"I think so. A week before that dreadful day, I was walking outside with the baby when I saw Nurse Hecht enter the building. Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, she came out, and I could tell she was distraught by her face and the way she stomped off. That was the last time I saw her until the day she found Moria dead."
"How did Nurse Hecht seem to you that day? Before she saw the body, I mean."
"Preoccupied. She was always cordial, but that day she went up the stairs without saying hello, as though she didn't see me at all."
"What happened then?"
"I went back inside. Daniel was at work. A minute later I heard a shout from above. 'No!' I ran outside and up the stairs, opened the door, and saw Nurse Hecht come out of Moria's bedroom. She was as white as her nurse's uniform."
"Was she crying?"
"No. Her face was set, I remember, her mouth tight. She held up a hand when she saw me, told me to get out. She followed me to the landing and locked the door."
"She had a key? You sure about that?"
"Positive. Like I said, she locked the door."
"What happened then?"
"I asked her what was wrong. She wouldn't answer, just asked me where the closest telephone was. One of the neighbors across the street has one, and I told her the address. She sprinted down the stairs and out of the building. A short while later, the police arrived, and Nurse Hecht showed them into the apartment. Only then did she come out to the landing and tell me Moria was dead."
"Did she tell you how?"
"Yes. I remember how she said it. Just one word. 'Suicide.' I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly, so I asked her to repeat it, and she did. That one word again. So final and abrupt. Like a door slamming shut on a life."
Lillian shivered, and now it was Daniel's turn to comfort his wife. He patted her back with his big hand, and she smiled sadly at him. I got the feeling that they were used to being each other's rock. They had weathered the worst storm any parents could face, and they had emerged from it as strong as two pieces of steel welded together.
"Did she tell you how Moria killed herself?"
"I asked, but she wouldn't say. She just told me to go home, and I did. But I kept the door open and waited. I wanted to see what was happening. A few more cops arrived, and someone I assumed was a doctor from the bag he carried. And a while later they took the body away. I remember how small Moria looked on the gurney, a tiny bundle wrapped in a white sheet. All the neighbors stood in their doorways as the cops carried her down the stairs. Everyone was silent."
We were silent too. Even the stove had quieted. Then it let out a muffled grumble and resumed its hissing, and I asked my next question: "Is one of these women Naomi Hecht?" I was holding up the photograph of Moria with the two other nurses.
Lillian nodded, pointing at the tallest of the three women. "That's her. The other one is Anat Schlesinger. They all worked together."
"Do you remember the last time Nurse Schlesinger came around?"
"I think it was two weeks or so before that awful day. Of course, she might have come by when I was out or sleeping or just happened to have not noticed." A dash of color suffused Lillian's cheeks. "Not that I was trying to, you understand."
"Of course," I said, doing my best not to smile, thinking that Lillian wouldn't like it if I told her that nosy neighbors are often a detective's best source of information.
"We wanted to go to the funeral," Daniel said, "but we couldn't find out where and when it was held."
"Moria was buried in Tel Aviv," I said. "Her father wanted to keep the funeral small."
"Sure, we understand," Lillian said, but the glance she exchanged with her husband suggested that neither of them did.
I took another sip of tea and asked, "Apart from Naomi Hecht, do you know of anyone who had a key to Moria's apartment?"
"Would the landlord have one?" Lillian asked her husband, who rubbed his forehead thoughtfully and answered with a slow nod.
"Does he live in the building?" I asked.
She shook her head. "He doesn't live in Jerusalem at all. He has a house in Ramat Gan. He comes by once a month to collect the rent. Otherwise, we don't see him."
I asked for his name and jotted it in my notebook, but since he was hardly around, I doubted he had anything to do with Moria's suicide.
I finished my tea and asked for some more. Daniel refilled my glass. I took another swallow, a long one, knowing this was about to get delicate.
"Did Moria have any male visitors?"
Daniel shook his head, saying he never saw anyone, but Lillian was quiet and still. Only her eyes moved, a quick flick down and up.
Angling my body toward her, I said, "You've seen someone, haven't you, Lillian?"
She looked at me but didn't speak.
"You're trying to protect her honor, her reputation, and that's good. You owe her that. But it may be important for my investigation. For Moria's father to understand why she killed herself."
Lillian bit her lip, obviously torn.
"I'm not here to judge her," I said. "I know Moria was a good person. Whatever you tell me won't change what I think of her."
A few more seconds passed. Then Lillian sighed and said, "There was a man, but I don't know who he is. Sometimes late at night, I would hear footsteps on the stairs going to the third floor. Our door is right by the stairs, and you can hear everything at night when there's no traffic or people outside and everything is quiet. After the footsteps going up, I would hear voices. Just a few words, nothing I could make out, but Moria had a distinct, high-pitched voice, and I could tell one of the speakers was her. Then there would be movement in Moria's apartment, of more than one set of feet. But it never lasted very long." The implication was clear. Lillian thought Moria and her visitor had gone straight to bed. "Other times, I would hear someone descending the stairs. Also in the middle of the night."
Moria's lover leaving, she meant.
"You never told me any of this," Daniel said, in the surprised tone of a man who learns for the first time that there are parts of his wife that are unknown to him.
