Sanctuary (15 page)

Gold snapped his head up. “Yes. As friends. I already explain that to your partner.”

Decker said, “Mr. Gold, are you angry that your partner traveled to Africa—”

“Yes, I’m pissed off,” Gold broke in. “I have to wonder what Arik was doing there? Was I being cheated? He also took money for travel. I thought he goes to Israel or Antwerp. Now I think he takes a safari vacation on my money.”

Decker said, “Except his wife didn’t go with him.”

“That means nothing,” Gold said. “He left her alone many times.”

“Was Arik Yalom having an affair, Mr. Gold?”

Gold paused, then said, “Dalia suspected, yes. I tell you we were good friends.”

Decker said, “She ever mention a name?”

“No. Dalia is a lady.”

Marge said, “And you don’t know where Arik’s sons are?”

“No, Detective, I don’t know.” Gold pursed his lips. “Maybe I make it easy for you. Maybe I find them for you.”

Decker stared at him. “Keep out of police business, Mr. Gold.”

“Ah, but the boys are my business.” Gold’s smile became cryptic. “I am honest when I say I don’t know where the boys are. But I tell you this much.” He picked up his semi-automatic and shoved the clip into the release catch. “When I find them, I am prepared.”

In all the years Rina had lived at Ohavei Torah, she had never seen the
Bais Midrash
devoid of students. As a young widow, she had had many sleepless nights, praying for her departed husband’s soul as well as some personal peace of mind. When prayer had failed—as it often had done in the early days—she had bolted out of bed into the cool night air to take aimless walks and clear her mind. Several times her journeys had led her over to the study hall. Inside, she had always found a few of the truly dedicated poring over volumes from the many religious tomes that lined the room. Though women were not forbidden to enter, Rina had always felt that there were unspoken restrictions. She had never gone inside the study hall to learn—even at dinnertime when the
Bais Midrash
was quiet and peaceful as it was right now.

Her sons had no such qualms. Suitcases in hand, they marched into the room, each one headed for a different bookcase. Sammy scanned the volumes of the
Mishna Torah
authored by the Rambam. Yonkie went straight for a set of
Shas
—the Talmud.

Rina watched her sons from the doorway. Sammy was actually more tall than big, but his shoulders were starting to widen, his musculature beginning to fill out. Rina thought him objectively
very
handsome. A mop of sandy-colored hair surrounded an unusually clear, adolescent complexion napped by peach fuzz. His eyes were dark and alert, and though his teeth were encased in braces,
she could make out the future man in the teenager’s face.

Jakie was still a boy. He had just started his growth spurt, but his arms and legs continued to be thin and bony. His complexion was baby-smooth peaches-and-cream; his blue eyes held a mischievous sparkle.

Both of her sons wore untucked, long-sleeved white shirts that fell over dark pants. Their feet were protected by high tops. Neither was wearing a hat, which immediately marked them as visitors rather than live-in students.

Rina felt a presence behind her. She turned to see Rav Schulman walking down the hallway some fifty feet away. He was walking by himself—a rarity—and headed toward the
Bais Midrash
. Right on time. Rina straightened her spine and, without thinking, cast her eyes downward. Some habits were impossible to break.

A twinkle in his eye, he nodded to her as he entered the study hall, and she nodded back. It wasn’t that he was ignoring her. He didn’t want to embarrass her by being overly solicitous. The students in the room immediately stood upon the old man’s arrival and the great Rav motioned them to sit back down. He crooked a finger at Sammy, then at Yonkie. The two boys came over, their heads lowered, hands straight down at their sides.

Stroking his long, white beard, Schulman welcomed them with a warm smile. Rina always felt his kind expression combined with crinkly, alert eyes opened up the Rosh Yeshiva’s face, made him seem younger than his eighty years. Yet he was an old man now. His spine was bent, his fingers, once long and graceful, were now spindly and misshapen. But the great Rav still had spark left in his earthly body. As usual, he was dressed immaculately—a dark suit, starched white shirt, and shiny black oxfords. A new, stylish homburg covered his snowy hair.

Sammy stood up straight, then realized his shirttail was untucked. Quickly he remedied the situation only to realize he wasn’t wearing his hat.

“I left my hat at home, Rav,” he said, softly.

“Is your head cold, Shmuel?”

Sammy stifled a smile. “No, Rav. I just…”

Schulman placed his hands on Sammy’s shoulders. “You’ve grown into nearly a young man, Shmuli. If you’d like to wear a hat, I’m sure I have something to fit you at home.”

