Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 07

by Sanctuary

  Decker smiled. He was about to speak directly to Tziril, then changed his mind and spoke to Rina. “Tell her as clearly and as emphatically as you can that I am legitimate. I will show her all my identification if she wants it and give her all the proper phone numbers. But frankly, Rina, I’m very concerned that other people may come and try to talk to her.”

  “Gold specifically?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m sure she knows Gold. If he comes around here asking questions, she’s not going to view him as a threat. Are you going to bring him up?”

  “I’m going to have to bring him up.”

  Tziril said, “I’m sorry. You speak too fast.”

  Rina translated Peter’s words, Tziril nodding very seriously. Rina said, “Do you want me to mention Gold to her?”

  Decker said, “Mrs. Yalom, what do you know about your son’s business partner?”

  “Shaul?” Tziril scratched her arm. “Shaul called me right after…to send sympathies. We speak…spoke…for a long time. He was very hysterical. He loved Arik—”

  She stopped herself.

  “That isn’t the truth. No, he didn’t love Arik. He loved Dalia. He was an old, old friend of Dalia.”

  “They grew up in the same neighborhood,” Decker said.

  “Yes. They were good friends even though Shaul is maybe fifteen years older than Dalia. It was Dalia that made Arik give a job to Shaul. When they go…went to America, Shaul went with them.”

  “They weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend before Arik met Dalia?”

  “I think no. Dalia was young when she married Arik, maybe nineteen. Dalia’s father is very proper. I don’t think he’d allow Dalia to date a man so much older.”

  Decker didn’t talk for a moment. Shaul Gold was certainly no stud but there was something manly about him. Maybe he’d been forbidden fruit to Dalia for years.

  Then the little girl grew up.

  That could certainly explain the Lexus parked outside the Yalom house. Were these murders brought about by a lovers’ triangle?

  He pondered the situation:

  Could be Arik shot his wife, Gold shot Arik. Then Gold dragged them both up to the mountains to bury them.

  Could be Arik and Dalia decided to reconcile, Gold getting the shaft yet another time. Gold couldn’t take the rejection and shot them both.

  Dalia finally got up the gumption to leave Arik. An argument ensued. Arik shot his wife. Gold burst in and shot Arik.

  Or: Argument ensued. Arik shot his wife, then felt remorse and killed himself. Gold burst in, but too late.

  Just what ifs.

  But then why would the boys need to escape from America if the murders were the result of a messy real-life soap opera? Decker noticed he’d been silent for a long time. “So you know Shaul Gold very well?”

  “Not well,” Tziril said. “But I know him.”

  “If he comes here, don’t tell him anything!” Decker turned to Rina. “Can you translate that? I want to make sure she understands that completely.”

  “I understand. Why you don’t want me talking to Shaul?”

  To Rina, Decker said, “Will you explain to her about Gold impersonating a police officer, falsifying his identity to ask questions. Tell her he is interfering with my investigation and that could endanger her grandsons.”

  Rina translated as best she could. Tziril looked surprised and worried. “That is…not the Shaul I know. He is not unhonest like that. He is always honest. Even Arik say he is honest.” She appeared thoughtful. “Arik and Shaul never liked each other. I think Shaul was…”

  “Jealous?” Decker tried.

  “Yes, he was jealous.”

  “But you just told me you didn’t think they were boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “That doesn’t mean that Shaul didn’t have eyes. And Arik was jealous, too. Dalia married Arik. But she still made Arik take Shaul into the business.”

  “Why did Arik do it?”

  “He loved Dalia…and it was her father’s business. Whatever Dalia wants…” She shook her head. “Shaul knew nothing about diamonds.”

  “And Arik?”

  “Arik was born in the business. Our last name means diamonds. My husband’s family are in business for many, many years. Many dorot.”

  “Generations,” Rina said.

  “Yes, generations. We are in the diamond business for generations. Shaul?” She wiped her empty hands together in an exaggerated motion. “Nothing.”

  “But Arik took Shaul into your family business?”

