They had tried running a trace on Hawley’s iPhone when they’d realized it was missing at the crime scene, but there had been no signal coming from it—meaning either it had been turned off or the battery had run down.

Less than a minute later, a harried tech in his late twenties with close-cropped hair poked his head into Grant’s office. “Sir?”

Grant brought the man up to speed. Now that the iPhone was apparently back on—he asked Morrow what the chances were of being able to run a trace.

“If the Find My iPhone function has been activated, it should be a matter of seconds,” answered Morrow. “I can do it from my phone right here if you want.”

Grant told the tech to proceed.

As Morrow fished his own cellular out of his pocket, Frankel shook his head. “Our guy is too savvy for that.”

Morrow punched a few buttons and confirmed Frankel’s guess. “Looks like whoever has the phone has the function button turned off.”

“What else can you do?” asked Grant.

“Well, now that it’s up and running, we can run a normal trace. Pinging off cellular towers and so forth,” the tech responded.

“How long will it take?”

“Depends where the phone is. If it’s in London proper, it would be easier to locate; more cell towers. In the suburbs or more rural areas, longer.”

“Hop to it then,” Grant ordered.

Morrow started to walk out of the office, then turned back. “Sir, I should mention this is providing the phone is kept on. If it’s powered down, then all bets are off.”

“I understand,” Grant told him. “Thank you, Mr. Morrow.”

The tech took his leave and they were back to staring at each other—and the iPhone on the desk.

“We could do nothing and hope he keeps it on long enough for the trace to kick in,” Frankel said. “But he could get frustrated not hearing back and decide to turn it off—then we’d be screwed.”

Grant looked thoughtful, as if considering options.

Finally, he extended his hand to Rachel. “Let me have that blasted thing.”

She handed her father the cell phone. Frankel and Rachel watched him open the text icon and type one word into the conversation line.

Prior?

Frankel raised an eyebrow. “That certainly puts the ball in his court.”

They stared at the phone like parents waiting for a toddler to utter its first words. Though the wait seemed interminable, a response was almost immediate.

Well, it’s definitely not Sergeant Hawley.

“Looks like we’re in business,” said Frankel. “Now we just need to keep him on the horn.”

Grant nodded, then typed some more. It’s been a long time, Prior.

Grant hit “send,” then glanced up at the detective.