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“Did Dov say anything to you about a vacation?”
“No. I already told my mother that I don’t know where he is.” She grew agitated. “I don’t know where anyone is, I swear.”
Decker stood motionless, then raised his eyes. “You swear, huh?”
“What do you want from me?” The girl burst into tears.
Decker blew out air. “Can we talk somewhere a little more private?”
Sharona took two steps backward. “Who are you?”
She was clearly spooked. Decker said, “Sharona, we can talk right here. Or if you’d prefer, I’ll come to your home tonight and talk to you with your parents around—”
“No!”
Decker was surprised by the vehemence in her voice. “No? Why not?”
“Just …” Sharona’s voice had become tiny. “Just because. Please don’t make me talk in front of my parents. Please! I don’t want anyone mad at me. I didn’t know what …”
The girl appeared to be swaying. Decker gently took her arm and led the frail teen to an empty room. He placed her in a chair, then sat across from her, making sure the door was kept open. He took out his pad and a pencil. “Sharona, it’s important for you to tell me everything you know.”
Sharona’s eyes went from her lap, to the door, to Decker, back to the door, then to the ceiling.
Decker said, “You care about your cousins?”
The girl nodded.
“Talk to me.”
“He told me not to tell anyone.”
“Who? Dov or Gil?”
“Dov. Told me not to tell anyone he called.”
“When did he call?”
“Two days ago. Before Eema called the police.” She glanced at Decker, then looked away. “He said he was going away. He didn’t say where. He sounded nervous. He told me not to tell anyone, especially Eema and Abba. I asked him if he was in trouble …”
Decker nodded encouragingly.
Sharona met his eyes. “He hung up. That was it.”
“And you haven’t heard from him since?”
“I swear I haven’t.”
“Why didn’t you tell your eema about the call after she called the police?”
“I don’t know.” Her lip began to quiver. “I was scared she’d get mad at me for not telling her sooner. And I kept expecting to hear from Dov. I didn’t know Dov would be … I didn’t know the whole family …”
“Yes?”
“I didn’t think they were missing. I thought Dov had just had enough. I thought he just needed to get away from it all, you know?”
Decker said, “No, I don’t know. Please tell me.”
Sharona covered her face, then wiped her cheeks. “My uncle’s a diamond dealer. He’s very rich. Did you see the house?”
Decker nodded.
“Isn’t it humongous?”
Again, Decker nodded.
“Uncle Arik is really rich. I mean really, really rich! He made a fortune in diamonds during the eighties. Dov told me he made lots of his money selling big stones to the Japanese and the Chinese living in Hong Kong.”
“Dov seems to know a lot about the business.”
“He works there. They work there—both of them. My cousins … you’d think they’d be spoiled rotten, right?”
“Possibly.”
“Well, they’re not, at all. They have to beg for everything they get. That’s my uncle. Eema used to say he was the same way as a kid.”
“What does she mean by that?” Decker asked.
“I think she meant he was always a tightass—” Sharona blushed. “I mean he was tight with a buck.”
“His kids resent him?”
The girl looked at her lap. “It’s not like my cousins don’t believe in work. I believe in working, too. Everyone has to work to feel useful. My mom doesn’t have to work but she does. Aunt Dalia certainly doesn’t need to work, but she does. My uncle just overdoes it. Dov and Gil are carrying a full load at school, plus after-school sports and music lessons. Gil’s a top swimmer. They’re both good students. But that’s not enough. Uncle Arik makes them go downtown two days a week and on the weekends to learn about the diamond business. I don’t talk to Gil so much, but I know it’s a big drain for Dov. He’s very resentful.”
“How does he express his resentment?”
“Sulks. Escapes into his head. What can he do?”
“Escapes? You mean drugs?”
Sharona shrugged. “Maybe a little pot. But mostly I meant escape by being spiritual. He used to be very religious. I think deep down he’s still religious, but …”
Decker encouraged her to continue.
“Dov wanted to be more Orthodox … traditional.”
“I’m traditional, I understand.”
Sharona eyed him. “You don’t look Jewish, you know that?”
“So I’ve been told. Go on, Sharona. What happened to Dov’s journey into religion?”
“Nothing, that was the problem. Uncle Arik is very anti-Orthodox. Dov wanted to try to keep kosher, but my uncle wouldn’t do it. See, Uncle Arik wasn’t simply … disapproving. He was mean about it.”
“He made fun of Dov?”
“Exactly. Like his feelings weren’t important.” Sharona shrugged. “To Uncle, they weren’t. He wanted his sons to be clones of himself.”
Good luck, Decker thought. “What about Gil?”
“Gil is happy-go-lucky. He can fake things better.” The girl bit her nail. At that moment, she reminded Decker of her mother. Sharona looked up. “I don’t think Gil likes the business any more than Dov does.”
