Faye Kellerman - Sanctuary

“How are they doing?”

“They cope.” Gold shrugged. “They like living with their aunt and uncle. Dov is close to his cousin, Sharona. I suppose they do as nicely as can be expected.” He paused. “I’ll show you stones if that’s really why you came.”

“It isn’t really why I came.”

Gold sat behind his desk and clasped his hands. “So what do you want from me now?”

Decker reached in his pocket and pulled out a week-old news item from the overseas edition of the Jerusalem Examiner. Rina subscribed to the paper. Only way he would ever have found it. He handed it to Gold.

The bald man took it, studied it, then read aloud. “‘Two single shots to the head…motive was robbery.’” He clucked his tongue, then handed the article back to Decker. “The diamond business can be very dangerous. All cash and stones. You are asking for trouble if you carry such goods in a corrupt country like Syria. They are all cutthroats. A woman as smart as Milligan…” Again he clucked his tongue. “She should know better.”

“I think she did know better,” Decker said. “Milligan’s death was a professional hit. Two shots to the head, right next to one another. The guy must have been trained as a sniper-a tzalaf.”

Gold’s expression was flat. “I’m surprised it didn’t make the papers here. Milligan was quite well known. But then again, in Syria, it isn’t easy to get information.”

The room fell silent.

“Where were you a week ago, Mr. Gold?”

“I was in Israel.”

“Business?”

“No. My heart is too heavy to do business. I visit the families-the Yaloms and the Menkovitzes. I give them words of comfort.” He hung his head. “It is big tragedy.”

Decker said, “I pulled out my notes from when I first interviewed you in your apartment, Mr. Gold. Didn’t you say you fought on the Golan Heights?”

“In ’67 and ’73. Seventy-three was very tough-a hard-fought victory because of the lateness of the Israeli air force. But we made it. Stick together in times of crisis.”

“You’re familiar with Syrian territory.”

“I know the Golan. I fought wars there. But I’ve never been in Syrian territory. It is suicide for any Israeli-any Jew-to be in Syria. Too bad. I would like to go to Damascus. Did you know it is the oldest city in the world?”

Decker stared at him. “Yes, Syria is a dangerous place for Jews. All I can say is you must have really liked Dalia to take a chance like that.”

“I don’t take chances, Sergeant,” Gold said. “Arik was the risk taker. I’m the stick-in-the-mud, remember?”

Decker didn’t answer.

“No, I don’t take risks,” Gold said. “But I do what I have to do.”

Again, nobody spoke.

“You are a religious man, Sergeant?” Gold asked.

“At times.”

Gold smiled. “I like that answer. Me too. At times, I am very religious. Do you learn at all?”

“When I get the chance.”

“You have heard about the arey miklat, maybe?”

“The city of refuge,” Decker said.

“The city of refuge,” Gold repeated. “If an offender murders one of your own-”

“A relative, Mr. Gold. And it has to be a murder by accident.”

Gold paused. “Yes, you are the scholar. It is a relative and it is by accident. But anyway, if the offender takes one of your own, and you are so angry, so full of rage that you get revenge, the law makes exception and you do not get capital punishment for this offense of his murder.”

“You do get punished,” Decker said.

“Maybe you get whipped, I don’t remember. But you don’t get capital punishment.”

“Unless the offender makes it into one of the cities of refuge. Then you’re not allowed to kill him.”

“This is true.” Gold stared at Decker. “Sometimes people think they make it to a city of refuge. Sometimes they think they do, but they don’t. Because there is no city of refuge if the crime is purposeful. Nowhere on earth. Nowhere under God’s heaven. The person may think he-or she-is safe. But this is a falsehood.”

“Especially if the chaser is an expert sniper who can hit the head of a nail from five kilometers.”

Gold smiled. “You take good notes.”

“Not so hard to do,” Decker said. “Sneak into Syria using his expert knowledge of the Golan Heights and do a couple of pops.”

Gold said, “You think it would be easy, you do it.”

Decker said, “You must have loved Dalia very much. You spoke of her as one of your own just a moment ago.”

Gold rubbed his hands. “A long time ago, there was a little boy of five who escaped Nazis by skin of the teeth. The boy had parents, the boy had a brother. The boy was not taken by Nazis because he was hiding when they came to the door. They simply missed him. But the boy remembered very good the look on mother’s face when the Nazis took away family, especially part when they took away younger brother from the mother. It was terrible, you understand?”

Decker nodded.

“Good. I thought you would understand. I remember you tell me that you were in war for America, right?”

“Right.”

“See, I have a memory, too.”

“What happened to the little boy?”

“Somehow he made it through the war. He was very young so he doesn’t have much memory. But he made it. Then somehow he goes to Palestine and grows up into young man. And Palestine becomes Israel. Young man becomes an Israeli. At last, he has family of sorts. So many now had big family called Israel because so many lost all family in the war.”

Gold licked his lips.

“One day, the young man sees a list in the paper. There are many lists, he reads them all. But this is a very important list. It tells him he still has a mother. She did not die like father and the brother. She still lives. He feels joy in his heart. He finds mother.”

There was a pause.

“You cannot go backward,” Gold said. “The man sees mother but she is not the same. She is very scared. She never goes out of house. She has remarried a man very rich who is older than she. For protection. The young man is worried. He is worried that if he comes back to his mother’s life, her new husband may not want him. And the new husband may not want her. And the young man does not want to see mother in any more pain.

“So they make deal. They don’t tell husband. The young man moves close to be with mother, the young man helps mother when she get pregnant. The young man even baby-sits the new little girl. And they grow close, the young man and the baby. They grow so close that young man learns trade of her father.”

“And the husband still doesn’t know.”

“No, he still does not know. And neither did the little girl. Never! The man was just a friend.”

“Then…” Gold swallowed hard. “Then one day the little girl is murdered. And the young man, who is now older man, goes to see his mother, to comfort her in her pain. And what does he see? He sees in her eyes that same look when they took his first, younger brother away.”

Gold clenched his fists.

“We still hunt Nazis, Detective. Because there are things in this world that are so bad that there is no city of refuge. There is just no sanctuary for pure evil, you understand?”

“I understand,” Decker said. “But I don’t agree. I believe in a system of justice.”

“And I just believe in justice.” Gold stood. “Anything else, Detective?”

Decker stood. “No. Nothing else.”

FAYE KELLERMAN introduced L.A. cop Peter Decker and his wife, Rina Lazarus, to the mystery world eleven years ago. Since that time she has written nine Peter Decker/Rina Lazarus novels as well as a historical novel, The Quality of Mercy. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, author Jonathan Kellerman. There are close to three million copies of her books in print.