Faye Kellerman - Sanctuary

Decker said, “Okay, suppose they could hide sawed-off shotguns in their gear bag. What if the weapon turns out to be an automatic? I haven’t seen a hell of a lot of small AK47s.” Decker sat up in the driver’s seat. “Or small Uzis!”

Marge sounded excited. “Aren’t Uzis given out to soldiers in the Israeli army?”

“I don’t know if they’re standard issue, but I think a lot of Israeli soldiers own them.”

“Yalom must have been in the army. Aren’t all Israelis inducted?”

Decker said, “Damn, I meant to ask Rina about that.”

“You did?”

“I wanted to ask her how long the required tour was for an Israeli soldier. Because Yalom’s partner, Shaul Gold, spent six years in the Israeli army.”

“This is very interesting,” Marge said. “Maybe we ask Gold the question in person. See how he reacts. Unless you think he might be a flight risk.”

“Of course he’s a flight risk. He’s got another country to flee to.” Decker thought a moment. “I checked him out. Superficially, he doesn’t have a motive. He appears to be in good shape financially. He’s not like Yalom, but he’s got money in the bank, gems in his vault, and good credit. But at the moment, he’s a suspect.”

“I’ll call him,” Marge said. “Even if he’s clean, he’s going to find out that his partner was murdered. It might as well come from us.”

“Good point,” Decker said. “We’ll go over there together and break the news. See how he reacts. Although I don’t suspect he’ll freak. Gold seems…controlled.”

“When did you want to do this?”

“As soon as I’m done with HP Officer Parks. How about in an hour, hour and a half?”

“Fine. Meet me back at the crime scene.” She paused. “Pete, you did say your houseguest’s husband was a diamond dealer?”

“Yes, I did say that. And yes, he was a diamond dealer. No, Marge, I don’t know if there’s any connection between his murder and our case. But I’ll look into it.”

Marge said, “Why should I bother talking to you when you can talk for both of us?”

She cut the line. Decker hung up the mike.

Touchy, touchy, touchy!

No problem finding the car. The off-balanced Aerostar looked like an iceberg floating in a sea of concrete. Decker pulled the unmarked behind the HP cruiser and got out. Rachel Parks was a compact brunette with short, curly hair and gray eyes. She had to crane her neck to make eye contact with Decker. “Traffic bad?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m late. I appreciate you waiting. Anything I should know before I check out the van?”

Rachel said, “I’ve made a couple of preliminary contacts. The HP and Triple A have no record of any distress calls coming through the nearest call boxes. I’ve also had time to phone the closest service station. I figured maybe the lady called from there. Nothing so far. What’s going on?”

Decker recapped the details, then they both went back to work. Rachel began making inquiries from her car radio, Decker slipped on latex gloves, readying himself to tackle the van forensically.

He opened the driver’s door. The van had seated seven-two captain seats up front, a bench seat for two in the middle, and a bench seat for three in the back. There were lots of cup holders and most of them were filled with boxes of kosher fruitade. There were a few kosher candy wrappers littering the seats and floors.

Pulling up cushions, he searched underneath the seats-clean and crumbless unlike most family cars. The floor carpet was also free from dirt and food. The rental places must vacuum them carefully.

On to the glove compartment. Then the console between the two captain seats, then the door consoles. He looked inside the roof-mounted sunglass case. He ran his hands inside the pockets lining the back of the captain seats. He flipped visors, he opened vanity mirrors and ashtrays and panels that held electrical wiring. Nothing.

He stepped outside the car, looked under the hood. In the radiator, in the oil tank. He went over to the back of the van and opened the hatch-empty except for a deflated spare tire mounted on the side.

Disgusted and disappointed, he began to grid-sweep the immediate area around the van. The wind swept lots of garbage along the sides of the freeway. Decker meticulously searched through the trash but still came up dry.

A tow truck was approaching westbound. It slowed, its front bumper announcing that SHIT HAPPENS. It stopped in front of the tipped van and pulled onto the shoulder of the freeway. The driver got out-a skinny kid with lots of moles, wearing a ponytail and an earring. He released the cable pulley from the tail of the truck. Decker came over to him and the kid took a step backward. Being big, Decker was conscious of the way he made most men feel. Some deferred, others got belligerent. This guy was a deferrer. The name tag on his shirt said Rich in red scroll.

Decker held up his hands-a gesture he did on purpose to help guys like this one relax. “Who told you to tow the truck?”

The kid looked down. “My boss. If there’s a problem, I’ll wait.”

“You work for the rental company, Rich?”

“Yes, sir. My boss told me the HP called and told them to get the van off the freeway.”

Officer Rachel Parks walked over and joined them. “No leads,” she reported. “We all done here?”

“I suppose so.” Decker turned to Rich. “You get a lot of abandoned rentals?”

“Yep, but they’re usually not left on a freeway.” Rich picked at his ear. “You see, people’ll rent the car under a false name and ID. Then you see, they’ll use the car for a day or two. Then they’ll just leave the suckers flat, you see. Use the car without paying…or even use the car for like a robbery or a drug deal. Lots of drug dealers use rented cars to transport their shit-er, stuff. I once towed this bitchen Porsche. Man, it had more residue powder than Mammoth after a ten-foot snowfall.”

Rachel turned to Decker, “Does this woman have a criminal record?”

Decker said, “I didn’t think so.”

Rich said, “So I can take the car, now?”

Decker nodded.

Rich looked at the lopsided van. “I’ll just hook it on up and inflate the tires. Easier than changing them.”

“Do me a favor, Rich. Check out the tires when you get the van back to the rental lot. I want to know what caused them to go flat.” Decker heard his name being patched over the unmarked’s radio. “Excuse me.” He picked up the mike. It was Marge.

“I need you, pronto. I just got a call from Orit Bar Lulu. Her husband was driving her home from the hospital. They stopped by the Yaloms’ house. Why she wanted to do that is anyone’s guess. But the upshot is, the place was ransacked.”

“Good grief!”

“Someone was looking for something, Pete. Maybe the junior Yaloms are still in town. Maybe it was Gold.”

“Are any cars missing?”

“That I don’t know. I’d go right now, but one of us should stick around for Chuck’s info on the bodies.”

“I’ll go,” Decker said. “I’m done here anyway.” He told her the situation.

“Weird,” she said. “We’ve got two cases of two murdered diamond dealers. Makes you think of some kind of B-movie plot-some cursed stone.”

Decker laughed, but it was a weary one. “I’ll meet you at the house.”

“Talk to you later.” She hung up. Decker got out of the unmarked, just as Rich had finished hooking up the Aerostar.

“I’m all set,” he announced.

Rachel gave Decker a wave. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Decker watched the cruiser speed off, then watched the truck and the van-in-tow ease into the flow of traffic. He looked at the shoulder where the van had been. All that remained of Honey Klein and her family was skidmarks on the pavement.