by Ron Finch
“My best guess is the train station,” I said. “He was headed that way.”
DETECTIVE FREDERICKS and I quickly left and went across the street to where the constable was parked.
“Take us to Union Station, right now,” said Det. Fredericks. “Take Bay Street. If you see a man wearing a hood, pull over. He’s the man we’re looking for.”
The constable pulled away from the curb and had us at Union Station in a little over five minutes. We didn’t see a hooded man on our trip to the station.
“This is an impressive-looking building,” I said as I got out of the car. I hadn’t been in the station before and I was awed by its size. “How old is it?”
“It took them a few years to finish the building,” said Det. Fredericks. “It was finally opened in 1927, by Prince Edward, Prince of Wales. That was a grand affair for the city of Toronto.”
“I don’t see him,” said the constable.
“It’s a good thing he doesn’t know we’re following him,” said the detective, “because this building is so large, he could hide just about anywhere.”
The three of us split up and did a quick search of the concourse areas. We met back together in less than half an hour.
“There aren’t a lot of people in the station right now,” said Det. Fredericks. “There must be fewer trains on Monday night.”
“Or trains have just been boarded and have left the station,” I said. “I guess the next step is to go to the ticket booths and ask the people selling tickets if they spotted anyone wearing a hood.”
We split up once again. On my way to the first ticket booth, I found a quiet spot behind a couple of pillars where I wouldn’t be observed and contacted Berman.
“Is the hooded man still in the station?” I asked.
“Is on a train, and so excited, maybe upset, sending a message about Greece. And Jason, maybe,” Berman responded. “Hard to tell. He just broadcasts and doesn’t know what he is doing.”
Just then the constable came running toward me, followed by Det. Fredericks. They both ran past me and Det. Fredericks hollered, “Follow us! He’s on track 10. He’s taking a train to Montréal. It leaves at 9 o’clock. It’s almost 9 o’clock now!”
BEFORE WE BOARDED THE train, we agreed on a plan. Det. Fredericks would go and speak to the conductor.
He returned about ten minutes later and told us the conductor was being cooperative.
“The conductor’s name is Tom Jackleman,” said Det. Fredericks. “I caught him just in time. He has agreed to accompany us from car to car during our search. He said we should wait here until he caught up with us. He had to go and speak to the engineer first.”
A few minutes later, a man about fifty years old, wearing a conductor’s uniform, strode up to us. It was easy to tell he was used to being in charge. But we quickly found out that he was a very sensible person.
“I’ll go through the train with you,” said Tom. “I need to collect the tickets. There are a variety of seats on this train, since it’s going to Montréal. There are some cars with sleeping berths; some will have only pairs of seats, one behind the other; and some will have seating arranged so that two seats are facing each other.
“If we’re fortunate, he’ll purchase a ticket in one of the cars where the seats are one behind the other. In that case, if there’s someone sitting beside him, I can easily tell the other passenger that I need to speak to them privately for a moment. Then you gentlemen can carry out your duty.”
Tom started punching tickets. We moved quickly through the train. When we entered the third car, Det. Fredericks nudged me with his elbow and whispered, “Toward the back. On the right.”
Sure enough, sitting beside a well-dressed middle-aged man, there was a man wearing a cassock with a sailor’s bag at his feet. The conductor was beside me, so I, in turn, pointed out the hooded man to him.
Tom nodded and continued down the aisle, routinely punching tickets. When we reached the seat where our suspect was sitting, the conductor spoke to the well-dressed man.
“Sir, what is your name?”
“Anthony Burgin,” responded the man.
“Oh good,” said the conductor. “I’ve located you.” Before Mr. Burgin could get worried, the conductor motioned with his hands, indicating that it was nothing. “It’s just a routine matter,” he said. “But I do need to speak to you privately for a moment.”
The man stood and Tom took him aside. It was an impressive performance by the conductor.
