Photographs by Jeff Corey
Photographs by Jeff Corey
“Let’s remember this,” I said to my friend Michael as he plonked down next to me on the bench outside the school library.
“Huh?” he frowned and arranged his crutches on the cement floor, making sure he would be able to retrieve them without asking me to help. I didn’t know why Michael’s legs hung uselessly from his hips, with his feet turned out like a ballet dancer. It didn’t seem polite to ask.
“For when we grow up. Let’s remember this always.”
“I just want to.”
“Okay. What do we need to do?”
“Just close our eyes and say, we will remember this moment for all our lives – until the day we die. We will remember sitting on this bench outside the library. It’s 8.30 in the morning. Wednesday. It’s a warm, sunny day. I’m wearing –“
“It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing!”
“Yes it does. I’m wearing an Indian wrap skirt and wedge shoes with raffia ankle ties. Michael is wearing – ” I open my eyes and glance at Michael, pleased to see his eyes are closed. “A red and white striped T-shirt and jeans.”
“Is that all we have to do?”
“Yes. Now we’ll never forget this moment.”
I don’t remember what happened next. Maybe Michael and I swapped Trixie Beldon books. Perhaps we hurried into the library when it opened and grabbed the best comics. Or my best friend Andrea might have arrived to school early – a minor miracle – and we may have abandoned Michael to play on the monkey bars.
But I do remember that moment in 1978. I was ten years old and determined to remember sitting outside the library with my friend Michael. I wonder if he remembers?
My habit of snatching snippets of time and committing them to memory began when I was five. Late one night I left my bed and crept into the living room, where I turned on the television. The reception in our part of the world for the one television station we received was grainy and I couldn’t put the sound on.
I was thrilled to find a film. The scene showed a woman cutting up tomatoes in her kitchen. I stared at the screen, transfixed by a new idea. Time races by. One day I too would be a grown woman standing in her own kitchen, cutting tomatoes. My childhood would be as dust unless I took steps to remember it. I hoped my adult fate would be better than the tomato cutter’s. An intruder murdered her in the next scene, using her own tomato knife.
I closed my eyes and committed the moment to memory – I’m five years old. I am sitting on the sofa in our house. It’s night – time. One day I will be a grown up lady cutting up tomatoes in my own kitchen. When I am a grown up lady, I will remember being five.
I became aware of another, related idea. Life brings good and bad times. One day I am running after the ice cream truck with my sisters, joyfully clutching my 25 cents. The next day I am lying on my hospital bed, sick with hepatitis and hoping the nurse won’t discover I have thrown my uneaten dinner down the laundry chute. The ice cream is eaten, the hepatitis is cured and life rolls along for another 42 years.
A lot has happened, as it will. But I have never forgotten being five, when I imagined the years ahead and accepted they would fly past, bringing joy and sorrow in equal measure. I still have the habit of occasionally stopping whatever I am doing and deciding to remember a moment in time, in honor of the little five year old who didn’t want to be forgotten by whoever she became.
The photograph is me with my Great Grandmother in Fiji in 1970.
This true crime book by Stephen Williams examines the rapes and murders committed by Paul Bernardo with the assistance of his wife, Karla Homolka in the Canadian Niagara Falls towns of St. Catherine and Scarborough during the early 1990’s. Leslie Mahaffy and Kristen French were abducted, held captive and raped by both Bernardo and Homolka before being murdered. Tammy Homolka, Karla’s sister, was drugged with halothane and raped by the couple in the Homolka family home. She died during the assault. Incredibly, the police and Coroner believed the couple’s story that the teenager had died after drinking too much alcohol and failed to properly investigate.
At one point while reading the explicit and horrendous account of the rape of Leslie Mahaffy I did wonder what kind of sicko would want to read this book. This didn’t stop me reading, which probably answered my question. This book is not recommended reading for under 18’s or anyone who will be traumatised by reading depictions of rape, torture, mutilation and murder. These scenes are particularly disturbing because we know they happened exactly as Williams has written them. Bernardo and Homolka video taped themselves raping their numerous victims, some of whom were released because they were too drugged to realise they had been raped. Williams was permitted to sit in the court room, despite not being a member of the press, after a legal challenge by Homolka’s defence team. He and the jury saw the tapes several times.
After feeling annoyed at Williams for including these scenes I later realised they are vital to examining this crime. Williams describes the girls’ ordeal with perfect empathy while not sparing us the horrendous manner in which they were violated and terrorised before being murdered. During these scenes, Williams brilliantly contrasts their bravery and dignity in the face of unimaginable cruelty with the callous selfishness and depravity of their attackers. He is documenting their ordeal in part because the tapes were secretly destroyed at the request of the victims’ families. While this may be an understandable reaction, it also means the best evidence against this murderous pair no longer exists, which may hamper future efforts to keep Bernardo in jail.
Williams meticulously details the incompetence of the Canadian police force and the stupidity of the authorities involved in the case. Bernardo was arrested on Homolka’s evidence after he beat her. The police had no evidence against Bernardo besides his wife’s testimony so they declared her a “battered woman” and arranged a plea deal that would see her serve a minimal sentence for her involvement in the abductions. Williams describes the manner in which Homolka was encouraged by the psychiatrists involved in her case to see herself as another of Bernardo’s victims and use this “fact” to cynically manipulate the police and judicial system in her favour.
The police and other authorities were unaware the couple had video taped the rapes and the defence was in possession of the tapes – withholding evidence until Homolka’s plea deal was arranged. This all came out during the trial. Homolka was released after serving little more than 3 years, with no conditions, and has married and had children. Given she participated in the rape of her own younger sister and caused her death, I share William’s dismay at her lenient treatment in the hands of the Canadian justice system and was permitted to raise children with no plans put in place to monitor their welfare.
