Terror on the Way

by Ron Finch

  “I don’t know whether polite will work,” said Tony.

  “Yeah, we’ll probably need the guns,” said Tom.

  Fifteen minutes later they put their plan into action. Marty came out of the door first, followed close behind by Lenny. They’d only gone about eight steps from the shed when Mick said, “Stop where you are and put your hands up. You’re under arrest.”

  Tony went over and grabbed Marty and had the cuffs on him in less than a minute. Tom went over and grabbed Lenny, who had him airborne within seconds. He landed on top of Marty and Tony.

  Mick took two quick steps back so that when Lenny swung around to grab him, he was further way than Lenny had anticipated. Lenny grabbed air and then heard two gunshots and the crunch of dirt at his feet.

  “I’ve got more bullets,” said Mick. “If you don’t lie down on the ground now, the next two bullets won’t be going into the ground at your feet. They’ll be going into you.”

  Mick had yelled the word ‘now’; and evidently, no matter how brave Lenny was, he believed Mick was a man of his word.

  Lenny got down on the ground and ten minutes later he was lying alongside Marty in the bottom of the boat they’d used to steal goods. Their boat was tied to the one containing the three policemen, who were now heading back upriver to Chaseford.

  Saturday, November 18th

  IT WAS ALMOST SIX IN the morning by the time I got home. I was dog tired, but Georgie was almost ready to get up.

  “You can sleep in for a few hours, Joel. I’ll go down to your mom and dad’s grocery store and do some shopping. I’ll pick up a copy of the Saturday Star. After I read the newspaper, check my horoscope, and do the crossword puzzle, I’ll wake you up. It should be lunchtime by then.”

  “Don’t let me sleep too long,” I said. “We have a special Saturday meeting at Chief Petrovic’s office at 2 o’clock.”

  “IS IT LUNCH TIME ALREADY?” I said, groggy with sleep.

  “No, but there’s something in the Toronto Star I think you need to read,” said Georgie, sounding out of breath.

  She sat down on the bed beside me and handed me the newspaper, pointing to a story on the front page.

  Bizarre Murder

  A Toronto woman, Ethel Waters, 32 years old, was brutally murdered in her boarding house in downtown Toronto sometime between 2 am and 4 am early Friday morning, according to the coroner. There was no one else living in the house at the time. There are no current tenants, as Miss Waters’ boarding house is undergoing some major renovations. It was due to reopen next Monday.

  Friends and relatives of the murdered woman are at a loss. It makes no sense to them. Everyone that knew Ethel said that she was a very quiet and caring person. “She was generous to a fault and trusted everyone,” said one person I spoke to. “When you first met Ethel, you knew she was a very sophisticated lady; but she didn’t put on airs and treated everyone the same.”

  One of the neighbors was first on the scene. They described the scene as chaotic. They were still extremely upset when I had a conversation with them on Thursday evening. “There was an awful lot of blood,” they told me, “and many stab wounds.” In tears, they commented, “It looked like some kind of ritual killing.”

  Another neighbor said they were awake at the time because they have problems sleeping. They had been listening to the Top 10 tunes on the radio and had just heard Stormy Weather, by Ethel Waters, the popular singer with the same name as the deceased victim. The next tune was Sophisticated Lady, by Duke Ellington. At that point, the neighbor heard screaming and yelling and bangs and thumps, as though there was a fight going on. By the time they got to the door and looked out, all they saw was a figure running down the street. The figure appeared to be wearing a hood.

  The Toronto Police have issued a statement. It follows as a quote: “This was a very brutal murder. We would appreciate any help we can get from the public to apprehend this dangerous person. If you have any information that will aid us in the investigation, please contact Detective William Fredericks of the Toronto Police.”

  I stared at the article, stunned.

  “The headline is right,” said Georgie. “It is bizarre. I don’t know what’s going on, Joel, but that article in this morning’s paper and the dream you described from Thursday night are connected. It’s not a coincidence.”

