She had made a fresh pot of coffee and now proceeded to fill two cups, handing me one. I set it down on the table to let it cool. For now, the wonderful aroma it emitted was enough.

While the coffee cooled, I told Greta everything that had happened, from the night Alon Davidson attacked me to my last meeting with Michael. She listened in silence, shaking her head in disgust and anger when I told her about Leah Goldin's betrayal of Esther and of Strauss's attempted rape of her. She broke the silence when I got to the part about the assassin who had followed me from the café to the beach.

"So that was what that whole nonsense was about," Greta said. "I thought you had a screw loose—telling me to act naturally and informing me that you were going for a walk on the beach." She frowned. "Why the beach?"

"I wanted a secluded place where I could talk to him."

"Wasn't that risky?"

"It was. But I had an advantage: he didn't know that I was onto him and that I had a gun with me. Besides, there was no choice. He had information I needed."

"And you got it," Greta said.

"I did."

"And the man?"

I told her. She pursed her lips and looked away for a few seconds. Then she returned her eyes to me.

"It had to be done, didn't it?"

"Yes," I said. "It did. And he deserved it."

Greta gave a short nod to herself, sealing the matter. She sipped her coffee. She did not ask about Strauss. She didn't need to. His death had made front-page news in a couple of newspapers. He was found dead in his office with three bullets in him. The police were said to be pursuing a number of leads, but I doubted any of them would pan out. Mira would not have left any incriminating evidence. The police had also not made any connection between Strauss and the dead man who was found a few days earlier in a shed on the beach.

"What did he look like?" Greta asked, once I'd finished my story.

"The man who followed me to the beach?"

"Yes."

I described him to her. Greta shook her head.

"I don't remember him," she said, making a face. "I don't like the idea of criminals visiting my café, and I like the fact that I'm unable to tell them by their faces even less. And he's not the only one I missed."

She was talking about Michael. The story of his arrest and confession had appeared in Birnbaum's column in that morning's Davar.

"My first impression of Michael was rather positive as well," I said.

"And your second was of him saving your life. It's incredible, isn't it, the way things turned out?"

"Yes."

"And sad. So incredibly sad."

"Are you talking about Esther or Michael?"