Thursday the Rabbi Walked Out (18 page)

Maltzman quickly put it to a vote. “All those in favor of putting off consideration of the budget till next week, say Aye, all opposed. Nay, the Ayes have it.”

When the meeting was adjourned shortly afterward. Maltzman signaled Mandell to wait for him. When the others had gone down the corridor out to the parking lot leaving the two alone in the room. Maltzman said. “I just wanted to tell you, Herb, that you did that absolutely perfect, that idea of yours, explaining how it was against your principles as an accountant, that was” – he searched his mind for the right word – “that was sheer genius, and you see now why I wanted you to do it. If it had been one of the guys who’s associated with me, the other side would have smelled a rat. This way, nothing.” He winked and punched him playfully on the arm.

When the call came in Monday morning, Lanigan’s first inclination had been to send someone. Jennings or McLure, or even Sergeant Holcombe. But the weather was fine, a cool early November day; and it occurred to him that he might himself enjoy a day in Boston and, more particularly., some time away from the office, even though it meant going home to change from his uniform to civilian clothes, which he considered more appropriate when he went outside his jurisdiction.

When he entered the lobby, the office building automatically registered in his mind as second-rate. It was an old building that had been spruced up with a new self-service elevator and fake plastic mahogany paneling, the renovation did not extend to the upper floors, however, the corridors there were covered with worn linoleum tile of brown and yellow, which clashed with the bilious lime green of the walls.

The office of Charles Sawyer, attorney; was in keeping with the rest of the building, there was the same brown-and-yellow tile on the floor and the same lime-green walls. It was a small room with a single window facing another office building. Ranged along one wall were several chairs and a small round oak table on which were a number of old law journals. Seated at a small desk was a pleasant-faced gray-haired woman typing away rapidly, she stopped and looked up inquiringly when Lanigan entered.

“I’m Chief Lanigan of the –”

“Oh yes.” And jerking her head toward a door beside her that was ajar, she said. “Go right in, he’s not doing anything.”

The inner office was somewhat larger, but also with one window, against one wall there was a glassed-in bookcase with law books, and with files and papers and corporation seals on the lower shelves, a single visitor’s chair stood in front of a large green metal desk. Lanigan assumed that when there was more than one client present, either the others had to stand or chairs were brought in from the outer office.

Behind the desk, his fingers laced over his belly; teetering back and forth in his swivel chair, was Charles Sawyer, a smiley man with a round head and small ears flattened against it as though stitched in place. His hair was gray and sparse.

“I’m Chief Lanigan of the Barnard’s Crossing Police and –”

“You got anything in the way of identification?”

“Why sure.” Lanigan reached for his wallet and flipped it open to show his badge.

The little smile, which Lanigan decided was merely the way he held his mouth, broadened to show a real smile. “I have to be careful when it’s criminal business,” he said. “I once had a reporter try to pass himself off as one of the D.A.‘s men.” He raised his voice and called out. “Emily, when was it that reporter tried to bamboozle me?”

“Two years ago, the Blatz case,” came the answer from the other room. Lanigan turned and saw that the door, which he had closed behind him on entering, had opened of itself and was standing ajar again.

“I don’t get much criminal business,” Sawyer informed him, “but I get some, and I’ve learned to be careful.” He smiled again. “That’s what you go to a lawyer for, isn’t it? To have someone in your corner who knows how to be careful?”

“I guess so, were you Ellsworth Jordon’s lawyer?”

“Oh, off and on, now and again.” He got up and circled his desk and closed the door, pushing it with his shoulder and turning the knob at the same time. This time it remained closed, and he came back to his place behind the desk. “I’ve complained to the management about that door, but you know how service is these days.”

Lanigan smiled sympathetically.

“Not that I mind if Emily hears what we’re saying, she knows everything that happens in this office. But someone else might come in while we’re talking, another client –”

“Of course.”

“I was away for the weekend – a little trip – so I didn’t hear about Jordon until last night when there was that item about William Green. I try to cooperate with the police as much as I can. Got to, you know, since as a member of the bar I’m an officer of the court. But there didn’t seem to be any sense in calling last night after eleven. I figured this morning would be soon enough.”

