"And a very good thing you were up and alert. Thank you for that, Lillian. From the bottom of my heart, thank you."
She smiled. "I guess my bad habit isn't so bad after all. What's going to happen to the burglar? Will he go to jail?"
"No," I said, and drank some tea. "I let him go with a stern warning and a couple of slaps. He's just a kid. I didn't want to get the police involved. It would ruin his life." I'd prepared this lie in advance, fearing that Lillian's curiosity would compel her to go to the police and ask about my made-up burglar.
"A kid?"
"Fifteen years old. He heard Moria had died, so he figured the apartment would be empty. Easy pickings, like what happened with your husband's aunt."
Lillian's eyebrows bunched closer. "Daniel's aunt? What do you mean?"
"The aunt who died a few years ago. The one whose apartment was burglarized shortly after her death."
Lillian's bewilderment deepened. "You must be mixed up, Adam. None of Daniel's aunts are dead."
I gave her a look. "Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure. You think I'd forget something like that? Whoever gave you the idea that Daniel had a dead aunt?"
He had. The day he'd attacked me in Moria's apartment. He'd said he thought I was a thief looting a dead woman's apartment, like what had happened to his aunt.
"Oh," I said with a wave of a hand. "I guess I got confused with someone else." But I didn't. Daniel Shukrun had lied to me, and I needed to know why. "Where is Daniel, by the way?"
"At work."
"I thought he worked last night."
"He did. He works two jobs. A couple of nights a week as a watchman in a factory downtown, and during the days at his uncle's locksmithing business. He gets so tired sometimes, poor dear."
"Daniel's a locksmith?" I asked, a terrible suspicion beginning to take root.
"A very good one. He's going to take over the business in a couple of years, and then I hope he won't have to work nights anymore."
Snippets of past conversations began flitting around my brain. Then I recalled something Lillian had said when I asked her and Daniel if they knew who had a key to Moria's apartment. Lillian had turned to her husband and asked if the landlord had one, and Daniel had rubbed his face as though to hide his expression and nodded.
"Did Daniel install the locks in this building?" I asked.
"Yes. Three years ago the landlord replaced all the doors; the old ones were so poorly made they were rotting. Daniel and his uncle put in all the locks. How did you know?"
"I was just wondering," I said, hurrying to drink more tea. The liquid, which minutes earlier was sweet, now tasted bitter.
Daniel Shukrun had lied to me. And he had installed the lock on Moria's door. Which meant there was a good chance he had a key or could make one that fit.
"Is everything all right, Adam?" Lillian asked. She was peering at me worriedly.
"Yeah. Everything's fine." I worked up a smile, but it felt crumbly and slippery on my lips. Because nothing was fine. Once again, all I'd been sure of had been overturned and scattered, and a new certainty had emerged. One that I was finding it hard to wrap my mind around.
I finished my tea and set the cup back on the table. "Lillian," I said, "I have a few questions to ask you."
The locksmithing store was on Shamai Street. I walked there through crisp winter air and a fog of my own thoughts. I thought I knew everything now. The terrible truth was laid bare like a mutilated corpse that had long defied identification, but which had just yielded its name.
But that was not what troubled me most. A bigger problem was Dr. Leitner and what I should do about him.
The man had sent Kulaski to kill me. Against all odds, I'd survived, but Leitner was free to try again, and I might not get so lucky next time. I had to deal with him, but he had an ace up his sleeve—the pictures of Moria and Naomi Hecht.
Leitner had told me that if he died, the pictures would go public. They would ruin Moria's name posthumously and bring shame upon Naomi Hecht. I didn't want either of those things to happen.
I could carry out my threat and force him to give me the pictures, but that was easier said than done. I'd need to grab him, take him someplace isolated, and it might take a while to break him, and I did not relish the necessary process.
It might not work even if I did everything right. What if the pictures were in a bank and only Leitner had access to them? In that case, breaking him would be pointless.
Another way was to threaten his family. But it wasn't something I wanted to do, and I got the impression that Leitner cared for them much less than for his career.
I was at an impasse. As long as Leitner had those pictures, I couldn't go after him. But I had to go after him or keep looking over my shoulder for assassins.
Submerged in these somber thoughts, I was crossing Zion Square, cutting through a milling crowd of people next to Zion Cinema, when I heard a woman call my name. I stopped, looked around, saw no familiar faces. The voice came again, closer now, from the south, its owner hidden by the blinding sun.
I shielded my eyes and saw her mincing toward me with hesitant steps, her small bag hanging on one forearm, her hands clasped before her. She kept casting nervous looks around as she neared.
"Hello," she said. "You cannot imagine how glad I am to see you, Mr. Lapid."
"What are you doing here, Mrs. Leitner?"
Ada Leitner still brought to mind a housekeeper despite not wearing an apron. There was a servile quality in the way she held herself, a natural contraction of her body, as though to take up less of someone else's space.
"I... I didn't know where else to try," she said. "I heard you tell my husband that you'd be here at noon. I was worried you wouldn't be able to make it, that you'd be... Well, never mind, you're clearly not, thank God. I just hoped you'd be here."
"Is your husband here?" I asked, searching the crowd for him while keeping an eye on her. Was this a trap? What if she had a gun in that handbag? Was she as cold-hearted as her husband?
