“I’m Dr. Hancock. I’m looking for Heath Yeager.”

“I’m Heath.”

“Do you have time to talk?” she asked.

“I guess, but I only have a few minutes until I have to leave.” Heath opened the screen door.

The door opened inward, and Louisa stepped over the threshold into a small foyer. “Thank you.”

Conor followed. “Good morning, Heath.” He echoed Louisa’s overly cheerful inflection.

Heath took a surprised step back. The side of his jaw where Conor had popped him was puffed out and bruised. “Hey, what’s he doing here?”

“Mr. Sullivan and I are trying to find Zoe.” Louisa tilted her head at Heath. “Surely you’d like to do the same.”

“I guess.” Heath looked doubtful. “I mean, yes. I want to find Zoe. But why him?” He jerked a thumb at Conor. “I heard he’s the prime suspect.”

“So you remember me? I thought maybe you were too drunk.” Conor kept his distance, slouching against the far wall.

Heath’s face went blank, but thoughts churned in his eyes. Would he throw a fit about Conor’s presence or play it cool? “I remember you.”

What was the kid hiding?

Apparently choosing to be cooperative, Heath led them down a short, narrow hallway into the living room. The house was tall and narrow, with an open kitchen and living space on the first floor and probably four or five bedrooms and a couple of baths on the two upper floors. High ceilings were set off by fat architectural molding. The corner fireplace appeared original. Aged pine floor gleamed with a smooth matte finish.

Heath didn’t lack for any of the amenities. A large flat-screen TV hung on the living area wall. Electronic tablets, a cell phone, a laptop, and game controllers were scattered on a round table in front of a leather sectional sofa. Stainless-steel appliances equipped the adjoined kitchen. Three pizza boxes were stacked on the black granite counter. Next to them, someone had erected an impressive four-tier beer can pyramid.

“Nice place,” Conor said. “How many of you live here?”

“Four.”

“The same guys you were with Monday night?”

“Yes.”

“What else do you remember about that night?” Louisa asked.

Heath turned around and retreated behind the L-shaped counter. “Coffee?”

Conor shook his head.

“No, thank you,” Louisa said.

Heath filled a steel travel mug. “The night is sketchy. I drank way too much, and I’m well aware that I acted like a jerk.”

Conor played along. “Alcohol makes lots of guys act like assholes.”

Heath nodded. “I feel terrible about what happened. I never thought . . .” He swallowed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I never thought anything would happen to her. I figured she’d take the subway or bus home.”

“No one could have expected her to disappear.” Louisa placated him. “We just want to find her. Did you hear from her at all after you left her at the bar?”