Faye Kellerman - Sanctuary

He and Marge had scratched the surface of about half the contents of the box when they heard a knock. Marge muttered some obscenity, then opened the cubicle door. A Suit-and-Tie was looking at her. He broke into a venal smile.

“You two aren’t supposed to be here unsupervised.” He wagged his finger. “I’m not pleased about that at all. I have a good mind to call your captain.”

Marge and Decker said nothing. Finally Marge said, “We’re just working away, sir.”

Suit-and-Tie pursed his lips. “Well, that’s good to hear. Always like it when my tax dollar is well spent.” He let out a forced laugh. He was in his fifties-a big man with a big gut. When he laughed, his belly jiggled. “Chuck Holmes-senior vice president. I hope that as the chief representative of World First Savings and Loan, I’ve been of service to you.”

“Yes, you have,” Marge said. Fucker had no choice with our papers. “Thank you very much.”

“No thanks is necessary.” Holmes held out his hand as if warding off demons. “I like to do my job, I like to help our boys in blue. And I know Marie likes to help, too. But sending her away.” He clucked his tongue. “That’s going a little too far.”

Decker didn’t answer. Holmes suddenly became magnanimous. “Well, no harm done, I guess. I’m afraid you’re going to have to stop anyway. It’s closing time.”

“We’re not done,” Marge said.

Holmes flipped his wrist and looked at his timepiece. “Sorry, but I have to close the vault by a certain hour or bells go off. I hope you two found something that’ll elucidate this terrible, terrible incident. The Yaloms were very valued customers.”

Decker asked, “How much time do we have left?”

“About two minutes. Just enough time for you to put everything back in the box.”

Marge said, “How about if we come back first thing tomorrow morning. Say around eight?”

Holmes gave them a small smile that said no can do. “Sorry, Detective. I’ve already bent the rules once, giving you access to the box before contacting the IRS. Can’t do that again. I’m going to have to key the box until the tax man gives me an okay to open it.”

“We’ll clean up,” Marge said. “Afterward, do you have a minute to talk to us about the Yaloms?”

Holmes managed to smile and frown at the same time. “Sorry, but I’m a little pressed right now-”

“Of course,” Marge said. “So I’ll just schedule the meeting tomorrow morning…” She looked up and smiled. “Let’s make it eight before the bank opens. I’ll even bring the doughnuts and coffee, Mr. Holmes. Can’t beat that.”

The senior veep didn’t speak. Finally, he said, “I suppose I can afford a few minutes tomorrow morning. But right now I really am pressed for time. Please clean up quickly so I can lock the vault.”

“You bet,” Marge said.

After the vice president left, Decker said, “Spiffy how you trapped him into an appointment, Margie. I like that doughnuts and coffee addition.”

Marge smiled. “See that guy’s gut? You work on the weaknesses.”

Decker burst into laughter, cramming papers back into the box. He was just about to close the lid, then paused, looking at the top certificate. Southwest Mines. A land deed for acreage in Angola. Decker pulled it from the box, folded it into a tiny, thick square and stuffed it in his underwear.

Marge raised her eyebrows. “What do you think you’re doing, Rabbi?”

“Old Chuck is doing his job. But I’m doing mine.”

“Pete-”

Holmes knocked, then walked through the cubicle door. He smiled at the detectives. “All done?”

Decker spread out his arms and smiled back. “All done.”

The Rosh Yeshiva invited Rina to sit in the chair opposite the desk. Unlike his study in the yeshiva, the home office was smaller and plainer. It was walled in bookshelves, filled with sepharim-religious books. His desk was an old one and Rina suspected it had sentimental value. It was scarred, carved mahogany, its top covered with books and writing material. The only concession made to ornamentation was an old-fashioned sterling inkwell and a set of fountain pens encased in semiprecious stone-malachite, lapis, tigereye, and garnet. He kept the door ajar, but not wide open as he had done earlier in the afternoon.

Rina was exhausted. After she had dropped the boys off at the yeshiva, she had raced back to her parents’ house to put Hannah to bed. Once the baby had fallen asleep, she had made another trek out to the yeshiva to say good night to the boys and to talk to the Rav about Honey. She must have put another hundred miles on her aged Volvo. But Rina felt she had no choice. Her family was safe and sound. How could she sleep soundly when Honey and her children were missing? Where were they now?

Rabbi Schulman went over to a shelf and pulled out a bottle of schnapps. “An old man must do many things to keep a sound mind.” He smiled, but Rina felt he looked troubled. She said nothing, biding her time until Schulman finished his drink.

Finally, the old man put down his shot glass and sat down at his desk chair. He stroked his beard. “I spoke to the Leibbener Rebbe. I’m afraid I have nothing elucidating to add.”

Rina waited. Schulman took his time.

“Of course, the Rebbe is shocked and saddened by Gershon Klein’s untimely and violent death. And he is very upset about the disappearances of Honey and her children. However, he is also concerned for your family’s welfare, Rina Miriam. He wishes no hurt or harm to come to any of you.”

“He thinks we might be in danger?”

“If you investigate Honey’s disappearance, yes, he feels you may be endangering not only Honey and her children, but you and your family.”

“Why?”

“I’m not certain. But for your protection, he has recommended that the matter be left up to the police in New York. That neither you-nor Akiva-conduct any independent investigation.”

It took a moment for Rina to digest what Schulman had told her. “He doesn’t want Akiva to at least look for the family?”

“It appears that way.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

Schulman raised his eyes. Rina caught it. “You’re as puzzled by his request as I am.”

“Indeed, I am, Rina Miriam.” Schulman took a moment to choose his words. “Though you did not hire me to be Akiva’s advocate, I took the liberty of extolling your husband’s exceptional talents as a policeman. The Rebbe still held firm to his request. Let Manhattan worry about Gershon’s death.”

“But what about Honey-and the children?”

The old man sighed, his shoulders hunched by the burden of life. “The Rebbe…seemed to feel…that they are best left in the hands of Hashem.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I don’t understand,” Rina whispered. “Does he mean that they’re…dead or that they’re okay?”

The Rav began to curl the tip of his beard around his index finger. “Again, I’m not certain. Perhaps I should recall our conversation for you. According to the Leibbener Rebbe, Gershon had been a troubled man for many months. His business had been flagging for over two years. The Rebbe felt Gershon may have become involved with unscrupulous people.”

Rina thought of the phone calls Honey had reported. “Who?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

“Did the Rebbe tell the police that?” Rina asked.

“He has been in close contact with the Manhattan police.” The Rav continued to curl his beard. “Though he said nothing overt, the Rebbe…suggested that Honey and the children, after hearing about the death of Gershon, might have disappeared to escape, not because of foul play.”

“But how could she have known about her husband’s death before I did?”