Lightning at 200 Durham Street

by Ron Finch

  “I’m sure that’s the occasion that this other person was referring to when they said that Louise had treated me unfairly. As seen from my eyes, and probably from the eyes of anyone else who was in attendance, my husband and I were treated unfairly.”

  “Was this situation ever resolved?” asked Chief Petrovic.

  “Within the week Louise and I discussed what had happened,” said Alice. “She explained that if everyone was going to feel safe at the cabin, and if it was going to be a high-class speakeasy, then she had no recourse but to eject anybody if they were disruptive, even for the best of intentions. She apologized to me for any embarrassment my husband or I had suffered. She said we were welcome back any time. She said next time the drinks were on her. We were back to the speakeasy the last Friday of the next month. We attended regularly after that and never had another problem. Louise and I had been best friends since we were young. If anything, we were even better friends after that episode.”

  “Thank you very much, Alice,” said Chief Petrovic. “That certainly clears up the question we had about your friendship with Louise Carter. Once again, let me say I am sorry for your loss.” Then, in a teasing way, he added: “Now that you’ve confessed about the speakeasy, can you think of anyone else who may have held a grudge against Louise because they felt they had been ill-treated there?”

  After thinking for a few moments, Alice said: “No, I can’t think of anyone. I don’t think anyone was permanently banned by Louise. When Prohibition ended, Louise told everyone the cabin was closed for business. She made it very clear that she didn’t want anybody trespassing on the property. For the first two months after closing the cabin, Louise hired the two local farmers who had worked for her as peacemakers to attend the cabin every Friday evening until midnight. This was to ensure that no one trespassed. The first two weeks after she closed the cabin, two or three of her younger customers appeared. They were warned off the property. After that no one else came back. I can’t think of anyone that would have had any reason to harm Louise.” Then Alice’s expression changed and she added: “I just now thought of someone from her past that was very unhappy with Louise.”

  The chief of police looked up from his notes. “We need you to tell us about this person. Tell us as much as you can.”

  “There was a man who had a romantic interest in Louise,” said Alice. “She talked about him a couple of different times, when we met in Chaseford for dinner. You recall we had these best friend dinner meetings about once a year. Unfortunately, she never told me his name or where he lived. I’ll tell you what I can about him. I know she met him when she was a university student. At the time she was finishing her degree and he was a young faculty member. She told me he was brilliant. He had won all kinds of awards. Louise went out on a couple of dates with him, but she quickly found out that he was self-centered and controlling. She decided she wanted nothing more to do with him and refused to go out with him again. He didn’t take kindly to her rejection. He harassed her to the extent that she had difficulty completing her final year. Once she completed her degree, she couldn’t wait to leave Toronto.

  “He must have lost track of her or developed some other romantic interest because she didn’t see him or hear from him again until after her father died. Louise told me that this man had seen her name in the paper when her father’s obituary was published. Her father was such a prominent man that his death received extensive coverage. Louise received a letter from this fellow extending his sympathy to her and her family. He also requested that she meet him for a meal at Ottawa’s finest restaurant. She didn’t answer the letter. He sent her one letter a week for the next month. She then wrote him that she had kept the letters and that if she received another letter from him she would inform the police. She thought her problem had been solved. Then, about four years ago, she unexpectedly received a letter from him again. He told her he was friends with someone who had attended her speakeasy on a couple of occasions. Louise was terrified that he would come to the cabin. She paid her peacemakers to take a note to him. They delivered it to his residence in London. They also told him they didn’t expect to see him at the cabin. I guess he got the message because I don’t think he ever came. If he had, I’m sure Louise would have told me.”

  “He sounds like a dangerous man,” said Det. O’Neill. “It’s unfortunate that we don’t know his name or his address. We do know he lives or lived in London, Ontario, but so do thousands of other people. Alice, if anything else comes to mind about him, no matter how trivial it may seem, you need to report it to us.”

  “Is there anyone else you can think of that might know about this man and his pursuit of Louise?” asked Chief Petrovic.

  “I don’t think so,” said Alice soberly. “I was her best friend. The first time she said anything to me about this man, she made me swear not to say anything to her mother. I didn’t.”

  Chief Petrovic and Det. O’Neill thanked Alice and concluded the interview.

  That afternoon, Chief Petrovic received a phone call from the London police. They told him that the unidentified fingerprints from the whisky bottle found near the cabin did not belong to Proctor Carter or Bella Frankel.

  Det. O’Neill was sitting in the chief’s office when Chief Petrovic received the call. They looked at one another. They were both kind of glum. They were getting tired. They were getting lots of information, but unfortunately none of that information had led them directly to the killer.

  “Just because the fingerprints don’t match doesn’t mean that Proctor or Bella are not guilty,” said Chief Petrovic. “There’s a possibility that the whisky bottle and the fingerprints on it have nothing to do with this case at all.”

  Det. O’Neill nodded in agreement but did not look any happier.

  Friday, June 22

  IT WAS THE END OF THE last day of regular high school. Excitement reigned. The only dampening influence was that exams began on Monday.

