"Yes," Lillian said. My excitement spiked and then fizzled out just as quickly when she added, "But only once, and only from the back."

"From the back?"

She nodded. "It was about two months before Moria died. I'd just finished feeding Dina and put her in her crib when I heard footsteps going down the stairs. I got curious. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that I'd been curious for a while by then, and I decided to act on it. I opened the door as quietly as I could and padded out onto the landing. I saw the man as he was leaving the building. He didn't hear me, didn't turn around. That's why I only saw him from the back."

"You didn't catch a glimpse of his face? Not even a part of it?"

"I'm afraid not."

"What did he look like?"

"I just told you, I—"

"I don't mean his facial features," I said. "I mean the rest of him. How tall was he? Was he thin? Fat? Broad-shouldered like your husband?"

"He was nowhere near as big as Daniel," Lillian said, laying an affectionate hand upon her husband's. "He had a sort of narrow build. I'd say he was one, maybe two inches shorter than Daniel, but it's difficult to say because I only saw him from above."

"What color was his hair?"

"Dark. Either brown or black, but I can't say which because the only light was what little filtered in through the lobby's door and windows. The man was little more than a shadow."

"Did he have a full head of hair, or was he balding?"

She gave a shrug of desperation. "I don't know. I'm sorry, but I only saw him for a few seconds, and I was dead tired, and it was impossible to tell—"

"That's all right, Lillian," I said. "Don't worry, you're doing very well."

This was a lie. Lillian's recollection was all but useless. The sort of vague, general description that would fit thousands of men.

I wasn't ready to give up yet. This man, this lover, might hold the key to understanding Moria's state of mind. Suicide is driven by emotion. Powerful emotion. And nothing is as powerful an emotion as love. Particularly the sort of love that one has to hide, as Moria and her lover had done. That sort of love can easily turn to despair.

I tried various techniques to coax additional memories out of Lillian. I wanted some detail, a feature by which I might identify this man.

She tried. I could tell how hard she tried. But she could come up with nothing more. The night had been dark, the man a shadowy form that revealed almost nothing. Just a slender build and an approximate height, and even these impressions were suspect given the lack of light, the brevity of the sighting, the tiredness of the witness.

I hid my disappointment behind a smile and thanked her for her time.

The baby started crying then, and Lillian slipped into the other room to tend to her. Daniel said I was welcome to stay for lunch, but I wasn't comfortable imposing on their meager means. Especially with Gafni's retainer plumping my wallet. Besides, I had learned all I could from the Shukruns for the time being, and I was eager to find out more about Moria.

As I was stepping out, I asked him, "Is your daughter likely to fall asleep again soon? Say in the next hour or so?"

Daniel gave me a bewildered look. "Her next nap won't be for a few hours. Why?"

"Because I wouldn't want to wake her up. I'm going back upstairs now, and I'll be making some noise. I'm telling you so you won't worry."

Daniel opened his mouth, doubtless to ask me what I was meaning to do, but his wife's voice rang out, calling on him to fetch her a diaper, and we hurriedly shook hands before he turned and closed the door. I went back to Moria's apartment, this time locking the door once I was inside. Daniel's unexpected visit had ended up yielding dividends in terms of information, but I had no desire for more drop-ins by concerned or curious neighbors. I had given the place a cursory search earlier, but after finding the gun, I figured greater scrutiny was in order. This was going to take time, and I did not wish to be disturbed.

I started in the kitchen, working methodically, going through every drawer and cupboard, even looking between plates and tapping on the backboards for hollow sounds. I found nothing that shed light on why Moria had killed herself or why she had hidden a gun in her bedroom. I dragged the icebox out of its corner, but the only things I saw where it had stood were ancient dust, some loose hairs, and a couple of dead bugs.

Next came the bathroom, where I peered inside and behind the toilet tank, made sure the medicine cabinet hid no secrets, and studied the broom and dustpan that had been leaning against a corner with far more care than they deserved before setting them back in their place, feeling like a fool.

In the living room, I removed each book from the bookcase and riffled through the pages in the hope that something had been tucked between them, but nothing was. I checked inside, under, and behind the heating stove, but all I got for my trouble were blackened hands and a noseful of the acrid, burned scent of long-dead fires and spent heating oil.