“Does Gil get along with your uncle?” Decker asked.
Sharona shrugged. “My uncle gets on Gil’s nerves, too.”
“Your uncle seems to get on a lot of people’s nerves,” Decker remarked.
“You mean his partner, Mr. Gold?”
Decker didn’t say anything, surprised that the kid knew about the conflict.
Sharona said, “Dov and I talk a lot. He said his father and Mr. Gold were always yelling at each other. And you know what?”
“What?”
“Dov said that Mr. Gold was right most of the time. Once Dov agreed with Mr. Gold right in front of his father. His father had a cow. The last couple of months, Dov and his father were fighting all the time.”
“Gil, too?”
“Gil has a car,” Sharona said. “Gil avoids fights by escaping—literally.”
“But Gil has to work in the business, right?”
“Like I said, Gil can fake it better. Dov has a harder time lying. I told you he’s very spiritual.” Sharona took a deep breath. “So when Dov called me … I thought he was running away to find himself. I thought he had finally had enough of his father and couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t dare tell Eema. But I guess I should have.” The teen’s eyes watered. “If something happened to them—”
“Don’t torture yourself,” Decker said. “They could be safe and sound somewhere. You thought you were keeping your cousin’s secret. You couldn’t have known that it might be something bigger.”
Tears flowed down the girl’s cheeks. “You think it might be something bigger?”
“Yes, I do,” Decker said.
“Like … what?”
“I’m not sure yet. I need to ask you a few more questions. Tell me exactly what Dov said when he called.”
Sharona closed her eyes. “Something like … ‘Shar, I’m going away for a while.’ I asked him where he was going. He didn’t answer. He just said he needed to get away. Then he made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone he called, especially Eema or Abba. Then I asked him if he was in trouble and he hung up.”
“Where did he call you?”
“On my phone.”
“Do you have a private line?”
The girl nodded.
“I’ll need your phone bill. I’m going to have to tell your eema why I need it. Do you want to tell your eema about the conversation or should I?”
The girl blew out air, lifting bangs off her forehead. “I’ll tell her. We have to do this right away, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do. I know Dov told you to keep this quiet. But I think he was really begging for help.”
“I sure hope you’re right.” She looked upward. “Because I’m going to get grounded. I don’t care. It’s worth it if it’ll help Dov.”
“It’ll more than help, Sharona. Who knows? It could even save a life.”
7
At least the jerk was listening, Marge was forced to admit. She and Decker were sitting across from the Loo in his office. Old Thomas “Tug” Davidson—once a Marine, always a Marine—still wore his hair in a crew cut. The fifty-five-year-old geezer didn’t realize that crew cuts had come full circle and were considered a statement by white boys with ’tudes. Fashion didn’t interest Davidson. He wore black suits, white shirts, black ties, and oxfords as oversized as the same-named dictionary. Tug was built like a barn—wide and strong. Marge felt he had probably declared holy war on fat many years ago.
“Go over this one more time,” Davidson said.
Marge repeated the pertinent information. The family had disappeared two days ago, the only hints of foul play—a one-minute phone call and an empty silver case that should have held a prayer parchment. The Yaloms’ sister had called the police in a panic. When interviewed, she had seemed on the level, but who knew?
“This guy, Yalom, is a diamond dealer?” Davidson said.
“Yep,” Decker said. “Does very well for himself judging by the house. But to hear his niece talk, Yalom’s a tightwad. I was wondering why he didn’t send his kids to private school. Maybe he’s too cheap.”
“Or maybe the niece is your average bimbo teenaged girl with a big mouth.” Davidson said, “The school doesn’t know shit about the boys’ whereabouts?”
“Not a thing,” Decker said. “I interviewed quite a few of their chums. They seem in the dark as well.”
“Except for the niece who got a phone call,” Davidson said. “Where was the booth?”
Decker said, “About two miles from the house. It’s a three-block shopping center. I have nothing definitive at this point. Tomorrow, I’d like to interview the store owners. It’ll take time, but something might pan out.”
Davidson nodded, folding sausage-shaped fingers into fists. “Tell me about this silver case.”
“It’s a standard Jewish talisman, for lack of a better word,” Decker said. “The one for the front door is always posted on the outside frame. The Yaloms had theirs posted on the inside—”
“Could be an oversight,” Davidson said.
“Not a chance,” Decker said. “It would be like wearing your underpants on the outside. It was deliberate. I think it once held valuables—diamonds, maybe.”
“Somebody took them,” Davidson said. “A robbery?”
“Or a convenient source of cash if the family had to split suddenly,” Marge said. “The sister said that was how her family dealt with the Nazis. The father paid off the border guards in stones.”
“An old habit that served them well in the past,” Decker said.
