"What for?" Davidson asked.
"So I can talk to her, see if she corroborates your story."
"It was ten years ago."
"Still. Tell me her name."
He hesitated. "I'd rather not. She's married, you see."
"It's okay for you to sleep with a married woman, but it's not okay for me to talk to her?" I leaned forward, making sure I didn't wince when my stomach twinged where he'd kicked me. "Listen to me now and listen good. Give me that woman's name or I go to the police and tell them you lied about your alibi and that maybe you weren't defending yourself when you cut that man. Your choice. What's it going to be?"
The hatred in his eyes was as hot as a bonfire.
He said, "How do I know you won't go to the police anyway?"
"You don't. I can give you my word and that's it. I won't tell the police Saul Mercer lied for you, and what happened here tonight will stay between us four. Unless you're the killer and unless you try to harm me or anyone I know. But you need to make your choice now."
I could see him trying to find a way out of this and having no luck, so he told me her name was Shulamit Hendleman and gave me the address where she lived when he was seeing her. I wrote it down in my notebook.
I slipped my notebook back into my pocket, even that small movement causing me pain; then I sat back, drumming my fingers on my thigh. I had one more question I wanted to ask Davidson.
"Did the police ever question you about you kissing Esther?"
"Yeah," Davidson said.
"Sergeant Rivlin?"
"I don't remember his name. The same guy who talked to me earlier, the one I gave my alibi to. He said there was a rumor Esther and I had a thing going on. I swore we hadn't. He said he might need to look deeper into it, that he was sorry if it would cause me problems at home. I could see what he was angling for. I said I'd appreciate it if he didn't spread lies about me. I slipped him some cash and he went away."
So that was the real reason why Rivlin had not included Elena's sighting of Esther and Davidson in his report. Since he did not believe Natalie Davidson could have done the killing, and since Alon Davidson had been alibied, Rivlin saw no benefit in recording Elena's testimony. But he could still parlay the testimony into cash. That greedy drunken excuse for a detective. I regretted not punching him when I had the chance.
I looked at Davidson. Michael had hurt him good. By tomorrow that eye would be swollen halfway shut, and his nose and head would probably hurt him for days. But it wasn't enough. Not by a long shot.
"Anything else?" I asked, looking at Michael and Greta. Both shook their heads, Greta looking a little surprised at my question.
Davidson, following this, said, "Good. Then we're done here, right? I'll head on home. Hopefully my wife's had time to cool down."
I turned my eyes once more to Davidson. Despite the bruises and caked blood on his face, he looked self-assured, smug. In some perverted way, his telling us about his mistress had boosted his self-esteem. He'd shown us what a man he was, and he was feeling good about it. No. What Michael had done to him wasn't nearly enough.
"Just a minute. There's one last thing I'd like to get straight: You said you were going to teach me a lesson, is that right?"
Davidson smiled. "That's right."
"By giving me a beating."
"Yes. And I did, didn't I? Before your friend came along to save you."
I pointed at the knife. "A knife isn't used for beating. What were you planning on doing to me?"
Davidson licked his lips. A look of wariness came to his eyes. "To scare you a little, that's all. So you would stay away from me and my wife."
"I think you're lying. You said you were going to hurt me, not scare me."
"That was just talk. Swear to God."
"You weren't going to cut me up?"
He shook his head. He looked worried all of a sudden. Something he saw in my eyes or heard in my voice made him reassess the situation. He sensed trouble.
I got to my feet. It was a process. First I sat forward; then I placed both hands on the table and used them to push myself up. I stood still for a few heartbeats, my head swimming. When I felt relatively steady again, I slipped the damp cloth with which Greta had cleaned my wound off the table and, walking slowly around the table with my hands behind my back, wrapped the cloth tightly around my right fist, padding the knuckles. Davidson watched me approach, a frown on his face. I must have looked like I was about to fall down at any second. With my legs all wobbly and shaky, that was how I felt.
"Hold on now," he started saying. "Just hold—"
I cut him off. "I think you were going to use your knife on me, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. That said, I'm certain you were aiming to hurt me pretty badly. Knock some of my teeth out, probably. Maybe do something even worse. Leave your mark on me somehow." Another step and I was in front of his chair. "I can't just let you get away with it without paying you back myself."
"Just a minute." He began pushing himself up, raising his hands to defend himself.
"Sit down!" Michael ordered.
Davidson's eyes jumped from me to Michael, and in that moment I brought my right fist from behind my back and, putting my entire body behind it, landed it right on the side of his mouth.
His head snapped sideways and the rest of him followed, toppling out of his chair and onto the floor like a felled tree. The blow jarred my arm all the way to my shoulder and my knuckles felt as if they'd been stepped on. Tugging the cloth loose from around my knuckles, I was gratified to see my hand wasn't bleeding. Flexing my fingers to alleviate the pain, I watched as Davidson laboriously raised himself to hands and knees. Blood dripped from his mouth. He shook his head, coughed, and spat some more of it out. Something white glistened among the blood on Greta's floor.
"Help me throw him out," I told Michael.
We each grabbed Davidson under one arm and dragged him to the door. Outside, we dragged him a few doors away and leaned him against a wall. His mouth was a mess, but he was conscious and breathing as well as could be expected. I crouched beside him, bringing my face close to his, our eyes at the same level.
"If you ever try to hurt me again, you'll lose more than your teeth. Understand? Be grateful I don't want to leave your wife without a husband and your children without a father. Now get up and go home. Be gone in five minutes, or I might change my mind and let you have some more."
I rose and Michael and I went back into Greta's café.
Inside, Greta was busy with a bucket and mop, cleaning the mess on her floor.
"Here, let me do it," I said, reaching for the mop.
She waved me off. "You're in no condition to do anything but go home and sleep. Sure you don't need a doctor?"
"I'm sure," I said truthfully. My head was clear and my feet no longer felt like jelly. I was still aching, but pain was something I was familiar with. "Sorry you had to see that, Greta."
"Don't be. He had it coming, the beast. And don't you worry about me, either. I'm not the sort of woman who goes weak in the knees at the sight of blood." She paused in her mopping and looked at me. "Are you really not going to report him to the police?"
I nodded.
"It's your call, but I wish you would."
"You think she's right?" I asked Michael.
He had lit up another cigarette and took it out of his mouth to speak. "Nothing good ever came out of getting cops involved. That's been my experience, anyway."
Probably born out of his years in the Irgun, when he was among the hunted.
Greta threw up the hand not holding the mop. "Have it your way. But what if he's your killer?"
"If he is, then there isn't any way to prove it," I said. "Not yet anyway. For all I know, his friend will stick by him and his alibi for the night of the murders will hold. Or this woman, Shulamit Hendleman, will corroborate the version he gave us tonight. I could get him charged for assaulting me, but he'll get off relatively easy. And the police might not look kindly on me for having broken his teeth long after he was subdued."