Sanctuary (14 page)

“Doesn’t appear to be a burglary. They left behind valuables, including money. Maybe they were looking for specific items like the jewels and diamonds that were stored in Yalom’s vault at the LA diamond center.”

“They were looking for this.” Marge held up the safe-deposit-box key.

“Possibly,” Decker said. “Or possibly they were looking for the Yaloms’ passports.”

Marge looked surprised. “Who would toss the place like this just to steal dead people’s passports?”

“Someone who didn’t want it known that Arik traveled to strange places,” Decker said. “If Arik had been working for some covert organization, his passport would
have been a concise record of his assignments.”

“Good point. Guy certainly went to some weird places.” Marge paused. “Didn’t you say he was in the Israeli army for six years? Or was that the partner, Gold?”

“It was Gold. Speaking of which, we should talk to Shaul immediately…let him know what happened to his partner.”

“If he doesn’t know already.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that. He’s a prime suspect until we know otherwise.”

“He
and
the boys are prime suspects.”

“The boys…” Decker thought a moment. “No, I haven’t given up on the boys. I’ll ask Davidson to assign a couple of men to follow up on the airlines. Also, someone should check out cabs and bus schedules. But first things first. Since we can’t follow up on the safe-deposit-box key until we’ve got our papers, let’s pay Gold a visit and see what he has to say about his partner’s murder.”

“What do we do with the house?”

“Seal it off and hope nobody trespasses,” Decker said. “You coming with me?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No one’s picking up the phone,” Marge said. “I’ve got Gold’s home number. Should I try him there?”

Decker said, “How far are we from his condo?”

“About fifteen minutes away.”

“I vote for spontaneity. It’s in Encino, right?”

“Off Ventura Boulevard.” Marge gave him the exact address.

The numbers corresponded to several new, Mediterranean-style security buildings, all of them three stories, plastered in pink and framed with apricot cornerstones. The condos stretched a block and were fronted by a green lawn. Specimen trees and big bushes had been brought in to give the neophyte development some maturity. But it was a weak cosmetic job, like putting lipstick on a baby. The place seemed to be built on a large chunk of land judging by the number of tennis-court lights in the background.

Decker wasn’t sure which building housed Gold, so he parked in the middle lot in a visitor’s space. He and Marge got out of the Plymouth and started walking on meandering brick pathways toward the building on the right.

Marge said, “Gold and Yalom are…
were
partners. But Gold lives here and Yalom lives in a mansion.”

“Arik was the senior partner,” Decker said. “Gold told me that. And you’re forgetting Dalia’s independent money.”

“Still, there’s quite a discrepancy.”

Decker said, “This seems like a nifty place for a bachelor. Betcha there’re lots of hot tubs and exercise rooms—a good setup for meeting women.”

Marge thought about that. She could afford a small house, but chose to keep her apartment. Although she was private, she liked the idea of having people close at hand. She turned to Decker. “So why didn’t you move to a condo after your divorce?”

“I had Cindy. When she came to visit me, I wanted her to have a home.” Decker consulted the paper. “I think Gold lives on the third floor. It’s a security building. We’ll have to be buzzed in. You want to do the talking?”

“You met him before, you do the talking.”

Decker found the directory and pressed the red button corresponding to Gold’s name. A few moments later,
a deep voice spoke slurred, incoherent words over the squawk box.

Decker said, “Police, Mr. Gold. Can we come in and talk to you for a moment?”

A pause, then a loud buzzer rang in Decker’s ears. They pushed in the double glass doors and stepped inside an atrium filled with potted ficus and ferns. Against the back wall were the elevators. They took one to the third floor. Gold was standing in the hallway, blocking his front door. As they approached, both noticed he was unkempt—unshaven, with his shirttail hanging out of baggy pants. He was holding a half-filled glass and reeked of strong whiskey.

“Was he like this before?” Marge whispered.

“Nope. He knows what happened.”

“Wonder what else he knows.” Marge spoke through the corner of her mouth. “If you want to be the tough one, I’ll be all tea and sympathy.”

Decker nodded. He stopped at Gold’s door and held out his hand. The Israeli took it, then dropped it. Like holding a dead fish. And just a day ago, it had been a vise grip.

Decker said, “You must know about your partner and his wife. I’m sorry.”

Gold’s lost eyes went from Decker, to Marge, then back to Decker. Though swarthy, his complexion was pale underneath a stubble of black beard. His hands were trembling. Standing in front of the doorway, he continued to stare blankly at them.

Decker said, “Can we come in, Mr. Gold?”

The Israeli hesitated, then backed up into the interior of his condo. Marge and Decker stepped inside.

No one spoke. Finally, Gold motioned them forward. They followed him into the living room. Decker looked around.

