Lightning at 200 Durham Street

by Ron Finch

  CONSTABLE SMITH TOOK on his part of the investigation with dogged determination. He liked Cst. Herman, but he also had a friendly rivalry going with him, and so far, in this case, Cst. Herman had been more successful than he had been.

  There was no LCBO in Chaseford yet. Last year, with the repeal of Prohibition, the Ontario government had set up the LCBO, and there were outlets in some of the bigger cities, but London was probably the closest outlet to their area. Cst. Smith thought about going to the London location to inquire about the sale of a bottle of Krug Collection 1928. He knew that wine was exclusive enough that the purchaser would have drawn some attention. But he thought that it was a bit of a long shot because that wine could have been purchased somewhere else.

  He’d been to the local newspaper office yesterday and given them the story. The Chaseford Herald was a good daily paper and had been following up on the murder investigation on a regular basis, so he expected good coverage. The story would come out in Wednesday’s paper.

  But he thought his best approach would be to talk to some of the people around town, the sort who had minor trouble with the law from time to time. There were always people available to deliver almost anything for a little cash. Cst. Smith had grown up in town, and his dad had been an alcoholic. He hadn’t treated his wife or children kindly. In the neighbourhood Cst. Smith grew up in, this was not unusual. No doubt it was one of the reasons he’d decided to be a policeman. Cst. Smith had been lucky. He didn’t suffer from alcoholism. A lot of his childhood friends hadn’t been so lucky. They seemed to be repeating the cycle. Cst. Smith remembered his own past all too well and always took the time to speak to these people and to help them when he could. He was a policeman, though, and when they ran afoul of the law he would track them down.

  Cst. Smith had put the word out. He’d started talking to people on the street late on Monday, but he didn’t hear from anyone until Wednesday morning. He’d stopped in at Mabel’s diner for a coffee just after 10:00 AM and was sitting at the counter when Johnnie Givens, a childhood acquaintance, sat down beside him.

  “I hear you’re looking for information about a delivery,” said Johnnie. “I might know something of interest.”

  “Have you had breakfast?” said Cst. Smith.

  “I’m always hungry,” said Johnnie, grinning.

  “Mabel, Johnnie here needs a big breakfast with all the trimmings,” said Cst. Smith. “I’ll pay for his supper, too, as long as he keeps it under $10.”

  “We don’t have a meal that costs anywhere near that,” said Mabel.

  “I know,” said Cst. Smith, “but he may bring a friend or family with him.”

  “Thanks, Billy,” said Johnnie. “I won’t forget this.”

  Cst. Smith smiled wryly. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had called him Billy. His mother used to call him Billy, but she’d been dead for 10 years.

  “Okay, Johnnie, what do you know?” said Cst. Smith.

  “Proofie Duncan is your man,” said Johnnie.

  Cst. Smith knew who Proofie Duncan was. Proofie’s real name was Wallace. He got the name Proofie when he was 11 years old. At that age, he could already tell, with reasonable accuracy, the proof of any alcohol, if you gave him a taste. It wasn’t the kind of nickname most people wanted their child to have, but his parents actually bragged about it. They were both dead now thanks to alcohol. It was amazing Proofie was still alive.

  “Where do I find Proofie?” asked Cst. Smith.

  “Try the train station,” said Johnnie. “That’s how he makes his money. He hangs around there hoping somebody needs something carried to the station or carried from the station to their home. About a month or so ago I was at the station talking to him. He was all excited about getting paid $20 to deliver a wine bottle somewhere. Some nice lady had noticed him hanging around asking people if he could help. They talked for a bit and when she found out that he did odd jobs she told him she had a delivery for him. That’s all I know.”

  “Thanks, Johnnie,” said Cst. Smith. “You’re a big help. If this works out, I’ll owe you more than supper. See you later. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  Good fortune was smiling on Cst. Smith. When he got to the train station, Proofie was helping some older man load some suitcases and a couple of boxes onto the train.

  Cst. Smith waited until Proofie was finished then pulled him aside.

  “I need to interview you,” he said.

  Proofie looked nervous, like he might run. “I didn’t do anything,” he mumbled.

