He stepped outside the car, looked under the hood. In the radiator, in the oil tank. He went over to the back of the van and opened the hatch-empty except for a deflated spare tire mounted on the side.

Disgusted and disappointed, he began to grid-sweep the immediate area around the van. The wind swept lots of garbage along the sides of the freeway. Decker meticulously searched through the trash but still came up dry.

A tow truck was approaching westbound. It slowed, its front bumper announcing that SHIT HAPPENS. It stopped in front of the tipped van and pulled onto the shoulder of the freeway. The driver got out-a skinny kid with lots of moles, wearing a ponytail and an earring. He released the cable pulley from the tail of the truck. Decker came over to him and the kid took a step backward. Being big, Decker was conscious of the way he made most men feel. Some deferred, others got belligerent. This guy was a deferrer. The name tag on his shirt said Rich in red scroll.

Decker held up his hands-a gesture he did on purpose to help guys like this one relax. “Who told you to tow the truck?”

The kid looked down. “My boss. If there’s a problem, I’ll wait.”

“You work for the rental company, Rich?”

“Yes, sir. My boss told me the HP called and told them to get the van off the freeway.”

Officer Rachel Parks walked over and joined them. “No leads,” she reported. “We all done here?”

“I suppose so.” Decker turned to Rich. “You get a lot of abandoned rentals?”

“Yep, but they’re usually not left on a freeway.” Rich picked at his ear. “You see, people’ll rent the car under a false name and ID. Then you see, they’ll use the car for a day or two. Then they’ll just leave the suckers flat, you see. Use the car without paying…or even use the car for like a robbery or a drug deal. Lots of drug dealers use rented cars to transport their shit-er, stuff. I once towed this bitchen Porsche. Man, it had more residue powder than Mammoth after a ten-foot snowfall.”

Rachel turned to Decker, “Does this woman have a criminal record?”

Decker said, “I didn’t think so.”

Rich said, “So I can take the car, now?”

Decker nodded.

Rich looked at the lopsided van. “I’ll just hook it on up and inflate the tires. Easier than changing them.”

“Do me a favor, Rich. Check out the tires when you get the van back to the rental lot. I want to know what caused them to go flat.” Decker heard his name being patched over the unmarked’s radio. “Excuse me.” He picked up the mike. It was Marge.

“I need you, pronto. I just got a call from Orit Bar Lulu. Her husband was driving her home from the hospital. They stopped by the Yaloms’ house. Why she wanted to do that is anyone’s guess. But the upshot is, the place was ransacked.”

“Good grief!”

“Someone was looking for something, Pete. Maybe the junior Yaloms are still in town. Maybe it was Gold.”

“Are any cars missing?”

“That I don’t know. I’d go right now, but one of us should stick around for Chuck’s info on the bodies.”

“I’ll go,” Decker said. “I’m done here anyway.” He told her the situation.

“Weird,” she said. “We’ve got two cases of two murdered diamond dealers. Makes you think of some kind of B-movie plot-some cursed stone.”

Decker laughed, but it was a weary one. “I’ll meet you at the house.”

“Talk to you later.” She hung up. Decker got out of the unmarked, just as Rich had finished hooking up the Aerostar.

“I’m all set,” he announced.

Rachel gave Decker a wave. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Decker watched the cruiser speed off, then watched the truck and the van-in-tow ease into the flow of traffic. He looked at the shoulder where the van had been. All that remained of Honey Klein and her family was skidmarks on the pavement.

Rina should be at her parents’ by now and Decker was ten minutes away. Picking up his radio mike, he called Marge.

“Are the uniforms still at the Yalom house?”

“Yes, of course. They’re waiting for you. What’s wrong? You can’t make it?”

“No, I’ll be there. I just wanted to make sure the place was secure. It may take me a while. There’s lots of traffic.”

“Where are you?”

“Still on the freeway. I’ve just finished with Honey Klein’s abandoned van. Nothing jumped out at me, but I don’t like it, Marge. Technically, it’s West LA’s case. But personally, it’s mine.”

“But you are going to call West LA, right?”

“Of course, just as soon as I get off the horn with you. What’s happening over there?”

“Kann is done with Dalia. Davidson brought in four guys to help me comb the hills. Nobody’s optimistic because of the rains. We’re concentrating around the base of the mountain. Maybe something washed down. When do you think you’ll make it to the Yaloms’ place?”

“Maybe an hour.”

“Then check in with me when you’re there.”

“Talk to you later.”

Decker broke the line with Marge and asked to be patched through to West LA. A Missing Persons case could be assigned to different details depending on the circumstances. If kids were involved, including teenage runaways, the file might go to Juvenile. If something nefarious was suspected, it could be routed into Homicide. Decker had to think about murder as an option considering the circumstances in New York.

West LA desk answered and Decker asked for Homicide. He spoke to a Detective Sturgis. As he related the details, he heard Sturgis groan. Everyone hated Missing Persons cases, especially when children were involved.

Decker pulled off the 10 Freeway at Robertson and headed north. “I’ve checked out the van thoroughly. As soon as I get back to my station house, I’ll write you up a formal report and fax it to you. I’ll go through the lady’s luggage as soon as I get home.”

“She’s still got her luggage at your place?”

“Yep. So either she left in a hurry or she wasn’t planning to leave at all. There’s not a lot for you to do at the moment. I just wanted to report the incident in case you found bodies.”

“You have some pictures you can fax me?”

“Not at the moment.” Decker gave Sturgis a physical description of the Kleins. “They’re ultra-Orthodox Jews. Their dress is pretty distinctive, should be pretty easy to spot if they’re wandering around lost.”

“And the lady and her kids were staying at your house?”

“Yeah, I’m Orthodox. Not like them but-not important.”

“Not important,” Sturgis said. “I’ll do a couple of passes through the area.”

“’Preciate it.”

“Are you going to call Manhattan?”

“If that’s all right with you.”

“It’s all right with me. It’s even all right with me if you want the entire case. The lady you described sounds like a wacko. You want to know my opinion of the situation?”

“You think she arranged her vacation around a hit on the husband. The thought crossed my mind, but I don’t think that’s the case. But if I’m wrong, the woman’s a psycho with balls. Of all the friends she could have visited, she opted for the one whose husband’s a homicide cop.”

“Psychos love to play games.”

“She wants to mess with my head, I can take it,” Decker said. “But not when there are kids involved.”

Sturgis said, “I hear you. Call me in a couple of hours. We’ll swap notes.”

Decker thanked him and hung up. His mind was on work, but his heart was on Rina. This time emotions ruled.

The flats of Beverly Hills, known as BH 90210, described a three-square-mile area where teardowns started at close to a million. Some of the houses were magnificent; others were so embarrassingly ordinary, Decker wondered what was the deal. The city itself had its own police force, its own mayor, its own fire department, and its own school system which was thriving because of a high residential and business tax base. The streets were well maintained-void of potholes-and tree-lined, the luxurious arbors being the pride of the city. Palm Drive hosted jacarandas, Maple was shaded by the boughs of camphor trees, but Elm, lo and behold, was flanked with elm trees.