The Eliases lived on Camden Drive in a three-bedroom, three-bathroom house that came with a pool but no Jacuzzi. A big minus for resale value, a real estate broker once told them. But the location was excellent and Rina’s parents, who had bought in twenty-five years ago, had netted a fine chunk of equity in their now pricey home. He parked the Plymouth under a magnolia tree and walked on a brick pathway up to the front door. Rina answered his knock. She brought her hand to her chest.

“It’s bad news about Honey?”

“It’s no news.”

Rina stepped aside to let him in. She looked pained. “Nothing at all?”

Decker shook his head. He looped his arm around his wife and they walked into the yellow-tiled kitchen. It was large in absolute terms, but gnat-sized by neighborhood standards which were: If the kitchen floor space couldn’t accommodate a full-sized catering truck and its crew, it was time to remodel.

“Where’s Hannah?” Decker asked.

“My parents took her and Ginger to the park. I think they could tell I was nervous. I wanted to be alone. Something’s terribly wrong.”

Again, Decker let go with a forced smile. “Hey, knowing your wacky friend, she and her kids could show up anytime.”

“You’re not optimistic.”

Decker didn’t answer. Instead he hugged her. “I love you. I just stopped by to tell you that.”

“You’re worried.”

“Concerned.”

Rina looked at her husband. “Honey said that Gershon had gone to Israel. But he was found murdered in New York.”

“Obviously, he didn’t go,” Decker said. “Either he lied to Honey about going. Or Honey lied to us.”

“Peter, what could she gain by lying to us?”

“If she was involved with his murder, she’d lie to throw us off track.”

“Peter, why would she be involved in his murder?”

“I’m not saying she is. I’m just speculating. By her own admission, she said the guy was acting weird. Maybe she was afraid of him.”

“So she’d divorce him, not kill him.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t divorce in that community like a big scarlet letter.”

“Not as big as murder.”

“All I’m saying, Rina, is that if she was involved, it would make sense for her to disappear, right?”

“That’s a big leap.”

“Maybe. But I’ve got to consider it. Especially since Honey was using an alias.”

“She was?”

“Barbara Hersh. Any idea why Honey might use that name?”

Rina raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know why she would use Barbara. Hersh is Honey’s maiden name.”

Decker nodded. “I should have thought of that.”

“Peter, maybe Honey’s using an alias because she’s scared that the people who murdered Gershon might come after her. Remember she spoke of strange phone calls.”

“Could have been a front.”

“Or maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe she bolted with the children.”

“Then why come out here, Rina? Why not leave immediately. And why did she use an alias yesterday before Gershon was murdered.”

“Maybe she realized that Gershon was in deep, deep trouble. Maybe she decided that LA wasn’t far enough of an escape. So she went to Israel. Lots of places for her to hide there. All the black areas. Doesn’t that make sense?”

“Black areas?” Decker asked.

Rina smiled. “A semantic misinterpretation. Not black as in Afro-American, black as in black hat-the ultra-religious area. The Black Hatters-the Charedim-must make up at least a third of Jerusalem-Sanhedria. The Ramot. Har Nof. Sha’arey Chesid. Mea Sháarim…now that’s a good place to hide. The name literally means a hundred gates. It’s a labyrinth. Like a lot of Jerusalem, it’s filled with passageways and walls and gates that lead nowhere. The entire city was built on top of a dozen previous civilizations. So there’s a lot of underground structures-tunnels, viaducts, passageways. It’s a perfect place to take refuge.”

Decker gave Rina’s words pause for thought. And here he was, searching for not one, but two separate groups of people who might have desired sanctuary in the Holy Land. His brain was scrambled. Man, he was tired.

“I’ve got to get back to work. I just wanted to check in on you, tell you I love you. Hug the boys and kiss Hannah for me.” His smile widened. “And even kiss your mom for me.”

Rina hit his shoulder-the one without the bullet wound. “You take care of yourself. I love you, too.”

Decker started for the door, then turned around. “Rina, how many years is an Israeli required to serve in the army?”

“That’s a non sequitur.”

“Detectives are full of them. It’s part of our clever interviewing technique. Do you know the answer to my question?”

“Active duty is three years for men, two for women. Then there’s meluim-reserved duties-a month or two out of the year.”

“For how long?”

“Until you stop breathing.” Rina smiled. “I’m not sure. Once you’re too old for meluim, you do civil duty-haggah. Does that help?”

“Yes, it helps a great deal. I have come to the conclusion that though I’ve studied a great deal of Judaism, I know nothing about Israelis-or Israel. Maybe you can show me the ropes one day.”

“You mean go to Israel?” Rina brightened. “Peter, what a wonderful thought!”

Decker smiled but felt uncomfortable. Rina was thinking vacation. Unfortunately, he was thinking work. He wondered if one day wasn’t close at hand.

Marge ducked under the yellow crime-scene ribbon that fronted the Yaloms’ mock Tudor estate. With a gloved hand, she opened the front door and stepped inside the enormous entry hall.

“Yo!” she called out. “Anyone here?”

“Upstairs,” Decker answered.

She walked a few steps, peered into the living room, and halted in her tracks.

A hurricane had come through. Furniture had been overturned, cushions slashed and ripped apart. Glass cabinets had been knocked over, glittering shards sprayed over the floor, creating an obstacle course. Some of the display pieces had been broken, others were still whole, resting on their bases on the floor. Marge figured Pete must have uprighted them.

She called out again. “You want me to come up?”

“Hold on,” Decker yelled. “I’ll come down.”

He stood from a crouched position, his knees cracking as he rose. He and the Tin Man-they needed oil. He popped off his gloves, slipped his notebook inside his jacket, and gave a final glance to the Yaloms’ bedroom. Someone had tossed the place with serious intent. Nothing had been overlooked or cast aside. This kind of damage took time-several hours at least. Decker wondered if the someone-or someones-had found what he/they were looking for.

Marge was waiting for him in the entry, her tapping foot sending out echoes against the marble floor. She said, “See what happens when the maid doesn’t show?”

Decker gave her a warm smile. She was upset, trying to hide her feelings with macho humor. “You all right?”

“Me? I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“Just being polite. Frankly, I don’t give a shit how you feel.”

Marge burst into cathartic laughter. “How long have you been here, big guy?”

“Over two hours.”

“And the upstairs is as bad as the living room?”

“The whole house is trashed. No wonder Orit went nuts when she saw this.”

“How’s she doing?” Marge asked.

Decker ran his hand over his face. “Lousy. Tell you the truth, I’ve had better days myself.”

“Any news with your houseguests?”

“I just called back West LA. The case was given to a D-three named Sturgis. He’s working with me at my request.”

“As if you don’t have enough to do?”

“Yeah, that probably wasn’t a smart move. But I keep seeing those children, thinking about their dead father in Manhattan.” Decker threw up his hands. “You know me. I’m a sucker for kids.”

Marge pushed wisps of blond hair out of her eyes. “At least Davidson’ll give you time to look for the Kleins. He thinks there’s a connection-the big Jewish conspiracy. They control the media, you know.”