Marge said, “Maybe Yalom was cutting some sort of side deal with VerHauten, leaving Gold out on ice. That’s why Gold freaked when he found out about Yalom’s passport.”

“But the letters were hostile. If there ever was a deal, something soured pretty quickly.”

They both were silent.

Marge said, “I brought some yellow stick ’ems. Why don’t we tag the papers we’ve gone through.”

Decker said, “Good idea. I’ll take a pile. You take a pile. We’ll write notes, then compare when we’re done.” He fished out a handful of papers.

Marge pulled out her notebook. “I know this sounds farfetched, but do you think that the boys might be in Africa?”

“I suppose it’s a remote possibility.” He sorted through some papers. “After we found the bodies, Davidson assigned a crew to check out the airlines, the cabs, and the buses…free up our time to investigate the murders. I hope they find something soon. I know we haven’t ruled out the boys as suspects. But finding stuff like this…reading Yalom’s hostility and threats…”

“Guy probably made lots of enemies,” Marge said.

“I’m sure.” Decker paused. “If only Arik Yalom had been killed, I wouldn’t be as worried about the kids. But someone also popped Dalia. If someone blew away one innocent bystander, are the boys far behind?”

“If they’re even still alive.”

“A sobering thought.” Decker picked up another batch of correspondence. “One thing at a time.”

He returned his attention to the paperwork. Lots of letters, lots of angry correspondence between Yalom and VerHauten, between Yalom and VerHauten’s lawyers. Decker never did discover an attorney for Yalom.

There were also lots of stock certificates: Consolidated Gems, Southwest Mines, West African Consolidated. Yalom’s stocks added up to thousands of shares in each company. Decker read on. He eventually found a letter to Yalom from Southwest Mines.

The company was announcing bankruptcy.

Digging deeper, Decker found another round of angry letters from Yalom to VerHauten-Yalom accusing VerHauten of illegal stock manipulation. Still no indication that Yalom ever hired an attorney to represent him.

Decker kept reading and hunting.

Marge said, “Look at this, Pete. A whole stack of land deeds in Angola, Mozambique, and Namibia.”

Decker looked at them. They were dated two years ago. “I wonder if they’re still valid.”

Marge said, “I wonder if they were ever valid.” She kept reading. More letters-the gist of the irate exchange had to do with who officially owned stock and land in Angola, Mozambique, Namibia, Zambia, and Botswana.

He and Marge had scratched the surface of about half the contents of the box when they heard a knock. Marge muttered some obscenity, then opened the cubicle door. A Suit-and-Tie was looking at her. He broke into a venal smile.

“You two aren’t supposed to be here unsupervised.” He wagged his finger. “I’m not pleased about that at all. I have a good mind to call your captain.”

Marge and Decker said nothing. Finally Marge said, “We’re just working away, sir.”

Suit-and-Tie pursed his lips. “Well, that’s good to hear. Always like it when my tax dollar is well spent.” He let out a forced laugh. He was in his fifties-a big man with a big gut. When he laughed, his belly jiggled. “Chuck Holmes-senior vice president. I hope that as the chief representative of World First Savings and Loan, I’ve been of service to you.”

“Yes, you have,” Marge said. Fucker had no choice with our papers. “Thank you very much.”

“No thanks is necessary.” Holmes held out his hand as if warding off demons. “I like to do my job, I like to help our boys in blue. And I know Marie likes to help, too. But sending her away.” He clucked his tongue. “That’s going a little too far.”

Decker didn’t answer. Holmes suddenly became magnanimous. “Well, no harm done, I guess. I’m afraid you’re going to have to stop anyway. It’s closing time.”

“We’re not done,” Marge said.

Holmes flipped his wrist and looked at his timepiece. “Sorry, but I have to close the vault by a certain hour or bells go off. I hope you two found something that’ll elucidate this terrible, terrible incident. The Yaloms were very valued customers.”

Decker asked, “How much time do we have left?”

“About two minutes. Just enough time for you to put everything back in the box.”

Marge said, “How about if we come back first thing tomorrow morning. Say around eight?”

Holmes gave them a small smile that said no can do. “Sorry, Detective. I’ve already bent the rules once, giving you access to the box before contacting the IRS. Can’t do that again. I’m going to have to key the box until the tax man gives me an okay to open it.”

“We’ll clean up,” Marge said. “Afterward, do you have a minute to talk to us about the Yaloms?”

Holmes managed to smile and frown at the same time. “Sorry, but I’m a little pressed right now-”

“Of course,” Marge said. “So I’ll just schedule the meeting tomorrow morning…” She looked up and smiled. “Let’s make it eight before the bank opens. I’ll even bring the doughnuts and coffee, Mr. Holmes. Can’t beat that.”

The senior veep didn’t speak. Finally, he said, “I suppose I can afford a few minutes tomorrow morning. But right now I really am pressed for time. Please clean up quickly so I can lock the vault.”

“You bet,” Marge said.

After the vice president left, Decker said, “Spiffy how you trapped him into an appointment, Margie. I like that doughnuts and coffee addition.”

Marge smiled. “See that guy’s gut? You work on the weaknesses.”

Decker burst into laughter, cramming papers back into the box. He was just about to close the lid, then paused, looking at the top certificate. Southwest Mines. A land deed for acreage in Angola. Decker pulled it from the box, folded it into a tiny, thick square and stuffed it in his underwear.

Marge raised her eyebrows. “What do you think you’re doing, Rabbi?”

“Old Chuck is doing his job. But I’m doing mine.”

“Pete-”

Holmes knocked, then walked through the cubicle door. He smiled at the detectives. “All done?”

Decker spread out his arms and smiled back. “All done.”

The Rosh Yeshiva invited Rina to sit in the chair opposite the desk. Unlike his study in the yeshiva, the home office was smaller and plainer. It was walled in bookshelves, filled with sepharim-religious books. His desk was an old one and Rina suspected it had sentimental value. It was scarred, carved mahogany, its top covered with books and writing material. The only concession made to ornamentation was an old-fashioned sterling inkwell and a set of fountain pens encased in semiprecious stone-malachite, lapis, tigereye, and garnet. He kept the door ajar, but not wide open as he had done earlier in the afternoon.

Rina was exhausted. After she had dropped the boys off at the yeshiva, she had raced back to her parents’ house to put Hannah to bed. Once the baby had fallen asleep, she had made another trek out to the yeshiva to say good night to the boys and to talk to the Rav about Honey. She must have put another hundred miles on her aged Volvo. But Rina felt she had no choice. Her family was safe and sound. How could she sleep soundly when Honey and her children were missing? Where were they now?

Rabbi Schulman went over to a shelf and pulled out a bottle of schnapps. “An old man must do many things to keep a sound mind.” He smiled, but Rina felt he looked troubled. She said nothing, biding her time until Schulman finished his drink.

Finally, the old man put down his shot glass and sat down at his desk chair. He stroked his beard. “I spoke to the Leibbener Rebbe. I’m afraid I have nothing elucidating to add.”

Rina waited. Schulman took his time.

“Of course, the Rebbe is shocked and saddened by Gershon Klein’s untimely and violent death. And he is very upset about the disappearances of Honey and her children. However, he is also concerned for your family’s welfare, Rina Miriam. He wishes no hurt or harm to come to any of you.”