He knew he could learn a lot by not flashing his credentials until necessary. People usually buttoned up around authorities. The woman was eager to oblige.

“A priest lost his head and was crucified right up on that cross.”

“He didn’t lose his head, Marla. You watch too many crime shows.”

“Charles!”

“They can be quite addicting,” Grant acknowledged. “Did they catch the person who did it?”

Charles shook his head. “It would have hit the news by now. The body was taken away a while ago—otherwise they wouldn’t have let us in here.”

Grant noticed that one of the pew sitters, a man in his midthirties wearing a winter coat, had risen, looking irritated. Grant lowered his voice, worried they were disturbing praying parishioners. “What would possess a person to do such a thing?”

“I have my theories,” Marla eagerly offered.

“This ought to be a doozy,” murmured Charles.

Marla lowered her voice as well, conspiratorially. “It has to be one of his former altar boys. Getting revenge for some kind of abuse. Some of these priests . . .”

“Marla! You know no such thing!” Charles face reddened. “This gentleman isn’t interested in your fanciful theories. Not to mention disrespect for the dead.” Charles started to guide her from the altar. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“It’s quite all right,” Grant assured him. “I actually found it quite fascinating.”

“See!” protested Marla to no avail as Charles led her away. The Syracuse man nodded an apology to the gentleman in the winter coat as well.

The man nodded and watched the couple walk toward the church exit, then turned back to face Grant. “Interesting theory, though.”

Grant started to answer but stopped. Something about the voice.

“But we both know this isn’t some killer just targeting men of the cloth. It’s a much larger problem. Isn’t it, Commander?”

Grant’s eyes narrowed. “Detective Frankel.”

“I see why you earned that highfalutin title they gave you over there at Scotland Yard.” Frankel’s smile wasn’t exactly welcoming. “You might have given me a call.”

“And you could’ve told me where you’d be tonight, Detective.”

“Well, here we both are,” Frankel pointed out. “So we might as well start talking.”

Chapter 2

2

The waitress at the Astro poured half the chocolate milkshake into a tall, narrow glass and placed it directly in front of Frankel. She left the rest in a metal mixing cup with a long spoon sticking out of it.

“Thank you, Phyllis.”

“Pleasure, Detective. How goes the bad-guy catching?”

“Still trying to keep up.”

Phyllis, who Grant thought must be pushing seventy years and looked like she’d been working at the coffee shop for most of them, nodded. “You’ll get there. We’re counting on it.” She turned to Grant. “More tea?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I’m just pleased you have English breakfast.”