Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 04

by Day of Atonement

  Aaron, the eldest, said, “He walked to shul with us, Abba. I davened after that. I didn’t pay attention to him.”

  “He probably went to a friend’s, Ezra,” Miriam said. “He shows up at my house unannounced all the time.”

  “He does?” Ezra said. “What does he want?”

  “I don’t think he wants anything, Ezra.”

  “What does he do then?”

  “I don’t know. I give him a snack.”

  “He can’t come home for a snack?” Breina said.

  “It’s part of being a teenager, Breina. Sometimes a snack at your aunt’s house is better than a snack at home. Maybe he went to a friend’s house for a snack.”

  “On Rosh Hashanah?” Breina said.

  “Maybe he went to your brother’s,” Ezra said. “If he went to one relative, maybe he went to another?”

  “Enough!” Frieda said. She turned to her husband and again instructed him to make kiddush.

  “No one is sitting,” Alter said.

  “Everyone sit down,” Shimmy said.

  “Where should we sit, Frieda?” asked Sora Lazarus.

  The next few minutes were spent trying to get everyone seated. Rina instructed the boys to sit at the same table as their cousins. She asked them if they had seen Noam. Both shook their heads no.

  Sammy whispered in his mother’s ear, “I didn’t see him in shul today.”

  Rina said, “You probably just missed him, Shmuel. Aaron said he walked to shul with them.”

  “He wasn’t in shul,” Sammy insisted.

  “How do you know?” Rina said.

  “Because anytime I’m in town, Noam’ll hunt me out just to bug me. And he didn’t bug me today.”

  Rina said, “Maybe he’s bored with bugging you.”

  “No way, José. He bugged me yesterday, first thing. He’s a real jerk, Eema.”

  Rina sighed. The kid did have problems. And she knew why Sammy was hostile toward him. Behind Sammy’s back, Noam had dubbed Peter and her with crude epithets. Naturally, Sammy had found out about it. There had been a fight, and Noam, being older and bigger, had given Sammy a black eye. At the time, Rina had been outraged, about to make a huge stink. But Sammy implored her not to say anything to Breina and Ezra. She backed off, knowing that her son had been fighting for her honor and her interference might somehow emasculate him. The whole incident eventually blew over, but not without psychological ramifications. She was cool to Breina after that, aware that Noam’s thoughts didn’t originate out of nowhere.

  “Any idea where he might have gone?” Rina said.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Sammy said. “Noam’s always getting into trouble. He’s a mental case.”

  “Shmuli, try to be charitable.”

  Sammy gave her an impish smile. “Is Mrs. Levine serving us kid food or do we get to eat the good stuff like you guys?”

  Rina was about to launch into a speech, but Sammy preempted her. “Forget it, Eema.” He kissed her hand. “Go sit down.”

  Rina wanted to squeeze him and would have if they’d been alone. But alas, her boys were at that age—embarrassed by her hugs and kisses. So she just smiled at her sons, then found her place at the table. Her seat was sandwiched between her sisters-in-law.

  Alter Levine made the ritual blessing over the wine. Following kiddush came the ceremony of the washing of the hands, then the breaking of bread. With all the people and one sink, the washing and blessings took over ten minutes. Finally the meal was about to be served and six women jumped up to help Frieda Levine. Frieda instructed the guests to sit, her daughters and daughters-in-law would help her and there was no room in the kitchen for anyone else.

  Esther patted Rina on the shoulder and whispered, “You look pale.”

  “It’s been a tiring trip,” Rina said. “And this incident isn’t helping.”

  Rina’s other sister-in-law, Shayna, agreed. “Poor Breina. Noam has been giving her such a rough time lately. Not a bad boy. Just doesn’t have any sense. No sechel.”

  Esther said, “Remember that fight that he and Sammy—”

  “Yes,” Rina said. “He’s a very impressionable kid.”

  “A lonely boy, if you ask me,” Esther said. “This thing must be bad news. Why else would Ezra ask Akiva to look for him?”

  “Jonathan volunteered to look for him,” Rina said. “Not Akiva. Akiva just went along to keep him company. Akiva doesn’t even know what the boy looks like.”

  “Poor Breina,” Shayna repeated. “It’s tough to raise teenage boys.”

  Rina said, “Shhh, she’s coming.”

  The appetizer was served. Rina was on her second sweet and sour meatball when there was a loud knock on the door. Shimon and Ezra leaped up at the same time. Ezra got to the door first.

  Rina studied the men as they came into the room. Jonathan seemed anxious. Peter, on the other hand, was calm, expressionless—his eyes unreadable. His professional demeanor. That was really worrisome. For a moment, she flashed to those young faces plastered on milk cartons. The images were too gruesome to dwell upon.

