I opened the notebook and flipped through some pages until I got to November 28. Two nurses were listed on the night shift. Sarah Greenberg was the first; Moria Gafni the second.
"Happy now?" Naomi Hecht asked.
I handed back the notebook. "You took a peek?"
"Of course I did. As you can see, Moria was here on that night."
I did see that, but there were still some holes to plug before I could be sure she could not have committed the murder.
"What hours are the night shift?"
"From 9:00 p.m. to 7 a.m."
"This is the extent of the staff: two nurses?"
"There's also a doctor on call in the hospital, but he's not called into the ward unless there's an emergency."
"So normally, it's just the two nurses?"
"Yes."
"Are both awake throughout the night?"
A muscle moved near Naomi Hecht's mouth. "If it's quiet, one of them might catch a little sleep."
So Moria could have been awake alone at certain points during that night.
I said, "How long does it take to walk from here to where Dr. Shapira was killed?"
She knew what I was getting at. "What, you think Moria left the ward unattended and went off to shoot Dr. Shapira?"
I didn't answer.
"What if the other nurse had woken up and seen that Moria wasn't there?" she asked.
"Moria would have had some explaining to do."
"Some explaining." She let out a laugh, but it sounded hollow. "She would have been the main suspect, wouldn't she?"
"You'd be surprised at the risks people take to have an alibi."
"She didn't kill him. Trust me, Mr. Lapid, I knew Moria better than anyone. She was a pure soul; she didn't have it in her to kill anyone."
Sometime during this appeal, she touched my hand. Her fingers were cool and soft. My skin tingled at their touch. She pulled them away, leaving a strange absence.
"If you knew Moria, Mr. Lapid, you wouldn't suspect her for a second. Shooting someone, it's ridiculous. I don't think she ever fired a gun in her life."
She must have, or she wouldn't have had one hidden in her bedroom. A keen sense of pity came over me for Naomi Hecht's ignorance of her friend.
"But she did do something she never told you about, didn't she?" I said, my tone gentle, for I did not wish to hurt this woman; all I wanted was for her to help me uncover the truth. "She said so in her note."
Naomi Hecht said nothing. For a moment, I thought she was about to cry, but fury entered her eyes, not tears. She drew a lungful of air, her face became like a shield, and she looked as formidable as any woman I'd ever known. For the second time, I became sure she was going to strike me, but all she did was state, with quiet unbending resolution, "Moria wasn't a murderer. She never harmed anyone. And you're a fool for even considering it." Then she brushed past me and strode off without a backward glance.
Exiting the ward, I heard a voice say, "Thank you for saving me back there."
It was the nurse whom Dr. Leitner had tormented with his self-aggrandizing story. She was coming up the stairs.
"You're most welcome," I said, and then something clicked. "Sarah, isn't it?"
She smiled. She was a pretty little brunette with shining green eyes and plump lips. "Yes. Have we met before?"
"We haven't. I just remembered Dr. Leitner calling you by name."
She made a face. "He doesn't remember, but he's told me that story five times already."
"He must like the sound of his own voice."
She laughed. "He sure does."
"I'm Adam," I said, and we shook hands. She blushed a little.
"Well," she said, "I should get going. Back to the grindstone and all. Just two more hours to go."
There was an invitation there, but I wasn't about to take it. Her mouth compressed in disappointment, and she turned to leave.
"Wait a second. Is your last name Greenberg by any chance?"
She looked puzzled. "How do you know that? I don't think Dr. Leitner mentioned it, did he?"
"He didn't. I saw your name in the shift log. I'm a private investigator. I was hired to investigate why Moria Gafni killed herself."
"Oh." She looked startled. "I... I..." She obviously didn't know what to say and finally blurted, "Well, I don't know why she did it. Not a clue."
"That's all right," I said. "I'm actually wondering about something else. Do you remember the night of November 28?"
"November 28? That was over a month ago."
"It's the night Dr. Shapira got killed."
Her eyes went huge. "Sure I remember. I was working that night. How awful."
"The log says Moria was the other nurse on shift with you. What I want to know is whether you were asleep at some point during that night or if you were awake the whole time."
"Well, I don't remember..." She paused. "Wait a minute, Moria wasn't with me that night."
"She wasn't? But the shift log says—"
"She was supposed to work that shift, but she switched with another nurse."
A frisson of excitement started in my belly and spread over my arms. "Who did she switch with?"
The answer left me reeling.
21
Why did she lie? That was the question that ricocheted in my head as I made my way south toward Jaffa Street. Or had she simply forgotten?
No. I immediately rejected the latter option. Naomi Hecht hadn't forgotten. She was not the type to forget such a thing. She had shown me the shift log, knowing what it said, and let me believe it was true. She wanted me to think that Moria had worked the night shift when Dr. Shapira was murdered.
Why had she done so? To protect her friend? To make sure I didn't suspect Moria of this murder? Or did it mean she wasn't as certain of Moria's innocence as she claimed?
It occurred to me that I might have been justified in feeling anger toward Naomi Hecht, but there was no trace of it in my heart. Rather, I respected her for protecting her friend, even posthumously. Most friends, even close ones, would not have done so, especially considering that she'd given up her own alibi in the process.
Maybe she could just count on her husband to say she was home, if it came to that, a nasty voice in my head said, and I clenched my teeth, yanked my cigarettes from my pocket, and fired one up.
I told myself it didn't matter why Naomi Hecht had lied to me. What mattered was that Moria had no alibi for the night of Dr. Shapira's murder. Sarah Greenberg did not know why Moria had switched shifts with Naomi Hecht, only that it had happened at the last minute, which was probably why the shift log had not been updated.
Perhaps Moria had done so purposely, to cover up her tracks, but I couldn't say for sure.
What I did know was that Moria had the three things all murderers share: means, motive, and opportunity. But maybe the police report would change that. Maybe it would show that the gun I found in Moria's bedroom could not be the murder weapon. I hoped so.
I called Reuben Tzanani from a café on Jaffa Street. The phone went unanswered. I ordered coffee, smoked a couple of cigarettes, tried his number again. No luck.
I walked east past display windows showing neckties and women's hats and all manner of other goods. I browsed the shelves in the Steimatzky bookstore without buying anything. I stood across from the Generali Building and gazed long and hard at the stone winged-lion statue on its roof, trying unsuccessfully to decipher its expression. I telephoned Reuben again, and this time he picked up.
"How are you?" he asked, still worried about me.
I told him I was fine, said I couldn't stay on the line for long, and asked if he had something for me.
"As it so happens, I do. I called one of the Jerusalem officers I know, and he connected me with a Sergeant Rapfogel. I asked him if you could see that homicide file. At first, he balked, but I vouched for you, and he said he'd see what he could do. He called me back an hour ago and said it would be fine. Why don't you call him directly and set up a meeting? I'll read you the number. You got a pencil?"