Rina took the baby back. “Will you be sleeping here or at my parents’ tonight?”

Decker picked up the suitcases. “Somehow I’ll make it back over the hill. I always enjoy visiting the other half.”

Rina smiled. Her parents weren’t made of money, but they did live in the posh area of Beverly Hills. Their home was an old ranch house placed on a block made busy by renovators and contractors. The house next door to them had been redone recently. The modern monolith of ten thousand square feet looked as oversized for the lot as a dowager in a bikini.

They stepped outside, Decker locking the door. Rina said, “Peter, I was so flustered this morning, I forgot to write down the name of the New York detective who called me about Gershon Klein’s murder.” She reached in her baby bag and pulled out a slip of paper. “But he gave me the precinct’s phone number. Here.”

Decker pocketed the paper. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Is it my imagination or do I seem to rope you into doing a lot of unofficial overtime.”

Decker gave her shoulder a slight squeeze. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s the kids-”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m concerned for all of them. So far, we have a stalled van with a couple of flats. For all we know, it may be simple car problems.”

“And you think that’s a real possibility.”

Decker didn’t answer. Instead he opened the door. “You’re all set.” He took Hannah from Rina. “I’ll put her in her car seat. Are you sure you don’t want me to pick up the boys and run them over to the yeshiva?”

“It’s not a problem for me, Peter. I’m sure you have enough to do without worrying about carpooling.”

True enough, Decker thought. He was a busy man, having people both dead and alive vying for his attention.

Through the mike, Decker heard Marge’s dulcet tones.

“Where in the hell did you disappear to!?”

“Tug didn’t tell you?”

“Squat.”

Decker explained Rina’s phone call; then a quieter Marge said, “Jesus, that’s terrible! No sign of the kids?”

“I just got off the line with Highway Patrol Officer Rachel Parks-who’s pissed as hell that I’m taking so long to get there. I lied and told her I got stuck in a traffic jam. Anyway, so far no one’s reclaimed the vehicle. I’m on my way there now. What’s going down on your side?”

“Well, we got what we were looking for-two positive IDs-Arik and Dalia Yalom. I thought I’d feel excited about the progress. Instead, I feel wrenched. That’s why I’m so pissed at you. I’ve got no one but Tug to talk to and he’s about as helpful as a hangnail.”

“How’s Orit Bar Lulu holding up?”

“She’s in awful shape, Pete. I rang up her husband, told him to come down and pick up his wife. The lady’s absolutely torn up. I also told him to call her doctor. She was sitting in the squad car, shaking, trying to get down some soda. Then she got nervous and tried to stand. She passed out. Luckily, I caught her.”

“Call an ambulance.”

“I did. Davidson thought that was a peachy idea because-and I quote-‘The last thing this department needs is another wrongful death suit.’ Old Tug’s a sensitive soul.”

“Has the coroner arrived yet?”

“Yeah. It’s Chuck Kann. He’s moving slowly. Someone blasted a hole in Dalia’s chest. It’s going to take a while to clean her up and assess the damage. It appears to be a shotgun, or some heavy-duty automatic. Chuck hasn’t started on Arik yet.”

There was silence over the line. Marge asked Decker what he was thinking.

“We’ve got a big hole in the chest, ergo, a big weapon. If we’re figuring that the boys popped the parents, could you picture them leading Mom and Dad up to the mountainside, swinging shotguns at their sides? Hunting’s not allowed up there. Don’t you think the parents might have been a little suspicious?”

“Maybe they were sawed-off numbers and the boys stuffed them in their jackets.” Marge paused. “Or with their tennis gear. I found tennis rackets at the house, and there are public courts on the other side of the hill.”

Decker said, “Okay, suppose they could hide sawed-off shotguns in their gear bag. What if the weapon turns out to be an automatic? I haven’t seen a hell of a lot of small AK47s.” Decker sat up in the driver’s seat. “Or small Uzis!”

Marge sounded excited. “Aren’t Uzis given out to soldiers in the Israeli army?”

“I don’t know if they’re standard issue, but I think a lot of Israeli soldiers own them.”

“Yalom must have been in the army. Aren’t all Israelis inducted?”

Decker said, “Damn, I meant to ask Rina about that.”

“You did?”

“I wanted to ask her how long the required tour was for an Israeli soldier. Because Yalom’s partner, Shaul Gold, spent six years in the Israeli army.”

“This is very interesting,” Marge said. “Maybe we ask Gold the question in person. See how he reacts. Unless you think he might be a flight risk.”

“Of course he’s a flight risk. He’s got another country to flee to.” Decker thought a moment. “I checked him out. Superficially, he doesn’t have a motive. He appears to be in good shape financially. He’s not like Yalom, but he’s got money in the bank, gems in his vault, and good credit. But at the moment, he’s a suspect.”

“I’ll call him,” Marge said. “Even if he’s clean, he’s going to find out that his partner was murdered. It might as well come from us.”

“Good point,” Decker said. “We’ll go over there together and break the news. See how he reacts. Although I don’t suspect he’ll freak. Gold seems…controlled.”

“When did you want to do this?”

“As soon as I’m done with HP Officer Parks. How about in an hour, hour and a half?”

“Fine. Meet me back at the crime scene.” She paused. “Pete, you did say your houseguest’s husband was a diamond dealer?”

“Yes, I did say that. And yes, he was a diamond dealer. No, Marge, I don’t know if there’s any connection between his murder and our case. But I’ll look into it.”

Marge said, “Why should I bother talking to you when you can talk for both of us?”

She cut the line. Decker hung up the mike.

Touchy, touchy, touchy!

No problem finding the car. The off-balanced Aerostar looked like an iceberg floating in a sea of concrete. Decker pulled the unmarked behind the HP cruiser and got out. Rachel Parks was a compact brunette with short, curly hair and gray eyes. She had to crane her neck to make eye contact with Decker. “Traffic bad?”

“Yeah, sorry I’m late. I appreciate you waiting. Anything I should know before I check out the van?”

Rachel said, “I’ve made a couple of preliminary contacts. The HP and Triple A have no record of any distress calls coming through the nearest call boxes. I’ve also had time to phone the closest service station. I figured maybe the lady called from there. Nothing so far. What’s going on?”

Decker recapped the details, then they both went back to work. Rachel began making inquiries from her car radio, Decker slipped on latex gloves, readying himself to tackle the van forensically.

He opened the driver’s door. The van had seated seven-two captain seats up front, a bench seat for two in the middle, and a bench seat for three in the back. There were lots of cup holders and most of them were filled with boxes of kosher fruitade. There were a few kosher candy wrappers littering the seats and floors.

Pulling up cushions, he searched underneath the seats-clean and crumbless unlike most family cars. The floor carpet was also free from dirt and food. The rental places must vacuum them carefully.

On to the glove compartment. Then the console between the two captain seats, then the door consoles. He looked inside the roof-mounted sunglass case. He ran his hands inside the pockets lining the back of the captain seats. He flipped visors, he opened vanity mirrors and ashtrays and panels that held electrical wiring. Nothing.