Sanctuary. Faye Kellerman
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Then he made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone he called, especially Eema or Abba. Then I asked him if he was in trouble and he hung up.”
“Where did he call you?”
“On my phone.”
“Do you have a private line?”
The girl nodded.
“I’ll need your phone bill. I’m going to have to tell your eema why I need it. Do you want to tell your eema about the conversation or should I?”
The girl blew out air, lifting bangs off her forehead. “I’ll tell her. We have to do this right away, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do. I know Dov told you to keep this quiet. But I think he was really begging for help.”
“I sure hope you’re right.” She looked upward. “Because I’m going to get grounded. I don’t care. It’s worth it if it’ll help Dov.”
“It’ll more than help, Sharona. Who knows? It could even save a life.”
7
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