Even in death, Prior Silver held the same upper hand he had since beginning his killing spree not-so-very-far-away at the British Library in Saint Pancras. With each elaborately staged murder, he had doled out only the precise information he wanted authorities to have.

Even his own death.

“We’re still looking at poison?” asked Grant.

“Everything points that way,” said Jeffries. “I don’t see any of the slashes or knife wounds like the others. Except for the mark on the forehead, naturally.”

“And that was self-administered as well?”

“Appears so.” The FME indicated the dead man’s forehead. “You can spot the hesitation marks. By the V in particular—where he must have started. There’s also a lopsidedness here compared to the other victims, which indicates he did it in a backwards fashion without being able to see what he was doing. Like so . . .”

He raised a curled fist to his forehead and made a carving motion.

“Do you think he did that before or after he took the poison?” asked Frankel.

“If it were in liquid form, it was likely before getting in the crate because we haven’t located a receptacle on or near his body. If it were a pill or tablet, then he could have taken it at any time.” He glanced at the crate, then continued. “But given the knife we found inside the crate and the blood splatter patterns, I’d say Silver carved himself shortly after stepping inside it.”

Jeffries elaborated on his theory. The bloodstains on the inside wall of the box were consistent with Silver holding on to the crate’s edge with one hand while cutting himself with the other. Subsequently, some blood dried on the inner wall, with the rest pooling on the crate’s floor once Silver collapsed and eventually died.

“But he managed to lock himself inside beforehand,” pointed out Frankel.

“I think he could have secured the box before losing consciousness. Simple enough—given the nature of the crate.”

Jeffries had already identified the container as the sort that could be locked from both inside and out. That meant Silver had opted to literally stay buried inside and have himself delivered to Grant’s doorstep.

Frankel watched Rachel shudder. “Such a brutal way to die,” she said.

She had not strayed far from Frankel’s side since they’d arrived and was clearly shaken. Frankel had suggested she needn’t be there, but Rachel had steadfastly insisted on staying put. He desperately wanted to reach out and comfort her but knew this was hardly the time or place.

“I guess in the end he decided to save the worst punishment for himself.”

“How do you figure that?” she asked.

“The Eighth Commandment. ‘Thou shalt not steal,’” quoted Frankel. “Once a thief, always a thief.”