This was a historic opportunity for Ms. Blake, a missed chance to denounce bigotry and honour her commitment to cultural tolerance and diversity. Witnesses could have been called, expert psychologists, to say that Farquist was doing something sexually and psychologically healthy.
If the allegations against Mr. Farquist are true, it is sad that he is in denial. We hope that one day, when all the feathers have settled, he considers joining our society and becoming a robust campaigner for our goals.
B.J. Anon, Editor.
(P.S. On page two, there is a discussion about quirts and riding crops — their appropriate uses and recommended brands. On page three, the Tips’n’ Techniques column features the Pony Ride.)
THE SIERRA FILE
Monday, July 8
Dear Arthur,
Lest you fear I have become incommunicado, or have somehow disappeared, I am very much in this world, though I confess to having avoided contact by telephone or email, thus this couriered, typewritten report. One worries about tapped lines, hostile ears and eyes; we dare not assume our opponents are without resources. I am sure you and Margaret will take appropriate caution.
Very well. Dates, times, places, and detailed observations are precisely recorded in my notes, but you will prefer an overview. Which I am writing in the front room of an upper triplex that is barren but for a few furnishings, including this table and chair, left behind by previous tenants. They also abandoned this marvellous old Olivetti portable — how I have missed the clatter of keys.
The flat has a pleasant outlook, upon old, well-preserved Montreal — in particular this neighbourhood in Centre-Sud, below Sherbrooke, with its lovely spiralling staircases.
Some of these buildings date from the late nineteenth century. The seemingly ingenious concept of saving living space by means of outdoor staircases seems to have been a factor in many accidents, and in the 1940s a law was passed prohibiting their further erection.
This I learned from the owner of a dozen duplexes and triplexes hereabout, who self-mockingly described himself as a “slum landlord.” R.J. “Rocky” Rubinstein, a trial lawyer, owns the flat from which I can see across the street the triplex once occupied by our two desaparecidos, Mr. Sabatino and Ms. Glinka.
Mr. Rubinstein, who has remained lithe and wiry well into his late-middle years, seemed unable to sit during our long conversation in this flat, which he has generously offered to me for the time being — he is quite a fan of yours, Arthur. He talked effusively, jabbing or blocking an invisible opponent’s punches with every uttered phrase. This disconcerting habit apparently stems from a youthful career as an amateur boxer.
He was surprised to learn that Robert O’Brien, whom he hadn’t met — his six-month lease for the upper triplex had been signed and mailed — was Lou Sabatino, the reporter. Nor did he know Witness Protection was paying the rent, which arrived in his office at the end of each month as cash in an envelope.
The rent for July had been paid in this way, and Mr. Rubinstein learned only through me that his tenant’s family have deserted him and that he has gone missing. Nor was he aware that Ms. Glinka has packed up and gone. Her July rent remains unpaid.
Happily, Mr. Rubinstein has little regard for Emil Farquist, whom he believes is a closeted anti-Semite, and he seems gleeful at the prospect of bringing him down. He is, in a word, onside. He has assured me he will not extend cooperation to investigators for the plaintiff or assist the media — though, as you will presently learn, the press has already zeroed in on her “therapy clinic.”
Now to my observations. There have been reporters in the neighbourhood, including Christie Montieth — who we assume is BDsmother but who has been silent in print (if that phrase makes sense) since posting the Freak Out recording.
One would have thought that Ms. Montieth would be lying low, given the risk she runs of being added to a $50 million defamation suit. But this mop-haired pixie has come by twice.
On Wednesday, July 3, in the late afternoon, she arrived in a Mini Cooper, which she double-parked in front of Ms. Glinka’s apartment. She took a photo of its exterior with her phone before entering the yard and knocking on the door.
Her efforts to peer within were prevented by blinds and curtains. She looked about, as if for assistance from a neighbour, but none was about, and she drove off.