  “I’m just as baffled as you are, Georgie. I don’t know what to make of it. But I can hear him in my dream, and he can see me, and we react to one another. It’s like it’s really happening.”

  “You and Walter are going to have to discuss this,” said Georgie.

  “I’ll have to contact Walter later today. Right now, I have to get ready for this afternoon’s meeting at the police station,” I said.

  EVEN THOUGH IT WAS two in the afternoon, it felt like an early morning meeting. There were six of us in the chief’s office. Inspector Simpson had returned from London, arriving in Chaseford about half an hour before our meeting.

  “I left my two constables in the car, dozing,” the inspector told us before the meeting, smiling. “They deserve a rest.”

  The chief’s desk was still pushed to one side of the room, from the previous meeting with the furniture factory managers. One particular addition to the chief’s desk was appreciated by everyone: a large coffee urn.

  “This is an importing meeting,” said Chief Petrovic. “We need to summarize what we’ve accomplished and be aware of what still needs to be done.

  “We did well on the first part of our plan – catching the thieves moving the materials from the furniture factory yards to the docks. We were successful at three of the sites, and as a result, we have six thieves locked up in the jail. The two suspects who were using the docks at the Chaseford Imperial Furniture Company eluded us. I can’t fault the two constables who were undercover at that site. No plan is perfect, and we didn’t anticipate that those two men would have their own rowboat. When they finished loading the smugglers’ boat, they jumped in their boat and rowed across the river. I don’t think they even saw our undercover men.”

  The chief turned to Inspector Simpson and said, “Inspector Simpson, I thank you very much for returning to Chaseford today. I know you haven’t had much sleep. But we are very pleased that you have taken the time to attend this meeting on a Saturday afternoon in order to bring us up-to-date on what happened at the other end of the investigation.”

  “As you would probably guess, the other end of the investigation has not been completed yet,” said Inspector Simpson, “but I’m very pleased with the progress we have made so far.

  “From our observation posts near the dock, we were easily able to see what was going on. We weren’t close enough to hear, but one of my men and I recognized the big man on the boat to be a man by the name of Lenny Hutchinson, a well-known small-time crook from London. He is a dangerous man. It was especially helpful that one of your constables had heard the name Lenny.”

  Inspector Simpson paused and looked around the table. “I know you’re all aware of this, but I’m going to repeat it: It is especially important that none of the things I’m telling you leave this room. The investigation is not complete, and we definitely don’t want to alert any of the criminals involved.”

  After we’d all nodded in agreement, he continued by saying, “I wasn’t certain how successful we would be at following the van. We didn’t want to use our lights if possible, but at the same time we didn’t want to create a dangerous situation. We were fortunate that they didn’t travel very fast and that there was very little traffic. Because it was a moonlit night, we were able to track them all the way to London. Once the traffic became heavier, we were able to use our headlights. We stayed behind them until they turned into a small building supply lot on Hamilton Road. The lot is familiar to us, as the owner is of questionable character. That moonlit ride was very valuable. Now we know where the stolen goods are dropped off and likely being distributed from. We also know the license plate number of the van and we k
now some of the people involved.”

  “That part of our plan sounds like it was a rousing success,” said Chief Petrovic. “Make certain you pass on our congratulations to your men. I guess the London Police will now take over that part of the investigation.”

  “Yes,” said Inspector Simpson. “There’s a lot more detective work to be done, but since my unit will no longer be needed, the case is being put into the very capable hands of Detective Gerald O’Neill.

  “I had a brief ten-minute talk with Det. O’Neill before I drove down here today. He told me that he is familiar with Chaseford and is a friend of yours, Chief Petrovic.”

  “Yes, he is,” said the chief. “I’m glad he’s involved. It’s much easier to work with someone you know, and I think he will probably still need some information from us.”

  Cst. Smith put up his hand and said, “If I may, I have a question.”

  “Certainly,” said Inspector Simpson. “What’s your question?”

  “I’m wondering what happened to the boat on the Thames.”

