Faye Kellerman - Sanctuary

Decker looked down. The floors were made out of some kind of crushed rock tile, like nothing he’d seen in America. Rina sat in one of the many folding chairs that had been crammed into the room. Decker had counted twenty of them. He sat beside his wife.

“Did they hold a meeting here or something?”

“The chairs are for the morning and evening minyans,” Rina explained. “The father isn’t allowed to leave the house. So the men come to him and say services here. So he can say kaddish…for his son.” She looked down, her eyes moist. “This isn’t the natural order of things.”

“No, it’s not.”

Slowly, Mr. Yalom padded back into the living room and lowered himself onto a pillow resting on the floor. The old man hadn’t paid them much attention. Decker felt that if it had been up to the father, they wouldn’t have been granted an interview.

Tziril came back, holding a tray filled with four tea glasses resting in sterling cup holders. She went through the ritual pouring, setting down a glass on the floor for her husband. A few minutes of sipping and it seemed to Decker they were as comfortable as they were going to get. He took out his notepad. Tziril’s eyes went to the pad, then to Decker’s face.

She said in accented English, “What do you want to know?”

“You speak English,” Decker said.

Tziril nodded. “In gymnasium, we learn English almost as soon as we learn German. When we came to Israel…it was then Palestine…I say to my uncle, the British are in control, why cannot they speak English over here? But I learned Hebrew.”

“You speak well,” Decker said.

“You are kind,” Tziril answered. “In Europe, you must learn other languages because countries are so close.” She sat back in her chair. “Your wife…speaked…spoke…to me in Hebrew, so I answer her in Hebrew. But I remember my English a little.”

“Tell me if you have problems understanding my questions.”

Tziril nodded.

“And tell your husband he can talk, too.”

Moshe looked up and spoke in Hebrew. Decker glanced at Rina and waited.

“He said he has nothing to offer, but you have a lot of explaining to do.”

The old man spoke again. Tziril shushed him, but Rina translated anyway.

“He wants to know what’s holding up the body?”

“Don’t pay him attention,” Tziril said.

“No!” the old man replied. “You pay me attention!”

Decker said, “Tell him I’m sorry. We’re moving as quickly as we can but America has a terrible bureaucracy.”

Rina translated. The old man responded.

“He said it couldn’t possibly be as bad as Israel’s and even Israel has the decency to release a body for burial.”

Decker said, “Tell him I hope it’s soon.”

Moshe Yalom snorted and spoke under his breath. Rina couldn’t make out his words. It didn’t matter. Decker caught the essence by the tone of the voice.

He said, “Mrs. Yalom, I wish I spoke Hebrew. Then I could tell you in your language-your lashon-how sorry I am.”

Tziril’s eyes met his. She didn’t speak, she didn’t cry. Then she said, “Thank you for…” She shook her head and muttered in Hebrew. “I don’t know the word in English.”

“Sympathies,” Rina translated.

“Thank you for sympathies,” Tziril completed her sentence.

“They are heartfelt.” Decker put his hand to his chest. “Lev.”

“I understand,” Tziril said.

“I am in charge of your son’s investigation, Mrs. Yalom,” Decker said. “I have reason to believe…” He stopped himself. Stop sounding like TV and get to the point. “Your grandsons are missing. Do you know where they are?”

Tziril didn’t answer.

“Do you understand my question?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“I need to find them, Mrs. Yalom,” Decker said. “I think they could be in danger.”

Tziril looked up, then down. “I don’t know where they are. Emes, I don’t know.”

Decker studied her face. “But they were here, weren’t they?”

Again, the woman’s eyes scanned the room until they glided across her husband’s face. He moved his brows almost imperceptibly.

Decker said, “I came a long way, Mrs. Yalom, just to warn…to help the boys.”

“They are…”

Decker waited on the edge of his folding chair. But Tziril was silent. He said, “I really, really do think that something bad could happen to them. I need to find them. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“They are…here…somewhere…in Israel. But I don’t know where.”

Moshe Yalom snorted again. As much as Decker wanted to explain that he was on their side, he didn’t have time. To Tziril he said, “Can you take a guess and tell me where they might be?”

Tziril looked confused. Rina translated.

“I don’t have guess,” Tziril said.

Decker bit back frustration. “But they were here. In this house.”

“They were never here,” Tziril insisted.

The old man said, “No, boys not here. Why you say boys dangerous here in Israel? Boys dangerous in America. Everytink dangerous in America.” He picked up his glass of tea and muttered. Decker made out the words Sodom and Gomorrah.

Tziril said, “I don’t know where are my grandsons.”

“Then how do you know they’re in Israel?” Decker pressed.

Tziril held her throat. Decker remembered Orit making the same gesture. She blurted out, “They called me. To tell me…” Tears began to pour down her cheeks. She started speaking Hebrew through choked sobs. Rina listened, nodding at intervals.

Decker waited, restrained himself from tapping his pencil against his pad. Finally, Rina spoke. “They called the house a couple of days after the…the murder.”

Decker started writing. “Go on.”

“They said they were very frightened. They said they had to go into hiding, that people were after them.”

“Which people?” Decker asked.

“They didn’t say,” Tziril responded. “I asked but they don’t tell me.”

Rina went on. “They told Mrs. Yalom that policemen might come and ask them-the grandparents-questions. Lots and lots of questions.”

Decker wrote, then looked up. “Ask her…as diplomatically as possible…whether…” He leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his face. “I’m attempting to inquire as to why the boys were perturbed.”

“You want to know, did they do it or didn’t they?” Rina said.

“Exactly. It’s possible she’s going to mistake my professional intentions for something nefarious and accusatory.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Tziril said.

Decker paused. Honesty is the best policy…sometimes. He turned to Tziril. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you unpleasant questions.”

“Ani mayveenah-I understand. What?”

“Did they say why they were scared? Why the police might come and ask you two questions?”

Tziril said, “You be scared, too, if your parents were killed.”

“Yes, I’d be scared,” Decker said. “Especially if I killed them.”

Tziril’s mouth dropped open.

“I’m sorry, but I need to ask-”

“You are a terrible, terrible man!” the old woman stood up from the uncushioned couch and wagged her finger, drool escaping from the corner of her mouth. “You should be shamed. You…you…”

Rina spoke quickly in Hebrew. Whatever she said seemed to have a palliative effect. Tziril, though fuming, nodded briskly. After a minute of silence, she turned to Decker. “I am sorry.”

“It’s all right. I underst-”

“You’re not a terrible man. But your job makes you ask terrible questions.”

Decker agreed with her.

Tziril looked him in the eye. “They were scared because someone killed their parents. They were scared for theirselfs.”