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dumpsters. This back alley services a bakery, a butcher’s shop and a small coffee shop stroke diner.’
    Hunter nodded.
    ‘We’re going to sieve through most of the trash inside all four dumpsters in case the killer decided to discard something around here,’ Brindle said. ‘But after the story you told me, he doesn’t sound like he would be that careless.’
    Hunter nodded again. His gaze moved over to the black man at the end of the alley. He was dressed in ripped and stained clothes, and wearing an old, colorless long coat that looked to have survived an attack from a pack of hungry wolves.
    ‘His name is Keon Lewis,’ Brindle offered. ‘He’s the one who found the body.’
    Hunter stood up, ready to go ask some questions.
    ‘Good luck with that,’ Brindle said. ‘You know how homeless people love talking to the cops.’

Twelve
    Keon Lewis was still sitting on the concrete step at the far end of the alleyway. He was about six foot four and stick-thin. His raggedy black beard seemed to be irritating his face no end. He would scratch it vigorously every few seconds. He had grimy, broken fingernails packed with dirt. His hands were scarred and blistered. One of them had a cut that seemed infected, the skin tender and swollen around a deep maroon scab. His eyes would gaze back at the scene every so often, but he would quickly pull them away and stare down at the ground or at his hands.
    Hunter approached Keon and the officer standing by his side. Keon looked up, but again quickly averted his gaze. He rubbed his hands together like a cook seasoning a dish.
    His lips were dry and cracked, and he kept on blinking as if he were wearing old, dry contact lenses. The physical signs all pointed to crystal meth addiction. He could’ve been in his thirties, forties, fifties or early twenties. Hunter doubted Keon knew himself.
    ‘Keon?’ Hunter said. ‘I’m Detective Robert Hunter with the Homicide Division.’
    Keon gave him a tense nod but still kept his eyes low.
    The officer stepped away, giving Hunter and Keon some privacy.
    ‘Listen,’ Hunter said in a calm, non-patronizing voice. ‘There’s no need for you to be nervous. No one is here to hassle you, I promise. Unfortunately you were unlucky enough to find the body of a homicide victim. My job is to ask you a few questions, that’s all. After that, you’re free to go.’
    Keon scratched his beard again.
    Hunter could tell that his face had once been kind and attractive, but drug abuse, alcohol and a life lived well below the poverty line had transformed it into something very different.
    ‘OK if I sit down?’
    Keon scooted over to the edge of the step. His clothes stank of stale sweat and garbage.
    Hunter sat down and let out a deep breath. ‘This is some messed-up stuff, isn’t it?’
    ‘Shiiit, man, that is real fucked up.’ His voice croaked as if he had a sore throat. ‘What the fuck happen to him, man? Someone skinned him?’
    ‘You really don’t want to know,’ Hunter said.
    Keon picked at the loose skin at the back of his hand, twisting it painfully, as if trying to tear it off before going quiet for a moment. ‘Say, man, you don’t have a smoke, do you? I’m shaking like a bitch.’
    ‘I’ll get you one.’ Hunter motioned the officer to come closer and whispered something in his ear. The officer nodded and took off toward the other end of the alleyway.
    ‘This is a very quiet street,’ Hunter said. ‘Do you come here a lot?’
    ‘Sometimes. If I’m close enough,’ Keon replied, giving Hunter a sequence of quick nods. ‘That’s the reason I come here, you know what I’m sayin’? Because it’s quiet. You don’t have to fight to get a spot to crash. And sometimes you get some good food from the dumpsters, you dig? The food shops throw things away that you wouldn’t believe, man.’ Keon smiled a mouth full of decaying teeth. ‘You have to fight off the rats, but, hey, it’s free.’
    Hunter gave him a sympathetic nod.