“Oh, that’s all right.” Lanigan assured him.

“Then that’s settled. Now to business.” He rubbed his hands briskly. “Ellsworth Jordon came to see me a couple of months ago and asked me to draw up a will for him. Now while Ellsworth was meticulous about money and wouldn’t take a dime that didn’t belong to him, he also had a strong sense ofmeum and tuum, and in this matter the tuum was the government, federal and state.” His little smile broadened again to show he was amused. “Quite indignant he was about inheritance taxes, he couldn’t see why he should have to pay inheritance taxes where he’d already paid income taxes on the money when he earned it, and he wanted me to work out some plan, a trust fund maybe, that would keep the inheritance tax to a minimum, eliminating it altogether if possible. I suggested he might do better with a tax lawyer, but he insisted I do it, even if it involved my engaging the services of a specialist. So I proceeded on that basis. It involved considerable work on my part, there were various suggestions that I made that he took exception to. But finally I got in everything he wanted, or at least had been induced to accept.”

“And who was the beneficiary?”

“Why, that’s why I called you. It was that same young man.

William Green, Ellsworth’s natural son, he was leaving it all to him.”

Lanigan nodded slowly. “It explains Jordon inviting him to come and live with him, and yet when I questioned him the other night, he said Jordon was just an old friend of the family.”

“The young man may very well think so.” Sawyer said. “Jordon was sure he did not know.”

“And Billy inherits it all?”

Sawyer shook his head. His smile expanded until it seemed to extend from ear to ear, there was even a gurgle, which Lanigan interpreted as laughter. “No, he gets nothing. Not a dime. My guess is it will all go to the commonwealth.”

“But why not? Is there something wrong with the will?” asked Lanigan bewildered.

“There is no will, there is only my draft of the will. I sent it to Jordon a few days ago, and he sent it back with some suggestions for changes penciled in the margin. I got it Friday morning. It was never signed.” This time he laughed out loud. “The best laid plans of mice and men, you know.”

Lanigan looked at him curiously, wondering why he should take such pleasure in Jordon’s plans having been thwarted. “You’ve known Jordon a long time?” he asked tentatively.

“Oh, yes.” said Sawyer archly; “quite a long time.”

“You didn’t like him?”

Sawyer pursed his lips. “I don’t think I disliked him, he rather amused me.”

“Amused? Why amused?”

For answer Sawyer gestured at the room. “It doesn’t suggest a prosperous practice, does it? Well, it isn’t. I think I’m a good lawyer, Mr. Lanigan, but attracting cases that involve large fees calls for a special talent that I’m afraid I don’t have. However, I’ve always managed to make a living. Nothing spectacular, you understand, but a living. Now, if you’re a millionaire like Ellsworth Jordon, why would you come to someone like me to draw up your will, especially when it means coming all the way into Boston from Barnard’s Crossing?”

“Maybe he thought if he went to a local lawyer, word might get out about the provisions of the will.” Lanigan suggested.

“Most unlikely, Mr. Lanigan, most unlikely, I assure you. Besides, there were other occasions over the years when he made use of my services, usually concerning large, spectacular purchases or sales of land. Never anything small or ordinary like the sale of a single houselot, and never to defend him in a law suit, and I’m sure he’s been sued, a man like Ellsworth Jordon is apt to be.”

“So what’s the answer?”

“The answer. Mr. Lanigan, is Emily –” again a tilt of the head in the direction of the outer office. “Our acquaintance. Ellsworth and I and Emily; goes back to when we were in college, we were all at different schools, but we belonged to a social club called the Collegiates, he was pretty sweet on Emily, took her out a lot, and finally asked her to marry him.” The smile broadened. “But she turned him down and married me. I’m quite sure, and Emily agrees, that each time the purpose of his coming here was to let us know how well he was doing, asking me to draw up his will, of course, was to apprise her of the sum total of his success, and also to inform her that though he had never married, he was not unacquainted with conjugal bliss and was the father of a son.”

“You mean he was still in love – with your wife?”

