“Not in the moment. Chalk it up to yelling ‘fire’ in a crowded building. The alarm sounds, a man of the cloth flies into the sanctuary and orders people to vacate the building—everyone does a 180 and makes for the streets pronto.”

Grant watched the visitors flee until the hooded figure was the sanctuary’s sole occupant. He closed the main doors, bolted them, and remained inside the church. Then, just as the man crossed the sanctuary, another entered the edge of the frame.

“The unfortunate Father Peters?” asked Grant.

Frankel nodded. “He was in the rectory when the alarm went off. Probably asleep at the time, seeing as how he’s wearing a T-shirt and sweatpants—clothes he would have thrown on quickly before checking things out.”

They watched Father Peters advance on the robed figure. Grant could tell that the priest was calling out to the other man.

“Have you been able to determine what he’s saying?” asked Grant.

“Best we can tell is ‘What is happening?’ and ‘What are you doing?’”

Frankel hit the zoom function and focused on Peters’s face.

The priest’s expression went from curious to frightened.

“That must have been when he noticed the mask,” ventured Grant.

Frankel resumed the tape and Grant watched Peters try to run from the hooded man. The latter was inches from catching the priest when they both exited the frame. The tape showed the empty sanctuary—then the screen fritzed and went black.

“What happened there?” asked Grant.

“Our friend obviously found the camera source and cut the power. Probably right after he knocked Father Peters unconscious.”

Grant nodded, somewhat shocked by the killer’s audacity. “So once the cameras were off and the doors locked, he was able to cut the alarm and go about his nasty business?”

“Exactly. Might have taken him all of ten minutes to cut Peters’s throat and mount him on the cross.” He closed the web browser and leaned back.

“Have you been able to ascertain anything from the tape about the man?”

“Based on his close proximity to Father Peters—we’re looking for an individual about six feet tall.” Frankel shrugged. “Of course, since the robe covered his feet, we can’t say for sure that he wasn’t wearing lifts in his shoes or large heels.”

“Which eliminates maybe half the men walking the streets of Manhattan.”

“That sounds right,” said Frankel. “But shouldn’t we be looking for someone from your side of the Atlantic? This started on your island, not mine.”

“That’s a fair assumption. But I never imagined he would venture out of the UK. Now that he’s done that, he could be practically anywhere.”