Day of Atonement. Faye Kellerman

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      But he was still a child—a sheltered one at that. The streets of New York City could easily turn an impulsive adventure trip into a horror story.

      Decker pocketed the picture. To Ezra, he said, “I want to talk to your children first.”

      “Why?” Ezra said. “I told you they don’t know anything.”

      “I’m sure you’re right,” Decker said. “It’s just the way I was trained—”

      “If they say they don’t know anything, they don’t know anything.”

      “Ezra,” Shimon said, “let him talk to the kids. What could it hurt?”

      “And I’d also like to look at Noam’s room,” Decker said.

      “Look at his room?” Ezra said. His voice was full of suspicion. “Why? What do you think you’re going to find?”

      “Ezra,” Shimon said, “just let him do it.” To Decker, he said, “Aaron, my oldest nephew, has a key. He’ll take you to the house.”

      “I can take him to the house,” Ezra protested.

      Jonathan put his arm around his brother. “Let’s go to shul, Ezra. We’ll walk you there. Afterward, we can learn a little.”

      “Learn with you?” Ezra said.

      “Learn with me,” Jonathan said. “What are you doing now? Masechet Sukkot? It’s a masechet I know pretty well.”

      “We’ll all learn together,” Shimon said. “Come, Ezra.” He put his arm around Ezra’s waist. “Come.”

      Decker watched as Shimon and Jonathan gently guided Ezra out the door.

      Three of the same blood.

      Three brothers.

       9

      The children had segregated themselves—the boys in one room, the girls in another. Eleven boys, eight girls—the Levines were a fecund bunch.

      Decker started with the girls. Ranging in age from three to fourteen, they sat in little groups, whispering and giggling. Because the preschoolers were so young and shy, many having just a rudimentary grasp of English, he decided to concentrate on the older ones—three cousins aged seven, eight, and fourteen, and Noam’s eleven-year-old sister, Tamar. They were still dressed in their holiday clothing, full of lace and velvet and ornamented with jewelry—pearl earrings, gold chains, thin bracelets or watches. The oldest, Shimon’s daughter, wore a string of pearls. She also had on heeled shoes and a touch of lipstick.

      They knew what was going on—their cousin or brother was missing. It was their job to help Decker find him. They seemed nervous and excited, but not unduly scared. It was as if Noam’s disappearance was viewed as a tricky math problem waiting to be solved.

      As they talked further, Decker realized that to them, Noam was an enigma—a loner, a strange boy with creepy eyes. Even Noam’s sister viewed him with trepidation. A very strange reaction. Most sisters might view a brother as an object of hatred or jealousy. But a brother was not usually feared.

      It was clear that the girls had kept their distance from Noam. But that didn’t stop them from throwing out suggestions as to where he might be. Most of the proposals were exotic and off the wall—akin to Noam’s running off and joining the circus.

      Their offerings might have been wonderful projective tests, but Decker didn’t feel they gave a clue to the boy’s location. He thanked the young ladies for their time.

      The boys were holed up in a guest bedroom that was hot and stuffy from sweat and hormones. The younger kids were running around, crashing into the twin beds and the walls. Five older ones had taken out a Talmud and were learning in the corner. All wore black hats and had their hair cut Marine short, which drew Decker’s attention to their ears. Some were big, some flat, some had banjo lobes, some stuck out like Alfred E. Newman’s. As he approached the group, one of the older boys put down the volume of Talmud and looked up. He had blue eyes, soft skin, also with a hint of peach fuzz. His features were those of Noam Levine, but softer, more rounded. He appeared to be around fifteen.

      “Hi,” Decker said. “Aaron Levine?”

      The teenager nodded.

      “Your uncle Jonathan said you have a key to your house,” Decker said. “I want to look through Noam’s room.”

      Again, Aaron nodded.

      “Does he have his own room?” Decker asked.

      “He shares with me and Boruch.”

      Aaron’s eyes fell upon his younger brother. Boruch was around twelve. There was a definite family look—smooth skin, blue eyes, good jawline, dark hair. All of them resembling Breina. But Noam, at least from the photograph, projected a huskier build.

      Decker told the brothers to hang on a moment and questioned the cousins first. The boys were polite and cooperative, anxious to help. The oldest one was Shimon’s son. He was Aaron’s age—almost sixteen—and didn’t have much to do with Noam. The other two also kept their distance. They all explained that their cousin was prone to wandering off by himself, but they seemed genuinely puzzled by his disappearance on Rosh Hashanah. That was not like him. After five minutes more of questioning, Decker felt they really didn’t know anything and let them go.

      Then he concentrated on Noam’s brothers. Both Aaron and Boruch seemed nervous.

      Decker said, “Any ideas where your brother might be?”

      The boys shrugged ignorance.

      “You must have some thoughts about it,” Decker pressed.

      “Noam keeps to himself. He’s …” Aaron squirmed. “Lashon harah.”

      Lashon harah—gossip. Disreputable in any society but a grave sin in Jewish Law. Decker said, “Aaron, if Noam is missing, I need to know everything about him. Including the incidents that make him look bad.”

      “It’s nothing like that,” Aaron said. His voice cracked. A faint blush rose in his cheeks. “It’s just СКАЧАТЬ