She returned yesterday, July 7, in a Sun Media van, with a photographer, who took several photos from different angles of her knocking at Ms. Glinka’s door.
The arrival of the van attracted many residents to their stairs and balconies, and Ms. Montieth interviewed several, including the two octogenarians who live next door and to whom Ms. Litvak spoke last month. With the window open, I could tell Ms. Montieth was struggling with their dialect-heavy French (as I do, when chatting with them on my daily health walks).
Ms. Montieth did not venture up to Mr. Sabatino’s flat, from which I surmise she remains unaware he was living there or has any connection with the case.
Not an hour passed after their departure when another van pulled up, and a man holding a writing pad and a woman with a camera got out. Toronto Star, said a card on top of the dashboard, as viewed through my binoculars.
The reporter knocked on a few neighbouring doors, earning audience from most. This gentleman did also hammer on Mr. Sabatino’s door but to no avail, of course.
There have been other visitors to the neighbourhood. I observed a black Lincoln Navigator SUV (presumably the same vehicle seen by Ms. Litvak) drive by slowly on July 2, late afternoon, and again two days later in the evening. Two men occupied the front seat, though I was able to view only the driver: heavy-set, moustache, black hair, dark glasses.
This vehicle returned at twilight yesterday, and this time pulled to the curb. Same driver, but the person who alighted from the passenger side was a woman, fit, perhaps in her thirties, tall, dark hair, dark glasses. This, I assume, is the couple whom Ms. Litvak spotted at Dorval Airport’s parking lot, aiding in Ms. Glinka’s getaway. The woman quickly mounted the stairs to the Sabatino suite and tried the door, but did not knock. The pile of uncollected newspapers may have persuaded her that her quest was futile, and they drove off.
I have photographs, of course, relating to all these appearances. The licence number of the Navigator reveals the registered owner to be one Lucas Laframbois, with an address in Laval that appears to be that of a second-hand store and is doubtless as fictitious as his name.
I have also observed several gentlemen attempting to visit Ms. Glinka, one of them at least three times. Since I am not at my post at all times — due to my daily jaunts — I rely on my DropCam to review other comings and goings by clients seeking her services.
I am already on a chatting relationship with the three-time visitor, one Harvey Plouffe, and we have arranged to have coffee. I am hoping my facade as a devotee of BDSM will not be the cause of any personal awkwardness.
I extend my continuing good wishes to you and yours. I am available for your comments and further instructions by mail at the postal box number on the envelope.
Yours sincerely,
Francisco
THE CLIPPINGS FILE
Toronto Star, Monday, July 8
an exclusive by Jack Feigel
MONTREAL — “Weekends with a Russian dominatrix. Svetlana something.”
So spoke Green Party leader Margaret Blake on the infamous Freak Out recording that has given rise to Emil Farquist’s $50 million slander suit against her.
Who is this alleged dominatrix with the Russian name? Well, it turns out there’s a woman who might fit the bill: Svetlana Glinka, who has apparently been operating an S&M “therapy clinic” on Rue de la Visitation in Montreal’s old section, east of downtown.
But she seems to have disappeared.
Her address, and her alleged business as a dominatrix, was called in to the Star anonymously, by a man w
ho claimed to have received “her services.”
Svetlana Glinka seems not to have been shy or reclusive — if she was hiding she was hiding in plain view, openly entertaining a male clientele at her ground-floor triplex.
Neighbours whom I interviewed yesterday described her as tall, shapely, blonde and blue-eyed, and friendly and engaging. Most assumed she was a high-priced prostitute, though she apparently called her business a “therapy clinic.”
It was also her home, and she lived there for about three years, according to long-time area resident François Godeau, who added that she drove a blue Miata sports car and usually spent weekends away.
She has not been seen for the last month. No one answered my knock. Curtains were drawn across her windows, back and front. Several flyers were on her front stoop, the oldest dated one was from June 9.