  Jay, Georgie, Sylvia, and I had made arrangements with our parents that would excuse us from some of our Friday evening duties. We were heading out to the movies. This was a big event: the Chaseford Odeon Palace, the local theatre, had obtained a copy of The Jazz Singer. The movie was famous; it was a movie with sound, the latest innovation in entertainment. Sylvia’s parents had seen it a month ago in London and they’d loved it. Hard to believe, pictures and sound together! 7 o’clock couldn’t come soon enough!

  There was a lineup in front of the theatre, but the four of us had arrived early enough that we knew we would still be able to get some decent seats. We saw a lot of our schoolmates there and everyone seemed to be in good spirits. The Odeon Palace was a nice theatre; it had lots of comfortable seating. I didn’t get to go to the show often, but whenever I entered the theatre I was impressed by the beautiful carpeting and rugs. Georgie’s older brother Robert had obtained a job as an usher at the Odeon Palace. He looked sharp tonight in his usher’s outfit.

  “He looks pretty fancy dressed up with that suit coat and bow tie,” said Jay, speaking quietly to me.

  Robert caught sight of us and escorted us to four seats about halfway down the theatre. By the time we were seated, there were about 10 minutes left until showtime.

  “I’m getting hungry,” said Jay, squirming in his seat.

  “Be quiet,” Georgie hissed. “You know you can’t have anything to eat or drink in a fancy theatre. We can head to my place after the show. My mom’s going to make some popcorn for us.”

  The lights started to dim and the organ music commenced. The screen brightened and the Movietone news came on, featuring George Bernard Shaw. This segment provided some laughter; the theatre audience was in a good mood and ready for the main event. The Jazz Singer finally started and everyone in the theatre was captivated. This stunning combination of sight and sound fully lived up to everyone’s expectations. Al Jolson’s singing in particular was spectacular. He performed the role of Jakie Rabinowitz exceptionally well.

  Unfortunately, I
was becoming extremely uncomfortable. It was sensory overload for me with my heightened senses and I knew I had to get out of the theatre. It wasn’t just the film and the music, but also the noise of the crowd and the intense feelings that some of the audience experienced as they watched the show.

  I was sitting beside Georgie. “I’m not feeling well,” I whispered. “I’m going to excuse myself and get some fresh air.”

  Georgie gave me a worried look.

  “I think I’ll be fine,” I assured her. “If I don’t come back in, I’ll be waiting for you outside. Please stay and watch the show. It’s wonderful.”

  Having said that, I made my way out of the theatre.

  I felt much better as soon as I was away from the crowd. I realized that it was the intense feelings of the other people that disturbed me the most. I had a feeling I would grow to accommodate these new sensations, but this reaction had caught me totally by surprise.

  There was a bench not far from the entrance to the Odeon Palace, so I seated myself and thought about the last conversation I’d had with Walter.

  Walter and I had agreed that the lightning strike had stimulated something in my brain. He’d encouraged me to try to focus – or in Walter’s words, send a signal to him – from outside the house to see if he could receive or detect it. We had tried a couple of times with limited success. Last Saturday, on my way home from work, I had stopped about a block away from my home and focused on Walter. I thought I’d heard or felt something in response, but I couldn’t make out the message if there was one. Later that evening, when I’d went up to the attic, I’d asked Walter: “At any time during the day did you detect a signal from me?”

  “I’m not sure,” Walter had replied. “I think I felt something just before you got home from work.”

  During the past week we had worked on our communication. We could now connect from more than a block away. It didn’t seem that strenuous, but it did require concentration.

  Walter had told me that, through signals he’d received from other essences like himself, he knew that there were other living people that possessed my ability.

  “They were not all struck by lightning, though,” he’d explained.

  Walter and I had agreed on one basic assumption: either through accident or genetics, these other people and I were using an area of the brain that, as of yet, had been untapped by most people. Walter and I had further agreed that while a small number of these people may be in contact with essences, the majority of them were not.

  “Since this happened to me,” I said, “every time I read about somebody who seems to be more aware of things, or about somebody who’s had a thought that resulted in a breakthrough in science, I’m convinced they’re using that part of the brain that was turned on when I was struck by lightning.”

  “You can think it, but it’s impossible to prove,” said Walter.

  These thoughts of the conversations Walter and I had recently had swirled through my mind as I sat on the bench. I had calmed down considerably since I’d left the theatre. It was a beautiful evening. It was still daylight and would be until a little after 9 o’clock.

  I looked at my watch and was surprised to discover that it was after 8:30. The show would be out soon. I knew that The Jazz Singer was about an hour and a half long. I expected to see my friends exit the theatre in a few minutes.

  At just after 8:45 my friends joined me on the bench.

  “How are you?” Jay asked, sitting down beside me.

  “I’m good now,” I said. “I don’t know what made me feel so unwell. Maybe I can’t handle good entertainment.”

  That got a chuckle.

  We sat there and talked for a few minutes. The other three were still really excited about the movie. It was the first picture show they’d seen with sound. The possibilities seemed tremendous.

