Gindi was busy looking through the kitchen cabinets. Not too many of those, since the kitchen was the size of a closet. Decker could see a tiny refrigerator and a hot plate. Jonathan stood in the center of the living room, hands in pockets, a woebegone expression in his eyes. Decker walked over to him.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s so sad.”

“I know.”

“He was doing better, Akiva. He really was.”

“This was doing better?”

“A couple of years ago, he was almost living on the streets.”

“What saved him?”

“We gave him money, so did his father.”

“Chaim?”

“Chaim…” Jonathan shrugged. “Chaim has seven kids. He keeps things afloat, but one can hardly be critical if he was a bit cautious with his money.”

“Of course.”

“Ephraim used to thank us profusely for not giving up on him. We took him in for more meals than I can remember. We tried to offer as much as we could while still maintaining some privacy. I know his father was always there.” He shook his head. “God only knows what happened in that hotel room.”

“How did he kick his drug habit?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t talk about that aspect of his life.” Jonathan sighed. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to step out and grab a cup of coffee. I spotted a café down the block. This is just too depressing.”

Novack stepped into the room. “Leaving, Rabbi?”

“Nothing for me to do. I feel like I’m in the way.”

“You look tired, Rabbi. I can cart this guy around.” A thumb crooked in Decker’s direction. “He’s probably gonna want to see the crime scene, right?”

“That would be helpful,” Decker said.

“Why don’t you go home and see your family-or your congregation.”

“Maybe the lieutenant needs me for something.” Jonathan’s voice was so dispirited.

“I think Detective Novack is right,” Decker said. “The only thing I’ll need you to do is take me back to Quinton. I’d like to talk to Shayndie’s mom.” He turned to Novack. “Unless you want to come with me.”

“I would except I have some pressing business in the afternoon. Besides, I’ve already talked to her-to both the parents.” A meaningful pause. “If you find out anything-”

“Absolutely. I’ll tell you right away.”

“I feel bad about leaving you, Akiva,” Jonathan said.

“Tell you the truth, Jon, I think it would be easier.”

“And we’re coming into the city anyway,” Novack said. “You know where the crime scene is? A hundred thirty-four between Broadway and Amsterdam.”

“Yes, I know.” Jonathan wiped moisture from his eyes. “It’s not too far from my shul.”

“Where’s your shul?”

“One hundred seventeen between Morningside and St. Nick. Just across the park from Columbia.”

“You’re a hop, skip, and a jump from the two-eight. I’ll drop him off at your synagogue. It’s not a problem.”

“You’re being very kind.” Jonathan sounded so tired.

“Go rest, Rabbi,” Novack said. “I’m sure a lot of people depend on you.”

“You’re very right, Detective.”

Decker walked his brother to the door and let him out. “I’ll call you in a couple of hours.”

As soon as he left, Novack said, “Poor guy. First he’s got a fuck-up brother-in-law. Then the relatives talked him into draggin’ you into it. Now he’s feelin’ pretty bad about that.”

That about summed it up.

Novack said, “The parents… they weren’t too helpful. For now, I’m saying it’s because they were overwrought. But I’m keeping my opinions open, know what I’m saying?”

“I hear you.”

“These kind of things. You always look to the family. I guess I don’t have to tell you that.”

“That’s why I told them to hire a lawyer.”

“Yeah, it was good advice.” He turned his head to the kitchen. “Yo, Stan the Man! Wanna see what I found in the bedroom?”

The bald man closed the last of the kitchen cupboards. “I hope it’s more interesting than roaches. Cause I already seen a lot of those.”

“What did you find?” Decker asked.

“Magazines. And not the coffee-table kind.”

“Bad?”

“Legitimate stuff, at least. No kids or animals from what I could tell.”

“Male?” Gindi asked.

“No, female.”

Decker looked at Ephraim’s coffee table. “I’m going to move Time off the pile of magazines. All right?”

“Sure.”

Decker scooted the weekly periodical onto the tabletop, exposing a copy of The New Yorker and a stapled set of loose-leaf papers with EMEK REFA’IM on the blue cover page. He turned to Novack. “Can I pick this up?”

Novack shrugged. “You’re gloved.”

Decker thumbed through the stapled papers.

“What is it?” Novack asked. “Some homemade porno job?”

“Not with the words ‘Emek Refa’im’ on it,” Gindi said.

Decker perused the printed words. “What does it mean?”

“Emek Refa’im? ‘Emek’ is a valley. I think ‘refa’im’ is from ‘refuah’-”

“To heal,” Decker said.

“Yeah,” Gindi said. “Valley of healing.”

“That would make sense,” Decker said. “This looks like a handout for Jewish drug addicts.”

“Let me see that,” Novack said.

Decker gave him the packet. “Looks to me like the organization has several chapters with their own kind of twelve-step programs. There are addresses in the back.”

Novack thumbed through the pages. “I should pay these guys a visit. Wonder when they meet?”

“Today’s Friday, so it’s a safe bet they’re not meeting tonight,” Decker said.

“That is true,” Novack said.

“How about tomorrow night?” Gindi said. “Motzei Shabbos? Everyone filled with spirituality from the holy day.”

“Or stress,” Decker said. “When you’re an addict and forced to interact with family, I bet you’re pretty tense.”

“Now, that’s a very good point.” Novack placed the magazine in an evidence bag. “I’ll give these jokers a call, see if Ephraim was associated with any of these chapters. If they meet tomorrow night, you want to come with me and pay them a visit?”

“That would be great,” Decker answered.

“Wanna see the X-rated stuff?” Novack called out.

“Twist my arm,” Gindi answered.

Decker’s toolshed was bigger than the bedroom. The trio could barely fit without bodily contact. There was an unmade twin bed crammed against the wall and a single nightstand on which rested a phone, an alarm clock, and one framed picture-a Chasidic man standing next to, but not touching, a young girl of about fourteen. Decker stared at the picture.

“May I?”

Novack shrugged.

Decker picked up the framed picture, studying the faces. The girl was far from beautiful. Her nose was large and drooping, her cheeks still holding some baby fat. But her eyes-dark and round-shone with a mischievous gleam. She wore a long-sleeved pink shirt and a long denim skirt. Her hair was pulled back, probably braided. Her lips were shaped in a small, mysterious smile. The man seemed to be around forty, dressed in typical black-suited Chasidic garb. He was bearded with side locks, his head covered with the ubiquitous black hat. His smile was wide, the folds at the corners of his eyes crinkling with happiness. He showed the picture to Novack. “Is that Shayndie?”

“Hard to tell from such a small image, but I think so.”

“They gave you a bigger image?”

“Yeah, a bat mitzvah photo. I had it photocopied yesterday evening, and this morning we’ve been passing it around the crime-scene area. That’s what I was doing when you called. She was wearing this pink fluffy dress. She looked like a tuft of cotton candy. She also looked way younger than thirteen.”

“She was probably twelve,” Decker said. “Orthodox girls have their bat mitzvah ceremony at twelve, not thirteen.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Novack nodded.

Decker stared at the photo. “She was older than twelve in this picture. Still fresh-faced. God, what a terrible thing! Can I keep this?”

“I’m bending rules.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”