61
Toronto 1961
I shivered in the cold confines of the morgue. Birdie, as usual, remained unruffled. I don’t know whether it was the actual temperature or my errant psychology at play. It had been a good result with Reb Black. He had confessed to the murder of his son, so why did I feel so rotten about it? The old man hadn’t come forward. I guessed he’d have been content to let someone else swing for it. The pious or those who professed to be pious really had darkened souls. And looked after themselves first. I had wanted it to be Avrom, I supposed. It should have been Avrom but Mendel had done a good job of ticking a lot of people off. He’d ruined the lives of those in his orbit, certainly. Even a putz could do a lot of damage when he wanted.
“Glad to see you’re back with us, Mr. Gold?
