But he had ideas. Maybe Noam had just been a witness, but it was equally likely that he’d been more. The first assault victim recalled the masked boy sticking a gun into his belly, pulling the trigger but no bullets coming out. The murder victim had two bullet-hole exit wounds in his back. They were not noticeable at first because of the evisceration, but they showed up at the autopsy. It was conceivable that Hersh shot the second victim, then carved him up. Decker wanted to believe that’s what had happened. Past history. What was the difference anyway?

Except that Noam knew the truth. And now he was crying out that he deserved his fate, that he should suffer for his terrible crimes. In a way it might have been better had Noam been charged with something. Retribution was cleansing. But Noam had walked, nothing concrete to tie him to the crimes.

Nothing except a ski cap, now buried under tons of refuse in some L.A. city dump.

Still, Decker felt justified about his decision. He knew in his soul that Noam’s repentance was sincere. No doubt in his mind, he’d never do anything like this again. If God forgave those who did true tshuvah, who was he to do less?

Frieda shook her head sadly. “Ezra always wanted Noam to be more religious…but not like this. Not because of a heavy heart, Akiva. It’s so painful to us all, but there’s nothing we can do. Tomorrow is Yom Kippur. Hashem gave us the Day of Atonement to repent for all our sins, the minor ones as well as the major ones. Perhaps he’ll learn to forgive himself.”

“Maybe.”

“You don’t think so,” Frieda said.

“I wish him well, Mrs. Levine,” Decker said. “I wish you and your entire family well. But some things…”

“You never get over them,” Frieda said.

Decker didn’t answer.

Frieda said, “I came here to ask your forgiveness. First for my family for putting you in terrible jeopardy. Then for me personally.” Her eyes became briny pools. “I’ve come to ask you to forgive me personally.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” Decker said. “I took on the case willingly, I knew the risks. That’s how I earn my living. That’s why I carry a gun. I’m sorry I got shot, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault except Hersh Schaltz’s and he’s dead.