"I went away from there as fast as I could. I went down the back driveway that we don't use anymore, out to Elm Street."

"Why did you go down there? Were you afraid you might be seen if you went down the regular driveway?"

"That's right. I thought Mr. Gore might be coming out, and I didn't want to see him."

"Why not?"

"Well, it was embarrassing. I was good and sore. See, Mr. Jordon had locked me in my room before, and I'd always sneaked out. I didn't mind that. It was like a game we played. See, that was his way of telling me I'd done something wrong. It never bothered me much. I'd just sneak out. And he knew it. It was like a game between the two of us. But he shouldn't have done it in front of Mr. Gore. See, Mr. Gore is my boss, and he's like a friend to me. And here Mr. Jordon was treating me like a little kid. It was awfully embarrassing, so I didn't want to see Mr. Gore. I'd be-well-embarrassed. And I was wondering if I could even go back to the bank."

"So then what did you do?"

"Well, I didn't know what to do, because I sure wasn't going to come back until late, maybe not till midnight. But I don't know anybody in Barnard's Crossing, and there's nothing to do there anyway. So there's a bunch of people waiting for a bus, and just then it came along, so I got on it."

"Anybody you recognized on the bus?" asked Lanigan casually.

Billy shook his head. "No, I didn't see anybody I knew."

"I should think being a teller at the bank you'd recognize a lot of people," suggested Jennings. "And even if you didn't know them, they'd know you and maybe say hello."

Billy shook his head again. "We're in North Barnard's Crossing. Down this end of town everybody banks at the Deposit and Trust."

"What were you planning on doing in Boston?" asked Lanigan.

Billy shrugged his shoulders. "Just hang around and then take a late bus back. But I got to thinking. Mr. Jordon played me a dirty trick, so maybe I could pay him back one. So when I got to Boston, I went to the big bus station and took a bus to New York. See, I figured he'd know if I didn't get back that night, and he'd get worried, and it would serve him right."

"I guess you didn't like him very much," suggested McLure.

Billy looked surprised. "Sure I liked him. Why wouldn't I like him?" His eyes began to tear. "He'd bring me stuff, you know, presents, whenever he came to visit us, from the time I was a little kid. And he invited me to stay with him, didn't he? I remember once, when I'd been here maybe a couple of weeks, I got sick. It was this twenty-four-hour bug. But Mr. Jordon kept coming into my room practically all night to see how I was."

"All right," said Lanigan, "let's get back to your travels. I don't suppose you met anyone you knew on the New York bus?"

Billy shook his head.

"What bus was it, by the way?"

"It was a Greyhound. I took the nine o'clock. They leave every hour. Actually, it was eight-fiftyfive."

"What did you do in New York?" asked Jennings.

"Well, it was pretty late when I got in, or rather pretty early in the morning. So I had a bite in the terminal, and then I thought maybe I'd go home. But then I thought the doorman would ask me all kinds of questions. We're kind of friendly, me and the doorman. So then I thought maybe I'd hang around the city, or go to one of those all-night movies in Times Square. See, if I went to my house in the morning, or during the day, it wouldn't be so, you know, funny, and the doorman who is on days I'm not so friendly with, so he wouldn't be apt to ask me any questions. But I figured those all-night movie houses in Times Square, there's apt to be a bunch of drunks in those places. So I didn't know what to do, and just sitting there in the terminal trying to make up my mind, I fell asleep."

"I should think you would have slept on the bus," said Jennings. "I always do."

"I tried but couldn't," said the young man. "I was like upset. Maybe I did doze off and on. But later in the terminal building, I passed right out. When I woke up, it was morning, and I was stiff and felt kind of grubby. So I washed in the men's room and I bought a comb at one of the stores in the terminal"-he fished in his jacket pocket and brought forth a comb-"See, here it is, Souvenir of New York, it says. Then I had some breakfast. And then I took a bus downtown and just walked around."

"Why didn't you go home?" asked Lanigan.

