"Like all things good and bad in the world, it began with a woman..." And so begins the first chapter of Edna Buchanan's Cold Case Squad, a new suspense novel that features a special homicide unit that breathes new life into old cases. A man and a woman are shot dead at a strip club in Miami Beach. A few hours later, an explosion in a garage rocks a child's birthday party and burns a father of three to death. The murders go unsolved and the fire is chalked up to an accident. But was it an accident? Twelve years later, a blonde walks in to the Miami Police Department's Cold Case Squad -- which Buchanan fans will remember from The Ice Maiden -- and complains that she's been seeing her husband everywhere she goes. Trouble is, he's been dead for twelve years. In Buchanan's characteristic voice, "Some guys just don't know when to let go." As the Cold Case Squad unearths the details of the strip club deaths and the dead or missing father -- as well as the unsolved killings of a series of little old ladies -- readers get to know the three cops and their boss: veteran homicide detective Sergeant Craig Burch, whose marriage has turned into a case he can't solve; Detective Sam Stone, for whom the past will always be a mystery; Detective Pete Nazario, airlifted out of Cuba during "Operation Pedro Pan" in the 1960s; and Lieutenant K. C. Riley, for whom one case will never grow cold. Edna Buchanan has been thrilling readers since her Pulitzer Prize-winning stint as a crime reporter for The Miami Herald. The Chicago Tribune once raved that "few writers can touch Buchanan," to which The Washington Post Book World seemed to respond, "I doubt if anyone else is doing it better." In Cold Case Squad, Edna Buchanan, the woman the Los Angeles Daily News calls "the Queen of crime," delivers unlikely killers, near-perfect murders, and her most suspenseful novel yet. Buchanan launches a new series with this novel, starring Sergeant Craig Burch of the Miami Police Department's Cold Case Squad. Fans of Buchanan's Britt Montero series may recognize Burch as the cop who helped crime reporter Montero solve a cold case in The Ice Maiden (2002). Although Burch made a superb supporting character, in his first role as the lead, he comes off a bit like a newborn colt on shaky legs. Buchanan has given him the traditional backstory of the homicide cop so haunted by his work that his family life unravels, but he needs considerably more fleshing out if he is going to become a fully formed character. In addition, his first-person narration is wince-producing, a collection of Chandleresque cliches ("Like all things good and bad in the world, it began with a woman") and strained alliterations ("booze, broads, and busted marriages"). Buchanan is on more solid ground with plot and forensic procedure. The ex-wife of a man who was blown to bits while working on his vintage Thunderbird 12 years previously seeks the aid of the Cold Case Squad. The mystery is intensified by the ex-wife's conviction that her deceased husband may still be alive. Despite the missteps, this may yet develop into an intriguing series, and with Buchanan's name on it, it's sure to attract interest. Connie Fletcher Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved Chapter One: Four A.M., May 23, 1992 Long legged and nearly naked, the reclining woman stared into the night, her huge eyes blank and soulless, her long hair barely covering her voluptuous breasts. She saw everything, and nothing. The deserted street was dark. Her expression never changed as the sleek car on the street below turned left into a Dumpster-lined alley and crept to a halt. The driver killed the lights. He and another man in dark clothes emerged and quietly approached a steel-plated door. The passenger carried a small suitcase. In this silent hour before dawn, they could hear the sea pounding the sandy shore four hundred yards away and smell the salt in the air. The driver punched the buzzer beside the door as his passenger nervously scanned the street outside. He looked up at the reclining woman, who smiled seductively. "Yeah?" The static-distorted voice was almost a bark. "It's me," the driver said. "About time." "Sorry about that. You know how it is." "Who the hell's that with you?" "My cousin, from out of town. I want you to meet him." The buzzer sounded, locks disengaged. The driver swung the door open and gestured for his companion to follow. On the stairs, the driver appeared preternaturally calm, his steps light as his companion stumbled hesitantly along behind him. The nervous man reacted at the sound of a second buzzer that unlocked a heavy door at the top of the stairs. A handsome, muscular man in his late thirties sprang up to greet them with such enthusiasm that his thick, padded leather chair continued to rock behind his massive mahogany desk. His face was pink-cheeked, his eyes and hair dark and shiny. His watch was Rolex, h