Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 07

by Sanctuary

  “Shoot.”

  “Milligan was intrigued with Arik’s stockholdings. She thought he just might literally be sitting on a diamond mine with all his shares in this Southwest. But there was a glitch.”

  “The company was going bust,” Decker said.

  “Exactly,” Marge said. “It takes a heap and a half of capital to mine diamonds. The company simply didn’t have the wherewithal to see it through. They made overtures to VerHauten for a buy-out, but Milligan knew they were in big trouble. She told VerHauten to sit on the offer and wait until the company went bust.”

  “Which it did.”

  “Which allowed both VerHauten and Milligan to buy it out at a fraction of its worth.”

  “With VerHauten in the picture, Arik’s stock could be worth a bundle,” Decker said.

  Marge said, “If VerHauten ever decides to move on it. Which is a big if. According to my spies, VerHauten isn’t developing Southwest Mines for two reasons. Arik Yalom owns too much of the company, and secondly, VerHauten isn’t doing any development right now. It seems to have enough diamonds out of its other pipes. Pete, Arik’s stock is worthless as long as VerHauten keeps the land fallow.”

  “And so are Milligan’s shares of the company.”

  Marge said, “Pete, what if Milligan had insider’s info that VerHauten would move if they could get hold of Yalom’s and Milligan’s shares at a reasonable price? Now Milligan could have afforded to sell cheap. She bought at rock bottom. Arik, on the other hand, didn’t buy at the low. He was holding out for more.”

  “But the company went bust. A little is better than nothing.”

  “Maybe not to Arik. Suppose VerHauten began to lose interest. Milligan grew anxious. She wanted her money and needed Arik out of the picture. She offed him and his wife, figuring it would be easier to deal with the heirs—the boys—than with the parents.”

  And suddenly things began to click into place. It was time to lay his news on Marge. “Milligan’s in Israel, Detective. And so is Gold.” He filled her in on the details, conveniently leaving out Rina’s foray into policework.

  Marge said, “So Gold’s looking for the boys and Milligan’s asking about Gold. You gotta wonder why she’s searching for him. I tell you, they were in on it together.”

  “Maybe, but maybe not. I think she’s hunting him down. You want to hear my theory?”

  “Shoot.”

  “Remember when you spoke about the inequality of the partnership. Arik seemed to have so much more money than Gold.”

  “Yes.”

  “Gold claimed Yalom had used Dalia’s money when Yalom first started investing in his African schemes. But I say no. I think Yalom wanted Gold to believe that the business wasn’t doing so hot when in fact it was doing fine. I think Yalom was draining some business money to pay for personal investments.”

  Marge stated, “Then Arik covered his ass by saying the money came from Dalia.”

  “Some of that may have been true. But not all of it.”

  “Only got one quibble with your theory, Pete. Gold’s a sharpie. If Arik was dipping into the till, Gold would have found out real quick.”

  “Agreed. I think Gold did find out about it. And I think he allowed Arik to use business money for personal expenses.”

  “Pete, why would he do that?”

  “Because Gold was in love with Dalia—had been for years.”

  “He was willing to be ripped off for love?”

  “Why not? Sure as I stand here, I know they had something going on. As long as Gold thought that the money Arik pilfered was going for Dalia and the kids, for her house, for household expenses…that was okay with him. But eventually Gold found out that Arik was using the money for stock and land purchases in Africa. He hit the roof and demanded payment. And I think Arik capitulated, Marge. I think Arik paid him back.”

  “How?”

  “By selling him the bulk of his mining investments—things like land deeds and Southwest Mine stock.”

  “Then Arik got popped,” Marge said. “Let’s just speculate and say that Milligan popped Arik to get to his land deeds and mining stocks.”

  “Right.”

  “At this point, we both know it’s pure conjecture.”

  “Agreed, but let’s go with it anyway,” Decker said. “Because with Milligan being here, hot on Gold’s tail, it looks like she’s involved in some fashion.”

  “True.”

