Frankel extended the file toward Grant. “We’ve already run a cross-check on the London victims with Father Peters. There doesn’t seem to be any connection. Peters has never been to Oxford, didn’t collect art by this dead woman Keaton, and it’s a pretty safe bet you won’t find the Blasphemers in his iTunes.”

“The killer doesn’t appear to be linking the victims personally. He seems intent on carrying out his own interpretation of the Commandments.”

“But why leave England?” wondered Frankel. “It wasn’t like he was wearing out his welcome there.”

“We did tumble to him wanting to go after a man of the cloth. Maybe he figured we might try and stop him back home, so he took his show on the road.”

“But why New York?” Frankel asked. “Wouldn’t it be easier to gallivant all over Europe without risking air travel or sticking out like an English sore thumb?”

“I suppose he has some sort of logic that works for him. The biggest questions I have are what set him off and why he is doing this now.”

“As opposed to him just being fucking insane?”

“I guarantee it makes perfect sense to him.” Grant shook his head. “Why did he start with Frey and only two weeks ago? Why not kill a different professor six months ago—or six years ago, for that matter? That’s what I keep asking myself—why now?”

“Maybe it’s an early retirement present for you,” suggested Frankel.

Chapter 4

4

Given a tiny office in the back corner of the precinct, Grant continued to follow up on the Saint Patrick’s murder. The room had a desk chair, potted plant (green plastic), blank desk blotter, a cup with blue Pilot G2 pens, a framed picture of the precinct’s cops circa 1920, and one rather disgruntled Scotland Yard Commander.

Most of the interviews were to the point—the few “witnesses” they’d tracked down relayed the same story. The alarm blared, then a man resembling a hooded monk appeared to shoo them out of the building. One woman, a matronly sort from Ohio on a tour of the Eastern Seaboard’s great cathedrals and churches, had seen the cowled figure enter from a side hallway—the same corridor that housed the fire alarm. It was hard to make out his voice, muffled by the face mask. It covered his entire face.