“Thank you, Rav.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned his eyes to Jacob. “And you too, have grown, young man. It’s so good to see you both developing and in good health.” He placed his right hand over Shmuel’s head, his left over Jacob’s. Closing his eyes, he said a prayer for their well-being.

Afterward, Schulman opened his eyes and smiled. “So what are you two learning. Yonkie first.”

“
Baba Kama
.”

“That is a difficult
masechet
for sixth grade.” Schulman tousled the boy’s hair. “It is a difficult
masechet
for any grade. I am happy your new school is challenging your mind. Now you, Shmuel. How is school taxing your gray matter.”

Sammy lowered his eyes. “We’re learning
Makkot
and…
Baba Basra
. We just started
Baba Basra
.”

“A good choice. I miss you both but I can see you two are in able hands.” He turned to Rina, then turned back to her sons. “I’m sure your eema made sure of that.”

Both boys nodded. The Rosh Yeshiva looked around the
Bais Midrash
, always interested in who was learning when it wasn’t required.

“You boys seem anxious to learn. It restores my faith in the school you attend. But even scholars must have food in their stomachs. Go into the dining room and have some dinner. If you two have eaten, go anyway and catch up with old friends.”

Sammy and Jacob exchanged looks.

“Go, go!” Schulman shooed them away. “You’ll have plenty of time to learn tomorrow.”

Sammy said, “Should we take our suitcases, Rav?”

The Rosh Yeshiva nodded. “Come to my house after dinner and we’ll do a little head-sizing, then a little Gemara. I’ll see you both later.”

The boys picked up their suitcases and scampered off, calling out a bye to Rina. She waved her fingers at them.

Rav Schulman motioned Rina to come walk with him. She waited for him to leave the room and start walking, but kept a few paces behind him. Schulman stopped and beckoned her forward. Quickly, Rina took a place by his side. They walked down a long hallway of the building until they found the door leading to the grounds.

The yeshiva had been built into the valley’s mountainside, and the perimeter of the school was still marked with much of the original terrain—rocky terraces naturally landscaped with wild vegetation and flowers. The grounds themselves had been bulldozed and leveled for the buildings. The dozen or so structures were separated by rolling lawns scored with cement pathways. Rina walked with the Rav in silence as they headed toward a grouping of private houses.

Rav Schulman and his wife lived in the largest house in the tract. Not because his ego demanded it—although that would have been fitting—but because the couple was always entertaining guests. Sammy and Jacob were just two of the many people who revolved through the Schulmans’ doors. The house had six bedrooms upstairs and a downstairs with no living room or den. Most of the bottom level space had been converted to a communal dining room dressed with long, linen-covered tables. What space was left had been allocated for a kitchen, a service bathroom, and the Rav’s study.

The old man swung open an unlocked door and waved Rina inside. As she came in, the smell of homemade chicken soup opened her nostrils. Schulman sniffed deeply.

“Smells good.”

“Very,” Rina answered. “The Rebbitzen is a wonderful cook.”

“I have been truly blessed. Not only is the Rebbitzen a
eshet chayil
, but a superb chef,
Baruch Hashem
. Me? Maybe I can boil an egg.”

The old man took a seat at one of the dining tables, keeping the front door wide open. In Jewish law, it was forbidden for a man and women who weren’t married to each other to be alone in a closed room. From the Rav’s action, Rina surmised that no one else was home.

Schulman folded his hands and set them on the table, inviting Rina to sit across from him. He said, “As I recall, Rina Miriam, you were quite a cook yourself.”

“With time, I improved.” She smiled. “The first time you and the Rebbitzen ate over our house, Rav Schulman, I burned the roast.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I do very much. All of us ate leather that night. I should have brought in take-out and made wallets out of the meat.”

“And what did Yitzchak say to you after the meal was over?”

“He told me I prepared a lovely meal and that the roast was delicious.”

Schulman smiled sadly. “He was a good boy, my Yitzchak,
alav shalom
. I miss him still.”

Rina nodded but said nothing.

“Akiva is a good boy as well. Different those two, but similar in character. Both were endowed with a strong moral fiber.” He smiled again. “And with a strong love for you.”

“I’ve been very fortunate,
Baruch Hashem
.”

“Tell me how my Akiva is doing? As tormented as ever?”

Rina let go with a small smile. “He works hard.”

“That disappearing Israeli family…that is Akiva’s assignment?”

“Yes, Rav.”

“And have they found any trace of the family yet?”

Rina lowered her eyes. “I think they found the parents…their bodies this morning.”

The old man winced. “Ah, such a terrible, terrible thing. Akiva must be very upset.”

