She blinked, taken off balance by the abrupt shift. "Eh, no…but I'm expecting him home soon, at any moment." She'd added that last bit in a rush. It was clear she was lying, that she had only said her husband was on his way home in the hope that the imminent presence of a man would persuade me to leave. I could guess what she'd do if I did leave—sprint for a telephone and call Strauss to report my visit and get his instructions. "So you'll need to excuse me. I have to get back to my cooking."
"All right," I said. "Go ahead. I'll wait for your husband out here. I got all the time in the world."
Stepping back, I leaned against the landing railing. I turned my head aside, as if no longer interested in her, but in my peripheral vision I could see her fidgeting.
"Why do you want to talk to my husband?" Leah said.
I turned my eyes back to her. "To ask him if he knows his wife was sleeping with her boss."
Leah's face lost all color. She attempted a laugh that came out like a caw, cleared her throat, and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."
I pushed myself off the railing, moving forward quickly, crowding her. She took a faltering step back, her eyes widening as she looked up at me.
"I know," I said. "I know you were Strauss's mistress. Or maybe you still are. I know you called him at the office right after I left here yesterday. Which was why he had a lie ready as to what had upset Esther shortly before she died. And I know one thing more: the pearl necklace you have on in your wedding picture came from him."
I shoved my hand into my pocket and brought out the picture of Esther and Willie in Gan Meir Park. I held it before her face. "It's the same necklace, isn't it? The one Strauss gave Esther. You will tell me how you got it. You will tell me everything that happened in that office. If you don't, I will expose you before your husband—I'll tell him what I know, and what I think I know. I'll make stuff up if I need to. When I'm done talking, I doubt he'll want anything to do with you."
She began trembling, looking as if she might fall to pieces, but I didn't care. She had lied to me. She had hidden things from me. And she'd done other things. I just didn't know what they were yet.
Her voice quavered. "Please. Not now. My children are home."
That at least wasn't a lie. Sounds of the children laughing, chattering, and banging something against the floor emanated from within the apartment.
"We can talk in the kitchen," I said. "It has a door."
She hesitated for another second, but then gave a resigned nod, and I followed her into the apartment. I waited behind while she went to the living room and I heard her instruct her children to stay where they were, that she would soon come play with them. Then she re-emerged and we entered the kitchen. She slid the door closed behind her and leaned her back against it, shoulders sagging, looking small and powerless, her eyes on the floor. I stood by the refrigerator, four feet away. The unmistakable scent of overcooked powdered eggs clogged the narrow space.
"Who was Esther's lover?" I said. "And don't you dare lie to me. I know more than you think."
Leah answered in a voice scarcely louder than a whisper. "John Clapper."
I leaned closer. "I didn't hear you."
She raised her voice and gaze. "Inspector John Clapper."
"Police?"
"Criminal Investigation Department."
"CID? Esther was sleeping with a British officer?"
"Yes," Leah said. "Surprised you, didn't it? I was shocked myself when I found out."
"How
"Of course not. Being romantically involved with a British officer was a sure way to be ostracized from Jewish society. After all, the British were the despised occupiers, keeping us from having a country of our own." She snorted. "We Jews should have been on our knees, thanking the British for importing their culture and manners and advanced knowledge to this desolate desert of a country. But instead of being grateful, most of us just wanted them gone as soon as possible. And Clapper was one of the most hated British of the lot."
"What made him special?"
"He was in charge of stopping Jewish immigration to Palestine."
I stared at her, incredulous. It seemed impossible that Esther, who was on a ship fired upon by the British and who was arrested for illegally immigrating to the Land of Israel, should become the mistress of the man who hunted other Jews like her, but it fit together with other things I'd learned.
It explained why Esther had kept her affair a secret, even from a close friend such as Natalie Davidson. It explained why Sergeant Rivlin had had to make a daily report to the CID regarding his progress, or lack thereof. Had it been Esther's lover who'd demanded those reports? The name John Clapper did not appear in the file I'd read, but that might have been intentional. In all likelihood, Clapper had not been inclined to have his affair recorded in an official paper.
