Yael Klinger returned, minus the apron, and handed me a tall glass of water. I'd consumed half the water when I heard the front door fling open. A man bearing a crate of fruit appeared at the entrance to the living room. The name of the agricultural cooperative Tnuva was splashed in white paint on one side of the crate. The man had on a khaki shirt and shorts and sandals. His muscular arms and legs were tanned a healthy brown. Between his aquiline nose and generous mouth grew a thick black mustache. He was six feet tall, athletic and handsome, with a full head of jet-black hair—the sort of man whose picture would feature prominently in Zionist posters, extolling the new Jew that was reborn along with our nation. He saw me and sent his wife a questioning look.
"Moshe, this is Adam Lapid," Yael Klinger said. "Mira Roth sent him to us."
"Hold on a minute," he said, his voice an attractive baritone. He went into the kitchen, set the crate of fruit on the counter, and began scrubbing his hands at the sink. His wife joined him there, and I could hear whispering followed by slicing and scraping noises. A minute later, they returned to the living room, each bearing a plate laden with sliced bananas and apples and oranges.
Yael took her plate to the two girls in the backyard, while her husband set his on the coffee table and plopped himself on the sofa, directly opposite where I was seated. He plucked a few pieces of fruit and tossed them in his mouth. "Go ahead," he said, munching. "Help yourself."
I did. The fruit tasted wonderful. Moshe read the pleasure on my face and grinned. "Good, eh? There are some benefits in working for Tnuva."
"So I see. How long you been working there?"
"Thirteen years."
"In what capacity?"
"This and that. Driving mostly, but I'm also a mechanic. Where do you work?"
"I'm a private investigator. I work for whoever hires me."
"Exciting work, is it?"
"It has its moments. Mostly it's just talking to people."
"You're working for Mira Roth?"
"No. She's just someone I met during my investigation. Here." I dried my hands and handed him the introductory note Mira had given me.
He read it over a few times, his face not showing much. Yael reappeared, closing the door to the backyard behind her, and sat down beside her husband. He handed her the note. She let out a small whimper when she read it, covering her mouth with her hand. Tears sprang to her eyes.
"Come now, sweetheart," Moshe Klinger said, patting her shoulder with a measure of awkwardness. "Let's have no more of that."
Yael shook her head, her tears flowing freely now. She mumbled something unintelligible, rose to her feet, and hurried to the bathroom.
"Yael is a sensitive woman," Moshe explained, looking embarrassed. "She and Esther were close."
"More than you and Esther were?"
"Oh, definitely. I saw very little of Esther. I worked long hours. Yael was at home, so she spent more time with Esther and Willie."
"So you didn't know Esther well?"
A shake of his head. "No, I can't say that I did."
He leaned forward, took some more fruit, and chewed on it. Yael returned, her face damp and her eyes reddened. She resumed her seat, sitting very close to her husband, legs touching. "Excuse me, Mr. Lapid. I didn't intend to get all emotional."
"No need to apologize. I'm sorry I upset you. And please call me Adam."
She gave a curt nod and her husband said I should call them Moshe and Yael. I explained how Henrietta Ackerland had hired me to find her son, how I'd learned of the murders, and that I was hoping to discover who had killed Willie and Esther.
"Imagine that," Moshe said, "after ten years, she suddenly shows up here in Israel. Isn't that something, Yael?"
Instead of answering her husband, Yael said to me, "What is she like?"
"Resilient," I said, realizing that I knew very little of Henrietta and had only the barest of impressions of her. "Smart and resourceful. A good woman."
"I feel for her," Yael said. "Tell her that for me when you see her."
"I will. What I was hoping you'd tell me was your impression of Esther. If I get a clearer picture of her life, of who she was, maybe I'll find out who killed her and Willie. They stayed with you for how long?"
"Three weeks?" Moshe asked his wife.
"Five," she answered, which prompted another grin from her husband. He seemed to have a face made for them: easygoing, confident, a bit cocky even.
"I told you I wasn't here much," he said to me.
"This was in Haifa?"
"Yes."
"Did you know she was coming that night? She and Willie?"
"They didn't tell us anything," Moshe said, a bitter edge to his voice. "Like they didn't trust us."
"The Irgun, you mean?"
"That's exactly what I mean. Had to maintain security, they said. Like they were afraid we wouldn't be able to keep our mouths shut." He shook his head. "We didn't even know a raid was in the works. They just showed up on our doorstep in the dead of night."
"Woke the baby up," Yael said in a faraway voice, like she was reliving that long-past moment.
