‘An illegal.’
‘I’ve never seen an illegal that color. Something new,’ Eve mused. The light dimmed to gray and a beeper sounded. ‘Looks like we’re clean. Let’s dig up some fresh clothes and go run that disc.’
‘What the hell is this?’ Eve scowled at her monitor. Unconsciously she began to toy with the weighty diamond she wore around her neck.
‘A formula?’
‘I can figure that out, Peabody.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Chastised, Peabody eased back.
‘Shit, I hate science.’ With hope, Eve glanced over her shoulder. ‘You any good at it?’
‘No, sir. I’m not even competent.’
Eve studied the mix of numbers, figures, and symbols and crossed her eyes. ‘My unit’s not programmed for this crap. It’ll have to go to the lab for analysis.’ Impatient, she drummed her fingers on the desk. ‘My hunch would be it’s the formula for that powder we found, but how the hell would a second rater like Boomer get his hands on it? And who was his other trainer? You knew he was one of mine, Peabody. How?’
Struggling with embarrassment, Peabody stared over Eve’s shoulder at the figures on the screen. ‘You listed him in several intradepartmental reports on closed cases, Lieutenant.’
‘You make a habit of reading intradepartmental reports, Officer?’
‘Yours, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘Because, sir, you’re the best.’
‘Are you sucking up, Peabody, or bucking for my job?’
‘There’ll be room when you’re promoted to captain, sir.’
‘What makes you think I want a captaincy?’
‘You’d be stupid if you didn’t, and you’re not. Stupid, sir.’
‘Okay, we’ll let that rest. Do you scan any other reports?’
‘Now and then.’
‘Do you have any clue as to who Boomer’s trainer would be in Illegals?’
‘No, sir. I’ve never seen his name attached to any other cop. Most weasels only have one trainer.’
‘Boomer liked to diversify. Let’s hit the streets. We’ll scope a few of his usual joints, see what we turn up. We’ve only got a couple of days on this, Peabody. If you’ve got anyone warming the home fires for you, let him know you’ll be busy.’
‘I’m unattached, sir. I don’t have a problem with putting in extra time.’
‘Good.’ Eve rose. ‘Then saddle up. And Peabody, we’ve been naked together. Drop all the “sirs,” will you? Make it Dallas.’
‘Yes, sir, Lieutenant.’
It was after three A.M. when she stumbled through the front door, tripped over the cat who had decided to guard the entrance hall, swore, and turned blindly for the stairs.
In her mind were dozens of impressions: dim bars, strip clubs, the steamy streets where low-level licensed companions plied their trade. All of them ebbed and flowed together in the unappetizing stew that had been Boomer Johannsen’s life.
No one knew anything, of course. No one had seen anything. The single corroborative statement she’d gleaned from her crawl through the seamier side of the city was that no one had heard from or laid eyes on Boomer in over a week, possibly longer.
But someone had laid a great deal more than eyes on him. Her time was running low to find out who and why.