Gold’s eyes narrowed. He put down his drink. “I tell you I know how to use it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Mr. Gold. You’re drinking, you’ve got a gun. That’s not a good combination.”

“Drink and shoot,” Gold said. “That is your cowboy films.” He broke into an exaggerated American accent. “I give you to the count of three, partner.”

“Please remove the weapon,” Marge said.

Gold’s eyes hardened further. “Since when is law that I can’t have a nip and carry a gun in my own house.”

Decker said nothing. Abruptly, Gold reached for his weapon, holding the semi-automatic by the butt, then gently placed it on the coffee table. “Better?”

“Much,” Marge said. “Thank you.”

They sat down.

Decker said, “If I just found out my partner and his wife had been murdered, I’d be nervous, too.”

“Who are you nervous about?” Marge asked.

Gold focused in on her. “Who’s this lady?”

“I’m Detective Dunn.” Marge showed Gold her ID. “Detective Sergeant Decker and I have been assigned to investigate the murders of your partner and his wife.”

Gold pressed his lips together and said nothing.

“I’m very sorry about your loss,” Marge said. “Who broke the news to you? Orit?”

“Yoni, I think.”

“Husband,” Marge whispered to Decker.

“Maybe it was Orit…”

Gold rubbed his forehead, then positioned himself on the couch opposite Decker and Marge. “I don’t know who’d do such terrible thing.”

Marge said, “No idea?”

“No.”

Decker said, “You know we’re going to have to question you.”

Gold looked up, then down. Burying his head in his hands, he broke into deep, dry sobs. It took him a minute to calm himself. He said, “I’m sorry. You want something to drink?”

Marge said, “No, thank you.”

“Do you mind if I get something to drink?”

Decker said, “Would you mind if I unloaded your weapon?”

Gold picked up his glass, then put it back down. “You don’t trust me?” He waved him off. “I was in the army-tzalaf-how you say…the one with binocular…scope…who shoots.”

“Sniper?” Decker said.

“Yes, sniper.” He pointed to Decker. “With scope, I shoot a nail from five kilometers away. I was in four wars-’56, ’67, ’73, and ’81. I did three years in ’56, three in ’67. In ’67 war, I was in Golan Heights. The Syrians shooting down on us, picking us off like video game. We send up fourteen tanks, one comes back. I say maspeek! Enough! I crawl on my hands and knees to top of mountains. I climb up tree. Next thing bastards know, I pick them off.”

He sighted down on an imaginary scope and pulled a finger trigger.

“Pop…pop…pop.” He blew on his finger. “Anyone fucks on me, I can take care of myself.”

Decker said, “Can I unload your gun?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Sure. Take the clip out. I don’t care.”

Decker did just that, laid them both on the coffee table. “Was Arik also a sniper in the army?”

“Arik was in tanks. Dalia did office work.” A slight smile formed on Gold’s lips. “She did filing papers. Nothing important. But she was proud to be in uniform.” His lower lip trembled. “So Arik and Dalia come to America for the good life.” Gold slapped his hands together. “Pow, it’s over. What a bastard God is!”

Marge said, “And you have no idea who would do this to Arik and Dalia?”

“No idea.” Gold swayed as he sat, then homed in on Marge. He pointed to her. “If you lived in Israel, you know you would be in army. They take women in Israeli army. Not like in America.”

Marge nodded.

“I bet you’d make a good soldier.” Gold made a muscle. “You look strong.”

Marge smiled.

Decker said, “You want to tell me what you were doing around two-thirty Friday afternoon?”

“I already tell you, I was at my office, seeing client.”

“You didn’t give me his or her name.”

“I know I don’t. My business is private for my clients’ protection. You need to know anything, get papers from a judge. Then I have no choice. But if you want, I take lie test for you. That doesn’t hurt my business.”

“Maybe we’ll set a lie-detector test up,” Decker said. “I understand you were close to Arik’s younger son, Dov.”

Gold rubbed his face. “You have not found the boys.”

“Not so far,” Marge said.

Decker stood up and sat next to Gold. The Israeli’s frame, muscular and compact just a few days ago, now seemed flaccid and droopy. “Any idea where they might be, Mr. Gold?”

“Why would I know?”

Marge said, “They never called you for help?”

Gold whispered, “No, they never call me.”

Decker said, “I understand Dov and his father had been fighting a lot.”

Gold stared at him. “You think they hurt their parents? You are wrong. Goyishe mishugas.”

Gentile craziness, Decker translated in his head. He didn’t bother to inform Gold that there had been a West LA case years ago where two sons had been charged with murdering their parents as they came home from Yom Kippur services.

“Sure, they fight with Arik,” Gold said. “But they don’t kill him. They certainly don’t hurt their mother. They would never, ever hurt their mother. No, that is not why they are missing. They are missing because they are scared.”

“Who scared them?” Marge said.

“If I know that answer, I would tell it to you first thing.” Gold tried to sip from his empty glass. “I don’t know who scared them. If I know, I kill him. End of problem.”

Decker and Marge exchanged glances. Decker said, “Arik did a lot of traveling, didn’t he?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m not just talking about Antwerp and Israel, Mr. Gold. I’m talking about Russia, Zambia, South Africa, Angola, Mozambique-”

“That’s long-ago travel,” Gold grunted.

“According to his passport it was recent,” Marge said.

Gold sat up, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with the back of his hand. “You say Arik went to Africa recent?”

“According to Arik’s passport, he went to Angola as recently as a month ago-”

“You have Arik’s passport?”

Marge nodded.

Gold didn’t speak for a moment. Something in his eyes went dead. “Where else do you say he goes?”

“Russia, Zambia, South Africa, Mozambique. Other places that I don’t remember.”

The room fell quiet. Gold reached in his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit up his smoke with a steady hand. Arik’s travelogue had seemed to sober him up. He said, “I don’t know why Arik would go to Africa.”

“You must have been there lots of times yourself.” Decker pointed to the wall. “You have some beautiful primitive pieces.”

Gold’s eyes went to his artwork. “Yes, I’ve been to Africa.” He blew out a plume of smoke. “But I don’t know why Arik would go there now. Bastard doesn’t collect art. Wouldn’t know beauty if it bit him in the ass.”

Marge and Decker swapped raised eyebrows.

Decker said, “What did you mean when you said that Arik would go to Africa now? Had Arik gone in the past?”

“Many times.”

“For what?”

“To squander money.”

Decker looked at Marge. She picked up the ball.

“How did he squander money?” she asked.

“He invested in crazy schemes. Arik got scrambled brains. He thought he could be the next VerHauten. He took his wife’s money and flushed it down the toilet. I think he got it out of his system. But maybe not, the crazy bastard.”

Gold sat back in his couch.

“What? You think I kill him because I call him a bastard. He is a bastard. Bastard to me, bastard to his kids, bastard to his wife, spending her money like it’s his.”

Decker noticed his eyes were dilated. Could be from the booze, could be he was lying. “Why would Arik have gone to Russia? Does it have anything to do with the diamond mines there?”

Gold stared at Decker. “Maybe he goes to the diamond mines and buys stones. If he did, he don’t tell me.”

“Has Arik been an honest partner to you, Mr. Gold?” Marge asked.