"Well, see, I started worrying about Mr. Jordon. I thought he'd be terribly upset wondering what had happened to me if he found out I hadn't come home to sleep. And what with him having a weak heart and all. So I went back to the terminal and took a bus back to Boston. Then I took a bus back to Barnard's Crossing, and I got off at the Elm Street stop, the same as where I had taken the bus when I left. It was pretty dark by then, so I came up the back way, planning on sneaking into my room. But when I got to the house, I could see something wasn't right. The door of my room was open and I could see into the living room. And then I saw a cop-er-policeman, and I knew something was wrong. I thought maybe Mr. Jordon had called the police when he'd found I wasn't there. And my window was all the way down and locked. So while I was trying to push the latch over, a policeman nabbed me. And then I found out what happened. And I've been thinking that if I hadn't sneaked out, then nothing might have happened."

They continued to question him, but at eleven, Lanigan called a halt. The three men retired to a far corner of the room and discussed the story in low voices. "It seems pretty straightforward," said Lanigan, "but, of course, he may be lying."

"He's had plenty of time to work up a story and get it down pat," said McLure's comment.

"We could question the driver of the Boston bus," Jennings suggested.

"Oh sure," said Lanigan. "We'll get a picture of him, and if the bus driver doesn't remember him, he may know some of the people who take that bus regularly, and they might remember him. Also, the driver of the New York bus, and the ticket clerk."

"It's even more important to check the drivers of the later buses," said McLure. "I'm betting he took the ten o'clock bus to New York, or even eleven. I've seen it again and again. A guy does something that won't bear thinking about. So he blanks it out of his mind, but he adjusts his story just enough so as to make it impossible. Get it? By saying he took the nine o'clock, it means he couldn't have killed the old man at half past eight. And he keeps the rest of the story the same, so he doesn't have any trouble remembering any lies."

Lanigan looked at him curiously. "You're pretty sure he did it?"

"Cummon. You can see he's a jerky sort of kid that everybody steps on. Take this business of being sent to his room. Is that the way you discipline the average eighteen-year-old? Would any other kid stand for it? Or, for that matter, what kid that age would consent to being shifted off to the country to live with an old man so his ma can be free to go gallivanting around Europe? Okay. His boss feels sorry for him and invites him to go in town with him. That kind of kid is crazy about guns. It gives him a sense of power. Now the old man shames him in front of the boss by sending him to his room. So when Gore leaves and the old man dozes off, he climbs out of the window. But he doesn't go down to get a bus. Oh no, he sneaks around to the front of the house and comes in. And there's the gun on the table. He has this urge just to hold it. My guess is he picks it up and just kind of fondles it, and it goes off. Maybe he shoots out the light, and the place goes dark. Then the kid knows he's in trouble, and he panics and just goes on shooting. And when he comes out of it, the old man is dead. So he runs-to Boston and then to New York."

"And why does he come back then?" asked Lanigan.

"Like I said, because he's wiped it clean out of his mind. You might have to get a psychiatrist to hypnotize him and bring it back."

"What are you going to do with him tonight, Hugh?" asked Jennings. "He can't sleep here."

"Well, for tonight I figured we'd put him up at the stationhouse in one of the cells. If we get him a place at a hotel, I'm not sure the town would stand for the expense, and he'll be pestered by all kinds of people as soon as the news is out."

"He will anyway when he goes back to work at the bank on Monday," Jennings pointed out.

"Yeah, unless-unless-say, is Tom Hegerty on the island now, Eban?"

"Ever since Labor Day."

"Think he might like a boarder?"

"I know he'd like a helper."

"That's even better. Let's see what we can arrange." He approached the young man and said, "Look, Billy, you can't sleep here because we're still working here. It's pretty late to get you a hotel room, so how would you like to sleep down at the stationhouse?"

"Oh sure. I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"Fine. So that's settled. Now, I'd like you to stay around town for the next few days, but I don't think you ought to go back to the bank just yet."

"Gosh, no. I bet people would be coming up to my window just to look at me like I was some kind of freak."

