by Sanctuary
He sighted down on an imaginary scope and pulled a finger trigger.
“Pop…pop…pop.” He blew on his finger. “Anyone fucks on me, I can take care of myself.”
Decker said, “Can I unload your gun?”
He rubbed his forehead. “Sure. Take the clip out. I don’t care.”
Decker did just that, laid them both on the coffee table. “Was Arik also a sniper in the army?”
“Arik was in tanks. Dalia did office work.” A slight smile formed on Gold’s lips. “She did filing papers. Nothing important. But she was proud to be in uniform.” His lower lip trembled. “So Arik and Dalia come to America for the good life.” Gold slapped his hands together. “Pow, it’s over. What a bastard God is!”
Marge said, “And you have no idea who would do this to Arik and Dalia?”
“No idea.” Gold swayed as he sat, then homed in on Marge. He pointed to her. “If you lived in Israel, you know you would be in army. They take women in Israeli army. Not like in America.”
Marge nodded.
“I bet you’d make a good soldier.” Gold made a muscle. “You look strong.”
Marge smiled.
Decker said, “You want to tell me what you were doing around two-thirty Friday afternoon?”
“I already tell you, I was at my office, seeing client.”
“You didn’t give me his or her name.”
“I know I don’t. My business is private for my clients’ protection. You need to know anything, get papers from a judge. Then I have no choice. But if you want, I take lie test for you. That doesn’t hurt my business.”
“Maybe we’ll set a lie-detector test up,” Decker said. “I understand you were close to Arik’s younger son, Dov.”
Gold rubbed his face. “You have not found the boys.”
“Not so far,” Marge said.
Decker stood up and sat next to Gold. The Israeli’s frame, muscular and compact just a few days ago, now seemed flaccid and droopy. “Any idea where they might be, Mr. Gold?”
“Why would I know?”
Marge said, “They never called you for help?”
Gold whispered, “No, they never call me.”
Decker said, “I understand Dov and his father had been fighting a lot.”
Gold stared at him. “You think they hurt their parents? You are wrong. Goyishe mishugas.”
Gentile craziness, Decker translated in his head. He didn’t bother to inform Gold that there had been a West LA case years ago where two sons had been charged with murdering their parents as they came home from Yom Kippur services.
“Sure, they fight with Arik,” Gold said. “But they don’t kill him. They certainly don’t hurt their mother. They would never, ever hurt their mother. No, that is not why they are missing. They are missing because they are scared.”
“Who scared them?” Marge said.
“If I know that answer, I would tell it to you first thing.” Gold tried to sip from his empty glass. “I don’t know who scared them. If I know, I kill him. End of problem.”
Decker and Marge exchanged glances. Decker said, “Arik did a lot of traveling, didn’t he?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m not just talking about Antwerp and Israel, Mr. Gold. I’m talking about Russia, Zambia, South Africa, Angola, Mozambique—”
“That’s long-ago travel,” Gold grunted.
“According to his passport it was recent,” Marge said.
Gold sat up, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with the back of his hand. “You say Arik went to Africa recent?”
“According to Arik’s passport, he went to Angola as recently as a month ago—”
“You have Arik’s passport?”
Marge nodded.
Gold didn’t speak for a moment. Something in his eyes went dead. “Where else do you say he goes?”
“Russia, Zambia, South Africa, Mozambique. Other places that I don’t remember.”
The room fell quiet. Gold reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit up his smoke with a steady hand. Arik’s travelogue had seemed to sober him up. He said, “I don’t know why Arik would go to Africa.”
“You must have been there lots of times yourself.” Decker pointed to the wall. “You have some beautiful primitive pieces.”
Gold’s eyes went to his artwork. “Yes, I’ve been to Africa.” He blew out a plume of smoke. “But I don’t know why Arik would go there now. Bastard doesn’t collect art. Wouldn’t know beauty if it bit him in the ass.”
Marge and Decker swapped raised eyebrows.
Decker said, “What did you mean when you said that Arik would go to Africa now? Had Arik gone in the past?”