  Decker said, “Say Gold had known that Milligan had designs on Arik’s former mines. What Milligan hadn’t known was that the assets no longer belonged to Arik. They belonged to Gold.”

  “So when Arik was popped, Gold knew his ownership of the assets put him in jeopardy. He asked some questions, then split. Eventually Milligan found out that Gold owned the stocks and followed him over to Israel.” Marge paused. “Took her long enough to figure it out.”

  “I don’t believe she had even thought about Gold being in the picture until we brought it up. Then she must have done some checking. Bingo. She found out that Yalom was no longer the primary shareholder. Gold held the cards now.”

  “So Milligan came to Israel specifically to get Gold?”

  “Why else would she be asking about him and not the boys?”

  “So why did the boys run scared?”

  “Maybe they’re next in line to inherit the stocks.” Decker blew out air. “I know we’ve got lots of holes in our theory. But why else would Milligan be asking about Gold?”

  “I still say they could be in on the murder together and he split on her with his assets. She’s hunting him down just like she did Yalom. Where is Milligan now?”

  A very good question. Anxiety suddenly strangled Decker’s chest. The better question was, where the fuck was Rina?

  “Pete?” Marge said. “Are you still there?”

  “I don’t know who Milligan’s out to get,” Decker said flatly. “We’ve just been throwing out stuff, Marge. Maybe I’m completely off base.”

  “Pete, you sound upset. What is it?”

  He was silent. He just couldn’t confess his stupidity to his partner. He just couldn’t tell her that he let Rina tail someone potentially involved in a double murder. “I’m fine. Look, Marge, I’ve got some work to do here. And you need your rest—”

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Pete?”

  Decker whispered, “I’ve got to go now. Call you later.”

  He hung up the phone, grabbed his coat, and headed for nowhere.

  30

  Someone tapped on the driver’s window. Rina jerked her head and looked up. A soldier, his young face earnest and full of concern. He was blond with bright blue eyes and strong cheekbones—a heartbreaker. She dried her eyes and gave him a weak smile.

  “You…hokay, g’veret?”

  Rina unlocked the door and got out of the car, a dry heat grabbed her body. The soldier was sweating, weighted down by his weapon. She spoke in Hebrew. “I’m…overwhelmed by the spirituality, by the ruach of Hasham.”

  Upon hearing Rina speak his language fluently, the soldier launched into a tirade. What was she doing out here alone? Was she crazy? Hadn’t she read a newspaper for the last year? Didn’t she know she was inviting herself to her own funeral? Of course, she was American and that explained everything. What the hell was wrong with these crazy American fanatics? Didn’t they know what they were doing to Israel, how they put every soldier—every Jewish soldier—in danger with their rhetoric and their stubbornness? Who needed them anyway?

  Then the soldier noticed her shot-out window.

  Rina listened patiently as the man went ballistic.

  Did she expect sympathy for her ordeal? Well, she wasn’t going to get anything from him. Nosirree. Not when she not only endangered herself but every single man and woman in the Israeli army. And now that she had arrived here in Hebron, how the hell did she plan to get back? Of course, God would take care. The stock answer to everything. God would take care. Except God wasn’t out here, shvitzing like a
behaima—sweating like a beast—watching his rear end every second of his duty, fending off hate-driven terrorists, doing frightening, dangerous work just to guard a bunch of crazies who believed that mass suicide was a virtue.

  He stopped abruptly, blew out air, then gingerly traced the bullet hole with his finger. “It is so incredibly stupid, you coming out here. No one comes out here, let alone a woman. Who are you? A terrorist in disguise?”

  Rina told him she was not a terrorist.

  The man didn’t seem comforted, asking now what was he going to do with her.

  Rina spoke softly and meaningfully. “I’ll wait until one of the jeeps goes back to Jerusalem. I’m very sorry to cause you grief. I showed very bad judgment. I do know what’s going on, but I guess old habits are hard to break. I lived here twelve years ago. I remember a much different Israel.”

  “A much, much different Israel.” The soldier cocked his hip and made eye contact. She smiled at him. It seemed to soften his anger. He said, “You speak Hebrew very well. How long did you live here?”

