Coming Home: Volume 2 of 3

By Alfred J. Hudon

It seemed they werent too pleased to have a new man in Bathurst cutting in on their illegal business activities. As for me, there were only two issues I was concerned about, one was their involvement in private security work. Besides Jim I was fortunate to have another friend, Frenchie, a police officer who usually kept me up-to-date as to what was happening around the police station. One evening, after a break-in at a Canadian Tire store, I received a call from Frenchie saying that I should check Sgt. Levines car because he had four new tires on, which he said came from the break-in. I wasnt surprised to hear that because back in the latter part of the seventies and into the mid-eighties, it was said, and not only by Frenchie, that a number of police officers were being accused of some sort of theft. As for me checking out the tires on Sgt. Levines vehicle, I wasnt interested because I had my own problems to concentrate on. Furthermore if the tires had come from a break-in that was a police matter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514423431

Alfred J. Hudon

N/A

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Copyright © 2015 by Alfred J. Hudon.

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Rev. date: 11/11/2015

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CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2   Setting up Business in my Hometown

Chapter 3   Discovering the Core of Corruption

Chapter 4   My License Under Scrutiny

Chapter 5   Designing Gadgets

Chapter 6   Waiting in the Shadows

Chapter 7   A Hitchhiker on a Cold Night

Chapter 8   Privy to their Scheming Tactics

Chapter 9   Going into Alarms

Chapter 10   Kept under Crafty Surveillance

Chapter 11   I Finally Get a Break

Chapter 12   Hiring a French Assistant

Chapter 13   The Clever Plotting

Chapter 14   Reversing the Situation

Chapter 15   Unrelenting Harassment

CHAPTER 16   True Friendship Through Tough Times

Chapter 17   Underhanded Tactics and Abuse

Chapter 18   The Chief’s Court Trial and the Bickering at the Police Station

Chapter 19   Harassment Moves Stealthily

CHAPTER 20   Alarm and Security Business Grows

Chapter 21   Notoriety for My Designs

Chapter 22   People You Trust and Befriend

Chapter 23   My Alcohol Abuse

Chapter 24   Evolution of My Electronic Devices

Chapter 25   Interacting with People

Chapter 26   A Famous Painting

Chapter 27   Promoting My Electronic Devices

Chapter 28   Meandering around Montreal

Chapter 29   Meeting my Friend’s New Bride-to-Be

Chapter 30   Considering Manufacturing

Chapter 31   Patent Research

Chapter 32   Close To Home Drug Problems

Chapter 33   Being Charged with Assault

Chapter 34   Getting High Tech Cameras

Chapter 35   Finding a Good Defence Lawyer

Chapter 36   Understanding the Complexities of Patent and Manufacturing

Chapter 37   Being Stalked, Complaints to Solicitor General & Police Commission

Chapter 38   Barred from the Clubs

Chapter 39   Spotting Late Night Billboard Vandalism

Chapter 40   Legion Buddies

Chapter 41   My Revenues under investigation

Chapter 42   My Prayers to the Blessed Virgin Mary

Chapter 43   My Patent’s Decision

Chapter 44   Life goes on

Chapter 45   Flashbacks of my Past

Chapter 46   Gruesome Crimes in our Small Communities

CHAPTER 1

A FTER WHAT I was told by Lawyer Jim concerning policemen doing private security work, I decided to investigate precisely what type of security work the officers were involved in and how they went about getting work. I learned that some of the officers were using tactics on business people and individuals that I compare to extortion tactics that gangsters such as the Mafia use. Not only were they doing private security work but also telling business operators who they couldn’t do business with, and number one on their list was Fred Hudon, if any business didn’t heed their warning, there would be repercussions.

It seemed they weren’t too pleased to have a new man in Bathurst cutting in on their illegal business activities. As for me, there were only two issues I was concerned about, one was their involvement in private security work. Besides Jim I was fortunate to have another friend, Frenchie a police officer who usually kept me up to date as to what was happening around the police station. One evening after a break-in at a Canadian Tire store I received a call from Frenchie saying that I should check Sgt. Levine’s car; because he had four new tires on, which he said came from the break-in. I wasn’t surprised to hear that, because back in the latter part of the seventies and into the mid-eighties, it was said, and not only by Frenchie, that a number of police officers were being accused of some sort of theft. As for me checking out the tires on Sgt. Levine’s vehicle, I wasn’t interested because I had my own problems to concentrate on. Furthermore if the tires had come from a break-in that was a police matter.

