Authors: Inger Ash Wolfe
“This is the flask. Gloria’s flask.”
“Carol took the smokes and the flask?”
“No,” Hazel said. “I remember distinctly that Gloria offered me a drink from it after we had seen Carol. I declined. I didn’t want to smell like brandy. Gloria finished it off … she put the flask away …” She put her face in her hands,
and Ray came over and touched her shoulder. “Some people thought she was still alive …”
“After all this time? Who?”
She could barely speak. “Me.” She shrugged off Ray’s touch. “I have to go,” she said.
“But what’s going on?” he asked her, and she broke down, weeping, and left the room. “Hey!” he called, but he knew he had to let her go.
After a few minutes, he went up to the main entrance of the hospital. Kids in Hallowe’en costumes were walking through the lobby, and he saw a couple of them go up in an elevator. He found her standing in the dead grass by the entrance to the parking garage. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, but to him she looked like a black-and-white photograph. There was a look of pure despair on her face. “Hazel!” he called.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to wave him off.
He stopped ten feet from her. “It’s OK. I can go away and come back.”
She muttered something under her breath.
“I’ll go,” he said.
“No … stay.”
He went to her and she let him put his arms around her and she wept into his coat. He rubbed her back and said whatever soothing words came to his mind. When she was calmer, she patted his shoulder and he let go of her. She told him what she remembered about the days after Carol’s
disappearance: things she hadn’t thought of in decades. She told him about their meetings with Commander Drury. “I’m sure I must’ve wondered about her even then,” she said. “It was just too horrible to consider, but years afterward it would come into my mind: what if Carol’s not in Toronto? What if Gloria killed her?” She looked at him through red, swollen eyes. “That’s the first time I’ve ever said that to anyone.”
He gave her a moment to finish collecting herself. All around them in the quickly dwindling afternoon light, people were streaming in and out of the hospital, including the early Hallowe’en celebrants. “Greater proportion of costumed patients than normal.”
“Must be a full moon.” She took a couple of deliberate deep breaths. “In my heart, I knew Carol was dead. Even though I found evidence she was alive.”
“What do you mean,
evidence
?”
She got her keys out. “My first investigation. I’ll tell you another time.” He walked with her back to where they’d left their cruisers.
They held the press conference at 7:00 p.m. Ray Greene – wearing an OPS cap over the gauze wrapped around his head – and Willan flanked her on either side of the wooden podium at the front of the station’s conference room. Behind them hung the OPS insignia on a white background. Willan’s face looked painted white.
Cartwright had told her that eleven newspapers and TV stations had RSVPed, including CTV, the
Westmuir Record
, the
Toronto Star
, the
Hamilton Spectator
, and the
Mayfair Packet and Telegram
. There were a number of people at the back with video cameras on their shoulders: TV cameramen, news bloggers. On the rolling bulletin board to her right was a picture of Carol Lim taken in 1956 and, beside it, an image of her bones as they’d been found in the crater of the Lion’s Paw. The reporters packed in close with their notebooks out, like policemen.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” Hazel said. “Please keep your questions until the end, there’s quite a bit to get through.” She pointed at the board. “This is Carol Lim. She was born here in Port Dundas, on November 14, 1939. In October 1957, she disappeared, and despite concerted efforts to find or contact her she was never seen again. Earlier today, her bones were uncovered at the new Gateway Plaza site, during a groundbreaking ceremony –” here she gestured to her right, at Willan, and he raised his hand, half waving. “We don’t have final confirmation of identity yet,” she continued.
“Urbina Kellog,
Hamilton Spectator
,” said a woman at the front. “I understand, and I can see from that other picture there, that the skeleton was discovered during blasting, not during the groundbreaking.”
“You’re correct,” Hazel said. “I was getting to that.”
“You said during the groundbreaking.”
“It wasn’t. You’re quite right. In fact, it was a groundbreaking, and afterwards a blast.” The skill of restraint came with practice. “There was a … an
inaugural
blast
after
the groundbreaking, and it was then that these remains were unearthed. We have every reason to believe, from personal items found at the site, that this is Carol Lim.” A small hubbub erupted. She held her hands up. “This has been a very upsetting discovery, but it is the end of a fifty-year mystery. We send our condolences out today to the whole Lim family. We ask you to respect their privacy at this time.”
