Now. Chief. I’ve given you my personal assurance that I was nowhere near the Jordon house that night, or during the day for that matter, and I'm willing to say that under oath. I know damn well you don't suspect me of havina anything to do with it, and I consider it a serious infringement on my rights."