I waited for her to finish, but when a full minute passed, I cleared my throat loudly.

"What can I do for you?" she asked without raising her eyes from her scribbling.

I asked where I might find Naomi Hecht.

That made her look up. She did not seem impressed. "Nurse Hecht? Why?"

"I want to talk to her."

"Are you a family member of one of our patients?"

"No."

She pressed her lips together. "Then I don't see why you should be bothering her during her shift. Now, if you don't mind." She made a shooing gesture and resumed writing.

I leaned over the counter and waved my fingers through her gaze, forcing her eyes back to me. "I want to talk to her about Moria Gafni."

"Moria?"

"I'm investigating her death." I didn't elaborate. I just stared at her hard while drumming my fingers on the counter in a show of impatience. Sometimes, you need to look a little menacing to get people to do what you want.

"I see. But she..." She looked flustered, touched her cap. "Sorry, I didn't mean..." She laid down her pencil and darted her eyes around nervously before stopping on a nurse who had just emerged from a room at the end of the hall. "That's her. Naomi, can you come here, please?"

Naomi Hecht wore shoes with low heels that clicked on the hard floor as she approached. She was a slim woman, narrow at the hips and shoulders, and tall for her sex at five foot ten. Her hair was dark and short, flattened against the sides of her head by bobby pins and culminating in an understated curl just below her ears, exposing a long, stately neck. She moved with determined, rapid steps. In one hand, she clutched a bottle of translucent liquid; the other was clamped into a fist. On her face, she had an expression of barely restrained fury, like the rattling lid of a simmering pot.

"I tell you, Paula," she said, thumping the bottle on the counter, her indignation blinding her to my presence. "I'll never understand how that stupid man became a doctor. You know what—"

The matronly nurse—Paula—raised a silencing hand and said in a cutting voice, "We'll talk about this later, Naomi, all right?" She pointed at me. "This man is here to see you."

Naomi Hecht looked at me. She had sharp hazel eyes set deep in an attractive strong face that some would find intimidating. The sort of face that suggested this was a woman who did not suffer fools gladly. I almost felt bad for the doctor she'd disparaged a minute ago.

"Who are you?" she asked bluntly. Her voice fitted the impression made by her features; it was deep, full, and had iron at its core.

"My name is Adam Lapid," I said. "I'm a private investigator. Can we talk for a few minutes? I want to ask you a few questions about Moria Gafni."

Paula was leaning forward, listening with rapt attention. Naomi Hecht gave her a cool smile that made Paula retreat to the safety of her pencil and folder. Turning to me again, Naomi Hecht motioned me away from the counter and Paula's sensitive ears. I followed her a short distance down the hall, where she stopped and folded her arms across her chest. Clipped nails, I noticed. A slim wedding ring.

"Why would a private investigator be interested in Moria?" she asked.

"Her father hired me to look into her suicide."

"Her father?"

"You sound surprised."

"I am."

"Care to tell me why?"

She parried my question with one of her own. "What do you mean, look into her suicide?"

"Moria's father wants to know why she did it. Do you know?"

"No." Her answer was immediate and without hesitation, but I thought I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth. A sign of deceit?

"Well, would you mind answering some questions about Moria?" She didn't respond straight away, so I added, "You were her friend. Don't you want to know why she killed herself?"

Color flared in her cheeks. "You've got a lot of nerve, Mr. Lapid, you know that?"

"So I've been told. Well?"

She pursed her lips, shifted them around a bit, and I wondered what was going through her mind and why she was looking at me like I was a bundle of bad news. Her arms still folded, she glanced at her watch. "I can't talk right now. My shift ends in thirty minutes. I can meet you afterward."

Which would give her ample time to prepare, to decide what to tell me and what to keep to herself—if she had anything to hide, that is. Far from ideal, but I couldn't see a way to force the issue.

"All right. I'll wait for you downstairs."

"No, not here," she said quickly, like a command. "Let's meet in Café Atara. I can be there in an hour." Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned and marched off, snatching the bottle of medicine from the counter along the way.

I watched her go, admiring the efficient way her body moved and the shape of her stockinged calves. Then I walked back toward Paula, who wasn't scribbling anymore, but watching me with keen interest.

I flashed her a smile and asked, "Is Anat Schlesinger around?"

"My, my, you are informed, aren't you?"

"I am?"

"First you asked about Naomi, and now about Anat. Both were close friends of Moria."

"Is there anyone I missed?"

She shook her head. "Moria was generally friendly, but she was closest to Anat and Naomi."

"What did you think of her?"

She took a moment to answer. She had brown hair turning gray and full cheeks, a pair of blue eyes behind round glasses. "I was worried about her."

"You saw it coming?"

"What? No, I didn't mean that. I never imagined... What I meant was that I was concerned about her future as a nurse."

"She wasn't good at her job?"

"No, that wasn't it. Of course, she was young and inexperienced, but she had the desire to learn and to help—and those are the important things."

"So what was the problem?"

She hesitated, studying my face. "You've been through things, haven't you?"