“Somebody’s got to earn a living.”
“And the kids?” Decker said.
“Hey, Sharona implied they hated the father. Good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“I don’t like it, Marge.”
She paused. “Okay, try this. Suppose Arik found out about the affair and went crazy. He killed his wife in a rage, then killed his kids, who weren’t turning out like he had wanted, took his diamonds stashed in the silver case posted on the doorframe, and split the country. Maybe he even forged some documents and created himself a new identity. It could be another case of List.”
Decker thought about her theory. John List was a man who murdered his entire family and disappeared, taking on a new identity and eluding the police for about twenty years. He was finally caught after a nab-your-own-fugitive show aired the case on prime-time TV.
“It’s possible,” Decker said. “But we’ve got some major differences. First off, the bodies of List’s wife, mother, and children were found butchered inside the house, making him a prime suspect. Here we don’t have bodies, only an entire family that vanished.”
“Maybe Daddy lured the crew somewhere into the boonies.”
“Except the cars are still in the garage.”
“So he rented a car.”
“Could be,” Decker said. “You want to check out local rent-a-cars?”
“I’ll put it on my list—no pun intended.” Marge wrote it down. “What other differences do you see between this and the List case?”
Decker said, “John List was swimming in debt. The house he had was big and expensive but empty, because he couldn’t afford to furnish it. He claimed he had no way out. By all accounts so far, Yalom seems well heeled. He wouldn’t have to murder to escape. He could have just taken the money and run.”
“Divorce is expensive,” Marge said. “Yalom’s got a rep as a tightwad. Just like List, I might add. What other differences do you see?”
“This probably isn’t important,” Decker said, “but I’ll throw it out anyway. List had confessed his crimes to a minister, stating he felt that the murders were the only way to ensure his sinful wife and children’s arrival in heaven.”
“Kill the body to save the soul,” Marge said.
“Exactly,” Decker said. “Yalom isn’t or wasn’t a religious man.”
“So what’s the point?”
“I’m not sure there is a point,” Decker said. “Just that Arik seemed to disdain God. Dov was the spiritual one.”
“Maybe he was killing the body to save the soul,” Marge said. “So we’re back on the son or sons. Unfortunately, we still don’t have a shred more of evidence.”
“No, we don’t,” Decker said. “But one thing at a time.”
It caught Rina’s ear so she turned up her car radio. Top of the hour and the news station was presenting its feature stories—among them, something about a missing family. It had to be Peter’s case. How many missing families could there be, even in a city as large as Los Angeles? Details would be given out soon, after the traffic report and a commercial for carefree aluminum siding.
She changed lanes and reduced the speedometer to fifty-five. It was smooth sailing this morning. Usually, the North Valley freeways were lightly traveled because the population in the Outback was less dense than in LA proper. She enjoyed the congestion-free asphalt, knowing cars would begin to back up as soon as she neared LAX.
Not to worry even if she did hit a jam. Honey didn’t seem in a rush. Maybe she was just being polite, but Rina didn’t think so.
Take your time, Rina. We’re all so excited just to be somewhere new!
They’re not exhausted?
Are you kidding! The kids are thrilled to be in a place so full of hustle and bustle—so full of life.
Honey’s emotions sounded genuine and that made Rina introspect. Imagine being excited over an airport! She supposed it could hold a fascination for children—all the big jets flying up and down—but Honey herself sounded buoyant. Maybe she was just so happy to get away from her provincial existence, anything would be wonderful.
Take your time! Honey’s voice had been full of melody. We’re in no hurry.
Maybe it was time to stop and smell the jet fuel.
Hannah started to whimper. Rina gave her a bottle of apple juice. The baby drank greedily, hitting the bottle as she sucked.
Her analysis of Honey was cut short when the news item came back on the radio. Again, Rina had heard the word “disappearance” but had missed the name of the family.
They lived in West Hills. A fancy private housing development. Nothing seemed out of place. Confused and concerned neighbors. An interview with one of them. Police were asking the public’s help.
The newscaster finally repeated the last name—Yalom. Yes, it was Peter’s—and Marge’s—case. She couldn’t forget a name like Yalom. Rina had commented to Peter that yahalom meant diamond in Hebrew.
There probably was a Stein somewhere in his family tree.
Peter had been amazed. What’s your secret, Sherlock?
Stein means stone in German … Yiddish. It was probably Hebraized when the family moved to Israel. They do that a lot.
Peter’s expression was flat. Maybe you should take the case? If you spoke to Bar Lulu in Hebrew, something sub rosa might come out.
He hadn’t elaborated. Rina was getting better at reading Peter. He’d been joking of course, but there had been a hint of truth behind his suggestion. She had responded lightly, said something about posing as an assistant if it would help. Peter had smoothed his mustache and said nothing. Meaning he hadn’t ruled it out.
Not that she was anxious to get involved in Peter’s work. Or any work for that matter. Rina was quite content to stay at home and take care of Hannah—her last baby. One swift cut from the surgeon’s knife and she no longer could bear children.
How many times had she replayed the scene in her head? Yes, it had been an emergency. Yes, the doctor had been absolutely right. Yes, it had been the surgery versus her life. Everything had been handled letter perfect. She should feel grateful.
And she did.
But not all the time. At thirty-one, Rina had expected and had wanted more children. She’d always felt that she was born to nurture. Unlike many women in this modern age, Rina considered childrearing a privilege and not a chore. Not that she didn’t get mad at her kids, pound her head against the wall from time to time. But it was all in a day’s work. There was no perfect way to raise children. Parenthood was filled with fuzzy borders and shades of gray. Some people were confused without a blueprint. Rina found the freedom exhilarating. Probably because she had worked so many years with numbers—first as a math teacher, then as a bookkeeper. Precision had made
