Mr. Spivak folded his arms across his chest and ground his molars. “All his friends are crazy bastards with shaved heads and Nazi tattoos.”

“It would help if you could give us a list,” Brody added. “The sooner we get him off the street, the safer you’ll be.”

“I guess you’re right. We’re just afraid he’ll come after us if we turn him in, but I guess he’s probably going to come after us anyway.” Mrs. Spivak moved back, clearing the threshold. “Come in.”

Her husband ushered them into a paneled living room. The decor was stark. No family pictures adorned the walls. No knickknacks cluttered the surfaces. No shoes lined up at the door. Decades of regimented cleaning had scrubbed the house of all signs of life.

Mr. Spivak took a piece of paper from a desk drawer and started writing.

“Did your son leave anything behind in his room?” Stella asked the missus.

“Not really, but you’re welcome to have a look.” Mr. Spivak handed her a list of six names. Three only had first names. “The first few he went to high school with. The others he picked up since. They’re all just as crazy as he is.”

“Thank you. We have a search warrant for his room. Did you want to see it?” Brody reached for the folded paper in his suit jacket.

Mr. Spivak waved the offer away. “No need. If there’s any evidence in his room, you’re welcome to it. I’m sorry to say we’d feel safer if Noah was behind bars.”

Stella and Brody went down the hall and took a quick turn around Noah’s room. The twin bed, dresser, and desk in heavy grained oak were likely the same he used in childhood. A braided rug occupied the center of the oak floor.

Stella put on gloves and checked the drawers. All empty. Then she pulled each one out and inspected the outside and bottom. Nothing. “He cleaned this place out pretty well.”

Brody opened the closet door and took down a box of trophies. “Everything he left behind is from his childhood. Nothing current.”

“He wasn’t always a bad kid, but he always took up with the wrong sort.” Mr. Spivak hunched in the doorway. His gaze settled on the box, his frown turning bittersweet. “He was a smart kid in high school. Went away to college on a scholarship. Then he hooked up with these skinhead types. Nothing but trouble since.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Brody returned the box to the closet.

“No.” Mr. Spivak exhaled, and his body deflated. “I know we seem harsh, but we’re at our wits’ end. Noah is out of control. The best thing for everyone is if he gets put away where he can’t hurt anyone.”

Stella scanned the room one last time but saw nothing left to search.