  “Into her father’s business, yes. Until he made enough to make his own business. Moshe, my husband, was a good cutter. But Arik…he is the best. Dalia’s father was very…” She waved her hands, trying to think of the word.

  “Impressed,” Decker guessed.

  “Oy vay, was he impressed! He had never see a cutter as good as Arik. He make sure that Arik and Dalia meet.”

  “Dalia’s father was a diamond cutter, too?”

  “No, dealer. Joseph Menkovitz is still very big dealer here. He’s very rich. Arik did not like Dalia when he first met her. He said she was very spoiled. I say the girl is young. Give her time. And he did and he fell in love.”

  Tziril grew thoughtful.

  “Still, it was not easy for my son to please a rich girl. Dalia grew up in Rahavia…in a very big house. Two stories with a garden. Dalia likes big houses. You see their house in America?”

  Decker nodded.

  “Like a castle. It is only missing the water that goes around it.”

  “The moat,” Decker said.

  “Yes, the moat,” Tziril agreed. “They have a castle for two kids.” She waved a hand into the air. “But Dalia wanted a big house, so she gets it. It was her father’s doing. The only child, the father never learns to say no. Her father is quite old now…in his late eighties. But he is still strong. He’s at the Bursa every single day. He drove himself until he turned eighty. Now someone drives him. Every day he is in his office.”

  “Even now when he’s sitting shiva?”

  Tziril was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think he will sit shiva. Joseph isn’t a religious man. Anat is sitting shiva. Yesterday, I talked to Anat. Every day, we talk. Every day, we cry. Every day, we wait for our children.”

  She burst into tears. Rina went over and put her arm around the old woman. Tziril leaned her head into Rina’s shoulder and wept for a long time.

  “The old man has no heart,” Tziril stated angrily. “Only work, work, work.”

  “Maybe that’s how he copes with the pain,” Rina suggested.

  “Maybe,” Tziril said in a cracked voice. “Ah, that’s just men!”

  It was an indictment, Decker felt, she had uttered many times in the past. “So he’s probably at the Bursa right now?”

  “Yes, probably.”

  “That’s close to here?”

  “If you have a car.”

  “I have a car. Can you have your husband call him up? I’d like to visit him there—”

  “Only members are invited into Bursa.”

  “There’s no way to get me temporary privileges?”

  Tziril looked puzzled. Rina translated. Tziril said, “I don’t know much about Bursa. My husband would know more.”

  “I’d really like to talk to Mr. Menkovitz, now.”

  “Why? You think my grandsons are with him?”

  Decker stared at her. “Are they?”

  Tziril put her hand to her chest. “I don’t think so. Anat told me…”

  She let her words hang in the air.

  “Anat told you what? That the boys might stay with her?”

  “No. But maybe she got a quick phone call, too. The boys are not with her. That I know. Because she is worried about them, too.”

  Decker rubbed his eyes. The jet lag was doing funny things to his head. “Still, I’d like to meet Mr. Menkovitz. He might have some things to tell me about Shaul Gold. After all, you did say that Dalia and Shaul we
re old friends. Can you ask your husband to arrange something?”

  “Maybe he could. But he won’t. He’s a mule.”

  “Tell him his grandsons’ lives may depend on it.” He turned to Rina. “Can you please translate the gravity of that statement?”

  “I understand you, Mr. Decker.” Wearily, Tziril stood. “Rega.” She padded down the hall.

  “What did she say?”

  “She said wait.”

  Tziril returned a minute later. “Moshe said only relatives can come into the Bursa—”

  “So say I’m a relative—”

  “Rega, rega…” Tziril said. “Moshe will do anything that will help the boys. He will take you there.”

  “Today?”

  “Yes. He’s getting dressed. It will take a few minutes.”

  Decker gave his hands a clap. “Thank you.”

  “Mr. Decker, there are rules. You must say you are his son-in-law.”

  “That’s not a problem.”

  “And you must not talk to anyone on the floor. No one! Nothing until he gets you alone in Joseph’s office.”

  “That’s not a problem, either.”

  “You must bring your passport.”

  “I have it with me.” He patted his jacket.