According to Montreal police, there has been no report of a missing person by her name, nor is her apparent disappearance being investigated.
The landlord of this triplex is a limited company owned by R.J. Rubinstein, a lawyer, who declined to speak on record, asserting that his tenants were entitled to privacy.
Spokespersons for Blake and Farquist have also declined comment.
§
Ottawa Sun, Tuesday, July 9
an exclusive by Christie Montieth
MONTREAL — Now it can be told. This is the story of how I recorded the startling and spicy accusations by Margaret Blake, which have now been heard around the world.
The date of her outburst: Sunday, June 2. The scene: the World Wildlife Fund international conference at Montreal’s Palais des congrès. The cast: Blake, her aide, Pierette Litvak, and Jennie Withers, MP, the rising star of her ragtag little party.
Just after lunch on the conference’s final day, the cast gathered in a salon prior to selling their wares to an audience of eager buyers — eco-activists all.
Once Blake was seated at the podium table, Litvak joined her. The conversation that took place between them hardly needs repeating, but for anyone who’s been lost in the jungle or the Arctic for the last ten days, it’s reproduced verbatim in the sidebar.
Blake and Litvak were unaware they were talking into a hot mike. So was everyone else, even the simultaneous translators in their booth.
For no particular reason, I had my headphones on while texting on my iPhone. When I heard Blake exlaim “Wow,” I set my phone to record and placed it under my right earpiece. I listened, thunderstruck.
Sadly, Withers soon spoiled the fun, with her “Hey, you guys, be careful.” She switched the mike off.
Blake had been looking frazzled to start with, but as I hurried from the room to call my editor, I glanced back, and she was visibly distressed. After I returned she continued to seem distracted and fidgety for the presentation and basically let Withers and her other two MPs do the heavy lifting.
Now let me state an irrefutable fact: I did not leak this recording. I am not the BDsmother who put it all online in a series of tweets. I don’t know who BDsmother is. No such person is on the news staff at Postmedia. All of us were sworn to silence.
Why have we held back on this scoop? Well, some on our editorial board expressed the concern that Blake’s remarks might be an utterly tasteless jest, and the decision was made to hold the story while I investigated further. My assignment was to prove that this Svetlana existed.
And I did. I found a positive review of her services in a B&D forum. The reviewer, pen name ToyBoy, generously awarded four and a half stars to Svetlana Glinka. “Pricey but so delicious!” he gushed, obligingly providing a link to a Google map with Glinka’s street number on Rue de la Visitation, south of Sherbrooke.
I made several visits there during the first week of June, futilely knocking on her door. I tried again two days ago, a last-gasp effort before we went to press with this exclusive story.
It appears that she has fled, escaping for now a terabyte-sized slander suit. (Perhaps Margaret Blake is wishing she’d joined her.)
Neighbours described the woman as almost Amazonian — tall, blonde, and well endowed, fluent in both official languages as well as Russian. No photographs of her have come to light.
According to a pair of old-timers who live next door, she regularly entertained male visitors, except on weekends. Many of them arrived at day’s end, attired in business suits. They would usually arrive by taxi, though occasionally on foot.
Although Emil Farquist is one of the most recognizable figures on the political scene, none of the neighbours — all were shown his offical photograph — identified him as one of those visitors.
§
Frank Magazine, Wednesday, July 10
Christie Montieth’s Scoopless Scoop
You have to feel sorry for Christie Montieth. The Ottawa Sun’s hatchet-wielding star columnist got her scoop scooped this week by the Toronto Star’s Jack Feigel.
Despite a month of relentless digging to track down a certain whip-wielding star of an infamous horse opera, Montieth’s front-page spread in the Sun tabloids came as the journalistic letdown of the decade. A month’s work, and beaten by one day.
Blame the powers-that-be at Postmedia. Frozen with fear at the prospect of facing a massive libel suit, they muzzled Christie until she got her facts checked and backgrounded. Doubtless they worried she was the infamous twitterer BDsmother — who, incidentally, has not been heard from since the recording went viral.
