Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 07

by Sanctuary

  “You still there?” Sturgis asked.

  “Yeah, sorry. I was just thinking about what you said. If Honey decided to become un-religious, she could hide very easily. But, no pun intended, old habits die hard. If Honey chose to remain Orthodox, a religious lady just doesn’t have too many hiding spots in this country. I think there is a very real possibility that the lady bolted to Israel.”

  Sturgis paused. “Yeah, could be. You know anything about Israel?”

  “I’ve heard there are lots of religious people in certain areas. Lots of places to hide. Honey and her family could easily fade into the miasma.”

  “That being the case nobody’s going to find her.”

  “We’re not going to find her, that’s true. But an insider probably could.”

  “You’ve got someone in mind?”

  “I have only one international informant on Israel, Sturgis. But she’s a doozy.”

  Marge raised her eyebrows and drank lukewarm coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “Just like Chucky the Clown to keep us waiting.”

  “Be charitable, Dunn. It isn’t even eight yet.”

  Marge grumped, set the cup on a side table, and took in the office—nice but it wasn’t overdone. An institutional desk, a leather couch, a couple of glass and chrome side tables, and one picture window with a smoggy view of the SF Valley. The bookshelves were filled with folders and binders. A moment later, Chucky graced them with his presence. He was dressed in a conservative-cut blue suit, white shirt, and hand-painted tie—doves and swans in brilliant colors. Must be how bankers let their hair down, Marge thought. She stood and held out her hand. Holmes took hers first, then Decker’s.

  “Thanks for making time for us,” Marge said, returning to her seat.

  “As long as you’re brief.” Holmes sat in his black leather desk chair and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve got the IRS breathing down my neck, angry that this wasn’t reported yesterday. I told them you had the paperwork but that didn’t seem to mollify them. They’re out for me now. I can just feel it.” He looked up at Marge and Decker, eyes ablaze. “Just who do they think they are?”

  The room was silent for a moment. Holmes cleared his throat. “Yes, well…the Yaloms were valued clients. I do want to help you—as long as you’re quick about it.”

  Decker got comfortable in his seat. “Mr. Holmes, I’m sure you know that money is always considered a prime motive for murder. Tell me everything you know about the Yaloms. I want to know what they had…what someone could have been after.”

  Holmes’s eyes went upward. “The bank holds the mortgage on his home. We also hold a note for a loan totaling three quarters of a million dollars. He was timely with his payments.”

  Decker said, “Is the loan secured or unsecured?”

  Holmes winced. “Unsecured.”

  “So you must know something about Mr. Yalom’s assets,” Marge said.

  “I felt…” Holmes squirmed. “I felt comfortable loaning him the money.”

  “You arranged the loan personally?” Marge asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me what you know about Mr. Yalom’s investments.”

  Holmes hesitated. “I know there’s no confidentiality with the dead, Detectives. Especially murder victims. But, like I told the department yesterday when the detective called, I still feel…unloyal talking about Mr. Yalom’s affairs, even to policemen.”

  Like I told the department yesterday? Decker pulled out his notebook and scanned through the pages. Who the hell did Holmes talk to? “Mr. Holmes, do you remember whom at the department you spoke to yesterday?”

  Holmes made a quizzical face. “Detective Misheria or Mishtara, or Mistara. He had a broad Texas accent. He didn’t speak to you?”

  Decker shook his head. “No, we…must have missed each other.”

  “I didn’t talk to him for very long. I was very busy. But I did let the authorities into the box. Anyway, it wasn’t the appropriate time to start talking about Arik Yalom’s foreign investments.”

  Again, Marge and Decker passed meaningful glances. “Well, maybe you can help us out now,” he said. “Who handled Mr. Yalom’s overseas operations?”

  Holmes snorted. “I wouldn’t exactly call them operations.”

  “More like risky business ventures,” Marge broke in.

  Holmes pursed his lips. “Ah…you must have seen all the certificates in his safe-deposit box. Yes, he had invested in quite a few speculative ventures.”

