Decker smiled.
“Mrs. Lazarus’s husband,” Ephraim said. He looked at Decker. “I guess she isn’t Mrs. Lazarus anymore.”
Decker laughed.
“She’s very nice,” Moshe said.
“Thank you.”
“Yes, she’s very nice,” Ephraim agreed.
There was a pregnant pause, the obvious not being said.
She’s very pretty.
He wondered how many boys had a crush on her?
Moshe said, “Shmuli’s in my shiur.”
Sammy was twelve; how could he be in this kid’s class? Then Decker remembered that the shiurim—lessons in Jewish studies—weren’t based on age but on ability.
Decker said, “Is Noam in your shiur too?”
The boys laughed nervously. Moshe said, “Noam sits with us, but in learning he’s behind Yonkie.”
“He’s real dumb,” Ephraim said.
“He’s not dumb,” Moshe said.
“He’s dumb,” Ephraim repeated.
“He’s not dumb,” Moshe insisted. “He’s just a cut-up. When he had to learn his bar mitzvah parashá, he put it off until the last minute. Then he memorized the whole thing in three months. He pulled it off and did Musaf, too. And he did a decent job. He’s not dumb.”
“Well, he acts dumb,” Ephraim said.
“That is true,” Moshe said. He turned to Decker and said, “You haven’t found him, huh?”
Decker shook his head. “You two good friends?”
“Good friends?” Moshe said. “A long time ago. Now we just kinda know each other. The older we get, the less I have to do with him. Noam keeps to himself, doesn’t talk too much. Our interests are different. As you might have noticed, I like sports, I like cars, I like…”
Moshe blushed.
“You like girls,” Decker filled in the blank.
“We don’t see the girls too much,” Moshe said. “Our school hours are long and we’re in separate buildings.”
“Noam like sports and cars?” Decker said.
Moshe shook his head. “Couldn’t care less.”
“How about computers?”
“Noam likes computers?” Moshe said. “That’s news to me.”
“I mean computer games.”
“Oh.” Moshe thought a moment. “He had this little pocket game—Octopus. Used to play that all the time. I find those things boring but a lot of kids are into it. Mostly the younger ones.”
“Do you know if Noam ever hangs around the arcades?” Decker asked. “Maybe he has a friend with a Nintendo game system?”
Moshe shook his head. “We don’t have a TV so we don’t have any game systems. No one around here does.”
“Does he have any other pocket games besides Octopus?”
“Not that I know of.”
“How about girls?” Decker said. “Does Noam ever talk about girls?”
Moshe’s blush returned to his cheeks. “Yeah, he likes girls.”
“Talks about them?”
“Yeah.”
“A lot?”
Moshe said, “Depends on what you think a lot is?”
Decker said, “When he talks about the girls, is he crude, graphic in how he likes them?”
“Yeah,” Moshe said. “That kinda bothers me. We weren’t brought up to talk like that.”
Refreshing, Decker thought.
“I think Noam’s a pervert,” Ephraim said.
“He’s not a pervert,” Moshe said.
“He’s a pervert,” Ephraim said. He turned to Decker. “He hangs around the younger kids a lot.”
Decker raised his eyebrows. Moshe came to Noam’s rescue.
“It’s not like you think. It’s all out in the open. He just plays with them.”
“How young are we talking about?” Decker asked.
“First of all,” Moshe said. “He doesn’t hang around them. Sometimes he plays tag or mouse-in-the-middle with the younger kids at shul. They’re maybe six or seven. He’s real nice to them. They like him, too. So he’ll make a good camp counselor. What’s wrong with that?”
“Do you think it’s strange?” Decker said.
Moshe was uncomfortable. “Yeah, it’s a little weird.”
Ephraim said, “It’s very weird.”
“Shut up, Ephraim,” Moshe said.
Decker said, “Does Noam have a girlfriend? Maybe a secret girlfriend?”
Moshe shook his head. “Not that I know of. Most of the girls I know think he’s a little off. My sisters won’t go near him.”
