“I’ve heard there are lots of religious people in certain areas. Lots of places to hide. Honey and her family could easily fade into the miasma.”

“That being the case nobody’s going to find her.”

“We’re not going to find her, that’s true. But an insider probably could.”

“You’ve got someone in mind?”

“I have only one international informant on Israel, Sturgis. But she’s a doozy.”

Marge raised her eyebrows and drank lukewarm coffee from a Styrofoam cup. “Just like Chucky the Clown to keep us waiting.”

“Be charitable, Dunn. It isn’t even eight yet.”

Marge grumped, set the cup on a side table, and took in the office—nice but it wasn’t overdone. An institutional desk, a leather couch, a couple of glass and chrome side tables, and one picture window with a smoggy view of the SF Valley. The bookshelves were filled with folders and binders. A moment later, Chucky graced them with his presence. He was dressed in a conservative-cut blue suit, white shirt, and hand-painted tie—doves and swans in brilliant colors. Must be how bankers let their hair down, Marge thought. She stood and held out her hand. Holmes took hers first, then Decker’s.

“Thanks for making time for us,” Marge said, returning to her seat.

“As long as you’re brief.” Holmes sat in his black leather desk chair and rubbed his forehead. “I’ve got the IRS breathing down my neck, angry that this wasn’t reported yesterday. I told them you had the paperwork but that didn’t seem to mollify them. They’re out for me now. I can just feel it.” He looked up at Marge and Decker, eyes ablaze. “Just who do they think they are?”

The room was silent for a moment. Holmes cleared his throat. “Yes, well…the Yaloms were valued clients. I do want to help you—as long as you’re quick about it.”

Decker got comfortable in his seat. “Mr. Holmes, I’m sure you know that money is always considered a prime motive for murder. Tell me everything you know about the Yaloms. I want to know what they had…what someone could have been after.”

Holmes’s eyes went upward. “The bank holds the mortgage on his home. We also hold a note for a loan totaling three quarters of a million dollars. He was timely with his payments.”

Decker said, “Is the loan secured or unsecured?”

Holmes winced. “Unsecured.”

“So you must know something about Mr. Yalom’s assets,” Marge said.

“I felt…” Holmes squirmed. “I felt comfortable loaning him the money.”

“You arranged the loan personally?” Marge asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you know about Mr. Yalom’s investments.”

Holmes hesitated. “I know there’s no confidentiality with the dead, Detectives. Especially murder victims. But, like I told the department yesterday when the detective called, I still feel…unloyal talking about Mr. Yalom’s affairs, even to policemen.”