“Many times.”
“For what?”
“To squander money.”
Decker looked at Marge. She picked up the ball.
“How did he squander money?” she asked.
“He invested in crazy schemes. Arik got scrambled brains. He thought he could be the next VerHauten. He took his wife’s money and flushed it down the toilet. I think he got it out of his system. But maybe not, the crazy bastard.”
Gold sat back in his couch.
“What? You think I kill him because I call him a bastard. He is a bastard. Bastard to me, bastard to his kids, bastard to his wife, spending her money like it’s his.”
Decker noticed his eyes were dilated. Could be from the booze, could be he was lying. “Why would Arik have gone to Russia? Does it have anything to do with the diamond mines there?”
Gold stared at Decker. “Maybe he goes to the diamond mines and buys stones. If he did, he don’t tell me.”
“Has Arik been an honest partner to you, Mr. Gold?” Marge asked.
“Honest when it counts?”
“What does that mean?” Marge asked.
“It means I was never cheated.”
Decker waited for more. When nothing came, he said, “Why do you think he didn’t tell you about his travels to Africa? Do you think he was investing in schemes again?”
“Not with business money. I keep watch on that.” Gold flicked his wrist and checked the time. “I call Orit. Maybe she knows when the funeral is.” He looked up. “Or maybe you know?”
“We haven’t released the bodies yet, Mr. Gold.”
“Then I wait until she calls me. It’s terrible what happened, terrible for Dalia. She really was a lovely woman.” He took a deep puff of his cigarette and blew out a cloud of poison. Decker squirmed in the smoke. Going on four years and the lust for nicotine had yet to leave his bloodstream.
“You liked Dalia,” he said.
Gold said, “I know her many, many years back in Israel. Many, many, many…” He took another drag off his cigarette. Marge brushed away the smoke, but Decker inhaled deeply.
“You were jealous when she married Arik?” he asked.
“No, I was not jealous.” Gold’s lip quivered. “What difference it make? She’s…”
Marge looked at the Israeli. His eyes were wet. She thought about Arik’s travels, which he apparently kept secret from his partner. Then she thought about Gold’s car parked outside the Yalom house. Just who was screwing whom.
Finally, Marge said, “You were close to Dalia.”
Gold snapped his head up. “Yes. As friends. I already explain that to your partner.”
Decker said, “Mr. Gold, are you angry that your partner traveled to Africa—”
“Yes, I’m pissed off,” Gold broke in. “I have to wonder what Arik was doing there? Was I being cheated? He also took money for travel. I thought he goes to Israel or Antwerp. Now I think he takes a safari vacation on my money.”
Decker said, “Except his wife didn’t go with him.”
“That means nothing,” Gold said. “He left her alone many times.”
“Was Arik Yalom having an affair, Mr. Gold?”
Gold paused, then said, “Dalia suspected, yes. I tell you we were good friends.”
Decker said, “She ever mention a name?”
“No. Dalia is a lady.”
Marge said, “And you don’t know where Arik’s sons are?”
“No, Detective, I don’t know.” Gold pursed his lips. “Maybe I make it easy for you. Maybe I find them for you.”
Decker stared at him. “Keep out of police business, Mr. Gold.”
“Ah, but the boys are my business.” Gold’s smile became cryptic. “I am honest when I say I don’t know where the boys are. But I tell you this much.” He picked up his semi-automatic and shoved the clip into the release catch. “When I find them, I am prepared.”
19
In all the years Rina had lived at Ohavei Torah, she had never seen the Bais Midrash devoid of students. As a young widow, she had had many sleepless nights, praying for her departed husband’s soul as well as some personal peace of mind. When prayer had failed—as it often had done in the early days—she had bolted out of bed into the cool night air to take aimless walks and clear her mind. Several times her journeys had led her over to the study hall. Inside, she had always found a few of the truly dedicated poring over volumes from the many religious tomes that lined the room. Though women were not forbidden to enter, Rina had always felt that there were unspoken restrictions. She had never gone inside the study hall to learn—even at dinnertime when the Bais Midrash was quiet and peaceful as it was right now.
