Television cameramen swarmed the commissioner while police locked arms and formed a human chain around him. As the police yelled for the reporters to back away, helicopters hovered and their spinning blades added to the commotion. Reporters shouted questions that Lynch was unable to hear. Not that it mattered. He didn’t plan to respond to any questions until he had answers to give.

He walked inside with Coletti and the rest of them following, and when he reached the threshold of the church, he saw a scene that defied explanation.

The outside glass door had been smashed by what appeared to be a gunshot. The hallway wall was splattered with blood and pieces of flesh. A thick red trail led from there to the sanctuary, where the lifeless bodies of the two men from the cleaning crew were slumped over a back pew.

The final victim was at the front of the church, his arms spread wide as he lay against the altar with his face locked permanently in a horrified expression.

“The neighbors heard the shots about a half hour ago,” said a homicide detective who’d been among the first to arrive. “It looks like the shooter was after the one on the altar. A guy from the neighborhood saw him follow the victim to the church.”

“Same description as before on the shooter?” Lynch asked. “Yes, sir. Thin white male, black wide-brimmed hat, and a black suit. He disappeared before we could get here, but we might’ve caught a break,” the detective said, holding up a clear plastic bag with a business card inside. “The victim dropped this. It’s from the gentlemen’s club on Delaware Avenue. We sent a guy down there to check it out, and at least one of the girls knew the victim. She’s outside now.”

Lynch led the three detectives to the front door of the church, where they saw the woman sitting in a squad car with a blanket around her shoulders. She was holding a steaming cup of coffee, and her face was fixed in a shell-shocked expression.

Coletti descended the church steps and walked over to the car. “How are you?” he asked.

“I’ve been better,” she said, smiling weakly. “He was a sweet guy. Always polite, never pushy. Tipped well.”

“How long had he been coming to the club to see you?”

“Ten, maybe eleven months.”

“Did you ever, uh…do anything extra?”

“No. Never. I dance and that’s it. I never get personal, and I never learn anybody’s name, not even this guy’s. I don’t have anything to do with what happened to him, either, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not,” Coletti said. “We were just trying to figure out why the killer followed him here. Do you know if anyone might’ve had a vendetta against him?”

“A what?”