  “About three years. Back then you could travel the main roads without too much concern. Of course, if you went into the remote areas and passed through the small villages, you always carried a gun. I wish I had a gun now.”

  The soldier eyed her suspiciously. “You should have thought of that before you came out here like an American cowboy.”

  “Yes, I should have.” Rina looked at the sky. “Is the Ma’arah open?”

  The soldier shifted the Uzi in his arms. “For the moment, until another incident closes it up.”

  “Then I can go in,” Rina said. “At least do what I came here for.” Her eyes suddenly moistened. “Who knows? I may never see it again.”

  Wearily, the soldier looked over his shoulder at the mausoleum holy to two separate nations. He shook his head as if religion was the root of all evil. “I need to check your purse before you enter.”

  Rina handed him her purse. He dug through it, examining her belongings, checking her passport, then handed it back to her. “Hokay,” he said in English. “Hokay, you go. I go with you.”

  “Into the Ma’arah?” Rina stated in Hebrew. “But it’s guarded. I’ll be fine.”

  “I still go.”

  “You don’t trust me,” Rina stated. “I understand. Then come with me.”

  The soldier adjusted the strap of his Uzi. In Hebrew, he told her ladies first.

  The Jewish name for Hebron was Kiryat Arbah—kiryat meaning “city” and arbah meaning “four”—because the town held the Ma’arat HaMachpelah—the Cave of the Pairs. Specifically, there were four pairs of ancestors interred beneath the memorial in a cave below: Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebecca, Jacob and Leah, and Adam and Eve. The holy spot was also the resting place of the decapitated head of Jacob’s brother, Esau, sliced off by Chushin, son of Dan. He had garroted his great-uncle after the burial negotiations between Esau and his nephews had broken down. The body had remained outside the walls, but the head had rolled in. After much discussion, the nephews allowed the head to be buried in the cave reserved for their ancestors.

  Rina thought about that as she entered the shrine. The mausoleum had undergone many transformations, from a Jewish shrine, to a Christian church, then finally into a large Muslim mosque around the thirteenth century. Rina couldn’t imagine why Muslims would want to worship in a shrine that held Jewish patriarchs and matriarchs. She realized that Abraham was the father of their religion as well as hers. But the others? They had nothing to do with the formation of Islam. But every day, six times a day, the Muslims would do just that. They prayed to Allah with Isaac and Rebecca looking on. Their cenotaphs were in the mosque proper.

  Rina did concede that the ancient Muslims deserved proper credit. They had not only kept the shrines in excellent condition, they had embellished them in their own unique style.

  It had been said that if the Jews were to dig underneath the memorials and into the cave below, if they were to actually reach the graves of the patriarchs and matriarchs, the messiah would come. After 1967, when Hebron came under Israeli rule, which opened the city to everyone, some Jews started digging. The Arabs immediately put a stop to the desecration of their mosque. The Israeli government supported the residents of the city. The messiah would just have to wait.

  It was cool inside, albeit dank and musty. Immediately, Rina was hit by a cry from an elderly, blind beggar. It was anyone’s guess how he had become blind, but Rina knew of an old Arab custom. Some men, after they made their haj to Mecca, felt that nothing else was ever worth seeing. So they purposely blinded themselves. Rina wondered if that’s what had happened with this man. He continued to plead, palm stretched outward. Rina fished through her purse and dropped a shekel in a jerky dried hand. The man’s bony fingers closed in on the coin.

  The guard looked at her with angry eyes that said there was no time for charity. Get a move on.

  Rina took a deep breath as she entered the heart of the mausoleum. It smelled like a compost pile of rich, decaying vegetation, as if the shrine echoed God’s very words—for dust thou art and unto dust thou shall return. Rina walked through the memorial, stopping in front of the shrine for Abraham and Sarah. Something ethereal came over her, a sense of personal history. As if she were looking through her parents’ scrapbook. She thought about the Five Books of Moses, specifically B’raisheet, the book of Genesis. In a sense, B’raisheet was the scrapbook of the first Jews. These people weren’t fairy-tale characters or mythological creatures, they were real people. And like all real people, they had lived, they had died.

