by Sanctuary
Decker blew out air. Moving the boys from the ultra-Orthodox yeshiva to a more modern Orthodox school had been a mutual decision. But he knew Rina had guilt pangs. Though she didn’t say it, Decker knew his wife was trying to preserve the memory of her late husband for their sons. And that was admirable. Decker also knew that if something ever happened to him, Hannah would know who her father was. And in police work, who knew what could happen?
“Fine,” he said. “Send the boys over there for a couple of days. Actually, it’s a good idea. They’ll be safe, they’ll have fun visiting their old friends. Now if you’ll kindly take Hannah, I can load up the Volvo in one trip.”
Rina took the baby back. “Will you be sleeping here or at my parents’ tonight?”
Decker picked up the suitcases. “Somehow I’ll make it back over the hill. I always enjoy visiting the other half.”
Rina smiled. Her parents weren’t made of money, but they did live in the posh area of Beverly Hills. Their home was an old ranch house placed on a block made busy by renovators and contractors. The house next door to them had been redone recently. The modern monolith of ten thousand square feet looked as oversized for the lot as a dowager in a bikini.
They stepped outside, Decker locking the door. Rina said, “Peter, I was so flustered this morning, I forgot to write down the name of the New York detective who called me about Gershon Klein’s murder.” She reached in her baby bag and pulled out a slip of paper. “But he gave me the precinct’s phone number. Here.”
Decker pocketed the paper. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Is it my imagination or do I seem to rope you into doing a lot of unofficial overtime.”
Decker gave her shoulder a slight squeeze. “Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s the kids—”
“I know, sweetheart. I’m concerned for all of them. So far, we have a stalled van with a couple of flats. For all we know, it may be simple car problems.”
“And you think that’s a real possibility.”
Decker didn’t answer. Instead he opened the door. “You’re all set.” He took Hannah from Rina. “I’ll put her in her car seat. Are you sure you don’t want me to pick up the boys and run them over to the yeshiva?”
“It’s not a problem for me, Peter. I’m sure you have enough to do without worrying about carpooling.”
True enough, Decker thought. He was a busy man, having people both dead and alive vying for his attention.
Through the mike, Decker heard Marge’s dulcet tones.
“Where in the hell did you disappear to!?”
“Tug didn’t tell you?”
“Squat.”
Decker explained Rina’s phone call; then a quieter Marge said, “Jesus, that’s terrible! No sign of the kids?”
“I just got off the line with Highway Patrol Officer Rachel Parks—who’s pissed as hell that I’m taking so long to get there. I lied and told her I got stuck in a traffic jam. Anyway, so far no one’s reclaimed the vehicle. I’m on my way there now. What’s going down on your side?”
“Well, we got what we were looking for—two positive IDs—Arik and Dalia Yalom. I thought I’d feel excited about the progress. Instead, I feel wrenched. That’s why I’m so pissed at you. I’ve got no one but Tug to talk to and he’s about as helpful as a hangnail.”
“How’s Orit Bar Lulu holding up?”
“She’s in awful shape, Pete. I rang up her husband, told him to come down and pick up his wife. The lady’s absolutely torn up. I also told him to call her doctor. She was sitting in the squad car, shaking, trying to get down some soda. Then she got nervous and tried to stand. She passed out. Luckily, I caught her.”
“Call an ambulance.”
“I did. Davidson thought that was a peachy idea because—and I quote—‘The last thing this department needs is another wrongful death suit.’ Old Tug’s a sensitive soul.”
“Has the coroner arrived yet?”
“Yeah. It’s Chuck Kann. He’s moving slowly. Someone blasted a hole in Dalia’s chest. It’s going to take a while to clean her up and assess the damage. It appears to be a shotgun, or some heavy-duty automatic. Chuck hasn’t started on Arik yet.”
There was silence over the line. Marge asked Decker what he was thinking.
“We’ve got a big hole in the chest, ergo, a big weapon. If we’re figuring that the boys popped the parents, could you picture them leading Mom and Dad up to the mountainside, swinging shotguns at their sides? Hunting’s not allowed up there. Don’t you think the parents might have been a little suspicious?”
“Maybe they were sawed-off numbers and the boys stuffed them in their jackets.” Marge paused. “Or with their tennis gear. I found tennis rackets at the house, and there are public courts on the other side of the hill.”
Decker said, “Okay, suppose they could hide sawed-off shotguns in their gear bag. What if the weapon turns out to be an automatic? I haven’t seen a hell of a lot of small AK47s.” Decker sat up in the driver’s seat. “Or small Uzis!”
Marge sounded excited. “Aren’t Uzis given out to soldiers in the Israeli army?”
“I don’t know if they’re standard issue, but I think a lot of Israeli soldiers own them.”
“Yalom must have been in the army. Aren’t all Israelis inducted?”
