"I was defending myself," Davidson said. "He came at me with—"

"A bottle. Yes, I know. That's the story you told. You and Saul Mercer. The same man who said he was with you on your boat the night someone took a knife to the woman who spurned you and her baby."

Davidson opened his mouth to speak, but I waved a hand, cutting him off.

"The cops who questioned you about that bar fight did not think to check whether Saul Mercer was in the habit of covering up for you. And the detective who investigated the double murder ten years ago had no reason to suspect that Mercer was lying about your alibi. What do you think would happen if I go to the police and enlighten them? They'll pay Mercer a visit. They'll lean on him. Ask him if he was one hundred percent sure you were on that boat with him that night. What do you think he'll do? Maybe he'll stick up for you. Or maybe he'll say he made a mistake, that he got the dates mixed up. It could happen to anyone, nothing sinister about it. Maybe he'll leave you with no alibi. What do you think?"

Davidson's mouth dropped open further. Big as he was, he no longer looked intimidating.

"All that would be left for the cops to see is a man with a reason to get back at Esther Kantor, a man in the habit of cutting people with a knife."

He swallowed so hard it was audible.

"So tell me, Alon. Where were you really that night?"

I'd been putting on an act this past minute or so, ever since I'd mentioned Saul Mercer. Because if Davidson had indeed been on that boat, then nothing I'd said would have any effect on him. He would—smugly, no doubt—inform me that his friend would vouch for him. Which he might well do, even if he were lying. But I could see no other way to shake his alibi, to shake him. I'd rolled the dice and was now waiting to see what numbers came up.

For a long moment Davidson didn't speak. Then he averted his eyes, cleared his throat, and said in a low voice, "I was with a woman."

"What was that? Speak louder."

He raised his eyes. "I was with a woman, you little turd. You happy?"

"That night? The night Esther and Erich were killed?"

"Yes. Saul and I, we cover for each other sometimes. We tell our wives we're on the boat together overnight, but one of us stays ashore and spends the night with another woman."

I noticed he used the present tense, meaning that he cheated on his wife regularly and had done so for at least ten years. My hands were below the table, bunched into fists. Natalie Davidson had defended her husband and tried covering up for him by lying to me. He didn't deserve her love. He didn't deserve her.