“Was she murdered?” asked the reporter in the front row.
“Um, thank you. If you’ll hold your questions till the end.”
“Do you have any suspects?” came a voice from deep within the room.
“This is a startling development, and we don’t have any theories yet about whether it was an accident or if foul play was involved.”
“Is the discovery of her death linked to the discoveries in Tournament Acres?”
“Which paper are you from, sir?”
The reporter stepped forward so she could see him. He was dressed in a suit and tie, holding a notebook and pen in front of himself. There was no way of disguising his beard.
“Royal Canadian News
,” said Superintendent Martin Scott.
“Sir, would you hold your questions until the end?”
“Actually, I had a question for the deputy commissioner.”
“It can’t wait?”
Scott stared at her fixedly. His gaze was about ten per cent mischievous. “I don’t think it should wait,” he said.
Hazel looked over at Willan, but if he knew Martin Scott, it didn’t show on his washed-out features. He tried to smile as he stepped up to the podium. “Yes? Mr.…?”
“Scott. Can I just offer my condolences on this sad day. It must be very difficult for you all.”
“Thank you, yes, uh, thank you, Mr.… Scott.”
“I mean, your new HQ and the whole plaza up there will certainly be delayed and perhaps even revisited, don’t you think? I bet some people are going to lose a lot of money.”
Hazel began to smile.
“Yes, that’s a … something that we, as a unit –” Willan fumbled.
“Deputy Commissioner,” Scott continued, “do you sit on any professional boards as a paid director?”
“Do I what? What has that to do with what happened to this poor girl?”
“Do you have a financial interest in the golf development called Tournament Acres?”
“I’ll just turn this back over to –” Willan looked to Hazel for help, but there was none forthcoming.
“Where were you, sir, the night of October eighteenth?”
“What is this?”
A low hum began to spread through the room. Scott said, “How close were you to the murder victim Oscar Fremont?”
Willan decided to take the high road. “Sir, whoever you are, this a press conference about a missing girl –”
“I’m sorry for interrupting. It’s just, seeing as I needed to arrest you for commercial crimes and major fraud, I thought it would be a good place to come find you. Was I wrong?”
The place erupted. Willan shouted, “Now hold on! Hold on a second!” but Scott was striding toward him and Willan elected to get out of the room fast. Hazel locked eyes with Martin Scott and mouthed
What the fuck are you doing?
The press was already streaming out after the deputy. Ray said, “Do you want me to stop him?”
“I’m guessing the superintendent,” she said, pointing to Scott, “will have a small posse outside waiting for Charles.” She saw Scott coming over. “Thanks for hijacking my press conference.”
“You can have your fields back now. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Are you telling me that
that
man killed the Fremonts?”
“Oh no,” Scott replied. “Unless I’m very mistaken, he had someone else do the killing.” He turned to join in what – from the commotion they heard – was certainly Willan’s arrest outside the station house, but Hazel grabbed his arm.
“What has he done?”
“Let’s just say he’s found novel ways of benefitting from his position.”
“You still can’t tell me.”
“No.” He turned sharply to Ray Greene. “Commander.”
“Superintendent,” he said.
“Detective Inspector,” Scott said.
“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be in touch,” she said.
They watched him walk through the pen, where he was looked upon as a sorcerer of some kind. “Is he allowed to do that?” Ray asked.
“Do what? Sashay? Have you never seen a big man sashay?”
“Make an arrest in the middle of a press conference?”
She pushed the front doors to the station house open and they walked out into the night. Up at the corner of Porter and Main Street, three RCMP cruisers were blocking traffic in all directions, and in the middle of the T-shaped intersection illuminated by street lights, Superintendent Martin Scott was putting cuffs on Chip Willan.
The moment she walked back into her office (still shaking her head in wonder), Melanie Cartwright was standing at her door. “What just happened?”
“The RCMP arrested Superintendent Willan.”
