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.
Much to his surprise, he learned the school had received not twenty-two thousand dollars, but sixty-six thousand dollars. This just made matters more perplexing.
“Any idea who the donor is?” he asked the headmaster.
“The donor wishes to remain anonymous,” said the headmaster. “Not even I know who the donor is.”
“But the money originated in Canada?” asked Gilbert.
“I believe so,” said the headmaster. “A Toronto bank administered the funds.”
Once he got off the phone, Gilbert tried to figure it out.
Who in Toronto but Morrell would send money to Sanderson School? But why was the figure now sixty-six thousand instead of twenty-two? He thought of the gang jewelry in Morrell’s hand. Was that the connection? Gang involvement? Gangs meant drugs. Had Morrell tripled the amount by selling drugs? And did this mean the murder was indeed gang-related?
When Gilbert explained things to Lombardo, Joe’s eyes lit up.
“I broadened my canvass in Regent Park,” said the young detective. “I found a small-time punk who told me Gabby has an older brother back in Jamaica, a guy named Trevor Sheridan. He’s a player, Barry. A big one. He has connections to the Ramaya cartel in Colombia. He runs an airstrip outside Ochos Rios on the north coast of Jamaica. I phoned the authorities at the Jamaican Constabulary in Kingston. They tell me they’ve had their eye on Trevor for a long time. Morrell could easily turn twenty-two thousand dollars into sixty-six if the product was sourced directly from Colombia.”
Gilbert went back to Regent Park to talk to Gabby again.
He found her in the laundry room downstairs folding towels. She looked up in mild surprise. Michael played with a toy truck on the floor. Judith clutched a doll in a playpen.
Gilbert spelled it out for her.
“We can’t help thinking your brother might have played a role,” he said.
Her shoulders sagged, and she stopped folding towels. She was so far gone in her grief, so exhausted by it, she was willing to give it up now. Still, he gave her a final push.
“I know you loved Jason, Gabby,” he continued. “And I know you miss him. But if we’re going to find his killer, you’re going to have to help us. You have to tell us what happened.” He leaned against a washing machine, taking the weight off his arthritic knees. “Sanderson School now has a sixty-six-thousand-dollar endowment. The donor was anonymous, but the money originated in Toronto. If your brother were to... help... or at least facilitate... you see why I’m so concerned about this, Gabby. That school got that money from somewhere.”
Gabby’s gaze shifted to the laundry-room window, where cold March rain streaked the dirty glass.
“My brother and I don’t speak,” she said at last. “He has his life, and I have mine. I don’t approve of what he does.” She looked at her feet, as if she now couldn’t face him. “But in this one instance...” Her eyes misted over. “Jason was a good man.” Her hands collapsed to her sides. “Education was his life.” She looked up at him now, her eyes big, the color of dark chocolate. “And that school... it’s not much of a school... just a brick building and a dirt playground in a small rural community up in the mountains... but it meant something to him. He believed in it. You don’t meet a man who believes so strongly in something like that often.” She cast an anxious glance at Judith. “So I helped him.” Her voice grew tremulous. “And now I guess I have to pay the price.”
He paused. Was there any way out for her? He didn’t think so. She looked at him, as if hoping he might throw her a lifeline. But he couldn’t.
“What’s going to happen to me?” she asked.
A gust of wind blew a particularly viscous rain squall against the window.
“Some other detectives will have to... you know... they’ll have to question you about this... business with your brother,” he said. “Right now, I’m more interested in Jason’s killer. We found a goat’s head amulet in Jason’s hand. You had gang help up here?” he asked.
She took a couple of deep breaths. “Are you going to take my babies away?” she asked.
He couldn’t answer that. “Your cooperation at this point will really go a long way,” he said.
Her eyes grew misty with trepidation, and she finally dipped her chin a few times in acquiescence.
“I had to give... Jason something he could grab on to,” she said, her voice halting and slow. “I had to give him something he could — because he was sinking so fast. I never knew it could get so bad.” She looked at Gilbert, her eyes bright, pleading, as if she were trying to find a much-needed sign of understanding in his face. “His illness. All those pills the doctor gave him... they didn’t help at all. When he got the news that Sanderson School was going to close, that was the last straw. It did something to him. It drained his spirit. I couldn’t stand to see him so low. So I decided I had to do something. I had to save that school.”
Gilbert glanced at the laundry room’s exhaust fan. A coating of gray lint covered the fan.
“So you helped him?” he said.
She hesitated. “I’m scared,” she said. “Of Richard Benson.”
“Richard Benson.” The name was familiar, and in a moment it clicked: Detective Bob Bannatyne, his colleague, had a posting on this known Jamaican gang member for the murder of a low-level Ross Park drug dealer, Miguel Diaz. A goat’s head amulet had been found in Diaz’s hand. “Richard Benson is his killer?” he asked.
She nodded. “He’s going to kill me now,” she said. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “He’s going to kill my babies. I’m trapped.”
“You’re not trapped,” he said. “You can turn to the police.”
“I was just trying to help,” she said. “I wanted to save my man.”
“We’ll protect you from Benson,” he said.
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “He said he would hurt my children.”
“We won’t let that happen.”
She shook her head. “He said he would... you know... kill them. And that’s why I couldn’t... tell you... about the partnership we had.”
“You, Jason, and Richard?”
“Yes,” she said.
Gilbert thought of the witness description.
“Richard’s Jamaican, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s a big guy, isn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know what kind of car he drives?” asked Gilbert.
“A big old white car,” she said. “I don’t know what kind it is.”
Bingo, Gilbert thought again. “So this partnership,” he said.
Gabby glanced at Michael, who was now driving his toy truck around the table leg.
“We all went in together,” said Gabby. “We used Jason’s church money to buy what we could from my brother. Then Richard turned around and sold it up here. We didn’t know it was worth so much up here. Jason was like a... a silent partner. The church money and so forth — he didn’t want it getting back to Keeper of the Faith. Richard thought he was doing most of the work. He wanted to cut Jason out. I pleaded with Richard, but he said he was going to cut Jason out no matter what.”
“So did you warn Jason?” asked Gilbert.
“I warned him again and again,” said Gabby. In a softer, more resigned voice she said, “But I think... his sickness... he didn’t care by then.”