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

believe that I could murder someone? I couldn’t harm anyone, let alone kill them. I’m a man of the cloth for heaven’s sake! I pray for God to protect people, forgive them, heal them, feed them, not kill them.”

“I can’t answer any questions, sir,” the officer replied. “You seem like a good man to me, but I’m just the delivery boy.”

At the station, Sommerville reminded Bloom of his Miranda rights and told him, “I suggest, Rabbi, that you contact an attorney as soon as you can. You’re gonna need a good one.”

Once Bloom was behind bars, Jason Sommerville didn’t seem triumphant, instead he felt a little uneasy. He had come in with confidence, but now found himself pacing back and forth in front of the Rabbi’s cell block. He was moving in slow steps as if deep in thought, wondering, Maybe we captured the wrong guy. He couldn’t explain it; it was just a queasy feeling he had in the pit of his stomach. He later asked his boss, Flagstaff’s Sheriff Tambor, “Ray, do you believe that it’s possible for a Rabbi to kill someone?”

“Well, he’s just a human, and no different than any other person with a prefix or suffix added to their name. So, yeah, I believe that a Rabbi could kill someone. Look, if we got preachers running swindles and priests molesting children throughout this country, then why couldn’t a Rabbi kill somebody? You know what the punishment has been for those priests?” he asked Jason. “They were transferred to another town’s church to get a refill, instead of being sent to prison for the rest of their stinking lives. Absolutely, a Rabbi can kill somebody, and from the evidence you’ve presented to me, I think he did kill someone.”

“I agree with everything you said, Boss, until the last sentence,” Sommerville replied. “I just don’t get it.”

“What is it that you don’t get?”

“I just don’t see how a man who’s got the balls to kill a guy, for whatever reason, is also so stupid as to hide the body under a pile of leaves and needles and then set it on fire in his own backyard? I just hope I didn’t jump the shark.”

“Remember, Detective, it’s quite conceivable that he could have burnt the cadaver to ashes thinking that it would not be identifiable as a body but just a pile of leaves. After all, just burying someone in the woods somewhere has never been a reliable way to dispose of it without some dog smelling it out someday or someone finding body parts after heavy rains washed the dirt away enough to expose it.” Getting no reply to this screed, Tabor asked Jason, “Have you notified the D.A. yet?”

“Yes, D.A. Stanford. She’s covering both Sedona and Flagstaff while our D.A. is out on leave getting chemotherapy. She was happy to finally get a heavy felony charge to investigate and try in court. She was with us when we investigated the Rabbi’s home.”

“Good,” replied Tabor.

◆◆◆

Pratt called his boss.

“What’s up, Detective?” Marshal Whitaker asked.

“I think I just got a lead, but I’m not going to discuss it over the radio. Anyway, I need to do some further investigating, and I’ll tell you if I get something. In the meantime, you can tell the mayor that we have a lead, but he is not to release it or even leak it to the press. No telling what a leak will do if the shooter and the public read about it in the newspapers.”

“All right, Detective, just keep me informed. By the way, is your suspect a Black dude or one of our local Indians, you can tell me that much, can’t you?”

No, you stupid bigoted prick, Pratt thought, he’s not a Black man or any other minority. But the detective felt he needed to answer his boss with some semblance of respect, so he told him that he was a “White male,” not mentioning that he was Jewish.

In the meantime, Pratt got on his radio to his police secretary in the office and told her to “Get a record of all the calls on Bloom’s cell phone once I send you the number.” He also wanted any records she could find about him and have all photos on Bloom’s cell phone sent to his desktop computer, to Johnny’s cell phone, and to D.A. Helen Stanford.

The next day, Johnny Pratt went to his boss’ office and told him that Rabbi Bloom had been arrested. Sedona Marshal Whitaker was clearly annoyed, clearly showing his ignorance about Judaism.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Detective, you’ve arrested a Rabbi, and a Jewish one, yet? This could ruin my career. Jews are assholes, but they have a lot of swag in this town.”

Pratt stewed in frustration at this self-serving, prejudiced dig, but said nothing.

The marshal decided it would be best to inform the Sedona mayor that he had a lead and an arrest was expected shortly. He would inform the mayor of the name of the perpetrator as soon as he gets it, for the time being cloaking that it was Rabbi Bloom.

He asked Pratt sternly, “What evidence have you found that permits you to arrest a prominent Jewish leader in our community?”

“I have evidence that the Rabbi was having an affair with a married woman from his congregation and intended to off her husband to get him out of the way.”

“Is that your conjecture, Detective, or do you have proof?”

“I have proof of the affair, sir, and it is my professional assessment that he was intending to permanently get rid of the woman’s husband to have her for himself. And now we find a deceased body burned to ashes in his backyard. I think the circumstantial evidence is powerful. You can even ask D.A. Stanford.”

The marshal responded forcefully, “That’s absolute bullshit, Pratt. You’re giving me conjecture; I want facts! Couldn’t there be an alternative explanation?”

Johnny conceded to himself that it wasn’t a fact, that it was just conjecture; yet he didn’t want