if Russia is only dealing with this VerHauten, what could Yalom possibly hope to gain by going to Russia?”
“Only thing that comes to me is maybe Yalom’s talking to people sub rosa,” Decker said. “Maybe he’s making inroads that Gold doesn’t know about.”
“He’s double-dealing his partner?”
“It’s been known to happen.”
“His partner finds out, gets mad, and whacks him?”
“It’s been known to happen.”
“I still like the idea of him being an agent,” Marge announced. “What else could explain all that traveling?”
Decker laughed softly.
“Go ahead,” Marge said, testily. “Scoff.”
Decker smiled again. “No, it’s not that.” He glanced around the house. “I’m just thinking that Mossad must pay pretty damn well.”
“Didn’t you say the wife paid for the house?”
Decker nodded. “I’ll ask Gold about his partner’s wanderlust.”
“Maybe they’re in some kind of covert operation together, Pete,” Marge said. “Maybe that’s why they used to meet at Yalom’s house instead of the office downtown.”
Decker remembered Gold not wanting to talk in front of the secretary. And when he asked about the meetings at the house, about Mrs. Yalom.
Dalia is not a problem.
Yalom and Gold—agents.
Six years in the Israeli army. Makes you comfortable with guns.
Decker didn’t know what comprised mandatory conscription for the Israeli army. He made a mental note to ask Rina. Then he laughed to himself, surprised by his runaway imagination.
“What’s so funny?” Marge asked.
Decker said, “Nothing really. Just thinking about the blanks in the case, how the mind fills in the blanks with foolishness. We should stick to what we know.”
“Which isn’t much.”
“We know a family disappeared. Yet the house looks undisturbed to the eye. No signs of sudden packing, valuables in place.”
“So let’s assume the family didn’t take off on their own. Assume murder.”
“What would be the motivation for a murder?” Decker asked. “No apparent robbery had taken place. By Gold’s own account, no stones were missing from inventory.”
“That’s why I like my spy theory. Someone wanted them out of the way for reasons other than money.”
Decker’s head began to pound. “Money could still be the motive.”
“What do you mean?”
“Marge, who would benefit from the parents missing?”
“The boys.”
“Right. And their passports are missing. Who else would benefit?”
“Possibly Orit. And maybe the partner, Gold, too.”
“Also consider this,” Decker said. “We really don’t know if the stones are missing. Could be Gold took the diamonds or Orit took the jewels. They could be telling us that nothing’s missing, but in reality, they could have cashed out the goods.”
Marge was silent. Then she said, “What we really need is an old-fashioned body.”
“It would help.” Decker rubbed his eyes with his bicep. “I’m going over to that shopping center. Where Dov made the phone call to Sharona. At least it puts him alive as of forty-eight hours ago.”
“I still like my spy thing,” Marge said.
Decker said, “So do I.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. I’d love to get my hands on Gold’s passport. See if it’s as funny-looking as Yalom’s. I wonder if we’re getting in over our heads.” Decker smiled. “Maybe I’ve read too many novels about Mossad.” Again, he waited a beat. “Then again, Mossad agents did kill the wrong guy in Norway about a decade ago. Even spies make mistakes.”
Marge said, “Hey, if you think this guy is into some kind of secret shit, I’m outta here. Cattle prods on the genitals is not my idea of a good time.”
Decker said, “Let’s not get carried away. But I am keeping an open mind. Though he downplays himself, Gold’s no dummy. I wouldn’t put anything past him.”
“Know what I do think?” Marge said.
“What?”
“I think it’s time to get some lunch.”
Decker’s house was eerily quiet except for the electronic chatter of a game-show host.
Rina never watched game shows.
A moment later, Ginger pranced out and jumped on Decker’s chest, spraying a cloud of red fur and dander into his eyes.
“What’s going on, girl?” Decker asked the Irish setter. “Who’s watching TV?”
The dog licked Decker’s face. Decker shouted out “Hello?” but there was no answer.
“Someone leave the TV on, girl?”
Decker stepped into the dining area and stopped in his tracks. Seated around his homemade cherrywood table were four children who looked straight from the prairie. The two girls were garbed in high-necked dresses and opaque stockings; the boys had on black suits, white shirts, and hats. The eldest, who looked to be around Sammy’s age, was reading a volume of Talmud. The other three kids were engaged with the TV. Upon Decker’s entrance, their eyes went from the screen, to Decker, then back to the screen. The oldest boy looked up from his religious book, then quickly buried himself back in his study.
No one said anything. No one moved. Decker cleared his throat. “You’re the Klein kids?”
Silence except for the television. Finally, the older girl spoke, her eyes still on the TV monitor. “Are we in your way?”
Decker hesitated. “Uh, no. Not at all.”
The youngest, a boy, raised his head and caught Decker’s eye. Shyly, he asked, “Are you the cowboy?”
His sister elbowed the boy in the ribs.
“The cowboy,” Decker repeated. “Well, I ride horses and wear a hat. So I guess some people would call me a cowboy. Anyone know where Mrs. Decker is?”
Again, the elder girl piped up. “She had a doctor’s appointment with the baby that
