"When you have a heart attack, you don't die instantaneously," said the doctor. "And what difference would it make? It would still be murder, whether he died because he was hit or from fright because somebody was shooting at him."

"Probably no difference," said Lanigan. "But defense lawyers can come up with some funny angles. Can you prove it one way or the other on the autopsy?"

"I doubt it. If there were a longish time interval between the first shot that could have frightened him into a heart attack and the last one that actually struck him, it might be possible to tell-by the amount of bleeding maybe. But by the looks of things, the murderer fired off those shots in rapid succession, like a woman pointing a gun with her eyes closed and firing away until the cylinder was empty. That would mean only seconds between the first shot and the last, and I doubt if anything would show up on postmortem. As to which shot actually got him ..." He shrugged. "It could be he was lying in that recliner and was awakened by the shots. He leans forward to get up and catches one between the eyes, which throws him back again."

"Can you tell from the angle of entry?" asked Lanigan.

"I doubt it," said the doctor. "The bone would deflect the bullet some, and we don't know if he was lying back or sitting up, and at what angle."

"Well, see what you can do. Now, how about time?"

The doctor smiled. "Oh, I can give you that exactly. It was eight-twenty-nine."

"How can-" Then the chief smiled, too. "Oh, you mean the clock. But suppose one of those bullets hadn't hit the clock?"

The doctor smiled broadly. "Then I'd say half past eight."

"A comedian!" Jennings snorted.

The doctor grinned. "I'll give you a spread after I've done the P.M."

23.

"But it's the Sabbath," Miriam protested.

"It's terribly important, Mrs. Small," said Mrs. Mandell. "I couldn't sleep a wink all night. I thought I'd go out of my mind."

"Couldn't it wait until tomorrow?"

"No. No. It must be today."

"Well, he's at the temple right now for morning services and-"

"Oh, I understand. Of course." She even permitted a tinge of sarcasm to enter her voice. "I don't mean for you to run over and get him out of services, but I wanted to make sure he would come over this afternoon. I mean, I wanted to call him in good time before he makes any other appointments."

"The rabbi doesn't make appointments on the Sabbath, Mrs. Mandell. He doesn't transact business on the Sabbath, unless it's an emergency."

"Well, this is an emergency."

"All right, I'll tell him when he gets home." She hung up, annoyed and indignant, wishing that David had early on established the rule followed by most of his Orthodox colleagues of not answering the phone at all on the Sabbath.

While the commandment to visit and comfort the sick was enjoined on all Jews, the congregation expected its rabbi to perform this function for them, quite content to have him gain the credit for the mitzvah. An altruism on their part that Rabbi Small strongly resented.

Rabbi Small never tried to convince himself that he enjoyed the pastoral visits to the sick. Because of his natural reserve, he felt he was not very good at it. He found it hard to summon up the forced cheerfulness that the occasion seemed to require, to assure patients they were looking well, when in fact they were not. While able to feel sympathy as they talked about their aches and pains, he always grew restive and suffered considerable embarrassment when they then went on to enumerate their related complaints-against the doctor who was not interested in their case, against the nurse who was negligent, against the members of their family who were lacking in consideration.

The most trying item on his calendar was his weekly visit to Mrs. Mandell. Unlike the others whom he visited, who were apt to be in bed, or in pajamas and bathrobe if they were able to sit up, she always came down to the living room, fully dressed, her gray hair combed and brushed and tinted a delicate lavender. She was a tall, fleshy woman with a full, round face that showed no trace of illness. When he would remark on how well she looked, she would smile sadly and shake her head. "Now," she would say, "but you should have seen me last night when I had an attack. I thought it was all up with me."

But this was not one of his regular visits. It was some sort of emergency, she had said. He was more than a little put out when it looked as though the formula of his regular visits was about to be repeated. "I didn't sleep a wink all last night, Rabbi," she said.

"But that's not unusual for you, you say. Is there some special reason why you had to see me today? Why it couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

"Because tomorrow They would be here. Today They went visiting and won't be back until this evening."

From previous visits, he had learned that in her style book, while her son was always My Herbie, his wife was She, and together, husband and wife, were They.

"So?"

"Well, I must begin, Rabbi, by admitting that when My Herbie decided to get married, I was opposed."

His lips twitched but he said soberly, "Was your opposition to marriage as an institution, or was it to the girl he chose?"

"Well, I thought he ought to wait a while."

"But he's a mature man. He's in his thirties."

"He was thirty-six at the time. He's thirty-eight now. So having waited this long, I felt he ought to wait until the right girl came along. I felt that She was not the right girl for him." Mrs. Mandell shook her head dolefully. "She says She's thirty, although I think She's more like thirty-two or thirty-three. That's already not so young for a woman. My Herbie is tall and handsome. He could have had any number of girls-"

"But he chose this one," the rabbi insisted.

"Did he, Rabbi? Or did She choose him?"

He smiled. "It comes to the same thing in the end, doesn't it? They're happy, aren't they? That's what matters."

"Oh, I guess She's happy."

"And he isn't?" asked the rabbi, smiling.

"How can he be? She's made a-dishrag out of him. Just because he gets home a little earlier, She has him fix the supper and set the table. Afterward, She has him help in the kitchen with the dishes. She dominates him completely. And She makes love to him-right in front of me."

