Читать книгу Sanctuary - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 14

Marge opened the passenger door of the unmarked and slid in, kicking off her shoes.

“It’s great to get off my feet.” She rubbed her toes.

“I drew blanks,” Decker said. “Neighbors said the family seemed nice, but nothing beyond that. What about you? Did you get anything for your fallen arches?”

“Matter of fact, I did. The next-door neighbor …” Marge paged through her scribblings. “Mindy Herrero … she did say that there was a black Lexus parked outside during the day at least twice a week for years. This made me curious.”

“I’ll bet.”

Marge smiled. “The Yaloms don’t own a black Lexus. And neither does Orit Bar Lulu. But guess who does?”

“The partner—Shaul Gold.”

“Right on, Rabbi. He and Yalom may have hated each other, but Gold was here a lot. It could be that Gold and Mr. Yalom were doing business at the house. Or it could be Gold and Mrs. Yalom were doing monkey business. I saw the missus’s photos in the family room. Dalia’s a good-looking woman.”

“In a quiet, shy way.”

“It’s the shy ones you have to watch.”

“Interesting,” Decker said. “All right. Suppose Gold and Dalia Yalom were having an affair. That still wouldn’t explain why the whole family disappeared. If Gold wanted Arik out of the picture, only Arik would be gone.”

The car was quiet for a moment.

Marge said, “Maybe he whacked the husband, then told Dalia to take the kids and run.”

“Then why would he stick around?”

Marge said, “Somebody’s got to earn a living.”

“And the kids?” Decker said.

“Hey, Sharona implied they hated the father. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”

“I don’t like it, Marge.”

She paused. “Okay, try this. Suppose Arik found out about the affair and went crazy. He killed his wife in a rage, then killed his kids, who weren’t turning out like he had wanted, took his diamonds stashed in the silver case posted on the doorframe, and split the country. Maybe he even forged some documents and created himself a new identity. It could be another case of List.”

Decker thought about her theory. John List was a man who murdered his entire family and disappeared, taking on a new identity and eluding the police for about twenty years. He was finally caught after a nab-your-own-fugitive show aired the case on prime-time TV.

“It’s possible,” Decker said. “But we’ve got some major differences. First off, the bodies of List’s wife, mother, and children were found butchered inside the house, making him a prime suspect. Here we don’t have bodies, only an entire family that vanished.”

“Maybe Daddy lured the crew somewhere into the boonies.”

“Except the cars are still in the garage.”

“So he rented a car.”

“Could be,” Decker said. “You want to check out local rent-a-cars?”

“I’ll put it on my list—no pun intended.” Marge wrote it down. “What other differences do you see between this and the List case?”

Decker said, “John List was swimming in debt. The house he had was big and expensive but empty, because he couldn’t afford to furnish it. He claimed he had no way out. By all accounts so far, Yalom seems well heeled. He wouldn’t have to murder to escape. He could have just taken the money and run.”

“Divorce is expensive,” Marge said. “Yalom’s got a rep as a tightwad. Just like List, I might add. What other differences do you see?”

“This probably isn’t important,” Decker said, “but I’ll throw it out anyway. List had confessed his crimes to a minister, stating he felt that the murders were the only way to ensure his sinful wife and children’s arrival in heaven.”

“Kill the body to save the soul,” Marge said.

“Exactly,” Decker said. “Yalom isn’t or wasn’t a religious man.”

“So what’s the point?”

“I’m not sure there is a point,” Decker said. “Just that Arik seemed to disdain God. Dov was the spiritual one.”

“Maybe he was killing the body to save the soul,” Marge said. “So we’re back on the son or sons. Unfortunately, we still don’t have a shred more of evidence.”

“No, we don’t,” Decker said. “But one thing at a time.”

It caught Rina’s ear so she turned up her car radio. Top of the hour and the news station was presenting its feature stories—among them, something about a missing family. It had to be Peter’s case. How many missing families could there be, even in a city as large as Los Angeles? Details would be given out soon, after the traffic report and a commercial for carefree aluminum siding.