"That's what bothers me, too," said Lanigan. "So I got an idea. Do you know Children's Island in the harbor?"

"Where they have the YMCA camp in the summer for the kids? I've never been there."

"Well, Tom Hegerty lives out there, getting the place ready for the winter. How would you like to work there with him as a helper, painting, rough carpentry-"

"Gee, I've never done anything like that."

"You don't have to know anything," Lanigan assured him. "Most of the time you just hand him things or hold them while he works on them or fetch them for him."

"If I can do it, I wouldn't mind. It might be kind of fun living on an island."

"Fine. Then it's settled. I'll arrange it."

He rejoined the other two and nodded to indicate his satisfaction.

"How about Miranda now?" sneered McLure.

Lanigan looked at him in surprise. "What's Miranda got to do with it? All I did was arrange for a job for the young man."

30.

When Herb Mandell returned from his after-dinner constitutional to the drugstore for the Sunday papers, he found Henry Maltzman sitting on the sofa in the living room, Molly beside him, their heads close together as they pored over a sheet of paper spread out on the coffee table in front of them. His entrance momentarily startled them, and they sprang apart.

"Oh, hi there, Herb." Maltzman waved to him. "I thought since it's your first board meeting, we'd drive down together, your car or mine, and I could fill you in." He gestured to the paper on the coffee table. "I've been going over the list with Molly. We've got five I'm sure of, three probables and a couple or three possibles."

"I think Mrs. Melnick is another possible," said Molly, "and I think you can list Mrs. Kaufman as a probable."

"It's still not enough to take a chance on," said Maltzman. "I want a straight up-and-down vote without discussion. The only thing to do is to put it over for a week. That'll give us time to contact the probables-"

"I'll talk to Anne Kaufman," Molly volunteered. "I'm sure I can get her to go along."

"Swell. And I'll sound out Joe Krasker and Harvey Gorin. If we get all three, that will give us eight, and we're in like Flynn." He had risen, and taking Herb by the arm, he said, "Now, here's what I want you to do, Herb...."

Maltzman drove-and talked. Herb wanted to make his own position clear on the matter of the rabbi's ouster, but each time he made the attempt, Maltzman said, "Listen, will you." The tone was not peremptory; it was even kindly, but Herb was restive, feeling that he was being treated like a youngster.

Once they had arrived at the temple, however, Maltzman's manner changed. With his arm around Herb's shoulder, he led him up to the other members, who were standing in the basement corridor, and introducing him to those whom he did not know jovially assured them, "Herb is a comer and he'll add some weight to this board."

The group moved down the corridor past the classrooms of the religious school to the directors' room at the end. It was a small room. Like the classrooms, it had beige plaster walls and a low ceiling. Along one side, high up on the wall and hinged on top so that they could be swung inward, was a row of small windows level with the ground outside. Above the windows ran the asbestos-covered pipes for heating the building. It differed from the classrooms only in that, instead of pupils' desks, it had a long oblong mahogany table surrounded by small bridge chairs that took up most of the room, except for a small space at the end near the door, where there stood a blackboard on wooden uprights.

They shuffled to places around the table, while Maltzman remained standing at the end near the blackboard. They had been talking about the murder while awaiting Maltzman's arrival, and they continued after taking their places around the table.

"It must have been the boy," said Harvey Gorin. He ticked off points on his fingers. "He was the last one in the house. He ran off-"

"But he came back."

"They always return to the scene."

"Did he come back, or was he brought back? That's what I'd like to know."

Maltzman rapped on the table. "Let's come to order and get this meeting started. Who killed Ellsworth Jordon is the business of the police-"

Doris Melnick, who had been a high school civics teacher, said reprovingly, "Murder is the concern of every citizen, Henry."

"Oh yeah? Well, count me out of this one. This Jordon was the biggest anti-Semite in town, and whoever did it deserves a medal."

"How do you know, Henry?"

"You knew him, Henry?"

"You ever have dealings with him, Henry?"

