by Sanctuary
“And if something nefarious had happened to you, would you have felt better being a victim?”
Rina didn’t speak.
“I’ve been a victim, Rina Miriam. Though it is not an easy task, it is better to deal with survivor’s guilt.”
Tears ran down her cheeks. She brushed them away. “I suppose I should have told you the detailed story in the beginning. I just didn’t know how to tell you everything over the phone.”
The old man was silent, reflecting upon Rina’s story. “Tell me again about Gershon Klein. His attempt to become a Nazir.”
Rina told him as much as she could remember about her conversation with the Leibbener Rebbe. “It was very nice that he spoke to me. Very kind. But…”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know how to say this without sounding disrespectful.”
“So you now have made your disclaimer. Speak your mind freely.”
Rina smiled and looked down. “I had the feeling he wasn’t telling me everything. Then again, why should he? He doesn’t know me at all. Why should he trust me when something so grave has happened?”
Schulman said, “Perhaps I should intercede on your behalf.”
“You mean call him for me? Rav, I would never ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t ask, I volunteered. I will assist you if you think it would be helpful.”
“Yes, I think that would be extremely helpful,” Rina said. “The Rebbe was very nice to me, but I’m sure he would be more open…as one Rav to another.”
“If our differences don’t get in our way.” The old man grinned. “The Leibbener Rebbe is a Chasid. And I’m a Litvak. That can be fireworks!” Schulman held up a finger. “But for the common good of your houseguest and her young children, I’m sure we can be civil to one another.” The old man stroked his beard. “I, too, am very concerned for the children.”
Rina blinked hard.
“How are you feeling, Rina Miriam?”
“Fine, Rav, thank you.”
The old man nodded, not pressing Rina to talk about herself and her recent hysterectomy. Right now, she was too concerned about her houseguests. “I’m glad you’re feeling well.”
Schulman stood and so did Rina.
“I will call the Leibbener Rebbe and ask about Gershon Klein and his family. Then I will report back to you and Akiva all that he tells me.” The old man shrugged. “It may have nothing to do with their mysterious disappearance, but at least you may learn something about your houseguests.”
“Thank you, Rav Schulman. And thank you for taking in the boys. I’m sure they’ll enjoy their stay here very much.”
“And I will enjoy having them.”
“They were very happy here at the yeshiva, Rav Schulman. I want you to know that. It was my decision—mine and Akiva’s—to take them out and put them in a more modern school.”
The Rosh Yeshiva’s eyes turned crinkly. “That being the case, let them learn here to their hearts’ content. And you can go to college in their places.”
The title of assistant bank manager belonged to a young Hispanic woman named Marie Santiago who wore a keyring bracelet on her wrist. She stood at a long marble counter topped with a computer and a phone, and shuffled through official papers. Then she looked at her wristwatch.
“It’s almost closing time.”
Decker’s eyes went to the wall clock—four-thirty P.M. “Still got a half hour.”
Marie was not easily swayed. “We’re supposed to put a hold on the boxes for the IRS.”
“You can freeze the assets,” Marge said. “We don’t want to take them, just have a look at them.”
“I’ll have to stay with you as a witness.” Marie attempted meaningful eye contact. “To make sure that nothing’s tampered with. This procedure is still very irregular.”
Marge said, “Yes, I’m sure most of your clients don’t wind up victims of double homicides.”
Marie winced.
Decker asked, “Did you know the Yaloms personally?”
“I wasn’t their personal banker, no. But I knew them by name.”
“Who used the box more?” Marge asked. “Him or her?”
“Him,” Marie said. “Mr. Yalom. She used it rarely, if at all. But I knew her from the teller lines. Often she’d ask if we could process out-of-state checks for immediate clearance.”
“And?” Marge asked.
“We complied. Their assets were very good and we considered them valued clients.”
“What country were the checks from?” Decker asked.
“I don’t remember.”
“How about Israel?” Decker stated.
