He checked the address they'd been given at the hospital personnel department and looked up at the small gray house, which was clearly falling apart. “This is the place, but Zeb's not here,” he said to Rawlins, who sat in the passenger seat. “And what makes you say that?” “Look at the snow. No one has shoveled and there aren't even any footprints.” “Actually, it doesn't look like anyone's living here, does it?” The little building, located in a rundown neighborhood not too far from the old Sears store on Lake Street, did in fact look deserted. Unbroken snow not only covered the front walk leading to the house, but had also drifted up against the front door. Todd took note of three metal mailboxes tacked by the front door and assumed that this wreck of a house had been carved up into three apartments by some absentee slum lord. That this was all Zeb could afford didn't surprise Todd. Parking in a drift, Todd and Rawlins climbed out and made their way up the steps and onto the front porch.
