Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 07

by Sanctuary

  Davidson said, “Why would he go underground?”

  “Escape,” Marge said. “Maybe one of his diamond deals turned sour.”

  “Guy’s a wily Israeli in a high-money business,” Davidson said. “Maybe he knows things the Feds would be interested in.”

  Marge said, “He’s running from the Feds?”

  “Maybe he’s working for the Feds,” Davidson said. “Maybe the guy was forced to sign up for the Witness Protection Program and that’s why the family just upped and disappeared.”

  “I’ll check it out.”

  “Yeah, do that, Dunn,” Davidson said. “Something’s out of kilter here. Poke around the neighborhood. See if they noticed strange suits and ties coming in and out of the house.” He turned to Decker. “Speaking of inside jobs, who’s gonna do Yalom’s partner?”

  “Yo,” Decker said.

  Davidson turned to Marge. “So you’re doing the paper on Yalom?”

  “Yes.” Marge skimmed her notes. “Social Security number, credit cards, tax ID numbers, bank statements and info, passport office.” She looked up. “I’ll also call the Feds.”

  “So tell me about the partner, Decker,” Davidson said.

  “Shaul Gold.” Decker recapped what he knew. “I finally got hold of him. He seems cooperative. We’ve got a scheduled meeting with him tomorrow at eight in the morning.”

  “He seem jumpy?”

  “Surprised,” Decker said. “‘What do you mean my partner is missing?’ That kind of thing. But he was cooperative.”

  “How long has he known Yalom?”

  Marge said, “Sister says they’ve been partners for years. But they don’t get along.”

  Davidson squinted. “So what? A lot of partners fight.”

  Decker said, “A lot of partners kill each other.”

  “Not the whole family, Decker.”

  “Except that we’re talking about diamond dealers,” Marge said. “Lots of money.”

  Davidson scratched his head. “Money. I take it the partner’s another little, wily, shrewd Israeli?”

  “Gold is Israeli,” Decker said. “I don’t know if he’s wily, shrewd, or little.”

  Davidson squinted. “I was thinking the guy might be a flight risk.”

  Decker threw up his hands. “I can’t find evidence to detain him.”

  Marge said, “We don’t have a drop of blood, let alone a body.”

  Davidson drummed his fingers. “No justification for pulling him in. We’ll have to take our chances. All right. Leave the partner until tomorrow.” The lieutenant took out a notebook. “So this is what I got. Decker, you’ll do the shopping mall and the partner. Dunn, you’ll do paper and the neighborhood. This…voodoo silver case has been turned in to forensics for printing. Anything else you got in mind?”

  “Not at the moment,” Decker said.

  “Keep me informed,” Davidson said.

  “We thought we’d stop by the neighborhood tonight, sir,” Marge said. “Before we go home.”

  Davidson squinted at both of them. “They musta whipped you two hard at Foothill, huh?”

  “No, we’re just bucking for overtime,” Decker grinned.

  Davidson cracked a smile. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. You want money, get a law degree.”

  “He’s already a lawyer,” Marge said.

  Davidson leaned back in his chair. “No shit?”

  “No shit,” Decker said.

  “No wonder you’re such a wiseass.” Davidson waved them away. “Do what you want, but forget about overtime. Jackass county keeps voting down police bonds, we’ll be lucky if we draw our salaries.” He turned to Marge. “You got a look on your face, Dunn. What is it?”

  “Do you want us to contact the media for assistance?” Marge asked.

  The lieutenant gave it some thought. “Wait until you see what you’ve dug up. If you draw blanks, we’ll contact the networks.”

  “You got it.” Marge started to rise, then sat back down. “Something else, Lieutenant?”

  Davidson ran the palm of his hand across his crew cut. “Nah, I’m through. Get out of here. Both of you.”

  “Don’t stroke her ego,” Marge fumed.

  Decker sat down at his new desk recycled from a branch of the LA County Library that was shut down because of budget cuts. It was a gun-metal gray institutional number, but it had a kneehole large enough to accommodate his oversized legs, and two big file banks for case folders. Marge had a marred but functional oak desk donated by an office manager who had been forced to fire his secretary. The desks were placed front end to front end, which meant Decker and Marge sat across from each other.

