"I mean recently," said Lanigan. "You were here a couple of weeks ago, that right?"
"Yeah, I had a week's vacation and I came home. What about it?"
"And while you were here, you worked in the store, didn't you?"
"That's right. One night, they were busy, and I came in to give them a hand."
"That was the night of the big storm?" "Uh-huh."
"You worked in the prescription room, filling prescriptions?"
"That's right."
"All the time you were there?"
"Right. My father was out front and Ross McLane, the other pharmacist, had a bunch of prescriptions he had to get out, so I helped him. Say, what is this? If you're worried about my Massachusetts license—"
"All in good time, Arnold. Now, did anything unusual happen while you were working on prescriptions?"
"Unusual? What do you mean? Unusual in what way?"
"In any way," said Lanigan blandly. "Unusual in any way at all, anything out of the ordinary, an unusual prescription maybe, or an unusual problem filling it."
Light dawned. "Oh, you mean when I knocked over the cough medicine? How'd you hear about that?"
"Never mind how I heard about it. Just tell me about it."
"Well, this customer came in with a prescription for cough syrup, and Ross started to fill it, we get it in these gallon jugs, see? But there wasn't enough in the jug. So that meant he had to go to the storeroom to get another jug. But it was exactly the same formula that's put up for us in four-ounce bottles under our own label by this drug house. So he had the idea of just getting one of these small bottles and using that instead of hassling the gallon jug out of the storeroom."
"Why didn't you just give the customer one of those four-ounce bottles the drug house puts up for you?" Lanigan asked, interested.
"Oh, you can't do that," said Arnold quickly.
"Why not?" the chief asked. "Because it's cheaper, and you won't make as much money on it?"
"Well, sure, but when a customer comes in with a prescription, you can't give him a patent medicine, the customer would feel, well, he'd feel that the doctor was cheating him, and the doctor wouldn't stand for it, he'd raise Cain, and maybe it wouldn't do the patient as much good as getting it in a prescription. Know what I mean?"
"I guess so, and then what happened?"
"This guy came in for a prescription and he was like in a hurry," Arnold continued. "And I guess he's some sort of big shot. So McLane left the half-full bottle standing there and started to work on this guy's prescription—"
"Because he was a big shot?"
"No-o, but the cough-syrup guy was busy buying things and was in no particular hurry, and Ross had to get a bottle of the patent medicine anyway—"
"Okay. I get it."
"So the bottle that was half full was standing there uncapped, and I happened to knock it over. Naturally, Ross blew his stack, because it dripped on the floor and that stuff if you step in it is—"
"Sticky."
"Yeah, Well, Ross cleaned it up. I mean, I didn't know where they kept the mop—"
"Where do they?"
"In the toilet right off the prescription room. I offered to do it, but Ross went right ahead and did it."
"And that was the only unusual thing that happened that night?" asked Lanigan.
"I guess so. It's the only thing I can think of."
"Nothing funny about any of the prescriptions you had to fill."
Aptaker shook his head, mystified.
Lanigan looked up at the ceiling. "Remember one for a J. Kestler?"
"How could I remember a prescription I filled a couple of weeks ago?"
Lanigan leveled shrewd, appraising eyes at the young man. "Oh, come now, Arnold, you knew a man named Kestler, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I knew a man named Kestler. What of it?"
"You don't remember filling a prescription for him?"
"No."
"The name didn't ring a bell?"
"Uh-uh."
"You got no reaction when you saw the name on the prescription?" Lanigan coaxed.
Aptaker shook his head.
"All right, let it go. Now that was the only time you came into the store to work?"
"That's right."
"Why?"
"What do you mean, why?"
"Why didn't you come in to help the next day?" the chief asked. "Was it because of this fight you had with McLane?"
"I didn't have any fight with McLane." "Oh, I thought you said he blew his stack."
"That was just for a minute. I didn't come in again because— because I went home the next day."
"To Philadelphia?"
"That's right."
"How'd you come to Barnard's Crossing?"
"I drove."
"When?"
"Tuesday."
"And Thursday you went home?" said Lanigan. "That's a long drive for a one-day visit. Why?"
Arnold squirmed in his chair, he did not like the line that the questioning was taking. For that matter, he did not like it that he was being questioned at all, he had never had dealings with the police before, but during his two years of wandering across the country, he had associated frequently with those who had, and their tactical wisdom had been succinctly summarized by one of them: "If you're busted, you button up, you don't go spilling your guts to the fuzz." He wondered uneasily if he had not already said too much.
Young Aptaker came to a decision, he sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not saying another word until you tell me what you're driving at."
Lanigan nodded. "That's smart, maybe you'd like to call your lawyer."
"I don't need any lawyer."
"Well, mavbe if you call your mother, she—"
"I'm not calling my mother, either. I'm no kid. I'm of age— Look here, am I under arrest or something?"
Lanigan shook his head.
"You mean I'm free to go? I can walk right out of here?"
"Sure."
"Then— then what? What are you planning to do?"
"Oh, if you walk out, we'll have to ask around. I thought you might level with us, cooperate. I thought we could have an informal talk."
Arnold sensed a trap, and his mind cast about wildly for a means of eluding it. If he were in Philadelphia, he would call Reb Mendel, he'd know what to do, maybe he could phone him long distance.., then he had another thought. "All right," he said. "I’ve got somebody I want to call."
Lanigan pushed the phone toward him. "Go ahead." "I need the phone book."
Lanigan reached into the bottom drawer and gave him the directory. "Who are you calling?"
"I'm calling Rabbi Small."
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Lounging in the doorway of the kitchen watching Miriam putter, the rabbi said. "How would you like to take a long drive in the country to look at the foliage?"
"With the children? Hepsibah gets carsick."
"Not with the children. Just the two of us. Can you get Sandy to baby-sit for the afternoon?"
"She's coming tonight, David, we're due at the Berasteins. Remember?"
"Oh yes, well, maybe she'd be willing to come for the whole day. Why don't you call her?"
Sandy was willing. So, with a plastic bag of sandwiches, fruit and a thermos of coffee, the rabbi and Miriam started out.
"The foliage is probably as good around here as it is up-country right now," Miriam remarked.
"Sure, but I'd rather be up-country, we'll drive along the back roads and stop whenever we feel like it, then when we get hungry, we'll eat and then—"
"Are we going anyplace in particular, David?"
"No, just away."
"Any reason for running away?"
"I'm not running away. I just want to be away. I don't care to sit around chewing my nails waiting for the phone to ring or for a visit of a delegation from the board to tell me that they decided not to reconsider the vote to sell the Goralsky property."
"You think they'll vote against you?"