The boom of the gun ricocheted from one shed wall to the other. But I had timed it perfectly. Anyone not standing close by would likely think he'd just heard a big wave blasting into sand.
The muzzle flare caught Yossi Cohen's cocksure expression for a dazzling instant. Then he was on the ground, howling in pain, both hands latched to his thigh just above the knee, where blood was soaking through his pants.
I knelt before him, brandishing the gun in front of his gaping, panicked eyes.
"Shut up or I'll shoot you again. You hear?"
He bit his lower lip to stifle his cries. Now he whimpered instead. His face looked white and sweat had begun popping on his forehead and cheeks. Looking at his wound, I said, "From the rate it's pumping, I'd say a major blood vessel got hit. Maybe an artery. That's bad news for you."
I rose, unclasped my belt and pulled it free from its loops. I knelt again and looped the belt around his thigh, above the wound, cinching it tight like a tourniquet. The blood flow eased considerably.
"Good," I said. "You may not bleed out in the next five minutes. Now here's the score: If you don't answer my questions, you get another bullet. Understood?" I didn't wait for a nod. "How did you know where to find me?"
It was obviously an effort for him to speak, but he got the words out. "I was told to find you at the café."
"By who?" I asked, expecting to hear the name Alon Davidson.
"Strauss," he croaked. "God, this hurts."
"Strauss?" I said. I was surprised, but not for more than a second. "What's your connection to Strauss?"
"He defended me once in court."
"Strauss doesn't practice criminal law."
"He did years ago before he got married and respectable."
So that was what Strauss had meant when he talked about his current clientele being better than that of criminal lawyers. He was speaking from personal experience.
"Strauss told you to kill me?"
He didn't seem to hear me. "My leg hurts like crazy," he said, gritting his teeth. "I need to see a doctor."
"Did Strauss tell you to kill me?" I said, raising my voice a bit.
"Yes. All right? Yes. He told me you had to be taken out, that you used to be a cop and that you were sniffing around, asking questions about the murder of that woman ten years ago."
"The woman you killed."
He shook his head. "It wasn't me."
"Don't lie to me. If you lie to me, I'll blast your other leg, too. Keep in mind I only have one belt."
His face twisted in pain. The iron smell of blood wafted up from him in waves, mixed with the scent of discharged gunpowder.
"I'm not lying."
I yanked out the picture of Esther with him behind her, angled it so the light of the lamp fell on it, and held it close to his face.
"Here you are on the day she died. I know you killed her."
He squinted at the image, and I could see the recognition in his eyes. "I didn't do it. Was supposed to, but didn't. Strauss paid me to kill her, said she was a troublemaker. What sort of trouble, he never said. Told me to kill her on that specific night, because he had an alibi ready. I followed her, scouted her place, but I didn't kill her."
"You expect me to believe that? I should let you bleed out." And I loosened the belt around his thigh. Blood began oozing out of his wound again.
He got frantic. Sweat filmed his face like a sheet. "No. Don't. I'm telling the truth, I swear it. I didn't kill her. I was going to do it. I went to her apartment that night to do it. The door was open an inch. I went inside and saw them—her and the baby—dead."
"I don't believe you," I said, but I had re-tightened the belt.
"It's the truth. I swear to God it's the truth. Strauss only told me to kill the woman, not the baby. I never would have cut their faces like that. All I did was go through the apartment and take her money and jewelry."
"Strauss thinks you killed her," I said. "Otherwise, he wouldn't have sent you after me."
"If I told him I didn't do it, he wouldn't have paid me. So I told him I killed the woman and the baby too. He didn't like the baby being dead, but he didn't make a fuss about it."
"I don't see you taking the time to ransack her apartment, not with two dead bodies on the floor."
"It was the middle of the night, and I worked quietly. I thought she might have some jewelry worth nabbing, but none of it was worth a damn. Not a lot of cash, either."
I looked at him for a long moment. Outside, the waves kept on slapping the beach. He was breathing rapidly and his arms had started trembling. What he'd told me made no sense, and I had no doubt it was all lies.
I said, "You're just making this up on the fly, hoping I'll let you live to see morning. If I hadn't shown you the picture, you'd still be denying ever hearing of Esther. Not that it matters. You're a killer. You came to kill me, and you killed Esther and the baby. You must have great faith in your buddy Strauss, don't you? You figure he'll work his connections and get you off with a light sentence. He won't get the chance."
