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around the door handle.
    “That’s all, Sergeant,” he said stiffly, and Ruggles withdrew, stumbling over his own feet as he backed out of the room.
    Chuck frowned and opened the case file in front of him.
    A lot of what he did as captain of the major cases squad was calculated to intimidate, impress, and control those under him. He kept the real Chuck Morton deeply hidden. Squad commander was a role, and the script had been written long ago by people other than him. He knew that his success depended upon following it carefully: he must be strong, decisive, and, when necessary, intimidating.
    For example, he liked Sergeant Ruggles, and had they met in a bar, might have asked him about his weekend, but as his superior officer he maintained a cool distance between them.
    The coffeemaker on the windowsill, a recent gift from his wife, began to spit and pop, and the smell of freshly brewing coffee infiltrated the room.
Krieger.
How appropriate. He remembered enough from his college German to know it meant “warrior” in that language.
    The phone on his desk rang. He picked it up and growled into the receiver.
    “Morton here.”
    “Hiya, Chuck—it’s Rob Murphy.”
    Rob Murphy had worked with Krieger at Brooklyn South, and had just about blown a gasket, according to Tanya Jackson, his ever competent and eavesdropping sergeant.
    “What’s up, Rob?”
    “I hear the Valkyrie is headed your way.”
    “You heard right. Any advice?”
    “Yeah. Play your cards close, and don’t take any crap.”
    “I hear you worked with her on the Strickley Affair.”
    “Jesus Christ, Chuck, I never came so close in my life to hitting a woman.”
    The Strickley Affair was a delicate matter involving a corruption sting on a local union official. Krieger was working undercover, but had threatened to blow it all sky high when the official’s son hit developed a crush on her and started following her around. He was beginning to get suspicious just as they finally collected enough evidence to round up the whole lot of crooks.
    “Let’s just say that Krieger wasn’t exactly a team player,” Murphy added.
    “Thanks,” said Chuck.
    “Let me know how it goes,” Murphy said.
    “Okay,” Chuck said, and hung up. The room suddenly felt overheated; he rolled his shirt sleeves up over his muscular forearms and opened his collar.
    There were rumors that Krieger had been transferred because of Murphy’s insistence he would never work with her again. And now Chuck was stuck with her just as he was about to investigate two very bogus-looking suicides.
    He stared glumly at the full coffeepot on the windowsill. Normally he looked forward to this moment, when he could relax and enjoy a fresh cup of coffee after the long commute to the office. He had even splurged and bought some Jamaican Blue Mountain to mix with his Kenyan AA, but knowing he was about to meet the Valkyrie took away his enthusiasm.
    Chuck poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip, but it tasted bitter.
    There was another knock on the door—sharper this time, brisk and businesslike. Chuck took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.
    “Come in.”
    He smiled grimly.
Let the games begin.

C HAPTER T HREE
    After Ana had gone, Lee pulled out his cell phone and hit the CONTACTS button, then selected the second name on the list and pushed the dial button. His party answered on the second ring.
    “Butts here.” The voice was a thick rumble, like a bulldog with a chest cold.
    “Hi—sorry I’m late. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
    “Oh, hiya, Doc. Well, I’ll just have to order another beer.”
    Lee smiled as he put on his coat. He and Detective Leonard Butts were an unlikely pair, but the bond they had formed was a strong one. In the course of their relationship, he and Butts had gone from initial wariness and mistrust to a comfortable familiarity and mutual respect.
    They didn’t always see eye to eye, perhaps, but Lee had learned that Butts could be relied upon in a