She changed lanes and reduced the speedometer to fifty-five. It was smooth sailing this morning. Usually, the North Valley freeways were lightly traveled because the population in the Outback was less dense than in LA proper. She enjoyed the congestion-free asphalt, knowing cars would begin to back up as soon as she neared LAX.

Not to worry even if she did hit a jam. Honey didn’t seem in a rush. Maybe she was just being polite, but Rina didn’t think so.

Take your time, Rina. We’re all so excited just to be somewhere new!

They’re not exhausted?

Are you kidding! The kids are thrilled to be in a place so full of hustle and bustle—so full of life.

Honey’s emotions sounded genuine and that made Rina introspect. Imagine being excited over an airport! She supposed it could hold a fascination for children—all the big jets flying up and down—but Honey herself sounded buoyant. Maybe she was just so happy to get away from her provincial existence, anything would be wonderful.

Take your time! Honey’s voice had been full of melody. We’re in no hurry.

Maybe it was time to stop and smell the jet fuel.

Hannah started to whimper. Rina gave her a bottle of apple juice. The baby drank greedily, hitting the bottle as she sucked.

Her analysis of Honey was cut short when the news item came back on the radio. Again, Rina had heard the word “disappearance” but had missed the name of the family.

They lived in West Hills. A fancy private housing development. Nothing seemed out of place. Confused and concerned neighbors. An interview with one of them. Police were asking the public’s help.

The newscaster finally repeated the last name—Yalom. Yes, it was Peter’s—and Marge’s—case. She couldn’t forget a name like Yalom. Rina had commented to Peter that yahalom meant diamond in Hebrew.

There probably was a Stein somewhere in his family tree.

Peter had been amazed. What’s your secret, Sherlock?

Stein means stone in German … Yiddish. It was probably Hebraized when the family moved to Israel. They do that a lot.

Peter’s expression was flat. Maybe you should take the case? If you spoke to Bar Lulu in Hebrew, something sub rosa might come out.

He hadn’t elaborated. Rina was getting better at reading Peter. He’d been joking of course, but there had been a hint of truth behind his suggestion. She had responded lightly, said something about posing as an assistant if it would help. Peter had smoothed his mustache and said nothing. Meaning he hadn’t ruled it out.

Not that she was anxious to get involved in Peter’s work. Or any work for that matter. Rina was quite content to stay at home and take care of Hannah—her last baby. One swift cut from the surgeon’s knife and she no longer could bear children.

How many times had she replayed the scene in her head? Yes, it had been an emergency. Yes, the doctor had been absolutely right. Yes, it had been the surgery versus her life. Everything had been handled letter perfect. She should feel grateful.

And she did.

But not all the time. At thirty-one, Rina had expected and had wanted more children. She’d always felt that she was born to nurture. Unlike many women in this modern age, Rina considered childrearing a privilege and not a chore. Not that she didn’t get mad at her kids, pound her head against the wall from time to time. But it was all in a day’s work. There was no perfect way to raise children. Parenthood was filled with fuzzy borders and shades of gray. Some people were confused without a blueprint. Rina found the freedom exhilarating. Probably because she had worked so many years with numbers—first as a math teacher, then as a bookkeeper. Precision had made her a nervous wreck.

Rina had wanted lots of children. But that wasn’t an option anymore. She was constantly telling herself not to dwell on the past. Anyway, raising kids was an occupation of planned obsolescence. They get big, they move on, they have their own lives. If you want lifelong, unconditional devotion, buy a dog.

Oh, stop brooding, she chastized herself. Enjoy your baby and your sons while they’re home.

If only there was some way to harness her nurturance into a profession she could do at home. She had considered running a day-care center, but the required regulations and the insurance had turned it into a prohibitive proposal. Besides, with Hannah around, there might be too much opportunity for conflict. It might be hard for her to share her toys with the all-day interlopers. Hannah deserved to be queen for a good couple of years.

Rina switched the radio dial to an oldies station. As she tapped out rhythm on her steering wheel, she became philosophical. Something would come up.

There was enough luggage to sustain the Kleins for a year in deepest Africa. Thank God, Rina had remembered to bring the bungee cords. Honey was sheepish.