In my forty-five years working as a private investigator I have met a great number of honest, dedicated policemen, such as my friend Kelly, but I’ve also met officers who weren’t, who used the justice system for their own gains. After I arrived one of the major problems I encountered was the fact that businessmen and other town’s people feared retaliation from police officers. They’d been told that if any of them did business or associated with Fred Hudon, it would not be good, and if they were ever in need of police assistance, the police would not respond.

Some officers went so far as to question people they’d been seen talking with me. Their question was, what was Mr. Hudon talking with you about?" This may sound stupid, but it’s true. A good example of this occurred after I had received a call from a businessman who operated a convenience store in the west-end, just a few blocks down the street from a school, when I drove over to see him, he asked if I could check out an employee he had recently hired to work the night shift.

He said that shortly after hiring her, money began to be missing. After he had explained what was occurring, I said, That’s no problem. I’ll have her checked out s I walked out I noticed Sgt. Butch and his partner parked at the entrance, I got in my car and drove away, and I noticed them get out and enter the store, at the time I didn’t think much of it, n hour or so later I received a call from the store owner. He said that shortly after I had left he got a visit from two police detectives, asking why I had been there,?

When he told the detectives that he had called and asked me over, he was told that if he got Mr. Hudon to do any work for him, it could be bad for his business, I asked him if he’d be willing to repeat what he was told to the police chief, he said that he would be glad too, because he didn’t like to be threatened, by policemen who were supposed to serve and protect.

He also said if I was to proceed with charges of police harassment, he would say in court what he been told. I knew better than to go to the police station and request an investigation regarding the conduct of certain officers; it would just be a waste of time, f an investigation w carried out, it would be done by the local police department, and so the outcome would be nothing. That’s my experience of what usually happens when police chiefs investigate complaints regarding their own officers. It all comes down to protecting each other.

Well, a few days later the businessman again called. Suddenly he’d had a change of heart regarding the threats from Butch and his partner. He said that for now he’d have to cancel the investigation and that he’d be in touch with me later. This occurred shortly after I had paid a visit to the police chief and explained to him what the store owner was told by Butch regarding him doing business with me. After I told the chief what Butch had done, the chief threw up his hands, saying, Now, Mr. Hudon, how can you believe such a story? I bet he was just making this story up as an excuse because he changed his mind about having you do work for him.

I replied, You’re right about him changing his mind, but he was forced to by Sgt Butch after he was threatened. He said that he’d check into it, and I left his office.

After that meeting with the chief, I received the call from the owner. I asked if he had gotten a call from the police chief. He said no, but he did receive one from Sgt. Butch, saying that he had no business telling me about what Sgt. Butch had told him. Later he got a visit from Butch and Gammas to remind him of what would happen if he had me do any work for him.

That was the type of extortion that the police used on business operators. Those threats were similar to gangsters’ tactics I had seen used in Montreal. As time went on I found that some officers were operating like hoods with their methods of dealing with townspeople. One would have to see it to believe it. As for Butch’s partner, Gammas—as time went on I found that he was a nice person, but as we know, if you associate with a skunk eventually you’ll smell like one, and that was Gammas’s problem. Because in my opinion, Sgt. Butch was a skunk.

In the early eighties, Butch and Gammas were the main culprits, but soon other corrupt police officers joined those two in that form of harassment. The question was, who I could turn to about my findings? Certainly not the police chief; one of the things I had heard about him was that he had very little control over his officers. Because of that, people felt that some policemen were holding something over the chief’s head. It seemed that as far as he was concerned, his officers could do no wrong.

Once I was aware of the Mafia tactics that the police were using, I needed to find a way to expose them and bring it to the attention of the public, but before I’d attempt to do so, I felt that I would need the backing of some of the business operators who were being threatened. I was aware that that would not be an easy task, on account of the tactics that the police were using. It’s one thing when a lone person tries to take on a police force, but when it also affects members of city management, you have double the trouble to deal with. I would later learn that even members of the city council were in fear of reprisal by members of their own police force.

