He finally came across Notting Hill playing on a movie channel. It had been one of Allison’s favorites—one in a series of movies that she kept on the DVR. She used to say they would lull her to sleep, like comfort food, in the sense that they were “lovely bedtime tales” that didn’t require much deep thinking and she would drift off to sleep sooner than later.

Grant had paid little attention to these films.

At least so he thought.

Over the years he’d heard them so often from the other side of the bed that Grant realized he was able to practically recite them word for word himself—and they became a sleeping tonic of sorts for him as well.

So he settled in and began watching it.

He didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he got to the part of the movie where Julia Roberts tells Hugh Grant that she’s “just a girl trying to find a boy who would just kill her.”

That was when Julia turned around to reveal dozens of Roman numerals carved into her forehead.

Grant bolted up from the nightmare, barely able to catch his breath.

He glanced over at the window. The morning light was trying to slip through the slight separation in the curtains.

Lovely.

Chapter 11

11

The room was packed.

Grant couldn’t imagine squeezing in another soul. The space was normally used for roll call or an occasional closed-door meeting between detectives and their superiors. The NYPD media liaison Little had dragged in fifty more chairs to accommodate the gathered press. Grant hoped they’d be so crammed in they’d be unable to raise their hands when it came time for questions.

He sat up front with Frankel behind a long rectangular desk. The other two seats there were occupied by Little and Lieutenant Harris. With the local networks broadcasting live, the session started right on time.

“I know it’s crowded in here,” said Little. “If you want some breathing room, we’ve got a live feed going in the room next door.”

Grant and Frankel exchanged glances. Grant was certain his colleague was thinking the same thing. He’d gladly be in a different room. For that matter, a different building.

Little introduced Harris. The lieutenant’s opening remarks didn’t offer up anything new. He vowed that the “NYPD’s finest men and women” were working day and night to bring the case to a rapid conclusion. “I’m now going to turn things over to our lead investigator, Detective First Grade John Frankel.”

More like throw him under the bus, thought Grant. Wasn’t that the American expression? Grant figured he’d be joining him under it in a matter of minutes.