“Noam ever brag about things he’s done with girls?” Decker asked. “Maybe things he’s done with girls that weren’t even Jewish?”
Moshe paused a long time. Decker knew the teenager was in conflict. He said, “Moshe, if he has a non-Jewish girlfriend, maybe that’s where he’s hiding out.”
“I don’t think he actually has a non-Jewish girlfriend,” Moshe said. “Or any girlfriend. He used to talk a lot about the Italian girls, about things they’d do…I don’t know where he learned all this stuff from. Noam likes to play hotshot. I think all his hotshot talk is made up on the spot.”
“Wishful thinking?”
“Exactly.”
“You ever notice him hanging around the Italian boys?” Decker asked.
“No,” Moshe said. “But I don’t hang around them, so I don’t really know if he was or wasn’t.”
“Did Noam ever try to sell you drugs?”
Moshe shook his head.
“Did he ever sneak drugs or alcohol inside school? Try to get some of his friends interested in getting stoned?”
“Not that I know of,” Moshe said. “Once in a while, he’d smoke in the bathroom. Lot of kids do it. Smoking isn’t allowed in school, but a lot of the rabbis smoke right in front of us.” He suddenly reddened, started to speak but changed his mind.
“What is it?” Decker said.
Moshe focused his eyes on his lap. “It’s really no big…well, it is a big deal if my parents and teachers ever found out. I don’t want you to think I’m a pervert or gross or anything. I just happened to be there when Noam passed around the magazine.”
“A dirty magazine?” Decker said.
Moshe nodded.
Smiling, Ephraim said, “This is interesting.”
“Shut up,” Moshe said to his brother.
From People to porno. Decker said, “Know where he got hold of it?”
“No.”
“How many times did he show it to you?”
This time, the boy was red. “Maybe…a couple of times.”
“A couple is two times, Moshe,” Decker said. “I’m not asking you these questions to get you into trouble or embarrass you. I’m asking them because they help me find out what kind of a boy Noam is and it’s always easier to find someone you understand than a mystery person. See what I’m saying?”
Moshe nodded.
Decker said, “How many times did he show you the magazine?”
“Maybe five times.”
“Very interesting,” Ephraim said.
Moshe lit into him. “You tell Abba and you’re dead.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Moshe,” Ephraim said. “Even I have a code of honor.”
The kid seemed sincere. Decker felt better. He asked, “Was it always the same magazine?”
“Two different ones,” Moshe said.
“Were they Playboys—just naked women—more explicit?”
“No…they were…more…explicit,” Moshe said.
“Where’d he get them?”
“That I don’t know…honest.”
“I believe you,” Decker said.
“He used to bring them to school,” Moshe said. “Once I almost got caught. That was it. I told him not to show them to me…at least not at school. It just wasn’t worth what would happen if we got caught.”
“Did he show them to anyone else?”
“I don’t think I should get anyone else in trouble.”
“Moshe, New York is a
dangerous place for an adult, let alone a kid your age. He’s easy prey for all types of perverts and felons. No one’s going to get in trouble, I personally promise you that.”
Moshe sighed. “There was a group of us. Chaim Belser, David Ramy, Yossie Weinstein, and Menachem Takinoff. Noam had a few of the magazines; once Yossie Weinstein brought in one, too. David, Chaim, Menachem, and I…we just looked.”
All the boys’ names were on Jonathan’s list. Man had good instincts. Would have made a good detective…
“You’ve been great,” Decker said.
“I just hope I don’t regret this,” Moshe said.
Decker smiled, patted the kid’s fuzzy cheeks. “Your parents ask you what we talked about, say mostly sports, a little about Noam, okay?”
The boys nodded.
“You boys ever make it out to L.A.,” Decker said, “and if it’s okay with your parents, I’ll take you and my boys out to Disneyland.”
“Really?” they said in unison.
“That’s a promise,” Decker said. He smiled at them. Their eyes were gleaming. He left, heartened to see that there were still some children allowed to remain children.