“I guess I didn’t know what to pack so I packed everything.” Honey stuffed another suitcase into the hatch of the Volvo. “If it’s too much, I’ll take some of the valises and follow you in a cab.”

“Cabs are expensive, Honey.” Rina hoisted a case on top of the car. “I think we can make it if you don’t mind squeezing. We’ll have to double-belt, though. I’ll keep the car seat up front.”

“Whatever is easiest,” Honey said. “Mendie, help her with the suitcases. Rina, let him do it. He’s a big boy.”

Mendel was thirteen—gangly and sullen. Rina waved him off as she secured the last of the batch to her car’s roof. “I think we’re just about set.” She eyed the precarious cargo. “I’ll just take it slow and hope I don’t get a ticket.”

Honey said, “Isn’t your husband a police officer?”

Rina eyed the load once more. “Membership has its privileges, but I refuse to pull rank.” She smiled at the kids. “I hope you don’t mind being squashed for just a bit.”

The children were silent. Four of them—ages ranging from fifteen to five. Two boys with payis, dressed in black suits, white shirts, and big, black kippot that covered their scalp-shorn hair. The two girls had long plaits and wore long-sleeved, high-necked dresses over opaque tights. All of them were loaded down in heavy winter coats, sweating under their weight.

Guilt caused Rina’s eyes to linger on their dress.

Two years ago, Rina had made a radical decision. She had pulled her boys out of the black-hat yeshiva of Ohavei Torah and shipped them off to a modern Orthodox yeshiva in North Hollywood. There, secular education was an important part of the curriculum, and college wasn’t a dirty word. The boys were game, willing to give it a try since both were academically-minded. But during the transition, whenever Rina closed her eyes, she saw Yitzchak’s face. It was never a stern face—Yitzy was a gentleman and a gentle man. But it was a sad face.

She had changed since her first marriage, away from the insular black-hatted religious, toward the modern Orthodoxy she grew up with. Of course, she still covered her hair whenever she went out, but it was in a more modern way. Today, her head was topped with a knitted tam, her long black hair braided and tied into a knot. But the head covering didn’t obliterate all her natural hair. The tam was not as kosher as the shaytel she used to wear.

Her eyes drifted to Honey and her shaytel. The wig was a good one—thick and multicolored and slightly waffled. Very natural-looking. And it covered every inch of her hair.

Like the one Rina used to wear.

Both women were garbed in long-sleeved sweaters and over-the-knee skirts. Rina still refused to wear pants or go sleeveless. But she had changed. Her marriage to Peter had made her more modern, just as her marriage to Yitzchak had made her more Orthodox.

Honey took Rina’s confused expression as a chance to make contact. She scooped up Rina’s hands and swung them. It was an adolescent gesture and Rina was suddenly transported back to her teens. Honey still retained her girlish—almost boyish—figure. As thin and straight as a stick.

“Thanks for taking us in.”

“We’ll have fun,” Rina said.

Honey’s teal eyes beamed. “Fun. I like that word.” She turned to her kids, started to speak in Yiddish, then stopped herself with a giggle. “I’m not used to speaking English. Come on, kids. Let’s go.”

“They should probably take off their coats and lay them on their laps,” Rina suggested. “It’s going to be a tight fit as is.”

The children didn’t move.

Honey said in English, “You heard Mrs. Lazarus. Take off your coats.” She clapped. “C’mon, people. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Quickly, the kids obeyed.

Honey turned to Rina. “It isn’t Lazarus anymore, is it?”

“It’s Decker.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Come on, troops. Pile in.”

Slowly, the kids inched toward her Volvo. The girls crowded together on the left, the boys leaned to the right. They looked stunned, in complete contrast to Honey, who seemed joyous. She cranked down the backseat window and peered out expectantly. Rina slid into the driver’s seat and turned around to the back.

“Kids, you’re going to have to put on your seat belts.”

They glanced at each other, dumbfounded.

Honey began hunting around. “Seat belts. Like we wore in the airplane. They have them in cars.” She smiled at Rina. “In the village, all we have is old jalopies for major hauling. We never use cars for traveling. Everything’s in walking distance.” She reached over and pulled the harness belt. “Come on, kids. Cooperate.”

