“A preliminary glance at the jagged marks on his severed neck make me think we’re looking at an industrial saw. It’ll be hard to identify the brand unless I find trace material during the autopsy. I won’t know until I get in there—but these tools are practically indestructible, so I wouldn’t count on it.”

“It’s hard to believe he killed Leeds with a saw,” Grant said. “Sort of unwieldy, wouldn’t you say?”

“Absolutely,” Marcus answered. “Look here.”

He placed one gloved hand on Leeds’s chin and used the other to indicate two gashes directly below the part of the neck that was still attached to his head.

“Two deep slits—thinner and smoother than the jagged ones I mentioned. They’re very similar to those I found on the priest at Saint Pat’s.” The ME turned to Grant. “I’d wager they resemble the ones on your three bodies back in England.”

“I don’t share your expertise—but I’m inclined to agree with you.”

“These were made with a sharp knife and probably killed him. That left him free to do his dirty work with whatever portable saw he brought along.” Marcus gently lowered Leeds’s head back down onto a plastic sheet. “I’ll compare these marks with those on Father Peters, but I suspect they’ll confirm that you’re dealing with the same perpetrator.”

Grant’s eyes took in the clipping collage again. He turned to see Frankel doing likewise. The message might as well have been in flashing neon.

“Yeah,” grumbled Frankel. “It’s the same fucking guy, all right.”

It was after midnight when Frankel and Grant returned to the sedan. They had watched Marcus’s crew bag Leeds’s body and place it on a gurney, wheel it down the same corridor that only hours before they’d crept through with iPhones in hand, and into the entryway bathed in electric light (courtesy of massive floodlights brought in by Con Ed) for the first time since the hospital’s patients had been evacuated decades ago.

Now, as they swung onto the LIE, Frankel told Grant he should take note of the rarest of the rare. Cars were actually moving—some exceeding the speed limit.

Grant remembered his cab ride in from JFK a few days earlier. “Beats being stuck in the world’s biggest parking lot.”

“Look at you. Stick around long enough, we’ll turn you into a real New Yorker.”

“I just want to book a return trip for two,” replied Grant. “Bring this lunatic back to England and put him in the docket where he can answer for what he did.”

“Might have to arm wrestle you for that. Though you are ahead three to two.” He ducked over and jumped into the carpool lane. “Of course, it might be all tied up and we don’t even know it.”