Strasser ducked under the yellow tape that stretched across the mouth of the alley, the reporters and TV people hanging out there barking questions at him. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, back toward Lagnese.

"He's your man."

A few kept at him but he waved them off, losing them when he made his way between the blinking patrol cars, nodding to a couple of uniforms leaning against one drinking coffee. The less time he spent here the better. He'd wanted to check out where things stood with Boxboy's body and get a reading on what the general thinking was on what could have ripped him up like that. Also, he didn't want anyone, especially Lagnese, questioning where he'd been if he hadn't responded when the call went out. These days of cell bleeps and texting put everyone on an electronic leash.

He started down the street, thinking about getting some coffee, maybe some breakfast (he'd left Zanya's and come straight here, her getting herself ready for work at the clinic), but slowed down when a female voice called from behind.

"Detective Strasser?"

He turned around and saw a face in the morning light that looked familiar, took him a second to realize it was that Afro-Asian hooker he'd talked to at Jevy's accident scene – the one who said she was Jevy's roommate.

The one whose picture Zanya took.

Whose name he didn't know but she knew his.

"Do you have a minute?" she asked.

"Uh, sure, what's up?" Nothing good he had the feeling.

She came up beside him and nodded back over her shoulder. "Maybe we should keep moving, you probably not wanting to schmooze with the press."

"I was about to get some coffee."

"Good idea."

Christ, why'd he open his mouth?

They turned and started walking, got themselves clear of the hubbub, him thinking they'd probably gotten looks from those uniforms, him going off with this woman whose occupation was plain to see in that skirt that covered almost nothing.. "So how can I help you?"

"Where's your friend?"

"What friend?"

"The one who likes to take pictures."

No use trying to dumb that one out. "Probably on her way to work."

"What's she do? Besides the pictures."

"She's a medical assistant." Keep the blood part out of it. "Why you want to know?"

"She's a little on the strange side, you don't mind me saying."

"Aren't we all?"

"Some more than others."

"Ain't that the truth."

They crossed over to the other sidewalk, had to wait until they got past a whining garbage truck compacting its load before they could continue the conversation. This gave him a shot at changing the subject.

"What are you going to do about a service for Jevy?" he said. "She have family?"

"No one's had time to think about it yet. Family is one thing she kept to herself. I don't think they were that close."

Probably understatement. "Well, let me know if I can do anything to help."

"Thank you."

"How long were you roommates?"

"Couple months. How'd you meet her?"

Right back at him, she didn't let up. "The usual way, on the street."

"And you were, what, going to use her to get Boxboy?"

"I didn't know anything about Boxboy until a little while ago."

"I find that hard to believe."

Strasser gave her a look. "You have a ballsy mouth for someone who should be watching how she talks to cops."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, really."

She pointed to the recessed entrance of an old building they were passing. "Let's step in here."

She took his arm in a way that didn't seem to leave much choice. What was going on here?

Strasser yanked his arm away. "Who the hell you think you are?"

"I'm the one whose work you screwed up."

"What work? You're a..." And then the penny dropped, why she was acting like she ran the show. "You're undercover," he said.

They'd stepped into the entryway, out of sight from neighborhood people coming to see the murder they'd just heard about. Kumi reached into her jacket pocket and took out her i.d. wallet. Flipped it open.

Strasser looked at her badge and blinked. "FBI?"

"Why don't we go get that coffee?"

She put the badge away and stepped back onto the sidewalk. He waited a moment, then started after her.

Caught up and said, "You followed me?"

"And your friend." Didn't tell him she'd lost them before Boxboy got torn up.

Anyone watching would have thought it was just another hooker having words with her john.

Except for the woman peering from behind a parked truck some yards back.

Whose green eyes followed them up the block.

Who hadn't gone to work after all.

Zanya.