Decker pivoted around and jogged over to Marge. He saw how she was supporting Orit. He flanked the Israeli woman on the other side and offered her an arm. Orit was white as she grabbed his wrist.

“First, I nag you to hurry up…then I don’t know if I can even do it.” Tears formed in her eyes. “Let’s go.”

“You want a few minutes to catch your breath?” Decker asked.

“No, I’m ready,” Orit said. “Let’s get it over with.”

Slowly, they approached the body, Orit’s eyes bobbing in their sockets.

“I’ve got you,” Marge said. “Just take your time.”

Orit looked at them for moral support, her head lolling from one side to the other. Decker patted her shoulder. “Take your time. If you feel sick, let us know.”

Orit nodded, then forced herself to study the face. A moment later, she jerked her head up, took a step backward, then gulped in a lungful of fresh air. Decker grabbed her arm.

“Are you okay?”

Orit’s face was ashen, her voice a whisper. “It’s…Dalia.” She teetered on her feet. “I don’t feel too good.” She burst into tears. “I want to go home.”

Marge said, “I’ll take you to one of the squad cars.”

“I can’t go home?”

“Of course you can,” Marge said, gently. “But let us drive you. Can I call your husband for you?”

Orit nodded, allowing herself to be led by Marge to a heated black-and-white.

Decker stared at the grave, at a petite form outlined in mud. The face had been wiped but was still streaked with gook. Yet Decker could tell it had been a gentle face. Anger drove a blush to his cheeks. He choked it back and spoke to the lab men. “Anything else buried under her?”

“We can’t tell until we lift the body,” the black-coated man responded. “We’re waiting for the police photographer.”

“He should be here in a minute.”

Davidson was coming toward him, his stride quick and precise. “Your wife’s on the line,” he said. “Your kids are fine, but she needs to talk to you. She says it’s an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency?”

Davidson shrugged ignorance.

Decker felt his heart race as he ran over to the Plymouth. Was it his mother? His father? His brother? Randy was in vice-narcotics, mainly. He’d been shot three times by three separate dealers. Decker grabbed the mike from his radio. “What is it?”

“Peter, everyone’s healthy.”

Rina’s voice was tense, but the words were all he needed. He heard himself taking a deep breath.

“It’s not us, Peter, it’s Honey Klein,” Rina said. “It’s Honey’s husband. I just got a call from someone in the Manhattan Police Department,” Rina said. “Gershon was found dead in his office at the diamond center. He’d been shot, stuffed into a closet-”

“Good God!”

“Peter, I don’t know what to do!” She began to cry. “I’m panicked!”

“Where are Honey and the kids now?”

“They left the house about two and a half hours ago to go sightseeing.”

“Where were they headed?”

“I don’t know! She didn’t tell me. I don’t know what I’m going to tell her-”

“I’ll handle it,” Decker said. “You don’t have any idea where they are?”

Rina paused. “She said something about going to the old Grauman’s Chinese Theater when I first spoke to her. But she said nothing to me about it this morning. Just that she was going sightseeing.”

Decker thought back to Gershon’s strange phone calls, Honey’s talk about gangsters. Not knowing any details, it was safer to be cautious. “Rina, I’m going to send a squad car over to the house. I’ll have the police wait outside until I can get over there. Don’t answer the door and don’t let anyone-and I mean anyone-in until I figure out what’s going on. It may take a little time to come. We just dug up Dalia Yalom-”

“Peter, you don’t have to-”

“I want to, okay?”

“Thanks.” Rina’s voice was small. “I’m scared.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“I love you, Peter.”

“Love you too.” Decker paused. “Rina, do you know where Honey got her rental car?”

“I think from the place on Foothill. Tour-Time Rentals. Does that sound right?”

“It sounds right. Just stay put. Keep the doors locked and don’t open the doors for anyone. I have to make a few phone calls. I’ll call you back in about fifteen minutes.”

He hung up the mike and called Foothill substation. Tim Calais’s unit was the closest to the house. He was happy to help out a former Foothill member. Besides, Decker was sure Mike had heard about Rina’s beauty. After thanking Calais, Decker cut the line, then put in a call to the dispatch operator, asking to be connected with Tour-Time Rentals. As he waited, Decker suddenly realized he was standing outside of the car. He sat down in the driver’s seat and closed the door. Davidson came over to the unmarked, bent over, and peered through the open window. “Everything okay?”

Decker covered the mike. “We have some houseguests. The woman’s husband, a diamond dealer, was just found murdered in Manhattan.”

“Jesus!” Davidson squinted. “You just say the guy was a diamond dealer?”

“Yep.”

“Any relation to our case?”

“Who knows?” Over the radio, Decker heard a perky lady say, “Tour-Time, this is Nancy speaking.”

“Nancy, this is Detective Sergeant Peter Decker of the Los Angeles Police.” He gave her all the requisite ID. “I have an emergency situation here. I have to get hold of a woman who rented one of your cars. And I don’t know where she is. Are your cars equipped with a location tracking system like the Lo-jack?”

“Yes, they are.”

“The woman’s name is Honey Klein. I need you to activate her car’s system for me.”

“One moment.”

Decker waited nervously. Davidson said, “You trying to track this lady down?”

“Better I tell her than my wife.”

Davidson nodded and started to walk away. He turned around and shouted, “You find her, ask her if she knows this Yalom character.”

Decker shouted back he would. A minute later, a less-than-perky Nancy came back on the line. “We have no record of a rental to a woman of that name. Are you sure she rented from us?”

Shit, Decker thought. No, he wasn’t sure. “She may have rented using an assumed name-”

“We ask for ID.”

“She may have assumed ID.”

Nancy was silent. Decker said, “She was a pretty, thin, blond woman. She rented the car yesterday around…maybe twelve, one P.M.”

“I wasn’t here yesterday.”

“The car she rented was an ice-blue Aerostar van.”

“Well, we do rent Aerostars. One moment.” Nancy checked and reported back five minutes later. “I do have records of a rental of a blue Aerostar yesterday at twelve forty-five. The identification we have belongs to a woman named Barbara Hersh.”

He said, “That might be the one. Can you activate the system on that car?”

“Yes.”

“How long will it take you to trace it?”

“About fifteen minutes to a half hour. I’ll call you back, Detective.”

“I’m in the field, Nancy. I’ll be hard to reach. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll call you back.” Decker cut the line and waited. Five minutes later, one of the dogs started barking furiously. The handler yelled out, “Lieutenant, I think we found another one!”

Decker came out of the car. He met Davidson. The Loo said, “You hear that?”

“Yep.” Decker stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“How far is this spot from the Yalom development?”

“About a twenty-minute, half-hour walk.”

“And you hit it the first time out?”

“This was the third mountain pass Marge and I checked out,” Decker said. “Perseverance pays off.”

“Tenacious suckers, you two are.” Davidson looked over the mountain. “Maybe the family took a walk and the boys popped them here. You got lucky ’cause the rains washed away the trail. It’s probably the husband. We’ll need another ID.”

Tug turned to the squad car where Orit Bar Lulu was resting.

“How’s she holding up?”

“I think she’ll be okay. Marge has been talking to her for a while.”