  “It’s okay, Proofie,” said the constable, “you’re not guilty of anything. The chief and I just need to talk to you. We think you have some information we can use. You’ll be free after the interview. We’ll even buy you supper.”

  Supper seemed to be the magic word. Proofie relaxed somewhat and walked with Cst. Smith to the police station.

  Chief Petrovic, who was fortunately available, kindly asked Proofie how he was doing.

  “Come into my office,” he said, “and we’ll have a chat.”

  Proofie accompanied the police chief into his office, still a little bit nervous.

  “Okay, what do you want?” said Proofie.

  “We heard you delivered a wine bottle to a cabin in the bush out near Goshawk for someone back in May.”

  Proofie hesitated. He looked very uncomfortable.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Proofie,” the chief said, reassuring him. “We’re not after you. We’re after some information. Do you remember what day in May it was that you delivered that bottle?”

  “Honest, I didn’t open the bottle,” said Proofie. “I didn’t drink any of it. I just did what I was paid to do. The lady wouldn’t pay me until I came back to Chaseford and showed her the empty container with the ice.”

  “It’s okay, Proofie. We know you didn’t drink any of the wine.”

  You’d be dead and buried by now if you had, the chief thought. But he didn’t say a word about that.

  “Do you remember the date?” Chief Petrovic asked again.

  “I sure do,” answered Proofie. “That lady paid me $20. That’s more than I usually make in a week. I was so excited I wrote it down in my book.”

  Chief Petrovic and Cst. Smith looked at one another, amazed. They didn’t know Proofie could write and the last thing they expected him to have was a book. Especially considering he didn’t have a permanent address.

  “Where do you keep your book?” asked Cst. Smith.

  “Oh, I always carry it with me,” said Proofie.

  “Can you show it to us?” said Chief Petrovic. This was a request he was going to regret within seconds.

  “Okay,” said Proofie.

  Faster than the chief or constable could believe, Proofie kicked off the holiest shoes in town and took off the dirtiest socks in the county, revealing the filthiest feet in Ontario. He carried this tiny, beat-up-looking notebook in one shoe and his pencil in the other one.

  Proofie was smiling. He’d known that one day his book would be valuable. He tried to hand the book to the chief, but the chief quickly declined. If Chief Petrovic had been in a bad mood, he would’ve told Proofie to hand the book to Cst. Smith, but luck was smiling on the constable today.

  “Just show me the page with the date on it,” said the chief.

  Proofie pointed at May 18th.

  “That’s an important piece of paper, and an important date to us, Proofie,” said Chief Petrovic. “If we give you another small notebook that’ll fit in your shoe, and an extra pencil, can we keep this book?”

  “Sure can,” said Proofie, beaming. “I hope it helps.”

  “You’ve been a big help to us, Proofie,” said the chief. “I’m going to tell Mabel you’ve earned three free breakfasts. She’ll keep track for you. But please, please put your shoes and socks back on.”

  “Okay, Chief. But first I gotta write down three free breakfasts. That’s special enough to be in my book.” Proofie turned and looked at Cst. Smith. “Do
I still get my supper?”

  Cst. Smith smiled and said: “Of course.”

  “Just one last question for you, Proofie,” said the chief. “Would you recognize that lady if you saw her again?”

  “I would never forget anybody who paid me $20,” said Proofie. And away he went, a huge smile on his face.

  “Wow,” said the chief of police. “We need to open some windows. You’ve done magnificent work today, Cst. Smith.”

  “It pays to know the right people,” Cst. Smith said with a grin.

  Wednesday, July 18 and Thursday, July 19

  IT WAS JUST AFTER SUPPER on Wednesday. The girls had finished the dishes and Chief Petrovic was just settling in to listen to his daughters bicker. He wasn’t listening closely enough to determine what they were bickering over this evening, but it was all part of the routine. He knew his wife would appear shortly and put an end to it. This evening, however, there was a slight variation: the telephone put an end to the bickering.

  The chief shooed his daughters out of the living room so he could take the call in private. Det. O’Neill was on the other end of the line.

  “Good evening, Chief. How are things?” said the detective.