  “I almost forgot,” said Simpson. “That worked out really well too. The dock the thieves were using is only about two miles downriver from where the Von River enters the Thames. Three of my officers arrived in their boat, undetected, a couple of minutes after the thieves’ boat docked. The two thieves were just entering the shed as my men tied up their boat.

  “My men – Mick, Tony, and Tom – waited until the two thieves left the shed then made the arrest. It wasn’t easy, because, as I mentioned earlier, Lenny Hutchinson is a dangerous man. After the first man, Marty, quietly surrendered, Hutchinson took down two my men. He was only prevented from escaping when Officer Mick James fired two shots into the ground at his feet. Currently, the two who were arrested are in jail in London.”

  “Thank you very much, Inspector Simpson,” said the chief. “Well, I guess that wraps up our meeting. I’m going to let my men go home and get some more rest. I’ll be doing a lot of interviewing on Monday.”

  I WAS SO TIRED AFTER supper that when Georgie and I went into the living room to work on a new 500-piece puzzle she had borrowed from her parents, I fell asleep at the table.

  “Joel, get your head off the table,” I remember her saying. “You’re covering up part of the puzzle. Go and lay down on the chesterfield for a few minutes.”

  I woke up two hours later with a start. Georgie was still working on the puzzle.

  She turned to me and said, “Well, Sleepyhead. Are you wide awake enough to get in touch with Walter?”

  Georgie came and sat down beside me on the couch. She had a pad of paper and a pencil with her to transcribe any discussion that Walter and I might have.

  I sent a message to Walter.

  He replied almost immediately. “Are you okay, Joel? I was really worried about you. The strange signal that you and I talked about before has returned. This time it was even stronger than it had been previously.

  “After sensing it this time, I’m sure it’s moved closer. I don’t think it’s very far from us now. And it seemed to be tied to another signal. I think I recognized the other signal.”

  Walter paused. This was an exceptionally long communication from him.

  “I think the other signal is coming from you,” he continued, “but it’s not the signal you normally send. It’s almost like the two signals are coming together at the same time. It’s almost as if they’re occupying the same space. I don’t understand.”

  Walter stopped again. When he resumed, I was surprised at what he told me, “You know I can’t receive a signal unless it’s coming from someone that has the same ability that you have. What I normally receive from you is friendly and clear. Now the signal you are sending, and the other signal, both have very frightening overtones. I don’t know who or what it is that’s broadcasting the other signal, but somehow I’m sensing that the two of you are bound together.”

  Even though Walter was beyond harm, it didn’t mean he couldn’t sense something evil.

  I looked at Georgie.

  She frowned and said, “From what Walter’s just told us, it seems as though someone else has your ability to contact essences, and he’s deranged and evil.”

  “I can understand picking up the signal this other person sends out,” I replied, “because my brain can receive that wavelength; but I certainly don’t know what draws my mind into his locations.

  “Here’s my theory, Georgie: I don’t think this other person realizes that they’re broadcasting, and I don’t think they understand that they can be in communication with someone else. They don’t understand that they’re receiving signals, too.”

  Monday, November 20th

  WE’RE SITTING IN THE chief’s office on Monday morning. Later in the day, we’ll be conducting interviews with each of the six young men apprehended in the storage yards behind the furniture factories.

  “I think it’s important, before we start the interviews, to see how many of them we know,” said Chief Petrovic. “If one of you knows more about one of these young men than the rest of us, you should be in on that interview.

  “So, the first thing we’re going to do today is go down to the cells and take a good look at these young fellows. I don’t want you talking to them at this point in time. Reserve your comments until we get back to my office”

  We left the office and silently walked past the cells, as though we were on our way to do something else. Once we’d returned to the office and seated ourselves, Chief Petrovic said, “Did you recognize anyone? Don’t all speak at once. I’ll start with you Cst. Smith.”

  That was the best place to start. Jake Smith’s family had been in the Chaseford area since slightly before Columbus discovered America. He had a lot of relatives in the area, and his mother and aunts were storehouses of information; information that they tended to pass on to anyone who would listen. Occasionally, important details were omitted or added.