  Decker pulled out a manila folder and started a file on the Yaloms. “At least he took us seriously, Marge.”

  “He had to. The case warranted it.”

  “That’s for damn sure.” Decker started filling out the paperwork and handed forms over to Marge. “I’ll start a file on each of the boys; you do the parents. We’ll Xerox all our papers and notes so we’ll each have copies at our fingertips.”

  “Rabbi Organized. How do you feel about your fellow countrymen disappearing?”

  “You mean the Yaloms?”

  Marge said, “The little, wily, shrewd Israelis.”

  Decker said, “Why do I feel Old Tug has some preconceived notions about Jews and money.”

  Marge said, “Probably has notions about women and blacks and Hispanics—”

  “Oh, don’t start getting all pissy PC on me. I don’t think Davidson’s a racist. He probably hates everyone. Anyway, the Yaloms aren’t my countrymen. I’m American, remember?”

  “You don’t feel any special twinge because they’re Jewish?”

  “Nah.” Decker smoothed his mustache and went back to writing. “The only twinge I feel is for the boys.”

  “If they’re victims.”

  “If they’re victims,” Decker repeated.

  Marge started filling out a Missing Persons form. “I think you scored a notch on Davidson’s belt.”

  “By giving up law?” Decker continued to write. “Yeah, I saw that, too.”

  “Why did you give up law?”

  “’Cause I’m a gun-toting macho man and not a pussy wimp-ass in a designer suit.”

  Marge laughed. “The real reason?”

  “I gave it up because Jan had forced me into it. She wanted me to take over Daddy’s firm. Daddy did wills and trusts. It bored me to tears. I should have joined the District Attorney’s Office.”

  Marge smiled. “Who knows? But for a slip of fate, you might even have been attorney general today.”

  “I wouldn’t have been nominated,” Decker said. “I have balls.”

  “Oh, don’t start becoming a pig on me.”

  “It’s not a pig, it’s sour grapes.” Decker smiled. “S’right. I’ll keep my balls and let your sex take on the Attorney General’s Office.”

  Marge lowered her voice artificially. “See what a broad can do.”

  Decker laughed without looking up from his desk.

  Marge pulled out a sheet and started doing paper on Arik Yalom. She thought of the photos in the family room. A dark, muscular, handsome man with money. He had a lot going for him. What the hell happened?

  She said, “The case is getting…complicated.”

  “Messy is the operative word,” Decker said.

  “So many different angles of approach,” Marge said.

  “So here’s a chance for you to prove yourself. Just don’t get bogged down with Davidson and his archaic attitudes. And let’s try not to overdo it with the overtime. Sure, it’s okay in the beginning for us to go the extra mile. But take it from me, Marge. Homicide detail will suck all the air from you if you let it. Don’t get obsessed with your cases.”

  “Why not? You get obsessed with your cases all the time.”

  “No, I don’t.” Decker went over the list of Yalom’s friends one by one. Nine of them. It was going to take a while. He’d bette
r call Rina, tell her to hold his supper. “I don’t get obsessed, Marge, I just do my job.”

  8

  “Peter’s going to be late,” Rina said to her parents. “He said to eat without him. You want to get the boys, Mama? I’ll start serving supper.”

  Magda Elias turned to her husband. Though she had lived in America for almost thirty years, she still spoke in an off-the-boat Hungarian accent. “You get the boys, Stefan. I’ll help Ginny with supper.”

  The old man didn’t answer.

  “Stefan, do you hear me?”

  “What? What?”

  “Peter isn’t going to make it for dinner, Papa,” Rina said. “Can you call the boys to the table?”

  Stefan slapped the paper down on the armrest and hoisted himself out of the living-room rocker. “Everything’s okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. He’s just working on a new case.”

  “What kind of a case?”

  “A family disappeared. An Israeli diamond dealer.”

  Her parents waited for more.

  “That’s all I know,” Rina said.

  “Akiva’s looking for a family?” Magda asked. “I thought he was in murder now.”