CHAPTER 2

Setting up Business in my Hometown

S HORTLY AFTER ARRIVING in Bathurst, I found a small office just a block or so from the hotel I had checked into. I decided to stay at the hotel, which was located in the centre of town, till I found myself a suitable apartment. After obtaining the necessary bond and liability insurance for the business, I mailed proof off to Inspector Daley. Within a week, I received my license and work permit from the New Brunswick Licensing Commission. I had some business cards made and mailed some to local lawyers with a brief letter of introduction, stating my experience as a private investigator and saying that if I could be of help to them, give me a call.

Prior to deciding to operate my business from Bathurst, I’d thought of other places, such as Moncton or Fredericton, which are much larger cities. But after checking the phone directory and seeing there were already listings for other security firms in those areas, I decided that Bathurst was a more suitable place to work from. When I first spoke with Inspector Daley, he mentioned that there wasn’t a private investigator or security officer licensed to operate in the Bathurst area. That was my main reason for choosing Bathurst, plus the fact I had two brothers and a sister still living in the area.

After being in town for a few weeks, I learned that starting up a security business in the area wouldn’t be as easy as I had anticipated. As previously mentioned, Inspector Daley said no other security firm was licensed to operate in Bathurst, so I knew I was the only one legally licensed, but I was told by Jim, the lawyer who had registered my business, that others in town were involved in doing private security work and had been doing so for years—they were members of the town police force.

Jim went on to say that some policemen were making as much money moonlighting as they were earning as police officers. The rumour was that some officers who had taken an oath to serve and protect were also involved in various other activities that were unbecoming to police officers besides moonlighting as private investigators and security officers. I would later learn that some deceitful police officers were more interested in protecting their own asses than protecting the citizens of the town.

When I arrived in 1980, the town had a population around fourteen thousand, and the main sources of employment were the paper mill and forestry, which employed over twelve hundred workers combined. The nearby mines employed just as many, if not more; besides those, there were the fishing industry and farming, where people made a decent living. Bathurst had been incorporated as a city since 1966, but I always referred to Bathurst as a town. This area of the province was known as the North Shore; it was surrounded by many smaller communities. If you were a sportsman interested in hunting or fishing, you couldn’t find a better place for those types of activities.

Less than an hour’s drive north you’d be upriver, an area surrounded by mountain, lakes, and streams. During the summer months tourists came from all over, including the USA, to enjoy the scenery in the area, and during hunting season sportsmen came because of the vast wooded hunting area. Forty-five minutes from Bathurst, towards Chatham and Newcastle, was the famous Miramichi River, well known by such sportsmen as the great American baseball player Ted Williams, who’d come each summer for salmon fishing. In later years, the towns of Chatham and Newcastle were combined together and became known as Miramichi City.

About twenty-five-miles farther down the Acadian Peninsula are many villages, the closest being Grande-Anse. Then there is Maisonette-Caraquet, a much larger place that was visited by many tourists. Shippagan-Lemeque and Miscou Island are other villages were. And finally, on the way to the Tracdiei-Sheila area, there is the scenic little village of Pokemouche. The people who lived in these areas were mostly French, and the language they conversed in was French, but many of them were also able to speak English and did whenever they needed to.

I could speak both languages, so I had no problem conversing with them. Because at times I’d have a problem pronouncing certain French words, they would then talk with me in English, but I found that the same could not be said about the Anglophones. The majority of English-speaking people weren’t interested in learning the basics of the French language, and that was later carried over by younger members of their families.

In earlier years I saw that the French were learning to converse in English, but it was a different story when it came to a many Anglophones. Their attitude seemed to be the hell with the French. Let them learn English, which they were. As for the English learning French, at the time that was taboo. Nowadays I find that the majority of the younger generation is learning basic French. As we know, having knowledge of both languages is an asset when living in a bilingual province.

The problem of languages escalated when the province of New Brunswick was officially declared a bilingual province back in 1969, the only one in Canada. In later years the Acadian Society, which was formed by Acadians with Acadian ancestry within the Atlantic provinces, was getting better known, and their own official flag was being flown throughout the provinces. Since June of 2003, throughout these provinces the fifteenth of August is dedicated to the celebration of National Acadian Day, a special day for Acadians.

In most cities, towns, and villages in the Atlantic provinces, including many areas of the Quebec Gaspé Peninsula, Acadians gathered with their families and friends and held huge festivals. People came from different parts of the country to join in the festivities; Cajuns from faraway places, such as Louisiana, came to join in the celebration, but in our own town there wasn’t too much celebrating going on compared to areas where the majority of residents were French and huge parades were being held. As for the city council of Bathurst, they didn’t care to spend any of their government funding to celebrate the special event.

