Monday the Rabbi Took Off

Chapter Sixteen

The assistant, dark, swarthy, diffident, sidled into the office of his chief. Police Inspector Ish-Kosher. He cleared his throat to attract attention. Ish-Kosher, a mild, square man. very neat in his uniform, looked up and said pleasantly. "Yes, Aaron?"

"There's a man outside." he said apologetically. "He is a civilian guard and was on duty in the area, you know up at Alfont Street—"

"He saw something? He knows something? Speak up. man." The police inspector fingered the little yarmulke that was kept in place by a bobby pin fastened to his thinning hair. It was not so much a sign of piety on his part as of allegiance to his party, which considered religious orthodoxy important. It also concealed the bald spot on top of his head.

"Well...."

Ish-Kosher sighed. His assistant was typical Sephardi, he decided. While very good in the lower ranks, on foot patrol, traffic work, that sort of thing, in the more executive responsibilities they tended to freeze up. to vacillate. But of course, one had to persevere with them and be patient. In a few years there would be lots more of them in the headquarters building; already they were a majority on the force. "Sit down. Aaron." he said kindly. "Now, what's the story?"

"Well, I didn't know whether to bother you with it or not. It's really nothing, except that the time checks, and we don't have much of anything else."

"So bring him in. We'll talk to him. As you say, we don't have anything else."

"There's two of them, but one does most of the talking."

"So bring them both in. We don't have enough chairs?"

Both men were in their forties, and by their dress and general appearance Ish-Kosher assumed they were small businessmen, storekeepers, perhaps. Shmuel, the one who did most of the talking, was a little neater than his friend. His suit was pressed, and his shoes were shined. Moshe also wore a business suit; but he also wore a sweater, and it was spotted. Ish-Kosher thought most likely he worked out of doors; he might be the proprietor of a stall.

"We are on guard duty." said Shmuel.

"Night duty." Moshe amended.

"You want to talk. Moshe. or shall I?" Shmuel demanded.

"You talk."

"All right. We're on night guard duty," Shmuel went on. "and it's maybe a few minutes before eleven. We're up near the end of Alfont Street. The explosion was at number ninety-eight, so we were a couple of houses down, say at eighty-six. We stopped to light a cigarette—"

"You lit the cigarette." said Moshe.

"So I lit the cigarette. You're afraid the inspector is going to report me? So a man came up and he says very nice, very polite, do we know where is Victory Street."

"He spoke in Hebrew?" asked Ish-Kosher.

"He spoke in Hebrew, but he was not an Israeli. A foreigner, an American, I think."

"All right, go on."

"So you know how Victory Street goes, it curves around. So I ask him what number he wants, because if it's a high number, he's got to go back the other way, and if it's a low number, it was in the direction we were walking, down Alfont Street and over to the right." He gestured with his hand.

"He said number Five." said Moshe.

"I was just going to tell the inspector." said Shmuel indignantly.

"All right," said Ish-Kosher. "so he wanted Victory Street, number Five. So then what happened?"

"Nothing," said Shmuel triumphantly.

"Nothing happened?" Ish-Kosher stared at the two men and then questioningly at his assistant.

Shmuel held up a hand either in placation or perhaps to indicate that there was more to come. "Then I read in the paper how when the bomb is activated, it takes an hour before it goes off. So the bomb went off just about midnight, and this man approached us just around eleven. So I spoke to my friend Moshe here and—"

"I see, Did you get a good look at him?" asked Ish-Kosher. "Can you describe him?"

"Describe?" He looked uncertainly at Moshe. "He was a big man. Right. Moshe?"

Moshe nodded.

"Maybe six feet, Moshe?"

"Six feet sure."

"What color hair, what color eyes?" asked Ish-Kosher.

"It was dark. It was late at night. You saw his eyes, Moshe?"

Moshe shook his head.

"How old was he?"

"He was a regular man. I mean, not a boy, not a youngster. Maybe fifty. Would you say fifty, Moshe?"

"Fifty sure. Maybe fifty-five even."

"How was he dressed?"

"In a coat and hat. That's why I couldn't tell the color hair. He was wearing a hat."

"And he was an American? How could you tell? His Hebrew?"

"His Hebrew was good, but it was not the way we talk. It was like he learned it. you know what I mean?"

"All right. So he asked you how to get to Victory Street, and you told him, and he went off?"

"No-o. not exactly. He wanted number Five, and we were going that way, so we walked along and talked."

"You talked." said Moshe.

"So I talked. Did I give away some special secrets?"

"What did you talk about?" asked the inspector.

"We talked the way people talk. We talked about the regime, about taxes, about the war— you know, like you talk."

"And you walked him to where he was going?"

"No. we walked down to the cross street and I told him he should go down there and that would be the second or third house from the corner."

"And he walked down the cross street—" Ish-Kosher prompted.

"No." Shmuel smiled, pleased that he had trapped the inspector in error. "He looked at his watch and said maybe it was too late to go visiting. He thanked us and continued down Alfont Street."

Ish-Kosher looked quizzically at his assistant when he returned from escorting the two out. "I told you." said Aaron, "that I didn't think there was much there, but—"

"But we have nothing else." said his chief. "And yet, when you come to think about it a little, it is curious. Eleven o'clock— that's pretty late to be going visiting, just as late as the few minutes later when he decided it was too late. It might be worthwhile making a few inquiries. I don't expect much, you understand, and probably Adoumi's way of rounding up a bunch of Arabs and questioning them in the hope that one will get nervous and admit something is the correct one. Still, a man was killed in my area. That he was killed by a bomb is beside the point. It was murder. and I am charged to investigate murders. So. it might be worthwhile going to Victoria, number Five, and inquiring if any of the residents were expecting a visitor that night, quite late."