Levine and I spoke for a minute more. He asked me again not to say anything to Strauss about our talk. I was about to inquire what Strauss had done to earn his hatred and fear, but dismissed the idea. Why would Levine want to relive painful moments? What good would that do?

After hanging up, I returned the empty bottle to the bar and paid for my call.

"Come again soon," the woman said, her tone as cheerful as a funeral dirge.

29

My hands jammed deep in my pockets, I hiked uptown. The heat was intense and the sun was harsh on my eyes. I kept my gaze aimed at a point three meters ahead on the gray sidewalk, ruminating on this mess of a case.

The first problem was that there were too many lies and withheld truths, and too many people guilty of one or both. I counted them off in my mind.

Alon Davidson had lied about his alibi and had tried to lie about kissing Esther. He might have lied about not having an affair with her. Moshe Klinger had lied—or obfuscated the truth—about the timing of his family's move from Haifa to Netanya, and his wife, Yael, had lied about the reason why they had stopped sheltering immigrants. Leah Goldin had not told me about the affair she'd had with Strauss, and I was beginning to suspect she had also lied to me, but I wasn't sure about what. She had also called Strauss, presumably to inform him of my talk with her. Strauss, in turn, had lied about the reason why Esther had been troubled during her final days.

Each of them could have perfectly innocent reasons for their lies and evasions, or they might be trying to cover their tracks. I needed to find a way to separate the innocent from the guilty.

The second problem was that, as far as I knew, apart from Alon Davidson, none of the men and women on my list had a motive to kill Esther Grunewald. And none of them, including Davidson, had a motive to kill Willie Ackerland, not to mention deface the bodies. Maybe one of them had gone crazy, as Rivlin believed the killer had done. If so, the killer just might be some random stranger, but I had based my entire investigation on the assumption that he or she knew Esther and had a reason to kill her.

My instincts told me that assumption was correct. This was no random murder, but a targeted killing. The killer had gone after Esther specifically. My task was to figure out the why to be able to finger the who.

Which was easier said than done.

I let out a grunt of exasperation and stopped walking, leaned against the fence of a deserted schoolyard, blew some cool air down the front of my shirt, and fired up a cigarette.