Our council stated that rather than spend money for any festive activities like a parade, they’d wait for a few months; during their summer hospitality days, they promised to also celebrate Canada’s national holiday. But later, when the time came to celebrate hospitality days, no mention was ever made regarding our Canadian holiday. This is just an example of the brains that were running our town.

Every other community surrounding Bathurst celebrated Acadian Day. No matter where you went, thousands of Acadian flags were being flown by enthusiastic Frenchmen, while the Anglophones sat around complaining about why they weren’t permitted to fly their flag. One of our leading newspapers in Ontario reported on the front page in huge bold letters, THE REQUEST BY ANGLOPHONES TO HAVE THEIR FLAG FLOWN IN NEW BRUNSWICK CAUSES AN UPROAR.

This added more fuel to the difference of opinions that were circulating among the Acadians and Anglophones concerning the issue of the Anglo flag.

When the issue first arose about the flags, it wouldn’t have bothered me personally if they had been permitted to fly their Anglo flag, but when it was mentioned that the Anglophone Society was anti-French, that got me thinking. I changed my opinion and agreed with the Acadians that the Anglo flag should not be flown.

I had returned home in 1980, a good number of years prior to the Anglophone Society being formed. This goes back thirty years, but I can recall what went on then as if it were yesterday. In my opinion, it all began with an Englishman named Buster, who would be at the coffee shop each morning discussing issues of Frenchmen and Englishmen. It wasn’t long before I formed the opinion that Buster was anti-French, but he would not directly come out and say that he was. Buster was a cunning sort of person who didn’t want it known that he was anti-French, but I easily picked up on it because I had lived in Montreal when problems occurred because the Quebec government made French the official language of the province.

Buster would continually try to get other English-speaking people to agree with his way of thinking. Buster was against the province being bilingual, which meant that all people who served the public would have to speak both languages. There were many other English-speaking people besides Buster who felt as he did, but as time passed I would learn that Buster had his own private little agenda going.

After I’d been overhearing Buster’s continuous gibberish for a year or so, one morning he and a couple of Englishmen from the downshore area had gathered at the coffee shop for a little chat, and their main topic that morning was about forming an Anglophone group. At the time I didn’t think much of it, and I felt that Buster was just shooting off his mouth.

But as time went on I learned that Buster was very serious about forming an Anglo society group. At the time I thought that Buster was just a dreamer, and other than a few downshore farmers, I felt that he wouldn’t get many more supporters, but in time he would prove me wrong. Shortly after he began talking about forming an Anglo group, I noticed others besides downshore farmers coming in and joining Buster at his table. As usual, the topic was about forming an Anglophone Society.

One morning Buster walked in and proudly displayed a flag he had made. Along with others, I found it amusing that Buster had designed his own flag. Because our local newspaper didn’t have much to write about, they wrote a brief article about Buster and his flag and his quest to form an Anglophone society. Shortly after the article appeared in the paper, other news media in the province picked up the story. A great number of English people from other areas joined Buster in his quest to form an Anglophone society, with their own flag. Buster had achieved his goal. Finally the Anglophone Society was born.

The Anglophone Society of New Brunswick began in Bathurst, and it later expanded to other areas of the province. After Buster passed away, others joined in and continued his quest. What I find kind of odd is the fact that some years after the New Brunswick government declared the province bilingual and English people such as Buster complained at the coffee shop, when you went to the counter to be served each morning, the majority of the workers still could not speak a word of French. Thirty years later it’s still the same. Why are the English complaining?

Later, when news media reported that the president of the Anglophone Society requested that their flag be flown alongside the Acadian flag and the request was refused, some outspoken members of the Acadian Society stated that it would not be right because the greater majority of the Anglophone Society were known to be anti-French.

When that was reported by the news media, the president of the Anglophone Society stated that their organization wasn’t anti-French. I read his statement and I laughed, because I knew that the Anglophone Society was first formed by anti-French people such as Buster, and now the president stated that they were not anti-French. I have one word to describe his statement: bullshit. As for the bickering between the French and the English, it continues on.

In regards to Buster and his efforts to form an Anglo group, it’s like I always said. If you have a dream, go for it, and if you happen to fall, pick yourself up and continue on. In my opinion, quitters aren’t winners, and Buster is proof, because eventually he got to be a winner for his cause. Because of his continuous efforts, in my eyes Buster will always be a winner. The problem is that some people have a very short memory, and Buster was soon forgotten.