It was spacious—high vaulted ceilings, white crown moldings, light floors, and lots of light from French
doors that led to a plant-covered terrace. The furniture was alabaster white and overstuffed, accented with throws and blankets that looked to be handmade. The walls were cream-colored, striped with floor-to-ceiling shelving. The display cases were filled with antiquities and primitive sculptures, each piece accompanied by a small card on a stand that gave a description of the work. Decker studied the visuals for a moment.

So that’s where his money went
.

His eyes returned to Gold, who pointed to the living-room sofa. Decker and Marge walked over to the couch but nobody sat down.

Decker said, “You’ve got a bulge under your shirttail, Mr. Gold. You’re carrying a gun. Would you mind taking it out and slowly laying it on the coffee table?”

Gold’s eyes narrowed. He put down his drink. “I tell you I know how to use it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Mr. Gold. You’re drinking, you’ve got a gun. That’s not a good combination.”

“Drink and shoot,” Gold said. “That is your cowboy films.” He broke into an exaggerated American accent. “I give you to the count of three, partner.”

“Please remove the weapon,” Marge said.

Gold’s eyes hardened further. “Since when is law that I can’t have a nip and carry a gun in my own house.”

Decker said nothing. Abruptly, Gold reached for his weapon, holding the semi-automatic by the butt, then gently placed it on the coffee table. “Better?”

“Much,” Marge said. “Thank you.”

They sat down.

Decker said, “If I just found out my partner and his wife had been murdered, I’d be nervous, too.”

“Who are you nervous about?” Marge asked.

Gold focused in on her. “Who’s this lady?”

“I’m Detective Dunn.” Marge showed Gold her ID. “Detective Sergeant Decker and I have been assigned to investigate the murders of your partner and his wife.”

Gold pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“I’m very sorry about your loss,” Marge said. “Who broke the news to you? Orit?”

“Yoni, I think.”

“Husband,” Marge whispered to Decker.

“Maybe it was Orit…”

Gold rubbed his forehead, then positioned himself on the couch opposite Decker and Marge. “I don’t know who’d do such terrible thing.”

Marge said, “No idea?”

“No.”

Decker said, “You know we’re going to have to question you.”

Gold looked up, then down. Burying his head in his hands, he broke into deep, dry sobs. It took him a minute to calm himself. He said, “I’m sorry. You want something to drink?”

Marge said, “No, thank you.”

“Do you mind if I get something to drink?”

Decker said, “Would you mind if I unloaded your weapon?”

Gold picked up his glass, then put it back down. “You don’t trust me?” He waved him off. “I was in the army—
tzalaf
—how you say…the one with binocular…scope…who shoots.”

“Sniper?” Decker said.

“Yes, sniper.” He pointed to Decker. “With scope, I shoot a nail from five kilometers away. I was in four wars—’56, ’67, ’73, and ’81. I did three years in ’56, three in ’67. In ’67 war, I was in Golan Heights. The Syrians shooting down on us, picking us off like video game. We send up
fourteen
tanks, one comes back. I say
maspeek! Enough
! I crawl on my hands and knees to top of mountains. I climb up tree. Next thing bastards know, I pick
them
off.”

He sighted down on an imaginary scope and pulled a finger trigger.

“Pop…pop…pop.” He blew on his finger. “Anyone fucks on me, I can take care of myself.”

Decker said, “Can I unload your gun?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Sure. Take the clip out. I don’t care.”

Decker did just that, laid them both on the coffee table. “Was Arik also a sniper in the army?”

“Arik was in tanks. Dalia did office work.” A slight smile formed on Gold’s lips. “She did filing papers. Nothing important. But she was proud to be in uniform.” His lower lip trembled. “So Arik and Dalia come to America for the good life.” Gold slapped his hands together. “Pow, it’s over. What a
bastard
God is!”

Marge said, “And you have no idea who would do this to Arik and Dalia?”

“No idea.” Gold swayed as he sat, then homed in on Marge. He pointed to her. “If you lived in Israel, you know you would be in army. They take women in Israeli army. Not like in America.”

Marge nodded.

“I bet you’d make a good soldier.” Gold made a muscle. “You look strong.”

Marge smiled.

Decker said, “You want to tell me what you were doing around two-thirty Friday afternoon?”

“I already tell you, I was at my office, seeing client.”

“You didn’t give me his or her name.”

“I know I don’t. My business is private for my clients’ protection. You need to know anything, get papers from a judge. Then I have no choice. But if you want, I take lie test for you. That doesn’t hurt my business.”

“Maybe we’ll set a lie-detector test up,” Decker said. “I understand you were close to Arik’s younger son, Dov.”

Gold rubbed his face. “You have not found the boys.”

