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

Gilbert minimized his current windows and accessed the MTO database through the headquarters’ intranet. Using the search parameters of Trelawny’s name and address, he easily pinpointed the vehicle the man drove: a beige, 2001, four-door Chevrolet Impala.

“Bingo,” said Gilbert.

While Lombardo drove to the big man’s home on Old Finch Road to see if he could surprise Holmes there, Gilbert tried Scarborough Town Center, a suburban mall off Highway 401, where, as the file indicated, Holmes worked as a janitor.

Gilbert parked his car, went into the mall, and looked around.

He found Holmes in front of the Rainforest Cafe. A huge aquarium formed a thousand-gallon archway over the entrance to the cafe, and big tropical fish swam placidly around inside, as bright as the colors of an impressionist painting. The sound effects of a tropical thunderstorm emanated from within the Amazon-themed restaurant, and Gilbert glimpsed a white-shirted waiter walking by with a tray of fruity drinks.

“Trelawny Holmes?” said Gilbert.

The big man looked up. “I’m Trelawny,” he said.

“I’m Detective Sergeant Barry Gilbert of Metro Homicide,” he said, and showed Holmes his badge and ID. “Could we talk?”

Holmes, dressed in working blues, a nametag stitched to his shirt, took off his gloves and wiped his brow with the back of his arm.

“What’s this about?” he asked, his voice deep, full, West Indian.

Gilbert told him what he had.

“And when you put it all together, not only do you have motive — the extra coverage Jason put on his life-insurance policy two weeks ago — but you also had opportunity. You know he’s down there Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday nights.”

Holmes studied Gilbert quietly for a few seconds. “I was nowhere near Regent Park last night,” he said. “I was at home watching the basketball game.”

“Was anybody watching it with you?” asked Gilbert.

“No.”

“Did anybody telephone you while you were watching the game?”

“No. I always take my phone off the hook when I watch the game.”

“So no one can verify that you were at home watching the game?”

A crease came to Holmes’s brow.

“I’m Jason’s friend,” he said. “I’ve been his friend for nineteen years.”

“Gabby says you fight.”

Holmes sighed. “I don’t deny it,” he said. “We have our differences. But that’s only because I’m trying to knock some sense into him. How’s Lorna supposed to raise those boys on only half a paycheck?” Gilbert guessed half of Morrell’s paycheck went to Gabby, but Holmes set him straight the next moment. “Jason... he cares more about that school back home than he does about his own two sons.”

Gilbert paused. Here was another mention of that school. He had to check this out. He played dumb. “What school?” he asked, scratching around for more information.

“This school he used to work at back home, a little private one up in the mountains, Sanderson School. It’s the only school around for miles and miles. It was going to close. Jason was always sending half his paycheck down there to keep it open. He doesn’t care how Lorna has to make ends meet. She’s always scrambling to make the mortgage payments. I don’t make much at this job, but I give her what I can. I’m always at Jason to give her more, and sometimes we fight about it. I told him he should try to raise money at our church. I’m smart. I think things through. I try to come up with solutions. I had to fight him a bit — he doesn’t like taking money from anybody — but he finally took my advice. He raised some money at the church for the school.”

Gilbert thought about this. Certainly keeping a school open was a noble enough goal. But the money from the church might yet be a new factor. He pecked a bit more.

“So the church was receptive?” he asked.

“Our church has good people,” said Holmes. “They give what they can.”

“Did Jason say how much money was raised?” asked Gilbert.

Holmes shrugged. “Around twenty thousand,” he said.

“And does anybody have any idea where that money is now?” asked Gilbert.

Holmes shrugged, looking as if he were just now considering the money’s whereabouts. Either that, or he was bluffing. “Ask the church,” he said. “They might know.”

Gilbert phoned Minister Milroy Johnston at Keeper of the Faith Seventh Day Adventist Church the next day.

“I believe the figure was twenty-two thousand dollars,” said Johnston. “The congregation opened their hearts, Detective. And their wallets.”

Gilbert jotted the figure down.

“And do you have any idea where the money is now?” he asked.

Johnston paused. “I assume he sent it to Sanderson School already.”

When Gilbert got off the phone, he pondered the money. Twenty-two thousand dollars — money over and above the extra life-insurance money — cash both Lorna Morrell and Trelawny Holmes might find tempting. If he could trace the church money back to the pair, he would be that much closer to an arrest.

He phoned the headmaster at Sanderson School in Brown’s Town, Jamaica.