“Not much. I was unloading him.” He nodded at the driver. “And my bucket caught the garbage bag, the one you see there. It tore and the body fell out to where it is now.” He paused, wiping his face on his sleeve and swatting at flies.

“But you don’t know for sure where this came from,” I tried again, while Grigg listened, even though he probably had already taken their statements.

“I could’ve dug it up,” Pleasants conceded. “I’m not saying it’s impossible. I just don’t think I did.”

“That’s ’cause you don’t want to think it.” The driver glared at him.

“I know what I think.” Pleasants didn’t flinch. “The bucket grabbed it off your packer when I was unloading it.”

“Man, you don’t know it came from me,” the driver snapped at him.

“No, I don’t know it for a fact. Makes sense, that’s all.”

“Maybe to you.” The driver’s face was menacing.

“Believe that will be about enough, boys,” Grigg warned, moving close again, his presence reminding them he was big and wore a gun.

“You got that right,” said the driver. “I’ve had enough of this shit. When can I get out of here? I’m already late.”

“Something like this inconveniences everyone,” Grigg said to him with a steady look.

Rolling his eyes and muttering profanity, the driver stalked off and lit a cigarette.

I removed the thermometer from the body, and held it up. The core temperature was eighty-four degrees, the same as the ambient air. I turned the torso over to see what else was there and noted a curious crop of fluid-filled vesicles over the lower buttocks. As I checked more carefully, I found evidence of others in the area of the shoulders and thighs, at the edges of deep cuts.

“Double-pouch her,” I directed. “I need the trash bag it came in, including what’s caught on the bucket up there. And I want the trash immediately around and under her, send all of it in.”

Grigg unfolded a twenty-gallon trash bag and shook it open. He pulled gloves out of a pocket, squatted and started grabbing up garbage by the handful while paramedics opened the back of the ambulance. The driver of the packer was leaning against his cab, and I could feel his fury like heat.

“Where was your packer coming from?” I asked him.

“Look at the tags,” he replied in a surly tone.

“Where in Virginia?” I refused to be put off by him.

It was Pleasants who said, “Tidewater area, ma’am. The packer belongs to us. We got a lot of them we lease.”

The landfill’s administrative headquarters overlooked the fire pond and was quaintly out of sync with the loud, dusty surroundings. The building was pale peach stucco, with flowers in window boxes and sculpted shrubs bordering the walk. Shutters were painted cream, a brass pineapple knocker on the front door. Inside, I was greeted by clean, chilled air that was a wonderful relief, and I knew why Investigator Percy Ring had chosen to conduct his interviews here. I bet he had not even been to the scene.