by Sanctuary
Decker said, “But Dalia still has independent wealth?”
Gold said, “Her father takes care of her.”
Decker now wondered if someone was out to get Dalia. Who would gain from her demise? First, Arik, then her sons. Maybe this was all some messy family affair. He said, “I heard Arik didn’t get along with his sons.”
Gold said, “Where’d you hear that?”
“Is it true?”
Gold rubbed his chin. “Does Arik fight with his boys? Of course he does. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love them.”
“What about Mrs. Yalom? Does she fight with the boys?”
“Dalia? No.” Gold’s face softened. “Dalia doesn’t fight with anyone. She is soft. Like her mother.”
“You know the family?”
“I knew them before Arik did. I’m old family friend. I grew up in the neighborhood. I baby-sat Dalia.”
“How’d she meet Arik?”
“Her father introduced them.”
“And you approved of the match?”
Gold studied Decker. “What does my opinion matter? The family approved. Dalia approved. They get married. End of story.”
“But you’re still in the picture.”
Gold smiled. “Arik invited me in the business. I take opportunity. That is all, Mr. Sergeant. That is all.”
Come back to that one, Decker thought. He said, “I heard Arik fought a lot with Dov.”
“He can be hard on him, yes.”
“What about the older son?” Decker asked. “How does Gil get along with his father?”
“Gil is easygoing. And he’s no student. He knows eventually he’ll have to come into the business. Arik knows it, too. He’s not concerned with Gil. Dov is another story…brighter. He has options. So he wants nothing to do with the business. That makes Arik feel bad. What does this have to do with the family missing?”
“I’m just wondering if the family didn’t have one bad fight and things got out of hand.”
Gold genuinely looked horrified. “You think one of the boys…not a chance in hell!”
Decker said nothing.
“I don’t care what you’ve seen in your America.” He pointed to himself. “I know Arik’s boys. They are good kids. It is impossible. Start thinking about other things because you are on the wrong side.”
The diamond dealer was vehement in his opinion. Was he doing it on purpose to bring attention to the boys? Take the search away from him? Decker started thinking. Who else might benefit from Yalom’s demise? Perhaps Gold himself.
“Orit last saw her brother around two-thirty Friday afternoon,” Decker said. “Did you see him after that?”
Gold thought a moment, then checked a desk calendar. “Two-thirty Friday, I was just finishing up business with a client.” His finger scanned down the calendar. “Last I saw Arik was maybe Friday morning around…ten.”
“You have no idea where the family might have gone?”
“None whatsoever. I don’t mind telling you I’m scared for the family. People think they have plenty of money just lying around the house. What we have is inventory and investments, but burglar doesn’t know that. He puts gun to your head anyway. Says open the vault. He doesn’t see cash, he sees stones that are hard to fence.”
“I take it you’ve checked the vault?”
“As soon as you called and told me about the family is gone, I checked the common vault. Nothing is missing.”
“Does Arik have his own private inventory?”
“I think no.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. We’re partners.”
Decker smiled. “You’ve never heard of partners cheating each other?”
Gold waved him off. “That is not a problem, I promise you.”
Decker paused. “You check up on him, don’t you, Mr. Gold.”
“Cheating is not a problem,” Gold stated once again.
“I’m just wondering if Mr. Yalom has diamonds that are not part of your business partnership. Maybe diamonds acquired from Mrs. Yalom’s wealth.”
Gold shrugged, then lit another cigarette. “Maybe. I never thought about that…but maybe.”
“The thought seems to bother you.”
Gold hid behind a cloud of nicotine. “What do I care what Arik does with his money?”
Decker waved the smoke away from his face but didn’t answer.
Gold put out the cigarette. “Why do you ask about Arik’s money?”
“If somebody robbed him, Mr. Gold, I’m wondering what they would take from the house if the vault is here in the diamond center.”
“Maybe Arik has a safe at home. We’re partners, but I don’t know everything about his personal life.”
