Sanctuary (9 page)

Marge was quiet.

Davidson said, “Let me give you the lowdown, Dunn. Boys were in school. The parents had lunch with the sister. The wife…what’s her name?”

“Dalia,” Marge said.

“Yeah, Dalia. She didn’t go back to her office after lunch, right?”

Marge nodded.

“Okay. She doesn’t go back to her office, Yalom doesn’t go back to his office. Lunch ended around what time…” He looked at the papers. “Around two. So we lose track of the parents around two. We lose track of the boys around three-ten. Where would the family go? I vote home.”

Davidson waited for a comment. He got nothing so he went on.

“Say they all met at home around three-thirty. Then we don’t hear from no one in the family. Except the younger kid, Dov, calls his cousin around five that same
day. That was three days ago and you’re still no closer to finding them.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Marge said.

“You got another way to look at it, Dunn? Show me your fancy footwork, huh?”

Decker couldn’t control himself. “Someone else might call it a comprehensive initial investigation.”

“Yeah, well, I ain’t someone else and I call it shit.”

Marge said. “My gut tells me something happened.”

“That’s just great, Dunn. My gut tells me something happened, too. Problem is guts aren’t admissible evidence to a grand jury. You don’t even have a suspect, let alone a perp. You don’t even know if you have a
crime
.”

“Whole families just don’t disappear,” Marge said.

“Sure they do, Dunn,” Davidson said. “It’s called the Witness Protection Program. Did you get a good look at this guy’s passport?” He thumbed through Yalom’s official document. “If the Feds have them stashed somewhere, you ain’t going to find them.”

Marge said, “Then why would the boys’ passports be missing and the parents’ passports be left behind?”

Davidson said, “Parents had to stick around for the Feds to testify for something or other. But they shipped the kids off to Israel. How does that sound?”

“The sister has spoken to her parents in Israel,” Decker said. “The boys aren’t there.”

“If she’s telling the truth,” Davidson said. “You notice she’s not bugging us like she was.”

“That’s because we’re
doing
something,” Decker said.

Davidson was quiet for a moment. “Look, we all know something isn’t right. I vote spy.” He plopped Yalom’s passport on the desk. “Yalom’s something covert. If the family’s in hiding, we’re not going to find any of them. Nor am I interested in finding them.”

“So you’re saying we should fold our tents?” Marge said.

Davidson was quiet. Then he said, “You can keep this
in the active files for a few more weeks. But don’t spend all day on it.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “Take a couple hours a day, but no more. Unless, of course, something new pops up.”

Marge said, “Sir, that sounds reasonable. But if it’s all the same to you, if you could just give me another whole day—”

“And what do you think you’ll accomplish in another day, Dunn?”

Marge fidgeted. “I’d like another day to scour the house for possible crime evidence.”

“You already scoured the house. Another full day would just be a waste of department’s time and money. It’s time to move on to current affairs.”

Marge clenched her jaw, but said nothing. In vain, she waited for Decker to say something but he remained quiet. Did he actually agree with Davidson’s assessment or was he just keeping his mouth shut? Damn, he was unreadable.

Davidson turned to Decker. “You got a court appearance or something this afternoon?”

“The Williams shooting.”

“That was the Saturday-night bar thing?”

“Yep.”

“Then I’ll give this to Dunn.” Davidson took out a note and handed it to Marge. “This came through dispatch ’bout fifteen minutes ago. You literally got the smoking gun.”

Marge unfolded the note and read the details. A shooting at a local college—a lovers’ quarrel in the science lab. The boyfriend knocked off his woman in front of twenty students. Blues already at the scene. A rookie could have taken this call. All she had to do was fill out the forms.

Marge pocketed the information and stood. “I’ll get right to it, sir.”

“Right attitude,” Davidson said. “I like that. You’re learning. I know you want the Big One, Dunn. And you
was hoping this Yalom thing was it. No harm in that. And maybe it taught you something in the process. You can’t eat steak before you cut your teeth.”

Decker allowed himself a fleeting smile before his expression turned flat. But Davidson caught it. “Did I say something funny, Decker?”

“Are you saying a more experienced person could have come up with more evidence in this case?”

“Yeah, maybe that’s what I’m saying.”

“I’m experienced.”

“Obviously not as much as you think.”

