Sanctuary (13 page)

Rachel turned to Decker, “Does this woman have a criminal record?”

Decker said, “I didn’t think so.”

Rich said, “So I can take the car, now?”

Decker nodded.

Rich looked at the lopsided van. “I’ll just hook it on up and inflate the tires. Easier than changing them.”

“Do me a favor, Rich. Check out the tires when you get the van back to the rental lot. I want to know what caused them to go flat.” Decker heard his name being patched over the unmarked’s radio. “Excuse me.” He picked up the mike. It was Marge.

“I need you, pronto. I just got a call from Orit Bar Lulu. Her husband was driving her home from the hospital. They stopped by the Yaloms’ house. Why she wanted to do that is anyone’s guess. But the upshot is, the place was ransacked.”

“Good grief!”

“Someone was looking for something, Pete. Maybe the junior Yaloms are still in town. Maybe it was Gold.”

“Are any cars missing?”

“That I don’t know. I’d go right now, but one of us should stick around for Chuck’s info on the bodies.”

“I’ll go,” Decker said. “I’m done here anyway.” He told her the situation.

“Weird,” she said. “We’ve got two cases of two murdered diamond dealers. Makes you think of some kind of B-movie plot—some cursed stone.”

Decker laughed, but it was a weary one. “I’ll meet you at the house.”

“Talk to you later.” She hung up. Decker got out of the unmarked, just as Rich had finished hooking up the Aerostar.

“I’m all set,” he announced.

Rachel gave Decker a wave. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Decker watched the cruiser speed off, then watched the truck and the van-in-tow ease into the flow of traffic. He looked at the shoulder where the van had been. All that remained of Honey Klein and her family was skidmarks on the pavement.

Rina should be at her parents’ by now and Decker was ten minutes away. Picking up his radio mike, he called Marge.

“Are the uniforms still at the Yalom house?”

“Yes, of course. They’re waiting for you. What’s wrong? You can’t make it?”

“No, I’ll be there. I just wanted to make sure the place was secure. It may take me a while. There’s lots of traffic.”

“Where are you?”

“Still on the freeway. I’ve just finished with Honey Klein’s abandoned van. Nothing jumped out at me, but I don’t like it, Marge. Technically, it’s West LA’s case. But personally, it’s
mine
.”

“But you
are
going to call West LA, right?”

“Of course, just as soon as I get off the horn with you. What’s happening over there?”

“Kann is done with Dalia. Davidson brought in four
guys to help me comb the hills. Nobody’s optimistic because of the rains. We’re concentrating around the base of the mountain. Maybe something washed down. When do you think you’ll make it to the Yaloms’ place?”

“Maybe an hour.”

“Then check in with me when you’re there.”

“Talk to you later.”

Decker broke the line with Marge and asked to be patched through to West LA. A Missing Persons case could be assigned to different details depending on the circumstances. If kids were involved, including teenage runaways, the file might go to Juvenile. If something nefarious was suspected, it could be routed into Homicide. Decker had to think about murder as an option considering the circumstances in New York.

West LA desk answered and Decker asked for Homicide. He spoke to a Detective Sturgis. As he related the details, he heard Sturgis groan. Everyone hated Missing Persons cases, especially when children were involved.

Decker pulled off the 10 Freeway at Robertson and headed north. “I’ve checked out the van thoroughly. As soon as I get back to my station house, I’ll write you up a formal report and fax it to you. I’ll go through the lady’s luggage as soon as I get home.”

“She’s still got her luggage at your place?”

“Yep. So either she left in a hurry or she wasn’t planning to leave at all. There’s not a lot for you to do at the moment. I just wanted to report the incident in case you found bodies.”

“You have some pictures you can fax me?”

“Not at the moment.” Decker gave Sturgis a physical description of the Kleins. “They’re ultra-Orthodox Jews. Their dress is pretty distinctive, should be pretty easy to spot if they’re wandering around lost.”

“And the lady and her kids were staying at your house?”

“Yeah, I’m Orthodox. Not like them but—not important.”

“Not important,” Sturgis said. “I’ll do a couple of passes through the area.”

“’Preciate it.”

“Are you going to call Manhattan?”

“If that’s all right with you.”

“It’s all right with me. It’s even all right with me if you want the entire case. The lady you described sounds like a wacko. You want to know my opinion of the situation?”

“You think she arranged her vacation around a hit on the husband. The thought crossed my mind, but I don’t think that’s the case. But if I’m wrong, the woman’s a psycho with balls. Of all the friends she could have visited, she opted for the one whose husband’s a homicide cop.”

“Psychos love to play games.”

“She wants to mess with my head, I can take it,” Decker said. “But not when there are kids involved.”

Sturgis said, “I hear you. Call me in a couple of hours. We’ll swap notes.”

