Andreas was not pleased with the answer, and his tone showed it. 'It's a damn lot more important to know who killed him. That's why you're trained and-' turning his eyes on Manos, 'supposedly reminded by your shift commanders NEVER to touch a body unless told otherwise by someone from homicide. Understand?' He said the last word softly, his eyes moving between the two men.

'Yes, sir.' The words came from both men in two-part harmony.

Andreas walked over to the dumpster and peered inside. Without looking back he said, 'Was the lid up when you got here?'

'No, sir,' said the rookie.

'How did you open it?'

'With my baton.' Again his voice was shaky.

'Good.' Andreas believed in praising the good along with damning the bad.

The container was nearly full, packed with commercialsize black garbage bags. The body was on top: face up, eyes closed. Andreas always dreaded these first moments staring at the face of a once-living, unique being now reduced to the ubiquitous status of victim. Andreas felt a shiver. This was not the face of a man. It was a boy.

'You didn't close his eyes by chance did you?'

'No, sir, I never touched the body, only his clothes.' He almost barked his answer.

Andreas looked at the man from the coroner's office. 'Can you tell me if he died like that, or someone closed his eyes for him?'

'I'd guess someone did it for him.'

'I can guess on my own, Spiros. I want to know if you can tell me for sure.'

'Probably not.'

'So, whose garbage is this?'

'Belongs to that bar over there.' Manos pointed to the back door of a building directly across from the lot. 'It's a notorious late-hours gay bar, lot of drugs in there. Our guess is that the victim was in the wrong place at the wrong time, looking for the wrong thing.'