Decker was silent.

“It was a joke, Pete.”

“I’m just wondering if there isn’t a connection. It does seem like a mother coincidence.” He looked at Marge. “So what big-ticket item do you have that you didn’t want to discuss over the lines.”

“It’s that obvious?”

“Yep. What’s up?”

Marge held a safe-deposit-box key with a gloved hand. “Kann found it inside of Arik, in a place where the sun don’t shine. The key could be what the ransacking was all about.”

“It was stuck up his ass?”

“You’ve got it.”

“Kann checked out the remaining orifices?”

“Yes, he did. Nothing.”

“He check out Dalia as well?”

“Of course. Nothing. When I left, Kann had bagged the bodies and was off to the morgue. Photographers left about a half hour ago. Uniforms have cordoned off the area, but we’ll probably take down the ribbons in a day or two. Our search was disappointing because of the rains…except for the key.”

Decker said, “Have you found a bank to match it?”

“I’m one step ahead of you,” Marge gloated. “Orit gave me the name of Yalom’s accountant. From him, I found out that Yalom has accounts at six banks. I called all six institutions. Yalom has safe-deposit boxes at three of the six banks. Davidson’s pulling the papers for inspection. Trouble is, once he announces the Yaloms as dead, the IRS will step in and freeze the boxes. It’s quite a paper chase for Old Tug, but I gotta hand it to him. He’s actually acting like a cop. A racist, sexist cop, but I’d rather have that instead of a bureaucrat. I think the corpses lit a fire under his butt.”

“When will the papers be ready?”

“Hopefully in an hour, maybe a little longer.” Marge looked around. “What’s the story here?”

“Doesn’t appear to be a burglary. They left behind valuables, including money. Maybe they were looking for specific items like the jewels and diamonds that were stored in Yalom’s vault at the LA diamond center.”

“They were looking for this.” Marge held up the safe-deposit-box key.

“Possibly,” Decker said. “Or possibly they were looking for the Yaloms’ passports.”

Marge looked surprised. “Who would toss the place like this just to steal dead people’s passports?”

“Someone who didn’t want it known that Arik traveled to strange places,” Decker said. “If Arik had been working for some covert organization, his passport would have been a concise record of his assignments.”

“Good point. Guy certainly went to some weird places.” Marge paused. “Didn’t you say he was in the Israeli army for six years? Or was that the partner, Gold?”

“It was Gold. Speaking of which, we should talk to Shaul immediately…let him know what happened to his partner.”

“If he doesn’t know already.”

“Yeah, you’re right about that. He’s a prime suspect until we know otherwise.”

“He and the boys are prime suspects.”

“The boys…” Decker thought a moment. “No, I haven’t given up on the boys. I’ll ask Davidson to assign a couple of men to follow up on the airlines. Also, someone should check out cabs and bus schedules. But first things first. Since we can’t follow up on the safe-deposit-box key until we’ve got our papers, let’s pay Gold a visit and see what he has to say about his partner’s murder.”

“What do we do with the house?”

“Seal it off and hope nobody trespasses,” Decker said. “You coming with me?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No one’s picking up the phone,” Marge said. “I’ve got Gold’s home number. Should I try him there?”

Decker said, “How far are we from his condo?”

“About fifteen minutes away.”

“I vote for spontaneity. It’s in Encino, right?”

“Off Ventura Boulevard.” Marge gave him the exact address.

The numbers corresponded to several new, Mediterranean-style security buildings, all of them three stories, plastered in pink and framed with apricot cornerstones. The condos stretched a block and were fronted by a green lawn. Specimen trees and big bushes had been brought in to give the neophyte development some maturity. But it was a weak cosmetic job, like putting lipstick on a baby. The place seemed to be built on a large chunk of land judging by the number of tennis-court lights in the background.

Decker wasn’t sure which building housed Gold, so he parked in the middle lot in a visitor’s space. He and Marge got out of the Plymouth and started walking on meandering brick pathways toward the building on the right.

Marge said, “Gold and Yalom are…were partners. But Gold lives here and Yalom lives in a mansion.”

“Arik was the senior partner,” Decker said. “Gold told me that. And you’re forgetting Dalia’s independent money.”

“Still, there’s quite a discrepancy.”

Decker said, “This seems like a nifty place for a bachelor. Betcha there’re lots of hot tubs and exercise rooms-a good setup for meeting women.”

Marge thought about that. She could afford a small house, but chose to keep her apartment. Although she was private, she liked the idea of having people close at hand. She turned to Decker. “So why didn’t you move to a condo after your divorce?”

“I had Cindy. When she came to visit me, I wanted her to have a home.” Decker consulted the paper. “I think Gold lives on the third floor. It’s a security building. We’ll have to be buzzed in. You want to do the talking?”

“You met him before, you do the talking.”

Decker found the directory and pressed the red button corresponding to Gold’s name. A few moments later, a deep voice spoke slurred, incoherent words over the squawk box.

Decker said, “Police, Mr. Gold. Can we come in and talk to you for a moment?”

A pause, then a loud buzzer rang in Decker’s ears. They pushed in the double glass doors and stepped inside an atrium filled with potted ficus and ferns. Against the back wall were the elevators. They took one to the third floor. Gold was standing in the hallway, blocking his front door. As they approached, both noticed he was unkempt-unshaven, with his shirttail hanging out of baggy pants. He was holding a half-filled glass and reeked of strong whiskey.

“Was he like this before?” Marge whispered.

“Nope. He knows what happened.”

“Wonder what else he knows.” Marge spoke through the corner of her mouth. “If you want to be the tough one, I’ll be all tea and sympathy.”

Decker nodded. He stopped at Gold’s door and held out his hand. The Israeli took it, then dropped it. Like holding a dead fish. And just a day ago, it had been a vise grip.

Decker said, “You must know about your partner and his wife. I’m sorry.”

Gold’s lost eyes went from Decker, to Marge, then back to Decker. Though swarthy, his complexion was pale underneath a stubble of black beard. His hands were trembling. Standing in front of the doorway, he continued to stare blankly at them.

Decker said, “Can we come in, Mr. Gold?”

The Israeli hesitated, then backed up into the interior of his condo. Marge and Decker stepped inside.

No one spoke. Finally, Gold motioned them forward. They followed him into the living room. Decker looked around.

It was spacious-high vaulted ceilings, white crown moldings, light floors, and lots of light from French doors that led to a plant-covered terrace. The furniture was alabaster white and overstuffed, accented with throws and blankets that looked to be handmade. The walls were cream-colored, striped with floor-to-ceiling shelving. The display cases were filled with antiquities and primitive sculptures, each piece accompanied by a small card on a stand that gave a description of the work. Decker studied the visuals for a moment.

So that’s where his money went.

His eyes returned to Gold, who pointed to the living-room sofa. Decker and Marge walked over to the couch but nobody sat down.

Decker said, “You’ve got a bulge under your shirttail, Mr. Gold. You’re carrying a gun. Would you mind taking it out and slowly laying it on the coffee table?”