"You shouldn't have done all that."

"Stop that, all right? I did it because you needed me to and because I wanted to. Either of those reasons is reason enough."

I looked into her kind, gentle eyes, and felt a pleasant warmth in my chest. "Thank you, Greta."

She squeezed my hand. "Let me help you up."

I didn't argue. Once on my feet, she returned to the kitchen and I went to the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror and winced. My face was a mess of reds and purples, my nose a large, unfamiliar shape at its center. I was a model of defeat—a beaten, wounded soldier after a rout.

Greta had put my razor and shaving cream, toothbrush and paste on the small shelf under the mirror. Stubble grassed my face, but I didn't dare put the razor to my skin. I brushed my teeth. My gums were tender. I hadn't lost any teeth, but it had been a close call.

I shivered. I was in underwear and undershirt, and the apartment was cold. From my closet I got trousers, socks, and a shirt, and, with Greta's help, which I accepted without further attempts at bravado, worked myself into them.

"Shouldn't you be at the café?"

"Rita can mind the place for a while." Rita filled in for Greta at the café from time to time. "Sit down. I'll get you some soup."

The soup was a delicacy. Spicy and rich with potatoes and carrots and morsels of tender chicken. I ate with gusto, almost forgetting my troubles. Greta watched me with quiet satisfaction, which only grew when I asked for another helping.

Then I took my pills. And then I said to Greta, "I'm in trouble."

"I could tell that."

"If I don't work this case, I'll go to jail. If I do, I might end up dead."

"Perhaps you should start at the beginning, Adam."

So I did. I started with the demonstration. I didn't sanitize the story. I kept in all the ugly bits. I described the fight outside the Knesset, made it clear that I'd hit cops, probably injured some. I didn't shy away from Greta's gaze as I spoke. I wanted to see her reaction, even if it was a bad one. But she just nodded in encouragement for me to continue.

I told her about the fallen policeman, how I was arrested, and my first encounter with Inspector Kulaski.

"He was going to see to it that I'd spend years in prison," I said. "It was personal for him." Then I told her about the phone call from the deputy commissioner and Kulaski's vow that it wasn't over.

"I was just as gobsmacked as he was that I was being released," I said.

Next, I related to her the car ride with Shmuel Birnbaum, my meeting with Baruch Gafni, and the mission he'd given me. "If not for him, I'd still be locked up. I should feel thankful, but I don't. Probably because I dislike him so much."

Then came the investigation itself. My visit to Moria's apartment. Finding the hidden gun. Meeting Daniel and Lillian Shukrun, and the latter's description of Moria's lover. Going to the hospital, talking to Paula, and hearing about Dr. Shapira's murder. Sitting in Café Atara with Naomi Hecht, where she lied to me about her falling-out with Moria, and learning of the suicide of Vera Gafni, Moria's mother. Interviewing Anat Schlesinger. Meeting Dr. Leitner. Discovering the identity of Moria's lover. Reading the homicide report of Dr. Shapira. Figuring out Moria killed him. Being attacked on the street.

"At first I assumed I was the random victim of a street mugging," I said. "The truth is entirely different."

Now came the hardest part, the most shameful to share—as being helpless and weak and at the mercy of brutal men usually is. I told Greta of waking up in the hospital, learning that I hadn't been robbed, and finally realizing what had happened when Kulaski marched into my room to gloat and threaten and hurt me.

"The huge bruise on my side, that's Kulaski's doing. He knew I had broken ribs; that's why he chose that particular spot."

Greta sucked in a shocked breath when I described what Kulaski had done and clasped her hands as though in prayer, fingertips against her lips.

"That's why I need the gun," I said. "In case he comes after me."

"If you stay out of Jerusalem, maybe he won't."

"That's the catch, Greta, don't you see? I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because if I stop working the case, Gafni might withdraw his protection, and I could get arrested. Besides, I'm already invested. I need to see this case through. I have to know why Moria Gafni killed herself."

"There's a good chance you'll never know."

"I know. You don't have to tell me that."

"You're in no shape to work a case."

"I know that, too. I'll rest for a while, don't you worry."

"How long is 'a while'?"

I smiled and answered vaguely, "A while, Greta."

She sniffed, knowing I wouldn't rest as much as I should.

"If you stay out of Jerusalem, maybe this business with Inspector Kulaski will blow over."

"Maybe. But I doubt it. His hatred of me is illogical, irrational. It's madness."

"You can ask Mr. Gafni to talk to the deputy commissioner about Kulaski."

I shook my head. "I doubt that he would or that it would work if he did. Remember that Kulaski came after me outside the boundaries of the law. Nothing the deputy commissioner can say or do would prevent him from doing so again."

"Then how do you plan on dealing with him?"

"I don't know, Greta. I just don't know."

She pondered this for a long moment but came up with no answers. "Anything else you need to tell me?"

"Not much. Just how I got back from Jerusalem." I refrained from telling her about the ordeal the trip proved to be, but I did tell her about discovering my hotel room had been ransacked, and also about Dr. Leitner firing Naomi Hecht. "It happened soon after I spoke with him, but I can't see any connection."

Greta studied my face, and a faint smile quirked her lips. "You like her, don't you?"

"Who?"

"Naomi Hecht. You like her."

"I hardly know her, Greta."

"As if that's a requirement to liking someone. Is she attractive?"

"Most people wouldn't say so, I think."