"Dr. Yosef Leitner."
This surprised me, but any other answer would have done as well.
"Why would Dr. Leitner want me followed?"
Ruslander shrugged. "He didn't tell, and I didn't ask. I've learned it's better this way. I only want to know what I have to."
"He must have given you instructions."
"To tail you. To report where you go, who you meet. He wanted daily reports."
"You did all this yourself? For nearly three weeks?" It was January 29.
"I hired a guy to help out. One of the most boring jobs I've ever done, let me tell you. For a week, I sat for twelve hours a day in a car on Hamaccabi Street, waiting for you to show your face. But you stayed in your apartment all that time. The old lady from the café took care of you, didn't she?"
That made me angry, him knowing about Greta, though I had no logical reason why that was.
"What did you tell Leitner?" I asked, not showing my feelings. For Ruslander did not deserve my anger. He was just doing a job, like I would have done in his place. If I should have been furious with anyone, it was Dr. Leitner.
"Everything. That you got assaulted and were in the hospital in Jerusalem for a couple of days, but then left for Tel Aviv. That you didn't come out for a week. After three days with nothing to report, I was sure he'd tell me to pack it up—two guys on the job, it was costing him plenty—but he told me to stay on it. I don't know what you did to him, but he's mighty irritated with you."
I didn't know what I'd done to Dr. Leitner either. I'd been harsh and brusque during our talk; I'd used a tone he was probably unaccustomed to. But that wouldn't explain him paying a private detective to follow me around.
"What else did you tell him?"
"Can I get off my hands?" Ruslander asked. "They're getting numb. I won't try anything, I swear."
I believed him. I could tell he wasn't too fond of Dr. Leitner. He wasn't going to risk a bullet for his sake.
"All right. Want a cigarette?"
He nodded, and I got his cigarettes and lighter from the ground and tossed them to him.
"Thanks," he said, lighting up. "After a week, you finally went out. Your face looked like crap. I can only imagine how you were a week before. I followed you to a factory downtown. I later learned it's owned by Baruch Gafni. That was interesting."
"Interesting how?"
He took a drag, blew out a long stream of smoke, and watched it curl up and dissipate. "I don't suppose you'd like to share what you're doing in Jerusalem."
"You're right. I wouldn't."
"But you're working for Baruch Gafni?"
"Let's be clear about something, Yigal: I'm the one getting information out of you, not the other way around."
He raised a hand, palm out. "Fine, fine. Don't get upset. I'm just curious, that's all."
"You still haven't told me why my meeting with Baruch Gafni is interesting."
He gave me a crooked smile. "Would it be worth a little something for you to know, you think?"
I broke out laughing. I was beginning to like Yigal Ruslander. "It's worth not taking a bullet to you."
"No harm in trying, right?" he said, laughing as well. Another drag, and he got serious. "The reason it's interesting is that it wasn't the first time I encountered the surname Gafni. And recently."
I felt a chill, and it wasn't because of the weather. "Is that so?"
"Yeah. But the first name wasn't Baruch. I'm betting you can guess what it was since you spent the past two nights in her apartment. Though without turning on a single light. Why not, by the way?"
I ignored his question. "How did you hear about Moria Gafni?"
"Same way I heard about you."
"Dr. Leitner?"
"One and the same."
"He hired you to investigate Moria?"
"To follow her. Learn everything about her."
"Why?"
"He didn't say, and I didn't ask. I prefer—"
"You prefer not knowing, yes, you told me that already," I said, my brain roiling with this unforeseen development. "But you must have an idea."
"Oh, it hurts my soul to admit it, but not an inkling," he said, pressing both hands to his heart, adopting an absurdly mournful expression.
