She turned back to face me. She set what remained of the nibbled rugelach on the table and brushed the crumbs from her fingers. She clasped her hands under her chin, her lips twisting like she had a bad taste in her mouth. Things you preferred not to say often tasted that way.
"What is it?" I repeated.
"I hate to speak ill of the dead."
"I'm not here to judge the dead, only those who made them so."
That seemed to persuade her. "Like I told you, I didn't know Esther Kantor, but that doesn't mean I didn't form an impression of her. As I said, I fancy myself a good judge of people, and my instinctive impression of her was very positive. Don't ask me why this was; I can't really say. It was just a feeling I had."
"And…"
"And…well, that all changed one day, or should I say one night. It had to do with Natalie Davidson. Mr. Sassoon is absolutely right; the two were friends. I saw them together on many occasions. They seemed very close."
"Seemed?"
She nodded. "One night, a week or so before the murders, I was walking by the docks when I saw Esther Kantor kissing a man in the street. The man, I'm pretty sure, was Alon Davidson, Natalie's husband."
I let that sink in for a moment. There was no mention of this in Rivlin's report. Not even a hint. Alon Davidson, in his interview, hadn't brought up any kiss.
"You say you're pretty sure it was Alon Davidson. You're not certain?"
"The way they were standing, the man had his back to me. I didn't see his face clearly, only hers. My eyes—well, I'm afraid they've never been very good at night. So if you're asking me whether I would swear in court that it was him, I'd have to say I wouldn't."
"Let's say it wasn't in court. Let's say you were talking to your students. Would you say it was Davidson?"
Elena favored me with an approving smile. "I would have enjoyed having you in my classroom, Adam. That's a very good question. The answer is yes, I would have said it was him. Alon Davidson is not a man who's easy to mistake for another. There is also the matter of location—by the docks. Davidson is a fisherman. I suppose he moors his boat there."
"What do you mean it's not easy to mistake him for another man?"
"Are you planning on talking to him?"
"Yes."
"Then you'll understand when you see him."
She poured herself another glass of lemonade and took a tiny sip. She seemed not entirely happy with the fact that she'd told me what she did.
"The thing is that once I saw her kissing him, my opinion of her changed drastically. I don't approve of any woman who goes around with a married man, but with the husband of a close friend? Reprehensible. I quite disliked her after that." She sighed. "And then she was killed. Murdered. Along with her son. I felt guilty for thinking ill of her."
"Did you tell anyone about this? The police?"
"Yes, but it wasn't until three weeks after the murders. A week before the murders occurred, my daughter gave birth. She lived in Nahariya. I stayed with her for a month to help her with the new baby. It's only when I came back that I learned what happened."
"And then you went to the police?"
"Yes. I talked to a detective. Rivlin—that was his name. I remember him wrinkling his nose when I told him I wasn't positive it was Alon Davidson that I saw. He said that Davidson had an ironclad alibi."
"He did," I said. According to the police report, Davidson had been at sea on his fishing boat the night of the murders. Another fisherman, who was with him that night, had sworn to it. But why had Rivlin omitted his conversation with Elena from his report? Even if he had been certain that Alon Davidson could not have been the killer, there was another person who now had a possible motive and no alibi: Natalie Davidson, the betrayed wife and close friend. If Esther and Alon Davidson had indeed had an affair, and Natalie Davidson had known about it, she would have a pretty good reason to hate Esther. People have killed over less. Yet nowhere in his investigation report had Rivlin listed her as a suspect. Why?
Maybe he had simply not thought Elena's information was worth pursuing, considering her less-than-certain identification of Alon Davidson. Or maybe the alcohol had begun affecting his work and judgment.
Or he might have had another reason. During our conversation, Rivlin had always referred to the killer as a "he" or as a "guy." He believed that the killer was a man. He never considered the possibility that Natalie Davidson could have done it, not even when a possible motive fell in his lap. I was embarrassed to admit that I had fallen prey to the same preconception, that up to this point I had also assumed the killer was male. No longer. Natalie Davidson was now a suspect. A person whom the police had overlooked ten years ago. Just the sort of person I was hoping to find.
"I told no one else what I saw," Elena said. "Why risk ruining a marriage for something that might have been a minor indiscretion?"
