We did not enter the Last Drop as I expected. Instead, Jeff led me around back to a wide alley that ran behind the shopping center, probably for delivery truck access. More halogens had been set up, and jump-suited crime scene workers were canvassing the area around the back door of the coffeehouse. On the other side of the alley, a huge grassy ditch for floodwater collection was illuminated, too. Down in that ditch I saw a figure kneeling beside a dark mound I assumed was the body.

Telling me to follow exactly behind him so as not to disturb any uncollected evidence, Jeff walked carefully down the bank, taking a path where the grass had already been flattened by footsteps.

"How could you find anyone back here?" I asked.

"Pure luck. Guy tied up his dog outside while he went in for coffee. Black Lab with a helluva nose. Dog got loose, and here we are."

The crouching figure was in a blue oxford shirt, the fabric on her shoulders splattered with rain. As we drew closer, I could see the victim's feet. The once white tennis shoes were stained brown, and the wide small feet certainly could have belonged to Verna Mae, a short, plump woman around five feet tall. The day we met, I was struck how round and small she seemed in contrast to my client, who checks in at a lanky six-foot ten. Will's a college basketball player and went with me to Bottlebrush to meet with Verna Mae.

The woman in the oxford shirt stood and turned to face us. She had a round face, stringy gray hair, and held up her gloved hands like she was ready to do surgery. "What do you want, Sergeant?" she asked, not acknowledging my presence.