‘This is quite all right. I’m getting a very good idea. This is definitely military, and it’s the logotype that fascinates me.’

I looked on as he pointed to a circular area on the heel that had a tail on one side.

‘Plus you’ve got this area of raised diamonds down here and two holes, see?’ He showed me. ‘Those could be shoe grip holes for climbing trees.’ He handed the photographs to me. ‘This looks very familiar.’

He went to a cabinet and opened its double doors, revealing rows of army boots on shelves. One by one he picked up boots and turned them over to look at the soles. Then he went to the second cabinet, opened its doors and started again. Toward the back he pulled out a boot with green canvas uppers, brown leather reinforcements and two brown leather straps with buckles at the top. He turned it over.

‘May I see the photographs again, please?’

I held them close to the boot. The sole was black rubber with a variety of patterns. There were nail holes, stitching, wavy tread and pebble grain. A large oval at the ball of the foot was raised diamond tread with the shoe grip holes that were so clear in the photographs. On the heel was a wreath with a ribbon that seemed to match the tail barely visible in the snow and also on the side of Davila’s head where we believed Gault’s heel had struck him.

‘What can you tell me about this boot?’ I said.

He was turning it this way and that, looking. ‘It’s World War Two and was tested right here at Ft. Lee. A lot of tread patterns were developed and tested here.’

‘World War Two was a long time ago,’ I said. ‘How would someone have a boot like this now? Could someone even be wearing a boot like this now?’

‘Oh sure. These things hold up forever. You might find a pair in an Army Surplus store somewhere. Or it could have been in someone’s family.’

He returned the boot to its crowded locker, where I suspected it would be neglected again for a very long time. As we left the building and he locked it behind us, I stood on a sidewalk turning soft with snow. I looked up at skies solid gray and at the slow traffic on streets. People had turned their headlights on, and the day was still. I knew what kind of boots Gault had but wasn’t sure it mattered.

‘Can I buy you coffee, my dear?’ Dr. Gruber said, slipping a little. I grabbed his arm. ‘Oh my, it’s going to be bad again,’ he said. ‘They’re predicting five inches.’

‘I’ve got to get back to the morgue,’ I said, tucking his arm in mine. ‘I can’t thank you enough.’

He patted my hand.