Faye Kellerman - Sanctuary

“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-”

“And if something nefarious had happened to you, would you have felt better being a victim?”

Rina didn’t speak.

“I’ve been a victim, Rina Miriam. Though it is not an easy task, it is better to deal with survivor’s guilt.”

Tears ran down her cheeks. She brushed them away. “I suppose I should have told you the detailed story in the beginning. I just didn’t know how to tell you everything over the phone.”

The old man was silent, reflecting upon Rina’s story. “Tell me again about Gershon Klein. His attempt to become a Nazir.”

Rina told him as much as she could remember about her conversation with the Leibbener Rebbe. “It was very nice that he spoke to me. Very kind. But…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know how to say this without sounding disrespectful.”

“So you now have made your disclaimer. Speak your mind freely.”

Rina smiled and looked down. “I had the feeling he wasn’t telling me everything. Then again, why should he? He doesn’t know me at all. Why should he trust me when something so grave has happened?”

Schulman said, “Perhaps I should intercede on your behalf.”

“You mean call him for me? Rav, I would never ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask, I volunteered. I will assist you if you think it would be helpful.”

“Yes, I think that would be extremely helpful,” Rina said. “The Rebbe was very nice to me, but I’m sure he would be more open…as one Rav to another.”

“If our differences don’t get in our way.” The old man grinned. “The Leibbener Rebbe is a Chasid. And I’m a Litvak. That can be fireworks!” Schulman held up a finger. “But for the common good of your houseguest and her young children, I’m sure we can be civil to one another.” The old man stroked his beard. “I, too, am very concerned for the children.”

Rina blinked hard.

“How are you feeling, Rina Miriam?”

“Fine, Rav, thank you.”

The old man nodded, not pressing Rina to talk about herself and her recent hysterectomy. Right now, she was too concerned about her houseguests. “I’m glad you’re feeling well.”

Schulman stood and so did Rina.

“I will call the Leibbener Rebbe and ask about Gershon Klein and his family. Then I will report back to you and Akiva all that he tells me.” The old man shrugged. “It may have nothing to do with their mysterious disappearance, but at least you may learn something about your houseguests.”

“Thank you, Rav Schulman. And thank you for taking in the boys. I’m sure they’ll enjoy their stay here very much.”

“And I will enjoy having them.”

“They were very happy here at the yeshiva, Rav Schulman. I want you to know that. It was my decision-mine and Akiva’s-to take them out and put them in a more modern school.”

The Rosh Yeshiva’s eyes turned crinkly. “That being the case, let them learn here to their hearts’ content. And you can go to college in their places.”

The title of assistant bank manager belonged to a young Hispanic woman named Marie Santiago who wore a keyring bracelet on her wrist. She stood at a long marble counter topped with a computer and a phone, and shuffled through official papers. Then she looked at her wristwatch.

“It’s almost closing time.”

Decker’s eyes went to the wall clock-four-thirty P.M. “Still got a half hour.”

Marie was not easily swayed. “We’re supposed to put a hold on the boxes for the IRS.”

“You can freeze the assets,” Marge said. “We don’t want to take them, just have a look at them.”

“I’ll have to stay with you as a witness.” Marie attempted meaningful eye contact. “To make sure that nothing’s tampered with. This procedure is still very irregular.”

Marge said, “Yes, I’m sure most of your clients don’t wind up victims of double homicides.”

Marie winced.

Decker asked, “Did you know the Yaloms personally?”

“I wasn’t their personal banker, no. But I knew them by name.”

“Who used the box more?” Marge asked. “Him or her?”

“Him,” Marie said. “Mr. Yalom. She used it rarely, if at all. But I knew her from the teller lines. Often she’d ask if we could process out-of-state checks for immediate clearance.”

“And?” Marge asked.

“We complied. Their assets were very good and we considered them valued clients.”

“What country were the checks from?” Decker asked.

“I don’t remember.”

“How about Israel?” Decker stated.

“Yes, I think they were from Israel.” Marie bit her lip. “This is just awful!”

“Yes it is,” Decker said. “Thanks, Marie. Can you pull Mr. Yalom’s safe-deposit-box signature card for me now?”

Marie liberated her key ring from her wrist and opened a drawer. “I can’t believe…it’s just terri-ah, here’s the signature card.”

Marie informed them that they’d have to sign in for the record. After the bank’s files appeared to be in proper order-approved by two of Marie’s superiors-she finally escorted the detectives into the vault, closing the metal grate behind them. It wasn’t the biggest vault Decker had ever seen, but it seemed to contain twenty or thirty oversized boxes. Marie pointed to an eight-by-ten box on the top row. Marge handed Marie the key found on Arik’s body. The bank manager had to stretch to reach the door to the box, her skirt riding up on her rear. Even on her tiptoes, she barely managed to insert both keys in the slots. She lowered her heels to the ground and pulled down her skirt.

“Ah, I remember this one now. My aerobic body stretch.”

“Would you like some help?” Marge asked.

“I can manage, thank you.” Again, on her tiptoes, Marie managed to rotate both keys at the same time. The door opened.

Decker grinned and so did Marge. She whispered that sometimes you get lucky. Again Marie stretched, attempting to retrieve the box.

“Why don’t you let me get it down, Marie. I’m a bit taller.” Decker raised a gorilla arm and, with one hand, brought the box down, hefting its contents.

“Heavy?” Marge asked.

“Not too bad.” Decker handed it to her.

Marie opened the vault grate. “Let’s go to a room. Someone is waiting to enter the vault and can’t as long as we’re here.”

She took them into a six-foot-square private room, a fan kicking in when Marie closed the door and turned on the light. It contained a built-in desk and acoustical ceiling tiles for noise absorption. Marge put the box down and opened the lid.

Stuffed with papers-piles crammed upon piles. Marge pulled a wad off the top, unfolded the first piece of paper and smoothed its wrinkled body out on the desk.