Decker weighed the possibilities, leaning toward the theory that Noam’s disappearance was a voluntary decision. Big, burly boys usually don’t get snatched—too strong, too much struggle. A child molester is an opportunistic beast. Steal the ones that go the quietest. The plus was that runaways were easier to find than kidnapped children. And there was the teenager’s arrogant smirk. Boy seemed like a survivor.

But he was still a child—a sheltered one at that. The streets of New York City could easily turn an impulsive adventure trip into a horror story.

Decker pocketed the picture. To Ezra, he said, “I want to talk to your children first.”

“Why?” Ezra said. “I told you they don’t know anything.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Decker said. “It’s just the way I was trained—”

“If they say they don’t know anything, they don’t know anything.”

“Ezra,” Shimon said, “let him talk to the kids. What could it hurt?”

“And I’d also like to look at Noam’s room,” Decker said.

“Look at his room?” Ezra said. His voice was full of suspicion. “Why? What do you think you’re going to find?”

“Ezra,” Shimon said, “just let him do it.” To Decker, he said, “Aaron, my oldest nephew, has a key. He’ll take you to the house.”

“I can take him to the house,” Ezra protested.

Jonathan put his arm around his brother. “Let’s go to shul, Ezra. We’ll walk you there. Afterward, we can learn a little.”

“Learn with you?” Ezra said.

“Learn with me,” Jonathan said. “What are you doing now? Masechet Sukkot? It’s a masechet I know pretty well.”

“We’ll all learn together,” Shimon said. “Come, Ezra.” He put his arm around Ezra’s waist. “Come.”

Decker watched as Shimon and Jonathan gently guided Ezra out the door.

Three of the same blood.

Three brothers.

9

The children had segregated themselves—the boys in one room, the girls in another. Eleven boys, eight girls—the Levines were a fecund bunch.

Decker started with the girls. Ranging in age from three to fourteen, they sat in little groups, whispering and giggling. Because the preschoolers were so young and shy, many having just a rudimentary grasp of English, he decided to concentrate on the older ones—three cousins aged seven, eight, and fourteen, and Noam’s eleven-year-old sister, Tamar. They were still dressed in their holiday clothing, full of lace and velvet and ornamented with jewelry—pearl earrings, gold chains, thin bracelets or watches. The oldest, Shimon’s daughter, wore a string of pearls. She also had on heeled shoes and a touch of lipstick.

They knew what was going on—their cousin or brother was missing. It was their job to help Decker find him. They seemed nervous and excited, but not unduly scared. It was as if Noam’s disappearance was viewed as a tricky math problem waiting to be solved.