"Mr. Lapid, what are you doing—" She stopped and peered closely at my face. "What happened to your nose? And your forehead? Were you in an accident?"
My nose was no longer swollen, and, like Dr. Aboulker had predicted, it was flatter than before but not overly so. The skin on my forehead was tinted pink, still recovering from its abrasions.
Despite what I knew about her, her scrutiny made me self-conscious. Involuntarily, my hand went to my forehead as though to shield it from her stare. Swearing inwardly, I yanked it down and said, "Can I come in, Mrs. Hecht?"
She moved aside, and I entered a homey living room. A gray sofa, a small oval table and chairs, heavy curtains pulled back from south-looking windows, books on shelves, a thick rug. Everything tidy and neat, as though just after a rigorous cleaning.
"Shall I make you some tea?" she asked.
"I'm not here to drink."
"What are you here for?"
On a sideboard stood a number of photographs. Naomi Hecht in a pristine nurse's uniform, squinting against the sun in her eyes. Naomi Hecht in a wedding dress next to a handsome black-haired man in a suit, both of them grinning like excited children. The same man, this time in an IDF uniform, standing against a forest backdrop, somewhere in the Galilee, maybe, or in the mountains around Jerusalem.
"Is your husband home?" I asked, my eyes still on the photos, though there was a sense of vacancy to the place that made me believe she and I were the only people there.
She hesitated, cleared her throat. "No. He's not here. Why?"
I looked at her. There was a sparkle to her eyes, and her pupils looked dilated. Nervousness? Her breath was a little quick, and she was fidgeting with her wedding ring again. Her tell for deceit, or most likely, her getting ready to lie through her teeth. No doubt she was at that instant trying to anticipate my questions and preparing false answers to them.
"I know you lied to me," I told her. "I know you and Moria switched shifts the night Dr. Shapira was killed. I know everything."
Her shoulders sagged, and she dropped onto the sofa. She ran her hands over her face and kept them clasped under her chin.
"I lied to protect her," she said. "I didn't want you to think she could have been a murderer."
I snorted. "That's not the full reason, and we both know it."
Naomi Hecht frowned and lowered her hands to her knees. "What do you mean?"
She was getting better at deceit. She didn't go anywhere near her wedding ring this time.
All the lying she'd told and was still telling set off a reaction inside me. Like a match being put to an oil-soaked log, making it erupt into flame.
I whipped the gun out of my pocket, thrust my hand at her face. "Recognize this?"
She recoiled in terror, though I wasn't pointing the weapon at her.
"This is what you went to Moria's apartment to find, right? You were there a few days before we first met. You searched through her bedroom. But you didn't find this."
"I've never seen this gun in my life."
"But you don't deny going to her apartment and searching through her things."
She shook her head, her eyes dropping. "I did no such thing."
I allowed myself a smile. She was once again a bad liar. The pressure I put on her was showing. Her posture made her look fragile and afraid. Her shoulders drawn inward. Her hands clasped in her lap. Her legs pressed tight together. A smaller target, but there was no escaping the truth.
I was standing on the other side of the narrow coffee table, looming over her. I felt no pity, only anger. And not just for what she'd done to Dr. Shapira, to Moria; also, for what she'd done to me. Because, as Greta had made me admit, I liked this woman. And she turned out to be an evil killer.
"This is the gun that was used to kill Dr. Shapira," I said, fighting to keep my voice level. "I found it in Moria's bedroom."
Naomi Hecht raised her head, her face frozen in a stunned expression. "No. It can't be."
"Don't feel bad about not finding it. Moria had hidden it well. It was in a small hole dug into the wall directly behind her bedside cabinet."
"You're lying. You're making this up."
"I don't know why she didn't dump it after the murder. But you know, don't you? Otherwise, you wouldn't have gone looking for it."
"I didn't. Like I told you, I've never seen this gun before."
My hand was still outstretched, clasping the weapon. I lowered it but didn't return it to my pocket. I wanted her to still see it.
I said, "The night of the murder, you switched shifts with Moria at the last moment, so no one got around to changing the shift log. It wasn't much of an alibi. It wouldn't have stood up to scrutiny, but you hoped it wouldn't need to. If Moria did her job well, the police would think this was a robbery that turned deadly. They wouldn't look too hard at Moria or anyone else at the hospital."
I paused to let her speak, but she remained silent. She barely moved, like an animal caught in headlights, sensing impending disaster but unable to flee from it.
"It worked out perfectly," I said. "The police never suspected Moria. Maybe they looked at the shift log, but if so, they never discovered the switch. And you ended up using it to try to steer me away from Moria. To make me think it was impossible for her to kill Dr. Shapira."
"She didn't. She couldn't." Naomi Hecht's voice had risen and sharpened. Her eyes were pleading with me to believe her lies.
"Yes, she could. She wasn't working that night, and she had this gun in her possession." I waved the gun before her, and she flinched.
"She had no reason to kill him," she said.
"Of course she did. Dr. Shapira complained about her to Dr. Leitner, who in turn excoriated her in his office, making her cry. I'm sure this wasn't the only time Dr. Shapira behaved badly toward Moria. As he did to other nurses. Including you, I bet. Especially you, with how you allow yourself to openly criticize doctors. Which is probably why you ended up getting fired. Should Dr. Leitner be in fear for his life now?"
