by Ron Finch
“This information you have just revealed to us about Johnnie is something we have to talk about,” said George Manners. “So, Chief Petrovic, if you would step out of the room for a few minutes we will have a discussion. There’s a small cafeteria not far down the hall. If you could wait there for us it would be appreciated.”
CHIEF PETROVIC LEFT the meeting room and walked down to the cafeteria. The woman cleaning up in the small kitchen area noticed him and asked him if he’d like a cup of tea and a cookie. There was a copy of the local paper on one of the small cafeteria tables, so the chief sat down to drink his tea and take a look through the paper.
After half an hour of waiting, Chief Petrovic became concerned that the group was having trouble coming to a common agreement about how to handle Johnnie Smith. Chief Petrovic thought, I hope they follow my suggestion. But if they don’t, we’ll just have to deal with the situation. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard the voice of George Manners behind him saying, “We would like you to come back to our meeting.”
When the chief returned to the meeting room, he could sense tension in the air. There had obviously been some disagreement.
“We have modified our proposal,” said George Manners. “We unanimously feel that Johnnie Smith’s actions were more harmful than the actions of the other seven young men; however, provided he fully cooperates with the police, we will offer him a suspended sentence, too. But it will be four years in length and during those four years he will work an extra eight hours a week without pay.”
“I congratulate you on your wisdom,” said Chief Petrovic. “You have come up with a solution that punishes the thieves but does it in such a way that I’m sure you’ll have the full support of the town behind you. It is important that your proposal be kept in the utmost secrecy until we have been able to discuss it with Judge Geoffrey Bernard.”
Saturday, November 25th
I HAD SATURDAY AFTERNOON off this week. It was still cold, but not as cold as Friday had been. It hovered around freezing during the morning, but by lunchtime it was up to about 38°F. I’d promised to go to the grocery store with Georgie in the afternoon. It was our usual routine when I had Saturday afternoons off.
I’d spent a lot of time at Franklin’s Grocery Store before I became a policeman. It was my parents’ store, and when I was in high school, at CHS, I’d regularly worked in the store after school and on Saturdays. I was really happy to see my brother Ralph, who is five years younger than me, grow up, because once he reached the age of twelve, he was able to do some of my hours in the store. When I left Chaseford to go to the University of Western Ontario in London, Ralph became an important employee at Franklin’s grocery store.
When I came back from London with a degree in business and no job because of the depression in 1932, I had lost my room at home to Granny Watson, my mom’s mother, and the storage area at the back of the store became my not-so-fancy apartment. When Georgie and I got married in June 1933, just five months ago, we found a small house to rent not far from downtown.
So, I was very comfortable with these Saturday afternoon trips to the grocery store. It gave me a chance to chat with my dad and tease my brother.
“RUMOUR HAS IT THE POLICE were successful shutting down the thefts from the furniture factories,” said my dad. “People keep asking me if I have any inside information. I always tell them, ‘Joel never talks about police business.’ That doesn’t seem to dissuade them from asking every time they come to the store.” He grinned and said, “And quite frankly, I don’t mind, because it means they just keep coming to my store.”
“There’s a lot of people wondering what’s going to happen to those guys that are locked up,” said my brother Ralph, coming out from the storeroom carrying a box of canned soup. “Most of those guys seem like pretty good people.”
“My lips are sealed,” I said.
Georgie came over and said, “I’m sorry to interrupt. I’ve almost got everything I need, but I can’t find the cream of tartar.”
“It’s right over here, Georgie,” said my dad. “You must be baking something today.”
“I’m going to make a mock apple pie for our company.”
“I heard the word company,” I said. “Are we having company tonight?”
“Joel,” she said a little loudly.
“Yes, I remember now. Jay and Sylvia are coming over so you and Sylvia can defeat Jay and me for the umpteenth straight time at euchre.”
“That’s right, and we don’t want to listen to you guys whining. Learn to accept defeat graciously.”
By this time my dad, Ralph, and three other customers were laughing at my discomfort. I’m glad someone enjoyed it.
“What’s fake apple pie?” asked Ralph. “Is it any good?”
“It’s almost as good as apple pie,” said Georgie, “but it’s a lot cheaper to make. I’ll save a piece for you so you can try it yourself.”
Ralph was still curious, so he said, “If you don’t use apples, what do you put in a mock apple pie?”
“You make a syrup,” said Georgie. “Then you pour the syrup over some crumbled-up pieces of cracker, add some little pieces of butter, and sprinkle it with cinnamon.”
“I don’t think it will taste anything like apple pie,” said Ralph, “but I would really appreciate it if you would save me a piece.”
“YOU MUST SPECIALIZE in trumping your partner’s ace,” said Jay.
“I only do that when I’m not paying attention,” I said. “Besides, all I have in my hand is trump.”
“It’s nice to see you fellows win a hand,” said Sylvia. “You know Georgie and I are highly competitive, and we don’t like to lose a single hand. But we understand that, occasionally, no matter how terrible you two are at playing euchre, you will be dealt an unbeatable hand. I’m just surprised that it’s taken from the end of July until now for you to win again.”