As they moved down the aisle toward the door at the end of the coach, our hooded villain tossed something to the floor behind Det. Fredericks then sprang to his feet and shoved him. The detective fell over the constable, who had crouched down to retrieve the object that the hooded man had tossed on the floor.
I grabbed for our suspect, but he swung his heavy bag at me, catching me by surprise, and knocked me off-balance. Our eyes met and there was instant recognition. He yelled, “Servant of Nemesis!” and pulled his rondel dagger from beneath his cloak.
He took a vicious swing at me. I jumped back and staggered, stumbling into Det. Fredericks and the constable, who were just getting to their feet.
The conductor and the well-dressed man were the only people between the hooded villain and the back door of the coach. The well-dressed man dropped to the floor to avoid him, but Tom grabbed for the cassock. One lightning-quick stab with the dagger in Tom’s shoulder made him release his grip on the robe and the hooded figure was out the door. He was off the landing between the two cars, across the tracks, and back onto the station platform before we could respond.
Tuesday, November 28th
WAS I AWAKE? WAS I asleep? I couldn’t tell. I didn’t know.
I could hear voices and noises.
I became more aware. After a few words, I recognized one of the voices. But there was so much unfocused yelling, raving, or chanting that it made it difficult to concentrate.
I sent a message, “Are you there, Berman?”
“I’m here, Joel. It’s chaos. The hoodman is raving. Louder than essence. He not far away.”
“Is there any way to make contact with him?” I sent.
“Don’t know,” Berman replied. “His broadcast strong, but does he receive? Let’s try chant too, Joel. You and I together loud. We know if he hear.”
“He called me Nemesis,” I sent to Berman.
“Okay, good idea. Use Nemesis,” replied Berman. “Remember loud.”
We started chanting, “Nemesis, Nemesis, Nemesis, Nemesis, Nemesis, Nemesis,” pausing seven seconds between each chant. It was like a regular drumbeat.
Then we both felt a pulse. And then we heard an agonized cry.
“Who are you?!”
I sent a message to Berman, saying, “I’ll reply.”
I knew I couldn’t say I was Nemesis. Nemesis is female, the goddess of retribution in the religion of ancient Greece. Since the hooded man used the words ‘Servant of Nemesis’ to describe me during our encounter on the train, I assumed his delusion involved ancient Greek gods. To his deranged mind, he must be carrying out acts of revenge. I had already met him in my dreams, now I needed him to make me part of his delusion in order to gain his trust. It was the only way I could connect him to reality.
“Nemesis has a message for you,” I sent in an imperious manner. “Can you hear me? My voice is inside your head. If you speak out loud, I won’t hear you. To speak to me, you must focus your mind. If you can hear me, focus on the word, ‘yes.’”
I sensed something. It seemed to be, “Yuh.”
“I think he send yes,” sent Berman.
The first thing I needed to do was get the hooded man’s name.
“I will teach you to communicate without speaking,” I sent to the hooded man. “If you are worthy. Are you The One?”
“Yes,” the hooded man sent a little more forcefully.
“Who is The One?”
I could sense the hooded man’s consternation. Whether h
is focus was intentional or not, it was intense, and a name came into my mind. Thessalus.
“Thessalus,” I repeated. “Yes, you are The One.”
The hooded man seemed relieved.
I realized this would be too difficult to handle on my own, so I introduced Berman to him as a second servant of Nemesis.
Berman and I worked with Thessalus for a couple of hours. It took him a while to learn to put sounds together, to create images, and to build words; but then suddenly, everything seemed to make sense, and his ability to focus improved greatly. He could now communicate with us.
Berman stepped back and I conversed with Thessalus alone.
He told me about Medea and Jason and the atonement by sacrifice. He told me about his life and his headaches, his delusions, and his divine purpose. I quickly realized that he was only thinly connected to reality. He had to be located and removed to a place that would provide safety; both for him, and for the rest of us.
“It’s important that I meet with you soon to discuss the next part of your mission,” I sent. “We must meet in person. Where can you meet me?”