  “Your idea?” Marge asked.

  “Of course not! We’re in the business of keeping money, not losing it. I was quite blunt with Arik. I told him—straight out. But Arik had his own mind when it came to business.”

  Marge said, “Did Mr. Yalom have success with any of his mining investments?”

  Holmes chuckled. “Success is a state of mind.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He felt he was successful.”

  “What about you?” Decker asked.

  “Sergeant, I could have doubled that man’s portfolio with my eyes closed. The typical balance we’re currently recommending is twenty percent cash, ten percent debits, seventy percent equities. It’s not fancy, it’s not exotic. But it is prudent. Arik wanted big time.”

  “Did he get big time?” Marge asked.

  “Not to my knowledge. Not only were his cash reserves depleted from a high inventory in stones, but any profits he made from his legitimate business went toward venture capital in his Africa scheme. I’m not saying there isn’t money to be made from alluvial mining of Angola beds. There are stones to be found. But it’s iffy at best, and you know the political situation in Africa right now—volatile with a capital V. Mr. Yalom would have done much better with a simple conservative approach.”

  Marge said, “Especially with the lock VerHauten has on the diamond industry.”

  Holmes folded his hands across his stomach. “Exactly.”

  Decker said, “Mr. Yalom seems to have gone head to head with VerHauten.”

  Holmes said nothing.

  Marge said, “Or don’t you know about his correspondence with them.”

  “I know Arik had certain ideas about VerHauten. A lot of people do.”

  “Do you want to elaborate?”

  “What can I say?” Holmes clapped his hands. “He claimed he had inside support from the company. Either he was lying or something went bad. Because the relationship turned hostile and he went after VerHauten. Like a gnat going against a lion. Sooner or later, a quick swat was bound to squish him.”

  “Arik was squished?” Marge said.

  Again, Holmes chuckled. “VerHauten simply has the resources, and they don’t appreciate being bad-mouthed. You can’t buck city hall.” He paused. “Perhaps I should paraphrase that. You can’t buck two hundred years of experience and four billion dollars in assets.”

  Decker closed the driver’s door to the Plymouth, slipped the key in the ignition but didn’t start the car. “Someone should inform Shaul Gold that it’s against the law to impersonate a police officer.”

  Marge said, “You think it was Gold?”

  “I know it was Gold. He used his cowboy accent.”

  “The case has been high-profile, Pete,” Marge said. “It could have been a lackey for VerHauten. Perhaps they had a vested interest in seeing Yalom and his wife…terminated.”

  “They’re a multibillion-dollar company. Why would they bother with small potatoes like Yalom? No, VerHauten didn’t call. Gold did. He knows Arik’s been doing some funny business in Africa. He’s tracking down our leads. He’s traveling the same road we are. In this case, he questioned Holmes before we did. I don’t like that, Margie. He’s fouling up our element of surprise. The man needs a few guidelines.”

  “Should we pay him a visit?”

  Decker nodded and called up his number from the car radio. The phone rang and rang. Cutting the line, Decker tried him at the office. Again, no one picked up. He slammed down the mike. “Now what?”

 
; Marge said, “I like your truism about money as a motive for murder. There was a lot of angry correspondence exchanged between Yalom and VerHauten. Let’s pay the giant a visit. I’m sure they have a local office.”

  “And do what?” Decker answered.

  “Wing a line of questioning. Find out why the letters turned so hostile.”

  “Marge, I’m sure Yalom was hostile so VerHauten answered him aggressively. I’m sure VerHauten couldn’t give a solitary hoot about Yalom.”

  “They obviously cared enough to correspond with him over several years.”

  Decker thought about that. He reached into his pocket and took out the stock ownership pilfered from the safe-deposit box—Southwest Mines. He showed it to Marge. “We could use this as an entrée maybe. Say we’re investigating the company. Wondered if they had any information on it.”

  “Good idea.”

  Decker paged through his notes. “A woman by the name of Kate Milligan signed this letter to Yalom—Damn. The letter was postmarked from Belgium.”

