"Precisely," she said, acknowledging my oblique compliment with a nod. "That's what I thought. Which is why it didn't require too much effort on her part to convince me it was true."

"You weren't angry?"

"A little. Okay, at first it was more than a little, because her not wanting to share an apartment with me meant that I'd have to share it with someone else, someone I didn't know and maybe wouldn't get along with. But I didn't stay sore for long; I hardly ever do."

I was beginning to believe that. Anat Schlesinger looked like the sort of person who shrugs off the small irritations of life and just carries on with the business of living it.

"Did Moria say why she didn't want roommates?" I asked.

"She told me that at the end of the day she wanted to come back to a quiet home, where she could be by herself. I can understand that. It can get pretty noisy here with three girls living together, and sometimes I just want the other two to shut up or go away and let me have a few moments of quiet solitude."

"Like you were having before I showed up?" I asked with a half-smile.

"Exactly," she said, then caught herself and quickly added, "I didn't mean—"

I chuckled. "That's all right. I wasn't offended."

"That's good, because I wasn't talking about you, I swear. I want to help you if I can. I've been a mess since Moria's death. I can't put it—her—out of my mind."

"How long have you two been friends?"

"Five years. We studied together in nursing school."

"Was she a good student?"

"Extremely. She worked very hard, almost too hard: she rewrote each paper until every word was absolutely perfect, and she studied like crazy. Which was lucky for me because she pulled me along to study more as well."

"Were you also called upon during the war in Jerusalem?"

She nodded, a shadow crossing her face. "Talk about a trial by fire. It was that, quite literally."

"Was that also when you met Naomi Hecht?"

"Yes. Though I was assigned to another nurse. A real witch. Always tearing into me, even when I didn't deserve it. Moria was lucky to have Naomi."

"Were they very close?"

"We all were."

"I understand the two of them had a quarrel about a week before Moria's death."

"Really? Did Naomi tell you that?"

I shook my head. "Someone else I talked to."

"Someone at the hospital?"

"No. Not at the hospital, Ms. Schlesinger. It's someone you don't know." Which was untrue because she had probably met Lillian Shukrun when Lillian's son was at the hospital. But I didn't see what harm it did, telling her this white lie.

"Well," she said, giving me an affronted look for not revealing my source's identity, "I never heard anything about it. Not from Moria nor from Naomi. Whoever told you they quarreled is either mistaken or they were making it up."

No, she wasn't, I thought. And both Naomi Hecht and Moria hid it from you, their close friend.

I said, "Why did Moria come to Jerusalem? Why not become a nurse in Tel Aviv?"

"She and her father were on bad terms. I don't know why. She wouldn't say. And her mother was dead, and Moria didn't have any siblings, so she basically had no one in Tel Aviv."

"Did Moria tell you how her mother died?"

"It was an illness of some sort. That's the impression I got. She didn't talk about her family much, and I didn't pry. I could tell it was a touchy subject."

"It was no illness. Her mother killed herself."

Anat gaped at me. "My God! Are you sure?"

"I'm afraid so," I said, thinking that Naomi Hecht had not told Anat Schlesinger about this. Perhaps because she'd sensed that Moria wouldn't want this information to get around.

Anat shut her eyes, shook her head. Her shoulders started trembling, and then she was crying. Not like Naomi Hecht, but loudly, with hitching gasps and cracking wails, lasting a couple of minutes. When her weeping began subsiding, I dug my handkerchief out of my pocket and handed it over. She dried her face and said, "Why didn't she tell me?"

I didn't know. All I knew was that Moria had been a person who kept secrets, all sorts of secrets, which was why, I believed, she'd chosen to live alone.

"I'm sorry that I upset you," I said.

"It's not your fault. I'm just sad for Moria, all she went through. I'm glad you told me. I just wish she had. Do you think she was ashamed? Is that why she didn't tell me?"

I said I didn't know, that I wished I did. Then I asked if she felt up to answering some more questions, and she said she was.

"You think Moria wanted to get away from her father by coming to Jerusalem?" I asked.

"I'm sure that was a big part of it. I've never met the man, and it's good that I haven't, or I might yell at him or slap his face. I'm furious with him, without even knowing what he did. I'm furious because, for one reason or another, he was a lousy father, and it makes me mad on Moria's behalf." She sighed. "Maybe I'm also mad at myself. I keep asking myself how I missed the signs."

"What signs?"

"I don't know. Looking back, I can't put my finger on anything specific and say, 'This is what you should have spotted, Anat. This was a warning of what was to come.' But there must have been something, right?"

"Did Moria act as usual in her final days?"

"I think so. Maybe she was a bit more thoughtful than normal; Moria would get that way sometimes, go into her own head for a while. Maybe she was doing more of that, brooding a little, but not so much that I felt alarmed."

"Any idea what she was brooding about?"

"I thought it might have something to do with a doctor on our ward who got killed. Kalman Shapira. He got shot about a week before Moria died."

"I heard about that."

"Well, you can imagine how we all felt. Everyone was a little rattled, not just Moria."

"Naomi Hecht told me Moria didn't like Dr. Shapira."