"No." Her voice was strident, almost hysterical. "I said I don't want it. I don't want it near me. You take it. Take it and get out of here."

For a moment I considered disobeying her and leaving the money behind. Then I thought, Goddamn her. Who is she to suddenly grow a conscience? I risked myself on her behalf and now she behaves as if I have some sickness.

I took the money. Rachel might have thought it was dirty, but I certainly didn't. I had earned it. The knife I refolded and slid into my pants pocket.

I thought of saying something—maybe to make one final stab at changing her mind, or maybe just to tell her off—but all of a sudden I wanted to leave as badly as she wanted me to go.

I crossed the street and made my way down to the deserted beach. With each step, my shoes sank deeper into the soft sand until I got to the firmer, wetter soil at the water's edge. Waves frothed white as they broke by my feet. The undulating water reflected the moon a million times over. I gazed upward. A billion sparkling stars speckled the clear night sky. I recalled nights at Auschwitz, where the only way I could see freedom was to look up into the heavens. In every other direction lay barracks, guard towers, barbed-wire fences, mud and frost and misery. And death.

Would the Adam Lapid that had lived before Auschwitz have broken Yuri's fingers? Maybe not. But that Adam would have been wrong. Just as Rachel was wrong. Because what I had done was necessary.

I wasn't cruel. I had my boundaries. Another man would not have thought twice before killing Yuri and Max. I'd taken a risk and nearly paid dearly for refusing to do so. Because I did not kill those who did not deserve it. I reserved death for the truly evil.

I lowered my eyes and stared seaward, at the shimmering expanse of shifting water, all the way to the black horizon. Beyond that horizon was Hungary, where I was born, where I had been a policeman, where I'd married and had children, where my father was buried. God, how I missed him. How I missed Deborah. How I missed them all.

But Hungary was not my home. Looking back at all that had happened, I knew it never had been.

A faraway sparkle caught my eye. A light was glinting in the far distance. Not a reflection of starlight on the water, but a man-made light. A boat.

Or a ship.

In an instant, my mind cleared of Rachel Weiss and her accusations, of Hungary and my dead family. Suddenly I knew with utter certainty the first step I would take in the Henrietta Ackerland case.

I smiled, feeling strangely buoyed. My eyes followed the glinting light till it vanished in the darkness. Then I turned and headed home.