Always looking for material.”
“So you’re a writer,” Margaret said with a shrug. “Mary didn’t tell me that. She thinks you’re some kind of private eye.” Hank laughed and almost choked on his coffee. “Me a dick? In a way, I am an investigator.”
Margaret shrugged as she sucked on her cigarette.
Hank continued. “Maybe you don’t know, but most of this land was owned by Timothy Eaton. He used the produce from the farms, mostly apples, pears, and rhubarb, to stock his downtown stores. In 1950 a man named Shipp bought most of the land and began to clear the farms in this area to build low-cost housing for middle class families, the families of soldiers who had returned from the war and were working the factor-ies and warehouses. The houses were built on the assembly line model.
Similar projects were initiated in other surrounding areas of the city-Scarborough, Don Mills, North York. It was a great housing boom.”
Margaret stared at Hank, tapping the ashes of her cigarette into an ashtray.
“Fascinating,” she said with an air of indifference.
Hank smiled. “I’ll try and get to the point. A lot of statistics were kept in those days. Hydro, tax records, the police, the census. Maybe it was the aftereffects of the war. Everyone wanted to know everything about everyone. While browsing through all of the paperwork, I noticed that the Six Points area had a disproportionate number of missing persons.” Margaret, who had been keeping an eye on her other customers, turned to Hank. She put down her cigarette.
“Got your attention?” Hank smiled.
“Continue,” Margaret said.
“It started shortly after the Shipp homes were finished. Large numbers of people moved into the area. People started to disappear. Husbands, wives, kids, people just passing through. A young fellow who read gas meters disappeared one day on his route. Foul play was suspected but no one was ever arrested. A couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses were reported missing. A little girl went swimming over at Memorial Pool. She was seen going into Central Park. That was the last time she was seen. Other cases were reported to the police, written up as husbands running out on 119 their families, or teenage runaways, or people avoiding their debts. Not every case was reported to the police.”
“Wait a minute,” Margaret said. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about this?”
“I don’t know.” Hank slowly stirred his coffee. “It makes you think though.”
“Think about what?” Margaret asked. “What exactly are you imply-ing? You can’t go around saying things like this unless you know something.”
“Weren’t you reported missing?” he asked.
Margaret coughed. She put down her cigarette and took a swallow of coffee.
“When you were kids up by Echo Valley,” Hank continued. “There was a police report. A bunch of you were drinking and playing strip poker.”
Margaret leaned over the counter.
“Exactly,” she interrupted, “what are you up to?” Purgatory
“What about this heat, Sam?” Jack asked as he polished glasses and placed them on a shelf behind the bar.
Detective Kelly smiled. He finished his beer. Jack brought him a second.
“Goes right through you, eh?” Jack said with a laugh. “What’s this I hear about the gang of police dining over at the Canadiana this morning?”
“The Mackenzie place,” the detective responded.
Jack stopped polishing the glass in his hand.
“We got a warrant to look the place over. I did some more spade work on Mrs. Mackenzie’s disappearance. She made a complaint about Joe the previous year. She said that he had threatened her life.” Jack’s mouth fell open.
“You hear stuff like this when there are domestic problems. But Joe’s mother also disappeared shortly after she complained about Joe’s father.
He used to beat her.”
“I never heard that before,” Jack said, his mouth still hanging. “You think the father and the son committed…”
“Did you ever hear what happened to Joe’s father?” the detective asked.
Jack shook his head.
“Neither has anyone else. I checked out all the local graveyards and there are no records of a James Mackenzie. Nor can we find any trace of Joe’s brothers or sisters.”
“Maybe they just moved on.”
“Maybe. There were a lot of people who moved around before and after the war looking for work. Most of the people who lived in the area at the time are dead so it’s been difficult to come up with much evidence.
I’ve talked to a retired cop but his memory is pretty suspect. And then there’s the hole in Joe’s backyard.”
Jack put the glass in his hand back on the bar.
“You think old Joe dropped them down that hole?”
“We’re bringing in some heavy equipment tomorrow. I don’t know what we’ll find. If we don’t find something, I’ve got some explaining to do with my boss. You know about the big fight Joe had with hydro. He threatened some people from the government when they came on his property. Fired a gun over their heads. Charges were never filed. Hydro wanted to make a deal with Joe. They didn’t want people thinking that they were bullying him. A lot of people have disappeared over the years in this area and Joe is the only constant. Everything points his way. And then there’s that hole-”
“Jesus!” Jack cried. “Old Joe. You like him.”
“He’s an odd fellow but ya, I like him. And that other matter we discussed before-”
“The guy dying on the corner? You think Joe had something to do with that as well?”
The detective shook his head.
“No, I think Joe’s clear on that one. But I’ve talked to someone who fits the description of the fellow who came in here. You have to add a few years on him, but he sure fits the bill. He denies knowing anything but I took it for granted that he was lying.”
“You said you had to add some years. This happened a couple of weeks ago, Sam.”
The detective nodded, then cradled his forehead in the palm of his hand.
“I can’t explain that. I’ve been looking over old records and there are several other incidents that are baffling. I have a college kid who disappeared over thirty years ago. And recently I have a salesman who has gone AWOL. The more I dig, the more bodies I find.”
“No shit!” Jack exclaimed.
The detective ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you believe in purgatory, Jack?”
“Purgatory?” Jack asked.
“Where the souls of the dead have to repent until they are allowed into heaven.”
“Sounds like jail,” Jack replied.
The detective finished his beer.
“All the cases I’m studying are filled with these odd coincidences.
Detectives are supposed to look for coincidences. You join all the dots together and things make sense. But none of this makes sense. Maybe life is purgatory.”
Jack asked the detective if he wanted another beer. Sam shook his head.
“I have to get up early tomorrow. We’re going to lower a cable into the hole. Do you know Margaret over at the Canadiana? Did you know that when she was a kid, a teenager, she was reported missing?” Jack shook his head.
“I talked to her about it. Her and some friends were out back of the Mackenzie house. They were drinking and horsing around, teenage stuff. I guess she got pretty drunk. She wandered off from the group.
When the other kids woke up from their drunken stupors, they panicked when they couldn’t find her. They went to her house, searched the neighborhood, finally reported her missing to the police. Margaret told me she woke up in a bed in the Mackenzie house. Old Joe had found her passed out on his lawn and put her up, then went