“Yes, I think they were from Israel.” Marie bit her lip. “This is just awful!”
“Yes it is,” Decker said. “Thanks, Marie. Can you pull Mr. Yalom’s safe-deposit-box signature card for me now?”
Marie liberated her key ring from her wrist and opened a drawer. “I can’t believe…it’s just terri—ah, here’s the signature card.”
Marie informed them that they’d have to sign in for the record. After the bank’s files appeared to be in proper order—approved by two of Marie’s superiors—she finally escorted the detectives into the vault, closing the metal grate behind them. It wasn’t the biggest vault Decker had ever seen, but it seemed to contain twenty or thirty oversized boxes. Marie pointed to an eight-by-ten box on the top row. Marge handed Marie the key found on Arik’s body. The bank manager had to stretch to reach the door to the box, her skirt riding up on her rear. Even on her tiptoes, she barely managed to insert both keys in the slots. She lowered her heels to the ground and pulled down her skirt.
“Ah, I remember this one now. My aerobic body stretch.”
“Would you like some help?” Marge asked.
“I can manage, thank you.” Again, on her tiptoes, Marie managed to rotate both keys at the same time. The door opened.
Decker grinned and so did Marge. She whispered that sometimes you get lucky. Again Marie stretched, attempting to retrieve the box.
“Why don’t you let me get it down, Marie. I’m a bit taller.” Decker raised a gorilla arm and, with one hand, brought the box down, hefting its contents.
“Heavy?” Marge asked.
“Not too bad.” Decker handed it to her.
Marie opened the vault grate. “Let’s go to a room. Someone is waiting to enter the vault and can’t as long as we’re here.”
She took them into a six-foot-square private room, a fan kicking in when Marie closed the door and turned on the light. It contained a built-in desk and acoustical ceiling tiles for noise absorption. Marge put the box down and opened the lid.
Stuffed with papers—piles crammed upon piles. Marge pulled a wad off the top, unfolded the first piece of paper and smoothed its wrinkled body out on the desk.
Correspondence—the letterhead stating it was from The VerHauten Company, Inc. Dated over two years ago. Marge read the contents, Decker peering over her shoulder.
Dear Mr. Yalom:
Kindly note that all future correspondence shall be conducted through our attorneys: Kronig and Dekker, Inc. Any future inquiries or business you may have with The VerHauten Company should be forwarded to them.
Sincerely,
Kate Milligan
Senior Vice-President,
Overseas Marketing and Sales
“I like the name of the law firm,” Marge said.
Decker smiled. “Yeah, Dekker spelled with double K is a Dutch name.”
“Who’s VerHauten?” Marge asked.
“The largest diamond company in the world. About four billion’s worth of assets.”
Marie whistled. Decker had forgotten about her. He held up a stack of rumpled papers. “You know, Marie, to go through this mess thoroughly…” He plopped the papers on the built-in desk. “It’s going to take an awfully long time.”
“I’ve been instructed to wait with you.”
“I bet your boss said wait for us, not wait with
us.” Decker gave her a big smile. “I can’t imagine they’d want to tie up your valuable time, having you just sit back and twiddle your thumbs.”
“Yeah, they know how long a proper investigation can take,” Marge chimed in. “It’s hours of tedium and you know how these corporate types can be. Time is money.”
Decker opened the door. “We’ll call you when we’re done. Thanks for all your help.”
With a dubious look, Marie didn’t budge.
Decker let out a small laugh and held out his hands. “Hey, you can stay if you want. I, for one, certainly don’t object to the scenery.”
Marie lowered her head and stifled a smile. “I think I’m being conned.”
“By moi?” Decker said. “Heaven forbid.” He bowed and showed her the door. “Thanks for your cooperation.”
Marie paused, shook her head, then left with a smile on her face.
Marge whispered, “If some guy pulled an aw shucks stunt like that on me, I’d pop him.”
“Dunn, you would have made a piss-poor Southern belle.” Decker examined the next bit of mail. “Take a look at this, Margie. VerHauten again.”
