“Can I help you?” A woman’s voice called out.
Morgan and Lance turned. A middle-aged woman in jeans and a red baseball cap stood on the back porch of the Victorian.
“Yes, you can.” Morgan walked across the yard. “I’m Morgan Dane and this is Lance Kruger. We’re looking for Mr. Voss.”
“I’m Shannon Green.” The woman nodded. “Who are you?”
“We’re private investigators.” Lance handed her a business card.
She studied it for a minute, holding it at arms’ length and tipping her head back. “I haven’t seen Mr. Voss lately. If you ask me, he’s crazy pants. I hope he moves. He’s scared the bejesus out of me more than once.”
“How?” Lance asked.
“Skulking around the property at night like some kind of paranoid ninja wannabe. He always seemed to be watching.” She pointed to the house behind her. “I live on the bottom floor. A few weeks ago, I caught him at my bedroom window in the middle of the night, trying to get a glimpse through the blinds. I went out and bought those blackout drapes just to make sure he couldn’t see in.”
“Did you complain?”
“I called the landlord.” She rolled her eyes. “He couldn’t care less about any of us. I reported the incident to the police. They came out and talked to him. He told them he was just walking by. Wasn’t his fault that my blinds were open. They blew me off. I’m thinking about getting a dog. A big one. But if Voss moves, I won’t have to.”
“Do you remember the last time you saw Mr. Voss?” Morgan asked.
“Not exactly, maybe a week ago?” Shannon shrugged.
Lance glanced over his shoulder at Voss’s apartment. “Do you know what’s in the garage?”
“No.” Shannon shook her head. “But Voss rents it with his unit.”
“Does he ever have any company?” Lance asked.
Shannon’s hands dropped to her sides. “Not that I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you for your help,” Morgan said.
The neighbor went back inside her apartment.
After her door closed, Lance turned back to the garage and stared at it. He really wanted to see Voss’s personal space. “There’s a window next to the door. Maybe we can get a look inside.”
Even knowing that Voss was locked up, Lance felt like he was being watched. The place gave him the creeps. He scanned the sides of the building and spotted a surveillance camera mounted under the eave above a door on the far side of the garage. Conveniently, the neighbor wouldn’t see Lance pick the lock. He picked up a thin branch from the ground and hung it over the camera so that the dead leaves covered the lens.
“I did not see that,” Morgan said.
“See what?” Lance checked the rest of the building for cameras but didn’t find any more.
A tall hedge blocked the view from the street. Lance removed his lock picking tools from his pocket. The deadbolt took some work to pop, but he got it.
“Breaking and entering?” Morgan looked over his shoulder.
“Just looking around. We won’t disturb anything.” He pulled gloves from his pocket and handed her a pair. “We did it at the Barone house, and you didn’t mind.”
“They had clearly vacated the house, and the door was unlocked. Technically we only entered,” she whispered. “And there weren’t any nosy neighbors.”
“You could wait in the car.” He knew damned well she wouldn’t. “If we find anything, we’ll just slip out and call the police.” Lance pushed the door open and stepped onto a concrete slab. Despite the warmth of the September morning, the garage was cold and damp. Lance hesitated at the threshold. A huge pile of shipping boxes occupied half the space.
Morgan sidestepped to the pile. “They’re empty. Most are from major retail chains.” She shifted a box. “Walmart, Amazon, Home Depot. Mr. Voss is quite the online shopper.”
“But what did he buy?”
She peeked inside a few boxes. “No packing slips.”
There were only two other items in the garage: a motorcycle and a chest freezer. Lance walked to the freezer and opened it. Dozens of packages, wrapped in thick layers of plastic wrap, filled the freezer.
“What’s in those?” Morgan stood next to him and peered inside.
“I’m not sure I want to know, but I suppose we should look.” Lifting one of the frozen packages, he picked at the edge of the plastic and began unrolling it. The Styrofoam meat package made him exhale in relief. “You have no idea how glad I am to see hamburger patties.”
“Right?” She picked up another and opened it. “Five pounds of chicken legs.”
Lance closed the lid and continued to inspect the space.
The motorcycle was equipped with the equivalent of saddlebags, two storage compartments behind the seat. Lance opened one. Empty. The second contained MREs and foul weather gear.
“Lance.” Morgan stared at the ceiling.
He followed her gaze. A rectangle had been cut into the ceiling. A slightly smaller rectangle was set inside. “Pull down steps?”
There was only one place they could lead: to Voss’s apartment.
“No string,” Morgan said.
Correction: the stairs led from the apartment above.
“I think they’re designed to be exit only.”
“Now what?” Morgan asked.
“I really want a look inside his apartment.”
“You can’t pick the lock to his front door. The neighbor will see.”
Lance bent over and laced his fingers together. “See if you can grab the edge of the board. I’ll give you a boost.”
She stepped into his hands and he lifted her. Once he straightened, she maintained her balance by leaning into him. Lance closed his eyes to the sight of her thighs at his eye level, mentally filing his idea under seemed like a good idea at the time.
“I’ve got it.” Morgan transferred some of her weight to the stairs and the platform descended, the steps unfolding.
Lance set her on the floor. He tested the steps, then climbed. His head poked through the opening into a dim space. A closet? He went all the way inside. As his eyes adjusted to the dim space, he found the door and opened it into a bedroom, or at least what was supposed to be a bedroom.
An unrolled sleeping bag occupied the space where a bed should have stood. A makeshift desk held a monitor showing the live surveillance camera feed from the back door and a second that appeared to be from inside the front entrance. Heavy blankets were nailed over the windows.
“Mr. Voss is more than a little paranoid.” Lance pivoted. “Shit.”
Voss had written on the walls. He’d covered every inch of white wallboard with a bizarre collage of mathematical equations, nonsensical phrases, hand-drawn maps, and lists of random objects.
Lance whistled softly. “Looks like the neighbor’s diagnosis is correct. Voss is crazy pants.”
“Voss was military.” Morgan walked the perimeter, taking pictures of the walls in sections. “He gathered provisions. Put in a back door. Had an escape plan, complete with a well-stocked secret vehicle.”
“So what the hell was he doing out in the woods?”