Frankel quickly located one and showed it to him. Though the lighting wasn’t optimal, Grant could make out the three columns of papers and photos arranged in a Roman numeral V and two I s with the now-familiar cross situated between them.

Grant’s eyes brightened. “That’s it.”

“What’s it?” asked his daughter.

Grant pointed at the picture. “What do you see there?”

“The pictures of Leeds and his parents arranged into a Roman numeral seven,” stated Frankel.

“But why is the cross there?” asked Grant.

“Because it’s Silver’s calling card?” Frankel wondered. “I don’t know . . .”

The detective suddenly broke off. His eyes moved from the picture on his iPhone back to the computer screen where Prior Silver’s pamphlet was still displayed.

Grant could see Frankel reach the same conclusion that his own brain had been able to unfurl.

“Six and seven,” Frankel said. “It’s not meant as a cross. It’s meant to be a plus sign.”

Grant nodded.

“It’s why we haven’t been able to find a sixth body.” Rachel had caught on as well. “He hasn’t killed them yet.”

“Precisely,” Grant said.

“So, he’s gone back to England to kill numbers six and seven at the same time? A murderer and adulterer?” asked Frankel.

Grant started to respond, then stopped. A look of woe appeared in his eyes.

“Damn it to bloody hell.”

“What is it, Dad?” asked Rachel.

“That’s exactly what he’s going to do,” said Grant. “And I’m pretty sure I know who he’s going after.”

Chapter 16

16

Stanford Hawley would always remember the first time he’d met Commander Austin Grant of Scotland Yard.

He had been absolutely petrified.

Coming from a working-class family, having spent his youth immersed in P. D. James’s Adam Dalgliesh novels and watching Inspector Morse on the telly, Hawley had long dreamed of becoming a Scotland Yard man (Morse actually worked at Oxford, but the copper was bloody brilliant). To be assigned to Grant’s team as a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed constable was almost more than Hawley could handle—as Grant was well on his way to becoming a legend at the Yard.

When introduced to Grant, he had stammered his name was Hanford Stawley before correcting himself.

“Well, which one is it?” Grant had asked.

Luckily, there had been a trace of a smile on the man’s face, otherwise Hawley might have skulked out, never to return. He assured Grant it was the latter, but it didn’t stop his new superior from calling him Stawley most of that first year.