“No complaints.” Hicks tipped his head in the direction of the neighbor. “Vince, this is Mr. Zahn. Mr. Zahn, unfortunately, made the discovery this morning.”

Vince reached out to the man sitting beside Hicks on the bench. Zahn stared at his hand for a moment before looking up. His face was strangely blank.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a hushed, breathy voice. He clasped his hands together on his lap but couldn’t keep them still, wringing one over the other again and again. “I don’t shake hands. I’m ... a ... I have a problem with that. I’m terribly sorry.”

Zahn was maybe in his late thirties or early forties, but prematurely gray. His hair stood out around his head like a soft cloud. His face was long and narrow with sharp angles, his eyes wide, pale, translucent green, and vacant in the way of someone looking inward at a terrible memory.

“My condolences on your loss,” Vince offered softly. “I assume Ms. Fordham was a friend—you stopping by so early and all.”

“Yes,” Zahn said. “Marissa and I were friends.”

“Why so early?” Mendez asked. He stood, leaning back against a post, his arms crossed.

Too blunt, Vince thought. This was where his protégé lacked finesse. Zahn was already nervous. He almost flinched at the tone of the detective’s voice.

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” Zahn said. “Marissa is always up early. She likes the early light.”

“You’ve been friends for a long time?” Vince asked.

“As long as she’s been here. As long as I’ve been here. Four years?” he asked, as if Vince would know.

“Maybe you can help us then, Mr. Zahn,” Vince suggested. “What can you tell us about Ms. Fordham? Was she married? Divorced?”

“Single. She was single.”

“What about her little girl?”

“Haley. Please tell me Haley isn’t dead,” Zahn pleaded. “I couldn’t stand it if Haley was injured or dead.”

“She’s been taken to the hospital,” Vince assured him. “She isn’t dead.”

“Oh my God. Thank God.”

“What about Haley’s father? Is he ever around?”

“I don’t know him. I don’t know who he is. Marissa was very private.”

“Do you know if she has any family in the area?”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “They were estranged. She never spoke of them.”

“Do you know where she was from?”

“The East Coast, I think. From a good family, I’m sure.”

“Mr. Zahn—”

“Call me Zander, please. Alex-zander. I’ve always gone by Zander. That’s what people call me. Please call me that.”

“All right. Zander. I’m Vince. This is Tony,” he said, hooking a thumb in the direction of Mendez. “You already know Bill.”

“Vince and Tony,” Zahn murmured, wringing his hands. “Vince and Tony.”

“Do you know if Ms. Fordham was having trouble with anyone?” Mendez asked. “Had anyone been bothering her lately? Was she afraid of anyone?”