Her sons had no such qualms. Suitcases in hand, they marched into the room, each one headed for a different bookcase. Sammy scanned the volumes of the Mishna Torah authored by the Rambam. Yonkie went straight for a set of Shas—the Talmud.
Rina watched her sons from the doorway. Sammy was actually more tall than big, but his shoulders were starting to widen, his musculature beginning to fill out. Rina thought him objectively very handsome. A mop of sandy-colored hair surrounded an unusually clear, adolescent complexion napped by peach fuzz. His eyes were dark and alert, and though his teeth were encased in braces, she could make out the future man in the teenager’s face.
Jakie was still a boy. He had just started his growth spurt, but his arms and legs continued to be thin and bony. His complexion was baby-smooth peaches-and-cream; his blue eyes held a mischievous sparkle.
Both of her sons wore untucked, long-sleeved white shirts that fell over dark pants. Their feet were protected by high tops. Neither was wearing a hat, which immediately marked them as visitors rather than live-in students.
Rina felt a presence behind her. She turned to see Rav Schulman walking down the hallway some fifty feet away. He was walking by himself—a rarity—and headed toward the Bais Midrash. Right on time. Rina straightened her spine and, without thinking, cast her eyes downward. Some habits were impossible to break.
A twinkle in his eye, he nodded to her as he entered the study hall, and she nodded back. It wasn’t that he was ignoring her. He didn’t want to embarrass her by being overly solicitous. The students in the room immediately stood upon the old man’s arrival and the great Rav motioned them to sit back down. He crooked a finger at Sammy, then at Yonkie. The two boys came over, their heads lowered, hands straight down at their sides.
Stroking his long, white beard, Schulman welcomed them with a warm smile. Rina always felt his kind expression combined with crinkly, alert eyes opened up the Rosh Yeshiva’s face, made him seem younger than his eighty years. Yet he was an old man now. His spine was bent, his fingers, once long and graceful, were now spindly and misshapen. But the great Rav still had spark left in his earthly body. As usual, he was dressed immaculately—a dark suit, starched white shirt, and shiny black oxfords. A new, stylish homburg covered his snowy hair.
Sammy stood up straight, then realized his shirttail was untucked. Quickly he remedied the situation only to realize he wasn’t wearing his hat.
“I left my hat at home, Rav,” he said, softly.
“Is your head cold, Shmuel?”
Sammy stifled a smile. “No, Rav. I just…”
Schulman placed his hands on Sammy’s shoulders. “You’ve grown into nearly a young man, Shmuli. If you’d like to wear a hat, I’m sure I have something to fit you at home.”
“Thank you, Rav.”
“You’re welcome.” He turned his eyes to Jacob. “And you too, have grown, young man. It’s so good to see you both developing and in good health.” He placed his right hand over Shmuel’s head, his left over Jacob’s. Closing his eyes, he said a prayer for their well-being.
Afterward, Schulman opened his eyes and smiled. “So what are you two learning. Yonkie first.”
“Baba Kama.”
“That is a difficult masechet for sixth grade.” Schulman tousled the boy’s hair. “It is a difficult masechet for any grade. I am happy your new school is challenging your mind. Now you, Shmuel. How is school taxing your gray matter.”
Sammy lowered his eyes. “We’re learning Makkot and…Baba Basra. We just started Baba Basra.”
“A good choice. I miss you both but I can see you two are in able hands.” He turned to Rina, then turned back to her sons. “I’m sure your eema made sure of that.”
Both boys nodded. The Rosh Yeshiva looked around the Bais Midrash, always interested in who was learning when it wasn’t required.
“You boys seem anxious to learn. It restores my faith in the school you attend. But even scholars must have food in their stomachs. Go into the dining room and have some dinner. If you two have eaten, go anyway and catch up with old friends.”
Sammy and Jacob exchanged looks.
“Go, go!” Schulman shooed them away. “You’ll have plenty of time to learn tomorrow.”