14
Shimon asked how did the interviewing go. Decker said it went fine. Their next stop was Yossie Weinstein’s house. Shimon said they were closer to the Belsers, but Decker said he wanted to talk to Yossie before he talked to any of the others.
“Why Yossie?” Shimon asked.
“Because he seemed to be the closest to Noam,” Decker said. “By the way, just do what you did at the Greitzman house. You handled the parents perfectly. Made my job a snap.”
“We’re a good team, huh?” Shimon said.
Decker stopped walking for a moment, feeling his throat tighten. He suddenly longed to reach out to Shimon, to embrace him. Caught in a cruel practical joke. He swallowed back an emotional swelling, held himself in check. He resumed his pace and said softly, “Yeah, we’re a great team.”
“You work with a partner?” Shimon asked.
“I’m not assigned a partner, per se,” Decker said. “But if I do team up, it’s usually with a woman named Marge Dunn. Man, I sure wish she were here now. We bounce a lot of ideas off each other. You need someone like that.”
“You work with a woman?” Shimon said.
“Sure.”
“And Rina doesn’t mind?”
Decker smiled. “No, Rina doesn’t mind.”
They walked a few moments in silence.
“Your partner—or sort of partner,” Shimon said. “She’s young?”
“Marge is thirty-one. She’s five ten, one hundred sixty pounds.”
“A big woman.”
“A big woman,” Decker said. “You wouldn’t want to confront her when she was mad. She and Rina seem to get along.”
“They’re friends?”
“Well, not friends exactly. They just know each other through me.”
Shimon said, “My wife chose my secretary. She’s sixty years old, ninety pounds, and wears too much perfume. Not lovely to look at, but very efficient.”
“I’ll take efficiency over looks any day of the week,” Decker said.
“Marge is ugly?”
“No, Marge isn’t ugly at all. She’s actually quite attractive if you like big Nordic women.”
“She’s blond?”
“Blond with dark eyes,” Decker said. “She’s got great eyes; they inspire trust. Kids love her; our rape survivors confide in her. That’s the kind of partner you want. Someone you can depend on, someone who’s good.”
“That makes sense,” Shimon said.
They took a few more steps without speaking.
Shimon said, “She’s single, this Marge?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not distracted by her?”
“Distracted by Marge?” Decker laughed. “She keeps my mind on work, not off of it. She’s a great cop.”
“You like her,” Shimon said.
“She’s a good friend,” Decker said.
Shimon put his hands in his coat pockets and shrugged.
To him, Decker realized, the idea of women friends was as alien as pork. In this community, working closely with a woman could only lead to trouble. But his half brother happened to be a nice guy and was trying hard not to be judgmental. Decker felt that was worth some points.
They stopped walking and Shimon pointed to another small brick townhouse.
“Here’s where the Weinsteins live,” he said. “Tell me, Akiva, am I as good a partner as your great cop and friend, Marge?”
“Shimon, my man, you’re the only one in town who could pull off this assignment. And that’s no lie.”
“Eem yirtzah Hashem, all my talents won’t go to waste.” Shimon turned serious. “Do you think we’ll find him, Akiva?”
“I don’t know,” Decker answered. “But we’ll do whatever we can.”
“Ultimately, it’s up to God,” Shimon said.
That was true. Decker thought. But just in case the Old Man was overbooked at this time of year, he was going to do his damnedest to take the case off His hands.
Unlike the Greitzman boys, Yossie Weinstein seemed scared. He was a tall, slender boy, very pale with hazel eyes and ash-colored kinky hair. His features were long; two weals of pimples dotted his cheeks. He slept in a converted closet off his older brother’s room. He sat on his bed; Decker sat next to him. The boy’s breath smelled of garlic and onions. A protoplasmic grease stain decorated his shirt. Decker asked him if he knew who he was and Yossie identified him as Shmuli and Yonkie’s stepdad, the cop.
That seemed to be the official title—Shmuli and Yonkie’s stepdad, the cop.
That was fine with him.
