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.”