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“There must be a million footprints out here,” she grunted. “Including mine from earlier. How do you know what you got, O’Neill?”

“Because I happen to be ace at my job,” he told her with a knowing grin. “Plenty of prints, yeah, but only one set of ‘em sunk in three times as deep as the others like maybe that guy was carrying a load. Size 15 boots. It got my attention.”

Now it got hers too. “You know what kind?”

“Of course.” He winked. “Logo on the bottom says Carhartt work boots.”

“Right. So this may be the dump site.”

“That would be a logical conclusion.”

“How tall would a guy need to be to wear size 15 boots?”

“Well, I’m six-two and I wear 13.”

She recalled that Jack Winters looked about 6”4. He was a bricklayer. Worked in construction.I wonder if he wears Carhartt boots.

“He dumped the body from here and didn’t care that he left tracks. Your guy is either very stupid or over-confident that no one would care to call the cops in this area,” O’Neill added.

“Over-confidence makes stupid.” And O’Neill was right as well. If not for Kim, no one would give a damn if they found a dead body here. “What else?” Cody prompted.

“The bag was tied to the base of the piling with a length of rope. I assume to keep it submerged, but he’d have been better off using a chain for that purpose.”

“Not a pro, uh?”

“Definitely not, and I’d say not very bright either.”

“Agreed on that.”

“I’ve got people combing through the open area in front of the bridge to see if we come up with anything else.”

“Okay. Let me know if you do.”

Not surprisingly, given the makeup of the population of Docktown, canvassing for witnesses who had something useful to share proved a fruitless exercise. Either no one had seen anything, or their drug-fueled descriptions were too farfetched to be taken seriously. Or they lied, wanting nothing to do with the investigation. Cody headed to the morgue. At least she was never disappointed with the quality of the information that she received there; the medical examiner ran a tight ship. Cody was pleased to find her already at work on her latest patient when she walked into the exam room.

“Morning, Doc.”

Dr Lee LaRiviere, an interesting mix of British, Chinese, and Cajun French, shot her an assessing glance from behind her pair of magnifying goggles.

“Mm,” she answered. “Are you being economical with your words today, Detective, or not sure if the morning is good?”

Cody nodded toward the body on the table. “Not good for her, eh?”

“No, but she’s with people who care now.” Lee laid a gentle hand on the dead woman’s shoulder as she said this.

She had her patient positioned on her stomach, with a light sheet covering her. She did care, for real, and also excelled at her job.

“How did she die?” Cody prompted.

“Sadly, hard. Let me show you.”

Lee removed her goggles, and she retrieved a large hammer from a side table.

“Hmm,” Cody grunted when she picked it up, anticipating.

“Yes,” the pathologist nodded. “This is a claw hammer with a carbon steel head. It's a very handy piece of kit that can be turned into a terrifying weapon. Come.”

Cody went to stand with her at the head of the exam table. From that vantage point, the gaping hole in Cassie Winters’ skull was even more glaringly obvious.