CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Sergeant Whitaker was a young man, and ambitious. Three nights a week he went into Boston to attend law school. If all went well, he would be able to stand for his bar examination in another four years. It would be a tough grind, but at least Chief Lanigan was understanding and tried not to schedule him for night duty on those evenings when he had school. Tonight he was working late, but since it was Friday and his class did not meet, he did not mind. True, he hadn’t had dinner and Aggie was always upset when he couldn’t eat with her and the children, but Lieutenant Jennings had made it plain he wanted all his assignments covered before he went off duty, no matter what time that was. Whitaker’s sergeant’s stripes were quite new, and he had no intention of letting the lieutenant down.

He was seated now in the Goralsky kitchen across the table from Mrs. Chambers, the housekeeper. His notebook was spread out before him, and though he tried hard to be the dignified, impersonal police officer conducting an important investigation, it was difficult. Mrs. Chambers was from the Old Town and knew him from the time he was a grubby little school urchin.

“Now what is it you want to know? You’re not planning to cause Mr. Goralsky any trouble, I hope. Because if you are, I’ll have no part of it. Mr. Ben is a fine, decent gentleman, and his father is an old dear, for all he’s a foreigner and talks funny.”

“As I explained, Mrs. Chambers, this is just a routine investigation that I’m conducting-”

“Well, aren’t we grand, conducting investigations. And what is it you’re investigating?”

“We’re just checking anyone and everyone who had any connection whatsoever with the late Isaac Hirsh, the man whose picture I showed you. It’s just routine.” He flipped the pages of his notebook. “I’ve been at it all day and I must have questioned twenty people or more.”

“Well, I never laid eyes on the man.”

“Did he never come here at any time? Think now.”

“Who you telling to think, Henry Whitaker? I told you I never laid eyes on him, didn’t I?”

“Well, did Mr. Goralsky, Mr. Ben Goralsky, did he ever mention the name Hirsh?”

“Not to me, he didn’t.”

“And the old man?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Well now, think back to the evening of September 18. That was a Friday night. It was the night of the big Jewish holiday-”

“That was the night the old gentleman took sick.”

“And Mr. Ben got home early I suppose. At least, all the rest of them, the Jews, I mean, worked a short day, so I suppose he did too.”

“That’s right. And all the servants were dismissed early too, so it wasn’t that they were taking any special privileges that they weren’t passing on to others.”

“But you stayed on.”

“Well of course. Who else was there to take care of the old gentleman, and him burning up with fever?”

“So Mr. Ben got home around three? four?”

“Around four it was, as near as I can remember.”

“And he remained here at home until it was time to go to the temple, I suppose.”

“He didn’t go to the temple. At least he didn’t go to pray. He just drove the rabbi and his wife there and came right back.”

“So while he was gone, you were here alone with the old man.”

“That’s right. I was right up there in his room sitting by his bed.”

“And when Mr. Ben got back from driving the rabbi to the temple, he came up to the room to see how his father was getting along, I suppose.”

“No.” She shook her head decisively. “He didn’t come up because he didn’t want his father to see him. You see, his father assumed that he had gone to the temple and would have been upset if he knew he hadn’t. So Mr. Ben stayed out of sight.”

“Then how do you know he came right back?”

“Because he told me, of course.”

“The next morning, you mean?”

“Oh, no, I saw him later in the evening. The old gentleman dozed off and I came down here to the kitchen to get a bite. That’s when I saw Mr. Ben in the living room.”

“And that was what time?”

“Nine, half-past.”

“So you didn’t see him from around seven when he took the rabbi to the temple until about nine.” He frowned at his notebook. “But I suppose you heard him moving around downstairs earlier.”

“No, can’t say that I did,” she said tartly. “The door of Mr. Goralsky’s room-I kept it closed because there’s a draft from the hallway. And the living room is on the other side of the house.”

“But you heard the car coming up the driveway?” he persisted.

“I did not.”

“No? That’s a little funny-”

“It’s not funny at all, Henry Whitaker. Do you think Mr. Goralsky drives one of those jalopies that you can hear through the walls of a building like this over the sound of the surf, and me watching the old man and worrying every minute of the time?”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” he said meekly.

“Well now, if you have no more questions, I’ll be getting about my work. Mr. Ben will be coming back from the temple soon and will be wanting a late snack.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Got it all wrapped up, have you?” asked Lanigan. “Know exactly how she did it? Why don’t you stick around till we get a confession from her, and then we might give you a copy to frame and stick up on the wall of your office?”

But Beam refused to be drawn. “Look, Chief, I’ve got a job to do same as you. It isn’t up to me to solve crimes. I just inquire around and then make a report to the home office. I spoke to them yesterday, and they decided there was sufficient question here to withhold payment to the widow for the present. If it turns out that she’s guilty, she wouldn’t collect anyway. As a matter of fact, without any other beneficiary the whole amount may escheat to the State. Of course, you may come up with someone else, in which case we’ll be happy to pay her.”

“And if we don’t come up with someone else, your company sits tight and tells the widow to sue if she wants her money. And God help her if she does, because you’ll dredge up every bit of scandal, any little tidbit of gossip, so that even if she wins she’ll be unable to go on living in the community.”

“No, Hugh,” said Jennings, “they just threaten to do that and then offer her ten cents on the dollar to settle.”

“That’s normal business procedure,” said Beam.

“I suppose next you’ll be off for South Bend to start smelling around.”

“Cops are always sore at private investigators,” said Beam philosophically. “And everybody has it in for the insurance company. We’re the big bad wolf when we come up before a jury, especially if there’s a good-looking dame involved. But I didn’t come here to fight with you boys. I just came to tell you I was being called back and to say goodby.”

“All right, goodby.” Morosely, Lanigan watched him leave the room.

“What do you think?” asked Jennings.

“I think he’d accuse his mother if he thought it would help the company.”

“It’s nice business. The widow practically has to prove she didn’t do it.”

“That’s right. And about the only way she can do so is for us to prove someone else did. And right now, we don’t have a thing.”

“Well, my money’s on Peter Dodge. I think it’s funny he left right after Fred Stahl’s Roundabout column. His landlady was under the impression he wasn’t planning to leave till the end of the week.”

“That could be coincidence. I’d be very much surprised if he read Stahl’s column.”

“Yeah? Then why hasn’t he been heard from since?”

“The chances are he’s been so involved with the Civil Rights business, running around attending meetings, that the police haven’t been able to locate him. Besides, I can’t see the police down there exactly knocking themselves out to find some Northern agitator for us. They’ve probably got their hands so full breaking up picket lines they haven’t the time to do their regular work.”