by Ron Finch
Terror on the Way
A Joel Franklin Mystery, Volume 3
Ron Finch
Published by Ron Finch, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
TERROR ON THE WAY
First edition. July 13, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Ron Finch.
Written by Ron Finch.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Books by Ron Finch
Important Quotes
Main Characters
Tuesday, October 17, 1933
Friday, October 20th
Tuesday, October 24th
Friday, October 27th
Friday, November 3rd
Wednesday, November 8th
Monday, November 13th
Tuesday, November 14th
Wednesday, November 15th
Thursday, November 16th
Friday, November 17th
Saturday, November 18th
Monday, November 20th
Tuesday, November 21st
Wednesday, November 22nd
Thursday, November 23rd
Friday, November 24th
Saturday, November 25th
Sunday, November 26th
Monday, November 27th
Thessalus
Monday, November 27th - Night
Tuesday, November 28th
Wednesday, November 29
Friday, December 1st
Monday, December 4th
Saturday, December 16th
Some Loose Ends
About the Author
This book is dedicated to my mother.
She was almost 40 when I was born. I was her last baby. My sisters had almost left home by the time I was big enough to know them.
Even though we were poor, my mother gave me what she could and encouraged me to read and to think. By the time I was three, she was taking me to the library regularly, and it was there that I developed my love for books and for stories.
Books by Ron Finch
THE JOEL FRANKLIN MYSTERY Series:
Lightning at 200 Durham Street
Where’s the Rest of the Body?
Terror on the Way
Important Quotes
“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” – William Shakespeare
“Listen!” – Everyone’s mother
“Believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see.” – Edgar Allen Poe
“Don’t believe everything you think.” – Allan Lokos
“Nature does not know extinction; all it knows is transformation. Everything science has taught me, and continues to teach me, strengthens my belief in the continuity of our spiritual existence after death.” – Wernher von Braun
Main Characters
THE FRANKLINS
Joel Franklin (b. 1911) – Chaseford Police constable (hired in 1932)
Georgie Harkness (b. 1913) – Joel’s wife (married in 1933)
Arthur and Mae Franklin – Joel’s parents
Ralph – Joel’s younger brother
Emmylou – Joel’s younger sister
Granny Watson – Joel’s grandmother
THE JARVISES
Jay Jarvis (b. 1911) – Joel’s best friend and fellow police constable
Sylvia Grayson – Jay’s wife
Brad – their son
THE CHASEFORD POLICE
Chief Petrovic
Constable Jake Smith
Constable Peter Herman
Sherry Simpson – Chief Petrovic’s secretary
OTHER CHASEFORD NOTABLES
Judge Geoffrey Bernard – judge
Old Mrs. Willoughby
Donnie Funstead – farmer (and his dog Wilbur)
Stuffy Nickel and his sister Caradene
OTHER NOTABLES
Dr. Alfred Khryscoff – a prominent Toronto psychiatrist and mentor to Joel
Detective William Fredericks – member of the Toronto Police Force
Aunt Muriel – Georgie’s aunt in Toronto
Tom Jackleman – Toronto train conductor
Inspector Thomas Simpson – head of the London Police raid unit
FURNITURE FACTORY REPRESENTATIVES
George Manners – Murphy Furniture
Ezekiel Pomfrey – Chaseford Imperial Furniture
Robert Ament – Canadiana Furniture
Bruce Cherry – Southwest Country Furniture
FURNITURE THIEVES
Chaseford – Johnnie Smith, Herb Smith, Barty Palmer, Calvin Router, Gary Alexander, Henry Leibowitz, Jim Pope, George Gustafson
London – Larry Hutchinson, Marty
THE REDDS
Thessalus Redd – the killer
Medea – his mother
ESSENCES
Chaseford – Walter Yost
Toronto – Berman
Tuesday, October 17, 1933
I AM FILLED WITH TERROR.
My heart is racing, and I almost feel like I can’t move. But I can’t give up. I have to act. I’m in peril, and there is someone who needs me.
The darkness engulfs me so completely that only the tiniest glimmer along the floor betrays the location of a door. I know an infamous villain and a victim – either dead or dying – lie beyond this door.
I grip the handle firmly and shove. The door bursts open just as a hooded figure raises a long knife over his victim to inflict the killing blow. The robed figure turns with a start, then launches himself across the room at me, his long, gleaming knife leading the way.
I pivot to avoid the blade and grab hold of the nearest object: a four-foot-long floor lamp attached to a heavy base. Hefting the lamp, I raise it in time to parry the next slash and then swung it as hard as I can. The blow strikes home. The hooded man staggers, but I have not disabled him.
“It’s impossible!” he screams. “You can’t interfere!”
I raise the lamp and swing again, but he dodges, darting past me through the door. He’s gone.
