I hesitated. We were alone in the room apart from the snoring old man. No witnesses. And I was helpless, busted up inside and out.

He waited, a model of patience, his eyes not leaving mine.

"That's right," I said finally, feeling myself shrink under his cruel gaze and hating myself for it.

"On the street."

"Yes."

He made a few tsk sounds with his tongue, as though bemoaning the sorry state of the city he protected.

"These things shouldn't happen anywhere in Israel," he said, "and that goes double for our capital, wouldn't you say?" I didn't answer, and he continued, "Then again, perhaps neither of us should be surprised since other unspeakable, unthinkable acts have been committed in Jerusalem lately."

I couldn't help myself. Being the reckless fool, I said, "If you're alluding to the Knesset's decision to authorize negotiations with Germany, I agree with you one hundred percent."

He smiled. The condescending smile of someone so assured in his superiority, in his triumph, that he takes the ineffectual barbs of his opponent with good-natured amusement.

"I was surprised to learn that you were back in Jerusalem," he said. "I was sure you would stay far, far away."

"I have a right to go where I please, Inspector."

"Indeed you do. Still, I didn't expect it. What are you doing here, Mr. Lapid?"

"I have business in town."

"What sort of business?"

"What does that have to do with the assault I went through? Aren't you here because of that?"

"We'll get to it, don't you worry. But first, I need to make sure you're not here to cause any more trouble for the police or the Knesset."

"Rest assured, I intend no such thing."

"I'm glad to hear it. What, then, is the purpose of your visit to Jerusalem?"

"Like I told you, I have business here."

"Detecting business?" he asked. The words dripped with mockery. Some cops get that way with private investigators, whom they view as little more than nuisances. "Our previous encounter left me curious about you. I did some checking and discovered you work as a private investigator. I must say this surprised me. I didn't think you had the temperament for such work."

"You don't know me, Inspector."

"I know more than you imagine, Mr. Lapid. For instance, and this surprised me even more, I know that you used to be a policeman, of all things."

"A police detective," I said.

"But not in Israel."

"In Hungary. Before the world war."

He nodded as though I had told him nothing new. Then his face hardened, showing the first sign of anger since he entered the hospital room. "A man who once was a cop beating other cops. That's even worse than I initially thought. That's unforgivable."

I didn't argue. Partly because from the viewpoint of a cop, he was absolutely right; and partly because the old fear he'd instilled in me on our first meeting was back in force, and it had a squeezing grip on my throat.

Don't show it, I thought. He's like a dog. Display fear and it will only encourage him to tear you into pieces, to strip the flesh from your bones.

Kulaski hissed out a breath, venting some of his anger. He asked, "What are you doing in Jerusalem?"

"Working."

"On what?"

"A case."

"The shooting of Dr. Kalman Shapira." It wasn't a question. He knew it was so. Now I realized how Sergeant Rapfogel had recognized me. Reuben hadn't given him my description; Kulaski had. Kulaski had learned of my interest in the case. He'd approved of my seeing the investigation file. It had been a ploy to try to discover what I knew, what I wanted, but mostly to draw me in so they could attack me. That was why Rapfogel had wanted to meet so late. It might also explain why he'd drunk so much. Some men find savagery easier when drunk.

"Why are you interested in this case?" Kulaski asked.

"It may have some bearing on my investigation."

"Which is?"

"I'd rather not say."

He didn't lose his temper as I'd feared. He didn't threaten me. He said, "Does it have something to do with Baruch Gafni? He's your client, isn't he?"

I didn't reply, but the answer must have been written on my face, along with my surprise, because Kulaski smiled again.

"I told you, Mr. Lapid, I know more than you imagine. After our previous chat, after you escaped the punishment that was your just due, I called the deputy commissioner's office. I spoke to the secretary and learned who had interceded on your behalf. I sniffed around, didn't find any evidence of a prior connection between you and Mr. Gafni, and I also learned of your so-called profession. I put two and two together."

"That's quite an impressive feat of arithmetic, Inspector," I said, and was rewarded with a spasm of pain in my chest, my injured ribs reminding me that I was in no shape to be a smart aleck. But I was also angry—angry beyond good sense, perhaps—at this arrogant, cruel man for what he'd done to me. And I also felt that I couldn't be timid. I had to project strength, though that might have been a fool's errand, considering the state of my face and my obvious infirmity.

Again Kulaski kept his cool. "I couldn't see why Gafni would make an effort for a man such as you. I did some digging. I found out about his daughter's suicide. That's your case, isn't it? That's what you're working on."

"If you're so sure you know everything, why bother asking?"

"What I can't figure out is what there is to investigate. I read the file. There's no doubt that she committed suicide. Mr. Gafni never suggested otherwise."

"You're so curious, why don't you ask him?"

"I became doubly sure that was your case when I heard you were sniffing about the Shapira shooting. Moria Gafni and Kalman Shapira worked together. What do you think, Detective Lapid?" He put a derisive emphasis on the word detective. "You think Moria Gafni shot Kalman Shapira and then, consumed by guilt, committed suicide?"

I was silent, trying to keep my face impassive. But in my mind, one question kept repeating in a shrill refrain, Has he found the gun? Has he found the gun? Has he found the gun?

"I have no idea who killed Kalman Shapira," I said.

"I certainly hope not because withholding evidence pertaining to a homicide is an offense. Not as serious as those you narrowly avoided being charged with, but still no laughing matter."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind."