Death in October

Lowell Inc. Green

Description

First published in 1996 immediately following the narrow referendum victory by the Quebec Federalists, Death in October has become a Canadian classic. Out of print for many years, the book has become a collector's item, new copies selling in some quarters for well over $100! At the urging of his many fans and readers Lowell has updated and added chapters to this book and as you can see has re-printed a much more modern hard cover version. What many will find interesting is that although written more than 15 years ago, the relationship between Quebec and the rest of Canada is startlingly similar to what it was when this book was first written. In fact, writes Lowell, the premise of the plot line in this book is even more probably today that it was in 1996. Most agree that Canadians today are far less sympathetic to Quebec's demands today than ever before.

Sujets

• Historical
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 21 février 2013
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456611026
• Langue: English

Extrait

First published in 1996 immediately following the narrow referendum victory by the Quebec Federalists, Death in October has become a Canadian classic. Out of print for many years, the book has become a collector’s item, new copies selling in some quarters for well over $100! At the urging of his many fans and readers Lowell has updated and added chapters to this book and as you can see has re-printed a much more modern hard cover version. What many will find interesting is that although written more than 15 years ago, the relationship today between Quebec and the rest of Canada is startlingly similar to what it was when this book was first written. In fact, writes Lowell, the premise of the plot line in this book is even more probable today than it was in 1996. Most agree that Canadians today are far less sympathetic to Quebec’s demands today than ever before.
The final chapter dealing with grim conditions in a Republic of Quebec stem from a warning Lowell received from Billy Diamond, Chief of the Grand Council of the Northern Cree just prior to the 1995 referendum.
“Tell your listeners,” said Billy “that if Quebec votes to leave Canada the Cree will fight. Remember, the Cree will fight!”
 


The Cree will fight.
– Billy Diamond, Grand Chief of the Cree Nation of Northern Quebec, October 1995
Canada is not a real country.
– Lucien Bouchard, October 1996
The future of Quebec is to become a sovereign country.
– Quebec Premier Pauline Marois, September 2012
I fear we are entering a new dark age in Quebec.
– Barbara Kay, National Post Sept 2012
 



 



 
Copyright 2012 Lowell Green,
All rights reserved.
 
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
http://www.eBookIt.com
 
ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-1102-6
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic,mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except for brief quotations used for purposes of review, without the prior written permission of the author. For information, please contact the publisher at 613-831-6307 or at www.lowellgreen.com .
 
This book was written, published, edited and printed in Canada without the aid of government grants of any nature.
Cover design and book formatting by Tara Yourth/taragraphics.
Cover image - Stock photo: ® Vicki France | Dreamstime.com
 
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Green, Lowell, 1936-
Death in October / Lowell Green.
 
FOREWORD
We are frozen with fear!
The body of Quebec’s Minister of Labour has just been found in a car in the St. Hubert Airport parking lot near Montreal. He has been strangled with the chain of the crucifix hanging around his neck.
There is a collective gasp of horror as the radio is turned up in the crowded dining room of the Caswell Motor Hotel in Sudbury.
It’s October 17, 1970, tanks and armed soldiers patrol the streets of Montreal. Troops guard the homes of diplomats and MPs in Ottawa as the FLQ terrorizes the Country.
As a broadcaster very vocal in my criticism of the FLQ and the separatist movement and heard widely throughout Eastern Ontario and Western Quebec I have received several death threats and on one occasion electrical power to our home is mysteriously cut for several hours. But Prime Minister Trudeau has just declared the War Measures Act and seems to have the situation under control so when Kitty’s mother offers to baby-sit for a couple days we set out to attend a friend’s funeral in Sudbury with admittedly more than a little trepidation.
Big mistake.
As we hurriedly race back to our hotel room and throw clothes into suitcases the phone rings. It is Jean Gobiel my next-door neighbour and friend back on the Carmen Road about as mile south of Wakefield.
Jean is the brother of Charlotte Gobeil, a well-known CBC-TV broadcaster and sometimes girlfriend of Prime Minister Trudeau. Charlotte is a staunch federalist. Jean is an avowed separatist and makes no bones about it. As you can imagine he and I have had many a debate, sometime heated over that!
“Lowell, Jean Gobiel here.” There is a slight pause on the phone. “Listen you had better get your children out of that house. There are some crazy people saying some crazy things!” I stop breathing. “What crazy people? Where are they? What do you mean?” My heart pounds. Kitty’s face is chalk white. “Crazy people is all,” he replies. “I have to go.”
We immediately phone home. Kitty’s mother answers the first ring. “Ella,” I say with as much calm as I can muster, “get the girls out of that house right now. Get them into your car right now and drive to your place in Ottawa. Don’t worry about clothes. Don’t worry about anything. Just get them to hell out of there right now. We’ll be home as soon as we can.”
As it turns out Ella knew something was wrong when Jean phoned her just a few minutes earlier to get our phone number in Sudbury. She already has six-year-old Lianne and eight year old Danielle dressed and ready to go. All she says is. “Don’t worry, they’ll be safe.”
She was right. Thank heavens!
I have no idea if my daughters were in any danger. I can only assume that Jean was tipped off that someone was suggesting the Green family might be easy targets for kidnapping or worse.
Prior to October 17, Jean and I had developed a fairly close relationship. But after that date, he became distant and dropped out of our lives.
What became of him I do not know.
Both my little girls are middle-aged women today, one of them a mother herself and neither of them have anything but vague memories of that hurried flight from their home.
To this day, when I think about it, that phone call still sends shivers down my spine but the nightmares about it, which occasionally plagued me, stopped the minute I started writing this book.
 
