"I'm not here for that, Sima."
She arched an eyebrow. "You mean coffee or—"
"Both."
That made her frown momentarily. Bewildered by the curtness of my reply, perhaps. But she wasn't about to surrender just yet. In fact, judging by the curve of her lips and the twinkle in her eyes, she found pleasure in my resistance.
She rose from the sofa in a fluid movement, glided around the coffee table, and came to stand so close to me that every cell in my body glowed with her warmth. Gazing up at me from under her lashes, she put her hands flat on my chest. "Let's get you out of your coat so you can be more comfortable." She moved her hands to my shoulders, under my coat, and started drawing it off.
I grabbed her forearms and pulled her hands off me. "I said I'm not here for that."
Sima's eyes grew to brown pools of childlike dismay. This wasn't supposed to happen. I wasn't playing my part. She stepped back and looked at me in puzzlement and hurt.
"What are you here for, then?"
"Information."
"What information?"
"About a client of yours."
"I don't discuss my clients. Would you appreciate my discussing you?"
"These are special circumstances. They relate to the death of a young woman."
"What young woman?"
"The daughter of Baruch Gafni."
"I didn't know she'd recently died."
"He didn't talk about it with you?"
Sima didn't answer. She returned to the sofa, poured herself coffee, and took a dainty sip. "How did she die?"
"She killed herself. Pills."
Sima looked relieved. "I was sure you were going to say she was murdered and you suspect Baruch of killing her. How old was she?"
"Twenty-three."
"So young. Why did she do it?"
"I don't know. That's what I'm trying to find out."
"I can't help you. Baruch never talked about his daughter."
"What did he talk about?"
"I don't think I should tell you."
"Please, Sima. It's important."
"What sort of information are you after?"
"I don't know," I said. "But I assume he must have talked about himself while he was with you. He would have wanted to appear the big man in your eyes. He must have revealed things about his life. Maybe he even told you things he never told anyone else. I'm sure many of your clients do."
"Like you did, you mean? About your scars?"
I nodded awkwardly as the scars on my back started prickling. "Yeah, like I did."
A hint of a smile floated across Sima's mouth. She'd noticed my discomfort, and it pleased her. A little payback for my rejecting her.
"Well?" I said.
Sima took another sip and tapped the rim of her cup with a forefinger. "You're asking a lot, Adam. My clients rely on my discretion. If Baruch found out I talked to you, I'd lose him as a client."
Anger flared in me. She was worried about money while I was working to decipher the death of a young woman.
"I wouldn't be expecting him to visit anytime soon," I said. "He's in jail. For murder."
"But you just said—"
"It's not his daughter he killed."
"Who, then?"
"A man called Arye Harpaz. You know him?"