“Union Station,” he sent. “It is almost like a temple. I’ll meet you in front of one of the huge Roman limestone columns this morning, at 11 o’clock.”
Our conversation was suddenly interrupted by noise from outside my room. Aunt Muriel was knocking very loudly on my door.
“I thought I heard you come in late last night, Joel,” she said. “I hope you haven’t been drinking. If you have, I’ll phone Georgie. I’m sure she would drive to Toronto and take you home. You can’t sleep in. Get down to breakfast.”
Thessalus could not hear these spoken words, but because of the pause, he repeated, “Is 11 o’clock suitable, Servant of Nemesis?”
I sent a message assuring Thessalus that it was a suitable time, and in response to another knock said, “I’ll be right down!”
“WELL, YOUR EYES AREN’T red, and your breath doesn’t smell of alcohol,” said Aunt Muriel, “so I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. I won’t phone Chaseford today.”
“You’re too suspicious, Aunt Muriel. Det. Fredericks and I were out chasing a suspect last night.”
“Did you catch him?” said Aunt Muriel. Both she and Ursula Donaldson leaned toward me, hoping to hear the whole story.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss police business,” I said, inwardly smiling at this small victory over Aunt Muriel and her insatiable quest for information.
I finished my breakfast quickly and excused myself.
“Is it okay if I use the phone in the hall?” I asked Aunt Muriel. “I need to give Det. Fredericks a call.”
“Oh, certainly,” she said, hoping to overhear a juicy piece of information.
Det. Fredericks answered the phone. “Have you recovered from last night’s disappointment?”
“Yes, I’m fine this morning,” I said. “And I have an idea.”
“What’s your idea?”
I had to be careful how I explained my plan to the detective. I couldn’t tell him that I could communicate with essences, or even what an essence was, so I couldn’t tell Det. Fredericks about Berman. And, of course, I couldn’t tell him about the three-way conversation Berman and Thessalus and I had had.
“From our brief encounter with the hooded man,” I proceeded cautiously, “I’m pretty certain he’s deranged. From the way he’s dressed, I think it’s fair to assume that he considers himself to be a priest in some type of religion. I suspect, because of the cassock and the dagger he carries, it may be an ancient religion.”
“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions, Joel,” said Det. Fredericks.
“I think he’s on a mission,” I continued, undeterred, “and he has to get to Montréal. If he doesn’t, he will anger whatever god or gods he believes he serves, and he won’t want to do that. I think we’ll find him at Union Station again this morning.”
Det. Fredericks was hesitant. “How sure are you about this?”
“It’s a very strong hunch,” I said. “I think we can capture him easily if you let me approach him first. My experience working with Dr. Khryscoff has given me an edge. I’m quite certain I know how to handle this man’s delusions.”
“That’s a request I normally would not allow,” said Det. Fredericks, reluctant, “but because you provided the break in this case with your call to the Calgary newspaper, I’ll let you give it a try.”
IT WAS JUST AFTER 10 in the morning as Det. Fredericks and I drove over to Union Station. He turned to me and said, “The first train for Montréal doesn’t leave until 1 o’clock this afternoon.”
“I’m quite certain we’ll find him there,” I said. “His mission is so important to him that he may already be in the station now.”
“If he doesn’t show up at Union Station today, you’re going to owe me a big supper at a fancy restaurant,” said Det. Fredericks.
“And if he does show up, what are you going to owe me?” I asked.
“Gratitude,” answered the detective, smiling.
“Somehow that doesn’t seem fair.”
“Just remember, I’m the detective and you’re the constable,” replied Det. Fredericks, still grinning.
“I know he’ll be attracted to the Front Street side of the station,” I said. “Because of the huge columns.”
We had three constables with us, and we spread out, taking positions along the Front Street entrance to the station. We had agreed to use hand signals to communicate.
We had only been there about half an hour when one of the constables waved his hand and then brought it down and pointed toward a column about fifty feet away from where he stood.