"If it's true," said Mrs. Melnick, "I don't think it's wise for you to go around saying so."

"Why not?" demanded Maltzman.

"Because it's apt to cause bad feeling in town for all of us, and it may suggest to the police that they ought to investigate us."

"Let 'em. We've got nothing to hide. Now let's get this meeting started. If you want to talk about murder, then I'll just walk out because I've got better things to do." He looked around the room. They were restive, but remained silent.

He rapped sharply on the table with his knuckles and announced, "All right, this meeting is now called to order. Before we begin with the regular business, I'd like to say a few words. When I announced last meeting that I was appointing Herb Mandell to fill the vacancy on the board caused by the resignation of Joe Cohen on the basis of the new regulations that permit the president to do so, I did not ask Herb first. I didn't ask him if he wanted to serve on the board. I just told him that I had appointed him and I expected him to serve. Why? I'll tell you. Because Herb Mandell is that sort of guy. You tell Herb there's a job that has to be done and you want him to do it, and Herb's answer is 'Okay.' And that's the kind of guy we need on the board. And that's why I didn't let any grass grow under my feet when Joe Cohen resigned. All right. Now, let's go ahead with the meeting. The secretary will read the minutes."

Herb Mandell listened intently to the reading of the minutes, to the reports of the committee chairmen, to the questions and objections raised on the reports. He would have liked to take part in the discussions, if only to justify the reputation Maltzman had given him, but it was all new to him and dealt with matters about which he knew nothing.

Finally Maltzman announced, "Unless there are any strong objections, I'd like to dispense with any further business and go on to a consideration of the budget. All right? Mike, it's all yours."

Meyer Andelman, chairman of the budget committee, ducked down and retrieved a dispatch case that he had kept on the floor between his feet. "Although we discussed certain items last meeting, and had a look at all the items, I thought it would be a good idea to get it all down in black and white. So I had my girl run off Xeroxes so that you could each have one in front of you as we talk about each item. I'll pass these along so you can follow each and every item as we talk about it. Now, I suggest that we kind of dispense with the rules, and if you got anything to say as we discuss each and every item, why, just talk up and let's have your two cents' worth. Take a minute now to look over these sheets, and then we'll start with item number one and go through each and every item."

It was Herb Mandell's cue. "Mr. Chairman, I'd like to make a suggestion. Since we have this all in black and white, why can't we postpone action on the budget for a week so we can take these home and go over them carefully in the privacy of our own homes?"

Meyer Andelman said, "I'd like to talk to that, Mr. Chairman. It's like this, Herb. This is the first of the month, or the Sunday that's nearest the first. And we always pass the budget on the first of November."

Maltzman cleared his throat. "Well ..."

"Is it in the bylaws that we have to?" asked Mandell.

"No, it's not in the bylaws," Andelman admitted, "but we always do."

Mandell pressed his advantage. "Then, if it's not in the bylaws, why don't we hold it over so we can do a thorough job now that we have it all down in black and white?"

"But a lot of this we went over last week," said Andelman.

"Well, I wasn't here last week."

"Well, sure, I realize that, Herb, but any item that you can't make up your mind on, you could abstain. Personally, I don't think your vote is going to be all that necessary. I mean, it's my opinion that we're not likely to have any item where the vote is going to be that close where one vote will make a difference. See what I mean?"

"Sure, I understand your point of view, Meyer," said Mandell, "but maybe I can make you see my point of view. It's like a matter of principle with me. See, I'm an accountant. So, it goes against my grain that I should be handed any kind of financial statement and be told to approve it before I've had a chance to look it over and study it. That's my training in me, see? Now, you can say that I can abstain. But as long as I'm an official member of this board, I feel like I've got a kind of responsibility to participate on financial-type matters. Maybe I'm wrong, but that's the way I feel."

"Aw, let's put it over, Mike," someone called out.

"Sure, what's the point of hassling. Herb would like another week to look it over, so why not? I think maybe I'd like a little more time on it."