This was not what I wanted to hear. It meant that Mira basically had no knowledge of Esther's final months, which was when her killer had decided to end her life. I needed a clearer picture of those months, and it was apparent I was not going to get it from Mira.

"You say Esther and Willie stayed for a few weeks with the Klinger family. How did she get along with them?"

"Fine. Esther told me they were treating her well. They all seemed friendly."

"Do you happen to know if they kept in touch after she moved?"

"No. Afraid not."

"All right. I'll ask them about it when I see them."

I was disappointed with my visit. I had expected to learn more from Mira, and I ended up learning almost nothing. The paltry number of contacts she'd provided me with was discouraging. But along with disappointment, I was also feeling a blend of discomfort and something I had not felt in a long while. Desire. My fingers were tingling. I wanted to reach over and touch Mira, to cup her cheeks, to run my hand along her calves. A fluttery heat had settled in my stomach and my mouth had turned dry. Those glimmerings of passion had grown to a low fire.

I felt like I should say something more, but could not decide what. I looked at Mira, but in my mind's eye I was seeing Deborah, my wife. I knew that here was a line and that crossing it would mean a break from my past, a rupture between my life as it was and as it had been. I did not want that. Not yet, anyway.

"Are you all right, Adam?"

Mira was peering closely at my face, a frown of concern notching a crease between her eyebrows. She had leaned toward me, and there was a gap between her thin lips. Through that gap I caught a glimpse of her teeth, small and white and straight. I forced some saliva into my mouth, swallowed hard, and cleared my throat. I couldn't let my mind wander. I needed to remain focused. Because there was still something I didn't understand here, something that had bothered me since shortly after my previous visit to Mira's apartment.

"One more question, Mira."

"Yes?"

"How many Jews would you say you had a hand in helping to immigrate to Israel?"

She looked puzzled, wondering what my question had to do with the murders. "Several hundred. Perhaps as many as a thousand."

"And with how many do you keep in touch?"

"None that I can think of. Why do you ask, Adam?"

"I was just wondering why you care so much for two of them."

A muscle in her cheek twitched, and she seemed unsure of how to answer. I let the silence stretch. Just before it transitioned from awkward to outright uncomfortable, she said, "It's just that I don't like the idea of their killer remaining free."