Dated before the first piece of correspondence, the letter was single-spaced, the language and legalese complex and long-winded. Decker read it to himself. Marge scanned it silently as well, then began reading snippets out loud.
“Disputed certificate of ownership…unauthorized land parcels…international trade violations…” Marge raised a brow. “Looks like our boy Yalom was taking on the big boys.”
“To hear Gold talk, Yalom couldn’t compete. But damned if he couldn’t threaten.”
“And without benefit of an attorney.”
“That’s not as unusual as you think.”
“What do you mean?”
“There is a certain tiny percentage of the population that thrives on sticking it to major corporations. They usually file the motions themselves and become real gnats…gadflies. They wear the corporations down. Often the companies will settle just to get these nutcases off their backs.”
“You think Yalom was a nutcase?”
“From what we’ve heard, Yalom sounded like a pretty independent thinker. I can see him trying to handle something by himself. What I can’t understand is why a VerHauten representative answered Yalom personally in the first place. Someone should have smelled problem with a capital P. The complaint should have immediately gone to the corporation’s lawyers.”
“You’re the attorney,” Marge said. “Use your three years of night school and tell us why.”
Decker smiled. “Offhand, I’d say someone was attempting to manage Yalom with kid gloves. They didn’t want the lawyers involved right away because they didn’t want him to freak.”
“Meaning Yalom probably had something the corporation wanted. And VerHauten was attempting to keep the guy calm until they could figure out how to get it.”
Decker nodded. “You just summed up my thoughts.”
“So what was VerHauten after?”
Decker shrugged. “Let’s keep reading.”
Marge said, “Whatever it was, according to this letter, VerHauten eventually did hand the problem over to its lawyers. I wonder if eventually Yalom engaged an attorney of his own.”
Decker took out another piece of paper from the stack and unfolded it—a preprinted certificate. It looked to be a deed of trust for land in Angola. He showed it to Marge.
She said, “VerHauten wrote about ‘unauthorized land parcels.’ This could be the disputed certificate of ownership.”
“It could be one of many.”
“So Yalom was still investing in Africa. Do you have any idea where Angola is in relationship to South Africa?”
“Northwest,” Decker said. “The two countries are separated by Botswana and Namibia. I looked at a map of Africa after you found Yalom’s passport.”
“Does Angola have diamond mines?”
“I don’t know,” Decker said. “But the countries are contiguous. They probably have similar terrain.”
Marge said, “Maybe Yalom was cutting some sort of side deal with VerHauten, leaving Gold out on ice. That’s why Gold freaked when he found out about Yalom’s passport.”
“But the letters were hostile. If there ever was a deal, something soured pretty quickly.”
They both were silent.
Marge said, “I brought some yellow stick ’ems. Why don’t we tag the papers we’ve gone through.”
Decker said, “Good idea. I’ll take a pile. You take a pile. We’ll write notes, then compare when we’re done.” He fished out a handful of papers.
Marge pulled out her notebook. “I know this sounds farfetched, but do you think that the boys might be in Africa?”
“I suppose it’s a remote possibility.” He sorted through some papers. “After we found the bodies, Davidson assigned a crew to check out the airlines, the cabs, and the buses…free up our time to investigate the murders. I hope they find something soon. I know we haven’t ruled out the boys as suspects. But finding stuff like this…reading Yalom’s hostility and threats….”
“Guy probably made lots of enemies,” Marge said.
“I’m sure.” Decker paused. “If only Arik Yalom had been killed, I wouldn’t be as worried about the kids. But someone also popped Dalia. If someone blew away one innocent bystander, are the boys far behind?”
“If they’re even still alive.”
“A sobering thought.” Decker picked up another batch of correspondence. “One thing at a time.”
He returned his attention to the paperwork. Lots of letters, lots of angry correspondence between Yalom and VerHauten, between Yalom and VerHauten’s lawyers. Decker never did discover an attorney for Yalom.
