Grant looked down at the newspaper residing in a clear Ziploc bag. His own marred image stared up at him behind the black crisscrosses. “I suppose it’s pointless to try and trace where this came from.”

“You can’t get it on every corner like in London. But plenty of newsstands carry international papers. Not to mention subscribers.”

Grant surmised fingerprinting wouldn’t help. The Sonata had come up empty, everything wiped clean from the door handle to Josephine’s set of keys.

They had walked the street near where the car was found, as well as the one by the laundromat where it had been stolen. The citizenry of Far Rockaway had been easier to question than Josephine, but their answers had yielded a similar result. Nobody recalled seeing the Sonata, let alone a just-released convict inside it.

Grant wasn’t surprised. Not only did the killer cover his tracks, he had only left behind things he specifically wanted found. And it appeared that Commander Austin Grant was the person he was leaving them for.

“You got an idea who you might have pissed off so much?” asked Frankel.

“Do you know how long I’ve worked at the Yard?”

“You told me last night,” replied Frankel. “Thirty-four years.”

“And how many cases have crossed my desk during that time? Thousands.” Grant shook his head. “Not that we convicted and put away that many—but more than our fair share. I’m sure a few have gotten out over the years bearing some sort of grudge. But it’s not like I kept track of them for any reason.”

“Doesn’t necessarily have to be someone you tossed in jail. Could be a loved one who thinks you ruined their life by doing so.”

After leaving Barnes, Grant had phoned Hawley in London. He had caught the Sergeant just as he was leaving the Yard for the day. The commander had updated him on the newspaper discovery and asked the sergeant to start compiling a list of those that Grant had arrested over the years who were back on the streets of London.

Now, he realized Hawley had to spread a wider net and would need help. Grant had an idea where that might come from. His thoughts were interrupted by Frankel.

“If it’s really revenge, he’s certainly going to elaborate extremes.”

“Especially as I’ve no connection to any of these victims. At least none that I know of. If, like you say, I’ve pissed him off so much, why such a roundabout way of going about things? Why not take a shot at me and get it over with?”

Frankel indicated the Ziploc-bagged newspaper in Grant’s lap. “Seems to me he wants you suffering through all this.”