A Magnificent, Monumental, Memorable Canadian Mystery

C A N A D A

A Magnificent, Monumental, Memorable Canadian Mystery

I am firmly convinced that every family has a person within who carries a secret which they have buried deep within their heart. Few, if anyone, knows the truth. The secret might be a crime committed long, long ago. Maybe someone in the family went to prison. It might be that someone lost their wealth through a deal gone wrong. No one is allowed to discuss it.

Perhaps a marriage went off the rails long ago, or maybe a baby was born and the family has kept its birth a secret. Maybe an uncle was shot during war and wants it not to be discussed. The possibilities are endless. The point is simply that no one wants to be embarrased by an incident which happened generations ago. It has no bearing on life today.

Recall that it's coincidental that the secret of Staff Sergeant McIntosh (alias Martin) has only recently come to light. And truthfully, the secret turned out to be a wee bit comical. McIntosh lived a double life; he was married with children when he joined the North West Mounted Police. McIntosh served the Force honourably for twenty five years. He was successful with promotions and he was distinguished by retirement followed by a pension.

But, keeping the family secret from others is the problem. 'Be careful not to let it slip out after a glass of wine or two...!' If they should learn, friends can be mean and not ever let the secret die.

Down through the years, I have met people, men in particular, who have taken a secret to their grave. In one case years ago, an acquaintence of mine died. His secret was his wealth. No one paid any particular attention to him because he preferred not to draw attention to himself. I only became involved in the case when I was notified by his lawyer. It was a year after my acquaintence died.

In other cases, I've been called quietly by Police Chaplains to attend mass for unidentified prostitutes. They were murdered. There was no one else in the Chapel. But for the Chaplain, no one knows they are gone. Costs for burial are quietly paid by the state.

Beginning with the days of the North West Mounted Police, the Clan Healy has been prominant in the Force. Some secrets about the Healy's and the Force have been published. It's well known, for instance, that an ancestor 'Joe Healy' was an active and well-to-do bootlegger at Fort Whoop-Up upon the arrival of the NWMP. 

But, there remains to this day a Healy family secret which has never hit the light of day. I've never told anyone about it. Only two of my siblings know the secret. Over the past year, I've let it slip to one or two of my most trusted friends.

After nearly thirty seven years in the Force, the secret will soon be revealed. It's important that I not carry this secret to my grave. Friends who thought they knew me well while in the Force, will be shocked. The remainder of my family will be shocked.

The Healy secret is connected to the RCMP, a long ago deceased member of the Force, and the 'The Mad Trapper'. Due to the very personal nature of the secret, I've wished to change the name of the case to 'The Saga of the Sad Trapper'.

Soon, you too will know the reason.

'Maintain our Memories'

J. J. Healy,

Reg.#23685

A Magnificent, Monumental, Memorable Mystery

An Exciting Mystery -- Read Part One

 

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One Canadian Story - Seven Exciting Parts

Begins Tomorrow : February 23, 2011

'Maintain Our Memories'

J. J. Healy

Reg.#23685

A Magnificent, Monumental, Memorable Mystery

Truth speaks

A man should listen to his wife. This ought to be a firm, uncontested Canadian law. The Supreme Court should deliberate only for a moment on the issue. Then rule on the matter. Let it be enshrined. Glorified, so to speak. Firm, unfettered, fixed and as noble as the Charter. An ideal. A Canadian first.

I should listen to my wife. It's a jest that unquestionably but truly applies to me. I know when I'm in trouble. It's easy because I depend regularly on her to fix the mess which I've created. On a minor level, a button requires mending as I'm about to leave for a Mess Dinner.  My wife would say: 'you've only known about this for a year because the Mess Dinner falls on the same date every year!'

Here's another one. It's time for Mansbridge and the nine. I've got a seven o'clock T-off in the morning. My wife asks if I remembered to fill the tank in my CRV?  No, but I do recall noticing the gauge very low earlier in the week. Faster than Superwoman, she's off to fetch some petro. My wife. Always forgiving. Always fixing.

Now it's about February 20th, 2011. I intended to write a Magnificant, Momunental, Memorable Mystery.  I had announced that I would publish it by February 23 as that date falls in line with May 23 which is the anniversary of the Force.

My wife attended the University of Western Ontario. She majored in English, French and History. She's a whizz. Knows all about the hollow horse trick. Can't stick her on Greek wars. She can name all the Generals. Knows every street in Rome. She also knows how to spell.

Over the long weekend, my wife notices a little wrinkle in my brow. Asks what's wrong? So, I happen to mention that I'd like to write a mystery. It's due in forty eight hours. As I've said, I know when I'm in trouble. Too late for help from my wife as she has exams to mark.

I've got to appeal for more time. One wouldn't think that a mystery would be that difficult. I know I need a plot and I thought I had one -- The Mystery of the Missing Police Dog. But, my wife pointed out that most police dogs rarely go missing. After all, she explained, a police dog has a trained, very sensitive snout. 'Give it more in depth thought', she instructed. Think.  

Little weeny, weeny girls never seem to forget. I have a niece. When she was a little girl she would ask me to tell her scary stories -- mystery police stories - - preferably scary ones just before bed. I had a favourite. I had to use my imagination. An alligator had caught me in the deep swamps in Namibia where I had once worked. I had to fight the alligator. At one point he ate both my arms. Her eyes got bigger and bigger. He got my legs too! As my niece grew older, her questions about the alligator became more complex. How, for example, do you explain your wedding ring and your university rings which remain on your fingers? Smart kid, eh?

So now, I'm back to my mystery. My wife can't help me. I've learned that it takes more time than I've allowed. Guess I won't be sleeping for a few days. I sure need something by the 23rd.

I should have listened to my wife. Oh, well.

'Maintain Our Memories'

J. J. Healy
Reg.#23685