Montague pointed in the direction of a young boy whose clearly malnourished form made it difficult for Alyssa to determine if his age was closer to five or ten. ‘Kid was taking out the trash when he discovered the body hidden in the dumpster, got understandably freaked out, screamed until one of the neighbors came to see what all the commotion was about, and called it in.’

The boy whom Montague referred to wore dirty, rumpled clothing with more holes than fabric, and his hair was clumped together in dreadlocks made from having gone too long without a bath or brush. Draped around his shoulders was a threadbare blanket, the tattered and torn ends flapping in the wind. Alyssa had a sneaky suspicion he hadn’t been taking out the trash but searching through it for his next meal. A fissure opened inside her chest, and she had to force her attention away so she could listen to Montague.

‘One of the bags closest to our vic’s body was spilled open showing a few receipts dated Friday, October fourth. According to the tenants, garbage is emptied here early – as in six a.m. – Friday mornings. We heard you might be looking for a woman who’d gone missing after nine Friday night, so we gave you a shout.’

He was, of course, referring to Elizabeth Monroe, Alyssa knew. A sudden flurry of motion and someone shrieking in a high-pitched squawk stole her attention.

‘She’s moving.’ The girl belonging to the shrill voice waved her hand frantically in the air as she pointed down.

Alyssa snapped her head in Montague’s direction, growling, ‘I thought you said she was dead!’

‘Swear to God, Detective, there was no pulse when we first arrived on scene. I checked it myself.’

Even though it happened more frequently than people might realize, Alyssa wasn’t feeling charitable. What if those precious wasted moments resulted in the woman’s actual death? Without bothering to be gentle about it, she elbowed her way in and peered over the top of the dumpster to stare down at the person everyone believed to have been dead. A woman’s jean-clad legs were visible, one short-heeled black shoe on her left foot, the other bare. Alyssa could see, even through the woman’s pants, that her right knee was positioned strangely in relation to the rest of her leg, as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to the side of it. Even her fingers were clenched into unnatural positions.