  And Rina was standing at their graves.

  Every visit to the cave brought Rina that much closer to her ancestral roots. With a shaking hand, she took a pocket siddur from her purse and began to pray. First, she did formal prayer—the Shemona Esreh. Then she made her own requests of God. First came the prayer for her family’s safety and health. Next came the prayer for the Jewish people. Lastly came the prayer for mankind. She prayed for everyone. She prayed for peace.

  When she was done, she put her siddur away and turned to the soldier. “I’m done.”

  They both squinted as they came out of the shrine. The soldier wiped his face with the back of his hand and quickly escorted Rina back to her car.

  In Hebrew, he said, “Wait here. I tell the next group going back to Jerusalem to keep an eye on you.” He sighed, his expression street-worn and melancholy. “I’m sorry it has to be this way. I’m sorry it is not the same Israel you once knew. But we all must adjust to reality. If HaKadosh Baruch Hu has a better idea than our prime minister, let Him run for office.”

  Rita smiled and thanked him.

  The soldier ran his boot over the dust of the ground. “Where are you from in America?”

  “Los Angeles.”

  “I have a cousin in Los Angeles. Micah Golan. You know him?”

  Rina held back a laugh. There were six hundred thousand Jews in LA. “No, I’m afraid I don’t.” She wiped sweat off her forehead. “It’s miserable work out here. Again, I apologize for upsetting you.” Her expression was kind. “Thank you for taking me inside the Ma’arah.”

  “I have to take you,” the soldier said, grumpily. “Who knows who is a terrorist anymore?”

  “I’m not a terrorist.”

  The soldier closed his eyes, then opened them. “I see with my own eyes that you’re a good woman. Because I followed you in the Ma’arah. I saw the tears in your eyes when you prayed, the expression on your face when you davened shemona esreh. I saw you mouth the words with clarity, with assurance, with purpose and meaning. Your posture, your sincerity. It shows through as if you have a window to your heart. You pray to a God of mercy, not to a God of revenge. Many pray here—Arab and Jew. I don’t think you’re a crazy fanatic. And I don’t think you are an Arab spy, either. Many try to pretend to be us to infiltrate. They speak our language, eat kosher food, drink our wine, and love our women. But they cannot love our God. They may kno
w the motions of prayer, but they don’t have the emotions.”

  The soldier paused.

  “Here there has been too much bloodshed caused by small minds. I talk to the settlers, try to tell them that bloodshed and revenge is their way, their customs, their laws. It is not our way.” He shook his head. “I talk too much.”

  “You feel deeply.”

  “You would too if you did this job. It stinks. I think they’re leaving for Jerusalem. I’ll introduce you to the group. I don’t want you to get hurt. Too many people have already gotten hurt.”

  After an hour of walking proved fruitless, Decker returned to the phone calls. First, Menkovitz’s office. He had called so many times, the secretary recognized his voice.

  “No, your wife has not come back here, Mr. Decker. I call you if she comes.”

  “She hasn’t phoned, maybe left a message?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Click!

  Decker slammed the receiver and cursed out loud.

  He tried the police. He tried to explain the situation, but there was a language barrier. In the end, all he could do was wait.

  Three hours! Where the hell could she have gone?

  Time for the Mideast geography lesson.

  Once again, Decker quit pacing long enough to study the road map of the region. It was a big mama thing he’d bought at the overpriced bookstore downstairs. He couldn’t believe the prices! They had wanted eleven bucks for a paperback!

  He blew out air, tried to remain calm. He leaned over the tabletop, studying the map, retracing the squiggly color-coded lines. If Rina had been going one way all this time at roughly sixty miles an hour, she’d be in Amman, Jordan, by now! Or if she went north, she’d be in Lebanon making her way up to Beirut. Cairo looked like it would take much longer.

  Disgusted, he crumpled up the map, threw it at the wall, then immediately regretted his impulsive action. He cursed again, then smoothed out the wrinkled roadways.