"Never heard that name in my life. Baruch never mentioned him. Why did he kill him?"
"Because he believed Harpaz was his daughter's lover."
"That doesn't sound like a good reason to murder someone."
"I think so too. That's why I'm here, to see if Gafni told you anything that might explain his actions."
Sima puckered her lips, thinking it over while looking as if she were offering her mouth to be kissed, though this time I thought the effect was unintentional.
Finally, she shook her head. "There's nothing about Baruch that would lead me to believe he would be capable of murder. Compared to other clients, he was quite ordinary. Sweet, even."
"Sweet?" I said, hardly believing my ears. "In what way?"
"It's how he's still in love with his wife. She's been dead for years. He misses her terribly. It's not a common thing for me to meet men who actually love their wives."
"This is Baruch Gafni we're talking about? Are you sure about that?"
She gave me an affronted look. "Of course I'm sure, Adam. I never get men mixed up. Why the doubt?"
"Because I talked to Gafni about his wife recently, and nothing in his manner or tone indicated he feels any love for her. By the way, did he tell you she committed suicide?"
Sima breathed in sharply. "He said she died of cancer."
"She slashed her wrists. Gafni admitted she did it because he was a philanderer. Did he tell you about that?"
"No."
"And you think he's sweet. Maybe you don't know men as well as you think."
"Don't blame me for not solving your case, Adam," Sima said evenly, then notched her head. "Or is there another reason you're angry with me?"
There was. I was disgusted by her sleeping with Gafni, and to make matters worse, it now seemed that she was actually fond of him. I dropped onto a chair and raked my fingers through my hair, nails scraping my scalp in frustration. This was shaping up to be another dead end, and a particularly unpleasant one at that.
Sima's lilting voice filled my ears. "It shouldn't surprise you that Baruch talked differently about his wife with you than he did here with me. Many men are different here. It's a place where they can show parts of themselves they keep hidden from the rest of the world. Isn't that true for you?"
I didn't respond. I wanted to get out of there, but for some reason, I didn't budge.
"Baruch was that way. Here he could do things he wouldn't have been able to with any other woman. He could be with his wife again."
I raised my head. "What do you mean?"
Sima lifted her chin, her mouth set in a proud line. "You want to know why Baruch came here? What he had me do? I'll tell you, my darling Adam, since you so desperately wish to know, and I always aim to please you. What Baruch did was have me act as his wife. Pretend to be her. So he could imagine her in my place, in his arms. When we were in bed, he would call out her name. 'Moria, Moria.'"
A cold, slimy blob of horror settled in the pit of my stomach. A fist of bile thrust up my throat and hammered at the back of my mouth.
"He said Moria?" I asked, my voice weak and hoarse.
"Yes. His wife's name. Now you understand why I—"
"Moria wasn't his wife," I said in a cutting tone. "Moria was his daughter."
Sima froze, shock written all over her lovely features.
"Yes, Sima. That's right. That wasn't Baruch Gafni's dead wife you were pretending to be. It was his daughter, Moria. The one who killed herself."
I shut my eyes tight as a horrible clarity hit me, like light thrown into a deep well where a body had long been hidden.
Arye Harpaz had told me he didn't know any women who'd had an affair with Gafni, and now I knew why. There hadn't been any. Gafni had allowed that rumor to spread, maybe even started it, to hide a worse truth. A truth that caused him to gruesomely kill Harpaz for the sin of being Moria's lover. Gafni couldn't stand that because he had sexual feelings toward Moria. That was why Vera Gafni had killed herself. It was the reason Moria had broken off all contact with her father. Why she had refused to see him, why she'd wept when Leitner had informed her she had to, or he'd expose her and Naomi Hecht.
Blackmailed by Leitner, she'd managed to bring herself to ask her father for money over the phone; not for herself, but for the hospital. But when she asked a third time, Gafni had demanded a meeting. This was too much. He was her devil, the man who had taken away her mother and much more besides, and she couldn't imagine being in the same room with him. Worse, he might interpret it as the harbinger of forgiveness and closer relations to come.
Like Germany would interpret Israel's agreement to enter into direct, face-to-face negotiations, I thought.
"You took his money," I said to Sima. "You played into his sick fantasy and took his money for it."
She fixed her eyes on me, her face free of emotion and so beautiful that for a moment I forgot my fury and disgust with her and wanted to pull her to me, to dive into her and be taken out of this world for a spell.
"Would it have been better," she said, "if I didn't? If, instead of here, he'd gone to satiate his depraved need elsewhere? With his daughter for real? Or with some other girl?"
"Don't act noble. You did it for the money."
"I'm not acting. I never act with you, Adam. Not where it counts. Of course I did it for the money. It's my profession. It's what I do. You paid me too, remember?"
"Not for something like this. I'm nothing like Baruch Gafni."
"I didn't know, Adam," she said, and there might have been a hint of pleading in her voice. "I didn't know what he's like. And as for his money, why should I feel bad for taking it? Would it have been better if it stayed in his pocket? A man so evil, why not take what you can from him?"
Moria didn't. She never accepted her father's gifts or encouraged him to give her more. But Sima was right. She hadn't known. I didn't want to ask her if she would have sent him away if she had.
