back, row after row, like a platoon of soldiers; and for chest-style freezers, rectangular box after rectangular box, like so many rusty white coffins.
“I’ll buzz him at the front door,” Nasser went on as they followed the narrow path to the house. “Hopefully, he’ll agree to come out. Better if the two of you stay a good ten feet back.”
He hustled up the steps ahead of them.
Mendez glanced at Leone. “What the fuck?”
“He’s a hoarder,” Vince said, looking over the collections through a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses. “Interesting.”
“It’s part of the obsessive-compulsive disorder?”
“It would seem to be, but there’s a lot of conflicting opinions on the subject. For instance, we’ve already seen that Zahn is a germaphobe, yet hoarding often creates unsanitary conditions. The two seem not to go together, yet here we are.”
“When I was in a uniform in Bakersfield, I had a call-out on a possible missing person,” Mendez said. “A woman reported her elderly mother missing after not hearing from her for several days. She had gone to the mother’s house. No sign of her.
“Me and my partner get there. You can’t believe this place. It was like a landfill inside a building—and smelled like one too. You could hardly walk inside. Every window was blocked. There were mice and rats like something out of a horror movie. Long story short: It took three days and a cadaver dog to find the woman’s body. A pile of stuff had fallen on her and buried her alive.”
Vince looked around at the yard. “At least Dr. Zahn is tidy.”
Contrary to Nasser’s instructions, Vince took the step below him and struck a casual stance with his hands in his pants pockets. The breeze flipped his necktie back over his shoulder.
Zahn’s voice came out of the squawk box on the wall above the doorbell. “Who are you?”
Nasser answered, “It’s me—Rudy.”
“Who’s with you? Someone is with you. Why would you bring someone here? You know not to bring someone here. Why would you do that?”
“They’re detectives, Zander. It’s about Marissa. They need to speak to you.”
No answer.
Vince leaned past a frowning Nasser and pressed the intercom button himself. “It’s Vince Leone, Zander,” he said in a pleasant, casual tone. “We spoke earlier this morning at Marissa’s house. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve got a couple more questions you might be able to help me with.”
“I don’t think so, Vince,” Zahn said. “I don’t think I can help you. I’m terribly upset by all of this.”
“I know. So is everyone—especially people who loved Marissa. Imagine what it would mean to her if you could help in any small way to find her killer. You’ve been such a good friend to her.”
No sound came out of the box for moment. Mendez looked from Vince to Nasser and back.
“I do have some good news from the hospital,” Vince said. “I went to check on little Haley, and she’s going to be fine.”
Another moment passed then came the sound of locks being turned on the other side of the front door. Zahn emerged wearing what looked to Mendez like black Chinese pajamas and a pair of clogs.
“Haley?” he said, looking up and just to the right of Leone’s head, as if he were seeing a vision in the sky. “Haley is all right? She’s going to be all right?”
“I spoke to her doctor.”
“Oh my God. Oh thank God,” Zahn whispered, wringing his hands absently as he spoke. “Could I see her? Do you think that might be possible—that I could speak to her and see her?”
“You would have to go into the hospital to see her, Zander,” Nasser said.
Zahn looked at him sharply.
His assistant shrugged. “Hospitals are full of sick people.”
“Haley isn’t sick, though,” Zahn pointed out. “She’s injured. She was injured somehow and her heart is broken. She’ll be heartbroken over Marissa. I’m heartbroken.”
“They won’t want her to have visitors yet,” Vince
“I’ll buzz him at the front door,” Nasser went on as they followed the narrow path to the house. “Hopefully, he’ll agree to come out. Better if the two of you stay a good ten feet back.”
He hustled up the steps ahead of them.
Mendez glanced at Leone. “What the fuck?”
“He’s a hoarder,” Vince said, looking over the collections through a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses. “Interesting.”
“It’s part of the obsessive-compulsive disorder?”
“It would seem to be, but there’s a lot of conflicting opinions on the subject. For instance, we’ve already seen that Zahn is a germaphobe, yet hoarding often creates unsanitary conditions. The two seem not to go together, yet here we are.”
“When I was in a uniform in Bakersfield, I had a call-out on a possible missing person,” Mendez said. “A woman reported her elderly mother missing after not hearing from her for several days. She had gone to the mother’s house. No sign of her.
“Me and my partner get there. You can’t believe this place. It was like a landfill inside a building—and smelled like one too. You could hardly walk inside. Every window was blocked. There were mice and rats like something out of a horror movie. Long story short: It took three days and a cadaver dog to find the woman’s body. A pile of stuff had fallen on her and buried her alive.”
Vince looked around at the yard. “At least Dr. Zahn is tidy.”
Contrary to Nasser’s instructions, Vince took the step below him and struck a casual stance with his hands in his pants pockets. The breeze flipped his necktie back over his shoulder.
Zahn’s voice came out of the squawk box on the wall above the doorbell. “Who are you?”
Nasser answered, “It’s me—Rudy.”
“Who’s with you? Someone is with you. Why would you bring someone here? You know not to bring someone here. Why would you do that?”
“They’re detectives, Zander. It’s about Marissa. They need to speak to you.”
No answer.
Vince leaned past a frowning Nasser and pressed the intercom button himself. “It’s Vince Leone, Zander,” he said in a pleasant, casual tone. “We spoke earlier this morning at Marissa’s house. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve got a couple more questions you might be able to help me with.”
“I don’t think so, Vince,” Zahn said. “I don’t think I can help you. I’m terribly upset by all of this.”
“I know. So is everyone—especially people who loved Marissa. Imagine what it would mean to her if you could help in any small way to find her killer. You’ve been such a good friend to her.”
No sound came out of the box for moment. Mendez looked from Vince to Nasser and back.
“I do have some good news from the hospital,” Vince said. “I went to check on little Haley, and she’s going to be fine.”
Another moment passed then came the sound of locks being turned on the other side of the front door. Zahn emerged wearing what looked to Mendez like black Chinese pajamas and a pair of clogs.
“Haley?” he said, looking up and just to the right of Leone’s head, as if he were seeing a vision in the sky. “Haley is all right? She’s going to be all right?”
“I spoke to her doctor.”
“Oh my God. Oh thank God,” Zahn whispered, wringing his hands absently as he spoke. “Could I see her? Do you think that might be possible—that I could speak to her and see her?”
“You would have to go into the hospital to see her, Zander,” Nasser said.
Zahn looked at him sharply.
His assistant shrugged. “Hospitals are full of sick people.”
“Haley isn’t sick, though,” Zahn pointed out. “She’s injured. She was injured somehow and her heart is broken. She’ll be heartbroken over Marissa. I’m heartbroken.”
“They won’t want her to have visitors yet,” Vince
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