The Long Road to Justice

By F.B. Binc

Justice, or the lack of it, has caused many people many problems, and how to correct injustice has always been a problem for the human race. There was a Bible writer, Jeremiah, who described it as the heart is treacherous and who can know it? Most of us have had the misfortune of being a victim of this, and because of ignorance and various other causes have often suffered physically and mentally, sometimes for a long time. This is the theme of this book, a long road and a long time . . . sometimes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483623962

F.B. Binc

Born in the rurals of Nova Scotia, Canada, our author grew up during the war years and learned many trades. His rural roots started in farming and logging, then grew to the business world in sales and management and ownership. From putting worms on fish hooks to dining with bank presidents, our author has experienced many vignettes of life. Writing started as a pastime, but has become more of a new adventure, in the next page of this chapter.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Many lasting memories and impressions are shaped by violent events. This was true of John Raymond Stelle.

Rarely do most of us recall very much of our earlier years unless the experiences were very traumatic or were of a nature that would gradually develop into a lifelong pattern of good or bad.

John Stelle experienced this type of episode not long after he turned six years old. His family lived in a rural setting; his father was a small man, meek at times, but could display quite a temper when provoked. He had to work very hard especially as everyone at that time was entrapped in the great depression of the thirties.

Employment was difficult to come by, pay was low, men would work at just about anything to make a dollar, quite often necessitating working away for a week or more at a time.

This type of scenario was becoming all too common resulting in wives and children being deprived of the husband’s hand of direction and the overall bonding of the family together. However, marital faithfulness seemed to generally survive, but not always. A rather troublesome situation came about because of these conditions in John Stelle’s six-year-old life. There were many a man during this time who would leave home, with or without good intentions, either to get out from under married life, stress, or to genuinely try to earn a living for their family. Trauma and long-lasting mental scars for John came about this way.

His father, Ronald Stelle, had been working away in the city; it had been agreed between he and his wife as the pay was about triple of what he could expect to earn in the lumber woods. The distance considerable, he would be gone for about four weeks. The family was desperately in need of money but survived with some finagling with local farmers and with the general store owner agreeing to wait for payment for supplies when Ron got home. (His thinking being that his chances of getting paid for what he already was owed was on the slim but remote side.)

Not always did plans or communications go according to the original premise. Now, instead of four weeks work, there was a good possibility of at least one or two weeks more work for Ron. What a break! Ron’s letter was short and to the point.

Jean, his wife, read the letter carefully to make sure there would still be about three weeks before Ron could make it home. She smiled to herself as a very welcome money order that had been enclosed dropped into her hand. Financial relief at last! However, the smile had more behind it than just financial relief.

About two weeks previous, Jean quite innocently had the occasion to be returning from a long walk to and from the general store. She was carrying two heavy shopping bags. It was a six-mile trip each way so weariness was growing. Her back was aching and her arms almost quivered with fatigue. The distance between rest breaks was getting shorter as time passed by.

She was nearing the half way mark home when she distinctly heard a car approaching from behind. Maybe she would get a ride. Proper decorum at that time meant that she would keep walking on the side of the road but not look back. Pride and ignorance were in abundance at that time too, and many times help could have been obtained, but what would the neighbours think?

As the auto approached, Jean could sense it was beginning to slow. A small beep of the horn and the driver indicated that he would give her a lift.

Put the bags in the rumble seat and get in.

Being occupied with the task at hand, she missed the hopeful look of opportunity and the smug grin on the driver’s face.

Why, it was Hiram Goodall! He was the nephew of the widow Long who lived a half mile or so further on. He was staying at the farm after the sudden death of her husband, helping with the farming, caring for the animals, and attending other items that needed to be looked after until such time when all her affairs could be settled; the farm sold and she could go live with her sister in town.

Jean smiled her thanks very appreciatively. Hiram, with a big grin stated, I know where you live Jean. I’ll be glad to drop you off there.

Well, what a relief! Jean was hot, her feet ached, and they were close to blisters. An early beginning of a bad headache was developing as well. Hiram drove right up to the door and with great speed jumped out, opened the door for Jean, hoisted the groceries, then promptly took them right into the house for her.

Do you think I could have a drink of water Mrs. Stelle?

Meanwhile, Jean had been profuse in her thanks for the drive home.

Of course, she purred, and got him a dipper and a glass so he could help himself from the water pail on the counter.

Thank you very much, said Hiram, anytime you need to get groceries, let me know. I have to go to town about three times a week and it would be my pleasure to take you out and back.

I wouldn’t want to impose on you, smiled Jean in her sweetest of smiles.

Think nothing of it, said Hiram.

It seemed to Hiram that some promising developments were possible. It was working on his mind on the way home, plans were being thought of and rejected, but mulled over quite excitedly. There were no young women around much in this village and he was craving attention, female attention, that is. It was not long in coming. He played his hand superbly. Conquest and satisfaction fell into his life as if he had written the script himself. What a pleasure to be working for his aunt. However, good things don’t usually last long and the price to be paid can be steep. Ron Stelle would soon be back unfortunately.

About two weeks had passed and young John Stelle was wakened from sleep one night by loud shouting, screaming and furniture being bumped around and it seemed to him whatever else was loose. It sounded very violent, like wood being splintered and thrown about downstairs.

The violence, the anger, the woman’s pleading, the terrible cursing and uproar was enough to make this young lad shake uncontrollably with fear and apprehension. What a terrible situation.

As the noise and violence began to subside, John could still hear a dull but animated conversation continue; slowly he must have drifted off to sleep to be violently awakened again by a man screaming obscenities from the road outside.

I dare you to come outside and fight me man to man. I double dare you, you yellow coward!

