Читать книгу Sanctuary - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 12

At least the jerk was listening, Marge was forced to admit. She and Decker were sitting across from the Loo in his office. Old Thomas “Tug” Davidson—once a Marine, always a Marine—still wore his hair in a crew cut. The fifty-five-year-old geezer didn’t realize that crew cuts had come full circle and were considered a statement by white boys with ’tudes. Fashion didn’t interest Davidson. He wore black suits, white shirts, black ties, and oxfords as oversized as the same-named dictionary. Tug was built like a barn—wide and strong. Marge felt he had probably declared holy war on fat many years ago.

“Go over this one more time,” Davidson said.

Marge repeated the pertinent information. The family had disappeared two days ago, the only hints of foul play—a one-minute phone call and an empty silver case that should have held a prayer parchment. The Yaloms’ sister had called the police in a panic. When interviewed, she had seemed on the level, but who knew?

“This guy, Yalom, is a diamond dealer?” Davidson said.

“Yep,” Decker said. “Does very well for himself judging by the house. But to hear his niece talk, Yalom’s a tightwad. I was wondering why he didn’t send his kids to private school. Maybe he’s too cheap.”

“Or maybe the niece is your average bimbo teenaged girl with a big mouth.” Davidson said, “The school doesn’t know shit about the boys’ whereabouts?”

“Not a thing,” Decker said. “I interviewed quite a few of their chums. They seem in the dark as well.”

“Except for the niece who got a phone call,” Davidson said. “Where was the booth?”

Decker said, “About two miles from the house. It’s a three-block shopping center. I have nothing definitive at this point. Tomorrow, I’d like to interview the store owners. It’ll take time, but something might pan out.”

Davidson nodded, folding sausage-shaped fingers into fists. “Tell me about this silver case.”

“It’s a standard Jewish talisman, for lack of a better word,” Decker said. “The one for the front door is always posted on the outside frame. The Yaloms had theirs posted on the inside—”

“Could be an oversight,” Davidson said.

“Not a chance,” Decker said. “It would be like wearing your underpants on the outside. It was deliberate. I think it once held valuables—diamonds, maybe.”

“Somebody took them,” Davidson said. “A robbery?”

“Or a convenient source of cash if the family had to split suddenly,” Marge said. “The sister said that was how her family dealt with the Nazis. The father paid off the border guards in stones.”

“An old habit that served them well in the past,” Decker said.

“What if it was a robbery?” Davidson asked. “Hiding diamonds in a weird place like that. Looks to me like it would have to be an inside job. What kind of help do these people have?”

“We’re working on finding the gardeners,” Marge said.

“Inside job might also be one of the kids,” Davidson said. “Kid swipes the stones, then makes a panic call to his cousin. So what do we got so far?” Davidson held up his thick hand and began ticking off options. “An inside robbery. A family on the lam. A Solomon thing. Or maybe even a Menendez thing. Any comments?”

Decker thought about Tug’s observations. Menendez and Solomon. Two big cases. The Menendez brothers had shotgunned their parents to death. The Solomons had been a family that disappeared off the face of the earth. No bodies had ever been recovered—the case an open hole on the books.

Decker said, “As far as we could tell, there was no killing done in the house. And all the cars were still in the garage—”

“Including the older boy’s car, right?”

“Yes,” Marge said.

“What’s his name?”

“The older boy?” Marge said. “Gil. Dov’s the younger one, the one who made the call to the cousin.”

“Okay, I got the names straight,” Davidson said. “Back to the cars. If all the cars were in the garage, you’ve got to be thinking about a family abduction. Because if the boys lured the parents to a spot in order to whack them, a car would be missing.”

Marge said, “Unless the boys returned the car to their house before disappearing.”

Davidson looked at her and squinted.

“Good point,” Decker said.

Davidson glared at him. “I know it’s a good point, Decker. You don’t have to stroke her ego.”

Decker’s voice was flat. “I’m just a nice guy.”

Davidson looked disgusted. “All right. So there’s a chance the boys whacked the parents.”

“The bimbo cousin also mentioned the father argued with his sons,” Marge said. “Especially the younger boy.”

Davidson squinted. “I argued all the time with my old man. I never thought of whacking him.”

“Just presenting motive,” Marge said.

“And I’m saying what a prosecutor would be saying,” Davidson said. “Kids and parents fight all the time. Most of us don’t wind up murdering our parents.”

Nobody spoke, then Davidson said, “Okay, it’s a consideration. The boys whacked the parents or someone whacked the whole family. What about the family taking off for parts unknown?”

“We thought about that,” Marge said. “We didn’t find the passports. Of course, the search was superficial. Could be Yalom kept them in his vault.”

“Vault?”

Decker said, “Yalom has a vault down at the Diamond Center.”

Davidson thought a moment. “He keeps his passport in the vault?”

Decker shrugged. “You know, Loo, even if we found passports it might not mean much. If Yalom suddenly went underground, he’d have to establish a new identity anyway. He wouldn’t need his old passports.”

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 better call Rina, tell her to hold his supper. “I don’t get obsessed, Marge, I just do my job.”