Decker said nothing, his eyes still on Davidson. They were locked in an old-fashioned staring contest. G-rated wienie wagging. Decker had an almost irresistible urge to make a funny face.

Finally, Davidson said, “I’m pissing you off, Decker?”

“Nope. You’re daring me. I like that even better.”

“I’m glad I’m making you happy. And if it motivates you to go out and solve this case…find some bodies, more power to you. But no more sucking on the department’s tit, you hear? A couple of hours a day on it, the rest is your own time.”

Decker stood. “Fair enough.” He held out his hand. Davidson stared at it for a moment, then took it.

Despite what was printed, Decker knew the LAPD wasn’t vilified by all. Still, both he and Marge were pleasantly surprised by the amount of support given to Devonshire by the people it served. The squad room was made up almost entirely of community-donated items, from the furnishings to the high-tech hardware. Not to mention the push-button phones. Decker had used a rotary for years at Foothill.

The work space itself was generic LAPD squad room. The desks were grouped according to detail with Homicide located in the back adjacent to CAPS—Crimes Against Persons. The walls held the requisite blue file notebooks, the lockers, the division maps, and the emergency mobilization plans. But the Dees had done a little of their own homespun decorating. Decker’s favorites were a poster of David Mamet’s movie
Homicide
, and a large colored drawing of pigs wearing police hats as they snuffled for truffles.

Bending a gooseneck lamp over his notes, Decker sat at his desk, reviewing his court case, waiting to see if the analytical office in CAD—Crime Analysis Detail—could pull from the computer any prior family disappearances. He knew computer information could take a while. It depended on how the questions were phrased and entered, on who else was on-line. He probably wouldn’t have answers before he left for court.

Not that Decker
had
to appear in court. Since the passage of prop 115, it was now permissible for uni
formed officers to present the detectives’ evidence to the grand jury, thus freeing up Dees to work in the field. But Decker preferred to state his own case if time permitted. Years of law school die hard.

Marge walked in and sat down at her desk across from Decker. He looked up and placed his briefs on his desk.

“How’d it go?”

Marge grimaced. “What a waste! And I don’t mean a waste of my time. I mean a waste of
human life
. Guy got pissed at his girlfriend so he shot her. Now he’s all remorseful, bawling like a baby, hovering over the body. He was actually giving her CPR when the blues arrived, do you believe that? Like that’s the treatment of choice for a thirty-two slug in the brain.”

“He was packing a thirty-two?”

“Pulled it out of his satchel.” Marge shook her head. “They never learn.” She paused. “Well, I did my job, made Tug happy. Can you
believe
him? Aren’t you outraged about his blatant anti-Semitism?”

“Nah.”

Marge stared at her partner. “How can you
not
be? Jews as spies. The way he says
your
people.”

“Doesn’t bother me.”

“Just what
does
it take to rile you up?”

Decker thought a beat. “If you were anti-Semitic, then I’d be outraged. We need to talk about Yalom.”

Marge stared at her wristwatch. “Okay…go!”

“What are you doing?”

“We’ve got one hour, fifty-nine minutes, and fifty-six seconds left.”

Decker smiled. “I’m leaving for court in a few minutes. Though I don’t expect anything, I’ve spoken to CAD. See if they can come up with any past abductions that resemble the Yalom case.”

“What an idea. I’m sure there must be a slew of open files on family kidnappings.”

“You got a better approach, I’m all ears, Marge.”

Marge was quiet. “Sorry. I’m just angry. Angry at what I just saw, angry at Davidson.” She turned to him. “Aren’t you pissed at him? He
dared
you.”

“I don’t get pissed, I get even,” Decker said. “Guy’s going to eat his words with shit on top. What say you and I get together here around four o’clock and go over Yalom, bit by bit.”

“We’ve done that.”

“We might have missed something. Let’s do it again.”

The notes and charts covered both desks. It had taken them over an hour to review, classify, sort, and resort. At five, most of the other thirty-odd Devonshire detectives were calling it a day. At six-thirty, Davidson walked out of his office and over to their table. Old Tug had on his jacket and was carrying his briefcase. He looked embarrassed to be leaving before them.

He said, “You’re doing this to spite me.”

Decker threw a look to Marge that said, “Let me take this one.” To Davidson, he said, “Like I told you, I’m just doing my job.”

