She was frowning now, two parallel lines etched between her eyebrows. Desperation was weighing heavily on her, crushing her soul. She fixed her tired gaze on me.

"I understand you're a private investigator," she said.

Among other things, I thought. "That's right."

"And you used to be a policeman. A police detective."

"You're well informed."

She said nothing, but the question was clear in her eyes. Why aren't you a policeman any longer?

I hated this part. I did not relish sharing my history. Or explaining my present. But clients needed to be reassured that you could do the job.

"I was a detective with the Hungarian police before the war in Europe. After the war, I came here."

And in between? Well, I couldn't see how that was any of Henrietta Ackerland's business. Nor was it relevant to my abilities as an investigator. Neither was my decision not to become a policeman in Israel.

Thankfully, Greta chose that moment to come over with the coffee, sparing me more of my potential client's questions regarding my past or present. Leaving, she gave me a look that said, Be careful with this one, she's fragile. Greta had a good eye for people. And a good heart for them, too.

Henrietta took a careful sip from her cup, closed her eyes, and nodded appreciatively.

"See?" I said. "I told you it was good."

She gave me a smile that died within one breath of being born. Those smile lines would not be getting deeper any time soon.

I drank from my own cup. "Where did you get my name?"

"From a policeman. Reuben Tzanani. He told me I should see you."

Good old Reuben.

"And you want to hire me?" I said.

"Yes. My son. I want you to find my son."

"He's missing? How long?"

"Ten years."

I raised both eyebrows. "How's that?"

"The last time I saw my son, Willie, was on February 27, 1939. Ten years ago."

Ten years and four months, actually. It was now July 6, 1949.

"And the police couldn't help you?"

"The first officer I spoke with told me it was pointless, that too much time has passed. The second one told me that since the last time I saw Willie was outside the borders of Israel, he couldn't help me. I could see in his eyes that he thought I was a bad mother." There was a sharp edge to her tone, as if this were the greatest insult she had ever suffered. "The third policeman I saw was Reuben Tzanani. He told me you might be able to help."

She was running ahead of me. It was a common phenomenon with clients. They spoke as if you already knew what troubled them, that the formality of hiring you was all that was needed for you to get started on their case.

"Why don't you tell me the whole story from the beginning?"