He spoke to the boy about sports, about cars. Yossie was shy and Decker had a rough time establishing rapport. After ten minutes of discussing the Mets, specifically whether or not the Mets could beat the Dodgers should both teams be in the playoffs, the kid seemed to settle down. Decker eased into questions about Noam, taking guidance from his last conversation with the Greitzman boys. When he asked about dirty magazines, he thought Yossie would faint.
Decker said, “Did Noam ever show you dirty magazines, Yossie?”
The kid’s nod was barely perceptible.
“How many times did he show you the magazine?”
“Coupleoftimes.”
Mumble, mumble. We don’t want to talk about this at all.
Decker repeated, “A couple of times. You ever buy one from him, Yossie?”
The boy buried his head in his hands. Decker put an arm around his shoulder.
“Yossie, I’m not going to tell your parents anything. I promise you. They ask you what we talked about, you say a little about Noam, and a lot about sports. Tell them Shmuli and Yonkie’s stepdad—the cop—is a big Dodger fan, okay?”
Yossie nodded.
“I’m not here to get you into trouble,” Decker said. “I’m here to find Noam before he gets hurt. Please. Now, did you ever buy a dirty magazine off him?”
The boy shook his head.
“Then where did you get it?” Decker asked.
“Fromaguy.”
Hallelujah! Calmly, Decker asked, “Which guy?”
“Just this guy,” Yossie said.
“Does this guy have a name?”
“Hersh,” Yossie said.
“Hersh,” Decker repeated. “And does Hersh have a last name?”
“I don’t know it.”
“Hersh,” Decker said. “You know where Hersh lives?”
Yossie shook his head.
“No,” Decker said. “Then where did you meet Hersh?”
Yossie mumbled something. Decker asked him to repeat what he said.
“I met him at this liquor store,” Yossie said. “I thought I was going with Noam to buy a bottle of wine for his family. Then Noam introduces me to this Hersh guy. I didn’t even want the magazine, but I didn’t want to look like a dip and not buy it. So I boug
ht it. Cost me ten bucks, too.” He looked down. “Boy, was I a jerk.”
“We all get talked into doing things,” Decker said. “Every single one of us, so don’t feel bad about it. What you should feel good about is helping me out. It’s a mitzvah. You’re doing great. Can you tell me which liquor store?”
“I don’t remember the name of it,” Yossie said. “It was in the black section of Crown Heights on the other side of Empire.”
“Hersh is from Crown Heights?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hersh is a Jewish name,” Decker said. “So am I correct in assuming Hersh is Jewish and not black?”
“Definitely,” Yossie said. “He might have even once been frum—religious—because he seemed to know Yiddish. But if he was frum at one time, he isn’t now. I was really angry at Noam for taking me there. I have relatives in Crown Heights. If they had seen me in that store with this Hersh guy, it would have been all over for me.”
“What does Hersh look like?” Decker said.
“He’s about twenty…twenty-one.” The boy scrunched his eyes. “He’s dark, not real tall.”
“Let’s start at the beginning,” Decker said. “Stand up.”
The boy obeyed.
“Okay,” Decker stood straight. “How far would he come up to me?”
Yossie thought for a moment, then put his hand at Decker’s shoulder.
About five eight or nine.
“Okay,” Decker said. “Clean-shaven?”
Yossie nodded.
“Good,” Decker said. “By dark, you mean dark eyes, dark skin, dark hair—”
“Dark hair and eyes,” Yossie said. “He’s not dark like an Iranian or something. He’s just like normal white.”
“Fantastic. Okay, he’s clean-shaven with dark hair and eyes. Does he have any acne, any moles, any warts…”
“I don’t think so.”
“Let’s try something,” Decker said. “I use this method all the time with my witnesses. You mind being my star witness in this case?”
“Sure,” Yossie said. “I mean, sure, I don’t mind.”
Decker held back a smile. “Close your eyes, Yossie, and picture Hersh’s face.” He waited a moment. “Describe the forehead to me—see a lot of it, a little of it…”
“High forehead.”
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