“No way! For what?”
“Maybe just for being an asshole. And also other things. Apparently, we have to wait for the movie.”
“Not a good week to be Chip Willan, then.”
“No.” Melanie stood in the doorway, a distant look on her face. “Is there anything else?” Hazel asked.
“Oh, yeah, this.” She handed Hazel a printout. “DS Wingate sent this.”
She took it from Cartwright’s hand. Wingate had written across the top:
A link? Found it among the bulletins
.
A.R. MERCHANT
Merchant Rubber Company
130 Juniper Street
Mayfair, ON
September 19, 1952
Dear Doctor Whitman,
I am replying to you from our corporate address. Please do not write me at OPIC, which is for newspapermen and fundraising. It’s an office where anyone might open a letter. In any case, it came to me and I destroyed it as per our arrangement. I hope you are not becoming forgetful.
On to your request. It is hard enough to get the courts to acknowledge our right to distribute information about contraception, let alone distribute our stock of it, so you can be sure Ontario is not ready for more novel methods of prevention. Our Foundation is engaged in activities throughout the country disseminating information about birth control and providing contraceptives to women who request it. A court challenge against one of our nurses was struck down and failed on appeal as well. But we are still on thin ice.
The prevention of the reproduction of less fortunate members of society is a boon to them and to society as
well. I am in favour of sterilization for wards such as yours; indeed, they should be sterilized just as we spay our cats, and as I have said in past correspondence, I would be most happy to move forward with you as an expert witness in the pursuit of this goal. I would be happy to lend my not-inconsiderable Rolodex to you for the purposes of fundraising and finding like-minded men.
What I cannot do is supply you with the substance you have requested because I am not a doctor. I’m certain my medically-trained colleagues here in Waterloo would feel the same way. So you are left to your methods for now, however work-intensive they may be. I hope there is a time when we can stand together as champions of our own species, but for now I can do nothing but wish you luck. Be careful.
Yours,
A.R. Merchant
Hazel read it again and then walked the letter down to Ray’s office.
“Are you sure this is authentic?”
“Wingate is sure.”
“Wingate is
off
today,” Ray said. “Or is he?”
“He’s still plowing through data. He’s set up at home on two laptops, and he’s also taking notes, I understand.
Everything is OK,” she said, to stifle his rising displeasure.
“Whose laptops?”
“Company’s. And he’s doing all of it through our server, neat as a pin.”
“When is this going to end? He’s off duty as well as on leave, but he’s sitting at home with two of our laptops?”
She’d come ready to fight. She’d foreseen she was going to need a heated conversation with Ray to keep his attention off James. “How come you don’t get that there is some urgency to this?” she asked him. “One of
your
officers is being held by these people and so we are working for
them
now. What else is there?”
“What has that got to do with
Wingate
working from
home
?”
“It’s all hands on deck now. He’s got focus enough and it’s good for him.”
“Oh, fuck what’s good for him now!” Ray shouted. “When this case is done, someone much higher than Willan is going to shit down our necks.”
“Because they’re going to shut down Gateway? Good.”
“Who knows what they’ll do? The skeleton of a young woman tends to change the meaning of ‘shopping destination.’ ”
“Whatever form salvation takes, let’s accept it.”
He shook his head with disdain. “You think this will be enough to save this town? You’re dreaming. I bet whatever comes next will make you long for Chip Willan.”
“What comes next is death, right?”
He read the letter again, a small snarl forming on his upper lip. She hadn’t seen Ray this angry in a long time and it made her faith in him suddenly deepen.
“What do you think Whitman wanted?” he asked.
“Something hard to get, maybe arsenic. Easy to weaken them slowly and then do whatever he wanted to them.” She plucked the page back. “This is what Cutter wants. In exchange for Renald. That’s job one right now.”
“Then how do we get in touch with him?”
“He’d said he’d be in touch with
us
, but it would be nice to get the jump, get in front of him. In the meantime, I better find Gloria Whitman, and I’m thinking you might want to find a death certificate and a burial place for Mother Whitman. Maybe even an exhumation.”