Sylvia and Georgie laughed until the tears ran freely from their eyes.
“You two aren’t very nice losers,” said Jay.
“That’s because we lose so seldom that we haven’t had time to practice being good losers,” said Georgie.
This produced another round of loud cackling from the two women.
The euchre game and the chatter went on until 10 o’clock, then Georgie said, “I hate to be a party pooper, but Joel’s got a bigger day ahead of him tomorrow then he anticipates.”
I said, “Huh?”
“What’s Joel doing tomorrow?” asked Sylvia cautiously.
“He’s going to Toronto.”
“That’s right, I know that,” said Sylvia. “Jay was telling me that a detective from Toronto wanted Joel to go down to the big city and work with him for a week on a murder case.”
“Joel is excited about that,” said Georgie, “but he has a bit of an ordeal ahead of him before that.”
I said, “Huh?”
“What’s the big event tomorrow?” said Sylvia.
“He’s going to meet my Aunt Muriel for the first time,” said Georgie. “He’ll be staying at her home in Toronto.”
I wonder what her aunt is really like? I thought. I’ll bet Georgie’s just trying to scare me.
My thoughts were interrupted when Georgie said, “It’s time for tea and some of my mock apple pie.”
The pie was really good, and we all said so. Georgie was delighted.
“THIS IS PROBABLY A good time to check with Walter to see if he’s found an essence you can communicate with in Toronto,” said Georgie after Jay and Silvia left.
Within a few seconds, Walter and I were talking.
As was always the case, I would say aloud the message I was sending to Walter, and then I would speak aloud what Walter’s response was.
Berman was the name that Walter passed on to me. Berman was present in an old house not far from the Toronto police station. Walter explained that Berman was a powerful essence and could communicate with others up to a distance of thirty miles. Walter’s final comment
of the evening was, “Some essences have suggested that Berman has limited telekinetic powers.”
After that last sentence, Georgie had written down the words, Not likely.
I looked at the two words and just shrugged and said, “You never know.”
Sunday, November 26th
IT WAS A NICE DAY FOR a drive. The weatherman had advised us there might be a flurry today – it was early for snow, but it had been cold for most of the last week – but the flurry didn’t materialize; instead, it was a bright blue day with lots of sunshine.
After lunch, I left and drove from Chaseford to Woodstock, then turned onto Highway 2 and followed it the rest of the way to Toronto. The traffic wasn’t too bad until I reached the east side of Hamilton. I arrived at Aunt Muriel’s house just after 3:30 in the afternoon.
“You must be Georgie’s husband,” said Aunt Muriel when she answered the door. “I thought you’d be a little better-looking, but you’re okay.”
Georgie had warned me that her aunt was plainspoken, and I was finding out pretty quickly that it was true. Georgie had also told me that her Aunt Muriel reminded her of Ma Perkins on the radio. I think Georgie was being a little generous; Ma Perkins seems to be a kinder, gentler person. Maybe time will prove me wrong.
“I hope I haven’t arrived at an inconvenient time,” I said.
“No, your timing is perfect. I have a roast in the oven, and I’ve set aside about an hour now so that you and I can have a good chat.”
After an hour, I realized ‘inquisition’ would have been a more appropriate term than ‘chat’; but once Aunt Muriel had completed her interrogation, she sat back and smiled at me, saying, “Georgie made a good choice. You are a welcome addition to the family.”
What a relief! I was delighted. I was almost as pleased after that commendation as I had been when I’d received my degree from the University of Western Ontario.
Georgie’s aunt was a wonderful cook. Currently, she had one other boarder staying with her. At supper time Aunt Muriel introduced me to Mrs. Ursula Donaldson.
Mrs. Donaldson explained to me that, since the death of her husband, she had taken up residence with her nephew and his wife; but currently, their home was undergoing major renovations, so she had decided to board for a month at Muriel’s house because of the great recommendation Muriel had received from one of Ursula’s friends.
With supper over, I excused myself, informing them that I had a meeting with someone at 7 o’clock.
Aunt Muriel looked up and said, “That meeting would be with a detective, no doubt.”
I looked back at the two women, put my finger to my lips, and said, “Shh, that’s a state secret.” Before anyone could ask a question, I was out the door.
IT WAS AN EASY 10-MINUTE walk from Aunt Muriel’s home on Sherbourne Street to the Carlton Café. Det. Fredericks had told me earlier that the Café was about halfway between Georgie’s aunt’s house and the Toronto police station on College Street.
As I entered the café, a stocky man of about forty stood up and waved at me from a booth along the outside wall of the café. “I hope you’re Joel,” he said, “otherwise I’m going to have to wave at the next guy that comes through the door.”
He sat back down on the bench and said, “Call me Bill.” Then he added, “The fruit pies here are wonderful, even at this time a year. I know the fruit isn’t fresh, but somehow they still make great pie. If you’d like a piece, just wave your arm and Susy will be here in a flash.”
“No thanks,” I said. “I just had a marvellous supper at my wife’s aunt’s home.”
