Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

In a small town there are no secrets; a secret is not something unknown, only something not talked about openly. By Thursday, when the district attorney finally met with the press, it was generally known that there was some mystery connected with the death of Hirsh. Nor did the district attorney clarify matters much in his press conference. In spite of sharp questioning he would admit only that evidence had come to the attention of the police of Barnard’s Crossing that suggested Isaac Hirsh had not met with death by accident.

“Are you suggesting that his death was suicide?”

“That’s certainly one of the possibilities.”

“Are you perhaps suggesting that he might have been murdered?” asked another reporter.

“We are not ruling out that possibility.”

“Can you give us some idea of the nature of the new evidence that was brought to your attention?”

“I do not think it would be in the public interest at this time.”

“Isaac Hirsh was at one time connected with the Manhattan Project. Is there any connection between his death and his government work on the atom bomb?”

“We are not ruling out that possibility.”

“Can you tell us what steps you plan to take-”

“The investigation is at present being conducted largely by the Barnard’s Crossing police in cooperation with state detectives.”

“If there is any connection with the federal government, or for that matter if it is murder, isn’t it unusual to leave this to a small town police force?”

“We have every confidence in Chief Lanigan, and since he is intimately acquainted with the people of the town we feel he is the best man to work on the case at this stage. Of course-through this office-he can call on every facility of the commonwealth, or of the federal government if it should turn out to be involved.”

“Are you planning to exhume the body of Isaac Hirsh?”

“That is a distinct possibility.”

And that was as far as he would go. To all other questions he answered, “I don’t think I care to go into that at this time.”

Lieutenant Eban Jennings was a tall, thin man with sparse grayish hair. He had watery blue eyes which he dabbed frequently with a folded handkerchief, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his scrawny neck as he talked.

“I went over to see the widow like you said. You know, Hugh. She’s really something.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, she’s a big woman and right handsome, with a head of flaming red hair, white skin, and tits like a pair of silver cups-”

“My, aren’t we getting poetic!”

“It’s just that she’s a fine figure of a woman with a lovely round arse your hands just itch to pat-”

“You’re a horny bastard.”

“I’m just telling you how she struck me,” said Jennings reproachfully. “My point is, there she is-a woman like that, not more than thirty-five I’ll bet, and she’s married to a little shrimp of a guy old enough to be her father. And what a guy. Bald, pot-bellied, a rummy, and a Jew at that. So why would a woman like her want to marry somebody like him? All right, maybe she’d had tough times and wanted someone who’d treat her decent. But, dammit, it couldn’t last. After a while, she’d stop feeling grateful and start looking around, and there’d be plenty of men willing to start making up to her.”

“Hear anything-rumors, gossip, to that effect?”

“No-o, but then I haven’t really asked around. I just questioned the widow about whether anything unusual had happened that day. You know: any unusual letters, phone calls, visits. She couldn’t think of anything but did happen to mention that the young curate, whatsisname, Peter Dodge over at St. Andrews, had said he might drop in on Hirsh that evening.”

“The Reverend Peter Dodge?” Suddenly Lanigan had a thought. “Say, that’s right. That time he came down to complain about some fracas at Bill’s Cafe he mentioned he was from South Bend. And that’s where she’s from.”

“Yeah? Then listen to this. After what she told me, I figured maybe he did drop in that night. Maybe Hirsh said something that could help. So I went on over to this place where Dodge boards, with Milly Oliphant-just routine follow-up-and he was gone.”

“Gone?”

“Not for good. According to Milly, Dodge packed a bag and flew to Alabama. He’s head of some bunch of clergy-men who are going down there to picket. But now, get this-the group isn’t supposed to leave for a couple of days. I got that from Dr. Sturgis, the rector, who is his boss. He said Dodge decided to go down a little earlier to take care of some administrative details.”

“Peter Dodge. A clergyman.”

“Well, that’s where we don’t agree, Hugh. You can’t think of a clergyman in connection with a woman, but to me, they’re men just like anyone else. I don’t care whether he’s a priest or a minister or a rabbi. The right kind of woman comes along, and he’s going to feel his pants tighten. And this Dodge fellow-he’s pretty new at the game. Before this, I understand he was a professional football player. And he’s a big man-which would appeal to a woman her size. And he’s young, her age. And he’s not married. And he left town.”

“Are you trying to suggest that he ran away?”

“All I’m saying is look at the facts, Hugh. This group he’s connected with, they aren’t scheduled to leave for a couple of days yet. He had planned to go with them but instead he went early.”

“So what do you have in mind?”

“Isn’t it funny that he left right after that item appeared in the Examiner? The one that hinted at new developments about Hirsh’s death?”