"And you knew Esther?"

"Not really. We exchanged pleasantries once or twice when we passed each other on the street. That's about it. Are you a relative?"

"No. I'm a private investigator. I was hired to look into the murders, to see if by some chance I can find out who committed them."

"A private investigator. I don't believe I ever met one before. So that's what you were doing here today."

"I was hoping to find neighbors who remember Esther, who knew her."

"Did you find any?"

"Almost none. Some people remembered the murders, but that's about it. The only person who had any meaningful contact with Esther is Mr. Sassoon, her landlord."

"I know him. He's a nice man."

"But even he says he didn't know her well. He told me that Esther was friendly with one of his former tenants. Natalie Davidson. You know her?"

Elena pursed her lips. She picked up a rugelach and nibbled on its edge, averting her eyes to look across Lunz Street.

"What is it, Elena?"

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?"