house.” He turned to Decker. “Speaking of inside jobs, who’s gonna do Yalom’s partner?”
“Yo,” Decker said.
Davidson turned to Marge. “So you’re doing the paper on Yalom?”
“Yes.” Marge skimmed her notes. “Social Security number, credit cards, tax ID numbers, bank statements and info, passport office.” She looked up. “I’ll also call the Feds.”
“So tell me about the partner, Decker,” Davidson said.
“Shaul Gold.” Decker recapped what he knew. “I finally got hold of him. He seems cooperative. We’ve got a scheduled meeting with him tomorrow at eight in the morning.”
“He seem jumpy?”
“Surprised,” Decker said. “‘What do you mean my partner is missing?’ That kind of thing. But he was cooperative.”
“How long has he known Yalom?”
Marge said, “Sister says they’ve been partners for years. But they don’t get along.”
Davidson squinted. “So what? A lot of partners fight.”
Decker said, “A lot of partners kill each other.”
“Not the whole family, Decker.”
“Except that we’re talking about diamond dealers,” Marge said. “Lots of money.”
Davidson scratched his head. “Money. I take it the partner’s another little, wily, shrewd Israeli?”
“Gold is Israeli,” Decker said. “I don’t know if he’s wily, shrewd, or little.”
Davidson squinted. “I was thinking the guy might be a flight risk.”
Decker threw up his hands. “I can’t find evidence to detain him.”
Marge said, “We don’t have a drop of blood, let alone a body.”
Davidson drummed his fingers. “No justification for pulling him in. We’ll have to take our chances. All right. Leave the partner until tomorrow.” The lieutenant took out a notebook. “So this is what I got. Decker, you’ll do the shopping mall and the partner. Dunn, you’ll do paper and the neighborhood. This … voodoo silver case has been turned in to forensics for printing. Anything else you got in mind?”
“Not at the moment,” Decker said.
“Keep me informed,” Davidson said.
“We thought we’d stop by the neighborhood tonight, sir,” Marge said. “Before we go home.”
Davidson squinted at both of them. “They musta whipped you two hard at Foothill, huh?”
“No, we’re just bucking for overtime,” Decker grinned.
Davidson cracked a smile. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. You want money, get a law degree.”
“He’s already a lawyer,” Marge said.
Davidson leaned back in his chair. “No shit?”
“No shit,” Decker said.
“No wonder you’re such a wiseass.” Davidson waved them away. “Do what you want, but forget about overtime. Jackass county keeps voting down police bonds, we’ll be lucky if we draw our salaries.” He turned to Marge. “You got a look on your face, Dunn. What is it?”
“Do you want us to contact the media for assistance?” Marge asked.
The lieutenant gave it some thought. “Wait until you see what you’ve dug up. If you draw blanks, we’ll contact the networks.”
“You got it.” Marge started to rise, then sat back down. “Something else, Lieutenant?”
Davidson ran the palm of his hand across his crew cut. “Nah, I’m through. Get out of here. Both of you.”
“Don’t stroke her ego,” Marge fumed.
Decker sat down at his new desk recycled from a branch of the LA County Library that was shut down because of budget cuts. It was a gun-metal gray institutional number, but it had a kneehole large enough to accommodate his oversized legs, and two big file banks for case folders. Marge had a marred but functional oak desk donated by an office manager who had been forced to fire his secretary. The desks were placed front end to front end, which meant Decker and Marge sat across from each other.
Decker pulled out a manila folder and started a file on the Yaloms. “At least he took us seriously, Marge.”
“He had to. The case warranted it.”
“That’s for damn sure.” Decker started filling out the paperwork and handed forms over to Marge. “I’ll start a file on each of the boys; you do the parents. We’ll Xerox all our papers and notes so we’ll each have copies at our fingertips.”
“Rabbi Organized. How do you feel about your fellow countrymen disappearing?”
“You mean the Yaloms?”
Marge said, “The little, wily, shrewd Israelis.”
Decker said, “Why do I feel Old Tug has some preconceived notions about Jews and money.”
Marge said, “Probably has notions about women and blacks and Hispanics—”
“Oh, don’t start getting all pissy PC on me. I don’t think Davidson’s a racist. He probably hates everyone. Anyway, the Yaloms aren’t my countrymen. I’m American, remember?”
“You don’t feel any special twinge because they’re Jewish?”
“Nah.” Decker smoothed his mustache and went back to writing. “The only twinge I feel is for the boys.”
“If they’re victims.”
“If they’re victims,” Decker repeated.
Marge started filling out a Missing Persons form. “I think you scored a notch on Davidson’s belt.”
“By giving up law?” Decker continued to write. “Yeah, I saw that, too.”
“Why did you give up law?”
“’Cause I’m a gun-toting macho man and not a pussy wimp-ass in a designer suit.”
Marge laughed. “The real reason?”
“I gave it up because Jan had forced me into it. She wanted me to take over Daddy’s firm. Daddy did wills and trusts. It bored me to tears. I should have joined the District Attorney’s Office.”
Marge smiled. “Who knows? But for a slip of fate, you might even have been attorney general today.”
“I wouldn’t have been nominated,” Decker said. “I have balls.”
“Oh, don’t start becoming a pig on me.”
“It’s not a pig, it’s sour grapes.” Decker smiled. “S’right. I’ll keep my balls and let your sex take on the Attorney General’s Office.”
Marge lowered her voice artificially. “See what a broad can do.”
Decker laughed without looking up from his desk.
Marge pulled out a sheet and started doing paper on Arik Yalom. She thought of the photos in the family room. A dark, muscular, handsome man with money. He had a lot going for him. What the hell happened?
She said, “The case is getting … complicated.”
“Messy is the operative word,” Decker said.
“So many different angles of approach,” Marge said.
“So here’s a chance for you to prove yourself. Just don’t get bogged down with Davidson and his archaic attitudes. And let’s try not to