“Not so far,” Marge said.

Decker stood up and sat next to Gold. The Israeli’s frame, muscular and compact just a few days ago, now
seemed flaccid and droopy. “Any idea where they might be, Mr. Gold?”

“Why would I know?”

Marge said, “They never called you for help?”

Gold whispered, “No, they never call me.”

Decker said, “I understand Dov and his father had been fighting a lot.”

Gold stared at him. “You think they hurt their parents? You are wrong.
Goyishe mishugas
.”

Gentile craziness, Decker translated in his head. He didn’t bother to inform Gold that there had been a West LA case years ago where two sons had been charged with murdering their parents as they came home from Yom Kippur services.

“Sure, they fight with Arik,” Gold said. “But they don’t kill him. They certainly don’t hurt their mother. They would never, ever hurt their mother. No, that is not why they are missing. They are missing because they are scared.”

“Who scared them?” Marge said.

“If I know that answer, I would tell it to you first thing.” Gold tried to sip from his empty glass. “I don’t know who scared them. If I know, I kill him. End of problem.”

Decker and Marge exchanged glances. Decker said, “Arik did a lot of traveling, didn’t he?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m not just talking about Antwerp and Israel, Mr. Gold. I’m talking about Russia, Zambia, South Africa, Angola, Mozambique—”

“That’s long-ago travel,” Gold grunted.

“According to his passport it was recent,” Marge said.

Gold sat up, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with the back of his hand. “You say Arik went to Africa
recent
?”

“According to Arik’s passport, he went to Angola as recently as a month ago—”

“You have Arik’s
passport
?”

Marge nodded.

Gold didn’t speak for a moment. Something in his eyes went dead. “Where else do you say he goes?”

“Russia, Zambia, South Africa, Mozambique. Other places that I don’t remember.”

The room fell quiet. Gold reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit up his smoke with a steady hand. Arik’s travelogue had seemed to sober him up. He said, “I don’t know why Arik would go to Africa.”

“You must have been there lots of times yourself.” Decker pointed to the wall. “You have some beautiful primitive pieces.”

Gold’s eyes went to his artwork. “Yes, I’ve been to Africa.” He blew out a plume of smoke. “But I don’t know why Arik would go there
now
. Bastard doesn’t collect art. Wouldn’t know beauty if it bit him in the ass.”

Marge and Decker swapped raised eyebrows.

Decker said, “What did you mean when you said that Arik would go to Africa
now
? Had Arik gone in the past?”

“Many times.”

“For what?”

“To squander money.”

Decker looked at Marge. She picked up the ball.

“How did he squander money?” she asked.

“He invested in crazy schemes. Arik got scrambled brains. He thought he could be the next VerHauten. He took his wife’s money and flushed it down the toilet. I think he got it out of his system. But maybe not, the crazy bastard.”

Gold sat back in his couch.

“What? You think I kill him because I call him a bastard. He is a bastard. Bastard to me, bastard to his kids, bastard to his wife, spending
her
money like it’s his.”

Decker noticed his eyes were dilated. Could be from the booze, could be he was lying. “Why would Arik
have gone to Russia? Does it have anything to do with the diamond mines there?”

Gold stared at Decker. “Maybe he goes to the diamond mines and buys stones. If he did, he don’t tell me.”

“Has Arik been an honest partner to you, Mr. Gold?” Marge asked.

“Honest when it counts?”

“What does that mean?” Marge asked.

“It means
I
was never cheated.”

Decker waited for more. When nothing came, he said, “Why do you think he didn’t tell you about his travels to Africa? Do you think he was investing in schemes again?”

“Not with business money. I keep watch on that.” Gold flicked his wrist and checked the time. “I call Orit. Maybe she knows when the funeral is.” He looked up. “Or maybe you know?”

“We haven’t released the bodies yet, Mr. Gold.”

“Then I wait until she calls me. It’s terrible what happened, terrible for Dalia. She really was a lovely woman.” He took a deep puff of his cigarette and blew out a cloud of poison. Decker squirmed in the smoke. Going on four years and the lust for nicotine had yet to leave his bloodstream.

“You liked Dalia,” he said.

Gold said, “I know her many, many years back in Israel. Many, many, many…” He took another drag off his cigarette. Marge brushed away the smoke, but Decker inhaled deeply.

“You were jealous when she married Arik?” he asked.

“No, I was not jealous.” Gold’s lip quivered. “What difference it make? She’s…”

Marge looked at the Israeli. His eyes were wet. She thought about Arik’s travels, which he apparently kept secret from his partner. Then she thought about Gold’s car parked outside the Yalom house. Just who was screwing whom.

Finally, Marge said, “You were close to Dalia.”