I had limited knowledge of the Acadian Society. After hearing a lot of what was being said among the French and the English, which seemed to me like a ping pong conversation that continued back and forth, I decided to see what I could find regarding the history of Acadians. I went back to 1607, when the Acadians were the first permanent French settlement in North America, established at Port-Royal. The Acadians learned to survive by developing friendly relations with the aboriginal Mi’Kmag Indians and learned their hunting and fishing techniques.

Between 1755 and 1763 came the Seven Years’ War between the British and France. At the time, French settlers built a fort at the mouth of the St. Croix River, which separated New Brunswick and Maine. During the Seven Years’ War, the Acadians refused to take up arms with the British and fight against France. Living between the French and the British, the Acadians found themselves on the front lines in each conflict between the two powers.

Before the Seven Years’ War, the Acadians had signed an oath swearing allegiance with the British in 1730, and it was stipulated that the Acadians would not take up arms against the French or Indians; the Acadians were referred to as the French neutrals. Then in 1754, with the outbreak of tensions with France, the British government no longer accepted the neutrality previously granted to the Acadians. They demanded that they take an absolute oath of allegiance to the British monarch, which would require that the Acadians take up arms against France and their fellow Frenchmen.

Not wanting to take up arms against family members in French territory and believing that the oath would compromise their Roman Catholic faith, the Acadians refused. The British ordered them deported, which in later years would become know as ethnic cleansing, which to me means, Let’s get rid of the trash. After deportation, approximately one-third of the Acadians perished in the North Atlantic, either from hunger, disease, or drowning; some were deported to Louisiana and others to France.

In later years about sixty Acadian families returned to the Maritime provinces, specifically New Brunswick. Others returned to Acadia after France relinquished that portion of Acadia that would later become known as Nova Scotia, excluding Cape Breton Island. More than a century later, on August 15, 1881, the Acadians began celebrating what is now known as the Tintamarre, which consists mainly of huge parades where people dress up in the Acadian colours of blue, white, and red, the same colours as their flag, and make a lot of noise.

Now over a century and a quarter later, the Acadians gather each year to celebrate this special day. What I found interesting in my research was the fact that back in the seventeenth century, the Acadians refused to join Britain or France in their quest for power, and for this reason the Acadians became known as the French neutrals; in other words, they refused to takes sides. It was as if they were saying, If the British and French want to take up arms against each other, go ahead, but don’t try to force us Acadians to also take up arms and help in your struggle for power.

Today the Acadians are a vibrant minority in New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and northern Maine and also among the Louisiana Cajuns. It seems to me that the only thing that the Acadians ask for today is to let them live in peace as they tried to do back in the seventeenth century. Will this ever happen? I don’t believe so—not in our lifetime. Maybe the younger generation will some day live peacefully among each other and find better things to do than sit around coffee shops bickering about who is right and who is wrong, but for now it will continue. As for me, I’m like the Acadians. I’m unbiased, and like I always say, Live and let live. In other words, let me do my thing and I will not interfere in yours.

As for the Anglophone Society not being anti-French, in my opinion their past history clearly shows that they are. I’m not saying that the greater majority of the members are, but it has been my experience that some are.

The communities from Bathurst down the Peninsula are considered the Acadian scenic area because they are situated along the Baie des Chaleur, which separates the Quebec Gaspé Peninsula from this side of the New Brunswick Acadian Peninsula. Residents of this part of the country, as in other parts of the Maritime provinces, are known for their kindness and friendliness and wouldn’t think twice about helping someone in distress, especially if the person was liked. If you were not liked, they could still be nice, but behind your back they would easily cut you up. Some don’t believe in the saying, If you haven’t got something nice to say about a person, say nothing.

Getting back to my personal problems … I had been in town for a few months and was getting little work; I decided to check into what Jim and others had said regarding moonlighting policemen. I felt that being police officers did not give them the right to moonlight in private security. After spending a few days asking questions, I learned it was as Jim said—a good number of police officers were involved in security work. Some people had also made comments regarding the policemen. One person said that as far as he was concerned, a number of them were outright thieves. In my experience with policemen, as in any other profession, I have found that there are always some shady characters among them, but the question is how you go about weeding them out?