  Ezra said, “You didn’t find him.”

  The women came out from the kitchen. Breina’s lip started to quiver. Frieda began to stagger backward. Esther stood up and offered Frieda her chair. Ezra told everyone to just calm down. But he was anything but tranquil.

  “He’s probably at a friend’s,” Jonathan said. “I didn’t know all his friends—”

  “He wouldn’t go without asking me,” Breina said. Her voice was shrill. “They wouldn’t let him come without asking me. Not on Rosh Hashanah.”

  Ezra said, “Did you check the house? Maybe he went home?”

  “Twice,” Jonathan said. “If he’s home, he’s not answering.”

  “I’ll go check,” Ezra said to Breina. “I’ll check his friends, your brother’s house—”

  “I already checked Shlomi’s house,” Jonathan said. “He’s not there.” He whispered a damn under his breath.

  Decker said to Ezra, “How about if I come with you—”

  “No,” Ezra snapped. He hugged himself and exhaled slowly. “No, that isn’t necessary.”

  “Let Akiva come with you, Ez,” Jonathan said.

  “Why?” Ezra said. “Do you think I need a policeman to look for my son?” He turned to Decker, his face a mask of pure fear. “Do you think I need the police, is that it?”

  “No,” Decker said.

  “Then why do you want to come?” Ezra shouted.

  Decker shrugged and said, “Up to you, Ezra. You want some company, I’ll be happy to tag along.”

  “I don’t care who goes,” Breina shrieked. “Just go.” She burst into tears.

  “Why don’t the two of you split up,” Shimon suggested. “It will go twice as fast.”

  Decker answered, “I don’t know who his friends are or where they live.”

  “I can take you to them,” Aaron, Noam’s eldest brother, volunteered.

  “I don’t need anyone with me!” Ezra protested.

  “Then go already,” Breina said.

  Frieda spoke up, “Ezra, take Akiva with you.”

  “Mama, there’s no reason for a policeman—”

  “Take him!” Frieda ordered. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  Decker caught Frieda’s eye. Outwardly, she seemed in control. Her voice was firm, no tears to be seen. Her hands weren’t shaking but they were clenched into balls, her knuckles almost white. What he saw was a frightened grandmother, trying very hard to keep a tight rein on her emotions. An expression he’d witnessed countless times as a detective in Juvey Division. Time to put the past aside. He gave her a shrug that said the situation was no big deal. She shrugged back.

  Their first real communication: a series of noncommittal shrugs.

  Ezra, on the other hand, was losing ground to his anxiety. He continued to bite his nails. His posture was stiff, his feet frozen in place as if he couldn’t quite figure out how to mov
e.

  Not that Decker thought he was overreacting. Although the kid had been gone for only a few hours, the circumstances were unusual. The cop in him didn’t like it. He was experienced enough to know that most of the time, the panic did turn out to be much ado about nothing. But he couldn’t help thinking about the flip side—those ice-cold, barely pubescent bodies lying on steel slabs in the morgue….

  He needed to prod them into action. He put his arm around Ezra and gently propelled him to the door. “Let me come with you, Ezra. I can use the exercise. How many houses are we talking about?”

  “Where should I go, Breina?” Ezra asked of his wife. His voice cracked.

  Breina rattled off a list of ten names.

  “Piece of cake,” Decker said. “You know all of the houses?”

  Ezra nodded.

  “Okay,” Decker said. “Let’s get it over with.” He patted Ezra on the back. “You lead.”

  He noticed Breina Levine had her hand to her chest. She seemed to be breathing rapidly. As he crossed the threshold of the door, Decker whispered to Jonathan to keep an eye on his sister-in-law.

  The food was served and the groups broke down into two categories: those who ate because they were nervous and those whose stomachs were shut down by anxiety. The wait seemed interminable. In fact, it took only an hour for Decker and Ezra to return. Breina Levine took one look at her husband’s face and collapsed into a chair. Frieda rushed into the kitchen to get a glass of water for her.

  Decker said to Jonathan and Shimon, “Send everyone except family home.” He paused, thinking about that.

  He was friggin family.

  “You think it’s bad?” Jonathan asked.

  It wasn’t good, Decker thought. But there was no point in offering a worried uncle his professional opinion.

  “We don’t know where the boy is. That’s all we know right now. We don’t know where he is. One step at a time. First, you clear the place. Send the guests home. Have the kids—the brothers, sisters, and cousins—wait in the back room. I’ll talk to them in a moment.”