  “Normal evening,” the chief sighed. “What’s new?”

  Det. O’Neill described in some detail the interview he had had at Benjamin Frankel’s home that afternoon. Frankel had been more than accommodating, he explained, but the best part of his afternoon had occurred during the interview of Alma and Enoch Iversen. The detective sounded excited.

  “What happened?” asked the chief.

  “I’m certain that Alma Iversen will be able to identify Bella Frankel as a visitor to Benjamin’s home during his absence in the US,” said Det. O’Neill.

  “That’s wonderful news,” said Chief Petrovic, genuinely pleased. “I have some good news, too. With the aid of Cst. Smith, we’ve found the person, Wallace Duncan, who goes by the name Proofie. The one who delivered the bottle of wine to the cabin on May 18th.”

  Now Det. O’Neill was even more excited. “Do you think we can do it, Chief?” He was referring to the issuance of an arrest warrant for Bella Frankel.

  “I’m going to the County Courthouse first thing tomorrow morning,” said Chief Petrovic. “I’m convinced that after today’s events we have sufficient cause for the judge to issue a warrant. I’ll call you tomorrow after I’ve talked to Judge Marshall.”

  JUDGE MARSHALL WAS an older man who’d been involved with the law so long he couldn’t remember when he’d started. His mind was still sharp and clear. His memory prodigious and accurate. But arthritis had made it a little more difficult for him to get around.

  He greeted the chief of police with a gruff “hello”.

  “I doubt you have anything very cheery to say to me,” the judge continued. “You probably want something. That’s the only time I see you, thank goodness.”

  The salutation, though brusque, meant the chief was in the judge’s good books. Chief Petrovic knew it was the judge’s brand of humour.

  “What do you want?” asked the judge.

  “Well, sir,” said Chief Petrovic, who always used the word ‘sir’ with the judge. “I’m here to request a warrant for the arrest of Bella Frankel in the murder of Louise Carter.” Chief Petrovic knew that the judge was always a little flattered by this sign of respect. Heaven help you if you didn’t respect Judge Marshall!

  “Support your request,” said the judge. “I hope you have it in writing.”

  “Yes, sir, I do,” answered the chief. “Here’s what I have.” He produced a document:

  We know that Louise Carter was poisoned by an expensive wine to which hemlock had been added.

  We know that Bella Frankel hired a local man to deliver the wine to Louise Carter’s cabin in the bush. That man is innocent of any wrongdoing.

  We suspect that Bella Frankel gained entry to her brother’s home in London in order to steal a precious medallion. It was left near the murder scene in an attempt to cast suspicion on him. He was out of the country at the time of the murder.

  We know Bella Frankel had recently manipulated Louise Carter and Ruth Carter into adding Proctor Carter’s name to the company that owns the bush where the cabin stands.

  Bella Frankel has also manipulated Proctor Carter into putting the ownership of his lumber companies in her name.

  “We believe Bella Frankel has two motives,” said Chief Petrovic. “She’s a clever woman, but a very mean and nasty person. The death of Louise Carter would result in the bush land being owned jointly by Ruth Carter, an elderly woman who has suffered a stroke, and her son Proctor Carter, who does everything Bella Frankel tells him to do. Ultimately, in a relatively short period of time, the bush would belong to Bella Frankel. We also believe that Ruth Carter is currently in danger from Bella Frankel. Bella Frankel’s avarice knows no end.”

  Judge Marshall nodded, indicating that he should continue.

  “The second motive involves her brother Benjamin Frankel,” said Chief Petrovic. “Upon the relatively sudden deaths of her parents a few years ago, Benjamin Frankel inherited a magnificent house and a lot of money. Bella Frankel had been disowned by her parents and inherited nothing. Sir, this motive is based on revenge, and we have forensic evidence and witnesses to back up our claims.”

  “Your case is not open and shut,” replied Judge Marshall. “You didn’t catch this person ‘red-handed.’ But I applaud you on your excellent police work. I will grant the warrant for the arrest of Bella Frankel on the charge of murder. She is to be held in custody at the county jail in Chaseford until a trial date is set. Go do your job, Chief Petrovic,” said the judge with a smile.