Decker said, “Damn, I meant to ask Rina about that.”
“You did?”
“I wanted to ask her how long the required tour was for an Israeli soldier. Because Yalom’s partner, Shaul Gold, spent six years in the Israeli army.”
“This is very interesting,” Marge said. “Maybe we ask Gold the question in person. See how he reacts. Unless you think he might be a flight risk.”
“Of course he’s a flight risk. He’s got another country to flee to.” Decker thought a moment. “I checked him out. Superficially, he doesn’t have a motive. He appears to be in good shape financially. He’s not like Yalom, but he’s got money in the bank, gems in his vault, and good credit. But at the moment, he’s a suspect.”
“I’ll call him,” Marge said. “Even if he’s clean, he’s going to find out that his partner was murdered. It might as well come from us.”
“Good point,” Decker said. “We’ll go over there together and break the news. See how he reacts. Although I don’t suspect he’ll freak. Gold seems…controlled.”
“When did you want to do this?”
“As soon as I’m done with HP Officer Parks. How about in an hour, hour and a half?”
“Fine. Meet me back at the crime scene.” She paused. “Pete, you did say your houseguest’s husband was a diamond dealer?”
“Yes, I did say that. And yes, he was a diamond dealer. No, Marge, I don’t know if there’s any connection between his murder and our case. But I’ll look into it.”
Marge said, “Why should I bother talking to you when you can talk for both of us?”
She cut the line. Decker hung up the mike.
Touchy, touchy, touchy!
No problem finding the car. The off-balanced Aerostar looked like an iceberg floating in a sea of concrete. Decker pulled the unmarked behind the HP cruiser and got out. Rachel Parks was a compact brunette with short, curly hair and gray eyes. She had to crane her neck to make eye contact with Decker. “Traffic bad?”
“Yeah, sorry I’m late. I appreciate you waiting. Anything I should know before I check out the van?”
Rachel said, “I’ve made a couple of preliminary contacts. The HP and Triple A have no record of any distress calls coming through the nearest call boxes. I’ve also had time to phone the closest service station. I figured maybe the lady called from there. Nothing so far. What’s going on?”
Decker recapped the details, then they both went back to work. Rachel began making inquiries from her car radio, Decker slipped on latex gloves, readying himself to tackle the van forensically.
He opened the driver’s door. The van had seated seven—two captain seats up front, a bench seat for two in
the middle, and a bench seat for three in the back. There were lots of cup holders and most of them were filled with boxes of kosher fruitade. There were a few kosher candy wrappers littering the seats and floors.
Pulling up cushions, he searched underneath the seats—clean and crumbless unlike most family cars. The floor carpet was also free from dirt and food. The rental places must vacuum them carefully.
On to the glove compartment. Then the console between the two captain seats, then the door consoles. He looked inside the roof-mounted sunglass case. He ran his hands inside the pockets lining the back of the captain seats. He flipped visors, he opened vanity mirrors and ashtrays and panels that held electrical wiring. Nothing.
He stepped outside the car, looked under the hood. In the radiator, in the oil tank. He went over to the back of the van and opened the hatch—empty except for a deflated spare tire mounted on the side.
Disgusted and disappointed, he began to grid-sweep the immediate area around the van. The wind swept lots of garbage along the sides of the freeway. Decker meticulously searched through the trash but still came up dry.
A tow truck was approaching westbound. It slowed, its front bumper announcing that SHIT HAPPENS. It stopped in front of the tipped van and pulled onto the shoulder of the freeway. The driver got out—a skinny kid with lots of moles, wearing a ponytail and an earring. He released the cable pulley from the tail of the truck. Decker came over to him and the kid took a step backward. Being big, Decker was conscious of the way he made most men feel. Some deferred, others got belligerent. This guy was a deferrer. The name tag on his shirt said Rich in red scroll.
Decker held up his hands—a gesture he did on purpose to help guys like this one relax. “Who told you to tow the truck?”
The kid looked down. “My boss. If there’s a problem, I’ll wait.”
“You work for the rental company, Rich?”
“Yes, sir. My boss told me the HP called and told them to get the van off the freeway.”
Officer Rachel Parks walked over and joined them. “No leads,” she reported. “We all done here?”
“I suppose so.” Decker turned to Rich. “You get a lot of abandoned rentals?”
“Yep, but they’re usually not left on a freeway.” Rich picked at his ear. “You see, people’ll rent the car under a false name and ID. Then you see, they’ll use the car for a day or two. Then they’ll just leave the suckers flat, you see. Use the car without paying…or even use the car for like a robbery or a drug deal. Lots of drug dealers use rented cars to transport their shit—er, stuff. I once towed this bitchen Porsche. Man, it had more residue powder than Mammoth after a ten-foot snowfall.”
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.
17
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 ho
micide 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.”
