"You son of a bitch," he said, in a low voice. "This is not how I wanted things to go. When I gave you that file, I told you I wanted you to go to the press with proof, and then the department would have been forced to act on it."
"Yes. I know what you wanted. That was back when you thought the killers were Jalal and Kadir Jamalka." I paused, softening my tone. "Look, Yossi, if I had found conclusive, irrefutable proof, I would have gone to the press. But what I had wasn't nearly enough for court, and you know it. And it wouldn't have been enough for the press either. Especially not when a police inspector is involved. And Rosen already knew I was onto him. One of these days, he would have gone after me. I wasn't about to let him do that."
"So you had Ahmed Jamalka do your dirty work for you."
"I let him deliver the justice you and I couldn't. Or wouldn't." I stared at Talmon levelly, and at length he averted his eyes. "Ahmed Jamalka was my client. He paid me to find out who killed his sister. What I did was my job. What he did was his business, not mine. And I know it's not the sort of justice you had in mind, but it's close. Rosen won't be killing anyone else. And that's what counts."
He glared at me for a while longer before his eyes went to my glass. "Is that coffee you have there?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Is it good?"
"The best in Tel Aviv. Let me get you a cup."
I went to the counter, where Greta sat watching.
"You keep getting visitors who seem intent on punching your lights out," she said.
"Uh-huh. But they all calm down pretty quickly, don't they?"
"Yes, you're a regular tranquilizer. But I wish they'd come in here calm to begin with, because seeing them all upset does very little good for my nerves."
"I'm sorry about that, Greta. Can I get some coffee for my new calm friend?"
She nodded and poured me a cup.
I walked back to the table and handed it to Talmon.
"Thank you." He took a sip and sighed. "You're still a son of a bitch, but this is good coffee. I'll grant you that."
"You're welcome."
He took another sip and tugged gently at his beard. He peered at me. "If I'd known how this would turn out when I agreed to meet you that night in Holon…"
"Then what? You wouldn't change a thing. Not now when you know what kind of madman Rosen was."
He sighed, pulled some more at his beard, and nodded. "No. I guess I wouldn't. All things considered."
"And you haven't considered everything."
"What do you mean?"
"Tell me, Yossi, what is the mood like in the police station?"
"The mood?"
"Regarding Rosen's killing, how are the men taking it?"
"How do you think? It's not every day that a policeman is killed in Israel. And you know how it goes—there's a bond between policemen. If one of us gets it, we won't rest until his killer is caught. If your client was still in the country, he would either be in jail, with some broken bones, or in the morgue."
"I assume this sentiment goes all the way to the top."
"Of course. Rosen was an inspector, after all. He was in command, however low, and that makes it almost personal to the higher-ups." He gave me a thoughtful look. "What are you driving at?"
"It just made me think, that's all, that the unofficial immunity given to the Jamalka brothers, Jalal and Kadir, may be ripe for revocation."
Talmon's eyes widened. His mouth dropped open a bit. "My God. You have thought this through, haven't you, Adam? Tell me, is getting your client's brothers arrested also part of your job?"
"No. But no client of mine buys immunity for his criminal siblings. In addition, I happen to agree with you that murderers in Israel belong in jail, political expediency be damned. And Jalal and Kadir Jamalka are murderers, are they not?"
"That they are," Talmon said. He narrowed his eyes at me. "Not that we can prove it. Of course, since you saw them shoot Charlie Buzaglo, now we can."
"I don't see myself testifying to that effect in court. My memory is hazy on the issue. However, there are other crimes that they committed for which there is proof. Enough for you to lock them up for a good many years. Right?"
"No doubt about that. It won't be the same as convicting them of murder, but—" he smiled a faint smile "—it will be close."
I watched as the last drops of tension and anger drained from his body. He didn't look happy, perhaps that was beyond the reach of his features, but he seemed satisfied. He finished his coffee.
"This is good coffee. I think I'd like another one. Want one more, Adam?"
I said that I would. He went and fetched it.
When he came back to the table, he said, "Why don't you join the police force, Adam? I'd be happy to put in a word. A man like you, I dare say you could go far."
"No offense, Yossi, but no thanks."
"Why? You practically do the same thing we do."
Not exactly, I thought. What I said was, "I don't like having anyone tell me what to do. And what I can't do."
He pursed his lips, staring intently at his coffee cup. Finally, he said, "I did what I could for her, Adam."
"I know you did, Yossi. You're a good man. You did more than most. We wouldn't be sitting here if you hadn't."
He took a long sip of his coffee, smacked his lips. "You know, last night, after I heard that Rosen was dead, was the first night of good sleep I've had since he ordered me to back off from the case. No dreams of any kind."
I said nothing.
"I guess I should thank you for that," he said.
"No need."
"For a while there," he said, seeming not to have heard me, "I thought I would never sleep properly again."
I didn't say anything. I knew how he felt. Only what he'd gone through for a month, I had been dealing with for five years. And I doubted that would change any time soon.
We talked for a while longer. Our conversation drifted to other matters, mundane stuff, and I enjoyed speaking with him. I'd been sincere when I said he was a good man. I did not judge him. As he told me the first time we met, he had a family to feed and take care of. That changed a man and the way he did things. I had no one, so it was easier for me to take risks. Still, I'd like to think that in his shoes I would have stayed on the case even if a superior ordered me not to. Murder was special. It didn't let go of you. It demanded resolution and justice. And retribution. I would have felt compelled to deliver all three.
A while later he said, "It's funny."
"What is?"
"How everything ends up so tidy."
"What do you mean?"
"Not only does Rosen get knifed in the street, but also Buzaglo, Maryam's pimp, ends up dead. And now the two brothers will get their just punishment. All the people who wronged Maryam Jamalka are paying the price for their sins toward her."
"That's good," I said. "I hate loose ends."
I wasn't sure what to tell Reuben. He was a by-the-book sort of policeman and person. He wouldn't understand that sometimes you had to bend the rules to bring about justice.
But he had questions, as he had known about Rosen's involvement in the case and had heard the reports of what Ahmed Jamalka had shouted as he knifed Rosen in the street.
He asked me what I made of it all, and I gave him an almost complete version of the truth. I described the course of my investigation, leaving out my involvement with Sima Vaaknin and my telling Ahmed Jamalka that Rosen was the killer. This, I suggested, he had managed to learn all by himself.
Reuben was silent for a while on the phone, and I began worrying that he saw through my lie. At last he said, "I don't like vigilantism. If men started taking the law into their own hands, what kind of society would we have?"
The kind that had always existed, I thought, in which laws were malleable tools of the powerful. But I said nothing.