DAY 1
 
 

 

Near Wakefield, QC.
12:03 AM, October 12 • DAY ONE
Through the blurred windshield it looked like a large white rag streaked with red dangling on the gate. It wasn’t until he stepped from his car into the rain and the night that he was sure it was Niki. His cry was filled with anguish and fear.
“No!”
A large spike had been driven through the dog’s neck, pinning her to the top bar of the wooden gate. Most of the blood had been flushed away by the rain, but her once-beautiful snowy coat was still streaked with red.
Niki, Dog of the North (as her registration papers identified her), had been a much loved member of the family since she arrived nine years ago, a present for Lee Henry’s third birthday, a tiny ball of bouncing, whirling, tumbling, fluffy white Samoyed.
Listeners to the nightly Grant Henry syndicated open line radio talk show were often amused by the stories he related and invented about her, but as horrified as he was at the sight of the sad, limp bundle dangling grotesquely on the gate, the terror exploding inside him, sucking the breath from his lungs, had nothing to do with the family pet.
Frantically, he lifted the metal latch and threw his shoulder into the gate, jolting it partially open. The limp torso swung violently on the spike. As part of his fitness regime, Grant had jogged that gravel lane countless times and knew it was almost half a kilometre to the house. Driving would have been faster, but for reasons he would later have difficulty explaining, he abandoned the car, motor idling, door flung open, headlights blazing, and ran.
As he approached the corner of the sprawling house faintly discernible in the glow of the distant car lights, his heart racing, lungs on fire, he began shouting.
“Lee! Lee! Madame Gratton!”
He wrenched open the kitchen door and plunged into thick darkness.
“Lee! Honey, where are you? Madame Gratton, are you all right?”
Moving from memory now, in suffocating blackness, room to room; breath, sobs of desperation.
At first he thought the electricity was out again, something, which occurred with maddening frequency in these Quebec hills a few kilometres north of Ottawa. The crunch of broken glass beneath his feet revealed the truth. Every light in the house had been smashed – except one. A faint sliver of light splashed the carpet beneath the door to his office. Cautiously, he pushed the door open and recoiled in horror. A blood-soaked cloth had been draped over his office desk lamp, which projected a narrow rectangle of light. Centered in the grisly, muted spotlight was a familiar piece of metal. Its numbers had been very carefully painted over, but clearly visible was the fleur-de-lis and the word Quebec across the top. Along the bottom was the provincial slogan: Je me souviens .
He recognized it immediately: The licence plate, which had disappeared from his Lexus two nights ago, removed from the car sitting in his driveway as he slept only a few metres away.
But of his twelve-year-old daughter, Lee Tracy Henry, and their housekeeper, good friend and neighbour Therèse Gratton, there was not a trace. They had disappeared into the rainy October night.
Ottawa, 12:14 AM • DAY ONE
Jack (Jake) Barr would not have been on duty that night if he hadn’t broken his staff sergeant’s arm. As the chief complained bitterly during the subsequent disciplinary hearing, it wasn’t so much the broken arm as the fact that it happened during a charity hockey game. “Did it ever occur to you to take it easy, to slow down a bit for Chrissakes?” the chief had asked, shaking his head in exasperation. Jake only stared at him. After cleaning pigpens on a prairie farm for most of the first twenty years of his life, Jake Barr had a lot of living to catch up on. The thought of taking it easy, of slowing down for anything, never entered his mind.
The price was paid. Jake was yanked from the youth services section where he had been the bright (if not so young) rising star, and ordered back into uniform. He was behind the wheel of an unmarked Dodge, cruising the market area on hooker patrol when he got the call f