“How’d you two become partners?”
“He brought me into the business as a salesman. Arik is a terrible salesman.” Gold sat back in his chair. “I can sell anything. Believe me, Mr. Detective, I could have even sold you a diamond if I want. So it works well that Arik picks the diamonds and says when to sell. And I get the clients and match the stones to the clients. I just wish we could get more of the good stuff. It’s not always easy to pick up stones at the right price. They keep the quantity limited, you know.”
“Who does?”
“VerHauten. You know about them?”
“It’s a South African diamond company, isn’t it?”
“More than a company. VerHauten is a nation to itself.”
“Tell me about them.”
“What’s to tell? They own eighty percent of the diamond mines. VerHauten mines a little more, they bring in more diamonds to sell and they make money. They mine less, they bring in less diamonds, the price of diamonds goes up, they make money, too. They not only own the mines, they own the distribution of the stones. No one can compete against them.”
Decker sensed that Gold was talking from a point of personal experience. “You’ve tried competing with them?”
Gold burst into laughter. “Me? I’m nothing. A glob of spit. I can’t compete with VerHauten.” Again, he laughed. “No, it’s impossible even for the big dealers, let alone small potatoes like me and Arik. No one even tries.”
“You said they own eighty percent of the mines,” Decker said. “Who owns the other twenty percent?”
“There are other mines—in Africa, in Canada, in Russia,” Gold said. “Big mines in Russia in the north area. A region called Yakutia. They are government mines. The last I heard the Russian government was setting up a joint venture with VerHauten. It’s a smart move. The Russians may be able to mine diamonds, but they can’t distribute them without VerHauten’s blessing.”
“Why not?”
“Where would they set up shop?”
“Why not in Russia?”
“The minute VerHauten finds out about competitors, they either buy them out or undersell them. They own the market. What does this have to do with Arik?”
Decker gave a noncommittal shrug. “You said Arik was a hoarder. Maybe he was hoarding too much for VerHauten’s liking.”
Gold grinned. “You know how much inventory we have? Around two million. It seems like a big number, but no one can survive in this business if their inventory drops below five or six hundred thousand. You don’t have stones on hand, buyers find other people. So we put money in stones. You know what VerHauten’s worth?”
“More than two million,” Decker said, dryly.
“Try three to four billion. I don’t think they lose sleep about Arik and me.”
Decker said, “Still, two million dollars is well worth robbing for.”
“Except that nothing’s missing in the vault.” Gold shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”
Decker said, “Do you know of anyone who might want to shut you and Arik down?”
Gold took out another cigarette. “That’s what worries me. Arik can be reckless and rude in dealing with people. Maybe some dealers would like to shut us down. They know we have the good stones. Not good stones,
great stones. I’ve made many good contacts over the years.”
Gold lit up his smoke.
“I’ve got to give Arik credit, too. He has a great eye for stones—cut and uncut. He can tell at a glance what the stone will look like when it’s cut. All those years working as a stonecutter. He learned the trade from his father. Arik’s taken me to Antwerp a few times. He looks at a diamond. To me, it doesn’t look like much. He says, ‘Shaul, this is the one I want.’ Doesn’t have to cut a window in it or anything.”
“Cut a window?”
“Cut a window,” Shaul repeated. “Open the stone. VerHauten sets a certain price for the uncut stone. Nonnegotiable. But what they will let you do is open a small facet so you can look inside and see what you’re buying before you buy it. Arik doesn’t even need to do that. He can smell it.”
“Where is Antwerp?” Decker asked.
“Belgium. It’s where VerHauten distributes its stones. Everyone big goes to Antwerp.”
“Why Antwerp?”
“Why do you go to the supermarket to buy milk? Because it’s where diamonds are.”
Decker held back a smile. “I meant why did VerHauten set up distribution there? Why not in South Africa?”