Sammy said, “Should we take our suitcases, Rav?”
The Rosh Yeshiva nodded. “Come to my house after dinner and we’ll do a little head-sizing, then a little Gemara. I’ll see you both later.”
The boys picked up their suitcases and scampered off, calling out a bye to Rina. She waved her fingers at them.
Rav Schulman motioned Rina to come walk with him. She waited for him to leave the room and start walking, but kept a few paces behind him. Schulman stopped and beckoned her forward. Quickly, Rina took a place by his side. They walked down a long hallway of the building until they found the door leading to the grounds.
The yeshiva had been built into the valley’s mountainside, and the perimeter of the school was still marked with much of the original terrain—rocky terraces naturally landscaped with wild vegetation and flowers. The grounds themselves had been bulldozed and leveled for the buildings. The dozen or so structures were separated by rolling lawns scored with cement pathways. Rina walked with the Rav in silence as they headed toward a grouping of private houses.
Rav Schulman and his wife lived in the largest house in the tract. Not because his ego demanded it—although that would have been fitting—but because the couple was always entertaining guests. Sammy and Jacob were just two of the many people who revolved through the Schulmans’ doors. The house had six bedrooms upstairs and a downstairs with no living room or den. Most of the bottom level space had been converted to a communal dining room dressed with long, linen-covered tables. What space was left had been allocated for a kitchen, a service bathroom, and the Rav’s study.
The old man swung open an unlocked door and waved Rina inside. As she came in, the smell of homemade chicken soup opened her nostrils. Schulman sniffed deeply.
“Smells good.”
“Very,” Rina answered. “The Rebbitzen is a wonderful cook.”
“I have been truly blessed. Not only is the Rebbitzen a eshet chayil, but a superb chef, Baruch Hashem. Me? Maybe I can boil an egg.”
The old man took a seat at one of the dining tables, keeping the front door wide open. In Jewish law, it was forbidden for a man and women who weren’t married to each other to be alone in a closed room. From the Rav’s action, Rina surmised that no one else was home.
Schulman folded his hands and set them on the table, inviting Rina to sit across from him. He
said, “As I recall, Rina Miriam, you were quite a cook yourself.”
“With time, I improved.” She smiled. “The first time you and the Rebbitzen ate over our house, Rav Schulman, I burned the roast.”
“I don’t remember that.”
“I do very much. All of us ate leather that night. I should have brought in take-out and made wallets out of the meat.”
“And what did Yitzchak say to you after the meal was over?”
“He told me I prepared a lovely meal and that the roast was delicious.”
Schulman smiled sadly. “He was a good boy, my Yitzchak, alav shalom. I miss him still.”
Rina nodded but said nothing.
“Akiva is a good boy as well. Different those two, but similar in character. Both were endowed with a strong moral fiber.” He smiled again. “And with a strong love for you.”
“I’ve been very fortunate, Baruch Hashem.”
“Tell me how my Akiva is doing? As tormented as ever?”
Rina let go with a small smile. “He works hard.”
“That disappearing Israeli family…that is Akiva’s assignment?”
“Yes, Rav.”
“And have they found any trace of the family yet?”
Rina lowered her eyes. “I think they found the parents…their bodies this morning.”
The old man winced. “Ah, such a terrible, terrible thing. Akiva must be very upset.”
“He says it’s his job—Homicide. I don’t see how a person can ever get used to such horror, but I’m not a cop.”
“I see I have upset you by asking about the case. I am sorry.”
“No, no, Rav, not at all. I…I mean, I am upset…but…” She stopped talking.
Schulman said, “I have made time for you, Rina Miriam. Tell me about your houseguests.”
In a gust of breath, Rina unburdened herself, starting with the phone call from Honey, ending with the murder of her husband and the abandoned van. By the time she was done, tears had formed pools in her eyes.
“I’m scared for Honey, Rav, but it’s the children…I can’t get those faces out of my head. I should have paid more attention to Honey’s concerns. I should have traveled with her—”