Set against the backdrop of the 2020 Covid-19 outbreak, a young woman, Gravely Eaton, is stuck working at the family funeral home with a father she hates. The world is dying around her, but there seems no escape from her boring life with no friend...
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For a large city, Toronto's homicide statistics have always been pretty impressive or unremarkable, depending on how you think about them. Compared to other major municipalities, a 2015 ranking of 50 cities by The Economist claimed Toronto was the eighth safest major city in the world and the safest large metropolis in North America. In 2012 for example, Toronto's homicide rate was about 2.0 per 100,000 people, but it was much higher for Atlanta (19.0), Chicago (18.5), Boston (9.0), San Francisco (8.6), and New York City (5.1). In Vancouver, British Columbia, where the population is a little more laid back, the rate was a mere 1.2 per 100,000 souls. Toronto stats on the books say there were 55 homicides in 2015, 73 homicides in 2016, a nine-year high, and a few less than that high in 2017 and 2018.
Uncle Mitch was Toronto's 45th murder of 2019, and the local press had a hot story on their hands for a day or two. "Popular priest murdered hearing confession" screamed the Toronto Star headline. "Murder and a Prayer" was the caption on the Toronto Sun's front page. Luckily, if I can say that, devastating earthquakes along North America's west coast from British Columbia to California took over the newspaper headlines and TV newscasts. Speculation about the arrival of the long-anticipated "big one" had the public's interest, even in Toronto. Thankfully, not a single reporter called or knocked on my door to discuss Mitch's murder. Fine by me.
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I was in constant contact with my pals at the city morgue regarding progress with my uncle's post-mortem. Unofficially, I was told Mitch was deemed a healthy, disease-free man who probably would have lived another forty years if a trocar hadn't ripped into his aorta. The autopsy report noted Mitch bled out within seconds, and there was speculation the killer could be knowledgeable of the human anatomy. The murder weapon, an embalming tool, suggested the aggressor had knowledge of and access to funeral equipment. Given that fact, I couldn't help but wonder if the cops considered me a suspect. If they did, Detective Wong was playing his cards close to his chest. I also found it weird he hadn't asked me what I did for a living. I mean, he hadn't taken any personal information from me, other than the next of kin form I'd signed at the church. It was almost like he already knew everything about my life without my volunteering the info. That made me suspicious.
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