Davidson said, “Don’t you have a baby at home, Decker?”

“Yep. A little girl—a real cutie. She looks like her mom.”

“Don’t you want to see her?”

Decker glanced up from his charts. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were sabotaging my efforts, Loo. Lucky for me, I know better.”

Davidson glared at him. Then his expression suddenly eased. “We’re on the same side, Decker. I’d like to find this family, too. I know something’s hinky.”

Decker said nothing.

“Unfortunately, hinky’s not enough.” Davidson shook his head. “Look. I know you’ve had experience in Homicide. But I’ve had
more
experience. These kind of cases eat up hours and I can’t afford to have two of my Dees punching in useless time, get it?”

“I get it.”

Davidson said, “Of course, you and Marge find bodies…
a
body—one’s enough—now that’s a different story. Then I can justify the hours.”

And then it dawned on Decker. Tug wasn’t a bad man. Tug wasn’t even a bad cop. Tug was just an administrator. The position had turned him into a bureaucrat. He was forced to evaluate cases in terms of hours clocked, and dollars and cents, instead of good guys versus bad guys.

Decker said, “I see your position, Loo. That’s why Marge and I are doing this on our own. Maybe we’ll get lucky, maybe we won’t. Anyway, it’ll be our problem, not yours.”

Davidson evaluated Decker’s words. “Just don’t wear yourselves out.” He paused. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Decker said.

Davidson turned to Marge. “Luck to you, too.”

Then he was out the door.

Marge was quiet. Then she said, “God, he’s a wily bastard. Notice how he manipulated the whole thing. Like he was doing us a
big
favor by letting us work on this case on our
own
time.”

Decker said, “Did I tell you I checked him out?”

“And?”

“People say he’s a hardworking cop. Lots of folks had good things to say about him.”

“So what the hell happened?”

“What do you think? He got promoted. They cut off his balls and turned him into a pencil pusher. Now he’s got to look at what’s expedient rather than what’s right. I think deep down inside he wants us to win. So let’s find something and prove the motherfucker wrong.”

Marge sat down dejectedly. “Find what? We’ve been over our notes a dozen times. Nothing’s clicking.”

Decker sat next to her. “We’ve got to start somewhere so let’s start with the obvious. The boys’ passports are gone, and the parents’ passports are still here. How
about we check out some airline schedules. International flights. Why else would the boys need their passports?”

Marge knew that could take
days
without the proper papers and warrants. But Pete was right. They had to start somewhere. “What’s Israel’s official airline?”

“El Al,” Decker said. “But lots of others fly to Israel as well.”

Marge looked at her watch. “It’s too late to call the corporate offices. We could go down to the airport and try their computers.”

“All right, let’s do that. But before we do, let’s get a time schedule for the boys.”

Marge nodded. “If we heard from Dov around five from the shopping center, when do you figure the boys arrived at the airport?”

Decker was quiet for a moment. “Margie, how did the boys
get
to the airport? Gil’s car was in the garage.”

“You haven’t heard of cabs or a bus?”

“But why not take the car? Gil was old enough to drive. Why didn’t they just grab a car and hightail it off to the airport?”

“You’re getting at something.”

Decker raised a finger in the air. “The car was a marker. Gil and Dov didn’t want to use it, because they didn’t want to be followed. They didn’t want anyone to know who they were and where they were going.”

Marge was silent.

“So the question is, how did they get to the airport?” Decker paused. “Let’s start with a simpler question. How’d they get to the
shopping center
? It’s about a five-minute car ride, a twenty-minute bike ride, and about a forty-five-minute walk. Say they walked home from school around three-thirty. Next time we hear from them they’re at the shopping center around five. Indicates to me, they walked.”

“Then what?”

“Then Dov made his phone call.”

“Then what?”

Decker rolled his tongue in his cheek. “Then I don’t know.”

The room fell quiet.

Decker said, “Okay. Let’s back it up. The boys get home at around three-thirty. Something’s real wrong. They know they have to get out of the house. They have to…hide out for some reason. What would they need to go underground?”

“Cash,” Marge said. “They’d need cash.”

