45
Toronto 1961
At 8:00 a.m. the next morning, Birdie and I hovered before a doorway on Old Forest Hill Road, a splishy section of town where the Abrams clan resided. Accompanying us were four constables and a locksmith, as a precaution. When executing these warrants, a locksmith came in handy if the denizens decided not to be home as I suspected was the case here. I rang the bell and heard it echo hollowly inside, pinging off the stately walls, or at least what I imagined to be stately walls. Two more rings, then I let Birdie pound the door for a couple of minutes. I put a hand on him to stop.
“Go around the back, will ya?” I said to two of the four young cops. They nodded and took off at a brisk pace. I heard the creak of a wooden gate with a chrome hinge that hadn’t been oiled in a w