CHAPTER 3

Discovering the Core of Corruption

W HAT WAS BEING said about policemen and their deceitful acts didn’t interest me, but when I learned that they were doing private security work, which I felt was illegal because they weren’t licensed, that was a different matter. How I went about investigating and dealing with the issue would eventually lead me to believe that I had made a huge mistake by returning home, but I had returned, and there was one thing I was sure of: I was here to stay.

After arriving back in town, I was fortunate to meet Jim, who was a lawyer. Later, we would become close friends. I learned that we had one important thing in common, and that was attractive young women. Jim was single and I was new in town, with no steady women. We began to get along quite well together.

Besides Jim, it seemed that almost everyone in town knew that a good number of policemen were doing security work as a sideline. Because there wasn’t much work to be found around town, some people felt that the police were taking work away from others who were capable of doing the work. What people weren’t aware of was the fact that what the police were doing was illegal.

For a few weeks I stayed at the Carleton Hotel. In earlier years, the Carleton was known as one of the better hotels in town, but by then it was run down and was used more or less as a rooming house, a big change from earlier years. When I first checked in, I met Joe, who managed the place, and later I met Stan, the night clerk. Stan was an inquisitive person who was always asking questions.

He wasn’t a neat person and very seldom shaved; when he smiled, you could see that he was in need of dental work. He didn’t look like the type you would usually find working at a front desk of a hotel, even in an old, run-down one. Stan may have been a sloppy-looking person, but I was soon to learn that he was very intelligent, and no matter which subject people talked with him about, including problems going on in the world, Stan would usually have a good explanation. In my opinion, he seemed too wise a person to end up working at a run-down hotel.

One evening as I sat in the lobby, listening to Stan conversing with a few men, I noticed that at times he spoke with a Polish accent. As I listened to him talking, my mind shot back to when I had first met Charles, the German SS officer who had worked for my brother at the Jewish rehabilitation hospital in Montreal. The difference between them was that Charles was very tidy and impressive-looking, while Stan was completely opposite. He always had a dirty appearance. When I thought of Charles, it did cross my mind that maybe Stan was also hiding out from something in his past.

It was said that he had first showed up at the hotel to rent a room after getting off a foreign ship that had came in to pick up a shipment of paper from the mill. Six months after he arrived at the hotel, Joe, the manager, gave him the job as night clerk. Why Stan kept himself so untidy I didn’t know, but the important thing about him was he was very courteous and friendly. When I had first checked in, he mentioned the small restaurant and dining room just off the lobby, operated by a woman that Stan referred to as Big Jude.

When I first saw her, I understood why Stan called her Big Jude. She was a huge woman, not very tall but heavy, and it seemed that she could easily afford to lose fifty or sixty pounds. I would learn that besides being short, fat, and sloppy, she was a know-it-all with a big mouth who never seemed to shut up. Like Stan, she always had questions to ask. At times, I would have coffee at Big Jude’s, but I preferred going to Tim’s, where I would read the morning paper and listen to a bit of the rumour and gossip that usually went on at coffee shops.

One morning as I sat having a coffee and reading the newspaper, a man entered. After getting a coffee, he came and sat at the next table and asked in a friendly manner, So you are the new detective in town?

Yeah, I answered, but a private detective.

With a curious look, he asked, What’s the difference between a police detective and a private detective?

I said, Well, the difference is that police detectives investigate crimes and other matters relating to investigations concerning police work. Like any police officer, they are paid and employed by the town, whereas a private detective is hired by individual people or businesses to carry out an investigation on their behalf.

Looking a bit confused, he took a sip of his coffee and replied, So you can also investigate crimes?

Yes, I answered, but because I’m also a security officer I’m more interested in preventing crime from occurring.

Interesting, he replied. He then asked, You’re Bill’s brother, Freddie?

Again I replied yes.

You may not remember me. My name is Wilson, and when we were young, we lived just a few houses apart over in Hell Town.

When he said the name Wilson, I remembered him; he was a few years older than me. What I remembered about him wasn’t too complimentary. He said, I was talking with Jim, who’s a friend of mine, and Jim mentioned that you had returned and were a private detective.

When he said private detective, others who were seated nearby glanced over towards us. I went back to reading the paper, but Wilson continued with his questions.

It must be interesting work?

At times, I replied.

When he realized that I wasn’t elaborating, he finished his coffee and left, saying, I’ll see you around.