“Okay. That brings to mind the mezuzah case that was posted on the inside of the doorframe. It was empty. Yalom knew how to post mezuzah cases correctly. He posted it the right way in his office. So why post such a big, expensive-looking case on the wrong side of the doorframe only to leave it empty? Answer: Because normally it wasn’t empty. I say it contained valuables—money, maybe stones.”

“Lam money,” Marge said. “Arik Yalom knew he was doing funny business and kept quick cash in case he had to take off suddenly. Okay. Go on.”

Decker said, “So the boys have their money. And they have their passports. They’re prepared to split.”

Marge said, “Except an hour and some odd later, Dov called his cousin from a
shopping center
. If I were on the run, I certainly wouldn’t walk to a shopping mall and make a phone call. I’d go
directly
to the airport.”

“Agreed,” Decker said. “So why
did
they bother stopping off at a shopping mall?”

“To buy clothes.”

“They could buy clothes with their money when they arrived at their appointed destination. Besides, you’re on the run, you don’t shop.”

“To buy airplane tickets.”

“They could buy tickets for cash at the airport.”

Marge looked at Decker. “Okay, why did they bother stopping off at the shopping mall?”

Decker said, “For transportation. They walked to the
mall and found some other way to get to the airport from the shopping mall.”

Marge nodded. “You mean like they caught a cab or took a bus from the shopping center. I can buy that.”

Again, the squad room became silent.

Marge said, “It’s going to take hours to check out all the bus schedules and taxicab fares.”

“This is true.”

“We might as well skip over the transportation and go directly to the airport terminals. I’m game if you are.”

Decker stood and stuck his notepad in his jacket. “Let’s go.”

Nightfall had brought another storm into the Southland. Between intermittent downpours, Decker and Marge walked from terminal to terminal, battling not only bureaucracy and security but dank air thick with humidity and jet fuel. The runways were awash with rain and grease forming a mirrored surface that reflected the jets like a bad Impressionist painting. After hours of questioning personnel, and squinting at lists of passengers’ names printed on dot-matrix computer readouts, Decker rubbed his eyes and decided to call it quits.

Which was fine with Marge. She’d been ready to fold up tents an hour ago. She looked at Decker. “Now what?”

Decker checked his watch. A little after ten. “Are you hungry?”

“Are you suggesting an airport coffee shop? Why don’t we skip the middleman and just inject the ptomaine poisoning directly into our veins.”

Decker smiled. “Grab a cup of coffee with me.”

“Axle grease.”

“But at least the water’s boiled.”

Marge rolled her eyes as they trudged to the airport cafeteria. A few minutes later, they were sitting across the table from each other, perched on lemon-colored plastic chairs, sipping bitter coffee out of Styrofoam cups. The lighting was harsh and Decker’s eyes were
tired. He hoped the caffeine would fuel him up, keep him awake long enough to make the long drive home.

He said, “Just because we couldn’t find their names doesn’t mean they didn’t leave the country. They could have taken a domestic carrier to some other location and left through another city.”

Marge said, “Peter, even if you’re right, it won’t help us. Think of all the permutations we could have. All the different domestic airlines that fly into cities that have international flights to Israel. It will take weeks, even months, to go through the rosters. At this point, we’d be better off looking for bodies.”

Decker said, “So let’s start looking.”

Marge let out an incredulous laugh. “You say the most outlandish things so casually.”

“What’s outlandish about looking for bodies?”

Marge glared at him. “Where do we start, Peter?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Near their house, I guess. It’s not far from the mountain passes. Lots of dumping grounds. How about if you and I meet tomorrow morning before work and do a little hiking?”

“You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” Decker said. “I’ll bring Ginger. She’s not a scent hound but she’s got a good nose.”

Marge clucked her tongue. “What the hell? I suppose I can use a little exercise. Because that’s all we’re going to get out of this excursion.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“What time did you have in mind?”

“Around six.”

“Peter—”

“I walk Ginger around six. She’s very alert in the early morning.”

“But I’m not.”

“Margie, combing the hillside means we’re working real low to the ground. Ginger’s real good at that.”

“All right.” Marge blew her bangs off her forehead. “Pisser that we don’t have the time to do both. That we have to do this with our
own
dogs, on our
own
time.”
In a mocking voice she said, “Because Tug can’t justify department hours.”

Decker didn’t respond.

“You’re not pissed?” she asked.