Decker thanked him and hung up. His mind was on work, but his heart was on Rina. This time emotions ruled.

The flats of Beverly Hills, known as BH 90210, described a three-square-mile area where teardowns started at close to a million. Some of the houses were magnificent; others were so embarrassingly ordinary, Decker wondered what was the deal. The city itself had its own police force, its own mayor, its own fire department, and its own school system which was thriving because of a high residential and business tax base. The streets were well maintained—void of potholes—and tree-lined, the luxurious arbors being the pride of the city. Palm Drive hosted jacarandas, Maple was shaded by the boughs of camphor trees, but Elm, lo and behold, was flanked with elm trees.

The Eliases lived on Camden Drive in a three-bedroom,
three-bathroom house that came with a pool but no Jacuzzi. A big minus for resale value, a real estate broker once told them. But the location was excellent and Rina’s parents, who had bought in twenty-five years ago, had netted a fine chunk of equity in their now pricey home. He parked the Plymouth under a magnolia tree and walked on a brick pathway up to the front door. Rina answered his knock. She brought her hand to her chest.

“It’s bad news about Honey?”

“It’s no news.”

Rina stepped aside to let him in. She looked pained. “Nothing at all?”

Decker shook his head. He looped his arm around his wife and they walked into the yellow-tiled kitchen. It was large in absolute terms, but gnat-sized by neighborhood standards which were: If the kitchen floor space couldn’t accommodate a full-sized catering truck and its crew, it was time to remodel.

“Where’s Hannah?” Decker asked.

“My parents took her and Ginger to the park. I think they could tell I was nervous. I wanted to be alone. Something’s terribly wrong.”

Again, Decker let go with a forced smile. “Hey, knowing your wacky friend, she and her kids could show up anytime.”

“You’re not optimistic.”

Decker didn’t answer. Instead he hugged her. “I love you. I just stopped by to tell you that.”

“You’re worried.”

“Concerned.”

Rina looked at her husband. “Honey said that Gershon had gone to Israel. But he was found murdered in New York.”

“Obviously, he didn’t go,” Decker said. “Either he lied to Honey about going. Or Honey lied to us.”

“Peter, what could she gain by lying to us?”

“If she was involved with his murder, she’d lie to throw us off track.”

“Peter,
why
would she be involved in his murder?”

“I’m not saying she is. I’m just speculating. By her own admission, she said the guy was acting weird. Maybe she was afraid of him.”

“So she’d divorce him, not kill him.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t divorce in that community like a big scarlet letter.”

“Not as big as murder.”

“All I’m saying, Rina, is that
if
she was involved, it would make sense for her to disappear, right?”

“That’s a
big
leap.”

“Maybe. But I’ve got to consider it. Especially since Honey was using an alias.”

“She was?”

“Barbara Hersh. Any idea why Honey might use that name?”

Rina raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know why she would use Barbara. Hersh is Honey’s maiden name.”

Decker nodded. “I should have thought of that.”

“Peter, maybe Honey’s using an alias because she’s scared that the people who murdered Gershon might come after her. Remember she spoke of strange phone calls.”

“Could have been a front.”

“Or maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe she bolted with the children.”

“Then why come out here, Rina? Why not leave immediately. And why did she use an alias yesterday
before
Gershon was murdered.”

“Maybe she realized that Gershon was in
deep, deep
trouble. Maybe she decided that LA wasn’t far enough of an escape. So she went to Israel. Lots of places for her to hide there. All the black areas. Doesn’t that make sense?”

“Black areas?” Decker asked.

Rina smiled. “A semantic misinterpretation. Not black as in Afro-American, black as in
black hat
—the ultra-religious area. The Black Hatters—the
Charedim
—must
make up at least a third of Jerusalem—Sanhedria. The Ramot. Har Nof. Sha’arey Chesid. Mea Sháarim…now that’s a
good
place to hide. The name literally means a hundred gates. It’s a labyrinth. Like a lot of Jerusalem, it’s filled with passageways and walls and gates that lead nowhere. The entire city was built on top of a dozen previous civilizations. So there’s a lot of underground structures—tunnels, viaducts, passageways. It’s a perfect place to take refuge.”

Decker gave Rina’s words pause for thought. And here he was, searching for not one, but
two
separate groups of people who might have desired sanctuary in the Holy Land. His brain was scrambled. Man, he was tired.

“I’ve got to get back to work. I just wanted to check in on you, tell you I love you. Hug the boys and kiss Hannah for me.” His smile widened. “And even kiss your mom for me.”

Rina hit his shoulder—the one without the bullet wound. “You take care of yourself. I love you, too.”

Decker started for the door, then turned around. “Rina, how many years is an Israeli required to serve in the army?”

