A few weeks before, she had more than her fill of the media. At least, she thought, someone as low on the food chain as Boomer wouldn't generate much publicity. The death of a weasel didn't earn rating points.

"Commander Whitney will see you now, Dallas, Lieutenant Eve."

She was buzzed through the security doors and turned left into Whitney's office.

"Lieutenant."

"Commander. Thank you for seeing me."

"Have a seat."

"No, thank you. I won't keep you long. I just identified a John Doe floater at the morgue. He was Carter Johannsen. One of my weasels."

An imposing man with a hard face and tired eyes, Whitney leaned back in his chair. "Boomer? He used to wire explosives for street thieves. Blew off his right index finger."

"Left," Eve corrected. "Sir."

"Left." Whitney folded his hands on the desk and studied her. He'd made a mistake with Eve, a mistake in a case that had affected him personally. He understood she had yet to set it aside. He had her obedience and her respect, but the nebulous friendship that could have existed between them was gone.

"I take it this was homicide."

"I haven't gotten the post mortem, but it appears the victim was beaten and strangled before entering the river. I'd like to pursue the matter."

"Were you working with him on any ongoing investigation?"

"Nothing ongoing, no sir. He occasionally fed the Illegals with data. I need to find out who he worked with in that department."

Whitney nodded. "Your caseload at the moment, Lieutenant?"

"Manageable."

"Which means you're overloaded." He lifted his fingers, curled them down again. " Dallas, people like Johannsen court disaster, and they usually find it. You and I both know the murder rate rises in this kind of heat. I can't waste one of my top investigators on this kind of case."