  “VerHauten must have a local listing somewhere near the diamond center.”

  Decker tried LA information. Nothing for VerHauten. He tried three other directories, the results equally frustrating. Then he tried New York City for a listing in Manhattan.

  Zip.

  He slammed down the phone. “What’s going on here! A multibillion-dollar company and I can’t find a fucking listing for them.”

  “They probably have some weird subsidiary name.”

  Decker rubbed his face. “Now what?”

  Marge shrugged helplessly. “Anything new on the Yalom boys?”

  “They’re still checking out terminals. Thank God for computers. Without them, the task would be unthinkable. You want to call up some airports ourselves?”

  “No, I’m still curious about VerHauten,” Marge said. “Why don’t we go back down to the diamond center and grab ourselves a random dealer. Someone over there has got to know something about VerHauten.”

  Decker thought a moment, then started the motor, pointing the unmarked for downtown LA.

  22

  Unsure how to start, Decker took out his shield and flashed it to the first Chasid he saw. The man was five ten, his face hidden behind a thick pelt of beard and side-curls. He wore the requisite uniform—black suit, white shirt, and black hat. His tzitzit—prayer fringes—were peeking out from under his shirt. He fingered them vigorously as he eyed the gold badge.

  Decker said, “Excuse me, I’m looking for the offices of VerHauten Corporation. I was told they are located around here, but I can’t seem to find them in any building directory.”

  The religious man was confused. “VerHauten corporate headquarters is in South Africa.”

  “How about their local subsidiary offices?” Marge said.

  Again, the man squinted. “They don’t have any offices here.”

  “Maybe they’re not listed under the name VerHauten. Some sort of satellite office, perhaps.”

  The Chasid shrugged. “Nothing I’m aware of.” He turned and spoke to another of his ilk, the two men dressed identically. “Eli, do you know if VerHauten has a local office here?”

  “In LA?” Eli shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  A thirtysomething blond man in a black suit and tie interjected himself into the conversation. “You’re looking for VerHauten?”

  “Yes,” Marge answered.

  “The actual corporation?”

  “Try South Africa,” another businessman shouted out.

  Decker noticed they were attracting a crowd. The blond man stuck out his hand and said, “Ronnie Guttenberg. Why don’t you come up to my office?”

  Decker eyed Marge, then said thanks. Guttenberg led them into the express elevator that took them up thirty-five flights in fifteen seconds. They got out and went with Guttenburg into a small office, not unlike Yalom’s place. The layout was almost identical—an anteroom, a hallway, then the office. Guttenburg’s lair was furnished in warm woods and oiled leather, but it wasn’t overdone. He pointed to two plush chairs and Decker and Marge sat. Guttenburg took a seat behind his desk.

  “You’re the police?”

  Marge and Decker nodded.

  “Can you tell me anything about Arik Yalom’s murder?”

  Decker took out a notebook. “Why are you asking me about Yalom’s murder?”

  “Because you’re the police and I’m scared. I knew Arik only slightly. But that’s not the point.” Guttenburg tightened his jaw. “Diamonds are risky business. Every time you hear about something like this, it scares the wits out of you. And his wife, too. Did Yalom have children?”

  “Yes, he did,” Decker said. “They’re missing.”

  “Missing?” Guttenburg frowned. “You mean someone kidnapped them?”

  Marge said, “We’re not sure.”

  Guttenburg said, “Why are you asking about VerHauten?”

  Marge said, “Because we can’t find a listing in the phone book.”

  “That’s because they have no U.S. offices. They’re considered a monopoly, and as such, they’re not allowed to do business in the United States. We have antitrust laws here.”

  The room was quiet for a moment.

  Marge took out her notebook and raised her eyebrows. “You’re telling us they don’t do business with the United States?”

  “No, I’m telling you they can’t set up shop here. But they do plenty of business in the United States. We’d all be out on our asses if VerHauten didn’t exist.”

  Guttenburg folded his hands and placed them on his desk.

