“I think it’s time we let this nut know we’re not far behind him,” Frankel said.

He asked Grant if he wanted to grab a bite before the autopsy. The commander felt his stomach turn and suggested perhaps waiting till afterward.

One look at Father Adam Peters’s body on a metal slab and Grant knew he’d made the right decision.

It had been only a day since the priest had been murdered, but he looked like something that had rotted in a closet for weeks. His face was blue tinged and bloated from his eyebrows to his cheeks. His neck bulged from a wire wrapped around it tight enough to not just extinguish his life, but hang him from the cross atop the main altar.

Marcus, the African American coroner, was in his late forties and told Grant he couldn’t remember performing an autopsy on a holy man, even though hundreds of unfortunate souls had found their way to his table. The coroner relayed his findings while massaging a thin goatee that was starting to go gray.

“The first blow he received was to the back of the head.” The ME indicated a bruised section on the dead priest’s skull that had been shaved and cut open.

“Is that what killed him?” Frankel asked.

Marcus shook his head. “I’m getting to that.”

Marcus pointed to a tray that held various instruments, bagged fluids, and specimens extracted from the corpse.

“The blow definitely subdued him; probably knocked him unconscious—but it looks like your killer wanted to keep him alive long enough to give him this.”

Grant and Frankel stared at the item in question.

It was silver and a perfect circle—much like a coin but a bit larger.

“May I?” asked Grant, holding up a gloved hand. Marcus nodded and Grant held it up so both he and Frankel could study it.

“It’s a souvenir coin,” remarked Frankel.

Grant gave him a curious look.

“You must have something like them in London. They’re all over the city—particularly in Times Square and other tourist traps. You pay a dollar or two and create your own New York City souvenir with the Statue of Liberty, Central Park, or some other landmark on it.” Frankel took the coin from Grant and flipped it over. “This one has the Empire State Building. You choose which you want and then engrave a message on the other side.”

Grant thought the temperature in the room had just dropped, but then realized it was his body reacting to whatever was coming next.

“And I presume there’s one on this particular coin?”

Frankel pointed at it with his forefinger. “9888.”

Grant turned to face Marcus. “The killer kept Peters alive long enough to make him swallow this? So that we’d find it?”

“That’s what I’m figuring,” the ME responded. “But for the life of me, I’ve no idea what it means.”