“And look at the adults, too,” Decker said. “Hate to say this but you can’t rule out molestation—”

“Not here,” Shimon said.

“It’s everywhere,” Decker said.

“No, you don’t know Boro Park,” Shimon insisted.

Decker put his big hand on Shimon’s shoulder. “Okay. Have it your way. And I hope you’re right. Just do me the favor and take a look at the adults.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” Jonathan said.

“Do it that way,” Decker said. “Shimon, you do the talking—you’re more a part of the community. Jonathan, you observe.” He paused to catch his breath. “Also, I’m very concerned about your mother, brother, and sister-in-law. Shimon, have your wife and sisters stay with Breina. Best thing to do with Ezra might be to send him to shul—keep his mind off of what’s going on and make him feel like he’s doing something—”

“Tephila is doing something,” Shimon interrupted. “Praying to Hashem is the single most important thing he could do right now!”

No one spoke for a moment.

“You know what he means—Shimmy,” Jonathan said.

Shimon let out a deep breath. He said, “Yes, I know, I know…I’m sorry. Go on.”

Decker threw his arm around his shoulder. “That’s it. Hey, things like this do happen all the time. Kids stay away for a day, drive their parents completely nuts. Then they come sneaking in at two in the morning and wonder why everyone’s so upset. Your brother and sister-in-law are the ones who’ll need support until this thing is resolved.”

“These kind of things get resolved?” Jonathan asked.

“All the time,” Decker said.

“Eem yirtzah Hashem,” Shimon said.

“God willing,” Jonathan repeated.

Eyes swollen and red, Ezra came back clutching a photo, then handed it reluctantly to Decker, as if parting with it was tantamount to the loss of his son. As he did with all missing-persons photographs, Decker studied it as if it were text.

Noam Levine was a mature-looking boy, posed with a very cocky smile. He had a lean face, square chin made nappy by peach fuzz, strong cheekbones, a petulant mouth with thick lips. He had his father’s dark complexion, his mother’s bright blue eyes. There was something off about his expression. Decker stared at the photo until it hit him. Noam’s mouth was smiling, but his eyes were troubled.

“How tall is he?” Decker asked Ezra.

“Big for his age,” Ezra said. “Five seven or eight. Part of the problem. He always thinks he knows more than anyone else—” He stopped himself. “What am I saying?”