“VerHauten wants a center in Europe. And Belgium gives them easy laws.” Gold paused. “Sometimes for a special client, Arik goes to Belgium and buys big uncut stones. Mostly we go to Israel and buy cut, mid-sized stones. More diamonds are cut in Israel than anywhere else in the world.”
Gold rested the cigarette in his ashtray.
“Still, I don’t know anyone who would hurt Arik to put us out of business. This whole thing is very strange.”
Decker flipped the cover over his notepad. “Yes, it is.”
Gold ran his hand over his face. “Even with the gun, I’m worried. Because I don’t know who this enemy is.” He looked at Decker. “You keep looking for them?”
“For a while,” Decker said. “But without a body, we can’t justify looking for an extended period of time. The family may have taken off on their own accord.”
He stood and so did Gold. “We’ll keep in touch.”
Decker walked over to the door, then paused. “Mr. Gold, do you know where Yalom might keep his passport?”
Gold was quiet for a moment. “No. Why?”
“If he took off for anywhere international, he’d need his passport.”
“I don’t know about Arik’s passport,” Gold said. “Come. I’ll walk you out.”
Decker realized that Gold was inching him down the hallway. Yalom’s partner had been cooperative, even loquacious at times. But Decker couldn’t shake the feeling that Gold was holding back. He spoke at length about VerHauten, but little about Arik and his business dealings.
They reentered the sally port. Yochie was about to buzz them out. She said, “Uh-oh. You get company, Shaul.”
Decker looked at the outside TV monitor. A Chasid with a white beard. He was wearing a tall black hat and long black coat.
“Shnorrers,” Gold said with resignation. “They don’t leave me alone.”
“No, they don’t,” Decker agreed.
Gold looked at him. “You know about shnorrers?”
Decker nodded. Ostensibly, they collected money for worthy causes. Sometimes the worthy causes were themselves. Since he had married Rina, they had invaded his house with outstretched hands, and always at inconvenient times. But Rina had a soft heart. She always gave them something.
Shaul said, “Open the door, Yochie.”
She complied. The Chasid touched the mezuzah, kissed his hand, then walked inside. But Gold pushed him back out. Decker followed them into the hallway.
Gold said, “Every day, it’s someone else.”
The Chasid started a pitch in a foreign tongue.
“Maspeek.” Gold opened his wallet and took out a twenty. “That’s all I have. Go.”
The shnorrer didn’t budge.
Gold showed the man his empty wallet. “No more kesef. Lech. Mayveen?”
The shnorrer said, “Ani mayveen.” He looked at Decker.
Decker blew out air, then took out a twenty from his wallet and gave it to the man. The shnorrer pocketed the money, muttered some blessing, then moved on to the next mezuzah down the hallway.
11
Even though it was the job, Marge felt like a snoop. Decker had warned her about the feeling. True she had gone through other houses from the rafters to the baseboards, but in those cases, the occupants had been alive. Though Marge had no evidence that the Yaloms were dead, it didn’t look good. Though the paper still came and the mail was still being delivered, the only living things left in the Yalom place were houseplants.
So with key in hand, courtesy of Orit Bar Lulu, Marge plundered through items, bit by bit, with no one standing over her shoulder, nobody protesting her presence, or cussing her out.
They couldn’t have just fallen off the planet!
Within three hours, she had amassed an abbreviated biography of the Yaloms’ lives, had discovered private matter…secrets.
Dalia Yalom was on the pill and was a hidden lover of the soaps. To wit: magazines featuring daytime serials stowed in a hatbox, along with an autographed eight by ten glossy of a handsome but plastic man. Dalia’s closets were well stocked although there wasn’t an obscene amount of clothing for a woman of her means. But she did have odd tastes. A shoe collection made up of dozens of sneakers—beaded ones, painted ones, embroidered ones. She had tennis shoes made of everything from buckskin to terry cloth, from silk to see-through plastic. A variation of the glass slipper.