Despite numerous searches of the couple’s home, the police had failed to find the tapes which showed Homolka to be a willing participant in the rapes and possibly the killer of the two girls. Williams describes the outrage this provoked in Canada and the extent to which the authorities in Canada went to censor details of the crimes as shown on the tapes to ensure the accused received a “fair trail.” Williams leaves us with the impression the legal rights of the accused were more important to the authorities than the legal rights of the victims. Homolka’s plea deal was upheld despite the fact her evidence was no longer needed and she was demonstrated not to be a frightened “battered wife.” If police had been in possession of the tapes, she would have been charged with murder along with her husband and would still be in prison – like her former husband.
Bernardo had also been questioned a total of 17 times in connection with the Scarborough rapes and every time he managed to fool the police into letting him go. They failed to see the handsome, well spoken Bernardo with his young, beautiful wife could be a serial rapist, much less that she would be involved and a willing participant. The police did not make the link between the rapes and the murders of the teenagers throughout most of the investigation due to poor communication between different branches of the Canadian police. Williams describes this well and his frustration and incredulity pours onto the pages.
Williams also examines the dysfunctional nature of both the Bernardo and Homolka families and how this corrupt family environment may have contributed to the development of their pathological personalities. He also details the toxic social milieu in which the young killers operated and how Bernardo’s predilection for raping young women within his social circle is not taken seriously within the friendship group. He does an excellent job describing the mindset of both killers and the manner in which their psychopathic personalities made them impervious to police interrogation upon arrest and cross examination in the court room. According to Williams, they enjoyed the attention.
Overall Williams argues the “Ken and Barbie” killers got away with their crimes for a number of years largely due to the incompetence of the Canadian police, medical and judicial systems. The effects of family and peer values in normalising unacceptable behaviour are also unflinchingly examined.
I recommend with book with the reservation that it is not for young readers or people who are likely to be traumatised by explicit descriptions of rape and murder.
This book got good reviews, which is a mystery to me. This review may have some spoilers. Private Investigator Dan Lord is investigating the suspicious deaths on the same night of his nephew and sister in law. Of course the police won’t believe both were murdered and when they finally do Dan becomes the main suspect.
Every cliche of the hard boiled detective novel is present; the eccentric, reclusive computer expert who performs tasks at a cost, the old love interest, the whore with a heart, Russian spies, strip clubs, the attractive female sidekick with a dodgy past, renegade government spooks knocking off civilians, the honest detective, shady government/ corporate deals and so on.
This tired and predictable plot would be fine if the protagonist was worth our interest and admiration. Unfortunately the action unfolds and events happen largely as a result of Dan’s incompetence. He apparently does exhaustive background checks on everyone in his life but accepts the new “intern” at face value, without doing the most basic checks. He is wrong about the identity of people he does check up on, which makes all his high tech office security superfluous. Despite people being slaughtered with alarming regularity after talking to him about his nephew and sister in law’s death, it never occurs to Dan to warn people or provide for their protection – with predictable results. The body count mounts. He does other dumb stuff too but it seems unkind to keep labouring the point.
There’s lots of boring macho scenes where Lord gets to show us he can fight, including a 4 page description of a fight with a student in a dojo that was extraneous to the plot. This is 243 pages in! We know the Dick can fight! Maybe it’s just me, but I find fights boring to read and too many of them will see me skipping pages like a speed reader on acid. I also skimmed the pages of detail about tracking cell phone messages or signals or something equally dull.
Some of the writing is cluttered with cliches such as, “His nose had always been good. Always. His gut rarely failed….But Dan had a nose. a gut. He usually saw what was coming before it turned the corner. It was a watered down version of a sixth sense, the capability of looking at the pieces of a puzzle and fitting them together to see the bigger picture” Seven cliches in 2 sentences. I would like to think the author is doing it on purpose and giving us all a sly wink but I doubt it.
The resolution to the plot occurs largely because facts the protagonist knows or learns as events unfold are withheld from the reader, which means we have no real chance of solving the mystery ourselves. This breaks one of the cardinal rules of mystery writing, although by the time I speed read to the end I didn’t really care. I guessed the nephew’s mystery illness a few pages in. The reader is not told what the illness is until the end of the book, although Dan obviously knows the whole time. Sneaky bastard.
Withholding information from the reader (that the protagonist knows) is a lazy (but common) way to plot a mystery/action novel and tends to annoy people like me who read a lot of this genre. Good examples of mystery/action novels that allow the reader to make discoveries along with the protagonist (so we empathise with them) is the Jason Bourne Series by Robert Ludlum or the Sam Capra books by Jeff Abbott.
It is not enough to continually put the protagonist in suspenseful situations and have appalling things happen to them. To be effective this escapist genre requires the reader to feel we are going along with the protagonist for the wild, crazy ride. Great genre writers achieve this by allowing us to feel what the protagonist feels and share in the discoveries as they happen. Escapist literature of all types (romance, crime, thrillers etc) often have plots that strain credulity, but we read on because we are allowed to enter the inner world of the main characters and live vicariously through them. We can’t do that if the protagonist “withholds” information from us until the end of the book. We can end up feeling cheated or tricked, which would have been my feelings if I had invested more energy in reading this book.
I don’t usually do bad reviews. Most books have something of interest and a few good points. Mark Gilleo is a competent writer with the crisp style I prefer. In my assessment, he needs to keep faith with the reader and bring us along on the ride, not throw us out the bus at crucial points along the road.
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