  It took fifteen minutes for everyone to find coats and jackets. People patted hands, reassured the distraught parents and grandparents. Nobody believed a word they were saying.

  When everyone was gone, Decker sat down at the dining-room table and tried to clear his mind of morbid thoughts. Perversely, all he could think about were the tragedies. The overwhelming grief on the parents’ faces as he broke the bad news. It made his stomach churn.

  The table was still piled with food. But the salad had wilted under the weight of the dressing, the cooked vegetables had wrinkled, the edges of the roast beef had begun to curl. It was past four and Decker hadn’t eaten all day. He needed nutrition if he was going to think clearly. He picked up a chicken leg and bit into it.

  “Sorry, but I’ve got to get something in my stomach,” he said.

  Shimon gave him a clean plate. “Of course. Of course. You need to eat. Can I get you anything else?”

  “No, this is just fine,” Decker said.

  Absently, Ezra said, “Mincha’s in twenty minutes.”

  No one said anything.

  “Tephila!” Ezra said. “I need to pray.” His eyes flooded with tears. “Tephila! Tzedakah! Tshuvah!” He buried his head in his hands and held back tears. “It’s my fault…. I don’t learn with him anymore…. I’m not patient enough—”

  “Ezra, stop it,” Shimon said. “You’re a fine father.”

  With moist eyes, Ezra looked at Decker. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Decker said. “It’s tough. But there’s still a lot we can do. Ezra, did you specifically ask your children if they knew where he might be?”

  “Yes. Yes, I did.”

  “And they don’t know?” Decker said.

  Ezra shook his head.

  “Has Noam ever run away before?”

  “Not like this,” Ezra said.

  “But he’s run away?” Decker asked.

  “No!” Ezra said. “He wanders off sometimes but he always comes back. And he wouldn’t wander off on Rosh Hashanah. There’s no place for him to go.”

  No place in Boro Park, Decker thought. He turned to Jonathan and said, “Whose Ford Matador is parked out front?”

  “It’s mine,” Jonathan said.

  “Give me the keys,” Decker said. “A car can cover ground we can’t do on foot. I’ll start as soon as I finish with the kids.”

  No one said the obvious. Decker’s willingness to drive on Rosh Hashanah—violating the holiday—indicated a serious situation. Decker broke the moment of silence and asked Ezra for a picture of his son. Ezra said he didn’t carry one with him, but his mother must have a couple of recent pictures somewhere. He’d dig some up.

  After Ezra left, Decker said, “The best thing to do in situations like these is a door-to-door search. You people know most of your neighbors, which is a big plus. Ask if anyone’s seen Noam today, and if so, when was the last time they saw him. Ask the teenage boys—see if any of them look nervous and scared—”

  Decker stopped himself, regarded his two half brothers. Scared witless, shaken to the core. They stared at him as if he were speaking gibberish.

  Shimon said, “Maybe we should phone the police?”

  Decker made a conscious effort to slow himself down. He explained that if NYPD was anything like LAPD, they wouldn’t do anything for children over ten or eleven. It would be at least a twenty-four-hour wait before a missing-persons report would be filed.

  “But he’s only a boy,” Shimon protested.

  “He’s fourteen, considered a runaway rather than a kidnap victim—”

  “Chas vachalelah,” Shimon blurted out. “My God, I can’t believe this is happening.”

  How many times had Decker heard those words. The sense of unreality. But it was real and they needed a game plan. Decker told himself to speak simply. “Look. Maybe he’ll show in an hour, or maybe he’ll show up tonight—”

  “But maybe not,” Jonathan said.

  “Don’t say that!” Shimon scolded him.

  “Jonathan’s right,” Decker said. “It’s possible that Noam won’t show up tonight.” Or ever. But he knew his negative thinking was an occupational hazard—an igniter to drive him to action. “Time is important, people. I know you two aren’t used to this like I am. But you can do a whole lot more with your neighbors than I can.”

  “We go door to door,” Jonathan said. “We ask if anyone has seen Noam. That’s all?”

  Decker said, “Use your eyes. If anyone suddenly turns red, buries his face, stutters, shakes, looks like he’s hiding something—remember it and report back to me. There were a couple of kids that looked hinky to me when Ezra and I were out the first time. I’ll go back and question them. But first I want to comb the area by car.”

  “Want me to come with you?” Jonathan asked. “I’ll drive so you can look.”

  “You must think it’s very serious to break yom tov,” Shimon said to Decker.

  Decker didn’t answer. Instead, he told Jonathan that he could look around by himself. He instructed the two brothers to go together. One should do the talking, the other should study the faces.

  “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 mi
ght 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?”

  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.