After washing my hands, I examined the undersides of the table and chairs, raked my gaze over the curtains, and pulled the sofa away from the wall, finding nothing behind it. Crouching down, I ran my hand over the upholstery and then brought my face close to the padding and scoured the fabric for any unnatural stitches or seams. There were none.

Rising to full height, I winced as pain stabbed deep in my side where the policeman had kicked me. I braced myself on one of the armrests until the pain receded, then pushed off toward the bedroom.

I stood motionless for a good minute, scanning the bedroom as I had done before, hoping for a flash of inspiration similar to the one that had guided me to the gun.

No such luck. Nothing drew me to one specific spot or another. It all seemed perfectly bland and innocent. Just ordinary stuff in an ordinary bedroom. No hint of where a hiding place might be. But the gun couldn't be the only thing lurking under the mundane surface of this apartment. There had to be more. My professional instincts were screaming it. I just needed to find it.

I lifted the mattress, but there was nothing beneath it. I removed both paintings from their nails, examined their backs, and hung them again when they proved to be no more than what they seemed. I hauled the bed away from the wall, circled it, and was rewarded with the disappointing sight of the cheap bed frame and nothing else.

Despite going through them earlier, I opened each of the three dresser drawers in turn, checked their undersides, went through every item they contained, and finally looked behind the dresser, gripped by a powerful certainty that I was closing in on a second secret, another clue.

Nothing.

That left the closet. I opened its door and ran my hand through the shirts and skirts and dresses and sweaters. I removed all the clothes and set them on the bare mattress. Then I checked the top of the closet and all the shelves before returning to the clothes and spreading them out on the bed, fingering every inch of fabric.

Nothing.

Swearing under my breath, I returned to the now empty closet. I checked for a false bottom, like the one I'd installed in my closet in Tel Aviv, but there was none. Only one place left to look. It had to be there, whatever it was. Whatever else Moria had hidden. Something that would explain things. Or raise new questions.

Gripping the closet in a wide hug, I heaved. The wooden legs scraped shrilly across the floor as the heavy furniture surrendered to my pull, and I wondered what Daniel and Lillian were thinking of all the noise I was making. Maybe they thought I was not all there. Maybe they regretted inviting me into their home. I couldn't blame them if they did. With all the furniture I'd dragged, yanked, and lugged over the past hour or so, it must have sounded like I was tearing this place apart brick by brick.

I pulled until I'd gotten the closet a foot and a half from its original position. My side was hurting again, but I paid it no mind. With soaring eagerness, I peered at the now exposed back of the closet and the wall it had shielded.

The sight that greeted me comprised a blank wall and empty floor tiles. No cavities in the wall. Nothing nailed to the back of the closet. Just what you'd expect to find behind every closet in every apartment—nothing at all—but I had been expecting... something.

For a moment, I just stood there, frowning in disbelief. I'd been so sure that Moria's apartment would yield another unexpected clue that I found myself unconsciously reaching for my pocket to make sure the gun was really there, that I hadn't imagined finding it.

The cool metal against my fingertips alleviated my doubts but not my disappointment. I gazed around me again, but I had looked everywhere. This apartment had surrendered its treasure. It had no more to give.

I plodded into the living room, plopped onto the sofa, and scrubbed my hands over my face. A fierce tiredness had settled upon me, pressing down on my head and shoulders. Had the mysterious visitor taken whatever else there was to find? Or were my instincts mistaken? Perhaps my judgment was impaired. Just like it had been on the night of the demonstration when I'd mindlessly clashed with police officers outside the Knesset, which was how I got myself involved in this case to begin with.

With an acute sense of defeat, I leaned back, raising my eyes to the corner of the ceiling, where that spiderweb of cracks reigned. What had gone through Moria's mind when she'd looked upon these cracks? Did they mirror the fissures that had spread through her life, finally shattering her will to live?

I remained there for a good few minutes, the heat of my exertion deserting my body and the cold of the apartment beginning to seep through my skin.

Then the apartment door handle rattled, followed by a knock. Daniel was on the other side, a mop in one hand, a bucket in the other. He wore a sheepish expression.

"I figured since you're here, I might as well wash off the mud I left."

He came inside, set the bucket in the middle of the living room, and began cleaning.

"Find anything?" he said, moving the mop back and forth.

"No," I said bitterly. "Sorry if I made too much noise."