Sanctuary by Faye Kellerman

Decker remarked.
    “You mean his partner, Mr. Gold?”
    Decker didn’t say anything, surprised that the kid knew about the conflict.
    Sharona said, “Dov and I talk a lot. He said his father and Mr. Gold were always yelling at each other. And you know what?”
    “What?”
    “Dov said that Mr. Gold was right most of the time. Once Dov agreed with Mr. Gold right in front of his father. His father had a cow. The last couple of months, Dov and his father were fighting all the time.”
    “Gil, too?”
    “Gil has a car,” Sharona said. “Gil avoids fights by escaping—literally.”
    “But Gil has to work in the business, right?”
    “Like I said, Gil can fake it better. Dov has a harder time lying. I told you he’s very spiritual.” Sharona took a deep breath. “So when Dov called me…I thought he was running away to find himself. I thought he had finally had enough of his father and couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t dare tell Eema. But I guess I should have.” The teen’s eyes watered. “If something happened to them—”
    “Don’t torture yourself,” Decker said. “They could be safe and sound somewhere. You thought you were keeping your cousin’s secret. You couldn’t have known that it might be something bigger.”
    Tears flowed down the girl’s cheeks. “You think it might be something bigger?”
    “Yes, I do,” Decker said.
    “Like…what?”
    “I’m not sure yet. I need to ask you a few more questions. Tell me exactly what Dov said when he called.”
    Sharona closed her eyes. “Something like…‘Shar, I’m going away for a while.’ I asked him where he was going. He didn’t answer. He just said he needed to get away. Then he made me swear I wouldn’t tell anyone he called, especially Eema or Abba. Then I asked him if he was in trouble and he hung up.”
    “Where did he call you?”
    “On my phone.”
    “Do you have a private line?”
    The girl nodded.
    “I’ll need your phone bill. I’m going to have to tell your eema why I need it. Do you want to tell your eema about the conversation or should I?”
    The girl blew out air, lifting bangs off her forehead. “I’ll tell her. We have to do this right away, don’t we?”
    “Yes, we do. I know Dov told you to keep this quiet. But I think he was really begging for help.”
    “I sure hope you’re right.” She looked upward. “Because I’m going to get grounded. I don’t care. It’s worth it if it’ll help Dov.”
    “It’ll more than help, Sharona. Who knows? It could even save a life.”

7
    At least the jerk was listening, Marge was forced to admit. She and Decker were sitting across from the Loo in his office. Old Thomas “Tug” Davidson—once a Marine, always a Marine—still wore his hair in a crew cut. The fifty-five-year-old geezer didn’t realize that crew cuts had come full circle and were considered a statement by white boys with ’tudes. Fashion didn’t interest Davidson. He wore black suits, white shirts, black ties, and oxfords as oversized as the same-named dictionary. Tug was built like a barn—wide and strong. Marge felt he had probably declared holy war on fat many years ago.
    “Go over this one more time,” Davidson said.
    Marge repeated the pertinent information. The family had disappeared two days ago, the only hints of foul play—a one-minute phone call and an empty silver case that should have held a prayer parchment. The Yaloms’ sister had called the police in a panic. When interviewed, she had seemed on the level, but who knew?
    “This guy, Yalom, is a diamond dealer?” Davidson said.
    “Yep,” Decker said. “Does very well for himself judging by the house. But to hear his niece talk, Yalom’s a tightwad. I was wondering why he didn’t send his kidsto private school. Maybe he’s too cheap.”
    “Or maybe the niece is your average bimbo teenaged girl with a big mouth.” Davidson said, “The school doesn’t know shit about the boys’ whereabouts?”
    “Not a thing,”