Another shake of the head. "You've got this all wrong. Please believe me, it's nothing like what you think."
"No more lies, Mrs. Hecht. I'm sick and tired of them. Why did you and Moria fight a week before she died? It was because she felt guilty for the murder, right? But I'm guessing you didn't."
She shook her head violently, saying as though in recitation, "No. No. No. No."
"Moria killed herself because of you." My voice was louder now, cutting, each word slicing into her like a spearhead. "She chose the time, knowing you'd come looking for her after she failed to show up for work. She wanted you to find her."
Naomi Hecht clamped her eyes shut, and her entire body went rigid, but then, with a cry, she broke into sobs, rocking back and forth, her shoulders quaking.
I let her cry. Did not offer a word of solace or anything with which to dry her tears. My ears throbbed with the echo of her sobs. My heart thumped with excitement. I wanted to break her, and I was getting close.
When she started to calm, I went over and sat beside her on the sofa. I could feel the heat of her body, smell the salty, sour odor of her tears and desperation.
"You'll feel better if you come clean," I said in a gentler voice, pushing down a sick feeling as I recalled Kulaski using the same technique on me. "If you admit it. I'll take you to the police station, and you can tell them everything." In truth, I couldn't do that without letting Kulaski know I was in town, but I'd figure something out when the time came. "They'll go easy on you if you confess."
Her sobbing dwindled to nothingness, she dried her eyes with her knuckles, and then Naomi Hecht turned her head to face me. Her eyes were fresh puddles, the skin on her cheeks wet and pale to near translucence, and the bags under her eyes black like the inside of a blindfold just before an execution.
Her voice was surprisingly firm and controlled. "You are a damn fool, Mr. Lapid. You know nothing about me or Moria. Absolutely nothing. And you're crazy if you think I'll confess to a murder neither I nor she had anything to do with. Now I want you to leave."
"You're making a mistake, Mrs. Hecht."
"No. You're the one who's making a mistake. I told you to leave, so leave. Get out of my home!"
I nodded slowly and rose to my feet, trying to hide my disappointment. I had thought this might end right then, but I was wrong. I slipped the gun in my coat. I said to her, "Confessing might be the safer option for you, Mrs. Hecht."
She stared at me. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing," I said, for I was not about to tell her Mr. Gafni might prove more dangerous to her than a prison term. "But I promise you this: I won't stop looking for proof. And I'll find it. And when I do, you'll pay for what you did. You'll pay for Dr. Shapira. And you'll pay for Moria, too."
I walked through cold rain and hot shame, though the latter perplexed me. What did I have to be ashamed of? Making a killer cry? Using a customary interrogation technique to get her to confess? Once again, I was allowing my attraction for Naomi Hecht to influence me.
I fled the rain into a café, smoked a couple of cigarettes, and ate a mediocre lunch. I could have ended the case then and there. I could have picked up the phone, called Gafni, and told him about Naomi Hecht. But then I would have had to explain to him what she'd done, what Moria had done. I didn't think he would believe me. Not unless I had undeniable proof.
And once I did? How would he take it? I didn't want to think about that just yet.
As I ate, I kept glancing at the door and front window. Would I see Kulaski walk by? Or maybe that gluttonous rat Rapfogel?
I didn't see anyone. The rain stopped by the time I had my second cup of coffee. I went out into the wet street and just avoided getting splashed when a truck bounced into a puddle, showering the sidewalk in front of me.
Choosing side streets as often as possible, I wended my way to where Dr. Shapira had met his doom. I had no idea what I'd find when I got there, but it's never a mistake to visit a murder scene.
The alleyway where Dr. Shapira had perished was a patch of wet tarmac that held no traces of the violent death that had occurred there. Someone had shattered a bottle against the ground, and glass glittered at my feet. An old chair missing a leg leaned crookedly against a wall, its wood distended and cracked with rain. A child's mitten lay forgotten and soiled in a puddle.
But no blood. No clues left by the killer. No sense of death.
What was I expecting, more than a month after the slaying? I hated to admit it, but I had no idea how to proceed. Returning to the hospital to ask more questions was risky. Kulaski might have asked one of the employees on the ward to keep an eye out for me. So how was I supposed to find the evidence that would nail Naomi Hecht to the wall? The longer it took, the greater the chance that I'd be spotted. I needed a solution fast.
Until I came up with one, I had to get off the street. It was almost three by now. Soon the cinemas would open. I went into the first one I saw, bought tickets to all three shows, and chose the farthest seat in the last row. I buried my head in a newspaper I'd picked up on the way until the lights went out and the newsreel started playing.
Ben-Gurion was being shown around a factory in Haifa. Foreign Minister Sharett was shaking hands with a bunch of European ambassadors. Miserable immigrants in an immigrant camp in the north were repairing weather damage to their makeshift homes, mud everywhere.
Then the movie started. Voices speaking American English. Images of skyscrapers and an unbelievable number of cars.
The darkness felt safe, and I relaxed slightly. I watched the movie and tried to clear my mind, hoping inspiration would strike.
It didn't.
I sat through two more screenings of the same film. I used the time to grab some shut-eye. With how tired I was, it was easy to sleep, even when the cinema hall filled up for the evening screenings.
When the lights came on after the last show, I dragged my feet toward the exit, knowing that outside would be colder and likely wetter, and that I had more time to pass before I dared go to Moria's apartment for the night.
Luckily, the night was dry, though the wind was a cold knife that whistled like an incoming bomb. I wedged my hands into my pockets and meandered aimlessly for a while. I was hungry but didn't feel like sitting anywhere after being in a chair for hours. At certain times, I again had the feeling that I was being watched, but I was starting to suspect that it was just my nerves playing tricks on me.
Then a man called my name, and I felt the bottom drop from under me.
I whipped around, my heart pounding in my ears, ready to pull out the gun and start blasting.
But it wasn't Kulaski. Nor Rapfogel. Not a cop at all. In my agitated state, it took me a second to place him. Then I remembered and almost laughed with relief.
Arye Harpaz. Moria's lover. The untrustworthy businessman whom Gafni wanted nothing to do with. A man I'd considered hunting down for a conversation if I ran out of ideas, and here he was before me.
He had a pretty brunette on his arm. He pulled her across the street toward me. She looked a little reluctant but didn't utter a peep. Up close, I saw his cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkled. Hers too. Both smelled of wine and cigarettes; he also of cologne and she of some overly sweet perfume.
"Adam Lapid," Harpaz said. "Fancy running into you."
"Arye Harpaz," I replied.
He grinned. "You remember me."