When I looked in the direction the constable was pointing, I saw a man wearing a cassock sitting against the column, a sailor’s bag at his side.
Det. Fredericks put two hands up, indicating we were to stop and do nothing until he signaled. He then turned and pointed at me. He had just given me the okay to proceed with my plan.
I approached our hooded suspect cautiously. He wouldn’t be certain who I was until I could identify myself, so I proceeded slowly, not wanting him to run. He looked up when I was about twenty-five feet away. Even though he was waiting for someone, I could tell he was agitated and unsure. Our encounters in our dreams and on the train had been as antagonists.
My demeanor seemed to reassure him, however, and he started to calm down. When I was about ten feet away, he asked, “Are you the Servant of Nemesis?” The tone in his voice was both incredulous and hopeful.
“I am,” I said, using an authoritative tone. I spoke slowly and quietly, so that the other policemen would not hear what I was saying. “I have been testing you, Thessalus. And now I have been sent to guide you on the next part of your journey. Last night, I taught you to communicate without speaking aloud, but there are many more things you need to learn.”
Det. Fredericks and the three constables had remained in their positions, as we had decided earlier. They looked antsy but made no move toward the column where Thessalus and I were conversing.
“There are some things you need to learn from today’s society before you return to Greece to complete your mission,” I said. “I want you to come with me.”
“Why should I trust you?” Thessalus asked.
“You will never accomplish your mission without trust,” I said. “I am the Servant of Nemesis. Did I not appear to you in your dreams? Did we not speak mind to mind? Come with me. You need to meet my companions.”
Thessalus rose, picked up his seaman’s bag, and followed me toward Det. Fredericks and the constables.
I wasn’t sure how Thessalus was integrating this meeting into his delusion, but when your mind is not bound by the rules of reality, anything is possible.
As we approached, I called to Det. Fredericks, “This is Thessalus. Treat him with respect. Treat him gently. He is not aware of our plans.”
I was hoping my statement would be taken by Thessalus
as nonthreatening, and that Det. Fredericks would understand that, if done with care, within the next minute, our murderer would allow himself to be handcuffed.
Fortunately, Det. Fredericks was a quick study.
He approached Thessalus and calmly said, “To ensure your safety, Thessalus, I must put these on you.” And he handcuffed Thessalus.
At this point, Thessalus suddenly realized that he’d been captured. Instead of physically attacking, however, he began to chant in a monotone of considerable volume. “Jason, Jason, Jason, Jason, Jason.”
“The three of you get that man in the cruiser and take him down to the police station,” said Det. Fredericks to the constables. “Then bring the car back and pick us up. Joel and I have some things to discuss.”
As the cruiser pulled away, Det. Fredericks turned to me and said, laughing, “It’s much quieter now.”
Wednesday, November 29
“YOU LOOK VERY HAPPY this morning,” said Aunt Muriel. “You must’ve made an important breakthrough in your case yesterday.”
“We made an important arrest,” I said. Then added, “In a few days it’ll be first page news in the Toronto Star.”
Aunt Muriel was so excited I almost felt like I was teasing her; but at the same time, she knew I couldn’t tell her anything.
“Well, I guess you arrived just in time to help the Toronto Police Force,” she said. Then begrudgingly added, “Det. Fredericks was lucky you came. He will probably get the glory when the story comes out. I guess I’ll just have to be patient.”
Ursula Donaldson came in and sat down at the breakfast table.
“Don’t ask him, he can’t tell,” said Aunt Muriel before Ursula could open her mouth.
“In that case,” said Ursula, looking at me, “Pass the toast.”
I looked at Aunt Muriel and said, “I know I haven’t been a perfect border, but you have been the perfect host.”
For that comment, I was rewarded with the biggest smile I had ever seen from Aunt Muriel. She almost said thank you.
“I’ll be leaving Friday after breakfast to return to Chaseford,” I said. “If you need me to take anything when I go, I’ll be glad to do it.”