  “Maybe he thinks they were murdered, Mama.”

  “Will he be home tonight, Ginny?” her father asked.

  Rina smiled to herself. Her parents called her Regina—Ginny—which was her English name. And for some reason, they called Peter by his Hebrew name, Akiva. Maybe Peter sounded just too goyishe for them.

  “Of course.” Rina turned to her mother. “Do you want an apron? I don’t think grease does well on silk.”

  “This old thing?” Magda pinched the fabric of her blouse and let it drop.

  Again, Rina held back a smile. It was a game with Mama. A way to amass compliments without looking needy. The woman was always dressed perfectly. Yet Mama had always been approachable even when Rina was a sticky-fingered child.

  “Come into the kitchen,” Rina said. “Let me get you an apron.”

  “If you insist,” Magda said. “Stefan, get the boys. Let’s eat before the baby wakes up.”

  Rina came back to the dining room, holding a baking dish filled with spinach lasagne. She placed it on a tile trivet, and a moment later, her sons shuffled into the dining room. They plopped themselves down on the chairs after ritually washing their hands and breaking bread. Their long legs sprawled under the table. Rina looked at their pants cuffs—short again. Each must have grown another inch in the past month. The boys were generally good-natured except when they were tired.

  Which was all the time.

  Between the pounds of homework the school loaded on and the hormones of burgeoning adolescence, they were a cranky lot. Thank God for Peter—a stolid island of refuge in a sea of emotional turmoil.

  Sammy adjusted his yarmulke and poured himself a glass of lemonade. “Wow. Lasagne. Is it dairy, I hope? I don’t want to be fleshig.”

  “It’s dairy,” Rina answered. “Why don’t you want to be fleshig?”

  “I want to eat a milk-chocolate candy bar.”

  That’s a reason? Rina thought.

  Magda brushed sandy-colored hair away from the boy’s brown eyes. “Think you would like to say hello to your omah?”

  Sammy scooped up a double portion of lasagne and looked up at his grandmother. Her sentence came out “Tink you vould like to say hello to your omah?”

  “Hi, Omah.” He stuffed a forkful of lasagne in his mouth. “Hi, Opah.”

  “Hello, Shmuel,” Stefan said. “How are you today?”

  Sammy smiled through a mouthful of noodles. “Okay.”

  Stefan spooned a portion onto his younger grandson’s plate. “And how’re you doing, Yonkie?”

  The younger boy smiled, pushing black hair off his forehead. “I’m doing okay. Thanks for the lasagne, Opah. Take some for yourself.”

  “I will,” Stefan announced. “I love lasagne.”

  “He eats my lasagne like candy,” Magda said.

  Rina brought in a salad. “You make delicious lasagne, Mama.”

  Magda blushed. “I’m sure yours is twice as good.”

  “I’m sure it isn’t,” Rina said, smiling.

  “Where’s Dad?” Sammy poured salad dressing over a mound of lettuce. “He’s never home anymore.”

  “Yes, he is, Sammy,” Rina said. “He’s on a new case. Whenever he starts a new case, he has to put in extra hours.”

  “He works too hard,” Magda stated.

  “He’s on Homicide, Mama. It demands long hours.”

  “How can he work with so many dead people?” Magda said.

  Stefan said, “He doesn’t work with the dead people, Magda. Only the live ones.”

  Rina laughed softly. Her father was serious. “Have some green beans, Mama. They’re Italian cut.”

  “I’ll take some green beans,” Jake said.

  “Certainly,” Magda said. “They’re good for you.”

  “Who was whacked?” Sammy asked.

  “Whacked?” Rina said. “Is that how they teach you to talk in yeshiva?”

  “That’s how Dad talks.”

  “No, he doesn’t.”

  “Yes, he does,” Sammy insisted. “He talks like that to Marge all the time. Just not to you.”

  It was true. Rina said, “No one was murdered. A family has disappeared.”

  “Israeli diamond dealer,” Stefan said.

  “Anyone we know?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Rina answered.

  “Isn’t your friend who’s coming out married to a diamond dealer?” Magda asked.

