A Hole In One, Paul Weininger [top novels to read txt] 📗

cadences and accents they will need to recite, both in Hebrew and then repeated in English. I finished with the lessons early and had sent the boys outside to be picked up by their parents. It was just about lunchtime when Jack entered my office in back, and we ate our lunches together as we usually do three times a week. After we ate, I sat in my desk chair and he sat on a sofa and we talked for about ten more minutes before he returned to work. I then left my office and went home.”

“Was anyone else there at the time?” asked the detective.

“Yes,” replied the Rabbi, “our custodian, Andre, who cleans out the trash basket in my office, checks all the rows in the Temple to make sure no one left anything from the prior service. He then locks the front doors, shuts all the lights and leaves out of my back door, where he also parks his car.”

“Which way did Mr. Green enter and leave your temple?” the detective continued.

The Rabbi replied with a perplexed look on his face, not understanding why all these questions were being asked. “Well, as I thought I already explained, he always enters through the front double doors of the synagogue and walks to my office in the rear if he doesn’t see me up on the bimah—that’s the altar from which I preach and is closest to the Torah.”

“Why did you leave through the rear door?” asked the detective.

“When I’m done in my office, I always leave through the rear door because that’s where I park my car, right next to Andre’s. After I leave, I also make sure to lock that back door to my office. Andre was still inside the synagogue cleaning up the aisles and he usually finishes with my office before he leaves. He locks the front doors from the inside. When he’s finished, he leaves through my office door and gets into his car. Jack must have left through the front doors. Did you catch the person who did the shooting?” he asked frowning, anxiously expecting that they did not.

“Not yet, sir,” responded the detective. “As I said before, we are still investigating. We found a bullet hole on the side of your synagogue, though, next to your doors. The other bullet hit Mr. Green. Oh yeah, one more thing. When we attempted to retrieve the bullet from the hole in the building so that we could identify the caliber gun that was used, the bullet was not there, and there were no shell casings anywhere near the building. We assume that the assailant returned that night and removed it to avoid leaving any traces of evidence. This guy knew what he was doing. This was obviously not his first rodeo.”

Ten

Years ago, after he started with the police, Detective Johnny Pratt asked all the other cops working in the department to “just call me Pratt.” They considered him to be the best cop in the county. Along with some uniformed police officers, he searched everywhere in and around the synagogue but only found one bullet hole next to the building’s closed front doors.

This detective was unusual for a man who is six-foot-four and weighed about 205 pounds. One would think that at one time he played basketball or football, yet he never showed any interest in sports. Not golf, softball, bowling, or any sports, nor did he care to watch any on television

The hobby he liked best was to investigate, search for, and apprehend the bad guys. His main interest was to protect people from criminals before they could be attacked or robbed. Sedona residents paid their taxes so that he could have the job he values so much. He was always serious and had the ambition to be the best in everything he does. He had met that goal often enough.

Marshal Whitaker, his boss, had sun-shower sprinkled raindrops on the window of his office. “I’m sick of these rain showers coming every few days even if they only last ten minutes,” he complained to Pratt. The detective always believed that Whitaker was a complete incompetent, stupid bigot. He couldn’t comprehend the only thing that was on the marshal’s mind that day was the rain and not the shootings in his town.

As the mayor of Sedona was soon to retire, Johnny Pratt couldn’t wait for the next election. He had at one time befriended councilman Albright Johnson, who was also totally disenchanted with Whitaker as marshal. Albright Johnson would be running for the mayoral seat next month and when he wins, since there is no opposition from either party, Pratt believes that Al, as he likes to be called by his friends, will establish the most important change in the administration to affect Johnny.

They had previously discussed that when he wins the mayoral election, he will fire the marshal and generate a new position called Chief of Police and give the post to Pratt.

But first, Johnny had to convince himself that he needed to resolve the predicament of the unidentified shooter. Until then, Pratt didn’t feel that he would have proven himself enough to become the new chief. He believed that though he had seniority over all other officers in the department, a friendship with Al wasn’t enough to get this coveted post when Al became mayor. When someone once asked Pratt what he thought of Albright Johnson, his response was “Al is the most honest, ethical, non-racially motivated, sincerest person I have ever met.” Johnny recognized the job must be earned, and in his mind, he’ll do all the earning real soon.

Whitaker faced Pratt, as if it agitated him to do so, and said “Fill me in on the progress we’re making regarding this shooter. We have an injured person who was shot at a synagogue, is that correct?”

Pratt considered replying “Yes, you moron.” Instead he answered the question, “Yes sir, we have one person who was shot at the synagogue. It