“Oh, yes, we did an autopsy on the body that confirmed the presence of alcohol in quantity commensurate with the amount missing from the bottle. It also gave us the time of death, roughly eight-thirty, give or take twenty minutes. That would be pretty accurate since it was based on stomach content.”

All four were silent for a moment as if out of respect for the deceased. Then the rabbi said, “There was much that you didn’t mention, Chief, I suppose because you assumed we knew it. One was that the man was an alcoholic, and you yourself indicated that alcoholics don’t generally commit suicide.”

Beam smiled. “That’s one of those generalizations, Rabbi, that are used to bolster a pet theory. And since there are almost as many theories about alcoholism as there are doctors studying the subject, it’s easy to theorize. There’s one to the effect that all alcoholics are sexually deficient. If something runs counter to your theory, you just say it proves the man wasn’t a true alcoholic. It’s arguing in circles.”

“All right. How about this? From all I can gather, Hirsh was very fond of his wife. He took out a sizable insurance policy-that alone indicates he cared about her welfare and well-being. Would he take his own life without leaving a note of explanation?”

“They do it all the time. Sometimes the note turns up later, sometimes it’s found and suppressed by the interested parties, if you know what I mean. Sometimes, too, they purposely don’t leave one in hopes it won’t be thought suicide, and the beneficiary can collect.”

“But nothing in his general attitude would indicate that he might commit suicide.”

“How do we know? How do we know what sets a man off? Maybe the fact it was your Yom Kippur, the Day of Judgment as I understand it, had something to do with it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” asked the rabbi.

“Merely that he may have been thinking about suicide for a long time, and the bottle of vodka coming on the Day of Judgment the way it did-well, it could be kind of an omen.”

“More likely it served as an excuse to satisfy the thirst that was always with him,” the rabbi retorted. “We know he discarded the wrapper on the siding, and if he started drinking then, he must have been pretty far gone by the time he got home.”

“And yet was able to drive a car for some distance, a good ten miles, and steer it into the garage so nice and true that he doesn’t hit the wall on the one side or the trash barrel on the other?”

“That’s your case, is it?” asked the rabbi. “That he was able to drive into the garage without bumping into anything?”

“That,” said Beam, “and the fact that he had sufficient command of his reasoning faculties to shut off the car lights but not shut off the motor, get out of the car and pull down the garage door, and then get back into the front seat. If he were drunk and didn’t know what he was doing, why would he have gone back to the car? Why wouldn’t he go directly into his own house? He knew he’d be alone and alone for some time. He may not have gone to the temple regularly, but I guess he’d know that on your Yom Kippur the services wouldn’t be over much before ten.”

“Alcoholics frequently have special feelings about where they can drink and where they can’t,” interposed Lanigan mildly. “I suppose his house was one place he considered off limits. For that matter, after he pulled down the garage door, why get into the front seat at all? If you say he was planning to commit suicide-and may have wanted to anesthetize himself with alcohol, since carbon monoxide takes a little time-why not get into the back seat, which is not only more comfortable but nearer the garage door?”

Beam shrugged. “Matter of habit, probably. The important thing is that he was sober enough to do all these things: to steer within the narrow space between the trash barrel and the garage wall-”

“Just a minute. What kind of trash barrel is that, Chief? It looks like one of those new plastic types.”

“That’s right, Rabbi. It’s a red plastic twenty-gallon barrel with a cover.”

“Full or empty?”

“Oh, it must have been empty, David,” said his wife. “It was Friday.” She explained to Beam that the trash on even-numbered houses is collected Friday morning. “The husbands usually put out the barrels Thursday night and the wives bring in the empties the next morning.”

“The lady is right,” said Lanigan. “The barrel was empty.”

“So what?”

“So there is a difference,” the rabbi began, his voice taking on the impersonal tone of a lecturer. “There is a difference between a full barrel and an empty one, and an even greater difference between a galvanized iron barrel and one made of plastic.”

“Are you going to pull one of those Talmudic tricks of yours, Rabbi? What do you call it, a pil-something?”

“You mean a pilpul? And why not, if it helps us to get at the truth.”

Lanigan grinned. “The Talmud,” he said to Beam, “is the Jewish book of Law. They have a special way of arguing that the rabbi has used on me on occasion. This pilpul, it’s a kind of hair-splitting that-”

“Rather it’s the tracing of a fine distinction,” said the rabbi reprovingly.

“Well, I don’t mind fine distinctions,” said Beam patronizingly. “But what difference does it make whether the barrel is full or empty, or made of galvanized iron or plastic or anything else for that matter?”

“Actually, there are four possibilities.” The rabbi rose from his chair and, thrusting his hands deep in his trouser pockets, began to pace the floor. “The barrel can be of iron and full or empty, and it can be of plastic and full or empty. The first point to consider is the difference between the full one and the empty one. The full barrel is normally heavy and relatively immovable. The empty barrel is light. That is, of course, why men usually take it out onto the sidewalk; while bringing it back empty is something a woman can do because it does not tax her strength. Now, if the barrel were full, then it could indeed be considered a fixed obstruction. A sober man would no more think of driving his car into it than of driving into the wall. But what if the barrel were empty? Then it is comparatively light, and if he struck it with his car no great damage would be done beyond a scratch or two. And the barrel? Even if it were toppled over nothing would spill out. But-” and he held up an admonishing forefinger, “the sober driver would have no problem in either case. He has more than a foot on either side-plenty of room, even for a driver of my caliber. How about the drunken driver, though? Let us admit that he would have trouble”-he paused-“if it were a full barrel. But he knows it is empty-”

“Just a minute,” Beam interrupted, “how does he know that the barrel is empty?”

“Because it was inside the garage, of course. If it were full, it would be outside on the sidewalk where he’d left it the night before. So here we have a man parking his car in a narrow garage. He knows he has to be careful on one side, but on the other there’s only an empty barrel. Even half sober he’d know that subconsciously, and know it really would not constitute an obstruction. Still, he would probably try to avoid it, and his capacity to steer between the two might be some indication of his relative sobriety. But”-and again he held up a forefinger-“this is not a galvanized iron barrel that could be dented if struck by the car fender and that in turn could damage the car. It is a plastic barrel, an empty plastic barrel. When struck, it yields or skitters away.”

Then, as his voice took on a Talmudic singsong, his forefinger made circles in the air in time to the rhythm of his discourse. “Now if a man would not mind hitting a galvanized barrel because he knew it was empty, then al achas cammo v’cammo”-he broke off and smiled. “I’m sorry, I got carried away. That Hebrew phrase, a common one in Talmudic argument means-er-‘how much more.’ How much more, then, would he be likely to disregard an empty plastic barrel.” Turning to Lanigan, he said, “Because you have expressed an interest, that line of reasoning is very common in the Talmud. It is called cal v’chomar, which means ‘light and heavy,’ and consists of showing that if one argument applies, then a stronger argument of the same sort is even more applicable and can be considered proof. Now from our point of view, the empty plastic barrel is no more obstruction than a beach ball. Hirsh could in fact have struck it, and it could very well have caromed off the fender and come to rest in its present position.”