“Figure it doesn’t hurt to engage him personally,” said Grant, explaining his decision to address Silver by his given name. “Plays to his ego a touch and might continue to keep him distracted while Morrow keeps at it.”

“Or it might frighten him off,” Rachel suggested.

Frankel felt himself holding his breath this time as Grant’s message hung at the bottom of the text chat like an aerialist dangling on a tightrope with no net.

Fifteen seconds went by with absolutely nothing.

“Damn it,” Frankel muttered, certain Grant had overplayed his hand and that Prior Silver had ditched the chat.

“There.” Rachel pointed at the screen. “He’s typing something.”

An ellipsis had appeared, indicating a return message was in the works.

Ah, is that you Commander?

“Bingo,” Frankel exclaimed.

Grant started to type again. Yes . . .

Then he seemed to think better of it and deleted his affirmative response.

“Enough with formalities,” Grant said. “Time to engage this asshole.”

Frankel’s eyes widened. It was the first time he’d heard Grant swear since they had met in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral a week ago.

“Go for it,” encouraged Frankel.

Grant waited a few seconds, then resumed typing his message.

Isn’t it time you stopped all this nonsense, Prior?

This time the response was practically immediate.

I would hardly call it nonsense.

Frankel couldn’t help smiling. “That got his attention.”

“So it would seem.” Grant’s fingers hovered over the phone screen.

“Is that a good or bad thing?” wondered Rachel.

“Whichever one, it’s keeping him on the hook,” said Frankel.

Grant moved his fingers again.

A poor choice of words.

Another response shot right back.

To say the least.

My apologies, Grant quickly wrote—and sent.

“Good idea,” Frankel told him. “Placing him in the superior position.”

Haven’t you punished enough people for their sins?

This elicited another quick answer.

You don’t believe in what I’m doing, Commander.

Frankel and Rachel continued to be spellbound by the chat between the killer and the Scotland Yard Commander, which continued as fast they could both type.

I’m not talking about me, Prior. We’re discussing you.

Now you’re humoring me.

That doesn’t mean you can’t stop.

But I’m not finished yet.

Frankel could have sworn a chill had just swept through the room. But he knew it was just an icy threat put before them in the black and white of a text from a dead man’s phone.

Grant’s response was to hit the intercom button and then redial. “How’s that trace coming, Mr. Morrow?”

The tech’s voice came back over the phone. “Looks like it’s emanating from the East End. We have it triangulated between three towers but it’s a lot of ground to cover.”