  Jake looked around the table and then at the chief, obviously uncomfortable. “Unfortunately, two of those young men are distant relatives of mine,” he said, emphasizing the word distant. “I’m also pretty certain another one of those guys is the nephew of my uncle’s best friend’s cousin.”

  “I find that last relationship connection ... confusing,” said the chief.

  The rest of us nodded along, in agreement with the chief’s assessment of Cst. Smith’s statement.

  “Well, it makes sense to me,” said Cst. Smith, smiling. “But the important thing is that I do know where he lives.”

  “Shake that family tree a little harder,” said the chief. “Maybe a couple of more connections will appear.”

  “The only other one I know, sir, is the son of the baker’s daughter’s husband’s friend’s sister.”

  “That’s plenty of detail, Cst. Smith,” said Chief Petrovic, a trace of exasperation in his voice. “Let’s stop right there until I have some actual names for these people.”

  Turning to a fresh page in his notepad, the chief picked up his pencil and said, “Let’s talk about those two distant relatives of yours first, Jake. Can you give me their names and where they currently live?”

  “Johnnie Smith is the big guy with the black moustache,” said Jake. “He lives on the south edge of town, on Derry Street. I don’t know the address, but my mom will.

  “Herb Smith looks a bit like him, but he’s smaller. Right now, they’re both in the same cell downstairs. They’re first cousins and have been best friends as long as I can remember. They probably work at the same furniture factory, and likely on the same shift.”

  “Who arrested those two?” the chief asked.

  “They were the very first two arrested,” said Cst. Herman. “I was in that yard along with Cst. Pinker from London. I’ve seen them around town, but I wouldn’t have been able to connect them to Cst. Smith,” he said, giving Jake a wink.

  “I told you, they’re very distant cousins,” said Cst. Smith.

  “That’s enough fooling,”
said the chief. “Smith, you said something about the nephew of somebody’s uncle. Which one of our prisoners were you referring to?”

  There was a pause while Cst. Smith thought about it. “Oh, I know who you mean. The nephew of my uncle’s best friend’s cousin. His name is Barty Palmer. Everyone calls him Jigger. He’s the tall guy on stilts who walks in the Dominion Day parade.”

  “I know who you mean,” said Cst. Jay Jarvis. “He doesn’t live far from Sylvia’s parents over on Nelson Ave.”

  “That’s good,” said the chief, growing testy. “Now we know his name, and that he’s tall when he’s on stilts, and where he lives; but would someone please tell me which cell he’s in and give me a facial description.”

  “He’s in the first cell downstairs, sir,” I said. “His hair is almost white, and he has blue eyes.”

  “Who’s in the cell with Barty Palmer?” asked Chief Petrovic.

  “I know his cellmate,” I said. “He helped me catch a shoplifter downtown once. His name is Calvin Router.”

  By the time we had finished talking about the thieves we had captured early Saturday morning, we were able to identify all six of them. That would make the interview process much easier.

  “I’M GOING TO GIVE YOU a few of my thoughts as I wrap up this meeting,” said Chief Petrovic. “Once again, I think we did a great job catching six of the eight, and I don’t think it’ll take that long to round up the other two.” He leaned ahead in his chair and said, “What bothers me is that, from our conversation about these young men this morning, I don’t think any of them are really bad people. I don’t understand why they would get mixed up in this kind of thing.”

  “Well, if you don’t have much to eat, and your family is depending on you, sometimes people do desperate things,” said Cst. Jay Jarvis. “I’m lucky I have this job. I don’t make much, and Sylvia and I only have one little boy right now. We have to live with her parents.” Jake paused, uncertain, saw that everyone was listening, and continued. “My mom and dad are in a bad way. You remember my dad had an accident? Because of his accident, and because of the depression, his construction company failed. My parents have a hard time getting from the start of the week to the end of the week. Life is really difficult.”