“I’m pleased you were able to come to Toronto, Joel,” said Det. Fredericks. “I could use some help. We’re stretched kind of thin in the detective department right now.”
He took some folded papers from his inner jacket pocket and placed them on the table between us. Then he looked at me and said, “Since you and I had our first conversation on Wednesday, I’ve had calls back from three other large Canadian cities west of Toronto. Those calls confirmed your theory.
“The first response came to me from Regina. This deranged killer murdered a woman in Regina, Saskatchewan, in mid-August. I talked to the reporter who covered the story in depth for the Regina Leader-Post. A knife was used, and a hooded man was seen in the area around the time of the murder. The murder in Regina was very similar to the one in Toronto and the one you found out about in Calgary.
“Late yesterday afternoon, I had two more calls. The first call came in from the editor of the Fort William paper in Northern Ontario. I believe it’s called The Daily Times-Journal. When the editor, Bob Bening, read me the account of the murder, I knew it was the same killer. That murder took place about the middle of October, just a little over a month ago.
“No sooner had I hung up on Mr. Bening than I received a call from the Winnipeg Free Press. I couldn’t believe it. Our killer had struck again, this time the murder had been committed about the middle of September.”
Det. Fredericks was so excited that he was speaking loudly and slapping the table with his hand. Immediately, the waitress Susy appeared.
Bill was so startled by her sudden appearance that he was momentarily baffled. I said, “Nothing for me, but I think Bill wants another piece of pie.”
“What’s your pleasure this time, Bill?” said Susy.
“Oh, blueberry would be fine,” Bill responded. “Sorry, I guess I got carried away,” he said after she’d left. “But I’m really excited about all the information I’ve been getting since I talked to you about your breakthrough call to Calgary.”
“With all the new information, I’m just as excited as you are,” I said.
“The killer seems to be doing this on a monthly basis,” said Det. Fredericks, “so that means we’ve got about three weeks to catch him before he murders again.”
“We may have less time than that,” I said. “He seems to move to a new city after every murder.”
Suddenly, Det. Fredericks looked less enthusiastic. “You’re right, Joel. He may have left Toronto already.”
Once Det. Fredericks had finished his pie, he took me out the front door and pointed down the street. “Three more blocks and you’re at the police station.”
IT WAS A LITTLE AFTER 9 o’clock in the evening by the time I got back to Aunt Muriel’s. I claimed I was tired and was able to escape fairly easily up to my room; although she did follow me up the stairs and almost through the bedroom door.
Through the door, she said, “Good night, Joel. And remember, I don’t want a lot of noise coming from your room. You can’t be disturbing Ursula Donaldson. She’s just down the hall and across from you.”
I was a little puzzled; I didn’t know what I’d do to make noise. There was no radio or telephone in the room. Perhaps she was afraid I would start singing? I opened the door, and, just before she went down the stairs, said, “Why did you say something about noise?”
“I had a man stay here last week, but I told him to leave after two nights because of his chanting.”
Before I could ask her any more about the chanting, she had gone down the stairs. I thought, I’ll talk to her about it tomorrow.
I WANTED TO SEE IF I could contact Berman before I met up with Det. Fredericks tomorrow at the Toronto police station, so I tried initially by sending a simple message. I didn’t expect a response right away.
“Hello Berman, I’m a friend of Walters,” was my message.
The reply was immediate and quite strong. “You are Jo L. Walter say you come to Toronto. Might want help. Tell me.”
“I’m looking for strange signals,” I sent. “Walter and I think there’s someone broadcasting who doesn’t realize it.”
“Yes, someone here not long. Noise like humming while he work. Joke. I try contact. But him scared and angry. Think head hurt. I try again. He say, ‘That you, Jason?’ Make no sense.”
“Do you know where he is?” I asked.
“Not far. Block from you. Was where you
are. Then move.”
“What’s his signal like?” I asked.
“Most of time, hum. Middle of month, go crazy.”
“Can you contact me tomorrow and let me know where he is?”
“Yes, very easy. I know you alive, so need to sleep.”
Then there was nothing. I got out my notebook and wrote down the conversation as exactly as I could remember it. Then I went to bed for the night.
Monday, November 27th
CHIEF PETROVIC WAS on his way to a meeting with Judge Geoffrey Bernard. The chief had requested the meeting and the judge had set the time. Also present would be the four furniture factory representatives. As Chief Petrovic walked down the street through a few gentle snowflakes, he thought, It’s not that long until Christmas. Maybe next Sunday in church we’ll be singing ‘peace on earth and mercy mild’? It’s the season when there should be goodwill to men. I know the factory owners are doing their part. I hope the public sees it that way.
At the meeting, the judge sat behind his desk. Chief Petrovic and the four factory representatives sat in comfortable chairs arranged in an arc on the other side of the judge’s desk.
“Chief Petrovic, please explain the situation to me as concisely as you can,” said Judge Bernard.
The chief explained that the eight young men had been stealing from the furniture factories, and that it had started about four months ago, when the labour unrest was at its height. He talked about the involvement of criminals from London and about the capture and arrest of the local men.
