Secrets to the Grave

for hours over his allotted time. He’s difficult, but he’s a brilliant mathematician. The students are all aware of his issues, but his classes are always full with a waiting list.”

“He has an assistant?” Mendez prompted.

“Rudy Nasser,” Buckman said. “Brilliant young man. He has advanced degrees in physics and mathematics from USC. He could have a very good position at any top school in the country. He came up here to work with Dr. Zahn. He’s probably one of a handful of people in the world who can truly follow the density of Zahn’s reasoning. He probably understands the man better than anyone. You’ll want to talk to him.”

“Marissa Fordham is dead?”

Mendez went instantly on guard. All he had said was that Dr. Zahn’s neighbor had been killed.

“It has to be Marissa,” Nasser explained. “She’s the only neighbor Dr. Zahn ever visits.”

Rudy Nasser sat back against the edge of the desk. The lecture hall had emptied out except for a couple of students still copying notes from the big chalkboard. It looked like Aramaic to Vince. The students—both cute girls —seemed more interested in stealing glances at their teacher than his mathematical concepts.

“Did you know her?” Mendez asked.

Nasser pulled in a deep breath and blew it back out as he processed the information and whatever it meant to him.

“This is bad, man.”

In his mid-twenties, he looked like a beatnik with the black goatee and soulful dark eyes, and dressed like a Miami Vice drug lord in a slouchy charcoal suit over a black T-shirt and loafers with no socks. He was undoubtedly as socially smooth as his mentor was socially awkward.

“Yes, I knew her,” he said. “Dr. Zahn ...”

He shook his head and left the thought unfinished.

“Dr. Zahn what?”

Nasser shrugged, not wanting to say too much. “Was fond of her. He found her body?”

“Yes,” Vince said. “He called nine-one-one.”

“He didn’t tell me. When he called this morning I knew something had happened. He was so agitated. But he wouldn’t tell me.”

Vince could see him planning damage control, how to get his eccentric boss away from the fray of a murder investigation.

“How well did you know her?” Mendez asked.

“Well enough to have a conversation. I gave her my number to call if she needed me.”

“Needed you to what?”

“To come get Dr. Zahn. He doesn’t always know when he’s worn out his welcome. When he gets manic he loses all sense of time.”

“Does that happen often?” Vince asked, trying to imagine Zahn in a manic state. He had seemed closer to catatonic that morning.

“Not often.”

“Recently?”

“A couple of weeks ago.”

“How is he during these episodes?” Vince asked.

“Happy,” Nasser said. “Euphoric, in fact. Like he’s in the throes of some kind of rapture. He becomes animated, can’t stop talking about whatever idea has taken hold of him. He’s done some of his best work in that state of mind.”

“How did Ms. Fordham react when this happened?” Mendez asked. “Was she afraid?”

Nasser shook his head. “No. Marissa took it in stride. She’s been his neighbor for several years. She knows Dr. Zahn isn’t a violent man. I can’t imagine him ever hurting anybody. He doesn’t like touching people or having people touch him. I’m sure it never entered Marissa’s mind that he might hurt her somehow.”

“Were they involved?”

“Sexually?” Nasser laughed, flashing an array of brilliantly white teeth. “No. God, no. Like I said: Dr. Zahn doesn’t like touching anyone. If you shake his hand, he’ll go open a fresh bar of soap and scrub like a surgeon.”

“He’s obsessive-compulsive?” Vince said, not surprised to hear it. He thought back to Zahn wringing his hands over and over as they asked him questions.

“To the tenth power.”

“What about you, Mr. Nasser?” Mendez asked. “Ms. Fordham was a beautiful woman.”

“Yes, she was. But my first obligation is to Dr. Zahn. I would never jeopardize my position with him. The man is fucking brilliant. He has one of the brightest minds of our time.”

“And you’re one of the few people who can understand it,” Vince said.

“I’ve been a disciple for a long time. I realize how fortunate I am to be working with him.”

“What exactly is your role here?” Vince asked.

“Dr. Zahn doesn’t like to interact with people,” Nasser said.

“That must make it difficult for him to teach.”

“That’s where I come in,” Nasser said. “Mathematics is his world. He’s most comfortable with numbers, not people. And he loves trying to open that world to others, but he’s socially awkward. I’m here to do the actual interaction with the kids, sort of a liaison, if you will.”

“That makes sense.”

“And Ms. Fordham?” Mendez asked. “What was your take on her?”

Nasser glanced away and shrugged. “She seemed nice enough. I wasn’t a fan of her art. Too sweet, too idyllic for my tastes.”

Vince thought of the scene in Marissa Fordham’s retro-ranch kitchen. There had been nothing sweet or idyllic about that—except perhaps in the eyes of the person who had wanted her dead.

“We have some additional questions for Dr. Zahn,” he said. “Can you give us directions to his house?”

“I’m finished here,” Nasser said. “I’ll take you.”

10

Rudy Nasser led the way out of town in his old black BMW 3 Series convertible. The two-lane road wound through beautiful country quilted by four-rail fences and studded with spreading oak trees. They passed horse ranches and vineyards, and a lavender farm that colored the valley floor purple as far back toward the mountains as the eye could see.

“I’m surprised you let him come along,” Mendez said, glancing over at Vince.

“Let’s see that dynamic,” Vince said. “Let’s see how Zahn interacts with someone we can assume he’s comfortable with. He might let his guard down more.”

“In that case, I’m surprised you let me come along. I make the guy nervous.”

“You need to learn patience.”

Mendez rolled his eyes. “I know, I know.”

“You’re like a great fastball pitcher,” Vince said. “But you can’t just throw fastballs for the whole game. You’re going to come up against guys who can belt your best one out of the park. Your arm is going to get tired and you’re not going to get them all over the plate. You need a repertoire. You need a change-up. You need a slider. The occasional spitball.”

This was one reason Mendez had chosen to remain in Oak Knoll, even though Leone had encouraged him to make the move to the Bureau with an eye to eventually becoming a part of the Investigative Support Unit. He wanted to learn from the best. Vince Leone was the best, and Vince Leone was here.

He slowed and turned the department Taurus onto Dyer Canyon Road, and gave it a little gas to catch up to the quicker BMW.