“That’s a non sequitur.”

“Detectives are full of them. It’s part of our clever interviewing technique. Do you know the answer to my question?”

“Active duty is three years for men, two for women. Then there’s
meluim
—reserved duties—a month or two out of the year.”

“For how long?”

“Until you stop breathing.” Rina smiled. “I’m not sure. Once you’re too old for
meluim
, you do civil duty—
haggah
. Does that help?”

“Yes, it helps a great deal. I have come to the conclusion that though I’ve studied a great deal of Judaism, I know nothing about Israelis—or Israel. Maybe you can show me the ropes one day.”

“You mean
go
to Israel?” Rina brightened. “Peter, what a wonderful thought!”

Decker smiled but felt uncomfortable. Rina was thinking vacation. Unfortunately, he was thinking work. He wondered if one day wasn’t close at hand.

Marge ducked under the yellow crime-scene ribbon that fronted the Yaloms’ mock Tudor estate. With a gloved hand, she opened the front door and stepped inside the enormous entry hall.

“Yo!” she called out. “Anyone here?”

“Upstairs,” Decker answered.

She walked a few steps, peered into the living room, and halted in her tracks.

A hurricane had come through. Furniture had been overturned, cushions slashed and ripped apart. Glass cabinets had been knocked over, glittering shards sprayed over the floor, creating an obstacle course. Some of the display pieces had been broken, others were still whole, resting on their bases on the floor. Marge figured Pete must have uprighted them.

She called out again. “You want me to come up?”

“Hold on,” Decker yelled. “I’ll come down.”

He stood from a crouched position, his knees cracking as he rose. He and the Tin Man—they needed oil. He popped off his gloves, slipped his notebook inside his jacket, and gave a final glance to the Yaloms’ bedroom. Someone had tossed the place with serious intent. Nothing had been overlooked or cast aside. This kind of damage took time—several hours at least. Decker wondered if the someone—or someones—had found what he/they were looking for.

Marge was waiting for him in the entry, her tapping foot sending out echoes against the marble floor. She said, “See what happens when the maid doesn’t show?”

Decker gave her a warm smile. She was upset, trying to hide her feelings with macho humor. “You all right?”

“Me? I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“Just being polite. Frankly, I don’t give a shit how you feel.”

Marge burst into cathartic laughter. “How long have you been here, big guy?”

“Over two hours.”

“And the upstairs is as bad as the living room?”

“The whole house is trashed. No wonder Orit went nuts when she saw this.”

“How’s she doing?” Marge asked.

Decker ran his hand over his face. “Lousy. Tell you the truth, I’ve had better days myself.”

“Any news with your houseguests?”

“I just called back West LA. The case was given to a D-three named Sturgis. He’s working with me at my request.”

“As if you don’t have enough to do?”

“Yeah, that probably wasn’t a smart move. But I keep seeing those children, thinking about their dead father in Manhattan.” Decker threw up his hands. “You know me. I’m a sucker for kids.”

Marge pushed wisps of blond hair out of her eyes. “At least Davidson’ll give you time to look for the Kleins. He thinks there’s a connection—the big Jewish conspiracy. They control the media, you know.”

Decker was silent.

“It was a joke, Pete.”

“I’m just wondering if there isn’t a connection. It does seem like a mother coincidence.” He looked at Marge. “So what big-ticket item do you have that you didn’t want to discuss over the lines.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“Yep. What’s up?”

Marge held a safe-deposit-box key with a gloved hand. “Kann found it inside of Arik, in a place where the sun don’t shine. The key could be what the ransacking was all about.”

“It was stuck up his ass?”

“You’ve got it.”

“Kann checked out the remaining orifices?”

“Yes, he did. Nothing.”

“He check out Dalia as well?”

“Of course. Nothing. When I left, Kann had bagged the bodies and was off to the morgue. Photographers left about a half hour ago. Uniforms have cordoned off the area, but we’ll probably take down the ribbons in a day or two. Our search was disappointing because of the rains…except for the key.”

Decker said, “Have you found a bank to match it?”

“I’m one step ahead of you,” Marge gloated. “Orit gave me the name of Yalom’s accountant. From him, I found out that Yalom has accounts at six banks. I called all six institutions. Yalom has safe-deposit boxes at three of the six banks. Davidson’s pulling the papers for inspection. Trouble is, once he announces the Yaloms as dead, the IRS will step in and freeze the boxes. It’s quite a paper chase for Old Tug, but I gotta hand it to him. He’s actually acting like a cop. A racist, sexist cop, but I’d rather have that instead of a bureaucrat. I think the corpses lit a fire under his butt.”

“When will the papers be ready?”

“Hopefully in an hour, maybe a little longer.” Marge looked around. “What’s the story here?”