  Finally, Georgie said: “Let’s go. My mom’s expecting us.”

  We had a good time at Georgie’s house. There was lots of popcorn, lots of soda pop, and lots of laughing.

  I WAS TIRED BY THE time I got home. It had been an exciting day, but it had also been a stressful day. I was worried about the feelings I’d experienced in the movie theatre. I knew I would have to get used to this new type of situation. I would have to learn how to dampen my feelings somehow. I just didn’t know how.

  I went up to my attic bedroom and picked up the book I’d been reading. It was a mystery, and I like mysteries. I’d taken the book out of the library earlier in the week. It was The Big Four by Agatha Christie. I enjoyed her books and had read a couple of them before.

  I settled down on my cot and just as I was falling asleep, Walter said: “Joel, are you okay? Did you try to contact me earlier tonight? I picked up a signal from you, but it wasn’t the usual one we’ve been practising.”

  “I’m tired. I’ll talk to you later,” I said. Then I rolled over and went to sleep.

  Tuesday, June 26 and Wednesday, June 27

  CHIEF PETROVIC WAS sitting in his office on Tuesday morning when the phone rang. Assistant Chief Rutherford was on the line.

  They launched into the case. Chief Petrovic and Assistant Chief Rutherford decided that, for the time being, they would not arrest Bella Frankel or Proctor Carter. Although they were at the top of the list of suspects in the murder of Louise Carter, the fingerprints on the wine bottle had not belonged to either of them, so, much to Chief Petrovic’s disappointment, they had nothing to connect them directly to the site of the murder. The chief was somewhat concerned about Bella working for Ruth Carter and asked Rutherford if he thought Mrs. Carter was in any danger. Rutherford said that Det. LeBlanc had visited the Carter home and privately informed Bella that he was keeping an eye on her. Det. LeBlanc had reported to Rutherford that he didn’t think Bella would do anything rash so long as she knew she was under his watchful eye.

  Rutherford then mentioned that he had been out to visit with Ruth Carter. He said he didn’t say anything about Bella or Proctor to her. When he’d arrived at the door of the Carter home, Bella had met him and acted no differently than she had on his previous visit. He told the chief that this normal behaviour had somewhat allayed his fears. When talking to Ruth Carter, Rutherford had asked for permission for the boys to go on her property. They had talked about the situation, and, although it was upsetting to Mrs. Carter, she had no concerns about giving them permission to return to the site.

  Chief Petrovic thanked Rutherford for his help and said he would pass on to the families of Joel Franklin and Jay Jarvis the news that the request to visit the cabin in the bush had been approved.

  That evening, Chief Petrovic phoned the Franklin home and told Arthur Franklin, Joel’s dad, that they’d been granted permission to go to the cabin. Mr. Franklin thanked the chief and told him that he knew both boys would be very pleased. He went on to add that he understood that this was a private arrangement and that it was no one else’s business. They were to keep their picnic a private affair.

  AS WE MADE OUR WAY home from school on Wednesday, our excitement had reached a fever pitch. The four of us had written exams that afternoon. Jay and I had written grade 12 trigonometry, and we were comfortable that we had been successful. In typical Jay style, he said that it was the easiest exam he’d ever written. I thought I’d been successful, too, but I didn’t share Jay’s unparalleled confidence. In the same time slot, Georgie and Sylvia had written their grade 11 English final. Georgie said that it was “just an English exam, I’m not worried about it.” Sylvia, who found examinations difficult, said: “I just hope I passed”.

  Between the relief we felt about finishing our exams and the news we’d received that morning that we had permission to go to the cabin, we were almost jumping up and down with enthusiasm. We knew we couldn’t talk to anybody else about the picnic, but we certainly talked a lot to each other about it.

  THAT NIGHT, WALTER and I had another conversation in the attic.

  “Have you recovered from the sensory overload you rece
ived last Friday night at the theatre?” said Walter.

  “Remember, this is all new to me,” I said. “I’m fine now. I think I can handle that type of situation in the future. I didn’t know what to expect the other night and it caught me completely off guard.”

  “Do you have any concerns about returning to the cabin?” he asked.

  “Why would I?” I said.

  There was silence for a few seconds. Then Walter said: “You need to understand that Louise is extremely upset.”

  “What are you talking about? Who’s Louise?”

  Then it struck me.

  “Oh, sorry to be so slow on the uptake,” I said, apologizing.

  “Louise is extremely upset,” Walter repeated. “She’s been sending out signals several times a day. I respond to her at least once a day so she knows she’s not totally alone. Maybe some other essence is responding to her as well. I have no idea. The hysteria in her communication has abated a little.

  “I do have concerns about you going to the cabin,” Walter continued. “With your enhanced abilities, you certainly would notice her. You might find her presence even more disturbing than the experience you had in the theatre. If you agree, I’m going to contact her tomorrow. I’ll tell her a bit about you and about the picnic you have planned, and I’ll tell her you will be there with other people. It’s important that she understand that none of those people will sense her presence. It’s important that she doesn’t create a situation where your behaviour is a concern to the people you’re there with.”