He sat perfectly still for a few heartbeats, did not even blink. Then he drew a loud breath through his nose, held it in for a long moment, and blew it out of his mouth with a whoosh. He picked up his glass and gulped down half of it with one big mouthful. I didn't need to remind him. He remembered all right.
"Your minute is up," he said, not looking at me.
"I don't think so."
"Well, I do. Beat it."
"Fine. I'll go," I said. I reached for the bottle. He grabbed my wrist, fingers digging into my flesh.
"Leave it here."
I yanked my hand out of his grip. "Only if you talk." Rivlin worked his mouth around for a second or two, and I added, "I'll spring for a second bottle. And here's something extra for your time." I fished a lira note from my pocket and dropped it on the bar. His hand moved fast to cover the bill. He didn't even look around to check if anyone saw anything. He had experience in taking money.
He slid his palm with the banknote beneath it to the edge of the bar, where he cupped the note in his fist and stuck it in his pocket. He brought his hand out—minus the banknote—downed the rest of his glass, poured himself another, and surprised me by taking a sip that was the epitome of daintiness. Then, still not looking at me, he said, "How come you're working this case?"
"My client is a relative of the victims," I said, choosing to refrain from explaining the whole bit about their names being false. I was there to gain information, not dish it out. Besides, he'd had his chance with this case and blew it. It was my turn now.
"No next of kin came forward at the time," Rivlin said.
"She just arrived in Israel and learned about the murders. She wants me to take another look at what happened."
"She wants to catch whoever did it?"
"That's right."
Rivlin shook his head. "Impossible. Not going to happen." He pointed a finger at me. "And if you had any decency, you would have told her so."
I tried to hide the prickle of discomfort that spread across my back. What I'd done was much worse. I had lied to my client. I had betrayed her trust.
"She knows it's a long shot," I lied. "She still wants to have a go at it."
He shrugged. "You read the report?" He had figured out that was where I likely got his name from. Like I thought, he was drunk but not out.
"Yes."
"You certainly have money to spend, don't you?" He had set his gaze on me, and there was a greedy calculation in his eyes.
I didn't correct him. Let him think I paid for the information. He was unlikely to believe me if I told him I got it as a favor. His kind never did any.
"If your information is good, you may get some more of it."
Rivlin responded with a grunt, but didn't press the issue. "If you read the report, you know as much as I do."
"Only the dry facts. What I'm interested in is your impressions, your thoughts."
"My thoughts? Want to hear what I think? I think you're wasting your time and your client's money. You're not going to find out who did it. Not a chance in hell."
"Because too much time has passed?"
"No, that's not it at all. This case was hopeless when it was fresh, when I got it, and it's hopeless now."
"Why?"
He drained his glass and refilled it.
"Think," he told me. "Think how it went down. Think how it happened."
"I want to hear what you think," I said.
He made a face that intimated he considered me to be the dumbest person he'd met in a long, long while. "Fine. I'll tell you. It's the middle of the night. He jimmies the door, gets into the apartment. She wakes up from the noise, climbs out of bed, and sees his face. He's screwed. She can finger him to the cops. All he can think is that she's a threat he needs to eliminate. He has a knife, like a lot of lowlifes do. He slashes her throat. A robbery that escalates to murder. Not exactly unheard of."
"That's the obvious conclusion," I admitted, "but why would he choose to rob Esther Kantor? She was a secretary. She didn't have a lot of money to steal."
"Maybe he thought she had more. Maybe he got the wrong apartment. Maybe he chose it at random. Who the hell can say what went through his mind?"
"Why would he break in at night when the apartment was likely occupied?"
"Maybe he thought it was empty. Maybe he's stupid. Or maybe he figures it's safer at night. It's a residential building. He comes during the day, some bored housewife might spot him."
I nodded. "All right. But why kill the baby? The baby can't point him out to the police."
