The others looked at her curiously. "You knew Sutton?" asked the captain.

"A friend of mine over at Vanderlyn first met them when John Sutton was head of McClellan's SDS. As I recall, Fred Hamilton was from McClellan, too. That's probably why the Suttons were questioned."

"So Sutton's wife might know how to make a bomb," said Peters.

Albee shook her small blonde head in vigorous denial. "No way. That was no act that lady put on last night. Besides, Sutton's not the one with the six-million estate."

"Keep an open mind," growled the captain. "He could have been carrying insurance. Check it. And check what the marriage was really like before you say 'no way' again. We're looking for somebody with bomb-making experience and for my money, and SDS background puts Mrs. Sutton on the charts. You've already said the tournament was her idea."

"My friend says he and Sutton were at the Maintenon on Wednesday," Sigrid said quietly. "They were actually in the same ballroom."

A babble of questions erupted just as a uniformed sergeant put his head in the door. "Captain? There's some guy here from the Navy to see you about the Maintenon bombing."

The captain heaved himself to his feet. "Take over. Lieutenant Harald," he said and went out to see what the Navy wanted.

8

FOR the next quarter hour, Sigrid passed along to her colleagues the background information Nauman had given her about Sutton's McClellan days, his current standing at Vanderlyn and his brief visit to the Maintenon Hotel on Wednesday. In return, she heard from them the mostly nonconclusive findings the various forensics teams had delivered earlier that morning.

The sling on her arm elicited questions, and she briefly described her confrontation with the assailant she'd shot the night before. It was the first time any of them had ever seen the austere lieutenant without her hair severely bound. The blue scarf did not restrain her hair as tightly as bobby pins and already a few stray tendrils had feathered around the strong lines of her face.

Some of the older men still had residual misgivings and resentments about a female lieutenant working homicides;but Tillie was universally liked and, as his partner, Sigrid was the automatic recipient of spontaneous condolence. Their warmth and sincerity made Sigrid momentarily tongue-tied, but for once-perhaps influenced by the sling and the blue scarf-they seemed to attribute her stammering acknowledgments to depth of feeling and not to the coldhearted detachment most tagged her with.

Tillie was one of their own, and since Sigrid was the most directly affected by his injury, it was taken for granted that she'd be running this case.

Whom she'd be partnered with until Tillie's recovery was another matter.

Depending upon whom you asked, Tillie was either a saint or a simpleton and not just because he worked with Lieutenant Harald without complaint, but because he also insisted that the lieutenant had a sense of humor and a human side somewhere under all that ice and efficiency. But Tillie could say what he liked: it had not gone unnoticed that Lieutenant Harald's frozen reserve seemed to make even Captain McKinnon uncomfortable at times.

Before anyone was forced to throw himself on the barbed wire, the captain returned with a young naval officer in a dark blue uniform, his black-billed white cap tucked under his arm.

He was not tall, an inch or so short of six feet in fact, but he was well-built; wide shoulders, slim hips, and an easy way of carrying himself that blended military discipline with athletic vitality. In his late twenties, the young officer had deep-set brown eyes, a lopsided smile, well-defined jaw and straw-colored hair a few shades darker than the bright gold stripes on his uniform.

An electric awareness immediately flickered through the other four women seated at the table.

"This is Lieutenant Alan Knight of Naval Intelligence," said McKinnon. "He'll be sitting in on our investigation of Commander Dixon."

An attractive young man, Sigrid noted clinically, and was amused to see a slight scowl appear on Jim Lowry's face as he became aware of Elaine Albee's cuter than usual friendliness when the captain introduced her to the newcomer.

In addition to Albee's flashing dimples, Sigrid noticed that Detective Urbanska was smoothing her curls and that the two women from the bomb squad sat just a shade more provocatively in their chairs.

Her inner amusement deepened as Lieutenant Knight shifted his hat to his left hand and a broad gold wedding band gleamed on that all-important third finger. A nearly inaudible female sigh swept the room and suddenly everyone settled back to normal. As hormonal tensions eased, they were replaced by the ordinary wariness that arises whenever a different authority meddles in what is perceived to be NYPD affairs. It was bad enough that the explosion had the FBI waiting in the wings. Who needed the Navy as well?

Lieutenant Knight seemed to sense their wariness and tried to assure them that the Navy did not mean to interfere with civilian matters.

"Frankly, Commander Dixon doesn't appear to be the bomber's target," he told them, with a slight drawl. "All the same, she does carry a high security clearance. It's probably sheer coincidence and plain bad luck for the commander that the bomb went off so close to her, still-"

He shrugged and flashed that boyish, lopsided smile again. "The Navy sure would appreciate it if you'd let me tag along."

"Shucks, gee willikers, yes indeedy," Jim Lowry mimicked softly, under cover of the captain's rumbled acquiescence. Elaine Albee kicked him. "What's the commander's condition this morning?" she asked.

"Not good. She's still in critical condition. Her right side caught the main force of the blast. If she lives-" Knight shook his head pessimistically. "I never met her, but they say she was real attractive."

Elaine Albee, who knew she was pretty and enjoyed that knowledge, suppressed a superstitious shudder, imagining what a bomb could do to smooth skin and fragile bones.

"Lieutenant Harald will coordinate our investigation," McKinnon said, making it official. "We're shorthanded right now,

Knight, so as long as the Navy wants you to look over our shoulder, why don't you work with her?"

"Fine with me," nodded Lieutenant Knight, grinning at Sigrid.

Briskly, Sigrid ran down the list of priorities, noting which ought to be followed up on immediately and which could wait. "We need a list of everyone connected with the tournament," she told Albee. "Get enough copies so that Mrs. Sutton, Marian Tildon, and-does Commander Dixon have any immediate family here?" She turned to Knight.

He shook his head. "According to her file, her next-of-kin's a cousin in Miami."

"It's unlikely he can help-"

"She," Lieutenant Knight corrected. "The cousin's a woman, as I recall."

"In any event, we might as well mail her a copy, too. See if she recognizes any of the names."

Peters and his partner, Matt Eberstadt, were told to continue looking into Zachary Wolferman's life with an emphasis on his cousin, Haines Froelick. Albee and Lowry were to return to the Maintenon and continue questioning the staff and anyone connected with the cribbage tournament who might still be there.

"Don't forget your report on last night," McKinnon reminded her as the meeting broke up. "They got a fistful of positive IDs on your assailant."

Sending the others on ahead, Sigrid returned to her own office to fill out the report required every time an officer discharged a weapon. She was struggling to insert the form into her typewriter with one hand when Lieutenant Knight appeared in her doorway.

"Can I help you with that?"

"I thought you went with Albee and Lowry," Sigrid said inanely.