"Sorry I'm late," Detective Lieutenant Mike Stone growled as he threw open the passenger side door of the tan LTD, tossing his black topcoat into the back seat before dropping heavily onto the front. The glance he shot towards the driver was laced with apology and frustration. "Jeannie's leaving to go back to school this afternoon and she just had to make sure I knew where everything was once again."

Inspector Steve Keller chuckled as he shifted into Drive and the large sedan pulled away from the curb. "She been moving things around again?"

With a heavy sigh, the older man nodded. "That's what I call it; she calls it putting things back where they belong. The only trouble with that is, I can never find things again when I need them. It took me so long to find the can opener the last time she did that, I almost threw the can of corn through the kitchen window." He shook his head, laughing at himself. "Sometimes I think it's a good thing I live alone…"

The younger man joined in the laughter. "Well, you have a couple of weeks till she's back again… you could really drive her nuts at Christmas and completely re-arrange the whole house."

Mike turned to him, wide-eyed. "Hey, I like that idea, I gotta remember that." The sedan turned onto Division. "Oh, Jeannie did up a couple of turkey plates for you; they're in the fridge. Remind me to give them to you tonight."

"Hey hey," Steve laughed, pleasantly surprised. "Oh yeah, I can sure use those." Jeannie was a terrific cook and the young cop was always a willing recipient of one of her meals, whether fresh or left over. As he swung the unmarked cop car into the roundabout towards 8th the radio crackled to life.

"Inspectors 8-1, please respond."

With a glance of exasperation at his partner, the lieutenant leaned forward slightly and snagged the mic. "Already…?" he griped under his breath before pressing the 'Talk' button. "Inspectors 8-1, go ahead."

"Lieutenant, Sergeant Winters is requesting your presence in an alley off Tehama between 5th and 6th."

Mike's head went back slightly and he frowned as he pressed the button again. "He asked for me by name?"

"Yes, sir," came the reply from the female dispatcher with a slight chuckle, "by name."

He looked at his young partner with a sceptical smirk. "I don't trust that bastard any further than I can throw him." He pressed the button again. "Tell him we're on our way."

"Ten-four, sir." Amusement was still obvious in her voice.

Steve was grinning as he stared out the windshield. "I told you you shouldn't have done that to him –"

"Oh, come on, he just doesn't have a sense of humor. Besides, I actually, if you remember correctly, didn't do anything to him… except, you know, get out of the way."

"Yeah, by pushing him aside and into the Bay?"

"Hey, in my defence," Mike almost whined, a hand pressed to his chest, "I was in hot pursuit and he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"I was there, remember?" Steve retorted dryly as he swung the car onto Bryant. "Hot pursuit, my ass, unless you meant the cup of coffee that homeless guy threw at you as you ran past him."

"Hey! That was a brand new suit, if you remember correctly," Mike crowed in justification. "It wasn't my fault Winters was between me and the edge of pier. He should've been paying more attention." He looked misunderstood and crestfallen. "Besides, I offered to pay for his dry cleaning…"

Shooting his partner a surreptitious sideways glance, Steve attempted unsuccessfully to stifle his chuckles, which made the older man's brow furrow in self-pity even more.

"He's had it in for me ever since…"

They had made it to Tehama; even from several blocks away they could see at least three patrol cars blocking the street. With a final mirth-filled glance across the front seat, Steve brought the big sedan to a halt beside one of the black-and-whites and they both got out.

Two patrolmen were keeping the dozen or so interested spectators on the sidewalks and away from the alley; a uniformed officer nodded as the two detectives approached. "Sergeant Winters is down there, sir."

"Thanks, son," Mike nodded in return, shooting Steve a 'this had better be good' glance before starting down the alley, the younger man in tow.

The alley ran between two two-storey buildings, one concrete grey, the other a simulated red brick. Both had seen better days. The alley was full of torn cardboard boxes, broken wooden pallets, a couple of fetid mattresses, decaying food and filthy, discarded clothes. The acrid smell of stale urine hung heavily in the air.

Sergeant Barry Winters and several uniformed officers were standing in front of a large dark blue dumpster, it's broken heavy plastic lid open and braced against the wall of the concrete building. Several feet away, another uniformed officer with a notebook and pen in his hands was talking to a hairy, wildly bearded and dishevelled homeless man who was gesturing broadly, his wide eyes staring intently at the young cop's face. There seemed to be blood on the vagrant's filthy long brown coat.

Steve shot another look at his partner, who had managed to fall half a step behind as they walked down the alley. The lieutenant's expression was once more that of the professional homicide detective but Steve could recognize the apprehension in his eyes.

Mike cleared his throat lightly. "So what have you got for us, Barry?"

Steve winced slightly. Even he knew the Patrol Sergeant preferred to be called by his rank or last name while on the job, but he also knew this was Mike's way of inserting the bamboo under the sergeant's fingernail. This was going to be interesting…

Winters, a slightly younger, shorter and paunchier version of the lieutenant, hesitated only a beat. "Mike, well, our friend over there," he tilted his head in the direction of the derelict, "was making himself comfortable in this dumpster here overnight – you know, it's cold this time of year and I guess it's warmer in there, who the hell knows – when he says he got woken up in the middle of the night by someone throwing something in. He didn't think anything of it till this morning when he woke up and he was covered in blood."

Both homicide detectives frowned as their attention refocused on the beggar momentarily. "What was it?" Mike asked, turning back to the sergeant.

Winters nodded at the dumpster. "Have a look for yourself." He gestured towards a wooden box that had been dragged in front of the dumpster. "It'll hold your weight," Winters explained encouragingly but that didn't stop Mike from casting a suspicious glance at his partner.

The lieutenant gestured towards the box but Steve shook his head with a chuckle. "No no no, I think you should have the first look. I mean, you being the boss and all that," he said quickly as he took a step back. He knew Mike wasn't squeamish about what he might see; as ludicrous as it was, he knew Mike was afraid that Winters might have deliberately misrepresented the sturdiness of the box.

With a sigh of inevitability, Mike put one hand on the top edge of the dumpster and raised his left foot to hoist himself onto the box. Safely up, surprised to find the spindly looking wooden structure did support his weight, he leaned over the edge of the dumpster.

From the ground beside the box, there in case Mike really did need him, Steve saw his partner freeze, then close his eyes and exhale loud and long. Turning back, Mike jumped to the ground, brushing his hands together to wipe away the grit. He nodded at the box with his head.

Frowning, Steve hauled himself up and looked over the top of the dumpster. There, on a piece of white cardboard, lay the lower half of a human leg.