"No, Mr. Harel, he's done nothing wrong," I said, aiming for a tone that signaled both assurance and weary impatience. I was committing a crime by impersonating a police officer, but I doubted I would ever be punished for it. Besides, I wanted to get answers quickly, without begging or wheedling, and couldn't think of a better way of getting them. People like Harel have respect for authority. "But his name has come up in connection with an investigation we're running, so I'm doing a little background check on him. Your full cooperation would be appreciated. Now, did Moshe Klinger work for you?"

"Yes, he did," Harel said, eager to help. "But not for, oh, ten years now."

"Yes. That fits in with what we already know," I said. As an interrogator you learn that it's always good to look like you already know a great deal. It makes people less likely to lie or hide things from you. "What exactly were his duties?"

"Driving. He also did some work on vehicles; he was pretty handy with a wrench. But his job was to drive a truck, delivering produce."

"What was his route?"

"He didn't have just one. He'd drive wherever I'd tell him."

"Including Tel Aviv?"

"Sure." A pause. "Listen, Sergeant, Moshe still works for Tnuva. If he's suspected of something, we should—"

"We're interested in Klinger as a potential witness, not a suspect. Tnuva has nothing to worry about. Now tell me, did Klinger's work ever require him to stay the night away from home?"

"On long trips, yes."

"Where would he sleep? Hotels?"

Harel snorted. "Hardly. In the back of his truck, most likely. It's what most drivers do if they don't have family who can put them up for the night. It's not as bad as one might think; I've done it a few times myself over the years."

He sounded right proud of it, as if it proved that he was a down-to-earth sort, one who could do with little and not complain about it. Not that I believed he knew the first thing about how little people could get by on. After all, he had been in Israel since at least 1939, not in Europe.

Not that it mattered. What did matter was that Moshe Klinger was often away from home at night. Could he have been away the night of the murders? Moshe had no motive that I could see, but he had evaded telling me that he and his family had moved from Haifa to Netanya shortly after the murders. And I suspected his wife had not told me the whole truth about the reason they had stopped housing immigrants after Esther and Willie.

"You keep a list of drivers and routes?" I asked.

"Sure. I have to know I got everything covered."

"Do you still have Klinger's work schedule?"

I could almost hear Harel's eyebrows crank up. "After ten years? Are you kidding?"