“That’s a lot of legwork.”

“Damn right! But the Knicks are playing again Sunday, so what the hell. I’ll watch tomorrow’s game. Now, it was very confusing because the chapters meet in the city, but none of the names have city listings. Then it hits me. They’re Chasids, probably live in Brooklyn like Ephraim did, but they meet in the city, because they don’t want anyone from home base knowing that they have a problem. Anonymity, you know. So I start looking them up in the Brooklyn directory, and I got lucky. Since they’re not answering the phones, I figured I’d take a drive south.”

Decker nodded. “What happened when you showed up at their doors?”

“They weren’t pleased, but I was discreet. I musta visited three, four men… one woman also. When this guy Ari told me he knew Ephraim, you coulda knocked me over with a spoon.”

“Did he know that Ephraim had been murdered?”

“Yeah, he knew. He was agitated about it. I don’t know who was asking more questions, him or me. Anyway, he was talking to me on the sly-can’t let the nice little Jewish wife know what’s going on-so he asked if I could meet him at some kosher restaurant around here.”

“He’s not afraid of being recognized at a kosher restaurant?”

“He says it’s not a problem. Nobody’ll know him because he’ll be wearing civilian garb. I take that to mean not Chasidic dress.”

“Civilian garb?” Decker asked. “He said that?”

“He did indeed. This whole thing about them being in the army of Hashem… I guess these guys take it literally.”

Marvad Haksamim meant Magic Carpet in Hebrew. The place had carpets all over the walls, carpets on the floor, and a big carpet tacked onto the ceiling, draping the eatery like a tent. Tivoli lights twinkled from the windows, and a couple of pictures of Jerusalem framed the doorway. But the restaurant did have linen napkins and tablecloths, and candles and a vase with a fresh flower decorated every tabletop. There was also a pretty decent wine list. Decker treated himself to a glass of Cabernet. Novack opted for a beer.

Ari Schnitman-whose civilian dress consisted of a black polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers-played with a glass of soda water. On his head was a knitted kippah instead of the usual velvet yarmulke or black hat. But because his hair was so short, the kippah could not be bobby-pinned on. It kept threatening to topple over any moment. Schnitman was in his early thirties, with a well-trimmed beard, an ashen pallor, and pale green eyes hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses. His features were small, as were his hands. Decker had met him while he was seated. He knew he was going to tower over Schnitman when they both stood up to say good-bye.

In the middle of the table sat a plate filled with appetizers-spiced carrots, potatoes with scallions and vinegar, olives, pickles, hummus, eggplant salad, and merguez-a spicy sausage that was dripping with oil.

Nobody was eating.

Schnitman was nervous. His voice was barely above a whisper. Decker had to strain to hear him over the background noise. “It’s not that I think this tragedy has anything to do with Emek Refa’im. I know it doesn’t. It’s just that this kind of thing… on top of it being horrible. I liked Ephraim; I really did. It’s just so devastating to morale.”

“Devastating how?” Novack asked.

“You know… to think that he might have slipped up. Ephraim had just celebrated two years of being sober. It’s terrible to think that a relapse not only ruined two years of hard work, but cost him his life.”

“You think it was a drug thing gone bad?” Novack asked.

“That’s what it sounded like. I heard that the police found him naked in a hotel room, shot execution style.”

Neither Novack nor Decker said anything.

Schnitman dropped his head in his hands. Then he looked up. “If you’ve never been chemically addicted, you don’t know how hard it is for those of us who are. I say are, because even though we are no longer addicted physically, we will always be addicted mentally. It’s a personality type. It really is a disease. It’s like AIDS in a way. It’s always there. But you learn how to live with it. And if you don’t treat it respectfully, it will kill you.”

“How long has Ephraim been coming to your chapter meetings?” Decker asked.

“Three and a half years. The last two, like I said, he has been sober.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“At the last meeting-Tuesday night.”

“And everything was fine?” Novack asked.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

But Schnitman had become defensive.

“Are you sure about that?” Decker pressed. “Nothing on his mind?”

“Something is always on your mind when you’re an addict-”

“Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“He was… antsy.” The young man sighed. “But that’s not unusual. The first couple of years being drug-free… you’re always antsy.”

“Nobody is saying you were negligent or did anything wrong,” Decker assured him. “We’re asking you questions only because we need information. You tell us he was antsy. We’re going to ask you what was bothering him.”

“I don’t know. But I did ask him about it… if he was nervous about something. Did he need help? He said it wasn’t about drugs at all. It was personal. I asked if he wanted to talk about it, and he said no, everything would be okay. He had it under control.” Schnitman’s eyes watered. “I guess he didn’t have it under control. But how was I to know?”

Decker said, “No way for you to know except in retrospect.”

Novack said, “No idea what these personal problems were?”

“No.”

“Money, possibly?”

“I don’t know. One of the things we teach is not to push confession too early. It can have serious consequences. This is a stepped program. People go at their own speed and their own pace. And there was nothing to suggest that his problems were anything unusual.”

No one spoke.

“Well, obviously, they had to have been unusual for this to happen.” Schnitman wiped his eyes. “I’m going to go wash.”

“I’ll come with you,” Decker said.

“Anybody know where the facilities are?” Novack asked.

“In the back.”

Schnitman and Decker got up to go to the sink. As expected, Decker did tower over him, and Schnitman seemed to shrink even further, noticing the size difference. They ritually washed their hands, then said the blessing while eating warm pita bread. In silence, they went back to the table and sat back down. Novack excused himself.

Taking pita from a basket, Schnitman dipped a piece in the hummus and snagged a thick glob of the paste. “I had no idea that he had real problems, Lieutenant. He just wasn’t… that open. More than that he seemed to be doing okay. I just didn’t know!”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“This is terrible.”

“Yes, it is,” Decker said. “Did Ephraim ever talk about his niece?”

“Shayndie? Yes, all the time.” Schnitman went in for second helpings, then thirds. His appetite seemed to pick up. He spooned carrots, olives, and eggplant salad onto his plate. “She was a good point in his life, someone to be a role model to. He even brought her to a meeting once because he wanted her to see where drugs would lead her. I think it had a profound effect on her-some of the stories that we told her. She was very quiet, but you could tell that she was taking it all in.”

Novack sat down. “What’d I miss?”

“Ephraim brought Shayndie to an Emek Refa’im meeting once,” Decker said.

“He did?” Novack took a couple of pieces of sausage. “Wow, this is good! Hot!” He fanned his mouth. “What was the girl’s reaction at the meeting?”

“I just told the lieutenant here.” More carrots onto the plate, followed by several spoons of potatoes. “She was quiet but affected by it all.”

“Did she talk to any of the members?” Decker asked.

“Not that I can recall. Like I said, she was quiet.”