Aaron said, “It looks about as full as it always does. But he could take a shirt and pair of pants and I wouldn’t notice.”

On the floor of the closet were the boys’ knapsacks. Decker opened Noam’s first. Just books and school supplies. His papers contained no doodling, no names of girls. Decker asked the boys if he could look inside their knapsacks. Both of them said sure. Their cooperation showed him that the boys had nothing to hide. He took a quick peek, then moved on.

He stripped the beds. Finding nothing, he removed the mattresses, checked all three out individually. Still nothing. Then he removed the box spring. Underneath Noam’s bed was a sales slip—slightly faded pink, dated ten months ago. Someone had purchased a Guns ’n’ Roses T-shirt for fifteen fifty. He asked the boys if Noam ever wore the T-shirt when the folks weren’t home.

“I never saw him wearing any T-shirt with a gun or a rose on it,” Aaron said.

Decker said, “Guns ’n’ Roses is a rock group.”

Aaron shrugged ignorance.

“How about you?” he asked Boruch. Sometimes kids confide more easily in younger siblings than in older ones.

Boruch said, “I never saw him wear any T-shirt except as undershirts for our tzitzit.” He thought a moment. “You know we have this old transistor radio. I think Noam listens to it late at night when he thinks we’re asleep.”

“I never heard anything,” Aaron said.

“I think he uses the earphone,” Boruch said. “We can listen to the radio as long as we’ve finished our studies and it’s news or sports. Abba and I are Knicks fans. Rock music is out of course. But some of the kids at school listen to it anyway. They even watch MTV—go down to the electronic stores and watch the television on display. It’s a hard thing to do because most of the stores are owned by frum yiddin and the kids don’t want anything getting back to their parents, you know.”

“You’d like a TV?” Decker asked.

“Nah,” Boruch said. “Turns your brain to rot.”

Decker smiled. The way the kid said it—just a line he’d picked up somewhere.

“Maybe that’s what he does when he wanders off,” Aaron said. “Walks around Prospect Park listening to rock music.”

Decker thought: Noam sneaking off, maybe wearing his Guns ’n’ Roses T-shirt under his traditional garb. When he was alone, like Clark Kent turning into Superman, he’d pull off his regular shirt, untuck his T-shirt, and blast his pathetic little radio.

Trying to hang out, trying to fit in.

But always looking over his shoulder, making sure no one would see him.