After five hours of searching the streets, combing movie houses, discos, arcades, and finally the shelters, Decker was left with a giant goose egg. He called it quits at half past midnight and checked in with Jonathan and Shimon. Their door-to-door hadn’t yielded anything of significance. Jonathan reported that some of the boys Noam’s age had seemed uncomfortable as Shimon talked to the parents. Not trusting his memory, Jonathan wrote down the names and addresses—again infracting the religious law. But this was clearly a case of pekuah nefesh—the saving of life taking precedence over almost everything.

The Levines were all up and beside themselves with worry. Decker and Frieda Levine exchanged quick glances. Her eyes were red, her hands made raw by her own kneading fingers. The look in her eye had been nothing more than a fleeting moment, but, ah—what her expression had told him.

Please, help us, help me.

Where was her help when he needed her forty-one years ago?

But his heart couldn’t hold any anger—not at this time. He turned to the rest of the family and suggested they try to bed down as best they could. In the morning, Decker would talk to the kids. The next step right now would be to talk to the police and file the missing-persons report. The family wanted to come down with him, but Decker said no, it was better handled cop to cop. All he needed was a good clear picture of Noam, his physical stats, and what he’d been wearing when he disappeared.

Before he left for the police, he pulled Rina aside.

“You want me to walk you back to the Lazaruses’ house?”

“No,” she said. “I’ll wait here for you.” She brushed strands of limp red hair off his forehead. “You look exhausted.”

Decker smiled. “I’d be lying if I said I was spunky.”

“You’re a godsend. That’s what Mrs. Levine said. You were sent here by Hashem.”

“She said that, huh?”

Rina nodded.

“Everything is in the hands of God,” Decker said. “That’s a neat, compact way of dealing with your guilt.”

“Oh, Peter—”

“That was stupid.” He exhaled forcefully. “I really do feel sorry for her. For her, for the parents. It’s hell, no doubt about it.”

“I know you care,” she answered. “I know that’s why you’re doing what you’re doing. And don’t think the family isn’t grateful. That’s all they talk about—how fortunate they are to have someone like you at a time like this—”

“Rina—”

“They are fortunate.” She kissed him lightly on the lips. “Everyone has confidence in you—”