  “Honey?” Rina said. “Yes, she is.”

  Sammy looked up from his plate. “Who’s coming out?”

  “An old friend of mine and her kids—”

  “Great. I’m going to lose my room.”

  “Hospitality is a mitzvah, Sammy,” Rina said. “I’m sure they taught you about hachnasat orchim somewhere in your yeshiva education.”

  “How long?” Sammy turned to his brother. “Pass the beans, Yonkie.”

  Jake gave his brother the bowl. “They can have my room, Eema. I’ll move into the attic.”

  “You will not move into the attic. Your father hasn’t put in the heater and we don’t even have a decent staircase up there yet.”

  “So I’ll be careful and use double blankets. I like it up there. It’s quiet and I have a view.”

  “It’s a perfect solution,” Sammy said. “Please pass the lasagne, Omah.”

  Magda placed another portion on her grandson’s plate. “Anyone else like as long as I got the spatula?”

  “I’ll take another piece,” Stefan said.

  “You like the lasagne, Stefan?”

  “It’s good, but it isn’t yours, Magda.” He winked at his daughter. “No offense to you, Ginny.”

  “None taken. I agree.”

  Magda tried to hold back a smile and was unsuccessful.

  “So how long is this friend coming out for?” Sammy said.

  “I think she said a week.”

  Magda said, “She was a very strange girl growing up. Always very nervous.”

  “She was okay,” Rina said.

  “Meaning she’s weird,” Sammy said.

  “She’s not weird,” Rina said.

  Magda said, “Didn’t her mother pass away when she was young?”

  Rina stared at her mother, then whispered yes. Magda instantly realized her faux pas and glanced at the boys. They were quiet. They had accepted Akiva as their father so completely, she had momentarily forgotten about Yitzchak. She clasped her shaking hands.

  “I’m a stupid old woman,” she muttered behind tears.

  “Oh, forget it, Omah,” Jake said, patting her hand. “We love you.”

  Sammy kissed his grandmother’s cheek. It had become quite bony over the past year. Like always, Omah was decked out. “Stop worrying, Omah. You can mention Abba here. We do it all the time. Even Dad talks about Abb
a.” He took the spatula out of her hand. “Here. Take some more of Eema’s lasagne. Even if it isn’t as good as yours.”

  Magda wiped her eyes. “You are such good boys.” She suddenly stood and hugged her grandsons fiercely. “I want you to know that I loved your abba.”

  “Of course you did, Mama,” Rina said. “Just enjoy the meal and relax.”

  “It’s just I get stupid with my words.” Magda sat down.

  “Yitzchak is not insulted,” Stefan said. “He knows we all loved him. Believe me, he knows. Now the important question. Who is Honey, Ginny? I don’t remember her.”

  “She had blond hair,” Magda said. “Very nice hair. She married a very religious man, didn’t she, Ginny?”

  Rina nodded. “A Leibbener Chasid.”

  “Terrific.” Sammy’s smile was snide. “Another fringy Chasid.”

  “Shmuel, show some tolerance,” Rina said.

  “The Leibbeners are weird,” Sammy said. “They don’t use phones.”

  “What you mean they don’t use phones?” Stefan asked.

  “Just that,” Sammy said.

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “I think it’s true,” Rina said.

  “Why?” Stefan asked.

  “Because they’re weird,” Sammy said.

  Jake said, “I really don’t mind sleeping in the attic.”

  “Is the baby crying?” Magda asked.

  The room fell silent for a moment. Rina shrugged and went back to her lasagne.

  “If your friend has a husband who is diamond dealer,” Stefan said, “maybe he knows the family that disappeared.”

  “What are you talking about, Stefan?” Magda asked.

  “The case that Akiva’s working on,” Stefan explained. “The family that is missing.”

  Rina said, “I think there’re a lot of diamond dealers in the country, Papa.”

  Jake said, “Why’s she coming out with her kids?”

  “You usually travel with your kids,” Rina said.

  “In the middle of school?” Jake asked. “Do they have vacation or something?”

  “I don’t know.” Rina paused. “There’s no holiday that I can think of right now.”