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features became solemn. “Yes, and that will require the vicar to be a hero.”
    They returned to Lord Palmerston’s pew.
    “Vicar,” Colonel Trask said, “please look at me.”
    The vicar raised his head from his knees. His face was gray.
    “I’m going to tell you something that I never revealed to anyone,” Colonel Trask said.
    The wrinkles in the vicar’s forehead deepened.
    “During the war, when the enemy charged, I was so terrified that my legs shook. I almost dropped to the mud and hid beneath corpses.”
    The vicar blinked. “It’s difficult to believe that a man such as you could be afraid.”
    “We want to hide. Even so, we need to do what’s required. Can you do what’s required, Vicar?”
    “I’m not sure what you mean.”
    “In a few moments, I’m going to ask you to look over that partition.”
    “But Lady Cosgrove is there,” the vicar objected.
    “Indeed. You’ll soon know what I need from you,” Colonel Trask said. “Can you do what’s necessary? Will you be a hero for me?”
    The vicar hesitated, then nodded.
    “No matter the effort, for every monster, men such as the vicar and the colonel must strike the balance,” De Quincey murmured.
    “Especially the vicar,” Colonel Trask said. He turned toward Ryan. “Whenever you’re ready, Inspector.”
    Ryan drew a breath and lifted his right trouser cuff. The congregation inhaled audibly when he removed a knife from a scabbard that was buckled against his leg. Sunlight through the windows glistened off the blade.
    Ryan whispered to Colonel Trask, “The killer might be hiding under one of the benches in Lady Cosgrove’s pew.”
    “If he is, I promise you, Inspector—despite my injured arm, he won’t get far should he try to run.”
    “It’s good to have you here, Colonel.”
    Under other circumstances, Ryan might have hesitated, but with the colonel watching, he mustered his resolve and climbed onto a bench. Stretching his long legs over the partition, he stepped onto the first bench in Lady Cosgrove’s pew.
    The bench had a back that prevented him from seeing under the second and third benches. Even crouching, all he saw were shadows. Breathing rapidly, ready with his knife, he lowered his barely healed stomach to the first bench. He tried not to think about what might confront him as he leaned his head down and peered under the first bench, seeing beneath the other two benches.
    No one was under there. Feeling the thump of his heart against the bench, he looked up toward Colonel Trask and De Quincey, shaking his head from side to side, indicating that the area was clear.
    “Vicar, please stand,” the colonel requested.
    Determined not to interfere with the murder area by stepping into the blood, Ryan remained flat on the bench and extended his arm. The blood’s coppery odor almost overwhelmed him as he reached the tip of his knife toward the veil that covered the dead woman’s face. Feeling his scars stretch, he strained his arm to its limit, snagged the bottom of the veil, and tugged it away, exposing the corpse’s features.
    “Vicar, is that Lady Cosgrove?” Colonel Trask inquired.
    “God preserve her soul, yes.”
    Ryan heard a thump and assumed that the vicar had collapsed.
    “Lean against me,” Emily was saying.
    Forced to keep his head down near the blood, Ryan shifted his knife toward the note in the corpse’s fingers and managed to free it. After transferring the note to his other hand, he speared the envelope on the floor, much of its paper now soaked with blood.
    He rose from the bench and studied the envelope. Not only was its original color black—so was the wax that had sealed it. The note had a one-inch black border that was used to express only the severest grief.
    Wondering what dreadful news Lady Cosgrove had received before she was murdered, Ryan opened the crumpled note.
    He discovered only two words.
    In shock, he focused on them, recognizing their terrifying significance. Furious memories