  “It’s Sherman Anti-Trust Act technicalities. It’s stupid and inefficient. The upshot is American cutters and sellers are forced to shell out money in travel to get our stones overseas.”

  “From Antwerp?” Decker took out his notepad.

  “Personally, I go to Tel Aviv to buy my stones. But VerHauten deals with Antwerp. VerHauten is Antwerp.”

  Guttenburg smiled.

  “I exaggerate, but only a little. VerHauten may be barred from our soil, but they still control us lock, stock, and barrel.”

  “Why do you go to Tel Aviv?” Marge asked.

  “I’m not big enough to warrant a box from VerHauten directly, so Antwerp isn’t really suited to my needs.”

  “A box?” Marge asked.

  “The big guys—the real, real big guys—get their stones directly from the South African mines, the diamond pipes. The giants send in their orders, and twice a year they get their boxes of diamonds from VerHauten directly. The company tries hard to satisfy their customers, but even the big players are forced to buy stones they really don’t want.”

  “Forced to buy stones?” Marge looked up from her notes. “What do you mean?”

  “You either take all—no questions asked—or you get none, meaning you’re relegated back to the secondary market.”

  Decker said, “The boxes are nonnegotiable?”

  “Precisely. The only questions you can ask concern things like grading—quality, color, things like that. Even so, VerHauten has the final decision. In this business, they are God.”

  “What constitutes being a really, really big guy?” Marge asked.

  “How about Sir Maxwell Ogdenbaum.”

  Maxwell Ogdenbaum. For fifty years his name had been associated with the jewels of kings and sultans. Glitter and glitz. Decker remembered reading about a tiara designed for some sultan’s wife. The price tag was about the cost of Hawaii.

  “Yep, Sir Max is definitely a big player,” Guttenburg said. “If you’re approved, by appointment only. Getting a box from VerHauten is like getting a seat on the stock market. You’ve got to earn it and be big enough to afford it. Which leaves ninety-nine point nine percent of small players out of the first string. However, second-string players like me are vast and many.”

  Decker said, “So a company like VerHauten wouldn’t even bother working directly with men like you or Arik Yalom.”

  “
You’re getting the picture.”

  “Yet Arik used to travel to Antwerp.”

  “That would make sense. There’s a huge secondary market over there. For my needs, Tel Aviv is better.”

  “Mr. Guttenburg, what would it indicate to you, if a man like Arik Yalom had an ongoing correspondence with a vice president from VerHauten?”

  Guttenburg paused. “What do you mean by ongoing correspondence?”

  “Have you ever heard of a woman named Kate Milligan?”

  “Everyone knows who Kate Milligan is. She was director of marketing and sales for VerHauten…used to work out of Belgium.” Guttenburg brushed sandy hair out of his milky-blue eyes. “She corresponded with Arik?”

  “That would be unusual?” Decker asked.

  “Very.”

  Again, the room fell silent.

  Guttenburg said, “This is all very interesting.”

  Decker said, “Tell me about it.”

  “Kate Milligan is a dynamo—a highly esteemed international lawyer. That’s how she originally came to VerHauten. But she was so sharp, they moved her into marketing and sales. Anyway, she passed the American bar here and in New York some time ago. Then suddenly, about a year ago, she opened up her own firm—a multinational law corporation. Its LA branch is just down the street.”

  “She left VerHauten?” Marge said.

  “Yes. It surprised everyone.”

  “Is VerHauten using her offices as a front for their business?”

  “No, they couldn’t get away with that,” Guttenburg said. “Milligan deals in international business law. You know, she helps foreign investors wade through the mountains of red tape to set up business here. No, her practice is her own. But I wouldn’t be surprised if a lot of her practice was dedicated to finding a way to get VerHauten into the American market legally.”

  Decker asked, “Are they bankrolling her?”

  “Let’s just say rumor has it that they have a great deal of confidence in Kate Milligan.”

  Marge said, “The parting was very amicable.”

  “More than amicable. VerHauten and Ms. Milligan are on the very best terms.”