"Let me do it," Dr. Aboulker said, rushing forward and grabbing the bag before I could.
I thanked him, and he led the way. For some reason, perhaps because of Dr. Aboulker's presence, or maybe fortified by the reassuring weight of the gun in my pocket, I found the descent easier than the ascent had been.
"So long and go to hell," I said to the clerk, brandishing the key he'd given me before letting it fall to the lobby floor. Dr. Aboulker and I stepped out into the rain. I got into the car. He dumped my bag on the back seat, next to his briefcase, and climbed behind the wheel.
On the drive over to the central bus station, his eyes kept darting to me and then to the rearview mirror, where he could see the bag. He kept rubbing his mouth nervously, which made me feel bad.
After stopping outside the station on Jaffa Street, he asked, "Who are you really, Mr. Lapid?"
I saw no harm in telling him. Besides, now that I was on the cusp of fleeing Kulaski's domain, my anxiety had decreased and my professional curiosity was beginning to reassert itself. "I'm a private investigator. I'm working a case here in Jerusalem. A case pertaining to your hospital, in fact."
"My hospital?"
"Yes. It concerns a nurse by the name of Moria Gafni. Did you know her?"
"Not closely, no. We never worked together, but I know who she was. News of her death was all over the hospital. What does it mean, your case concerns her?"
"I was hired to discover why she killed herself."
"I didn't know her motivation was unknown."
"Quite unknown," I said with bitterness, remembering the obscure suicide note.
"Well, I'm sorry, but I don't think I can help you. I never said more than two words to her. Just hello, goodbye, that sort of thing."
"What about Dr. Shapira?"
"Kalman Shapira? He's dead."
"I know he's dead. Were you and he friends?"
"I wouldn't say friends, but friendly, sure. We used to work together before he moved to the Pediatric Ward. Why are you asking about him?"
"Two people who work together die unnaturally within a short period of time, it interests me."
A dash of fear played across Dr. Aboulker's face. "What are you implying, Mr. Lapid?"
"I'm not implying anything. I'm just gathering information. What was Dr. Shapira like?"
He didn't answer. People sometimes get that way when asked about the dead. They don't want to speak ill.
"He won't mind, Doctor," I said. "It could be important."
He scrutinized my features, looking past the bruises and swellings and trying to see the man behind the injuries. Whatever he saw must have tipped some internal scale, and he said, "He was a good doctor, a talented surgeon, but he could be a bit abrasive. He was sometimes brusque with the nurses."
"Was he the sort of doctor who'd complain about a nurse if she didn't show him the proper respect?"
"It happened. Why?"
"It confirms something I was told about him," I said. "What about Dr. Leitner?"
"What does he have to do with this?"
"He was Moria Gafni's boss. What do you think of him?"
Again he didn't answer, just stared out the rain-streaked windshield. A muscle clenched along his jaw.
"You don't like him very much, do you?"
He turned to me. "Am I that easy to read?"
I smiled. "On that issue, you're an open book. Care to tell me why you dislike him?"
"I probably shouldn't."
"Why not?"
"Leitner might become head physician one of these days. He'll run the entire hospital."
"He's that good a doctor?"
Dr. Aboulker huffed, his mouth twisted in bitter contempt. "I wouldn't let him treat my children if he was the only doctor in town."
"That bad, huh?"
He hesitated, scratching the side of his face, tapping the wheel.
I said, "Dr. Leitner will never know what you tell me. You have my word on that."
