“We’re on this, Sarge,” Mike said. “Thanks for your help.”

“She staying?” he asked, pointing at me.

“I am.”

“Coop’s useful sometimes, Sarge. You ever give that a try?”

It wasn’t unusual for a Manhattan prosecutor to come to a crime scene. Smart detectives called us into cases early on, to work as a team so that the most important evidence could be preserved and presented in the courtroom if the investigation was solved and the case went to trial. Matching seemingly unrelated crimes, overseeing forensic testing, and giving legal guidance for search warrants, lineups, and confessions had proved invaluable teamwork in seeking justice for those victimized.

“I’ll hang around, too, then,” Grayson said.

Mercer rose to survey the rest of the scene. “That gate was locked when you arrived?” he asked Mike.

“Yeah.”

“So, you’re saying the murderer got over the gate carrying a dead body, Doc? You’re not thinking he killed her on this portico?”

“Most likely the former,” Bixby said. “She’s rather petite, easy to move around. Lighter without, you know—”

We all knew. Lighter without her head.

“Or he had a key,” the sergeant said, trying to make himself relevant. “Or maybe he came out of the church with her. It’s possible he killed her inside there.”

“A regular Quasimodo,” Mike said. “Hunchback of Mount Neboh. Why don’t you go check the bell tower, Sarge?”

I had noticed two towers on the church as I approached it earlier. Its neo-Gothic design looked squarely out of a London landscape. The cops would obviously have to sweep the entire building before any determination could be made about whether this distinguished house of worship had harbored a killer.