The rabbi opened his eyes wide.

"I mean, She kisses him and fondles him like a kitten. Is that the way for a young married woman to act?"

"It shows she loves him, doesn't it?"

"Does it, Rabbi? Or does it just show She likes men?"

"What are you suggesting, Mrs. Mandell?" the rabbi asked coldly.

But Mrs. Mandell did not feel in the least put out. "Last night, My Herbie had to be at the temple."

"Yes, I know. He was chairman of the committee."

"Now I can't be left alone at night. There's a danger-"

"Yes, yes, you've told me."

"So when They have to go off together, My Herbie arranges for a woman to come and stay with me." She smirked. "A mother-sitter, he calls it." Mrs. Mandell lowered her voice. "Last night She volunteered to stay. She said She had some work to do for the bank." Her mouth twisted in a superior smile. "What kind of work would a bank ask an employee to do after hours, Rabbi? And wouldn't you think a wife would want to watch her husband being honored? But My Herbie is very trusting. And to tell the truth, I thought nothing of it, either. I went up to bed around eight, as usual, and I dozed off. I never sleep."

"I know."

"About half an hour later, just when the service was starting, I imagine, I was awakened by the phone ringing. She spoke for a couple of minutes and then I heard her coming up the stairs to see if I was asleep, so I pretended. She looked in at me and then tiptoed downstairs. Then She left the house, and I heard her car start up. I got out of bed and watched as She drove off. What do you think of that?"

The rabbi was nonplussed. "You mean that where she had agreed to sit ... What did your son say when he came home and found her gone?"

"Oh, She got back before he did. She came back about half an hour later and came up to look in on me again."

"And again you pretended to be asleep?"

"Naturally. My Herbie doesn't know unless She told him. And you can be sure She didn't tell him."

"Why are you so sure she didn't?"

"Because he'd be furious. You see, there's the danger-"

"Yes, yes, I know," he said hastily.

"So you can understand why I couldn't sleep a wink last night, Rabbi. Why I've been so upset all day. Where did She go? Who did She see?"

"Why did she have to have seen anyone? She may have gone out for a magazine or a pack of cigarettes."

"At half past eight? The stores are closed. And how about the phone call?"

"It could have no relation to her going out. Or it could be some woman friend of hers."

"So She could come over and get a cake recipe, maybe? No, Rabbi, it was a man who called, and She went to meet him. What shall I do, Rabbi? What shall I do?"

The rabbi took a deep breath. "I think you told me you had a sister out west-"

"In Arizona. She has been after me to come out there."

"I think that's what you should do, Mrs. Mandell. The climate would be good for you."

"And leave My Herbie here trusting, believing, while She betrays him?"

"Mrs. Mandell, she is not betraying your son. It's a terrible thing to say about a respectable married woman, especially your own daughter-in-law."

"Oh, you're like everyone else," she said scornfully. "If it doesn't concern you personally, sweep it under the rug and make believe it isn't there." She gave a cunning, calculating look. "But suppose I told you that you are concerned."

"How am I concerned?"

"Because She's plotting to get you out. What do you think of that?" she asked spitefully. "I've heard her on the phone talking to the president, Henry Maltzman, about how they can get rid of you. If I've heard her once, I've heard her half a dozen times. Now, what do you think of her? Now, what do you say?"

"I say you should go out to Arizona to visit your sister," he said resolutely.

24.

"Now suppose you tell us just what happened last night," suggested Lanigan genially when Lawrence Gore was seated.

"But I told it all to the sergeant," Gore protested, "and there was a policeman taking it all down in shorthand."

"Well now, that was a statement you were making," said Lanigan. "Sergeant McLure is a state detective and they have their regulations. But we're the local police, and we'd like to hear it, too, not just read what the stenographers types up."

"So you can compare the two statements and badger me if there's a discrepancy?"

Lanigan smiled. "Something like that."

"All right," said Gore wearily. "I was invited there for dinner."

"You go there often?" Jennings asked.

"No. Once before, a few months ago. Almost every Thursday night Jordon would go out to the club, the Agathon, and if I were going, I'd drive him out and back. He didn't like to drive, especially at night. But I'd just drive up to the door and honk the horn and he'd come out. But yesterday I called him to tell him I was taking the Peter Archer silver in to the museum-I expect you've heard about that-and it was his last chance if he wanted his soup tureen to be exhibited. He told me I could pick it up and invited me to dinner."

Gore went on to tell his story without further interruption. Although he went into considerable detail, he did not mention Molly's visit to the Jordon house since he did not have personal knowledge of it, and in any case it was after the murder had occurred. It was only after Gore had finished that they questioned him.

"When you left, the boy was still in his room?" asked Lanigan.

"Jordon hadn't let him out," Gore answered with a shrug. "Since he got out, he must have let himself out-"

"How do you know that?" asked Jennings quickly.

"When I got here this morning, I called out to him. There was no answer. Then I knocked and listened at the door-"

"Did you open it?"

"Of course not," said Gore. "That would have meant disturbing evidence, and-"

Lanigan cut in. "So you figure since he let himself out, he could have got out anytime, maybe even while you were still here talking to the old man."

"He could have," Gore admitted.

"What do you know about him?" Lanigan asked.