Someone grabs me from behind, shouting. I turn, raising the lamp to strike, surprised by the sudden appearance of this new foe, whose presence I hadn’t detected. Suddenly, there is light, and I see Georgie. She’s shouting at me.
“Wake up, Joel! Wake up!”
Why is she here? Who is dying on the floor?
AFTER A BRIEF MOMENT of confusion, I realized that I was in our bedroom; the one that Georgie and I slept in, in the little house we had rented in Chaseford. I had been dreaming.
I relaxed. “I’m okay now,” I said.
Georgie looked at me with concern. “You hit me, Joel,” she said accusingly. “Thank heavens your hand got caught in the sheets and I didn’t get the full force of the blow. You would’ve broken my ribs.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, sheepish.
“Fortunately, I was able to break your grasp and get out of bed and get to the other side of the room. What’s going on? You were wrestling with someone I couldn’t see.”
“It was a nightmare,” I said. “Someone was being murdered. I don’t know if I got there in time to prevent it.”
“Wherever you were, it wasn’t here,” said Georgie. “It looked like you were fighting for your life. I woke up when you started to run. I knew trouble was on the way.”
“I was running?” I said, incredulous. “I don’t remember running.” Then I remembered that I had run up some steps to reach the door in my dream. Though how I’d seen them in that stygian darkness was a mystery.
“You were shouting, too,” said Georgie. “It was loud. It sounded like this: Argyllp, gtalpf, somble, flun. You made some other noise
s, but I couldn’t make them out. You weren’t being very articulate. You were acting like some sort of beast.
“That’s the third dream you’ve had like this. Your first one was around the middle of July, and then you had another nightmare about the middle of August, and then one more in mid-September.”
I remembered them all. They were horrifying and dark. And they seemed to be following some sort of progression. In the previous three dreams, I had not confronted the evil perpetrator of the murders. In my first dream, in the middle of July, I had seen the building and heard screams so terrible that they froze me in place. In the second dream, in mid-August, the building was different, the landscape all shadowed, and I had just reached the lower door of the building when I knew that death had overtaken the victim. The third dream, just a month ago, was even darker than the previous two dreams. It had started with me at the front door of an unknown building. I’d went in and heard someone pleading, and then I’d heard a scream. I hadn’t been able to see anything, but somehow I’d found the stairs and had started climbing them. And then the dream had ended. The victim must’ve succumbed.
Tonight, I met the killer.
I kept these recollections to myself. I didn’t want to terrify Georgie, and they were only dreams, after all. But I had awakened her without intending to when I’d had each of the dreams, and each time she’d been upset. Sooner or later, the dreams had to be addressed.
“What’s going on, Joel?” said Georgie. “The dreams seem to be getting worse. Some nights I’m worried about being in the same bed with you. You need to talk to Dr. Khryscoff about these nightmares. Have you said anything to him about them?”
“I haven’t,” I admitted. “When we meet, we’re usually too busy talking about crazy people and related criminal activity.”
“Well, you’re starting to act like you’re crazy yourself,” said Georgie.
She was upset. And she had every right to be.
Dr. Khryscoff was an eminent psychologist I’d met around six months ago, toward the end of April. He’d come to Chaseford to interview a severely deranged woman who’d been accused of chopping up her parents. While he was in town, he’d agreed to come to the small apartment I’d been living in at the back of my family’s grocery store to talk to Georgie and me about the special ability I had to communicate with people who had died heinous deaths.
I’d told Dr. Khryscoff that my special ability had surfaced after I’d been struck by lightning during a violent electrical storm in 1928. I’d also told him about my encounter with Walter Yost, who had died a terrible death several years before the storm. I’d used the term ‘essence’ to describe Walter, since that was the term Walter and I had agreed upon as an alternate to spirit or ghost. I’d told him that Walter and I both thought that some part of my brain had been stimulated by the lightning, and that, as a result, I was able to send and receive electromagnetic waves that matched the frequency of those sent out by nearby essences. I’d then described several incidents where I’d used this ability to communicate with various essences like Walter. Georgie had vouched for me, even though she did not possess the ability herself.
Upon hearing this fantastic story, Dr. Khryscoff had been quite surprised; but he’d reserved judgment until we’d had an opportunity to conduct an experiment. When I’d demonstrated what I could do, he’d been very impressed. He’d assured me that I wasn’t crazy and that I did, indeed, have a special ability. Since then, he’d taken me under his wing and we’d become friends.
“I don’t think I’m going crazy, Georgie,” I said, trying to sound reassuring.
“Well, your behaviour in these dreams is certainly crazy,” Georgie persisted. “I insist you talk to Dr. Khryscoff about them, and about your physical actions while you’re asleep. I’m marking it on the calendar at breakfast time. I know he’s only in London on the second Wednesday and Thursday of each month, but I want you to talk to him.”
