"Here. Take it."
Inside was a cylindrical object and something flat and rectangular. I reached under the flap and slid the contents out. A roll of film and a stack of photographs. My breath caught in my throat as I recognized the two women in the topmost photo: Naomi Hecht and Moria Gafni.
I flicked my gaze at Ada, but she had her eyes on her hands, so I returned my attention to the photo.
There was nothing salacious about it. Just two women walking through a park, sharing a smile. They looked like nothing more than good friends; they weren't even holding hands. In none of her other pictures had I seen Moria so happy. As for Naomi Hecht, she looked joyful and vibrant. Her face looked younger than I'd ever seen it, and it took me a second to realize why—there were no bags under her eyes.
The next picture was similar. As were the following four. Then, after a picture from the rear showing the two women entering a dense copse of trees, the tenor of the images changed.
There were eight photos, partially obscured by low branches, each showing Moria and Naomi Hecht kissing passionately. The pictures left no room for doubt or alternative interpretation.
I lowered the final photo, stacked it with the rest, and put them and the roll of film back in the envelope. I said to Ada, "Why did you bring these to me?"
"I heard nearly everything you two said to each other. What Yosef did with these photos, what he forced that poor nurse to do, it was wrong. Evil. I only wish she were still alive."
Me too, I thought, especially now that I knew Moria hadn't been a murderer after all. Just a pure-hearted victim with tremendous bad luck.
"Where did your husband keep these?"
"In a small safe in his study. Only he and I know the combination."
"So he'll know you were the one who took them."
She nodded, gulping. "Yes. He will."
"You're taking a big risk, aren't you? Why? Just because what your husband did was bad?"
For a few seconds, she said nothing. Then she showed me another photo, an older one, ten, twelve years old, judging by how much younger she looked in it.
"That's me and my son, Moshe. He's three years old here. Doesn't he look like me?" He did, and I told her so. "He's fourteen now, and he doesn't look like me at all. He's a copy of his father."
She stated that last fact with aching bitterness, and I remembered the photo of the three of them on the piano in Leitner's apartment. How the boy resembled his father not only in features, but also in manner and bearing.
"We used to be so close, Moshe and I, when he was little. Now he barely notices me, but he worships his father. Every day, he grows a little more like him. And not just physically. He's adopting more and more of my husband's immorality, his ruthless ambitiousness. I'm losing my son bit by bit. Soon it'll be too late, there'll be nothing of me left in him, and he'll be as evil and selfish as his father. I can't let that happen."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "But what does that have to do with you giving me these photos?"
She leaned forward, her eyes bright and animated. "You were pointing a gun at my husband, weren't you? I heard him telling you to be careful with it."
I looked around us. There was no one at the neighboring tables. No one had heard her question. "And if I was?"
"You can't imagine what a thrill I felt when you threatened to shoot him. I was praying you'd do it. But then Yosef said you wouldn't dare because I was in the apartment, and you relented. I cursed myself. Why couldn't I have been out?"
"Let me get this straight, you actually wanted me to shoot your husband?"
She nodded. "More than anything. It would have freed me, freed my son. I would have been able to change him back to the sweet little boy he once was. But Yosef, damn him, he had the photos to protect him. I heard him threatening that they'd be released if he died."
"So..." I began, still not sure where she was going with this.
"So," Ada said, and I noticed her posture was better, lending her height and an aura of power. "Now there's nothing to stop you."
"You brought me these pictures so I'll kill your husband for you?"
"Yes," she said, and there was a simple, fragile strength in that short utterance. A strength that her husband might have squashed and stifled and nearly killed over years of bad marriage, but not quite. And accompanying that strength was a filament of courage that allowed her to state her wish without averting her gaze. "He'll be alone in the apartment all evening. I'm taking my son to visit my sister. We won't be back until nine."
"Why don't you kill him yourself if you hate him so much?"
She wrung her hands. "I thought about it a thousand times. I pictured it in my head. But I can't. I'm not sure I'd be able to go through with it. And I don't know how to do it without getting caught."
"You could hire someone."
"I wouldn't know where to find him. But if you want money, I can—"
"I'm not a hired killer, Mrs. Leitner, so save your breath."
She flinched, shrinking back to her customary subservience. "I'm sorry... I didn't mean to... I..." She swallowed, seemed to find some internal reservoir of resolve, and said in a rush, "If you don't kill him, he'll kill you. When you were late coming to Zion Square earlier, I was sure you were dead."
"What made you think that?"
"I heard him talking on the telephone after you left. He said you were back in Jerusalem and were sleeping in an apartment—I didn't catch the name of the owner. Yosef told the man on the other end that he wanted you dead. He sounded so angry."
Kulaski. Leitner had been speaking to Kulaski.
"Do you know who your husband was speaking with?"
She shook her head. "He didn't say his name."
That was good. Because soon reports of two missing cops would hit the newspapers, and I didn't want Ada to think that I'd killed them.
But what of her husband? When he didn't hear from Kulaski, he'd start to worry. And when it became public that Kulaski was missing, Leitner would know I was responsible. He might hire someone else to kill me, or he might send the police after me, anonymously most likely. It wouldn't lead to a conviction—I'd covered my tracks well—but I might get arrested and jailed until it all cleared up. And maybe in jail, I'd get stabbed or otherwise meet an untimely death.
I tapped the envelope thoughtfully. "Are these all the photos?"
"That was everything there was in the safe."
I nodded and put the envelope in my pocket.
"How will you get by if your husband dies?"
"We have savings, we own our apartment, and I can sell a few things if need be. I don't care if I have to live more modestly. I just want him gone so he doesn't ruin our son. Please, you have to do it today. Otherwise, he might look inside the safe and realize the photos are gone. He'll know I took them."
Looking at her anxious face, I swore inwardly. Ada was putting me in a terrible position. I wasn't ready to go after Dr. Leitner today; I had no plan. But if I waited, he might hurt his wife once he learned the photographs were missing. He might even kill her. And I felt that I owed her for bringing me the pictures.
"Why not go away for a while?" I said. "Get away from Jerusalem?"
She shook her head emphatically. "My son won't agree to join me. And if Yosef discovers I took his photos, he'll poison him against me, and I won't be there to explain why I did it. My son will think I ruined his father, our family. I couldn't bear that."
I scoured my mind for a solution but found none. What aggravated the problem was that the time window Ada suggested was problematic. Most people are at home and awake during the evening before nine o'clock. Dr. Leitner's building would be full of neighbors. Killing him and getting away unseen would be difficult, and I'd already used up my share of luck last night.