Christie vigorously denies being the leaker. But it’s obvious that Margaret Blake’s notorious gossip was bounced around the various Sun newsrooms like a badminton bird, and BDsmother could, for all we know, be some mischief-making cub reporter. That wouldn’t free them from liability. Thus their imposed silence.
That’s how you get scooped. Playing it safe.
§
Reuters Business Briefs, Thursday, July 11
CALGARY — Sibericon, the Russian energy consortium, has bought a 5 percent shareholding in Coast Mountains Pipelines Inc. for $900 million.
Owen Gilman, Coast Mountains’s CEO, said the infusion of capital puts his company on a solid footing to pursue construction of the multi-billion-dollar pipeline currently awaiting Canadian government approval.
The Russian investment, he said, is intended to satisfy the Canadian government’s demand for a performance guarantee before signing off on the project. “All our ducks are now in a row,” Gilman said. “We are ready to work with the Canadian government and the energy sector in helping grow our economy.”
The project, which has stirred controversy in Canada, would connect Alberta’s tar sands with a West Coast deep-water port at Prince Rupert, B.C.
§
Canadian Press, Tuesday, July 16
CALGARY — Canada’s preeminent conservative think tank has announced the resignation of Alfred J. Scower, its executive director.
In its press release, the Bow River Institute praised Scower, who has a doctorate in economics from Princeton, for his “unsurpassed leadership” during his five-year tenure, but said its board of directors was in disagreement with him on “some fundamental principles.”
Those were not stated, but Scower has been quoted as questioning the merits of the Coast Mountains Pipeline project, which was formally approved on Monday by cabinet decree. Opposition parties have loudly condemned the government’s decision to skirt a Parliamentary vote on the hotly contested pipeline issue.
A source at the institute told Canadian Press that Scower’s lukewarm approach to oil sands development was scaring off the institute’s major donors, the energy sector. “There was a feeling here he was turning a little green on us,” he said.
Scower declined to comment other than to deny he resigned under pressure. He said he expects to return to his professorship at the University of Alberta.
Scower’s immediate predecessor as executive director was federal environm
ent minister Emil Farquist, who, after winning a seat in Parliament, announced he was cutting off all ties to the institute to avoid any suspicion of favouritism.
Bow River is a major recipient of government research grants.
THE SIERRA FILE
Thursday, July 25
Dear Arthur,
Mucho tiempo has passed since my last report, and I have no excuse that wouldn’t properly be answered by a boot in the sternum. I have been travelling about Quebec, but that’s an insufficient answer. I had felt besieged by the throngs of press and onlookers outside my barren little flat. That’s weak, too.
The truth is I have not until tonight been visited by the muse of composition. But I have opened a bottle of Provencal Rose (in honour of the neglected roses of my garden) and have lit an Escepcion de Jose Gener, Havana-rolled, and, with window open, am enjoying the heat of a midsummer evening.
Rue de la Visitation has finally settled down, the curious having found there’s little to see. The street is so named to honour the Virgin Mary’s visit to her pregnant cousin Elizabeth (Luke i. 39). In another sense, a visitation connotes divine retribution, usually for one’s sins, though occasionally God comes bearing favours.
And He visited me with one, as you’ll learn.
But let me deal first with other matters. The passenger manifest for Ms. Glinka’s flight on June 7 (I won’t divulge how I came upon it) shows she flew non-stop to Paris with a connection to Nice. If it will not break the bank, I propose to travel there myself.
I have been to Mr. Farquist’s retreat in the Gatineau Hills and have cautiously approached a few persons living or working nearby. None could recall seeing Ms. Glinka or her Miata. But theirs is a less-travelled road, and a car may easily slip down unnoticed to Lac Vert. I shall be returning to the area.
Whipped Page 17