  Chief Petrovic was elated. This case wasn’t over, he knew, but it was coming to a climax. So much time and effort had gone into this investigation, and hopefully, soon, it was going to be rewarded. He got in touch with Det. O’Neill right away.

  When Det. O’Neill answered the phone, the first thing the chief said to him was: “Gerald, how about another train ride to Ottawa?”

  “You got the warrant?” said the detective.

  “Indeed, I did,” answered the chief. “As soon as I hang up I’m going to phone Assistant Chief Rutherford in Ottawa. Hopefully, they’ll make the arrest later today and you and I can pick up Bella Frankel in Ottawa tomorrow.”

  Thursday, July 19 to Saturday, July 21

  THERE WAS A KNOCK ON the front door of Ruth Carter’s home in Ottawa on Thursday evening. No one was expected.

  When Bella answered the door, she was quite obviously surprised to find Det. LeBlanc there with two police constables. Based on her previous encounters with Det. LeBlanc, Bella Frankel both disliked and feared him. Her dislike was based on the recognition that he saw through her manipulation. Her fear was that he saw the real Bella.

  “Good evening, Bella,” said Det. LeBlanc. “I trust you’ve finished your supper.”

  “Mrs. Carter and I have just finished,” answered Bella. “I was cleaning up the kitchen when you knocked.”

  Without being invited, Det. LeBlanc stepped into the house and announced: “I’m placing you under arrest for the murder of Louise Carter.”

  The detective promptly put her in handcuffs and read her rights to her.

  Bella looked icily at Det. LeBlanc. “I was nowhere near Chaseford when Louise Carter died. You’re on a wild goose chase.”

  Det. LeBlanc looked at her but made no reply to her comments. “Where is Mrs. Carter?” he asked instead.

  “I guess you’ll just have to find her, detective,” Bella answered curtly.

  A voice emerged from beyond the back kitchen. “Bella, is someone at the door?”

  Det. LeBlanc turned to Constable Rosette McKenzie. “I believe that’s Mrs. Carter’s voice, constable. Please go and inform her that Bella is coming to the police station with us. Please do not mention the charges. Find out if there’s anyone who can come and stay with her while Bella’s gone. If no one’s avail
able, you’re to stay here and assist her. I chose you to come with me today because you have experience dealing with people in her situation. Like your mother, Mrs. Carter is wheelchair bound. It sounds like she’s on the back patio. Please don’t bring her into the house until after we’ve left.”

  AFTER BELLA FRANKEL was booked and safely ensconced at the Ottawa police station, Assistant Chief Rutherford phoned Chief Petrovic at his home in Chaseford.

  “Things are working out smoothly,” said Rutherford when Chief Petrovic picked up the phone. “We have Bella Frankel in custody. There were no problems at the Carter home when she was arrested; however, Mrs. Carter was quite upset to learn that someone she trusted completely may have murdered her daughter. She has a friend staying with her now. She’ll have to make arrangements to find a new nurse; not an easy chore for a woman her age, but she does seem to have some good friends to help her. What time do you plan on arriving here tomorrow?”

  Chief Petrovic thought. “It’s about a 12-hour trip on a good day, and the earliest train we can catch leaves at 8 o’clock in the morning. So we probably won’t arrive until 8 o’clock at night. Both Det. O’Neill and I will come to escort Bella back to Chaseford. We’ll leave first thing Saturday morning. Thank you very much for all your help. Please pass a thank you on to Det. LeBlanc, too. See you in Ottawa.”

  THINGS WENT AS SMOOTHLY as they could. Although those train rides were never smooth.

  Chief Petrovic and Det. O’Neill took custody of Bella Frankel without incident, though they did have to listen to her protestations of innocence and her accusations of police incompetence. They’d heard these kinds of comments many times before. To hear them, you’d think they’d never arrested a single guilty person. Odd how 99% of the people they arrested turned out to be guilty.

  By 9 o’clock Saturday evening, Bella had entered her new accommodations. She did not seem pleased. Some people are just difficult to please. She’d get her three square meals a day, but the view did leave a lot to be desired.