  “And your wife must come, too.”

  Decker paused. “That’s fine. He needs her to translate and so do I.”

  “This is true but not the reason he wants her. My husband says he likes her much better than he likes you.”

  27

  Rina drove, Yalom sat in the front passenger’s seat, allowing Decker to take surreptitious notes in the back. Not that there was anything worth recording. No conversation to speak of. Finally, Yalom mumbled something to Rina.

  She said, “He wants to know how his daughter, Orit, is doing.”

  “Tell him she seems to be in good health.”

  The old man nodded and spoke to Rina.

  “Did you meet his grandchildren?”

  “Just his granddaughter, Sharona,” Decker said. “She seemed very nice. Very bright. I liked her a lot.”

  Mr. Yalom grunted out, “Pretty, no?”

  “Beautiful,” Decker said. “Yef…yeffe meod.” He turned to Rina. “Did I get that right?”

  “Perfect.”

  The car returned to its silent state. A moment later, Yalom indicated something by a point of the finger. Rina got off the ayalon on the Rekevet exit. The old man directed her into a series of turns that put them on a gravel and dirt pay lot. No parking spaces had been marked but the cars, mostly subcompacts, that occupied the lot were spaced in an orderly fashion. The parking area bordered a busy tree-lined boulevard. Across the roadway stood three ultra-modern granite and glass skyscrapers jutting out from what looked like a strip mall. Decker look out the rear window. Behind the lot was a nest of square patched-up apartment houses, laundry hanging from the windows. No sense of a neighborhood. Nothing matched—Tijuana meets Century City.

  Rina shut off the motor and they got out of the car. The boulevard was more of a highway with cars racing at high speeds in both directions. The nearest intersection with a traffic light was a blip in the distance. Yalom rooted along a wire fence that acted as a barrier between the lot and the boulevard until he found a hole. He squeezed through it, then stood in the street and watched cars speed by.

  “We’re going to cut across?” Decker asked Rina.

  Rina said, “I’m just following the leader.”

  Traffic finally cleared on one side. The old man dashed across with surprising speed. Decker and Rina followed until the trio took temporary refuge on the boulevard’s divider—a concrete island in a sea of blurred metal and smoky exhaust.

  Decker said, “You know, if this was America, we’d all get a ticket.”

  Rina said, “I know. LA’s really big on jaywalking.”

  “That’s because people get killed jaywalking.” A truck shot past, blowing wind through Decker’s hair and almost knocking Rina off her feet. He said, “This is crazy.”

  The old man shouted a “go” in English. All three of them tore across.

  “See?” Rina said. “We made it.”

  Decker ran his fingers through his hair and didn’t answer. Yalom motioned them forward, his gait slowing to that of an old man. He led them up a series of museum-sized granite steps while speaking to Rina. She translated.

  “There are three major buildings in the diamond center. The Maccabee is where the Bursa is. It’s also where Joseph Menkovitz keeps his private office.” She paused and listened to Yalom’s words. “Even though the bigger dealers have offices now, they still do lots of trading in the Bursa itself. It makes excitement.”

  “Makes excitement?” Decker asked.

  Rina shrugged. The old man spoke and Rina clarified. “The Bursa is for everyone. Those that have private offices, those that don’t. If you’re a member of the Bursa, even if you don’t have an office, you can rent a locker and trade on the floor with everyone else. When you trade in the Bursa, it makes excitement.” She paused. “I think he means that Bursa generates excitement because it’s out in the open. I guess we’ll understand when we see it.”

  The lobby to the Maccabee building was compartmentalized—trisected and encased in thick glass. Yalom went into the right-hand section, through steel revolving doors into a small sally port filled with people. Decker’s first impression: He was in line to the betting cage at the track. The windows up front were marked BUYERS/TENANTS. Yalom stood in the back of an undisciplined squiggle of human flesh; Decker and Rina fell in behind him.

  Decker looked around. To the right was another set of steel revolving doors that led to a main lobby of the building. Security was visible at every turn of the head—in the sally port, in the lobbies, behind the windows. He must have spotted dozens of men and women dressed in gray shirts, blue ties, and dark blue pants.

