Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 122, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 745 & 746, September/October 2003

Gilbert nodded, then turned to Morrell. “He’s a long way from Morningview,” he said. “I wonder what he’s doing down here.”

Lombardo glanced around. “This is gang turf.” Out on Gerrard Street a streetcar rumbled by. “And no way he’s a gang member.”

“I think he’s a schoolteacher,” said Gilbert. “Look at that jacket. Morris T. Hewitt Collegiate Institute. Isn’t that out in the East End, too?”

“I think so,” said Lombardo. “Maybe he came to buy drugs. Maybe this is drug-related.”

“He would have been robbed,” said Gilbert. Gilbert nodded at the wallet. “He still has three hundred dollars in there.”

Lombardo scanned the winter-worn grass. “Did you find any shells?” asked his young partner.

“Not yet,” said Gilbert. “And it doesn’t look promising.”

Lombardo’s eyes rested on the gold chain in Morrell’s hand. “What do you make of that chain?” he asked.

“Gang stuff. I’m going to have Devon Lewis in Narcotics take a look at it.”

“That goat’s head,” said Lombardo. “That’s definitely gang.”

Dr. Blackstein, the coroner, assured the detectives he would do his best to preserve any slugs recovered from the victim’s body.

“The shooter picked up his brass,” Gilbert told Blackstein, “and right now the slugs are all we have.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Dr. Blackstein, “but as you can see on these X-rays, three of the slugs hit bone, and they’re mashed up badly. This fourth one... I don’t know. Dan Murphy over in Ballistics will have to have a look at it. He might match it to some of the other slugs you have on file from other murders.” The doctor gave the detectives an inquiring look. “Are you both staying for the autopsy?”

“I’ll be staying,” said Lombardo. “Barry’s driving out to Scarborough to talk to the wife.”

Gilbert drove out to Scarborough an hour later.

When he arrived, Morrell’s wife, Lorna, invited him into the kitchen. Gilbert was perplexed by Lorna’s evident composure.

“I find my strength in Jesus Christ,” she explained.

But he still thought she would have been more upset. Her husband’s murder was barely eight hours old.

“Did he have friends in Regent Park?” he asked. “We can’t figure out why he was down there.”

“He keeps contact with many of his former students,” Lorna told him, in the sing-songy tones of her Kingston accent.

“We guessed he was a teacher,” said Gilbert. “At Morris T. Hewitt?”

“Yes,” said Lorna. “As I find strength in Jesus Christ, so he finds strength in his students. Last night he was with Gabby. Gabby is a great support to him.”

Gilbert took out his notebook. “Gabby,” he said, jotting the name down. “Do you know her last name?”

“Sheridan,” she said.

He jotted that down as well.

“And she was his... student?” he asked.

A patient grin came to Lorna’s face. “Six or seven years ago, yes, she was.” She shook her head sadly. “But she’s become considerably more since that time.” Her grin broadened into a deprecating smile. “I know he finds solace in her, and in that little child of theirs, just as I find solace in the Lord Jesus Christ.”

Gilbert paused. “They have a child together?”

She gave him a stolid nod. “Jason and I live our lives... how shall I put it? Yes, together, but also apart. It’s better for us this way. I have nothing against Gabby. And I have nothing against that child of theirs. The child is God’s gift. As Jason’s been troubled for so many years, I urged him to find what solace he could in Gabby, and to see if he could find his way to Christ through that dear sweet child. I knew Jesus Christ was making me do the right thing. Jesus allowed me to find it in my heart to preserve his home out here in Scarborough, and to raise our two wonderful boys, but also to bless and forgive Jason in his love for Gabby. Jason was so troubled. Not even the medication helped him. Gabby was his support.”

“So... he was depressed?” ventured Gilbert.

“This is what the doctor calls it,” said Lorna. “But I believe it was simply his resistance to Christ. The poor man went to church every week but he never opened his heart to the true Lord and Savior. And until a man comes into the house of Christ, he can never hope to be happy or at peace with himself.”

Gilbert noticed a framed photograph on the wall. It showed a church minister handing Morrell a large cardboard check.

“That’s Jason there?” he said.

Lorna glanced at the picture. “That’s him just a month ago,” she said. “In one of his proudest moments.”

“Did he win a lottery?” asked Gilbert.

Lorna laughed — she evidently thought this speculation the funniest thing she had ever heard.

“No... no, of course not.” She gazed at the photograph with the indulgence of a mother for a favorite but errant son. “He raised money at our church for a school in Jamaica. Now the school will stay open. It was his old school, Sanderson School.” She gestured at the photograph. “He wanted all the boys and girls in the area to have a school to go to. He was God’s instrument, even though he didn’t know it. The Lord will pick the unlikeliest servants at times.”