She moved to the empty counter and wiped it down with a rag. Frankel took a big sip from the shake, then waited. Grant watched the detective repress a shudder, make a slight choking sound, clear his throat, and bring a finger to his head.

“Brain freeze,” explained Frankel. “Gets me every time.”

“You come here a lot?”

“Ever since I made the squad. Going on fifteen years now.”

Grant indicated the glass. “Been drinking those all the time?”

“Long as I remember.”

“And you don’t weigh twenty-five stone.”

“Is that a lot?” Frankel asked innocently.

“Three hundred forty, say fifty, of your pounds.”

“What can I say? I was blessed with a healthy metabolism.”

Not to mention a sweet tooth, thought Grant. He studied the New York cop. The man dressed well, not going for the polyester numbers detectives wore on the telly programs that made their way across the pond. Frankel was handsome enough that the ladies wouldn’t turn away but the men wouldn’t feel threatened. He possessed a frame that stretched just over six feet and had dark hair whose length probably pushed NYPD restrictions. Film-star piercing blue eyes were an added bonus, and Grant was fairly sure the man used them to his advantage.

Frankel put down the glass without taking said eyes off Grant. “You want to tell me why you didn’t give me the head’s up about your little trip to Saint Pat’s?”

“I had some free time on my hands and took a stroll.”

“And ended up at the crime scene you traveled across the Atlantic for.”

“Like you said—some of us are blessed. Tonight, I just caught a bit of luck.”

Frankel laughed. “You don’t expect me to believe that.”

“As much as I do that you were waiting for midnight mass to start.”

“We both know that wasn’t the reason,” said Frankel.

“What were you expecting to see?” asked Grant. “The killer return to the scene of the crime?”

“No one catches that kind of luck,” grumbled Frankel. He drained the glass and moved on to the milkshake container. “It’s a habit I’ve developed—soaking it all in after the fact. You get all sorts who come to check it out. Can’t keep them away—kinda like rubberneckers on the road after a six-car pileup.”

The detective poured the rest of the shake into his glass. “And the theories they come up with? They’ll blow your mind. Some guy a half hour before you showed up was sure it was an archangel sent to wreak vengeance on us because we are on the verge of eternal damnation.” He licked the spoon clean. “Like we already don’t know that.”

Grant couldn’t help but smile. “You’ve been down the abuse road, naturally.”