“Everyone loved Father Peter and there isn’t even a whisper of it being anything but in a platonic, God-blessed way. Plus, it doesn’t sound like it’s personal, especially if this is really connected to your killings in London.”

“I’m completely convinced.”

“There are plenty of fruitcakes out there. Could be a copycat.”

“We’ve made sure this hasn’t leaked yet.”

Frankel shook his head. “There are always leaks.”

Grant didn’t correct him and took another sip of tea. The cup was full. Phyllis smiled from the counter, having topped it off when he wasn’t looking. “I presume the accent gave me away in the church.”

“That and the picture on your Wikipedia page,” Frankel said. “It’s rather old by the way—no offense.”

“I didn’t put it there. My late wife’s doing.”

“I read that you lost her recently. My condolences.”

An uneasy silence followed. The type where strong-willed men try to figure out what the other is made of.

“So, how are we going to go about this?” Frankel finally asked.

“Work together?”

“That seems to be the issue. You’ve got three murders on your hands where I’ve just got the one. But seeing as how you didn’t get the job done on your side of the Atlantic, it now falls to my department to pick up the pieces.”

“I closed every church in Greater London,” Grant said, defensive.

“I’m sure Father Peters would be the first to applaud you.” Frankel finished off the rest of the shake.

“I’m sorry the bastard didn’t leave a travel itinerary.”

“I suppose the killer could have gone anywhere to spread holiday cheer.”

“Have you checked out passenger manifests for all the major airlines?”

“Of everyone who left London for New York since the musician’s murder?” asked Frankel. “When did he die? Five days ago?”

“Six,” corrected Grant.

Frankel waved the spoon for emphasis. “I don’t need to tell you how many people flew over that period between Heathrow and JFK. For all you know they could’ve left from Gatwick or flown into one of the other major airports here. Or they could have taken the Chunnel and hopped a plane from Paris to throw us off track . . .”

“You’ve made your point.”

“I know everyone wants to think we’ve cracked down on our security since 9/11 but technology has grown by leaps and bounds. It’s easier than ever to forge documentation and the TSA can’t begin to keep up with it.”

“I’d still be looking at those lists.”

Frankel offered up a slight smile. “Ever since I hung up the phone with you earlier today.”

This produced another go-round of silence. Phyllis came over and asked if anyone wanted a refill. The two cops said they were fine and she scribbled out a check. Grant tried to reach for it.

“Not on my turf.”