Rina felt the kids weren’t being stubborn. They were just confused. Buckling up took them another few minutes.

“Doesn’t Gershon work in the city?” Rina asked.

“Of course. The village owns a bus,” Honey said. “Several buses. The men take the bus into the city. Gosh, you should see how they’ve altered it. It has tables and benches for learning, and a bookcase full of sepharim. I was shocked when I first saw it. A bais midrash on wheels. Now I’m used to it. The women have their own bus, too, but we don’t use it very often. Everything we need is in the village. Good! We’re all set, Rina.”

Rina started the engine and pulled out of the loading zone. Glancing in the rearview mirror, she noticed the kids were still huddled together. Honey was oblivious to their uneasiness. She was too busy looking out the window.

“Look out there, kinder! Winter back home and here everything’s green. Can you imagine that? Do you know they can grow oranges and tangerines out here? They pick them right off the trees in their own backyards.”

Honey’s youngest, a boy, said, “We have trees in our backyard.”

“Not orange trees, Pessy,” the oldest girl said, derisively.

“Will you have some patience, Minda?” Honey scolded her. She smiled at Pessy. “I’ll show you the trees.” She spoke up to Rina. “You still have orange trees here, don’t you?”

“We have a whole citrus grove on our property,” Rina said. “It’s a ranch with horses and hay and a barn.”

Honey grinned. “Oh, Pessy, trees, and horses and a barn! Like we see in the countryside. Isn’t that exciting!”

The boy looked curious. “Horses like cowboys ride?”

At least he knows about cowboys, Rina thought. She said, “Yes, horses like the cowboys ride. My husband’s a cowboy … of sorts.”

That was too much for Pessy. He knitted his brow and fell silent.

Honey said, “I’m still amazed. When we left it was thirty degrees outside. Our village was a carpet of snow and ice. Walking three blocks hurt your lungs. Then you get on a plane, five hours later, it’s sunshine and greenery.”

“It’s been raining,” Rina said. “That’s why it’s so green. Anyone hungry?”

Honey began rooting through her handbag. “I think I have a package of crackers.”

Rina laughed. “I packed some fruit in a bag, Honey. It’s under your feet. Help yourself.”

Honey retrieved the bag from under her seat and pulled out an apple. “You thought of everything. Who wants?”

Pessy was about to pipe up when Mendel elbowed him in the ribs. The little boy sank back in the seat and was silent.

“Mendie, do you mind, please?” Honey spoke in Yiddish. “Take it, Pessy. That’s what it’s here for.”

Slowly, little fingers extended toward Honey. She gave him the apple.

Mendel said, “B’racha!”

Pessy looked at Mendel, said a prayer, then took a bite of the apple. He told Rina thank you in English.

“You’re welcome,” Rina answered.

“Anybody else want?” Honey asked.

Once again, the car fell silent. Rina hadn’t heard boo out of the younger girl. She was fair like her mother, with a smattering of freckles on each cheek.

“Maybe later, Honey,” Rina said.

“Well, I’m going to have a tangerine. It looks good.”

Honey broke off a small bit of peel. “Rina, I didn’t officially introduce you to my kids, did I?”

“Not officially.”

Honey kissed her elder daughter’s cheek. “This is Minda. She’s fifteen and beautiful—”

“Mama!” the girl whispered.

“Oh don’t shush me. You are beautiful, right, Rina?”

“Right,” Rina answered.

The girl blushed, holding back a smile at the compliment.

“Mendel is my scholar. Contrary to what you might think, he does know how to smile.”

“Only if I’m forced,” Mendel said, dryly.

Rina laughed. “You’re going to get along with Shmuel just fine. What mesechet are you learning, Mendel?”

The boy paused, perplexed by Rina’s interest in his studies. Girls just weren’t supposed to be aware of these things. But he answered just to be polite.

“Sukkos.” Mendel paused. “Do you have a Shas at your house?”

Rina let out a small laugh as she named the many Hebraic tomes in her library. “We have a standard Shas, we have a Steinzaltz Shas. We have a Shulchan Aruch, a Mishna Torah, Me’am Loez, plus some others. Will that help you out?”