“He says it’s his job—Homicide. I don’t see how a person can ever get used to such horror, but I’m not a cop.”

“I see I have upset you by asking about the case. I am sorry.”

“No, no, Rav, not at all. I…I mean, I am upset…but…” She stopped talking.

Schulman said, “I have made time for you, Rina Miriam. Tell me about your houseguests.”

In a gust of breath, Rina unburdened herself, starting with the phone call from Honey, ending with the murder of her husband and the abandoned van. By the time she was done, tears had formed pools in her eyes.

“I’m scared for Honey, Rav, but it’s the children…I can’t get those faces out of my head. I should have paid more attention to Honey’s concerns. I should have traveled with her—”

“And if something nefarious had happened to you, would you have felt better being a victim?”

Rina didn’t speak.

“I’ve been a victim, Rina Miriam. Though it is not an easy task, it is better to deal with survivor’s guilt.”

Tears ran down her cheeks. She brushed them away. “I suppose I should have told you the detailed story in the beginning. I just didn’t know how to tell you everything over the phone.”

The old man was silent, reflecting upon Rina’s story. “Tell me again about Gershon Klein. His attempt to become a Nazir.”

Rina told him as much as she could remember about her conversation with the Leibbener Rebbe. “It was very nice that he spoke to me. Very kind. But…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know how to say this without sounding disrespectful.”

“So you now have made your disclaimer. Speak your mind freely.”

Rina smiled and looked down. “I had the feeling he wasn’t telling me everything. Then again, why should he? He doesn’t know me at all. Why should he trust me when something so grave has happened?”

Schulman said, “Perhaps I should intercede on your behalf.”

“You mean call him for me? Rav, I would never ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask, I volunteered. I will assist you if you think it would be helpful.”

“Yes, I think that would be extremely helpful,” Rina said. “The Rebbe was very nice to me, but I’m sure he would be more open…as one Rav to another.”

“If our differences don’t get in our way.” The old man grinned. “The Leibbener Rebbe is a Chasid. And I’m a Litvak. That can be
fireworks
!” Schulman held up a finger. “But for the common good of your houseguest and her young children, I’m sure we can be civil to one another.” The old man stroked his beard. “I, too, am very concerned for the children.”

Rina blinked hard.

“How are you feeling, Rina Miriam?”

“Fine, Rav, thank you.”

The old man nodded, not pressing Rina to talk about herself and her recent hysterectomy. Right now, she was too concerned about her houseguests. “I’m glad you’re feeling well.”

Schulman stood and so did Rina.

“I will call the Leibbener Rebbe and ask about Gershon Klein and his family. Then I will report back to you and Akiva all that he tells me.” The old man shrugged. “It may have nothing to do with their mysterious disappearance, but at least you may learn something about your houseguests.”

“Thank you, Rav Schulman. And thank you for taking in the boys. I’m sure they’ll enjoy their stay here very much.”

“And I will enjoy having them.”

“They were very happy here at the yeshiva, Rav Schulman. I want you to know that. It was my decision—mine and Akiva’s—to take them out and put them in a more modern school.”

The Rosh Yeshiva’s eyes turned crinkly. “That being the case, let them learn here to their hearts’ content. And you can go to college in their places.”

The title of assistant bank manager belonged to a young Hispanic woman named Marie Santiago who wore a keyring bracelet on her wrist. She stood at a long marble counter topped with a computer and a phone, and shuffled through official papers. Then she looked at her wristwatch.

“It’s almost closing time.”

Decker’s eyes went to the wall clock—four-thirty
P.M.
“Still got a half hour.”

Marie was not easily swayed. “We’re supposed to put a hold on the boxes for the IRS.”

“You can freeze the assets,” Marge said. “We don’t want to take them, just have a look at them.”

“I’ll have to stay with you as a witness.” Marie attempted meaningful eye contact. “To make sure that nothing’s tampered with. This procedure is still very irregular.”

Marge said, “Yes, I’m sure most of your clients don’t wind up victims of double homicides.”

Marie winced.

Decker asked, “Did you know the Yaloms personally?”

“I wasn’t their personal banker, no. But I knew them by name.”

“Who used the box more?” Marge asked. “Him or her?”

“Him,” Marie said. “Mr. Yalom. She used it rarely, if at all. But I knew her from the teller lines. Often she’d ask if we could process out-of-state checks for immediate clearance.”

“And?” Marge asked.

“We complied. Their assets were very good and we considered them valued clients.”

“What country were the checks from?” Decker asked.

“I don’t remember.”