A retort from downstairs, you son of a whore! I’ll fix you fer good! Then sounds of a struggle; as it seemed his mother Jean was trying to prevent her husband Ronald from getting his double-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun loaded. Then cries and screams from his mother as Ron tried to subdue her by choking her. Then she screamed to the man on the road, Run! For God’s sake, run! He’s got the gun loaded! For God’s sake get out of here!

Then the sound of fleeing footpads on the frozen surface of the road.

All the foregoing events were a total mystery to young John’s mind; it left him in a state of uncertainty, fear, terrible apprehension, and many other bothersome questions. When the uproar downstairs abated somewhat, he could still hear his father and mother arguing heatedly. It seemed at times that his father was going to violently attack his mother; he was in a foul temper. His rage was being held in check by great effort, mother was crying and it sounded like she was cringing in mortal fear for her life.

John came down the stairs, trembling with fear that was being overcome somewhat by hunger, but still a very, very frightened young lad.

As he came into the kitchen he saw his mother leave the house; still being under dire threat of violence from Ronald, she did not hesitate to look back. The other son of ten years and daughter of eight were sobbing uncontrollably. Ron Stelle looked awful. He was tired, his face grey, eyes red rimmed; he had not slept a bit that night. It was very obvious that he had been through the worst experience and the most upsetting, nerve wracking night of his life.

Where is mom going, dad? Is she coming back? Why did she go away? Why did she take a suitcase? Ron found it impossible to say much. It was difficult in the extreme for him to explain the why’s of the situation. Additionally, the shock of the previous evening’s developments had left him almost speechless.

The confusion, the confrontations of his wife and her paramour had left him numb; almost paralyzed with nagging doubts, embarrassments and problems that would have to be dealt with quickly. He was sitting almost trance-like.

How was he to care for three young children by himself? He had a job, he had to work. Who could care for the children, do the cooking, the meals, the washing, and all the other household chores? What a terrible thing to happen; it was not only trying, but depressing. It was going to be some embarrassing to ask someone for help. Well, he thought, there will have to be some way to cope, life would go on but with great difficulty and many problems and questions with no apparent answers. So, what to do? And how? Who could he turn to for help? First of all, family, his eldest brother John, and his wife, and also his mother and father. What a relief when they sat down together, put all the problems on the table, then worked out a plan to deal with Ron’s situation for the time being. What a relief to have help! Shoulders to help with the load, sympathetic words and hugs, but most of all the family togetherness to get the difficulty at present hand solved so everyone could get on with living the way people should.

CHAPTER 2

Twenty years later, two men totally unrelated to the foregoing drama were going to play a large part in the life of Ron Stelle and his family. It would involve characters that shaped and had a large part in the outcome of the Stelle family.

First, there was Sergeant Andre Publicover. He was mid fortyish, over six feet tall and weighed in at about two hundred pounds. A good-looking fellow with a streak of grey here and there; good-natured generally but would have days when he wasn’t. His forte was usually homicide cases. His methods and success with the national police were well known. Respect came his way because he earned it. He was a widower and was childless. It had been devastating for him when his wife passed away at thirty-nine. He grieved deeply, his police work got him so involved that it went a long way to help him through the tragedy.

Gary Eisnor was forty-two, an investigative reporter with the City Times of the port city of Halifax. Both he and Andre Publicover were considered very much above your average person in these positions. Gary was a bachelor, just why, no one seemed to know. It gave him a freedom to go and to be places that would be somewhat difficult for a family man. He tended to look youthful for his age, was a good mixer and conversationalist. His writing was excellent and very insightful and usually very implicit and accurate. His happy good looks, dark curly hair, quick wit, and friendliness went a long way to making him a most ingratiating person.

Although both of these men knew of each other they had never met personally, but reputations do precede introductions many times. This would be the case in the unfolding events even though it would initially be a country type setting.

Several items although at the time not thought to be connected appeared in the Times newspaper. The first one was two paragraphs. Meadowdale Man Shot By Accident. The account went on to say that because of deer hunting season a local farmer (Evan Stanton) could have been shot by a mistaken hunter thinking that he was aiming at a deer.

What made it seem that way at the time was that Evan, his father Cyril, and Evan’s brother Rodney were in the process of loading a deer carcass on the back of a pick-up truck. People will surmise, and in this case it was possible, that an over excited, over eager city hunter fired at the deer.

The story given by Rodney Stanton later that day and written up was that Rodney and his father had just gotten into the cab of Rodney’s pick-up and he was revving up the motor. It looked like Evan was just coming toward the door and tripped or lost his balance and fell down. Naturally they were yelling at him to get in the cab, but there was no response as he just lay there twitching, his life already gone out of him.

Needless to say there was a great deal of disgust and consternation on their part.

C’mon Evan, quit fooling around. His father got out of the truck and tried to get him to sit up. His body was as limp as a sack of oats. It was only then that the two men realized the whole side of his head was blown off. There was a small hole at the base of the lower left skull.

It was very obvious that he had been shot! Shot by a very high-powered rifle bullet. They never heard a shot unless the motor drowned it out. They could not believe it. There was nothing but open field all around them.

As a matter of this nature was tragic and unusual, the local coroner would have to be involved. His conclusion was about the same as that of the two Stantons, on his report he made several notations:

1.   Why was the shot not heard?

2.   Why didn’t the rifleman show?

3.   Was this really an accident?

4.   Was there a murder?

The coroner, Charlton Connors, gave much thought to this fatality and puzzled over the details. However, as often happens, tragedies sometimes get rationalized away with the passage of time.

Needless to say, the elder Stanton and Rodney both vowed that they would tear up hell, to find the culprit who shot Evan, but in a few days, life more or less returned to normal and life’s problems and opportunities moved on.

Several days later another new item appeared on the front page of the Times, Foul Play or Accident?

A Winston man by the name of Miller Stanton was found shot to