Sawyer shook his head. “I don’t think he cared a rap for her, he barely spoke to her on the occasions when he came here, he was just determined to show her what a terrible mistake she had made in turning him down. Do you wonder. Mr. Lanigan, that I’m amused?” He peered at Lanigan through half-lidded eyes. “Interesting, at least, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, it’s interesting all right. You know anything else about him that’s – interesting? Anything that might help me?”

“Well, I might make a suggestion, speaking only as a lawyer, you understand, the fact that the boy had come to live with him suggests that he was still in contact with the boy’s mother, and while he did not tell the boy that he was naming him his heir, he might have confided in the mother. It might be worthwhile inquiring where she was Friday night.”

“She was in Europe.”

“Are you sure?” he asked pointedly.

“Well –” A thought occurred to Lanigan, and he smiled. “Where were you – and Emily that Friday night?”

Sawyer began to laugh, a deep gurgling in the throat that sounded as if he were choking. Finally he stopped and wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. “Very good. Mr. Lanigan.”

“Well, where were you?”

Sawyer’s face showed annoyance. “We were right here, working late on that same blasted will to ready it for Saturday when he said he’d be in.” He smiled again and purred. “No doubt the night watchman noted the time of our departure on his register.”

It was Herb who opened the door to the sergeant, they had finished Sunday dinner. His mother had gone upstairs to her room for a nap, and while Molly was in the kitchen finishing the dishes – the division of labor between them called for him to wash and for her to wipe and put away – he had been in the living room reading the Sunday paper.

“Sergeant Holcombe.” his visitor announced and showed his badge pinned in his wallet.

“What can I do for you, Sergeant?”

“Can I come in?”

Herb stood aside for him and motioned him to a chair.

“You’re Mr. Mandell? You’re up at the high school, aren’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“You got my kid sister in bookkeeping.”

From the kitchen. Molly called out. “What is it, herb?”

“Just some school business,” he called back.

The sergeant was embarrassed. “Oh, I didn’t come to see you about my sister, Mr. Mandell. I wouldn’t come to your house and on a Sunday. I’d go to the school. Chances are. I wouldn’t go at all. I mean, it would be my dad who’d come to see you. It was Mrs. Mandell I came to see.”

“What about?”

“Oh, it’s just routine. Mr. Mandell. Could I see her for a minute. Could you ask her –”

But it was unnecessary; for Molly had finished with the dishes and had come into the living room, she looked questioningly at the sergeant.

“It’s just a matter of routine,” he apologized. “I’ve got some questions –”

“Of course. Sergeant.” She seated herself beside Herb on the sofa and waited as the sergeant flipped pages of a notebook to a clean page.

“It’s about this business Friday night. Mr. Gore said he stopped at a gas station on the road to Boston and phoned you –”

“You mean they suspect Mr. Gore?” she asked indignantly.

“Oh no. It’s just that the chief wants everything neat and tidy. This is a pretty important case, and everything has to be just so. I guess what he’s after mostly right now is pinning down the exact time when – well, when it happened. Now Mr. Gore don’t remember what time it was when he stopped at the gas station, but he remembers calling you, and the attendant at the gas station don’t remember what time it was but he remembers Mr. Gore making the call, mostly because the outside pay station was out of order and he used the one in the office. So I thought maybe you might remember.” He looked at her hopefully, pencil poised over his notebook. “He did call you, didn’t he?”

“Oh yes, he called all right,” she said, “and I remember what time it was, too, It was half past eight.”

The sergeant wrote happily in his notebook and then looked up. “You’re very sure of the time. Miss. How can you be so sure?”

“Because I looked at my watch, of course.”

“And how did you happen to do that? Did he ask what time it was?”

“Oh no. I was working on a report for the bank, the reason for Mr. Gore’s call was to see how I was getting on. I was practically finished, and I looked at my watch to see about how soon I would be done.”

The sergeant shook his head in wonder. “For the bank, you say. I guess this talk about bankers’ hours is just a lot of talk.”

She smiled. “I very frequently take work home, and I know Mr. Gore does almost every night. Most people at the bank do, that is, the executives.”

He digested this with a slow nodding of the head. “So he called and asked you how you were getting on and you looked at your watch and said you were almost finished.”