“I met with him last Thursday, Georgie. You know he’s not due back in London again until Wednesday, November 8.”
“Well, you’d better not forget to talk to him, because I won’t forget to ask you about it,” she said.
I sighed. “There’s no point going back to bed now,” I said. “It’s after 5 o’clock. We might as well have our breakfast an hour early.”
Georgie still looked nonplussed, so I tried to lighten the mood by rolling my eyes up in my head and shouting, “Argyllp, gtalpf!”
“Don’t try that with me, buster,” she said, promptly belting me with her pillow. “There’s nothing funny about what’s going on.”
Once more, I apologized. Georgie seemed genuinely upset.
AS WE ATE AT OUR SMALL kitchen table, Georgie asked me, “Do you think those noises you make mean anything?”
“Yes. In my dreams I’m shouting instructions or asking for help.”
“I’m guessing ‘Argyllp’ translates into something like ‘I’ll get help’, then,” said Georgie.
“Most likely,” I said. “That makes sense to me.” I thought for a moment. “The other thing that’s puzzling me about these dreams is that I feel like Walter is involved somehow. I don’t know why or how, since he hasn’t been in any of the dreams, I just know that he is involved. I’ll have to contact him.”
“I have to get ready to go over to the hospital,” said Georgie. “I’m sorry you had a nightmare, but I did want to get up early anyway. A doctor from the US is visiting the hospital today. He’s giving a talk early this morning about sodium thiopental. All the surgeons, anesthesiologists, and interested nurses have been invited to attend.”
“Wow. I’d say I’m impressed, but I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, grinning.
“Sodium thiopental is the first intravenous anesthetic that can be administered to human subjects,” Georgie explained patiently.
“Chief Petrovic called a meeting for 9 o’clock this morning,” I said. “He didn’t tell us what it was about, but I suspect it’s connected to all the unrest caused by the labour disputes at the furniture factories.”
“Almost half the people in town work for the furniture companies,” said Georgie. “I’m not surprised you’ve been so much busier with fights and domestic problems this year.”
“The furniture factory strikes created big problems,” I said, nodding. “There’s already been a lot of unrest, and Chief Petrovic and Mayor Thompson think there could be more trouble. More than the local police force can handle.”
“It was scary for a while,” admitted Georgie, “but I’m not sure the mayor calling in the Army made things better. It created a lot of bad feelings. My mom and dad and a lot of the other older people in town thought it showed no respect for the local citizens. To them, it looked like the mayor had sided with the owners. Like he didn’t care whether people had enough money to buy groceries.”
I didn’t want to get into a long discussion with Georgie, so I said, “I have to get to the meeting. Maybe I’ll see you for a few minutes at lunchtime? When’s your break?”
“I have an hour at 12:30 today,” said Georgie.
“GOOD MORNING MEN,” said Chief Petrovic, opening the meeting. “We certainly have had an interesting year. The City of Chaseford has made the national news twice.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen morale so low in town as it was that day, early in the summer, when the Army appeared in response to the mayor’s request. I knew we couldn’t manage the unrest caused by the furniture factory workers’ strike by ourselves, but I didn’t expect to see the Army, nor did anyone else in town. Things did settle down, and maybe it was the right decision, but it left most people with hard feelings against the factory owners. Many people were upset with us, too, because we’re representatives of local authority.
“When that settlement was forced on the workers by the government, it ended the strike, but it didn’t end the animosity. There’s been more vandalism than usual, and I think it’s connected to that dispute. We’ve caught very fe
w people in connection with it, and we’re certainly not getting the support from the public that we’re used to.
“Thank heavens we solved the ‘body parts mystery’. The conclusion of that trial, and the sentencing in mid-August that put Henny McCann in a secure mental hospital, has improved our credibility somewhat. I’m even back to getting the occasional ‘hello’ and ‘how are things going, Chief?’ from people passing me on the street.”
The chief paused and looked around the table. “But right now, we have something else to do deal with. Yesterday, one of the furniture factory managers, George Manners, came in to see me about some thefts that have been occurring.
“Mr. Manners told me that the thefts have been going on for some time. He’s not certain whether they’re connected to the labour unrest or not, but he says they may be because they started early in the summer, around the same time the Army showed up. And it’s happening at more than one factory. The factory owners didn’t approach us earlier, because, in the current climate, they felt a complaint from them about the thefts would not be well received. It would be viewed as rich capitalists complaining about a minor matter. However, Mr. Manners assured me that this is not a minor matter; and, because of the length of time that the theft has been going on, and because of the total quantity of goods stolen, it’s threatening the furniture companies’ ability to function. Possibly even their future.
“I want you gentlemen to nose around on the street. See if you can get any information about what’s going on. I told Mr. Manners we would look into it. I also asked him if he could set up a meeting with any other interested parties next Tuesday morning, at 9 o’clock. That’s it. Meeting adjourned.”