62
Toronto 1961
By the time I finished reading Brad’s file, Birdie had downed four cups of coffee and five doughnuts. I nursed the single cup I had before me. It certainly wasn’t Espresso. I was beginning to regret turning Proctor down. Birdie watched me as I set the file down before me.
“Give,” he said.
“Looks like our boy, Brad, has a past.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Not like this.”
“So, Nu?” Birdie raised his eyebrows and in some bizarre transfiguration, reminded me of my aunt Zelda.
“Spent some time in the looney bin as a teenager.”
“What put him inside?”
“According to the transcript, neighbours reported pets, dogs, and cats, mainly, disappearing and found later, having been tortured and mutilated. Brad had been suspected but there’d been no hard evidence against him. Still, there had