There were also lots of stock certificates: Consolidated Gems, Southwest Mines, West African Consolidated. Yalom’s stocks added up to thousands of shares in each company. Decker read on. He eventually found a letter to Yalom from Southwest Mines.
The company was announcing bankruptcy.
Digging deeper, Decker found another round of angry letters from Yalom to VerHauten—Yalom accusing VerHauten of illegal stock manipulation. Still no indication that Yalom ever hired an attorney to represent him.
Decker kept reading and hunting.
Marge said, “Look at this, Pete. A whole stack of land deeds in Angola, Mozambique, and Namibia.”
Decker looked at them. They were dated two years ago. “I wonder if they’re still valid.”
Marge said, “I wonder if they were ever valid.” She kept reading. More letters—the gist of the irate exchange had to do with who officially owned stock and land in Angola, Mozambique, Namibia, Zambia, and Botswana.
He and Marge had scratched the surface of about half the contents of the box when they heard a knock. Marge muttered some obscenity, then opened the cubicle door. A Suit-and-Tie was looking at her. He broke into a venal smile.
“You two aren’t supposed to be here unsupervised.” He wagged his finger. “I’m not pleased about that at all. I have a good mind to call your captain.”
Marge and Decker said nothing. Finally Marge said, “We’re just working away, sir.”
Suit-and-Tie pursed his lips. “Well, that’s good to hear. Always like it when my tax dollar is well spent.” He let out a forced laugh. He was in his fifties—a big man with a big gut. When he laughed, his belly jiggled. “Chuck Holmes—senior vice president. I hope that as the chief representative of World First Savings and Loan, I’ve been of service to you.”
“Yes, you have,” Marge said. Fucker had no choice with our papers. “Thank you very much.”
“No thanks is necessary.” Holmes held out his hand as if warding off demons. “I like to do my job, I like to help our boys in blue. And I know Marie likes to help, too. But sending her away.” He clucked his tongue. “That’s going a little too far.”
Decker didn’t answer. Holmes suddenly became magnanimous. “Well, no harm done, I guess. I’m afraid you�
��re going to have to stop anyway. It’s closing time.”
“We’re not done,” Marge said.
Holmes flipped his wrist and looked at his timepiece. “Sorry, but I have to close the vault by a certain hour or bells go off. I hope you two found something that’ll elucidate this terrible, terrible incident. The Yaloms were very valued customers.”
Decker asked, “How much time do we have left?”
“About two minutes. Just enough time for you to put everything back in the box.”
Marge said, “How about if we come back first thing tomorrow morning. Say around eight?”
Holmes gave them a small smile that said no can do. “Sorry, Detective. I’ve already bent the rules once, giving you access to the box before contacting the IRS. Can’t do that again. I’m going to have to key the box until the tax man gives me an okay to open it.”
“We’ll clean up,” Marge said. “Afterward, do you have a minute to talk to us about the Yaloms?”
Holmes managed to smile and frown at the same time. “Sorry, but I’m a little pressed right now—”
“Of course,” Marge said. “So I’ll just schedule the meeting tomorrow morning…” She looked up and smiled. “Let’s make it eight before the bank opens. I’ll even bring the doughnuts and coffee, Mr. Holmes. Can’t beat that.”
The senior veep didn’t speak. Finally, he said, “I suppose I can afford a few minutes tomorrow morning. But right now I really am pressed for time. Please clean up quickly so I can lock the vault.”
“You bet,” Marge said.
After the vice president left, Decker said, “Spiffy how you trapped him into an appointment, Margie. I like that doughnuts and coffee addition.”
Marge smiled. “See that guy’s gut? You work on the weaknesses.”
Decker burst into laughter, cramming papers back into the box. He was just about to close the lid, then paused, looking at the top certificate. Southwest Mines. A land deed for acreage in Angola. Decker pulled it from the box, folded it into a tiny, thick square and stuffed it in his underwear.
