Monday the Rabbi Took Off

Chapter Forty-Six

Although the monthly Haolam ran articles on science and politics, and regular sections on literature, the arts and fashion trends, it was essentially a picture magazine. It used photographs not only to illustrate its articles, and because they were newsworthy, but also because they were simply dramatic or arresting or bizarre camera shots. So although the excitement engendered by the explosion on Mazel Tov Street had died down, the front cover of Haolam featured a picture of Memavet lying dead on his living-room floor.

They ran it not to revive interest in the affair; in fact, there was no comment other than a small note of identification and explanation in a box on the masthead page. They ran it because the angle from which the photograph had been taken made a strikingly dramatic shot. The photo showed Memavet lying on his left side, his knees drawn up in the fetal position. The outstretched right arm, flung across the body, clutched a brandy bottle like an Indian club. The eyes were open and staring and from the right temple ran a trickle of blood. What made the picture so unusual was that it had been focused along the line of the bottle, and the whole figure had been fantastically foreshortened as a result. At the bottom of the picture, dead center, was the iridescent arc of the heel of the bottle. Lying along the swelling shoulder of the bottle and pointing directly at the viewer was the tip of the forefinger. And above that, the knuckles of the hand curving around the neck of the bottle, and— the foreshortening having all but eliminated the arm— in the very center of the picture, the upturned face of the dead man, eyes open and staring.

"Yeah, it's quite a picture." Adoumi admitted. "But there's something about it that bothers me."

"I know." Ish-Kosher agreed. "Me too. No matter how you hold it— away from you or one side or the other— the finger seems to be pointing right at you and his eyes seem to be looking right at you. too. I asked the boys at the photo lab about it and they said it was because the camera was focused right on the tip of his finger. That's what gives that effect."

"I wonder who took it."

"They don't say." said Ish-Kosher. "It could have been almost anybody— maybe even a tourist. They have their cameras with them all the time. Before we could get the place cordoned off after the explosion, there must have been fifty or a hundred people there on Mazel Tov Street, and half of them had cameras and were snapping away. A fellow gets an unusual shot like this and he might send it to Haolam. They'd pay pretty good for something like this. I'd say. Or it could even have been a press photographer for one of the dailies."

"I understand all that, but why did they decide to run it now? Do you suppose they've heard something?"

Ish-Kosher shook his head decisively. "Impossible. The arrest was made only a few days ago, and the copy for this issue of Haolam must have gone to the printer at least a couple of weeks ago."

"You mean they couldn't change the cover at the last minute?"

"It's possible. I suppose." Ish-Kosher said cautiously. "I don't know enough about the printing business or the magazine business, but what would they gain?"

"Maybe they figure we're about to break the case, and it will give them a journalistic scoop. I don't like to think that there might be a leak in our outfit, Chaim."

"Believe me. Avner, the only ones in my organization that know about this case. I can trust absolutely. You have nothing to fear from that quarter. I'm sure it's just a coincidence."

"It'd better be."

Stedman saw the picture in the magazine rack in the hotel lobby. He bought a copy of the magazine and took it up to his room. He. too, wondered why it should appear at just this time. Was it part of a subtle campaign to revive interest in the matter? Was it intended to arouse public indignation? Would articles on the subject of the explosion begin appearing in the daily press? He thought of going down to the editorial offices of the magazine and making inquiries. Then it occurred to him that his very inquiry might arouse curiosity and start an investigation where none was planned. But if it should be part of a campaign, and he did nothing to scotch it, then...

He decided that he needed someone to talk to; that he was going around in circles; that he needed a normal, healthy mind to look at the situation calmly and objectively.