  The line inched forward, people nudging Decker in the back. In his experience, crowds brought tension. Strangely, no one seemed irritated. Here was humanity in all shapes, sizes, and religious inclinations stuffed into a small area and no one was grousing.

  They finally made it to the front. Four security guards manned the window behind bullet-proof glass. Three of the watchdogs were seated; one male was standing behind the others, either overseeing them or kibitzing. Yalom got up to the window and spoke his case, the guard nodding and looking Decker and Rina over as the old man explained what he wanted.

  “Passports, please,” she said.

  Decker took them out of his jacket, then reluctantly forfeited them to the guard. She opened them, but her eyes weren’t on the ID. Instead, she seemed to be listening to the goings-on at the line next to hers. Then she butted into the conversation, arguing with her colleague who was dealing with a woman and a small child.

  “What’s going on?” Decker asked Rina. “What’s she doing?”

  Rina smiled wearily. “She’s getting distracted is what she’s doing. There seems to be a sh’aylah about kids under twelve needing a passport.”

  “A sh’aylah?”

  “A question.”

  “Oh. A shylah!” Decker said, pronouncing it as if he were in the yeshiva.

  Rina smiled. “Yes, a shylah.”

  Finally, the guard deigned to look at the passports placed in her hands. She studied them, then punched something into a computer. Mr. Yalom spoke to Rina.

  She said, “They’re issuing us badges and ID cards.”

  A minute later, Yalom handed them two plastic cards and they were allowed to enter the main lobby. A thick fog of people scurried across white and gray marble floors. To the left was a bank of lockers; straight ahead were the elevators. They squeezed into the first car and rode up one floor. To Decker’s surprise, everyone got out. Yalom took them into a second elevator and pushed the fifteenth-floor button.

  Decker said to Rina, “What was that all about?”

  Yalom seemed to understand the question. He talked to Rina in
Hebrew.

  Rina said, “The first elevator goes only to the Bursa. You take these elevators to get to the offices.”

  “For peoples,” Yalom said. “Too much peoples.”

  Decker didn’t understand but didn’t press it. Maybe it was some security thing. The car rode up to the fifteenth floor and they got out. It was quiet and looked similar to Yalom’s office in Los Angeles. But unlike the LA diamond center, every door had a mezuzah on it.

  The mezuzah. The symbol of a Jewish establishment. On every single door. Yes, Decker finally realized they were in a Jewish country. It made him feel simultaneously strange and at home. Yalom pressed a button to the office and they were buzzed into an anteroom.

  The secretary behind the glass partition reminded Decker of Yochie. She had jet-black hair and wore lots of makeup and jewelry. She spoke to Yalom; the old man turned around.

  “Yossie’s downstairs in the Bursa,” Yalom reported in English. “He likes make old man go up and down, de mamzer.”

  Decker told Rina she didn’t have to translate.

  Taking up almost the entire floor, the Bursa was an open area framed by a northern wall of glass. It held strip after strip of black picnic-sized tables, the surfaces covered with hundreds of squares of calendar paper set into black leather blotters. The tables also were crowned with dozens of scales, loupes, and pincers. Chairs were set on both sides of the tables. The place was crowded, but there was plenty of elbow room to walk down the aisles. Opposite the glass wall was a series of teller booths, some marked OFFICIAL WEIGHING STATION. Above the booths seemed to be a viewing area—maybe an upstairs lounge—framed in smoked glass. A nice place to have a drink or watch TV and still be able to see the action below.

  Hanging from the ceiling were television monitors that broadcast rows of numbers. Yalom saw Decker staring at the screens.

  Rina translated his words. “Those are pager numbers. Someone needs you, your number goes up on the monitor.”

  She took her eyes off the monitor and studied the vast open space. So many people—sitting, standing, milling around, going from table to table as if mingling at a cocktail party. There was a definite camaraderie. The smiles, the greetings, the pleasant conversation. And of course, the sense that there was business to be done. At any given time, there must have been a hundred jewelers holding loupes to stones.