What I remembered of Wilson, I didn’t like. When I was around thirteen, I lived near Wilson’s home. He had a tent in his back yard and would lure younger boys over for sexual reasons. One evening, he asked me over to see some army knives and other items that his brother had brought back from the war. Shortly after I was in his tent, he began asking sexual questions, like did I have sex with girls and how did it feel.

I had previously heard from other boys that he had tried to fondle them. One boy said that when he was with Wilson in his tent, Wilson had unzipped his pants and taken his penis out and asked the boy to play with it, telling him he would like it. When Wilson began asking me questions about sex, not knowing what to say, I stood up and told him I had to go and that I would return later, which I had no intention of doing. I took an instant dislike to Wilson. Meeting him thirty years later, my feeling towards him hadn’t changed. As far as I was concerned, he was still a sexual pervert.

What Wilson called Hell Town was a section in the east part of the town. How it got its name, I never knew. Some stories said that in earlier years when young men from other parts of town went over to court young women from the area, also known as St. Mary’s, they would usually end up having to fight with other jealous young men who lived in the area.

Usually it wasn’t a fair fight, because the fellows from the area were usually in gangs. So it wasn’t a one-on-one situation, and the young men from other parts of town would end up getting beaten. The ones who didn’t want to fight would take off running while being pelted with rocks, and if they drove in the area to pick up or drop off young girls, their car windows would be smashed with rocks.

That area of the east end, which only consisted of a few streets, would become known as Hell Town. If someone who lived in the area said he was from St. Mary’s, they would be considered Hell Towners; in later years if someone said he lived in East Bathurst, even if not from the St. Mary’s area, some people would say, Oh, you’re from Hell Town. It’s a belittling name that I don’t feel that families who lived in the area rightfully deserved, but it’s a name that stuck. To this day it’s still referred to as Hell Town. As a young boy I was raised in the area, so I was also considered to be a Hell Towner. Because people who lived there were known not to let outsiders walk over them, in later years when people referred to me as a Hell Towner, I would smile and say, Yeah, and I’m proud of it.

Most inquiries about my work came from surrounding areas, but very few were from businesses within the town, and most of the calls were from individuals or lawyers who were dealing with divorces or domestic problems, which wasn’t the type of work I preferred. Shortly after meeting Jim, he called, saying that he had a job for me. He wanted surveillance done on a local businessman who was married and having an affair with another woman. Jim said that his client was the wife, and the evidence was needed so she could file for a divorce. When I told Jim that I wasn’t interested, for a few moments there was a pause on the line. Then he said, Fred, what kind of a detective are you?

I laughed and answered, I am the type that doesn’t work on divorce cases.

We just need to know who the husband is seeing, said Jim.

Realizing that he could be helpful to me in the future, I said, Okay. I’ll do it. I told Jim to let me know when the husband would be leaving on another business trip. A few days later Jim called and said that the wife had said that he was leaving for Moncton around noon. I got the make of his car and the license plate number, and I drove to the outskirts of town and waited for him to drive by. When he did, I followed.

Instead of driving through to Moncton, when he got to Newcastle, which was only forty-five minutes away, he pulled into a motel. I waited in the parking lot to see what he was up to. A few minutes later he came out of the motel office and entered one of the rooms at the far end. This is what people who don’t want to be noticed usually do, either that or rent a room at the back, away from the office. An hour or so later I noticed a young woman drive up. She parked near his room, got out, and entered the room. A couple of hours later she came out and drove away,

Shortly after she left, he emerged, got in his vehicle, and headed towards Moncton. I took off after the woman to see if she was returning to town, which she did. I followed from a distance. When she arrived in town she drove directly to her place of work, and after retrieving a few items from the rear seat, she entered the office. Knowing that she didn’t hold a position in management, I wondered about how she could account for being away from the office for over three hours.

When I made my report to Jim and gave him a few pictures that I had taken showing her entering that motel room, I was told that she often needed to go around town to visit customers and do some shopping. When he viewed the pictures that showed them entering the same room, he seemed surprised. He asked, Do you develop your own pictures?

I said, Yes, it’s another of my hobbies.

The investigation would eventually lead the couple to divorce court.

Besides my electronic gadgets, I had also learned how to develop my own film, because back then we didn’t have the quick developing services we now have; whenever I took pictures, it was a simple process of using certain liquids and then hanging