"It must be hard."

Pain coursed through her features. Her voice was frayed and resigned. "It's been three years. He shows no improvement. The doctors say he never will. But he lives, and I'm his wife, so I do what I must."

I looked at her. At her strong face that merely hinted at a much greater internal strength. She was an informal widow, trapped in continual, unceasing mourning and duty, her husband dead in essence if not in body.

Naomi sighed. "Three years is a long time, Adam. The loneliness gets difficult to bear. From time to time, a man would show interest, and I'd get tempted by the promise of warmth and touch, but I didn't want to betray my husband. Then, one day, Moria revealed her feelings toward me, and I just let go. In my mind, because she was a woman, I wasn't being unfaithful to my husband. At least that's how it felt in the beginning. Do you understand?"

She was looking right into my eyes, and in the depth of her irises swirled the maelstrom of emotion that had been her life these past three years. "Yes," I said. "I understand. When did it begin?"

"Seven months before Moria died. I ended it a week before. That was the fight you asked me about. I lied because I wanted our relationship to remain a secret." A pause. "Moria took it very badly. When I found her body, the note, I couldn't help but blame myself."

"Why did you end it?"

"Gradually, the lie I'd told myself, that this wasn't infidelity, lost its hold on me. My guilt became too great."

"Why did you never stay the night at Moria's? A friend sleeping over, it wouldn't have raised eyebrows."

"Moria had bad dreams, and she would talk in her sleep. One time, after we... well, when I was with her, she fell asleep, and she spoke of her mother. She didn't speak clearly, but I understood her mother had killed herself. I asked her about it when she awoke, and she became agitated, like she'd spilled some big secret. She had never talked about her mother before, and she wouldn't then either. Nor would she speak of her father, but I got the impression that Moria's hatred of him had something to do with her mother. After that time, Moria never allowed herself to sleep in my presence again."

This also explained why Moria hadn't wished to be Anat Schlesinger's roommate. Moria had secrets all right, but they were related to her dark past, not the gun I found in her apartment.

"Did Moria also have relations with men?" I asked.

Naomi shook her head. "Moria wasn't interested in men. Only in women."

"There were condoms in her bedside cabinet."

Naomi's smile was weak and tragic. "That was a joke, a ruse. She used to laugh about them. If anyone suspected her tendencies, she said, she'd show them the condoms and that sleazy, awful book she got from God knows where. 'Better to be seen as promiscuous with men than in love with a woman.'"

"Is that what she was, in love with you?"

"Yes. She told me she loved me many times."

"And you?" I asked, my heart beating fast and hard.

"I loved her, yes, but not in the same way. Not romantically. Moria helped fill a void in my life. She helped to dispel my loneliness. But I'm not like she was. I can't love a woman that way, not completely." Her eyes glistened with fresh tears. "She should have told me about Dr. Leitner. We would have found a solution."

"She must have worried you'd do something rash. She was trying to protect you."

Naomi was quiet for a long moment. Then she said, "That sweet, poor girl. She knew me so well. I can't help but think that if I hadn't broken things off, Moria would have found the strength to carry on despite everything."

"Don't blame yourself," I said. "Moria didn't. Even if you two were still together, she would have acted the same. Caught between her father and Dr. Leitner, she saw no other way out."

"Why didn't she write me something to explain, to let me know I wasn't to blame?"

"I don't know. I so wish I did, but I don't. But I do know you were the best thing that ever happened to her, Naomi. I saw it in the pictures. That's still true, no matter how your relationship ended."

Naomi burst into tears, covered her face, and sort of toppled toward me. I held her tight as she shook against my shoulder. She cried for a long time. Partly in sorrow, and partly in relief, I thought. She now knew she hadn't driven Moria to suicide. The burden of guilt had lifted, at least most of it. Now she could begin mourning in earnest.

We stayed that way even after her tears ceased. I wasn't sure how long; time seemed different.

When she pulled away, Naomi looked embarrassed, and my arms felt empty. She got up to wash her face, returning a few minutes later, looking drained.

"There's something I don't understand," she said. "Why did Moria's father hire you to investigate her death if he had the note she mailed him?"

"He didn't. I don't know why, but it never reached him. It wouldn't be the first time a letter got lost in the mail."

"And Dr. Leitner?"

"I'm pretty sure he got his note. When I asked him if he thought Moria killed herself because of him, he got very upset and blamed her in the crudest language. Maybe he did have a conscience somewhere under all that ambition."

"What will happen to Moria's father?"

"He'll go away for a long time. Either to prison or the insane asylum."

"Good," she said. "I hope he dies locked up."

I did too. For what Gafni had done to his daughter, he deserved not being free ever again.

"He took a big risk hiring you, didn't he?" she asked.

"Because I might discover what he did to her?"

"Yes."

"He must have figured Moria wouldn't have told anyone about it. And, apart from her and him, no one else knew. It was only by accident that I discovered the truth. Also, I think he truly loved her—a sick, twisted love, but love all the same—and he couldn't stand the thought that she'd killed herself because of him. The chance of learning someone else was to blame was worth the risk."

"Are you going to tell him the truth?"

"Moria would want me to. But I'll wait until after his trial. Let him get his sentence first." I didn't tell her I was worried about how Gafni would take it. He was deranged enough to want to kill the messenger, and he had more than enough money to pay someone to come after me. I wanted a little rest before I had to deal with that.

Changing the subject, I said, "Naomi, there's one more thing I need to know. Did you visit Moria's apartment a few weeks after her death?"

Naomi nodded. "I lied about that too."

"What did you take?"

"Nothing. During our relationship, Moria wrote me poems. I gave them back to her when I ended things. I went to her apartment to look for them, but I didn't find them. She must have thrown them out." A pause, a deep inhalation. "I'm sorry I lied to you, Adam."

"That's all right. I understand why you did it. I'm sorry for jumping to the wrong conclusions, for blaming you for... well, for everything."

A twitch of her lips. "I suppose I brought it on myself with all my lies." She gave me a direct look. "There's something here, isn't there, Adam? Between the two of us?"

"Yes," I said. "Yes, there is."

"I felt it on the day we first met."

"I think I did too."