For the past few nights she hadn’t been able to sleep. She listened to the monotonous patter of the rain on the window. Her eyes hurt from reading in the dim light of her bedside lamp. Yariv Ninio had lied to her and to the Bar Association. What else was he guilty of? She knew only too well that despite everything she had discovered thus far, she still didn’t have a smoking gun, especially not when everyone else was convinced the murderer was already in custody. She needed more. And she needed more time to get it. David had called half an hour ago and said he wanted to see her in his office in the morning. “We have a lot to discuss,” he said laconically. He seemed to be in a good enough mood. At least she didn’t pick up on any recrimination or anger in his voice. Who would listen to her? All she had was a theory based solely on the statements of two women well past their seventieth birthday. The cell phone on her nightstand rang, startling her. Anat reached out for it. Grisha.