Though Marge had sifted through the shoes, one by one, she had found nothing. Satisfying herself that the master bedroom was devoid of clues, she’d moved on to the boys’ rooms.
She’d found Dov’s small stash, not much more than a few measly crumbs of cannabis. Dov’s escape from an overbearing father. She’d also discovered voluminous writings and stories crammed into three binders in the back of his closet. In light of what Decker had told her, Dov’s stories about loneliness and alienation had come as no surprise.
What had surprised Marge had been the secret poetry of the older brother, Gil. Here was a sensitive soul. The writing was amateurish, excessive as only teens can be, but it was thoughtful. The older boy’s poems spoke of flowers budding in a mire of human greed, of good emanating from a cesspool of evil, of the birth of a child cradled from the ashes of the fire. Marge wasn’t quite sure to whom or what the kid had been referring, but the message seemed unusually positive for an adolescent.
Marge had looked and Marge had learned.
Decker fingered the Israeli passports with gloved hands. “Where’d you find these?”
“In a billfold inside the Cross briefcase.” Marge pointed to a black-leather attaché with a gold clasp. “I didn’t even see this luggage set the first time around because the attic closet has such an odd shape.”
“The briefcase was hidden?”
“Not at all,” Marge said. “I just didn’t see it. I thought the closet door just led to finished attic space. At that point, the roof comes down at such a severe angle, you can’t even stand up. So I just poked my head inside and saw the area was empty. It wasn’t until the second time around that I actually ducked inside—at much expense to my back muscles—and saw the space was actually a closet that wraps around the house. There’s this huge storage area on the other side containing the main family luggage. I’ll show it to you if you want, but I’ve already been through it all. The rest of the valises were empty.”
Decker sorted through the papers inside the case—Xeroxes of birth certificates, Social Security cards, insurance cards, INS papers. He wondered where the originals were. If Yalom took the papers with him, why did he leave behind the passports?
Because the two passports he held were the originals. And they were up-to-date. He said, “You didn’t find the boys’ passports?”
“Nope,” Marge said. “And I looked. That could be
significant. If the boys whacked the parents, maybe they took an international one-way flight.”
Decker thumbed through Yalom’s passport—pages of stamped entries back into the States, Yalom’s residing country. Then there were many other pages of foreign ink—Canada, Mexico, countries of Western and Eastern Europe including Russia, entries from the Far East, Latin America, and Africa. Lots from Africa—Egypt, South Africa, Kenya, Namibia, Liberia, Angola, Sudan, Ethiopia, Zaire, plus a host of other countries Decker didn’t know existed.
Dalia’s visa was simpler—stamps from Western Europe, Hong Kong, Japan, and the United States every time she reentered the country.
Marge said, “Yalom was quite the Phileas Fogg.”
Decker said, “You sound skeptical about something.”
“An Israeli going to Russia? I thought the Jews were leaving Russia for Israel.”
“Yalom’s a diamond dealer,” Decker said. “Russia has diamond mines.”
Marge paused. “Oh.”
Decker said, “What were you thinking about?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Yalom was helping some of his countrymen to get out of Russia…something like that.”
Decker didn’t answer.
“Farfetched, huh?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Decker said. “You see a passport like this, you wonder what’s going on.”
“I’m thinking the guy’s an agent. Maybe that’s why the family disappeared.” Marge took his passport and leafed through it. “Lots of Third World countries.”
“I noticed.”
“Okay, so South Africa has diamond mines. His travels there make sense. But what’s in Namibia or Angola?”
“Don’t know.”
Marge handed the passport back to Decker. He flipped through the booklet again. Several entries for each African state he had visited. “I don’t even know why he’d even bother going to South Africa. From what Yalom’s partner told me, VerHauten brings the uncut stones to market in Antwerp, Belgium. The cut stones are bought in Israel.” Decker recapped his conversation with Gold.
Marge said, “So Yalom—even being a diamond dealer—really has no need to go anywhere except Antwerp and Israel.”