Once more he worked his chair around, back to the paper-strewn table. But this time, he leaned down, reaching for a battered old box. He couldn’t bend over far enough to reach it. Phil got up to assist, placing the box on Hayes’s lap. Beneath Phil’s close scrutiny, Hayes removed the lid.

More papers. Hayes riffled through them before finally exclaiming, “Got it!” He waved a faded Kodak in the air.

Phil returned the box to the floor, then helped Hayes back over. The man handed over the photo immediately, as if this should tell them something.

D.D. saw four teenagers. The colors of the instant photo had run over the years, making the features of each boy appear slightly melted. She could pick out Hayes. Shaggy brown hair, a once-dark-green Celtics shirt that had become lime green with age. The two other boys weren’t familiar at all.

Then, at the far left. Gangly-looking, nearly slender, with long black hair cut short in front, long in back, Metallica T-shirt and a black biker’s jacket covered in metal studs and silver chains.

“Charlie Sgarzi,” she said.

“The Great Pretender himself,” Sam assured her. “In one of his many disguises.”

“What do you mean?”

“Charlie was the ultimate phony. I mean, these two boys, Tommy, Adam, they were into heavy metal. So when Charlie was around them, he was into heavy metal. Shana was Ms. Tough Shit, so around her, he jammed a pack of Marlboros into his back pocket. But you could also catch him in collared shirts, smiling sweetly up at his mom. Or with painted black nails and a long trench coat, hanging out with the Flock of Seagulls crowd. He adapted to his audience. Just as long as it got him a place with the in crowd.”

Phil shrugged. “So he suffered from an identity crisis. He was a teenager; these things happen.”

“But being a confused kid wasn’t what he was trying to hide.”

“Then what was it?”

“Charlie wasn’t fucking Shana. Charlie’s gay.”

• • •

ACCORDING TO HAYES, he had a radar for these things.

“Trust me, you don’t make it through the foster system without learning how to spot the boys who like other boys. Especially the ones who are pissed off about it.”

“Charlie was afraid of his parents’ reaction?” D.D. asked.

“Hell if I know. I mean, his parents were conservative, sure. A happy homemaker married to the local firefighter? But I don’t think it was his parents. I think it was Charlie himself. He wanted to be just like everyone else. Except, he had this thing, you know. Nowadays, maybe not such a big deal. But thirty years ago, being a boy who liked boys in a place like Southie could get you killed. So he fought it. Spent all his time becoming someone else. He was good at it, too. A real actor. But, of course, I knew the truth.”