“The things I do for you, Harry,” she said.

“Hey, I didn’t ask you to come out here,” Bosch said. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll do the last one.”

“No, you’ll get your clothes all dirty. I’m just giving you a hard time because we haven’t found shit out here and these CSOs are hotter than hell.”

Once she was off the ladder, Bosch started throwing the bags of trash and other refuse they had removed back into the bin.

Ballard moved on to the final dumpster, carrying the stepladder with her. She put her glove back on, then flipped the heavy plastic cover back and started excavating the top layer of bags and boxes. The east side of the property was anchored by a large home decor store. It sold smaller furnishings like lamps, artwork, and candles. The trash here was similar to the last dumpster’s in that it wasn’t wet, didn’t smell particularly bad, and was easy to excavate. It had largely been deposited in shipping boxes stuffed with form-fitted foam packaging and Bubble Wrap. There were also broken pieces of wooden shipping crates.

Bosch joined her and they quickly emptied the top half of the dumpster, dropping everything they pulled out onto the alley’s asphalt.

“I can’t believe nobody’s come out of one of these places yet to ask what the hell we’re doing,” Ballard said.

“Maybe my pal, the angry homeowner on Seventeenth Street, will come over,” Bosch said.

“Who?”

“Some guy who lives in the neighborhood back here. I posted up in his driveway Sunday when I was waiting for Rawls to make a move. He came out and went full Mrs. Kravitz on me.”

“Mrs. Kravitz?”

“The busybody neighbor on that old sixties show Bewitched. You never watched the reruns when you were a kid?”

“Before my time, I guess.”

“Jeez, I’m old.”

Once they had removed the first layer of debris, Ballard climbed the ladder, put her gloved hands on the rim of the dumpster for support, expertly swung her legs over the edge, and dropped into the bin.

“You’re getting good at that,” Bosch said. “The Olympics are coming to town in a few years. You’re the Simone Biles of homicide.”

“You’re a funny guy, Harry,” Ballard said. “This is just another useful skill I’ll hopefully never need again.”

She started handing boxes over the rim to Bosch, who found places for them on the ground.