“The dead girl, she a Jew?” he asked.

“It’s possible. We don’t know who she is yet.”

“Well, maybe the Lord just brought her on home,” Audley said.

“Home?” I didn’t get where he was going.

“Take a look, Ms. Cooper.” Audley favored his left leg as he limped out of the vestibule.

I continued on after him, and saw that there must have been more than a thousand seats in the barrel-vaulted sanctuary of the church. A great organ with towering pipes filled most of the wall at the opposite end.

“Overhead,” he said.

I stretched my neck for a better view of the trio of splendid stained-glass windows that arched above me, forming a triptych of gigantic skylights.

“You see that?” Audley asked. “Those letters in the glass?”

“It — it looks like the writing is in Hebrew. Is that possible?”

“Indeed it is.”

I couldn’t read the ancient language, but the lettering was clear, as were the various symbols of the Jewish faith etched into the amber, emerald, and cobalt-blue glass. In the middle frame were the two tablets displaying the Ten Commandments, topped by a sixsided Star of David.

“Mercer — Mike,” I called out to them, “you’ve got to see this.”

“A hundred years ago, Ms. Cooper,” Audley said, proudly showing off the church he’d been associated with since his birth, “this here was built to be a synagogue.”

Mike rested his hands on my shoulders as he leaned back to look up.

“What kind of detective you be, Mr. Chapman?” Audley asked. “In that pediment up over the columns, above the front door, didn’t you see those tablets with the Ten Commandments?”

Mike didn’t have a ready answer.

“Didn’t you even notice those numbers carved in the cornerstone as you walked past? Big as you are? Says 5668. That’s the Hebrew calendar, year she was built. Sherlock Holmes wouldn’t miss no clue like that. Means 1908, when Harlem’s population was mostly Jewish. Rich and powerful ones, merchants and such. This girl just come home.”