Mendel nodded, but didn’t speak. Yet he seemed more relaxed. Perhaps he finally realized his mother wasn’t taking him to Sodom and Gomorrah.

Honey said, “See, Mendie, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” To Rina, she said, “He’s always afraid he’ll fall behind in his shiur, so he studies and makes himself go ahead. Did I introduce you to my younger daughter, Bryna, who is almost eight?”

“Hi, Bryna,” Rina said.

The girl smiled, showing missing side teeth.

“Are you excited about your vacation?”

The girl nodded.

“And you’ve met my sweetie pie, Pessy, who just turned five.” Honey clapped her hands. “So what should we do first, children? How about the zoo? Is that far from where you live, Rina? We can take the bus.”

“I’ll take you as soon as we unload all the luggage.”

Honey squeezed Bryna’s shoulder. “What do you think about that? Would you like to see real lions and tigers?”

Rina peeked in her rearview mirror. The girl seemed interested. Pessy could hardly contain his excitement.

“I wanna see them, Mama. Can I pet them?”

“You can’t pet a lion, Pessy,” Minda said. “Besides, they’re in cages.”

“How do you know about a zoo?” Mendel asked.

“We once went to the Brooklyn Zoo. We took a picnic lunch and spent the day in the park. Remember that, Mama?”

Honey nodded. “Do you remember that, Bryna? You were about two.”

The younger girl shook her head.

Honey smiled. “Wasn’t that fun, Minda?”

“Actually, I felt sorry for the animals,” Minda said. “All caged up.”

“The animals here aren’t in cages,” Rina said.

Bryna’s expression became petrified.

“They’re in enclosures,” Rina said quickly. “They can’t get out and walk around. But they live in big open spaces that are supposed to be like the animal’s natural habitat.”

Again, the car fell silent. Bryna whispered something in her mother’s ear.

Honey smiled. “How would you translate habitat?”

“The animal’s natural home,” Rina said. “It’s a lovely park. You have to see it to appreciate it.”

“The lions can’t get out?” Bryna said.

“No.”

“What happens if they do get out?”

“They just don’t, Bryna.”

“But if they do?”

“They take a gun and shoot them, Bryna,” Minda said. “And if you don’t behave, they shoot you, too.”

“Minda!” Honey was exasperated. “Your sister’s talking stupid, Bryna. Don’t pay attention to her.”

“I’ll see the lions, Mama,” Pessy said, bravely.

Honey tousled his kippah. “Isn’t he a doll, Rina?”

“Yes.”

“Speaking of dolls, you have a really cute one in front.”

“I love her.”

“What’s her name?”

“Channah,” Rina said, using her Hebrew name.

“Hello, Channaleh,” Honey cooed. “You must be enjoying her so much.”

“Very much.”

“And your husband?”

“He’s in seventh heaven.”

“He wasn’t mad it wasn’t a boy?”

“No, not at all.”

“That’s nice. Some men are real strange that way.”

Rina didn’t answer.

“Every child is a gift from Hashem,” Honey said.

“Absolutely.”

Honey scratched her wig. “Boy, girl? Who cares?”

“I certainly don’t.”

“Of course, husbands do like to learn with their sons. Gershon liked it when Pessy was born. Made a big deal about now having mezuman.”

Rina didn’t answer. Mezuman—a quorum of three men—was needed to recite a special blessing before Birkat HaMazon, the grace after meals. When the boys got big, Gershon could now say the extra blessing each time he ate.

Rina said to Mendel, “Your father must enjoy learning with you.”

Mendel didn’t answer. His expression said it was none of her business. Honey hadn’t noticed, as she was back observing the scenery. Eyes focused out the window widened as the car passed an industrial park, its walkways and parking lots lined with palms. She took her younger children’s hands. “Those are palm trees, kids! Aren’t they just majestic and beautiful? Don’t you feel like you’re in a tropical rain forest?”

Rina re-eyed the industrial park. It took a big stretch to imagine a tropical rain forest, but she said nothing. The kids were also quiet, perplexed by their mother’s enthusiasm.

Honey laughed softly. “I keep forgetting. They haven’t grown up with TV and all those kinds of fun picture books. They have no idea what tropical means.”